#I���m so rusty with my art and out of practice

[sceletaflores]

Being a professional masseur for players and taking care of our boy art.

Hes just so sad and so pretty that you just giving head to make him feel better 😔

Plot twist: he falls in love with you because duh? Hot+sex=you being promoted pookie, you are now the donaldsons elite employes!!!!!!

Baby, show me where it hurts...

pairing: art donaldson x fem!reader

summary: you never intended on becoming a "celebrity" massage therapist. you just wanted to be a massage therapist, the whole celebrity thing just sort of happened, you blame cali for that. but the novelty of your job wore off long ago, you hardly blink at the clients on your table nowadays. that is until tashi duncan calls you and absolutely fucks everything up

— or: art donaldson needs a massage therapist…

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, oral (m!receiving), oral (fem!receiving), p in v, fingering (fem!receiving), angst? maybe? could this be considered angst?, slight age gap, no tashi duncan erasure because i don't stand for that, cheating but not really cause tashi knows, she always knows, she is an all seeing eye, and she kind of orchestrates it, SOOOOO much plot, like way too much i'm sorry, art being sad and tired, art also being kinda pathetic a little bit, unprofessional massages, no use of y/n.

word count: 10k+ (someone stop me....pls still read this lmao)

author's note: this ask was blessedly placed in my inbox and it was all i’ve thought about since. this is my first big fic since my mike schmidt days so hopefully i'm not rusty! i've seen this damn cursed hell movie ten times, so hopefully i do it justice. i'm also still struggling sooo much with art and tashi as characters so please bear with me if they aren't movie accurate i'm trying my best. okay. thank you. hope you love it! mwah xoxo.

You don't get starstruck often, not anymore at least. The clients that find their way onto your table are just that in your eyes, clients. You don't see them as big time "celebrities”. Just men and women who need your professional help.

That being said, you almost dropped your phone the first time the Tashi Duncan called you.

It was a normal work day for you, spent buried in paperwork and training a new secretary. You're folding the steam room towels on your lunch break when your phone rings. No caller ID, you answer it anyways.

"Hello, you've reached Lush Retreat Med Spa," you rattle off into your phone, placing it between your ear and shoulder to continue folding. "How can we help you?"

"This is Tashi Duncan calling for Art Donaldson, we've heard great things about you and were hoping to schedule an appointment."

The towel drops from your hands, your mouth falling open in shock. You reach up to tightly grip your phone, not wanting to embarrass yourself by dropping your phone with Tashi fucking Duncan on the end of the line.

Of course you know who she is, but doesn't everyone? The tennis prodigy from Stanford who was on top of the world when a tragic knee injury stole everything from her in a single second. You absolutely idolized her when you were in high school and playing tennis competitively. You watched all the recorded matches you could get your hands on, wore your DUNCANATOR shirts to practice constantly, only bought the tennis rackets she used. You had her fucking posters plastered on the walls of your old bedroom for Christ's sake.

That was until you, ironically, shattered your wrist in a car accident and had to hang up the racket and pleated skirts forever. Just like her.

Now, Tashi Duncan and Art Donaldson are California royalty. An unfairly beautiful couple living what seems to be the dream. You'd never kept up much with Art's career like you did Tashi's, but you follow them both on Instagram and you see his face on billboards all over the city almost daily so you can assume it was fruitful. It may help him that he's extremely easy on the eyes, or "super fucking hot!" in your coworkers words.

"Hello?" Her voice ringing out from the tiny speaker ripped you out of your thoughts and back into reality.

"Y-yes, sorry," you cringe internally at yourself, stuttering over your words like a loser. You force yourself to sound professional when you speak again, "We'd love to help you any way we can. Do you have a certain time and date in mind already?"

"We're not home right now, we were thinking next Thursday. Around four." There's no question mark on the end of her sentence, you know that she isn't asking you, she's telling you. You don't even bother to check the schedule before you're answering.

"We will be free that day. I'll go ahead and put you in our system." you rush over to the front desk computer and open the calendar, thankfully you are actually free for Thursday. "I'm assuming you know our location?" you ask as you type in the appointment details, ignoring how your fingers shake ever so slightly as you type Tashi into the slot.

"Actually," Tashi's voice has a different tone to it when she speaks again, it’s something you can’t quite place, your fingers slow down slightly as you listen, "we wanted to make this a home visit."

You stop typing completely, brows furrowed in confusion as you stare at your computer screen. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Donaldson but we don't do at home appointments…per our policy." you reply meekly, almost surprised that you're denying her.

"Duncan, actually,” she corrects you nonchalantly, you don’t have time to unpack that before she’s speaking again. “We did read that on your website, but we'd hope you might make an exception. You wouldn't need to bring much. We have our own table." Her tone isn't harsh or impolite, just firm and certain, like she knows you'll give in to her.

You do.

"Well," you bite your lip as you wrestle internally with yourself, torn between what you want to do and what you should do. "Okay, we can do that for you."

"Great. I'll send you the address. See you then." She hangs up without saying goodbye.

You plant your phone next to you and stare at the filled out appointment slot taking up your computer screen, processing what just happened. You're going to Tashi Duncan's house. To give her hot pro-tennis player husband a massage. In their house.

"What the fuck."

SIX DAYS LATER...

The walk up to The Donaldson's huge mansion on a mountain has your stomach turning in on itself. All week you were a ball of nervous energy just floating around your office, trying to find anything to distract you from your upcoming appointment. Now that it's here, you feel you may have bitten off more than you could chew.

You hardly got any sleep last night, tossing and turning in your bed for hours before you gave up, barging into your building's gym to try and sweat your nerves out. When that didn't work you just retreated back to your apartment and got ready.

You try not to think about why it took you so long to get ready, longer than most work mornings. Taking more time in the shower, more time doing your hair, more time doing your makeup.

You even choose an outfit you'd hardly ever wear in front of regular clientele. A matching white polo set, a skirt in place of shorts. You tell yourself that you just want to look good, who wants to look like a mess in front of Tashi Duncan?

Your hands white-knuckle the steering wheel of your car on the drive over. You couldn’t even play any music, the noise in your head already too loud as it was, only cranking up the AC and silently following the crisp voice of your GPS reading off the directions Tashi sent you.

The closer you get to the door the more you want to turn and run down the insanely long driveway, get back in your car and haul ass home without ever looking back.

You don't because you're a professional, or at least that's what you keep telling yourself.

Your hand shakes as you ring their doorbell, hearing it echo back at you from the inside. You only wait a few seconds before the large door swings open and there she is.

Tashi Duncan is every bit as beautiful in person as she is splashed across the pages of magazines and blown up twenty feet on billboards. She looks so effortlessly classy in her Ralph Lauren sweater and flowy black dress pants.

Your name falls from her lips, and all the blood rushes to your ears. Her silky voice wraps around each syllable with an enticing heat that makes you weak in the knees. You feel sixteen years old all over again, standing at the woman who basically molded you into who you are today. It's a dizzying sensation, the rush of nostalgia and emotions flooding in like an avalanche. The memories you have locked away in your brain of the countless late night practices, the hundreds of hours spent on the court, the trophies and ribbons littering your moms basement collecting dust, the refusal to give up and pushing your body past its own limits because you wanted to be just like her. You wanted to be Tashi Duncan, and when you catch yourself nervously rubbing your thumb over the scar spanning your right wrist, you guess in some sick twisted way that you kind of are.

"So glad you could make it," she greets breezily, stepping to the side to let you in. “We were worried you’d get lost.”

The house is, of course, beautiful on the inside. Tall ceilings, big fireplace, a beautiful staircase leading to the second floor. There’s toys strewn messily along the living room floor, the TV mounted on the wall is paused on ESPN.

You hope you don’t look as crazy as you feel taking in the space, taking in the fact that Tashi is standing right in front of you. 

“No, the directions were very helpful,” your voice only slightly wavers as you respond, you count that as a win, “it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Donalds–uh–Duncan.” You cringe at your fumble, but try to power through by extending Tashi your hand.

She watches you for a second, sharp eyes flicking over your body quickly like she’s inspecting you. It makes your cheeks feel warm as you struggle to not squirm underneath her gaze. Finally, she takes your hand in hers and gives it a firm shake. You ignore the way her touch makes your palm burn.

“Art should already be in the massage room, it’s in the pool house,” Tashi says, gesturing to the huge windows in the living room showing off a lavish underground pool with a smaller building situated next to it, “I have to take a phone call here in a few minutes so I trust you’ll find your way there.”

You nod slowly, adjusting the strap of your supply bag on your shoulder. Tashi doesn't even pause walking further into the house as she speaks to you, heels clicking with each step as she makes her way to the large staircase in the middle of the room. There’s still no question marks tacked on to the end of her sentences, just like over the phone. 

“It’s just through that door, first room on the left. I told him to leave the door open for you.” She continues, reaching the stairs and making her way up slowly. She tosses her head over her shoulder to make eye contact with you again. “He’s been complaining about his shoulder acting up. The right one, it’s what needs the most attention. He serves with that arm, we need it at a hundred.” she fires off casually, like she’s recited this information before.

You go to speak but her phone ringing cuts you off, echoing off the house's crisp white walls. “Thank you for coming to see us, it was nice meeting you.” Tashi says politely, giving you one final once over before she’s answering her phone and disappearing up the stairs.

“It was nice meeting you too…” you trail off quietly, fully caught off guard by whatever the hell that was. Out of every single time you’d fantasized about what meeting Tashi Duncan would be like, none of them were quite like this. At least it’s over you figure, and you even managed to not make a complete fool of yourself.

You hold onto that tiny win as you walk through the living room doors and outside, making your way to the pool house like Tashi instructed. The entrance is unlocked as you step inside, thankfully you spot the cracked door a little ways in front of you. 

The sound of your footsteps are loud as you make your way down the short hallway, tennis shoes making small thump sounds against the concrete floor. You pause for just a second outside the cracked door, taking a deep breath before pushing it open and stepping inside. The room is empty, the only things inside are some shelves lined with various essential oils and lotions, and an expensive looking massage table in the center. You muse over the fact that their table looks a little better than the ones in your own spa, no wonder they wanted a home visit.

The room is well lit as you walk around, dim in a way that promotes relaxation. The soft, ambient lighting bathes the room in a gentle, golden glow, complemented by the flicker of aromatic candles placed strategically around the space. You wonder who lit them, Tashi? Or maybe Art? You let out a small laugh at the idea of Tashi Duncan and Art Donaldson fawning over the room before you showed up, setting up candles and mood lighting to make it feel nicer, less clinical.

You’re probably just reading too much into it. You always urge clients to ask for anything that will make them feel more comfortable, apparently Art just likes eucalyptus sage candles and mood lighting. It has nothing to do with you. 

Your name being said from somewhere behind you rips you out of your own mind. You whirl around, and find yourself face to face with six time Grand Slam Champion, Tashi Duncan’s super hot husband, Art Donaldson. And he’s only wearing a fucking towel.

“Hello,” he greets with a kind smile, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “it’s nice to finally meet you, thank you so much for taking the time to come out here.” 

Art is already worlds different from Tashi, or that’s what you’re inferring after spending less than five minutes with each of them. It’s still extremely apparent, Tashi has an almost overpowering presence to her, everything about her commands respect and she knows that. She uses that to her advantage, she likes it like that.

The man standing in front of you is nothing like that. The Art Donaldson in front of you doesn’t seem like some big shot tennis player with more impressive stats than you could wrap your head around. You’ve come to know that a few pro-sports guys like to swing their dicks around, bragging about their booming careers non-stop during a session. Yet everything about Art is unassuming as he stands in the doorway like he’s trying to make himself look smaller. 

“Hi, Mr. Donaldson,” you’re not sure if it's appropriate to offer a man wearing a towel dangerously low on his hips your hand, you decide against it. “It’s no trouble really, I’m happy to help.”

“Please, call me Art.” The tone of his voice makes you want to shiver, smooth and warm like honey. 

You try your best not to stare, but it’s so hard to ignore the toned expanse of Art’s body when it’s right there. He’s all broad shoulders, firm pecs, sculpted legs, with a cut Adonis belt. He’s like a marble statue, made in Michelangelo's perfect image.

Your eyes trail back up his body, lingering on his chest before rising up to his face. You’re mortified to see he’s staring right back at you, effectively catching you in the act. Your cheeks burn as you tear your gaze away, looking at anything and everything other than him. In your panic, you don’t notice the way his eyes rake over you in the same way.

“Okay, Art,” you say a little breathlessly, tightening your grip on the strap of your bag. “It’s nice to meet you. Mrs. Duncan let me know about your major problem areas, I’ll be sure to focus on them.” Involuntarily bringing up Tashi has your stomach clenching up in guilt, you just got done ogling her husband's body. You hope he takes the silent cue you're giving him to get on the damn table so you can start the massage and get the hell out of here.

Art nods silently, walking over to the table and moving to lie down on his stomach. You busy yourself with prepping your oils, taking them out of your bag and setting them on a small side table next to the massage bed uncapped for easy access. You can’t help but sneak glances at the rippling muscle of Art’s back as he shifts, his skin looks soft and is littered with freckles. You don’t miss the hiss he lets out when he lays his weight on his shoulder.

You usually don’t speak much during appointments, only engaging in conversation when your client initiates it, but you feel the need to fill the silence between you and Art. The quiet atmosphere makes everything seem far too intimate, and sure on some level it always is, but this feels different.

“How’d you hurt it? Your shoulder. If you don’t mind me asking.” you ask once he’s settled, placing your fingertips to the middle of his right shoulder, feeling around for any tension. Art tenses slightly at your touch, taking a sharp breath. You guess you should have warned him, you open your mouth to apologize but he lets out a small breath and relaxes onto the table again.

Art sighs, his voice tinged with weariness. "It was, uh, during a match. I overextended trying to return a serve. Haven't been able to move it properly since."

You nod, hands starting to move in slow, deliberate circles across the muscle. “That sounds about right. Most people don’t realize how brutal tennis is to the body, injuries are common,” you pointedly try to ignore the flashbacks of your wrist failing to swing a racket properly after you healed from your accident, flashbacks of watching as the bone pierced through your skin. “Sounds like you might need to take it easy for a while.” you continue, trying to keep the conversation light.

Art chuckled, though it was devoid of real humor. "Yeah, I’ve been playing a lot lately. Guess I pushed myself too hard." He winces slightly as you work on a particularly tight knot, shoulder tensing under your hands. 

You pause, your hands stilling momentarily as you catch the underlying tension in Art's voice. "The season’s almost over, maybe it's time to give yourself a break, take some time to rest and recuperate." you remark softly, your tone gentle yet concerned.

Art's gaze flickers to yours, a flicker of vulnerability shining through. "I wish I could," he admits, his voice heavy, "But it's hard to step away, especially when it feels like it's all I have that’s still keeping everything together."

Your heart clenches at the raw honesty in his words. He’s completely silent afterwards, you wonder if he’s regretting telling you something like that, like maybe it just fell out of his mouth before he could stop it. Without a word, you continue to knead away the tension in his muscles, offering a silent gesture of support.

As you continue to work, hands skillfully moving over Art’s shoulder, you can’t help but notice the weariness in Art's demeanor. His presence feels heavy, almost broken, as if the physical pain was just a small part of what he was carrying. You feel a pang of sympathy for him. You can feel the weight of struggles pressing down on him, the way his shoulders sag slightly even under your careful touch.

“I can feel the tension here," you say gently, applying a little more pressure,  "Just try to relax.” 

With each knead and press, you remind yourself of your role. You’re here to help him heal, and that was all that mattered. But as your hands move over his warm skin, you can’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t what you had anticipated, something that made your heart race with both excitement and anxiety. You were so worried about meeting Tashi you completely forgot about Art. It’s a different story now as your hands explore the smooth planes of his back to the steady sound of his breathing.

"You're really good at this," Art says after a while, his voice a bit lighter. 

You smile, a genuine one, the first real smile you’ve had since you got here. “Thanks. I’d hope so after all this time.”

Art lets out a small chuckle muffled by the table, it makes your stomach flutter. “How did you get into this? Massage therapy seems interesting.”

You laugh but it’s a bitter sound, moving your hands down to focus lower on Art’s shoulder. You try not to think about your tennis career, even after all this time you struggle with the memories despite all the good it brought you. “That’s a long story.” you mutter under your breath, even to your own ears you sound resentful.

“I’ve got time.” It’s a simple reply, but it’s so honest. Like Art’s genuinely interested in you, in getting to know you. It makes you feel dizzy.

“I, um,” you worry your lip between your teeth, working your hands harder over Art’s back. “I actually used to play tennis. When I was in high school.”

Art makes an interested noise, shifting under your hands as he moves his head to lay on the side of the table so he could look up at you. “No shit?” he looks more shocked than anything. 

You nod, humming in confirmation as you finally move onto his other shoulder. “Yup, I was pretty serious about it back then, until I got injured.” You don’t meet Art’s gaze, but you can see how his face falls in your peripheral vision. You kind of want to laugh at how ironic this moment is, you wonder if Art’s thinking about Tashi’s knee. You know he was at the match, you’ve seen the blurry footage of Tashi Duncan’s fall from grace, watched Art vault over the net to get to her.

“That’s awful. I’m sorry.” He sounds like he means it.

“It’s okay, wasn't like it was my fault or anything,” you say, finally meeting his eyes with a rueful smile and raising your right wrist to show him your scar. “I got hit by a drunk driver coming home late from practice one night. Nasty fracture, bone went straight through.” You hope your voice is coming out as nonchalant as you’re trying to make it sound.

Art's eyes widen in disbelief as he takes in your scar, a mixture of shock and sympathy evident on his face. "Wow, that's...terrible," he murmurs, his voice tinged with compassion.

You shrug, the memories still vivid despite the passage of time. "It was tough, it was awful actually. All the physical therapy in the world couldn’t get a racket back in my hand,” you confess softly, fingers tracing the outline of the scar absentmindedly again. “But it also forced me to reevaluate things, in a way. It made me realize that life doesn't always go according to plan.” You see Tashi’s knee buckling in your mind's eye. “When I finally realized that I could take all the hate and all the anger I was feeling and channel it into something good, something like massage therapy, I never looked back."

You immediately regret over-sharing, feeling silly telling Art your sob story, but when you meet his eye again, he has an odd look on his face. His expression is soft as he looks up at you through long lashes, understanding and empathy swimming in the blue of his eyes.

"Well, silver linings, huh?" he says after a few seconds, there’s traces of a smile playing on his lips. You let out a small laugh, nodding your head slightly.

"Yeah," you agree, a small smile on your lips. "Silver linings." 

As the conversation fades into a comfortable silence, you and Art find yourselves locked in a silent exchange, your eyes meeting and holding a depth of something you can’t quite pick up on. In that moment, the world around you seems to blur, leaving only the two of you suspended in a shared moment of vulnerability. There's a subtle shift in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the bond that has formed between you, as if you've uncovered a piece of each other.

The shrill ringing of your phone’s alarm pierces through the moment, both you and Art jump at the sudden sound. It’s like a cold bucket of water pouring over your head, washing away whatever just happened between the two of you. The session’s over, you’re done. 

“Okay,” you say a little too loudly, taking your hands off Art's back like his skin could burn you any second. “Looks like we’re all done.” You try to smile but it feels fake, forced, so you turn your back to Art and start capping your oils to shove them back in your bag.

Art’s voice breaks the silence as you pack up, sounding a little less confident than it did earlier. “Uh, my neck has been bothering me too, recently,” he says offhandedly as he sits up, swinging his legs over the edge of the table. “I think I may have slept on it wrong.”

You stop what you’re doing, turning to face Art again, silently cursing him for not just letting you leave. “Do you want me to take a look before I go?” You pray he says no. You should know it won’t be that easy, not with your shit luck.

“If you don’t mind?” His tone is so hopeful and his eyes are so big that your feet are walking towards him before your mind can catch up. 

“Not at all,” you reply, your voice steady despite the tightness in your chest. You step closer, practically between his slightly spread legs, feeling the warmth of his skin even before you touch him. Your fingers brush against his neck, and he shivers slightly, the muscles tight and knotted beneath your touch.

