#I think non-kiss touching is a wonderful option and should be explored more often as a sign of affection

[martianbugsbunny]

So it's kind of being presented that the forehead touch is a Skrull greeting (ex. the scene where Priscilla introduces Fury and Gravik) but come on. The scenes where Talos and Soren, and Talos and Nick, respectively, were reunited show so much more intimacy and meaning than just an ordinary greeting; it's a real emotional moment on both accounts. The way they mirror each other is incredibly cool, and I love that in both it's insanely clear that Talos is locked in this embrace with someone he cares about deeply.

[santana-maribel]

who: @santana-maribel​ and @smythenyu​. where: santana & quinn’s apartment. when: saturday 28th march. what: a booty call but with feelings~ warnings: nsfw, sex, swearing etc.

Rolling her eyes at his last text message, Santana tossed her phone in the coffee table in front of her. Whatever Santana and Sebastian had going on, put simply, just worked. It was easy, fun and surprisingly, uncomplicated. There were no bold declarations of love and neither of them were interested in exploring any kind of relationship aspect. Truthfully, the whole damn world was probably surprised that it hadn’t  before now. Sure, they got drunk or high and fooled around a ton before but now it was happening more and more often sober. Her thoughts occasionally circled back to their matching, marked wrists. If she believed, truly believed in it, being soulmates with Seb wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, would it? Unclear. Almost as if he could hear her thoughts, she heard the front door of their apartment open. Of course he had his own key. She was lazy, this was convenient, it just made sense. She didn’t take her eyes off of the television in front of her, where she was scrolling through netflix to find the film he wanted. Normally she would fight him a little, make him watch something that she wanted. But she hadn’t seen him in a few days and though she would never admit it, she missed his company a little. Jesse had already swung by the apartment and picked up Quinn, so they had the place to themselves. “I’m gonna’ start watching Die Hard, you take too long to do anything today,” she called out, waiting for him to join her on the couch.

Sebastian had driven to Santana’s, so it wasn’t long from the last text to him entering the door, shutting it behind him and noticing the girl on the sofa. “I wasn’t long at all,” he shot back, kicking off his shoes and moving to sit down beside her, glancing at the tv and settling back, his arm around her shoulders. “You’re just impatient,” he replied, smirking a little as he finally looked at her. “Gotta learn to be able to wait for a good thing, babe.” He’d been trying his best not to overthink their relationship as of lately. But with everyone going on about soulmates non stop, it was kinda hard to not even consider the possibility. The sex was good, they were almost too similar in nature, and they were both hot, but that didn’t mean that they were soulmates, more like good friends who fucked. Sebastian still thought the entire idea of it was stupid. Why does someone or something else get to decide who you’re meant to be with for the rest of your life? Perhaps, seeing his parents, who had once thought they were soulmates, getting divorced when he was young really thwarted his view, but also he saw it everyday. “Have you got any snacks? Or booze?” he asked Santana, pushing the thoughts from his head. “I really could use a beer.”

Their friendship pre-fwb was startlingly similar to what it was now; he’d come over, or she’d go to his place, they’d drink, shoot the shit, occasionally fool around. It was a comfort to her, that between them, nothing had really changed, too much. They kissed a lot more now and they fell asleep together too. But otherwise, it was business as usual between the two of them. She smiled at his comment, then clicked her tongue. She didn’t even want to make a bitchy remark at him. She was getting soft in the head. “Well, i’m glad you’re here anyway,” she admitted, leaning into his side when he placed his arm around her. How comforting he was. Santana nodded at his question and stood up, walking into the kitchen. Her Mama always taught her to take care of her guests, how to be the perfect little hostess. She grabbed two ice-cold beers from the fridge and several packets of chips from the pantry, before she came back into the living room, placing them on the coffee table in front of him. “Don’t say i’m not good to you,” she muttered, as she resumed her original position on the couch. She had seen this film before and enjoyed it well enough, but her thoughts were a thousand miles away from Bruce Willis, even though he looked like a particular snack in this film. “You know this is a Christmas movie, right? Why the hell are we watching it just now?” she asked, an eyebrow arched at him in curiosity.

“you’re an actual angel,” he drawled as she returned and passed him his beer, settling back again with his arm around her, a soft grin on his lips. he glanced back at the tv then, sipping his beer, his hand tracing patterns on her shoulder. “it’s an every day of the year movie, tana. shut up. let bruce willis be his sexy, masculine self.” despite his complaints, he found himself not paying a whole lot of attention to it, his hand having moved into her hair, finishing his beer and placing it down onto the coffee table. he grabbed a bag of chips and balanced them on his lap so he could eat with his free hand. “okay, bruce willis, alan rickman, bonnie bedelia, as they are in the film right now. fuck, marry, kill.”

She bit back whatever remark she was going to make, when he made his comment about her being an angel and smirked softly, tucking her legs underneath her on the couch, beer resting on her leg. It was a good movie and she ignored his snark laced comment, eyes focusing on the screen in front of them. It didn't take long before he began distracting her. This always happened. She tried to think of a time when they had put on a movie and actually got more than a quarter of the way through or god forbid actually finished it. She couldn't remember one single time. It just wasn't their style. She shuddered underneath his touch, fingers running through her hair and watched as he rustled with the bag of chips on his lap. His game made her laugh out loud and she nodded, glancing between him and the screen. "Ah fuck," she sighed, considering her options. "Fuck Bruce Willis because, look at him," she jabbed her elbow towards the screen. "Marry Alan Rickman because why the hell not and kill Bonnie Bedelia because that hair is giving me anxiety. Perms are fuckin' gross," she answered before taking a gulp of her beer. "Same question to you," she shot back, nudging him in the side with her finger.

Sebastian chuckled, placing his bag of chips aside but continuing to play with her hair, smirking at her answers to the question. He nodded though, "I'd marry Bruce Willis, because then we could also fuck til he lost his hair and I asked for a divorce. I'd fuck Alan Rickman, rest in peace, and I'd kill Bonnie too. Her hair is definitely too much." His attention was no longer on the tv now at all. He'd seen Die Hard a million times anyway, and Santana was right there. He turned his head, nuzzling into her neck. "Fuck, marry, kill. Me, Aubrey, Finn."

It was one of her favourite things about Sebastian, the fact that he didn't see gender; he saw a conquest. Despite the fact she tended to keep exclusively to cock now, she too had been known to enjoy the same gender. College girls were curious and really, it would be rude not to help them out. She nodded approvingly at his answers, fiddling with the label on her bottle. She was thinking of a selection of her own when he started speaking again. She raised an eyebrow at him, mulling over the options as she drained her beer and sat the empty on the table. This was an interesting question, for sure. "Fuck Hudson because I kind of wonder if the whole size = 'size' thing is true and he's like over a foot taller than me. Marry Aubrey because he's a sweetheart and kill you because you've served your purpose now," she teased, fingertips tracing his smooth jawline. She was joking. Mostly. "Same question, but replace you with me."

Sebastian's lips parted as if offended, pushing her back though there was a slight smile tugging at his lips. "Wow, okay. I'd kill you too then, you'll never know my original answers and I guess if you're done with me you won't want to fuck tonight either," he shot back at her, crossing his arms and pouting as he leant back against the arm of the couch, his feet against her thighs to keep them apart.

"I bet I can guess your original answers," she replied, fighting off her own smile tugging at her lips, as he pushed her hand away and pretended to be mad. "Kill Finn, naturally. Fuck Aubrey because hate fucking is amazing and marry me because we would have like the most chill and open marriage ever." She wasn't sure she was correct but her voice was confident as she spoke.  She scoffed at his reaction, "c'mon, I was only teasing," she murmured, running a hand up the inside of his thigh.

Sebastian kept his arms crossed, a pout still on his lips as he refused to look at her. "I guess you'll never know if you're right," he huffed, although she was definitely right. "As if you would kill me," he continued, trying not to think about Santana's hand moving up his thigh and focus instead on his fake pouting. "Like I am clearly the superior one out of me, Aubrey, and Finn. Frankly, I wonder now about your taste, Santana."

She couldn't explain why she had chosen Finn as her fuck instead of him, it was weird. She had been poised to kill him off in their little game but when the push came to the shove, she couldn't do it. "Of course you are baby," she cooed, her fingers still trailing up his thigh, settling on his dick. God, she loved their games. "I mean my taste must be pretty terrible if i'm doing this," she countered, an eyebrow raised as she reached for his zipper.

Sebastian bit down on his bottom lip as her hand moved over his crotch, glancing down as she moved to pull down the zipper. "I should at least be your fuck," he murmured quietly, a little distracted by her movements. "Although, really..." he trailed off, forgetting what new complaint he had for now, reaching to pull Santana closer.

He had folded quickly for him, hungry eyes watching as he bit down on his lip. Victorious, he pulled her closer and she pressed a kiss to his neck. "It's a game, you get to fuck me for real, unless you're gonna' be a whiny bitch," she murmured against his skin, as she kissed down, not even needing to look at her hands on his zipper. She'd done this so many times it was like muscle memory.

Sebastian sighed softly, relaxing back into the sofa now, his hand sliding back into Santana's hair as she kissed down from his neck. "No whining," he agreed, licking his lips as he lifted his hips slightly, eager for her touch. "Promise," he continued, pulling her back up to kiss her deeply, his tongue slipping past her teeth and his hand tightening in her hair.

One hand snaked around his neck, pulling him close to her, threading through the back of his hair. The other, found its way down into his boxers and wrapped around his cock, pumping gently. Their kiss, as always, was electrifying, as the two of their tongues battled for dominance. For someone who had such a hard-on for control, Santana always found herself willing to submit to him. This was easily proven as his hand tightened in her hair and she let out a soft gasp into his mouth, breaking the kiss slightly. "Seb..." she muttered quietly.

Sebastian groaned quietly against her lips, thrusting his hips up and into her touch. He kissed her deeply, his other hand smoothing down her back and over her ass, pulling back to catch his breath, his eyes dark. "Mhm," he hummed, "I knew you wanted me..." He smirked, pressing another kiss to her lips before reaching to tug at the hem of her shirt, pulling it up to reveal her bra, chucking it to the side.

She scowled at his words, hating that she was like putty in his hands. She wasn't too mad, really though. This was pretty high on her list of favourite things to do. She allowed him to lift up her top, pulling her hand out of his underwear and raising both of them above her head as he discarded the item of clothing before she returned the favour and pulled at the collar of his. "Off, Seb. Take it off," she demanded softly.

Sebastian chuckled, smirking but sitting up just enough to tug his shirt up and off for her, throwing it aside before lying back and pulling her over him. His hands slid up her back, smoothing under the band of her bra, kissing her slowly as he rocked his hips up just slowly against hers. "Wanna ride me?" he whispered against her ear.

She was grateful that Quinn and Jesse had left the apartment because they were not being subtle in the slightest, as she moved her legs to either side of his, straddling him on the couch. Her body instinctively moved with his, as she ground against him. This. This was why she always wore skirts or dresses when he was around. Easy access. She nodded at his question, shuddering under the feeling of his breath, hot on her ear, but didn't miss a beat to make a bitchy remark. "You're fuckin' lazy," she whispered back, arms circling around his neck.

