#and he's allowing all these little imperfections into his vocal runs that are just..... so tasty

[vampirecatprince]

Friend just sent me some clips from the most recent German show and oh my God Vessel's voice

[fangsandfeels]

Just a sad little thought I got about Astarion's funny running animation

Give, that he is seems to be the only one to run like this, it's his unique thing. So, imagine it's indeed the one vampire spawn thing he does either without thinking or allows himself to do.

He does his best to make himself look and act different from his siblings: he is very thorough about his appearance, he keeps his nails clean, and has never made a mess of himself after his boar hunts.

Meanwhile, when we see Leon and Aurelia, they are absolutely filthy. There is blood on their clothes, in their hair, in their teeth. When they fight, they don't use weapons: they jump, they lunge and claw. Their behavior is almost animalistic.

It was just another Cazador's way to humiliate his spawns: school them around, telling them "not to slouch" or "have respect for themselves", mocking their imperfections, while consciously degrading them by making them feed on rats in front of him, starving them, condemning them to kennels, and saving their "human" appearance only as a mean for luring the victims in.

Astarion tries his hardest not to be that feral monster Cazador was making him into. He uses weapons. He stores blood in jars to make stock for the long road and not be caught with an animal in his teeth. He stays in control of his hunger, never speaking about it, never mentioning it despite it being ever-present, even though using it as an excuse would have placated Tav (in case he gets carried away and drains them dry during the first bite). Despite his vocal appreciation for gore and violence, his vampire spawn part of him is something extremely private, not to be paraded or proudly displayed. His moves when "on the run" are a bit more instinctive and harder to control or manage all the time, as hard to hide or change like his fangs or the scars on his neck. But without the full context, they can be considered eccentric at most. And he would rather be known as eccentric than monstrous.

[lasquadrasfuckhouse]

hello i hope it’s ok to request this, but I can’t stop thinking about that like really pure tender-emotional sex with la squadra— I was wondering if I could request that as either hc’s ( or a fic with melone or prosciutto if you get a muse for it ) I don’t know if that’s enough to go on but aa the sappy thoughts are running around my head ; v ; ) please and thank you ( unrelated but I love your blog and hope you have a wonderful day/night 💘 )

OK FIRST OF ALL THIS POST MADE IT INTO MY DREAMS i dreamt that i was answering this and one of the points i wrote for ghiaccio was 'don't worry he can handle it he's a gamer' WHAT DOES THAT MEAN??? WHAT DOES THAT MEAN???????

BUT!!! TOTALLY OK TO REQUEST IT I AM A SUCKER FOR TENDER EMOTIONAL SEX

and thank u sm afjglfndng i hope ur day/night is wonderful too 🥺❤️❤️❤️💕 even tho i think u sent this like maybe over a week ago time isn't real fjgkfkfj I HOPE UR CURRENT AND ALL FUTURE DAYS R GOOD. here are some hcs for u!!!!!

la squadra and lovemaking ❤️

18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI

risotto ✂️

he absolutely craves intimacy. goin hard and gettin freaky is super fun obviously but to him the best, most fulfilling and satisfying sex is when he and his partner are just close as can be in every way

he wants to open up. create a space like that for him, where he knows he's as safe with you as you are with him, and you'll really see the incredibly gentle, loving, and passionate side of risotto. he knows how he presents himself outwardly, as cold and intimidating, but the thought of everyone seeing him as just that--or worse, seeing himself as just that--makes him feel empty and he hates it.

so be his safe haven where he can express just how damn loving he is, openly acknowledge that side of him and embrace it, love it wholeheartedly, and let him know that you know he keeps you safe in turn not just with his ferocity, but his softness. he'll be so full of love he'll wonder how he ever could have felt empty.

he'll want to make love face to face, looking into each other's eyes, kissing soft and deep, and just absolutely basking in how you make each other feel. he'll want to take his time to feel every single inch of you and leave nothing untouched. he could do this for hours and hours, all day really, and he's almost achingly gentle. do the same for him, feel and love his whole self, let him know that he is precious and deserves to be treated with care; his expression will go so soft (and he is more expressive like this). the way he makes his partner cum isn't just physical, it's euphoria and love felt in every way and he'll want to carry them there as many times as they want because he just wants to make them feel as loved as they make him feel

he's just quiet by nature so he still doesn't say much, he'd rather express himself in other ways and you're connecting so deeply that you hardly need words (depeche mode enjoy the silence plays tenderly in the distance) and he loves that, he loves that intimacy. but he will, as least once, maybe while you're getting him close, whisper an i love you.

you also get him smiling with his cute dimples, because of course you do. and tell him genuinely that he's cute; he doesn't hear it often, and it makes him feel loved. he'll be head over heels.

he'll hold you very close for a long time after, just being with you. he'll stroke your back and feel your heartbeat against his, there's something so beautiful and intimate about it. you make him so happy. he's really warm too, perfect for snuggling!!!!

prosciutto 🚬

his caring nature always comes out at least at some point during sex, but especially when you make love. the tricky part for him is letting himself be cared for, too. he gets a bit nervous about it in all honesty, and that's less about guarding himself and more about guarding everyone else.

help him see there's nothing to worry about. you know you're safe and loved with him always, that doesn't change when he allows himself to be cared for, and in fact brings a whole new level of emotional safety to the table when you connect like that. remind him in no uncertain way that he deserves it, too. remind him that he's human, and show that you want to feel human with him in any way he'll share with you. and of course, he wants that with you. he trusts you completely, and once it really clicks that it's a matter of trust too, it's much easier for him to settle into.

there's something so special and unique about the connection you two make when he lets his walls down in that way. he never could have imagined how amazing it is to let go with you, it's nothing he's ever felt before and he can't get enough of it.

he loves to give, he gives wholeheartedly and unabashedly, and he'll receive your love without hesitation too

the forehead touch. always the forehead touch. it's his way of connecting and showing affection. he may also nudge your noses together and close his eyes to just soak in your presence. if you initiate it, he'll melt.

he embraces imperfection with you and it feels so damn good. he'll get a bit more vocal--not necessarily louder, but breathy whines and whimpers and soft moans. he may get playful too, give sweet little laughs about how you're making him sound and kissing the tip of your nose. you get real smiles out of him with that adorable tooth gap. tell him it's adorable and kiss his cheeks, and he'll laugh again and smile wide and genuinely in that way that ur eyes close too cause ur just so happy u kno

he feels so, so fucking loved and it's so beautiful to him. he tells you as much when you're laying there afterwards and he's admiring every inch of you, every mark, blemish or scar, everything that isn't exactly even, admiring your beautiful soul. and he basks as you do the same for him. he'll thank you for sharing this little piece of humanity with him.

pesci 🎣

soft sex is his favourite. sex as a way of feeling close with the person he loves is what vibes with him the most, as an act of emotion and of loving and being loved in return.

it's a lot easier for him to be confident with that kind of sex/perspective on sex, because he knows he can just tap into his emotions and those of his partner. he really shines here, and he may still get a bit flustered because it's sex and sex with you and you're so fucking gorgeous in every imaginable way, but you still get to see this whole other side of him where he's just so comfortable in his skin and it's both really hot and really endearing.

he stops sort of separating or thinking too hard on just the physical or the mental or anything else, and expresses his love on all levels of being in a way that just lights you both up. he thinks being with you in this way is heaven on earth and he will let you know it.

he can make love with you like this anywhere soft and quiet and private, but aside from your bed, he loves the bath. he loves bath sex in general for the warmth and wetness and intimacy, and especially when you're connecting in this way, it's like.... he wouldn't consider himself to be poetic or particularly spiritual, but there's just something special about making love in water, maybe because we're all born from water, we all need water to live, all life on earth came first from the water. it's just something he thinks about.

he'll want to be face to face; he loves watching your face because seeing you in pleasure is so beautiful to him, he'll want to see your eyes flutter closed and open and commit the look you give him to memory, soft and sort of honeyed-hazy y'know but bright because you love him, and you're loved by him, and he can see it in you. he'll want to hold hands too, and twine your fingers together.

words come a lot easier to him like this too, because he knows there's nothing to hide and nothing to worry about, so he'll just murmur throughout about how much he loves you, how good you make him feel in every way, how he wants to make you feel like that too. show him that he does; he'll kiss you so softly and with so much love that he feels like he could burst.

he's just so soft and gentle in every way. he'll want to still just hold your hand for a long time afterwards.

formaggio 🧀

he's very emotionally in tune, that connection u create with a partner no matter how casual is a huge part of his enjoyment of sex, so he absolutely loves taking all the time in the world to just feel each other in every way and be so emotionally close with you

he often likes to feel like a big macho guy taking care of his babe but he loves being taken care of too because he can experience another side of your connection (and it's just nice!!!!), so when he really makes love with his partner he can feel sort of both at the same time and he loves it. he just feels so entwined with you.

he's still playful, it's in his nature. but when y'all get really tendie he'll be especially gentle with how he plays around. he'll tweak your nose and kiss your neck to hear you giggle, he just loves to make his partner laugh and he's laughing and smiling too

he also still talks a lot, he murmurs about how much he loves you and how incredible you are, how you make him feel amazing in every way, he'll list off all the little things he notices about you that he's just so fond of. he doesn't tease as much, he just grounds himself in the moment with you. it's also really hot and sweet to hear his words trail off with little laughs or sighs or soft moans.

he also has a lot of cute pet names for his partner, and he does still use them but when you get really soft like this he'll often just murmur or moan your name more than anything and there's something so intimate about it

overall you'll see an even more genuine side of formaggio (and he's already a pretty down to earth dude) because he really just feels most at ease when he's surrounded by love

he'll snuggle and kiss you and lay around for a long time afterwards, play with your hair, stroke your back, talk about everything and nothing and how much he loves you. his wandering hands may lead to more lovemaking; he just can't get enough of you.

illuso ✨

it takes a lot for illuso to open up like that. he's extremely guarded with his emotions. he very much desires softness, and there's something about being bare (more than just physically) that really draws him in, but he'd need a lot of trust to get there.

and it's not just him trusting you that's part of the equation either; he isn't used to being trusted. show him honestly that you trust him, and treat every glimpse of genuineness from him with love, and it'll go right to his heart. he's unused to being really seen, so if you see who he is and choose to openly share your heart with him, he'll be smitten.

ask him to just be with you, and he will, he'd love nothing more. reassure him that he doesn't have to think so much; you can both just let go and feel. you'll see a side of illuso where he's just in awe and a really pure sort of wonder of what you create together, this little moment in time and space, this experience across all states of being.

you absolutely make love in the mirror world. it's illuso's safe haven, and he wants it to be yours as well, it's an entire world where there's no one and nothing but the two of you and the love you make and that's so special to him. he'll want to take his time, and with no possible interruptions, he can. you spend hours together; he goes very slow and very gentle. he just wants you to know how precious you are to him, and how much he wants to be with you.

you'll explore every single inch of each other. he'll kiss you absolutely everywhere, and not just in the obvious places; he'll kiss your palms, your fingers, your closed eyelids, every mark on your skin. when he kisses your lips, it ranges everywhere from a mere brush to open-mouthed, deep, and languid. treat him with the same slow, thorough care, and he'll melt.

he doesn't tease. he'll probably be pretty quiet, but once he whispers that he loves you, he'll find himself just telling you all his inner thoughts, everything he loves about you and everything you make him feel: truly beautiful in a way he'd hardly experienced before, safe, so genuinely loved. if you express the same to him, that you feel his love for you in every little way he shows it and cares, that you see and feel his whole self and love him in his entirety, that he makes you feel precious, he will feel precious too. he may actually cry a bit. he's just so happy with you.

he's the kind of guy who likes to watch everything, but he's not sure what to do now: see the love in your eyes or close his eyes to bask in it. he opts to just go with the flow of the moment. he's completely open and unguarded, his hair is loose (if you run your fingers through it he'll sigh sweetly), he'll give you these genuine smiles, you'll get real little laughs out of him, and every sound he makes (including the way he murmurs your name) is so soft.

he can't stop smiling after, he'll hold you and play with your hair, and eventually draw a nice bath for you to share

melone 🍈

he absolutely loves soft, emotional sex. of course he likes being kinky and stuff too, but human sexuality as a whole is so fascinating to him, sex is such a beautiful experience in his eyes and he's very eager to explore different expressions of it. it's really interesting to him how you can define making love as something different than fucking when it's all still sex.

he loves the connection it brings. it's such a deep, personal way to feel close with someone and he wants that with you, he wants to explore each other in every way. he loves to learn new things about his partner and finds it so intimate when they learn about him too, whether it's something you've always done that he's just putting his finger on or it's a new development, like the particular way you roll your hips or how your eyes squeeze shut when you cum. point out a subtle habit of his too, like how his breath stutters when you do something he really likes; it makes him feel cared for. but even if there's nothing new to notice, he loves the comfort of your familiarity, too.

he's very open with it, you don't have to wonder what he's thinking about. he'll be murmuring softly about your beauty, how much he cherishes you, how you make him feel cherished too, how good you're making him feel. he wants to know if he's making you feel good, too. tell him so--better yet, show him--and let him know that you feel his love for you, that you feel cared for and safe. he'll smile and give you a long, sweet kiss. tell him anything and everything you're thinking of, he wants to know you in mind, body and soul.

and he is spiritually open and explorative and it fascinates him to think of sex as an act of creation, and even if it isn't sex to make new life it's making love, it's making a bond, and that's a special sort of creation too. he loves to create with you. he understands how it could be viewed as sort of divine.

he loves to care for you, and being cared for in turn makes him putty. knowing that he's truly loved is one of the best feelings ever and it really just makes him wanna cover your face in kisses tbh. which he does, and he laughs hearing you laugh cause you bring him joy.

he's also still loud when he cums but that doesn't make it any less soft and tender tbh because he's just wholeheartedly falling into the bliss you give him, he'll cry out your name and how much he loves you between moans.

he'll want to do this all day if that's what you want too. eventually when you're done, he'll cuddle you, kiss you, and still murmur all his thoughts to you while you both trace patterns in each other's skin.

ghiaccio ❄️

he gets really flustered about soft, emotional sex at first. not just because he's being vulnerable with you, but you're being vulnerable with him, and it's you, and he cares about you so much.

part of him is almost kind of worried he'll never be gentle enough. help him see that's not true, because he absolutely is gentle with you; he knows he can be brash which is why he's always so careful with you, especially in softer moments. you also love him for who he is, in his entirety, and that makes his heart glow. you trust him, and he trusts you.

ghiaccio is passionate, and he can still express that fire in him softly and tenderly. he'll hold your face in both hands while he kisses you, and while he doesn't necessarily kiss hard, he's thorough, and it mellows out into something very soft and subtle before he pulls away. his pace is slowed a lot, because he wants to just feel you in every way; he really relaxes into the rhythm of something slow and gentle, but still passionate, holding your gaze with his hands never leaving your body. thinking of sex as a way to express your love for each other, he can't help but slow down and be soft, cause it's you.

he also can't help but make noise, soft as it may be, and say your name. he doesn't half ass important things, and you're so, so important to him, so he just completely wraps himself in your love and does the same for you. express that, with him, you know you're loved and safe; he'll want to kiss you again and again and again until you're both breathless.

may not talk as much, because soft words don't really come easily to him and he's sort of self-conscious about it, but once he gets really into it and he does start talking he doesn't stop: he'll say how much he loves you and how badly he just wants to show that to you, how you're so hot and gorgeous and loving, and he doesn't really think of them as flowery words because they're just truth, and his penchant for honesty is such a wonderful way to know you're loved

ghiaccio honey why on earth were u worried about not being gentle. after he's cum once or twice and he's gotten some energy out he is so, so gentle, he'll take care of you so tenderly and kiss you softly. he just wants to be close with you.

his cuddly side always comes out after sex and he'll be no different now. he'll press you against him and hook his chin over your shoulder and tangle your legs together, his cuddles are the best. you definitely get him smiling too, cause you make him happy.

sorbet and gelato 🔪🍦

they're both fucking crazy in nearly all aspects of life and that includes sex, but they're also very passionate and very in love with each other and with you; they're no strangers to tender, emotional sex and they love it because it's such a wonderful way to be so deeply close.

they have no problems being bare and open with you. they're so in their feelings all the time that it feels really natural; they'll very openly express how much they love you, all the ways they love you, how deep and powerful that love feels that they just want to surround all of you in it.

gelato is more talkative in that sense, he'll spill all his feelings in between kisses with his hands on either side of your face. sorbet will give you a long, slow, deep kiss, meet your eyes, and place your hand over his heart while your foreheads touch. you just know.

you're all tracing every inch of each other while you make love, they want to know everything because they just can't get enough of you, the entire world is the three of you. they're absolutely basking in your attention, too; kiss every scar and let them know how beautiful they are to you, that you see them and you love them, that they have your heart as much as you have theirs. they'll melt.

you're safe with them. let them know that you feel how deeply they love you and you feel their safety, and that they're safe with you too, that they're precious. having you and each other as their safe havens and being taken care of makes them feel so damn much.

they'll both still get very playful, they can never take anything too seriously and they just love you so much, they want you all to have fun together. gelato will absolutely do that thing where he kisses down ur front like he's gonna go down on u and then blow a raspberry on your tummy to make you squeak (but then he does still go down on you and doesn't break eye contact the whole time so you can see how fucking much he loves you and wants to make you feel good). if you're ticklish, sorbet will definitely sneakily tickle you, or do something really good while you're in the middle of murmuring something to hear you devolve into moans. then he'll press his loving smirk against your skin. they wanna get you both laughing and moaning, it's the best sound in the world to them, and they'll be right there with you.

gelato is still loud when he laughs and when he cums but it's so sweet and charming because that's just who he is and he's absolutely embracing how you both make him feel. sorbet is the quieter one, but he'll hum and sigh and murmur your names because he loves how they feel in his mouth. he will also whisper to both of you that he loves you because he just wants to say it in every way.

they can go all day and they'll absolutely want to. if one of you needs a break, you'll just watch the other two and kiss them and hold them, the way you all love each other is so beautiful to them. when you're all well and truly done, you'll be tangled in a heap (they are always very cuddly) and they'll both be smiling as they just lazily caress and kiss you and each other.

[abluescarfonwaston]

Only Yours - Bonus

Hey yall. This is a deleted scene from part 3 of Only Yours. Because a few people asked to see this when i complained about deleting it a month ago and cause spielzeugkaiser is a blessing. Enjoy some Jaskier/Priscilla/Valdo hurt/Comfort! NSFW

He was safe in Geralt’s bed. He hadn’t felt safe, truly safe, in a bed since schooling. Since those lazy hours between classes when he and Valdo and Priscilla would lounge over each other working on compositions and half-assing assignments. Singing and playing and arguing and falling over and into each other.

Not loved sex with someone so much since they’d all practiced on each other.

Practiced making Priscilla come with his mouth and hands until she was a contented, sated mess in his arms. Not since he’d nervously gotten on his knees for Valdo and swallowed him down. Not since Valdo had bumped the back of his throat and every muscle had tensed with terror and Valdo had pulled back and Priscilla had held him in her arms until he relaxed and Valdo had walked him through what he could do instead while he calmed down so the lords wouldn’t get testy with him if he panicked.

Because sex was a skill that they all had to master. 

Because they couldn’t afford to disappoint.

Because the people they met out there were unlikely to slow down for untrained gag reflexes and vomiting on someone was a quick way to earn a beating.

