#stop being adorable. it makes me feel inadequate. :p

[boozye]

Actually, I do have some thoughts about Asmodeus. And asexual (s*x averse) MCs.

By now, I've received about 6 or so messages, from fellow asexuals depressedly predicting their incompatibility with Asmodeus.

I always end up deleting them. Because I am not suited for coaching someone out of that kind of thought process, and I tend to want to dive right into the root of the issues. And, in my opinion, Asmo is not the root of this issue. Yes, I am familiar with and had such spirals in the past as a young asexual. I still get them sometimes, rarely, but I do.

Either way, I sit on those messages for a few days, seeing if I can find anything of value to tell these poor souls. And eventually delete them for aforementioned reasons.

But they stick in my mind. It is a common ghost that stalks asexuals. Not all of us. But enough of us:

- "He would be touchy with me and I'm not comfortable with that"

- "He would flirt with innuendos and I would hate it"

- "He would cheat on me"

Etc., things along those lines.

And I just don't think he would. He wouldn't do any of those things (unless you are into that).

As I see it, it's about the meta. Obey Me was written for an audience. A wide audience. It is more inclusive than others, yes absolutely. But it is also trying to make some money. Let's look at the cold numbers here. Most people are not asexual. Most people watch p*rn. The vast majority of people are interested in s*x, irl/fictional/whatever. MOST PEOPLE DON'T EVEN KNOW ASEXUALITY IS A THING. (Most if not all of the writers probably don't even know, and by root of that, the characters probably don't either)

And so? The characters will act and be written aimed at an allo audience/MC. And Asmo, the avatar of Lust, will have a recurring dialogues related to that, ...because of course (tragically predictable, I know). We can deduce that's how they would act with a allo MC then, correct? But we know also that all of them would love MC either way. Their attraction doesn't hinge on doing the nasty with MC. This is not a p*rn game. And that applies to Asmo as well.

He's atentive and caring of MC. That would not stop being the case if MC denied him s*x. He trusts MC more than most of his brothers, and it's not because of the s*x. He adores when MC gives him attention, not just s*xual attention. He loves MC and is so happy about it, he wants to love them so much. And yeah, looking at the meta we talked about before he, and everyone, is written to catter to allo people. That just means there's gonna be some hints and insinuations. But it's not the core of it. There's plenty left to the characters if you ignore those bits.

And yeah, it's kind of a drag sometimes to have to do the work of ignoring things that remind you of how inadequate and broken it feels to be asexual sometimes. But that honestly would apply to every character, not just Asmo? So if you can do it for the others, you can probably do it for him as well. There are many meanings to Lust, and he doesn't embody just one.

Listen this isn't like taking a certain t*rf writer's shitty slave-positive antisemitic wizard universe and romanticizing it for the sake of clinging to nostalgia (while still promoting her and netting her more money to keep funding anti trans law making in the UK). The devs could've made a game aimed solely at cishetwomen and probably bagged more money than they do right now. But they didn't. They simply work with what they have, know, and can.

The characters love MC. MC could be anyone and any way. Even different from what we are forced to be in game. People have a blast making their own MCs, they are all so different and wonderful!

I get wanting to be cattered to as well, especially when it feels like everyone else is being cattered to more than you. But Asmo is not the root of that.

You don't have to like him, obviously. For any reason whatsoever. I'm just pointing out his interest in s*x is not the hurdle you may think it is, if it's keeping you from having fun. (If it's not keeping you from having fun, and you just wanna write about that cause it entertains you, then go off you, have a blast!💕)

[franklyshipping]

The Littlest Brother ~ A Markiplier Ego Fanfic

WOOOOO SNAZZY ANON PROMPT ALLUDING TO HOW THE GREEN GOOGLE, AKA MASON, IS IN FACT CANONICALLY THE YOUNGEST, LET'S SEE HOW HIS BROTHERS TREAT HIM! LET'S DO IT!

TAGGING: @googlee-green @goog-ler-iplier @google-switchy-red and @googlee-oliver

Sibling authority. I figure that's a pretty big perk if you have younger siblings, because you can always have that hint of an edge when getting your own way against them....and it gives you an excuse to reprimand them on some occasions too. For younger siblings, or the youngest sibling of a group, this can be the most unfair thing in life. You fancied an extra biscuit? Nope we're going to put the box on the highest shelf so you can't reach....but deep down, it's all loving. But, even though it was loving....one particular sibling was currently being as quiet as he possibly could as he retrieved some salty snacks from the kitchen at two o'clock in the morning. Why was he doing this? Because he was midway through a secret all night movie marathon, and it was imperative that he kept it a secret, otherwise he knew that his siblings would find a way to hinder him with knowledge and their superior strength. Google Green, aka Mason, was being careful.

....but....not careful enough. Sometimes as a younger sibling you never know the full extent to which your older siblings go to protect you; in this instance, Google Blue would always wake up if one of his brothers were online during a designated charging period; it was so he would be able to find them and see if there was anything wrong like a fault or a nightmare. In this care, Mason had been awake for a while, but Google Blue had only just noticed the notification since he'd been up late, engrossed in his own statistical work. Now that he'd noticed however....he made a bee-line for his brother's location, and soon....they were stood still, facing one another. It was rather comedic.

'Brother, may I inquire as to why you are not at your charging port replenishing energy, since it is where you ought to be at this time of night?'

Mason was frozen, clutching his snacks in a manner that was almost protective, as his mind whirred with the effort to come up with a good reply. No good ones came to mind, and thus Mason had to settle for this.

'I.....I charged...during the day so I c-could um....make time t-to watch some films....'

Now, it wasn't a lie, but when he said he charged during the day....he charged for an hour and a half. Blue could see into his diagnostics history, and upon seeing this it cemented the fact in his mind that Mason would NOT have enough energy, even for something as relaxing as watching films. With how Mason's hard drive was functioning somewhat drowsily, Blue concluded that it was time for him to assert his authority and put a stop to this.

'Film viewing in the middle of the night....that doesn't sound healthy for your ah....juvenile systems.'

Blue spoke with folded arms and a slight quirking of his lips, he never could help teasing his littlest brother. Yes, Mason was technically the youngest out of the brotherly unit....and it was a fact he'd NEVER been able to escape. Heat swarmed at Mason's cheeks when his brother called out his youth, and his speech became more fragmented as subtle flusteredness entered his mentality.

'B-But Bluey it's fine! I-I have plenty of charge a-and I can just get back to my normal routine t-tomorrow-'

'I think not. This is a very inadequate practise.'

Blue interrupted matter-of-factly, which made Mason purse his lips and let out a soft huff through his nose. He didn't have to take this! He was a unique intelligent being of great power and potential, he didn't have to let himself be lectured like this! Now, in Mason's mind his next words sounded most defiant and strong....but in all honestly they came out as a pouty whine.

'You can't tell me what to do!'

Blue raised an eyebrow, his azure eyes flashing with what seemed like a pulse of warning as he took a few steps towards his brother. Mason saw it as a flash of warning.

'Can't I?'

Blue's voice was cool as he posed his rhetorical question, thus making Mason go silent. If only Mason knew what Blue's flashing orbs had really meant....maybe he would have avoided his fate. If only he'd taken the time to recall how all of the Googles' eyes flashed whenever they communicated with one another via their cloud mind....maybe he could have saved himself.

'Are you disrespecting my authority over our unit?'

Mason gulped as he kept ahold of his snacks, his brother getting ever closer with a challenging loom on his face. Blue was daring Mason to be defiant....Mason knew that his brothers always tried to make up excuses to gang up on him in whatever scenario; he'd always tried to avoid it all, but it never worked. So, despite his nerves....he just thought fuck it. He was going to get him in some way anyway, so he threw being meek out of the window. Mason's own eyes flashed now, but with defiance.

'Your dumb big brother jurisdiction doesn't extend to this!'

....aaand Mason bolted, his mind set on getting to his room and locking the door as fast as he possibly could whilst his brother reeled from the unexpected insult. However, it wasn't as unexpected as Mason had theorised it would be, for when he turned around and made to sprint from the room....his way was blocked.

'Am I correct to infer that our little Mason just called you dumb?'

Red. It was Red's voice. Mason froze, mouth slightly agape, as he looked up his other two brothers. Red and Oliver were maintaining stoic expressions; he could see in them that they were both repressing urges to smile gleefully, despite their charging times being interrupted. Mason heard Blue let out a sigh behind him as he responded.

'He certainly did....I am.....just so offended by this....'