Sebastian just grinned wider at that, "You like riding me," he shot back, tilting his head so their lips brushed as he continued to rock his hips up against her, growing harder in his underwear. His fingers moved to the clasp of her bra then, unhooking it easily with one hand and raising an eyebrow. "You don't wanna?"

She shrugged off her bra, letting it fall off to the side carelessly, to join their ever-growing pile of clothes, before moving her arms back to his neck. "I didn't say that," she replied simply, pressing her chest flush against his. "Just observing," she joked, as she moved back on her knees a little, giving a gentle tug at his underwear and jeans. "You want me to ride you, gotta take these off."

Sebastian's hands slid up her sides as she pressed against him, pouting as she pulled back but not hesitating to reach down to shove his jeans and underwear down his legs in one go, kicking them off. He bent over then, grabbing a condom from his jeans pocket and settling back as he reached to pull her closer, dropping it beside them. "You need to be naked too," he murmured, his hands moving down to her hips.

She rolled her hips against him a few times more before acquiescing to his request. She stood up and shimmied her skirt down from her hips, kicking it away from her feet. Her underwear swiftly followed and now they were both completely naked, she hopped back on his lap and pressed her face into his neck, sinking her teeth down and sucking gently as she ground on him a little, just to tease.

Sebastian bit his lip as he watched her completely undress, grinning as she moved back over him. He lifted his hips up against her, rocking with her slowly and groaning quietly. His hands moved over her sides and up over her chest as he tilted his head back.

They were a mess of breathy pants, hands running all over one another, mouths moving together in unison. It was consuming and she knew that she needed more. Wordlessly, she lifted the condom from next to them on the couch and lifted it to her mouth, ripping the foil open with her teeth. She didn't wait for permission before she rolled the rubber down his cock, tossing the foil behind her. That would be later hers problem. "More," she groaned in his ear.

Sebastian pulled back as she did, eyes following her as she grabbed the condom, slowly grinning and leaning back as she rolled it down over his cock. “Fuck yes,” he murmured, shifting to place his feet down against the sofa, his hands moving to her hips.

That was the best thing about fucking your best friend; they know everything you like and vice versa. She knew the right way to roll her hips, the dirty words to whisper in his ear, but she always switched it up a little, just so it didn't get stale. Seb's hands on her hips spurned her on a little as she hovered over his cock, small hand wrapped around the base, teasing him.

Sebastian groaned again, lifting his hips up slightly, his hands smoothing up her sides and back over her hips. “You’re so hot,” he whispered, his eyes dark. They knew each other’s bodies so well at this point that they both knew exactly what the other wanted, and it was a large reason Sebastian continued the fwb arrangement they had. People often said how sex ruined friendships, but if anything it only made Sebastian and Santana closer.

She smirked at his comment approvingly, he knew exactly what to say to butter her up. Pleased with his words and feeling like she'd tortured him just the right amount, she finally sank down on his cock, eyes rolling into the back of her head at the sensation of being utterly filled. She stilled her movements for a moment, allowing her body to get used to the feeling. Sebastian not only exuded big dick energy, he had the goods to back it up too.

Sebastian’s head fell back and he groaned once more as she sank down over him, his hands tightening on her hips. He stayed still for a moment though, knowing she’d move when she was ready. “‘Feel so good,” he whispered breathily, his lips parted as he looked up at her.

Satisfied, she began to roll her hips against his, her arms wrapped around his neck, face buried into his shoulder as she let out soft groans at the sensation. Without even trying, he reached that sweet spot inside of her. Every time she thrust her hips against his, she could feel her fingertips start to tingle. "Fuck, so full," she breathed into his skin.

Sebastian gasped, rocking his hips up to meet hers, his hands sliding up her sides, pulling her down to kiss her messily, groaning into her mouth. He pulled back briefly, grinning slightly as he sat up, his arm winding around her waist, continuing to thrust his hips up into her.

If sex with anyone else was good, sex with Sebastian was practically god tier. He was an arrogant prick but god, he could back it up completely. She never could last very long when she was on top, not with the way she rolled her hips smoothly and how he thrust from underneath. She tangled her fingers in the back of his hair and gave a sharp tug, smirking as she did.

Sebastian moaned as she pulled at his hair, tilting his head back but his eyes staying on her, lips parted as he panted softly. “Fuck, Tana,” he groaned, his nails scraping down her back slightly, thrusting up faster.

Falling apart in Sebastian's lap was one of her favourite things in the entire world. Her thighs tightened against his involuntarily, as her moans echoed around the living room, her thrusts going from smooth and measured to erratic and frantic. Another tug of his hair and thrust upwards from him and she was coming, hard.

Sebastian gasped, thrusting up harder, losing his rhythm a little as he felt his stomach tightening. When he felt her tense and come he couldn’t hold back any longer, coming hard suddenly and moaning out her name.

She rocked her hips against his slowly, riding them both through their respective orgasms. She slumped against his chest, listening to his erratic heartbeat thud away in his chest. She didn't make any effort to move straight away, body twitching as the aftershocks ran through her. She pressed a kiss to his temple and smoothed down the back of his hair. "You're so fucking good at that," she murmured.

Sebastian relaxed back against the pillows of the sofa, his arms loosening around her, head tilting back as he closed his eyes. He smiled widely, lazily, humming at that. “You’re pretty good yourself, gorgeous,” he murmured.

She kissed him on the temple again, before she sat back on his lap, groaning at the sensation of him still inside her overly sensitive pussy. "We're good at it," she agreed, before she stood up, disentangling her sweaty limbs from his. Her thighs were slick from her arousal but she felt too lazy to take a shower, so she grabbed her underwear and his shirt, haphazardly pulling them on before flopping down next to him on the couch. "Wanna finish the film?" she asked.

Sebastian breathed out as she pulled off, lying back and not even grabbing his underwear yet. He tugged the condom off slowly and tied it, holding it up to her with a grimace, “Wanna put this in the bin first?”

She went to bite back but instead took the condom from him, wrinkling her nose at the wetness. She turned on her heel, "lazy prick," she muttered as she walked to the kitchen and disposed of it in the trash can. She washed her hands then grabbed a couple of glasses and the open bottle of bourbon that was sitting out on the counter. "Don't say i'm not good to you, Seb," she teased, as she sat back down next to him.

Sebastian just grinned as she took it, moving now to grab his underwear, tugging it on before settling back on the sofa. He glanced up as she returned, “So good to me, babe,” he murmured, moving to take the bottle and pouring them both a glass. “The dream,” he said, lifting his glass to clink against Santana’s.

She smiled knowingly, as they clinked their glasses together. Fumbling around with her free hand, she located the television remote from down the side of the cushions and put the film back a little. "So, satisfy my curiosity. What were your choices earlier, during fuck, marry, kill? Tell me I was right."

Sebastian leant back, placing his feet on the coffee table, sliding his arm down the back of the sofa. He glanced at her as she asked that, sighing and shrugging, too chilled out after his orgasm to actually care about that anymore. “Yes, you were right.”

She curled into him, eyes on the screen in front of them, free hand tracing patterns up his smooth, unblemished thigh. She didn't really care about the game they were playing but she always liked to know when she was right about something. "Good to know," she hummed, a little smugly.

“Because seriously, who would wanna fuck Finn?” he said, raising his eyebrows as he looked at Santana, sipping at his drink, apparently still not completely over that.

She rolled her eyes at his comment but didn't turn to look at him. "Why not?" she asked, fingertips toying with the rim of the glass.

“He just looks like he’s bad in bed,” he murmured, glancing at her again. “Why do you find him attractive?”

She shook her head at his comment, finally tilting her face to look at him. She lifted the glass to her mouth and took a generous gulp of the amber liquid, as she considered his question. Why was she currently interested all of a sudden? "I don't know. He's sweet. Besides, who says I'm going to fuck him, hm?" she countered.

“Since when are you into ‘sweet’ guys?” he pushed, “If you were into sweet guys you’d be fucking mr jaw line who’s always following you around.”

"Are you high?" she asked, a little incredulously, as he snapped at her. This was completely out of the ordinary. "Wait - are you jealous?"

Sebastian huffed slightly, “No I’m not high, or jealous, c’mon. What does Finn have that I don’t have ten times better? There’s nothing to be jealous of.”

"Then what the fuck is this?" she gestured at him, dark eyes trained on his. She would have laughed out loud if she didn't think that it would make things worse. "It's not about anything you have or he has, it was a joke, mi amor."

Sebastian bit his lip, not sure why he’d got caught up on that, sitting back and staying quiet for a long moment. “I don’t know. Sorry,” he murmured, his head ducked as he ran a hand through his hair.

The room fell silent for a moment, the television was the only thing making any noise as she watched him curiously. She had really gotten under his skin with this one. Part of her wanted to push, the other part didn't want to annoy him further. Of course the former won out. "Seriously, what's going on?" she asked.

Sebastian shook his head, “Nothing,” he replied, although a part of him knew he was lying. “Nothing’s going on.”

She laced her fingers through his and squeezed softly. They weren't just friends who had sex, they were best friends. Which meant that she could read him like a book. "It's not nothing, I have way more stamina than you, so you might as well just tell me what's going on," she offered with a slight shrug of her shoulder.

Sebastian clenched his jaw, glancing down at their hands, not sure why he had turned things so sour suddenly, he’d been so blissed out only a few moments ago. “I don’t know! Maybe I just thought if anyone is gonna pick me it’d be you.”

"I'll always pick you," she murmured, "hence why i'm here, with you and not with him." She brushed the pad of her thumb over the back of his hand. She felt her stomach twist a little with what she assumed was guilt. "I'm sorry."

Sebastian’s shoulders sank slightly, “No, it doesn’t matter,” he murmured, pulling his hand away to run it through his hair, eyes moving back to the tv.

"Seb..." she pleaded. This was the weirdest situation that she had been in with him. If not jealousy, then what was this? He must know, deep down, she would always pick him. They were best friends and sometimes it felt like he was her only friend. Sighing, she knew when to stop pushing him. A little defeated and hurt, she settled her own hands on her lap.

Sebastian leant back, his foot tapping unconsciously, sighing, “I don’t believe in soulmates, you know that,” he murmured. “But what if you do? It’s not like you think I’m your soulmate, even if we joke about it.”

She felt her eyebrows lift at his statement. Why did everything in the entire world come back to this bullshit? "You're the closest thing that i'm going to get to a soulmate," she shot back instantly. "You know I don't care about that shit and let's get real, if they did exist, Finn would not be my soulmate, or Aubrey, or any of those idiots."

Sebastian wasn’t the kind to get attached, like ever. But his relationship with Santana was different. It was built on friendship, and he was genuinely worried about losing her. He sighed, glancing at her now. “Sorry,” he said, feeling like an idiot. “I know. I’m being an idiot.”

She shook head head at him gently, before nudging his arm to let her back in. Their relationship wasn't conventional, but she'd never really considered the prospect of Sebastian finding his soulmate and stopping whatever they had going on. Now, it was weighing on her mind. "You're not being an idiot, I get it," she whispered, kissing him on the cheek. "I love you, Seb. You're my best friend."