Because giving amazing head might make the difference between a satisfied lord and a torn ass when they decided spit counted as lubrication.

He hadn’t felt truly safe in a bed since theirs. They were safe on that tiny mattress to be messy and terrible and imperfect. To try things and not like them and figure out how to push through them when inevitably they occurred while wrapped up in the safety of knowing they could all see the struggle and would help each other through it.

He was safe in their shared bed. Safe to be imperfect.

Like when Priscilla had brought the ropes in. How they’d tied Valdo up first and she’d ordered both of them around and his spine had shivered every time she spoke. How Valdo had gone soft and mellow and content under him as he fucked into him. How Valdo had flown under Priscilla’s guidance and his hands.

It was amazing and beautiful and he wanted to feel that way too.

“How’s that feel?” She asked as he tested the ropes.

“Like I might get rope burn if this goes on too long.” He told her. There wasn’t much give to them. “And given how long Valdo takes to get anything done that might be a problem.”

“I’m not the one with a delicate flower of an ass Jaskier. Maybe if you’d relax this wouldn’t take so long.” Valdo sassed at him as his slicked finger teased his hole.

“Make me you prick.” He challenged. “Not like you don’t enjoy things that are needlessly complicated. I mean that pretentious piece you picked? Over compensating much?”

“Says the man who plays nothing but brothel worthy drivel. Sounds like you need a prick worse than I do.” His finger slipped in just past the first joint and he tensed. Valdo stilled and waited for him.

“Well at this rate it’ll never be yours. Maybe you should spend less time practicing your vocal scales and more on your fingering cause it leaves a lot to be desired.” He pulled on the ropes trying to wiggle to a better position but they didn’t have enough give for him to do much of anything.

“That sounds like an excellent idea Jaskier.” He looked over at her relaxed smile and Valdo sunk in just a fraction. Eased by her confidence. “Valdo why don’t you put that mouth of yours to work.”

Valdo rolled his eyes but obligingly swallowed him down.

Valdo was many things but bad at head was not one of them and he whined and bucked into him with all the slack the ropes gave him.

“No coming yet Jaskier.” She told him and it was very hard to obey when Valdo was moving his tongue like that and-

Valdo pulled off. He sobbed at the betrayal. His wrists and ankles twinging in pain. They definitely needed better ropes or something if they were going to do this more.

“He’s ready.” Valdo said smugly. Fingers curling in him just so and he was straining against the ropes, chasing that last bit of friction he needed to tumble over the edge.

“Perfect.” She leaned over him, stroking his face with just the tips of her fingers, not allowing more. “Can you feel how his fingers are stretching you Jaskier? How big they are?” He clenched around them and whined through a nod. “Do you remember how much bigger his cock is Jaskier? How much wider he’s going to stretch you, how much fuller you’re going to be?” He pushed back trying to press the fingers against that spot again but he couldn’t get the angle right. He did remember. He wanted it so badly.

“Valdo pull out.”

Valdo did. That traitor. Leaving him empty. Horribly achingly empty.

“Jaskier do you know what your job is?” He looked over at her and he shivered at her face. Calm and collected and he knew she was going to take care of him. Take care of everything. He blinked and realized she’d asked a question. He shook his head slowly.

“It’s to lay there and take everything we give you.” He smiled hazily at that. “Because you’re so good at receiving. And it’s going to feel so good as Valdo opens you up and spreads you out around him. And I bet we won’t even have to touch you will we? Because you love making us feel good so much that when Valdo fucks you you’ll come all on your own.”

He nodded at her pretty voice and he was slowly being speared open. “That’s our flower. Opening up so pretty for me. Fuck Jaskier.”

He moved his legs to wrap around Valdo but something tugged at his ankles and he frowned. Priscilla’s face twitched uncertainly and he reached out to hold her but he couldn’t. And there was a slap on his ass as a cock ground into him delivering just a prick of pain.

And he was lying on his back in his family’s stable and his father was screaming his name but he couldn’t get the stable hand off him fast enough and his feet where caught in his pants and the stable hand  was pulling out and running but his father – his father.

His father was grabbing the riding crop “Jaskier,” because it was right there and it hurt so much “Jaskier!” and he couldn’t get away. He knew he couldn’t get away form his Father’s voice screaming those names at him or from the pain and it was exactly what he deserved for what he did-

Water splattered over his face. Valdo. Holding an empty cup. Pale and terrified.

Valdo’s lips moved. The sound reaching him a decade later. “Sorry. Thought it might bring you back to us.”

He rolled onto his side whimpering. Digging his fingers into his arms. The mattress sunk down as Priscilla laid down in front of him. “Can I touch your hair Jaskier?”

He nodded, a sob escaping him as she pet it softly. He leaned into the motion.

“Hip touch?” Valdo asked behind him. He curled tighter. “Arms then?” He nodded. His hand rubbed against his arm. Slowly forcing his fingers away from where they dug into his skin to hold Valdo’s.

“Jaskier?” She asked when his breath didn’t hitch with every gasp. “Can Valdo hold you?”

He nodded and his back was pressed into Valdo’s hairless chest. Wrapped in his gangly arms. His lips pressed to the crook of his ear. “Hold our gal will you? She looks like she needs it.”

He let go of Valdo’s hand and uncurled enough to pull her clothed form to his chest.

“What was it Jaskier?” She asked once he was liquid in their arms. He shook his head.

“Come on little flower. You always open up so pretty.” Valdo whispered into his ear. He shivered.

“I couldn’t hold you.” He told her. “I couldn’t get away.”

“Okay.” She agreed. “We’ll work on it.” Because there was no other option. He had to be able to deal with it. “Later.”

“Thank you.” He muttered. Valdo’s cock was still half hard against his hip. “Wanna finish what you started?”

“Do you?”

He paused. He was safe here. Squished between them on this tiny mattress in Priscilla’s room. “Not really.”

“Then no. I’m good.”

The world outside this room wouldn’t be so kind. Wouldn’t listen when he said no. Because bards were always willing.

Always willing to take no for an answer.

If only the rest of the world was too.

[vicunaburger]

Admittedly, I’m Hard to See

Fandom: Beetlejuice the Musical Chapters: 13.2/? Pairing: Beetlejuice x OC (Holidae) The Players: Beetlejuice, Lydia Deetz, Holidae Bell Word Count: 2,815 Warnings: E for Adult Content

Notes: LMAO. Jokes on me, this half was longer.

Chapter 13.2 - In Which We Bask in the Company of Wolves

As quick as it had happened, the kiss was broken.

Holidae shrunk back against the arm of the sofa, her bottom lip trembling as though she were about to cry, her fingers falling away from his face and picking at the collar of her sweatshirt anxiously, “I… I d-didn’t… oh that was bad, wasn’t it? I’m sorry. I should have… asked? Or… something… right?”

Much as he liked to brag about his skills at being a full-blown pathological liar, Beetlejuice was actually terrible at hiding his expressions when he was caught off guard. Not many people had been able to surprise him: after being around so long, you start to pick up on common things between humans, little nuances that they all shared in one form or another. Even though he lacked the ability to blush, it was easy to tell he was blushing; the wide, doe-like expression etched into every inch of his face.

She had pulled him to her.

There wasn’t malice behind her touch; no dragging him kicking and screaming around by his tie or coat lapels. Being shoved away in anger or irritation? He had grown numb to that sort of reaction to his closeness, figuring any sort of attention was better than none at all.

But this? Holidae had willingly allowed -wanted- him near her.

Although, by the look on her face, this situation was not going the way he had expected it to go after she made the first move. This was something that needed to be fixed now. His internal insecurities could wait.

“Whoa… hey hey now, what do you have to be sorry for?” Beej took hold of her jaw, squeezing it to encourage stillness. “I’m pretty damn sure I’ve made it more than clear that this - you and me - is something I want. Like. Yesterday. You could pretty much do anything you wanted to me and I would be more than happy to let you. …actually the thought of that is like ridiculously hot.”

The was a noticeable pause as he stopped to focus on the image appearing in his mind: Holidae looming over him in a skintight vinyl getup, one foot pressed against his back to keep him on all fours. Clearing his throat, he made a mental note to suggest that idea for another time. Holidae, not being able to see what was brewing in that mind of his, took his silence for comical effect.

She allowed herself some quiet laughter, “Oh? Just how often have you thought about you and me, huh? Should I be concerned? What if it’s not as good as you expect?”

He shook his head, subtly moving himself further up her body, easing the sudden pressure underneath his boxers. Those near-glowing eyes of his were trained directly on her face, watching for any change in her expression as he slipped his hands under her sweatshirt. Her skin was so damn warm; and he took it as a positive sign to continue his exploration, wanting to know just how hot he could make her become.

“Impossible. But the only way to prove my certainty is to test my logic over and over… you’ll be a good girl and help me with that, won’t you? No fun alone.” Beej was growling low in his throat, lulling her into a daze the way a serpent would its prey.

Holidae’s chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, her muscles twitching with every new point of contact between his hands and her skin. Her brain felt fuzzy as she listened to him, each syllable gliding over her body like smoke. When did it become so hot in the attic? His skin was almost biting cold against her stomach, feeling his sharp claws trace the line underneath her bra.

“…you’re right, it’s no fun alone.” She mumbled, the wanton tone in her voice sounding so foreign. “I can be a very good girl if you let me.”

Just like that, Beetlejuice’s demeanor shifted into something wholly more predatory. There was no subtlety to his movement as he crushed her against his larger form, covering her mouth with her own. Holidae could feel her heart pounding against her rib cage when he roughly pushed her against the arm of the sofa, his nails digging sharply into the flesh on either side of her body. It felt like she had been ‘nicked by razors, stinging as she felt him drag his hands down her body, but in spite of herself… she liked it.

Breathless, she managed to dislodge the two of them from each other, gasping for air as he pulled her sweatshirt up and off of her body.

“I’ve thought about this, ya know. A lot.” He grinned wolfishly, showing rows of sharpened teeth. “But I gotta wonder if you ever did the same.”

Her hands wandered down the side of his torso, holding him at bay for a few moments while he sat up between her legs, “Oh… once or twice… I suppose. It might have crossed my mind.”

“You are the worst liar, babes,” He chuckled, leaning back to let her explore as she pleased. “I bet you had some late nights… laying in that bed of yours and thinking about me. All the things I could do to you.”

Holidae stared unabashedly at him, her hands immediately busying themselves with exploring the soft planes of his chest, taking note of each little imperfection. He wasn’t lean by any standard, but she knew how strong he was; his general frame was stocky, there was a bit of muscle definition to be seen, but there were more areas where he was filled out.

There was a moment where he moved his body away from her touches; when she got too near the scar, ugly and prominently on display. Wisely, she stayed away from that spot for now, her hands settling on a spot just above his hips, squeezing the flesh softly.

“You look like you wanna eat me, Holly-baby,” Beetlejuice laughed, falling backward onto the sofa and pulling her on top of him.

“Maybe I do,” Holidae’s voice was husky and deep, the adjusted positions allowing her to feel the rather large bulge he was sporting now. “Would you really just let me devour you?”

“There’s nothing stopping you. I’m at your mercy, completely helpless in your sexy grasp.” He chuckled, unhooking her bra with precision. “I’m a tough guy, I can take what you dish out.”

She rolled her eyes, straddling him for balance as she sat up and tossed the undergarment in a pile with her sweater, “Well, if you’re going to be so damn romantic about it, how can I resist?”

Beej’s hand traveled up her left side, tracing the claw marks he had made all the way up to her breast. Her face grew warm in a blush that trickled down to her neck as he idly massaged her chest before sitting upright himself, the movement shifting their hips together, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from the girl on top of him.

Humming in approval, the ghost leaned forward and buried his face against the crook of her neck, catching a bit of skin between his teeth. Holidae shivered, lolling her head to the side to allow him room to do as he pleased, tangling her hands in his hair. She could feel the groan he let out against her body, and she rewarded him with a soft tug on his pink-tinted locks.

Beej lavished open-mouthed kisses along her throat, his long tongue flicking at her pulse point, “Why are you so damn quiet? Didn’t peg you for the hush-hush quickie type of girl.”

“Quiet?” Holidae sounded breathy, lulled into laziness by his – surprisingly – gentle attention.

“Figured you’d be louder. Vocal. I wanna hear that pretty voice tear itself apart for me,” He mumbled against her skin, “We’re alone up here, babycakes. I’m gonna make you scream.”

She tugged on his hair sharply, enjoy the hissing gasp that came out of him, “Maybe this just isn’t doing it for me, Lawrence.”

He groaned loudly, bucking his hips up against her, “The fuck it isn’t.”

With effort, he pulled himself away from her, just long enough to snap his fingers at divest them both of their remaining clothing. Holidae wasn’t expecting the sudden nakedness, feeling the blush return to her face, a sudden spark of arousal prickling down her skin and sinking into her stomach. The girl was no virgin, but her sexual encounters were few and far between. She turned her head away from him, feeling not just nude, but bare all of a sudden.

Her arms started to fold across her chest, subtly covering herself, but he moved lightening fast to pull her arms away from her body.

“Nope, nope we are not gonna have any of that shit going on; I have spent too many hours thinking about these tits to just not appreciate them.” Beetlejuice huffed, “Ya get me?”

Holidae nodded, giving a surprised squeak as he rolled the two of them over on the sofa with ease. The furniture creaked loudly in protest, fitting itself to her body shape on the cushions.

Beetlejuice settled himself on top of her, running his hand in a slow path between their bodies, “Oooooh you lied to me, Holidae. Not doing anything for you, eh? You’re goddamn scorching. And fucking soaked. Right here.”

His hand pushed deliberately between her legs, his clawed fingers stroking her without shame or hesitation. Holidae turned her face to the side, trying to muffle the sounds that welled up in her throat, rolling her hips toward his hand. Beej took his free hand and grabbed her jaw, forcing her to look up at him, subtly pressing his hardened cock against her thigh.

“Noooo,” He leaned down and kissed her, his fingers pushing past her folds and deeper into her with ease. “I want to hear every sound you make because of me.”

Another jolt of arousal swept through her; brought to life by the roughness of his movement inside her, and the slight apprehension she felt whenever he put his hands near her neck. She knew those hands could have snapped her neck long ago – they still could – and the fear of it only seemed to heighten the sensations running through her body.

Holidae gave in to Beetlejuice’s request, a soft cry finally releasing itself into the quiet space around them. He rewarded her with another kiss, trailing his lips down to her jaw, and giving a bite to the tender skin. After a bit he slipped his fingers out of her wetness, adjusting her legs apart wide enough for him to move between, using his body to move her hips closer to his own. Grinning wide, he licked his fingers slowly… deliberately showing her his unnatural tongue as it moved between each digit, licking up every last drop of her.

It was embarrassing how much she was trembling against his body; how much she wanted him. He didn’t make her wait long, slowly positioning his cock right at her entrance. She knew that despite how wet she had become, it wasn’t going to be enough to make this a painless encounter. What worried her more than the fear of discomfort was how much she wanted it to hurt. All she wanted was to feel him inside her, to be completely at his mercy.

It was wrong.

Wasn’t it?

“Be a good girl and let me hear you, Holidae.” He whispered, snapping his hips forward and thrusting into her hard.

A shout tore itself from her throat, and her head pressed back against the sofa, her body arching up into his chest. Beej couldn’t hide his utter excitement at hearing her scream for him - because of him. A small voice in the back of his mind told him to hold still, however, knowing he might have gone a little too rough for their first time together.

“If… if you don’t start moving… I’ll exorcise you myself.” Holidae’s command was heavy with lust, her legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him in deeper.

Beetlejuice groaned loudly next to her ear, pulling out nearly all the way before thrusting back into her even harder. He set a rough, but steady, pace; keeping their bodies as close as he could manage as though he were afraid to let go of her. Holidae locked her legs around him, mimicking the harshness of his movement against her, meeting him thrust for thrust once she found his rhythm.

Her hands found their way into his hair, and she pulled him in for a deep kiss, moaning against his mouth. She knew she wouldn’t last much longer if he kept at it the way he was, already feeling the muscles in her abdomen coiling tightly like a spring. He didn’t seem in better condition, his thrusts becoming a little more erratic and shallow.

“Fuck,” Beej mumbled to himself more than her, concentration etched on his features, slowing down his pace. “Goddamn, Holly… If I would’a known… I would have fucked you in the graveyard that day. All mine now… all mine.”

He looked so disheveled above her; his hair sticking to the damp skin on his forehead above his brow, muscles stiff as he struggled to keep control of himself. Just seeing him like that – knowing that she had a hand in it – was enough to finally tip Holidae over the edge she was desperate to reach. She cried out his name in a sharp sound, voice cracking in a way that surprised her.

It was a desperate, wanting sound.

Almost helpless.

Sounds that were far more primal – predatory – came out of him and he sunk his teeth into the junction of her neck and shoulder. She knew he had pierced the skin, a small drop of blood running down her collarbone as he pulled away. Her body shuddered deeply around him, riding out wave after wave of pleasure until they begun to subside; her skin feeling as though she had been doused in ice water despite how hot she was to the touch.

Beetlejuice had slowed himself down during the height of her release, but resumed his brutal pace shortly after. He was almost frantic in those last moments, mumbling words she couldn’t make out against her skin, squeezing her impossibly tight as he finally spilled into her with few erratic thrusts. Holidae moaned softly, feeling impossibly full of him in that moment, holding him tight against her body as though he would vanish if she let go for an instant.

For what seemed like hours, neither of them moved.

Beej was the first to break their contact, slowly easing off of her and sitting himself up on the sofa next to her, brushing his damp hair away from his forehead. Conjuring his favored cigarettes, he deeply inhaled the smoke, letting it seep out of his mouth like a contented dragon. Holidae shivered, feeling the cool air against the thin layer of sweat upon her skin, her body screaming with aches she hadn’t felt in a long time.

She was unnerved by his silence, having expected him to make some lewd comment about his own performance, or hers. Was she expected to leave after a certain period of time? Slink back to her room down the stairs and not speak of the encounter again? Her previous partners had not been the most affectionate after sex, and she harbored no illusions of a  demon like him being any different.

Holidae began slowly easing herself up to sitting, her body protesting with even the smallest movement.

Immediately, an arm reached out and dragged her over to lay against his side, “Going somewhere, my little breather?”

She felt insanely embarrassed now, “You weren’t talking to me, so I assumed-.”

“I'm fucking worn out because of you, baby, you gotta give me a minute. Take it as a compliment.” He huffed, shifting himself up to rest his chin on the top of her head, holding the cigarette between his teeth.

“Oh,” Holidae eased herself against his body, willing herself to relax into the sudden affectionate gesture.

“Lemme just tell you: worth the wait. Have to savor it for a while, you know? Plus, I'm hardly the type to kick a little hellcat like you out of bed. I wouldn’t be a gentleman if I pulled shit like that.” He laughed, drawing nonsensical shapes on her back with his fingers.

“So you want me here to save your gentlemanly reputation?” The pout was clear in her voice.

“No, I want you here because I just do.” His fingers stopped moving, his hand flattening out against her skin, “Is that a problem?”

Holidae shook her head, “No, I'm just surprised.”

“Mmm, had me worried there for a second.” Beetlejuice hummed in the back of his throat, “You’re mine now, and I'm not letting you out of my sight.”

“Oh, well, in that case I suppose I should stay.” She replied softly. “I won’t go anywhere.”

There was a very long silence that followed, and she had thought he’d fallen asleep in the wake of his exhaustion, like she was tempted to do herself.