Mason ended up raising his eyebrows....Blue was....trying to act upset. Mason glanced behind him.....now, you may for a moment feel a pang of guilt when you first see someone upset whether it be fake or not.....but Mason failed to repress his snickers. A prominent emotion like that just looked so unnatural on Blue, and the strained expression he was pulling made it look like he was having difficulty with his personal waste disposal. Needless to say, Mason shouldn't have snickered; Oliver stated in a shocked manner.

'And now he's laughing at your sorrow! This needs to be sorted right away....'

'Agreed.'

Mason whirled around to face his other siblings, eyes wide and mouth opening ready to holler in defiance....but he was already on the ground; two versus one, he never stood a chance, especially with two of his limbs overcome by snacks. He had no chance to mount a defence. Soon though, the snacks were out of his hands and scattered about around him as Oliver and Red pinned him effectively, despite his grunts and wriggling struggles.

'L-Let go! This is s-so unfair let me GO!'

Mason glared up as his brothers, who merely smirked as they sat on his legs and gripped his arms effectively. He ended up flinching however when he heard tutting come from above him, Blue had knelt down next to his head and was looking down at him with mock disappointment....but even he couldn't hide the excitement in his voice.

'I think we need to re-acquaint you with who is in charge here....little brother....'

Mason struggled even more, eyes widening when Blue took his arms and pinned them above his head.....and soon he was giggling. He hadn't been touched, but the mere motions of Oli and Red wiggling their fingers at him tauntingly had his composure crumbling.

'N-Nohoho n-not that a-anything but tihickles p-p-please not the tickles!'

As you can imagine, this was something that Mason was commonly the victim of amongst his brothers. Not only because he was so ticklish, but also because of how his software worked. With his own software being conscious of itself and its existence, it was aware that it harbours the youngest of a group of siblings; with research into sibling behaviour and the common factor of younger siblings being more child-like, giddy and flusterable than other siblings, Mason's software altered his subconscious so he'd therefore have these characteristics. Characteristics of blushing, embarrassment, and overall cuteness, which Blue, Red, and Oliver never tired of seeing. Which is why at any opportunity, they would gang up on him, and do all this.

'Too late Masey....it's play-time....'

Oliver's sunny eyes shone as he cooed, before laughing evilly along with Red as each of them dug their wiggling fingers into one of Mason's sides each; they knew their brother well, they knew where to target....Mason had no chance.

'EEEEHEHEHE NOHOHOHAHA NOHOHO TIHICKLE NO TIHIHIHICKLE!!'

After an initial shriek he was cackling and thrashing from side to side, his green eyes glinting like emeralds as his mirth just seemed to shine out of him. As well as his apparent desperation. However, he didn't quite get the mercy he was hoping for.

'I think 'yes tickle' is the appropriate response here....especially since we know it works on your attitude ever so well....'

Blue was smirking deviously as his purred words left his lips while he looked directly into his brother's eyes which, to his delight, made him whimper amidst his laughter. Blue adored how Mason was so susceptible to the slightest subtlety. Mason had squeezed his eyes shut now, crying out as the torture continued.

'NOHOHOHOOO!!'

As he shook his head, he heard coos all around him. The most evil, flustering, babyish coos that just made something deep inside Mason just curl up into the embodiment of meekness.

'Yeeees, whoooo's a cheeky little baaaby?'

'You know I think it may be little Mason.'

'I think you're right!'

Oliver finally exclaimed....now, first off, Mason concluded that his brothers were spending too much time with the Jim siblings. Secondly, Mason concluded that this was just completely and utterly mean. His face was hot as he writhed about, now starting to squeal when he felt Red and Oli's fingers crawling up to his ribs.

'IHIHI NAHAHAT AHA BABY SHUHUHUDDUP!!'

Mason descended into cackling, and the occasional snort, as every inch of his ribcage was playfully poked and rubbed. Meanwhile, Blue's teasing face was above him, taking up his vision, an expression of smug superiority that Mason just couldn't escape.

'I think you'll find that you are in fact our troublesome little baby.'

Blue smirked as he, in his opinion, spoke the truth. From Blue's perspective, and Red's and Oli's, Mason wasn't a baby in the sense that he was unintelligent or excessively immature or difficult to handle....he just had this innocent, adorable purity that they adored hugely. Mason however, could only really see it as a tease since he was currently occupied with wailing and trying to get away from his siblings' fingers massaging his ribs.

'AHAHAHA IHI HOHOPE YOHOU STEHEP ON YOHOUR OHOWN CHAHAHARGING PLUG!!' 

.....I think that we all know that Mason certainly didn't think through his reply...until he saw Blue narrow his eyes down at him, before then giving sharp, mischievous nods to Red and Oli, who ceased their tickling. For now. Mason eagerly took the time to recover, knowing full well that a) this was only going to be a short break wherein Blue would engage in extreme intimidation, and b) he was going to get the attitude tickled out of him.

'Are you sure that's what you meant to say?'

Mason gulped at Blue's growl, but in his peripheral he could see his other brothers moving....Red was getting closer to Blue, and Oliver was sitting next to his legs. Mason's lips trembled in anticipation as he shook his head at Blue, hurriedly trying to think of some collection of words that would help him gauge mercy.....but nothing would have worked at this point. Not that he even got the chance to speak before Red and Oli began.

'AAAHHHSHITFUCKFUHUHUCK AHAHAHAHA SAHAHAHAHARRYYYYY!!'

Skittering. So much skittering. Red's blunt nails were like little insects scurrying about in the hollows of his underarms, whilst Oli's somehow felt like slowly crawling spiders under his knees. Damn it tickled, as was evident by his laughter and expletives....and his brothers decided to take notice of the latter.

'Gosh....I think we need to try that again with a bit less swearing!'

Oliver gasped, feeling most aghast; as was Red.

'Mason I am SURPRISED at you!'

This only made Mason giggle and laugh at an even higher pitch; he didn't swear a lot, but when he did and they reprimanded him for it he always got embarrassed butterflies. He was even more consumed by his mirth now in the wake of their scratchies and teasies.

'IHIHI SOHOHOHO SAHAHAHARRY SOHOSOSOSO SAHAHARRYYYY!!'

Since Blue was the only one he COULD see, Mason gazed up at him pleadingly as his brothers' blunt nails coaxed out laughter and whimpers and all of the above. And for a moment....Mason gasped in relief. Blue's lips had upturned into a gentle smile, and his eyes were softly glowing with what Mason thought was kindness....but then the expression dropped into a sneer.

'How cute....did you really think you'd get mercy straight away? It's like you don't even know us baby brother.'

Blue growled, internally crowing at how he'd managed to trick his little brother. Seeing his eyes widen with flustered shock never ceased to make his day. So, it all just continued. Now you may think....huh, scratching....I mean, there are worse tickle techniques, right? Well, yes and no, because it all depends on the person. For Mason here, this was the most evil tickly thing that they could possibly have decided to do. At his armpits AND at his knee pits! Soon enough, Mason was leaking saline fluid from his eyes, and desperation just consumed all his thoughts.

'PLEHEHEEEE-I-I-I-IHIHIH CAHAHAHAAA-A-H-A....'

The three tormenting siblings shared a look; they'd reached Mason's point, his true limit....and so they began the process of taking care of their little brother after what they'd put him through. The tickling stopped and his arms were released. Mason sniffled and softly coughed, wiping at his face as his form shuddered, but he was not alone. Each brother had their own task. Blue's fingers were rubbing the pressure points behind Mason's ears, helping him to relax, whilst Red and Oliver had their hands warming up by a few degrees. With Red placing his hands on his torso, and Oliver placing his behind Mason's knees, the warmth was soothing away all the evil tingles they'd left behind.

'Shhhh shhh, come now, we all know you've endured worse....'

Blue crooned softly, grinning when Mason let out a shaky whine and peeked up at him through his fingers.

'I-Ihihit was stihill baaad....'

He giggled, but was mostly humming by this point as he felt himself entering a state of pure calm relaxation, like the feeling of a hot bath after a work-out. Except here, he got teased and cooed at relentlessly; with or without the tickling, teasing would always remain. Oliver began with glinting eyes and a bright smile.

'Awwww, poor tender baby boy!'

'I expect you'll want to relax right about now, hm?'

Red's eyebrow was raised as he smirked subtly, and all Mason could do was nod meekly and smile at how his brothers teased him so....lovingly. For they did love him, so damn much. They unanimously decided to abandon their charging schedules and snuggle down for the most wonderful, warm, snack-filled movie watching fest that you ever did see. The warmth of their brotherhood kept them going, all through that cold night....there was never any room for the cold when they were together.