Sebastian tilted his head, his arm falling around her, leaning down to kiss her softly on the lips. “You’re my best friend too,” he murmured, holding her close again. “And I love you,” he continued, stroking his hand down her arm gently. “Guess I’m just letting people get into my head. Soulmates are bullshit. We have a good thing, and we’re not.”

She kissed him back sweetly, savouring the quiet, real moments that they had together. This was the shift that had been happening in their relationship, their friendship. The rare moments they acted like an actual couple and the layers of snark and bitchyness were forgotten. "Who's been getting in that big ol' brain of yours?" she asked curiously.

“I dunno, I was talking to Jesse and he kept saying how Quinn was definitely his soulmate,” he murmured, pulling Santana into his lap, “And like, he doesn’t really know that. I guess I just started thinking about it. Maybe too much.”

She let out a sigh, of course it was Jesse. He'd gotten in her head too about it. She settled comfortably into his lap, "unsurprisingly, he got to me about it too," she confessed, thinking back to their conversation through text. "I mean how do they even know they're soulmates? It's a stupid concept and I don't like the idea. I always feel that no one decides my fate but me."

Sebastian wound both his arms around her, meeting her eyes. “They don’t. Pretty sure they haven’t even got a ‘bond’ or anything.” He nodded, “But me too. I don’t like the idea of something else deciding who I’m ‘meant to be with’. It’s stupid.”

She nodded in agreement. "I'm fairly certain that neither of them would shut the fuck up about it if they had one," she chuckled, knowing both halves of the couple. It was hard to ignore the elephant in the room but she was an expert at burying feelings and pretending they didn't exist. "So let's not let them decide for us," she mused aloud, before tilting his face up towards hers with his index finger and pressing a searing kiss on his lips.

Sebastian looked at her as she tilted his head toward her, smiling against her lips and lifting a hand to cup her cheek as he kissed back. “Mhm, okay,” he murmured softly, before continuing to kiss her, deepening it as his hand slid into her hair.

It was a tried, tested and almost always, foolproof method to get either of them out of a slump; more sex. She sighed happily into his lips, one hand rubbing at his neck, the other was trailing down his chest, fingernails dragging down his skin.

Sebastian leant back into the sofa, his hands smoothing up her back underneath her shirt, groaning quietly against her lips. Despite having just had sex, he wasn’t going to say no. This was just how they worked.

This was what the drinking and the fucking was for; to forget. To pretend like their momentary blip of emotion hadn't actually happened, that they were just simply two people who liked good sex and a lot of it. She lifted his shirt over her head and tossed it back to the floor, relishing his touch on her bare skin.

Sebastian moved to push her back to lie down, settling over her as he kissed her slowly. He slid his hands up her side again, turning his head to kiss under her jaw.

She shifted from his lap and laid back on the couch, spreading her legs to let him settle between them more comfortably. She brushed her fingers through his hair and ghosted her other hand across his shoulder, shivering as he placed soft kisses down her neck.

“Should we move to the bedroom,” he murmured, raising an eyebrow as he pulled back and smirked, tilting his head, his hand moving down her chest.

Santana nodded, a little breathlessly. It was getting late and Quinn would no doubt be home soon. She didn't think that her roommate would appreciate walking in on them screwing on the couch. She lifted her glass to her mouth and finished off the bourbon, before grabbing their clothes from the floor. "C'mon," she whispered, "you can show me how much you don't want to lose me through there." She gave his arm a sharp tug, leading them through the apartment and to her bedroom, closing the door on whatever doubts either of them had about the future.

[agentdagonet]

Echoes, Ch. 24

Find it here on AO3

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Fic Summary: Feet dangling off the edge of the bed, hands still resting on the earpieces of his glasses, Eggsy opened his eyes.

And promptly shut them again, screwing them shut like a child who had the distinct misfortune of biting into a raw lemon. Breathing harshly in his nose and out his mouth, trying to stave off whatever delusional panic had befallen him, Eggsy reopened his eyes.

‘Harry?’

Or: The Hologram Story Nobody Asked For

          Eggsy couldn’t help himself- he knew that he was pressing where he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help but push anyway. He’d heard from his mum about Harry’s visit, and she’d sounded so damn happy that he just couldn’t help it. He’d reached up onto his toes and hugged Harry tightly the next time he’d walked into the house, squeezed around his neck and tucked his head between Harry’s jaw and shoulder, right against his collarbone.

          Harry had frozen for all of a breath before bringing his arms down to Eggsy’s waist, squeezing just as tightly in return. He didn’t ask what the occasion was, or try to pull away after a minute because that’s how hugs normally went; instead he simply rested his cheek against Eggsy’s hair. Eventually they parted, shared a small smile, and went back to their normal routine.

          Something had changed, then, but neither of them ever spoke about it. Their fingers brushed more often while doing dishes, their shoulders brushed constantly while walking to and from the shop, they ended up falling asleep on each other more often than not during evening films. Maybe it was just a final barrier falling and making them feel more comfortable- but Harry knew it wasn’t so much a final barrier as it was that some unspoken rule that had been tossed out.

          Eggsy leant into his shoulder when they sat near each other, he relaxed when Harry clapped him on the shoulder (unlike when Percival did, which had resulted in wide eyes and stuttered breathing) or guided him into a room by the small of his back. And maybe Harry was encouraging Eggsy’s exploration with non-romantic physical affection for his own ends, but where was the harm? It wasn’t as if the two of them weren’t touch-starved, or touch-wary, between Eggsy’s childhood and Harry’s loss of physical control, it was a wonder they let anyone near them at all.

          Two puzzle pieces that kind of fit- like pieces of the sky, you could put them together on their own, but when you try to attach them to the rest of the picture you’d discover it’s the wrong combination of bloody blue tiles. At least, that’s how Harry reasoned his lack of active  communication. He just let things start happening, didn’t reject anything offered, and rationalised that if he said something it would all fall apart because of the things that made them different.

          He should have thought more of Eggsy, the determined little shit, because it was obvious that he was up to something. He began escalating the types of touch he would use, going from the faintest brush of fingertips to resting his hand wholly on some portion of Harry’s body; from that to pressing into the places that stored the most tension, seeing what made Harry react.

          It had taken him nearly a month to catch on, and once he did he couldn’t unsee it- but he also didn’t want to stop him. So he let it be, and soaked in the attention as if it were going to stop because after almost dying you don’t take anything for granted if you can help it.

          On one rare morning, where they both were home and resting with no obligations, Eggsy came down the stairs looking particularly ruffled. He yawned loudly and rubbed at his face, and when he made it to where Harry was sat at the table he dropped a kiss on his head as he passed by. He didn’t stop his progress to the kitchen, and Harry didn’t dare turn to see if Eggsy realised what he had done.

          Harry didn’t even think to return the gesture, but eagerly awaited the next opportunity Eggsy had to do it again. If there was, indeed, anything beside respect and devotion between the two of them, from both directions, then Eggsy needed to be the one to make the first move. Not only was Harry technically his superior, but he was several years his senior and Harry would have felt lecherous making the opening move. But, Eggsy’s actions- planned and non- were indicative that he had ideas, even if they weren’t advisable from the common person’s judgements.

But when had they ever truly cared about the opinions of the outside world, anyway?

          But Harry was getting ahead of himself- by a good kilometre- because these were shy or unconscious glances and infrequent touches. There were so many things that needed to happen between there and where Harry’s thoughts were heading. Patience, he told himself, if it’s going to happen, it will happen- it’s not as if he’s going anywhere.

          And that, in and of itself, was a new thought process. Being aware that someone had decided you were worth spending time with was different than spending a life together- but they’d already fallen so far off the usual, acceptable, path that what did it matter? They could never do more than hold hands or clasp arms and Harry would be satisfied as long as their home remained such.

          Harry went on a solo mission to Antigua, what should have been a quick pick-up went sour within the first 24 hours, and ended up with Harry sporting several bruised ribs, seventeen stitches scattered about his body, and an overnight stay in medical. Surprisingly, it was the first serious injury he or Eggsy had gotten since their house became a home- which meant it was uncharted territory, and Harry wasn’t sure what exactly he was so nervous about. He’d been injured, before- he’d been in medical overnight, before- but this was the first time for him since Kentucky. 

          Eggsy didn’t run into the room when he arrived, but he did close the door fully behind himself and rest against it for a moment after. He looked to the ceiling, took a deep breath, and then approached the bed- and it was lucky that Harry hadn’t required a heart monitor, because it surely would have given him away. Eggsy sat in the chair Merlin had sat in for debrief, though he pulled it closer, and lifted Harry’s hand in his own- lightly kissing the top of it before rubbing his thumb over the same spot. As if to rub the affection into his skin completely.

          ‘You’ve got to either stop this shit or give me a bit of warning, luv.’ Harry blinked slowly, as if doing so would freeze this moment in his memory, and huffed out a laugh.

          ‘You and I are both fully aware that those options are equally impossible. But, I’ve made it home once again in, relatively,’ Harry glanced down at himself before shrugging a shoulder slightly, ‘good condition.’

          ‘Your stitches say otherwise.’

          ‘I have all my limbs and have lost an insignificant amount of blood- rest assured, these are entirely superficial wounds.’

          ‘Harry, bruises are superficial- you got stitches and your ribs are fucked. Tha’s why you’re in medical instead of at home.’

          ‘The ribs are bruised, actually; and Merlin’s being a stick in the mud about letting me home-’

          ‘He ain’t letting you go anywhere he can’t see you for a bit- always been more sensitive than he’ll admit.’

          ‘You don’t say?’ Surely Eggsy, in his far more limited experience with Merlin than his own, hadn’t managed to get Merlin’s number that easily.

          ‘Well, yeah- you shoulda seen ‘im when you were gone. Oh, he put on a brave face, but he was so quiet. And he was a right arse about makin’ sure everyone was rested and eating and shit. Don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone embody that nurse lady from the Harry Potter books like he did;’ Eggsy chuckled, ‘the Lake was so confused when he started goin’ on about proper nutrition and REM cycles and shit- Rox and I made sure he actually listened to himself every once in a while. Managed to glue ‘im to his chair once, and just… rolled him into medical for a check up.’ Harry laughed, imagining his usually-stoic friend struggling to remove himself from the predicament while keeping some semblance of dignity and authority intact.

          ‘Yeah, it was funny in the moment, but… lookin’ back and all it makes me wonder- the fuck was wrong with Kingsman before V-Day, Harry?’ Eggsy’s eyes had gone hard, the thin line of his mouth so at ends with his youthful face. ‘It was like no one knew that anyone else cared about them- that they had value outside of mission parametres. Outside of their job.’ He spat the word, and Harry was caught entirely off guard by it.

          ‘Chester King was very purpose-focused, Eggsy, to put it kindly. The vast majority of Knights never became familiar with one another outside of respect for one another’s skills, and emotional connections have always been construed as a weakness by those of higher stations. If it couldn’t be used to further the agency, then it was unnecessary. The Lake’s betting pools are far more the exception than the norm- their sense of community has been fostered in the shadows for the past twenty-odd years. If it weren’t for the circumstances of Chester’s demise- and those of his ilk- I’m certain that the trend of emotional segregation from one another would have continued seamlessly from one Arthur to the next.

