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tastesousweet · 4 months

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⭒ the girl with the tattoo (viii) - pt 1 pt 2 p3 p4 p5 p6 p7

matt sturniolo x fem!oc / reader

summary : the triplets' birthday party is a perfect place for flirting, tension, and... well, matt and y/n's forte.

warnings : use of alcohol, weed and smut ( just a lil flithy icl ), beware that the word count on this ho is crazy - meaning i did not proofread!

mickey speaks : this took a MINUTE to get out im sawrryyyy. i tried to fit everything into one part and ended up rewriting almost the entire part last minute (which is most of the reason why this is very delayed), sooo hope you love??? bc i dont lmfao also the triplets r a couple yrs older in this (turning 23)

THIS IS PART EIGHT GO READ THE OTHERS FIRST!!!

"JESUS, matt. can you take this seriously, please?" chris scoffs, taking the dry-erase marker cap from its awkward spot between his teeth.

matt's not one to continue adding his opinion knowing it won't be listened to. he prefers to leave the impossible-to-get-a-word-in debating to nick and chris who have no problem yelling over each other to the point that they don't even know what the issue ever was.

so he's found comfort in sitting at the dining room table with his eyes firmly closed and arms used as a pillow for his head, leaving nothing but a dollop of his hair to be shown, or as he told chris "attempting to find peace for myself while living with you chaotic fucks."

"what could you possibly want from me?" matt asks without moving from his face down position, voice muffled and strained.

"i want you to fight for your opinion! don't you care about what we do for our birthday?!" chris stresses while nick rolls his eyes and falls into a bored stance, leaning against the dark marble counter.

matt finally raises his head causing his face to scrunch up and eyes to squint due to the sudden and bright change in lighting, "no? i actually don't give a shit, chris."

chris first feels the instigator within him sighing in defeat only for his pride to take center. he figures if nick has practically given up and matt cares so little, that gives him all of the creative action for birthday plans. exactly what he wanted.

his lips form a tight line to hide his satisfaction as he shakes his head slowly, unevenly wiping his hand across the magnetic white board (that he used to write the many ideas thrown around in his head, mistakenly thinking a visual would narrow things down for him and nick). “‘kay. then i’m getting nate to help plan us a house party and it'll be fucking perfect. because i care.”

౨ৎ

you've never been so grateful of your front door's placement this close to the kitchen. but carrying three cake boxes and a tote bag the size of your torso, desperately needing to put them down after traveling up three flights of stairs, will surely be the task that brings that gratitude out of you.

though when you arrive, your scrunched eyebrows and pouted lips are an apparent contrast to the enthusiastic vibe of your kitchen- with andrea moving her hips to the lines of spanish dancing in the air, waiting patiently for the sizzling indication of her fried egg's tenderness, and the use of pink lemonade-colored towels or handles on utensils (that made you and andrea way too happy during one of your first target runs as roommates) scattered around.

drea finally notices you when your metal keychain clanks against the countertop, "y/n!" her excitement slightly dulls with her widened eyes when she gets a better view of your face, turning the stove off and coming closer to hug you. "hi, good morning-ish. are you feeling okay? ...or, like, sad?" you silently accept her gesture and tuck your head in her neck while she caresses your hair with a sigh, "or both at the same time...?"

your response is a breathy sigh and pause before the words tumble out, "m'fine, i think. just overestimated myself a little with staying up so late." you remove your head from her neck and move backwards to lean against the countertop, fanning your hands to create a much needed breeze, "and i'm so hot, it's making me feel gross."

andrea peers into the clear plastic cutout on top of one of the boxes, "at least the cakes look nice."

a week ago you set your mind on gifting the triplets their own cakes for their birthday (thinking that sharing a day was already enough, no way would you want them to have to share and agree on only one cake). you easily gathered their cake preferences by sneaking it into any random conversations you'd have with each of them.

and after a week of planning and preparing, was it so bad if you wanted a fun night in with your roomie? andrea warned you several times to go to bed considering you'd be up at 5:30 the next morning, but you insisted that you'd be fine and asked her to help you clear the rest of the box-wine in the fridge.

you could tell matt was a little irritated that you chose rewatching episodes of a sitcom and "cheap ass box-wine" over sex with him (of course throwing the fact that his birthday would be arriving in only a few hours right in your face) but you pioneered and assured him that you'll make time for him the next day, while also sweetly reminding him that you too have a life outside of this exchange.

at midnight you sent the triplets a group message to congratulate. and a few minutes later you left andrea on the couch for your room, sending matt a birthday text of his own (because you did feel the tiniest bit guilty for rejecting him earlier) paired with a picture with your shirt lifted, hem tucked behind your teeth, and your boobs sat in a sheer bra with decorative white trimming and a bow in the center.

he didn't respond for almost an hour and you tried to not feel embarrassed or overthink his reaction at all.

you couldn't stand the giddiness that came over you (you'd blame it on being the slightest bit tipsy) when you finally got into bed to find his response gentle, in his own matt-kind-of-way, with your image loved and a grayed bubble text reading: "Very pretty, thank you"

"thanks, drea. they were a bitch to make." water drowns out your voice as you start to wash your hands in the deep sink. you run your soapy fingers over a small cut you got when dealing with an irritating cardboard box earlier, finding the stinging of the hot water a wonderful kind of bitter that further plays into your foul mood.

"mmm... i'm sure. but it's not like you can even tell. they almost look store-bought," she attempts to flatter you, turning her head from the packaged desserts to offer a smile.

when you're sweet you're the most ripe, juicy peach, eveyone knows this. but god, when you're feeling down you really are the most cranky, green apple that could force a pucker onto even the most undaunted. your face is dragged of any aloofness or sunshine with your dry response as she turns to resume her breakfast, "uh huh. you don't have to coddle me. i'll get over myself soon, i promise." you dry your hands.

andrea would argue she's not coddling only looking out for your well being- because she wants to and knows if she were neglecting her needs you'd be right on her ass as well, "okay...and did you eat?"

"just like, a bagel before i left," you open the fridge and let the door hang open as you walk across the kitchen to grab the cake boxes and set them inside. you make sure to mind your feet, noticing figaro nosily has his furry face lifted to sniff into the side door.

she strings some sarcasm into her sentiment, "oh yum." she pauses, letting the sizzle of the egg and (now faint) music linger in the air before she speaks again, "how about you go take a shower or do something that'll make you feel a little better?"

"you know i would but being around my favorite roommate is already making me feel sooo much better!" you deliver the dry joke with a smile and pick up figaro when you shut the fridge door with an accidental slam.

she turns to look at you over her shoulder as she grabs two glass plates for the both of you, scolding you like a mother (as she tended to transform into at times like this due to her essentially parenting her younger siblings) "y/n, you're only fighting yourself, go ahead now."

౨ৎ

matt can hear chris' voice only grow louder and pound against the hallway walls but assumes he is heading anywhere but the space that matt's in, deciding to continue brushing his teeth instead.

he'd only be so lucky on his birthday.

"but yeah-" chris interrupts himself to knock and barely wait for an answer before he walks into matt's sleek bathroom. "matt's here!" his phone is carelessly thrown in front of matt's face (with a frothing mouth and irritated eyes) before he has truly registered anything that has happened.

he truly wants to roll his eyes infinitely but when he sees his mother is the one on the phone, his grumpy front is quickly wilted and a glimmer kisses his spirit in a way only she could produce.

it's clear she hadn't expected matt to be in the middle of something as personal as brushing his teeth when she first sees him, "oh, hi matt!" she understands him well enough to know he absolutely hates this (this being chris unnecessarily close to him as he hunches over to keep matt's face in the camera) so she attempts to amuse him, "wow, you're really showing your age now, aren't you? just looking so put together and nice." she laughs to herself as matt tries to not smile whilst brushing, holding his index finger up to indicate that he would address her with words in only a moment.

"chris, honey, why'd you bring me to your brother when he's busy, anyway?! now we're just watchin' him brush his teeth and the angles you're givin' me are so awkward," she emphasizes her sentence as it goes on.

chris turns the phone back to himself, "because you told me to show him?!"

"no, i said 'where's matt?'" she corrects him in jest.

"okay, so am i incorrect in saying that there was an implication-?"

matt dries his face with a towel and grabs the phone scolding chris, "hey we get it, smartass-" he turns to look at her again with a smile, "sorry mom."

"mhm," she dismisses, "when's this party of yours starting?"

"soon i think," matt moves around chris to exit the bathroom, leaving chris (literally) in the dark.

"okay and how's your birthday been so far?" he smiles knowing how excited she's always been about these things.

"good, i don't feel any different. just doin' the same stuff, except today there's way more people sending me texts and pretending the care about me." matt places the phone against a bowl full of chips in the kitchen, waving when he notices chris followed him.

"get down here nick, mom's on the phone!" chris yells, coming into frame and leaning on the counter. "jeez, matt's masochism can't give any of us a break even on days literally made for our happiness. you hearin' this kid ma?"

matt shakes his head, pointing to chris with his handful of chips, "spell masochism."

chris' eyes pinch and before their mother or chris himself reply, nick is running over to them with a smile and yell of "im heree!!"

she's has the much-expected motherly urge to cry seeing her three sons (whom she rarely sees anymore) all in the same frame, "aw, hi nicky! just look at you boys...so sweet."

it only takes another second before she's crumbling in tears. their smiles drop as chris grabs his phone. they all begin spilling out the most comforting phrases they know to cheer her up.

౨ৎ

"okay people! cake is coming through! everyone move. move, move...precious cargo right here and your ass is in the way!" asha yells and shines her phone's flashlight into the faces in the crowded living room as she ushers the girls to the kitchen.

she earns a few glares that she happily dishes back and a few mumbles of "bitch" once she's walked past that has remi "accidentally" stepping on a certain people's shoes while following asha's lead.

the modern open kitchen hosts plenty of drinks and snacks as well as a worried nathan, who's shirt is barely on his torso from the amount of buttons he's undone since stepping foot in the wild space. "oh thank god the cake's are here," he sighs with a throw of his head before frantically moving a platter of chips and guac (that someone was actively eating from) and a few six packs from the island to the opposite counter, encouraging the girls to place them down with an awkward nod of his head and harsh blink of his eyes.

asha holds back a laugh at nate's odd vibe as she moves next to him, nudging his shoulder, "what's wrong with you?"

"nothing," his head whips to look at her, "well, i mean, think 'm just nervous." he starts slow but it seems he needed someone to finally prompt him to share such a frustrated rant, "like- chris comes to me and asks me to throw him the best party. yet he doesn't give me shit to work with besides his home to host it in-" he breathes, "and 'm feelin' all the pressure of planning a party right now but, you know, i just need things to go smooth and then i'll be fine..." he runs a hand through his hair, "you ladies don't worry about me." he fakes a smile and gives a small wave of his wrist to show just how "fine" he is.

coinciding with nate's rant, you've began to pour a hefty amount of vodka and lemon juice (you absolutely scoured the fridge for) into a large glass. you hand it off to andrea with a pleading "mix" as you lick the remaining lemon juice from your thumb and open cabinets to search for shot glasses.

you line up a multitude of shot glasses with various cities labeled on them as andrea pours the mixture in carefully. you immediately bring one up to nathan, "lemon drop?"

"yes, please. no way your a fucking bartender and baker?" nate's eyes widen as he receives the small glass.

"no, definitely not. just live with a girl whois always making her own drinks at home," you smile and grab your own glass as the rest of the girls follow suit.

"i need this right now," remi starts, "let's cheers to drea's DIY shit and nathan making it through the rest of the night!" she woops and the group all let out various chuckles.

"a-fuckin'-men!" nate leans to clink the small glasses softly before taking the shot quickly. he barely recovers from the shot before he's pouring more vodka into his glass and taking a second.

you get the best view of chris turning the corner and seeing you all (his reaction is more specifically for andrea) have arrived. his jaw hangs dramatically as he walks over but quickly turns to a big smile when the group all start to sing happy birthday to him. "stop it! stop it!" he jokes and begins to give out hugs and thank each of you for coming. he stops and squeezes you extra tight, bringing up the cakes sat nearby, "i know that bakery anywhere. thank you for my cake."

"of course, i had to," you smile.

"no seriously, you're fuckin' awesome, girl." you can tell he's already a little buzzed from the look in his eyes but you also know he's almost more truthful than ever when drunk.

you notice that when he leaves you to finally greet your roommate, it's very clear he's purposely left andrea last to ensure there would be no rush on his interaction.

the rest of the group leave them to their own world for a moment; as the two hug chris gives her a soft kiss on her forehead, whispering "hi, mi cariña (my darling)" an inside joke between the two of them as chris' struggle with speaking spanish never fails to make andrea laugh.

౨ৎ

"okay, okay, i'll do it," matt finally gives in, lifting himself off of the black couch with people piled on top of it. he hands his drink over to elijah smoothly and begins to playfully rub his hands together.

"'hold my beer' headass," elijah jokes placing the cup off on a side table next to him. matt stops any movement, turning his torso to look back at the boy and start to laugh while holding both middle fingers up.

"matt," erin taps him with the side of her arm twice to get his attention again, handing him the second wii remote in her hands. the screen appears extra bright in contrast to the dimness of the room which causes matt to wonder how the fuck anyone has managed to play just dance in this space without getting a sudden head rush or worse.

"okay, let's do timber because it's classic," she suggests.

"let's not," matt opposes, his hand covering his mouth to hide a grin before running his cursor over the other choices.

erin looks over to him with a blank expression, "i mean i don't care that much you can-"

"'m joking, we'll do timber," matt looks from her to the colorful screen to find the song once more.

when he notices she's stiil looking over at him with an unreadable expression, matt smiles big attempting to not laugh, causing his already-slim eyes to pinch a little extra as he turns to her, "hey e, the screen's right up there, you won't be getting much direction from starin' at me-" he breaks into obnoxious laughter mid-way through his sentence which earns him a small smack on the arm.

erin laughs a little now, "would you stop it? just click 'a' on your fucking remote."

he does as she says and looks to her as the screen loads, "thereee we go, you can cool down now, sweetheart."

as the two dance both matt and his friends make one-off comments and jokes about the many times matt almost fell (and would make sure to blame it on the rug or his shoes). they seem to be having such a great time that you don't know if you only being there for the final few lines of the song, watching erin ride matt's back as they spin in circles laughing, is fortunate or unfortunate.

the claps and whistles are wild when the two finish with a bow, the crowd around them only getting louder when matt teases that he's so hot he might have to take off his shirt, lifting it slightly then putting it back down and calling them pervs. you only shake your head and bite back a smile, hating how fucking charming he is when he allows himself to be completely lost in a good time.

matt would say you snuck onto the sectional couch- because a minute ago you weren't there and now here you are talking elijah's ear off and taking repeated hits of his blunt.

but you wouldn't say you snuck into his area, rather walked in a manner in which you'd be out of his and erin's way- of course not taking away from the birthday boy and his...good friend. so you're a bit surprised he slumps on the couch next to you and not in his original spot on the opposite side of eli, "sunnnyy," he huffs and leans his head back against the couch, "when'd you get here, huh?"

you turn to look at him and he smiles at you then looks up to the ceiling, "think an hour ago? maybe?" you hand him the blunt.

"cool, cool, cool..." matt repeats cutting himself off by placing it in his mouth. he's dressed so stylish and attractive you can't help but scan over him with your eyes; his jersey-style shirt showing off his armfuls of tattoos, baggy jeans, car keys hanging on a cheetah print clip attached to his belt loop, shoes that look straight out of the box, a matching hat that you honestly wish he'd take off, and his signature silver jewelry brightening his attributes in the otherwise dark room.

he makes the slightest "tsss" sound when breathing in the drug before speaking with smoke plummeting from his mouth, "you should dance next," he brings it back to his mouth for a final hit.

"mmm maybe...if lucas is up for it," you play with the metal can of a wine cooler that you hold on your bare knee as matt leans over you to hand an occupied eli his blunt back, his laugh trails smoke out of his mouth and into your face as he slouches back next to you.

"forgot you're fuckin, hilarious! holy shit." his hand makes its way up his own shirt to rest on his stomach as he giggles.

a smile grows on your face, "no seriously is he here?" you lift yourself up a little and pretend to look for the familiar face.