"Just relax," you murmur, trying to maintain any shred of professional demeanor. As you work, you can't help but notice the way his breath hitches, the tension in his body melting away under your skilled hands. The room feels smaller, the air heavier with each passing second.

He closes his eyes, a soft sigh escaping his lips. "That feels amazing," he whispers, and you swallow hard, trying to focus solely on the task at hand. As you work, the intimacy of the moment isn't lost on you, and you can't help but wonder if he feels it too.

Minutes tick by like hours as you work the tense muscle of Art’s neck. You're acutely aware of every sigh, every shift in his body, every subtle reaction to your touch. You finally pull away when you think it’s been enough time, eager to get out of this damn house before you do something you’ll regret.

You didn’t notice how close you really were to Art until you pulled back only to be met with his face mere inches away from yours. Startled by the sudden proximity, you freeze, caught off guard by the intensity of Art's gaze. His eyes, dark and searching, seem to hold a silent question, a silent invitation.

Now, Art’s body is one thing, it’s objectively perfect. He’s a professional athlete, of course it’s perfect. It has to be perfect. It’s his damn face that gets you.

He’s beautiful, beyond beautiful. He looks like he should be splayed across canvas hanging in the Louvre. The dim lighting in the room illuminates his face beautifully, his golden hair haloing around his head makes him look ethereal. Each of his features look as if they were handcrafted by a master sculptor, each contour and line a testament to perfection. His chiseled jawline speaks of strength and determination, while his lips, soft and inviting, seem to beckon you closer with every breath. His eyes are deep pools of ocean blue, though this close you can see a small splash of brown in his left eye you didn’t notice before, swirling with emotions that stir something deep within you. 

Something more shocking than Art’s beauty, is how fucking tired he looks. Lines of exhaustion are etched along his face, subtle but undeniable. The weariness in his eyes speaks volumes, a silent plea for respite from the relentless demands of tennis. And yet, even amidst the exhaustion, there's a flicker of longing. He’s staring at you like he needs you, eyes wide and yearning. His chest rising and failing a little more harshly than it did before, each exhale coming out ragged and sharp.

“Art…” you whisper, heart threatening to beat out of your chest. He’s so warm, the heat emitting off of him makes you want to lean into it. You want to crawl on top of his powerful thighs and bury your face in his chest and never leave. Your hands flex where they’re draped over Art’s neck.

It happens in slow motion, Art’s hand trails up the skin of your thigh as your name falls from his lips like a prayer, and it’s like you’ve been electrocuted. You’re rearing back with a sharp breath, dropping your hands from his neck and taking a couple steps back. 

“It was really nice to- uh to meet you, Art.” you say frantically, swinging your bag firmly over your shoulder and rushing to the door. Art’s still sitting on the table, silently watching you panic. He doesn’t try to stop you. “I hope your shoulder feels better,” is all you say before bursting out the door and speed walking out of the pool house. 

Your heart's racing as you walk through the backyard, hands shaking even through the death grip you have on the strap of your bag. What the hell was that? What the hell was that? Did Art Donaldson just make a pass at you? You must be imagining things. 

The thought rattles around in your mind, refusing to be dismissed. His words, his tone—they seemed to linger in the air, haunting you with their implications. The way he touched you, like he couldn’t help himself. But no, it couldn't be. He was married to Tashi, and besides, he was just being polite, right? You try to convince yourself of that as you make your way back to the house.

As you walk inside, still slightly shaken up, Tashi’s the first thing you see. She’s sitting in the living room, laptop open on the coffee table in front of her. 

“Hey,” she says, sitting up straighter on the coach, “how was it?”

You swallow, urging yourself to calm down. “It was great, he should be seeing some improvement over the next few days.”

Tashi nods her head, seemingly pleased though it doesn’t show on her face. “Could this be a weekly thing, these appointments. He could really use them.” 

No question marks. Motherfucker.

You flounder, stomach dropping. “Weekly? As in every Thursday?”

Tashi’s brow raises, eyes looking over you inquisitively. “Yes, preferably all home visits.”She stands from the couch, taking a couple steps towards you. “We read on your website you take permanent clients, is that not the case anymore.”

You shake your head, eyes wide as they follow her while she walks. “N-no, Mrs. Duncan we do. We could pencil you in if you’re willing to pay monthly for the time slot. Would you like to talk to some of my other employees to work out a rotating schedule?”

Tashi stops a few feet away from you, hands in her pockets. “Actually, we were hoping you’d be the one coming down. The only one.” You blink, her words slam over you like a ton of bricks. Just you, in a room with a half-naked Art. Every single Thursday. That can’t happen, not after what just went down between the two of you.

You can practically hear the warning bells blaring in your mind, urging you to refuse, to put an end to this before it spirals out of control. Yet, there's another voice, quieter but no less insistent, whispering seductive promises of what could be if you were to stay.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you grapple with the conflicting desires warring within you. Tashi's expectant gaze weighs heavily on you, waiting for your response, and you know that whatever decision you make will irrevocably alter the course of things between you and Art. With a shaky breath, you steel yourself, the weight of your choice settling like a stone in your stomach.

"I...I'll do it," you finally say, the words leaving your lips before you can stop them. "I'll make sure to pencil you in for weekly sessions, Mrs. Duncan."

Tashi's lips curve up slightly, satisfied, but beneath the surface you can sense the tension thrumming through the air. You've made your choice, for better or for worse, and now you can only hope that it won't lead to the downfall of everything you've worked so hard to build.

“Wonderful,” she says, gesturing for you to follow her to the front door. You trail behind her like a loyal pet, silently allowing her to drag you wherever she pleases. “Thank you again for coming out, and please,” she pauses with her hand on the doorknob, turning to meet your eye, “call me Tashi.”

"Thank you, Tashi," you murmur softly, the weight of her name feeling foreign on your tongue when you’re actually saying it to her for the first time. "I'll make sure to arrange everything at the office."

Tashi's smile widens, though there's a glint of something unreadable in her eyes. "I look forward to seeing you, then," she says, her tone laced with a hint of anticipation. "And please, if there's anything you need, don't hesitate to reach out."

With a final nod, Tashi opens the front door, the outside world beckoning beyond its threshold. You take a hesitant step forward, the weight of your decision pressing down on your shoulders like a heavy burden. As you step out into the cool evening air, you can't shake the feeling that you've just crossed a line from which there may be no turning back. But for now, all you can do is steel your nerves and hope that you haven't made a huge mistake.

A LITTLE MORE THAN SIX DAYS LATER…

Your sessions with Art continue on. The guilt settling deep in your stomach each time you set foot in the Donaldson/Duncan house also continues. It worsens each time the two of you are alone in that damned massage room. Technically you’ve done nothing wrong, but you know deep in the back of your mind that what you’re doing isn’t normal. Each meeting is a strange mixture of tension and familiarity. When you arrive, Tashi always greets you warmly, her trust in you unwavering. It feels like a dagger each time, twisting deeper and deeper into your conscience. 

Neither of you talk about it, what happened during your session, and Art doesn’t treat you any differently. He still goes out of his way to make polite conversation, asking you about your life, about your business, he even brings up old anecdotes you told him offhandedly. He doesn’t talk about tennis, and he has to know you can keep up in conversation with it since you told him about your history with it, you just assume he doesn’t want to. 

That makes sense, you always think back to the first time he met you. How he brushed off any conversation about his career, how his demeanor changed when he spoke about it. How drained he looked. There was a sadness in his eyes, a weight he carried that seemed to go beyond just a few standard aches and pains. You remember how it struck you then, and it strikes you still, each time you see him.

His shoulder is getting better, you can tell. He can lay on it, or raise it above his head, without wincing. That makes your heart swell, knowing that despite how weird and kind of fucked up everything is, he’s healing. 

The familiar sound of your timer ringing pulls you out of your thoughts. You’re shocked at how fast this appointment flew by, but you could tell as soon as you walked into the massage room to find Art already sitting on the table waiting for you, that something about this session feels different. It’s silly to call it “sensing a bad vibe”, but that’s exactly what you felt entering the room's threshold. 

Art didn’t speak much as you worked, just laying on the table silently after saying hello and asking you about your week. The silence is definitely odd, Art’s not a chatterbox by any means, but he usually keeps some form of conversation flowing. After a while, you start to think it might be something you did, like maybe he’s mad at you. It sounds so stupid in your head, like you’re some poor high school girl getting hung up over a fucking guy giving you the silent treatment.

The only thing more stupid than that is how much it’s actually affecting you. Art has you over analyzing everything you’ve said or done over the last couple visits, you dread that maybe he just came to his senses after all this time. That he finally snapped out of whatever trance he was in and remembered he has a beautiful wife, and that he doesn’t really want you.

“Alright,” you say softly, stepping away from the table, “All done.” As you turn off the timer and gather your thoughts, you can't shake the feeling that something is off. You force yourself to bury it, Art doesn’t owe you an explanation, he doesn’t owe you anything. You aren’t his.

You glance over at him as he slowly sits up, his expression unreadable. "Thank you," he murmurs, his voice barely audible. You offer a small smile in return, trying to squash all the ugly feelings mixing in your stomach. You turn to busy yourself with packing up, feeling a weird sense of déjà vu.

Art’s voice cuts through the silence, sounding weary. “Are we still pretending it didn’t happen?”

It catches you off guard, making you drop the bottle in your hands back onto the table loudly. Your heart races as you turn back to face him, unsure of how to respond. The weight of his words hangs heavy in the air, demanding a response you’re not sure you’re ready to give.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. “I...I don’t know,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I guess I was hoping we could just…forget about it.”

Art’s eyes search yours, filled with a mixture of longing and uncertainty. “I don’t think I can,” he confesses, his voice tinged with sadness.

The same feelings from that day rush back in your mind, flooding all your senses. It's as if time folds in on itself, bringing you right back to that moment where everything changed. You feel panic clawing its way up your body, fight or flight response waging a war inside of you.

You chose flight, shoving the last bottle in your bag and making a break for the door. Ready to run just like you did back then, run and come back next week with your tail between your legs desperately trying to forget that this ever happened, again. Art’s voice stops you just as you have your hand on the doorknob.

“Please…” he whispers, he sounds so broken, so vulnerable. “Please, don’t run.”

You don’t know what it is, maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you, or the repressed feelings, or your shitty back bone, but whatever it is makes you pause, hand falling off the doorknob to lay limp at your side. You turn back to face him, the raw need in his eyes mirrored by your own emotions. It tugs at your heart, making it impossible to leave. You feel a surge of guilt and hesitation, but the longing in his gaze holds you captive. Slowly, you make your way towards him, taking small slow steps like you could still leave at any minute, but you know you won’t.

You walk until you’re crowding him, standing between his spread legs just like you did all those sessions ago. His eyes are wide, almost disbelieving, like he thought you’d turn around and slam the door on him instead. Which is what you should do, you should walk out that door right now and never step foot in their house again. 

Art whispers your name, his voice a soft caress that sends sparks zapping down your spine. You're close enough to feel his breath fanning over your face, warm and intimate. You inhale, like you’re trying to absorb his words, his essence, his everything. 

His hand takes yours, bringing it up to his chest. He presses it firmly against his pec, right on top of his heart. You can feel the rapid, uneven thumping beneath your palm. His thumb caresses your wrist gently, making goosebumps pebble over your skin.

It’s easy to get lost in Art’s eyes, so you’re shocked to notice something that very quickly grabs your attention. Art’s towel is tented obscenely, hard cock straining against the thick material. You swallow roughly at the sight, feeling the need to touch, to take, to help.

Your knees hit the floor before you fully realize the entire gravity of what you’re doing. You don’t care about any of that anyway, not right now. 

Right now Art Donaldson is swiping his thumb across the scar on your wrist with his big sparkly eyes desperately looking into yours, unashamedly begging for you to touch him. 

Who are you to deny him?

Your hands find the knot of his towel and yank it roughly, ripping it off Art's hips and tossing it aside. His hard cock springs out, slapping up against his stomach enticingly. Your mouth waters at the sight of him, pleased to see he’s perfect all over. 

Art’s cock is long, and thick. He’s big, but in an exciting way, not in an intimidating way. He’s already steadily drooling pre-cum from his soft pink tip, already so hard and you haven’t even touched him yet. You reach up, tracing your finger along the length of him lightly. Art inhales, his eyes fluttering closed as you touch him for the first time. The anticipation in the room is palpable, a heady mix of desire and need that seems to swirl around you both.

You circle your hand around the base of his cock, stroking up and up until your hand bumps into the head, where you start to rub your thumb back and forth gently, spreading the wetness from his pre-cum before sliding your hand back down. Slowly, you lean in, placing a soft kiss on the tip of his cock before taking him into your mouth, savoring the taste of him as he groans deeply, hands gripping the massage table tightly.

“Shit,” he grits out, casting his gaze to the ceiling, chest already heaving raggedly. 

You slide the warmth of your mouth down the shaft of his cock, moaning at the heady taste of him, skin soft and velvety on your tongue. 

“Fuck, your mouth…” Art whispers above you, his words trailing off into a string of breathy moans. You hum in response, working his cock faster to draw out more of those noises. Hollowing your cheeks, you sink down towards the circle of your fist still holding the base of his cock with wet, slippery slurping sounds. Art’s hand lets go of the table, coming up to cup your cheek in a move way too intimate for what the two of you are doing.

You chance a look up, and your heart skips several beats at what you see. Art’s already staring down at you, his face twisted up in pleasure. His pale cheeks are flushed, brows drawn together tightly, plush bottom lip caught between his teeth. All that is enough to make you feel ten feet tall, but that’s not what makes you pause.

It’s his eyes, the way Art’s looking at you.

The look in his eyes is…worshipful. Reverent. Like you’re a celestial being, a divine grace walking among mortals. Not some girl on her knees for a married man in his house’s private fucking massage room.

Yet the longer you hold his gaze, while still working your mouth over his hard cock, you feel something strange stirring inside you. Art’s eyes holding such a longing reverence so intense, it was starting to elevate you to a pedestal of adoration. Of devotion.

Right now Art’s like the sun, burning so brightly you feel you need to look away before he consumes you, but you don’t.

“Please,” Art begs desperately, voice so soft you barely even hear it. There’s tears welling in his eyes, his red rimmed and so so tired looking eyes. It breaks your heart, how could such a wonderful man be reduced to this?

You pull off Art’s cock, hand still pumping firmly over him. He whines at the loss of your mouth, hips bucking up to chase after the warm heat. His tip bumps over your lips as he moves, trailing a thin line of pre-cum across them.

Without breaking eye contact, you speak.

“You’re so good, Art.” 

It’s those four words whispered against the tip of Art's leaking cock that has him coming with a hitched breath and a soft cry. A few bursts of his warm come land over your parted lips before you take the head of his cock back in your mouth to greedily swallow down the rest. 

"Thank you, fuck, thank you...!" Art grates out as his body trembles above you, hand squeezing yours so hard it borders on painful. You know you’re never coming back from this, but you still  squeeze back as hard as you can all the same.

A LITTLE MORE THAN SIX DAYS LATER…

Maybe this is just your life now, fucking the husband of the woman you worshiped like a God for years on end. It’s like you can’t stop, like you’re an addict or something. No matter how disgusting and shameful you feel every time you get home from Art’s appointments, you can’t help but give into him. It’s a twisted dance, a cycle of pleasure and regret that you can’t seem to break. One look into his sad, kicked puppy eyes and you crack. You’ve convinced yourself it's just you reveling in the feeling of being truly wanted for the first time. But deep down, you know it’s more than that. It’s the way he makes you feel alive, the way he looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters in his world.

Art wants you. He needs you. He’s made that more than clear every single visit since you dropped down on your knees for him. The guilt gnaws at you, a constant reminder that you can't escape. Yet, every time you see him, every time he reaches out to you with that desperate need in his eyes, you find yourself powerless to resist. 

You’ve never kissed, not on the lips. Art’s certainly tried, lips seeking yours out as your oiled up fist slips up and down his cock, as you sit on his lap and grind against him until he’s dirtying his towel. You just turn your head every time, letting him trail kisses along your jaw and neck instead somehow feels less real. Kissing Art will make it feel real, you know it will. So you don’t.

Funnily enough, you think things are going well. Maybe even as well as getting a married man off every Thursday can go. You can see a change in Art, in his behavior and the way he holds himself. He smiles more, he laughs more, it’s like he’s giving more of himself to you each time you meet with him. It’s exhilarating, the way your presence has this effect on him, almost as if you’re breathing new life into him.

Art’s newfound lightness is infectious. You find yourself looking forward to Thursdays with an anticipation that borders on impatience. The way he looks at you, the tender touches that linger just a bit longer, the conversations that flow more freely–it all feels like a dream you’re afraid to wake up from. 

You should have known it was too good to be true, that this little world you created in your head was just the calm before the storm.

Everything about this session was normal to start. It’s a little less intense since Art’s shoulder is doing better, now you have free reign over the rest of his body. Greedy hands free to glide over the planes and planes of muscle you’ve become familiar with.

As you work on his lower back, your hands moving in practiced, soothing motions, you notice a subtle rigidity in his muscles. “Everything alright?” you ask, keeping your tone light.

Art hesitates before answering. “Yeah, just…a lot on my mind.”

You frown, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Art stays quiet, still laying silently on the table face down. You stare at the back of his head, like if you stare hard enough you’ll be able to tell what he’s thinking. Taking his silence as not wanting to talk, you continue on. You don’t want to pressure him to confide with you, not when he already has a wife for that.

As your hands continue to move over Art's tense shoulders, he lets out a deep sigh, breaking the silence. "I need you,”  he whispers softly, his voice filled with an unexpected vulnerability. He shifts on the table, leaning up to look you in the eye; his own eyes are watery, lashes clumped together with unshed tears. “It's not just the massages. I need you in my life, no more of this half-assed bullshit. I need all of you.”

You feel your whole world turn upside down in a single second, the distinct feeling of your heart lurching out of your chest and your stomach dropping to your feet. It’s like the walls of the room start moving in on you, caging you in. It makes your chest feel tight, breath coming out in short jagged rasps. Panic grips you, and you violently rip your hands off Art’s body, stumbling back from the massage table.

 "I-I'm sorry, I can't," you stammer, voice choked with emotion, as you turn to flee from the room, not even bothering to grab your stuff. But before you could escape, Art was right behind you, reaching out to catch your wrist, his grip gentle yet firm. "Please don't go, please," he begs, his eyes pleading with you to stay and talk. You wrench your hand free and run out of the room. 

You think you hear Art calling out your name through all the static rushing through your ears, but you’re not sure, and you don’t look back to check. Your feet pound against the tile as you run out of the pool house feeling like you’re about to throw up, or pass out. Art’s confession is the only thing running through your mind. The only thing that’s still clear through your dizzying panic.

You finally start to breathe again when you burst into the house, leaning back against the cool glass of the door to try and relax before you start to spiral. The silence inside is almost oppressive, the only sound the rapid thudding of your heart in your ears. You close your eyes, willing yourself to calm down, to find some semblance of control.

Your name being said grabs your attention, and you open your eyes to find Tashi at the top of the stairs.

“Is everything okay? I heard the door slam.” Her expression is a mix of concern and confusion as she takes a few steps down. You push yourself off the door, you need to leave as soon as possible, before Tashi can reach you and coerce you into staying. 

“Everything's fine!” Your voice sounds shaky despite your best efforts to calm yourself, you’re basically speed walking to the door. “I just, I got a phone call, and I need to leave. Right now. I’m so sorry.”

You don’t even wait for her to reply before you’re yanking the door open and rushing outside. You hope to God that she doesn’t follow you outside. She doesn’t.

You walk, arms wrapped around yourself tightly in a feeble attempt to stop shaking. There are tears burning your eyes and making everything in front of you blurry. The wind whips your hair around your face, stinging your cheeks as you walk further away from the house.

Each step feels heavier, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you try to make sense of the storm inside you. The chaotic weather seems to mock your turmoil, perfectly matching the chaos you feel. You struggle to piece together what just happened, the intensity of Art’s words echoing in your mind.

“I need you.”