          ‘I’m not certain of how to explain it to you, Eggsy, but Kingsman has never been about a group uniting to face a common threat, or defend a common goal, in my experience,’ Harry frowned and shook his head, ‘Kingsman was always about individual people being sent to settle individual problems that just happened to be facets of the larger goal. There were only a handful of people in the history of the agency that demanded to work with certain people, and very rarely were there Agent/Handler pairs in the fashion you’re accustomed to.’ Harry pinched the bridge of his nose, pushing up his glasses as he did so.

          ‘So, what you’re saying is that no one knew that they were important as humans outside of their fuckin’ skills because Chester King was an enormous prick?’

          ‘That’s about the sum of things, yes.’

          ‘If Merlin figures it out, can I go back in time and kill him all over again?’

          ‘Once was quite enough, Eggsy- but you can rewatch the footage ad nauseum, if you’d like.’

[nighthunternik]

Police Academy (Part 2)

A Parker Shaw fanfiction (NSFW)

Book: It lives beneath

Characters: Parker x Reader

Rating: NSFW, 18+

Word count: ~ 2300 (approx. 10-15 min. of reading time)

Warning: MLM, Smut, Adults only

All Characters belong to Pixelberry.

~*~ 

Okay: I don't know if it's just my phone but I did insert a Read more break - I don't know why it apparently didn't work but please don't hate on me for having to scroll😱😨 I am terribly sorry.

Hey guys! I am over the moon to finally present the 2nd part of my Parker Shaw MLM fic "Police Academy". 🤗 I know it has taken me aaaages to finish it😂🙈, but I had some very important exams coming up. So I was basically studying most of my time and was happy to even being able to read the newest Choices chapters and post an occasional meme on my blog😂

In the meantime, @teenagediplomatfestivalauthor wrote a fan version of the 2nd part. It's such a great piece and I feel really honored that they made the effort - plus, while my part is NSFW, theirs goes in a different direction, so go check it out on their blog! 🔥

Now, without further ado, enjoy❤

PS: As usual, I am thrilled to fulfill your requests and tag you in my fics!

~*~

"Or maybe it isn't a girl you're dreaming about?"

He knows!, you think and instantly feel the blood colouring your cheeks in a suspicious pink. You are unsure how long you lie there, staring at him, your erection painfully held captive by the tightness of your underwear, an uncomfortable buzzing in the ear that sounds like a choir of taunting voices, unable to form a coherent sentence that would explain this situation. But when it hits you, the ponderosity of the revelation you've feared for so long, you close your eyes and turn your back on Parker, hoping that this is merely a bad dream. It is impossible to look him in the eye, in which you fear to see nothing but disgust, because you are afraid to lose the feeble rest of your dignity.

The minutes pass slowly, feeling like years filled with humiliation and regret, and a leady silence contaminates the atmosphere in your room. Not a single word is said, neither by you or Parker, whose presence you can still feel at the end of your bed and who is probably still too paralyzed with shock to move.

But suddenly, your feel the weight of his knee on your mattress. "Hey... listen...". You feel his hand on your shoulder and this gesture of loyal friendship almost makes you tear up. However, being comforted by Parker right now à la C'mon, there's nothing to be ashamed about isn't exactly your dream scenario, so you just shake your head, signaling him to go away. Or at least back to sleep.

But, of course, Parker has never been one to get rid of easily, that's one of your friend's (or should you say former friend's?) best qualities. He whispers your name, his voice husky and hesitant. It's the voice that makes you turn around, because it sounds so intimate and calming - and when you do, you are surprised to catch a glimpse of nervousness or even fear in Parker's eyes as well. But fear of what?

"Listen, it's nothing... you don't have to think that... I mean -" , Parker babbles something so indistinct that you can't understand a single word of what he is saying. And he seems to notice, because he ends his cumbersome stuttering with a single well placed "Fuck it", and then suddenly stretches out his hand. Although you know your fellow trainee and know that he couldn't hurt a fly, you flinch, for a brief second expecting him to be somewhat possessed by the ghost of the other guys and wanting to slap you. What you didn't expect is for him to place his hand on your cheek.

You turn into the literal pillar of salt. Parker is close... too close, actually. There is this unwritten law that two males should not be this close to each other to not be labelled as faggots. That's exactly the reason why the physical contact between the future police officers at the academy is reduced to a friendly pat on the back or, at most, a chummy embrace after winning a football match that comes along with knuckles knocked on the head and tousled hair and is terminated after precisely 3.5 seconds.

But they don't caress each others cheeks! Especially not a night!! In bed!!!

But Parker doesn't seem to mind - and of course, noone would've dared calling him a faggot. As much as you'd like to say something that would release the tension between you two, your voice crackles like a non-functioning loudspeaker, leaving you no other option than to get lost in the hazel eyes locked with yours.

Parker's face comes even closer and at the sight of his lips hovering in front of you, you can't help but to involuntarily lick your own. It's so awkward and cringy, you feel the familiar hotness creeping up your neck. But your friend doesn't back off, in fact, he leans forward and you're dizzy, intoxicated by the heat radiating from his body and his tangy, dry odour. Then it happens - and you are unsure whether or not you are actually dreaming.

Because Parker Shaw is kissing you. No, he isn't simply kissing you - he impatiently demands entrance with his tongue in a way you'd have never expected from the former boy scout that sometimes acts so awkward around other people. "Pa- Parker, wait ... what?", you pant, but your brown-haired friend cuts you off before you can finish your sentence. "Not 'what'! More 'yes, keep going'".

And then your lips crash together again in a fiery storm of passion, the sensation of the stubble around his lips and the low rumble that escapes his throat sending shivers down your spine. His calloused hands pull you off the bed, because you are unable to move, and a second later you find your limbs pinned to the wall, Parker's trembling body pressed against yours. Although you can't come up with much experience when it comes to kissing women, you instantly know that this is what you craved for... it's rough, animalistic and much better.

Your heart nearly explodes in your chest, but then Parker breaks away for a second, giving you a playful wink and biting your lips encouragingly in a way that can only mean one thing: it's your turn, don't be shy.

So you do as you're told and start exploring his body, with a lump in your throat and shaking hands admittedly, but still reassured by the way his breath speeds up or the gentle sounds of approval when you touch him in the right spots. And oh my, does it feel good! From the way his back muscles contract to the extraordinarily well-trained chest that you've admired so often before, there is no part of his body that doesn't make you want to scream with desire and the sheer disbelief that it's you out of all people that has Parker Shaw's forehead rested against yours, his body writhing almost submissively under the palm of your hands. Soon, you are kissing each other again, desperate, like his lips are to only thing saving you from drowning. But the movement in his boxer shorts discloses that his plans for tonight involve more than just kissing.

After what feels like an eternity of you two making out, Parker tugs at the waistband of your pajama bottoms and this is enough to jolt you out of the comfortable feeling of his kisses and bring the absurdity of what you're doing home to you. Only ten minutes ago, you dwelled on your weltschmerz, darting longing glances at him sleeping across the room and now your object of desire is about to - what, touch your penis? It's insane and although you'd love nothing more than to examine his remarkable erection pressed against your stomach from up close, a despicable and faint voice in your head makes you wonder, if this doesn't go too fast, if Parker won't regret this tomorrow morning.

You grap his wrist, a sudden movement to which he replies by arching his brows. "Parker -", you begin and you can already feel how stupid and inadequate everything you are going to say will inevitably sound, " - what is all this? I mean, what... what are you doing?". He chuckles  and it's as surprising as it's irresistible. "As if you don't know", he replies while again starting to playfully tear at your shorts, his lips merely inches away from yours, his breath hot and heavy, clouding your mind. "I am doing what we both want. Or do you want to talk about it first?" He is making fun of you. It's not condescending, you know exactly how he means it and it's the mischief in his voice, accompanied by the oh so familiar glance in his eyes, which lets you know that he didn't get miraculously drunk or high while sleeping, but that he is actually serious. "What are the odds of you changing your mind?" - "Non-existent. Any more questions?" His eyes pierce into yours and you shake your head. "Great. Then let's fuck."

And you, who has never used said word before, let alone did actually fuck, feel yourself nod and something escape your mouth that sounds embarassingly like "Oh yes, Parker!". It doesn't even bother you. Fucking him is different than how you imagined it to be. But, to be fair, not even your wildest dreams could've prepared you for those strong arms lifting you atop his desk that he cleared with a dapper wave of the hand, the jocular but appreciative whistle as he finally pulls down your pants and underwear and sees your dick for the first time (it makes you laugh and blush at the same time, just as he intended it to) - or the naturalness with which he kneels down and takes your penis into his mouth. Into. His. Mouth.

Colourful fireworks explode right in front of you; your loud moan is only muffled by his big hands that he brought to your mouth in foresight, because the last thing both of you need right now is for anyone in the adjacent rooms to wake up. The wet thightness of Parker's mouth alone and the skillfull way his tongue swirls around your glans would've been enough for you to come, but you try to hold back, not wanting to climax too early, because - as preposterous as this might sound - you don't want to disappoint him. However, the way he all of a sudden uses his free hand to spread your legs even further and hungrily massage your balls is too much: you feel the tension build in your stomach, your toes convulse and, with a last squeak, you seize him by the neck and press his face onto your twitching member as you release sticky squirts of semen.  

Your whole world is turned upside down, everything you believed in is shaken to its foundation after this mind-blowing orgasm, even more so as Parker willingly swallows every single drop of your cum, not breaking eye contact for one second. Is this really happening? He then stands up to kiss you and you can taste yourself on his tongue, not knowing if you should be repelled or turned on by this unusual senstation.

"I am - ?", you begin your apology for this early end to your ... 'adventure', while he plants a number of fevered kisses on your nipples that make you toss your head back. "Sshh", Parker interrupts you by putting a finger on your lips. "That was amazing!" You feel the familiar redness on your cheeks. "Well, judging from your... ehm, talent, I wouldn't have guessed that this was your first time with ... you know, a guy." At that comment, he winks at you sheepishly. "Who said it was my first time? But -", he continues and kisses the tip of your nose, " - you're the first one I imagined doing this to beforehand. Now c'mon, we're not done here, are we?"

Before you can even assimilate this information, he has gotten rid of his boxers, his penis slapping against his chiseled stomach for a second, and you don't know what to say - but you reckon' words are the last thing needed in this situation. So you content yourself with casting covetous eyes on his very long and very hard member, which is - of course, how could it be differently? - as impressive as the rest of his perfect body.

"Like what you see?" Although Parker's voice is rough, showing just the right amount of cocky self-confidence and his natural awarness of what he can offer his lover, both of you are unable to stifle a laugh at this clishéd question. He doesn't need or wait for an answer; instead he holds out a hand and leads you back to your bed, where you both lie down, soaked and sticky with sweat ... and he places on of your hands on his cock. "Do me!"

His words are so commanding, so powerful and hot that your shaking hand immediately start to stroke his dick, tentatively at first but then with increasing speed. "Yes, that's it", Parker murmurs into the pillows and you think to yourself that this is probably the sexiest thing you've ever heard.