"stop that." matt chuckles and tugs your wrist gently. you almost get nervous this time when you look him in the eyes. when he's drunk, matt is so carefree and giggly in a way you rarely get to see. and now you’re starting to notice how the poor lighting makes his features appear arched and his face look carved into, yet the jagged becomes soft and fuzzy whenever the gumdrop-colored lights of the wii game hit his face with the beat of the song. he notices your staring and lets go of your wrist, "what's up?"

"nothing."

"excuse me everyone! i would like to give a speech! hello, i am giving a speechhh! everyone shut up, please!" nick projects his voice into the microphone- he stole from the karaoke machine -while standing on a dining room chair.

as people start to calm down nick speaks, "right, so, it's my fuckin' birthday!” he raises his arms and dances his fingers before pointing out matt, “and it's matt's fuckin' birthday, right over there! let's get some flashlights pointing over to my brother please!" matt’s face flushes as he covers his eyes from the sudden bright lights. you squint your own eyes from next to him and move closer to eli to avoid the flashes.

"and it's chris' fuckin' birthday..." nick looks around, "i couldn't tell you where exactly he is, just know that he is also here tonight!” the crowd roars, “anyway... i'm so- so happy to have you all with us tonight to celebrate. we turn twenty fucking three and... that feels so old saying it out loud. holy shit." nick cringes obnoxiously, slurring his next few words, "but i love my two best friends in the whole world: chris and matt, i wouldn’t wish to share a birthday with anyone else… and i love all of you thank you again. oh! and shout out nathan for holding this shit down! if you see nathan give him something... i don't know- money? a kiss? a drink? fuck if i know." as nick speaks cameron nudges him with a shot glass which he finally acknowledges, "and apparently this is a toast now so, you know, here's to getting older and having the most fun forever!" he raises the glass in the air and drinks it without further thought, inviting everyone to do the same while cheering and applauding him in excitement.

you raise your wine cooler and let out many cheers along with the rest, but of course matt ridicules you a little in jest, "really? you sit here and 'woo' while i'm going blind?!" he’s still wiping at his eyes, dealing with the aftermath of bright lights shining in his eyes; his vision tainted with faint blue and red splotches only for a second. you lean closer to him, attempting to see his eyes better while uncontrollably laughing.

"are you crying?!"

matt thinks you look really pretty even when you're quite literally pointing and laughing in his face. you move his hands away from his face and he widens his eyes dramatically, "look, no 'm not!” you shake your head in response, “does really it look like it?"

you notice his bottom eyelashes are slightly clumped and you move your hand closer, placing your thumb under his eye, "baby, that's damp!" you giggle and pull his hand close, using your thumb to draw a wet line across his tattooed wrist to prove your point.

he drags out his first word, "alrighttt. whatever! you got me, sweet girl. ‘cause god forbid i have the ability to cry?!” pulling away from you with a smile as he dries his eyes by rubbing them gently.

matt excuses himself with a quick "gonna go grab another drink or somethin'" before he does something irrational like kiss you in front of all these fucking people.

౨ৎ

you carefully open each of the packaged cakes, each revealing the boys' full names written in cursive with the uniquely styled and colored buttercream frosting you made that very morning. you used the same shades to make the puffed frosting border of the cakes, for an easy, soft garnish. remi follows behind you, lighting candles on the cakes as you go.

there's a chaos that comes with trying to gather this many (drunk) people in one area and capture their attention long enough to sing then cut cakes. it doesn’t help that the hosts are at their most unserious themselves; matt and nick both snickering and making jokes while holding onto each other while chris talks to one of his friends off to the side with his obnoxiously loud voice without regard for anyone around him.

“okay, people we’re singing!” nathan attempts to yell over the loudness of the crowded room. you and remi are then in the position of getting the attention of the birthday boys who can’t focus on the task at hand, leaving you both to snap your fingers and call them as if you were attempting to take photos of a stubborn baby.

you truly wish it didn’t irk you so terribly but you can’t help your annoyance when matt looks over to erin after she shouts from next to you, “matt, can you pay attention? your cake’s ready,” and he listens, moving nick off of him with a shoulder nudge and laugh as he approaches the row of cakes.

you recover quickly with a smile once both matt and nick’s eyes widen and mouths hang open in awe of your hard work, “s’perfect,” matt whispers to himself, now adjusting his hat to fit backwards.

“oh my god, the wax got in my cake! what the fuck,” nick whines and that cues drea to tug chris’ arm softly and urge him with a hushed, “chris ven aquí (come here)!”

and he's is down so terribly that he moves to where she wants him immediately.

chris is a known sap, especially when wasted, so he’s stood fighting the urge to cry when taking in the scene in front of him: his brothers and friends gathered together to celebrate their twenty three years of life together.

he tucks his lip into his mouth and looks down at the burning flame, slowly smiling when everyone around them begin to sing a rendition of happy birthday with all the charmingly bad high notes and run on “you”s but not forgetting to crunch all three names into a single line.

midway through the song, chris leans to hug matt in comfort while sneaking a reach into matt’s back pocket to grab the slim joint he just knew would be there. he grins to himself, “sweet! free j and free light,” placing it into his mouth as he leans over his cake to spark the joint hanging in his mouth with as much precision as possible. andrea shakes her head in confusion while filming on her phone beside to you.

“dude,” matt lets out a breathy laugh while waving his hand to clear the atmosphere of the potent smoke. sudden applause recognizing the end of the song and leading the three to blow out their candles.

matt gave up on birthday wishes a while into his teen years and nothing changes this year; he blows his candles out and claps along with the crowd before accepting his joint from chris for a few puffs of celebration.

you watch in amusement as nathan distracts the boys with shots to get them away from the cakes as andrea begins to cut. except no shot could beat the view of andrea bent over the counter like she is now, so chris is practically on top of drea with annoying whines of “i wanna see,” when she asks him to be careful and wait a second.

you, however, are actively searching for the spiked punch that elijah recommended when you run into erin and matt talking. they both look to you with different expressions as you squeeze yourself by them to get to the punch bowl.

you remind yourself that erin is your friend, not your enemy. nor your competition. meaning you also have to remind yourself that matt is some guy you fuck around with, not your boyfriend.

you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding in while grabbing a plastic cup and using a small ladle to pour the peach colored liquid for yourself. instead of flat-out staring at the two, you take turns looking from them to your cup. you watch as they pose for a picture; erin taking his hat to place on her own head and matt smiling next to her. and another with her kissing his cheek as he laughs.

it’s upsetting- no, humiliating to you. and how especially humiliating that your first thought is whether he’ll dismiss you for erin when you ask him to fuck you later tonight? you blame the weed for getting you so worked up over minutiae interactions.

you’re brought out of your daze in the most humbling of ways: a sudden splash hits your bare foot and covers your black kitten heels in the sticky juice. “fuck,” you groan and place the ladle back into the punch bowl, taking a large sip of your overflowing drink as you look down at the puddle of pink you’re standing in.

you find a towel laying nearby and lower yourself to fumble and wipe your shoe.

“damn y/n, you like my punch that much?” a voice asks from next to you.

you look up and see lucas smiling down at you, “you made it?” you ask genuinely as he helps you rise to standing again.

“no,” he smiles and you roll your eyes, “but im wondering how you managed to spill any with this itty bitty fucking ladle?” he jokes, lifting the ladle and watching it pour the small bit of juice it managed to gather back into the bowl.

“i just wasn’t paying attention,” you laugh and sip your drink again.

“mhm…why’s that?” he squints his eyes down at you.

you tap two of your french tip fingernails against your skull, “so much is happening up here.”

“like what?”

“i don’t knowww,” you smirk and look away to take another sip of your drink.

“well, i know you look sexy as fuck in this dress right now. look at you,” he wets his lips and offers his hand to you with a grin, showing off a few of his shining tooth gems.

you try to maintain your composure and not smile too big but it’s a challenge when he playfully gets you to spin slowly for him and show off the tiny strapless dress you have on as he “oouu”s and whistles to hype you up.

“mm, you like that?” you look up at him, blinking slowly.

he nods and chuckles, “you know damn well-” looking off to the side then gaining your eye contact once more as he wipes over his mouth with his hand, glancing over your body, “‘course i do.”

"good. we should dance then," you guide him to the living room with his hand still in yours.

౨ৎ

you hate to be the bitch on her phone at a party but you can’t stop staring at it. you tap past the story then go back to look again. you even rewatch it in the perspective of someone who hadn’t been there to see the photo taken to see how it would be perceived. hurting your own feelings knowing they could very well assume matt to be erin’s boyfriend with how close they’re standing and her lips against his face.

it’s very dizzying and ruining your high quite a bit, especially paired with andrea who continues to look to you to celebrate after every ping pong ball she throws whether she makes it or not.

you go to rewatch the story once more, only this time a text from matt slides down on your screen to interrupt your sulking:

MATT

Hey come here

Y/N

where???

MATT

Outside youll see me

you let andrea know you’re going outside for air before walking over to a glass sliding door to let yourself out.

you see matt holding a stick while looking down at his phone, fire pit radiating next to him, a mass of people surrounding it.

your arms wrap and hold onto your shoulders as you walk closer, feeling the breeze rack through your body despite the internal heat from the many drinks you've had over the course of the night.

as you approach, asha gets up from her spot on nick's lap to give you a hug, "y/n! hiii." she pulls away and her hands remain on your shoulders, "your cake was so delicious, i tried a bite of each."

"oh good, 'm glad." you smile.

she feels your hands, "are you cold, babe? come sit." she guides you over to the group of people sat around the fire. "you can take my spot, i'll stand," she insists and nick agrees smiling kindly.

you interrupt matt's texting to figure out why he wanted you here, cupping your hands to shout, "matt!" across the lawn from your spot atop nick.

he looks over and quips his head while moving closer, "hey, was just wonderin' if you'd try my s'more? nick thinks he makes them best." he smiles but you can't help but feel that there's a catch to this.

"always gotta prove someone wrong. yeah, i'll do it." you agree as he moves to grab the snack he'd apparently already prepared.

nick mutters, "don't let him bully you into liking his, and don't forget who's acting as your chair currently!" from behind you as you giggle into the bite that matt gives you, holding the smore in his hand up to your mouth.

you chew slowly and matt watches, chatter and crinkles of the fire filling the heated space. you finally nod your head and matt smirks, "so good, right?" matt asks and brings his hand to hold your face and wipe around the corner of your mouth, looking to his right with a smile then back to you.

you feel awkwardly and unnaturally sensual, moving his hand away from your face and searching for what he's looked over to, catching the eye of lucas, standing with a group of guys lighting up near a fence. so that is the fucking catch.

you lick your lips of any remaining marshmallow and shake your head, annoyed, "i don't know, it tastes normal and graham cracker is fucking stale." you look up at him and his face is adorned with confusion on your change of heart.

you feel too fucking weird about this. you wish you couldn't believe that he'd use your feelings towards him for some weird shit like claiming you from lucas, but it's not surprising in the slightest; matt wants his cake yet he'll always want to eat it too.

"yeah, nick wins." you pat the side of nick's thigh to grab his attention and tell him the news, making him cheer and bring you into his chest for a small hug.

matt's lips form the smallest pucker as he watches you get up and walk towards the house without further conversation.

"bye, y/n!" asha yells.

౨ৎ

matt lays flat on his bed, staring up at the ceiling to try and organize his many thoughts when his door creaks slightly, allowing a roar of party chatter into his space before it shuts again.

he lifts only his head up to see erin stood with a small smile before letting himself fall back into his plush comforter, "hey, i got your shit in the first drawer over there." he points to a tall dresser across the room.

he listens to her shuffle around before finding a large bag of weed, coming close to him and placing a few folded bills in his front pocket slowly. she then moves so that she hovers over his dazed face, "thank you, are you sure you don't need anything else from me? it is your birthday..." she grins and runs a hand over his chest. he mimics her smile (intended in more of a mocking way than she takes it) and laughs softly.

"no, i'm good on that, e. you enjoy your doobies and shit," he continues to softly laugh, eyes crinkling at the sides before she thanks him again and gives him a small peck.

"happy birthday, matty!" she sings before closing the door to his room and heading straight to his bathroom next door to pee.

matt would say it hasn't even been four minutes since erin left him when you're stumbling into his room. he repeats his look up, only to soften a bit when he sees you make effort to move some of his shoes out of the walkway so that you don't trip, "hi, baby" he waves you over with his fingers and welcomes you as if you'll be staying for long, "lock that door for me." he figures if you came to see him after storming away like that at the fire pit you're either gonna spit your thoughts in his face or sit on his face, there's no in between.

"i found you," you smile and twist the smaller knob to lock the door from the rowdiness. you then make your way over to sit at the end of his bed and begin to fiddle with the straps on your tiny heels, "my feet have been achin' so bad," you look at him as you complain.

"mm, i'm sure."

when your feet are finally free from your shoes you place them on the ground and adjust yourself on the bed. you silently grimace seeing matt with his shoes remaining on his feet despite being on his bed.

he giggles when you begin to unlace them, "feel like a fuckin' princess."

you roll your eyes and begin to pull them off, "with the way you act you might as well be one."

"ouch? it's my birthday," he holds his heart while looking to you playfully.

you tilt your head and drop his second shoe right on the floor as you stare back at him, "oh, i know."

"right. what's wrong now?"

you run your hands along his legs as you inch up his body and hover yourself over his crotch, "nothing. everything's fine, right?" you adjust your hair away from your face.

"sure, uh huh," matt looks up at you and bites his lower lip while moving his hands to hold and squeeze your full thighs. he silently admires the way you fill that tiny dress and look down at him from this angle.

you look away for a moment then decide to put your full weight onto matt, muffled groan leaving his mouth. your lips curve up as you pull his bottom lip from his mouth with your thumb to replace it with your mouth, sucking and kissing it. your tongue runs over his lips a few times before matt takes hold of your head and pulls you impossibly closer to capture your mouth messily with his own.

the kiss is a filthy, drunken sight: noses meshing and colliding, tongues playing and licking, and moans escaping and ringing into the air desperately.

you pull away with a wet smack and whisper into his lips, "i've got another present for you..."

"mmm?" his eyes widen and he squeezes your neck gently, kissing you once more, "for real? like, more than this?!" his hand feathers over your ass, insinuating the way you're sat on top of him right now could easily be his best gift tonight.

"yes," you breathe then begin to giggle, "you're gonna lose your shit, i think."

his mind can think of a lot of things you could do to make him lose his shit, "damn, okay. well, show me. you got my stomach dancin' and shit." he holds you so that you stay put as he lifts himself to rest on his elbows.

your smile bites over your bottom lip now as you raise yourself from his lap once more. your nail taps against your upper thigh as you look down at him, "kiss, please?"

he doesn't have to move much, as your leg is already so close to his face. he keeps heated eye contact with you when he kisses and marks the skin you'd point to, causing small mindless noises to fall from your mouth as you play with his soft hair (that you unfortunately hadn't seen much of tonight).

when he's finished he looks up to you with his red, puffy eyes and wet lips as you thank him, "now...pay attention." you gently demand as you slowly move your dress up your body.

matt studies your movement in awe, eventually catching your gift in his line of sight. he knows you must think you're so sneaky when you only show a glimmer of your lacy white panties, with a cursive red "M" embroidered near the waistband, before quickly pushing your dress back down with an uncontrollable laugh.

matt's face morphs to express a million different emotions and he doesn't realize how loud his voice is when he speaks, "what the fuck?!" he looks up at you- with your head thrown back laughing -then back to your covered lower half. "what was that? hold the fuck on," you body is so loose with laughter that he easily grabs you and flips you onto the bed so that you lay underneath him, still squirming in your own giggles (yelling a few "matt!"s or "matt wait i can't breathe!"s).

his face is full of amusement when he firmly lifts your dress to get a better look at what you've done for him. "oh my god, 'm gonna pass the fuck out. look at you, sunny!" he rubs his eyes dramatically and shakes his head. "no, you're so bad."

"you like it?" you ask, licking over your lips and reaching your hands up to trace the small hairs prickling on matt's jawline.

"course i do, the fuck type of question is that?!" he turns his face to kiss your inner palm before bending closer to kiss your lips once more.

