#but like that's never really that kind of spirit's fault per se you know like the Slit Mouth Woman and stuff

[bogleech]

I like how Dandadan sets the audience up to think Turbo Granny is just a pervert because she chases men, taunts them obscenely and steals their dicks and it seems played for entirely just freaky shock comedy until the reveal that she's (spoiler and content warning)

A yokai acting on the aimless collective wrath of multiple rape and murder victims (who form their own ghost that considers her its grandma) :(

[cityandking]

self, fate, past, & exit for vesper and minah!

ty tabby!!! /oc asks: relationships edition

Self: How is your OC's relationship with themself? Does your OC like who they are? Is there anything about themself that they would change?

VESPER — vesper's largely at peace with herself. she had pretty much no close companions except for herself for years, so she's gotten to know herself quite well. over the course of Inquisition she truly comes into her own, and she's at peace with who she is and what she's doing. it's a good growth period for her—she likes who she is, and wouldn't change anything

MINAH — minah doesn't like herself very much at all. she's comprised largely of faults and she picks at them like scabs when she doesn't have anything to distract her, so she's gotten very good at being distracted. that said, she's not really interested in changing? there are precise things she wishes she'd done differently in her life, but she doesn't want to be a different person per se. there's a certain comfort with being so intimately familiar with your own faults—better the devil you know, and all that

Fate: Does your OC believe in destined meetings? True love, soulmates, hearing the bells? Have they ever experienced this?

VESPER — no, she doesn't put any stock in fate. there was a brief period where she considered the idea that she was the Herald by some actual touch of the Maker—a faint, tentative devotion—but that was cut off quite neatly by the spirit(?) of Divine Justinia and the truth she discovered in the Fade. she's certainly never applied it to relationships

MINAH — I think she has a deeply deeply buried inner romantic. she doesn't expect anything to come of it, but there's a tiny, hidden part of her that sort of expects to just Know if she were ever to meet The One. that said, she hasn't yet, and honestly I don't know if she ever will

Past: Does your OC have any past partners? How did the relationship(s) end? Are any of their exes still in their life, and if so, do they get along?

VESPER — had a pretty casual thing with another mage in the Ostwick Circle shortly after her Harrowing. it was very much a case of exploring things together—he was a friend, and they were free in a way they hadn't been as apprentices, and neither of them harbored any illusion that it was love. but she was fond of him, and it was a blow when he was sent to another Circle, thus ending the relationship. she never confirmed that his transfer was because they had been seen together, but the possibility hung over her head for years after, enough that she never got that close to anyone in the Circle again. she didn't get to say goodbye, and to this day she doesn't know what happened to him. (I suppose she could have looked him up with the Inquisition's resources, but I'm not sure what she would have found. if he was alive, he might have come to stay with the Inquisition for a while before going on his way. they'd be happy to see each other, if they ever met again.)

MINAH — she had a boyfriend as a teenager, but the relationship fell apart after her parents died, and she hasn't seen him in years. she's had a number of partners since then, but nothing long-lived and nothing she ever considered romantic (though whether or not her partners did is a different question). she's definitely been part of some weird triangles (and other shapes) in the troupe, but that's kind of just what troupe life is like. she's more of a FWB/one-night-stand kind of gal, and those things naturally ran their course or got too feelings-y and she kindly but firmly put a stop to it. many of those exes are still in her life, and she gets along well with them—minah's great at an amicable breakup. (the hookups less so—she tends to have sticky fingers and has acquired new clothes and jewelry from rich locals who invite her home after a show. nothing egregious, but y'know. a girl's gotta make a living somehow)

Exit: Has your OC ever had someone important leave their life in a way that was unremarkable, unintentional, or clumsy? How do they feel about it? Is there any chance they'll meet again?

VESPER — her parents. she was taken away by the templars and that was just. it. she kept expecting a letter or literally any other acknowledgement, but the only thing she got was a letter from Kit about a year before the Circles fell informing her that their father had died and he was Bann now. it was anticlimactic through and through. but she was used to being the extra, the forgotten child, a sunset daughter, and mostly she let it go (she does sometimes wonder, if things had been different, if they might have loved her for real). (her lover in the Circle too—one day he was there, and the next he wasn't. she missed him more than she ever missed her parents, which probably fucked with her head more than the actual mess with her folks.)

MINAH — well, her parents died, which was definitely unintentional, but it was a big thing, memorable, sharp. in terms of people quietly, clumsily leaving her life... there hasn't really been anyone that important. a few people in the troupe who vanished between stops on the road, but even then, most people who left the troupe got a proper send-off. any clumsy leavetakings were probably her own fault

[licensedqueerio]

Hello! Can you please make a Fred Benson x gender neutral reader? Where Fred is in love with the reader but doesn't know how to confess because the reader is kinda popular but works in the school paper too and they are friends? And so he just puts a love letter in their locker? I need that fluff💗

THE WAY I RAN TO WRITE THIS OMG. Also, you said 'kind of popular' and I heard 'popular kid' so...sorry? I was in a good mood writing this, as you can very obviously tell with how I wrote the reader, lol. But I hope you enjoy!

(Also it was hard resisting the urge to post the whole love letter. I'm very tempted you have no idea)

---

Word Count: 2k

Pairing: Fred Benson x Reader

Warnings: N/A

Request Here

---

Y/N L/N. Everyone in school knew who they were. And of course they did, considering Y/N could only be described as a free spirit, striking up conversations with people they didn't know, waving at people as they passed by in the hall. They were the type of person to be moved in class because they couldn't stop talking. Only to strike up a conversation with the person they'd been sat next to. Including the teacher.

They didn't have a set friend group, per se, so at lunch they sat with whoever they felt like that day. The popular athletes, the cheerleaders, the nerds, even Eddie "The Freak" Munson and his group. They were in good with most everyone in school. Maybe it was because they were so nice and they had an adaptable personality. Meaning, they adjusted based on whoever they were talking to in order to be a better fit.

It was inevitable, really, that Fred developed a huge, massive crush on them. And then they joined the school paper and began actually talking to him rather than simply saying hello in the hallways. Or whispering snarky comments under their breath during class. His hallway crush had turned into something more. Something bigger.

They became friends over the year thanks to the school paper and Fred's feelings had only grown until he could say with absolute certainty that he was in love with them.

That was a problem.

Anytime Fred tried to actually confess his feelings, they were interrupted. Or he got so flustered that he ended up backing out and it was never brought up again.

He just became so panicked and flustered when he tried to confess. Maybe it was how they looked at him. Like they were completely taken and interested in what he had to say, clinging to his last word. And they were so patient when he stumbled on his words and never tried to complete his sentences for him.

He even tried to confess on Valentine's Day! He didn't think that one went too bad, considering he got the words out. Kind of.

Okay, maybe he didn't outright say it, but it was heavily implied, and what was their response? 'I love you too, buddy.'

That was heavily disheartening.

But Fred was undeterred because that was mostly his fault. He should have been more clear.

Obviously words were failing him, so he did what any logical person would. He sat down, and he wrote a letter. It was a lot easier, because he got to actually plan exactly what he was going to say, and he didn't have to look at those eyes. At their incredibly attractive face.

He couldn't stumble or stutter through writing, and that embolden him with confidence. Confidence that enabled him to put his love for Y/N in crystal clear words.

The problem came after that. Delivering it. He would not be able to deal with the embarrassment that came with hand delivering it to them. Watching them read through his letter where he poured his heart out.

He didn't want to face them if they rejected him and he inevitably ruined everything. So he needed to be sneaky.

He tucked the letter into an envelope and sealed it. The next morning, he went to school earlier than usual. Earlier than he knew they arrived, so he had enough time to get to their locker, put in the combination, and leave the letter.

Or well, he thought he had enough time.

Until Y/N came strolling down the hall, laughing with Nancy. The laughter stopped abruptly when they spotted him.

"Fred!" Y/N said, face lighting up. "You actually out of bed and here on time? Has hell frozen over?" They crowed in delight.

"Very funny," Fred deadpanned. "Haha."

"Aw, you know I'm just teasing, darling," Y/N replied, waving Nancy goodbye as they stopped right in front of their locker, staring at it.

And that was another thing. The nicknames. They made him feel all warm and melty on the inside. But he couldn't tell if they were flirting or if that's just how they were.

"So, particular reason why you stopped by my locker so early?" Y/N asked. "'s nothing special."

"Nothing," Fred blurted. "Nothing, I wasn't doing anything. I was just walking by."

"Uh huh…" Y/N said slowly, turning to stare at him, brow arched. "I believe you. One hundred percent," they nodded. "It's definitely not odd that the Fred Benson, notorious for not getting up until the late morning, is here, at school, at 7 o'clock in the morning."

"I had stuff to do, for your information. And don't you get here at 7:30? For your first period class?" Fred prompted.

"I met up with Nancy," Y/N replied with a shrug. "Your turn, Freddie."

Fred frowned. "I hate when you call me that."

"Sorry, darling," Y/N replied sincerely. "I'm waiting." 

"I had things to do," Fred vaguely replied, beginning to walk away. Like he hoped, Y/N followed.

"What things?" Y/N asked.

"Things," Fred replied. "What's it to you?"

"Wow," Y/N gasped, drawing out the 'O'. "Who are you and where is my Fred Benson?" They asked, tossing an arm around his shoulder and shaking him, inadvertently pulling him in closer. "Where's Fred and what've you done with him?"

Fred fought to quell his laughter, ducking under their arm and keep a good distance. "I'm still me. I'm allowed to wake up early every once in a while," he defended. "It's not that crazy."

"Sure," they nodded.

"It's not!" Fred exclaimed.

"Uh huh," Y/N said, a stupid attractive grin on their face as they stared at him. "Oh, Eddie," they said with a grin. "I'll see you later, Fred. I got something to sort out with Eddie."

"Oh, uh, yeah," Fred said, the disappointment seeping into his voice. "See you later, Y/N."

---

You set your lunch tray down with a loud clatter, right in front of Fred. You straddled the bench and stared at him, grinning at his wide eyes.

"Why do you insist on startling me?" Fred sighed. "I hate when you do that."

"I know," you replied. It was exactly why you did it. He looked so cute when he was scared. "But, I've got something important to show you." You slapped the hand written letter down on the table, sliding it forward so he could look. "Check out what was in my locker this morning," you said coyly.

Fred stared down at the letter, eyes widening behind his lenses. "Wow," he choked out, coughing and taking a sip of his sodea

"Someone wrote me a love letter," you announced. "Isn't that so cute? No one's ever done that for me! I feel so special," you grinned, carefully watching his reaction.

He seemed paler. "Oh really?" He replied.

"Yeah! And the things this person said…it's so cute. And genuinely so sweet. No one's ever done anything like this for me, went out of their way to write a letter and profess their love for me," you continued. "Too bad I have my eyes set on someone already," you casually added.

Fred head snapped up towards you. "What?" He asked. "You...you do?" He asked. "Who?"

You nodded. "I do," you replied. "And he's…wonderful. He's the kindest person I know. And he's so clever and quick witted. His face is very kissable, might I add. It's hard to control myself around him," you sheepishly admitted, glancing up to see his reaction.

He looked upset.

You continued. "Whenever I'm with him, my world lights up. It's like everything before him was dull, but now whenever he's near it's like everything's become brighter. That's the effect he has. And he makes my stomach swoop whenever he touches me. Even just a simple hug, I get butterflies."

"I have to go," Fred said abruptly, firmly not looking at you as he grabbed his bag, quickly leaving the cafeteria.

You stared after him for a long moment before swearing quietly. Okay, maybe you shouldn't have done that. You should have just been clear with him. But in your defense, you didn't think he'd get so upset.

You stared down at the love letter in front of you and smiled softly. You had read it dozens of times since finding it this morning. And even though there wasn't a name signed at the bottom, you weren't stupid. You knew what Fred's handwriting looked like. And you knew he wouldn't be at school before the bell rang without a proper reason.

The letter was the reason.

You sighed and got up, tucking the letter back in your pocket for safe keeping. You discarded both of your lunch trays before heading down to the newspaper room, where you knew he'd be. That's where he always retreated to. He found comfort in the room, for some reason.

By luck, you found the room empty besides Fred. You locked the door to keep it that way. You walked down the stairs, staring at him, sitting with his head in his hands at one of the desks.

"Fred?" You called.

"Yeah?" Fred jumped, sitting up straight immediately. He weakly smiled when he seen you. "Hey, sorry. I had uh—I uh—"

"You got pretty upset in the cafeteria," you said, walking over to his desk slowly, dragging your feet. "You quite literally ran away from me."

"Sorry," Fred grimaced. "It wasn't you or anything you did. I was just—"

"Jealous," you filled in his a nod, leaning against the desk adjacent to the one he sat in. "You got jealous because I was talking about my crush."

"What!?" He exclaimed. "What? No! No, I wasn't jealous, that's ridiculous, Y/N. Where did you even get that?" He wildly demanded, standing up.

"It was all over your face, Fred," you replied with a shrug. "Contrary to popular belief, I'm not thick." 

"I never said you were dumb," Fred said quickly.

"Mhm," you replied. "I know it was you who wrote the letter," you stated.

Fred shoulders immediately dropped and his face fell. "Ah," he said. "You do. You can tear it up. Or burn it. We can forget about it," he said.

"What?" You asked.

"It's fine. I don't care, you don't feel the same way. I understand. So let's just forget about this whole thing. I'm really sorry, I don't want to ruin our friendship—"

"Fred, stop," you interrupted. "Who said I didn't feel the same?" You asked, pushing off the desk and stepping closer to him.

"You did," Fred said. "Very clearly, actually. You have a crush on some other guy, and I understand, Y/N, so please."

"There is no other guy, Fred," you said. "Its you. I was talking about you, I understand now that I should have been more clear, that was my fault. But it's you I have a crush on. More than a crush, I'm in love with you," you confessed.

"...what?" Fred asked, brows furrowed. "Is this some sort of joke? Because—because it's not funny, Y/N."

"It's not a joke," you promised, reaching out for his hands. He let you take them. "Why do you think I joined the paper? I did it to be closer to you. To get to know you better. I thought it was really obvious, actually," you nervously laughed.

"It wasn't. It really wasn't," Fred said quickly.

"I call you darling and love, hell I call you babe all the time!" You exclaimed. "How could I be any more obvious?"

"I've heard you say that to other people," Fred defended, lips forming a pout.

You laughed, grinning at how cute he was. "Okay, okay. My bad, darling. But I mean it. I'm in love with you. And you have a very kissable face and I'm having trouble controlling myself. Your pout isn't helping the matter."

Fred's cheeks burned red and he looked up at you, wetting his lips. Your eyes followed the movement. "Who said you have to control yourself?"

That was all the encouragement you needed. You reached for his tie, using it to pull him closer and capture his lips in a kiss.

[stellocchia]

I think it's been more than two months since I pushed my "Wilbur is remembered far more competent than he is" agenda in your asks.

So let's rectify that, shall we?

Wilbur is pretty fucking incompetent. He's never been that amazing charismatic smooth talker we characterize him as (not that I'm not absolutely behind that too)

Like. Who did he ever successfully smoothtalk? The Lmanbergians? None of them were ever hesitant to join from the very beginning and Eret betrayed them pretty easily when Dream manipulated them.

Techno? Techno wanted to join them, he was the one who reached out to them. There was no convincing needed and Wilbur never convinces Techno of anything Techno wasn't already willing to do by himself.

Dream? Definitely not during the revolution and Dream's support during Pogtopia was Dream following his own agenda, not being influenced by Wilbur in any way.

He couldn't even get Quackity to let him into Las Nevadas.

Nah, the only person Wilbur ever smooth talked is TommyInnit. The fucking powerhouse of this cell. And even that's not completely true. Tommy hasn't been convinced by Wilbur of anything since the very beginning of the Lmanberg revolution. Not during Pogtopia. And not even now (it's not smooth talking if it's just exploiting mental exhaustion and trauma and all that. Tommy isn't convinced of what they're doing.)

Really. Not even Tommy, per se.

He just got Tommy extremely loyal and attached to him.

And honestly, that's all he needs.

You don't need to have influence over everyone, you just need to have strong influence over the right person.

And that's what Wilbur had and has.

Wilbur's accomplishments are just pretty much him having a vision and Tommy throwing himself at it to make it come true.

Wilbur had the idea for L'manberg but Tommy was the one leading the troops. Tommy was the one who negotiated for their independence and got it when Wilbur was negotiating their surrender. Tommy was the one who FOR NO REASON built the escape tunnel they escaped through when Dream blew up L'manberg and he was the one who built the lil panic room at the end. Tommy was the one who's home became the embassy to L'manberg (something Wilbur very much pressured and kinda manipulated him into btw. I'm never not gonna mention that lil detail when the embassy comes up)

Wilbur had the idea and stood around looking pretty. My guy literally stood around looking pretty, without armor, during battles. Just. I love him.

And let's not forget that Tommy was fckin great at being the general. The SMP was so much better equipped and still, L'manberg was kinda winning. To the extend that Dream saw the need for TnT (which was hidden) and the betrayal through Eret (which was hidden)

Dream felt the need to pull two deceitful moves to keep if not even gain the upper hand.

If I'm not mixing stuff up here, correct me if I'm wrong.

And stuff like the tunnel weren't even expected of Tommy. My boy just thought of that on his own and did it on his own. Noone knew it existed. Noone expected it to exist.

After independence Wilbur is implied to have been leading but he generally wasn't around too much. Tommy was keeping order in the more face to face kinda way. He tried to navigate people's personal conflicts and make sure things didn't escalate and just. He did so well.

And Pogtopia? Oh, Pogtopia.

It's a bit more difficult here, since they were no longer on exactly the same side and goals are more muddled but still.

(and I want to make it clear that I'm in no way trying to shame Wilbur for mental health issues or anything. This isn't about that. I'd never fucking even imply that)

Tommy kept morale high. He made sure that other people were fine, when there was a chance. He tried to reassure Wilbur when Wilbur was spiraling, he asked Tubbo if he was happier, he told Tubbo to be safe, he recruited Quackity when he saw the chance while making sure that Quackity's intentions were sincere enough (he didn't just naively offer Quackity a place in Pogtopia and risk it being a trap).

He avoided any kind of destruction to L'manberg as much as possible.

He rallied people.

Really, his one actual flaw was not "turning" on Wilbur. His unwillingness to give up on him or even just incapacitate him or limiting his ability to act as he wanted was what ended up costing him everything. His unwillingness to interfere with Wilburs plans beyond talking to him and threatening him with a crossbow that one time ended up making the 16th possible. And he can hardly be blamed for that.

And Wilbur, during Pogtopia... Well... Nobody liked him, he made everyone uncomfortable and most people just kinda tolerated him because... Yeah...

Without Tommy troop morale would have been abysmal thanks to Wilbur. He constantly put himself and his side down, labeling them as villains and thus morally inferior. He pitted his own people against each other, spread paranoia between his people. No communication or actually planning involving other people. Still refused to wear armor.

And don't get me wrong, that's the point. He wasn't on their side. Obviously Tommy added more to their victory, Wilbur didn't want their victory. But still I just wanna praise my boy Tommy, he was. So amazing. Boy fucking peaked.

He's so good in tactical warfare or whatever you call it.

And I wanna just make it clear that this isn't criticism of Wilbur. Not at all. This isn't criticism at all. This is just about the big fanon perception of Wilbur as this great and mature leader.

Tbh this is actually more about showing people how amazing Tommy was and PLEASE I WANT FICS TO HAVE TOMMY BE MORE OF AN EFFECTIVE POWERHOUSE

Regarding my former ask I just wanted to clarify again that I'm not trying to critique Wilbur or anything.

It's really just that I think it's hilarious how people remember him as way more put together and competent than he really was.

-

Yeah, honestly one of the biggest disservice people have done to c!Tommy in this fandom is fail to portray him as the badass general that he actually was. Like, sure, Wilbur's title was as "general", but he never did anything for it. He gave a few speeches, but then the work was left up to Tommy. Like, genuinely, rewatch the Eret betrayal vod, Wilbur says it openly that he's leaving it in Tommy's hands. And Tommy does manage to lead his troops into an advantageous position! They get their enemies to retire at one point during the very first battle!

Then, of course, there is the betrayal, but, once again, Tommy didn't give up. He built the tunnel for their scuffed escape beforehand and, when everyone was just about ready to give up, he went against Dream in a duel and then traded the discs for their independence without loosing a beat.

Tommy was a BIG asset during that war!

Wilbur mostly was and still is kind of a wreak. And it's not his fault, 'cause mental health is an absolute bitch and he wasn't doing too hot after the war, then it got worse with Pogtopia and even worse during the 13 years in Limbo. And now we are where we are now with Wilbur being... not a great individual.

But still! In Pogtopia Tommy was the de-facto leader. And yeah, that was because Wilbur wasn't on their side anymore, but they didn't entirely know that. Or didn't wanna see that.

Tommy himself was hoping that Wilbur would "come back around" if he managed to get back their country. That was a big motivator for him. And he did everything that was in his power to do to not lose either Wilbur or L'Manburg. He tried talking to Wilbur multiple times, tried persuading him that there was another way, he never bought into Wilbur's ideals, he recruited people and he lead the troops once again. It wasn't Techno that lead the troops (despite him being a much better fighter) it was Tommy. And once everything was exploded and Techno and Wilbur betrayed them? Well he kept encouraging people. Literally I'm begging everyone to watch that vod! Tommy was there at every step of the way, telling Niki that it wasn't over, telling Quackity to keep fighting and, after that, you know who was there to validate Tubbo's presidency? To rally people behind him? It wasn't Tubbo. Tommy gathered everyone by the L'Mantree and got their spirits high once again.

He is just genuinely amazing.

And, like, yeah now Wilbur managed to manipulate Tommy to an extent to be by his side. But that's not that much of an accomplishment anymore because Tommy has just been through so much that he's exhausted now, as you said. Like, remember when Tommy said he wanted to be on Wilbur's side because "he gets things done"? Well, I'm still waiting to see that one honestly...