WOOOOP HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE THIS ONE LEMME KNOW IF YA DO WOOOOP LUV YOOOOUS XX

[hailcyeon]

hiraeth | 07

Pairing: Jaehwan x Reader Genre: Sci-Fi, Royal AU Word Count: 3.1k Warnings: Mild cursing

“It’s nothing, thought I spotted an old friend. He’s still smiling in his usual irritating way, lips stretched wide at a joke you’re not in on.”

Sora’s declaration spurs forth a flurry of activity that results in your standing outside an elegant bistro half an hour later, feeling woefully under-dressed in your faded jeans and sweater. Judging by the trendy gaggle of diners on the outdoor patio, this restaurant is well out of your usual price range. You understandably had the space to bring only so much when fleeing Armistice, but next to Sora in her long skirt and designer boots, you feel rather inadequate. Even Jaehwan, still accompanying you on Hakyeon's orders, cleans up nicely in his dark jeans and button down.

Oblivious to your sartorial distress, Jaehwan has been staring at something behind you over your shoulder for the past five minutes. You spare a glance, somehow both bored and agitated, but it’s just another gaggle of highly fashionable pedestrians on the opposite sidewalk. It’s strange being in the throngs of normal society, people laughing and going about their day, as if you’re not acutely aware of every passing stranger and their likelihood of being under the king’s command.

Sora huffs and checks her phone. “Ugh, it is just like Sanghyuk to keep us waiting this long.”

With the thought of meeting the king still looming over everyone's heads, Hakyeon had declared you needed a new wardrobe to properly fit the part of court mascot and roped Sora into being your guide for the day. Then once Sora realized you hadn’t eaten yet, she insisted on treating you to lunch first, calling up her brother as well on the assumption he would like to see you. From what you gather though, Sanghyuk is a late sleeper, leaving the three of you to wait outside the restaurant for his arrival.

Jaehwan scoffs, hands in pockets and lips quirked in a smile. “He's probably still hungover.”

Sora rolls her eyes. “I know he's still hungover. He threw a pillow at me this morning when I tried to wake him up.”

It's strange to think of the young boy you knew at one time having anything to do with alcohol consumption, but sudden movement in the corner of your eye cuts off any further thought. A jolt of panic runs through your body, but before you can react, Jaehwan pivots to shield you and shoulder checks the encroaching figure, sending him sprawling on the sidewalk. The chatter around you pauses briefly, the diners outside startled into silence.

“What the fuck, Hyuk?” Jaehwan pulls a groaning Sanghyuk up by the hand, both annoyed and amused. “You can't just run at people.”

“Speak of the devil and he shall appear,” Sora says, glaring up at her brother.

Holding his head, Sanghyuk stands and grins sheepishly. “I just wanted to surprise the princess. I didn't think you'd go all macho-Sword-man on me.”

“Han Sanghyuk, how many times have I told you that no one likes it when you do that?” Incensed, Sora has her hands on her hips, and you're struck by how much she's channeling her grandmother right now.

Trying to calm your still racing heart, you crane your neck upwards to peer at Sanghyuk. The last time you saw him, he was about shoulder height with you, but apparently, he takes after his giant of a grandfather, considering his current condition.

“Ahh, she doesn't mind,” Sanghyuk says, giving you a proper hug in greeting. “Do you?”

“Just don't do it again,” you respond, awkwardly bent back by his embrace. “What happened to you, Hyogi? I can't ruffle your hair anymore.”

Sanghyuk releases you, grinning, and Jaehwan opens the glass door to the restaurant, ushering your group in.

“Puberty is a magical thing, I'll tell you all about it later,” Jaehwan says, deadpan and holding the door open for you to walk through.

You stick your tongue out at him childishly before you can stop yourself. “We're getting lunch and buying some clothes, why are you here exactly?” You know the answer to that, of course; Hakyeon was very clear that you are not to go anywhere in the city without your “bodyguard”, but you hate feeling babied.

“He can hold the bags for us,” Sora says soothingly. She strides forward to the maître d’ of the restaurant who is busy jotting down reservations in a large tablet.

“I'm sorry, we are booked full through today,” he says as your group approaches without even looking up. “You'll have to call ahead next time.”

Undeterred, Sora smiles. “I'll just need my usual table, Jisoo.”

The man immediately looks up from his task, eyes widening in shocked apology. “Lady Han! I am very sorry, I didn't realize it was you.” He jumps out from behind the desk, bowing a full ninety degrees. “Right this way.”

You haven’t seen this much bowing and scraping since your days at the palace, but you follow Sora and the man anyway to the back of the restaurant where there is a lovely paper screen set up for privacy. Snippets of conversation heard from diners you pass along the way only add to your confusion.

“Ohmygod, don't look now, but the Han Sora just walked in.”

“Holy shit, think we can get a picture? Who's the hottie she's with?”

“Gross, that's her brother.”

“No, the blond one! Next to that frumpy chick.”

Your cheeks heat in embarrassment and you quicken your pace, desperate to be out of view. The maître d’ eventually leads the group to an elegantly set table toward the very back, set against some more screens and bathed in sun from an overhead skylight. He pulls out a chair for Sora, and Jaehwan, to your surprise, pulls one out for you. At your questioning look, Jaehwan simply flashes a cheeky smile and seats himself to your left. On your right, Sanghyuk immediately grabs a menu to peruse.

“Would you like a wine list, my lady?” says the maître d’ to Sora, once again in a deep bow. “We recently received a shipment of excellent vintage wine from Imsal that I'm sure you would find to your taste.”

“I'll just have a bottle of that then,” Sora responds, sending the man scurrying off in haste.

“A little early for alcohol,” you say, paging through the menu. As everything since your exodus has been, the expensive choices are overwhelming.

“Never too early for alcohol,” Sanghyuk states dryly, nose still stuck in the menu.

“Maybe just a glass of milk for this one,” you say, narrowing your eyes.

“I'm lactose intolerant, actually,” he says smugly as the maître d’ returns with a bottle of wine and an ice bucket.

Uncorking the bottle, Jaehwan takes it upon himself to pour out glasses for everyone. He passes over Sanghyuk’s offered glass, eliciting a furious pout from the offended party.

“You can't be serious.”

“Shut up and drink your milk, Hyogi,” quips Jaehwan, smirking as he pours you a glass.

Sanghyuk flips Jaehwan a finger, making you snort in laughter and Sora sigh.

“Boys,” she says in exasperation. “Can we pretend to be nice and civilized for like, half an hour? That's all I ask. And are you not still hungover?” Sora glares pointedly at Sanghyuk, who has decided to take matters into his own hands by pouring himself a glass.

“Nope!” he responds, popping the ‘p’. “Didn’t even go out last night. Was up until four gaming; Changkyun set our raid real late.” A waiter comes by briefly to take orders, bowing several times in the process. Swirling the wine in his glass, Sanghyuk lays his chin on his hand boredly. “I’ll behave. Wouldn't want to embarrass you in front of your adoring fans.”

Sipping your own wine slowly, you look at Sora sitting across the table. “What's this about adoring fans?”

Jaehwan lets out a laugh that he tries, and fails, to cover with a cough. “Wow, you really lived under a rock back in Armistice, huh?”

You glare at him, and Sora flushes slightly. “I didn't really have time for much outside of school and work,” you mutter.

“That's quite alright.” Sora smiles and fiddles with her hair self-consciously. “I act a bit now, that's all.”

Both the boys scoff at that. “She's the kingdom's sweetheart,” Jaehwan supplies. “Can't turn on a screen without seeing Sora.”

“Did you have to take the one voice over gig though?” Sanghyuk complains. “My friends keep trying to get me to play that game, and it looks so cool, but I refuse to play anything where I have to listen to my sister the whole time.”

Sora rolls her eyes in response. “My agent thought it'd be a good idea to engage the younger demographic. Deal with it.”

“The point is,” Jaehwan says, “she's the perfect candidate to teach you how to behave in Capital culture.”

You narrow your eyes, trying hard not to be offended. “Are you saying I don't know how to behave?”

The waiter returns with several trays, distracting Jaehwan from an answer for a moment. “You're prickly,” he responds eventually with a mouth full of pasta. “And abrasive.”

“I am not prickly.” You try not to sound defensive, but you have to admit his words have some truth to them.