His voice had been so raw, so vulnerable, and it scared you. You weren’t ready for that kind of emotion, that kind of responsibility, that kind of guilt. The weight of it had sent you running, and now you’re left grappling with the aftermath.

Fuck.

A LITTLE MORE THAN SIX HOURS LATER…

The drive home was a blur. Rain and wind beating against the windshield nearly the whole time. You’d laugh at how ironic it was, like God’s punishing you with shitty weather, but you’re too busy fighting tears to find the humor in it. 

The dread didn’t set in until you got home, stumbling through the front door on shaky legs until you reached your kitchen where you promptly emptied everything in your stomach into your trash. After you force yourself into the shower to wash the rain, and guilt, off of your skin. You scrub yourself raw, skin pink and sensitive to the touch, like that will somehow erase all that you’ve done.

When you finally step out, the bathroom mirror is fogged, a ghostly reflection staring back at you through the mist. You avoid its gaze, wrapping yourself in a towel and padding through your room to collapse onto your bed. The silence of the house presses in on you, letting your thoughts consume you. 

Art’s words play on a loop inside your head, the look on his face burned to the forefront of your mind. The weight of his confession hung heavy in the air, rocking you with its intensity. Running away had seemed like the only option at the time, a knee-jerk reaction to the overwhelming flood of emotions threatening to engulf you. 

You know you didn’t run from Art because you don’t want him, you ran because there’s nothing you want more. In the aftermath, running felt less like a choice and more like an instinctual response to the storm of emotions threatening to consume you whole since the first day you met him. Every step away from Art was a battle against the gravitational pull of your desires, a struggle against the overwhelming urge to surrender to what you both shared.

The truth is crystal clear: you didn't run from Art because you're devoid of feelings for him. You ran precisely because your heart beats in synchrony with his, because the depth of your longing for him is as boundless as the universe itself. 

Your phone pings from the dresser, you ignore it. A second later, it pings again, and again, and again. You furrow your brows, glaring at your nightstand until you reach over and pick up your phone. It’s an unknown number, but you know who it is.

UNKNOWN NUMBER I need to see you.  Please, I can send a car. It's Art. Tashi isn’t home tonight.

Maybe you’re the worst person in the world, but all the fight leaves your body the second you read Art’s texts. You need to see him as much as he needs to see you. Your fingers type out a response before you can think twice.

Art okay.

You send him your address, jumping out of bed to throw on the first things you see. A black SUV was waiting for you as soon as you got downstairs, just as promised. You climbed in after getting confirmation from the driver, and sat in the backseat quietly as you went down the familiar streets. 

As the house comes into view, you can see the front door’s light is still on, waiting for you. You barely wait for the car to stop before you’re opening the car door and stepping outside. The rain immediately drenches you, seeping through your thin sleep clothes. You take two steps before the front door swings open and Art comes rushing out into the rain. He’s only wearing sleep pants, his bare feet smack wetly on the concrete as he runs to you.

Art stops short of you, hesitating, like he doesn’t know whether to touch you or not. You want him to touch you so bad you’re scared it might kill you. The air between you feels charged, every drop of rain a tiny spark. Finally, Art reaches out, his hand trembling as he brushes a soaked strand of hair from your face. The warmth of his touch sends a shiver down your spine, and you step closer, collapsing into his arms. The rain continues to fall around you, but at this moment, it’s just the two of you.

"Art," you breathe, your voice trembling. "What are we doing?"

He gazes into your eyes, the raw emotion in his expression mirroring your own. "I don't know," he admits, his hands gently sliding down to your shoulders. "But I can't let you go. Not now." His words hang between you, a fragile thread of honesty that binds you together. You can feel the weight of his words, the sincerity in his voice, and it tugs at your heartstrings.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as his words sink in. The honesty in his gaze, the desperation in his touch—it all overwhelms you, leaving you breathless. The only thing you can think of, the only thing that feels right, is kissing him. So you do.

You lean closer, your heart pounding in your chest, and gently cup his face in your hands. His eyes widen for a moment, a flicker of surprise mingling with the intensity of his emotions. Then, as if drawn together by an invisible force, your lips meet his.

The kiss is soft at first, tentative and sweet, a question and an answer all at once. His lips are cold and slightly trembling, matching the fluttering in your chest. You can taste the salt of your tears mingling with the sweetness of the moment. Time seems to stand still as you lose yourself in the sensation of his mouth on yours. 

Gradually, the kiss deepens, becoming more urgent and fervent, a silent expression of everything words can’t convey. Art’s arms wrap around you, pulling you closer, his fingers threading through your hair. The heat between you intensifies, both your breath coming faster, mingling as the kiss grows hungrier.

Art’s heartbeat echoes against your chest, you can feel his grip on you getting tighter like he's scared of letting you go. Your hands slide down to his shoulders, your fingers digging into his muscles as you press closer, your bodies molding together. His tongue flicks against your lips, seeking entrance, and you part them eagerly, welcoming him in. The taste of him is intoxicating, a mix of desperation and passion that makes your head spin. A soft moan escapes your lips, and he responds with a low growl, his hands roaming down your back, pulling you impossibly closer. 

“Art,” you say in between kisses, panting into his slick, open mouth. “I need you to fuck me.”

You can feel Art’s whole body shiver, groaning unabashedly into your mouth like he’s dying for it. “I’ve been waiting weeks for you to finally admit that.”

The two of you tear through the house, all tangled limbs and bumbling steps, you trail water all over the floor. Somewhere in the chaos you drop your phone and keys on the large kitchen island. Art refuses to let go of you to walk properly, blindly leading the way so he can keep kissing you breathless.

Art only stops kissing you when you finally make it to his bedroom, pulling away to wrestle the now soaked sleep pants off his legs. You follow by example and peel your shirt off, skin damp and cold but you could care less, not when Art’s pants are pooling at his ankles and he’s throwing his boxers carelessly over his shoulder.

“God,” he breathes out, shaking his head like he can’t believe you're giving him this, “You’re so beautiful.”

The raw honesty in his tone has your cheeks burning, you cast your gaze to the floor instinctually, feeling too overwhelmed by his charged gaze raking over you. You can hear his feet softly padding against the floor, making his way closer. You watch his feet come to a complete stop in front of you, he takes a hold of your chin gently forcing you to look up at him. 

His eyes, intense and unwavering, lock onto yours. “You’re fucking perfect.”

With a gentle push, Art lowers you onto the bed, his weight a comforting presence above you. He tilts your head back and kisses you breathless, one big hand sliding lower and lower on your stomach till he’s got his hand down the front of your shorts, he groans when his hand makes contact with your bare skin. You’d almost forgotten you hadn’t worn any underwear. His hand so close to your aching center has your breath hitching as you kiss, hips bucking up towards his palm.

You reach for his cock, an angry shade red and leaking steadily, but he catches your wrist before you can touch. You meet his eyes confused, but he just shakes his head.

“It’s been about me the whole time, baby. Let me fix that,” he whispers.

You nod your head wordlessly. You wouldn’t dream of denying him, not right now. He smiles, pecking your lips again before he starts to kiss his way downwards. He explores your body with his mouth with such care it has you shaking under every brush his lips. He kisses all down your jaw and neck, taking extra time on your chest to map out the skin of your breasts with his tongue. He circles your right nipple with the tip of his tongue a few times over before he takes it in his mouth, rolling it between his teeth gently. It has your back arching into his mouth, hands scrambling for a purchase on the silk sheets. One long finger slides around your entrance and dips inside, shallow, then deeper, stretching you slowly, carefully, while his other hand rubs your clit with light, gentle touches. “Is this good?” Art asks quietly, voice tinged slightly with insecurity, like you’re not completely unraveling because of him.

“God yes! Yes – fuck! – Art,” you mewl loudly, hips grinding down roughly onto his finger, desperate to take in more of him. You can feel him smile against your skin, pulling off to blow cool air over your hard nipple and repeating it all over again on your left. His finger slides through the wetness collecting in your hole, spreading it to your throbbing clit. He finally sinks a single finger into the warm, tight, heat of your cunt.

Art pulls away from your chest to kiss his way down your stomach, sliding lower and lower on the huge king size mattress, he doesn’t stop the rhythm of his fingers as he peels your shorts down your legs, tossing them aside. A guttural groan leaves his lips at the sight of your slick cunt parting over his fingers, taking them so well. He pitches forward like he can’t help himself, like his lips are magnetically drawn to your cunt, and presses a small kiss to your clit. 

“Fuck!” You squeal and writhe as his finger fucks in and out of you, hands tangling in his messy hair, cheeks flushing at the sound of your leaking cunt squelching against his wrist with each thrust. Art's lips tighten over your clit, sucking for a brief second before he moves back to start laving his tongue over your cunt in careful, slightly clumsy, strokes. The sounds he's making, almost filthy slurping, accompanied by little moans now and then send small vibrations through you that shock your system, making you fist his hair even tighter. 

Art’s lewd noises fill the air, mixing with your own moans to fill the room. His eyes stay closed for the most part, fluttering open every couple seconds to watch you fall apart. Your thighs shake uncontrollably around his head when you make eye contact, threatening to clamp around his ears and keep him there.

A sob tears from your throat when he adds another finger, then he curls them inside you and pulls back and god, shit, shit, fuck, fuck me, god, Art, please fuck me.

“Fuck me Art please fuck me I need it so bad please-” you ramble nonsensically, pulling at Art’s hair desperately. You can feel the warmth starting to pool in your stomach, but you don’t want to come on his tongue, or on his fingers, you want to come with him inside you.

Art lets you drag him up, the bottom half of his face is slick and shiny, drenched in your wetness. He makes his way up your body quickly, hands gripping tightly to your hips, not hesitating to kiss you even as your juices decorate his lips. You kiss back desperately, tasting yourself on his tongue. The head of his cock bumping against your twitching, empty hole has you whining. 

“Fuck me, Art,” you breath hotly, hips canting up needily. “No condom, I’m on the pill. I want you to come inside me. Please, I need it.”

Slowly, he starts to sink in. Feeding you inch by inch torturously slow. He kisses you the whole time, greedily swallowing the moans flowing out of your mouth as he stretches your cunt on his thick cock. You grab at his shoulders like a lifeline, kissing back with everything you have.

“God, you’re so fucking tight,” he says through gritted teeth, hands gripping your hips hard enough that you know you’ll be bruised in the morning. “So fucking perfect for me, such a perfect pussy for my cock.”

“Move.” Is all you can manage to squeak out, nails digging into the meat of his shoulders.

Art starts to move, thrusts slow and gentle, like he’s easing you into it. You’re grateful for it, you’ve never taken anyone as big as him. Slowly, his thrusts speed up, cut hips smacking against the fat of your ass a little rougher than before. You revel in it, pushing your ass back greedily for more more more. From this angle, the thick head of his cock drags against your g-spot perfectly every time he plunges back into your dripping cunt.

“Shit! Right there, don’t stop,” you slur breathlessly, feeling the familiar warmth swirling through your stomach as he fucks you.

“I love you.” Art confesses against your lips, his breath hot and erratic. His sweaty forehead pressed to yours as he pounds in and out of you, the motion both relentless and tender. His eyes are wide open now, so blue and so big and so honest as they bore into yours so intensely it’s suffocating.

It’s soon, it’s way too soon. You’ve barely known each other for a couple months, but you can't deny the warmth spreading through your chest, mingling with the heat of the moment, making everything feel both overwhelming and perfect.

Now that you're here, with Art’s cock fitting so perfectly in the wet heat of your cunt, you can’t believe it took you this long. You love Art. You’ve been in love with Art since the first time he spoke to you. Since the first time he touched you like you were the solution to all his problems.

Art must take your stunned silence as rejection, head falling to rest on your shoulder dejectedly, but his hips don’t slow their rhythm. If anything he speeds up, hips thrusting against you desperately.

“Please, please say it back,” he begs, voice thick with emotion, “Say it back, I need to hear you say it. Please,”

You surge up, wrapping your arms around him as tightly as you can, ankles locking together across his back. Art couldn’t pull out of you if he wanted to, judging from the long whine he lets out, he doesn’t mind.

“I love you, Art” You whisper back, barely audible over the lewd slap of his hips stinging your ass. Art groans so loudly you can feel it reverberating off the sensitive skin of your neck.

Hips speeding up even faster, Art turns his head to catch your lips in a searing kiss. This kiss is different than any of the other ones you’ve shared tonight, full of so much emotion and unspoken words. You swear you feel your heart grow three sizes, almost full and threatening to break out of your chest.

“I’m gonna come, fuck, I’m gonna fucking come,” he breathes between kisses. You can only moan in response, right on the brink of your own orgasm. His hips start to lose their rhythm as he chases it, fucking into you faster and harder.

Art’s cock gives a final twitch inside you before his hips are stilling and he’s coming with a broken moan, unloading everything he has into you. You’re right behind him, vision whiting out as you come, thighs shaking where they’re draped around his hips. 

Art collapses onto you, both of you breathing heavily as you come down from the high of your orgasm’s. You lay like that for a while, heaving and sweaty wrapped up in each other's arms. You feel something slot into place, something that you’ve been missing.

Art’s soft voice pierces through the afterglow, “Will you hold me?”

“Yes,” you whisper back, circling your arms around his shoulders.

…

When you wake up hours later you’re beyond thirsty, dehydrated from all the crying, and maybe from the sex. Art’s head is laying across your bare chest, tousled hair tickling your jaw and arms snug around your waist. He looks so peaceful, eyes closed with his long lashes fanning over his cheeks. The sound of his steady breathing is almost enough to lull you right back to sleep. You smile softly, running your hands through his hair slowly. Savoring how at peace he looks, so different from the battered, broken man you met.

You slip out of his arms as carefully as possible, not wanting to wake him. Rolling out of bed to search half-assedly for your clothes in the darkness. You can’t find your shirt, only your underwear and shorts. You notice a red shirt strewn over the dresser next to the bed, illuminated by the moonlight pouring through the blinds. You pick it up without thinking, it's soft in your hands, the fabric thin and worn down. You toss it on before padding out of the bedroom.

You get a little lost in your thoughts as you make your way to the kitchen, Art loves you.

The thought has you biting back a giddy smile. Art loves you and you love him too. It sounds fucking crazy, but you know it’s true. Your life is so completely fucked, you don’t know if you care.

Art loves you.

Your smile doesn’t leave your lips as you turn the corner, arms wrapped around yourself tightly, the warmth of Art's affection lingering like a gentle caress.

“He smiles more.”

The soft voice ringing out from your left makes you stop in your tracks. You turn, and there in the kitchen illuminated by the soft glow of the ceiling light, like an angel, is Tashi Duncan. 

Tashi looks at you from her spot across the room with an impassive look on her face, she’s got your keys in one hand, fiddling with them boredly. When you don't reply she speaks again, "He's playing better, won the last three tournaments he was in." She says casually, setting her half full wine glass down on the island.

You don't need to ask her who "he" is.

You're silent for a few more beats as she stares at you expectantly, silently urging you to say something. You rack your brain for a response, caught like a deer in headlights under Tashi's gaze.

"What?" you softly mutter, words cutting through the air weakly.

Tashi sighs in exasperation, like you're a child who doesn't understand the simple question she's asking. She raises her wine glass back to her lips, draining the rest of it before setting it down once more and making her way over to you.

You know you should flee, make a break for the door before she reaches you. Running away from the woman whose husband you’re fucking - whose husband you just got done fucking, and who told you he loved you - while she pays you seems like the easiest thing to do in the moment, but you don't.

You find yourself glued to the spot as Tashi's commanding presence looms over you, until she's all you can see. Until her expensive smelling perfume is all you can breathe, until she's towering over you, miles of soft skin on display in a classy black nightie.

She stares down at you, her face completely unreadable. It feels like hours as her brown eyes burn into yours, your heart must be beating a thousand beats per second.

When Tashi finally moves, it’s her hand you see rising up in your peripheral vision. At first you think she's going to hit you, get you back for sleeping with her husband, for falling in love with her husband. You tense up, bracing for the slap, it would be the least of what you deserve, but it never comes.

Instead, Tashi's hand finds its way up to the side of your face, cupping your cheek gently. You can feel the chilled metal of her wedding band make contact with your warm skin.

You feel like you might pass out staring into the eyes of Tashi Duncan. Everything you ever wanted in high school flashing rapidly right before your eyes.

If Art Donaldson is the sun, Tashi is the moon. Her light draws you in and keeps you looking at her, and never wanting to look away.

Her thumb slides across your bottom lip, the same lip that’s kissed her husband. Ever so slightly, she pushes the tip of her thumb into your parted lips, far enough to touch your bottom teeth. Your breath catches in your throat, eyes widening in shock, your pulse is fluttering wildly. You distantly wonder if she can feel it on the inside of her wrist.

“I’m his coach, I need to be hard on him or he fails. I refuse to let him fail,” she says softly, tone casual like she’s not brushing the tip of your tongue with her fingers. “But I’m not stupid, I know what he needs. Someone sweet, someone gentle, someone who looks at him and doesn’t see tennis.”

You couldn’t answer her if you wanted to, but you wouldn’t trust yourself to speak anyway. You feel far away and floaty the longer her fingers sit in your mouth, your brain feels like molasses.

“I can’t give him what he needs. I’m not that kind of person,” Tashi says, eyes roaming your face languidly, like she’s window shopping your features. Her voice is nearly a whisper the next time she speaks, “but you are. You could be that for him.”

Your heart drops, the haze surrounding your brain rips away so violently, like someone took a leaf blower to it. Her words make everything start to fall into place, the at home visits, the “exclusive deal”, the weird ass run-ins you’ve had with her over the weeks. 

This was never about the goddamn massages.

For a few seconds you both stay like that. Standing inches away from each other in the half-lit kitchen of her and Art's house. For a second, you think you can see the tiniest smile playing on her lips before she drops her hand from you completely.

"There’s a car waiting for you outside,” she says, still close enough that you can feel her breath fan over your face, “See you next Thursday."

Tashi turns on her heels and leaves you alone, disappearing down the long hallway leading to her and Art's bedroom. You watch the whole time she goes, until she completely fades into the shadows. Your lip still tingling from her touch.

There’s only one thing on your mind as you incredulously stare down the now empty hall…

These people are so fucking weird.

[high-dragon-bait]

Pleaaaaase Zevran and Lucanis 💖

Note: I got the request for Zevran and Lucanis A LOT. So there will almost certainly be more banters between them. I'm still grasping Lucanis and am rusty with Zevran, so consider this a trial run as I feel out their hypothetical dynamic. Enjoy!

___

Lucanis: The worst crow in history standing at my side. 

Zevran: So it seems. 

Lucanis: I should kill you.

Zevran: Yes, you very much should. 

Lucanis: The crows' reputation never truly healed from your humiliation in Ferelden. 

Zevran: Humiliating for you, perhaps. That story ends very well for me. 

Lucanis: Are you really going to argue perspective while I debate your life? 

Zevran: Seeing as you haven’t killed me yet, why not? 

___

Zevran: So, how much did you cost? 

Lucanis: Three-hundred sovereigns. Starting rate. 

Zevran: My that is impressive. I was a mere seven. 

Lucanis: Your talon agreed to contracts worth only seven sovereigns!?

Zevran: Oh, it is contracts we are discussing. 

Lucanis: What else could we be discussing? 

Zevran: How much we were purchased for of course. 

Lucanis: You were… purchased?

Zevran: From a pen of brothel bastards. Where did the crows buy you?

Lucanis: House Dellamorte does not purchase our fledglings. You are born. Or you are chosen. I was born. 

Zevran: Ah. This explains so much. 

—-

Lucanis: I was not aware any crow houses still purchased recruits. 

Zevran: But, of course, it is the simplest way to find them, no?

Lucanis: No. The simplest is to scrape the gutters of Treviso. Plenty of far more willing recruits to find there. Free of charge. 

Zevran: So purchasing children is beneath you, but feeding off the desperate is not? 

Lucanis: With how many fledglings already never reach the rafters, I’d rather not waste the gold. 

—-

Zevran: What did the training of the first talon entail, Lucanis? 

Lucanis: Torture. 

Zevran: Yes, obviously, but what kind of torture did Caterina favor? 