[princesssarisa]

Fictional Character Ask: Cinderella

For @ariel-seagull-wings

Favorite Thing About Them: It varies from version to version, since her personality is a little different in each retelling, but most common among all is the fact that she never lets her hard life make her bitter or destroy her kindness. Even in versions where she is bitter and not always kind (for example, Leslie Caron's The Glass Slipper), there's still a clear spark of warmth and goodness within her that her stepfamily can't extinguish and which is eventually rewarded.

Least Favorite Thing About Them: This isn’t her fault, of course, but the fact that in most versions she’s beautiful while her stepsisters are ugly or plain, implicitly linking beauty with goodness and worth. This probably explains why so many modern retellings either make the stepsisters beautiful too or give one of them a redemption arc. The latter choice fits with Perrault’s comment that the younger sister was less bad than the older one anyway.

Three Things I Have in Common With Them:

*I love pretty clothes.

*Like Disney’s Cinderella, I love animals.

*Like most versions of her, I always try to be kind.

Three Things I Don’t Have in Common With Them:

*I’ve never been abused or treated like a slave.

*I don’t have small feet.

*I’m not very good at housework (not that Cinderella is naturally good at it, per se, she’s just had plenty of forced practice).

Favorite Line:

This passage from the Disney version:

Oh, that clock! Old killjoy. I hear you. “Come on, get up,” you say, “Time to start another day.” Even he orders me around. Well, there’s one thing. They can’t order me to stop dreaming. And perhaps someday… (sings)

….THE DREAMS THAT I WISH WILL COME TRUE.

This is an excellent quote to cite whenever anyone claims (either as praise or as a criticism) that Cinderella is always passive and “never complains." Here she’s unabashedly complaining and annoyed at being jarred out of her dreams and forced to start another day of hard work and insults from her stepfamily. But at the end, we find the real key to her character: the thing that helps her survive and saves her from becoming hard and bitter. It’s that she never gives up hope.

And from the 1997 version of the Rodgers and Hammerstein musical, when she prays to her father's spirit in the garden after the Stepmother insults her following the ball:

“Father, I know I promised that I’d never leave here, but after tonight, I don’t see how I can stay. If you only knew how she’s changed, you’d understand. I deserve better, Father. I deserve to be loved. And that’s what I found out tonight, and that’s all that really matters.”

BROTP: Her Fairy Godmother, and in the Disney version the mice and birds.

OTP: The Prince.

NOTP: Her Stepmother, or. in the case of the opera La Cenerentola, her stepfather Don Magnifico.

Random Headcanon: As a princess and later a queen, she’ll always respect her servants, employees and subjects as equals to herself, and be renowned for her fair, generous treatment of them. She’ll also be a particular advocate for orphans and other children in need.

Unpopular Opinion: The Cinderella of the Disney version and other traditional retellings deserves all the defense in the world; to disparage her as a weakling for “letting” her stepfamily abuse her and being “helpless” without her Fairy Godmother is victim-blaming. That said, retellings like Three Wishes for Cinderella, Ella Enchanted, Ever After, Cinder, Mechanica, et al, that feature a feistier, less conventionally sweet and more proactive Cinderella are welcome too. There’s room for both types of Cinderella, just like there’s room for both types of women in the real world.

Song I Associate With Them:

Disney's classic, "A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes."

"In My Own Little Corner" from Rodgers and Hammerstein's musical. (Actually I'm tempted to list every song from Rodgers and Hammerstein's score.)

“Non piú mesta accanto al fuoco” (”No longer sad beside the fire”) – her triumphant final aria from La Cenerentola.

The title song from the 1935 Betty Boop cartoon Poor Cinderella:

Favorite Pictures of Them:

This illustration by Edmund Dulac:

This illustration by Arthur Rackham:

This illustration of the Grimms' Aschenputtel by Elen Abbot:

Disney's Cinderella:

Yanina Zhejmo in the 1947 Russian film version:

Leslie Caron's scrappy gamine Ella from 1955's The Glass Slipper:

This illustration by Kinuko Craft:

Brandy Norwood's 1997 Rodgers and Hammerstein Cinderella, with Whitney Houston as the Fairy Godmother:

Laura Osnes in the Broadway production of Rodgers and Hammerstein's musical, 2013:

Elina Garanca in the opera La Cenerentola, 2009:

[bat-winged-brothers]

It Only Takes A Taste

I dusted my hands against my jeans and stretched my fingers to relieve the dull, building ache. The bucket I’d been holding hadn’t seemed too heavy when I’d started washing the windows but, after forty minutes of refilling and moving it around the homestead, the handle felt like it was biting through my skin and made the joints in my fingers burn. Standing up to my full height I leant backwards in a stretch that shouldn’t have nearly sent me toppling sideways. Note to self, work on your posture when you’re doing the other side of the house! “It only gets worse from here.” I whipped my head around to the right and saw Anne approaching with a glass of water and could happily have hugged the woman. It wasn’t a hot day but the humidity was a little uncomfortable and made it feel like I was working harder than I was. Reaching out my hand I shot a grateful smile at Anne before gulping down the drink. “Careful,” she warned, “it’s cold.” The warning came too late as my brow furrowed and my temples burned in complaint. Anne just grinned and shook her head at me, “you kids are always in such a rush.” I returned her smile, handing her back the glass before rubbing my hands over my face in a moment of self-pity.

“I don’t know how you do it,” Anne said with her hands on her hips, “there’s not a streak in sight.” I grinned and swatted at a fly that was buzzing around my face, “white vinegar” I laughed, toeing the bucket with my boot. “Ahh,” she nodded, standing back and further admiring my handy work. “I should have the rest of the place finished in a little over an hour,” I offered, “was there anything you wanted me to do after that?” Anne paused for a moment and puckered her lip in thought, “not yet, but I’m sure I can find something for you. Lord knows you won’t want to take the afternoon off.” I tipped my head back in silent laughter, rolling my eyes for good measure. “What can I say, Anne, it’s my social time!” She grinned at me and shook her head again, “you’re much too young to be counting your work hours as your social life. Trust me, save that for when you’re my age.” I swatted at another fly and rolled my eyes fondly at her, “it’s not my fault that the company in town just can’t compare to that on your farm.” Anne scoffed, pulling a leather glove from the pocket of her jeans to throw at me, “save the sweet talking for someone that needs it.” I laughed and leant back down to grab the cleaning rag from my bucket, getting ready to move on to a new window.

Anne opened her mouth to speak when three short horn blasts could be heard from halfway down her long driveway. “Ahh, shoot! I forgot I asked Andy over to help with the colt today,” she grumbled. I nodded my head, swiping strands of my fringe away from my sticky forehead, “is he giving you trouble?” Anne looked at me, puzzled, “the colt I mean.” She tipped her head to the side in thought and tried to find the right words to say. “Not trouble, per se, he’s just… Spirited would be a good word. But that ain’t so good if you wanna be hitting the trails. He just… He needs to learn who’s boss, and that’s why Andy’s here.” I nodded in understanding, twisting the rag in my hands. I’d never really been a horse person, I kind of missed that phase most of the girls in my class went through early in elementary school. I’d been more focused on wanting a dog that I could cuddle and sneak into my bedroom. A horse seemed a lot harder work to fit through the door of our tiny house. “I’d best let you get back to these windows,” Anne said, hands returning to her hips, “and I’ll go help Andy for a minute. You give me a shout if you need anything?” I nodded and shot her a grateful smile before she turned and headed for the front of the house.

Almost two hours later and I was finally done with the windows. The front of the house, where the driveway ran in front of Anne’s bedroom, was caked in thick mud that had stubbornly refused to budge, no matter how much elbow grease I gave it. When I finally got the worst of it off, I made a note to ask Anne if I could stay on top of it more regularly; just to try and make life easier for myself from then on! Picking up my bucket, I carted it around to the drive and set off towards her garden shed to start cleaning up. I was lost in my thoughts as I made my way along the dirt track and almost meandered off into the overgrown grass until I heard a loud whinny and the sound of hooves crashing down on soft earth, over and over again. Freezing in place, my eyes darted around me, trying to find the oncoming threat, finally landing on a training ring in the paddock beside me. When the ice left my veins, I could see Anne leaning against the fence as someone stood, inside the ring, arms spread as the horse continued to rear up. Fascinated, I hurried to drop off my supplies before I skedaddled over to join Anne and the stranger in the paddock.

I wasn’t sure what the protocol was with approaching horses. I know that with snakes you try to make sound so that they know you’re coming and can slink away, but horses… Would it freak out if I just appeared out of nowhere? Would it get agitated if I distracted it from, whatever it is that’s going on in the ring? I settled for a happy medium, approaching quietly but without controlling my footfalls so anyone even slightly listening could be sure of my approach. “Hiya sweetie,” Anne murmured, never taking her eyes from the horse in front of her. “Hey,” I whispered back, settling into a lean against the wooden railings and watching, enraptured, as a boy about my age corralled the horse into submission. Arms in front of him, palm outstretched, he coaxed the animal down to complete calmness before sidling up and caressing its nose gently. It nudged at his cheek and he grinned softly, continuing to rub his hands along the muzzle before scratching it behind its ears. I’d never seen anyone so natural with such a temperamental creature before, I mean, sure, there were the wildlife patrol who would come and remove the really venomous snakes from your house, but this was different. This was like… Like they respected each other, rather than a master and his underling. Clearly the boy was in control, but you could feel the wild still roiling beneath the horse’s skin; it was choosing to behave, it didn’t have to.

“Have you ever seen a horse get broken before?” Anne asked, finally turning to look at me. I’m sure I looked ridiculous, all wide eyed and parted lips as I took in the scene before me. I shook my head as I kept watching. I heard her chuckle as she laid a palm on my shoulder. “He’s going to teach it who’s boss,” she whispered, “he won’t hurt it but… that colt’s got fire in it’s blood and it’s too dangerous to ride at the moment. It needs a stern hand to get through to it.” I whipped around to look at her, “whaddya mean, ‘a stern hand?’ He’s a kid!” Anne grinned and shook her head, “aww sweetie, he’ll be fine. He’s grown up around horses. His daddy’s had him doing this since he was six! He can read ‘em like a book.” With that the boy stepped back and started edging the horse to the right before abruptly switching arms and ushering it back the other way. The colt reared again and knocked the boy’s hat from his head. He left it in the sand at his feet, keeping eye contact as he brought the horse to calmness again and soothed it with more pets.

“I think that’ll do for one day, Anne,” the boy called, still fussing with the horse’s ears. It nudged him in the chin and he grinned as he looked it over. “I think you’re right. Don’t wanna go undoing any of your hard work, now,” she called back, uncapping a water bottle and taking a swig. The boy nodded, patting the horse on the flank before stepping back to retrieve his fallen hat. He dusted it off and sat it back on his head as he made his way over to us at the fence, climbing through the railings and then lounging against the pine poles. “Y/N this is Andy, my horse whisperer,” Anne offered. The boy, Andy, swatted at a fly around his face before outstretching his hand, “Dodge,” he offered, “you can call me Dodge.” I felt warmth tingle high up my cheeks and I tried to will it away before he could notice it. “That was,” I stumbled over my words for a moment, “amazing.” He dropped my hand and shook his head, “no,” he looked back towards the horse that was now trotting laps of the ring, “but he’s working on it.” Anne looked between the two of us as I twisted the toe of my boot in the dirt, “I’m gonna go fetch us some lemonade. Andy, will you join us for lunch?” I opened my mouth to agree but Andy, Dodge, whatever his name was, shook his head again, checking his watch with a sigh, “not this time, Anne, I start in an hour.” She nodded, chewing her lip for a moment before brightening up, “more for us then, kiddo,” she laughed, patting me on the waist before signalling us to follow her back towards the house.

As we reached the front of the property again, Anne pulled out a wad of bank notes from her back pocket and began thumbing through them. “You know, it’s a pity you’re not staying. I made your favourite blueberry cobbler for dessert,” she grinned at Dodge. His brow quirked a little, his jaw ticking as he swallowed thickly and I could almost see a hint of regret dance across his eyes before he schooled himself into neutrality again. “Maybe next time,” he offered, accepting the cash Anne offered him and pocketing it without counting it. Watching the two of them together, I was struck, once again, with how grateful I was that Anne took me under her wing. She was such a kind woman and, in a dead end town, it was nice to have someone championing our causes. “I’ll see you on Wednesday, Mister, wear your seatbelt and say hi to your sister,” Anne called, patting the top of the white car as Dodge sunk behind the driver’s seat. He placed his fingers by his temple in a mock salute, rolling his eyes with the trace of a sarcastic smile on his lips before he tugged on the seatbelt and clicked it in place. “Good boy,” she grinned, “have a good shift,” and with that the car spun out of the driveway, spattering tiny pebbles and a cloud of dust over my clean windows. I groaned as I waved the dust away and Anne just chuckled, placing an arm around my shoulders, “I’ll make sure he makes it up to you.” Warmth filled my cheeks again as my stomach twisted in giddy knots. What the hell did that mean?

Lunch, as it turns out, was amazing. Anne really seemed to have gone all out to show her appreciation to Dodge and I for helping out and I was capitalising on his absence with second helpings of both the roast vegetable lunch and the delicious cobbler dessert. If he knew what he was missing out on, no wonder he’d been reluctant to leave. I leaned back in my chair, rubbing my belly and moaning in pain as Anne laughed at me while she collected my plate. “You kids and your appetites,” she grinned, shaking her head as I whined pitifully and rested my head on the table. “A couple of summers ago, Andy and his sister were both staying out here for a few days, helping out with a new filly, and they ate me out of house and home ever night. Without a word of a lie, I had to buy more produce every day because those two had devoured every fresh fruit and vegetable I put before them.” I picked my head up and turned to watch her rinsing the plates in the kitchen. “You know them well?” I called, earning a muffled ‘hmmmm?’ in response. “Dodge and his sister?” I continued, hauling myself up from the chair and following Anne into the kitchen. I hopped up on the kitchen counter, earning a raised eyebrow for my efforts before she went back to rinsing plates. “I used to know the whole family, they would compete up and down the Mid-West region on the rodeo circuit. Took out near every competition I ever saw them at. And those kids, my God,” she shook her head and wiped her hands on her jeans, “those kids had the goods. Two tiny little things they were, but they could outride folks twice their age.” I rested my chin in my hand as I listened to her talk, smiling at her obvious fondness for the family. “Andy’s sister, Dayna, blimey,” Anne looked towards the ceiling and sighed, “it just wasn’t right,” she concluded. I tilted my head, puzzled, but Anne shook her head, indicating that the conversation was over.

Sighing, I jumped down from my place on the counter and went to grab a tea towel to start drying up. “Honey, can you grab me a Tupperware out of that cupboard,” Anne asked, nodding towards a cabinet door near my face. “Sure thing,” I mumbled as I searched around for a container. When I found one I handed it to Anne who placed a large helping of the cobbler inside and snapped the lid on firmly. “I need you to run into town for me and pick up a few supplies and, while you’re there,” she grinned, “would you mind dropping this off to Andy? His mama works so hard and I don’t know when the last time they had a treat was.” I smile my agreement and grab the notepad on the sideboard to make a quick list before picking up the dessert and telling Anne I’d see her soon. My tummy twists and loops again and I try to tell myself to stop being ridiculous as I drive the few miles into town.

I make visiting Dodge my final stop, collecting potted flowers and bags of fertiliser, vegetable seedlings of so many varieties I’ve never heard of half of them, and visiting the hardware store to replace the garden hose that finally split after too much time in the sun. I pop by the pharmacy and the bakers, collecting fresh sourdough loaves, and finally find someone at the diy store to help me pick out a replacement lock for the homestead’s back door. As I cross the last item off my list, I look to my right and see the container of cobbler still sitting on the passenger seat. Bright blue eyes flash before my vision, observing the horse with such kindness and compassion, but could just as easily see right through your soul… A shiver runs up my spine and I shake myself off. “Stop being stupid,” I tell myself as I throw the truck in reverse and make the short drive to Dot’s Diner.

The little bell over the door announces my arrival and the patrons sitting at their tables mechanically swivel their heads to see who has just walked in. I nod my head in greeting as I pass friends of my parents or relatives of the people I went to school with over the last 13 years. In a small town everyone knows everyone, no matter how much you’d like to be able to slip into a store unnoticed. I make my way over to the counter and take a seat only for a menu to land in front of me a moment later. “Can I get you anything?” He’s leaning on his forearms, the counter slightly digging in and forming lines, and all I can do is blink owlishly at him for a few moments, unprepared for a conversation of any kind. “Hey, I know you. You work out on Anne’s farm.” Dodge spares me from having to initiate the small talk, a favour that I will be forever grateful for. “She’s good people, that’s for sure,” he mumbles, more to himself, as he pushes off the counter to grab a tea towel and dry a couple of glasses. “She, uh, she sent this over for you,” I offer, grabbing the container from the counter beside me and sliding it towards him. Dodge pops open the corner of the lid and a grin spreads over his lips, his eyes lighting up like a kid on Christmas as he looks over the slice of cobbler. Schooling his face back into the practiced neutrality, he clips the lid back on and hides it under the counter, “thanks for dropping it off. I’ll tell Anne thanks when I see her next and drop her back the Tupperware.” I nod to myself and chew on my lip, not quite wanting to go but also not really having a reason to stay.

“Is anything good?” I ask, nodding to the menu when Dodge quirks his brow a little. “Well, it’s pretty hard for me to fuck up a Coke,” he counters. “Sounds good,” I grin, “with ice, please.” He turns around and makes my drink before setting it in front of me. “Thank you,” I meet his eyes before lowering my gaze to my drink and sucking on the straw. “You’ve got manners,” he observes. “It’s a dying art,” I scoff and I see his shoulders twitch, like he almost broke composure. Suddenly, it’s my mission to make him break. A smile, a laugh, I don’t care. I just need to get through. “This is Texas, sweetheart,” he drawls, “Southern hospitality demands they never go out of style.” I drop the straw from my lips and raise my eyes to meet his, ��well, bless your heart.” Another round of giggles hits me and I see his shoulders shake a little more.

“You want another one?” Dodge nods to my Coke that is now just ice and dregs. I shrug and settle more comfortably into my seat. I’m amazed at how comfortable this is, just bantering with the boy as he wipes down the counter and whispering comments about customers as he walks by to serve them. When old Mrs Wesley complained, again, about her coffee not being hot enough, I muttered that it’s the problem with ice queens. Dodge bit his lip and pulled his mouth into a hard line but the corners of his eyes crinkled as I watched him tip the coffee before placing the cup in the microwave. I caught his eye and he shook his head, leaning against the wall until the timer beeped and the cup was scolding hot. Filling up the coffee pot to take to her table, I hear Dodge mumble under his breath, “it’s not worth it,” before he serves the bitter old woman. She sighs in delight and he finally makes his way back behind the counter, shoulders buckling slightly when he’s a safe distance away. “Ya know, something about you just screams ‘customer service’ to me, have you ever thought about it?” Dodge just rolls his eyes and picks up his tea towel again. I resume chewing on my straw and sneaking glances at the tall boy ambling about the diner as patrons slowly left.

“Are you sure you’re gonna sleep after that much Coke?” I look up from my phone and see Dodge leaning on his hip against the counter, brow raised and watching me like some kind of fascinating experiment. “I’m not gonna sleep anyway,” I shoot back, “might as well accept it and medicate for it.” He nods, seemingly understanding, before pulling out a large bag of sugar from under the counter and collecting empty sugar jars from above the service window. “There’s a story in that,” he claims. I nod my head absentmindedly, “yeah, maybe. But it’s not for today.” Placing the bag of sugar back on the bench, Dodge lowers himself to my eye level, resting on his forearms again. “What is your story, Y/N? It’s a small town. Why don’t we know each other?” I shrug and fidget my foot on the stool. “You’re the new guy. You’ve been very good at making sure you don’t know anyone.” I raise my brow in challenge and he nods his head along, seemingly ready to bite. “Maybe there wasn’t much for them to know?” I scoff, “or, maybe you like the air of mystery.” The air was getting thicker, my stomach was doing backflips at being so close to him, at playing this game of cat and mouse, but I couldn’t stop. “You think I’m mysterious?” That smirk would be the death of me. “I think you wish you were,” I grinned and he feigned a hurt expression. “Well, there goes my whole persona, thanks Y/N.” I twirled my straw between my fingers magnanimously, bowing my head and accepting the accolade.

Dodge’s jaw twitched as he eyed me from the other side of the counter. Kicking off from his place he walked over towards the door, lifting chairs onto the tabletops as he went. “Closing time, m’gonna have to ask you to finish your drink.” I glanced down at my glass of half melted ice cubes and stabbed at them half-heartedly with my now mangled straw. “Yeah, right. Sorry! I should let you finish up and head home. I’m so sorry for…,” Dodge crossed the length of the diner in a few strides. I suppose those long legs came in handy when he actually utilised them. His hand twitched as he moved to reach towards me but then dropped his arm, his jaw clenching and unclenching. I climbed up off of the stool and smoothed out my clothes after sitting for so long. My eyes flicked up to meet crystal blue and I smiled softly at him as I stepped a little closer. We both fidgeted a little awkwardly before he moved to stand behind me and stretched an arm out towards the exit. “Now I know how the horse feels,” I grinned and he rolled his eyes, an exhausted smile tugging at his lips. He pulled the door open a few inches, stopping just shy of the bell, and rested his forehead on his arm, looking through the gap at me. I slipped out and we stood about a foot apart, either side of the threshold, waiting for the other to say goodnight.

My phone buzzed and I looked down at it, suddenly remembering that I was supposed to have returned the supplies to Anne this evening, before I was distracted by a tall, dark, mystery. “I’d better be going, let you close up and enjoy your pie in peace.” Dodge nodded, the weight of it swaying the door slightly as he moved, “I almost forgot about that.” I feigned shock, exaggerating a gasp and clutching at my heart as I took a step away from him. “You can’t! Not after all the effort I took to bring it to you!” Dodge tilted his head and narrowed his eyes at me accusingly, “oh yeah, it was torture for you.” I swatted at his chest and grinned as he glanced to the sky. “What am I gonna do with you,” he asked the moon. “I don’t know,” I smiled, “but I look forwards to finding out.” Shaking his head, Dodge lowered his gaze to my face and sighed, “til Wednesday?” I bit my lip, slowly beginning to back away without losing eye contact, “we’ll see.” And with that I finally turned around and headed back to my truck, hearing the hard click of a commercial lock and the tinkling of a doorbell disappear into the night behind me.