“I wasn't done,” Jaehwan says holding up a finger and swallowing heavily. “You freeze in tense situations and you're so out of touch with the kingdom that you didn't realize its most famous celebrity is actually your best friend from childhood.”

He smiles widely as you grit your teeth and glare. “Am I wrong?” he asks with the quirk of an eyebrow.

You stare down at your plate, unwilling to answer. He isn't wrong. No one knows better than you that the task Hakyeon has given you is monumental. You were forced to grow into a different person after leaving the kingdom, and now you're supposed to prance back into court high society like none of it ever occurred.

Remember Hakyeon, is all you can think through your clenched jaw, clenched fists. Remember Hakyeon and remember the debt.

“You're not doing it alone,” Sora says softly from across the table. “Okay? We'll be here to prepare you for everything.”

You sigh, feeling defeated before anything has even happened. “That’s all well and nice, but I’m the one going into the lion’s den.”

“The king’s not going to murder you in broad daylight,” Jaehwan says with the slightest roll of his eyes. “He’s left you alone so far anyway. If he'd wanted to make a move, he would have already.”

This does nothing to help your fears and you glare at him again. “Do you think I would have been allowed to enter this city if the king didn't want me here?” You can't shake the feeling that you're walking right into his hands.

“Well,” Sanghyuk pipes up. “If nothing else, don't worry too much about the court and the general public. A little ass kissing here, a couple photo ops with Sora there, and they'll be eating out of the palm of your hand.”

Sora nods. “Exactly. Stick you in a designer dress and you’ll fit right in. Maybe a haircut too,” she adds as an afterthought.

“What's wrong with my hair?” you ask, frowning. You hadn't cut your hair in a while for lack of time and initiative, but you don't think you look terrible.

“Don't worry,” Sora says waving her hand dismissively. “I'll take care of everything, and when I'm done the tabloids won't know what to do with themselves.” Her grin is meant to be encouraging but it feels like an ominous portent for the rest of the day at your friend's mercy.

As it is, your instincts had the right idea to be frightened.

Shortly after lunch, Sora leads you and Jaehwan on a whirlwind of a shopping spree. Sanghyuk ditches early, citing an urgent appointment with his bed and his utter disinterest in taking part in his sister's madness as reasons.

For once you’re glad to have Hakyeon's unlimited credit line, considering the high-end boutiques and department stores you keep being pulled into. You're continuously forced into fitting rooms, arms laden with clothes Sora wants you to try, each time aided by boutique owners who inevitably end up being huge fans of your friend. Between your impromptu fashion show and the salon where your hair and skin are poked, prodded, and plucked, you feel like you’ve walked through a hurricane of perfume and finery.

Sora excuses herself to check on an order she has coming in at yet another boutique, leaving the two of you to awkwardly wait outside. Jaehwan is buried in various shopping bags, and you're leaning against the brick facade in an attempt to catch your breath. It’s a busy shopping district, pedestrians flooding in and out of the many storefronts and restaurants.

You close your eyes for a moment, head bent in a futile attempt to hide yourself under the giant ferns flanking the boutique doors. No matter how much rest you get, you can’t seem to shake this exhaustion that’s settled into your bones ever since you made the decision to leave Armistice. It’s a strange feeling to be so very tired and at the same time wary of every little bit of your surroundings. The anxiety and fatigue combine to make your insides feel inflamed.

A deep breath later you straighten up and peek up at Jaehwan on the off chance he’s also tired enough to let you leave early, but he’s all furrowed brows and tense shoulders, once again distracted by something across the street. You follow his gaze to the cafe immediately in front of you, confused by the seemingly innocuous scene. There’s a man with close-cropped hair seated outside who feels vaguely familiar, but there are millions of men with buzz cuts in the world and you’re all out of long-lost childhood friends.

“What have you been staring at all day?” It comes out snippier than you intended, and Jaehwan snaps his eyes to yours, an easy smile plastered back on.

“Hmm?”

“You’ve been staring off into space,” you say, suddenly annoyed. “All day.”

“It’s nothing, thought I spotted an old friend.” He’s still smiling in his usual irritating way, lips stretched wide at a joke you’re not in on.

“Some bodyguard,” you scoff, pushing off the wall. Instead you find a seat at a bench a little down the block, ignoring your shadow as best you can while he settles down next to you. Your position gives you an unhindered view of the riverside promenade, the gap in buildings allowing a small breeze to filter through. You absently play with your hair as the wind picks it up, now cut shoulder length and blow-dried straight.

“It looks good,” Jaehwan says suddenly, face peeking out from under the pile of boxes and bags he's holding.

“What?” His voice wrenches your gaze away from the river, where the setting sun is turning the surface of the waters to molten gold.

“Your hair,” he explains. “It looks good, don't worry.”

You blink and look at him, not quite sure how to react. “Thank you?”

Amused, Jaehwan gives you a lopsided smile and copies your tone. “You're welcome?”

You turn away quickly, trying to hide your embarrassment, and caught off guard by his friendliness. You still don't know what to make of the man who has been your constant companion for the past few days. He seems determined to get under your skin, all smiles and jokes, but then his sudden serious moments give you whiplash.

“What's that?” you ask, pointing toward several structures clustered up against the river. Some of the buildings look half-complete, with their steel skeletons stretching up to the open sky, while others look fully functional but nonetheless abandoned. The largest straddles the river, arched towers on each bank meeting in the middle elegantly.

“What’s what?” Jaehwan cranes his neck to look at where you're pointing. “That ugly thing? It was supposed to be a hotel, I think, a whole resort complex type deal. There's always some new construction project going up, but this one ran out of money and stopped building a while ago.”

You nod in understanding. “The city's expanded a lot since I was last here.”

“All the development companies are owned by the king's new magistrates,” he murmurs.

“All of them?”

“Not in name,” he amends. “But it's all the same people if you trace the contracts far back enough. Hakyeon's been trying to fight it, but it's an uphill battle.”

“How is he doing that?” you ask, genuinely curious. You have no idea what your cousin has been up to beyond court politics.

“He's been funneling money to competitors and foreign investors. A lot of business shit I don't fully understand.” Jaehwan shakes his head and grimaces a little. “He's the one that convinced TirTech to open a branch here.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And the king just lets him do it?”

Jaehwan's face grows dark for a moment, mind elsewhere. “The king is pretty busy with other things.”

You're about to ask what he thinks the king is up to when Jaehwan suddenly exclaims and shoves the bags off himself.

“Oh! Wait here a second.” He jumps up and makes to walk away, then turns back around. “Do not move, understand?” he says firmly, wagging a finger for good measure.

“Yes sir,” you mock, rolling your eyes.

You watch as he quickly jogs across the street to a food cart on the corner. You're both confused and amused by his sudden change in demeanor as he animatedly points to what you assume is a menu, glancing back every now and again to make sure you're still sitting on the bench. He jogs back a few minutes later with a paper bag in hand.

“Churros!” Jaehwan grins, pulling one out of the bag for you.

You accept the proffered fried stick of dough and take a bite, careful not to dust yourself in sugar in the process. Warm and sweet, the dessert is an immediate mood lifter.

“Did you have a sudden craving?” you ask, half joking.

Jaehwan shakes his head, mouth full of his own churro. “This is the best churro cart in the city. I remember from the last time Sora dragged Hyuk and me this way.”

“What, like you've tried all of them?” you mumble around a mouthful of churro.

“I get around,” Jaehwan says, wiggling his eyebrows at you suggestively.

It's an effort not to inhale dough as you snort in laughter, caught off guard by his silly expression. He seems rather proud of himself, smiling broadly at your laugh. You bite your lips in an attempt to keep a straight face, but your efforts are in vain. With a roll of your eyes you turn away from him, but the laughter has sunken into your face as a contented smile, the omnipresent dread on your shoulders held at bay for the moment.

[effyeahdolantwins-blog]

Stubborn (G.D)

DESCRIPTION: Grayson accidentally kisses a fan and you’re too stubborn to admit that it annoys you.

WARNINGS: Slight swearing (b*tch, p*ss, etc) Fluff and Bad Writing but whatever

As you glanced at your phone you couldn't help but grin: it was a Saturday, the one day of the week you could always look forward to. After your hectic week, you couldn't wait to finally see your boyfriend and go get some treats. It had been tradition ever since you two had gotten together, every week no matter what had went on during the lead up, even if you had been arguing the night before, you would go for a date to Sharon's Shakes, the milkshake bar you first met at (which despite the name, actually sells a variety of different cakes and treats, including one particular triple chocolate fudge brownie that you loved).