Before she gave into the gentle pull of sleep, Beej’s voice broke through the quiet, “No, you won’t.”

Writing Tags: @mr-geuse @paxenera @leiasolo77 @go-commander-kim @ashemspirit @asriells

[its-a-branwen-thing]

The Turncoat

Okay, whew, let’s dive into this again because when you edit a post that has a line break in it in mobile it...breaks the whole post, I guess? On my phone, at least? It’s fine, it’s fine...it just gave me personal feelings, is all.

“I’m trying to arrest them, Hare, not kill them! You’re being excessive!”

“It’s not excessive if it’s necessary!”

I really loved Marrow. I’m so happy to see I wasn’t the only one! Marrow struck me as a character that, and it definitely seemed this way to a lot of people, was our most likely candidate for switching sides. We’ve seen him the most out of all of the Ace Ops this volume (outside of Clover) and his lines definitely fit into that narrative. He showed the most hesitation, was constantly in the line of sight of our characters and their interactions, was the only one in close proximity to the Happy Huntresses for any length of time, and he’s also a faunus, which is important as it’s addressed...a few times. But I won’t dive into that as much. I’m going to mostly focus on the other three and what I think they mean for his character arc. So, a decent amount of guessing.

“Some of us are all asset, zero liability.”

It’s the best line in the show and absolutely true

Marrow is introduced to us as the rookie. He’s the one that’s the butt of most of the Ace Ops’ jokes and Ironwood even tells Clover not to take him on a mission in E3 as he jokingly mimics rapid firing in the distance. He’s also shown as being what I’ll assume looks like the least experienced, as his reactions are often noticeably different than his teammates’ (the fight in E12, what happened at the political rally in E6).

“We’re not actually going to slug this out, are we?”

He’s the only one of the Ace Ops, when Ironwood addresses them, that shows any amount of concern and hesitation (I mean, Vine looked a little put out but it could just be resignation of his duty?). Harriet and Elm were stone-cold committed. Marrow even vocalizes, on two occasions throughout this fight, that he doesn’t want to really hurt them, while the other Ace Ops are more than willing to use lethal force (it’s...insinuated). Their loyalty to Ironwood and his orders are not tantamount to their feelings. The former is more valued, which makes sense for them as soldiers. But Marrow functions as the Penny to their collective Winters--he’s inclined to listen to his own emotions rather than orders. Which puts him very much so in line with our heroes who he has, aside from Clover, been seen interacting with the most.

Team RWBY are introduced as the amateurs compared to the Ace Ops. Marrow might be the rookie of the team, but he is still more in command than RWBY or JNR and so, when he sees their antics, he acts a bit...like it’s beneath him. But the point is he’s still the one seeing all these interactions. Penny and Ruby in “A Night Off”, Oscar and Ruby after leaving the Schnee manor, Blake and Yang after their landing in E3. He may act annoyed at them being “kids” but Harriet even says in E3 that the other Ace Ops “babysit” Marrow all the time. He acts frustrated at this, but I think his presence during these scenes serves as an important beat.

He is...not amused. These are also the two, I think, that are most in opposition with each other.

When everything kind of falls apart in E6, Marrow is the one in attendance at the political party. Marrow is the one who engages with the Happy Huntresses, asking none-to-nicely if Robyn and the others are doing things “legally.” RWBY as a show is short on time, so I feel like these exchanges are important because they have to be done with purpose. We could have had any Ace Op in this position, but it was Marrow, and it was brought up, again, that he was a faunus, which makes him understanding of why the Happy Huntresses do the things they do, but as an Ace Op also places him squarely in the camp that the law is absolute. Even if, really, he might not entirely feel that way.

After Tyrian dancing queens his way onto our most wanted lists attacks the attendees, killing some, and hurts Fiona, instantly making us hate him more, we see Marrow try to control the situation and then immediately worry about Fiona. Ruby has to actually physically pull him away. He tells Robyn: “this wasn’t us, I swear.”

But these are all very long-winded, surface-level observations because I cannot write things short. But how exactly, is Marrow going to turncoat? What will prompt that change? I think I have an idea.

----

If there’s one Ace Op Marrow seems to admire, even if it is a brief scene, it’s Clover. He’s the leader of the Ace Ops, they all look up to him, and Marrow is trying his darnedest to be like them. And now, as of E12, that leader is dead.

And I think, given all the problems that are present in Atlas right now--Salem, the missing winter maiden, the destruction of Mantle--Clover’s death is going to be the least of our tin man’s concern. And I don’t think that’s going to sit well with Marrow.

I’m sure the Ace Ops will be affected, but they’ve stated again and again that they’re just teammates, not friends, and certainly not family (which is what Weiss calls her team) and thus, all personal feelings take a back seat to duty. Their lack of real cohesion is why they lost in E12. RWBY were there for each other. The Ace Ops were not. And that’s also a heated topic I do not want to delve into this is simply my take.

So when Ironwood and the others try to say that Clover’s death is just “what happens” I think Marrow will have a tough time with it. Because he’ll start to realize that their orders are not what he sees as right. And because he’s such a good boi person and not indoctrinated into the mindset of the other Ace Ops yet, he’s going to have a hard time coming to terms with orders that, I think, will become increasingly less humane as Ironwood grows more and more desperate. Marrow will begin to see the law as imperfect. Robyn already told him as much.

And who is in prison right now, in Atlas with Marrow, and perhaps the only ones left trusted enough to get word to RWBY or the Huntresses and try to do something about what’s happening? Robyn. And Qrow. And who else was placed at the forefront of the Ace Ops dramatically exiting the mine during E3?

Let me have my Qrow adopts the Ace Ops theory/head canon, damn it.

Marrow’s journey might be about realizing that following orders is what lead to Clover’s death and Winter’s injuries and the Ace Ops’ loss. I want to see him confront Robyn and Qrow, after they’re virtually left to rot in prison by Ironwood, and ask them what happened with Clover. Because I want to see Marrow express that he cares in a way that, maybe right now, the other Ace Ops don’t allow themselves to. So Qrow and Robyn tell him the truth and Marrow, realizing loyalty to law isn’t what matters, will enlist the help of the...you guessed it, Happy Huntresses to help break them out! Then, Qrow (his new team of ex-Ace Ops), Marrow, Robyn and the Huntresses will work to help Mantle and, eventually, RWBYJNR+ in getting Amity up and running.

Because let’s be honest if there’s one thing I think all of us want, it’s turncoat Marrow.

[multimetaverse]

HSMTMTS 1x04 Review

Blocking was a very emotional ep that featured some strong performances. Let’s dig in!

Very strong work from Joshua Bassett tonight. We can see throughout the ep how Ricky is desperately trying to keep it together; ending the ep with Ricky hugging a pillow holding back tears was quite the gut punch. Not a lot of shows oriented to a youngish audience actually tackle divorce itself, usually we see the aftermath, and I think it’s great that HSMTMTS is actually delving into the early stages of a divorce when things are at their worst. 

Ricky’s actions tonight were right in line with what a real 16 year old boy would likely do so kudos to the writers for that. And of course it helps that Joshua is a teenager and looks like one. Case in point was Ricky sincerely believing that his parents could still work things out; obviously an adult would have realized that Mrs. Bowen moving halfway across the country months ago was the point of no return for that marriage. It’s in character for Ricky that his first instinct is to run but we do see some growth when he ultimately realizes that he does need to go home.

I really liked the writing for Ricky’s parents and Carol in this ep. I liked that the Bowen's were trying their best to make sure Ricky knew that none of this was his fault and that they loved him; they clearly had gone over what they should say with their therapist but once their plans went awry they scrambled and as most people would, they did a bad job of improvising. On the flip side their plan to spring the news on Ricky at a restaurant was a horrible choice; it makes some sense if they thought a neutral location would be less fraught but a heavy conversation like that should have been done in the privacy of their own home. It’s a nice little touch of imperfection. Very telling that Mrs. Bowen didn’t let Mr. Bowen know that she caught an earlier flight, for most people it would be routine to let their spouse know they’d be home early but it’s a sign that she no longer thinks of him as her husband. I liked that Carol was gentle but firm with Nini in telling her that her day wasn’t as bad as Ricky’s and I liked that she called Mr. Bowen after Ricky showed up which is what most parents would have done.

Great ep for Nicky shippers. Their conversation at Nini’s was the most emotionally vulnerable moment we’ve seen on the show so far. It was nice to see Ricky open up to Nini and tell her that it’s only with her that he feels comfortable talking about this stuff and their embrace was very sweet; you can really tell how much they still mean to each other. As awkward as it was I did like that aborted kiss. It wasn’t the right time but they did have a real moment. We know Miss Jenn added a kiss to the end of the musical which is likely where we’ll see them kiss but I wonder if we’ll see Nini initiate it rather than Ricky, especially since we’re clearly building towards Ricky telling Nini that he loves her. I’m also curious to see if Nini can in fact recover Ricky’s voicemail.

Olivia Rodrigo did so great writing and singing All I Want. Wise for Tim Federle to ask her to write a song for the show and I can’t wait to hear the song that her and Joshua co-wrote later in the season. As Nini said, the song is still about Ricky but he needs to meet her halfway if they’re going to work. And she did a great job with What I’ve Been Looking For, I’ve never heard such a passive aggressive performance, I was chuckling the whole time. 

It does look like NJ is broken up, though I hope we get explicit confirmation in the next ep. EJ giving a girl good poisoning so Nini could have the lead role in the summer camp musical was a great twist. It really paints his behaviour in the past 3 eps in a whole new light, knowing that he was both that ruthless and that dedicated to Nini. Obviously Nini has the talent to be the lead as she showed with her vocal theatrics at the end of What I’ve Been Looking For but would she have had the confidence to audition for Gabriella if she hadn’t won the lead at camp thanks to EJ’s plotting? Good on Nini for blocking EJ’s number. EJ really needs a wake up call, stealing Nini’s phone and deleting deleting Ricky’s voicemail was bad enough but giving a girl food poisoning? That crosses a ton of lines. 

Really not sure what Gina’s grand plan is. Presumably she wants her and EJ to win homecoming king and queen which is supposed to make Nini jealous and spur her to try and get back with EJ? But Gina’s goal is to be Gabriella so it’s not in her best interest to push Nini back with either EJ or Ricky. Gina’s home is small, presumably her family isn’t well off. 

Did not expect to see a flashback to Nini and EJ kissing alone in a tent at night. Pretty spicy for Disney.

Loved Ricky wearing Carol’s Salt Lake Pride shirt. Even a little thing like that would never have been allowed on Disney Channel.

Lots of little funny moments this ep. The whole emotional support hamster thing was funny as was Miss Jenn threatening to bring in her emotional support coyote. Seb’s facial expressions during Nini and EJ’s duet were funny and I chuckled at his line about the hamster being easy to find if he was smiling. 

Not sure if Miss Jenn’s family backstory will ever be relevant but interesting to learn that she never knew her biological father. I also liked the little reminder of her poverty when she said that protein bar was her dinner.

Big Red was funny this ep with him not understanding theatre lingo. If Natalie is back is he still stage manager? 

Kourtney gets some fleshing out this ep. It’s still obvious that her character having an expanded role past the pilot was a late addition to the show but I wonder what the writers would have done without her as Nini would have needed some sort of confidant.

We also got a date for the dance on the poster, October 9th, which fits with the timeline so far and puts opening night in around 6 weeks from then. I always like when shows actually put effort into their timelines. Far too many shows mess up their timelines and its always a sign of sloppy writers and often shows contempt for their audiences.

Looking Ahead:

Seblos starts next week, I’m pleasantly surprised they’re showing it in the next ep promo. I don’t know if we’ve seen Seb in any of the clips of Carlos’ big homecoming dance routine so we’ll see if he actually attends. It will be very interesting to see what happens with Seblos this season and over the course of the rest of the series.

Really hope that they won’t make EJ and Gina a thing, that age gap between the actors is even worse than the one between EJ and Nini. 

We know Ricky goes with Big Red and that Miss Jenn and Nini and Kourtney go out for a girls night and Miss Jenn runs into Mr. Bowen at the bowling alley. Hopefully nothing romantic comes of that.

There’s an actress credited as Sharpay’s mom for 1x05 and I’ve always been confused just what exactly that means. Is she Seb’s mom? Is she the in universe actress who had some minor role as Sharpay’s mom in the movies? 

Matt has said that EJ and Carlos have some important scenes together and the dance might be where some of those happen. Maybe EJ encourages Carlos to dance like everyone’s watching? Mr. Mazzara is chaperoning so I could see Carlos wanting to stick it to him. 

Until next week wildcats

[magpie-scribbles]

Hi. I saw you were taking asks for the nsfw alphabet and I loved the one you did for rappa! I was wondering if you could do one for DIO from jjba please? Thank you

Yaaaaaaasssss my first Jojo Alphabet and it’s with bastard vampire man! Absolute perfection! Let’s get into some spicy DIO!

...I got a bit carried...how dare this man come into my own house and do this?

 A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Don’t expect him to do any of the work when it comes to prepping for aftercare, he’s not the kind to come back with a washcloth and whisper sweet nothings in your ear. However he also doesn’t abandon his favorite pet. He’ll have his servants run you a luxurious bath and dress you in only the finest silks. If he joins you in your bathing he’ll be the one to wash your hair surprisingly enough. He takes care of what’s his.

B = Body Part (His favourite body part of their partners)

He loves his partner's neck, for obvious reasons; he loves the smell of your skin there, sweet and tantalizing and he loves when you crane your neck to the side and submit to him. When it comes to himself, everything, no part of him is imperfect.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum)

Dio loves to mark you with his cum, loves making you absolutely filthy. Seeing your chest glistening with his essence is a delightful sight to him. He also quite loves to make a mess of your mouth, he absolutely adores watching you struggle to swallow all of him down.

D = Dirty Secret

Dio and secrets? He keeps none, at least none of this kind.

E = Experience (How experienced are they?)

Extremely. He has taken many lovers over the years, he knows how to play you like a harp, he knows how to please better than any other partner you’ve ever been with. He’ll show you pleasure few can only dream of.

F = Favourite Position

Dio loves nearly every position, he’s a bit of a heathen. However anytime you are beneath him really pleases him. He loves pressing your knees to your shoulders as he practically bends you in half, jackhammering into you over and over until you're an utter mess beneath him. You in your knees sucking him off is also a delicious sight to him, you worshiping him like the god he is. 

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in bed? Or are they humorous?)

Goofy is not the word you would use for Dio, nor like a cruel tease. He loves to see you fall apart, beg for him as he denies you pleasure. To him it’s wonderfully humorous.

H = Hair (Are they groomed down there? Does the carpet match the drapes?)

He’s not terribly groomed, but he is not pristine either, he’s a feral being to begin with so he keeps it a bit wild down there. When he takes over Jonathan’s body, his hair will at first be very dark in color almost black and when he grows more accustomed to his body it will slowly change to blond.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, are they romantic?)

He is very romantic but in a non-traditional way. Complete and utter pleasure is always his goal but his romantic nature can sometimes come off as hollow or rather his sweet words are really just compliments to himself. He will genuinely compliment you from time to time but his arrogance is often present in his romantic tendencies. You’ll come to find that rather curiously for a being that says he needs no one he craves intimacy and attention. 

J = Jack Off

Why would he ever need to when he has people practically throwing themselves at his feet? However he will definitely do it to be a cruel tease to you; get himself off in front of you and not allow you touch or taste.

K = Kink

Dio is open to all forms of kinks and exploration for the most part, however his favorites are: blood kinks; he loves biting into you and watching your rich sweet liquid life stain your body; it tastes rather delicious mixed with your sweat and release. He’s also quite into menstruation sex and oral, you taste absolutely divine during your time of the month, an absolute treat. 

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

No location is off limits with Dio, if he were able he'd have you in broad daylight in the middle of a town square for all to see. He is however quite fond of having you in his library; sitting in his armchair with a good book with you either writhing on his lap or at his feet sucking him off.

M = Motivation (What turns him on? What gets him going?)

He doesn’t really need any sort of motivation, when he wants, he wants and it’s quite often. When he’s hungry though, your blood sings so sweetly to him and that certainly riles him up more than usual.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do.)

Dio does not like the word no, in fact he despises it. However you are his pretty little pet, his perfect little pet and he so likes to keep his darling pleased so if you are adamant then he will begrudgingly back off; his mood will be very sour for a while and a few unlucky heads might roll. 

O = Oral (Do they like to give or receive? Are they skilled?)

He absolutely adores both and the power that comes with each position. He is completely smitten when you bow down, get on your knees and suck him off; watching you drool and gag around him is one of his favorite pastimes. He is absolutely exquisite at giving and knows how to please you in ways you didn’t think possible; he will often compare you to ambrosia.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual?)

He can do both and it largely depends on his mood; when he is in more sour moods he tends to be very rough; manhandling you into position and not letting up. He’ll often go quite a few rounds of brutal pacing to work out his anger before slowing down a bit. He can also be incredibly sensual and have you sighing out his name for hours on end, he’s especially like this when things go his way or he feels you deserve a little reward.

Q = Quickie

Quickies are a staple of Dio’s sexual appetite. His quickies are the ultimate form of sinful decadence and you will definitely leave sweat, filthy and satisfied. Sometimes his quickies end up taking far longer than a normal quickie should but it's simply because his sexual cravings can be difficult to quench with a quick one and done. Be prepared for a lot of sinful situations with him.

R = Risk (Do they take risks? Are they willing to experiment?)

Dio is a huge risk taker, and why wouldn’t he be? He can pretty much get away with anything and not worry about any repercussions . He can also pretty much make it so anything that would normally be a risk to a mortal is not a risk at all. So he is very down to experiment and in fact encourages it.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)

Stamina and Dio are the same thing, this guy can go all night and day without breaking a sweat, days on end of just crazy debouched sex won’t be something odd to say. Though he does know your stamina is very different from his own so he would most likely take that into account (a pity he will often think).

T = Toy (Do they own toys?)

He owns a wide variety of toys, though pretty much all of them are for him to use on you. He’s particularly fond of dainty, lavish jewelry that serves a more sinful purpose than just looking pretty on you. He loves to see you adorned in golden nipple clamps, a glimmering collar around your neck with a soft leather leash.

U = Unfair (How much do they like to tease?)

Dio and tease are two sides of the same coin. He can be an absolute tease to the point of cruelty, he’s completely content to watch you beg and squirm for him to the point of tears running down your face. He himself does not like to be teased and if you try to press your luck you will most likely be punished (though you might enough it far more than you should.) 

V = Volume

He’s not super vocal in the sense, he does not produce a lot of noise when he is in the throes of ecstasy. He’ll often growl lowly or groan deep in his chest which is a marvelous sound. He does however like to talk while in the act and will spend a good amount of time complimenting you (and of course himself). He also quite likes degrading you. 

W = Wild Card

Dio’s wild card is surprisingly not sexual but rather soft. No one else would ever be able to be this way with him but you. He finds great contentment in the quiet times you share when you absent mindedly stroke his hair or pet his skin softly and sweetly. It’s a touch he’s never before known but craves from you wholly. 

X = X-ray (What’s going on down there?)

As one would expect he is very well endowed at nine inches in length. His length and girth are nearly perfectly proportional to each other and he has a slight upwards curve; he is also fully intact. 

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

His sex drive is very high and he loves to catch you for a quickie all the time. His sexual appetite is difficult to sate and while he used to take many lovers and then quickly drain them of their life afterwards. He comes to find that no other can quench his thirst the same way you can. Though he realizes you are breakable and time to recover. 