[ukiyoexo]

HAUNT ME, BABY! — PJS

PAIRINGS — nct, park jisung x reader

GENRES — ghost!jisung, quarantine!au, humour, lots of fluff (+grumpy!cute!jisung), angst (?)

SYNOPSIS — when you see a ghost, you’re supposed to be scared right? yeah, that’s what jisung thought too until he met you.

a night spent in boredom leads you to lighting random candles and attempting to summon a ghost. you never expected it to work — or for the spirit to be so cute.

WARNINGS — ghost summoning, mentions of blood, swearing, pricking your skin for blood, mentions of how jisung died, unedited

WORD COUNT — 5.2k+

TAG LIST — @uwu-yifan @peachjaem00 @heartyyjeno @guccichan

NOTE — i basically took the bloody mary ritual and made some shit up so enjoy :) this is also the fluffiest of all the fics from deviltales so yeah... this is also shorter than i intended but oh well.

DEVILTALES — MASTERLIST

quarantining alone had its perks. like being able to eat whatever you liked whenever, and never having to actually get dressed. as well as the fact that you could spend the day doing what you pleased, without anyone getting in your way.

and maybe that’s why you were going through with the slightly crazy and slightly stupid idea you had come up with whilst spending your fourth hour scrolling on tiktok. there was no one here to stop you from summoning a ghost and you wouldn’t be getting in anyone’s way. plus, you couldn’t help but think it would be nice to have someone other than your cat to talk to — even if that someone was some demon that probably wanted to possess your body.

“red and white candles, check. mirror, yep.” you mumble off the checklist to summon your very own supernatural being. your finger scrolling over the wiki how page on your phone screen one last time before powering it off and chucking it onto your bed.

next stop was the bathroom connected to your bedroom, where you had already lit the two candles, placing them at either corner of the sink. you had already turned off the lights and plugged the sink like instructed, all you had to do now was repeat the chant and prick your finger.

you clear your throat, debating what you would do if your attempts actually worked but deciding to instead remain unbothered. “yolo i guess.” you mutter, only to laugh at yourself when you wonder how many people’s last words were that.

you repeat the chant confidently, despite the fact that it was some random latin that you didn’t understand and most definitely mispronounced. after rerunning it through your head to make sure you had it, you pick up the pin you had placed next to the sink. the cool metal almost numbs the feeling of it piercing your index finger, yet still not enough to completely distract from the unpleasant pinch. a steady drip begins even before you remove the needle, landing against the white ceramic sink bowl and trailing it way down to the plug. one drop, two drops, three drops, you keep count until you hit 16 and a small pool of the metallic liquid has formed at the drain.

nothing happens for a while, and you wonder if it really was just make belief. and then when the red candle blows out, you try to convince yourself that it’s just a draft. you know, because a draft in a closed room with no open windows is so common.

you’re not scared per se, but the feeling of someone’s hot breath against the neck is slightly unsettling, the hairs on your back standing up just that bit straighter with every exhale. you know the next step is to look up and face the mirror, but a part wants to just turn on the lights and pretend nothing ever happened.

then again, you were never one to back down from something once you had begun it.

“fuck it.” you take a deep inhale, holding your breath as you direct your eyes from the bloodied sink towards the mirror.

there it is. the dark outline of a body— a person, you can’t see it’s face at first and wonder if it’s just your shadow. but then the features slowly become more clear, a wicked smile, one white eye, there’s blood dripping from the crown of his head, trailing down to his other, reddened eye, where a thick cut is sliced through. “boo.”

“jesus fucking christ.” you’re pretty sure your soul leaves your body at that very moment. definitely a ghost- definitely a ghost- definitely a ghost. but what fucking ghost says boo?

one hand is clutched to your chest, heart hammering against your ribcage, the other fumbling for the light switch. your widened eyes still trained on the mirror.

“you— you’re like actually a ghost?” you question, the light switch seemingly impossible to find despite your frantic attempts. the boy behind you seems caught off guard by the enquiry. “i mean—” he begins in the most unghostlike manner “yeah, i guess. i prefer haunted spirit of the underworld though.”

you finally hit the switch and the boy comes into full view, your body turning so you can get a better look at him. he’s— he’s surprisingly unthreatening.

sure, he has copious amounts of blood dripping from his being, and yeah, he looks like he could possess you with the snap of his fingers. but, he also has the roundest rosy cheeks, and the most adorably button nose. plus, he talks like most of your friends do — not the spooky victorian vibe you were picturing. “huh.” you lean back against the sink basin, arms folded across your chest, eyes narrowed. “hmph, you’re kind of cute.”

the ‘haunted spirit of the underworld’ looks a mixture of offended and confused at your statement, eyebrows furrowing with a exaggerated pout on his lips. “what?” he mirrors the action of your arms, “you’re not supposed to find me cute— you’re not supposed to.” he stomps his foot and you can’t help but lose it, giggling erupting from your chest.

“not my fault, dude.” you inform him casually once you’ve caught back your breath. sliding past him to get to the bathroom door and promptly opening it. he follows as you enter your bedroom, standing above you with the same expression as before as he watches you slump onto your bed.

“but no one ever finds me cute.” he just looks more confused now. “guess im the exception,” you shrug, “i mean how many people have summoned you anyways?”

“a lot, ok? and that’s not the point. you’re killing the atmosphere by being so chilled out and i’m not here for it.” the boy continues but you’re more focused on examining him. under the thick red liquid is a dishevelled, ink black mop of hair, a slightly tattered black shirt that is loose fitting to his figure and then a pair of ripped black jeans, although you can’t tell whether the rips are intentional or a result of his untimely death. “hello? are you even listening to me.” your eyes flick back up to his face, “yeah, yeah i’m listening— something about atmosphere or some shit.”

he lets out a huff and indicates for you to shuffle over, moving to sit on your bed, “whoa, pause, that blood won’t get on my sheets right? i just washed them.” he pauses in his tracks, looking at the white linen and then back at you. “i’m a ghost.” he states obviously. “good point.”

silence seems to settle in the room once he gets himself comfortable, his eyes examine your room whilst your eyes examine him. the pout on his face had vanished, only to be replaced by this almost saddened look. for some reason, you can’t help but feel like it’s your fault.

“you can try again.” you mutter awkwardly, offering up the best comforting smile you could. “try what?” “you can try scaring me again. we’ll go back to the bathroom, i’ll turn off the lights and you can jump out again.” his head tilts as you explain your suggestion and you swear you can see the apples of his cheeks redden just slightly. “i— i mean it won’t work will it? you already know i’m here.” he reasons back.

“ah, my dearest haunted spirits of the underworld, you clearly haven’t witnessed my superior acting skills before, lemme show you how to be scared.” you stand up confidently, sliding backwards to the bathroom, wiggling your eyebrows as you do so.

he once again follows, watching inquisitively as you relight the candles and turn off the lights, closing the bathroom door behind you, once you’re both fully in. “now, do your thing.” you offer him a quick smile and he nods hesitantly, settling himself in the darkest corner of the bathroom where you can’t even see him. “haunt me, baby!”

as you let out your last, more joking, words, the red candle is blown out once again, the white candle merely flickering and provided little to no light. your breath catches in your throat and any humour you have left to offer seems to dissipate out of your body.

there’s a tapping against the tiles to your right. then a scraping behind you. you can hear an unintelligible whispering echo throughout the small space but can’t make out what’s being said.

a cold draft hits the back of your neck, following the shiver that runs done your spine and leaves goosebumps on your arms.

your eyes are locked on the mirror in front of you. you don’t even have to act scared, you just are. your heart pounding harder and quicker in your chest with each passing second, your breaths unsteady and shallow.

one tap on your shoulder, then two, then what feels like someone tugging on strands of your hair. your body tenses at the touch, limbs stiffening.

and then, in the glow of the weak candle light, a face appears, a familiar face but one that given the circumstances, looks all the more terrifying. your eyes widen just as before, your features hardened in the tense moment.

“boo.” he repeats the same ‘scary’ word as before but in a low whisper. you try your best to remain calm but it’s at that moment that you lose it, your eyes squeezing shit and your hands flying to hit the lights. “nope, nope, nope.” you repeat in a chant, jumping on the spot as if that would make things any better.

“what? was i good?” the ghost sounds surprised, chirpy, and it’s enough to convince you that you can look up again. “were you good?” you respond bewildered, staring at the boy, “you were to fucking, i hated that.” you inform him, pacing to wards your bed. he trails behind, cheering to himself proudly.

“promise to never scare me like that again?” you hold out your pinky once he’s sat back next to you.

he pauses slightly but then nods, extending his pinky as well, hooking it around yours. “promise.”

♡ ♡ ♡

“wait, you never told me your name? and how old are you?” you and ghost boy are lying on your bed, having established that he’ll be ‘haunting’ you until dawn, leaving you with six hours to kill.

“jisung, eighteen.” he hums back, “you?”

“i’m y/n and the same age.” you roll onto your stomach and closer to jisung, giving him a wide, cheesy grin. his eyes narrow, as if to say what are you doing, but then widen when he feels your arm shove him off the bed. of course, it doesn’t work because he’s a ghost and can hover, but you still receive the same amount of entertainment.

“why can i touch you?” you continue your questioning after jisung settles on the chair next to your desk, “and why can you sit on things?”

he huffs out a breath but doesn’t really seemed bothered by the pestering, in fact he rather enjoys having someone to talk to. “you can touch me because you summoned me, and i can sit on things because i control what i go in and out of.” he explains as simply as possible, holding his hand out against your desk. “look, like this.” he rests his hand ontop of the surface as if it’s nothing. then he lifts it back up and lowers it again, however this time, it goes straight through the wood. “whoa.” you gasp, genuinely impressed. “cool, right—”

“can you go through me?” you burst brightly, and jisung looks mildly concerned. “i mean— i’ve never tried but—” “try it on me! try it on me! try it on me, please!” you extend the last your vowels desperately, grasping your hands hands together in a begging motion.

jisung rolls his eyes but agrees nonetheless, rising from seat and walking towards you with his hand extended. “ok, hold out your hand.” he instructs and you comply eagerly. your hand pointed outwards with your fingers spread slightly.

jisung rests his palm against yours, his skin is cold but soft. but then the feeling seems to vanish, and you watch wild eyed as jisung closes his fist, inside your hand. “what does it feel like?” he asks.

“like nothing.” you tilt your head, it wasn’t as exciting as you thought it’d be.

jisung then pulls out of your hand again, places his palm back against yours and threading his fingers with yours, materialising his flesh again. “aw, you’re holding my hand.” you tease sweetly, “cute.”

jisung scoffs, quickly pulling away at the mention of that horrid c-word.

“anyways then, what do you want to do?” you flop back onto your bed, staring at the ceiling. jisung lifts off the ground, hovering above you and looking down to make eye contact. “what do you mean?”

“well, is there anything you didn’t get to do whilst you were alive that you wish you could? are there things you want to experience again?”

jisung smiles, it’s a sweet question. bittersweet though.

he had never really thought about the things he had missed out on, and he’d tried his hardest to not think about the things he actually missed. but something about you asking it, so innocently, so pure hearted and warm, makes him smile. makes him less sad about his untimely death.

“i don’t know.” the ghost drops beside you, fiddling with his fingers. “well let’s make a list then.” you match his smile and jisung swears this is the most he’s felt since becoming a ghost.

♡ ♡ ♡

half an hour passes before you finally have a list you can actually accomplish within the confines of your apartment.

first on the list is learning how to skateboard, your board that had been propped up in the corner of your room since the start of quarantine coming in extremely useful. “ok, put one foot on the deck,” you instruct calmly, hands already being grasped by jisung’s. the icy feeling if then still something you couldn’t entirely get over. “then the other.” he does as he’s told. stepping on carefully but surprisingly soon, he was a ghost though — nothing to lose.

it goes pretty smoothly, your body guiding his around the hard wood floor of your bedroom. there’s a few wobbles but nothing too severe. “fun?” you grin and he nods eagerly back, it was almost like having a puppy.

“now you try on your own.”

he stops smiling at that.

“but what if i fall off?”

“you’re a ghost.”

“oh yeah.”

jisung adjusts the board so that it’s facing down the longest stretch. he confidently settles himself on the deck. with one, slightly too strong of a push, he’s off across your room. he picks up speed quickly as he goes and it’s only near the end of his path when he realised that he’s fucked up.

whilst he jumps off, the board keeps flying, only stopping when it hits the wall — or rather goes through it.

you both stand, frozen in you positions, staring at where your plaster wall had been broken through. “you just put a hole in my wall.”

“that, i did.”

“ok enough skateboarding for you.”

you move on swiftly after that, finding out that jisung can still eat and deciding to order a selection of his favourite dishes: sushi, pizza and even pork belly.

whilst you wait for food, you decide to move onto the next on the list: alcohol.

“so you’re telling me you never drank alcohol, like any at all, before you dies?” jisung nods to your astounded question. “seriously?” you scoff, genuinely shocked. “the most i’ve had is a sip of mum’s wine and it was nasty so i just steered clear of alcohol as a whole.” he informs you and you’re pretty sure your jaw is touching the ground. “what about drinking games?” he shakes his head again. “that’s wild dude.” it seems like the only motion jisung can do is moving his head as nods awkwardly for what feels like the hundredth time.

you don’t pay much mind as you head to your kitchen, choosing a selection of alcohols and mixers and several glasses before making your way back to the bedroom with full arms. 

you settle yourself on the floor of your room, pouring out the various liquids into different glasses. “you don’t have to drink if you don’t want, you know that right?” you asks, swirling a glass of lemonade and lemon vodka in your, wanting to make sure that you weren’t forcing the ghost boy to do something he didn’t want to. “yeah, i know, but i do want to.” “ok, good.”you grin, hoding out the glass in your hand towards him.

he winces at just the smell which makes you giggle, the way his nose srunches being incredibly cute. he takes swig anyways however. its a quick one but you can tell by the range of emotions that spread across the boys face that he definitely got a taste. “good?” “i guess.” he twists his lips and you laugh even more.

“up next is gin.” you inform him, swirling another glass of alcohol and this time tonic.

you hand him the glass and he readily takes it, offering you a concerned look after taking his routine sniff as if to say ‘you really drink this?’. you smile encouragingly, despite thinking the drink you had just handed him was the worst of the lot. 

unfortunately for jisung, he takes you expression as a form of reassurance that the gin will be better than the last and takes a more confident sip than the prior drink. however, just as quickly as he’s sipping it, he’s spitting it back into the glass, this disgusted look on his face as he tries to hold back a gag. you let out a boisterous belly laugh at his reaction, much to jisung’s distaste.

“you like that?” he questions between gulps of water, watching you intently. his eyebrows arching wildly when you respond with a “rarely.” 

“so, wanna taste the next one?” you grin again, but jisung as trusting as before. “not really.” he pouts but you circle the drink around his face and he can’t really say no, he had never really had any self restraint anyways. “fuck it.” he hums before downing the mix of malibu and coke, a pleased look flashing across his face. “you like?” you nudge him into a response, “i do.” he smiles back, surprisingly happy. 

you appreciate his good taste in alcoholic drinks but decide to do only one more round before wrapping the session up. 

the last differs from the rest. the fact that it was dairy based and thicker eing the most obvious differences, as well as the fact that you put no mixer with it. “what’s this?” he holds the brown liquid up to the light as if that would help him decifer what he was about to sip on. “chocolate baileys.” you smile at him fondly, and he tilts his head at you. “don’t worry, you’ll love it.” you offer him some more genuine reassurance this time and his nods timidly, “bottoms up.” he raise his glass to his lips, taking a small swig. “wow.” he has another taste. “good?” “really good.”

food arrives shortly after and you waste no time stuffing yourself with the selection of delicious foods, making that jisung has plenty and enjoys the meal to its full.

♡ ♡ ♡

next on the agenda was catching up with all the music jisung had missed. and god, there was plenty.

you created a playlist of your favourites, a collection of ones he may know, and other new ones, setting it to full volume on your speaker — your neighbours could deal with the noise for a while.

when you begin to twirl around the room, busting out your favourite moves, jisung doesn’t seem too fond of joining in. unfortunately, no one told him how hard it would be to say no to you. the way you grip his hands and spin him on the spot with encouraging cheers make him laugh too much for him to then say no.

“there you go!” you grin ecstatically, watching jisung throw out some peculier but workable dance moves. your questionable singing matched with his much better singing when a song he knew came on.

your dance party goes on for what feels like half an hour but is really half an hour at most.

you spend half the time belly laughing while battling it out on who could dance better and although jisung won, it’s one of the best half an hours of your life. it almost makes you sad that, despite your exhaustion, you can’t continue with the dance party for longer.

you cross it off the list happily, looking for the next doable thing — watch avengers: endgame.

you were never much of an avengers fan but it turns out jisung was a huge one. and one thing he didn’t get to do before he passed was watch the last to the film, something he had been dying to do.

thankfully for him, you had already bought it after one extremely boring day in quarantine, figuring it would help you easily pass three hours of your time. only now, you were hating the length as it just meant less time to spend with jisung.

jisung actually having to agree to play truth or dare with you whilst watching otherwise you refused to turn it on.

it gets only fifteen minutes into the film and your prodding at the ghost’s arm. “psst,” you over exaggerate, “truth or dare?” you grin taking a scoop from the ice cream you had retrieved earlier.

jisung flickers his gaze between the screen and your pleading, hating how cute he finds you. “dare.” he whispers back.

if he hadn’t been so focused on the film, jisung would have seen the almost maniac like smile that spread across your lips. he then, would have been less shocked and disgusted when you dared him to drink a shot of soy sauce.

“you want me to do what?” the boy splutters, looking at you with mild concern. “what happens if i don’t?” one eyebrows quirks upwards. “then i choose a different date, as well as a truth.”

the manic smile returns.

“ok, fine.” you’re almost more shocked that he agrees to the questionable, sodium packed drink. “really?” you gasp. “yep, really.” he only confirms back.

you return to the bedroom a couple moments later with a glass bottle of dark brown liquid in one hand and a pair of shot glasses in the other. “you doing it with me?” jisung wonders once he sees the two small vessels, normally for alcohol.

“might as well.” you nod, questioning your own sanity as soon as you agree, “you only live once right?”

the joke is probably inappropriate given the circumstances, yet jisung chuckles nonetheless.

the humour dies down shortly after when the sodium liquid meets your tongue. your attempt short lived as you wait a whole five seconds to spit the shot back out. grabbing one of the glassses of water you had prepared and swirling it around your mouth.

jisung seems to struggle less than you, the alcohol most likely acting as a good warm up to him. however, you can tell by the expression his face twists into that he still definitely doesn’t enjoy it.

you fire more dares back and fourth after that, resulting in you snacking on a whole lemon and jisung ending up in an outfit of your choice — turns out ghosts can change clothes. and it continues until jisung finally chooses truth.

“so,” you clear your throat awkwardly, “well,” you continue to stall, twiddling with your thumbs. you open your mouth to speak again but jisung cuts you off, “you can ask me anything, like anything at all.” jisung nudges you encouragingly.

you sigh, looking at him with a pout, “ok then,” you don’t sound very enthusiastic but it’s more that you just feel bad, you couldn’t imagine that many people would enjoy reliving their last moments — assuming that’s what he was referencing, “my truth for you mr jisung is, how did you die?”

a silence settles between you and you’re too scared to even look up from where you were playing with the hem of your shirt.

“i— why would you ask me that?”

his words cut through the tension sharply. his tone serious.

“i— you- but you just said—” you’re beginning to panic, wondering if you had just hallucinated th last five minutes, but for all you knew, you could’ve been hallucinating all of this experience. “i’m sorry—”

“i’m fucking with you y/n, it’s fine, i was surprised you didn’t ask me earlier in fact.” jisung is evilly giggling just a bit too much for your liking, enough for you to attempt to wack his stomach. of course that fails though as he lets your arm just fly straight through him. “i hate you.”

“you don’t really,” he teases, reaching over to squish your cheeks as you glare at him. “it wasn’t interesting anyways, i was just hit by a car, boring really.”

“was it on purpose?” you pull the ice cream spoon between your lips.

“huh,” he takes another scoop himself, “i never thought about that.”

“well, did it hurt?”

“kind of,” he hums, looking like he’s genuinely trying to remember, “this bit hurt.” he motions towards his eye and for a second you almost forgot having a thick red gash across your eye wasn’t normal.

“hmph,” you lean towards him inspecting the cut, “that’s wild.”

“well, how do you wanna die?”

the way jisung asks so genuinely has a bubble of giggles brewing in your stomach, but you expression hardens when you realise he’s being serious. “i don’t know, i’ve never thought about it before. i die when i die, you know? i can’t stop it, so i might as well just enjoy what i have now and accept whatever death comes to me in the future, momento mori or some shit.”

you answer nonchalantly and jisung’s surprised by how calm you are about death.

he remembers the first time he experienced death. his grandpa passed away when he was eight and although he didn’t fully understand the concept of dying, he understood enough to be sad. and when his grandma passed away at ten, he was finally able to grasp the concept of it.

if he was being honest, death terrified him.

it was uncertain. and jisung didn’t like uncertainty. the unknown darkness that was death scared him and he even at eighteen, he hadn’t fully accepted it.

but hey, he was a ghost now, not much he could do to change his death anymore.

♡ ♡ ♡

the film ends sooner than you had expected and there’s not long left before jisung will leave. it’s weird, you didn’t think you could get so attached to someone so quickly, but then you summoned jisung and you both just clicked.

you had both decided that for the last moments you’d sit out on the balcony of your apartment, let jisung jisung feel the warmth of the sun as it filtered through the clouds.