Lucanis: Beatings. Starvations. Often combinations of both. 

Zevran: You are not good at being specific, you know that? 

Lucanis: Once, I’d been challenged to starve in a windowless stone cell for an entire moon. At the end of the third week, the servant tasked to bring me only water and a new chamber pot left the door unlocked. 

Lucanis, cont: I waited, but no one returned. I dared to venture out to where Caterina stood on the other side. She scolded me for falling into such an obvious trap and used her cane to break every bone in my arm. 

Zevran: Ah, there is the difference. My talon would have taken the whole arm. And never provided a chamber pot.

Lucanis: Fewer hands hold fewer knives. Making for a more poor assassin. 

Zevran: Another difference. It seems your grandmother lacked not only discipline but creativity. 

___

Zevran: Why did your cousin not simply kill Caterina? 

Lucanis: She is family. 

Zevran: So? 

Lucanis: The world is made only of enemies and contracts, family is all that matters. Caterina taught us that. He could not even use his own hands to kill me. He could never harm her.  

Zevran: If he cannot put aside such feelings for a contract, he is a terrible crow. 

Lucanis: Yes, he is. 

—-

Zevran: It surprises me, Lucanis, that I have never heard tales regarding the Demon of Vyrantium’s skills in the art of seduction. 

Lucanis: I do not practice that... art.

Zevran: What!? Is it not one of the greatest skills of a crow!?

Lucanis: I was taught the heart was a target. Not a toy. 

Zevran: There are many ways to strike at a target, you know.

Lucanis: But not all of them so needlessly cruel. 

Zevran: Cruel? If you know someone is on the last night of their life, you might as well help them enjoy it, no?

—-

Zevran: What is the longest you can last with your head held beneath water, Lucanis? 

Lucanis: Eight minutes if I can manage a gasp first. Six if I cannot. 

Zevran: Ah-ha! I can manage nine minutes with a breath, and seven without. 

Lucanis: With how much you like to talk. I do not believe that for a second.

Zevran: Fine. Meet me in the baths tonight, and I’ll prove it. 

Lucanis: And I’ll prove you wrong. 

Zevran: I knew you could be fun. 

—-

Zevran: So, if you have any questions regarding the techniques I showed you- 

Lucanis: Don’t. 

Zevran: -Or require another demonstration. I am happy to oblige. 

Lucanis: Stop. 

Zevran: That is not a no I hear. I’ll be waiting. Patiently. 

[mothellie]

Angel Eyes

Read on Archive of Our Own Rating: Explicit (Minors Do Not Interact) Fandom: Stranger Things Pairing: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson Tags: Transmasc Steve Harrington (bottom growth referred to as 'dick'), Dom Eddie Munson, Needy Sub Steve Harrington, oral (tm receiving), PIV sex, exhibitionism, bathroom sex, Halloween parties, costumes, dirty talk, established relationship, possessiveness, they're both total pervs for each other (it's almost endearing) About: Eddie convinces Steve to go to a Halloween party with him in matching costumes. However, one look at that paradoxically sinful angel getup knocks Eddie's priorities in a new direction. Notes: This is my first little ficlet on this blog and I'm really excited to post it. Be gentle, I'm rusty with my smut writing, but I really tried my best with this. Inspired by this post by thorniest-rose and the art with it, because I've been obsessed with this concept since I read that. This is imagining they got together later on and Eddie constantly tries to get him to wear the outfit again. Hope you enjoy. ♡

Tagging some of my favorite blogs and moots for visibility @mcplestreet @chrrymunson @shieldofiron @applewillowstone @thorniest-rose @reidsbtch @inourtownofhawkins @succubusmunson and a special thanks to @whataboutthefish for beta reading and giving me so many helpful suggestions + @californiaboytoybilly for cheering me on when I was debating even posting this

Eddie hadn’t accounted for the inevitable when proposing his idea for Halloween. Going as an angel and a demon to Tommy Hagan’s party seemed like the perfect fit. It was meant to be sweet, paying homage to the beginning of their love. Instead it turned out so much better. 

Over the years, he had begged Steve to wear it again. Time and time again, Steve would roll his eyes and give some excuse on why he couldn’t. He didn’t want to go into the attic to get it, it probably wouldn’t fit him anymore, he wasn’t an angel after Eddie got his hands on him.

And yet, on Halloween night, Steve stepped into their shared living room looking as jaw-dropping as the day their gazes met for the very first time.

Eddie was lured to these rocks by his beautiful siren, who was moaning so pretty for him through the gaps of the fingers he held over those plump lips as Eddie lapped up the sweet taste of his love between his thighs.

There really wasn't a point in trying to stay quiet to begin with. Everybody outside the bathroom door was in their own world, wading through a heavy blanket of fake fog as the sound of Monster Mash drowned out everyone's chatter.

But Steve had always been the type to fluster easy. It was surprising Eddie could even convince him to go through with this little escapade. 

"Eddie-" Steve gasped out, squirming against his tongue with a pinched expression. The hand fell from his face, instead gripping the edge of the sink for stability.

Eddie tried not to break out in a cocky grin, ringed fingers squeezing the plush expanse of his boy's thighs. He licked a stripe upwards until his lips closed around Steve's cock, tongue swirling over the swell. 

The sound it drew from Steve was dizzying on its own. Hands shot from where they gripped the porcelain Steve sat on to grab a fistful of Eddie's curls. "Ah- 'm gonna cum- Please-" 

Eddie almost gave in, wanting to taste his love while he fell apart against his lips. The way Steve begged, breathy and desperate, the feeling of those soft thighs brushing against his cheeks and ears- 

It took a significant amount of strength on his part to pull away, lips and chin coated with the evidence of Steve's arousal. 

His angel made a pathetic sound, looking down at him with those pleading doe eyes.

Eddie tutted softly, grabbing him by the hips and pulling him off of the sink. "Gotta practice some patience, angel." 

With another sharp tug, he pulled Steve impossibly closer, slotting their lips together in a filthy kiss. The heady taste of him was still coating his tongue, transferring to Steve’s as it breached the seam of his lips.

After a moment, Eddie could feel Steve's trembling hands reach for the waistband of his jeans, fumbling for the buttons.

The hands still on Steve's hips quickly flipped him around, one hand reaching out to lay flat against his back to bend him over the countertop. Eddie is met with a whimper that could drive him crazy.

"This is what you wanted, isn't it, babylove?" Eddie rasped, as he rapidly pushed his jeans and boxers just below his crotch. "Wanted to take me like the good little slut you are?" 

Steve nodded weakly, cheek pressed hard against the bathroom mirror. 

Eddie could be meaner. He could make Steve wait for it, beg for it. It wasn't far off from the things he'd done before for his own amusement many times before. Stevie was his favorite toy.

But tonight was a dream come true, and he wasn't going to waste it.

As swiftly as he could manage, he slipped into Steve's wet heat, barely giving him a grace period before starting to thrust roughly into him with renewed fervor. 

His love was an absolute sight like this. That pretty white dress hiked up just over his ass, those damn wings shaking with every movement they made. 

Suddenly there was knocking at the door, the sounds of exasperated party guests outside, demanding access to the bathroom. 

But it didn't so much as make him falter. They could find a fucking bush as far as Eddie was concerned.

Steve moaned at the sound, clenching around him. A grin broke across Eddie’s face, bending forward to bracket his back. "You like that, baby? You've got an audience." He rumbled into the shell of Steve’s ear, brushing his lips against the soft skin he found there.

If the way Steve almost crumbled beneath him was any indication, his words definitely hit home. 

"I bet this is what you used to imagine, right?" He egged on, quickening his pace. "Me dragging you away from your snobby friends and fucking you dumb in a dark corner. Bet that got you off, didn't it, angel?"

As the words left his tongue, Steve fell apart, leaking hole fluttering as he came around his cock. Eddie groaned, slamming into him to punctuate his appreciation. "That's it, baby- Fuck." 

With quick movements, he clasped Steve's waist, feeling himself falling over the edge. He pushed his face into the freckled flesh of his angel’s shoulder as he pumped him full. 

They stayed locked like that for a while, both attempting to catch their breath as they rode out their orgasms. Eddie pressed lazy kisses to Steve's fevered skin, hands that were roughly handling him only moments before, now stroking him lovingly to bring Steve back to reality.

When Steve finally managed to strain out a few words. "You're an asshole."

Eddie chuckled, wrapping his arms around Steve's torso to pull him into a standing position. "No, sweetheart. I'm a demon. Gotta act the part, remember?"

Steve's face broke out in a tired grin, leaning his head back against Eddie as he closed his eyes. "I hate you." 

Eddie pressed a sweet kiss to his temple, shaking his head. "No you don't, angel."

[leffee]

Alright I feel like I gotta step up my game so here go!

- pepper sometimes steals the boys shirts because they are very comfortable and similar to the boyish style she likes to rock from time to time

- minka has a habit of wandering off so the girls got her a child leash so whenever they go someplace she’ll most likely get lost/separated from them for her safety she’s leashed (they play rock paper scissors to decide who’s in charge of her at the time)

- speaking of wandering vinnie has trouble with that also especially because he’s also easily distracted but Russell didn’t want to do what was done to minka out of embarrassment so he came up with a better solution holding vinnie’s hand.why does this work you may ask? Because once he does vinnie won’t be the one to let go first or ever he loves the attention to much especially since it’s a way to show off that he’s in a relationship in public places

- Zoe simply cannot leave the house without makeup on she feels naked without it everyone has tried to convince her that she’s naturally very pretty but she won’t buy it m. the only one who’s seen her bare face is pepper and she misses that Zoe alot

- Sunil is not a morning mongoose he hates being up early and loves his sleep everyone knows not to (wake the bear so to speak) because of you do you get who pepper calls mr. Cranky all day long ( give him coffee and you get mr. Tolerable lol

- Russell once a year takes his dad to go visit his friends who for a week host a get together in rotation to hang and catch up the dads have fun while the sons babysit them his dad looks forward to it every year and Russell does his best to make him happy because he himself finds it hard to be there for his dad like he should and the guilt from that is something he’s working on fixing

- pennyling tells stories at the library since she’s so good at them she loves it so much and has become a favorite of the children parents often try to hire her for parties and get togethers but she often politely declines because it would put to much on her plate

- minka collects alot of random things she’s gets a little fixated on a thing for a while either because she likes it or thinks she can make art out of it somehow.so she now has alot of random things in general with her for that reason (including her friends fur) “it’s not weird it’s art!” - Minka

- (Touching from the other post) yes vinnie absolutely loves Russell’s body it took him a bit to actually be comfortable with vinnie seeing him in such a vulnerable state but vinnie was very patient and told him he didn’t care how long it took for Russell to do anything in their relationship he was just happy to have someone to give all his love to in fact every chance he gets a hug here, a hug there! here’s vinnie! hugging him ( vinnies used to the quills part at this point)

- sunil speaks Hindi to his parents and Sharukuh but still feels rusty doing it at all he even tried to practice but I tried to get his parents to speak more English for him - side note I do think vinnie can speak Italian because of his mom he just doesn’t use it that often anymore-

- speaking of psycho vinnie he throws an absolute fit if Russell or Sunil have to leave him for a long period of time for any reason crying, screaming, kicking, punching, begging, clinging on for dear life for them to stay he’ll do ANYTHING he can think of ✨side story✨ one time Sunil had a small surgery and vinnie waited for him with so much anxiety when the nurse said that Sunil was able to have visitors vinnie saw his chance and wouldn’t leave him once he made it in the room. He hates hospitals and didn’t like that Sunil was in one. he had to be dragged out kicking and screaming trying to get back in the building. (He did try a few more times to go back but was not successful)

- penny has a hard time seeing leftovers in the fridge because she doesn’t Believe in wasting good food.she is always tempted by them and gets anxious when she sees that they never end up getting eaten.

- sharukuh is super over protective over Sunil he’s also super into cars and learning how to fix them and collecting the ones he thinks are cool. he’s also likes to call vinnie “little buddy”no one knows how it started but vinnie now answers to it. vinnie kinda looks up to him a bit because he does a lot of manly things vinnie wants to learn so naturally

Ok that’s what I have for now I could’ve kept going but it feels so long now haha I hope you like them! Just to clarify I do see them as animals but more ones that act human kinda like in zootopia but they still look like themselves from the show if that makes sense

Other side note sharukuh is not bad to me he does have his own story but he’s not stuck up like in the show he actually met Sunil in college and has been in the group. since him and Sunil do also get together on some of my stories because it’s cute what they have atleast the way I like to see it

Ohh, a big, big number of headcanons is what Leffee likes! And since there's so much delight here to unpack let's start without further ado. And yes, I do have my handy dandy ice coffee with me.

okay, this one is honestly just precious. Can we all just agree that male clothes are more comfortable? Yeah? Good. Plus, it does align with how I imagine Pepper choosing clothes, so yes, basically comfortable T-shirts. I'd imagine she likes Vinnie's the most because they are super stupid, with stupid texts and images and she loves it

look, I- just... *laughs like a dolphin*. So true! She would, wouldn't she? She's on a freaking leash. I honestly don't think she would mind, the not wandering part she would, but not the being on a leash part. Though she would probably be able to escape as soon as whoever is holding that leash is distracted for at least a moment

yup, Vinnie does have a tendency to get lost, doesn't he? I agree. But omg, that solution is just the cutest thing ever! He would see something and start heading into another direction but Russell sees it in time and just quickly catches his hand, like "no". And once he does Vinnie immediately forgets about whatever he was distracted by because he's just this fixated on Russell holding his hand, ep! In fact, his tail starts wagging. Shush, I want a reptile to be able to wag his tail like a dog, is that so wrong ;-;

this is just... yeah, she would feel like it. That also, ironically, humanizes her a bit. Her tendency to care so much about looks I mean. Just adds that extra depth to Zoe. And yes, I absolutely agree that everyone has genuinely tried to convince her that she looks just as great without it. Perhaps Pepper at first was rather teasy about it but seeing how much Zoe actually cares about it she changed her tone completely and was like, "No, Zoe, I really mean it. I'm not kidding this time." On a kinda side note, I do think that at least once the boys had a conversation that went somewhat like this "You know, I sometimes wonder why our girls even wear makeup." "Yeah! I guess they look different wearing it but they look so good without it too." "True, they are all so pretty." In short: they love them and genuinely find them all so pretty. Please, give me that

yeah, I think the "It's a happy, happy, happy world" implanted that headcanon in all of our minds, didn't it? It did in mine at least. Not only that, but I imagine he just needs a lot of sleep to function normally. He's not a morning person (or a mangoose) and neither is he the night owl. He sleep all night long or suffers. And yes, he needs his coffee, I personally see him drinking literally the most bitter shit possible. Not because he likes it all that much, but because it's the only kind of coffee that wakes him up when he's up too early

oh please, this is just too precious. I just find Jerry so endearing, you have no idea how much this headcanon means to me. Also I imagine that Russell's friends just simply adore him as well (I mean, it was kinda shown in the episode so I'm not pulling that out of my ass entirely). In short: yes, great headcanon. I have a feeling I had something else to say here but I can't remember now :[

okay this just such a natural progression of Penny's story telling prowess, I'm genuinely surprised I never thought of that. Yes, she absolutely does. She could earn money from that, just saying ;)

okay, yes. As a person who loves having others' items even if they aren't in general anything extraordinary I so understand her. For example, I have this part of a pen of one of my classmates' from highschool and I take it everywhere. It's like my lucky charm or sth. Yes, she definitely has her friends' fur (and scales), tbh I do think they would be fairly easy to incorporate into art. Then again, I do think she's that kind of monkey who would never actually end up using those and just store these items until the end of time. I don't blame her. That way she can have her friends with her wherever she goes :)

yes, exactly, this boy is so full of love. Listen, he might not be a genius but when it comes to his friends, and especially when it really matters, he will do anything for them. Especially for his love interest that is Russell. It doesn't matter to him how Russell looks, it wouldn't matter if he suddenly lost or gained 20 kilograms (44 pounds), lost a limb or had 3rd degree burns, what matters is that it is Russell's body. I don't always make him unhealthily obsessive but in my mind he's always at least a bit obsessed over others, though to a more healthy degree. And about the quills part, I can't help but combine it with my headcanon that due to his constant falling and tripping his pain tolerance is above average, and with getting used to those quills? He's basically physically invulnerable

ok, not much to add here from me, I'll talk about Sharukh more later but for now let's just say I'm happy he's not an asshole in your version :>. But Vinnie? Yup, that sounds good. Did you take that italian part from my rambles? Anyway, yes. The thing is, I imagine his mother (yes, he calls her mother) knew at least a bit of English. He and his sister on the other hand were still very young when arriving to America so they learned the language much easier. With Vinnie being younger he assimilated it so easily in fact he's pretty much bilingual. But due to italian being his native tongue he still finds it a bit more natural. That's also the reason why he sometimes messes up words in English, especially if they sound similar. In short: they all learned it and since they live in mostly english-speaking country now they rarely use Italian anyway. But it does rub Vinnie the wrong way when he does. He can, he just won't. But sometimes when he forgets words in English he will stop for a second, recall the word he needs in Italian, translate it to English and then he can continue, like this: "Man, I could really drink some... uh..." "It's latte in Italian. And latte means..." "...milk!" Sorry, I always end up writing more about him than anything else, I don't even know Italian!

ah yes, Vinnie but he's fucking unhinged... so I guess just the regular Vinnie. Nah, I'm just kidding :3, anyway, yes yes and once again YES! He's best at his worst, I tell ya. It's so cool too, because anything else he can be or appear so chill abou. There's a fire nearby? Meh. He broke his arm? Happened before will happen again. But one of his friends leaving him or being in any sort of danger whether real or imaginery? He falls apart. He won't even try to stop the tears or any other reactions because they are just too strong, he couldn't if he tried. He'll cry, beg, rip his hair out, you said it all. And if everything else fails he'll just cling to that person. And that side story is just perfect. Small surgery? Sure, yeah, it's still a damn surgery in a damn hospital. He's going to panic and he's going to panic hard. He might as well be more stressed than Sunil at this point. He doesn't sleep, he just paces around and due to stress is so impulsive he won't stop at anthing. He has that feral energy, as you said, he kicks and screams, plus all that frustration combined with adrenaline just gives him extra strenght that seems impossible in his puny body and yet. That's sheer determination, desperation and instability. I mean, we've seen him when Sunil wasn't in the daycare for just one day, he ripped that thing to shreds. Two times actually. What do you think he'd do in any sort of similar situation but one that would go on longer? He's my little destruction and I love him

she's just like me fr fr. Well, kinda. But that feeling of anxiety by seeing leftover food? Now that's another good trait for a character that makes them seem more deep and that's always good

now this the moment when I talk about Sharukh more. It's so cool to see him being nice and mingling with our beloved seven pets/humans or whatever else. Him being overprotective over Sunil is actually so wholesome to see, you know, especially after how we see him act in his episode and that whole bunch of headcanons back in the day that made Sharukh Sunil's brother and made him basically bully Sunil. That was genuinely disheartening and made me really dislike this headcanon.

(tumblr was giving me some weird errors about word limit in one block so that's why there's this weird break here, I will continue directly from where I ended in a new block then)

[...] But as always I fixate on the Vinnie part. Him calling Vinnie "little buddy" is so fucking cute, it was a long time coming for someone to call him that, am I right? He's so- he's so little nnngh *cries*. But come on, that is just precious. I just imagine the whole group gathering somewhere one day and as soon as Sharukh comes he's like "Hi guys, and hello to you, little buddy." Just juust aaaaa *cries again*. See, Sharukh can be nice and even manly! I like him like that. AND Vinnie looking up to him (literally pfpfpf)? Great, just great headcanon overall

Ahh, that was satisfying, but then again when talking about lps isn't? Yeah lmao, I would love to have even more too but I guess that is enough for one post (I mean, it literally told me I reached some word limit). Not enough in general though :D. I'm always up to see more of your thoughts or headcanons, please, you have no idea how happy they make me, I really want to see more. I won't force you to do anything, but also please, please when you're in the mood and have time and want to, send more, they make me so happy. I don't care how long or short the ask is, I want as much as possible.