"happy birthday, matt." you say in between kisses, "there's somethin' else if you look a little more."

"really?" he immediately splits from you and looks to your panties once more, running his hands over your lower stomach. the cherry red joint laying against your hip and tucked into your underwear catches him by surprise but the stoner in him nearly cums on the spot.

he removes it from it's place and kisses you mumbling a reminder that "you're so hot" and "the marijuana bug must've bit you real bad" before he gets up to store it in his bedside table, patting the closed drawer and joking, "for when i miss you."

he stands above you for an extra second to shake his head slowly with a tut, but when you whine "c'mereee," he's hushing you and removing his shirt before crawling back on top of you.

your hands run across every inch of his warm torso as you both sloppily kiss, and matt's own hands curiously make their way into your underwear for a proper feel of your wet core.

he allows you to desperately grind your hips against his hand until he eventually decides he needs to taste you. he lowers himself to face your clothed pussy, tracing the "M" with a finger as he places his tongue flat against you and places pressure on your most sensitive area.

his finger once tracing, now moves to pull the tiny piece of fabric off of you. he looks into your eyes as he easily stuffs the cloth in his back pocket, mumbling "mine now" while moving his fingers through your sticky folds.

you cry out when he dips two fingers into you teasingly, over and over again, and another series of moans leaves your mouth when he begins to lick over your clit eagerly.

matt continues his efforts, spitting on your clit a few times to watch it drip down to where his fingers harshly move inside of you; his movements quickening while he watches.

and just before you cum you dumbly warn him, which makes him stop entirely. "no, matt. stop, please come back. please."

"shhh. don't start that shit, you'll cum twice on your day..." he unbuttons his pants, "plus, you know it feels so much better when you wait and have to chase it a few times." he smirks and nudges your clit with his finger once more making you breathe out a moan and close your legs around his hand.

he pulls away from you to finish undressing before laying back dowm in his tight boxers, "come take care of me, sunny. i need you."

"hm...and i needed you too..." you lift yourself up and pout as you climb off the bed and get closer to where he lies, turning and moving your hair away for your back, "unzip me, please?"

he does just as you say and watches you finish removing your dress in only one movement. when you climb on top of him he now gets a view of your tits directly in his face that has him humming and immediately feeling you up.

he kisses and licks the skin while you scratch at his scalp in the most sensual way. you reach behind you to dip your hand into his boxers, immediately coming in contact with his sensitive and slightly sticky tip. he tilts his head back with a groan as soon as you begin to stroke him beneath the fabric making a sinical smile form on your face.

you push the boxers further down his thighs to fully expose him as you bring your lips down to him again. his moans flow into your mouth when you repeatedly rush your movements then slowly circle his head.

eventually matt's eyebrows pinch in terribly tight and he grabs your hand, sighing, "god damn, baby. chill or i'll be cummin' before i'm inside you."

you roll your eyes playfully, "okay?" as you adjust yourself to align over his length, before sinking down on top of him.

"mmm, fuck." he encourages when you lift yourself and slam back down on top of him. you move his hands to hold your hips then spread your hands over his chest as you continue.

matt can't help but slap your ass a few times after discovering the way your muscles flutter around him so perfectly each time. but one smack in particular aids you to practically fall onto his chest whining, "matt i can't, please just-."

he immediately lifts your face to give him a much needed kiss before reaching to realign himself and hold onto you as he thrusts rhythmically into you.

moans sneak from your mouth and interrupt you from kissing and holding onto matt's neck, which only encourage matt until he's completely flustered and drilling into you sloppily.

matt can tell you're cumming by your all too and familiar broken moans. and once you harshly kiss him and ask him to let go in return he finally stills inside of you and groans into your soft shoulder.

a silence coats the room, leaving the overpowering music and talking of the party to linger through the air in a cloudy murmur.

matt keeps his arms around you while you recover from your high, staring at the ceiling of his faintly lit room in questionable thought.

and he assumes you must be doing the same; only he mistakes the wetness of your tears for his own sweat as you turn your head away from him to dissolve your embarrassingly shaky breaths.

꩜⋆ ˚｡⋆🎱˚

tag list is in the replies ily!!!!

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the-s1lly-corner · 1 year

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Their ideal partners

Silly little hcs because ive been thinking what each of the lads look for in a s/o

Slenderman;

Given I'm aiming for the "he's been observing humans for centuries and has grown used to their antics," vibe with him, I feel like he'd like someone who keeps him guessing

Nothing TOO crazy, because he can be irritable, but if you intrigue him he'll definitely stay around

Does he have any peculiar icks? Tastes?

Can't stand messy people... doesn't mind if its unorganized, or a chaotic system, but if you live in muck it's a deal breaker

Doesn't care what you look like, or what gender you are; he sees beyond that because, again, ancient being that's been watching humans for a long time.. kinda desensitized to that sort of thing

Laughing Jack;

He WANTS someone who can match his energy; but he NEEDS someone who can mellow him out

As much as I hate the "I can fix/change him" thing (well I dont HATE it, it really matters on execution and all), Jack needs someone who can make him chill out a bit

Icks? You know those people who kill the energy in a room? Like total buzzkill + downers? He doesnt like those. Not like the "he hates depressed people" way, obviously, but in the way that

Okay so idk if this is just a me thing but I come across a lot of people who do it on purpose for attention/quirkiness, those are the kinds of people he doesnt like

Like slenderman, he doesnt really care what you look like; bros gonna slip himself around you like a snake (affectionately)

Eyeless Jack;

Right off the bat he needs someone who's understanding

It ain't easy being a cursed man who's forced to eat human meat

Someone who's willing to listen to what happened to him, and help him see the brighter side of things

Basically a "storm cloud x sunshine" ship dynamic

Icks? As long as you're not too chaotic or hyper he's fine with it; Jack is more quiet and reserved energy wise, stress tends to make the curses symptoms worse

Prefers short people; he himself is also short (I hc hes about 5'5), and he's a lil insecure, but he's not totally opposed to dating taller people

Masky;

Writing for specifically masky for this one instead of the usual tim, hope that's alright!! I just wanna flesh out him n hoodie more

Bro is kinda..... whouf... rough around the edges; kinda feral

Not like FERAL feral, but this is the kind of dude who tunnels on someone during his work and wont be afraid to body slam into stuff full speed/force

So naturally, he gets hurt a lot. So a caring and soft partner is an immediate go to; especially since in my hc/au tim still exists, just as a different.. persona? Headspace? I really dont know the correct terms <\3

He likes observing as well, but he'll occasionally join in on whatever activity you're doing!!

Icks? Loud people... I would say spontaneous people as well, but considering my take on him, he kinda falls into a softcore version of that category

Hoodie;

Very similar to masky, but also not... between the two hes more.. calm and calculating; whereas Masky tends to dive straight in, in most cases

Should not that neither of them verbally speak; so they both need a partner who's fine with physical touch since that's one of their main ways of communicating/showing affection

Especially with hoodie; dude always has a hand on you and guiding you in some way

Unlike all the others, hoodie does not have ANY preferences for partners. Doesn't matter the personality, body type, and he doesnt have many icks

Probably doesnt like arrogance, kinda just annoys him.... but hey, makes his.. job.. easier

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rollinouttahere-writes · 5 months

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What about monsters au or maybe a fairy au

These have yandere themes to them from when this was supposed to be part of a Halloween event, but I decided to keep it that way because I like it. The first paragraph lightly explains what they are, the second is a reader-insert scenario.

Yandere Straw Hats Monster AU

2.3k words

Monkey D. Luffy - Faerie

Luffy has some intense fae vibes in my humble opinion. He’s chaotic, marches to the beat of his own drum, and he’s prone to dragging people into lifelong friendships that they CANNOT escape from. Luffy finds other fae to be rather uppity, and he prefers the company of humans. They’re so funny and weird! Plus he likes their food. Luffy comes from a very powerful bloodline, though people tend to forget about this fact until it’s too late and they’ve already provoked him.

One day when you’re out foraging, you almost step inside a fairy ring. You count your lucky stars that you didn’t and turn to leave and give the ring a wide margin, but a voice comes from behind you. A faerie is casually sitting in the circle and asks if he could have some of your food. Not wanting to upset him, you toss the snacks you brought for the day to him. He all but demands that you come to visit him once in a while, and you’re forced to abide. Refusing would upset him, but agreeing and then not keeping your word would be even worse. Fortunately, as you continue to meet with him, you find him to be awfully kind and fun for a faerie. You begin to look forward to these meetings. When he asks one day if you’re his friend, it’s only natural for you to say yes. A big mistake, you would quickly come to realize. By agreeing that you’re his friend, you’ve unwittingly given him ownership of yourself. But it’s okay! You two will have lots of fun along with all of his other friends!

Roronoa Zoro - Werewolf/Barghest

Another case of vibes, Zoro just screams werewolf to me. The barghest is a monstrous black dog originating from English mythology, with some sources claiming that a wound inflicted by its claws will never heal. I’ve combined this creature with a werewolf to make it a bit more interesting. When Zoro transforms, he takes on a grotesque and massive wolf-like shape with green fur. He’s capable of standing on two legs, but walking on all four feels much more natural in this state.

Zoro is a renowned monster hunter, as well as a close colleague of yours. After working with him for years, it’s deeply concerning to you when he comes back from a mission only to seal himself away in his home and refuse to interact with anyone. You try to be patient with him, but as time goes on, you NEED to get to the bottom of what happened. He’s been holed up for over a month, so you figure that he must be leaving in the night to get food and water. As you’re lying in wait in a nearby shed, rather than seeing him leave, you hear crashing and yelling coming from his home. Without thinking, you rush in. You don’t know if he’s being attacked or what, but you can’t leave him to suffer. It takes some effort to break the door down, but you do. The home is in shambles. Furniture is ripped to shreds, holes have been punched in the walls, and there are claw marks everywhere. Your attention turns to the writhing mass of limbs and fur in the corner. The moonlight illuminates the room just enough for you to recognize the shade of green the fur is, and your heart falls into your stomach when the creature turns to look at you. There’s a scar over the left eye. Before you have a chance to process this gut wrenching information, he’s on you. As he’s snarling over you, you wonder if you’ll be able to bring yourself to kill your friend before he can kill you.

Nami - Kitsune

Kitsunes are highly intelligent, cunning, and mischievous. All of these traits fit Nami perfectly. She is still quite young for a kitsune and only has two tails so far. In order to make some easy money, she establishes herself at a shrine and demands tribute, primarily in the form of money, though she will also accept fine jewelry and kimonos.

The shrine she occupies happens to be the one your family cares for, making you her personal shrine maiden. Well, shrine maiden in training. In the beginning, you’re run ragged trying to accommodate such a demanding spirit. Once Nami is confident that you are a good match for her, she relaxes somewhat, but demands near constant attention. You’re unable to eat with your family because she wants you to eat with her instead. Opportunities to see friends are consistently shot down by her requesting that you brush her hair/fur for her or other mundane tasks. It was a little flattering at first to have a prestigious spirit favoring you, but it rapidly becomes draining. It isn’t truly your place to be asking her questions, but you do anyway. Why is she so dedicated to taking up every second of your time? You aren’t even a proper shrine maiden yet, doesn’t she want someone more experienced assisting her? Nami giggles at your inquiry and pets your head in a way that feels more than a little condescending. She explains that it only makes sense for her to be focused on you. Your initiation ceremony is coming up, and those play out like wedding ceremonies more or less. Of course she’s going to favor the person who is about to essentially be offered as a spouse to her.

Usopp - Drider/Anansi

Anansi is a popular figure in Akan mythology and is strongly associated with storytelling. He’s known for being a bit of a trickster, but also a hero and extremely cunning. I’ve combined this with a drider to make him more humanoid, but he is also capable of shapeshifting when he so pleases. Usopp has a reputation for being troublesome, but ultimately helpful. Sure, he drives the locals up the wall some days, but he’s willing to step up into a heroic role when necessary.

Usopp had been dwelling near your village for a while now, longer than he normally would. He just can’t help it though, you’re one of his favorite people to tell his tales to. You never question the validity of what he’s saying or roll your eyes, you just eagerly listen to his stories with a sparkle in your eyes the whole time. When he’s causing trouble, you take it on the chin and laugh it off. He falls fast and he falls hard. Slowly, he starts to incorporate scarier stories into his repertoire. To make sure that you fully believe what he’s telling you, he’ll shapeshift into various forms and lurk around just barely in the corner of your vision, only to flee when you whip around to investigate. When you vent to him about how frightened you’ve been as of late, he’s quick to offer a solution. Why don’t you come with him? He’ll bring you somewhere safe and keep all the monsters away from you. Doesn’t that sound perfect?

Sanji - Yaoguai

I bounced around with a lot of different monsters before eventually settling on this one. A yaoguai is a type of demon from Chinese mythology. Though technically, he’s only half-demon. His father was a god turned demon who was banished from Heaven by the Jade Emperor when he became too arrogant in his power and miserably failed in defending an important artifact. Ever since then, he has been desperate to regain his godhood and has resorted to trying to make supremely powerful warriors of his children. Their mother was a human who was forcibly taken and used in their creation. Sanji suffered a lot of cruelty for being the weakest of his siblings, with the only kindness he ever received being from his human mother (as well as a certain chef after he ran away from home). It’s unsurprising that he strongly prefers the company of humans to demons.

That also means that in his quest to find true love, he’s only looking at humans. Unlike his father, he desperately wants to have a loving, mutual relationship. He tries so hard, but his courtships always end the same way. Everything seems great in the beginning, they’re happy, they’re falling in love. The problem is that all of these begin with him taking on the appearance of a normal human. He wants to be open and honest with what he’s hoping will be the love of his life, so when it’s gotten serious and marriage is brought up, he reveals his true form. Every time, every single time, they scream and run away in horror. Sanji has lost track of how many times he’s been chased out of a village after doing this. He’s getting desperate. By the time he ventures into your town, he’s made up his mind to not tell the next person. At least not before the wedding. Even if you scream and cry and say that you hate him, he’ll make you stay with him long enough to see that he’s the same Sanji that you fell in love with even if he does look different now. He isn’t going to hurt or eat you, you just need some time to realize that. After you have, everything will be fine. At least so he hopes.

Tony Tony Chopper - Leshy (there are so many spellings I’m sorry if this isn’t the right one)

A Leshy is a type of guardian deity for forests from Slavic mythology. They rule over and protect their given forest, and their attitudes towards people imposing on it can really vary based on where the legends originate from and how the intruders act in the forest. They are able to take the form of anything in the forest and imitate woodland noises. It’s anyone’s guess how they will handle a human wandering into their domain. Maybe they’ll be lighthearted and playful, or maybe that person won’t ever be seen again. They’re very ambiguous. Chopper leans towards the more lighthearted side of things. He’s very shy towards most humans, but can become angry and lash out if they do something he doesn’t approve of.

Living right on the edge of a massive forest can certainly be nerve wracking, but you do your best to make it work. You did everything in your power to avoid potentially upsetting whatever Leshy is inhabiting the forest, and it seems your efforts worked… Perhaps a little too well. It started with seeing a bizarre deer-like creature amongst your livestock or outside your windows. Then you started hearing things. One day you could have sworn a terrible thunderstorm rolled in abruptly, only to dash outside and see nothing but clear skies. Eventually, the Leshy got bold enough to approach you directly. You knew you should have been distressed to have such a deity so close to you, but it was hard to be scared of such a small and cute creature. Chopper seems so youthful and childlike that you can’t help but grow fond of his little visits. Then he starts pushing for you to visit him. He has a home at the center of the forest and he desperately wants to show it to you. It couldn’t hurt to go just once, right?

Nico Robin - Harpy/Gamayun

The Gamayun is a prophetic bird with the head of a human woman from Russian mythology that is said to know literally everything and to spread prophecies and divine messages. Again, I’ve combined this with a Harpy for the sake of giving her a more humanoid form. While some people appreciate the endless knowledge Robin possesses, others fear and want to repress it. Robin can rarely stay in the same area for long without worrying about an attempt on her life.