“i think you’re my favourite ghost.”

“you’ve met other ghosts?” jisung quirks up his eyebrows, tilting his head towards you.

“nope, but i imagine you’re the best.” you continue confidently, watching as pastel blues and pinks fade into the sky.

he smiles at that.

he thinks you’re the best human he’s ever met, too.

you attempt to pass you the time by talking about life before death and your life after he goes but all conversation simmers down into a silence. it’s not uncomfortable, more just this solemn quiet. jisung didn’t want to leave, but he didn’t really have a choice — being a ghost really sucked sometimes, that was for sure.

“you know, there’s something else i kinda want to do before i go.” jisung hums, drawing your attention to his face. “what?” you question innocently which in itself makes the ghost smile. 

“well,” he begins, suddenly nervous and blushing under your gaze, “when i was alive,” you nod, encouraging him to continue, “i never got to have a proper first kiss.” he quietens at the end slightly but what he’s saying is still clear as day.

“oh.”

you watch him shift in his seat, waving his hand in and out of the arm rest anxiously. “mr haunted spirit of the underworld, are you asking if you can kiss me?” you can’t help but tease the red cheeked boy, swirling your finger on your lap.

“i mean— you don’t—”

“i’d love for you to, jisung.”

your grin is suddenly matched on the boy’s face, a genuine smile that makes your heart pump even faster and this bittersweet feeling to settle in your stomach.

you stand up from your seat and he does the same, intertwining his fingers with yours and shuffling closer towards you. his gaze lingers on your lips for a moment before shifting towards your eyes. the way your irises glow in the morning sunlight something he wishes he could witness everyday. the way your cheek feels against the delicate touch of his fingertips, something he wishes he could experience everyday. “thank you.”

“for what?”

“for making me feel alive for the first time in all my eighteen years, dead and alive.” he confesses barely above a whisper, your hand shifting to cup the back of his neck.

he tilts forward, resting his forehead against yours, letting out a soft breath before closing gap completely.

his lips are plush, a soft velvet against yours. this heavenly feeling that makes you wonder whether he’s more of an angel than a ghost. the feeling has jolts of electricity sparking through every nerve of your body and you wonder if he feels it too. you do your best to savour each second of the kiss, letting yourself indulge in the moment.

hoping to imprint it in your memory for ever.

when you pull back, you’re met with nothing but the rays of sun indicating that dawn had come and jisung had gone.

you’re not sure what comes over you but there’s a gentle trickle of tears that escape your eyes. you were happy to have gotten to know him while you could, but it hurt knowing that you couldn’t do more.

you settle back in your chair after the realisation comes to you, dwelling over the questions you didn’t ask him. the most important being whether he’ll ever be able to come back.

you hoped he would.

and if not, you found comfort at least in knowing that he had still left his mark. from the hole now in your wall to the many memories you had to look back on.

even though you had never been one to believe in soulmates, you couldn’t stop yourself from wondering if that’s what you and jisung were. even if you roamed in different worlds, you couldn’t help but think you were made for each other. only hoping that in your next life you would finally get to be together.

[chatonne-rousse]

Seventeen Reasons, Maybe More

Chat Noir has one request. It's a simple request, really, one he doesn't understand Ladybug's reluctance to grant. He just wants Multimouse to come back as part of the team once in a while. He's absolutely sure she would be an amazing hero, and he's going to tell his partner exactly why, as soon as she arrives for patrol. He's practiced this. He has a list. There's no way she can say no! Right?

Written at the request of @jennagrinsoverml.

Read it on Ao3 here.

***

Three things happen in quick succession. Ladybug lands on the roof, her yo-yo retracts with its telltale zip, and Chat Noir springs to his feet.

He's waited nineteen agonizing minutes for his partner to arrive, though that's partly his fault for getting here so early on her solo patrol night. He just...he has something he needs to say, and he's ready to say it. He's been ready.

"Hey, Kitty. I thought it was just me tonight. Everything okay?" Ladybug cocks her head and looks at him with mild concern. She seems to have already assessed that he's physically well and has moved on to trying to figure out if the same is true emotionally. She really is a wonderful partner, and he loves her beyond measure. That's why he doesn't understand why he even needs the list currently burning a hole in his pocket.

He smiles, hoping to put her at ease. That'll make this easier. Hopefully. "I'm just fine, LB. But I was hoping we could talk."

"O...kay," she says, her brows furrowing further. "What is it?"

Chat takes a deep breath, lets it out through his nose, and sets his shoulders, determined. "I think we should bring back Multimouse."

Any trace of worry slips from her face in an instant. She pinches the bridge of her nose and closes her eyes. It's her turn to take a deep breath.

He waits, impatient and a little nervous. This isn't an auspicious start.

He resolutely ignores the fact that her pose reminds him of his father, mulling over his son's perceived transgressions with annoyance just before he relegates Adrien to his room for an indeterminate prison sentence.

Yeah, he's not focusing on that. Ladybug is not his father. He chooses to defer to her because she's proven to be a brilliant strategist, but he has no intention of prostrating himself in submission to one more person. If they're supposed to be equals, he deserves the chance to plead his case, at the very least.

She opens her eyes and lets her hands fall to her sides. He doesn't see a refusal in her expression, neither is it a look of capitulation. But that's okay. He has his list.

"Chat, we've talked about this," she says wearily, shaking her head just a fraction.

"I know we have. But I still think she would be an incredible addition to the team, even if it's just temporary." Ladybug opens her mouth to speak, but Chat barrels on. "You don't know Marinette, My Lady. Not like I do. She's so smart and creative! She comes up with plans to help people all the time. She thinks quickly on her feet and--" He stops when his partner snorts.

One eyebrow arched in derision, Ladybug huffs another laugh before muttering, "If she's on her feet at all. That girl is clumsy."

His blood turns to ice. "What did you say, Ladybug?" He himself is surprised by the timbre of his voice, deep and even and just hinting at the wave of defensive anger he's actively holding back. His partner is even more surprised.

"Oh, Kitty, I'm just joking!" She waves her hands in supplication. "Marinette and I are friends. I'm just as clumsy as she is, and she knows it." Ladybug smiles and his ire dissipates as quickly as it came. "So do you, in fact."

"Of course. I could never forget the first time I met Miss Maladroit."

"Don't I know it." Ladybug rolls her eyes, folding her legs beneath her to sit cross-legged on the roof beside him. She gazes up at him, eyes shining, and pats the spot next to her.

Whether the decision to place herself in a position beneath him was deliberate or not, it doesn't escape Chat's notice. It also doesn't feel right. He lowers himself to the roof beside his partner, back to equilibrium. Sort of.

"So, Chaton," she says, bumping his shoulder playfully. "You were extolling the virtues of our mutual friend Marinette?"

His cheeks heat. "I don't know that I was doing that, per se. But I stand by what I said. She's pretty awesome. And she would make the best teammate. I know she would."

Ladybug is silent for a long moment before she sighs heavily. "Chat, I know you want to bring her back, but it's just not a good idea."

"Ah, but that's where you're wrong, My Lady." He unzips his left side waist pocket and produces his handwritten list with a flourish. "It's a great idea, and I can prove it."

She blinks.

He continues, undaunted, as he unfolds the paper and snaps it crisply. He chooses to ignore his partner's facepalm.

"Number One: Marinette is smart."

"You already said that." Her voice is muffled behind her hand but he can still understand her. Also, just because she's right doesn't mean he plans to respond.

He has a list to read, after all. He does skip numbers four, seven, and twelve, since he already said she was creative, helpful, and quick-thinking. Chat is so glad he made the effort to put this together so he didn't forget anything. And Plagg made fun of him for spending such a long time on it!

"...and finally, Number Seventeen: Marinette is a super fast learner, and I know she would be a pro at this in no time."

In his mind, he can hear Plagg's drawl from over his shoulder as he completed the list last night.

"Hey, kid, you forgot Number Eighteen: Marinette looks really good in grey and pink."

"Come on, Plagg," he sighs in exasperation. "You know it's not like that."

"So you don't think she looks cute as Multimouse?"

A pause. "I don't think I've ever said either way whether I did or didn't."

"You're barely making sense, kid. Also, you're blushing."

He scowls. "Don't you have some Camembert to stink up my bedroom with?"

Plagg produces a piece of cheese from seemingly nowhere. Adrien wrinkles his nose in disgust.

"I can have my cheese and watch your disaster unfold at the same time, don't worry."

Ignoring his kwami, he carefully folds the paper and tucks it in his desk drawer. He'll have to remember to put it in his pocket after he transforms tomorrow. He smiles, thinking about the possibility of working with Multimouse again if he's able to convince Ladybug. Marinette is such a great friend, and this would be the perfect chance to spend more time with her...even if she won't know exactly who she's hanging out with.

"Oh, kid," Plagg laughs, snapping Adrien from his reverie. "You're a mess. I love it."

Adrien rolls his eyes good-naturedly. Plagg is a pain in the butt, but life would be so boring without him. "Love you, too, buddy."

Chat looks from the folded paper in his lap to his partner, awaiting her response. Her expression is unreadable but she seems to be trying to read him very, very carefully.

"Chat Noir," she says at last, "are you in love with Marinette?"

"What?" he sputters. "How did you get that from anything I said?" What was wrong with everyone? If he had a nickel for every time... Chat shakes his head. "No, LB, I'm not in love with her. Marinette is a very good friend."

She lets out a bark of laughter. "Yeah, she's got a couple of those."

Chat smiles warmly, happy at the thought that even Ladybug knows about their friendship. It's so important to him, whether hero or civilian, on her terrace or in class.

"You know you’re the only lady for me, Bugaboo, but it’s funny," he says with a wry laugh, "she actually reminds me a lot of you. One time I even--" He stops himself just in time. Ladybug doesn't need to know that tidbit from the Heroes Day picnic. He shrugs, still grinning. “The pigtails and blue eyes don’t help, I guess.”

Her eyes search his again for several long, almost uncomfortable moments. He hopes she finds what she's looking for. He couldn't be more sincere about this.

Finally, she sighs and asks, “I know she’s your friend, Minou, but have you considered her safety?”

Oh, he has that one covered. "Did you miss Number Three: Marinette is brave? She's stood up to bullies and authority figures and...and even really strict parents,” he says, ticking each example off on his fingers. “Not everyone can say that."

Ladybug stares at him for a moment. “How do you even know all those things, Chat?” She facepalms again and shakes her head. “Wait, no, don’t tell me.” She sighs again. “This is...a lot.”

To be quite honest, he doesn’t know why he wants this so badly. He cherishes the moments of fun with his partner outside the heat of battle (though even akumas can be a sort of thrilling fun of their own) and would happily share the role with just her, the red and black yin to his black and green yang.

But Adrien hasn’t been able to shake the memory of his friend’s bright smile and brighter spirit, her bravery in the face of unknown adversity, the way she executed that brilliant plan with Ladybug so perfectly that day, with no previous training whatsoever. Sweet Marinette, kind and just and selfless, was meant to be a hero. He knows it. And it isn’t fair that Ladybug is refusing to give her another chance just because of a misunderstanding.

He knows that if the roles were reversed, Marinette would fight for him. She’s amazing like that. This is the least he can do.

“Bug?” Chat asks quietly. He watches Ladybug’s hand slide down her face before her eyes meet his. “I know you’re the Guardian and not me, and I respect that. I really do. But please, My Lady, could you trust me, just this once, to choose a hero? Please?”

Her face falls, stricken, and his heart squeezes in his chest. He hadn’t meant to upset her. His mind is suddenly awhirl with how he can do damage control on the situation.

But she speaks before he can. “Oh, Kitty,” she breathes. “I do trust you, I promise. I know it must not seem like it sometimes, and I’m sorry.” She huffs a breath and looks down at her spotted hand where it now rests on his steel toes. “Being the Guardian is really difficult. These are big decisions, and…” She trails off, then looks up at him again.

Once more, her eyes search his. Once more, he wonders why she’s so reticent about what seems like a great suggestion for a hero.

He doesn’t understand why he’s had to fight so hard for this, when he knows that Marinette is a friend of Ladybug’s, too. None of it makes sense.

But as usual, he’ll defer to his partner. He’s said his piece on the matter.

“Okay,” she says at last, with yet another sigh.

A giddy glee rises in his chest and sings through his nerves as his face lights with a grin wide enough to make his cheeks ache.

“Thank you, Bugaboo!” She winces at his volume, so he tones it down. He can’t tone down his excitement, though. “This is going to be amazing! I can’t wait to tell her!”

“Calm down, you crazy cat,” she admonishes, though she’s fighting a smile. “I need some time to think about how we can do this, and we’ll have to have rules. Don’t look at me like that, Chaton, you know it’s true!”

He waves a gloved hand. “It’ll be fine. It’ll be more than fine. You’ll see, My Lady! You won’t regret this!”

For just a moment her smile looks more like a grimace, but when he blinks, that strange look is gone.

He stands, reaching out a hand to help his partner up as well. As she brushes herself off and reaches for her yo-yo, she watches him tuck the list back into his pocket.

“I’m still annoyed that your suit has pockets and mine doesn’t.”

“Isn’t your yo-yo equipped with infinite storage?”

“Pssh. That’s beside the point.”

After a beat of silence, their shared laughter echoes across the rooftops.

Ladybug unhooks her yo-yo and prepares to zip off for her slightly-delayed patrol. “Good night, Kitty,” she says warmly. “Marinette is lucky to have a friend like you.”

“Good night, Bug. And...thank you.”

She nods once, and then she’s gone.

Chat Noir sits down again, his feet swinging idly from the edge of the roof. He could - and should - go home, but the thought of his lonely bedroom is less than appealing. He’d love to stop by a certain pink, flower-filled terrace on the way back, though he doesn’t think he could keep this news a secret, and Ladybug clearly needed time to plan. He isn’t sure why it requires a plan, but, well, he’s not the Guardian. There’s probably a lot more to it than he’ll ever know.

He thinks of his dear friend and how excited she’ll be to find out she has a second chance to be a hero. He thinks of the fun they’ll have on a cat-and-mouse chase (he laughs out loud at his own joke) across rooftops on patrol, the pastries she’s sure to bring for them to share, the warmth of spending time close to someone he cares about so much.

He can’t wait to tell Plagg the list actually worked!

When he stands up a few minutes later, his heart is light. He can face returning to his lonely house knowing that he’ll see his friends tomorrow, including a soon-to-be part-time superhero. And best of all, by trusting his choice, Ladybug trusted him.

It’s late and he should probably be quieter, but as Chat Noir vaults from the rooftop toward home, it’s with a loud whoop of pure joy.

[blindbatalex]

you know what it is!  carraville royalty au!!

“So that settles it, then!” Jamie said merrily as Gary closed the door to their bedchambers behind him.  The audible sigh this elicited only added to Jamie’s excellent mood.

“…settles what, James?”

They had guests over, you see (they often did – paying the two of them a visit had become bit of a fad among the nobles of both lands as a token of their commitment to peace) and one of them, Lady Emily, spent the entire evening flirting with Jamie.  Jamie had found it…odd at first, the way one finds food of a strange land odd but then he had noticed Gary glaring daggers in their direction and well, he was only human, wasn’t he?  So he spent the rest of the evening flirting, discreetly, but shameless back. 

“That I’m the more handsome one,” he said now with a wicked grin as he undid his belt.

A disgruntled “mm” was all he got in response.  Gary was actually, inexplicably bothered—no wonder because the evening had highlighted how ugly and undesirable he was in comparison.

“Come now, looks aren’t everything.  Loads of ugly people have other desirable qualities to make up for it, a kind heart, a magnanimous spirit.”  Jamie took off his tunic, changing into his sleep clothes with his back turned to Gary like he always did.  “Well…not you per se, but, loads of others do.”

“You are ugly as a horse,” Gary replied without missing a beat. An odd insult, sure, but as luck would have it Jamie had just the reply.  Giddy with delight (and perhaps, more wine than advisable) he twirled around—he had to see Gary’s face for this.

“I have been told horses are the most beautiful animal there is actually.”  Just this morning he had had a rather one-sided conversation with Hans who worked in the stables.  He recited now almost from memory, with the same poetic intonation.  “With their long, slender faces, and soulful eyes. Their mane, flowing like the hair of a goddess herself, and their muscular, strong bodies-”

“-jagged scars running down their faces…”  Gary too now turned to him and traced a line on his own face to mimic where Jamie’s scar was.  It registered in Jamie’s head that they were both shirtless—more scars between them than stars in the night sky.

He shrugged.  “It adds to my animal charm I am told.”

The corner of Gary’s mouth quirked up at this in a half-smile exasperated as it was fond, and really, they should know better in their age than to overindulge in drink.

“Where did you hear that?”

Jamie stood up a little taller.

“Lady Emily told me herself.”

In truth, she had not.  Nobody had.  Jamie could not fault them for this—on some days he could barely look in the mirror himself, but such self-pity was not to be indulged in, least of all, now.

“Not that,” Gary waved him off.  Jamie could see it in the way Gary looked at him too, in the occasional wince he failed to suppress.  Not that Gary had a leg up in this department, with his crooked nose and the trench between his eyebrows.  “…beautiful?”

Jamie dragged himself into the present, reaching for his night shirt absently when he saw Gary’s eyes drifting over the many scars that marred his skin.  

“Hmm?”

Gary rolled his eyes with flair (even as he did the same with his clothes), and said with exaggerated slowness- “Horses.  Who told you.  They were.  The most beautiful animals?”

Oh.  An unexpected direction to take the conversation but not an unwelcome one.

“Hans,” Jamie replied before briefly recounting the conversation they had that morning.

Gary took in a quick breath; his eyes were suddenly sharp as they had ever been again and scrutinising Jamie within an inch of his life.  

“And that’s what he said- slender face, soulful eyes, mane flowing like the hair of a goddess?”

There was an intensity to him that was unmatched in anyone else Jamie knew – he would latch onto a topic or a sliver of information like a leech and would not let go until he sucked it dry.

“Yes.”  Jamie sat down on his side of the bed.  But horses- surely that was a step too far?  “Do I need to be worried about you losing your grip?”

Gary laughed at this and it did sound a little like he was losing his grip.  But then he sat down next to Jamie on the bed and recounted the story of how he found Lucille, one of the girls who worked in the kitchens, sobbing the other night when he came down for a late night snack.  It had, apparently, taken a bit of coaxing but she had confided in him that she was upset because the man she loved had called her ‘ugly as a horse.’

“She looks exactly like you described,” Gary finished.  “Slender face, soulful eyes, flowing hair.  How was Hans when you spoke?  Was he in a good mood?”

“No.”  Jamie had, at some point, covered his mouth with his hand.  Lucille was the horse?  His head was spinning a little.  “He looked…well, heartbroken.”

Gary laughed again and it sounded beautiful.  Jamie could not help but laugh with him.  He did not remember the last time laughter in this room felt so carefree.  

Quickly they hatched a plan to get the same explanation out of Hans with Lucille in earshot, a plan involving an apparent newfound interest on Gary’s part in horses and an emergency cake delivery to the stables. There was still a smile on Jamie’s face when they blew off their candles and climbed under the duvet, their plan fully formed with contingency scenarios in place.  How strange and wonderful young love is with its misunderstandings and joy.

Stevie’s arms wrapped around his neck as they kissed for the first time.  Two decades ago now.  In the pouring rain.

He had almost gone to sleep (almost convinced his heart it did not ache) when Gary said-

“If you wished to…bed Lady Emily, or, someone else who has fallen prey to your animal charm- as long as you were discreet, I don’t see what the problem would be.  This is a marriage of strategy after all.”

His tone was measured.  They did not speak of such matters.  Nor had they touched each other—not since that disastrous first kiss on their wedding night.  Jamie smiled.

“Ah but I am ugly as a horse, you see.”

Gary smacked his middle over the duvet.

“Plenty of people out there have no taste.”

“Go to sleep, Gary.”  There was a beat.  “You could too, if you wanted.”

When Gary spoke again, Jamie could almost see him wrinkle his nose in distaste, never mind the pitch black that blanketed the room.  “Not while we are in this castle, I won’t.  I have standards.”

Neither of them would.  It had nothing to do with Jamie’s looks or Gary’s standards.  And yet, it was late and they had an early start tomorrow. Jamie closed his eyes and swallowed past the knot in his throat.  His heart did not ache.   

[hargrove-mayfields]

Lover, Lover, Number 9

Second day of HWOL!! Today’s prompt was Love Potion!! Read here or on my ao3 @ej_writer

Word Count: 4,593

Rating: T

Warnings: Non-Consensual Touching (Pretty much blink and you miss it and very non-explicit. It happens while a person(s) is under the influence of a love potion.)

It’s all Max’s fault, honest.

For the week leading up to Valentine’s Day, Billy’s been trying to pick the best person to be his date. Not that Valentine’s was really that important to him, per se, but he’d made a bet.

His step sister, the little brat, had made a wager that if he didn’t have himself a date by the fourteenth of February, he’d be forced to drive her everywhere she wanted to go for a whole year.

There was no way he was about to fork over that much of his time to some snotty middle schoolers, but finding someone he’s willing to go out with, a condition of Max’s bet was that it couldn’t just be a hookup, ended up being a lot harder than he anticipated.

Before he knew it, there were only two days left before he either got a date, or subjected himself to the dweeb-orama gang.

He tried to ask Carol, since Tommy dumped her right before the big day and she seemed to be into him, or at least how his ass looked in his jeans, but she tells him she doesn’t want to deal with the drama. So he tries Tommy, but he wants commitment and feels like Billy’s just in it to best Max, which, yeah, he sort of is. Everyone else follows the same pattern, can’t keep up with his reputation, can’t trust him in a relationship, on and on and on.

It’s over breakfast one morning, as he groggily makes him and his sister both a bowl of cereal, that Max asks him, “Why don’t you just ask Steve?”

Billy acts unphased, doesn’t even bother to look at her. “Steve who?”

“C’mon stupid.” His sister rolls her eyes and drags a bowl over towards herself. “Everyone knows you like Steve Harrington.”