Z = Zzz (How quickly did they fall asleep?)

Dio at this point doesn’t really need to sleep but he sees the appeal of a light doze every now and then with you especially if you decide to pet his hair and budge up to him. Your warmth is surprisingly soothing. 

~*N//S//F//W Alphabets OPEN for JJBA and BNHA*~

~*Headcanons OPEN for JJBA*~

[plus-size-reader]

Brave Girl

Kevin Khatchadourian x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 1596 words

Warnings:

Summary: Reader goes to confront Kevin after he’s arrested...she needs answers about the whole thing. 

———————————————————————————————————

You could have never predicted that you would turn on your television and see Kevin splattered everywhere you turned. It didn't make any sense...at first.

It had been months since your initial meetup with Kevin Khatchadourian and other than that, you had only been texting in that time. You didn't know what he was thinking or what had happened, so you were terrified.

It seemed like everything was moving in slow motion as the reporter gave an on seen replay of what had happened the night before. As best you could tell, Kevin had went into his school building and used that same bow and arrow he'd used to impress you to kill and injure several of his classmates.

You thought you were going to be sick.

As soon as the words left the woman's lips, your heart sank. It was always gut wrenching to think about something so terrible happening when its at the hands of someone you don't know, but it was different when you care about the person.

You were Kevin's confidant and the person who knew the most about him and for whatever reason, you were conflicted about the news you were receiving.

He couldn’t have done something so terrible could he? What reason would he have for doing something like that to them? To hurt, and even kill some of them?

You just didn’t understand.

Kevin wasn’t the kind of person to commit such a terrible act, you were sure of that. There had to be some kind of mix up, something had to have went wrong.

The longer the reporter spoke on the topic, the more confused and mixed up you got.

All the witnesses and bystanders were talking about Kevin as if he was some sort of monster. Nobody that actually knew or cared about him was there to actually give his side of the story, though you wouldn’t know where to start.

He had done it, and that was all you knew right now.

Somehow thought, even through all of this...all you could think about was how Kevin was feeling, and if he was alright.

It was wrong, you knew it but you couldn't help it.

You saw something in him that was different than what was being portrayed and never once did it occur to you that you were being just as easily fooled by Kevin as the rest of the world had been.

He was real with you and cared about you, you knew that. You didn’t know very much right now but that was something you were sure of. Kevin loved you, because he’d told you a million times before.

That being said though, you knew what you had to do.

People were going to ask you questions, they were going to want to know what you knew about it as his girlfriend and as of right now, you had nothing to tell them.

You had no inkling that Kevin was capable or planning something like this and it broke your heart. Maybe if you’d have known, he wouldn’t have done it.

None of that mattered now though, you knew what you had to do. 

...You had to go see Kevin in prison.

~ 

You didn't want to, you really didn't want to but this wasn't about what you wanted anymore. You needed to know why he'd done what he did, you needed to hear him say it, or else you wouldn't be able to sleep. 

The look on his face, as he talked to that reporter, it was enough to sour your stomach. 

Something had happened, but you couldn't be sure what until you stepped foot into the room. 

It was nothing more than cold concrete and old paint, but something about the meeting room seemed eerie as you entered. There was no noise in the whole place, except for your nervous breathe and in the center of the room, was Kevin. 

He was wearing a navy jumpsuit, with his hair slicked back. 

He looked just like he had the last time you saw him, except for the fact that there was no smile on your face as you approached him. Your face stayed stoic and straight as you pulled out the metal chair, letting it scrape on the floor. 

You sat without making eye contact with him, not sure if you were willing to stare into his face. 

Over the television, you'd seen a monster but seeing it in person would be too much for you. That would make it real, and would hurt far too much for you. 

The two of you had gotten very close and you cared about him, so to know that was all a lie, would be hard. 

"How long? How long were you planning it before you killed them?" you asked, desperate to know. If it had been going on since you two had met, you weren't going to continue this conversation. 

You trusted Kevin and to know that was all a lie, was enough to make you see red. How could he be so deceitful?

After everything the two of you had been through together. 

He shrugged at first, reaching up with both hands to run his fingers through his hair. He looked to be fixing any imperfections, but more than anything, he was showing off his handcuffs. 

He wanted you to see what he'd become. 

"I've always thought about it, but I didn't know when it would happen" he explained, as if you could understand where he was coming from. 

As if you could relate.

He was so insufferable. It was so foreign to you that you’d ever felt anythig more than disgust for him.

But you both knew the truth...you both knew that at some point in time, you had been completely devoted to the man in front of you. You knew that there was a time, not long ago at all, that you would have done anything he asked of you.

Perhaps the sickness had always been there, bubbling just beneath the surface and somehow you hadn’t seen it. Maybe you had, and just chose to ignore it because you loved him.

At this point, all you knew for sure was the Kevin was a murderer.

That was the only truth that you could solidify in your mind. It was the cold, hard truth, and you had to accept that, no matter how much it hurt.

“Did you want to hurt me?” you wondered, thinking back to all those days. All those late night conversations in the dark, and archery lessons. During that time, was it possible that he just wanted you dead as well.

You knew what he’d done to his sister, and his father and surely he’d loved them at some point...or did he? Had he ever even loved you?

You wanted to believe that he had but something about it seemed so stupid.

To look at the man in front of you and still want his validation. To want him to tell you that he’d loved you even once, it was insane. Wanting that arguably made you more deluded than Kevin was, but you didn’t care.

You had to know if it was all made up.

“Sometimes...but I could never do it” he allowed, after letting you sit in the silence for a few moments.

It didn’t matter if you believed it or not, it was the truth. There had been times when Kevin wondered what it would be like, to tighten his fists around your throat and never let up.

He wondered what it would look like as your eye widened in fear at the realization that you could no longer breathe. He wanted to feel your vocal cords tighten beneath his fingers as you tried to scream and watch your face start to turn blue.

But he couldn’t do it.

The appeal of it would be short lived because without you, he would be completely alone.

There was no one else in the world that cared about him like you did. No one that actually accepted the person that he was, even if you didn’t know everything.

You were the only person alive who didn’t expect him to be something he wasn’t...and killing you would be a waste.

Who knows, maybe it would even hurt him to do it?

He doubted it would take him long to get over it, but it would leave a mark at least, which was more than he could say about anyone else.

“That doesn’t make any sense...you couldn’t hurt me but killing Celia was easy?” you yelled, feeling your blood boiling at the idea. What had you done that made him actually care about you?

If anything, that little girl was more innocent than you’d ever been and he’d murdered her without a thought.

You wanted to be sick at the thought.

“She was weak, you aren’t” he grinned, drumming his fingers on the table. “She was never going to make it in the real world, but you...you came here to see me, after everything-my brave girl” he teased, clearly getting an rise out of how you were reacting.

He thought this whole thing was funny.

“Fuck you Kevin, you’re insane” you spit, standing from the table quickly. He didn’t even flinch. He’d been expecting you to react like this, you would leave now but eventually, you’d come back.

It was in your nature, and even if you pretended that you weren’t, Kevin knew the truth...

You were in love with him, and you couldn’t stay away for long.

His brave girl.

[deviationdivine]

A Little Misunderstanding (Connor!Prompt Request)

TLDR: It’s your second official date with Connor but things don’t go according to plan...

Word Count: 2,671

TW: Just my fluffy Connor boy. Brief Language.

A/N:Follower/Reader Appreciation Drabble | Prompt: “Oh, cool. So you just killed a few guys. No big deal.” @catastrophes-light request! After some heavy angst I need this fluff in my life. Thank you for participating sweetie! I hope you like this one! Kiss my boy Connor for me. 

“So what’s it like?” 

Stalling from your typing to cock an eyebrow leans you towards abrupt question. In fact you take time to make sure this is the correct cubicle they’ve come to. Of course it is. Here comes gossip in a premeditated cornering while running away is not a possibility. 

Huh. Wonder how that preconstruction protocol really works. It will make life easier if high tech electronics zapped into the brain. Never mind the hypothesis. That’s too easy for someone to get unnatural ideas putting tech inside people’s heads.

Unnatural is a horrible word. Thinking of him being technology, never can you mean that. He is not just components. 

“What’s what like?” Refusal to take bait gives a leg up for now. You play dumb either way. 

A roll of their eyes reveals they’re onto the game second you drop such an ignorant response. “Oh, I don’t know. Android boyfriend? Ring a bell?”

Boyfriend? You stumble over that word. Hiding beneath faux laughter paints a conspicuous drawing. 

Technically it’s true. Tonight is going to be the second time you have gone out together. First filled you with nervous energy but slowly it fell into place. Puzzle pieces floating down gently, fusing in proper symmetry because Connor is a personal image you yearn to create. Within the very world you live, he exists as a personal shining light and somehow he feels the same. 

He wouldn’t have asked otherwise. Would he? Quit thinking brain or soon you may start to question. 

Honestly it is difficult not wrapping Connor into each crevice of thought, breathing in his infallible aura; sweetness exudes outside a mandate of professionalism where he works. You know this from times chatting so closely. There is something about him. It’s not because he’s an android. He possesses warmth most humans can hardly drudge up in their daily lives. He just is. 

Easily you fall into his abyssal chocolate, rich, flavorful whenever connecting with an equally rapturous gaze. All this without speaking and going to that fantasy beats a day of working. 

Office jobs are boring. That’s why they call them cushy office jobs. Still this beats staring at a monitor until eyes glaze over. Cross-eyed is bad for your vision working on these excel sheets all day long. Not that you will ever complain because this is easy compared to other places. 

Imagine doing customer service waiting tables or shudder to think: selling digital magazines by phone. 

The horror of telemarketing still chills you to the bone. God.  

Snorting quietly under breath, you smile up at your co-worker. Obviously they think the beaming reaction is for current subject. Well, he is a reason to smile every morning. Anticipating his crooked smile, bright brown eyes and the flop of hair hanging loosely in a kiss atop forehead; each tiny freckle on his face you long to kiss. 

Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Sure you’ve known Connor for a while but it’s only recently the two of took a step in the romance department. It’s what you wanted from the beginning. He is just so undeniably perfect. 

“Um, hello?” The worker snaps fingers in front of your face. “Are you still on planet Earth? Or in robo paradise?” 

Obviously they will not go away unless they get something. Piranhas cannot be this bloodthirsty! 

“Actually, Connor is taking me out tonight. After work,” explaining hastily, returning to keyboard, a breath expels impatiently. Darkness cannot swallow Detroit soon enough. 

“Oooh! Private locale or-?” The ribbing co-worker continues for spicy details. 

Private locale in your most sought after dreams but no. You two only just started dating. It’s just a few outings. As much as you want a real, full relationship with the detective prototype small steps are best even comfortable around each other. Time as friends really became the most happy in your life. Connor makes you smile every day even if you do not see him. 

“A restaurant,” you correct the assumption. “A new one. It caters to humans and androids.” 

Yawning at the dull answer, they fold arms disappointed. “Sounds nice but - Does he have a…? You know.” 

“Like I would discuss that!” A scoff travels angrily up your throat. Seeing Connor completely undone from sharp, crisp wardrobe certainly pumps the heart quicker. You haven’t seen Connor naked! But you would like to. 

Burning into your soul it does unspeakable things. Why did they have to ask that out of a million others? Your buzzing cell phone saves a life alighting screen producing a personal call. On work time, shit.

Checking the number forces you to answer quickly, ignoring that fact now. “Connor!”

“Hello, Y/N. Am I disturbing any important matters at work?”

“No,” lying thickly convinces you best. Who cares when this beautiful boy is calling?

“I am afraid I will not be able to pick you up as per our mutual agreement.” 

Connor’s explanation is too technical on a given day. Always falls back into that type of thing even though you know now how human he’s become. Frankly you adore this. “Did we sign a contract?” Giggling a little instills instant regret as nosy co-worker does not take a hike. You glare. “Do-do you want to cancel?”

The android does not answer for a fraction of a second. Possibly attempting to analyze the worry vocalized in your voice. “No. I am sorry if I made you believe I wished to.” 

“Oh, no, Connor. I-I’m sorry. Um…are you OK?”

“Yes. It is a case that the lieutenant and I are working on. I will need a little more time.” Connor’s tone shifts, antagonizing over the altering probabilities. “I-I hope you are not disappointed, Y/N.”

Listen to him. He sounds so worried. Does he think a little change is end of the world? It genuinely made you feel important to him for this type of reaction. 

“Connor,” softly breathing in his name sends you upon a personal cloud. “I would never be disappointed with you. Why don’t we just meet instead?”

“Very well,” the android agrees enthusiastic for tonight. “I will always come to you. No matter what may hold me.” 

An hour and a half late! He actually left you stranded at this damn restaurant for nearly two hours looking like a complete idiot. 

How many people walked by giving you looks for pacing? Lost count at this point but my God are you so going to kill him! Angry is beyond these emotions streaming through your body. 

First step is irritation. Twenty minutes in waiting, knowing he will meet you here this time instead of him arriving at the apartment. He explained why. He called again to give a specific time. 

Time went out the window long ago and still you stand here. How long are you going to? Wake up and leave. Go back home and just forget this. Maybe-maybe it really wasn’t work. He may have used an excuse. After the first date did it not resonate as it did with you? Is he too sweet to just say it to your face? Instead, he stands you up! 

Waiting is an insult to your self esteem because no man, android or human, is going to make a fool of you. Why did you think it would be any different? Tears threaten but you hold them at bay. Is it worth shedding an ache squeezing the thudding muscle in your chest? 

Sometimes the most amazing person is not worth trampling over dignity. Never will that be a proper excuse to allow treatment of this kind. It’s time to decide.

Well, OK. You’re not waiting anymore. 

Pulling a jacket snug around your frame does nothing to stop ice freezing around your heart. Walking away is also walking away from a chance with him. Should have known taking it beyond friends would crash at your feet. 

“Y/N!”

Your stomach immediately drops. A familiar husky call stops you briefly. Even that is too much time. So he finally shows up and for what?! 

“Y/N! Wait, please, I…”

Rounding on him brought a solid finger jab into his chest. No manner of being such a tall and impossibly cute android stops your anger. Who does he think he is? After all of that awkward flirting, which did get smoother you will admit, and finally asking you out somewhere he strings you along. 

He could’ve not shown for the first date. If he truly wanted to back out then why did he sweep you off feet then? Thinking about how sore your toes are from working all day isn’t helping current mood. 

“Cut it out smart guy! If you think you’ll schmooze your way back into my good graces think again!” 

Schmoozing is counterproductive to the current stress Connor analyzes while yelling at him. It spikes his own despite knowing his reasons for being so late are justified. Perhaps-perhaps that is not the word he should say to appease you. Justification may come out wrong. 

The android does not feel it represents his feelings. Nothing ever in this universe is justifiable if it means upsetting you. After all this time, following imperfect advice from Hank, the detective found confidence to take this friendship to another stage. 

Obviously you felt the same. He scans everything easily but discerning natural changes within humans is also part of his programming. It is what he is made for. Deviancy grants him choice in how he incorporates these skills into daily life. Often times he chooses to use something humans call gut instinct. That is a strange thing to possess but Connor finds it to improve relations. 

Hank also calls him out on his bullshit and tells him to ‘stop analyzing shit’ all the time. “Let me explain,” the android insists, a glow of desperation in his soft burnished gaze. 

Emotion pours exclusively all for you as he feels blindingly guilty. You bring this in a bloom to his surface of wires. Never will he cause pain when you are a breath of air, a soft but endless prayer pulling him from doubts. It is affection, holding him, haunting him in encompassing deviancy. 

Connor feels lost still in moments. Life is of worth now but he must quietly accept troubles in his personal worth. It is only natural. As a deviant there is nothing but color. You are another hue dotting this world in beauty, his world. 

“You stood me up!” Hurt overshadows rationale when it means your Connor is the one who lied. “When you gave me a time. Was I supposed to wait all night? Why did you even show up now? If you don’t want to date just…!” 

A gasp steels words when Connor lays hands to your waist. The gesture alone is a thousand waves of lightening going off at once. Electricity conducts right through the crux of your body. 

“Something grave occurred while Lt. Anderson and I were on our stakeout.” 

Connor’s breath never sounded as hasty as it does at this precise moment. Scarlet bathes indicator, syncing in worrying flicks of stress the second he witnessed you speeding away along walkway. Grave may not be the best word. The android cocks his head brows furrowing in consideration. 

“There was a slight miscalculation on the number of assailants in attendance. I had to…take them out.” Connor bluntly finishes what normally would be a long winded statement. 

Another illegal shipping ring and this time they held several hostages for cover. An effective way to thwart police involvement but also a tip someone told them they were coming. 

“Forgive me. I did not mean for you to think I did not want this.” 

That-that’s nice what he just said but back up! Did he just say - take them out? As in…?

“Wait, Connor. Are you saying you…? Those criminals. Did you-?”

“Snuff them out?” He offers a colorful description that only Hank can rub off on him. “If you feel that is an appropriate answer… Yes.” 

“Oh, cool.” You whisper slightly distracted by his brutal honesty. “So you just killed a few guys. No big deal.” 

“Does that bother you, Y/N?” Connor wondered curiously, tilting his head to study your expression. 

“Bother me?” 

Any other time yes it would be problematic. Can’t say you’ve known many who just straight up knocked off a few people. He doesn’t look like he’d hurt a fly to be honest. Maybe that’s just his aesthetic. Those deep brown puppy eyes do make knees buckle under pressure. 

An android who works for the local police department is rich icing. At least it is where your tastes are concerned. Even if he wasn’t a detective you are certain of how smitten this android makes you. 

“I wouldn’t say that,” you decide your words carefully. “I mean you are a cop. Were they-they trying to hurt someone?”

“Yes,” he answers quietly.

Sparing details is part of his job. He does not want to cause further distress. Some incidents are better kept. Working as an official detective for the DPD, Connor does not want to tangle you in dangerous affairs.

“I am sorry,” he repeats. “I tried to be on time. Y/N, I will never let you down. I swear to you.” 

Never mind that. He just went from admitting he had to fight a few goons and then-? Who knows but the point is he-he will not stop giving such hopeful, apologetic eyes. It softens even his explanation for being so late. 

“Connor.” 

“I would like to kiss you now,” Connor murmurs softly on level with your lips. Hovering close with a breath of space between two pairs one manufactured but another delicate, warm as rose petals. “If I may?” 

Eyelids flutter shut in answer to his rich husk, artificial breath fanning across your face. Inhaling his scent, discerning less tacky cologne than you realize his partner wears. Actually it is a nice fresh scent, organic and crisp. 

His consideration, respect to obtain your consent only expands those butterflies rumbling pit of stomach. They are more. Metamorphosis creates fireflies in their stead. Glowing beautiful similarly to flickering azure captivating each time you study the indicator he still wears. 

“OK.” 

He smiles brief, twisting the corners unevenly but cherished by how your heart races whenever the feature molds his mouth. Lips mold now forming a work of art upon yours, sculpture, carved delicate but with a stroke of passion. All consuming, churning within the motors driving his existence. 

A shift in the position you both stand brings you away from sidewalk. Instead you find yourself pressing against weathered brick. Foundation keeping you from sinking underneath his raw emotional energy; pulling at the android’s bottom lip between teeth does wonderful things. 

Swallowing his groan only produces a mimicking moan up your throat as the smooth wet glide of his tongue enters to tangle in a caress. It is then you feel as though you can float. Pulling him closer by the front of his jacket, pristine navy fabric twisting in greedy digits, the kiss transcends hunger. 