It’s after an almost successful murder attempt that she meets you. One of her wings was shot, leaving her unable to fly away. When you suddenly appear and usher her into your home, she is highly suspicious of your intentions, but she goes along with it because she feels like she has no other option. Much to her surprise, you misguide the people hunting her and then tend to her wounds. As time goes by and she stays put while she’s still healing, she is shocked at how you never once ask her for information or prophecies. You’re being kind to her… because you want to? And you expect nothing in return? It’s unheard of for her. By the time she’s healed, she’s completely enraptured by you. She can’t go back to her perpetual solitude now that she’s gotten a taste of kinship. You must feel the same. You have to feel the same.

Franky - Talos

Talos was a giant bronze statue built by Hephaestus to guard the island of Crete in Greek mythology. His main job is to drive off pirates and other enemies by hurling boulders at them. For the sake of this AU, let’s say that rather than dying, he is simply subdued and ultimately lives. Franky feels lost and like a failure. He leaves Crete to set up shop on a new island where he takes it upon himself to take misfits under his wing. He doesn’t want other people to feel the way he does, so he does his best to take care of them and give them a sense of purpose.

Admittedly, you haven’t made the best decisions in life, that’s a given. Being a petty thief and general troublemaker is hardly anything to brag about, but it’s your life and you’ll do what you want. That is, until some giant bronze behemoth snatches you up and declares himself your mentor. He isn’t even giving great advice, it looks like he’s herding cats when he tries to get all of the local hellions to work together to better their lives. Unfortunately for you, not only can you not escape him, the others are buying into it and trying to drag you down with them.

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bg-brainrot · 4 months

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As @cosmicchocomuffin suggested!

Which class/subclass each BG3 character would play in D&D (with a little explanation):

Astarion: Draconic Sorcerer - he would pick a character that comes with power innately, no god, no pact, no strings attached, and he would pick draconic for the eventual flight. Also he would want a high Cha character so that he can attempt to be the face of the party.

Gale: Artillerist Artificer - he would pick another Int based class of course, and, as for Artillerist, he still enjoys being useful, so he'd like the fire power this subclass affords. He would take time every day to ensure his infusions are prepared for the day, not allowing the party to proceed without them.

Karlach: Circle of the Moon Druid - she loves animals and nature and would love to transform into them, but wouldn't want to deal with all of those pesky spells, hence the Circle of the Moon. She would definitely be the cause of half of the chaotic druid wildshape memes online.

Lae'zel: Way of the Astral Self Monk - she would pick monk because they're respected martial warriors, pick the subclass because of its potential to reach enlightenment. But to the surprise of no one, she actually gets really into her character to the point of drawing a blade on the DM (Withers).

Shadowheart: Assassin Rogue - the classic lone wolf class and given all of her Sharran training, she would pick this subclass for the ease of roleplay it offers, with its disguise and mimicry. She starts out aloof, but quickly divulges the entire 12-page backstory she created for her character.

Wyll: Monster Slayer Ranger - he heard people looked down on rangers and decided to give them a chance, then he saw Monster Slayer was an option and knew he picked right. The actual face of the party, simply because he's the only one capable of staying on track-- however, put him in front of a cool monster and you've lost him too.

Non-Origins:

Halsin: Nature Domain Cleric - as someone who loves to help others, he would pick a class with a greater lean to the healing side of magic and with a bit of the same druid utility, then pick the subclass to still have that connection to nature. He will happily go along with whatever the party wants to do, and has ended up in jail a few times for it.

Minthara: Order of the Profane Soul Blood Hunter - she would love a class that's willing to go to any extent to defeat their enemies, like a blood hunter, and the order of the Profane Soul just cranks that up all the more. She would be the classic murder hobo of the group if left unchecked, but she will back off when the rewards are good enough.

Jaheira: Battle Master Fighter - she would go for a classic, reliable class like fighter, with a subclass that utilizes her battle knowledge like Battle Master. She is definitely a guest player, who the DM taps in for a difficult boss fight or arc, so she somehow still ends up the mentor figure in the game.

Minsc: Path of the Beast Barbarian - he wouldn't play something too complicated, hence the Barbarian, and he would love to understand Boo better, so he'd pick the subclass for the Beast abilities that come with this subclass. He would never quite know what he's doing, but makes the best accidental one liners at the table so no one minds helping.

Disclaimer: I only picked stuff I at least have the sourcebooks for. While some extra stuff looked cool, I wasn't familiar enough to get the vibes properly.

#bg3 #baldur's gate #baldur's gate 3 #astarion #gale #karlach #lae'zel #shadowheart #wyll #halsin #minthara #jaheira #minsc #dnd #dungeons and dragons #dnd classes #this was fun to do hehe #i think they would never get past level 5 but they have a good time #withers tpks them when he gets bored of it

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maxe-murderer · 8 months

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thoughts on the summoning choreo and the LiB's ages

aight so i watched the digital ticket last night and spent way too long analyzing the choreo for the summoning and a) want to ramble abt it cause its cool and b) wanna give my 2 cents for the Lords in Black ages theories (i don't think I've seen anyone mention this but im sure im not the first person to notice)

so the choreo for LiB do at the very beginning of the summoning is like a lot to take in all at once so i didn't take it in all at once and rewatched the same like 10 seconds over and over

so each of the LiB have their own little bit of choreo that's theirs, with Blinky and Nibbly's probably being the most obvious. But they all seem to do the same moves - with some little differences for a few of them - at completely different and seemingly random times. They do all start with "their" move. So breaking down each one, starting with:

Wiggly: The first move Wiggly does and the first one we see in the pro shot. Bent over at the hips, arms out to the side swinging in and out at the elbows. Reminiscent of his tentacles, yknow. One difference I can see with his choreo is he puts the majority of his weight on his right leg with the left out to the side and partially bent - he only does this the first time he does his move, and Tinky does similar but to a lesser extent.

Tinky: First thing he does, the bend down snap up repeat, arms back when down arms out in front when up. First time you see it in the pro shot is Nibbly doing it in the background behind Pokey (roughly 2:01:07). It doesn't make anything immediately jump to mind, other than like, goats fighting.

Nibbly: Since Nibbly has the lollypop prop it looks like licking the lollypop. For everyone else, it's just their right hand sorta sliding down in front of their face. The first time we see this is Wiggly doing it during the line "Wiggly wants his wrath".

Blinky: Bent at the hips, circle down and left to right and up. Blinky holds his hands in front of his to make that triangle/diamond over the one eye. Pokey holds his mask in front of his face for this, it looks like Wiggly does either the same hands as Blinky or basically the same but centered on his face, it's difficult to tell, Nibbly and Tinky just have their hands out in front of them.

Pokey: Swapping from facing right, right hand up in front of your face to facing left with the left hand up. Makes me think of Hamlet. Pokey looks at the mask while facing right and his hand when facing left. Everyone does the same with or without whatever prop they have. Tinky and Wiggly put their arms all the way up in a more of a presenting something type pose - Tinky's arms straight up and Wiggly's a bit bent. Nibbly does the move but faces forward instead of looking at his hands - he does this for every move, face is constantly directly toward the audience.

so I do wanna say first that while they do have all the same bits of choreography (just at different times) none of them do it exactly the same. There are small differences between all of them on the same moves (ex. Tinky: some people keep their head up when going down others have their face to the ground. Nibbly always keeping his face forward. Legs bent and feet flexed. Etc.)

Ok. So. The order that each of the LiB do each move is the same for all of them, but they each start at their own move and end on their own move.

The order goes: Wiggly, Tinky, Nibbly, Blinky, Pokey

Its a really fun way to keep the scene feeling cohesive but also super chaotic. It's pretty much impossible to notice a pattern if you aren't replaying the same part specifically looking for if there's a pattern.

As for their ages, I can't say that I actually have any strong opinions on the LiB's ages (I think any sort of hierarchy among each other they have is based on what I can best describe as their eldritch vibes) but this is fun to think about so like.

We all agree that Wiggly's the oldest so basically, the order Wiggly does the choreo as the ages of the LiB. And I think that when we look at it like this it has a sort of like, coming into being as the universe evolves to fill whatever cosmic need there is or smth like that. If you get what I'm getting at.

Wiggly's the oldest, he's clearly in charge and I think is also the most vague if we try to narrow down his "thing" if you know what i mean

Tinky would then be second oldest, I think it makes sense. He fucks with time itself, once you have a world you kind of need time for shit to happen in it

Nibbly next, middle child. He's hunger. As soon as you have life in the world that life will need to eat. And, he's the only one of the LiB who will consistently exist as a physical being outside of the Black and White (at least for a short while) and I think having the middle child be the one to have that sort of ability just sorta works

Blinky is the second youngest. His whole thing is sight. Not everything alive can see but a whole load of them can. Insert some sort of specific connection to the development of humanity. He's pretty satisfied with just having Watcher World seemingly. His brothers all have their domains and shticks already, so he'll just be happy in his corner torturing the shit out of whoever goes to Watcher World. No need to step on anyone's toes, y'know.

Pokey is the youngest and steps on everyone's toes. He both has a pretty nailed-down theme of control but is sorta, messy about it? his two main appearances have his existence in the physical world be directly connected to the meteor to the point of him getting kinda fucked over by it in Yellow Jacket. He's "The Singular Voice", he wants everything to be him, if it's not his voice he wants it dead. He's also the only one who we've seen get scolded by Wiggly. So like, the annoying and loud little brother.

anyway that's it. idk if you have any thoughts tell me. working boys budget breakdown soon to come

#max rambles #hatchetfield #lords in black #nerdy prudes must die #the guy who didn't like musicals #black friday #nightmare time #the summoning choreo analysis #ok christ i need to do my fucking homework this projects due on friday

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rayroseu · 7 months

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Some Crowley and Lilia Parallels(?)

?? am i reaching here but doesn't "Crowley searching for a way for Yuu to go home" similar to "Lilia searching for a way for Malleus to hatch"?lol

like they both travel to far away places to search for clues to solve their younglings' problem and both Malleus/Yuu are frustrated whenever they're gone for their travels, Crowley/Lilia can't find a logical explanation why they're taking so long solving their problem too (like how Lilia foolishly trust wishes to make a dragon egg hatch bcs its just impossible to find another dragon and how Crowley seems like he's being lazy because he truly doesn't know how to transport a human back to another world) even though they're the person best suited to solve Malleus/Yuu's problem (crowley being the manager of orientation so he definitely must know(?) where the students came from and lilia being the only person Meleanor told that he'll hatch Malleus) also both of them are quite detached by how much Malleus/Yuu depends on them (by that i mean they leave them alone too much and lack communication with them even though theyre the person who took them under their wing)

They also have a habit of surprising people by falling from the sky (like Crowley's animation during special lessons and how Lilia always appears upside down to scare people)

and the difference between their serious and goofy personality is striking (like General Lilia with his mean attitude and deep voice vs Peepaw Lilia and then Prologue Crowley w his ominous vibe and again deeper than usual voice vs Weird Headmage Crowley).

Also idk if this means anything but they're also the characters with the most unique voices in-game, and im unsure about this too but i think their speech patterns both uses old english phrases yet still maintaining a modern pattern (to fit with the youths yk) and they both have "groups of bats/crows" surrounding them and serving as their only motif-- which makes me think both of them have familiars????

also both of them have "minimal magic usage"..... Crowley really doesn't casts any magic atleast in-game (but in other TWST media Crowley casts basic magic) and we know how Lilia is losing his magic because he exhausted it for hatching a dragon egg- Both of their (potential) twisted Disney characters (Bat goon and Diablo/Diaval) have a role in searching for Aurora too (I remember the Bat goon and co. was originally the ones tasked to search for Aurora but he failed so the task was passed to Diablo instead, and Diaval bcs he discovered that King Stefan had a daughter which raged Maleficent in the live action-)

I'm pertaining that if Crowley is Levan,,,, then these similarities would point out to the fact that [Lilia and Levan were always together](than Meleanor did) to the point where they kind of adapted each other's qualities, even if centuries pass-- Also TWST likes mirroring the "knights" of this game (i.e Silver and Sebek, Deuce and Ace), Lilia and Levan were Right and Left Generals (knights), so it kinda explains why they're having similar struggles and similar life pattern(?) (like babysitting an unprecedented child amidst their independent life and being hit with an important problem that is "impossible to solve")

so In conclusion?? did Meleanor cursed her generals to be eternally struggle babysitting troubled children?? XD

totally reaching here-- if Crowley is Levan and his life truly is similar to Lilia's,,, then then does that mean he cut his hair like Lilia's ???? 😳 bcs think about it,,,, all the Briar Valley characters we got has long hair (Meleanor, Baul, and Gen. Lilia) so does that mean if we do get a reveal of Crowley/Levan,,, we'll see Crowley with a longer hair as Levan- ✨🙏

If that's true,,, atleast Levan's hairstyle as Crowley wasn't a chaotic job like Lilia's,,,, LOL it kinda matches their description that Levan is more prim and proper KDHWKHD atleast as Crowley, Levan is actually attempting fashion instead of randomly matching whatever like Lilia 😭 also didn't Crowley had a tangent about his very specific food taste when asking for souvenir(GloMas Event)?? which hits the nail about Lilia's complaint about Meleanor and Levan being picky eaters lol

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roobiedo · 6 months

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Happy Solarpunk Aesthetic Week and Winter Solstice! ❄️

While we do celebrate here, we don't actually experience winter in my region, or any of the classic four seasons! The weather here is basically a coin toss between searing heat and torrential rain lol. So while I was musing over how to adapt a solarpunk aesthetic to a tropical lifestyle, I came up with this!

Lengthy explanations and chaotic ideas below:

Disclaimer: I am not a science-y person, so I'm not sure how any of these would technically work or what materials would go into making them. Hopefully one day someone could figure it out, but I'm just having fun sharing these ideas for now :)

-----

What works well both in harsh sunlight and heavy downpours, plus is already something that people here use everyday? Umbrellas! How cool would it be to have an umbrella that absorbs sunlight during the day, and turns it into a personal spotlight at night? Or perhaps it could absorb and store large amounts of rainwater, to be re-used later or released somewhere more useful?

My main inspiration for this is the bamboo. This plant already plays a huge role in our lives here -- culturally, economically, and from what I recently learned, ecologically too! Our region suffers from floods often, and bamboo can help to control the flow of water, for example through their roots providing a barrier against soil erosion, or their ability to store large amounts of water and release it gradually during drier seasons. (And that's just one of the many reasons why bamboos are awesome and solarpunky!) I thought it would be cool to have water stored in the 'bamboo nodes' of the umbrella shaft, which could then be detached and used individually, or as components in other tech!

I chose the Amazonian lily pad as the canopy design because 1) it looks big enough to cover a person, 2) it has a wide surface for solar panels to 'photosynthesize' energy, 3) its container-like shape looks as though it could hold rainwater like a funnel while it trickles into the shaft, and 4) it just looks really pretty! Realistically, this canopy might not be able to do everything at once, so I'm hoping for this tech to be modular and highly customizable -- as in, you could replace this 'lily pad' with something else that serves a different function! I did play around with some other designs, here they are hehe

Hibiscus: Our national flower! Have these bad boys growing in my yard so I thought why not. Not sure what functions it would have yet... perhaps the pistil could be a sensor for gathering weather data? Or maybe the anthers are little lights? Maybe it attracts BEES???

Mushroom: Not familiar with the fungi in my area yet so I went with the classic Amanita. Though now I'm kinda regretting because! Wouldn't it be so cool and lunarpunky to design it based on a bio-luminescent mushroom, so it would make sense for the umbrella to glow in the dark? AGH missed opportunities ;;

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Anyway while I was designing the umbrella I thought about giving the model a cool fit too, so tadaaa! A customizable pair of pants that can be worn as a shorts + half-skirt/sarong combo during hot weather, or extended to become a full pair of jeans during colder/rainy times! I used zippers as the connectors because they seem easy to sew on and I like the punky vibe it adds to the outfit. HOWEVER, I'm realising that might be inconvenient or way too time consuming for some people. Maybe buttons, magnets or hook-and-loop fasteners would be easier?

As for the shirt, idk that was just for fun. Maybe it changes colour/design based on the surrounding temperature?