“Do not.” He shovels a mouthful of cereal in his mouth.

“Right. Lemme guess, you don’t eat like a pig either?”

“Very funny.” He fixes her with a glare. “I’m serious shitbird, just because I like him doesn’t mean I like him.”

She nods and agrees. “Sure.”

“And just because he's nice to me doesn’t mean I have to have the hots for him.”

“If you insist.” Her bottom lip juts out as she agrees with overemphasis.

“What is your problem?” He snaps.

“I’m just agreeing with you. You don’t like Steve Harrington.” There’s a mischievous smile darkening her sweet face as she tells him matter-of-factly, “But, if you’re really desperate, I know a way to get him to like you.”

And Billy already knows what she means, of course the little shit would suggest something like that. “Nuh-uh. No way, I am not using magic.”

“Why not? Clearly you need it.”

“Because I can do it on my own, brat. Just don’t want to.” He's too defensive for it to not be true and they both know it, so before he lets a thirteen year old do anymore damage to his ego, he adds, “Can't deal with your bull this early.”

Max looks at him all smug like, her eyebrows raised as she hides a knowing smile behind her cereal bowl, but she does let it go, if not just to watch her step brother stew in silent annoyance. She’d gotten under his skin so easy, and she thought it was funny.

Her step brother, on the other hand, does not, and narrows his eyes at her, practically snarling at the look on her face. “Shut up.”

“I wasn’t even saying anything!” She bites back.

Billy grumbles and dumps his bowl in the sink, and leaves to his room to avoid babysitting his sister.

He’s starting to realize that Max had set him up. The real reason she made the stupid bet wasn’t to torture him with driving her and her nerds around, but because she thought she could hook him up with Steve.

But that doesn’t matter, because he's not pining after Steve Harrington, no matter what his little sister says.

Sure, Steve had invited him over to his place a few times, but that was just a courtesy since they were friends from basketball. And it didn’t matter that he happened to be the prettiest boy Billy ever laid eyes on, with his soft hair the color of chestnut and his doe eyes just as dark, and his long nose and his pretty red lips and-

Okay, maybe he was a little into Harrington, but again, he wasn’t going out with his best friend just because his step sister dared him to.

He can’t just call the bet off, but he’s not willing to lose either. The clock was ticking, Valentine’s Day getting closer and closer, so he’d just have to settle on somebody soon.

Admittedly, it would make things a lot easier just to cheap out and use magic, after all, he’d been trying and failing to get a date for weeks, but that could be dangerous, and Billy’s been barred from using his powers for a few years now anyways.

His father was ashamed to have a freak for a son, so ever since Max and her mother came around, he wasn’t actually supposed to use any magic at all anymore, not even for the most insignificant of things. Hell, with how tight of a leash Neil kept on him, his step sister wasn’t even technically supposed to know he’d inherited the knack from his mother.

He doesn’t really listen to that rule, but there’s no way for Neil to keep tabs on that kind of thing, so he still puts a charm on his and his sisters bedroom doors every night to keep unwanted guests out, and he still uses spells for his convenience whenever he can get away with it.

In all honesty, he could do without that stuff. Incantations were boring, spells were too basic. His favorite, the one thing he misses having the liberty to do, that’s got to be potions.

Before his mother’d left him behind, ran off to live the uninhibited life of a free spirit every witch dreamed of having, she had been very proud that Billy had taken after her in his powers, and in his skill for potion making especially.

They would make them together a lot of the time, huddled up down in the basement when his dad wasn’t home so she could show him the ropes and teach him all the recipes she knew.

He’d caught on real quick, well enough that she didn’t need to hover after the first few attempts at one type. Sometimes he wishes he’d been less proficient for just a little longer, so she’d have had a reason to stay and keep helping him.

Among their most common to make though were potions of luck and protection, elixirs, anything positive really. His mother may have also, on occasion, made a more powerful potion, one to keep under the pillows, in a flask on her hip, to spike her husband's coffee with every morning, just so Neil couldn’t hurt her or her son, but Billy was sworn to secrecy on that one.

Under his bed he still had a trunk full to bursting with everything of his mothers’ he had been able to keep, including their already prepared potions. Rows and rows of intricate crystal bottles, some still full to the top while others had only a few drops left, depending on how useful they were, all neatly displayed along with the rest of the memories of his mother.

She absolutely never allowed him to make anything dangerous, the first thing she ever taught him was to always keep hate out of his magic, so she’d let him practice more complicated and powerful potions with something a little less destructive.

Something like love potions.

It becomes his sort of trademark, the earthy smell of rose hips and cinnamon clinging to his skin from hours bent over their big cauldron they kept stored away. Even now, without having brewed anything for almost a year since they’d moved houses, it still lingered, like an aura.

They made up for some of his best work, the hardest of the love potions coming easier to him than the easiest of the medicinal ones. The best he’d ever made was a platonic love potion that his mom let him use the teensiest drop of to stop a fight between his friends at school, and to this day he was still proud of that one.

His mom had always said it made sense that that would be where he excelled, loving with his whole heart was just in his nature, and his craft was the reflection of that. In the same sense, it comes as no surprise when he’d stopped being able to brew anything stronger than potpourri after she’d walked out on him and broke that big heart right in two.

He didn’t know if keeping every of the potions that he made was genuinely because of their potential usefulness, like he tried to convince himself, or if it was a way to hold onto a time when he was still good at what he did. A time when he was happy.

Were he going to use one of those potions he kept stashed away, as Max had not so subtly suggested, he knows exactly which one he would choose. Not number six, not number twenty-seven, he would need number nine.

Not that he would, because he refuses to use his magic for petty relationships. Yet another thing his mom had drilled into him from the start was to never use his gift to take advantage of other people.

But then another day passes, and Billy's got to at least consider it, if not only for the sake of him not having to provide chauffeuring services to his least favorite bratpack.

In all reality, it wouldn’t be so bad to date Steve, he was nice enough and cute enough, but he feels they were sort of of the same polarity. They could get along just fine now, but there was some force, some energy between the two that kept them apart.

For every step they take forward, say, Steve agreeing to keep his magical secret from the moment they met, they have to take one back.

That fact had been well established in his mind since the moment he noticed himself making heart eyes; he and Steve just weren’t going to work out. Not after months of oblivious pigtail pulling, not after pushing Steve out of his own social circle, and definitely not after their fist fight in November.

Billy thinks he takes rejection from Tommy and Carol and everyone else in stride, but Steve wasn’t like them. The relationship they already had teetered on the line between rivals and friends, always one argument away from going back to that place, and Billy’s unwilling to lose that constant.

Of course, he wouldn’t have to worry about rejection and ruining friendships if he used magic.

But that was wrong. Number 9 was the strongest of the strong. It was said that it was powerful enough to make oil and water mix, but even then its effects only lasted for exactly twenty minutes. The jig’d be up quick, and his pretty boy would be right back to hating him.

There was always the slightest chance too that it were brewed just right, and Steve would love him forever, the bond that would form between them the moment he drank from Billy’s magic maybe enough to last, despite their differences. It wasn’t guaranteed to turn out bad, so maybe, just maybe, he’d give it a shot.