Today you were especially looking forward to it, having not seen Grayson in a while (okay, you hadn't seen him in two days...but still, even an hour without Gray seems like a year apart) and with your school stressing you out, you couldn't wait to just be with your boyfriend and eat away your feelings. Everything was going to be perfect.

You walk out and Gray is waiting in his Bronco, "Jump in, we're going to eat bitches!" You fight back a laugh at your boyfriend's high pitched imitation of your favourite movie character, and lean into his window, giving his warm lips a quick peck before jumping into the passenger seat.

"Drive onward fine sir."

Your Greek god of a boyfriend shakes his head, that adorable smile that warms your heart on his face as he starts driving. God, you loved him. He was just so damn perfect.

"...way too beautiful girls," you hear the start of your favourite song and gasp in excitement, turning up the radio to full volume, before beginning to sing-shout the words at the top of your lungs.

"That's why it'll never work, you'll have me suicidal, suicidal when you say it's over!"

You sing to Gray, miming actions at him, basking in his cute little laugh until he joins in, singing the rest of the song until he pulls up outside the diner. He steps out first, ever so chivalrous, and pulls you out of the car by your hand, twirling you around then locking the door before locking lips with you.

The kiss is sweet and slow, and you feel like you could just melt in his arms until suddenly the moment is ruined when you hear the familiar sound of his screaming fans and Grayson pulls away from you as if he were burnt by your touch, plastering on a fake smile while he greets the group of girls.

"Oh em gee, it's Grayson Dolan!!!"

"He's actually here, what the eff!?"

"I can't believe it, I think I'm gonna faint."

You groan inwardly at the sound of the three girls standing before you. Sure, they were meeting their celebrity crush and favourite Youtuber, sure they were his fans, and you understood that, but what you didn't understand was why they always had to find him when you were going on a date with him. He was your boyfriend after all. Wasn't it fair for you to be a little annoyed?

But of course you couldn't show your annoyance, it'd break his little heart, so you just put on a smile.

And the smile wasn't entirely false, you did enjoy watching him interact with fans, especially the younger ones. He was always so cute with them, and it made you gush just imagining what he would be like as a dad, if you two ever got to that point. But with the older ones...it was a whole other story.

It wasn't that you were jealous per say (though who would blame you when you had to watch your boyfriend being hung on by hundreds of girls at every single meet and greet, and even when you two were out together?) it was more you felt a little intimidated. Some of Grayson's fans were really pretty. Stunning even, and you couldn't help but feel a little inadequate sometimes.

For example, you were now feeling very self conscious at the way the oldest girl looked you up and down, and then asked with a voice that was like music under a summer breeze, "Who's this Grayson?"

"Oh," Gray lets out the nervous chuckle he always does when he lies and throws an arm around my shoulder, "This is my cousin Y/N."

And suddenly you feel a pang of sadness in your heart you know you shouldn't feel. It's almost like you believe he's ashamed of you, even though you know he's only protecting you from the media, for some reason it still hurts. Maybe it's just the fact he's telling this girl in particular that you're his cousin. After all, she is gorgeous.

The girl leaning on to your boyfriend is young, black and so beautiful: flawless chocolate skin, full pouty lips, a confident sway in her hips, in short she's everything you are not, and it was a little disheartening.

And when the three girls ask if you can take their pictures, that makes you feel even worse. Still, you say of course with a smile, and take the teen's phones, snapping dozens of photos and different poses for each girl, becoming ever so aware of how long it was taking: fifteen minutes pass and you're only on to the last girl, the pretty one.

Fighting the urge to sigh, you give Grayson a smile, who seems to have noticed your impatience, and get ready to take the pictures. Only, you could never be ready for the sight that you witness when you look up from the phone.

Somehow, someone's head had slipped or something, because all you see is your boyfriend's lips against the girl's and you lose it.

It takes everything you have not to drop the phone in your hands, or squeeze it hard enough to shatter the glass. Your face has suddenly become rigid, mouth clamped tight, teeth grinding. You know it's time to get out of there before you do something you'll later regret.

Clenching your jaw, you watch Grayson apologise to the girl, who just giggles, then he looks to you, those dark brown eyes seeming to ask if you're okay. You nod but of course you're not, and you excuse yourself to go to the toilets in Sharron's Shakes, handing the phone to one of the girl's friends.

As soon as you get into the shop you roar in frustration and anger, jealousy racing through your veins like a carp through water. Rage boils deep in your system, burning as fiery as lava. It churned within you, and unsettled you to your core.

Your anger mixes with guilt, because you know you shouldn't be feeling this way. It wasn't his fault they kissed, it wasn't even her fault, it was an accident. It still didn't stop you from picturing smashing the bitch's face into the curb though, and you felt bad for feeling that way.

So what do you do when you want to bite someone's face off? You bite on some food instead, and you order yourself an Oreo shake from the bar. But of course, as you sit down Grayson enters the shop and joins you in the booth.

"That was an accident Y/N, I swear you've got to believe me, I turned my head to kiss her on the cheek just as she-"

"I know, it's fine," you cut off his explanation curtly, staring at the salt and pepper shakers in the middle of the table that suddenly seem like the most interesting thing in the world. Fine. Only it wasn't fine.

And what was worse was you couldn't even tell Grayson that it wasn't fine, because then you'd be being a bad girlfriend. Great(!)

"I'm going to the bathroom," you lie, before leaving the booth and rushing to the ladies' toilets. You stare in the dirtied mirror at yourself, or at least the distorted image of yourself. The mirror shows the you the world sees, but somehow it just wasn't right. Inside you're feeling rage and jealousy and guilt, inside you're being selfish and bitter when you know you shouldn't be. Inside it's a battling inner conflict between being a good girlfriend, and embracing your feelings.

But on the outside, all you can see is your Y/H/C hair, and the type of Y/E/C eyes you forget while you're still looking at them. You can see no hint of the emotions you're feeling, nothing out of the ordinary, and you sigh, relieved. You don't want Grayson to worry about you.

Just as you turn to leave someone enters the bathroom, a familiar someone with brown hair and twinkling caramel eyes laced with concern.

Your eyes widen, "Grayson! Oh my god, this is a girl's bathroom, what are you doing in here!?"

"I'm making sure you're alright," your boyfriend says, taking your hands in his and looking into your eyes sincerely.

Laughing, you ask, "And you couldn't do that outside of the girl's toilets? Plus, I've already told you, I'm fine."

Gray raises an eyebrow, "Oh yeah, you're 'fine', just like you 'like my cooking', huh?"

"I think your cooking is...interesting," you defend, fighting back the smile that threatens to overtake your serious face at how well he knows you.

"That's exactly my point Y/N, you're the worst liar I've ever met. And I mean that as the highest compliment. So I know that you're pissed off about the kiss," he explains, causing you to immediately put up your walls again.

You groan, "I don't give a damn about the kiss."

Gray gives you a look before stating exasperatedly, "You give so many damn's, they're visible from space Y/N!"

This time you can't stop the giggle from coming from your mouth at his exaggeration, "I just...sometimes it feels like I kind of come second best to your fans. And I'm not trying to be mean or blame you for anything, it's my own fault really, I-"

You're cut off by his lips being pressed against yours. He kisses you and the world melts away. It is slow and soft, comforting in ways that words never would be. His hand rests below your ear, sending shivers up your spine, his thumb caressing your cheek as your breaths mingle.

He pulls away, "I," kiss, "love," kiss, "you," kiss.

"You're always going to be my number one," he admits, and you grin, cheeks beginning to heat up at his words.

Grayson pulls you back in, only this time his hands wander further down your back, until he gives your butt a quick squeeze. You gasp, and look up at him, shaking your head, only you can't deny the way your legs weaken when he groans teasingly into the shell of your ear, "You know...we've never done it in 'Shake's' toilets before..."

[narniasummerexchange]

Modern Romanticism

for @little-narnian-notes

Word count: 2423

Summary: Modern!au. You meet Susan at university and your emotions snowball.

The university is beautiful. A roving campus steeped in centuries of history and knowledge. A gorgeous lawn you can imagine yourself studying on in the warmer months and a name and plaque for everything.

Downside? The fact you think you’ve made a grave mistake with your classes for the semester. You can just feel the thousands of dollars gurgling down the drain in the pursuit of intellectual enlightenment. Still, you plough on in the hopes that the next set of classes is better now you know what you don’t want.