This is love. It is the heart and you two make up the halves. 

Connor encapsulates you within his strong hold, arms sealing you away as a priceless gem. No fear of breakage will destroy the android’s fortified enclosure always keeping you safe no matter what will befall city. 

Detroit itself is a smoky night twinkling with thousands of stars above and he wishes to take you somewhere eclipsed of this bustling noise. Upon a soft blanket, laying you down to watch whatever celestial heavens you desire. Ultimately he will watch you, studying those constellations reflecting in a human gaze that he already loves. 

In this moment he does not feel doubt. He does not think of where he came from or those worries that will still come in his newfound life. He only thinks of this moment because this is the one that will burn a memory in the circuits of his mind, in his thudding synthetic heart. 

This memory is you…

Tag List: @elydith  @your-taxidermy

[sugarcookiesandsins]

Café Rischioso 

Word: 2k+ Dedicated to @taetaesbaebaepsae

Hearts of gold are hard to come by, especially within the anthill that is your university - each person focused on their mission, side-quests be damned. Still, there are those who appreciate deviations from their mundane routine. They relished in the oddest hours of the day, nursing their own thoughts and temptations in the wee hours of the rising sun, when the moon still warred with full force for its rightful territory in the sky. You found one in the man standing opposite the café where you worked.

There he stood, under the golden blaze of the street light, waiting for the last bus; that blessed soul ferrying souls to their final destination whether it be their own bed or the painful solace of someone else's.

On his watch, the number three blinked in the dim light; a timer counting down, but paused as if understanding the infinity that existed in this moment. The world seemed different when he was limited to only the energy left to him. The ghosts of the day left to join their families in desolate graveyards as he continued to stand under the lamplight, waiting with bated breath for a stranger to carry him home. Across the way, his eyes fell on another source of light, this one eliciting much more warmth that his current shelter. It flowed in rivers out of a jazz bar, the familiar melodies providing the soundtrack for his conversation with .... who was it again that he was talking to?

It could have been anyone, but he remembered a voice, throaty and pristine, that he had listened to for hours. Her voice was not beautiful by any standards, but it had character to it. Between muttered profanity and biology, he read wonder and pain, anger and compassion, and all sorts of paradoxes that only existed in the minds of the elderly. Yet here they were, swirling around in dark coffee he had held, both hands, interlocked at the fingers; the only proper way to hold a coffee.

In the beginning, there was a butterfly. And on this chilly morning, where the winter air chipped at upturned collars and muslin scarves, Taehyung found himself leaning over a parking timer staring at it; the poor thing had gotten itself stuck on the cold metal. Thus far, the man’s morning had not been the greatest. He had woken up late, spilled his coffee, let out an undignified yelp, and missed the subway. At this point, he had given up. He was already late, would a few more minutes change much? Besides, he had never seen the park covered with snow like that, sparkling teardrops from Mother Nature accumulating over the trees and water.

With a minute smile on his face at the soon to come festivities, for snow always meant Christmas in his mind, he reached out a hand to the frenzied wings of the creature that flashed alternating colors of muted grey and vibrant orange. As delicately as he could, he allowed a single finger to rest on the ice, hoping his body heat would coax the solid to change. Soon enough the chemical laws of water had allowed the butterfly to be free. As it flew away, the man stared at it longingly, eyes trained on the small insect until it disappeared into the foliage alongside the lake. As most did - he too wished he could fly. Why did man want to fly? It was still a mystery to both the man and to the human species as a whole.

‘Why am I here?’ he asked himself an hour later sitting in his main class. The meaning is buried under the Mount Everest of morals and conflicting theories. Yet, this does not stop individuals from making their own call on the subject. The man does not know yet.

All he does know is that he wants another coffee, so during a break between classes, he dashes to the only café on campus; and a regular hub for those looking for their aesthetic fix for the day. It was late afternoon, and the café was vacant, except for a lone figure occupying an entire table. She was surrounded by an explosion of papers, each one marked with the rainbow as she pored over each one with meticulous detail.

Calloused hands rubbed at downy skin, not doing much to prevent the words from swimming before your eyes. It had been a long two hours of studying for you, but the information had stopped sinking in a long time ago. Feeling like you deserved a break, you tore your eyes away to stare at the menu, deciding that the best reward for a job well done was the overpriced food that this café offered. Standing in front of the only visible barista was a tall figure blocking your perfect view of the glass case of pastries. Scowling at the fact you would actually have to get up, you walked around his form, eyes searching for your personal favorite; coffee cake.

As you ordered, Taehyung chose to secure his favorite spot in back, his drink and food in hand as he searched for his own little haven among the tell-tale wood of the furniture. There was something ancient about the wood, which most likely had only been created a few years ago. Still among the imperfections he found the history of the world. Each impurity had a source and each source was the pure power of raw emotion.

An artist had the job of capturing these moments within their work, but seemed a daunting task for the dark-haired male. How was he supposed to capture something so vast in a single moment; it was evasive at it's core and as ambiguous as the fog that set in during the melancholy breaths of the city. How was he supposed to put these feelings on a piece not even a foot in length and width?

"Just my luck!" Hard eyes quickly glanced in the direction of the guilty party that had stolen the last piece of coffee cake. In your moment of distraction, the prize had slipped out from under your nose. Thus, you settled for second best and made your way back to your mess of a table with your consolation prize. There was something about the atmosphere that made today feel different for him. It could be the empty café.

Most of the time there was a steady stream of customers to provided the soft melody that he worked to editing his latest camera roll, ceaselessly scrolling through the park flowers until he finds the one. His intuition was not to be questioned; when he said that a photo was the one, there was nobody in the world that could convince him otherwise. Many times he had followed his intuition down the most unlikely of routes, only to find the proverbial pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. His most famous photograph was discovered at the end of an alley way, in the explosion of colors on the brick wall. Timeless in that it didn't seem to be dated and with the telltale signs of fatigue in the wrinkles of pain across the vibrant shades of spray paint.

But in the middle of the day, with only the bored worker and the other student, the moment felt serene. A coffee shop could be nice with the background chatter of the patrons that muted itself to a low buzz if you stayed there long enough. On the other hand, it could be silent in everything, allowing the select few who gained access to feel the building breath. The comforting scent of ground bean wrapping around the body with its musky tendrils, lulling you into the safe embrace of sleep.

Perhaps it was fate, or it was the explainable powers of the shop, but you and the man with you let out a loud sigh at the same time. Both of you heard the other, forcing you to lock eyes over the edge of the table and let out a small smile. It was a language all on its own, one created by strangers that bridged the social barrier for just a moment. But then in the next moment, it was always lost.

You feared that like most of the other lingua francas in your life, this one would lose itself as the male was drawn back towards his own world. It was moment of disappointment whenever you fooled yourself into being hopeful that perhaps the conversation would continue past shared looks in the middle of crowed hallways, or in this case an empty coffee shop. Then all feeling faded as they went back to whatever felt more important to them, which from what you've seen could be a wide variety of things.

Turning back your messy biology notes, you tried to lose yourself in the world of protein formation. But before you could study a single world, a shadow fell over your papers. Scowling a little at the interruption, you turned your head only to find yourself staring up at the man who you had locked eyes with before. It was jarring, realizing that maybe he had not forgotten about you after the small connection the both of you shared over a mutual sense of fatigue.

You didn't even know his name, but it was a meeting of kindred souls. You didn't know how you knew, but somewhere in the crevasses of your bones, you felt that he was the type nurse a coffee into the small hours of the morning, or curl up in front of the fireplace with a book. He would accompany you on the times your spontaneity overcame your common sense and forced you into morning convenience store runs, scouring the aisles for ramyeon or sausages; something to keep you satiated as you finished the season of your current Netflix obsession. He was the kind that enjoyed the mere presence of someone, and didn't need anything fancy in terms of dates.

All these thoughts hit you at once, muting you for the mere second it took for him to turn his head and face you; shock and awe evident on his face.

"How?" It was like ice shattered around you, some kind of special effect from a movie. His voice was hot chocolate, dark, rich, warm, and comforting all at once. You were rendered mute for a moment. Perhaps that's why you were unable to form even a full word when you responded.

"Huh?" It was a sound existing somewhere on the edge of shock and awe, unable to fall of the white picket fence in between two neighbors. He didn't seem bothered by your lack of vocal cords. He just continued. That's all he had ever known was to continue, so that's what he did.

When his grandparent died, he continued.

When he became scarred with a leather belt, he continued.

When he was abandoned for a new son, he continued.

It was a dreary life, but it was his life.

"How do you manage to look so tired, yet so alive at the same time?" His voice faded out towards the end as the both of you locked eyes. And suddenly, he wasn't a stranger to you. The lingua franca the both of you had created moments before returned and the both you spoke it with such a ferocity that you nearly started at the experience.

It was the purest of connections between the both of you. No knowledge of the space you inhabited, only the universe that you had created with him. It was colored the warm honey of his eyes and spun to the beat of his breathing, timing itself with each rise and fall of his lungs. Through the far window you felt the rays of the sun on your face and watched how they reflected in his eyes, shifting the shade to more of a warm brandy. It was a bitter and rough taste that lingered on your tongue as you watched him.

His hand itched, fingers aching to press the shutter on his camera and capture the roaring waters in her eyes. The more he looked, the more he willingly drowned. And the more he drowned, the more he felt like he was alive.

"I really hope that what you said was just a really bad attempt at flirting." You let out a slight giggle, leaning away from the mess of notes on the table.

"Nope. That was me trying to ask if I can take your picture." The worst past was how serious he sounded. Taehyung fell in love during an infinite minute. Stretching impossibly long despite it being only a moment in time.

They were all a moment in time, controlling each second that stamped itself in history, whether or not the action or thought was recorded for later generations. The most beautiful idea was a the butterfly effect. Something so small and insignificant could create such a powerful effect on the world. He'd always wanted to find that butterfly for him. That one thing that he could look back on as a series of happenstances, randomized coincidences that brought him to the prime of his life.

He had never seen such expressive eyes in his life. Taehyung, a connoisseur and creator, had never found such inspiration, and he never would again. Among the swirling depths of her eyes, danced a storm; and he was caught in the middle. Between thunder and lighting, he existed for a minute in her eyes. Not just living to continue, but living to live for once. She was the perfect paradox to his life. The perfect person to take everything he knew and spin it on it's head.

He was the perfect logic for her mind to solve. Ingenuity flowed from his skin like a natural pheromone, tainting the air with his ideas.

They were infectious to each other. Yet, they were also each other's cure.

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, ALYX! You’ve been accepted for the role of OPHELIA. Admin Rosey: It’s very difficult to delve into a character that has achieved such development in her own right. But in this very application you have accounted for this development, for this growth that Odessa has experienced in the recent months of Verona. While she had grown up as something soft and light she has been forced to take up the mantle of her father -- with the intention of being smarter and better than he could hope to be. And I have fallen in love with her all over again. Thank you for bringing our lovely Ophelia back to us again. Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

Out of Character

Alias | Alyx

Age |20 years old.

Preferred Pronouns |She/Her

Activity Level | I’m going out of town Saturday and will be on a limited amount that weekend, but after that I’m basically free all summer long. I might have a few things come up now and then, but I’ll let you all know if it’s big enough to affect my activity.

Timezone | CST.

How did you find the rp?  | I mean I play a character in this rp, but before that it was brought to my attention by a bio I came across on my main blog.

Current/Past RP Accounts | https://valentinasgallo.tumblr.com/ is one that I feel like best shows how I would rp in this group.

In Character

Character | Ophelia

Odessa- “Wrathful”

→It was irony, they thought, that such a sweet little girl could have a name meaning that was the exact opposite of her disposition. It was a sign, others thought, that the girl they saw was merely a mask, that there was actually a snake lurking behind the garden she showed to the world. It was a premonition, the last few thought, that the girl they watched with her hands in her lap and eyelashes batted at every guest was meant for a life much more bloody than her family intended. Perhaps they all held a bit of truth to them. Perhaps it was ironic. Odessa, a visage of calm and strength, wasn’t a naturally wrathful person. She knew how to bide her time. She knew when to use her words and when to use her fists. She didn’t even know how to truly shoot a gun. How could she be wrathful? Perhaps it was a sign. Odessa was someone that was often underestimated. Pretty girl, quiet girl— most failed to see just how willing she was to be anything but that. She was someone that itched to be thrown into the fray; that wanted to see what her brother and father often saw. She supposed that did make her someone that wore a mask that hid a bit of spirit, a bit of fight from ever reaching the surface. Perhaps it was a premonition. No one could’ve predicted the fall of Alvise Vernon— least of all Odessa. Her father was untouchable to her. He was someone that could get thrown into a storm and come out the other side unscathed. His ending felt like her own, but in a way it also brought about a new beginning to her. She was free from expectations. She was able to make her own decisions about her future. Perhaps, in a way, that did make her wrathful. She always wanted that life, but why did it have to come at the cost of her father? Why couldn’t she become more without having to deal with the loss of a loved one? These questions ran through her mind often. The question that seemed to run through everyone’s mind, however, is this: will she harness that wrath or will it consume her?

Lenore- “Light”

→ Light. It’s what her family always expected her to be. They raised her to be a soft flame that gently trailed behind the inferno of her father and the wildfire of her brother. They had wanted her to be the sun, something ethereal that people worshiped, something blinding that people didn’t feel worthy to stare directly at, while her brother got to be shrouded in darkness. They wanted her to shine, and for most of her life she did. She spoke with an elegance that was hard to come by. She smiled with softness that would charm even the most cold hearted guest that visited their estate.  She did everything that was expected of her without fail. However, upon the death of Alvise Vernon, that light shifted. The gentle flame she used to be gave way to a blaze that burned brighter than anyone had seen. It wasn’t a harsh light, like the fluorescent lamps seen in a prison, but a more steady light than it had been before. She held purpose, drive, a goal that was bigger than just following her family’s plans. She became something more of herself. Perhaps it wasn’t what her family expected her to be, wasn’t the gentle light used to guide her family home, but perhaps it was what she truly meant to be.

Vernon- “Family name”

→Her family often brought a smile to her face. Lawrence, so fierce and protecting of her. Her father, always trying to do what’s best for her. Her mother, always teaching her how to be the best version of herself. Her family felt suffocating at times, but doesn’t every family feel like that? She knew that all that they taught her, all that they instilled in her, was meant to better herself and her future. Was it painful to have to sit back and bite her tongue while her father and brother discussed matters she knew well? Of course it was. Was it irritating to have to take a backseat so the males wouldn’t feel overshadowed by her? Of course it was. She would do it again, but that’s not to say she’d allow them to boss her around forever. Father was gone, and she was ready to avenge him. Gone were the days of being a pretty little flower on her father’s shelf. She was someone who was ready to get her hands dirty, to do the work she was barred from for so long, and there was nothing that was going to send her back down the path she obediently followed for so many years. She was Odessa Vernon, daughter of Alvise Vernon, and she was ready to show people just how powerful her family is.

What drew you to this character? |

Honestly, I remember looking at Odessa the second time the rp got released. I like characters that are soft but still hold some fight to them. I also like characters that are underestimated in day to day life because there’s so much potential that can come from those that many people deem as weak or incapable. Odessa was a good representation of both. She’s this girl that is loyal to her family, even if their ideas about her don’t always stack up to her own. She’s someone that’s much more intelligent and cunning than people give her credit for. I imagine she learned how to remain quiet and let information come to her rather than most people’s approach of extracting information by force. She’s just this brilliant, eloquent being that is ready to be more than just Lawrence’s sister or an emissary for the Montagues. She wants blood, she wants retribution, and she knows she’s capable of being as much of a powerhouse as Lawrence—people just need to give her a chance.

There’s a quote from Game of Thrones that I think fits her well—-“My skin has turned from porcelain to ivory to steel.” I feel like that captures her transformation perfectly. The porcelain represents her childhood. She was seen as a fragile doll that people had to handle with gentle hands. She was taught how to differentiate the salad fork from the dinner fork rather than how to shoot a gun or use a knife. She was raised with this expectation of being a perfect lady rather than how to be a good soldier. People viewed her to be this angel that hovered near the pits of hell, but she always felt like she had one foot in and one foot out of the place. The ivory represents her college years. She was free to grow without restraints. She was in a new environment, away from her old life, and this allowed her to really learn about whom she is and what she has to offer to the world. She got to experience a life without expectations, without being observed for any imperfections. She was allowed to harden a bit— not enough to truly change who she was, but enough for her to embrace the parts of herself that she often had to shut away. She was vocal, but not over the top. She was argumentative, but not to the point of starting fights. She was smart, but not outwardly enough to rub people the wrong way. She became a different person, but it all changed when university ended and she went back to a life of tender touches and bowed heads. Finally, the steel represents her after her father passed. She felt like she was released from a cage. She felt like a weight was lifted off of her shoulders. No more lessons about what it means to be a lady. No more being told to lower her voice. She was free, but that freedom also left her with a hollowness she wasn’t used to. Her father was gone, but she was ready to step up and be the woman that would keep her father’s memory alive. People say that was the moment that she fully stepped into hell. People say that was her undoing, but they would be wrong. That was the moment she went from a girl who could shatter at the touch to a girl ready to do more than shatter to those that crossed her path.

And I love that, despite the changes she’s experienced throughout her life, she’s not mean. She could so easily become this bitchy character that’s on a warpath, but she’s not. She’s still this person that implements all those lessons she was taught as a kid— she’s just added some more lessons as she went into adulthood. She’s still someone that is better with words than with fists, but she’s capable of protecting herself. She’ll never be that character that charges into a fight headfirst, but she will be that character that comes out of a fight victorious. She’s not someone that changed for the worst, not someone that’s hardened the world as tragedy falls around her, but someone who has embraced the pain and used it as a motivation factor moving forward.

I personally feel like I could do this character justice, and I would love a chance to prove that. I feel like I can bring a new life into her and make her more than just her bio. I know she’s not the total representation of a character that I would normally gravitate towards, but I just feel like I can do a lot with her if given the chance.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

Self: This is not your destruction; this is your rebirth

→She’s someone that’s grown into her skin after the death of Alvise, but I want to see if her new found freedom will allow her to float to the top or drown her in her ambition. She doesn’t have anyone to hold her back, not even Lawrence, and one hand one that is a good thing but on the other hand that can get her into all sorts of issues. She can thrive, become more than just an emissary sent out to negotiate deals, or she can fall, become someone that’s different from the girl she truly is. I feel like she’s someone that’s always been on a tightrope, and I’m interested to know if she’ll lose that balancing act that she’s held onto since childhood. I feel like there are a lot of directions she can go, and I’m interested to see if she becomes someone that others need to watch out for or if she’ll wind up getting into a mess that proves to be outside of her area of expertise.

→ I’d like to do flashbacks to her after finding out Alvise is dead. I enjoyed the bit in her bio where it said that his death brought on a feeling of relief almost, and I’d like to explore her grief process. Was it a five stages of grief process? Was it just immediate acceptance? I’d like to find out more about it. Maybe write a self para about her at the funeral and giving a speech about her father’s legacy. I just feel like death is such an interesting thing to write about because it affects everyone in a different way, and I definitely feel like it’s interesting in Odessa’s case because she loved her father but she did get a certain freedom from his passing.