Godammit, had Max gotten in his head.

~~~~~

Billy knows he’s an idiot, a complete and total dumbass for showing up to the party with a crystal vial in his pocket, but he can’t help it.

There’s no guarantee he’s even going to use it, it’s just in his pocket as a sort of security blanket. He doesn’t even catch a glimpse of Steve anywhere among the crowd, so he sees no harm in it.

Well, at least not until someone, he’d have to guess it was Tommy, slips a hand into the pocket of Billy’s jacket, apparently able to sense a bottle from a mile away, and steals it. Like it’s just his own secret stash of alcohol instead of the most powerful piece of magic he’d sure as hell ever owned, let alone to have ever been used in Hawkins, a traditionalist town known for its distinct lack of witchcraft.

Only he doesn’t notice that it’s been swiped, not until he catches a glimpse of the gentle pink glow that only he could see in someone else’s hand from across the room, hovering just inches above the punch bowl.

He’d like to think he’s pretty powerful in his craft, he'd been raised by a witch who’d in her time been strong enough to get kicked out of her coven for threatening the High Priest, but in that moment he just sort of freezes.

There’s an infinite number of spells he could’ve used; he knows how to stop time, how to recall objects, and about a thousand and one other handy little ways to stop the vial from being overturned into that bowl.

And yet, his brain freezes up, and before he can do anything about it, there’s a thick fog rolling off of the bowl, and the air smells sweet and sticky like ladies perfume, and the liquid is shining all bright pink.

Billy is officially screwed.

It’s one thing for a single person to drink a love potion, but mixing it with any other liquid? That shit turned into a weapon.

He knows he’s not gonna make it in time, but he’s at least gotta try to stop it, get people as far away from it as possible. He muscles his way across the room, pushing past the crowd of teenagers to try to get to it first. “Nobody fucking touch the punch.”

But his voice calling over the crowd draws their attention to him, and there’s at least fifty hollow gazes fixed right on him. Judging by the looks on their faces, the pinpoint pupils and the awe stricken smiles, he’s too late.

There’s one breathless moment where Billy realizes what's about to happen and tries to back away before all hell breaks loose, but all at once they all surge forward trying to get their hands on him.

Momma didn’t stick around long enough to teach him how to discharge a potion, and he wasn’t going to make it the whole twenty minutes in this herd. The front door is his only escape.

It’s so dark in the room, other than the light from the potion’s ambience, that he can’t make out who’s who, whose lips those are on his neck, whose hands are on his hips and tangled up in his hair, so he just trudges forward as best he can, trying to shake each person off, only to get another wrapped around him.

But, in the magic induced state, they’re strong, and they don’t want to let him go. Fingernails dig into his skin, arms wrap tight around his waist, any way they can hold onto him to try keep him from moving any closer to that door, they do.

It’s like walking in gelatin, so many people trying to stop him, and it takes him way longer than it should, but he makes it to the door.

Before he can open it, someone’s pushing his back up against it and reaching a hand up under his shirt. Another someone presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

He feels blindly for the door knob and gets it in his hand after a few attempts, the ordeal being all the harder when there were so many people who wanted those hands on them, and twists it.

The rush of cold air from outside and the lights from the streetlight on the sidewalk helps a little to dilute the strength of the potion, weakening just enough the grip of those under his influence that he can wriggle out and slam the door shut behind him.

He keeps his back pressed against it, his arms holding on to either side of the door frame as tight as he could so nobody else can get out. Checking his watch, there were still about seven more minutes until the potion would wear off.

He could see the faintest glow of pink light shining from under the door and behind the curtains on the front window, and he thought about what they were doing without him. Probably talking about how he was the coolest, the ones who’d gotten their hands on him bragging.

No one but him would remember what happened anyways.

To make his escape, wait out the rest of the potion's effects, and hightail it before anybody remembered he was even here, well, that would have just been too easy. Because this is Billy Hargrove, so of course, at that very moment, who would approach the house but Steve fucking Harrington.

“Hargrove?” He looks confusedly up at Billy, and climbs a few of the porch steps to ask him, “What’re you doin’ out here man?”

“Party’s a bummer. Thinking ‘bout ditching.” The nonchalance he’s able to portray in his voice is in direct contrast with the way his hair is frizzed out and his clothes are all messy from what happened inside.

Steve doesn’t seem to pay it any mind though, because he offers him a smile, and responds to Billy like this situation didn’t look weird at all, with him sprawled out over the door and in such bad shape. “Mind if I join you? Wasn’t really looking forward to all the people tonight anyways.”

“Uh, if you give me,” Billy turns his wrist, still not letting go of the door, and reads the time on his watch again, “three and a half minutes, then we can blow.”

Steve leans a little to try to see in the window. “Is somethin’ going on?”

“Nothin’, nothin’ just uh, told Tom I’d stay ‘til quarter after.” It’s a bullshit excuse, Steve already knows he and Tommy aren’t even that close, but Billy just focuses on counting down the seconds and doesn’t think too much about it. “And…. we’re good.”

“You are so weird, dude.” Steve remarks while he waits for Billy on the steps. He looks back over his shoulder when they’re walking away but visibly shrugs it off. “Did you drive?”

“You know I don’t park my baby on the street.” His prized Camaro had yet to make an appearance at one of these parties, for a platitude of reasons, but the main one being that he might have to break his mother’s golden rule and put a curse on someone if his beauty got so much as a scratch.

“Figures.” Steve remarked. He didn’t think the Camaro was all that, thought it was too loud and too fast.

His BMW isn’t too far off, showing up late meant he had to take a street spot instead of cramming into the driveway, but that only made it easier to get out.

While he starts it up, he asks Billy, “Where are we going? I picked last time.”

“Far away from here as possible.” He mutters in response.

Before he pulls away from the curb, Steve asks, “Did something happen, Bills? You’re acting all, weird.” There was genuine concern laced into his voice, none of that playfulness that they usually had.

But for Billy, anything would be better than having to own up to what had happened. He’d have to admit to the whole, desperate for love, he used a potion he made when he was seven to try to make Steve Harrington fall for him, and that was not ideal, to put it simply.

Only, he felt obligated to explain, because he knew what Steve was thinking had happened. He knew too much about the sorts of things Billy told not a single other soul.

His magic was one thing. Where nobody was really supposed to know Hawkins got a new spell caster for the first time in ages, Steve had some grandma or someone who was a witch and had recognized that shit in a heartbeat.

Observational skills like that, it was no surprise he’d figured out the truth about his father too. About where the bruises and the scars came from.

So he knows that’s what Steve’s thinking right now, that Billy’s acting off because of something his dad did, and it would feel wrong not to tell him the truth, to be pitied when nothing even happened this time. Still, he’s not exactly thrilled about having to confess about the potion.

“Someone brought a fucking Number 9 to the party.” Billy flips the sun visor down to see himself in the little mirror there. There’s kiss marks all over him that he tries to rub off with his sleeve, but the leather doesn’t do much but make the skin flush.

“Shit, not a number nine.” Steve says it like he’s confident in it, but his gaze keeps flickering over to Billy to gauge his reaction. It’s clear that he has no idea what he’s talking about. “What's- what’s number nine?”

Billy snorts and explains, “Only the strongest love potion out there. Went straight into the punch.”

He doesn’t have much of a grip on the magical world, but he knew enough to guess that was a problem. “What kind of a dipstick would bring that?”

Billy stopped wiping at his face and looked over at Steve with that ‘come on, stupid’ look on his face. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe the only dipstick who walked away from the place covered in fucking lipstick.”

“Really?” There’s a teasing tone in his voice, like a parent who found out there kid had a crush, and it makes Billy want to sock him. “And who does Billy Hargrove need a love potion for?”

“For you.” It takes all the courage he has, but he admits it. His eyes flicker nervously between Steve and everywhere else, waiting for his response.

And what he gets is, “Pfft. You know I don’t need magic to get the ladies.” Let it be known that no one ever accused Steve of being the brightest.

As if he hadn’t noticed that Steve was a skeezer. As if his heart hadn’t already been broken a thousand times over because of it. “Yeah, no shit.”

He furrows his eyebrows in confusion, but maybe a little bit in denial too. “Then why’d you bring me a love potion?”

“Steve.” It sounds like a plea, an exhausted attempt to get him to understand, but Steve isn’t in on it.

“What?” Billy just sort of raises his eyebrows in response, and something about it makes it click in Steve’s head.

His mouth forms an ‘o’ shape, and when he speaks again, his voice is all breathless, “You were going to use it on me?”

“Doesn’t take a genius.” And that’s the end of it.

They don’t talk about it. Steve drives them out to the quarry in silence, occasionally looking over at Billy like he wants to say something, but doesn’t.

As soon as they get there, before Steve’s even got the chance to put the bimmer in park, Billy’s out of the car and sitting on the edge of the rocky lookout.

He needs a smoke, needs the burning in his lungs to distract him from the weight of what he had just admitted to Steve. His hands are shaking as he fumbles with a match, trying and failing to light the cigarette on three different matches before he decides to give up.

Steve taps his shoulder and hands Billy his zippo before sitting down next to him. “You didn’t have to.”

Billy lights it up and takes a long drag, giving Steve back his light with a cigarette as thanks, filling his lungs with as much smoke as he can before he can respond. “Have to what?”

“Try to use magic on me.” Steve’s staring down at his hands, calculating every last word he says. “You could’ve just asked.”

“Yeah, I know Harrington. It was creepy. Just drop it.” There’s a sharpness in that tone that hasn’t been there for months, and it makes the both of them wince.

Steve explains himself, hurt by the coldness, “No, I think it’s sweet! I mean, that you would do that for me.”

“Get over yourself. Was just messin’ around, wanted to see if I could do it.” That’s what gives him away. Billy was too sure of his own prowess for that to be all of it, and so Steve decides to press him for the truth.

“Don’t you want to know what I would’ve said though, if you asked me?”

“Honestly? No.” He really, really does.

Steve pretends like he doesn’t hear that and tells him anyways. “I like you Billy.”

It hitches his breath to hear that, but Billy’s got to be rational. “Yeah? You like me or the cinnamon?”

Steve’s face scrunches up in confusion. “What?”

“It’s an ingredient in the potion, Steve. Do you mean it or did you get a whiff of that shit somehow?” He still doesn’t look at him, just stares down at the churning water, and it registers with Steve that he doesn’t want to see absent admiration, pinpoint pupils, any sign that this isn’t real.

So he assures him, his voice as soft as it can be, “I mean it. I really really like you, and if you’re not gonna believe me, then- then I guess I’ll just have to prove it.“

Who would’ve expected Steve to make the first move? Stumbling, bumbling Steve Harrington, the one to lean in first. But he is, it’s him who uses those long fingers to turn Billy’s face towards his and presses their lips together.

If, you know, there wasn’t a more pressing matter at hand, like the fact that the boy he’d just tried to use love magic on was kissing him without the assistance of said magic, Billy might’ve been a little disappointed in himself to not be the one to initiate it.

But they’d have time for that argument later, about who did what when, right now his mind was more focused on not just sitting there, on moving his lips against the other boys and

It feels like forever before Steve pulls away to put a hand on the back of Billy’s head so he can bring their foreheads together.

Steve’s breathless as he says, “Wanted to do that since the first time I saw you in the parking lot.”

“Good. Didn’t want to have to brew any more.” Billy says without a hint of seriousness.

Steve nudges him with his elbow. “I’m trying to be romantic, you ass.”

“No seriously, hibiscus is super hard to come by around here, couldn’t afford to waste any on you.”

Crossing his arms, Steve fixes Billy with a stern look that makes him laugh.

“M’only teasin’ ya pretty boy.” He crumples his cigarette into the asphalt and puts his hand on Steve’s knee. “Kiss me like that again, would ya?”

And he does. Every time Billy asks, Steve’ll kiss him just like that first time, soft and gentle and sweet in a way he’s never had, no magic required.

Needless to say, Billy definitely won that bet.

[burningupp-replies]

Sleepless | Zuko x reader

A/N: this was requested like a week ago, i know :( school is kicking my proverbial butt at the moment, but i promise im working whenever i can to get new content for you all! i hope you will forgive me :( (also yes, i am working on another part for Teamwork, no need to worry)

Prompts:

13: I always sleep best when you’re next to me.

44: Why are you still awake?

Pairing: Zuko x reader

Word count: 3k

Warnings: there is a pretty steamy kiss at the end, but other than that, just tooth-rotting fluff :)

The fire nation palace felt so… big and cold, especially at night. It made you feel small and alone, and you usually found yourself clutching your pillow to your chest for dear life. You had been with the others during the war, helping the cause in any way you could, and even six months later, you couldn’t shake the feeling of general uneasiness you got when seeing anything related to the fire nation – especially when you were trying to sleep.

When the war ended, Zuko had asked you to remain behind in the fire nation with him. He needed help understanding cultures other than his own, since his nation and culture had been romanticized for him his entire upbringing. He knew very little of rituals, rites of passage, linguistic differences, and so on. Even the question of climate could be difficult for him to grasp at times, which made you laugh.

When the fire prince first suggested for you to stay, you were hesitant at first; leave your family behind, get used to this new idea of the nation which had haunted your nightmares for so long, and being mostly alone in your situation hadn’t sounded appealing at all. However, once Aang agreed that you really could do some good by staying, you begrudgingly agreed – you hadn’t spent all that time trying to help the world just to back out now.

So now, two months since your move to the fire nation and since taking up your new position at the fire lord’s side, you were staying in a palace which gave you nightmares. Zuko had been very kind to you, doing his best to accommodate you in a way which made you comfortable and happy, but the general unease you felt was far from his fault – he was more or less the reason you were there to begin with.

Of course, the crush you had been harboring on the boy since he first joined you in the western airtemple had aided in your decision to stay; not that anyone other than Katara knew the truth. He was just so… cute. Spirits, he would kill you for even thinking that about him, but you honestly couldn’t help it. He was awkward, but not in a creepy kind of way. He was really sweet and caring, and extremely understanding. He did his best to keep the mood light, without going overboard (cough Sokka cough). He had taught you so many things, seen so many things with you and you could just feel your heart yearning for his whenever he crossed your mind.

So, staring up at the ceiling – completely sleepless – you huffed out a sigh and a groan. You tossed your pillow aside and sat up in bed, putting your head in your hands. If you didn’t start catching up on your sleep soon, you were going to lose your mind. You groaned out loud, sighing again, and staring at the ceiling again.

“Damn it, I need to do something,” you muttered to yourself, getting out of bed. You slipped into a red silk robe and a pair of red slippers to aid your feet in not falling off, and started tip-toeing out of your room towards the kitchens.

Since you couldn’t sleep while you were here, you  had made a habit for yourself to go to the kitchens and make a cup of tea during the night. You usually then brought your cup with you into the library, where you could read up more on fire nation culture, so as to aid the fire lord better in his quest to make peace.

You were so used to your routine at that point, you didn’t even need to look for anything; it all just flowed smoothly, and you didn’t even make a sound throughout the entire process. Heating up the tea would have been difficult if some of the servants hadn’t been non-benders who needed some assistance to heat the tea up without bending, but you were in luck. Grabbing the jar with the jasmine tea, you prepared a pot and grabbed a mug, placing everything on a tray before sneaking the rest of the way to the library.

The doors were big and heavy, so you had to turn around to push with your back, since your hands were occupied. Once the door had slid open, you turned around to walk in, only to find Zuko already in there, pouring over a book on the sofa. You stilled, not really knowing what to do. Had he heard you enter? You had become quite proficient at sneaking the past few weeks, but you knew the man had excellent hearing, so him not noticing your entrance seemed unlikely.

Just as you were going to turn around and leave, Zuko’s head snapped up and his gaze met yours. Your body immediately came alive, blood rushing to your face and ears, and your stomach erupting with butterflies. You smiled bashfully at him, and opened your mouth to speak.

“I-I’m sorry, Lord Zuko. I did not know you would be in here at so late an hour,” you stuttered. You wanted to facepalm, but both your hands were occupied, so you just stood there awkwardly. “Uhm, I can leave.”

“N-no! I…” he started, sucking in a deep breath before smiling and continuing. “I really don’t mind your company. And please, just call me Zuko.”

You grinned at him, and he grinned back. “Sorry I went all formal and weird, I know we know each other, I just… haven’t seen you since you became fire lord, I guess.”

There hadn’t been any meetings regarding other nations’ cultures yet, and so you hadn’t seen Zuko since moving in; he had sent you a few notes, just telling you that you could come to him if you had any issues. It had been very sweet, and you had always sent a ‘thank you’ right back. Still, you had been a bit unsure of how to act in front of him.

“Oh, yeah,” he laughed a little as you set your tray down on a table and went to shut the door. “I guess you haven’t, huh? I’m still not used to it, if I’m honest,” he grimaced, and you smiled.

“I hope it’s okay that I raided the kitchen for jasmine tea?” you inquired, and the boy smiled at you fondly.

“No problems at all, Y/N. I remember you used to drink a lot of tea, you said it was ‘good for your nerves’,” he teased, and you blushed again. “The staff informed me that a lot of tea seemed to be missing, I was suspecting uncle.”

You started apologizing again, but he just laughed and waved you off. After that, you both fell silent, and you decided to get up and find the book you had started reading earlier that week, but had never gotten to finish. You opened the pages delicately, searching for your place before finding it and settling into your usual armchair by the fireplace, which was lit for once. The entire time, you could feel Zuko’s gaze on you, studying your every move.

When you paused to pour some tea into your mug, you looked up at him with a raised eyebrow. “What?”

The boy blinked at you a few times, before shaking his head. “Oh, uh, nothing,” he mumbled, and you smiled back at him. “I was just wondering… why are you still awake?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” you shrugged. For a moment he looked as though he was going to inquire further, but then he seemed to let it go, and no more words were spoken until he had to leave so he could get some sleep.

The whole interaction had been weird at first, but incredibly soothing once all the awkwardness had dissipated. His presence reminded you of… not simpler times, per se, but happier ones. Ones spent laughing with the first friends you had ever really had, friends who you were now missing so dearly. But having the comfort of one of them calmed you down enough that once you finally went back to your own room, you slept more peacefully than you had in a long time.

After that night, the two of you met up in the library at night at least three times a week. He was a busy man, but he wanted to make time for one of his dearest friends – and long-time crush, but he still maintained that part was irrelevant. He never thought you would like him back, like ever. It was a concept he didn’t even dare think about, for fear of getting his hopes up only to get them crushed later.

Three more months later, you had met up in the library during sleepless nights countless times. It had become a routine of sorts; he was usually there before you, since you were busy making a pot of tea to bring (now with two mugs, of course), and once you arrived, you would exchange a few words before settling down with a book each in comfortable silence.

The more times you met up, the more comfortable you became with each other. The first night had been spent with him on the couch, and you in an armchair – two weeks later and you were both on the couch. At this point, you tended to lean back against him on the couch as he played with your hair, still silently reading your own books. It was the highlight of your time in the palace, for sure.

This particular night, you were very tired. You even contemplated skipping the library, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it, no matter how much your mind screamed at you for some rest. So as you sank down against Zuko’s form, his fingers running through your hair, your eyelids started drooping. You tried to fight against it, you really did, but it was no use; five minutes later, and you were out like a light.

It took a while for the fire lord to recognize that you were asleep – you were a very peaceful sleeper, no snoring or movement, and he was so content with you against his chest as he turned the pages of his book. Still, once he realized, he kind of panicked.

You were sleeping against his chest. He wanted to move you, carry you to your room or something, but he was scared to wake you. So for a while, he just stayed there, frozen. He didn’t even dare turn the page of his book for fear of stirring you from your – much needed – sleep.

After around 30 minutes, though, he realized staying like that wasn’t doing anyone any good. Your neck was at an awkward angle, his back was getting stiff, and honestly? The sound of your breathing was lulling him to sleep as well. He sighed, but carefully extracted himself from you before picking you up in his arms as though you weighed nothing. He decided to leave the tray with the mugs and kettle; you were more important. You slept soundly the entire way to your room, and only woke when Zuko carefully placed you on top of your soft bed. You didn’t open your eyes though, just stretched a hand out to get him to join you.

The gesture made Zuko freeze where he stood – were you really insinuating what he thought you were, or was it a dream? A hallucination born from the desire to be near you, perhaps? But when you sleepily whimpered his name, it was confirmed for him; you wanted him to stay and sleep in your bed with you.

“Are you sure, sweetheart?” he asked carefully, and at your huff combined with an intense nod of your head, he smiled.

Had he been less tired, he might have been able to resist. However, he was tired, and longed for your warm, soft curves to be pressed up against him. Maybe in your embrace, he could escape the nightmares that plagued him so. As soon as he was next to you and you both were under the covers, your tiny frame wrapped around his tall, muscular one, and you found sleep with a sigh.

He managed to kiss your forehead and wrap his arms around you before the darkness overtook him, his mind more at peace than it had been since early childhood.

In the early hours of the morning, the sky just burgeoning on a light pink, you suddenly woke. You were unbelievably warm, and even more comfortable. You were surrounded by the smell of firewood and pure manliness, which comforted you greatly. A few moments later, however, you found yourself nearly panicked; you were sleeping in the same bed as Zuko. How in the entire world had that happened?!

Of course you weren’t upset that he was there – if anything, it was like all your dreams coming true – but you had no idea if anyone had noticed his absence, if there was widespread panic, or, worst of all, what if he didn’t want to be there with you?  What if he was annoyed with you for falling asleep in the library?

You were broken out of your panic when the man in question groaned and stretched, automatically grabbing you and pulling him into you. You stiffened even further, not knowing how to react to the sudden affection he was showing towards you.

Once he realized he wasn’t dreaming, Zuko stiffened too. In his defense, this exact situation was very often part of his dreams; dreams where you were his wife, you had children together, and everything was more than perfect. It still felt that way when he had woken up, just as perfect as a dream, if not better.

“G-good morning,” you stuttered, deciding to break the silence.

“Morning,” he answered hesitantly, and the sound of his gravelly voice first in the morning damn near made you swoon.

After that, neither one of you really knew what to say. The sky was slowly brightening to include red, then orange, before yellow and white tones joined in, creating a beautiful gradient that signaled the start of yet another day. He didn’t want to break the silence, and neither did you. It was a thick kind of silence, and he was scared that breaking it would break the spell of just being together. Alone.

You both realized that you couldn’t stay like that forever, though, and after a while, you decided to bite the bullet.

“I’m so sorry I fell asleep yesterday.” Your voice was hardly above a whisper, but he heard you loud and clear nonetheless.

“It was really not a problem, Y/N. I’m just glad you finally got some rest, is all.”

His voice was still gravelly, but somehow felt smooth at the same time. He didn’t seem annoyed or angry, in fact he seemed perfectly content to remain exactly where he was. And he was.

“Well, I’m sorry you slept here. I didn’t mean to intrude on your resting time…” you mumbled, and he exhaled a breath.

“Y/N…”

You interrupted him immediately. “I mean I had no intention of falling asleep like that, especially on top of you! I just kind of, I don’t know, felt comfortable, and I’d had a really tiring day, and-“

“Y/N, I sleep better with you next to me,” he decided to inform you, interrupting your ramblings. When you gave him an incredulous stare, he laughed a little. “We used to sleep next to each other all the time. Granted, those were stressful times, but I think I got used to it. Even when the others weren’t exactly accepting of my presence, you always treated me with kindness. I guess I’m… comfortable around you. And I think… It may be because I like you. A lot.”

His words stunned you into silence. How could this perfect man, with more power than anyone would ever need, like you? He had always treated you kindly, and that was part of his appeal. Even when he was supposedly trying to capture the avatar, he had seemed a bit on edge, almost like he wanted to hold back. A few times he had held back, even though you could see how much it hurt him to do so. When he joined you, he’d had no issues carrying his own weight, even helping relieve some of the others’ burden. He had been so patient with Aang while teaching him firebending, and with all of you when it came to your slightly odd humor and hijinks.

In short, you loved this man, and in an effort to show him, you decided to kiss him.

Your lips seemed to meld with his perfectly. He took it slow and steady, caressing your cheek as he kissed you. Your arms seemed to have a mind of their own as they curled around the back of his neck, playing with the locks of hair at the nape of his neck and pulling him a little bit closer.

The kiss was everything you had ever wanted and dreamt of; he was everything you had ever wanted and dreamt of, and he was more. His lips were soft and pillowy, he responded so beautifully to your kisses and caresses, tugging you closer and grunting with pleasure.

Zuko himself felt like he was dying. Spirits how he loved to kiss you, touch you, make you feel good. The way you played with his hair drove him absolutely crazy, and the feel of your lips was the most exquisite thing he had ever felt in his entire life. You were everything to him, and now that he knew what you tasted like, he could never go back.

Unfortunately, you had to pull apart eventually. You were both gasping for breath, lungs burning from the lack of oxygen, but you were both smiling like idiots. Everything was about to change, but neither one of you minded in the slightest.

Being sleepless had never resulted in anything better.

[happyandticklish]

If You Love Me...

Summary: In an effort to win at game night, Rory ends up discovering a secret about Todd. 

“If you love me, baby, won’t you please give me a smile?”

The game had become a tradition of sorts between the two, a ritual-esque activity that they preformed dutifully each night. Rory was the best at it. She had an unflinching constitution that Todd was rarely able to break through. He did manage to win on occasion, however, usually in moments of embarrassment-inducing desperation. She seemed to find his humiliation highly humorous. When he pointed this out to her she merely shrugged and replied, “Maybe you shouldn’t be humiliated so easily.”

It wasn’t an answer, but Rory rarely gave answers—only snide remarks.

The two were playing the game once more, on a rainy summer evening. Outside, they could hear the gentle drip of the rain, which was putting Todd in a pleasant mood much to his annoyance. Pleasant moods could be difficult during the game, as a contented smile rested already at his lips. Even Rory had a small upturn to her lips, though she was not on trial per se, and was allowed.

Currently her head was twisted upwards in a dramatic reenactment of a ghost, her voice coming out in raspy whispers. Her arms twitched sporadically by her sides, as though she was possessed by some great spirit. It wasn’t really a funny pose and would more often terrify others than it would make them want to laugh. She knew Todd though, and knew that he would find the pose and the fact that she was being something so ridiculously fake amusing. It worked. A smile, then a chuckle, then a laugh broke through as he struggled through the words.