Alright, that's an actually interesting take, especially since based on all those human-like actions I thought you were talking about them as if they were humans. Nothing wrong with seeing them still as pets just more human-like! In fact, one of the reasons why I primaly imagine them as people is because they can do more like this, but the way you describe it allows that too so I can't complain. Yes, yes it does make sense, don't worry.

I have already talked about Sharukh but as finishing thoughts I'll add this: as long as he's not an asshole I'm happy to see him too. Plus, he calls Vinnie "little buddy", you have already won me over with that because that is just so cute. Not to mention that it also balances the girls-boys ratio. And he's tall! How could you not like him like that! Maybe I do want to kiss him.

[theaudacitytowrite]

Private Tutoring

Loki x Fem!Reader

A/N: Fluffy Request no.2 by the lovely @lucywrites02 :

"How about Loki helping Peter with homework? And the reader sees it and has heart eyes because Loki is so soft uwu"

I got a bit carried away at some point and it's maybe a bit more Loki and Peter than I anticipated. Hope you like it nonetheless :)

Also, I wrote a part in italian... and my skills might be a lil rusty... so sorry to any one who does speak it as their first language. I included an english translation at the end:)

Summary: Loki helps Peter with studying, not aware that the Reader is watching them.

Word count: 1.596

Y/N was casually strolling through the corridors of the tower, her only mission was to acquire a snack. She walked by the living room area when a groan made her stop in her tracks. She peeked around the door frame and saw Peter sitting on the ground at the coffee table.

His head had collapsed on a pile of loose papers and books. Scattered around him laid markers and crumpled up notes. It was finals week and Peter had been stressing over it for months now, annoying practically everyone on the team.

He was constantly repeating the same facts such as the process of kinesines walking on microturbule filaments to transport important components throughout the cell. He even recited during missions, earning groans from the whole team. Some went even that far and turned off their intercom.

Y/N didn’t mind it though, she often times recognized certain terms and processes Peter was describing. She felt proud when she could help him once in a while, when he got stuck at some point. Finally she could apply some of the stuff she had learned at school. Even if it was just to help Peter with studying.

Peter wasn’t too worried about science and sport, but he was a nervous wreck when he had thought of his exams about languages and art. Y/N stifled a laugh, glad she had graduated years ago and hadn’t to endure this kind of torture anymore, when she heard another voice in the room.

“It’s not that hard. You just have to keep the basics in mind. Is it a male or a female person you are talking about? The rest pretty much explains itself.�� Loki shrugged helpless.

“Says the one, who has the ability of Allspeak.” Peter muttered under his breath.

“I hate to break it to you, but Allspeak just allows me to be heard by any being in their native language, and in return I can understand them.” Loki pressed his lips into a thin line. He knew that Peter didn’t mean to be so snary, he was just under a lot of pressure at the moment.

“And how do you know about all of these grammar rules and stuff then?” Peter sighed with a frown.

“I became fond of the language and the culture. Also their desserts taste like heaven. So naturally I wanted to know more about it. But I have to admit, I learned Latin when I was younger, so I had a slight advantage in contrast to you. But you can do this too, spiderling. You just need the right motivation. Let’s begin with that: what exactly don’t you understand?”

“I dunno.” Peter exclaimed exasperated, throwing his hands up in defeat.

“Hey, hey. Don’t worry. I’m here to help. Please don’t get upset” Loki sat beside him with crossed legs, patting Peters back reassuringly.

“I just can’t wrap my head around it, Mr. Loki. I’ll never understand it. I’m just too dumb.” Peter rubbed his hands of his face.

“Don’t say something like that.” Loki scolded, but softened his expression quickly again.

“I think I’m just a hopeless case. Choosing italian as an extracurricular activity was the stupidest idea I ever had. I could’ve joined the chess club or something. Now MJ will think I am stupid when I fail our oral final.”

“Oh, so all of this is about a girl?” Loki raised an eyebrow.

“Maybe..?” Peter shuffled nervously, he hadn’t intended to say the last part out loud.

“Well, have you considered that you could woo your precious girlfriend with an extensive knowledge of another language?”

“Honestly, that wasn’t my plan. I just wanted to spend more time with her and study and learn another skill together. You really think I could impress her with italian?"

“Picture this: You and MJ together on a holiday in Italy. After a beautiful day of sight seeing, you go out for dinner and you can order in perfect italian, ordering a desert you two share. That surely would impress a young lady, wouldn't it?”

“Even though this is sounding great and really romantic coming from you,” Peter quickly back paddled, when he realised what he had said, “no offense.”

“None taken… yet.” Loki smirked, pleasantly surprised by Peters wit.

“I just don’t think italian can have that big of an effect on someone, can it?”

“You underestimate the bewitching sound of this language, my young friend. You can practically say anything to someone and it would sound like a confession of undying love. Provided, they don’t speak it. For example: Y/N é com-”

“Y/N?” Peter interrupted him with a surprised look. Y/N pricked up her ears when her name was mentioned that casually. Her interest in this conversation peaked.

“Just go with it.” Loki ordered.

“Y/N è come il sole. Calda e luminosa. I suoi occhi brilla luminosi, mettendo in risalta l'essenza della sua bellezza.

Quando la guardi lei illumina il tuo stesso animo. Lava via tutte le tue preoccupazioni e paure. Senza la sua presenza sarei sicuramente morto.

Il sua tocca mi accarezza con la potenza di mille soli, rendendolo a volte quasi insopportabile. Eppure lo bramo con tutto me stesso.”

“Woow… that did sound really good. Did you insult her?” Peter snickered.

“Something along the lines.” Loki shrugged with a bashful smile. He still hadn't noticed her standing in the doorway. Else he could’ve seen Y/N standing there, swooning over the way his words had spilled over his lips skillfully. She had never heard anything that beautiful before, not caring if Loki really did say something mean. He probably was just teasing about one of her quirks like he always was.

“I’ll give you this. It’s sounds pretty nice.” Peter reasoned.

“And I assure you, MJ will swoon over you when you court her with these sweet nothings whispered into her ear.” Loki daydreamed, a soft smile on his lips as if he had someone special on his mind.

“That almost sounds like you have thought of doing something like that.” Peter teased. Lokis smile fell instantly and he glared at him for a moment. Peter quickly tried to distract Loki from his thoughtless comment, “Ok, let’s try this again then.”

“From the top.” Loki let the previous comment slide gratefully.

Y/N chuckled at the exchange she had witnessed. Seeing Loki act so soft and kind with Peter made her stomach flutter. A warm feeling was washing over her and she couldn’t help the stupid smile on her face. She felt proud of Loki, that he had allowed to lower his guards slowly but surely. She couldn’t wait until the whole team could see who Loki really was.

The rumbling of her stomach reminded her of her actual mission, the flutter not helping her hunger in any way. She looked back at the duo who went into a huddle over a book again and smiled, before she reluctantly continued her walk to the kitchen. She could’ve watched those two for hours.

When she returned after a while, full and satisfied, she could hear Peter excitedly translate vocabularies Loki queried.

“Just?” Loki inquired the last vocabulary but Peter suddenly began to stutter.

“Was it something with r?” he rubbed his neck uncertain.

“Focus, Peter. You got this. Think of another word for ‘just’.” Loki advised. You could almost hear Peters brainrattle during the struggle to find the right word.

“Just…. only…? Hmm.. no. Solely…. solamente!” he exclaimed excitedly, jumping up and down while pointing at Loki who sat on a couch.

“Yes!” Loki jumped up as well, pumping his fist into the air, “Well done, spiderling!”

“Thank you Mr. Loki!” Peter jumped around his neck for a brief hug, “Now I feel ready for my exam on friday.”

“You’re welcome. And good luck with your exam!” Loki beamed, as he watched Peter gather all his books and went to leave the room. When Loki turned around to sit back on the couch, a surprised huff escaped his lips.

“Oh, Y/N. I didn’t see you there. How long have you been standing there? How much did you hear?” he scolded himself internally of how shaky those words had come out.

“Not that long...” she grinned at him cheekily as she strolled towards him, “It was adorable to see you two. You really have a way with kids.”

“I’m just happy when I can help.” Loki tried to brush off her compliment. Shit, was his face getting warm?

“What did you say about me earlier?” she suddenly asked. So she must have heard a lot...

“I suppose you have to learn italian to find out.” he joked, scrunching up his nose.

“Rude...” she giggled, poking him into his stomach. He caught her hand in his before she could retreat.

“I mean… you could learn if from one of the best.” he offered cockily, his confidence returning in a flash.

“That sounds tempting.” she couldn’t help to bite her lip. Lokis hand was still holding hers tightly, their eyes locked. She could feel a pleasant coldness creeping up her wrist, suddenly being hyper aware of their lack of distance.

“When do we start?” she barely answered over a whisper.

~

English translation:

Y/N is like the sun. Warm and bright. Her eyes shine brightly, highlighting the essence of her beauty.

When you look at her she illuminates your own soul. She washes away all of your worries and fears. Without her presence I would surely die.

Her touch caresses me with the might of a thousands suns, making it almost unbearable at times. Yet I crave for it with my whole being.

~

Taglist: @funsized-mimi

Let me know if you wanna get added.

[tenthemonstertruckfairy]

Rules

There are 3 sections to this: Art, Fics/Drabble, RP.

Please read each section as it corresponds to our potential interactions. Thank you.

☆ART☆

- Don’t take any of the art/icons I've created.

▪︎ Unless it was something I specifically made for you, if you want to use something, please ask.

- I am open to art requests/suggestions.

▪︎My initial intention for creating this blog was to get in more practice with anatomy and poses, as even before I stopped drawing for over a year oops I had difficulty with those areas. I am open to constructive criticism, and pointers are appreciated. Demands and rude comments are not.

▪︎ I reserve the right to refuse any art request. All NSFW art requests made to this blog will be ignored. I'm not comfortable enough with where my skill level is at to even consider drawing such things.

☆FANFICS AND DRABBLE☆

- I will make a post when I am open to suggestions for these. It's been a very long time since I've written one, so I'm nervous about being rusty.

- I will not post NSFW fics on this blog. In the highly unlikely event that I were to create an NSFW, it would be posted to a sideblog.

☆ROLEPLAY☆

- It's perfectly fine to nudge me about an rp I haven’t responded to yet. I do have a tendency to take longer than I should sometimes, as I'm a bit busy taking care of my grandmother, so please be patient with me.

- The Mun is 29, but normally does shy away from doing much NSFW stuff. You shouldn’t expect any actual smut to show up here. If things get to being NSFW during a roleplay at any point, they will either be moved to dms or to a sideblog.

- I’m fine with having Sun/Moon/Ten enter into relationships, but there needs to be chemistry before hand. No suddenly saying your character is dating any of them out of the blue. Unless it’s part of an askmeme, and previously agreed upon.

- Multishipping is a-ok. I will make a page to keep track of them if it happens. All ships will occur as AUs unless previously agreed upon by all parties within them.

- No adult x minor ships. If you or your muse is a minor there will be no romantic relationship interactions. You will be blocked if this is attempted.

- Godmodding is a no-no.

- Feel free to jump into the askbox, I don’t bite.

- Open to m!a's but I am somewhat selective. Will sometimes save them for a later date when I've received multiple.

- There will be cursing, please be aware of this. Mostly from Moon, but he isn't the only one.

- If there’s something you’re not sure about then feel free to ask.

- If you want to send me a message over DM to plot, ask something ooc, or even just to say hi, then I’m fine with it.

- My discord is available to mutuals, but I normally don’t get into calls. As long as tumblr notifications aren't broken though, I'm just as likely to answer at the same speed if messaged through here. If you want my discord then feel free to ask, however if we haven’t spoken before then I may not give it to you.

--------------------------------------------

!!!! These rules are subject to change and may be updated accordingly. !!!!

- Please tag blog as TenTheMonstertruckFairy ▪︎Other tags will be listed later for side-blogs and related content.

This blog is not affiliated with the game franchise.

[jewish-space-laser]

Miles & Black Coffee - Part One

“When you’re on a golden sea, You don’t need no memory, Just a place to call your own, As we drift into the zone...” 

-Island in the Sun by Weezer

Hello, and welcome to part one of M&BC! She’s split up into parts, a day late, and a bit rusty... but she’s here! It’ll be my first new piece of writing since I rejoined tumblr, so it’s a bit nerve-wracking. Thank you to Kate @andwhenshesays, Anne @oh-honey-styles, and Anna @for-fucks-sake-h for organizing this entire challenge, you’ve brought so much joy to our little tumblr community. We love you all dearly ♥️ (4.5k words)

xoxoxox Tile

Warnings: mild drinking, mild drug use (just weed)

You and Harry would never be friends. You were up and down, night and day, oil and water. You just didn’t mesh. He was your roommate’s insufferable older brother, and that is all he would ever be. Well, at least that’s what you thought before….

or

the one with campfire conversations, cabin getaways, and enemies that were never really enemies after all.

MONDAY

Pine trees and cornfields flew by in a blur as you stared out the window of your roommate’s minivan. Every once in a while, there’d be a pasture of cows or a horse ranch. It had been exciting at first, but now you were just bored. 

“How much longer?” You called over the music, trying to keep the whine from your voice. It had been hours since you left your apartment this morning, and you’d only stopped once to stretch your legs and take a bathroom break. 

“The GPS says we still have an hour and a half to go,” Callie groaned, stepping a bit harder on the gas pedal.

Normally, you loved road trips, but this particular drive was more cramped than you’d bargained for. There were seven girls packed into the van, and you’d been unfortunate enough to get squished into the backseat with your twin sister and her girlfriend, who hadn’t stopped with the obnoxious PDA since the car got on the freeway. 

You took a deep breath and closed your eyes, trying to will away your nauseating carsickness. This week had been marked into your calendar for months, and you’d be damned if you let this god-awful car ride ruin it for you. 

Callie, your college roommate, had a cabin in northern Wisconsin that she’d been raving about for years. She’d been going there with her family for decades, every summer since pre-school, she’d said. According to her, it was a beautiful property, equipped with a private lakeside beach, fire pit, and a full bar. 

It was going to be the perfect getaway. You and Callie had rounded up all of your girlfriends, packed all of the essentials for a spa night, junk food, board games, movies. You’d packed four swimsuits just in case; the weather forecast looked fantastic, high seventies and low eighties all week long. 

It was going to be the perfect vacation. Well, almost perfect. 

Harry was going to be there.

Harry, the constant thorn in your side. Harry, Callie’s older brother. Harry, the one who eats all of your food whenever he visits. Harry, the one who constantly picked fights with you. You and him had never gotten along, not even for a second. 

There wasn’t a single person alive who got on your nerves more than he did. Generally, you got along with most people, but Harry was the exception to the rule. You couldn’t seem to shake him off. 

You weren’t about to let him ruin this trip, though. There were going to be fourteen people staying at the cabin, so it should be a piece of cake to avoid him for a week; there were plenty of other people to interact with. And even if you couldn’t avoid him, you were going to let his inevitable snarky comments roll off of your back. Well, you’d try to, at least.

Perhaps that’s what annoyed you most about him, the reaction you’d have from the smallest fight. With anyone else, it was water under the bridge… with Harry, you thought about it for days afterwards, thinking of better comebacks you should’ve said or ways you could have changed your schedule to steer clear of him altogether. He made your skin prickle with irritation, and turned you into somebody you didn’t like very much. 

It had been months since you’d seen him, not that you’d been keeping track. He typically visits Callie a few times a semester, but his senior year was more intense than he had anticipated, according to his sister. He just couldn’t spare the two hour drive from his university to yours.

But now it was summertime. Gone were the papers, projects, and responsibilities… it was finally time to relax and have fun. You only had one year of college left before graduation, so you and your friends wanted to make the most of it. Harry and his friends had just graduated, so they were at the cabin for their last hurrah before real life kicked in. 

If you were being honest with yourself, you were excited that Harry was bringing some of his frat brothers along. You and your ex had just ended things recently, and you were finally feeling ready to get back into the dating game. Being trapped in a cabin with a handful of cute guys felt like a dream. 

Finally, after what felt like centuries, Callie slowed the car down and turned onto a dirt road. The other girls in the car started desperately peering out the window to get a glimpse of the lake and surrounding forest. 

The moment the cabin came into view, your jaw dropped. You knew Callie’s parents were loaded, but this hardly looked like the rustic getaway you were expecting. There were three buildings, each labelled with a birch bark sign. Two speedboats and a pontoon were docked at the beach, inflatable tubes and paddleboards littered around the sand nearby. 

It wasn’t until Callie parked and shut off the engine that you heard a heavy bass thrum coming from the building marked MAIN CABIN. The other two buildings were labelled GUEST CABIN and SHOWER HOUSE. You were snapped out of it when Olivia and Jane, who had been sitting in the middle bucket seats, swung their sliding doors open and practically fell onto the ground. 

“I don’t think I remember how to walk normally,” Charlie, a girl from your art history class, groaned, “like, we were sitting in that car for so long….”

“Oh, shush,” your sister, Morgan, scoffed, “at least you got to sit up front. I was crammed into the back between these two.”

Both you and her girlfriend, Isobel, huffed in protest, but it wasn’t worth picking a fight over. You’d have plenty of time to bicker later. For now, the fresh air and cool breeze were like heaven after a long road trip.

“The boys beat us here,” Callie remarked.

Sure enough, there were two other cars already parked in the driveway. Back behind the main cabin, a plume of smoke rose into the air. You could hear loud laughter, loud enough to drown out the trap music they had playing. 

“They’ve started a bonfire!” Olivia squealed, clasping her hands in front of her chest. “I’m ready to get partying… it’s four in the afternoon and I’ve spent all day in a car. I need a drink.”

A few others were laughing and nodding in agreement, already making their way towards the boys, but you hung back. You’d party later, but after spending an entire day stuck with six other people, you just wanted to be alone. Plus, you wanted to drink tonight, and you’d never get around to unpacking your bag if you were wasted. 

You managed to dig your duffel bag out from the pile of luggage in the trunk, letting it fall to the ground with a thump. Callie had just been finishing up with a phone call when you looked up. 

“Hey, you’re not joining the others?” She asked. “I was about to head over, they’ve got a fire going. Just had to call my mum to let her know we made it.”

“I’ll join in a bit,” you promised “but I want to unpack my things first… where are we all staying?”

“You’re in the main cabin, I have you sharing a room with Charlie, is that okay?” She questioned. You nodded quickly, relief flooding over you. You liked all of the girls who came on the trip, but Charlie was by far the easiest to get along with. “Harry and I each have our own room in the main cabin, too, so you won’t be alone. Everyone else is in the guest cabin, though.”

“The guest cabin,” you giggled, slinging your bag over your shoulder as Callie lead you into the main building, “this place is swanky, Cal.”

“We host all of our family reunions here,” she shrugged, “we need lots of space. Plus it’s fun for occasions like this… we’re just lucky my dad is letting us use the boats. He treats those things like they’re his own children, only Harry is allowed to drive them this week.”

You made a face at the mention of her brother. “I’ll be staying far away from the boats, then.”

“Oh god,” Callie groaned, “I know you two don’t get along very well, but please try to be civil… we’re here for a whole week, after all.”

“I’m always civil,” you protested innocently, “it’s him you need to worry about.”

“Always civil,” she scoffed, “we both know that’s not true, but I’ll let it slide.”

Okay, so maybe you had a slight temper when it came to Harry, but nine times out of ten, he was the one who started the argument. You were never the type to actively seek out conflict, but Harry seemed to thrive off of it. Whether it was eating all the food from your half of the fridge, throwing his dark blue t-shirt in with your load of whites, or playing his guitar in your living room until three in the morning when you had a test the next day… it felt like he was out to get you. 

And he was never apologetic. Of course not. He probably got off on watching steam blow from your ears. 

You took a deep breath as Callie led you up a wooden staircase, trying not to let yourself get worked up. The cabin was gorgeous from what you’d seen on the main floor. Though you hadn’t lingered, you’d noticed that there was a bookshelf that took up an entire wall, packed to the brim with books with faded spines, vinyl records with worn edges, and an assortment of candles and bookends sprinkled throughout randomly. You couldn’t wait to explore the entire property. 