→ I want her to become lethal. She’s not just someone with a light smile and a persuasive voice. She’s someone that’s extremely intelligent and observant. She’s someone that is gentle enough to get on people’s good sides but tough enough to do any dirty work that may need to be done. She’s this interesting balance of petals and thorns, and I want to see more of her thorns. We all know she’s taking lessons from Genevieve, she stabbed Rafaella, but what more can she do to prove that she truly belongs in the mob? What happens when she’s finally at the point where she can take someone’s life? Will she be prepared enough to actually go through with it? That’s what I want to know.

Lawrence: You were something solid to lean against

→Okay this is very specific but I want a thread where Odessa comes to Lawrence’s place covered in blood and he helps clean her up. I just feel like Odessa was raised to be this prim, proper lady and Lawrence was raised to be the one that’s allowed to get blood on his hands. I’d like to see them be in a position where their roles are switched: Odessa is the one who took violence too far and Lawrence is the one to pull her out of the shadows. They were raised with certain roles to uphold, but since their father is dead I imagine them floating into one another’s territory at least once.

Honestly I don’t know if Odessa knows that Lawrence is the one that killed Faron, but if she does I want to see her cope with the knowledge. A part of her would always aim to protect Lawrence, just as he’s protected her all those years, but another part of her would feel guilty for doing so. Faron was someone many people in the Montague mob were close to, and I feel like she would struggle between wanting them to get their closure and keeping Lawrence from any harm. She’s usually so well spoken, but if someone were to directly ask her if Lawrence had anything to do with Faron’s murder,  I feel like she’d get a bit tongue tied. She’s always had this internal battle of “Should I be the girl they expect me to be or should I be the girl I want to be” and that would definitely come into play with that secret.

Likewise, if Odessa doesn’t know that Lawrence killed Faron, I’d like to see her reaction to the news. She knows her brother is no saint, but to kill someone on their side is something that would shock even her. I would imagine she’d think about to the pain Lawrence felt about their father getting killed, and it would cause her to ask one question: why? Why murder someone so high up in the chain of command? Why do it yourself rather than pressure some Capulet soldier into doing it? She’s never truly understood her brother, been barred from completely stepping into his world, but this would show just how distant the two of them truly are.

Henry: You’ll burn for him

→ Again this is a specific plot, but I want Odessa to touch Henry’s scars. I know Rafaella cut him up in their interaction, so I want to see Odessa’s reaction to that. Her family tried their best to keep her world rose colored, so it would be interesting to bring an element of pain to her life, especially when it concerns someone who she considers one of her closest friends. I can definitely see her stroking the scars— never disgusted by them, but rather fascinated by them. She’s someone who’s never been allowed to get her hands dirty, who would be scorned if she arrived at her childhood home with so much as a paper cut on her hand. I just want these two childhood friends to look at themselves and see just how much they’ve changed.

→ I feel like these two share a lot of similarities. They’re both children of the mob. They’ve both lost their fathers. They both want retribution. These two could be a good team if they wanted to. Her, the silver tongued emissary. Him, the determined captain. They could work wonders together if they wanted to. I’d want to dive in deeper to see what trouble these two could get up to. Could they find out Cristian was the one to kill Henry’s father? Could they learn who shot Alvise? I’d hope the answers would be yes because I’d love to see how that plays out, but we’d have to see.

Orion: Your anger will eat you alive

→ I want Orion to get revenge on Odessa. She hurt probably the one person he actually has some feelings towards, and I wouldn’t blame him for hurting Odessa in some way as payback. I’d honestly like to see what he’d do to her if he got the chance. Odessa wishes to be lethal, but she’s not the most skilled when it comes to weapons and violence. I’d like to see how far he would take it when it comes to getting retribution because I know he’s not someone who shies away from blood and violence. This plot point is truly just me bracing for Odessa and her pain, but honestly I just want to explore a dynamic that’s not friendly in the slightest.

Genevieve: You were born a weapon

→ I see this dynamic as a mother/daughter type of deal. I feel like Odessa very much looked up to the woman during her childhood, and she definitely chose Genevieve as her mentor for a reason. She knows the impact the woman has on those around her. She knows that she can command a room without truly doing anything. Odessa was always taught how to blend in and go unnoticed, but now she wants to be seen as a force of nature. I see Genevieve truly teaching her all the tricks of the trade. These two have a lot to learn from each other, and I can’t wait to see how their lessons go.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Definitely. Odessa’s definitely gotten herself caught up in some messy situations, and I’m totally down for them ending badly for her.

In Depth

In-Character Para Sample:

It had been three days since her father passed away. The news had flooded her with emotions. Anger for the individual that had struck down Alvise Vernon. Sadness for the memories that she would never make with her father. A relief that she didn’t have a weight bearing down on her chest any longer. A part of her felt guilt for feeling like she could finally breathe. Her father did nothing but protect her and care for her. He was strict, but his rules and regulations made her the woman she is today. The other part of her knew this was a good thing. He no longer controlled the jobs she received, the people she could talk to, every aspect of her life. She loved her father with all of her heart, but Odessa Vernon felt a slight joy at the thought of finally being able to be her own woman rather than the daughter of Alvise Vernon or the sister of Lawrence Vernon.

In childhood, her walk was light and soft. People would often compare her to a ghost for they never saw her sneaking up behind them. During her years at university, her steps were rushed. Eager to explore a world so different from her own, she practically rushed through those years with a thirst for new adventures and a freedom she wanted since she could remember. Now, she walked down the street with a purpose. Her strides were powerful, exact, like she knew the location by heart— and some might say she did. She often spent nights conversing with Genevieve. Odessa considered her a second mother, a woman who helped balance out the quiet agreement that her mother often conveyed. Genevieve was tough, a sturdy force that would take a storm to break, and Odessa knew that’s what she wanted to be.

She had never felt such adrenaline. She had never down anything like this. She was used to speaking when spoken to. She was used to being behind her brother. Now, everything was different. Her father was dead, her mother was grieving, her brother was angry, and she was ready to step up and be more for the family. She had to. She was tired of being told what to do. She couldn’t settle for a golden cage when she spent four years being able to fly free. No, she wasn’t an animal to be admired behind bars; she was a bird that wanted to spread her wings and soar.

Her fingers curled around the doorknob as her other hand firmly knocked on the door. She waited a beat, concern flooding her features at the prospect of Genevieve not being in her office, but relief replaced that feeling when she heard the familiar voice telling her to come in. She strode into the office, eyes connecting with the older woman, and said in a voice unlike her own,

“I want to be lethal.”

The words felt good to say out loud. Her shoulders visibly relaxed after the words were out— like there were pent up rage and anxiety from her time before this revelation. She watched her pseudo-mother, eagerness in her gaze, as the woman processed her request. Odessa hadn’t thought about the possibility of her saying no. She didn’t want to think about her rejecting the proposition simply because it would ruin that sureness she felt the hours coming up to this.

“Darling, you already are.”

A grin fell upon her lips. She slowly slid the door closed before turning back to the woman. Her brother may not approve of her actions, but she didn’t care. She wasn’t a gentle doll that would break at the touch of a hand. She was Alvise Vernon’s daughter, and she was going to prove that she can be more than just a puzzle piece in this war.

“Brilliant. When can we begin?”

Extras:

Headcanons:

Odessa has a French bulldog named Penelope. She found the little thing wandering around the street near her apartment building and couldn’t help but take it in. The dog is rather skittish when it comes to strangers, but Odessa is slowly getting her to warm up to people. She’s very affectionate to those that she grows close to, and Odessa finds her to be the ideal companion after a long day of work.

Odessa studied political science at Yale with a minor in French. She knew she wanted to focus on a major that pertained to law and politics due to her father’s insistence that she focus on something that proved her worth in the mafia. She selected French as a minor because she had studied the language during her childhood and found it the most interesting out of the ones she took lessons in. she knows Russian would’ve better suited her for her family’s line of work, but she always held a fondness for the French (hence her choice of dog).

Odessa dated someone during her college years. He was a businessman’s son and Odessa gravitated towards him due to his capability of keeping up with her in conversations. Not only was he proficient in Italian, but he also was able to give her stimulating conversations (something that was surprisingly lacking in most of her college peers). His name was Beckett, but she had to break up with him upon graduation. She couldn’t bear to drag him into her family’s business, and she knew her father wouldn’t take kindly to a foreign boy being with his daughter. She still thinks of him, but she knows he’s better off far away from her.

She received a charm bracelet for her 15th birthday. Her father had given it to her along with the first four charms: a book to represent her, a mirror to represent her mother, a lion to represent her brother, and a gun to represent him. She grew so fond of the bracelet that she never takes it off. It’s always on her left wrist— even when she’s sleeping. She doesn’t know what she’d do if something happened to it.

Pinterest board: https://www.pinterest.com/aesthctics/oc-odessa-vernon/

[ifrit-ghoul-blog]

To Ashes

(continued from here.)

(part 2/2)

“Ghoul.”

The word cuts through the quiet dark, rippling through the void like a raindrop on still water. Awareness develops slowly; a soft process of becoming, of finding that there there is a body around the consciousness, sturdy and strong, that there is hard ground beneath kneeling legs, cold air caressing naked skin.

“Ghoul.”

Eyes blink, vision focusing, shapes taking form as pupils expand and contract, adjusting to the light. Lips part, sucking in air that is both life and death, cold and ash-filled, then another, and another, filling his chest, fueling the rapidly expanding awareness.

“Look up, ghoul.”

Eyes snap up immediately at the command, talking in the red robed figure watching with a closed expression. The cold eyes blink at the demon slowly before asking in the same quiet voice, “What is your name, ghoul?”

Name? Do we have one…? But there is nothing there in the recesses of its mind. Just quiet and static.

“We are… nameless,” the demon breathes, voice cracking and breaking as it stretches and tests its newfound vocal cords, words tripping on the ash-coated throat. The robed figure nods in satisfaction, their approval making its blood sing in happiness.

“You will serve the clergy and your master well,” they murmur, a hand reaching out to caress a cheek, wiping gray-white ash from speckled dark skin. “We chose you specifically for this task, rid you of the imperfections tying you down from coming in to your full potential. A new beginning, a clean slate.”

Stepping away from the ash-covered ghoul the cardinal motions to the waiting clerics, nodding at the first and second of them. “Get him cleaned up and provide him a new uniform.” He looks at the the third and fourth as the first two skirt around him after bowing slightly, going to speak softly to the kneeling ghoul. “Go make sure that his rooms have been thoroughly cleansed. It is unfortunate that we do not have the space available to house him somewhere else, so we make due with what we have. Keep nothing, burn it all without question. Failure will not be tolerated.” The last two brothers of sin bow and scurry away, leaving the cardinal to watch the other two clerics slowly help the ghoul to stand, giving him support as he relearns the function of his legs.

His eyes rest on the pile of ash the ghoul had been settled in, the only remains of his previous form and the granite altar. Five small, hardened puddles of melted silver mark where the chains and manacles had been, ruining the lines of the pentagram. A waste, for sure, but as he watches the ghoul totter after the two brothers of sin he smiles, knowing just how valuable a tool he’d just made.

Unseen to any, near one of the pools of silver, is a small splatter of gold. It’s the remains of a ring, melted down in the purifying flames, lost and forgotten beneath the ashes.

Basic functions slowly filter through, muscle memory coming to life. Legs move like this, knees bend like that, weight shifts, balance adjusts. Some ways down the hallway he pulls away from the cleric supporting him, body feeling weird and heavy but able to lumber along without tripping over his feet or tail.

The stone floor is smooth and cold under the soles of his feet, and at that realization the chill of the air becomes apparent, a shiver going down his spine, breath hissing through clenched teeth. Eventually he is lead through another doorway, one of the clerics splitting off to jog down the hallway while the other urges him to follow with a light touch to his shoulder. The floor of this place is different, not longer the smooth stone but instead rougher tile, and after another moment of staring blankly at the unfamiliar surroundings his mind seems to shake itself from it’s stupor. Baths, showers, washroom. The brother of sin guides him to one of the shower stalls, quietly murmuring “Call out if you need assistance,” before walking away. Ifrit stares after the man for a moment, blinking slowly before advancing to the knobs and handles set below the shower head, cranking on the hot water as high as it could go. As the water heats he glances at the items on a small shelf in the corner: soap, a washcloth, cheap containers of generic hair products. Ignoring them he steps into the spray of scalding water, sighing gratefully as the heat seeps into his body, chasing the cold away like the streaks of ash that darken the tile.

As he runs claws through his hair his fingertips graze something strange, something smooth and metallic around the base of his left horn. He touches it gently, finding it would turn after some gentle prodding without any pain, indicating it wasn’t something attached to the horn itself. He turns and pulls at it and it becomes loose, allowing him to slide it along the ridged curves till it comes off and he stares at it in his palm.

The heavy coating of ash slowly washes off, revealing a heavy gold band with intricately braided edges, glittering amethysts set alongside garnets on the face. Staring at it he wonders what it’s significance is, the metal heavy with more than physical weight but there is nothing in his mind that could explain such a thing. He sets it on the shelf as he reaches for the soap, turning his mind away from the piece to instead work at cleaning himself as he was bid.

He's leaning against one of the sinks dripping water all over the floor, peering at himself in the mirror, trying to find some bit of recognition in his reflection. He drags a claw down a maze of the blotchy dark skin, tracing along the bright speckles dotted across as his tail twitches. There's lines of old scars all over, the patterned skin masking them but he can feel them under his fingertips, a story mapped out on his flesh that he doesn't have any memory of. His mind is a clean, blank slate, just as the cardinal said.

The brother returns with armful of items, the first of which is a towel that he hands over, the rest seeming to be a folded uniform, complete with a mask and shoes. He dries off quickly, grunting softly in annoyance at the long strands of hair, combing it back with his claws to try and settle it yet it was an unruly mess. I'll just cut it off, what's the point of it anyways? It's just going to get in the way.

“You'll need to glamour them,” the brother shyly says when he looks at the mask, wondering how it fit over his horns. And just like that it snaps forward in his mind, the faint knowledge dredged from the deep recesses of his mind of the soft blanket-like magic to hide the most prominent of the ghoulish features. It's slippery at first but does not take him long to let it snap into place, blackened hide turned to pale skin, black curling rams horns replaced with the small horns common to the half-human ghoul forms. Pulling on the balaclava and mask he takes a last look in the mirror, straightening his cassock before he remembers the bangle he'd left in the shower stall. He goes and retrieves it, turning it over in his hand.

“What is that?” The brother of sin steps close, craning his neck to try and see what was in the ghoul's palm. He seems to pale when he sees the metal band, voice strained as he speaks. “Where did you get this, was it left in here?”

“It was around one of my horns.” His voice is still hoarse and gravelly, vocal cords needing more use to make it sound clean and smooth. He tilts his head slightly, noticing how the brother swallows heavily and takes a shaky breath. Why does the band bother him? What is it about it, is it cursed or something?

“Here, I'll take it.” The brother held out his hand, though now the thought of giving it up feels… wrong, like it's something someone else shouldn't touch. He can't disobey though, and reluctantly drops it into the waiting hand. The brother quickly pockets it, then motions him to follow. The ghoul falls into step easily, arms clasped at the small of his back at he stays a few steps behind the brother as they wind their way through the halls and corridors, up staircases and under archways. They finally come to what seems to be a dormitory section, the brother opening a door and ushering him inside.

“This is your quarters, if you need anything else, let one of us know and we'll do what we can. There's a list of your assigned duties, to attend to, if you have questions the clergy will be happy to clarify things for you.” And with that the brother darts away, as if he could no longer stand to be in the ghouls presence any long. The ghoul takes a moment to look around at his dwelling, finding uniforms hung in the closet and two guitars on stands, the desk having a phone with instructions on its use and the aforementioned list of work for him. But other than that, the place was cold, impersonal, devoid of anything that would say someone lived there. He takes off the mask and balaclava, sitting on the edge of his bed, feeling lost and adrift now that he’s alone.

Unable to stay still he sheds his fascia and cassock, laying them neatly over the chair at the desk before wandering into the attached bathroom. He finds scissors and a hair trimmer in a drawer and sets to work, trimming down the curly mass of soft dark hair, shaving the sides and back but leaving it a bit longer at the top. He runs his hands through it, admiring his job in the mirror and making a mental note to ask for some product to help style it a little. At least now it wouldn’t be as bad a mess under the balaclava and mask. Despite fixing his hair being a simple task he feel exhausted, worn out as if he’d been up and going for days instead of hours. He flops back down onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling and wondering why a strange, unfathomable feeling has lodged itself in his chest, till he drifts off to sleep.

[deadlykittenkaywriting]

deancaswc: @deadlyangelkay​ vs. @lotrspnfangirl​ vs @snarkysnartes​ Prompt:  behind blue eyes by the who Pairing (s): Destiel (if you squint; more general) Word Count:1179 Rating: General Tags/Triggers: No Archive Warnings, Canon Divergent, song fic Summary: Castiel discovered the hidden vinyls and discovers that he can relate to Peter Townsend's vocals the most.

Also on Ao3

Dean and Sam had just returned from a hunt in California. A pack of werewolves were wreaking havoc on hikers in the Redwood National forest. Once the brother’s knew for sure what was going on, everything else was textbook. It felt nice to just get out on the road with Baby and his little brother, but Dean’s mind had always wandered back to the angel at the bunker. That is if Castiel had actually stayed this time.

Sam groaned and stretched when he got out of the car, not even waiting for Dean to put Baby in park.

“Shower then bed,” he mumbled to Dean once he got out of the car and headed to the trunk to get his bag.

Dean chuckled, throwing his own bag over his shoulder. “Want me to call AARP for you, old man?” he teased his little brother who in return glared at him.

“I believe you said on several occasions that your knee was killing you.”

It was true, Dean’s knee had been acting up lately, but he never saw it as being old. Even for being nearly forty he felt pretty good.

“Occupational hazard, Sammy!” Dean laughed as they walked into the bunker. The minute the brothers crossed the threshold the sounds of a melancholy guitar followed by Peter Townsend’s voice floated in the air from the other room.

“The Who?” Sam asked.

Dean nodded. “Cas found Mom and Dad’s vinyls. I fixed up the old stereo for him and let him use it.”

“Ah. Well, you have fun with that. I’m going back to my plan.”

Dean rolled his eyes and headed towards Cas’ room. “You do that,” he muttered waving his brother off.

He stopped at his room to toss his bag and coat inside, before heading to Castiel’s room. He had gotten there just as the percussion joined in and the rhythm picked up

And if I swallow anything evil

Put your finger down my throat

“Cas…” Dean sighed his name. If Castiel was listening to this particular song, then he was most likely in a depressive state, which made Dean feel like a dick for leaving him.

Dean knocked on the cracked door and heard the tell-tale sound of the record being paused.

“Dean?” The disembodied voice of Castiel came from the otherside of the door.

“Yeah man. Can I come in?”

“Of course.” Castiel’s response made Dean smile softly.

He pushed the door open and was greeted with a surprise. Castiel was dressed in jeans and a tee-shirt. Specifically Dean’s jeans and Led Zeppelin tee-shirt. He looked comfortable and human, which was -- to Dean -- a bit off-putting.

“How was the case?” Cas asked, sitting stiff as a board on the side of the bed.

“Good: Just another milk run. You okay, Cas?”

“I’m fine, Dean.”

Dean nodded but he knew Cas would read through him. “So listening to the records, huh?”

Cas smiled slightly. “I am. I quite enjoy the imperfections of them compared to your tapes.”

“The hiss and pops?” Dean asked taking the record off the player and flipping it in his hands a few times.