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So YEAH that was my longer-than-expected idea dump for this week! Thank you for reading <3 If you have any thoughts or ways of expanding on these ideas please please please share them with me I'm just really excited to see what people think waaaaa!!! ok bye stay hydrated

#art #artists on tumblr #solarpunk #solarpunk aesthetic week #winter solstice #no im not late im not I M NOT #fashion #roobiedoodle #tl simmer #i did not intend for it to be her but she looks similar enough! should use my OCs as models more often actually

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hussyknee · 1 year

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Red, White & Royal Blue: Collector's Edition Henry PoV bonus chapter by Casey Mcquiston.

(transcribed from the page pictures posted)

This is the coda to the end of the book, so don't read it if you haven't read the book first. Sadly, the Collector's Edition doesn't seem to be available on Kindle so. Arrrr matey.

Download link for file at the end.

....

HENRY

“I am not asking you to believe in it, or even to like it,” Henry says stonily. It’s been a long morning already. He is beginning to perspire. “I am simply asking you to show a modicum of respect.”

“To–to your quiche?”

“Yes. To my quiche.”

Bea puts down her tape gun and wipes her eyes. “Pez!”

“Yes?”

“Henry says he’s going to make us a quiche!”

Pez’s squawk of a laugh bounces down the stairs. “Pull the other one!”

“I make them all the time for Alex,” Henry insists. “They are perfectly edible.”

“So, when you promised us breakfast if we got up early to help you.” Bea says, “you meant that you were going to make us breakfast?”

“Yes!” Henry says hotly. “Stop laughing!”

“I’m sorry!” Bea says. “It’s only that...well, Henry, the last time you cooked breakfast for me, you were twelve and you put a sausage in the microwave until it exploded.”

“That was your idea! And it’s been ages since then! I’ve studied, all right? I’m quite good now. Those pictures I send the group chat aren’t just for show.”

“Oh, aren’t they?” Bea says rudely, as if his incredibly generous offer to cook her a shallot-and-thyme quiche with mushrooms from the farmer’s market means nothing at all. As if he’s lived in this house for five entire years without learning to use its kitchen.

Perhaps if their lives weren’t so chaotic, if Henry weren’t flying out of New York every time Bea had a spare moment to fly in, he could have proven this to her earlier. But Pez, who lives mostly in the city now and visits so frequently he’s earned his own Secret Service code name (Cardinal, since Henry is Bishop), should know better.

“Percy Okonjo,” Henry says as Pez joins them, “you were here last weekend when I made mince pie. You loved it.”

“Did I?” Pez wonders aloud, with an annoyingly Bea-like lilt.

“Look at this apron!” Henry gestures to himself and the navy blue apron he’s wearing. Alex gave it to him for his birthday last year. “Would a man who can’t make a quiche have an apron like this? It’s monogrammed.”

“You’re royalty, babes,” Pez points out. “Everything you own is monogrammed.”

From the pocket of his serious-home-cook apron, his phone buzzes. Reinforcements. The FaceTime connects, and Alex says, “Good morning, love of my li–”

“Alex,” Henry interrupts, “tell them about my quiches.”

Alex pushes up his sunglasses and frowns into the camera. He looks so lovely with his faded T-shirt and jean jacket and shaggy hair. Pure American heartthrob, might as well have a cowboy hat on. Henry never does tire of it.

“Sorry?”

“Bea and Pez don’t believe I can make a quiche.”

“What? Have they seen your apron?”

“That’s what I said!”

“Henry’s quiches are great!” Alex says loudly, to the kitchen at large. “I almost never find shells in them!”

That sets Bea and Pez off again. On the screen, Alex’s face crinkles into laughter.

“Thank you very much, Alex, you’ve been a tremendous help,” Henry groans. “How are things? Florist this morning, wasn’t it?”

“Just finishing up.” Alex says with a grin. “Final approvals done. Everything looks great.”

With only one week until moving day and two until the wedding, it made sense to divide and conquer. Henry agreed to stay in New York and finish packing up the brownstone with help from Bea and Pez, while Alex, June, and Nora are ticking off the last of their checklists in Texas.

“Of all the surprises that wedding planning has brought us,” Henry says, “your ability to micromanage floral arrangements has certainly been...one of them.”

“You know I love to curate a vibe,” Alex says.

“That you do,” Henry agrees. “Where are the girls?”

“Getting donuts,” Pez answers before Alex can. He holds up his phone, open to a photo of June blowing a kiss while Nora fellates an éclair.

“Donuts!” Bea says. “Now there’s an idea!”

They spend the rest of the day drowning in cardboard boxes and bin liners, packing everything but the furniture and the downstairs television. Pez reminds him once an hour that they could pay someone to do this, but Bea is stubborn, and Henry is reluctant to let anyone else wade into all the intimate trappings of his and Alex’s life. It was bad enough explaining the contents of the trick drawer in their dresser to Pez, much less some mover he’s never met.

When it’s done, Bea puts A Knight’s Tale on in the living room and promptly falls asleep on Pez’s lap. Pez passes out too, but Henry stays awake, because Heath Ledger deserves an audience. And because he knows if he doesn't wake Bea and move her to the guest bedroom, he'll have to hear about her back spasms in the morning.

David hops up beside him on the loveseat, and Henry strokes the top of his snout until his little body relaxes into Henry's side.

"Nervous old boy," Henry hums. It still does seem like the ultimate irony that the dog he adopted for emotional support has anxiety. David has grown more and more worried all week, as more and more of his home disappeared into boxes. "We won't leave you, I promise."

The brownstone has been a good house for them. Sturdy brick walls, neighbors that actually let them be. Henry has loved it more than he ever loved Kensington, or at least as much as he loved Kensington when his parents both lived there too. Some mornings, when he comes downstairs to find Alex with the coffeepot and the kettle already on, he feels the way he did when his family all slept under one roof. This roof is quite a bit smaller than that one, but the feeling isn't.

So, perhaps David hasn't got entirely the wrong idea. It is hard to let the place go. For the past month, Alex has kept asking Henry why he's staring, and the truth is that he's been committing to memory exactly how Alex looks in every room. How the bannister fits in his hand, the place on the foyer wall where he always braces himself to pull on his shoes.

Everything that's happened in the past five years has happened, at least in part, inside this house.

…

It's seven months after Alex's mother's second inauguration, and Henry is wishing he had never even heard the word "credenza." Then he wouldn't have to decide where to put one. Alex is arriving in half an hour to help him move it, but Henry still doesn't know where. Across from the fireplace, perhaps? But what if he wants to put a sofa there? Does he want a regular sofa, or a sectional? Should it go upstairs, in his study? Or should he leave room for bookcases?

He longs to be back on a beach, sipping something from a pineapple.

It’s been a long, glorious summer since Alex packed up his White House bedroom, called Henry, and asked, "Do you want to get the fuck off the continent?" They did Dubai first, then Lagos. Rio, for old time's sake. Buenos Aires, paper lanterns in moonlight and Alex flirting with the bartender for free drinks. June through August became a lovely blur: Alex asleep against his shoulder on the plane, Alex throwing his Portuguese phrase book out the window of a speeding car, sand in unmentionable places, Alex Alex Alex. Endless runways and half-arsed disguises, swimsuits that got smaller and smaller until they simply didn't wear them anymore. Falling in love, the sequel, with fresh suntans and all the time in the world.

And now here they are in Park Slope, where Alex is renting the second floor of a brownstone two blocks from Henry's.

It's practical, they agreed, to live in the same neighborhood before they live at the same address. They've scarcely gotten a chance to date the normal way yet– if it can be called "normal" when their combined security teams are headquartered in an empty apartment down the street. Still, Henry wants this to last.

They've sprinted headlong into everything so far, but now he wants move slowly, in delicious increments. He wants to savor nights, minutes, firsts, to covet them and then let them dissolve on his tongue, like the sugar cubes he snuck off his gran's filigreed tea trays when he was small. He wants a life.

He wants someone to tell him where to put this damned credenza.

It's a vintage Broyhill Brasilia piece, walnut with clever brass drawer pulls. June helped him pick it out when she was in town with meeting her editor, but she never gave him any advice on where it should go. He hasn't ever been allowed to decide where furniture should go before.

So, it’s...there, in the center of the empty living room, the first piece in the entire house.

“Maybe you could start with a rug or two,” says Alex from the foyer.

Henry turns to find him with his keys in one hand and a paper bag in the other, smiling in a beam of mid-morning light, and, ah. Yes. There it is. That sweet, sharp gasp of nerves. The half second when he forgets how to use his mouth. If he knows nothing else, at least one certainty remains, which is that seeing Alex Claremont-Diaz in the flesh will always do this to him.

Alex in a photo is handsome, but Alex in life is a symphony. He’s refracted light with a cherry cola chaser. He’s got a Fibonacci jawline and a troublemaker smile and thick forearms built for posing in doorways with his sleeves rolled and thumbing corks out of champagne bottles. The first time Henry ever told Pez about him, he said, “God, but he’s lethal.” It’s only worse once you get to know him.

“Weird place for a credenza,” Alex comments. He kisses Henry’s cheek, then passes him a warm bundle wrapped in parchment paper. “Hope you like sausage-egg-and-cheese.”

“I don’t know where to put it.”

“Sandwich goes in your mouth, typically.”

“The credenza.”

“Ohhh, right,” Alex says, pretending to have just caught on. He winks. Henry sighs theatrically but accepts a second kiss, on the lips this time. “Why don’t you just put it right here?”

He points to his left, where a blank wall stretches from the front door to the foot of the stairs. It does, upon closer inspection, appear to be the exact right size.

“Oh,” Henry says.

This is where they overlap. Where he ends and Alex begins. Great gooey puddle of feelings, meet course of action; endless burning energy, meet point of focus. Agonies, meet your most obvious, most natural, most inevitable conclusions. It’s frightening sometimes for a person like Henry, who has spent his entire life pedaling his agonies about like baguettes in a posh little bicycle basket. What is he to do with them now?

Yes," Henry concedes, "I suppose I could," and Alex laughs.

...

It's the summer of 2022. Henry has opened his third shelter, and Alex has just finished bulldozing his first year at NYU Law.

A few boxes of books still wait at Alex's place, but otherwise, he lives in Henry's brownstone now. Their brownstone. A UT pennant beside a Chelsea scarf on the living room wall. A fridge full of Topo Chico and Bulmers. Two pairs of shoes by the front door, brown Barker derbies and Reebok trainers. Nobody could mistake it for anyone else's.

It's their first Chore Sunday (Alex's idea), and Henry has put the last of the laundry in the dryer. He's in the kitchen doorway, watching Alex unload the dishwasher.

Alex once told Henry the type of man he's typically attracted to: tall, broad-shouldered, pretty eyes, a little haunted. Bit of attitude and a smile that makes you curious. For Henry, it's never been so simple. He liked boys in his classes because they bothered with the assigned readings and fancied one of Philip's awful Eton friends because he could sail and smelled of cinnamon. The only thing all his Oxford boys had in common was that they didn't know how to speak to him. He's never had a type, and he's always been sure Alex was singular, anyway. Alex is unlike anyone he's ever met before or since.

But here, now, watching Alex bend to remove a salad bowl from the bottom rack, he is confronted with the hard truth. All those boys did, actually, share one trait.

"Are you gonna help me with this," Alex says without even an investigatory glance over his shoulder, "or are you just gonna keep staring at my ass?"

...

It’s Christmas 2022, their first since Alex officially moved in, and Henry is going to make a yule log if it kills him.

Perhaps he’s been too ambitious. He’s rather new to all. Growing up, he was rarely permitted in the kitchens, and he concentrated his uni diet on fast food and takeaway. He can make toast and boil an egg, and he’s got a deft hand with the coffee percolator and a gin swizzle from time to time. He knows about food– the finest foods, actually, he’s yet to meet an Englishman who can select a better brie– but he never learned to cook, until recently.

Recently, as in when Alex became too fanatically involved in his second-year coursework to remember to feed himself.

It began with force-feeding Alex a bacon butty twice a week. Henry’s arms suffered little constellations of grease burns, but bacon was easy. And those faded, so they didn’t deter him for long. Curiosity piqued, he taught himself the basics of pasta, how one can simmer almost anything with garlic and onion and butter and it will taste good over noodles. It bolstered his confidence enough to truly commit, and now, between hours at the shelters and video calls with his mum, he watches tutorial after tutorial on how to brown butter and roast chicken. Only half of what he makes turns out the color it’s meant to, but he loves it.

He loves walking to the market on the corner and hunting down specific ingredients from the family recipes June sends him. In fact, it’s become such a regular pastime that the paparazzi have cottoned on, which is why his mother finally forced his security team to hire an actual body double. Now some bloke named Angus with his height and build and nearly the same face goes on diversionary strolls while Henry peruses jarred chilies.

With all his independent studying, he was certain he could manage a dessert. He wanted to do something impressive, since they’ve convinced their families to let them host Christmas dinner. Only, his sponge has gone all wrong, and if he’s learned anything from Bake Off, he knows it’s not meant to have cracked in five places when he tried to roll it up. Paul Hollywood would have him pilloried.

“Think you might’ve left it in too long?” Oscar asks from across the kitchen island. He’s wearing his white elephant prize, a sweatshirt airbrushed with the slogan YOU CAN’T SPELL CONSTITUTION WITHOUT TITS. Inexplicably, Henry’s own mother brought that one. “Lookin’ kinda dry there.”

“I appreciate that you are trying to be helpful,” Henry enunciates, “but if you say one more word I may start crying, and then we’ll both lose some respect for me.”

Later, when Pez has persuaded him to “call it, mate, put it out of its misery,” he carries his disgraced platter of ganache and cake and marzipan out into the living room and lets everyone go at it with spoons. The house feels full to bursting, and not just because of the Christmas crackers. There are all three of Alex’s parents, Henry’s mum, June and Nora, Bea and Pez, Shaan and Zahra on speakerphone, occasionally an awkward Philip and Martha via FaceTime, and, because he had nowhere else to go for the holiday, Angus.

(“I don’t like him,” Alex muttered when Henry suggested inviting his own body double to Christmas dinner.

“Why not?”

“Because he looks exactly like you, but I find him deeply unattractive, and that freaks me out.”)

Ellen tells everyone the story of the year Alex got his first real bike for Christmas and knocked out his two front teeth by Boxing Day, which prompts Catherine to recite eight-year-old Henry’s letter to Father Christmas, in which he requested a leather-bound journal and a holiday to East Wittering so he could gaze at the sea. Bea pushes Henry behind the upright piano, and he takes requests for an hour. It only ends when Pez rewrites half the lyrics to “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen” to be about his own lactose intolerance. No one wants to follow “tidings of Lactaid and soy.”

After the third round of mulled wine, when Alex’s parents have called their drivers and his mum has retired to the guest room, June and Nora find themselves under the mistletoe. Everyone whoops and whistles until Nora finally pulls June in by her Christmas-light necklace and kisses her to a round of applause. June's cheeks turn red, but she looks pleased as anything.

"I can't believe it took this long for y'all to finally kiss." Alex says, to which Pez bursts into laughter. "What?"

"Alex," he says fondly. He drains his glass and pecks Alex on the forehead. "You gorgeous, stupid little turnip."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Pez just shakes his head and strolls off to the kitchen.

"Wait," Alex says.

He frowns, like he does when he's trying to recall something incredibly minute and specific from his torts textbook. Then, suddenly, a light goes on, and his own mug is clunking on the lamp table, and he's running off after Pez.

"Pez, what's that supposed to mean?"

...

It's late morning the summer before Alex's last year of law school, 2023, and Alex is the first word out of Henry's mouth.

Truthfully, that's how he begins most mornings. On a Monday morning five time zones away, "Alex" pitched low to the screen of his phone. On a Friday when Alex's early lecture is cancelled, "Alex" in F major, muffled in the pillow as his body moves and the day stretches out before them. Half three the night before an exam, a hoarse "Alex," followed by, "turn the bloody light off and come to bed."

This morning, it's because David is barking at the door. A rainstorm is brewing, and if jet lag didn't have Henry dead under the bedclothes, the gray gloom would. Alex was the one who surfaced from sleep half an hour ago and blearily ordered three entire pancake breakfasts from some 24-hour diner a few neighborhoods over. He should have to get up and answer the door.

“Alex.” Henry mumbles, turning over.