“Oh c’mon,” she complained, lowering her head back and glaring at him. “You always make it too easy; it hardly feels like a win anymore.”

“I can’t help it,” Todd insisted. “It’s more your fault than mine. Maybe you should stop being so funny.”

“Maybe you should learn self-discipline.”

“I have self-discipline.”

“Oh?”

“Yes.”

“Prove it.”

“How?”

“One round,” she determined, holding up a steady finger. “If you can last through at least one round without laughing than I’ll believe it.”

“It’s your turn though,” he pointed out. “You’re breaking the rules.”

She shrugged. “Maybe. Or maybe you’re just chicken.”

“I’m clearly not a—oh.” He frowned. “You’re not funny, you know.”

“Agree to disagree. So you accept my challenge, then?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

Todd deliberated for a moment. He had held out against her in the past before, so it was possible. Besides, there was something about that taunting smile of hers, the quick of her brow, the wrinkled eyes, that made him unable to resist her. “Alright. Fine, I suppose. Also, that is extraordinarily unfair, challenging my masculinity over every little challenge.”

“Quit letting me challenge your masculinity and I won’t do it,” she countered. It was an irrefutable argument and Todd closed his mouth on what would have been a snarky reply, instead sitting up and waiting for her to begin.

When they had first discovered the game, they had created their own ground rules to even out the odds. Frowning was forbidden, as it allowed you to force your reactions away from their natural course; straight face only. Eye contact must be kept at all times; Todd had cheated a great many times with that before the rule was put in place. And lastly, no touching.

Rory liked to play hooky with this rule. She was a great fan of the “almost-touch”, pressing her body so close to his at times that his hair stood on end. As a result of this, Todd was unsurprised when she crawled across the bed to him, kneeling directly before him. What he was not expecting was for her to raise her hands and hover them directly on either side of him, her fingers curled in just slightly. His breath hitched in his throat, his heart rate quickening.

“No touching,” he reminded her, his voice barely reaching above a whisper.

“I’m not,” she said, holding his gaze tantalizingly in hers. She wiggled her fingers in the air and he clenched his hands into fists. If he squirmed at all he would go right into her waiting hands.

This was wholly unfair.

“Baby,” she said, leaning in so her breath hit the shell of his ear. “If you love me, won’t you please give me a smile?”

His lips wobbled perilously, his mind unable to focus on anything but those fingers, so treacherously close to his skin. She couldn’t have known. She couldn’t have known he was ticklish, or that this specific method would have such an effect on him. Yet she did and it was and Todd was so very, very fucked.

“Baby,” he started, a smile almost, almost, slipping onto his lips. “I l-love you…”

“Yes?” Rory asked, raising an eyebrow and sending shudders down his spine. Despite his better judgement his gaze flickered down to her hands and a sudden, panicky euphoria filled him.

“B-But I just can’t smile!” he exclaimed, his words bursting out of him in a breathy giggle as he fell back away from her. “Okay, that is unfair!”

“What’s unfair?” she questioned, crawling towards him on the couch. “That you suck at this game?”

“Rory—” he protested as she swung a leg over him, effectively straddling him. “Wait—”

“Or could it be,” she continued, poking him repeatedly in the stomach. “That you’re so ticklish that you can’t even handle the thought of it happening without laughing?”

“Thihis ihis m-mean!” Todd yelped, squirming away from her. “A-Ahand cheheating!”

“That is bullshit, and you know it.” She grabbed both hands, raising them far above his head. “The rule is no touching, and I never touched you. How come I never knew you were ticklish, by the way? Because, and I mean this in the best way, it is absolutely fucking adorable. Are you ticklish everywhere?”

“I don’t know,” Todd responded honestly, attempting to bring his hands down before realizing that they were well and truly trapped. It seemed unfair that Rory was yet another person that was physically stronger than him, and yet here they were. “No one’s ever really tried.”

“Really?” she asked, curiosity lighting up her eyes in the way he loved. “No one? Not past lovers, or those friends of yours? Not even family members?”

“Well, I’ve been tickled before,” he corrected apprehensively; she didn’t have a hand free to tickle him, as they were both fairly preoccupied holding him down, yet he couldn’t shake off the feeling that she had some trick up her sleeve. “Just not properly. Most people start and stop. Besides, I’ve never been a very physical person so most people simply assume I dislike it.”

“Do you dislike it?” Rory asked, not releasing him, but waiting cautiously for his reply. He knew she would respect whatever answer he gave her, which might have been why he said what he did next.

“I’m… I’m not sure,” he answered honestly. He had considered denying her outright, as it seemed the easiest way out of the situation, but for some reason he hadn’t. He hadn’t been tickled in a while, and it hadn’t been wholly terrible when she had done it to him earlier. A curiosity gripped his mind, and he found himself just as eager to know the answer to her question. “I suppose you would have to find out.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Is that an invitation?”

“It’s not not an invitation.”

“I hate double negatives,” she declared. “They tend to complicate things.” She smiled. “But for you, I’ll make an exception.”

“Oh. Well. Thank you.” Todd paused, hesitant to hear the answer, but decided to ask regardless. “I don’t mean to offend, but how exactly are you going to tickle me if your hands are—oh!”

The surprised gasp was ripped from him as she leaned down suddenly, pressing a soft kiss against his stomach. At first he was only startled, but when she started to press even more kisses along his stomach, each one light and fleeting across his skin, he began to squirm against his will. He tensed, inhaling sharply as the barest of smiles begun to tug at his lips.

“Rory.”

She didn’t answer, moving her kisses eastwards towards his sides, which somehow made everything much, much worse.

“R-Rory,” he stammered again, his fingers gripping onto the fabric of the couch. “Rory, wait, hold on.”

She paused, glancing up at him. “Is this okay?”

Strangely enough, it was. Though at the time the sensations had been entirely unbearable, Todd found that he missed their absence now. He flushed, diverting his gaze towards the cluster of bushes outside their window in an effort not to meet her eyes. “I—uh, yeah, it’s okay. It just, um, it really tickles.”

“Does it?” Rory confirmed, sounding almost surprised, though pleasantly so. “That’s good to know. I guess I’ll continue, then?”

Todd could only manage to nod.

Soft lips brushing like feathers against his skin, words murmured that formed vibrations rippling across his nerves. His laugh never rose above a stuttering giggle, sometimes a squeak if she hit a good spot. Still, there grew a kind of desperation in that simple tickling, so horridly soft that he thought he might implode from the inside. His eyes were closed as he drank in the sensations, his lips upturned in an eternal grin. He needed her to stop and yet he never wanted it to end.

Todd wasn’t quite sure what to do with that.

“You’re beautiful like this,” Rory whispered across the lines of his hips, and he huffed on an incredulous chuckle; whether this was from her comment or the way her breath brushed over such a sensitive spot was unknown. “Really, I mean it. You’re fucking beautiful.”

A blush spread like wildfire across his body, beginning at his cheeks and ending where her lips touched him. “I—uh, thank you. C-Cohould you maybe move to a new s-spot, thohough?” His body was tensed like a bowstring under her. “It, uh, hah, ihit r-really tihickles there.”

“What?” she teased, pressing a series of deathly light kisses along the area. He spluttered over a frantic giggle. “Here? Are you ticklish here, Todd?”

“Y-Yehehes!” he insisted, tugging at his arms but not trying, not really. “A-A lohot, a-ahactually!”

“Interesting,” she mused. “I wonder what would happen if I used my nails?”

His eyes widened in a panic. “W-What? Wait, Rory—”

Before he could protest, she had let go of his hands and was scribbling her fingers over the spot experimentally. Todd snorted, his torso flying forward and his arms shooting down. He managed to jerk his hands up right in time, however, just barely stopping himself from pushing her away. “O-Ohoho my gohohod! S-Shihihit, thahahat tihihickles!”

“I believe you’ve mentioned that, yeah.”

“R-Rohohory, Ihihi cahahan’t,” Todd protested. “Yohohou dohohon’t uhuhunderstand!”

“I don’t? Really? Then how come you’re not stopping me right now?”

Todd groaned, flailing his arms around wildly and finally settling on covering his face with his hands. “Yohohou’re sohoho mehehehean!”

Rory leaned forward suddenly, kissing his cheek. “You love it.”

Todd hated to admit that he did.

He managed to last for another thirty seconds, but when Rory found the spot on his hips that connected to his lower stomach, he found he couldn’t take it anymore. He sprung forward, quickly pulling her hands away. “Ohohokay, ohokay, enohough!”

Rory let up, smirking triumphantly at him. “I win.”

He dropped his forehead on her shoulder, still holding her hands. “I don’t remember it being a competition,” he muttered into her sweater.

“It’s always a competition.”

They stayed like that for a moment longer, letting the rain patter softly outside. Slowly, his breathing calmed and the flush receded from his cheeks. He could feel the rhythmic thumping of her heart beating against her chest, and he allowed himself to fade into it, content in that moment.

Throughout the rest of their game, Rory remained the sole winner, as Todd found himself unable to stop smiling, no matter what he did. And though Rory bragged about her superior skills long after they had finished the game, Todd couldn’t find it in himself to mind.

[jasontoddiefor]

Summary: Sequel to watch the time go. A/B/O AU in which Obi-Wan doesn’t realize Anakin claiming Ahsoka as his kid also means that she’s now his child. 

Obi-Wan was pacing. Anakin didn’t think his mate was even noticing it, marching from one end of the room to the other as he looked over the reports that had been sent in earlier, not even really reading them. He was nervous, agitated, and unfocused. Anakin watched as Obi-Wan rolled his shoulders and let out a low breath and then, as he had periodically the past hour already, he looked to the door before continuing.

He was definitely not aware of his behavior, unlike Anakin and just about every clone in the meeting room.

“Sir.”

Anakin looked away from Obi-Wan to see Rex standing in front of him. “General Kenobi, he is… stressed. It’s agitating the men.”

“I know,” Anakin sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. Just, give him a while. He hasn’t noticed yet.”

Rex blinked once, then he looked at Anakin in what could only be described as utter disbelief.

“He hasn’t noticed yet,” he repeated flatly. “Forgive me, General, but what. How hasn’t he noticed?”

Anakin shrugged. “It doesn’t really happen at the temple, at least never to that extent. I know what to look out for though so it’s kind of obvious from the outside perspective but….”

Anakin trailed off and turned to Obi-Wan just in time to see him look, once more, at the door through which Ahsoka had disappeared just one hour ago.

Truth be told, Anakin didn’t want to be here either. He wanted to return to his nest together with his mate and child, but they needed to get this battle plan ready so that when the repairs on the ship were done, they could leave Coruscant behind quickly and rush to the aid of yet another planet in need of Republic support. Anakin could put his own needs aside for a moment because he was quite aware of what he wanted and could calm his nerves by reminding himself that Obi-Wan was right here and Ahsoka safe at the temple. For once in his life, Anakin knew precisely why he was stressed and Obi-Wan did not.

This reversal of their roles was weird and Anakin privately vowed to remember to tease Obi-Wan about it in the future.

“Sir, I don’t think we’re going to get anything productive out of this meeting if he keeps this up,” Rex commented. “Could you please just tell him?”

Anakin grinned mischievously. “Now where would be the fun in that?”

Rex sent him a deadpan look. The fellow Omega was just a little annoyed with their antics and Anakin couldn’t fault him for it. Watching Obi-Wan was disconcerting, but from his perspective, it was also kind of hilarious. All that talk about our Padawan and Obi-Wan had no idea what exactly had shifted in their dynamics since the last time Anakin had felt the need to build a proper nest. The feeling hadn’t subdued much since then, curse his hormones and curse the Order for caring enough about their members to keep them away from shady suppressants, but it still spiked from time to time.

“Sir, please,” Rex almost begged. Anakin had never actually seen any of his men beg. They were much too proud for that and Anakin liked to think he was good enough of a General that they never felt the need to, but could simply ask him for whatever they needed. “Cody looks just about ready to take the General’s head off and we can’t afford to lose Kote to being court-martialed, so please?”

Cody’s eyes were indeed twitching and Anakin saw two troopers behind him exchanging a few credits, pointing at Obi-Wan. The Beta Commander was definitely a little irked by Obi-Wan’s behavior. Rex was a little more relaxed, but in the past months he had put up with Ahsoka and Anakin being more content than before while Cody had to deal with a jittery Alpha. That definitely wasn’t a fair trade.

“Alright, alright,” Anakin finally gave in and stood up. “I’ll talk to him. It’s almost time for our night rotation anyway. Meeting adjourned and we continue tomorrow after we got our hours? The ship should be ready then too and we’ll likely have our new assignment as well.”

Rex let out a sigh of relief.

“Thank you, sir. It will be done.”

Obi-Wan, meanwhile, was so lost in his thoughts, he didn’t even notice it when Anakin approached him as all the officers left the room.

“Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan’s turned his head away from the entrance and looked Anakin in confusion.

“Anakin.” Obi-Wan slowly returned to reality. “Sorry, I was lost in thought. Has something happened?” He stopped to look around the empty room. “And where is everyone?”

“Lost in thought,” Anakin repeated and snorted. “That’s one thing to call it. We decided to talk more tomorrow.”

Obi-Wan crossed his arms and tilted his head in confusion before his eyes darted to the door, again. Anakin was kind of charmed by it all.

“Why?”

“Because of your inability to concentrate and your Commander’s want to throw you into the brig. Let’s go home.”

Anakin took his mate’s hand and led him out of the room. Normally, Obi-Wan would have protested more, asked more questions, but instead he was silent and, perhaps, a little more affectionate than he usually would be out in the open. He walked a lot closer to Anakin, let him hold his hand. They tried to show at least a bit of professionalism when they weren’t in their quarters, especially Obi-Wan wanted to uphold that image, whereas Anakin couldn’t care less, but it was clear that wasn’t going to happen right now.

The trip back to the temple had never seemed as long as it had now, and Anakin recalled that time he was sixteen and Obi-Wan had gotten so sick on a mission, he had been worried he would lose his Master. When they did finally reach their home, Obi-Wan already looked a little better, though he was still far from the serene and calm Jedi Master. The few Jedi they passed on their walk through the halls gave Obi-Wan a curious look, though not as much as they would have towards the beginning of the war. There were more and more Master and Padawan pairs whose bonds had strengthened. Seeing a Master who slightly more protective than usual and hovered over their charge wasn’t a regular thing yet, but once the war ended, if it ever did-

There would be change.

Soon they were standing in front of the training salles where Ahsoka was sparring viciously. She had grown so much already since her apprenticeship had started, Anakin had to stop himself from purring with pride. Obi-Wan too watched her with pride, but his eyes were tracking the course of her opponent’s blade a little too closely.

“Ahsoka’s safe,” Anakin reassured him, but Obi-Wan only looked at him in confusion. “Of course, she is,” he replied and yet his voice was a little deeper, a little closer to worry and anger than it should be.

“Right.” Anakin watched Ahsoka do another spin over the head of Barriss and victoriously land on her feet. Smiling, he called out to her. “Ahsoka! It’s time to go!”

His Padawan turned around to him, first happy when she spotted the two of them, but then quickly began scowling in disappointment.

“But I only just started training,” she replied, but marched over to them regardless after bowing to Barriss.

She wasn’t stomping her feet, but it certainly felt similar enough to it from a Jedi’s perspective. Obi-Wan, who would usually cite Anakin’s past misbehavior at him at this time, was silent once more, carefully tracking Ahsoka’s every movement, checking her for any visible injuries.

It was hilarious really.

“Where do we have to go? Have we got a new assignment?” Ahsoka asked him.

“Nope, just our rooms,” Anakin only replied.

Ahsoka shot him a look of disbelief, then turned to Obi-Wan to check if this was some dumb joke they were playing on her. However, as soon as Ahsoka stood next to Obi-Wan tough, she too realized there wasn’t something quite right with him. And yet she wasn’t given even a chance to say another word, as Obi-Wan apparently decided that enough was enough and simply grabbed her waist to throw her over his shoulder.

“Hey!” Ahsoka protested. “Obi-Wan! Let me down.”

“You’re too slow, little one,” Obi-Wan replied, his voice definitely more of a growl than his normal speaking voice.

She pulled a face and then, after she contemplated protesting again, came to the conclusion that life would be much easier and kinder on her if she just went along with Obi-Wan’s behavior and let herself be carried.

Thankfully, the walk to their rooms was a quite short one. Anakin opened the door and let Obi-Wan direct them towards the bedroom. He waited until Anakin had made himself comfortable, then he dumped Ahsoka on his lap and marched straight out of the door again.

“Okay, so what’s going on,” Ahsoka asked as soon as he had disappeared.

“I’d say his instincts finally caught up to him, little one,” Anakin laughed.

Gently, he pushed Ahsoka off his lap to fix his nest. Not that there was anything wrong with it per se, it was just not perfect either. It had been a while since he had slept here and not on a ship. He puffed the pillows and rearranged the blankets until they had taken the shape he preferred. He glanced at Ahsoka, waiting for her to add to the nest. He knew the Jedi didn’t usually do this communally, but this was how he had grown up and it brought him peace to stick to this habit. Ahsoka had gotten used to Anakin’s habit and by now made her own corner in his nest. Once they were done, they crawled under the largest blanket and let its weight lie comfortably upon them.

“So, when is he going to be back to normal?” Ahsoka asked.

Anakin snorted. “I think you can say normal goodbye for a while, but I think he’ll calm down a little soon.” Anakin quietly counted the days and, oh yeah, his math matched up. “His rut would have been around now normally.”

Ahsoka elbowed him in the side all while complaining. “Eewww, gross, gross, gross, I did not need to know that about my grandmaster, thank you.”

“It’s just biology, Ahsoka, honestly.”

“Gross biology,” she replied in the spirit of a teenager.

Obi-Wan returned soon after, announcing his arrival with the sound of doors opening and closing. When he entered the bedroom, he was carrying a mountain of snacks. To Anakin’s delight, his favorite sweets and fruits had been stacked in there as well. Anakin didn’t know how Obi-Wan had managed to even find all of those in such a short time, never mind during the war when some of the more exotic treats had become harder to import. Their kitchen was definitely empty for sure.

“I brought food,” Obi-Wan said, his voice suddenly tinted with confusion while he gave Anakin a treat.

“Thank you,” Anakin said simply and accepted.

Eagerly, Ahsoka grabbed a chocolate bar out of the pile, opened the wrapping and devoured it like a starved man in the desert. Anakin himself really wasn’t all that hungry, but this was less about being sated and more of giving Obi-Wan some much-needed comfort and calm. It wasn’t like Anakin didn’t appreciate his Alpha taking care of them. They just didn’t often indulge in the comforts that came with their designation, there was no time for it, but Anakin definitely enjoyed the sweet joy that came with Obi-Wan paying attention to him.

“Come here,” Anakin told Obi-Wan and threw back the blanket so he could join them.

Dutifully, his mate left the food on the nearby table, kicked off his shoes, handed Anakin his outer robes to incorporate into the nest, and climbed onto the bed. It really wasn’t a surprise he reached to Ahsoka first. Anakin had been near him the entire day, he knew nothing had happened to him, but Ahsoka had been out of his grasp and not only that, but sparring. Lightly he scented her neck, frowned in disapproval at the places where her tunics smelled like fire, nothing unusual for the aftermath of spars, but Obi-Wan still radiated disapproval. To distract his mate, Anakin gently tugged at Obi-Wans robes to get his attention. When he turned his face to him, a question in his expression, Anakin gave him a soft kiss, trying to emphasize that they were all here and safe and nobody was hurt and that everything was alright.

“I know,” Obi-Wan muttered back against Anakin’s lips and slipped his fingers beneath Anakin’s collar just so he could trace the mark there. “I know, I just-“

He sighed in frustration and dropped his head on Anakin’s shoulder.

“I really am alright, Obi-Wan,” Ahsoka too spoke up, concern coloring her voice. “I promise, nothing’s hurting. I’d tell you.”

Young as she was, and small still too, not yet taller than Anakin or Obi-Wan as Anakin knew she’d be someday. Ahsoka moved until she was curled up in-between the two of them. She had no qualms whatsoever in pushing Anakin down onto the bed until she could lie her head down on Anakin’s chest.

“We’re all good, Master,” Ahsoka said and with a yawn, closed her eyes. All that energy of before seemed to have left her. Anakin wasn’t going to protest. He could use a nap as well. Obi-Wan studied the two of them with keen eyes, before he too submitted to their demands. He laid down and pulled Ahsoka and Anakin so close that he could put his arm around the both of them. Anakin felt like he was breathing in the scent of warmth, home and safety and soon drifted off.

X

When Anakin woke, Obi-Wan was already staring at him. He didn’t look the slightest bit tired or drowsy, he must have been awake for a while then. He still hand moved his hand away from Anakin’s waist either. Glancing towards Ahsoka, Anakin saw that she at least was still sleeping soundly, her chest rising and sinking steadily.

“Why were we sleeping?” Obi-Wan whispered as to not wake Ahsoka. Then, after a pause in which he probably reevaluated all his earlier actions, “Why did I-“

Anakin couldn’t help but grin. “Do you want the long or the short answer?”

“Should I be afraid of the long answer?”

“No, not really, it just involved a lot more teasing than the short answer.”

Obi-Wan let out a long-suffering sigh. “Lay it on me.”

Taking pity on the other, Anakin decided he didn’t have to tease it all out of him. “You do remember that usually not just one half of a mated pair adopts a child?”

“Yes, obviously- oh. Oh, Force.” Obi-Wan pinched his nose. “I have to apologize to Cody. I must have been driving the poor man up the walls these last weeks.”

Anakin laughed quietly, careful not to shake Ahsoka awake. “I think he took it quite well, it’s not like he didn’t realize your paternal instincts were running haywire. I doubt there is a single trooper in your company who didn’t know.”

“So it was really only me, I’m not sure if that makes it better or worse.” Obi-Wan used his unoccupied hand to gently run his fingers over Ahsoka’s face markings. “We have a daughter then,” Obi-Wan summarized.

“Congratulations, she’s a Togruta,” Anakin joked, but quickly sobered up again.

This wasn’t what he had expected when he became a Jedi. Family and battles for what was right, yes, but not a war and a child whose survival depended on him.

“I’m terrified.” It was somehow difficult and easy at the same time to admit this. He didn’t want to speak of his fears, he should be better than that, stronger, but he also didn’t want, couldn’t, keep this a secret from Obi-Wan. They were out there fighting the war side by side for months, Ahsoka following their every step, what if his silence was the reason she was injured?

“What if she gets hurt on a mission? What if I lose her? There were so many close calls already.”

“We won’t lose her,” Obi-Wan said. He sounded a little pained. “Even just imagining it is rather counterproductive right now, but- she won’t die in this war. She has us and we’ll keep her safe.”

“But-“

“No buts,” Obi-Wan interrupted.

It occurred to Anakin that it really wasn’t fair that even now, with half his mind occupied with ensuring his mate and his child were safe, Obi-Wan could still think so rationally. It had to be that his head had cleared up a little with awareness trickling in.

“We’ll make it through it and then we’ll take a long vacation somewhere far away where I don’t have to share you two with anybody else and we can just stay like this for hours without any interruptions.”

“Careful, careful, your alpha is showing,” Anakin teased, though he couldn’t claim that the thought didn’t also sound wonderful to him.

They should go somewhere green and warm, untouched by the war and all the bloodshed.

“I am an alpha,” Obi-Wan said. “Yours in fact.”

Anakin let himself disappear in the cadence of Obi-Wan’s voice, that slightly possessive tone he had longed to hear for so long and Obi-Wan usually reigned in.

“Mine indeed,” Anakin repeated, liking the way the words lingered on his tongue as if he were saying them for the first time and there was no mark on their necks proclaiming it to the entire world.

[shittykawagirl97]

Phoenix (6/6)

Words: 3582

Pairing: Steve McGarrett/Danny Williams, Chin go Kelly/Malia Waincroft, Kono Kalakaua/Adam Noshimuri

Summary: Malia's Funeral. Chin and Alyssa philosophically drink. Danny and Steve bickering.

⚠ Set during and after 3.02 ⚠

Funerals, whiskey, and tears.

Alyssa hated death.

She loathed it with all her heart, not because of death per se or the gigantic hole someone left in your life without knowing it, she hated death because of the consequences that it had on the living.

The loneliness, the sorrow, the tears, the cold, the heartache, the mental and emotional breakdown; Alyssa abhorred seeing the people she cared for in that kind of pain because she felt and saw it too many times. Any professional would have said it was kinda unhealthy, at that point.

Death was Alyssa's solo, steady, companion in her life and she despised it.

At the first funeral she attended, she was six and no one had to explain to her what had happened or what was happening. She knew that her Nonno Alberto wasn't sleeping in the casket and she felt like she would have never been able to talk to him ever again, but she was okay with that in a strange way.

She was sad, obviously, but after her mother and sister talked to her, she accepted that it was a fact that no one could change.

What had broken her into a pathetic whine was the devastation that she could see on her parents and sister's faces; she didn't want them to feel that way, she wanted them to smile, to laugh, to enjoy the food it was passed around, but she was six and she couldn't do anything to help.

That broke her spirit and her little heart.

In the mare eight years after, Alyssa attended other four family funerals. The last one, when she was fourteen, was her mother's.

For the first time, she didn't just saw the agony in her grannies' faces or her dad's or her sister's; Alyssa felt it, felt the voidness in her chest, the crack in her soul, the ultimate clusterfuck of emotion that her brain was, one moment she was crying for her loss and the next she was hysterically laughing.

Everyone was telling her to be strong. To be courageous. To be there for her dad, but she just wanted to disappear, to stop feeling, to lose herself into the void.

Everything was too much and she didn't know how to copy. The sun was too bright, the sorrow of the people gathered too fake, the emotions too troublesome and Alyssa just turned it all off.

It took hours, a panic attack at the thought of never being able to feel again, and a hurtful headshot with her cousin's forehead to evade the nothingness and being able to feel again. Years later she would have learned that she had her first emotional overload that day.

But death wasn't done with her.

Her mother's cousin, her mother's aunt, her two grannies, her father's aunt, all died before her twenty-second birthday.

Death wasn't a stranger to Alyssa but she now could handle the aftermath.

At least, that was what she thought before Danny's call.

It had been a long work night. She had just finished examining a young boy that was brought into ER at an hour where you can't tell if it is too late or too soon when her phone ringed. Danny's voice cracked when he told her about Malia's death.

Alyssa was so out of it that she breakdown in the middle of ER. The nurses had to take her phone and tell Danny to come, take her home. Her blond friends didn't leave her alone that night: he brought her to his home and tackle her on the couch, under soft sheets. Told her to wake him if there was anything she needed.

Alyssa the world became blurred after that.

Danny was always present. Showing up on her doorstep every time he could, bringing her something to eat or drink; they passed the hours sitting on her couch silently drinking their sorrow away. She knew Steve was away for a few days – this time the idiot told them – and when one afternoon Danny showed up with his brunette partner, she just buried herself in the hug that Steve was offering.

It was only a couple of hours later and a call away that Alyssa learned that Doris McGarrett was alive and being watched by Catherine, Steve's ex. That afternoon she learned that Danny had to thought for Grace once again, too.

It took Chin a couple of weeks to organize Malia's surfer funeral ceremony and he asked for her help. He knew how strongly tied Alyssa and Malia had become during the past year and it would be offensive to not include her in it.

They met at a twenty-four hours diner and set together almost all nights; they needed someone to talk to, to mourn and cry with. Someone that could understand the hole Malia left behind at a hundred per cent.

Sometimes Steve showed up, no words, just a cup of coffee and his presence - the worst nights his strong arm could have been found over Alyssa's shoulders. Other times Danny followed him and there were a lot of words included, but they were soft and warm. She found herself smiling softly at the couple more and more times alongside Chin.