“Exactly. And I’m quite fond of the song I was just listening too. I can relate to it.”

“Because of the blue eyes?”

Cas sighed and shook his head as he stood up. Gently and carefully, he took the record from Dean and placed it back on the player. Dean watched as Castiel concentrated on the placement of the needle to the groves of the black vinyl.

“Please, sit,” Castiel gestured to the bed as he himself sunk down to the floor, leaning against the speaker of the record player as the music started to play. Dean decided to sit across from Cas on the floor.

“It’s so much more than the blue eyes. This song reminds me of my worst times.” Castiel started as the opening chords played. Both men sat and listened.

No one knows what it's like

To be hated, to be fated

To telling only lies

Castiel stopped the record again. “That reminds me of when I was lying to you. Working with Crowley behind your back, thinking it was for the greater good. Back when every angel that ever crossed our path, reminded me of how broken I was.”

Dean nodded in understanding as the music started back up. He remembered the way Castiel’s own brothers and sisters seemed to have hated him for his association with Dean and Sam.

No one knows what it's like

To feel these feelings like I do

And I blame you

Dean’s eyebrow rose as he watched Cas, curious about his explanation for that verse but Cas remained silent, watching Dean.

“You blame me?” Dean finally asked, unable to take the curiosity any more.

Cas gave a slight nod. “Yes and No. These lyrics are more reminiscent of when I started to questions my orders. When I started to get too close to my charge,” he gave Dean a pointed look that made him shiver. “When I started to understand what having free will really meant. That, was because of you. And Sam and Bobby. Even Ellen, Jo, Charlie, Kevin, and Meg, all taught me this.”

“Do you regret it?”

Castiel smiled and leaned back, letting the rock rhythm pulsing from the speaker vibrate against his spine.

“Do I regret stopping the apocalypse? Making a new family and new friends? No. I regret the ones that were killed in my moments of stupidity and ego.” Dean watched as Castiel stood up. “This last part… reminds me of us.”

Dean felt his eyebrows knit together in confusion. He knew this song like the back of his hand and would never consider this a love song. Not saying that was Cas’ meaning. He listened trying to get a grasp of what Castiel was saying.

“‘Don’t do something stupid,’” Castiel repeated. “When Pete says ‘when my fist clenches, crack it open before I use it and lose my cool,’ it reminds me of all the times you’ve told me not to do something stupid. All the times I’ve heard you yell for me when I go barreling into a situation, trying to protect you.”

Dean felt the heat rise on the back of his neck.

“If I swallow anything evil, shove your finger down my throat,” Cas quoted.

“The leviathan.”

Cas nodded, stopping the record as the song ended. “Even when you didn’t have faith in me, you were always there to help me.”

“Well, yeah… I mean that’s what family does.”

Castiel smiled. A genuine smile that Dean doesn’t see often. One that stretches his whole face, makes his eyes and nose crinkle and overall, makes the six foot angel look like an overgrown puppy.

“So I’ve learned.” Cas stretched his hand out to Dean.

Dean took it, allowing him to be helped back up.

“And now that you’ve learned more about the sad man behind blue eyes, why don’t you tell me about your case over a beer.”

And just like that, Dean understood Cas a little more.

[girl-icarus]

this is the remix

he’s listening to the track for the eighty-seventh time today when he suddenly realizes that the problem is the drums are so fucking terrible that he will never be able to focus on anything else again as long as he lives until they are different. at 2:42 and again at 3:09, the snare is hitting maybe an eighth of a second late, and he doesn’t know how nobody noticed it until just now. do they even have fucking ears? it’s so obvious. this is why he can’t trust anyone else. this is why it’s easier just to do everything himself. he tries looping in a different section, but the transition is so jagged and ugly that it’s worse than doing nothing. he has to fix it. can he just strip out the entire drum track and record it again afterwards and hope it still matches up by some magical, impossible miracle? is there any chance that’s going to work?

he listens for the next hour, listening for the imperfections, hating them. he writes a list of all the errors, starting with drums, broadening to the claggy guitar in the chorus that he’s hated ever since he first heard it, and then he furiously writes “feedback in the bridge, you assholes” and underlines it five times. everyone swore it was gone, that he’s just imagining it, but he fucking hears it, still, and heads will roll tomorrow. heads will roll because he will roll them, he’ll go out in the parking lot and overturn their pretentious tiny cars and roll them, he’ll gather up everything terrible in this world and bundle it together and roll it off a goddamn cliff. he wonders what sound that would make.

“what are you thinking about?” she asks.

“stuff,” he says, because it’s too complicated and petty to explain. everyone else left hours ago, clocked out and went home to dinners and families and television. she’s still here, and he’s not sure what she’s been doing for all these hours, not sure why she stays around, but he doesn’t know how to ask her to leave.

“you should eat something,” she says, but he ignores her and listens to the track again. the verses don’t have any breath noises. they were cobbled together from so many different takes that it doesn’t sound like it was produced by a human voice. it has to be redone. everything has to be redone. maybe they could just start over from the very beginning. redo the drums, do them fucking right this time, then maybe simplify the bass line, no one wants to hear a fancy bass line. redo the vocals in fewer takes. and actually, maybe not bass at all, maybe it should be piano. maybe he should start over, rewrite it all from scratch. he sits there for hours, taking it all down, building it back up, and the sun sets, and the sun rises, and he doesn’t notice when she leaves, or even if she does.

the next morning, people filter back in, and one of them hands him coffee, and he drinks it, scalding and black, and it burns away what is old and irrelevant, and he is ready for a new day. he presses his tongue to the raw roof of his mouth, and he listens, and he waits.

people have conversations around him. it fascinates him, the way they can talk and live and interact, so unaware of their insignificance. they move with what they must think is purpose and grace, because they don’t know any better, and he wonders if that’s easier, to be so dull and unfettered. he wonders if he would like that, if he would choose to disconnect the parts of his brain that analyze so deeply that it is almost a self-dissection, self-autopsy, like he will kill himself in his mission to name absolutely everything about himself and everyone else that he hates.

they talk, and they will get paid, but they don’t do anything. they are just props. they hold him up so he doesn’t fall over and disappear into himself.

they break for lunch because the clock tells them to, not because anything inside of them has decided that they have earned the right to rest. they break, and he stays behind, and he makes lists. she shows up then, like he figured she would. she waits until they leave. she doesn’t like them, but not in the same way he doesn’t like them. she thinks they’re poisonous, but he knows they’re fangless, which is worse. they could bite him for ten thousand years, and he would die from boredom before they even broke the skin.

“what are you thinking about?” she asks.

“ten thousand years of snake bites,” he tells her. she doesn’t ask for any further explanation, so he doesn’t offer any. he listens to the track seventeen times in a row while she flips through his notebook, marking some pages with tiny check marks and others with Xs. when everyone returns from lunch, lazy and unfocused, she slips away. he reviews her review. she likes the same things that he likes, and she doesn’t like the page where he wrote “this is a fucking waste of time” over and over in tiny scrawl until his hand hurt. sometimes, he has to write just to write, and he has explained this to her, but she still doesn’t like his negativity.

he goes into the bathroom, and he runs the water in the sink, and he ducks down to get his head close to the tap, and he whispers to it, “this is a fucking waste of time. this is a fucking waste of time.” later, when everyone else has gone, he will sample this and bury it somewhere in the mix, and it will be their secret.

they leave for the night, and he stays for the night, and then the rain starts. he wanders from room to room, dimming lights, cutting through the empty rooms like a ghost. he moves through things without changing them.

in the kitchen, the rain is more insistent. there is a leak somewhere in the roof, and the water is coming closer and closer to him. in the morning, someone will find the wet patch on the ceiling, and men will come out and plug the holes, and this is his only opportunity to sit here, cross-legged on the floor, listening to the droplets plying at the thinning ceiling like fingers on skin. this is his favorite noise today. this is the best part of today.

he falls asleep on the kitchen floor, and he wakes up on the kitchen floor. she is sitting on the counter, just watching him, her legs dangling like they are connected to two separate bodies. he makes coffee and drinks it, and she watches him quietly. she is waiting for him to speak first, but he won’t.

“what are you thinking about?” she finally asks.

“it was a good rain last night,” he says.

“yes,” she says. “yes, it was.”

a door opens somewhere, and it lets in the clamor of directionless people walking vaguely towards a paycheck. she hops off the counter and disappears, and he drinks another cup of coffee and thinks about water and rain, and he wonders if evaporation makes a noise.

when he was a child, a teacher had told him once not to be the leftover kernel of popcorn that doesn’t get popped. for weeks afterwards, he imagined sitting in hot oil while his friends and family exploded their insides right next to him and got eaten, and he stayed there, getting soggy and burned, until he was finally just thrown away. he had nightmares, and he would scream himself awake, and his sister would come into his room and shush him and tell him not to be so literal, people are not popcorn, no one is getting eaten or thrown out or any of it. but he worried about it then, and sometimes, he worries about it now. what if he just needs a little more time to pop? what is he going to do if they throw him out because he can’t explode fast enough?

he writes the word “burst” on a new page. next to it, he writes “now” and underlines it. he leaves the rest of the page blank. he isn’t ready to write about this yet, but he wants to remember it for later.

he spends the rest of the day listening to birdcalls. he doesn’t think he can use any of them for anything, but they are an adequate palate cleanser. they get the taste of burnt popcorn out of his ears.

everyone leaves, and he stays. the night is really when his day begins. he needs to be alone for anything valuable to happen. he turns off all the overhead lights, and he sets up some candles, and he watches shadows flicker against the amps and the guitar racks. he sits on the floor, and after some time, she joins him.

“what are you thinking about?” she asks.

“trying not to think,” he says.

“okay,” she says, and she stays quiet for a long time, but eventually she says, “you really should eat something.”

“i will. later,” he says. one candle burns out, but the other three stay lit.

“are you getting much done?” she asks.

“sometimes, i don’t think i’m real,” he says.

“why is that?”

“when i was a kid,” he says, and then he stops. she doesn’t pry, so he decides to continue. “when i was a kid, i felt invisible. and maybe i still do. maybe i’m just different, and they can’t see me because they are all the same.”

“i don’t think it matters what they think, or what they see,” she says. “you worry about you. eat something. work. they don’t matter.”

“i don’t know if you’re right about this,” he says.

“i am.” they sit there until all the candles burn out, and then she leaves.

he makes a sandwich, and then he drives himself home for the first time in a week, and he sleeps in his own bed, and he doesn’t go into work the next day. he waters his desiccated plants, and he does laundry and pays bills. he showers longer than necessary. he closes his eyes and lets the water hit his face, and it’s softer than he was expecting. this is the part of his life that he thinks is supposed to feel like everyone else’s life, but this is the part that always feels alien to him, like he is transgressing. like he shouldn’t be allowed these simple pleasures. rest. cleanliness. solitude.

he turns off his phone and doesn’t think about work for three days. he repaints the shutters on the front of his house. he goes for a run on the beach. he spends two hours and two hundred dollars at the bookstore. he drinks coffee slowly in public. he calls his sister and listens to stories about nieces who are older than he remembers them being. he realizes that he is older than he remembers himself being. he buys new glasses. he wears them for a day, amazed at the clarity before him. for that day, his eyes work as well as his ears do. he finds this distracting and doesn’t wear them again.

and then he goes back to work. no one comments about the time that he’s missed, and he gets so much work done that he feels good about himself and his choices for the first time in a while. he might actually get this done. he might actually be capable of getting this done.

he doesn’t see her for a few weeks, and it takes him almost that long to remember to miss her. he’s alone in the studio one night, quietly drawing out the last few steps in the process. he wants this to be over, but he doesn’t like the part where it actually ends, and he deliberately denies himself the satisfaction of completing this, like he’s not sure that he deserves it yet. but eventually, he cannot prolong the inevitable, and even he must admit that the work is done, and there is nothing left for him to do but get out of the way.

“what are you thinking about?” she asks from somewhere behind him. he turns slowly in his chair. she’s sitting on the floor with her knees pulled to her chest. he can’t tell how long she’s been there. maybe she has been there for weeks, and he’s been too wrapped up in the work to notice.

“i’m done,” he tells her, and she smiles.

“i knew you could do it,” she says. “you should eat something.”

he stands up to leave, and he waits for her to join him, but she remains on the floor.

“aren’t you coming?” he asks. “i’ll buy you dinner.”

“go on without me,” she says. “you don’t need me right now.”

“what does that mean?” he sits on the floor across from her, and he watches her, and she doesn’t watch him.

“you said that sometimes, you don’t think you’re real,” she says. “do you remember that?”

“i don’t remember saying it, but i remember thinking it,” he says.

“you’re real,” she says, and she smiles, and she finally meets his eyes. “but maybe i’m not.”

“oh,” he says, as she shimmers and starts to fade from sight. “maybe not.”

[ticklishhpickle]

Bloom and break

Summary: Phil Lester’s been hiding something his whole life. No, not murder, or being gay. He’s out and proud. He has the power the grow plants- but only when he has feelings for someone. Sounds cool, right?Not when it nearly cost him his life. Phil had fallen deeply in love with his last boyfriend, and when he'd left him Phil wilted like every plant he'd grown during their time together. After a few crappy months in hospital (aka the worst time in his life), Phil promised himself he would never let himself catch feelings again.Two years later, Phil has moved on and has a best friend, Dan Howell. Everything's going great, they hang out pretty much every day and Phil is happier than he's ever been. That is, until he finds himself with growing feelings (and plants).

Word count: 5.4k 

Warnings: none

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Phil Lester wasn’t normal. Sure, he went to high school like a normal 17 year old, had a solid group of friends and even had a fairly good relationship with both his parents. But the difference between him and most 17 year olds was that he had a power.

Whenever Phil began growing feelings for someone, plants would grow on him, around him, under him; the intensity of the growth all dependent on the intensity of his feelings.

It sounded a lot cooler than it actually was.

Maybe at first it was fairly innocuous, like when he was seven years old and had a small crush on a girl in his class named Sally. A small green stalk had shot out of the palm of his hand, and while it confused him at first it wasn’t a point of concern. Seven year old Phil had actually liked his power.

Plants continued to grow on and around Phil; small daisies shooting out of the ground when he walked to school, the grass he ran over while playing tiggy turning greener, and even some wilted plants reviving when he touched them. Phil knew that if he told anybody about his powers they wouldn’t believe him but that was ok; he was content keeping this little secret to himself.

When Sally moved away however, this all changed. The daisies that had grown on the sidewalk? Shrivelled. The grass at school? Wilted. The plants he’d revived? Dead as they were before he touched them.

Phil had noticed this- the sudden death of all the plants he’d grown in the past few months and was feeling confusion and disappointment on top of his sadness over Sally leaving. Phil wasn’t doing much better than the plants either. It was harder to breathe when running all of a sudden, he’d suddenly become quite thirsty for water when he’d always preferred juice and the sun would burn him a lot easier than it had before.

At the time Phil hadn’t connected the dots but it was clear what had happened; Sally moving away caused not only the plants to wilt and shrivel, but Phil as well.

Things only got worse from there on out for as Phil got older he developed deeper feelings for people and for longer periods of time, too.

His little crush on Sally was nothing compared to the most recent person he’d fallen for; Thomas Ryan.

Thomas had asked Phil out two years ago when Phil was nothing more than a naive freshman. Initially, Phil had been reluctant to date someone two years older than him but eventually Thomas had won him over with his enviable smile and charming personality. They dated happily for one year, in which Thomas had taken Phil out for countless romantic dinners, picnic lunches in the park and even ice skating a couple times.

In that year, Phil had grown more plants than he ever thought he could. Huge, metre tall sunflowers would spring up whenever he walked in the park. Bright blue petunias would spring up in his neighbours’ gardens when he’d bid them a good morning.

Most notable of all, however was what grew the night Phil had fallen in love with the older boy.

The morning after he’d fallen in love with Thomas he’d woken up to find a beautiful red rose- growing out of his chest! Phil wasn’t expecting it at all, either. He’d probably grown every flower known to man previously, ever flower except a rose. When he’d woken up and discovered the rose growing out of his chest, he’d yelped and hastily pulled it out. The thorns on the stem had pricked his skin, causing a small amount of blood to seep out and Phil to hiss in pain. Once he’d cleaned himself up however, he’d examined the rose closely. It was deep red in colour, had petals that had no imperfections or creases and when he’d smelt it he’d sworn it was what heaven smelled of.

As he skipped to school that day flowers of every kind had blossomed out of the ground, suddenly and bigger in size than they usually were. Phil felt on top of the world. When he’d finally reached school, he’d thrusted the rose in Thomas’ face and wished him a happy anniversary.

“Wait. Is that today?” Thomas had asked, a panic-stricken look on his face.

Phil had retracted the rose from his boyfriend’s face sheepishly, feeling quite awkward. He’d forgotten.

Silence followed. Phil hadn’t known what to feel. A little hurt, of course but at least it hadn’t been Thomas’ intention to hurt him. Things like this happened all the time! It wasn’t a big deal. Phil had been just about to tell his boyfriend that he was forgiven when,

“I-I think we should break up.”

His stomach had dropped.

“What?”

Thomas had bitten his lip, clearly debating something in his mind before speaking again.

“I’m so sorry I’m doing this today of all days but I can’t keep this going any longer. I just- I just don’t think I love you anymore. And I feel so fucking shitty for doing this today of all days but I’ve been planning to for a while now and I can’t keep dragging you on like this any longer. It’s not fair on either of us.”

Phil ended up not going to class that day. After Thomas had comforted Phil for a few minutes he’d attempted to coax him into going to class. Phil had simply shaken his head and stood his ground, crying even more when the bell rung and Thomas left.

When he’d finally worked up the energy to walk home, he remembered the flower he’d kept in his hand the whole time.

The rose was dead and black, its previously plump and soft petals shrivelled into nothing. Its smell had disappeared, too and all that was left were the thorns.  Phil would’ve started crying had he not spent the past two hours bawling his eyes out.

That night he’d gone to bed with a minor headache, hoping that would be the extent of the post-breakup deterioration. He was wrong. Just within the span of a few days, Phil had grown so weak he’d lost his ability to eat, move or even breathe properly. He’d wilted like the rose.

Phil’s mum had been understandably distressed over his health, and so the day she found her son sickly pale and coughing up blood she’d put her foot down and admitted him into hospital despite his protests.

The next few months were filled with medical bills his mum couldn’t afford, hundreds of tests to find out what Phil’s illness actually was and more injections than he could count. By the end of it, Phil had sworn he would never allow himself to fall in love again. If the risk of falling in love was his own life it was one he just wasn’t willing to take.

-

Phil swung his school bag over his shoulder and walked hastily over to his friend’s locker. He tried to ignore the immense pressure he felt on his shoulder from the weight of all the textbooks that he was going to pretend to read over the weekend. He made a note to buy the online copies of his books next year in order to save his shoulders dying from the weight of chemistry and mathematics- the subjects were already doing that to his mind.

He reached the locker of interest and stood expectantly in front of its owner, his hands on his hips. Dan always took a billion years to pack up his stuff after school. After a few seconds, Phil grew impatient as Dan still hadn’t noticed his presence and so took matters into his own hands.

“Daniel…. It’s time for your neck exam!” Phil said in the creepiest, sing-songiest voice he could with his post-pubescent vocal chords. He shot his hand out and lightly brushed over his friend’s sensitive neck, laughing when Dan dropped his textbook to the ground and jerked away. He looked around for a few second before he noticed Phil standing there, a proud smile on his face.