Alex has got the quilt tugged up so high he’s only a shock of wild curls on white linens.

“Nnnghh,” Alex groans from the depths.

“Breakfast is here,” Henry says. The doorbell helpfully rings again. David howls.

Alex’s face appears, pouting. There’s a crease from the pillow down one of his cheekbones, a comet’s tail in a constellation of freckles. “Can you get it?”

Henry rolls his eyes but smiles. Inevitable.

He drags himself out of bed and pulls on the joggers and hoodie from last night’s flight. It’s not until he feels the breeze on his ankles as he descends the stairs that he realizes they’re Alex’s, not his.

On their doorstep, a pink-haired delivery girl is looking bored under her bicycle helmet.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Henry says. He fishes a crumpled bill out of Alex’s pocket. “For your trouble.”

The girl pulls a face.

“Got any real money?” she asks. Her accent reminds him a bit of Alex’s mum.

He blinks down at her hand, which is holding a twenty-pound note. “Ah. Sorry again. Er.” He snatches his wallet out of the bowl on the credenza and gives her all the American dollars he has.

“She’s gone, Davey,” Henry says afterward to David, who’s now fretfully circling the living room. “You’ve protected us from another fearsome home invader. Well done.”

He lets David out into the back garden to do his business, then carries the food upstairs. Shockingly, Alex is awake and propped up against the headboard.

“I’m getting too old for red-eye flights,” Alex says, rubbing his eyes.

“Love, you’re twenty-five,” Henry reminds him. He deposits the bag on the nightstand, and Alex wastes no time tearing through the plastic and tucking in to his breakfast. “And I’m older than you.”

“Yes, you are. But like... I get why we have to go to Philip’s kids’ christenings. The cousins, though?” He sets to work smothering his pancakes in syrup. “I mean, at least my cousins would stack their baptisms. One and done, baby.”

Henry opens his mouth, prepared to answer with one of a thousand things. That the tabloids will have even more of a field day than usual if he stops doing his chores, that there will always be a church dedication or a swan upping or an appointment for a top hat fitting, that he’ll always be obligated to have one foot in London and one day they’ll have to choose where to settle down. It’s far from the first time they’ve had this conversation.

But then Alex shovels a massive bite of pancakes into his mouth and says, “Anyway, I love you. Do you wanna have June and Nora over tomorrow? We can play Mario Party again. I wanna see them get in a fistfight. Oh, and my dad’s in town next week, and he said to tell you he’s bringing that book you asked about–”

And that’s when Henry knows: He doesn’t ever want to go back.

...

It’s the end of spring 2024, and Henry is not eavesdropping, per se. He excused himself to answer a call from Shaan, which really could not be avoided. Shaan has taken to his new life as a househusband with predictable aplomb, and most of his calls these days involve Henry getting to talk to a baby who is clearly destined to become prime minister. He simply can’t send that to voicemail.

It’s the first time they’ve had room in the schedule for his mother to visit since Alex accepted his law job, which Henry understands very little about but has been assured is the most strategic next step for Alex’s career long game. When Henry left the room, Alex was still trying to explain it to Catherine. It all sounds terribly prestigious.

He is just returning to the sitting room with a fresh pot of tea when he hears his name from around the corner.

“–and the next morning Henry and Arthur vanished,” his mother is saying, “and when Uncle Algie called, I told him that Henry couldn’t go on the annual pheasant hunt because he was violently ill, but actually Arthur had taken him to Rome for two weeks on the set of that go on ridiculous car heist film he was working on, the one with, oh, what’s his name–“

“Jason Statham,” Alex says promptly, through wheezing laughter.

“That’s the one!”

“Loved that movie,” Alex says. “I can’t believe Henry got to be on set.”

“It was all Arthur’s idea, but he was right to do it. Uncle Algie is a dreadful bore, and Henry despises his son. Guilford. Did you meet Guilford at the wedding?”

“Henry made sure I avoided it.”

“Yes, that’s for the best,” Catherine says daintily. “He has matured into an absolute dickhead.”

Henry wishes he was in the room to see the way Alex sputters out, “Oh my God.” Alex always forgets that Catherine went to uni and married a commoner from Sheffield.

And then Alex sighs and says, “When Henry and I get married–”

Henry manages to recover the teapot before he drops it.

It’s not a surprise to hear Alex mention marriage. They’ve been sorting it out for years: political logistics and Alex’s child-of-divorce anxiety and a thousand questions about a royal wedding neither of them actually wants to have. He’s already bought an engagement ring, even, and judging by how tetchy Alex gets whenever Henry tries to put his underwear away for him, he’s not the only one.

But it is the first time he’s heard Alex mention it to his mother. He dropped it so casually, so matter-of-factly, as if he’s been talking to her about marrying Henry for years. Henry supposes it’s possible he has been. Is this why Alex had tea with her in London last month and told Henry he wasn’t invited? Have they been conspiring?

They’re discussing hypothetical guest lists now, which cousins secretly hate one another and who wore an inappropriately large fascinator to whose birthday tea, but Henry isn’t listening anymore. He’s thinking of a cafe table in Rome, his dad waving over a second round of gelato.

In his memory, he’s nine years old, and his father is saying, Whoever you marry, Henry, make sure they think your mum is a laugh, because she is. She really is.

He clears his throat and finally rounds the corner. “Tea, anyone?”

...

It’s 2024, and nobody knows they’re engaged.

Granted, they’ve only been engaged for about three hours, but Henry is curious to see how long they can go. It feels nice to keep a secret that doesn’t have to be a secret. It’s more that they’re keeping it like a pet, or something especially beautiful from the garden that they’ve coaxed into a jar.

A record is spinning on the turntable, one of Alex’s, maybe the Joni Mitchell he borrowed from Bea. They’ve shoved their phones under the couch cushions and ordered a pizza the size of the moon, and now they’re sitting in the center of the living room floor, demolishing it. They kiss, then eat more pizza, then get distracted kissing again. Henry licks a streak of pepperoni grease from Alex’s forearm, which is a fantasy he didn’t know he had until he’s living it. They tangle up on the rug, and Henry decides he’ll take Alex sailing next weekend, or even out to the edge of the river, just to see him against a horizon.

Four-nearly-five years in, the main thing he’s learned is that Alex is a world without end. All Henry wants is to go on with him forever. To keep finding new favorite parts, to keep turning things over and studying their soft bellies and finding the best bits.

So, he will.

...

It snows on New Year’s Eve 2024. Alex looks out the window and shrugs off his coat.

The Young America Gala may be no longer, but Nora, June, and Pez aren’t to be stopped from throwing a New Year’s party, especially now that Pez has gotten his own part-time flat in the city. They’re the three fates of New York City’s holiday social circuit: birth (June, managing invitations), life (Pez, topless), and death (Nora, also topless).

“What if,” Alex says, turning to Henry on the foot of the stairs, “we don’t go to the party?”

“Nora will murder me,” Henry says. “She told me she’s not afraid to do that now that I’ve given up my title.”

“Murder is still a crime even if you’re not officially a prince.”

“Yes, but she said, quote,” he puts on his best American accent, “They can’t put me in the Tower anymore. Who’s gonna arrest me now? Mr. Bean?”

“Why don’t we just send Angus? It’s dark. Maybe she won’t notice.”

“Where’s your double, then?”

“We live in New York, I’m sure I can find a male model somewhere.”

“As always, sounding the very bass string of humility.”

“Is that fucking Shakespeare?”

“Henry IV.”

“I’m gonna give you a wedgie, you fucking nerd.”

In the end, it doesn’t take much to convince Henry to stay in. Lately, it never does. Alex texts June a flimsy excuse, and they toe off their shoes and relax out of their button-downs.

Henry does have to admit he’s exhausted, in the way that one only can be on the last day of the year, when every other day of the year piles way up behind it. It’s been a big one: Alex’s first law job, the endless press about Henry’s decision to surrender his title, the engagement, Bea’s wedding, the incident with the croquet mallets and the Dutch ambassador at Bea's wedding.

Sometimes Alex jokes that they squeezed it all into one calendar year because no headline can stick if there's another next week, but it's only half a joke. They've been bone-tired for months.

"I'm surprised you're the one who wants to stay home," Henry says. "I remember a young lothario who lived to ruin people's lives on New Year's Eve."

"Ruin?" Alex says. "That's not how I remember it."

"It certainly felt that way at the time."

They drift to the kitchen, past all the traces of the year. The dried flowers, the new scuffs on the floorboards. The box of bound manuscripts of Henry's first finished poetry-ish short-fiction-ish essay-ish collection. The holiday cards from senators and diplomats and old Texas friends, topped off with Alex's favorite of Rafael Luna and his astonishingly fit partner in matching Christmas jumpers. Henry would think Raf had been forced into it if it hadn't come with a case of beer and a note of thanks for letting him stay over the last time he visited Alex and had one too many tequila shots at drag bingo.

Alex withdraws a bottle of Clicquot from the refrigerator and says, "We're not washed, are we?"

“We're aging," Henry points out.

"That's right," Alex says, eyes immediately sparking at the opportunity. Henry preemptively sighs. "You're almost thirty."

"Almost twenty-eight is not almost thirty."

"It basically is. You're old. You'll be thirty a whole year before me. You'll be popping antacids and I'll be in the club, popping my p-"

"You're not even in the club now."

"I could be, I'm just choosing not to, because I don't want to deal with the snow. That's not aging, it's growth."

He slides Henry a glass of champagne and adds, "It's probably time for us to start talking about what's on your Do Before Thirty list, huh?"

Henry takes the glass and chooses going with Alex's bit over pointing out that he's entering his late twenties, not dying.

“I’ve done quite well on that front so far, actually,” he says. “Wrote a book. Started a nonprofit. Engaged to the love of my life.”

“Involved in an international sex scandal.”

“Shook the hands of all five Spice Girls.”

“Best dressed at the Met Gala.”

“Cried in the Water Lilies room at the MOMA.”

“Grew your hair out, then cut it all off.“

“Taught myself to make beef Wellington.”

“That one’s, uh, still in progress,” Alex hedges. Henry gives him an affronted look. “But, yeah! Definitely. And you got really good at scones.”

“That I did.”

“Right,” Alex agrees. “So what’s left? Streaking? Dropping acid? Having sex on our kitchen island?”

Henry takes a moment with that one.

“Having sex on our kitchen island?”

When the clock strikes the new year, the house is quiet. The timer on the light over the front stoop clicks off. The champagne bottle rests between two glasses on the edge of the sink, spent and sticky around the rim, a single soggy strawberry at the bottom of each flute. Miles out from their apartment, fireworks fight the snow over the East River, but in their kitchen in Park Slope, the only sounds are the two of them.

Henry, almost twenty-eight, presses his warm body to the cool marble and gets his midnight kiss.

...

“Do you know what today is?” Alex asks on a lukewarm September.

It’s 2025. He’s in the doorway of Henry’s study, where Henry has been all evening, answering emails.

“Hm? No.”

When Alex doesn’t immediately fill the silence, Henry looks up from his laptop screen.

“What is it?”

“Five years since the story broke,” Alex says.

It takes a moment for him to realize what story Alex means; there have been so many of them. But of course, he means that gigantic, terrible one. The one that changed their lives forever.

“Oh,” Henry says. He closes his laptop, leaning back in his chair and away from it. “Well. Hated that.”

“Yeah,” Alex agrees. “Zero out of ten. Would not do again.”

His tone is light and casual, but when he folds his arms across his chest, Henry can see his glasses in the front pocket of his flannel. It’s been months and months since the last time Alex didn’t feel confident enough to wear them.

For his part, Henry can remember much of that day, but not all of it. He remembers stirring sugar into his morning tea when Shaan walked in wearing an expression Henry had never seen before. He remembers Pez arriving like the cavalry in Gucci slippers, hustling Henry away from his handlers with the same graceful disdain he used to direct at Eton classmates who stared at them too much. He remembers Bea finding them in the music parlor and refusing to hear Henry’s apology, and he remembers Alex’s call and Alex’s arrival.

The funny part, though, is he can’t remember anything between Bea and Alex. He knows that Philip was involved, and there were stories on every news channel, and he spoke to his mother at some point. But the space in his memory where those hours belong is simply blank. His psychiatrist says it’s post-traumatic stress disorder, and Henry is inclined to agree, considering the two of them spent the entire following year recalibrating Henry’s anxiety and depression medication around the event.

Those hours will always be gone. There are things he will never get back.

Most of the time, though, when he thinks of that day, the second worst thing that's ever happened to him, he thinks of Alex's hand in his under a Buckingham Palace table. He remembers, clear as a bell, Alex's voice telling him they would survive it together. It happened to Alex too. It wasn't what they would have chosen, but it was what they received, and they've done their absolute bloody best with it.

He rises from his desk, crosses to the doorway, and gathers Alex up against his chest. Their size difference isn't that pronounced—Henry is taller but lean, Alex shorter but sturdy—but in moments like this, he's thankful for the way Alex's cheek perfectly aligns with the crook of his neck. He's grateful for how effortless it is to slip a kiss to Alex's temple.

Neither of them says anything else. It's all been said a thousand times, in speeches and through official statements and in the dark when it's only the two of them. It's enough to stand here in the center of the house, in the quiet, and let it hold their weight.

...

At the end of 2025, Henry has a bad day.

There's nothing specific that causes it. The days just happen like this sometimes, even with all the therapy and medication and supportive partnership and fulfilling creative projects in the world. There are other people, he supposes, who don't spend their lives waiting for the next bad day. He's had every bloody luxury but that one.

Alex comes home from work to find him curled up on the armchair in the study, staring out the window at the light-polluted night sky over the row of brownstones across the street.

“What are you doing?" Alex asks him.

"Looking for Orion," Henry deadpans.

Alex kneels on the rug in his tailored suit pants and rolled-up sleeves and rests his cheek on Henry's knee, the way he often does when Henry's in a mood. Henry's fingers slide into his curls. They've grown a bit longer in the past few months. Lately. Alex looks quite like he did when they met, except for the glasses and the stubble dusting his jaw.

“I’m tired of big law, “ Alex confesses. It would appear he’s in a mood too. “I know it’s only been a year and a half, but...I kind of hate it.”

Henry contemplates that, along with the dark circles around Alex’s eyes.

“You don’t have to do it, you know.” Henry tells him.

Alex looks at him like he did in that hotel room in Paris the first time they woke up together, like the only thing he knows for sure about what he’s being offered is that he wants it completely. It’s an intimidating look to receive, but it’s only ever improved Henry’s life in the end.

He kisses Henry’s knuckle, just below his ring.

“I have some ideas.”

...

In February 2026, a flu sweeps through Park Slope. Neither Alex nor Henry can agree on who gave it to whom first– Henry knows it was Alex, since he’s been up late consulting with his mum about a voting rights bill in Texas, and his immune system always suffers when he gets upset about Texas—but regardless, they’re trapped in the brownstone together for a week. At least Alex doesn’t have to work through his illness the way he usually does, since he resigned from his job last month.

Somewhere around day five, Henry realizes it’s the longest consecutive amount of time they’ve both been home in years. They always seem to be leaving or returning: rushing off to appearances, climbing out of security caravans in half-undone suits, meeting Cash at the curb at three in the morning with bags over their shoulders. It’s nice, in a way, to get reacquainted with this home they’ve built together.

While Alex naps, Henry paces the entire floorplan.

The first floor, with its long living room and the original beams and mantelpiece, which Henry had restored before he moved in, because he always has been precious about the history of things. Then the kitchen and the deep blue cabinets and the wide back window over the knotty pine dining table handed down from Alex's dad. Upstairs, on the second floor, the guest bedroom with all of his mum's preferred hand creams in the attached washroom and the sitting room with the shelf of swan figurines Pez started collecting years ago in a dramatic fit of June-related yearning. One more flight up to the top floor, with his study and Alex's office and the hall with their photo from Shaan and Zahra's wedding and, at the far end, their bedroom.

The bedroom is his favorite part of the house, and not only for the obvious reasons, no matter how much Alex tries to imply otherwise with suggestive eyebrows. He loves the high ceiling and the chipped plaster medallion of roses at the center. They picked out the bed together, and every morning that he wakes up in it, he gets to turn over and see Alex's loose pens and glasses wipes scattered atop the dresser and know that this, his life, is still real. Perhaps he likes the room best because it feels separated from every other part of the house, lifted up and bundled in, which is the first time he's ever been safe in a tower.