You stifle a yawn and frown at yourself. You’ve held off from coffee for this long, but it’s getting to crunch time and there’s no more room for being strong and exercising self-restraint. You need caffeine.

Standing in line at the little cafe down the road, you rub at your eyes as you examine the menu. It’s a fairly average place - cream walls with old mass-produced paintings and stiff wooden chairs with rocky tables that you wouldn’t dream of resting your drink on. The usual or drink of the day, you ponder.

“One medium latte, regular sugar please.”

The voice in front of you sounds nice enough, gently pulling you from your early morning daze. Shifting in your worn jeans, your eyes follow the figure to their bag. The satchel is familiar, with its gold lion badge against warm brown leather. It sits a few rows in front of you in your Wednesday morning and Friday afternoon Intro to Poetics lectures. Someone clears their throat and you leap forward sluggishly to place your own order, coughing out a general apology. You stand aside once you’re done, eyes wandering till they fall on the customer in front of you.

The young woman is devastatingly pretty. Quiet, attentive eyes that seem to fragment light. Feathery lashes that tickle the fainest of freckles, surely earned from summers gone by. A glow to her cheeks and a striking lip colour flawlessly streaked on. If you had some kind of artistic talent, you might have gone on about her for longer. Her order is called and she drops the barista a whisper of a smile with her thanks, leaving you with your inadequate thoughts.

You find out through plenty of coincidence and eavesdropping - a rather bad habit of yours - that her name is Susan. An old school name, but you don’t question it. In fact, it suits her. Sophisticated and timeless.

It’s silly. You’ve never even had a proper conversation with her, why is she suddenly so interesting to you? Now you know she exists, as much as you try to stop yourself, you start seeing her everywhere.

Susan is very keep to herself, despite the many people she knows and enjoys. A spectre that weaves the quad pillars between classes. Long, whispering hair and a glide to her step. It contradicts all of the tidbits that you’ve picked up about her.

Most mornings you see her in the cafe, sometimes with a latte - usually those days entail vibrant makeup, maybe to distract from the long nights - other times with a green tea. You still haven’t introduced yourself during lectures, which you’re fine with - at moment, you’re existing educationally.

When you finally speak, your thoughts by now have gotten away from you and you’ve put this poor girl on a pedestal of beauty and curiosity. The lecturer for poetry - a kind woman who wears flowing tops in kaleidoscope floral, just the type of person you expect to teach such a class - asks for a group brainstorm on romanticism in the 18th century. Your partner in crime, Jonathon is away with the flu, leaving you high and dry on the buddy front. Susan is looking around, till her eyes land on you. She makes a little gesture at you and you nod, pulling your stuff together to move to her.

“Hi, I’m Susan.” She says brightly, holding out her hand.

You utter your own name, firmly gripping your hand. She looks at you, with a glitter to her eyes and a twitch to her pink lips.

“We get coffee around the same time, don’t we?” She drops your usual order.

“That’s about right. I’m surprised you recognised me, seeing as I’m always behind you.”

Both of you laugh at your attempt for humour then get down to it, knowing there’s only a limited amount of time.

Conversation flows easily with her and it’s not a struggle to remember what was said just ten minutes ago when her mind races eloquently and jump starts your own. Between your interpretations of what it all means, to how it’s seen today, ideas bounce back and forth constantly like the ebb and flow of the waves. It’s a little painful when time is called. Still, she smiles at you, the edges of her mouth curling.

You grab her phone number at the end of class, as she assures you that she’ll find you on messenger later. It feels like some sort of victory really.

She messages you the next day, asking if you were up for a party on the Friday. Spontaneous and filled with emojis. Much more like the nuggets of facts you;d heard. You decline though, stating you had too much to catch up on that weekend. Maybe next time, she replies. But, honestly, you’ve never been one for the night life of university. Of the house parties and pub crawls till your eyes fall out and you fall over. You get pictures on her snapchat story of that weekend, her make up sharp and figure flattered in the same kind of red that swirls in her glass. This was more common of her.

Anyway, there’s always still the cafe in the morning. Now you smile when you make eye contact and make brief small talk while you wait. Names pop up here and there, mixed with if only’s and back when’s and you wonder if the people who she’s made these memories with are very far away. You walk in time with one another back to campus and she babbles about what happened on the weekend and about how she wishes her roommate would tone it down on the punk rock for a moment so she can think - or at least share the speaker. She asks you about your days and feelings and that need to look at her blooms again. To take in every single part of her, because there is just so much there to admire.

Nowadays, you meet up to proofread work before handing it in or just to study in general. You excel in Shakespeare and the Elizabethan language - begrudgingly - and she seems to have the hang of everything else. Sitting in the cafe is your new favourite thing, especially in the mornings when the sun isn’t too strong as it filters down the street and into the big glass window the both of you have claimed as your own.

Susan looks at you, warmth rounding her cheeks and pen poised above paper. Her burgundy sweater devours her adoringly but you know from the cut of the fabric that it probably wasn’t hers to start with. “Has anyone told you that you’re quite the romantic?”

You splutter, her lovely aesthetic stationary feeling too pretty for your tactless grip. “P-Pardon me?”

She laughs. It’s not bell-like, but full and soft, like cotton sheets and a cat’s purr. She taps her pen to the spiral-bound notebook pinned under her wrist. You’ve managed to stuff a pie of paper under a table leg so it doesn’t rock and you’re careful not to be the one to kick it.

“Your way with words. It’s long and flowery. But not in a bad way! You just sound like a lovesick teenager about everything. Even coffee if I’m reading this right. There’s a pause and she smiles, turning it from a sharp beam to a glow. "It’s cute.”

Your face feels red and you can’t look her in the eye as you croak out a broken thank you.

It’s just getting to autumn and she’s suddenly gone very quiet. It’s mothers day and you’re both situated in the cafe, comparing notes again on what you suspect to be your own lecturer’s work. Her make up is a bit more subdued and her long hair is tied up off her face in fluffy, slept in waves. She reminds you of your first meeting, the colours de-saturated. She hasn’t done a very good job of hiding her weariness, from the way her nimble fingers tick slowly to the dullness in her eyes.

You clear your throat shyly. “Su, are you okay? You’re awfully quiet.”

She stares at you for a long moment before sighing. “Yeah. Sort of.”

“How come you aren’t at home, though? Didn’t you say that you lived close by?”

If your parents weren’t overseas for their anniversary, you would have made the long trip back home to cook breakfast and dry cupcakes along with binge-watch that murder mystery series you mum adores so much. She nods and shrugs, pulling her hands away from her tea into her lap.

“My parents aren’t very well at the moment. None of my family is. Just before the start of the semester, there was an accident - the train that derailed down by the south tunnel?” You nod for her. “We were all coming back from holiday. I missed the train in favour of one last night at the festival- James was really cute - but the rest of them - my parents, my three siblings, a cousin and a few family friends - went ahead on time. They were all in the front carriage. So at the moment, it’s just me. Everyone else is in hospital. Seriously injured or in a coma.”

You can’t resist the urge to reach out your hand to grip her arm. It jerks her eyes up to make contact with yours.

“How horrible! Su, I’m so sorry. I’m here for you, you know that right?”

She gives a melancholy curl to her lips and nods, twisting her arm to squeeze back. “I know, thank you.”

You make it your mission afterwards to watch over her. Insist on her messaging you when she got home from a night out, even though she was making all her friends do the same to her. Offering a cookie or two in your lectures - warm and just slightly soft in the middle with gooey choc chips, her favourite. Popping up with notions to go out and explore the town. She had been so kind to you before, you felt the need to return the favour.

This is when things went down hill.

You thought you had her on your mind before, not it was borderline obsessive. Not just her well-being, but just her. Did she like what you wrote? Did she know it might have been about her? Susan’s rapid existence had snowballed violently into a full-blown crush. You try your best not to stare at her too much, pressing crescents into your palms to quell the urge to hug her out on the university’s front lawn. She talked more about her family now that her burden was off her chest. How Edmund would read poetry with her, no matter how little patience he had for it. That Peter would we livid she was wearing on of his favourite sweaters out so quickly. Eustace would be prodding Lucy’s innocent buttons, with his best friend Jill holding no loyalties except to women. She hugs you when you part now, her rosy, floral scent surrounding you in a pleasant haze and her silky hair brushing elegantly against your cheek. Oh, if you had a truly creative cell in your body, you would have written great stories of her by now.