And then the day came.

The sky was impeccably blue, no trace of clouds, and the sun could break a stone. Alyssa, wearing her most elegant black suit, was standing on the beach barefoot; in the water, a few meters away, Chin was releasing Malia's ashes. Her eyes were burning because of the tears but she stood rigid, head high, paying her silent respect to one of the best women she ever met in her life.

At her right, Danny was squeezing her forearm to remind her that she was not alone in that. Alyssa breathed shakingly and throw a rapid glance in his direction.

Danny's expression was contracted and his jaw was rigid, tightly closed; his eyes were dark and shiny, a little tear had escaped his left eye but he wouldn't wipe it away: one hand closed around her arm and the other was tightly buried into Steve's suit.

Steve, on the other side of the blonde, had an arm around his boyfriend's waist and was whispering things, trying to console the other man. For all the things that had happened in the last few days, Alyssa was really happy that at least these two were finally together.

Kono was at her left and had taken residence against Alyssa's shoulder, hold protectively by her arm; the woman hadn't yet won against the demons that were telling her that Malia's death was her fault and for that, she hadn't been able to be at his cousin's side in the water. Alyssa had promised Chin to keep an eye on her.

Behind them, a little distant, there were Adam and Cathrine.

Alyssa had yet to meet Kono's man but she knew was told that between him and Chin there wasn't a good relationship; that alone explained why, even though Adam wanted to be there for Kono, he was standing respectfully away. Everyone was pretending he wasn't there – no one wanted to witness a fistfight at a funeral – but now and then Kono would look back and waved a hand to tell him she was alright. Alyssa looked at him only a handful of times, their meeting every time and she nodded, just once, to tell him that his girlfriend was alright.

Cathrine was an entirely different story: she wanted to help Steve but stood back a little from them because she didn't know Malia personally and didn't want to intrude.

In the water, the surfers started shouting and splashing the water.

Malia was gone.

The wake had been good. A lot of people passed by for condolences and even more arrived armed with alcohol.

Alyssa, Kono, Danny, and Steve helped Chin in every way they can – from taking the food from a newly arrived woman to greetings people when Chin hid for a moment – but when their common friend would bench them because "I'm suffering not an invalid", Danny had an entire argument against that, they would find themselves in a corner of the room mourning and sharing stories about Malia.

Alyssa brought the glass to her lips and sipped the brown beverage. She wasn't a whiskey woman – rum, rum was her go-to for the sourest nights – but it was the strongest alcoholic drink that had been left around.

Not even two hours in and Five-0, minus Chin, was called away for a case. Alyssa found herself alone, with not a lot of booze left around: the Kelly-Kalakaua clan turned out to be composed of pro-drinker.

Snatching away a glass, and the last but already opened bottle of whiskey, she went outside and sat on the porch's steps. It was only two weeks and she already missed Malia as she would have missed a limb.

There was a huge void in her life, in her work, in her daily activity by now. It was said that you understood what you had after you had lost it; Alyssa always thought she had understood what she had in Malia – a coworker, a friend, a sister – and yet she felt like she had just lost a piece of who she was.

She felt desperation, rage, sadness, and numbness; she felt it all at once or nothing at all.

God! She felt precisely the same as at her mother's funeral. This time, though, she had booze to drown herself in.

Her phone vibrated again but she ignored Steve's text: the brunette wanted an update on her and Chin, every five minutes. Yeah, she was starting to understand why Danny was always in yelling mode.

She sipped again at the whiskey – no but seriously, why no one had brought rum? – and looked nowhere and everywhere.

«Are you okay?» Chin's voice asked her. Alyssa looked over and watched the man stumbled towards her and slumped (fell) next to her (almost on her). When had he become so drunk?

«Shouldn't be me to ask you that?» She retorted, settling him the best she could.

«Meh. I am good for now: the Okolehao helped». He raised his still full glass. «But you are not drunk, not speaking, and starting at nothing».

Alyssa smirked and sipped from her glass.

«What are you? A policeman?»

Chin's elbow found a new home in her left side. Hard. Ouch.

«I'm not so gone that I can't see you burying your emotion under your scary amount of sarcasm», he warned. «I had worked with Steve and Danny for over two years now, I am trained. And Malia complained about it. A lot. And loud enough».

Alyssa snorted. Gosh, that woman!

They settled in comfortable silence for a few minutes.

Chin knew that Alyssa was dangerously similar to Steve when it came to coping mechanisms: where his boss coped from trauma with an insane dose of recklessness, the woman used a foolish amount of sarcasm.

Just like Danny... A lot like Danny.

Chin looked at the dark-haired woman and couldn't stop himself from thinking that she was what Steve and Danny's child would have been like. Grace had saved herself from becoming that thank to Rachel.

«I thought I become good at managing it», Alyssa's voice brought Chin back to the present.

«Managing what?»

«Death, mourning... The void». She answered with a tight tone before dipping the whiskey, trying to force down the knot that was forming in her throat.

«Death is death, Lyss, there is no way around».

She snorted before drinking again. «Didn't I know that».

Chin cringed at her level of sarcasm. Malia, during a rare night spent on the couch with Netflix and ice cream, had confessed to him that she was preoccupied with her new co-worker's coping mechanism. Steve and Danny hadn't yet become her patients at that point.

The two women weren't even friends but, because Malia was the only one that Alyssa respect enough to not insult, their boss had asked Malia to talk to the younger woman. She had made a nurse cry that day, after blowing up for a stupid reason; Alyssa had probably been at her breaking point because she opened up to Malia the instant she asked her what was wrong. The unhealthy amount of sarcasm used during the explanation – it had been her mother's death anniversary – had left Malia on edge for the rest of the day.

«I'm sorry», Chin mumble apologetically.

Alyssa winced.

«God, Chin. No!» She exclaimed, passing a hand on her face. «Don't ever apologize for something like that. Your sorrow isn't less real than mine cause I had a lot of people taken from me! That is a very, very wrong idea to have!»

«And yet, you're undermining your own only because you attended more funerals than me!» He threw back at her. «Losing a loved one is never easy! Even after fifty damn funerals».

Alyssa shakingly breathed in and filled her now empty glass. She needed a lot more alcohol in her to be able to survive that discussion.

«Death touched me when I was a baby, Chin», she gulped down a good amount of the brown beverage, burning her throat. «I grew up with death breathing down my neck. Wherever I look there was death in a way or another. That scars you for life; the only way out of that ache is accepting.

Accepting that death is real. Death is everywhere, at any given moment, and we can't do shit about it. Life's meaning is death and that's it».

Chin watched her eyes puffing and reddening with unleashed tears, he drunk.

«I understand what you mean but I think you are wrong on two things».

«Enlight me, please», Alyssa's tone was sarcastic but her face was grim: she honestly grew up thinking that she hadn't any more rights to feel the loss of a loved one because she had lost too many.

Chin's heart strung at the revelation. He wanted to kill every idiot that made her feel that way and then protect her a lot more: she was a beautiful person, with a gigantic heart; she didn't deserve all the suffering she had been through.

«First», he choked out, «I think that we can do something about death. Yeah, we can't save anyone and death is the destination of everyone's life... But we can help to make their life a little bit longer and a little bit safer. I become a cop cause of that and you wouldn't be such a good doctor if you didn't think the same. At least, subconsciously».

«Second», his voice lower, careful and full of affection, «I think that death can help us understand life better. Can let us appreciate what we have a lot more, never giving someone for granted. I thought that I had the rest of my life to spend with Malia and I feel that I hadn't told her enough how much I love her».

Alyssa shook her head vigorously.

«Malia knew how much you loved her, Chin. She never questioned your seriousness or your resolve. She comprehended how much you were giving her and she worshipped it.

«Never, ever guilt yourself with her death. Please, please, believe me when I tell you that Malia loved you with every inch of herself, despite knowing that one day you could have died in action or that your work could have followed you home. She knew what she was going up to and she never regretted any of that. That was the kind of love she was willing to give you and the kind of love she knew you were giving her every single second of your life».

Chin sipped from his glass and closed his eyes, trying to contain his tears but losing miserably when one ran down his sharp cheekbone. He didn't even try to wipe it away, too tired.

«I wasn't the only one she loved, Lyss», he remarked. «She thought of you as the little sister she never had. She cared about you as much as you cared for her. Yeah, maybe you didn't know her for long, but you have the same rights as me to be upset. To be angry. To be sad.

«She was your friend and you can be broken because of her death. No matter how many people you lose or how many funerals you attended».

Alyssa felt her eyes stung like bitches and didn't fight the tears or the emotional breakdown. She sobbed loudly, hiding her face with her free hand, letting herself honestly mourning her best friend for the first time since she had been told she had died.

Suddenly, a weight was left from her shoulders, and Chin was there to keep her together. She didn't know what he had done to deserve such good friends but she was thankful for them all.

Chin embraced her for what felt like forever, encouraging her to let go of everything, before the sobs subsided and she stopped crying. They stayed like that – her head on his shoulder and his arm around her shoulders – a little more afterwards, just to know that they were not alone.

The only sound was the neverending buzz of her phone.

«Are you going to respond to Steve's text?» Chin asked after the umpteenth notification.

«Nope, he should learn a little bit of patience». Alyssa responded truthfully. «And I am enjoying my mental picture of Danny bitching at him at every new text».

Chin snorted.

«I think you forget who you are talking about in that bottle of whiskey you stole».

Alyssa scuffed and admitted to herself that she was starting to feel a little tipsy; it was a good feeling. For the first time in days, she felt the void inside her subsided a little bit.

«He has a job to do and he should stay focus on it», she smirked. «We have alcohol to keep us at bay and each other, obviously, because misery loves company».

The dark-haired man laughed at that.

«You would have been right if you were talking about anyone else, but you talking about Steve McGarrett here. He will terrify someone for life just to being able to return here immediately and smother us with worries. If you think that Danny will not partner up with him on this, I will say you drunk too much».

The woman rolled her eyes and was ready to retort that yes, Steve and Danny were practically insane and unstoppable when worried for their ohana but this was different because they knew where they were; when the rumble of an engine tore the quiet air in half and suddenly a silver Camaro was stopping in front of Chin's house with a dangerous screech.

The car went silent a moment after and the first thing the two cuddling friends heard was Danny's scared-pitched ranting. Immediately, they couldn't understand the single words – obstructed by the car door – but then Steve swiftly got out of the vehicle and Danny followed him.

«I was screaming for my life you Neandertal animal!» He was wailing, waving his hands everywhere after closing the car door. «You went up to the red zone of the speedo and never come down! You are officially insane and I should have dragged you to a psychiatrist some time like yesterday!»

«I was preoccupied!» Steve ranted back, now at Danny's side with an I-can't–understand–why-are-you-shouting-at-me face. «She isn't answering her phone! Everything could have happened!».

Danny made a large and circular gesture with his hand and ended up indicating Chin and Alyssa.

«They are drunk, you shmuck! They are at a wake, they are grieving the loss of a very special woman in their life, they are crying, and they are drinking an unhealthy amount of alcohol! Just look at them, they are fine!»

Steve let his gaze follow Danny's hands and he finally noticed that the sources of his concerns, cuddling on the front step of Chin's house. Their glasses were half empty, the whiskey in the bottle was dangerously close to the bottom, and their cheeks were stained with dried tears.

No dangerous whatsoever.

He felt his face flush and shyly waved a hand in their direction.

Alyssa laughed out loud at that because, yeah, Chin was right and she had forgotten who Steve was: a closet mother hen. Hell, if she didn't love him for that.

Chin joined in her laugh and she caught the shitty smut grin that Danny was giving his boyfriend.

Alyssa felt alive and at home. She felt secure like she could be herself even in the worst moment of all with her Ohana around.

She hadn't to hide her sadness and sorrow anymore because now she had insane, lovely people that would help through all of it.

Part (1/2/3/4/5/6)

[lucian-ffxiv]

Trachyngeim Aerstwyda

thanks for the template @lizzy-frizzle​

Name:  Trachyngeim Aerstwyda

Gender:  Female

Age: 19 at the start of ARR

Race:  Roegadyn

Relationship: Single

Family: Pfardaeg (father), Thubyrthota (mother), Blauswys (sister)

Orientation: Bisexual

Nameday:  11th sun of the 1st umbral moon

Abilities/Talents:  The tallest person she knows (max height Roegadyn, after all), she can reach up to the top shelf like no problem. She’s not very good at most crafts, but is very adept at gathering. does giving me gender feels count as a talent

Job:  Dark Knight; also Monk, Gunbreaker. She’s dabbled a lot, though, in things like black magic, red magic, and the art of the dancer.

Appearance description: 7′6″ tall, with short red hair. Toned muscles, though she’s not as muscular as her strength would suggest.

Unique features (scars, tattoos, etc.): Red facial tattoos, symmetrical on both sides of her face.

Personal Beliefs (religious or otherwise): She used to think of the stories of the primals as nothing more than stories - boogeymen that kept children up at night. Her mother told her of Leviathan, while neglecting to tell her of the primal’s hand in the death of her parents. Needless to say, slaying the boogeyman has led Trachyngeim to have her personal beliefs thrown into turmoil, and they’ve been there for a while.

Residence:  Ul’dah is essentially her home. It was where she got her start as an adventurer, and despite her personal connections to Ishgard and Ala Mhigo, Ul’dah shall be where she considers home.

Birth place: On a boat to Limsa Lominsa, as her parents and elder sister made the journey.

Dreams: To repay the kindness of others that for so many years of her life she felt undeserving.

Fears: While not afraid of self-sacrifice per se, she is afraid of what would happen to those she cares about should she become unable to aid them any more. After all, if word got out that the Warrior of Light was all washed up, or dead, some of her past enemies would surely not hesitate to exact their revenge.

Introverted / Extroverted / Ambiverted  (bold what applies)

How do they handle stress?: At first, she would just go to the Pugilist’s guild in Ul’dah to see if anyone wanted a spar. Now that she’s famous, though, that’s not really an option anymore. So now, she’s tried to transition to less violent methods of stress relief. Really, though, she just wants someone she could spar with like the good old days.

What’s the state of their living quarters? (messy, clean, etc.): Clean. Cleaning helps distract her from how she feels sometimes.

How do they handle meeting new people?: Used to be that she’d meet a new person every once in a while, but now her... duties as international hero and savior ensure she is inundated with new faces. It can get a bit overwhelming sometimes.

When facing certain doom, what’s their outlook?: “Just a little bit further.”

What do they do to relax?: There’s a spot in the Coerthas mountains that is hard to reach. She uses a mount to fly up there and watch out over the snow.

What’s their favourite outfit?: Currently, a rather comfortable bit of formalwear she picked up in Kugane.

Traumas/Personality quirks: She can go from laughing with friends to being deadly serious in a matter of seconds. She’s trying to get better at managing these shifts in tone.

About Them as of Current story patch: N/A (not there yet lol - in the patch content quests of Stormblood rn)

History:  She never actually met her father, growing up. That also meant, though, that she never really had a last name, per se. This led to a fair bit of teasing from other Roe she grew up near. She took the name Aerstwyda, First Willow, in an attempt to assert herself as the beginning of something new, but this only led to further teasing. At one point when she was a teenager, several of her peers even conspired to lure her into the ocean and push her in - only to be rescued by a wandering Dark Knight who happened to be passing that way from Ishgard. It was they who first noticed the power of Trachyngeim’s dark side, though they were not wont to teach her such things at her age. It was this incident, though, that finally made her realize that she wasn’t undeserving of kindness, and that there were a great many debts that needed to be repaid. At that point, she decided to learn to fight, and utilized her impressive strength in becoming a skilled hand-to-hand fighter at a young age. Eventually she struck out on her own towards Ul’dah, and the rest, as they say, is history.

Feelings towards others: (add or remove as relevant)

- Yshtola –  She’s got a bit of a crush on Y’shtola, though she’s not good enough with her feelings to admit it. She’s come close a few times, but running in a sewer from people wont to kill you isn’t the best time for it.

- Alphinaud –  She’s friends with Alphinaud, but in that true best friend way where she loves to tease him about all the little things and laughs along with Krile, or Alisaie, or whoever else might be teasing him at the moment.

- Alisaie –  Definite friends here, if for no other reason than their shared past-time of poking fun at Alphinaud.

- Thancred –  He rubbed her the wrong way when they first met, this “handsome stranger”, but eventually grew on her. She felt really bad for not noticing how hard he was pushing himself until it was too late.

- Urianger –  She can never tell what he’s really thinking, and it concerns her.

- Tataru –  Would protect with her life.

- Papalymo - :(

- Minfillia -  :(

- Ser Aymeric - She fell for him, hard. She wouldn’t even think about saying anything - it would be quite a conflict of interest. But she’s sure she’s seen him do things to imply he feels the same way, so maybe, once everything’s over...

- Cid –  He’s like the cool grandpa of the group. She can’t wait to see what new amazing machine he and the Ironworks create next.

- Zenos –  Terrible human being. Killing him felt good.

- Gaius –  Killing him, on the other hand, felt hollow. He himself didn’t put up much of a fight - it was mostly the Ultima Weapon. She didn’t even really land a killing blow.

- Nero –  Why can’t this guy stay gone?

- G’raha –  She respects his sacrifice.

- Ascians - She wants to personally kill every ascian alive.

- Lyse - She laughed when Lyse challenged her to the fight on the Destroyer’s palm, but she put up a good fight. It was her first real chance to spar with someone else in a long time.

- The Grand Company Leaders -  Kan-E-Senna always calms her to be around. Merlwyb is someone she respects for her directness, at the very least. Being an Immortal Flame herself, it’s always surreal to have Raubahn treat her as more than just another officer.

- Magnai - She didn’t like him. While she isn’t one to scoff at religion, she does feel that the belief that every man has a woman especially made for him to be laughable.

- Sadu - Definitely someone to never cross. There was that time during the contest, but that was in the spirit of competition. As a fellow wielder of explosive magic on occasion, she knows how bad of an idea it would be to make her angry.

- Cirina - Could become a fearsome warrior one day, if given the proper training. She’d be glad to help train her, too.

- Yugiri - Perpetually impressed by what Yugiri can do with the ways of the shinobi. Beyond that, though, she trusts Yugiri to keep secrets more than some of the other characters.

- Gosetsu - Similar to Thancred, Gosetsu went from grating to endearing in her mind. She was very conflicted when he reappeared after the castle, though.

- Fordola - She knows what it feels like to be teased for something that was of no fault of her own. She wants to feel bad for Fordola, she does, but there’s always the legions of people hurt by her hand.

- Yotsuyu - She also feels bad for Yotsuyu, but not so bad that she won’t mind fighting her.

- Asahi - She would kill Asshat if she got the chance.

- Other Warrior of Lights -  She’s more than happy to step back into the shadows and let others have their time to shine.

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #444

“the monster you made is wearing the crown  /  i’ll be the king, and you’ll be the clown”

Do you take off from school, or work for your birthday? Ha, I used to try to talk Mom into letting me stay home from school... It only sometimes worked. Have you ever created ‘open when’ letters for someone? No. That'd be cute for an s/o, though. What is the best thing about being in the relationship you’re in right now or about being single? Not having to fear my partner leaving because of the struggles I'm going through. Not having to worry about not being enough for another person, because I'm not even enough for myself. Do you have a favourite painting? Not by a historical artist, no, but there is a piece by a deviantART artist called "Denialism" (by NukeRooster/Tatchit, if you're interested) that I adore so much I've actually gotten her permission to get it tattooed one day when I can afford a brilliant artist to do it. What are some of the best life hacks you know? /shrug What makes you smile without fail? MARK LAUGHING laj;sdkafjwlk;erj Do you know what you’ll be getting your loved ones for the holidays this winter? No clue. That's still a whiles off. What is your biggest short-term goal (within the next month)? Just lose a decent amount of weight for a month's time. What will your next tattoo be of? It depends on what cash I have available, really. As much as it sucks, I think my next tat is a whiles off because I just have more pressing things to pay for. Has anyone very close to you ever died? Besides pets, the closest human to me that's ever died was Jason's mom. If you were throwing your significant other/best friend a themed party, what would the theme be? Uh, Frieza-related, obviously. Do you feel prepared for the apocalypse? I don't believe in the apocalypse in the biblical sense of it being determined by an ultimate power, so this isn't something I really think about. Whenever humanity ends, it ends. I don't have a say, so I may as well not obsess over it. Do you think you will have children naturally, adopt, or forgo having children altogether? I'm not having kids, but if I did, I know that either I'd have to give birth to them or my hypothetical wife would for me to feel *properly* connected to them as a mother should. Oh, or if my male partner had a kid from a previous relationship, but I'd have to be REALLY in love with him to feel like that child is also my own. Do you take pictures of yourself on a daily basis? Oh god no. Do you believe in angels? No, but rather just spirits. Is there anything in your past that you used to regret, but now you don’t? Hm, maybe? Does your knee hurt? My knees always hurt. Has anyone ever called you sexy? Yes. Do you like raisins? omg nooooo What is your favorite bug? Butterflies! :') Do you like Scrabble? Sure, it's fun for a board game. Do you have a printer? Yes. What is your favorite food? Cheeseburgers or pizza, probably. I know, so American. Have you ever overheard a conversation you weren’t supposed to? Yes. Do you like ants? They are very fascinating when you really think about it, but I still find them incredibly annoying. Did you like the movie Antz? I loved it as a kid. Have you ever drank goat milk? No, I don't believe so. What’s your favorite video game? Silent Hill 2 and Shadow of the Colossus. Do you like cats? I love kitties!!! :') Are goldfish your favorite fish? No. I think my favorite is probably the lionfish. Do you like vanilla pudding? No. I only like chocolate pudding. What is your opinion on gay marriage? I 100% support it and would fight to the death for it. What is your opinion on gay adoption? Don't even fucking look at me if you see a problem with a parentless child finding a home with two people in love. Who was the last person you had a crush on? Sara. What’s the most expensive piece of clothing you own? I have zero clue. Why do you drive the car you have right now? I don't have my own car. Have you ever seen your best friend cry? Omg yes and it sucks. Are you friends with your neighbors? No. What is your current desktop picture? One of my favorite pictures of my late pup, Teddy. What’s the coolest thing you’ve seen out the window of an airplane? Mountains! Does your neighbor have any pets? *shrug* Have you ever swam in a mountain lake? No, but that sounds VIBIN'. Has a cat/dog ever thrown up on your bed? alksdjflk;a;jdfalwe yes Have you ever had a concussion? One or two. Do you know anyone who has a pet gecko? Not currently, I think? I want a fat-tailed gecko, though. :( Would you ever go bear hunting? I wouldn't dare hunt ANY animal. Have you ever seen two movies at the theater in a row? I have not. How many teenagers do you know who have babies? I know no teen personally that has a child, but there were some pregnant students in high school. If you could keep your parents or trade them for other parents, which would you pick? I would NEVER change my parents. Is there a piggy bank in the room you’re in? It's not a "piggy" bank, per se, but my sister got me a skull one that she says is for my tattoo funds. :') How many sets of twins do you know? Two, off the very top of my head. If you have younger siblings, are you very protective of them? Yes. No one fucks with her for as long as I live. If you have older siblings, are they very protective of you? Not especially. Who is your favorite Disney Channel person? Uhhh, maybe Raven Symone? How many pets do you have? Just two. Do you think you will be successful in life? No. :/ What do you have pierced? My earlobes, twice, and my bottom lip. I have been dyinnnnggg for some new ones lately. :/ Does techno annoy you as much as it annoys me? No, I actually enjoy quite a bit of techno. What’s your comfort food? Ice cream. Do you like paranormal stuff? YES. Do you have a favorite stuffed toy? Rebel, my adorable meerkat plush from Jason, and Brownie, my moose from Cabela's. What’s the most exciting project you were given? In a way, my senior project since you got to choose your own topic, but I dreaded the presentation. Do you have a good sense of direction? Not at ALL. What are your favorite colour for a cat? Orange! If you had to live your life carrying a shield, what would its design be? This is gonna sound super, super cheesy, but probably a heart to symbolize how love should and could block the effects of hate and general evil and that we should pursue that instead of violence. Out of all the cancers, which one do you think needs to find a cure first? Oh god, they all do. If I had to pick one though, it'd be one of the inevitably fatal kinds, like pancreatic. What are your general afterthoughts when you’ve finished a book? I feel accomplished for actually reading to a story's completion. How many pairs of glasses (not sunglasses) have you owned? Two, I think? What color is your flash-drive? Hot pink. Have you ever built a sand castle? Yeah. How many houses have you lived in? Six. One I have no memory of. Do you shut off the water while you brush your teeth? Yes. What video game should everybody play at least once? Amnesia: A Machine for PIgs for the symbolism. It blows my mind how most horror fans hate it; it's like they totally miss the point. 100 years from now, what modern things will people look back on and say, “WTF?” Hopefully things like homophobia, racism, misogyny, concepts like those. What is impossible to understand until it happens to you? Mental illness, to name only one thing. What fictional food item from a television show, cartoon, movie, or video game have you always wanted to try? Hm. There's a lot that has looked super good, really. What’s something that gets much more hate than it deserves? Nickelback, lmao. What phrases or sayings drive you crazy? "Everything happens for a reason," "it could be worse/some people have it worse," "it's all part of God's plan," "just think positive"... a lot of stuff. Do you have a deviantART? I do, even though Eclipse made it fucking suck. I only really stay because I cling to the dying hope of being at least somewhat successful on there, and I enjoy keeping tabs on the artwork of the hundreds of people I watch there. Who is your favorite character in your favorite movie? Mufasa, even if he doesn't last long in the movie. :''''''( Have you ever been to Germany? No, but I'd love to! What is your favorite holiday? Christmas. Have you ever been ice skating? No. The blades on the skates scare me. Have you ever taken a karate class? No. Do you have any nieces or nephews? I have a lot, if you include my half-siblings' kids. Do you own an Xbox? Nah, I've always been a PlayStation gal. Would you date someone who’s well-known for cheating? Nope. Would you break up with someone your parents didn’t approve of? No. I'd consider their reasons, but ultimately, it's about me loving the person. Could you be in a relationship without sex? Yeah, sure. It's not ideal, but I mean if the other person is just very opposed, I'm certainly not forcing them. Emotional intimacy is more important to me, anyway. Have you ever been “friendzoned”? Yep. :') Briefly, anyway. Jason tried for my sake, but it was VERY short-lived by no one's fault but my own because all I know how to do is fuck shit up when it comes to him. Which “famous couple” is your favorite? LOOK Mark and Amy are FUCKIN GEMS Have you ever “destroyed” a relationship? Pretty fucking much. Are you the “dominant” or the “submissive” part in a relationship? I'm submissive by nature. Do you think Valentine’s Day is overrated? No, I think it's a cute holiday. Which do you feel is worse of the two to smoke: weed or tobacco? Well, weed has more carcinogens, but at least it has actual health benefits. Who did you last see that you haven’t seen in ages? *shrug* Are you photogenic at all? God no.