“Not cool, Phil. You know how much I hate having my neck touched!” Dan’s warm brown eyes were now narrowed and accusing, his forehead crinkled up in a way Phil thought was very amusing. His arms were crossed defensively against the My Chemical Romance tshirt he always insisted on wearing. The one giveaway that he wasn’t actually mad was the small smile fighting its way onto his face, nearly overpowering the glare he was giving Phil.

“Oh hush, you don’t even care when I do it. You were taking too long anyway.” Phil grinned up at his friend as he bent down to pick up the worn textbook that had dropped to the floor. He frowned when he examined the pages properly- they were all tattered and falling out. Maybe it would be best if Dan bought the online copies of the textbooks next year too.

“I SO do care when you do it, Lester.” Dan argued weakly, his face tinted red all of a sudden. He looked like a nervous tomato.

Phil unzipped Dan’s backpack and carefully placed the textbook in the back pocket, not wanting to cause the pages even more damage.

“Whatever you say, Howell.” Phil replied, amusement clear in his voice as he finished zipping the pocket back up.

“You should really take better care of your books, you know. They cost a lot.”

Dan shrugged his shoulders thoughtlessly, causing his backpack to hitch up a little and closed his locker door. He pushed Phil on the shoulder playfully, eliciting a laugh from his black-haired friend.

“It’s alright. I’ll be burning them as soon as we get out of this hellhole anyways.” he marched over in the direction of the gate, Phil not noticing at first before quickly catching up to his side. “Now, your place or mine?” Dan wiggled his eyebrows mock-suggestively.

This was a running joke between the two friends; always asking whose place to go to when they both knew they’d always end up going to Phil’s. It was just an added bonus that they could turn it into a joke about one night stands as well. Though they’d only been friends for just over a year, Dan had been to Phil’s house approximately 293 times. It was a very fast-growing friendship, as well. Phil had made his return to school after spending three months in hospital, hoping things would be the same with his friends. They weren’t.

The entire year level plus the whole of Thomas’ year level had caught wind of Phil’s hospitalisation. To the doctors, his mum and the school he had a ‘severe but treatable case of an illness yet to be officially registered’. He’d become  ‘mystery boy’ and ‘the sick one’ to friends he’d hoped would never treat him differently because of it but the sad thing was that they did.

It wasn’t necessarily even bad, either. Phil knew they only had the best intentions but he couldn’t stand any more pitying looks or comments from his friends, so it came as a relief when Dan transferred to the school.

Just as tall, just as introverted and possibly even more awkward than Phil himself, Dan had sat next to Phil in literature one day and they’d been friends ever since. Phil admired Dan��s love for Shakespeare and his sarcastic sense of humour that he’d since adopted; Dan admired Phil’s disgustingly positive outlook on the world. They were quite similar, but also different in many ways. Their friendship was just one of those things that just worked, like peanut butter and jelly.

The walk back to Phil’s house was full of teasing, banter and complaints about all the homework they needed to but probably weren’t going to do until the night before it was due. Walking home was always a little hard for Phil as he’d usually be reminded of that one day two years ago when he’d walked home, running past hundreds of wilted plants that had bloomed when he’d had Thomas. It got easier every day, not by a lot but when he’d started walking back with Dan all thoughts of that day had suddenly become non-existent.

After an easy ten minutes, they’d arrived at the familiar house and immediately begun raiding Phil’s cupboard and refrigerator for food. They were well aware it had been 2 hours since they’d last eaten, and quite frankly that was 2 hours too long for two lanky teenage boys.

After 15 minutes of fruitless searching, both Dan and Phil gave up. All they’d managed to find in Phil’s cupboards were expired pop tarts, vegetables (shiver) and a few questionable cuts of beef. Dan had taken to melodramatically crying in the pantry, sitting on the floor and hugging his knees to his chest.

“WHY PHILIP, WHY? I’M SO HUNGRY!” he wailed before fully collapsing onto the floor.

“Dan! Get up, you spoon.” Phil sniffed in amusement at the sight in front of him. Dan would definitely have an imprint of flour on his butt when he stood up.

“I’ll just order pizza, it’s fine.”  Phil shook his head and took his cell phone out, dialling the number for his favourite pizza restaurant.

Dan abruptly stood up and dusted his black jeans of flour and other pantry floor particles.

“Oh. I’ll have a large pepperoni please. But hold the pepperoni.” Dan declared, no sign of humour in his voice. Phil looked at Dan incredulously, what was his friend thinking? That was just a cheese pizza then! He was a strange one indeed. A second later, someone picked up on the other line and Phil was forced to talk to a stranger, something he’d hated his whole life.

“H-hello. I’d like a large chicken pizza and a-,” Phil looked at Dan disappointedly, shaking his head, “large PLAIN cheese pizza. Yep. That’ll be all. Thank you.”

Dan gaped at Phil, apparently shocked for some reason. He gesticulated wildly for a second then realised no words were coming out of his mouth.

“Phil! What was that? I told you I wanted a pepperoni pizza, hold the peppers. What was that?”

“Oh my god, Dan. That’s what you told me to order! You said, pepperoni pizza, hold the pepperoni. I just assumed you wanted a cheese pizza and were trying to be funny!” Phil couldn’t stop himself from laughing now, Dan’s face had gone all pouty and sad.  It was hilarious.

“Oh fuck. Did I?” Dan’s mouth was still open in shock.

“Yes!”

“Well you better call them and change it!” Dan exclaimed, looking expectantly at his friend.

If it were anyone else, Phil would have refused. His best friend was a pleb, however and as his best friend it was his job to be understanding of that. Shaking his head at Dan, Phil dialled the pizza place back up.

-

By 8pm the pizza was long gone and the boys had taken to playing Mario Kart on the couch. Phil bit his lip in concentration, working hard to beat Dan at the game he always seemed to win. They’d played the game every Friday together for the better part of two years, and Phil was still yet to beat Dan. Phil’s character of choice, Yoshi was zooming through the track. He was in second place, quickly gaining on Dan’s character, Mario who was in first. He zipped over a rainbow speed booster, instantly overtaking Dan who had missed it and yelled out triumphantly. He continued zooming through the course, only a few seconds away from the finish line when a green shell hit him right in the back, allowing Dan to easily overtake him just before the finish line.

Phil threw his controller frustratedly onto the couch. This wasn’t fair. Dan won every time! And to lose by something as lame as a green shell, not even a blue shell was just embarrassing. He refused to look at Dan or the screen.

“Ha! Did you choose Yo-shi cause yo-r SHIT?” Dan quipped, nudging Phil in the side. He was way too pleased about this, his eyes crinkling up with glee and the dimple on his left cheek popping out. This would not do.

Phili pushed the stupid boy in front of him, causing him to fall onto the couch butt first.

“That was a terrible joke. Apologise.” He demanded, crossing his arms.

His friend’s face showed no signs of remorse or guilt, however and instead of apologising he merely grinned and held out a hand to Phil.

“Nope. Help me up now please.”

Phil glared angrily down at him, but they both knew he wasn’t really mad. Being the kind friend he was, he begrudgingly reached his arm out but was caught off guard when he was suddenly jerked onto the body below him.

“Daniel!” he yelped, his voice two octaves higher than it usually was.

His face was squashed into the crook of the other boy’s neck awkwardly while their hands stayed linked. Phil felt the warmth of Dan’s chest radiating onto him, an admittedly nice feeling. Phil could feel Dan’s heartbeat, it was beating way faster than any healthy heart should. The boys remained silent, neither sure what to do next.

After too long, Phil pushed himself off the chest below him using both hands and sat up straight. The warm feeling that had overtaken his body was now gone. He felt strangely disappointed for some reason.

A slightly pink-in-the-face Dan scrambled up too, making sure to keep a reasonable distance between him and Phil on the couch. He cleared his throat and sniffed.

“It was a great joke and you know it. Don’t even try to deny it.” Dan’s voice sounded a little shaky and held an air of false confidence that Phil chose not to comment on for fear of making this kind of awkward moment even worse.

“Hmph. Well Mario? How about, Mari-no humility!” Phil decided on saying, knowing his joke would go down well with Dan.

“Oh my god. You did it. A joke even worse than mine.” -

The rest of the night was pretty normal for the two boys, the awkward moment forgotten as quickly as it happened. Phil was sad to see Dan go at the end of the night, as usual but was comforted by the thought he’d see him the next day, probably.

He pulled his pyjamas on after he’d bid Dan goodbye and jumped into bed, exhausted. It took him quite a while to fall asleep, his thoughts plagued with his best friend for some reason. Tonight had been… weird to say the least. He wondered if Dan was feeling as awkward as Phil was about it. Was he making too big a deal out of it? It shouldn’t be a big deal, he guessed. They were best friends for crying out loud! Phil forced his mind to shut up, faintly feeling a small tickling sensation on his left hand as he drifted off to sleep.

-

Phil jumped awake to the sound of his phone blaring ‘Toxic’ by Britney Spears. He slammed his hand down on the alarm before getting out of bed. He walked to the bathroom and fumbled with the door handle before grabbing his toothbrush. Phil was sleepily brushing his teeth, looking at his reflection in the mirror before noticing something green on his hand. He promptly put his toothbrush down, inspecting his hand closely.

Oh no.

It couldn’t be. There was a fucking plant growing out of his palm. Phil knew what this meant, it’s what had happened when he’d started liking Sally in the second grade, Kyle in the fifth grade and Thomas in freshman year. Phil quickly pulled the plant out of his hand, feeling a soft tug on his skin. He knew it meant he’d caught feelings for someone, but who? He barely talked to anyone anymore, having shut off all of his friends after what happened with Thomas. Literally the only person he talked to was Dan!

Wait. Phil thought back to what had happened the night before, how warm he’d felt lying on Dan’s chest and how strangely disappointed he’d felt when forcing himself out of Dan’s tender embrace. His thoughts had been filled with his friend the whole of last night, and as much as Phil had wanted to deny it then, the fact that a plant had sprouted out of his palm left no room for questioning. He liked Dan.

This was not good. Very not good. In fact, so not good that Phil began pacing around his bathroom, hyperventilating while he was at it. His thoughts were running wild with what he should do, he couldn’t let himself nearly die again. One heartbreak had been enough for his emotions, not to mention his body.

After a good ten minutes of thinking (freaking out, really) Phil had come to a solution for his problem: he had to distance himself from Dan, ideally cutting him off completely. It made his heart hurt at the thought of not being as close to his best friend anymore, but it’s what he needed to do.

Phil quickly sent Dan a text saying he was feeling ill and would not be coming to school, and that Dan should just walk to school alone today. It wasn’t a lie, really. Phil wouldn’t be going to school, and he was feeling unwell, just not for the reason Dan would be assuming. Phil wiped the sweat off his brow and went back to bed. He couldn’t deal with this right now.

-

Phil spent the rest of the day playing video games, but it wasn’t much fun without Dan. He sighed. It had only been 16 hours and he was already having Dan withdrawal symptoms. Phil was just about to finish the level when the doorbell rung.

He groaned and begrudgingly made his way to the front door. He hated unexpected visitors. Phil swung the door open, his eyes widening when he saw who was on the other side of it.

“Phil! You’re a bit of a weakling, aren’t you? Missing school and leaving me all alone.” A smiling Dan teased, handing Phil a container filled with a mysterious brown substance.

“I made you chicken soup as well!”

Phil examined the liquid closely and cringed. It did not look appetising at all.

“Why is it brown?”

“I-erm, I’ll explain when we’re inside.” Dan said, pushing past Phil and walking into the house.

Phil internally groaned, why did Dan have to come over? Phil was supposed to be ignoring him!  Dan was the last person he should be around right now, but Phil was missing his best friend and did not have the heart to kick him out when he’d brought him chicken soup and was clearly missing Phil too.

Phil was snapped out of his thoughts when Dan tapped him on the shoulder.

“Oi, mate were you playing Mario Kart without me?” Dan was looking genuinely offended, his bottom lip sticking out in a pout. Why did he have to be so frickin adorable, it wasn’t helping Phi’s problem at all!

Phil nodded, ashamed of his betrayal.

“You’ll have to make it up to me. 1v1 me right now!” Dan grabbed Phil’s hand, guiding him to the couch.

Phil needed to forget, just for a bit that he couldn’t hang out with his best friend anymore. This would be the last time they’d hang out properly, at least until Phil was sure his feelings were completely gone. Phil chucked Dan a controller and grinned,

“You’re on, Howell.”

-

The next few months were a struggle for Phil. He’d had a great time hanging out with Dan that day, which came as no surprise. It really didn’t help his growing problem, however. The minute Dan had walked in he’d known he was seriously fucked. Seriously, why was Dan so cute? Coming over and bringing chicken soup just to make sure Phil was feeling better, he truly was a great friend.

After that day, Phil had tried, and succeeded to some extent of hanging out with Dan less. He’d declined Dan’s offers of hanging out as much as he could without seeming too suspicious, began walking to school alone (telling Dan he preferred solitude in the mornings, which Dan had just nodded suspiciously at) and only had Dan over a couple of times in the three month span.

Yet despite these efforts, Phil had just felt himself falling deeper into a dangerous abyss of feelings for his best friend. Anytime Dan smiled, laughed, or did anything really, Phil could feel his heart growing fonder. And there was proof too.

Spending less time with Dan wasn’t the only reason Phil had taken to walking alone to school. His feelings had grown, and as a result more plants were growing too. He wouldn’t have been able to hide the hundreds of flowers shooting out of the ground as soon as Phil walked past. They were beautiful, too as much as Phil hated to admit. They were more vibrant in colour, taller too than any flower that had grown from Phil’s previous crushes. Phil was more than a little scared of what that meant.

Right now, Phil was holding tightly onto Dan’s hand despite his better judgement. They were at the cinema, watching a horror film and Phil was terrified. Dan’s hand was soft and warm, calming him down a little, but not enough for him to be able to let go.

The film finally ended, thank god and Phil slipped his hand out of Dan’s, feeling empty at the loss. They walked out of the cinema side by side, bumping shoulders as Dan teased Phil for being so scared.

When they made it outside, Phil felt his heart sink with disappointment. He didn’t want to go. He was happy just being there with his favourite person. Stupid plants that grew with his stupid feelings could be screwed.

Phil leaned in to hug Dan goodbye, finding himself smelling Dan’s hair. Dan’s hugs never failed to make Phil’s tummy flutter. It was the way Dan held him so tightly, like he was protecting his little Phil. He felt so warm and so… Dan. Phil swooned for what was probably the seventh time that night. God, this was just sad AND creepy.

Phil reluctantly began pulling away, already feeling the warmth enveloping him disappearing.

His heart started beating ten times faster when he saw Dan’s eyes flicking down to his lips. It nearly short-circuited when Dan leant forward, capturing them in his own. Phil’s mind was void of all thoughts except one: Dan. He kissed back with everything he had in him, tangling his hands through Dan’s soft brown hair.

Phil felt like he could burst, a tingling feeling of warmth spreading throughout his body making him feel whole. Dan’s hands were around his waist, holding him like he was the best thing in the world.

Too soon, Dan was pulling away and the realisation hit Phil. Dan had kissed him. And he’d kissed back. What was he doing? He shouldn’t have let this happen! Dan was just going to leave him in the end, and Phil would be left heartbroken and nearly-dead. His eyes began welling up.

Dan’s satisfied smile fell as soon as he saw the tears in Phil’s eyes. He propped Phil’s chin up with his hand.

“Phil, what’s wrong? Is this not what you wanted?”

Phil shook his head, tears now falling down his cheeks. He tried to speak, but his voice was too thick with tears and he choked instead.

Dan looked even more worried now, gathering Phil up in his arms. He squeezed his friend tightly. He just wanted Phil to be okay. Phil continued sobbing into his chest, his cries getting more and more hysterical.

“I’m so sorry Phil. I didn’t mean to force myself on you, I thought you liked me too- god, I’m such a fuck up I don’t want you to feel like you have to be anything more than my friend.”

Phil wished he could talk, but he was sobbing too hard to get any words out. Dan couldn’t be more wrong, Phil wanted to be his friend and so much more but that was the problem.

He felt himself being walked over to the bench outside the cinema, sitting down when Dan did. The two boys sat together on the bench for what felt like forever, Dan just holding Phil and stroking his hair comfortingly.

When Phil finally calmed down, his voice was croaky and raw.

“You didn’t do anything wrong Dan,” Dan’s head perked up, surprised Phil was finally talking. “I like you, and not just in a friend way. You didn’t force anything on me, I wanted to kiss you.”

Dan’s brow creased with confusion.

“Then why’d you start crying?”

Phil gulped. He’d never told anyone about his powers before, but he needed Dan to understand.

“The last time I had feelings for someone I nearly died.”

Dan gasped, his hands flying to cover his mouth.

“Let me explain. I um- I have these powers that make me grow plants, but only when I have feelings for someone.”

Phil stood up and walked to the sidewalk, standing on a patch of grass. A bed of white gardenias immediately sprouted up around Phil’s feet.

Dan fell off the bench rather ungracefully. He quickly brushed his jeans off, ensuringPhil he was alright. Phil smiled a little at his friend’s clumsiness before continuing.

“When I’m in love with someone, like I was with my ex- a rose grows out of my chest. But when that person leaves me, every plant I’ve grown wilts, and I get really sick. When my ex left me I got so sick I had to stay in hospital for three months and I promised,” Phil gulped, willing himself not to cry again, “-I promised myself I’d never let myself catch feelings again. But a few months ago, I started liking you which is why I’ve been trying to avoid hanging out recently. I’m just so scared you’ll leave me and not only will I be heartbroken, I’ll be half-dead as well.”

There was silence for a few seconds. Phil played with his hands awkwardly, afraid of Dan’s response. Phil felt something tingling on his hand, and this time it wasn’t a plant. Dan was rubbing the back of his hand with his own.

“Well that was a fucking emotional rollercoaster. I can’t believe my best friend is a weird plant dork.” Phil clasped Dan’s hand tighter when he saw that his eyes were welled with tears.

“Tell me about it.” Phil shook his head, smiling at the boy in front of him.

“I know I’m young and dumb, and probably don’t even know exactly what love is. But I’m pretty sure it’s what I feel for you, and what I’ve been feeling for you for a long time. I don’t plan on ever leaving you. I’m not stupid, I know that most high school relationships don’t last but I promise you I’m not going anywhere. It doesn’t matter if we’re friends or something more, I’m always gonna be here.”

Phil couldn’t answer, even though he really wanted to. He felt a sharp pricking at his chest, something was trying to burst out. He cried out in surprise before lifting his shirt up slowly, already knowing what was underneath.

With trembling fingers, he slowly extracted the most beautiful flower he’d ever seen. The rose was white in colour, different to the dark red one that had bloomed when he’d fallen in love with Thomas. Its petals were velvety and smooth, and its thorns were miniscule.

Phil saw Dan’s eyes widen in surprise, before his expression settled to one of pure giddiness. Phil loved him.

“I guess this means I love you too?” He said, looking into Dan’s eyes.

“I guess it does.” Dan’s eyes were welling up even more now.

“Thank you for- for reassuring me. I believe you. I know you’re not going anywhere, and lucky for you, I’m not going anywhere either.” Phil leaned his forehead against Dan’s, their eyes locking before Phil pecked Dan’s lips, causing him to blush. Dan leaned away from Phil after the short kiss, but laced his fingers through Phil’s, unsubtly wiping at his eyes.

“Ok Phil, let’s wrap this shit up before I start crying.”