Photographs lined the walls of every hallway, snapshots of Harry and Callie running around as kids. There was a hilarious picture of a young Harry crying as he held a fishing pole, a bare hook dangling from the line. The Styles family clearly had a great sense of humor. You made a mental note to take a photo of it on your phone later; it would be perfect ammo for the next fight that Harry would inevitably start. 

“This is the bathroom…” she drawled, “no shower though. We all just use the shower house, which isn’t really as bad as it sounds. Just make sure you bring clothes with you, otherwise you’ll have to walk across the lawn in just your towel.”

You grimaced at the thought. As she continued to lead you down the hall, you saw two doors, one with CALLIE’S ROOM written in bright pink bubble letters, and the second with a wooden plaque, the word HARRY written in what was clearly a child’s handwriting. 

“This is technically my parents’ room, but we use it as a guest room if it’s just us kids,” Callie explained, stopping at the last door in the hallway, “they have a king bed, so I figured you and Charlie could just share.”

“That’s fine,” you assured her, not hesitating to drop your heavy duffel onto the side of the bed closest to the window, “this place is awesome, Callie.”

“Right?” She grinned. “I’m stoked for the week, it’s gonna be so fun.”

“You should go down to the bonfire,” you told her, placing a hand on your bag, “I’ll come join as soon as I’m done.”

Luckily, your roommate of two years understood that you needed alone time sometimes, so she left you without protest. 

This was exactly the recharge time that you needed. You were the kind of person who loved being around friends, but there was only so much socializing you could handle before you needed a break to be on your own. Even though you hadn’t spoken much on the ride to the cabin, being squished into a mini-van with six other girls drained your social battery. Giving yourself a moment to breathe and relax was necessary if you were going to rejoin the group.

Pressing the shuffle play button on your spotify, you smiled when the soft melody of your favorite folk song thrummed through your headphones. You swayed from side-to-side as you unzipped your bag, which had been packed to perfection. 

Four swimsuits, a different outfit for each day (plus a few extra items… overpacking is better than underpacking), sunscreen, bug spray, all of your toiletries. It was fun to organize everything into the empty wardrobe by the window; looking at all of your stuff just made you more excited to be here.

Time flew by as you danced around the room. Most of your things were put away, and you’d stashed your empty bag under the bed. The one thing you hadn’t put away yet was your assortment of swimsuits. It had been difficult picking out which ones you wanted to bring, but you’d settled on three bikinis and a one-piece with the sides cut out. You were itching to change out of your leggings and t-shirt; they felt gross against your skin after sitting in the van all day. 

Just as you went to pick up your navy blue sequined bikini top, a hand abruptly clamped down on your shoulder. 

“Holy shit!” You spun around on your heels, hand flying to cover your beating heart. You were less than pleased to find Harry standing there, wide-eyed and trying to mask his amusement by biting down on his lip. 

“Didn’t mean to sneak up on you,” he chuckled, “forgot how jumpy you are.”

“I’m not jumpy,” you frowned, pulling your headphones out of your ears and crossing your arms over your stomach, “what are you doing in here?”

“Nice to see you too,” he scoffed, dimple indenting into his cheek, “I was just using the loo, then I was gonna go back to the party, where we’re having fun. Foreign concept to you, I’m sure.”

You rolled your eyes, turning around so he couldn’t see how hard you were scowling. He always knew just what to say to get your blood boiling.

“Are you implying that I don’t know how to have fun, Harry?” You asked sarcastically. 

“Ah, I knew you were smarter than you looked,” he grinned. “Cute swim top.”

It was only then that you noticed his attire. Well, lack of attire. He was wearing the smallest swimming shorts you’d ever seen, his chest tanned from the sun and completely bare apart from a single cross necklace that hung over his sternum. His hair had grown out since the last time you saw him, and it looked a bit ridiculous with his sunglasses on top of his head. 

He looked good, not that you’d ever admit it. Luckily, you were fantastic at masking your wandering eyes; he had a tendency of walking around your apartment in his boxers during visits, so you’d had plenty of practice.

“Shut up,” you groaned, throwing the bikini top back onto the bed. You’d been planning on wearing that one, but Harry ruined it with his gross comment, just like he ruins most things for you. 

“I’m quite incapable of shutting up,” he mused, throwing himself down onto your side of the bed, “you should know this by now.”

“Trust me,” you were completely unamused, still standing with your arms crossed over your stomach, “I’m well aware.”

“You should come join the party,” he continued speaking as if you hadn’t said anything, seemingly unfazed by how visibly irritated you were, “it’s the first day and you’re already being a buzzkill. Maybe you should try like… try stepping out of your comfort zone, just for the week.”

“Thank you so much for that lovely unsolicited advice,” you said sarcastically, “now if we’re talking about comfort zones, you laying on my bed is definitely out of mine.”

“Please, you love me on your bed,” he smirked, closing his eyes, “this is a dream come true for you.”

“Are you delusional?” You were running out of patience. “Did you hit your head?”

“Why?” He said innocently. “Are you thinking about playing nurse? Because I hate to break your heart, but I’m not into wet blankets. Maybe if you loosened up a bit.”

If he wasn’t gone in thirty seconds, you were going to scream. He seemed to be enjoying himself, arms crossed behind his head with a twinkle in his eye as you stared daggers at him. 

“Are you quite done?” You spit. “I can feel my IQ dropping every time you speak. Plus, I need to change before I come down.”

“Ooh, can I watch?” He waggled his eyebrows. 

That was it. “Harry, get out, okay?”

“Jeez, okay, fine,” he grumbled, rolling clumsily off of the bed, “so bossy, you are.”

You pointed a finger towards the door, leveling him with the steeliest glare you could muster. “Out,” you repeated.

“You should come down sooner rather than later,” he said, completely unbothered, “I’m sure you’ll be much nicer once you’ve had a drink or two.”

He was gone before you could think of a response. The annoyance bubbling inside you was so intense, you felt like you wanted to break something. Instead, you punched your pillow a few times to release some tension, taking a deep breath to compose yourself after.

You wrinkled your nose at the blue bikini top, choosing to wear an orange floral patterned one instead. You’d never give Harry the satisfaction.

~~~

The fire was absolutely roaring. 

It was perfect. The fire pit was lined with wooden logs, the tops shaved off to make benches. There was hardly enough space for all fourteen of you, but you managed to squeeze in as you all roasted corn and hot dogs over the fire. It wasn’t too windy, so you didn’t have to worry about smoke blowing into your eyes, but the bugs were relentless. 

The air around you smelled of smoke, bug spray, and good food. There were a few different conversations happening, and every once in a while, a few people would break out into loud, contagious laughter. 

Harry had tried to talk to you when you came down, but you’d avoided him like the plague. You had absolutely nothing nice to say to him after his snarky comments in your room, and any further interaction with him at this point would just end in disaster. Thankfully, he was quickly distracted by some of his frat brothers, and he hadn’t tried to approach you again all night. 

Now, you were chatting with Olivia and one of the boys, Luke. By the time you’d gone down to the bonfire, everyone was several drinks in. You’d been forced to play catch-up by way of tequila shots, so you had a pleasant buzz running through your veins.

“This is a perfect summer night,” you sighed happily, pulling your skewer from the flames to keep your corn from burning. 

“Almost perfect,” a boy named Archie corrected, “we haven’t been out on the lake yet.”

Harry and three of the other boys had arrived a night early to get the boats ready, and now that Archie mentioned it, the pontoon was looking mighty tempting. The sun hadn’t fully set, but dusk was beginning to settle in, blanketing the forest with pink and orange hues, a gorgeous reflection of the sunset above you. It was the perfect time to go out on the water.

“How do we feel about the pontoon?” You wondered out loud. There was no way you’d all fit, but you could go in groups. 

“It’s too buggy to be on the water,” Callie wrinkled her nose, “I’m getting eaten alive as it is.”

“I’m down, as long as I can smoke a spliff while we’re out there,” James, one of the other boys, shrugged, “obviously I’ll share, I brought tons.”

A few others around the circle chimed in with their interest, and before you knew it, people were standing up to make their way over to the docks. You weren’t the best with names, but much to your relief, you’d introduced yourself to everyone going on the boat. Obviously, you already knew Morgan and Isobel, and were somewhat friendly with Jane, Archie, and James. 

“I’ll come along, too,” a voice behind you yawned. When you turned around, you immediately felt yourself melt. Ryan, a boy you’d had a single class with freshman year, was stretching his arms out as he stood up, and he was looking directly at you with a flirtatious smile. 

You’d had a major crush on him for the entirety of your class together, but you’d been too shy to say anything to him. He was a whole year older, after all, and that had been intimidating when you were eighteen. 

You returned his smile, biting down on your bottom lip shyly. 

“I guess I’m going too, then,” Harry sighed, shoving the last of his hot dog into his mouth before dusting his hands off. 

Immediately, your face dropped. Harry snorted when he saw your expression, digging around the pocket in his swimsuit to retrieve a key. 

“I’m the only one allowed to drive the boats, remember? Dad made me promise.” 

Your shoulders slumped. You’d completely forgotten that Callie had mentioned it to you earlier. You weren’t about to turn down a sunset boat ride though, especially now that Ryan was coming along as well. 

Everyone scarfed down the rest of their food in a rush as Harry went over to untie the boat and make sure it was good to go. You watched as he leaned far over the edge of the dock, so far that nearly fell face-first into the water before righting himself and trying again.. 

“Hey,” Ryan had walked next to you, following your line of sight, “he’s gonna fall in, isn’t he?”

“I hope so,” you giggled.

“You were in my History 204 class, weren’t you? Sophomore year?” He asked.

Your entire body flushed. You didn’t think he’d noticed you at all, let alone enough to remember you years later. Having Ryan up at the cabin, talking to you, felt like a dream come true.

“I was a freshman, but yeah, I think so,” you nodded nonchalantly, “I hated that professor.”

“Oh god, same!” He laughed, shaking his head, “such a drag, just constant pop quizzes!”

“Ugh, yes!” You turned your body towards him fully. “And that midterm assignment….”

“Don’t even get me started,” Ryan pretended to shiver in fear. 

You laughed loudly, and from the corner of your eye you saw Harry turn to glance in your direction. Upon a closer look, he’d managed to wrangle the boat so it was right up against the dock. 

“All aboard!” He shouted.

You rolled your eyes at his ridiculous antics. He always thought he was so funny, especially when you were the butt of his jokes. You hoped he’d be too busy driving to bother you. 

Luckily, Ryan seemed keen to stay by your side, even helping you step into the boat by taking your hand to keep you balanced, so Harry didn’t have much of a chance to say anything. By the time the boat was moving, everyone was sitting in a circle on the floor, clipping in the life jackets that Callie had forced us all to wear. 

As soon as the wind blew through your hair, you tilted your head up and closed your eyes. Lakes didn’t smell great, but you’d always loved it. It was classic, nostalgic. You’d spent every summer of your life swimming in Midwest lakes, so it felt just like summer.

James was true to his word, and pulled out four fatly rolled joints, passing them around with a lighter. You didn’t do this often, but it felt like the perfect moment. The sun was disappearing fast, and soon enough you’d be able to see the stars.

At some point, Harry slowed the engine down to a gentle hum when the boat reached the middle of the lake, getting a couple of the others to help him throw the anchor over the edge. Afterwards, he moved back over to the driving console and fiddled with a few buttons until quiet, staticky music sounded out. He then sat down across the circle from you, immediately accepting one of the joints from Archie. 

You stood up on your knees, and looked around. Water lapped lightly against the sides of the boat, so it took you a moment to find your equilibrium. The silhouette of the tall pines surrounding the lake were awe-striking. 

Nobody wanted to break the silence, so you didn’t. The weed was starting to take effect, making your body feel heavy and your head feel light. You started to lay down, unclipping your life jacket to use as a pillow. Slowly, your friends followed your lead, the sounds of shuffling and buckles popping open momentarily interrupting the tranquil silence. 

You watched the sky change from pink to a deep blue, only turning your head away when the first stars became visible. Morgan was laying next to you, staring straight up at the sky. To anyone else, she looked like she was lost in thought, but you knew her better than that. There was a slight frown, watery eyes, a little crinkle across her forehead... she was worried about something. 

“What are you thinking about?” You asked, trailing a hand down her arm. She let out a long exhale. 

“This is gonna sound so soppy,” Morgan sighed, “but I can’t stop thinking about like… how different I would be if I could just, change things about myself.”

“I like you the way you are,” Isobel frowned, sitting up slightly to look at her, “plus, you can change things about yourself. People do it all the time. New hairstyles, piercings, clothes. You could completely rebrand yourself anytime you want.”

“She’s not talking about her appearance,” you said softly, squeezing Morgan’s hand, “she means… like, changing who you are, at your very core. Things you can’t help.”

“I get that,” Ryan chimed in, “I think about that, too. If I could change one thing about myself, I would make myself more motivated. My life would be so different if I could just… alter one tiny thing.”

“Exactly!” Morgan nodded. “I would… make myself less impulsive, I think. I have so many regrets, and it’s all because I never properly think before I act. I’d be so much better off if I could just learn to be more careful.”

“I like how spontaneous you are,” Isobel hummed, “but I think I know what you mean. If I could change anything about myself, I’d make myself less anxious. Anxiety has always held me back so much… I mean, fuck… I haven’t even come out to my family yet, even though I know they’d support me. I’d be so much happier if I could appreciate the good things in life, rather than stress about how to keep them.”

“I’m with Isobel,” Harry spoke. He’d just taken a rather large pull from the joint, so his voice came out rougher than gravel. “Anxiety is such a bitch, and it’s like, out of our control. It’s kept me from talking about my feelings so many times, and I feel like I’ve missed out on some really good friendships because of it.”

Despite the heaviness of the conversation, you felt happier than you had in a long time. You’d smoked just enough to feel numb, and the waves were rocking against the boat so gently that it felt like you were floating. You took a deep breath in through your nose, feeling the crisp forest air fill your lungs before exhaling. The stars were shining in the cloudless sky, crickets were chirping along the shore, and soft music was filtering through the cheap boat stereo. It was peaceful, listening to your friends pour their hearts out. 

Each person took a turn sharing what they would change about themselves. Archie would get rid of his bad temper, James would become a better listener, and Jane would be less self-conscious. 

“What would you change?” Morgan turned to look at you. 

You and your twin sister were very different people. So different, in fact, that you sometimes forgot that you were identical. In moments like this, when her eyes were watery and hooded, voice thick with sadness and hope, that you were reminded of how similar you could be. 

“If I could change anything about myself….” you mused, closing your eyes. “I think I would… let things go.”

“Let things go?” Archie echoed.

“Yeah,” you nodded, “like, let go of the past. Whenever something bad happens to me, I let it really get to me. Negative memories and feelings just… constantly eat away at me. I wish I could just wake up in the morning and think about the future… because thinking about the past is exhausting.”

Nobody spoke after your confession. Nobody tried to assure anyone that they would be okay, or convince anyone that they didn’t need to change. There was something comforting about lying in a circle with your friends, your sister… even Harry, because you were all flawed, and none of you knew what the future would bring. You all found solace in the fact that you were here, right now, laying in a circle on a boat, with an old jazz song ringing through the air.

And who knows… maybe someday, you’ll all find a way to change the parts of yourselves that bother you. Maybe you’ll learn to appreciate them. Maybe your flaws will end up helping you in the long run. 

But for now, none of you were alone. And that was enough.

~~~

Thank you for reading! I love getting feedback, so let me know what you thought! xoxoxoxoxoooooxxxxxxooooooxxxoooo Tile

[hold-me-sickfics]

Alright y’all, I’m proud to introduce you to some of my new OCs! There are more coming, but these are the first😊💖💜 I want to thank @thatoneemokpop-02 and @bt20-whump for proofreading and inspiration. You two are awesome 💜💖💙 so... here goes 😊

TW: food, strip club mention, alcohol, emeto, tiny heartbreak, lots of fluffy cuteness (I think that’s all but if you see any I missed please let me know and I will fix them!)

“Parker, what is the point of coming to the library if you are not going to study?” Cody only looked up from his laptop for a moment before refocusing on his screen.

“I’m trying to help my poor, clueless friend find a date to the smart people formal.” Parker was spinning his fidget spinner at speeds unheard of by mankind.

Cody rolled his eyes, stealing just one more glance to his left.

Parker noticed.

“Dude, why will you not just go talk to her?” Parker could definitely have been heard from across the room.

“Talk to who? I wasn’t looking at anyone.” Cody blushed, his cheeks involuntarily rising in a smile to meet the rims of his glasses.

“Sure. So you were totally not just checking Brooklyn out. Of course not, so you won’t mind if I just go on over there and-”

“Wait! Wait.”

Parker smirked.

“Maybe I was. It’s not important.”

“Are you kidding? Look when you meet the chick that makes you… well… I won’t say it for your sake but if Maverick was here I would. Anyways, that means you gotta shoot your shot. It’s like basketball.”

“Parker I hate sports. We’ve been over this.”

“All because one frisbee hit your glasses yeah yeah…” Parker looked over at Brooklyn. She looked like Cody’s type. He had to get Cody to at least attempt it.

“What if you ask for her snap?”

“I’m not doing that.” Cody shut his laptop. “And another thing. It looks sleazy to just walk up to a girl and ask for her snap okay? You really should try a new method.”

Parker had his idea.

“Oh… you know what? You’re right. What should I do instead?”

“I don’t know, maybe… talk to her? Like at least get on some sort of “friend” level before you ask. It just looks better.”

“Uh huh…” Parker was getting ready to help Cody in a slightly less than orthodox way. “So to talk to her, you’d need a reason right?”

Cody looked over at her, hoping she wouldn’t catch him.

“Yeah… some sort of reason I guess.”

“Okay, don’t kill me.”

Parker got up, and started to walk over to Brooklyn’s table. She was there alone, seemingly very involved in her studies.

“Pardon me ma’am. My name’s Parker, and I was wondering if you like pineapple on pizza?”

Brooklyn blushed.

“I don’t exactly think it’s my thing… although pepperoni is pretty good.” She smiled.

“Awesome. So now that I’ve been established as the crazy person you have in common, Cody?” Parker called back to his previous seat. Cody had his face hidden in a book. He peeked out, throwing the book aside and doing his best to act “chill” as Parker had called it.

“Hi Brooklyn, I apologize for this… i don’t really know what to call him actually. I’m Cody. The-” he partially glared at Parker “more sane one.”

“It’s nice to meet you Cody, and Parker.” She bit her lip, and Cody felt his entire body go stiff. Parker could tell he had to save the day once again.

“So, you’re a hot girl. Have a date to the smart people dinner thing yet?”

“You mean the Academic Formal?”

“Yeah, love the bigger words. They really suit ya.”

“Let me just- one second.” Cody practically pulled Parker over to the side.

“You’re an idiot.”

“But I’m good at it, thank you.” Parker winked, and then went back to Brooklyn.

“Here’s the thing, my main man Cody here doesn’t have a date yet, and I thought you two would make a really cute couple so here’s his snap.”

Cody felt dizzy. Had Parker really just done that? This was the last time he was ever disclosing feelings to him. Actually, come to think of it, this is not the first time he’s said that.

Parker laid on his classic *Dean Winchester* smile, and then came back over to Cody.

“I’m literally planning your demise as we speak.”

------ time skip to 5:00 pm, in Parker’s dorm room------

“Ah I did good today. I found love for the little guy. I’m proud of myself and that means-”

“Do not touch the ice cream Parker I swear I will hurt you.”

Parker jumped.

“Maverick you aren’t supposed to be home yet!”

“And you aren’t supposed to touch my ice cream. So, even.” Maverick took the container away from Parker.

“Now, you wanna explain to me why Cody is trying to recruit me to kill you?”

“Not really.”

“Should I have him explain it?”

“Probably not… how about you just eat your ice cream hm? That would end well for all of us.”

Maverick rolled his eyes. He knew Parker must have really done something bad this time.

*buzz* *buzz*

Parker’s phone went off.

5:23 pm Cody: “ Why did you have to butt in?”