It quickly becomes apparent how experienced he really is while you try to satisfy him in a boisterous and somewhat clumsy way ... he sets the rythm, corrects and emboldens you with soft sounds of pleasure, and when he finally comes almost silently into your hand, you can't believe that you're the one responsible for his enjoyment.

Minutes, hours or years later, both of you lie flat on your bed in a beautiful conglomerate of legs and arms, your hair sweaty and the air heavy with the smell of cum and fulfilled dreams. A thunderstorm approached, unnoticed by both of you during your actions, and the raindrops knocking at the window like finger tips make you feel even more comfortable in Parker's arms. You don't want to disturb the silence filling the room; plus, you are too busy listening to soothing sound of your friend's breath in your ear.

However, he suddenly bursts out - "This was A1, really, absoultely phenomenal!" You chuckle, although a part of you still doesn't really believe that all of this really happened. As much as you hoped at the beginning that the situation would turn out to be just a nightmare, now - if it would really turn out to be a dream -  you don't want it to end.

You look up at him and see that his hazel eyes are carefully watching you, his lips crinkled into this lopsided sneer you love so much. But you have to ask him something.

"Parker - about what you said earlier. You -... you imagined... this?" - "Of course, mate!", he laughs. " - "But what... when... how did you know that I - ?"

Parker shrugs and moves his legs so that the sticky tips of your dicks are touching each other. It's fantastic. "Well, at first I didn't. You are so out of my league that I wouldn't have thought that you'd actually ... you know... that you'd feel the same". Although he seemed to be so confident earlier, you can now hear that this confession takes a load off his heart. "Thank god us Eagle Scouts are no scaredy-cats - so I thought I'd just ask you". He beams at you and you playfully nudge him with your elbow.

"Gosh, Parker, you are such a nerd!". - "Well, however - ", he continues unwaveringly, his smile somewhat smug, "- the fact that you'd formed an impressive tent in your pants at the sight of my naked body made every question redudant." He kisses you on your forehead as you blush yet again.

"Now let's go to sleep, shall we? From now on you'll be pretty busy at night, I promise, so you'll need every minute of sleep you can get!".

Tag list: @brightpinkpeppercorn @kevinarima @teenagediplomatfestivalauthor

[decadentrpg-blog]

WELCOME EM, YOU’VE BEEN ACCEPTED FOR THE ROLE OF GENEVIEVE WOOD

Admins Note: Wow what a powerful, bad ass woman you’ve developed. I love the insightful head cannons exploring her curiosity and her urge to understand the world in her unique perspective. Her relationships have been beautifully explored - from Darius to Ophelia to Proserpina, all being a special fragment of her existence. She’s everything I could have hoped for! I can’t wait to see her on the dash, breaking and putting things back together!  Congratulations on your acceptance again, please make sure to head your way to the checklist and submit your account within the next 24 hours!

Out of Character

Name / Alias: Em

Pronouns: She/Her

Age: 24

Timezone: EST

In Character Application

Full Name: Genevieve Wood

Sexuality: Pansexual

Gender/Pronouns: Cisgender Female, She/Her

Hogwarts House: Ravenclaw

Headcanons:

ONE :: GIRL QUESTING, GIRL QUESTIONING. Your childhood days are perhaps characterized best by a reluctantly unbound exploratory curiosity. Your family is not old blood or money in the way other families are, but it hardly matters; the place you call home is deceptively expansive, leaving you nooks and crannies and rooms to make your own. You are young the first time you realize your home violates the principles of reality — bigger than it ought to be when you see it from the outside you are five the first time you really understand what magic is in a physical sense. And though five is thought to be too little to grasp the finer points, you question and you question and you question until the finer points start to unravel themselves. Perhaps this is where it all begins, because when you finally understand, there’s satisfaction of a sort before you realize something that imprints itself into your memory: there is so much you don’t know and you want answers for all of it.

Over the years, you become adept at destroying, learning and then in a twist, creating things new. There’s a certain pleasure gained in tying your hair up with a ribbon, destroying something, studying the pieces and then improving upon it as you rebuild. Such tendencies—often mechanical in nature—exasperate your mother profoundly because she dresses you in pretty things and you inevitably make ruin of them, because she would prefer you be more the quintessential pureblood daughter, soft and dear and obliging, but there is no stopping you.

Through trial and error, through exasperation, time outs and threats ranging from laughable to somewhat terrifying for your youth, your mother and father learn that there are only two ways to stop your questioning: one) give you answers until you’re satisfied or two) provide the means by which you can obtain answers for yourself. Punishment only silences you temporarily, and rules, both new and old, are ignored with equal fervor. And so, your parents, though they love you dearly, often opt for the second of the two options, if only because you try their patience with their questions, because you are enough to make their heads spin. Perhaps you ought to feel badly for that, for the way you are trying, but the truth is like so: questing girls pursue their aims without regard paid to consequences, questioning girls need answers and you, you are a questing girl, a questioning girl, fearless and insatiable.

TWO :: ON THE MYSTERIES OF A HEART. There are societal conventions that speak to what love and attraction should be in various forms, but you reside well outside any of them. In this, like so much else, you are a thing ill-defined and seemingly without particular rhyme or reason. A curious woman, wont to interest bordering obsession as regarding whatever catches your eye, you have a penchant for inquiry that leads you to the heart of things, of people. Like so, for you the appeal is not a type, the appeal is what lies beneath.

This leads you to Darius, to a sweet, almost chaste kiss as a venture into exploration, an answer to questions you don’t dare ask aloud, but wonder about all the same. Though, perhaps, calling it chaste is unfair because that implies a lack of passion; perhaps it’s better to say innocent and questioning, for like so much else, the knowledge and experience earned helps you evolve, though it comes at a cost. You want to learn about Darius, and you do, but what you learn you do not entirely like; Darius is not like you, questing and questioning, unabashedly true to what the heart demands. He is cowardly in his devotion and though you might have fallen for the facade once, for those golden curls and a winsome smile, you’ve never been attracted to what you see underneath.

And it leads you, eventually, to Proserpina, though that path is somewhat winding with other boys who possess features and traits that make you look twice before you see her. There’s a naïveté to what exists between you, at first. Again, it’s curious and curiously born, a bright-eyed interest and a first of a different sort. She is an answer to questions about yourself, the beginning of an unbinding from traditional labels, but she is so much more than that; she is ever fascinating. Perhaps you’re a fool to fall for a woman who whispers lies as she breathes and does it so convincingly, but hearts are not meant for rationale, they want as they will and yours has been long undone by the puzzle of Proserpina. After all, didn’t you once trail fingers along her form if only to touch her and whisper, “my dear heart”? Would you not do it again were you allowed a chance?

Ultimately, there are those less true than their word, but you are absolute, an unerring truth in a world of lies and falsehoods; reckless as it might be, you fall in love with the heart of people and you pity anyone who loves for less.

THREE :: THE PATH NOT TAKEN. Before you even think about stepping foot in Hogwarts, it is clear you will belong in one of two houses: Gryffindor or Ravenclaw. It might be Gryffindor for the way you play with a certain reckless abandon, even in your childhood, unquestioningly certain of your right to what pleases you no matter what the rules might say, unafraid of the truths such recklessness might show. But then, it could be Ravenclaw; with an insistent sort of curiosity that is equal parts your greatest virtue and your worst vice, you are, in some ways, quintessentially of the sort that cannot make a home anywhere but the high tower, wearing blue and bronze.

You are a coin flip, two distinct parts that ought to be at odds, but come together to make a wild, bravely questing girl, so much so that even those who know you best cannot decide what you will be. Your mother says Ravenclaw, your father Gryffindor, though his choice might be more pride and a desire to see you follow in his footsteps speaking than a true reckoning.

You yourself hardly know what to think, except it doesn’t matter. When the time comes, you unintentionally oblige the Sorting Hat well and make yourself known. There are children in this world that are chimeric mysteries, who might truly belong one place and another, who might be influenced or even created, by the choice made for them, but you are not one of them at heart. No, you sit under the Sorting Hat, not thinking of what might be, not telling yourself to be brave for what will come or trying to want one future over another. Instead, you find your thoughts tangential to the moment, in that you simply wonder about the Sorting Hat’s magic; it’s a shame, you reflect as you wait for your future, that the hat is something you cannot destroy and remake until you understand it. The hat only laughs at your thought process, says, “With curiosity like that, it better be Ravenclaw!” and that is the end of that.

For every question and option, even for that singular moment where your world is a coin standing on edge and Gryffindor is an equally acceptable choice for that earnest reckless of yours, Ravenclaw is where you belong. Unquestioningly.

FOUR :: A LADY’S GUIDE TO IMPROPRIETY & NON-MALICIOUS RULE-BREAKING. The older you’ve gotten the more the style in which you display your non-compliance and unconventionality has changed. Only don’t be fooled. It’s not about that. It’s never about that.

In childhood, it’s always about understanding. Rules are a prison that stymie intellectual curiosity in the name of safety, a thing for which you’ve never had any use; with a world full of possible paths for exploration all about you, you hardly have time to think about something so foolish as caution, nor patience for the very same. These years are full of solitary time, of wild adventures, of incessant questions, interspersed with necessary socialization, which sounds lonelier than it feels. You suppose you have friends, but truly, you prefer the solitude of your own seeking and the satisfaction found in answers to the play-pretend games others your age want to play.

School and adolescence change everything. You could hardly be called quiet, with the way you so vocally wonder, but in truth, by comparison to others your age, there is something lacking to your social skills. A mess of a contradiction, introverted in social interactions, extroverted in inquiry, the two resolve into something between when you learn to find people as interesting as things. It’s different, of course, because you cannot destroy and rebuild people in the same way you can do things, but it’s that very condition that proves to make people all the more interesting. After all, things are as they are while people are variable, changeable, manipulatable. Perhaps that’s why you come to get along so well with some of the Slytherins, like Ophelia, during your later days at Hogwarts. You aren’t afraid to say things that are less than polite, or do things that are less than kind if only to find out what will happen. It’s not a matter of hearts or feelings but one far more linear; A leads to B and then on to C and you like to know what reactions will occur. And if you’re being honest with yourself, when it comes to the unbinding of people, there’s something messy in it that you’re loathe to delve into; far better to have someone else spill the guts and leave them for you to study.

Adulthood has different rules too, because it’s here you are taught the questionable virtue of propriety. The older you get, the more you ought to simply know better as if being older means being better, as if curiosity is not justifiable cause and lies are acceptable means by which to make it through the day. You never quite mean to become a beacon of truth, to become something unflinching blunt, but as you leave Hogwarts behind, you come to realize that the real world is not half so simple as the walls of your school were — there’s privilege and wealth and the delusions born of it and there’s fervency and new causes and a belief in change. Perhaps you fall in line with the latter because at least there you find more truth, or perhaps it’s because you like to see how things shake and stir and propriety is not a world lilted off tongues and praised profoundly. To make change one must be true and improper. Is there anywhere else you belong?

In Character Paragraph:

The ballroom was the oddest battleground she had ever encountered, though to call it that was perhaps inaccurate. Hypothetically, this evening had been proposed and planned in the name of charity and was being attended under the very same guise, but underneath the glitz and the glamour and the music, there was a subtle rippling, an divide amongst the younger generation that did not echo in their older American counterparts — it was a world of differing problems and concerns, though Genevieve darkly figured everyone would be dragged into it in the end.