Most importantly, of all three levels of bay windows jutting from the redbrick front of the brownstone, only the one in the bedroom has a seat. They've filled it with velvet pillows and mossy green cushions, and once or twice a year, on one of their vanishingly rare slow days, Alex will climb in and fall asleep.

That's where he finds Alex when he eases into the room with a mug of soup in each hand. He recognizes the quilt wrapped around him: they slept under it in Alex's childhood twin bed the night Ellen won her second term, and then Alex crammed it into his suitcase and brought it back to Washington.

He stirs as Henry sets the mugs down on the dresser.

“Thanks,” he says in a hoarse voice.

Henry nudges in beside him, gingerly removing Alex's glasses from beneath his elbow before they get crushed.

"You know," Henry says, "I chose this house for the bay windows."

Alex blinks at him, fully awake now. "Really?"

"I thought you might like them. You always talked about the one you grew up with. Hoped they might make the place feel like home."

Alex smiles. "They do."

Henry looks at him in his quilt, sleep-mussed and flushed from fever and overdue for a shave, and he remembers that night in the yellow house in Austin. Before Alex led them back to his old bedroom, he peeled up the cushion in the living room window seat and showed Henry pages of elementary school scribbles still hidden there. And he told Henry that he thought once of hiding a picture there too, if only he'd had the nerve to tear it out of his sister's magazine.

Love, Henry has found, has a way of growing backward. You fall in love with a person in the present, and then every person you've ever been gets to fall in love with every past version of them. A sleep-deprived Georgetown freshman falls in love with an Oxford sophomore who's testing out undoing the top button of his shirts sometimes. A ruddy-cheeked teenager with his nose in a book loves a backtalking lacrosse captain. A boy comes home from school with perfect marks and sees a picture in a magazine, and the boy from the picture pauses on a palace staircase.

The crux of it is, he loves every version of Alex to ever sleep under that quilt. Everything else is mostly set dressing

"I'm having a thought," Henry says.

"Congratulations," Alex deadpans automatically. Then, "Tell me."

"This life we have here," Henry says. "This house. It's good, yeah?"

"Yeah, of course it is."

"But we could have a good life somewhere else too."

Alex frowns. "Like where?"

"Somewhere... farther from everything, maybe? Somewhere we could slow down, and things could be quieter, and you could do the work you want to do. I think I could use some time away from it all, honestly. Maybe I wouldn't even have to have a body double anymore."

Alex considers that for a long moment. They both know where Henry means, even if he doesn't say it. Besides New York and DC, and London on its best days, there's really only one place Alex would seriously consider living. They've joked about it before, but Henry's always thought it might be nice to spend a few years somewhere completely different than he's used to. A place where he could see the stars.

At long last, Alex sniffs and says, "You're gonna fire Angus? He was just starting to grow on me.”

...

“If you don't wake Bea up, you're gonna have to hear about her back spasms in the morning,” says a voice that is most certainly not Heath Ledger's.

Henry startles awake to find Alex leaning over his shoulder from behind the loveseat, curls everywhere. The room is dark, and the end credits are rolling.

"You're not home until tomorrow," Henry mumbles.

"Moved up my flight," Alex says. He's so close to Henry's face, he's gone a bit cross-eyed. His lips bounce off the tip of Henry's nose. "I missed you."

It's only been a few days, but the truth is Henry missed him too. He supposes he should be used to empty beds and time differences by now, especially when they began that way, but he suspects he'll never stop waiting at the door. You know what will be the best part of getting married?" Henry asks Alex.

"The line dancing."

"The way I won't have to miss you nearly as often."

Alex softens, then maneuvers himself over the armrest until he's draped across Henry's lap. David climbs on top of him and curls up on Alex's left buttock.

Letting go of the house has been hard, but this particular decision was easy, once they finally said it out loud. A gradual, careful withdrawal from public life, at least for a few years. They’ve given so much of themselves to the world and had the privilege of feeling a legacy take shape beneath them, but they need rest too.

It was June who convinced them, actually. Even now, there are certain things only June can say to Alex. Early in the spring, when she was finally transitioning out of her speechwriting job for Raf, she called Alex from Colorado and told him she was moving to New York to be closer to Nora and Pez, and she wanted to sublet the brownstone. When Alex pointed out that he was still living in it, she said, "We both know you've been looking at farmhouses in Austin for six months, it's time to shit or get off the pot."

(Henry loves his particular collection of Americans. They truly do say what's on their minds.)

The new house is beautiful. Henry's only seen it in person once, but the previous owner was a reclusive tech executive with shockingly good taste, so Architectural Digest featured it last year. He's had the article open in a tab on his phone for two months, and he scrolls through all those perfectly lit photos twice a day, getting high on possibilities. Lazy mornings in the wide sunroom, midnight dives in the lake. It's easy to imagine Alex mellowing into a brisket-smoking, tamale-rolling Texas dad out there, and it's just as easy to imagine them basking under cedar trees until their mid-thirties and then deciding they're ready for another round. The wonderful thing is, they can take their time either way.

It isn't a full release from their obligations, but it is the next step after formally relinquishing his title. More boundaries, more of their own rules about what they will and won't do. No royal wedding, but a private ceremony at the lake house and a honeymoon unpacking boxes. A job for Alex at a smaller firm where he can finally get his hands in the earth. A quieter life.

"You're right," Alex says. "You know what else is gonna be awesome about married-people life? We can have actual, real-life date nights. Just imagine it: free refills and bottomless chips and salsa."

"Oh, I've got another one," Henry says. “You can finally show me how to navigate an H-E-B."

“Baby, don’t talk dirty to me in front of company.”

“Please,” says a groggy voice from the couch.

“Hi, Bea.”

“Time’s it?”

“One in the morning.”

“Ugh.”

Grumbling and tugging a blanket around herself, Bea wakes Pez and the two of them head off to wash up before bed. The odds of Pez returning to the couch for the night or availing himself of their bed so that Alex has to sleep on the couch are just about even, based on six years of Pez falling asleep at their house. It’s a comfort to know that when they leave the brownstone and June moves in, Pez will still be making himself at home in it.

Downstairs, surrounded by boxes, Alex crawls out of Henry’s lap and slides a large shopping bag out from behind the loveseat. “I brought you something.” Alex says.

Inside the bag is a box made of the sort of heavy cardboard that augurs something expensive. He imagines Alex hurling his patched-up rough-ridden leather duffle into the overhead compartment of the airplane and then sliding this bag under the seat so carefully that there’s not even a crease in the paper.

He takes the lid off the box and unwraps layers of tissue paper to reveal a hat. A cowboy hat. It’s made of gorgeous, thick felt, with a cattleman crown and a satin lining. A nearly identical one has hung in Alex’s office since he moved in, though Alex’s is midnight black and this one is a warm, pale sand. Where Alex’s hatband has a small gold buckle, this one has a silver pin in the shape of an English rose.

“It’s a Stetson,” Alex says. When Henry looks up at him, his cheeks have darkened faintly. “I know it’s not really your thing, but you ride horses, and it’s kind of a big deal where I’m from to get your first Stetson, so I wanted to be the one to give it to you since you’re about to be an honorary Texan. You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want–“

“I love it,” Henry interrupts.

Alex pauses, then breaks out in a grin. “You do? I was afraid you’d think it was a joke.”

“It’s the least ridiculous hat I’ve ever been given,” Henry tells him. “It didn’t even come with a matching tailcoat.”

“Nah, but maybe we can get you some Wranglers,” Alex says.

“Some chaps, perhaps.”

“I just told you not to talk dirty to me.”

Henry laughs and kisses him over the open box, thinking of the next year of their lives. Sunday morning fry-ups, swimming holes, a wedding cake that doesn’t wind up on the floor. Tomorrow he needs to ask if Alex checked on the bakery while he was in Austin, and if they have any more packing tape, and whether Amy’s daughter has gotten her flower girl dress yet.

Tonight, though, Alex is home a day early, and the house is making all its soft, familiar night-time sounds around them. No one sees in through the windows. No one comes in through the gate.

“Henry,” says Alex.

“Alex,” says Henry.

“You and me,” Alex says.

“You and me,” Henry agrees.

End.

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milgram-tournament · 5 months

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MILGRAM Best Song Tournament, Round 2, Match 2 BRING IT ON vs. THIS IS HOW TO BE IN LOVE WITH YOU

Propaganda for both options under the cut!

Propaganda for BRING IT ON:

"Reasons why Bring it On should win:

- Just by starting the song, the instrumentals are BANGER. Like his more rock style is very cool, even better than After Pain’s more mellow style - Arthur’s voice (Futa’s va) had bills due because have you HEARD his singing?? His raspier voice fits Futa so well - It feels so explosive and like a call to action in a sense, which very much matches Futa’s mentality during trial 1. He also wasn’t playing victim like a CERTAIN girl… (jk, love you mu!) - SAA HAJIMEYOU USOTSUKI KARIDA - UNDEAD HEROOOI YES SLAY KING HIS HIGH NOTE HERE IS HEAVENLY - His scream at the end. Oh my god. HE LITERALLY ATE THIS NOTE. AFTER PAIN COULD NEVER. BRING IT ON FTW 🔥🔥🔥" - His range goes WAAAAAY higher than Mu. She would end up like PHG if she even tried hitting any of his high notes in the last chorus /j

---

- The vocals are amazing, those growls are so well done - You’re able to get Fuuta’s crime and motive pretty succinctly, only based on the visuals - But it still leaves a lot up to interpretation, like how he only attacked once in the final fight scene. It lead to some cool theories. - On that note, the game aspects are so cool!! Especially when paired with him going after people online, just good synergy with awesome style! - Fuuta’s scared face after he realizes what he did. The great contrast of other foes simply being knocked out then being met with blood splatter. - The tempo of the song changing with his mood is a really good touch as well. Make the song more chaotic which highlights his character traits well

---

"propaganda for bring it on: the music FUCKS it genuinely slaps so hard listening to it. song style is incredible its perfect for fuutas personality and gamer vibes. also the way the mv frames everything as a game? the only time real blood and real gore happens being when killcheroy dies? the little details of all the usernames, the different monster designs, the generally distorted feel of everything being too lighthearted?

okay i could go on about the mv for hours but lets not. aside from that: the FEEL of the song!!! the vocals!!!! it really feels like fuuta putting his whole heart into it, into this point of view that both blows problems out of proportion and minimises them, and DEEPLY fucking up. my darling little hypocrite gamer boy twitter user. he makes his witch hunt genuinely sound like something that could sweep people up into it. also the instruments goddddd. the guitar and synth the bass and the drums the DRUMS. im relistening to it to write this propaganda and it keeps making me headbang when i should be writing. if you arent headbanging to bring it on you are LYING.

the way the lyrics are written is wonderful too!!!! they feel so brash and brave and powerful and like. cocky about it. and it fits PERFECTLY. its gets someone swept up into it and it FUCKS. vote bring it on im serious. lets go!! a victory march!! dan da dan!!"

Propaganda for TIHTBILWY:

okay so like the thing im most in love with: the VOCALS!!!! this song has an absolutely AMAZING singer and AMAZING vocals!!!! the way the conversational talk-singing lines still feel so musical!!!! the cute cute cuteeeee mahiru voice!!!! it brings you so much energy!!!! its a song sung with so much love!!!! mahirus va brings such an amazing feel to the song with such amazing talk-singing!!!! its very skillfully done and it happens in i love you too!! mahiru songs r the QUEENS of musical talk singing

the silly phone call bit. kurururu~!

the little vocal flourish and the way her voice raises up like an excited exclamation in the final prechorus!! daijoubu nante kirai DA!

its such a fast song but everything flows so well!!!! it makes it feel so bright and cheery and peppy!!

the instrumental is so underrated just LISTEN to that catchy bass line thats so pretty in the verses!!!! no for real even if u dont vote this is how to be in love with you go listen to the bass line in the verses it works to move both the song and the listener forward at mahirus sweeping breakneck pace. and the cute keyboard sounding and synth instruments!!!! its SUCH a danceable song!!!! i cant listen to it without bopping along in my seat

the way the ominous bits are subtly hidden? it all sounds so cute but there are just these Things that she sings that are really kind of concerning and unhealthy when she sings them!! and the veiled desperation to be in her relationship- listening to that and the cheery tone and breakneck, quick song pace, it really does represent mahiru SO well. she throws in all these little bits that just go noooo teehee the relationships just fine!! when it REALLY isnt

i would listen to mahiru talk for hours

the MV!!!!!! HER FASHION SENSE THE MAGAZINE STYLE!!!! the magazine style especially works so well with her character!!!! its so cute and stunning and just looking at it you have a blast. also her birdcage!!!! her birdcage and the bright orange and the pink bars!!!! the way everything desaturates and becomes more sickly looking when she wakes up at the end!!!! its such a happy carefully curated and designed dream and then it drains away!!!! also god all her outfits are stunning. mahiru call me

the way she sings "overheat de~!" cutest thing in the WORLD.

the little faces she makes!!!! godddd shes so expressive

actually the whole songs so expressive!!!! shes putting her all into it!!!! her words have so much expression in them!!!! once more praising mahirus va the way her voice can soften and become bright or subtly desperate so quickly is MASTERFUL control of expression when singing and its so underrated. join me in being insane over miho okasaki delivers her lines. shes such a perfect mahiru.

funniest es cover. hands down. funniest es cover.

this is how to be in love with you is FREE serotonin!!!! free energy right there!!!! this is how to be in love with you sweep!!!!!

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-The song is so cheerful!! I always feel like dancing and singing when this one comes up in my playlists!! Absolute banger, mood definer, kicking sadness in the shin with those high-heels and then hitting its face with a cute purse -THE HIGH-HEELS STEPPING TO THE BEAT OF THE MUSIC IN THAT ONE SCENE (0:50). SIMPLY ICONIC. NO ONE DID IT LIKE HER. -👠💅👝👗 -She is slaying. Look at her outfits. She put so much effort there. She gave it her all. Absolutely serving. -SUKITTE KIMOCHI WAKATTA TSUMORI? NARA KONO MAMA FUTARI O-VA-HI-TO- DE -The storyline of the mv MAKES SENSE and you can form a COHESIVE TIMELINE OF EVENTS (unlike other unspecified contestants' mvs you know 🙄) -look at herr 🥺 she beby 🥺 all she did was love too much 🥺 we all love mappi don't we 🥺 she deserved more let her win this pleease 🥺 -No medical malpractice happened in the making of this mv 👍

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I care so much about This is How To Be In Love With You- it's visuals are brilliant in the ways it conveys its themes and narrative. I'm never normal Ever about the "Love as marketing" symbolism that is brought in by the use of magazines. It's a lovely upbeat song but the Horrors are Always Lurking under it, the breakup Ritual line is my Favorite Line cause its so horrifying but its said so casually and its so good oh its so good-

#milgram #milgramtournament #fuuta kajiyama #kajiyama fuuta #mahiru shiina #shiina mahiru

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evanchantingpeters · 8 months

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Let me take care of you (Fanfic - Housemate edition)

Pairings ─ Evan Peters x Fem reader

Genre ─ Smut/fluff

Summary ─ You and Evan are housemates. Dragging yourself downstairs after a day of virtual grind, you stumble on Evan in the kitchen, playing chef. As you pour out your workday struggles to him, he decides to cool you off in his own special way. Just as the steamy vibes start rolling in on the countertop, a plot twist goes down.

Warnings ─ Swearing, fingering, oral (f receiving), nipple teasing, squirting, overstimulation :)

Word count ─ 1724

18+ > If you're a minor, DO NOT read!

You peel yourself away from the computer at 6 pm on the dot after what feels like a never-ending virtual meeting marathon. The glow of your computer screen has imprinted on your retinas, and you swear you can see faint outlines of pie charts on the walls. It’s time to free yourself from the shackles of the fintech world and wind down for the night.

“Enough with slaving away,” you huff out and tug at the hem of your dark floral dress, as if shedding the remnants of a tedious remote workday and a thousand mouse clicks. You fetch your black knitted cardigan from the closet and slip through its comforting embrace.