5:24 pm Parker: “ Because you couldn’t do it yourself.”

5:26 pm Cody: “Yeah and if you hadn’t done it, I could still be admiring her from afar and just getting silently and unrightfully irritated when she found another date.”

5:34 pm Parker: “Andddddd where’s the fun in that?”

5:37 pm Cody: “THE FACT THAT IT IS SAFE YOU NIMROD!”

5:43 pm Parker: “It’s still funny that you won’t cuss.”

5:45 pm Cody: “She just snapped me! What do I do? Parker I am scared.” “Parker?” “Parker!”

6:00 pm Parker: “Sorry, Maverick let me have ice cream and I forgot to text back.”

6:02 pm Cody: “ *facepalm* you are no help.”

6:15 pm Parker: “Well, what did it say?”

6:17 pm Cody: “I’m scared to look.”

6:18 pm Parker: “Dude, I’ll tell you what it says. Ready?” “ Hi”

6:20 pm Cody: “SHE WROTE BACK “HI” WHAT DO I SAY???????”

6:21 pm Parker: “You’re sure they invited you to the smart people thing right? Like it wasn’t a mix up?”

6:22 pm Cody: “Parker yes they invited me. I’m so dang smart that I have no idea how to… “my people skills are rusty.””

6:24 pm Parker: “Dude if you don’t stop with the references I am going to send you to a psych ward.”

6:25 pm Cody: “Noted. Okay, I am going to respond.”

6:30 pm Parker: “Good now text me when you have an actual conversation rolling aight?”

Parker put his phone in his pocket and went back to his ice cream cone. At 7:00, he got another text.

7:00 pm Cody: “She… um… she told me she’s going with someone else.”

Now Parker felt bad. The poor kid got rejected, and unlike himself, who bounces back and just moves on, he knew Cody had a tendency to get attached. Ah well, no use crying over spilled milk.

7:01 pm Parker: “Who?”

7:03 pm Cody: “It doesn’t matter. I’m glad she found someone she wants to go with. Well, I’m gonna go on to sleep so I can study some more tomorrow. Night Park.”

7:04 pm Parker: “Sorry dude. Night Cody.”

Now he felt really really bad. He thought for a bit, and then, an idea hit him.

7:23 pm Parker: “I am on my way. Do not do anything stupid like buying more books. You cannot keep any more in your room. There is officially no more space.”

Parker was going to do the one thing he knew cured heartbreak. They were both 21…

When Parker got there, he found Cody halfway through a bag of popcorn watching a romcom.

“Dude… I get that you’re sad but this is just straight tragic.”

Cody sniffled, holding the blanket up to his nose.

“Shush this is all I have now.”

“Nope, not gonna happen. Come on.” Parker picked Cody up and placed him on his feet.

“Why can you not let me cry in peace?”

“Because it’s not how I roll. Now, we’re getting you dressed, and then we’re going to a strip club.”

“But.. but I don’t-”

“Trust me, you’ll get the hang of it.”

Parker had considered inviting Maverick, but he was kinda the rule-stickler type. His grandparents had raised him to be pretty straight-laced.

---- time skip to driving to the club-----

“I really think this is a bad idea.” Cody looked down at his navy button-up and his black pants and dress shoes.

“You’ll be fine. Look, I’ve done this hundreds of times.”

“Hundreds??”

“Eh, okay maybe tens, but same thing.”

They pulled into the parking lot, and the one thing that went through Cody’s mind is that this was not going to end well.

----- time skip to 3:28 am-----

“Wowwww she was-s right in ma face! Did you see?”

“Yes I saw.” Cody pulled his friend up from the floor of the club.

“Ohh no! Iss time to go ba-back now?”

“It is. Maverick is probably worried about you.”

“Pshhhhhhhh nahhhhh… m’ fin”

“You’re fine?”

“Yeash I’m fineeeeee”

“And here I was thinking I was a lightweight. Alright, out we go.”

“BYE BRITTNEEEEEEEEEE!” Parker’s head lolled to the side as he let Cody handle most of his body weight.

They stumbled to the car, somehow making it in a decent amount of time. Cody opened the passenger side door, and helped Parker slide in.

“Thank you *burp* you’re my bestesetest of frans. I luv you mann.”

Even Cody had to laugh.

“I love you too. Now, in the car. We’re putting your seatbelt on.”

“NO! NO I WON’T BE TAKEN AGAIN! I CAN’T GO BACK *hiccup*”

“Tell it to the judge bub.”

Parker heard the seatbelt click into place and immediately started bawling.

“I *hiccup* am s-so sorry-yee. I did not mean to *hiccup* tell the *hiccup* panda to go *hiccup* f-”

“Okay that’s enough bud. Sleep. We’re headed home.”

“I c-can’t f-feel my eyeballs *hiccup*”

“You aren’t supposed to feel them. They’re just there.”

“BUT HOW DO I KNOW THEY ARE NOT STOLEN????”

Cody took a deep breath and looked down at the clock in the dashboard. They’d be home in ten minutes, maybe less if Parker didn’t stop blubbering. He’d already called Maverick, who had assured Cody he would take care of their drunk friend, but Cody had decided maybe it would be nice to take care of Parker instead of being on his own tonight. Despite everything that happened that night, he still wanted some company.

“Oh jolly good young fellow wherefore art the d- oh! Look at the grass! It’s so green!”

“It’s brown bub. It’s winter.” Cody smiled, pulling into the parking place that he’d been assigned.

Cody smiled, pulling into the parking place that he’d been assigned.

“Welp… I’m bout to turn it *hiccup* green…”

Cody looked over to see Parker’s cheeks puffed out and his chest rolling forward in a heave.

“Hang on! Hang on-” He jumped out of the car and opened the door on Parker’s side. It was just in time. Pure alcohol mixed with some sort of greenish jello shot coated the ground. It splattered onto Cody’s pants, but he didn’t care.

“There ya go. You’re doing great.” He awkwardly rubbed Parker’s back as the boy gagged again, turning to face the grass below once more.

“M’ overdid *gag* it…” Parker started to cry from the exertion.

“It’s okay. Don’t worry about that now. Cody’s gotcha.”

Another bout of liquid spattered on the ground, some of it dripping down Parker’s chin. Cody had some napkins put away in the glove compartment, so he reached in and grabbed a couple.

“I *hiccup* unhghh…”

“You done Park?”

“Yeah…”

As if his body were trying to prove that it would not be controlled, he heaved up another round of clear, bubbly liquid.

“M’ done now.”

“Okay, up we go.” Cody wiped Parker’s mouth before slowly helping him up. His friend looked so pitiful, his hair so tousled and sweaty, his skin so pale… he hated to see him feeling so bad, but he had done it to himself.

“Alright, now… we’re going upstairs to my dorm room. If you need to puke, here’s a bag. Tell me to stop walking if we need to.”

Cody knew that was too much information, but it was worth a shot.

By some miracle, they made it to Cody’s room. Cody scanned his entry card, and then helped Parker onto the bed.

He sat next to him, rubbing his arm. Parker was curled up in a tiny half-asleep ball.

*buzz-buzz*

4:35 am Maverick: “Hey, you guys okay? How much did he drink?”

4:37 am Cody: “More than he should have… hey listen um… I was wondering… do you happen to know who’s going to the dinner with Brooklyn? She told me she was going with someone but didn’t say who.”

4:46 am Maverick: “You’re gonna flip out if I tell you.”

As much as that text intrigued him, Parker had partially woken up and had just puked all over himself and the bed.

Cody put his phone on the bedside table and then held Parker up so he wouldn’t choke if he puked again. Which, he did.

“Hnnngh… I feel like s***.”

“I know. You look like crap too.”

“Hhuuurrrrrrrkkk!” A thick, sludgy liquid came up.. It was sort of white and yellow… oh wait. Yeah, Cody would never look at french fries the same after tonight.

“That’s it. Get it up. I’ll fix the bed later.” Cody knew he couldn’t move him yet, so it was just best to get everything out.

After a few more empty, dry retches, Parker was finally done for the moment. Cody made the decision to take him to the bathroom and let him sit next to the toilet while he got some of his extra clothes to put on him.

He heard loud retching, almost obnoxious, from the bathroom. He just took a breath and went on looking for the clothes, knowing that more than likely Parker wouldn’t be done for a while, and probably didn’t register that he was there anyways.

“C-Cody?” A weak whimper filled the silence. Cody was shocked, but immediately grabbed a pair of boxers (which admittedly he felt weird about), pajama pants and a t-shirt, and then went to the bathroom.

He found Cody in a puddle of puke, tears streaming down his face.

“Don feel *hiccup* good…”

Cody felt his heart break.

“It’s okay. I know you don’t feel good. I promise it’ll be over soon.” He had to lie. The poor thing in this confused, overly dazed state couldn’t take the truth that he’d more than likely be puking for the next two days after how much he drank.

Cody got down next to Parker, putting a hand on Parker’s back. His shirt was damp with sweat and vomit. Cody rubbed up and down on his side, watching as Parker curled himself around the toilet.

“You’re gonna be okay Park.”

“S-sorry…” For a moment, Parker almost sounded sober…

“It’s alright, I can clean it up. You’re good.”

“No… the *hiccup* chick…”

Cody had been trying to forget about that.

“It’s not a big deal, really.”

“If I didn’t feel *hiccup* like I was gonna *hiccup* throw my guts up *hiccup* I’d have tried harder…” Parker turned his head back toward the water and puked up a thick stream of alcohol and whatever other fried foods he’d gotten into.

Cody felt bad. He knew Parker had tried, but he felt worse that Parker was sitting here puking and still thinking about that. He was sick. He didn’t need to be worried about that.

“Let’s um… talk about it when you’re sober hm?” Cody smiled sheepishly.

Parker nodded, his mouth opening slightly before gagging again.

“I’m gonna go get the bed ready. Can you stay here for a bit?”

“Mhmmm…” Parker spit a stringy line of saliva into the toilet.

Cody went out, and took the bedspread and pillowcases off. He tried to get as much of the puke off as he could, but hopefully the washing machine could do most of the work. He didn’t have another comforter, so he had to find his best throw blanket and go with that.

He finished making the bed, and then went back to the bathroom.

“Park?”

The boy was asleep on the toilet seat. Cody could feel his heartstrings being pulled one by one. He wet a washcloth and then sat down next to Parker, leaning him back slowly onto his shoulder. Cody then softly wiped his face, noting how sick he looked. Usually Parker was all crazy plans and bold ideas and loud things. It was far different to see him this way. So quiet, weak, and… helpless really.

He continued to clean Parker up, and then got him into fresh clothes. Then he helped him to the bed, and laid him down. This time, he’d put a bucket next to him. Not that it would really make much difference since Parker was probably too drunk to notice it. He pulled the blanket up to Parker’s shoulders, and then went back to the bathroom, cleaning up the rest of the mess.

When he finished, he went back to the couch and fell asleep. He knew he’d need the rest for Parker’s hangover the next morning. Thank goodness today was a Friday so they wouldn’t have school tomorrow.

(Part 2 coming soon!)

[monomonomagines]

Could I have a thing with the v1 girls and their s/o who is very talented at art. The girls find a sketchbook with countless pages of sketches of them and their s/o tells them they are practicing for when they do a more finshed piece because they hate they did not perfect drawing their gorgeous ass

Hello, Anon! I know I took a while getting to requests (as I’m sure you saw), so I’m very sorry if I seem rusty at all. However, I do hope that you’ll still enjoy this and that it is well worth the wait! I really appreciate your patience and support more than anything so thank you in advance. I again, hope that this is to your liking!

Sayaka

Sayaka was used to her more artistic fans giving her drawings and other sorts of gifts but she wasn't normally surprised by that. 

She was an idol after all so things like that were expected. However, even with how flattering it was, she didn't care half as much about all the fan mail and gifts she received if she were to compare it to anything you got her. 

You got to know the real her unlike most other people, you got to see every side of her even the ones she didn't like and you made her feel beautiful. 

However, even if you made her feel that way she didn't realize that you'd want to capture her image. 

She happened to chance upon a book without a title laying on a nearby table when she went to see you after a hard day of practicing for an upcoming concert. 

She wanted to ask you about but since you had been in the kitchen to grab the two of you drinks, she couldn't help but let her curiosity take over as she grabbed the book and opened it up, displaying a ton of images of her. 

Were these really all her? She had gotten so absorbed in flipping page after page that she couldn't help but jump when you exclaimed that none of those were finished. 

She couldn't believe it though, you were so talented and here you were telling her that none of these were good enough but how weren't they. 

She loved each one, even the scribbly messy ones that littered some odd pages. She loved them and even more, she loved that you wanted to perfect drawing her. 

Overcome by her emotions, she lost her normal composure, pulling you into a hug as she softly tells you, "I love them. I can't wait to see the final piece. Thank you, S/o!"

Celeste

Celeste, unlike Sayaka, would probably be aware of your artistic talent from the start of your relationship.

She'd always request pieces from you, sometimes even in ridiculously exorbitant amounts despite you being just one person. 

She never meant anything by it though, she loved your art and wanted to be the subject of it more than anything. 

That's why she didn't think anything of finding another one of your sketchbooks.

If anything, she was planning on just moving it to a better place when it slid out of her grasp and fell to the floor displaying a multitude of drawings of her. 

She would've been annoyed at that accursed book for falling out of her hands but at that, even her minor annoyance was washed away by a wave of joy. 

As she picked the book up and began to skim through it you had happened to walk in to bring her some tea, just the way she liked it when she made eye contact with you. 

"Thank you for the tea darling, were you planning on keeping these all from me?" 

She had a pleasant smile on her face but as you quickly explained that none of these were done she appeared to be in deep thought. 

"Ah, so you want to perfect drawing me? Well then, by all means, continue practicing. You can start now by drawing me as I enjoy my tea."

She'll sound as though she doesn't care much but a small smile will be on her lips the entire time you begin to draw. 

Sakura

Sakura normally helps you to tidy up your place for spring cleaning as moving certain pieces of furniture to clean around them was difficult for you to do alone.

It wouldn't be until you were taking a bathroom break though, that she'd notice a book of yours on a table you still had to wipe off. 

She'd only think about helping you out when she'd go to pick it up and accidentally swipe it off the table instead, causing the poor book to splay itself open only to display a ton of drawings of her. 

What was this? Before she could get a word out her hands had already shot out to pick up the sketchbook as she began to finally process that these all were indeed her. 

However, before she could close the book you had already made your way back to the same room and caught her peeking at your messy drawings. 

All you could do was explain that none of them were done and you wanted to perfect drawing her when you noticed a smile on her face. 

"I didn't mean to look but I'm glad still that you'd want to draw me. I love your drawings, S/o/" She'd assure in that gruff voice of hers as you go to hug her promising to show her the final piece. 

Aoi

Aoi has always been a bit hyper and even rough at times. It wasn't like she meant to but she could be a lot like a child at times with these traits. 

That's why unlike the others she couldn't just happen to chance upon a book of yours. 

Instead, she had happened to slap it right off your desk as she was telling you a story, using her hands for dramatic effect causing the poor thing to fly across the room, spilling itself open for both of you to see. 

Aoi was about to apologize, shocked out of her mind by her own mistake as she ran to pick it up only to see that those beautiful girls you drew were her. 

"S/o? A-are these really me!?" She calls out, red tinting her cheeks as a dopey smile creeps across her face. "You should've shown me these are great!"

Aoi, wouldn't want to listen even as you explained that none of these are done, insisting that they're perfect. She loved all your drawings of her even the scribbly messes. 

"S/o, you're the best! I love all of them!" She says pulling you into a big hug as she continues to disregard your comments on how they're "not that good". You can't convince this girl of that even if you had Sakura to help you.

Toko

Even though Toko had been dating you for a while and knew of your artistic talents, she didn't think much of them. 

You'd never draw someone ugly like her she'd always think to try to kill off her own hopes of you thinking she's anything more. She didn't mean to always fall into those kinds of thoughts but by now it was a habit for her. 

She always thought you'd eventually leave her for someone far prettier or nicer or something so she didn't bother to look much at your sketches. 

Rather, she was just planning on shelving a book when she noticed one that was placed haphazardly on top of the whole bookcase. 

Mild annoyance bubbled under her skin as she went to pick it up, knocking it off the shelf instead and causing it to fall open. 

Of course, she thought bitterly as she grabbed the poor book. They were probably drawings of some girl you liked more than her and wait....were these her!? 

She was so overcome by the shock of it all that she'd immediately shut the book only to soon begin giggling madly. 

You liked her, you really liked her. She was so happy that she needed to ask you about it. 

She'd pick the book back up, nervously walking to where you were currently sketching in another book asking you as she holds it up, "S-S/o are t-these really m-me!?" 

You couldn't believe her eyes as you realized she saw all of those and you couldn't help but to come clean, telling her how you wanted to perfect drawing her only causing her to erupt in more giggles. 

"So you r-really like me, huh? I guess I might b-be glad to know you do though." 

Mukuro

Mukuro loved you dearly for always being there for her. She would never dream of invading your privacy but she happened to feel like you were hiding something from her. 

You'd normally, proudly present your drawings for her to see and praise but lately, when she'd ask about them you'd just make some excuse that none of them are done.

It wasn't like you and she couldn't feel as though maybe you had just grown tired of her. She knew she wasn't as pretty as her sister and that she wasn't as great at expressing herself as other girls but did you really dislike her now? Was she not enough?

Despite these thoughts, she waited until you fell asleep on the couch at your place to take a peek in your latest sketchbook. 

She expected to probably see someone else or maybe even just things she couldn't give you but she didn't expect to see her. 

It shocked her and yet she couldn't stop herself from flipping page after page to see more. You hadn't gotten tired of her and she was so overjoyed that she couldn't stop herself from bombarding you with questions when you woke up. 

At your insistence that none of them are done and that you haven't perfected drawing her, she's barely listening though as she pulls you into a hug. 

"I love you. I'm so glad that you can love someone like me."

Junko

Junko was used to all sorts of things made her image thanks to her looks. She knew she was beautiful and she was honestly surprised that you hadn't already drawn her.

Contrasting Mukuro, Junko wouldn't be above snooping through your stuff as you went out to pick up some food for you two. 

She wanted to know what you drew and why you barely showed her anything. She had a pretty good guess of course, but seeing is believing or so they say. 

She was quickly able to find the latest sketchbook on our bedside table as she opened it and to her delight was greeted by countless sketches of her. 

She'd take her sweet time admiring each one, only setting down the book once you caught her as you came back home and began to explain that those were all works in progress. 

If these were all only practice then she was just excited to even more. However, she definitely would want to tease you about them just to cause your face to contort more. 

"Awww, S/o you should've told me you loved drawing me! I would've modeled for you anytime!"

Kyoko

Kyoko would notice you acting suspiciously immediately. 

She had a pretty good idea that it had to with your latest sketchbook as you didn't seem as talkative about your latest drawings.

She didn't want to pry but she was worried about you and decided to use her skills to quickly locate the object in question on your desk when you were making the two of you a snack.

She was planning on quickly making sure nothing was any cause of concern and slipping back into the living room without confronting you about it when she noticed that every drawing was of her. 

She was at a loss for words, embarrassed that she thought there was any cause for concern about these doodles of all things. 

She still wanted to confront you about and would probably ask you as soon as you come back to the living room with snacks. 

She'd calmly listen to you go on about how none of them are done and how you want to perfect drawing her and wouldn't be able to help a small smile makes it's way across her normally cold features.

"I think they're all perfect but I'll look forward to the final piece. Thank you, S/o."

[vicunaburger]

Imperfect and Inhuman, are we?

Fandom: School of Rock: The Musical (AU Verse) Chapters: 3/? Pairing: Dewey Finn x OC (Magdalena Newton) The Players: Dewey Finn, Magdalena Newton, Ned Schneebly, The School of Rock Students Word Count: 1,618 Warnings: M for Future Things

Notes: I’m just gonna sit here like it hasn’t been 2 months since an update

Chapter 3 - Late Night - Taxi

It was 1:30am.

There was a light drizzle all day, which turned mostly to slush due to the drop in temperature the last few nights. Not enough to soak through to the bone, but enough to make one excessively damp, which was arguably worse depending on the type of clothing one sported.