Problems had a habit of eventually rearing their ugly heads at the least convenient moments, as she well knew, considering she had, more than once, done her part in bringing the truth embedded within them to light. It had earned her a reputation of a sort, though she hadn’t ever bothered to give that much thought. She acted as she did not because she wanted to harm, but because she simply valued the truth enough to make sure it was known, and, perhaps too, because when it was all said and done, she liked to be able to step back and watch the consequences of unpleasant truths unfold as they might.

It was so interesting to watch people react.

Tonight, however, was not a night for such a course, not that she didn’t think on it for a moment; there was interest to be had, in making the divide between them terribly plain, but what was the point? To bring it into the open would only ruin the cause that brought them all here, which even she wasn’t heartless enough to do. Plus, there was loyalty to be had yet, and perhaps, maybe, a kernel of a belief in the just nature of the cause to which she had aligned herself. Change was worth sitting on the truth for, at least for now.

That being said, aligning herself to a cause and alienating herself from people she was fond of had never been her way; though she stood with The Coalition, she didn’t ignore The Pride Society, the way others did, the way others might have wished her to. Perhaps that marked her as wrong, Darius certainly liked to assert that sentiment, but she was truer to her heart than any sort of external ideal and there were women across the room who certainly held pieces of hers.

Firstly there was Proserpina. Decorum and discretion dictated she wasn’t supposed to stare, yet the secret that was bound between them all but commanded otherwise. Perhaps that was only fair, that she stare if she so please because the fact that it was secret was neither Genevieve’s desire nor her demand. Secrecy meant so little to her, but it meant so much to Proserpina; it was a fool’s game, one without reciprocity of a kind, but she cared profoundly for what the other woman wanted.

Tonight the other witch was as radiant as ever and it made her want in a way she couldn’t explain. What was she to do about Proserpina when the woman somehow took her words? It was equal parts intriguing and irritating to love a woman that simultaneously defied explanation and stole the words that might allow an honest try at making one.

And secondly there was Ophelia. Though dear to her, despite the fact that they were no longer children and the difference in their lifestyles at this point, Genevieve had begun to view the other woman with dread of a sort; her marriage was not doing her the wonders sometimes advertised and the woman Genevieve had once known was gradually slipping away from her. She pitied her, but no matter what words she had tried so far, she had been frustratingly without effect. Genevieve was beginning to think that Ophelia, the friend perhaps dearest to her, would prove to be another puzzle she could not solve.

The very idea made her heart ache and yet, she would greet the woman all the same, and use their proximity as means by which to, perhaps, steal a moment with Proserpina. It was likely unfair to use Ophelia this way, but if Ophelia knew, Genevieve felt fairly certain that she would consent willingly; one of them deserved a moment’s happiness, no?

The band swung into a new song and she found a familiar face in front of her, a hand outstretched and an offer put to air: “Will you dance, Genevieve?”

For a moment, she barely heard, thoughts elsewhere, intent on women she wasn’t supposed to associate with. And yet, the sentiment repeated itself, so her gaze flicked across his face, noting a warning there. It was a subtle thing, resting in the muscles somewhat tense and a certain gaze in his eyes, but once she saw it, it couldn’t be unseen.

It made no impact.

“No, thank you,” she replied simply, before side-stepping him, intending to stay true to her course. She wanted what she wanted, damn the costs. Only, before she could take a step forward, she found that previously outstretched hand, now resting on her arm, holding in place, albeit gently in obedience to the concern of appearances on a night like this.

“Don’t go over there. Don’t talk to them.” It was a low warning and were she more an ideologue, more devoted to the cause itself, she’d heed it unthinkingly.

“Let go of me,” she returned in a soft warning; she was not known for her temper, but a hint of one flashed in her gaze at the idea of being denied. And when he didn’t move fast enough for her, she wrenched her arm from his grasp and said bluntly, “If you think you can stop me from going to greet my oldest friend, you are sorely mistaken. And to pretend they don’t exist or that they’re monsters and therefore easy to hate is the coward’s way. I disagree with her, but I care for her still.”

Before he could reply, because really she didn’t want to hear whatever would come of it, she walked away. She had intended to skirt the room, to cross an unspoken, undrawn boundary with a measure of discretion simply for the ease of it, but now it felt like there was no choice but to be openly true in a way that made a statement. That was fine, she wasn’t particularly bothered by that; perhaps she was always meant to be the one who walked across the invisible line with her head held high and an unerring certainty that it might have been breaking unspoken rules, but the rules were inconsequential when compared to a heart’s desire.

Extras:

Pinterest: (x)

[aerosmiley219]

Do mchart for the ship thing?

ULTIMATESHIP MEME!

Send in two (or more) names and I’ll fill all this out aboutthe ship!

General:

Rate the Ship -  Awful | Ew | No pics pls | I’m not comfortable | Alright | I like it! | Got Pics? | Let’s do it! | Why is this not getting more attention?! | The OTP to rule all other OTPs

How long will they last? – FOR.EVER.  The Kings went against character for drama’s sake and they can SUCK IT

How quickly did/will they fall in love? – Within days.  It took a  bit of time for them to both accept it but it was relatively quickly

How was their first kiss? – I’m choosing to believe their first kiss was when Diane initiated it, in the restaurant, her in the blue dress, her walking back up to him and taking what she wanted.  It was     fantastic.  He wasn’t expecting it and she goes, “no, you know what?   This is how it should be.”  And then it was just right.  

Wedding:

Who proposed? – She did!  And then he took her up on it. It was     non-traditional and awesome.

Who is the best man/men? – (they didn’t do traditional but if I had to guess I’d say it’d be an OC from his family. Like a nephew or someone)

Who is the bride’s maid(s)? – (again, they didn’t do this but I like to believe it’d be Kalinda because she was fucking awesome and Diane could actually trust her.)

Who did the most planning? – um? Maybe Diane? but nothing obsessive or anything. Just like “my calendar works here, what do you think?”

Who stressed the most? – Him. Wondering if she’d show up because he was there before her and they weren’t at 100% to begin with

How fancy was the ceremony? - Back of a pickup truck | 2 | 3 | 4 | Normal Church Wedding | 6 | 7 | 8 |  9 | Kate and William wish they were this big.*They got married in the courthouse so it wasn’t anything super     fancy.  But they dressed nicely so it’s not like they got married in the back of a pickup.  Even Kurt wouldn’t have been okay with that and he’s “rustic” and not just because he was marrying class, incarnate!  He’s got class too!

Who was specifically not invited to the wedding? – ALICIA and PETER FLORRICK. Because that bitch deserves hellfire!  GRR!

Sex:

Who is on top? – They switch.  It all depends on the time and place and mood, etc.

Who is the one to instigate things? – I think it’s an even split.     Although I like the idea of her initiating it more often because     girlfriend gets what she wants. Right?

How healthy is their sex life? - Barely touch themselves let alone each other | 2 | 3 | 4 | Once a couple weeks, nothing overboard | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They are humping each other on the couch right now*It’s extremely healthy (the last option doesn’t make it sound healthy. It makes them sound like nymphomaniacs and that’s not healthy. So HA) And it’s an incredible experience

How kinky are they? - Straight missionary with the lights off | 2 | 3 | 4 | Might try some butt stuff and toys | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Don’t go into the sex dungeon without ahorse’s head*And I’ve got fic to prove it!!!     And that’s not to say they don’t enjoy vanilla sex, because they do!

How long do they normally last? – It all depends.  They can do quickies in the barn or between court appearances in the parking lot (*ahem*) or 3 hour making love sessions when they’ve got time and need to just explore.  I guess, on average, from end to end, I want to say at least 45 minutes?

Do they make sure each person gets an equal amount of orgasms? – Of course.  But then again, sometimes they do for one another and don’t expect anything in return (*cough cough* healthy relationship)

How rough are they in bed? - Softer than a butterfly on the back of a bunny | 2 | 3 | 4 | The bed’s shaking and squeaking every time | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Their dirty talk is so vulgar it’d make Dwayne Johnson blush. Also, the wall’s so weak it could collapse the next time they do it. *All of the above.  It all depends.

How much cuddling/snuggling do they do? - No touching after sex | 2 | 3 | 4 | A little spooning at night, or on the couch, but not in public | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They snuggle and kiss  more often than a teen couple on their fifth date to a pillow factory.*Again, all of the above (not a cop-out, they’re versatile)

Children:(btw,I don’t like them with children, it just doesn’t fit.  If they were younger, maybe, it’d be easierto fathom? Although her getting all dreamy-eyed thinking about them with himwas incredibly heart-wrenching and I sort of wanted to see it happen?  I’m conflicted!)

How many children will they have naturally? - None

How many children will they adopt? - None

Who gets stuck with the most diapers? - Neither

Who is the stricter parent? – Diane

Who stops the kid(s) from doing dangerous stunts after school? - Neither

Who remembers to pack the lunch(es)? - Neither

Who is the more loved parent? - Neither

Who is more likely to attend the PTA meetings? - Diane

Who cried the most at graduation? – Diane?

Who is more likely to bail the child(ren) out of trouble with the law? - Kurt

Cooking: 

Who does the most cooking? – Kurt.  He enjoys it

Who is the most picky in their     food choice? – Kurt.  She’s     trying to broaden his horizons, though

Who does the grocery shopping? – Kurt. But Diane tries to go with sometimes

How often do they bake desserts? –  Every once in a while.  Diane will bake him something every so often whenever she’s feeling domestic or wants to make him feel special.  The house smelling of seasonal cookies is something that just makes it feel “homey” and they love it

Are they more of a meat lover or a salad eater? – I feel like they’re meat eaters (cowboy and a badass bitch) but she’s kind of gotten him into salads (by introducing meat)

Who is more likely to surprise the other(s) with an anniversary dinner? – Diane. He usually cooks so she tries to do something special for him

Who is more likely to suggest going out? – Hmmm, I feel like they both appreciate a home-cooked meal (for different reasons- she’s always eating out with clients and he’s a cowboy)

Who is more likely to burn the house down accidentally while cooking? – Diane. She doesn’t cook all that often but likes baking- it’s not always baking season, though.  It’s good that Kurt likes cooking

Chores: 

Who cleans the room? – I feel like they’d have a cleaning service but not like in an uptight way?

Who is really against chores?  - Kurt

Who cleans up after the pets? – Kurt.  Although I wouldn’t put it past Diane to take care of what needs to be taken care of

Who is more likely to sweep everything under the rug? – Kurt. You know, til the cleaning service showed up

Who stresses the most when guests are coming over? – Diane.  But it’s mostly for appearances (but she’s not shallow…) until she sees Kurt and he calms her and lets her know that everything is all right and it’s really okay

Who found a dollar between the couch cushions while cleaning? – the cleaning service!  (Actually, I like Kurt for this)

Misc:

Who takes the longer showers/baths? – Diane likes nice relaxing baths.  Unless he decides to join her in the shower.  In which case lord knows how long it’ll go (well, til the hot water runs out)

Who takes the dog out for a walk? –  They do it together on his property

How often do they decorate the room/house for the holidays? – Christmas, definitely.  And maybe if it’s a big birthday.  But not much else

What are their goals for the relationship? – Trust.  Comfort.