As you lumber down the stairs, visions of spreadsheets and Teams calls still haunt you. But wait, what’s that aroma wafting through the air? It’s not the most pleasant odour, but you’re starving. You follow your nose like a cartoon character floating on the scent waves, only to find Evan in the kitchen.

Evan, decked out in a white apron that’s askew and screams ‘I have no idea what I’m doing, but I swear I’m trying my best,’ is vigorously stirring a saucepan on the stove.

He turns to you with a broad dimpled smile that’s equal parts endearing and suspicious. “Hey there, survivor of the corporate jungle! Look, your housemate’s working up a culinary masterpiece,” he exclaims, a spatula brandished like a knight’s sword.

You eye the chaotic scene in the kitchen with an arched brow. “Culinary masterpiece, you say? Should I be calling 911 just in case?”

He lets out a throaty chuckle. “Fear not, Y/N!” He chirps, winking at you. “I’m trialling a dish that requires minimal skill and maximum faith in the universe.”

You shoot him a tight-lipped smile as you push aside the table cloth and cautiously take a seat at the kitchen counter. You watch as Evan throws a drizzle of something mysterious into the saucepan. “And may I ask what’s on the menu?” you scoff while swooshing your legs that dangle off the counter, your voice laced with curiosity and a hint of survival instinct.

He playfully pinches the tip of your nose, a sly smirk curling up on the corners of his lips. “Instant noodles, but with my own twist. Trust me, you’ll be licking the plate by the end of it,” he says as he begins to slice and dice a colourful bunch of veggies.

“Only my fingers?” you ponder, and your lips pout slightly as you observe the veins on his calloused and robust hands sticking out with each chopping movement. The sight of those hands always makes you moist down there, let alone the feeling of them on or in you… Proper gush…

“So, how was work? Give me the scoop,” Evan insists, his enthusiasm bursting through the air like confetti, jolting you out of your thoughts.

You shake your head and blink rapidly to regain your composure. “It was…” you wheeze, your voice cracking like a rusty gate, and you immediately clear your throat, “It was a long blooper reel. Most of my team’s on annual leave, so it was pretty much a one-woman show.”

Evan’s eyes widen with sympathy, as if sensing there’s more to this workplace saga. “Oh, shoot,” he grunts. “Don’t sweat, I’ll take good care of you,” he continues after a brief pause as he massages your legs, your breath catching in your throat. His hands work their magic, though, kneading away the invisible knots of stress that the day has tied.

“I don’t think noodles could do the trick,” you purr, and a low giggle escapes you.

A moment of silence ensues, as his eyes flick down to your lips. “There's something that can squirt the tension out of you in no time,” His whisper carries a velvety rasp, his warm breath, tinged with the scent of mint and coffee, delightfully fanning your face.

“And that is?” You snap, and he hums with a cunning grin etched on his face. Your heart begins to throb with heavy thuds as he gently spreads your legs, and his right hand traces a tantalising path from your inner thighs.

“Tell me what you want,” he coos with a mischievous twinkle in his dark eyes as he stretches aside the fabric of your soaked panties.

“You,” you gasp when his index finger glides up and down your wet slit, making him groan at the slimy texture. Your head falls back when he starts rubbing your clit in slow circular motions, ragged moans tumbling out of your mouth.

He buries his head in the crook of your neck and nibbles on your soft skin, his expertly smooth teasing of your clit persists.

“Don’t stop,” you spill through your pleasure in a hushed tone. Gripping his shirt, you pull him closer and smash your lips against his. Your tongue plunges into his mouth and swirls with his in a passionate rhythm, deepening the kiss.

His chest is heaving heavily, and you feel an eager finger circling around your vaginal opening. You let out a choked “Evan” as he slowly slides his long, sturdy finger into you, popping in and out, and groaning loudly at the warmth of your insides.

“You feel so good, baby girl,” he rasps out and tilts his head to the side, a crooked smile is playing on his lips as he watches his finger gliding in you.

Your hands desperately roam along his chiselled chest, trailing down to his hard cock, and you feel his bulge straining under his slacks.

Without warning, he climbs on the kitchen counter and slumps on top of you. You lie on your back and feel the knot in your stomach tightening as he settles in between your legs, hovering over you. He shreds your cardigan and dress in an instant, and his tongue momentarily flicks across his lips as he marvels at your beauty.

Balancing his weight on his arms, he crouches down on you and drags sensual yet raw kisses on your lips down your neck, and you throw your head back to give him more room.

He lowers his upper body to come in direct contact with your perked nibbles. Nuzzling his nose on your breasts, he gives them both a soft pull, moaning softly. You release an involuntary squeal, feeling you cunt aching more and more as his kissing journey moves down to your stomach. When he reaches your pussy that’s now pounding for him, he props himself on his elbows and glosses over your baby blue thong with a smirk. He glances up at you, his eyes carrying a lustful glint.

Pulling your legs closer to him, he adjusts your thighs on his shoulders but refuses to break his stare on your face. His lips brush along your inner thighs and leaves tender love bites, edging closer and closer to where you want him to reach.

When he presses his mouth over the fabric of your panties right on your sensitive spot, you gasp in his firm hold. You instinctively arch your back once you feel the vibrations of his moans against you.

“Would you let me taste you?” he asks for your permission with a husky voice. You frantically nod in despair, unable to utter a single syllable.

He chucks your panties away and peers at your glistening pussy with awe, his hot breath tingling your skin. He licks a long stripe along your delicate bud, and you squeak. He groans loudly at your taste and dives in headfirst. His lips suck on your clit while his tongue glides repeatedly against the rest of your slit, building the momentum of your orgasm.

You dig your fingers in his hair and squirm in his grasp. He roughly tightens the grasp of your thighs and continues to eat you out like you’re his last meal on death row.

Not too long after, he gently pushes two fingers in you until he’s knuckle deep. His mouth attaches back on your clit, toppling you off the edge. You cry out and your tug on his hair becomes harsher. His nose nudges your clit ever so slightly as his tongue twirls and twists at your sobbing red cunt, leaving your mind fuzzy. Your moans are getting higher and higher in pitch, as you know you aren’t going to last long.

“Jeez, I can’t get enough of you,” he roars, looking so dedicated to your pleasure. His words facilitate your orgasm to hurl straight at you as his tongue laps in and out of you, rolling against your gummy walls.

Your release finally washes over you in waves and with a scream, your vision becoming hazy. Your legs tighten around his head as your knees wobble and you squeeze on his biceps.

Evan eases you through the aftershocks of your orgasm, knowing when to let go and avoid your overstimulation.

“Oh, shit,” you yelp and find yourself grinning down at him short of breath. He reciprocates the smile, a cute look overtakes his features. He draws comforting circles on your lower belly and leaves pecks on your thighs, giving you a few minutes to regulate your breathing.

Cupping his chin, you pull him up for a sloppy yet rough kiss. “How does the work tension feel now?” he chuckles softly, stroking your breasts as he rests on top of you. You can feel his hardness pressing against your stomach.

“Work, who? I don’t know her!” you blurt out, and you both burst out laughing.

As you lean in for another kiss, the sudden jingle of keys interrupts your bliss. Panic flashes in both of your eyes as the front door rattles, and the unmistakable sound of the landlord unlocking the entrance echoes through the room.

In a split second, you hastily disentangle yourselves from one another, scrambling to restore the kitchen counter to its innocent state. Evan wipes his mouth off and adjusts his tousled hair, discreetly holding his erect crotch until it comes to ease. All the while, you straighten your dishevelled clothes and ram panicked legs through your panties, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

You and Evan exchange a quick, sheepish glance just as the landlord swings the door open.

“Hey there! Just wanted to check on the leaky toilet upstairs,” the landlord exclaims, oblivious to your eat-out moment.

Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated; consider them a warm, fuzzy thank-you hug from yours truly💙

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rumble-aint-a-rumble-without-me · 8 months

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I don't know if this has been done before, if it has ignore my ask but i was wondering if you could do a set of headcanons explaining how the boys show love? Like do they compliment? Do they do things for their s/o? Are they constantly expressing affection or is it special when they show love? Do they do grand gestures or is it more of a low-key thing? Again I haven't read all of your posts so if this has been done already I'm sorry. It feels like something that would have been done before but I can't find it.

A/N: This request has been making its round in the fandom, but I haven’t done this yet! I’ve done dating headcanons before, but not an in-depth of how the boys show their love! Thank you so much for requesting, I was super jazzed to write this!

DARRY CURTIS

For Darry, I definitely think he’s acts of service or quality time as his giving love language, and maybe words of affirmation for receiving?

He’s giving the vibes that he’d always be trying to do things for you or having you around, I really think those moments are seriously when he’s the most happy and thriving

So for acts of service specifically, I can see him being the boyfriend to carry your bags or hold doors for you, cook you dinner, or do chores around the house that benefit you like picking up your favorite foods when he goes grocery shopping

Also! Doing your laundry! Got a feeling you’re spending so much time around the house, your clothes work themselves into the laundry cycle and Darry makes sure to leave them on the foot of the bed for you, carefully folded up

And with quality time, he just likes having you around him, y’know? It’s kind of self-explanatory-

Boyo just wants to be with you, watching a movie, cooking, shopping, sitting, working, watching, Darry wants to be at your side and just stay there, hanging out in your orbit

SODAPOP CURTIS

Physical touch and words of affirmation as his giving love language and quality time as his receiving language!

I think Sodapop has a little problem with wondering if people really like him or not? Like if they just think he’s pretty or actually like him? So going out of your way to hang out with him makes him feel really appreciated

But he’s definitely gotta have his hands on you, both as a way to get out all of his chaotic energy and as a way of loving on you at all hours of the day!

Hands on your waist, keeping you close when you go dancing, toying with your fingers, or nuzzling along the line of your jaw when you cuddle, Sodapop is very tactile and very dexterous

And the words of affirmation, oh my good Lord, this boy will shower you with so much sweetness that you’ll feel like you took a bath in syrup

He thinks you’re pretty, thinks you’re smart, thinks you’re incredible, gorgeous, hard-working, lovely, funny, you’re everything to him and he’s gonna let you know it every day

PONYBOY CURTIS

Pony’s giving love languages are words of affirmation and quality time and his receiving is physical touch because I say so

Pet his hair, kiss his cheek, lace your fingers with his and tug him around, pressing into his side, Pony absolutely melts whenever you touch him

Words are really kind of his thing? He’s a writer babes, let me just tell you, you’re gonna be immortalized in his writing as his muse, forever and ever no matter what happens between you two

He writes you love letters and little notes, chock full of compliments and affirmatives about how much he cares about you! I highly suggest keeping these and thumbing at the corners when you miss him <3

And quality time? You guys do spend a lot of time together, but it’s usually around the guys, so Ponyboy does try and take some time out so it’s just the two of you guys together

You go to the movies together a lot, do your homework together (either at his place or yours), and go on walks to watch the sunset like the hopeless romantics you both are!

DALLAS WINSTON

You can argue with me all you want, but Dally’s receiving is words of affirmation and his givings are acts of service and physical touch

He may be all big and tough, but Dally’s got a soft spot for you and your words always manage to resonate with him, he values your thoughts and opinions over anyone else’s

Yes, I know that he’s an asshole with a bunch of unresolved trauma, but he’s got some gallant traits and I think that he knows how to treat a lover, knows how to be a good person

He defends you endlessly, guards your drink, picks you up from wherever you are, and takes you out all the time. Dally wants to do things for you, okay? Ya might as well let him do what he wants

And physical touch is such a straightforward concept for him, you can’t look me in the eye and convince me that he’s not one of the touchiest boys, you just can’t, okay?

So many kisses you think you’ll never breathe again, hands finding homes in the dips of your hips or the pockets of your jeans, linking his fingers with yours to give you a little more freedom but still keeping you close when you guys go out!

JOHNNY CADE

Johnnycake my beloved, I’m gonna give him words of affirmation and acts of service for giving and words of affirmation as receiving too!

I think he’s got a rough relationship with touch that’s too long to discuss here, but I really do think he flourishes under compliments! Tell him he’s smart, tell him you like his hair when it’s ungreased, just tell him you like him for crying out loud-

Johnny likes to talk with you? Which seems weird cause he’s often painted as this shy and quiet kid who never really talks to anyone, but he’s got some sass, we see it when he’s with Ponyboy

So he talks with you and I kid you not, every other statement out of his mouth is a compliment your way, he’s constantly praising you for every little thing under the sun, I’m not even joking

And he’s always down to do things for you! You need something, he’s jumping to get it for you or already giving up what he has to give it over to you

Johnny’s personally offended whenever you try to downplay your needs or thoughts, he wants so badly to help you out and show you how much he loves you, I’m begging you just ask if you need something

TWO-BIT MATHEWS

This handsy little man definitely has physical touch as one of his giving languages and I think gift-giving is another! I’m torn between acts of service and quality time as his receiving

Two-Bit likes having you around and will often call you up just to hang out or join him on whatever adventure he finds himself in, whether that’s just watching his sister or hitting up a part in the neighborhood

He shows a lot of his love through little trinkets? You’ve probably got shelves full of the little doo-dads he’s given you-

Some of them are stolen, some of them were handmade, and some were actually bought, but all of them, you can rest assured, were given to you with nothing but love and adoration

Hands, hands, hands, if Two’s not touching you, he’s not going to have a good day and he will throw a hellacious fit if you don’t let him keep at least one finger linked with yours

Two likes to have his hands on your hips or tracing the lines of your body, he’s a sucker for your eyes and likes to draw shapes on your skin, especially over your stomach and shoulder blades!

STEVE RANDLE

Love languages for Steve-o are acts of service and words of affirmation for giving and physical touch for receiving!

I think he’d benefit from you showering him in hugs and kisses? Tracing the greased swirls of his hair and squeezing his hand whenever you go to link your fingers together-

With acts of service, he’s constantly trying to do everything for you, man’s a cheerleader and wants nothing more out of life than to be at your beck and call

Carrying your backpack or shopping bags, driving you around when you guys go out on the town and all that! He will not let you pay for anything, it’s a fight every time you try to pay for food-

Cheerleader also literally means nothing but compliments, okay? He’s got nothing but kind words to give to you in he’s gonna tell you all about it, every single thought that passes through that head of his

Wearing an outfit he likes? Compliments and kisses. Helped him out with a car at the DX? Tells you how well you did and how you’re a far better helper than Sodapop ever was

TIM SHEPARD

Darling Timothy Shepard has acts of service and physical touch as his giving love languages and acts of service for receiving too

It means a lot to him when you do things, helps him know that you really do care for him like you’ve been saying, it’s that reassurance he needs, especially if you’re taking care of him by taking care of his siblings

Giving acts of service looks like him defending you, picking you up or driving you around town for things other than dates, and paying for dinner when you guys go out

You’re his doll, y’know? He’s never really had anyone steady to take care of him so he’s gonna make sure that he’s steady in your relationship, he’s gonna be there always to take care of you

He’s iffy with receiving physical touch but gives it out very freely, mostly focused through touches or kisses

He’ll run his fingers through your hair, trace your cheekbones, hold your hand or slip a hand into your back pocket, kiss your cheeks and the spot below your ear, making sure you feel his love <3

CURLY SHEPARD

Curly’s got physical touch and acts of service as his giving love languages, much like his older brother, but his receiving is words of affirmation!

He needs to be smothered in kind words, okay? He won’t believe them at first but just keep it up and he’ll be a happy little Curly in no time, you’ve got to get through that tough outside

As for physical touch, it’s self-explanatory. He likes to have his hands on you and he’s gonna touch you all the time, just as long as you don’t mind, of course, he’d never do something you’re not okay with

Specifically, I’m talking about him tracing shapes into your skin when you’re laying next to each other, his hand finding a home on the inside of your thigh when you’re sitting in a booth at the diner, tons and tons of kisses all over your face, neck, and hands

Acts of service looks like him giving over his jacket when it gets cold in the evenings, sharing the fries on his plate when he can tell you’re still hungry, carrying your backpack down the school hallways

He doesn’t always know how to show his love through words or anything, so he relies heavily on actions and doing things for you as a way to try and make sure you know how he feels about you

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