Together you sit in her living room, on a well-loved but slightly bowed sofa, some tv series you wanted to binge on playing softly on the screen. Legs innocently tangled and in your most comfy pyjamas, while she whines just a little for the bag of snakes on your other side. She’s devoured the chocolate pretzels you brought around, knowing she would enjoy them. Your insides are coiled tight and your heart thudding out of your chest warmly. You kick the bag aside and turn to face her, still almost shoulder to shoulder. You can’t not say something. Now with how soft she looks and the comfort and perfect familiarity seeping into your bloodstream.

“Let’s go out sometime.”

She blinks at you, argument cut short. “W-What?”

“We should go out sometime. Just us. Like on…on a…a date.”

The tension spikes and thickens like whipping cream. She stares at you, beautiful glowing eyes flashing with the screen. The blanket smells like her, floral but not too strong with a hint of something else underneath. Her freckles stand out under the artificial light and you wonder for half a breath what you must look like to her.

“I really like you, Su.” You take a breath and a moment to gather your thoughts. You don’t want to sound like rom-com, even if you both like them. “You’ve become really important to me since we met and I’d like to try this with you. Know I can make you happy, especially now and be there for you. Hope you feel something. So, can we?”

You lay your hands out on the blanket between you with bated breath, so much so you might turn blue, but you wouldn’t mind. There is a pensive moment where her eyes examine you before she bridges the gap to twine her cool fingers with yours. Her cheeks bloom red and you grin at her, so bright that you can’t see through your lashes.

“I - of course. You’ve been with me in a way most of my other friends haven’t. I’ve - I’ve thought about you a lot. So, yeah. Let’s give this a go.”

The sigh that passes your lips is heavy and your face floods back with colour. Her next action leaves your breath caught in your throat again as one hand slide up your arm to cup a cheek. Eyes bore into you and her narrow nose is a breath away from yours.

“Can I…kiss you?” She murmurs. “It’s all I’ve been thinking about since we sat down, really.”

You laugh breathlessly. “If you want.”

When her lips press against yours, all your thoughts finally settle so it’s just…Susan.

[franklyshipping]

Harold B. Darrensworth ~ A Markiplier Ego Fanfic

O K A Y so this is from a prompt a while ago when Mark was goofin with this newish character, so consider this a throwback fic! Lets see how people react to him....LET'S DO IT!

They....weren't quite sure what to make of him at first. He seemed to have every single personality trait going for him at once; loud, sporadic, random, and yet he patroned order and lawful conduct, he felt it to be the pinnacle of his purpose in the world. At their first official meeting, Wilford and Dark had seen him themselves so as to not overwhelm him with everybody at once....but as they got talking, they realised that Harold B. Darrensworth would not be a man easily overwhelmed. He was, by definition, overwhelming.

'I must say I am HONOURED to meet you Mr Dark, your work with control and order is ASTOUNDING and inspiring and I endeavour to follow in YOUR example!'

Harold's facial expressions were.....interesting too, sometimes he would be stuck for minutes in a grimace before morphing towards a neutral state of contemplation and sincerity. Meanwhile, the rest of him was so fidgety that it looked like he'd been infected by the jitterbug, he fiddled with his clothes, fingers, hair, he was buzzing with nerves and anticipation all through that first meeting. It had gone quick, Dark was perfectly content since Harold was more than happy to see him as the figure of authority, and Wilford didn't cause too many abnormalities. Those came later. Wilford was intent upon seeing every part of Harold, he knew that the guy MUST have more layers past the ''I am the patron of perfection'' personality. Right now for instance, Wilford was observing the meticulous man dusting around the living room, and occasionally he would mutter under his breath.

'So inadequate.'

'I must make note of this.'

'Potential rotor....'

Wilford was fighting the urge to giggle, he had honestly never seen someone be so concerned by little particulates. Wilford was reclined on the couch, feet up, the epitome of laziness basically. He continued to watch Harold with his pursed lips, narrowed eyes, and unimpressed grumbles, before speaking up with a little air of cheeky sarcasm in his voice.

'Ya want any help over there friend?'

Harold froze, before turning fractionally towards Wilford; he wore an amicable expression as he bowed his head during his reply.

'You are MOST kind Mr Warfstache, but I am quite capable.'

Just like that, he went back to his task. He wasn't one for an extended conversation, he was a one sentence kind of gentleman. He would make his passionate comment, have his input at centre stage like his one minute of fame, then that would be it; it was like Harold allowed himself a conversational allowance. Wilford sat up on the couch, frowning with a hint of curiosity as he spoke.

'Say old boy, do you actually enjoy cleaning and putting things all in their right order?'

Harold stopped his task again, responding with the same angular head tilt as he responded briefly.

'Yes.'

Wilford hummed, then stood and carefully approached the man, speaking once more before he had the chance to refocus on his cleaning.

'If that's the case then why don'tcha smile when you're doing it?'

Harold pursed his lips at the continuous questioning, never before had he met someone with such vivacious vigour and disorder. He looked up at Wilford as he answered in a tone laced with purpose.

'Because, Wilford, smiling is NOT important when it comes to my tasks of ORDER.'

They maintained eye contact, Wilford's gaze was persistent whilst Harold's was guarded and a little nervous; he'd not known Warfstache for long, so he was very very difficult to predict. Harold was frozen in place as Wilford started to circle him, making him feel very much like prey being analysed....to see Wilford being so thoughtful and calculated made Harold feel even more nervous. Especially when he gave Harold a teasing smile.

'I'm willing to bet that there's smile hidden in there somewhere.'

Wilford was not, repeat NOT, going to let this go. Not for anything. The moustached man repressed a chuckle when Harold huffed and folded his arms across his chest resolutely, tryin to look bold and insistent; in reality he kinda looked like a tantruming child.

'It is not IMPORTANT! As I said befo-HEY!'

Wilford was smirking broadly, holding Harold's duster in his hand, quite proud of how effortlessly he'd managed to snatch it. They began to engage in a rather flamboyant game of chase, wherein Harold tried to jump and get his duster back whilst Wilford elaborately pirouetted and leapt away from him, cackling constantly.

'Can't catch meee!'

Every time Harold reached for the duster, he always missed it by an inch or two, which made it even more frustrating; he was so close and yet so far. It didn't help that he was rather short, almost half a foot shorter than the cheeky Warfstache. Harold tried to put his foot down.

'Give me my utensil back NOW!'

Harold glared when Wilford merely giggled.

'Nope, I don't think so! Not until I get a Darrensworth smiiile!'

Harold lunged towards him to try and catch him off guard, but Wilford easily spun out of his way and cheekily fluttered the duster at the side of the man's neck. Harold....let out quite the squeak as his lips twitched for a millisecond.

'H-Hey! You'll get DUST on me!'

Harold put a hand to his neck to rub away the residual....sensations, which Wilford picked up on. His eyes glinted as he brandished the duster and approached Harold, purring deviously.

'I think that's the least of your worries....I know you're tryna keep that smile from me Harold.'

Harold inhaled shakily, eyes flicking between Wilford and the duster as his mind whirled. Wilford was going to make him smile. The mere notion made Harold's usually settled tummy start to flutter with its first butterflies, and Harold's cheeks were turning pink as he felt mischief radiate from Wilford. Harold knew he couldn't no longer be in denial of his quivering lips that ached to stretch....but he wouldn't go down easy, oh no.

'You WON'T win.'

There was a small silence wherein Wilford took in Harold's words....then Wilford smiled, and approach him at speed.

'Challenge accepted.'

Harold's eyes widened as he felt Wilford hoist him over one of his shoulders before he could even take one step of escape, he wriggled about and babbled passionately.

'W-Wilford Warfstache I d-demand y-you put me down this i-instant!'

Harold felt embarrassment bubble inside him when his voice cracked and stuttered, the passion diminishing in favour of nervousness and a very vulnerable resolve. Wilford snickered as he suddenly dropped Harold onto the couch on his back and hurried to straddle his thighs.

'Oh but of course friend!'

Harold had elicited a stream of undignified squeaks and yelps and he squirmed, trying to get out from under Wilford, but it was literally impossible now that Wilford was firmly planted on top of him. Wilford inspected the duster now; it was a deep purple, long in length and the feathers on it were long and stiff.....it was perfect for tickling.

'You may think you're strong now, but I know how to get smiles out of stubborn ones, I've done it with Dark a hundred times....'

Harold gulped.....if THE Darkiplier had succumbed, then there was certainly no hope for him; especially given how sensitive he was to agonising softness. Harold started shaking his head, stammering in a last hope....a non-existent hope.