Who is most likely to sleep till noon? – Diane.  And it’d be after     being sexed just right ALL freaking night

Who plays the most pranks? – I want to say Diane but maybe if they did this, it’d be sorta split

*THANK YOU ANON!! I LOVED THIS SO MUCH!!*

[foxcroft-rpg-blog]

Congratulations, Amber! I really enjoyed reading your application. You really understand the cruel irony that makes up so much of his sister. He couldn’t save his sister then, but now he could, but it’s too late. I can’t wait to see where you take his character and how you explore that cruel cruel irony. 

Thanks again for applying! Please create your account and send in the link, track the right tags, and follow everyone on the masterlist as soon as you can. Welcome to Foxcroft!

OUT OF CHARACTER

Name: Amber

Age: 22

Preferred pronouns: she/her

Time zone: PST

Activity: 6-7/10! I try to get on at least every other day, although I do tend to disappear over the weekends (I’ll be on more during the week though, to make up for it). I work full time, but when I’m not working, rping is one of my favorite hobbies! In May that schedule will shift, as I’ll be going back to school and dropping down to part time work, but I should still be able to get on the dash! I’ve always managed to find time to rp, even when I’m attending school :)

Anything else?: N/A!

IN CHARACTER

Full name: Wells Donovan

Date of birth: January 13th, 1990 (which makes him a Capricorn, for anyone wondering)

How long have they been in Foxcroft: For some, Foxcroft means something, whether that be home, security, or the place that’s trapped them. For Wells, it’s just another small town. Another place he’ll settle briefly, until he can afford to move on. After all, Wells has only lived in Foxcroft for about half a year. For him, that’s a significant amount of time, at least compared to his normal schedule — typically he puts each town in his rear view mirror within a year, meaning he should be about halfway through his tenure in Foxcroft. In a town where just about everyone is a local though, his novelty sets him apart from most, making him somewhat of an enigma, especially given his quiet nature.

Sexuality: Bisexual — not that Wells thinks much of it. He keeps to himself, and that includes both romance and sex. Even if he wanted something real, his complete inability to stay in one place limits his options. Every now and then someone catches his eye, but it’s only ever a no strings attached hookup, and Wells always finds himself leaving that town almost immediately afterwards. It’s not that he wants to be alone  — if anything, Wells desperately wants connection. He’s just afraid of what it’ll mean. Saying goodbye is inevitable, and it’s too hard. He’d rather just keep everyone at arm’s length. It’s easier that way.

FC change: N/A

MORE

How do you interpret this character’s personality? How will you portray them? Include two weaknesses and two strengths. (2+ paragraphs)

It’s hard to describe Wells without describing Whitney too, because for much of his formative years, Wells was part of a pair. Wells and Whitney; Whitney and Wells. Two kids, against the world. Wells was the more awkward of the two, less sure of himself, but Whitney could always get him to smile. And while she was more trusting, more naive, Wells was always there to protect her. They both had nightmares of the foster care system separating them, but Wells never stopped to consider the possibility that death, so much more permanent and terrifying, might take his sister from him.

After Whitney died, Wells retreated into himself. His foster family tried to reach him, but they couldn’t. They meant well, but they’d only known Whitney for a few years. To them, it was merely sad. To Wells, it was beyond devastating. It was the loss of the only constant he’d ever known, and he didn’t know how to cope.

So Wells gave up on consistency and security, and took to the road as soon as he was able. He would’ve claimed it was for freedom or adventure or some other bullshit ideal, but in truth, Wells was running. Staying in one place for too long meant getting attached, and Wells couldn’t afford that anymore. Whitney’s death left him too fragile for that — how could he handle loving and losing again?

When he’s forced to settle down and save up money, Wells chooses smaller towns, places where it’s quiet. He finds work as a mechanic because it’s practical, and because he likes working with his hands. Besides, without even a high school degree to his name, it’s the best job he can find. He keeps to himself, staying quiet and staying out of everyone else’s business. He’s friendly enough with everyone, but it’s superficial, and he tries not to make much of an impression. When it’s time to leave, Wells does so without any regrets, and after a while, the towns and faces tend to blur together. It’s better that way. Once or twice, Wells has found himself considering what it’d be like to live in this town or the other for real, but he always shakes himself out of that reverie soon enough. This is his life, for better or for worse.

And this is the better version, probably. He’s a foster kid from a nowhere town, lugging around the memories of his dead family. Wells thinks he could do worse than a life on the road. At least he likes the peace and quiet, enjoys the long hours spent fixing his old car or watching the highway fly by. There’s a certain beauty to be found on the road. He doesn’t have a safe place to land, not anymore, but that’s alright — because as long as he doesn’t stop, nothing can catch up to him.

(strengths: practical, self sufficient, adaptable, calm. weaknesses: escapist, closed off, antisocial, lonely)

How did this character react to the death of Hazel Abrams? Adam Foxcroft? (1+ paragraphs)

Wells wasn’t in town for Hazel’s death, and at the moment, he’s barely aware that it even happened. If he was, he might’ve connected the initials on the bicycle sitting in the shop with the name of Foxcroft’s first dead child. As things stand now, Wells is vaguely aware that Adam wasn’t the first tragedy in town, but that’s about it. As far as Adam’s death goes, Wells didn’t know the kid. He might have seen him once or twice around town, but it’s hard to say.  All the faces were still too new at the time, and Wells wasn’t exactly paying attention to anyone in particular. In a vague way, he thinks it’s sad. Adam was too young to die, but then again, death doesn’t care about those kinds of things. It may sound cruel, but he wasn’t impacted by Adam’s death, even if he saw the way it changed the town around him. He did his best to console the people who came into his shop, and he felt for them, but Wells preferred it when they grieved elsewhere and left him alone with whatever mechanics they needed fixed. Tragedy happens. At least it wasn’t someone he knew this time (which is, of course, why Wells very carefully knows no one)

How do they see the town and its people? Think about the different groups of people and prejudices the town holds about them. (1+ paragraphs)

Wells doesn’t think much of Foxcroft. It’s another small, nowhere town, and it’s one in a long list of places Wells has stayed in the past few years. He’s aware of the various prejudices that plague Foxcroft, but he doesn’t think of them as anything special. It’s awful, but small towns tend to breed that kind of thing. Lord knows he’s seen it often enough, when he’s unfortunate to land in a place that turns him back out in the cold for being biracial, or for kissing a boy. People in small towns live in a bubble, and they forget that in the whole wide world, there are billions of people different from them. That’s one of the things he likes about traveling — Wells’ life is never stagnant, and he never forgets how many different types of people populate the world. Wells keeps an open mind about Foxcroft’s residences, and tries not to judge anyone prematurely (unless they judge him first), but he’s not looking to learn about any of them on a deeper level. He just wants to do a good job at the Wicked Wrench, save his money, and hit the road again as soon as possible. Foxcroft will have to sort out its issues on its own.

For non-human characters: What does this character know about what they’ve become? Have they had any experiences that made them aware that weren’t exactly human? Elaborate. (2+ paragraphs)

Wells is completely unaware that Foxcroft is changing him. He’d have to touch someone to heal them, and at the moment, Wells’ main physical contact is with machinery. Besides, he can barely deal with his own wounds, preferring to simply  outrun the past rather than deal with it. He can’t go out of his way to heal anyone else’s. In time, it’ll feel slightly ironic  — Wells is far from tactile, and he spends much of his time lost in his own head, so what does it mean to have a power based entirely on touch and compassion?

Wells has only been in Foxcroft for about six months, and as such, he hasn’t had many experiences that even hint at the supernatural. Maybe he’s gone to shake hands with a customer and felt his back ache, or perhaps he’s brushed up against someone at the supermarket only to have his leg inexplicably throb, but he doesn’t think anything of it. Reading into those situations would mean leaving the realm of reality behind, and Wells firmly considers himself a skeptic. It’ll take a much bigger event for Wells to consider himself as anything other than fully human.

Please include 1-2 possible plots your see for this character:

Possible plots:

Wells is a drifter and a loner, and he never spends too much time in any town. I’d like to see something anchor him to Foxcroft. He deserves a place to catch his breath, even if he’s not quite ready to put down any roots. This could be something good, like a relationship or a friendship, or something bad, like the fear of what will happen if he leaves Foxcroft and its residence to their fate. Either way, Wells has been on the run for too long, and adjusting to life in Foxcroft, instead of just seeing Foxcroft as one more stop on the road, would be an entirely new feeling.

When Wells truly discovers his powers, it’ll be hard to feel anything but bitterness. He would’ve done anything to save Whitney. He’d been there, holding her hand, and she’d still slipped away from her. How fucking cruel it will be to learn that he can heal people now, when it’s too late to do anything to save the one person he’s ever truly cared for. I imagine that he’ll try to ignore his newfound powers at first, especially since they come at great cost to him, but if he truly had the choice between saving someone and ignoring their pain, his own guilt would force him to reach out and heal them no matter the cost. His head may say one thing (protect yourself), but his heart will say another (help them), and in the end, it won’t be reason that wins

Possible connections:

Shae Mckinley: Wells firmly doesn’t believe in psychics, or communing with the dead, but as it becomes clear that things in Foxcroft aren’t what they seem, he’ll be drawn to Shae. If he can heal people with his bare hands, if there are others who can breathe underwater or survive a gunshot to the heart — why can’t there be someone who talks with the dead? In the end, he’ll seek out Shae, because a chance to talk to his sister again is impossible to ignore.

Amelia Foxcroft: He doesn’t want to hear her story, because it reminds him too much of his own. Amelia is, perhaps, the one person in town who gets what it’s like to lose a sibling. That thought has Wells, uncharacteristically, going out of his way to help her. He doesn’t have much to bring to the table, but at the very least, he can offer her food, or free tune ups on her car.  He doesn’t know how to communicate it, but he feels like he understands at least a bit of her pain.

Logan Lockwood: Wells finds his way to Logan’s bar fairly often. He orders a single beer after a hard day, and nurses it throughout the night, preferring to watch the people who come and go without speaking to them. At the end of the night, if there’s anyone who’s clearly about to drive drunk, Wells gives them a ride home or calls them a taxi (if there had been someone doing that in his hometown, maybe Whitney would still be alive). Wells doesn’t ever open up to Foxcroft’s bartender, but he’s heard others do so, and he appreciates the way Logan listens to each and every one of them. Sometimes he wonders, idly, what the bartender’s story is like. He never asks though.

Any character: They remind him of Whitney, and that hurts. He can’t look them in the eye, but he seeks them out all the same. He should be able to deal with it (after all, it’s been years since Whitney’s death), but Wells has never truly coped with the loss of his family, and that leaves him vulnerable. This person is an unwelcome reminder, but in a small town like Foxcroft, they’re impossible to ignore.

WRITING SAMPLE

Welcome to Foxcroft, the sign said as his headlights reflected off it. Coming into a town at night was never a good idea, but here he was, tank low on gas and dangerously close to being too broke to fill it up again. Once again, he needed money, and Foxcroft seemed as good a place as any to stop for a year or so. There weren’t many other places in the area anyway, so he didn’t have much of a choice. He’d worry about getting a job and housing later, but for now, Wells just needed some food and somewhere to sleep.

Foxcroft seemed like a ‘blink and you’ll miss it’ kind of town, and that was exactly what Wells wanted. Another blip in his history. Another place that he’d forget, and who would forget him. His headlights were the main form of illumination at this hour of the night, and Wells drove slowly down the bumpy road, watching as ramshackle buildings fell behind him. Eventually, Wells spotted flickering neon lights and he angled his car towards them, automatically drawn to the first sign of life he’d seen in Foxcroft tonight. That paid off when he spotted the sign, and Wells smiled. Rudford’s Diner. Open 24 hours. That was exactly what he needed.

He’d expected to find an empty diner, but there were a few people inside. A group of kids, all crammed into a corner booth. A couple taking up an entire table, but steadfastly not looking at each other. Their presence didn’t make it feel like any less of a ghost town, but from Wells’ experience, most small town diners took on an otherworldly vibe when the sun set. He took a seat at the counter anyway. “A coffee and a burger, please,” he said, with a brief smile at the waitress.

When she returned, he made sure to tip generously, despite his low funds. Usually, that meant people were happy enough to leave him alone, but that didn’t stop her from speaking up anyway. “Haven’t seen you in town before, have I??” Her words were flat at the end, a statement more than a question. Clearly, they didn’t see much tourism here.

“Just passing through,” Wells said, taking a sip of his coffee too soon and burning his tongue. If anyway, that woke him up more, and he took another drink. At least the coffee was good.

“What brings you to Foxcroft then?”

He shrugged. “Nothing.” And then, after thinking about it for a second. “Know anyone who’s hiring mechanics?”

EXTRA [THIS SECTION WILL NOT INFLUENCE ACCEPTANCE]

How would you feel about this character dying?: I think I probably would be alright with it! As long as it serves the plot and Wells’ personal arc well, that is. If it does come to that point, I’d definitely prefer to know beforehand and, if applicable, I’d like to be able to pick up another character after Wells passes away!

Why did you choose this character?: Wells has so much room to grow. At the moment he’s so solitary, and so afraid of what will happen if he lets himself stay in one place for too long. If given the chance, I’d love to explore all the effects of his stay in Foxcroft. He’s finally landed in a town that’s going to sink its claws into him, for better or for worse, and there’s definitely going to be consequences…even if Wells isn’t ready to deal with them.  

Extras: I’ve recently gotten really into pinterest, so you can check out his board here [x]! Just a heads up, there is one image with blood in it.  

How did you find us?: (certain roleplay tags, friend referral, etc.) I saw your promo go around my rp blog’s dash :)

[angstymarshmallow]

Coming to Terms (The Freshman)

Coming to Terms - MC x Zig fanfic.

[I was working on this for awhile and debated on posting. Honestly; between @choicesmyway and @hollyashton and their Zig fanfics; motivated me to finally post this! Comments and criticisms are always welcomed! :) Am i the only one that has a difficult time writing about characters that already have personalities? Don’t quite feel like I’ve gotten it perfectly ]

The light jingle of the coffee shop’s doors caused Dia’s eyes to jerk up abruptly; trying to sneak a quick view of the next person that came through. Her disappointment was evident when she realized it hadn’t been her favorite barista and she lowered her gaze back to the mocha in front of her. The freshly made coffee did little to quell her nerves as she took a sip. 

Despite her attempts at remaining her usual calm and self-assured self, she couldn’t stop herself from sneaking quick glances at the entrance every so often.

Nearly a week had passed since their first date and she had been avoiding him ever since. She thought it would be easier that way; stowing away whatever conflicted feelings she felt for a guy she barely knew. It also meant that she had to ditch this place as her favorite hangout spot. She convinced herself that it had been her only option. Ignoring here meant that she didn’t have to face him. Ignoring here made the night she spent in his arms less real.

Except it hadn’t made it less real; as soon as she stepped foot inside this place she was assailed by unwavering memories. Kissing him under a darkly lit room, roaming her hands underneath his taut flesh – wanting to strip every single piece of cloth between them because she had been itching to touch him. The feeling of his hands skimming across her abdomen, tracing non-symmetrical patterns across her delicate flesh until it quivered before delving further. The ardent kisses he pressed firmly into the side of her neck as his fingers had worked magic on the rest of her, drawing needy moans from her wonton mouth. He took her to heights she’d never been before, over and over again until they were both spent.

She pressed her eyes firmly together as the details washed over her.

She tried for a whole week to deter every attempt to make the trip here. She didn’t meet up with the rest of her friends; always finding a weak excuse to stop them from asking why –  even though nearly every nerve in her body had wanted to. She wanted to run up to him, to kiss those lips that had drove her mad with passion that night, to press stubbornly into him and run her hands greedily through his hair.

Thankfully, her brain was smarter than the rest of her. She kept busy; worked on her novel, convincing herself that it was more important than exploring whatever feelings she thought she had.

At least, that was the case until today. Today, Kaitlyn and Abbie had finally worn her down long enough to confront her about her own conflicting feelings. They insisted that she grabbed her big girl pants and marched down here.

And here she finally was, in the coffee shop that they’d met weeks ago. She realized that she missed this place more than she expected, more than she wanted to admit.  The only problem was; no sooner than arriving did she realize that he was nowhere in sight. She hadn’t concerned herself with his schedule and subsequently didn’t know his work hours. Before she could think better of it she had ordered a mocha and took a seat.

Ten minutes later, she still hadn’t touched her warm beverage but kept mulling over that night and every so often she felt her eyes being drawn inadvertently back to that damned door.

What am I doing? She wailed inwardly, questioning her own sanity. She hadn’t thought it was possible. Being hung up over a guy after one date had never been feasible before. She fidgeted nervously in her seat as she waited for him to arrive. Sooner or later he had to start his shift.

Her eyes inexplicably went to the entrance as she heard the light jingle again. Her pulse quickened once she spotted his lean figure by the door. She couldn’t manage a simple greeting to catch his attention.

She couldn’t find her voice. Somehow seeing him had struck her ability to speak. Her throat dried when his eyes met hers and recognition swarmed him before he briskly made his way over.

The feeling of trepidation assailed her, made her hesitate once he got closer. Ignoring it, she managed a semblance of a smile. She had to remind herself that she wasn’t the type of woman to swoon over a guy. It wasn’t in her.

Nevertheless, Dia couldn’t it squash it entirely after seeing him. Suddenly, their time in that bar was all she could think about. And if she was being honest with herself – it scared her. She barely knew him, yet the rush she felt at seeing him and the undeniable connection inside her gut reminded her that it wasn’t meaningless.

He grinned as he took a seat across from her. “So here we are.” He began conversationally.

He didn’t look any different. In fact, not seeing him for a whole week made her painfully aware of just how handsome he was–smooth cheekbones, firm jawline, the smugness that held in his dark eyes. Why did he have to be so handsome?

She lifted her eyebrows, “I figured this was a good place as any.” It was ample public and she hoped that would be enough to keep her hands from wanting to touch him.

“What’s up?” He tilted his head at her questioningly, “For someone that usually likes her mochas in the morning, I haven’t seen you all week.”

He knew her order.

The little comment had softened her. Maybe he was wondering why he hadn’t seen her after everything that happened between them, maybe he missed her just as much as she missed him.

She kept her voice coy and shrugged. “Maybe I started going someplace else. This place isn’t the only cafe in Hartfeld.” She teased, trying to keep her tone light. She was stalling; and he could sense it. She didn’t know why but suddenly the thought of talking made her want to leave. She hadn’t reached out to him – but he didn’t make an effort to either. What if she read him wrong? What if he didn’t want a second date?

His dark eyes didn’t give anything away but he leaned back inside his seat. “And what if I said I missed handing you your coffee every morning?”

A quick smile escaped her lips. “Then I’d say there’s plenty of other girls to hand coffee to every morning.” She leaned forward a little and caught his eyes dropping to her cleavage for a split second before travelling back to meet her smile.

“And what if I told you you’re the only girl that I wanted to hand coffee to?”

Suddenly, she wasn’t sure if they were talking about the same thing anymore. She hadn’t responded, not right away anyway. “I’d say that’s tough considering it’s your job and all to take everyone’s orders.” She drawled.

He laughed.

It was a pleasant sound and she decided in that moment that she wanted to spend a lot more time making him laugh. “So what brings you here?” He glanced at the clock overhead briefly, “I’ve got a couple minutes before my shift starts.”

All the confidence she had in herself dwindled. Usually, it was easy for her and didn’t mind flaunting it. Men found confidence attractive. Except, it was all but missing now. She leaned back to create some distance between them, deciding that she needed to collect her thoughts. “Right well, uh.” She stopped short, realizing that she had no clue what to say. How does one bring up sleeping with someone on the first date?

It seemed like he wanted to take the reins on this one. “I know you’ve been avoiding me since our date.”

Ah, here we go. Her shoulders stiffened but otherwise she kept her expression wary. She didn’t want him to guess what she was thinking. “I needed time to think.” She told him after releasing the breath she was holding. “To kind of sort out how I feel.” She confessed.

He nodded, as if he understood. “I get that.” He drew a deep breath, and his eyes flickered with intensity that she hadn’t expected. “Things kinda got out of hand – ”

“I wanted it to.” She interrupted. She didn’t want to give him the wrong idea. “I wanted it to get out of hand I mean.” She dragged a hand through her blonde hair. God, why was talking about this so difficult? “And if you’re going to apologise about it then don’t.” It wasn’t as if it was a first for her; just the feelings she had after were. “I don’t regret it and neither should you.”

“Good, because I wasn’t going to apologize.” He leaned forward and rested a hand on the table. “In fact, I’d very much like to do it again.”

She laughed huskily. Inwardly, her stomach was doing summersaults. “Dating or hooking up?” She reached across the table to lightly trace circles across his hand.

“Both.” He muttered, catching her hand and bringing it to his lips. “Like I told you before, I really like you and I’d like to see where this goes.”

She smiled, feeling relieved. She tried to convince herself that if he hadn’t wanted that it wouldn’t have mattered; but hearing him feel exactly the same had lifted her spirits. She watched their entwined hands for a moment before reaching over to kiss him.

He kissed her back, gripping her hand tightly before using his other hand to cup her cheek. He caressed them gently before pulling away slightly to smirk at her. “I knew you missed me.”

Before she could retort, a whistle from the counter made them spring apart.

“I better go start my shift.” He told her, jerking his head towards the counter. “Meet up later?”

“Hmmm.” She pretended to think about it. “I guess I could fit you in my busy schedule.” Before he could stand, she snuck another kiss. “Till then I’ll give you this to think about.” She murmured in between kisses.

Zig uttered a low groan and looked torn between going behind the desk and hanging back to kiss her again.

She laughed and shoved him playfully. “Go, we’ll have plenty of time later.” She gave him a parting smile and watched him until he disappeared into the back. Finishing her coffee, she left a small tip. She headed towards the direction of her dorm, hoping he was anticipating their reunion as much as she was.

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