'Y-You w-won't break me....I w-won't allow it!'

To emphasise his words, Harold decided to cover his mouth with both his hands as he glared up at Wilford....who had to resist the urge to coo at him because honestly he had never seen something so cute and childish in a long time. Harold shivered when Wilford started to push at his hoodie.....exposing his sides, stomach, ribs, oh lord help him.

'Mhm, whatever ya say.'

Harold knew as soon as the feathers touched his skin, this was only going to end with him losing. Wilford was grinning happily as he dusted over Harold's tummy and sides softly, adoring how the toned muscles twitched and how Harold squeaked and went a darker pink in the face.

'W-WILFORD!'

Harold's cry was slightly muffled by his hands, but it didn't mask Harold's desperation. Yes. He was already desperate. His chest was quivering and dimples were showing on his cheeks as the devilishly light sensations awakened his ultra-sensitive nerves. It tickled. It tickled BAD. Wilford just got happier by the second at this discovery.

'Yes oh ticklish one?'

He teased, eyes glittering with amusement as Harold let out a soft whine from his throat, and gasping as Wilford ran the duster up and down his ribs...those giggles were building even more.

'P-Please d-don't tickle me p-plehehease!'

And there they were. Wilford listened with utter joy, they had  higher pitch to them but they had a smooth tone rather than a jumpy one. To Wilford, they were complete heaven, so unfortunately for Harold....Wilford wanted MORE. He kept the duster at work, wiggling it into the dips of Harold's sides as he purred.

'But I still haven't seen your illustrious smile yet! And you look like you're having fun, I never knew someone could have such sweet giggles hidden inside them!'

Harold was flustered beyond belief at the teasing compliments....mainly because he wasn't used to being complimented at all. All he'd really known and understood was critique and discipline, so this new playfulness was giving him new tingles and shivers that he'd never experienced before.

'S-Stahahap w-wihith the kihihindness!! Ihihit's mahahaking mehe e-ehembaharrassed!'

His naivety to all this also meant that he had no qualms of talking about his embarrassment, which Wilford found most endearing as he replied in an affectionate, crooning tone of voice.

'I merely speak the truth my friend! You simply have the prettiest most ticklish giggles that I've ever heard! Kitchy kitchy coo!'

Wilford's efforts were rewarded with squeals as Harold tried to curl up his body, the duster now running back and forth along his waist which produced the most delectable cackles; and Wilford could see Harold's arms twitching as they resisted the urge to bat at Wilford's torment.

'AHH! DOHOHON'T TEHEASE MEHE Y-YOU MEHENACE!'

The babyish, playful, informal childish tone of voice Wilford used just made Harold want to curl up and hide, it was all so flustering. He couldn't believe it. Why was THIS so flustering? Harold just didn't understand. Whenever Wilford smirked, winked, chuckled, teased, tickled.....he couldn't remember a time when he'd felt so small and weak and vulnerable....and yet, it was not an unpleasant experience; that is, despite his natural fighting instincts. After his little cry, Wilford narrowed his eyes at him and spoke in a shiver-inducing, threatening tone.

'Why now how rude....it seems I'll have to take drastic measures.'

Before Harold could even reply....his hands had flown from covering his mouth, any thought of pride gone, as he tried to grab at Wilford with a new vigour. Why? Well, Wilford had wanted to try something experimental, just to gauge the reaction of the man; he'd shoved the duster into the bowel of one of his hips and began to spin and wiggle it with reckless abandon. Though even Wilford couldn't have foreseen Harold's magnificent shriek.

'AAAAAHHHH NAHAHAT THEHEHEHERE PLEASEPLEASE OHOHOHO NAHAHAAA!!' 

His laughter was deep and rumbling and constant, except for when it was interrupted by the occasional echoing snort, which Wilford couldn't help but giggle fondly at.

'Wowie, a dashing smile AND adorable snorts?! This is more than I could ever have hoped for!'

Harold was hitting out with crinkled eyes and a dimpled grin plastered on his face as he bucked to try and dislodge the tool, but Wilford was experienced and frankly VERY talented at this. Harold felt jolts of energy surge through his pelvis and up his spine which only added to his laughter, which lacked any trace of decorum; oh yeah, Wilford was definitely victorious here.

'IHIHIHI'M NAHAHAT AHAHADOHORABLE!!'

Harold yelled, but swiftly shrunk back at Wilford's sharp laugh, and quivered under the man's affectionate, amused eyes.

'Heh, I don't think you're in a position to question me, do you?'

Wilford soon sneered through his speech, whilst simultaneously running the duster over his waist...before slipping it in to torment his other vulnerable hip dip. This time even more ruthlessly. Harold was literally thumping the couch in ticklish agony as he cried out, definitely sounding like a man who was reaching the end of his tether.

'I'MSARRYI'MSARRY FOHOHOHORGIHIHIVE MEHEHEHEEE!!'

Harold....didn't look like Harold. I mean, he still looked like himself....but his classic self had just been entirely jostled out of its shell! His hair that usually had shape was mussed and matted and haphazard, his complexion was blotched with blushing, and his voice was constantly changing pitches sporadically rather than in the controlled manner that Harold normally spoke. At that point, Wilford withdrew the duster as he mused.

'Mmmm, I suppooose I can forgive ya for your disrespect.'

Harold gratefully caught his breath as he hugged his own waist and hips, curling up as he kept on smiling; both from residual mirth, and actual happiness. He glanced up at the moustached man, whispering warily as he eyed him.

'D-Does th-that mean....you w-will give m-me mercy? Y-You got what you wanted, I-I s-smiled, plus even more....'

Wilford grinned at how Harold was so intent upon reasoning with him, and he stroked the feathers of the duster whilst he pretended to ponder in thought. He was done, but he liked the thought of teasing Harold just a liiiittle bit more.

'You bring up fair points my good man, but after all that I can't deny a little EXTRA more would be rather fun!'

Harold's heart pounded in his chest, and his eyes widened at the thought of Wilford wanting to tickle him MORE, even after all of that! He ignored the voice in his head tempting him to point out Wilford's abnormal grammar, since he knew that would only lead to punishment. He looked up at Wilford imploring, shivery and trembling as he whispered.

'P-Please Mr W-Warfstache, I-I can't t-take any m-more!'

Wilford couldn't help but feel a spark of pity for the poor guy, he smiled kindly and patted his shoulder to reassure him as he replied.

'Don't worry, I know limits when I see em. Pfff, I don't think I've ever met anyone so feather sensitive before!'

Harold immediately hid his face in his hands with an embarrassed whine, making Wilford chuckle as he subtly stopped straddling him, and now sat on the edge of the couch. Harold felt more butterflies fluttering in his system, but managed to refocus when he felt a nudge to his leg.

'Alright cutie, let's make I deal. I swear that I will not tickle you anymore today AND I'll keep this our little secret. But. I have two conditions.'

Harold listened carefully, and so far he found those terms pretty good so far. He slowly revealed his red face, and looked at Wilford with curious eyes as he queried.

'Wh-What are the conditions?'

Wilford smirked softly, leaning in a little as he spoke.

'One: After today, anytime and anywhere, as long as we're alone, I am permitted to tickle the ever loving decorum outta ya...'

Harold gulped and shivered, already having half a mind not to agree....until Wilford put forward his next condition.

'-and two: go get another duster so I can help ya clean dammit, it's literally painful watching ya do it all by yourself!'

Harold blinked a few times....very nearly in shock. Wilford.....wanted to help him? Wanted to help him CLEAN and organise? His mouth was wide open as he looked at Wilford, and it was when he saw Wilford roll his eyes amusedly that he managed to come out of his daze and babble his happy reply.

'W-Wow, goodness me YES I a-agree to this deal! Wilford you are VERY ingenious and intelligent!'

Wilford felt his cheeks go pink at the sudden compliments, he most certainly had not expected such things from Harold. Wilford forced down his gentle embarrassment with a little head shake and a boyish grin, deciding to give Harold a shove as he exclaimed playfully.

'Well c'mon Mr Law and Order, get to it!'

He playfully wiggled the current feather duster in the air teasingly, which made Harold giggle, jump to his feet, and dart off towards the supply closet. Wilford smiled as he watched.....yeah. Harold may have started fixing his hair and un-creasing his clothes as he ran, but Wilford knew that he'd brought a little bit of disorder. Just as it should be.

THHEEE END WOO HOPE YA LIKE IT GUYS LUV YOUS XXX