Unhappily, Magdalena sat outside on the fire escape, her umbrella doing little against the wind whipping the rain around her at such a height. Something was wrong, and it was gnawing away at her nerves by the minute. Dewey was supposed to have been home hours ago, so why wasn’t he going into his room? His van sat parked in its usual spot, having been there when she arrived, but she didn’t see him go into the apartment building. Faint noises through the apartment caught her ear, but they weren’t his sounds. Lighter footsteps, a softer touch on the light switches and refrigerator door.

Even though they had been meeting every night for the past three weeks - sometimes only a few minutes at a time - they had not reached the point where she could venture in and out of his home as she pleased. Dewey often met her on the steps outside, or as he got home from band practice. Never the right time to invite her inside.

What if something had happened to him? He could be lying in an alleyway somewhere, beset upon by local vandals. Maybe he was tutoring one of his students and lost track of the time?

What if he was on a date?

Magdalena pulled herself into the fur collar of her coat, resembling an unhappy feline as she stared holes into the window glass. If he was on a date, without her, she was going to be extremely distressed to say the least. She wouldn’t be too angry with Dewey; perhaps she was too old fashioned in her attempts at courtship. Too slow to reach the intended result. Truth be told, she was rusty in the art of new-age courtship; the very idea that she was pursuing him without reciprocation was almost too much for her to handle. It was unladylike, but so was this entire century.

The soft sound of the window being opened in front of her brought her attention back to the present, finding herself face to face with Dewey’s roommate. He blinked at her, which she mimicked, and cleared his throat with an awkward grumble.

“Uh… can I help you?” He asked, giving her a suspicious glance.

“I take it Mr. Finn isn’t home?” Magdalena adjusted her posture, trying to put on a more intimidating air. “Why would that be?”

Ned’s eyes seemed to glaze over briefly, “He’s at the bar on 5th.”

“5th and what?” She fought the urge to roll her eyes, not wanting to risk breaking the tenuous hold she had on his subconscious.

“Matinee. It’s open mic night, he’ll be there for a while until someone drags him home. Usually me.” He explained, seemingly unbothered by her on the fire escape.

Nodding, she took a deep breath, standing in preparation for descending to the ground below, “Don’t worry about him tonight, I’ll take care of him for you. Go to sleep or… whatever you do at night. If needed, you’ll recall this conversation happened in the hallway like a perfectly normal human interaction. La revedere”

—

Magdalena stood just outside of the bar under an awning, shaking out her umbrella and doing her best to put herself in a more presentable state. Offkey caterwauling of drunken patrons made her regret her sensitive hearing, wincing as she opened the door to the chorus of an 80s love ballad.  

She weaved her way through the small bar like a serpent through the grass; the small room filled to the brim even so late into the night. It didn’t take her too long to find the musician, hearing his distinct laugh and following the sound to the far side of the bar. He was surrounded by empty beer bottles and a few random patrons - female, she noted - his face flushed with laughter and alcohol.

Dewey caught sight of his neighbor immediately; sticking out from the usual crowd wrapped in her fur trimmed coat.

“Snow! Wha- what’re you doing all the way here?” Dewey stumbled his way through the girls surrounding him, “I wanted to c-call, ya know. But I need your number… so I can call you and stuff. How’dya know I was here? Are you magic?”

He was trying to be subtle but having to yell over the noise made that rather impossible. Magdalena reached out her hands, grasping his shoulders to steady him as he wobbled in place. Dewey, perhaps misunderstanding the gesture, pulled her tight to his chest, engulfing her petite frame in a hug.

His body was so warm, she thought she might melt.

Magdalena wasn’t going to let his opportunity slip away, pressing her face into the crook of his neck, inhaling the mixed scent of his soap, sweat, and the blood sluggishly running through his veins. Even when they would sit side by side on the front steps of his apartment, she had yet to be this close to him. Social convention dictated that a certain amount of distance must be kept between people of small acquaintance.

Technically, since he was the one who broke that social boundary, she felt comfortable enough to start showing him more physical affection, and not just hidden wordplay.

“Not magic, I’m afraid, just well informed. Your roommate told me where to find you, and warned me about how inebriated you might be.” Magdalena allowed herself the small victory of sliding one hand behind his back, patting him gently. “It’s late, Mr. Finn, don’t you have practice tomorrow?”

Dewey’s gasp was audible even with the noise around them, his grip tightening around her, “Oh… oh… OH SHIT. I gotta go to sleep. Gotta go home. Not in that order. Mags!”

He let her go, placing his hands on either side of her face as he struggled to see her clearly. She could feel him adjusting the placement of her head within his vision, trying to keep her head steady as he wobbled around.

“Mags, do… do you have a car? Did you drive?” Dewey leaned forward as though they were sharing a secret. “Can you take me home? Maaaaaaags, you’re my only hope.”

Magdalena didn’t answer him at first, completely thrown off kilter by his incredible closeness and his use of a new nickname for her. “Mags” was a new moniker in her history; often being reduced to “Magda” by close friends and family only. Was he being sincere? Condescending? His logic being muddled by the amount of beer in his system?

Eh, she would take what she could get.

Magdalena nodded her head, watching him follow the movement with his own, “Come, we’ll go home, Mr. Finn. No cars, but the walk will sober you up in no time. Get your things.”

It took a while to get him out of the bar; Magdalena made sure his tab was paid, and that he had his coat on before the stepped outside. Even walking halfway down the block was a struggle, but not because he had a few pounds on her and thought it was “a great idea” to lean on her for support. It was struggle because she could very well

It wasn’t the fact she had to support him; it was the fact she had to do so without using near her full strength. Truth be told, she could have easily lifted him off his feet and carried him over her shoulder, but that would have been terribly suspicious given her small stature. It didn’t help that he would start slumping over, tripping on something or other on the sidewalk and narrowly avoiding splitting his head open on the cement.

Magdalena managed to subtly put him back on his feet, thankful that he was too muddled to notice. Suddenly, Dewey stopped cold, wobbling in place as she kept him steady.

“Maaaaags. I can’t walk anymore. My legs are bad.” He whined loudly, “How far?”

She winced at the volume, knowing it was probably the result of him unable to hear himself clearly, “We’re not even halfway to your apartment, Mr. Finn. Come on now, if you can stand, you can walk.”

Pouting, Dewey slipped himself to the ground with dead weight, sitting down on the sidewalk with a huff, “Too far.”

For a brief moment, she questioned her mental faculties in regard to her affection for him, “Ahh… I see. Would you like me to leave you here out in the rain and call transportation?”

“…no.” Dewey’s pout became more pronounced.

“Then we find ourselves at an impasse,” Magdalena bent down to be eye level with him. “Tell you what, my home is about a block away. If you can manage that distance, I will offer my sofa for the night.”

He eyed her suspiciously, “Do I get a pillow?”

She nodded, getting up and extending him a hand, “Yes, and you’ll be next to a fireplace, Mr. Finn. I am nothing if not hospitable.”

At once, Dewey leapt up from the ground on his own, seemingly catching a second wind at the prospect of a warm place to sleep. He threw his arm around Magdalena’s shoulders, squeezing her tight to him with a goofy smile plastered on his face.

“C’mon, Snow White, take me to the cottage~” He waggled his eyebrows at her, earning him a soft bit of laughter from his escort.

“Cottage isn’t the word I would use, but do as you will, Mr. Finn.”

Writing Tags:  @hoodoo12 @mr-geuse @paxenera @leiasolo77 @go-commander-kim @a-subconscious-manifestation @asriells @missihart23 @heknowshisherbs @mrgeuse @amywright @beetlebitchywitch

[ramblingguy54]

26, 29, 30, 36?

*cracks knuckles*Alright, let’s do this.

26: The late Robin Williams & Hayao Miyazaki are two particular people in my life I’ve idolized for what happiness/imagination they’ve brought into others lives. Robin Williams untimely passing still hurts for me to look back on because this man made it his mission to bring so much joy into other peoples lives through his acting on the big screen, whether it was dramatic or comedic. That’s what I found the most impressive about Robin’s range in acting. He could be an over the top funny individual, but Robin’s acting chops were in a league of their own. Whether he was behind the microphone having the time of his life as Genie on Aladdin or giving a powerful dramatic performance on Good Will Hunting as Will’s therapist, I could feel the unconditional kindness. There was something about Robin’s acting power that would usually manage to reel me in. Even if I never knew him in real life, obviously, this man just radiated with so much kindness that I felt from his entire presence on screen. It’s seriously unfortunate what became of Robin Williams in the end with his unexpected death, but his legacy has inspired me to be kinder to others in real life. As for Hayao Miyazaki, this guy is a huge factor in why I got into loving anime related stuff all the more, as his creations in storytelling and the art itself for the movies were beyond unlike anything I still have yet to seen be topped quite frankly. It’s so easy for me to get emotionally lost in his films like My Neighbor Totoro, Princess Mononoke, Castle In The Sky, and Spirited Away. This man never ceases to amaze me with how usually impactful and in depth his films are. They’re so full life that it’s easy to lose sight of whats happening in the actual story at times. Mayazaki understood how to breathe a ton of humanity into creating such resonating works of fiction. Have a much greater appreciation for them in my adult years. There’s a reason why they inspired companies, like Pixar, to create immersive stories of their own.

29: Favorite films range from Zootopia, Wreck It Ralph, M. Night Shyamalan’s Unbreakable, Aladdin (1992), The Secret Of NIMH, The Lion King (1994), The Incredibles, UP, Ratatouille, Wall-E, Finding Nemo, Inside Out, Kung Fu Panda 1 & 2, How To Train Your Dragon Trilogy, Toy Story 1-4, The Great Mouse Detective, Lilo & Stitch, The Emperors New Groove, A Goofy Movie, Good Will Hunting, The Fox And The Hound, The Land Before Time, The Brave Little Toaster, Frozen, Shrek 1 & 2, Coraline, Paranorman, Kubo And The Two Strings, The Muppets (2011), Princess Mononoke, Castle In The Sky, My Neighbor Totoro, Kiki’s Delivery Service, Spirited Away, Porco Rosso, Summer Wars, Beauty and the Beast (1991), Winnie The Pooh (1977 & 2011 iterations.), The Peanuts Movie, The Princess And The Frog, The Jungle Book (2016), Scooby Doo On Zombie Island, Harry Potters’ 1-7, Christopher Nolan’s Batman Trilogy, Wonder Woman, Sam Raimi’s Spiderman 1 & 2, The Black Panther, Thor & Thor Ragnorok, The Avengers, Avengers Infinity War & Endgame, Spiderman Into the Spiderverse, Captain America Trilogy, Iron Man Trilogy, Star Wars Episodes 4-8, and The Breakfast Club to stop this list from getting any longer. =P

30: Favorite TV shows range from Cowboy Bebop, Avatar The Last Airbender, Yu Yu Hakusho, Digimon Adventure 01 & Tamers, Teen Titans (2003), Batman The Animated Series, Ed, Edd,& Eddy, Samurai Jack, Courage The Cowardly Dog, The Powerpuff Girls (Screw that garbage reboot.), Chowder, Bojack Horseman, DuckTales (1987), DuckTales (2017), Gravity Falls, Code Geass (This series has shaky writing in a number of areas, but that ending was beautiful.), Amphibia, Steven Universe, Oban Star Racers, Made In Abyss, Stranger Things, Gargoyles, My Hero Academia, Naruto (I’ve got a soft spot for this series despite my MANY problems with its story later on.), Pokemon (Serious nostalgia overload!), Dragonball Z (My very first anime series I got into through the Toonami block. A real shocker I know. LOL!), Gurren Lagann, Kill la Kill, The Promised Neverland, Death Note, Chip N Dale Rescue Rangers, Sonic SatAM, Talespin, Darkwing Duck, The Grim Adventures Of Billy & Mandy, Robot Chicken, A Pup Named Scooby Doo, Kim Possible, Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood, and Fullmetal Alchemist (2003).

36: My three dream scenarios I’d like to fulfill? 

1: Become A Voice Actor

Been interested in voice acting since I was a young teen, but have been in a conflicted state over these recent passing years in my life on whether or not I’d like to approach that route. There’s a lot of commitment I’d have to put into auditioning my butt off for roles I may or not get. Then comes the consistent practicing to keep my vocal chords in shape, so I don’t get rusty whatsoever. The industry for this kind of job can be hard to get recognized in too by how many other notable well known VA’s there are already. Not to mention, from what I’ve researched up on being a voice actor doesn’t bring in the money naturally, as it’s more of a passion job which that’s terrific and all, but if I want to partake in this profession I’ll have to juggle a job along with that which putting all those factors in my head honestly makes me intimidated. Ahhh well, it’s just something I’ll have to wait and see on if I can make that idea into a reality or not. No need to rush myself, of course.

2: Taking Up The Mantle Of Reviewing Shows & Films For A Living

Fiction, just like for many people, has been a great deal of helping me in my life moments of stress, solitude, depression, and anger. I’d love nothing more than to further express that to anyone out there in reviewing in great detail certain films or shows that I’ve come to love over these years in my life so far. Mostly for animation though, as its been a gateway for finding many gems of quality films or series. It never ceases to surprise me on how creative and powerful animation can be with its inventive ways of getting me to become an emotional mess. While I do enjoy live action series and films they pale in comparison to the beauty animation has brought into my life, since my early childhood of watching shows on Cartoon Network, Toon Disney, and Nickelodeon to a smaller degree. I’d like to think I’m good enough with how I present my reasons on why I feel so strongly connected to these stories showcasing characters trying to find hope in their own hard times. I try my hardest to take moments of my own life and find ways to connect it with whatever story I’m getting into next, so it can be all the more a special experience for myself. It’s important to put whatever character resonates with you most in their shoes for why you feel their emotional journey connecting with your own life on every conceivable level possible. That will make it when you write these kinds of reviews a very empowering read for others to feel either heard in their own feelings or simply giving others a new perspective to consider on this piece of fiction you’re discussing. Seeing some of my own particular analytical posts in the past here on Tumblr garner some attention from people gives me a boost of feeling better about potentially making this choice.

3: Starting A Family Of My Own…?

I can’t begin to tell ya how many times I’ve gone back and forth for getting married in the distant future to become a father has sped through my mind. On one hand, it scares the crap out of me to be taking up that big of a responsibility. However, on the other hand its deeply fascinated me emotionally of creating life through love for your significant other in starting your own family tree. I’d love to be able to raise kids of my own to pass on the lessons I’ve learned in life to make them become better people in the distant future, while showering them with unconditional love and affection. That would fill me up with such an indescribable joyous feeling to hear their own dreams and desires on what they want to accomplish in life. While I’d be a strict parent, I wouldn’t be a hard headed one quick to dismiss their own complaints if they had problems with how I handled things, once they start to get older. The kind of parent I’d want to be is an understanding open minded one who doesn’t judge their son or daughter for when they have an issue with me. Just because I’m a parent in that scenario doesn’t put me on a pedestal of immunity from criticism. Granted, I certainly don’t want to be a doormat for them to try taking advantage of either, but it’s also important to not let your parental role go to your head, too.

Although, I don’t plan on even trying to make this last dream of mine happen anytime soon. This is something that is MUCH later down the road that I wish to have happen. However, I won’t lie and say that I haven’t considered just staying content as a single guy for the rest of my life relying on close friends to bring me joy equivalent to this dream. While I adore the concept of creating life through love and being a father, there’s a shit ton of responsibility that comes with it. The life of a parent is not just putting your all into it. You gotta give more than just 100% when wanting to be a parent. It’s a serious test of your spiritual endurance, which I’m not sure is something I’ll ever have the courage to do, but then again things can change in life on the flip of a dime, so I’ll see how this all plays out for myself. Maybe I’ll stay happily single or I’ll happily be raising kids.

Gee, I wonder why this dream of being a parent resurfaced in my head recently this year? Oh yeah, it was thanks to this character here.

Seriously, Della Duck holds a real special place in my heart for making me feel these kind of feelings yet again. Darn you space mom! LOL.

Thanks for the ask, man.

[scarlettswxtch]

Darkest Side of Me | 1

Characters: Bucky x Reader

Summary: You’re recruited as a new Avenger with powers unlike any other. With a tragic past blurred from birth, who will be at your side when you realise who you truly are?

Word count: 3,310

A/N: hi guys! this is my first post and fan-fiction, hope you enjoy it! I may turn this into a Bucky x Steve x Reader love triangle if you guys want me to. I did a little something with Steve and the reader that could be developed so let me know your thoughts! On a further note -  I made this because I love writing and I love marvel so what better way to express that than write fanfics for my fellow marvel lovers?? Hope you enjoy!

Warnings: This fanfiction is M Rated, and the men (really only Steve and Bucky) will all be dominant guys, if you’re into that sorta thing. However, this chapter is totally PG :)

DARKEST SIDE OF ME

PART 2

“I’m sure you’ll enjoy your stay here Miss, the rest of the Avengers will welcome you with open arms.” said F.R.I.D.A.Y as you went up the elevator, your fingers restlessly tapping the side of your thigh from agitation - You weren’t usually agitated, but it’s fair to say in this situation, it was justifiable. 

You had already met the infamous Tony Stark, courtesy of Nick Fury as he very un-thoughtfully appointed the ridiculously confident man as your ‘babysitter’ (as Tony so elegantly put it). At least Agent Hill had, thoughtfully, advised Nick to introduce you to Nat and Wanda, in which he thankfully complied. 

You first met Nat a few days ago, and you had seen each other a few times since. She was a redhead and a sinfully pretty one at that. Her hair reminded you of the burnt orange sunset over Camara Bay, it was warm and it tumbled over her shoulders like rusty water. She was sweet, yet there was an air of wisdom about her that only those which have seen the worst could have. Then there was Wanda, the gorgeous, all-powerful brunette.

“Thank you, um-”

“F.R.I.D.A.Y”

“Right,” you say and sigh as the elevator doors ring to signal you’ve reached your destination. You took your lower lip between your teeth and began chewing, fiddling with the strap of your bag and taking a deep breath as the doors opened to reveal Tony Stark’s handsome, smiling face. Seriously...he was good looking for a man his age.

“Ah, there’s my gorgeous niece,” he said, “took your time getting here”.

You rolled your eyes at that “I’m not your niece, and I wasn’t aware I was on a schedule.” You grumbled as you walked passed him.

“You technically are” replied Tony and you turned to raise a brow at him in question “Fury appointed me as your babysitter, that practically means I’m your long lost and awesomely cool uncle.” he finished with a bright smile and you sighed at that, shaking your head in surrender. “Anyway, the team is waiting to meet you in the living room, we should head over before they die from curiosity.” He said as he sauntered over to you. Apparently, the team had been curious about you all week - which is slightly unsettling. You wondered what Tony had told them.

“You seem nervous” he mused, sipping on his shiny glass cup which most likely contained some sort of whiskey. You shrugged at that, hitching your bag further up your shoulder as you assessed the walls - everything was covered in art, sculpture, marble and glass. The Avengers clearly lived like royalty.

“I guess I just don’t know what to expect,” you mumbled distractedly.

“Understandable,” Tony replies, stopping at the edge of the entrance to face you. He sighs as he stares down at you with mellow eyes “You shouldn’t worry, they’ll like you.” he assures and you raise a questioning brow “What makes you so sure?”

He offers a tight-lipped smile, seeming awfully fatherly right then; a pang of melancholy hit you hard. “Because I do”, he says, and you nod at that, hoping he was right. The last thing you needed was to be stuck with a bunch of people who disliked you, not that you’d care much anyway. “Now come on,” he says as he ushers me to enter the room.

Instantly, you’re greeted by a very exuberant living room, but then again - it was the Avenger’s base, so it wasn’t surprising. The room was like a perfect magazine cover. You were afraid to sit in case you’d wrinkle the fabric or stain it with something you didn't even know was on your pants. The couch is cream but inlaid with fine green silk; leaves embroidered so delicately that they might have landed there in spring and just sunk in, but you knew they took hundreds of hours to sow. The white curtains are linen, the kind of white that is untouched by hands and devoid of dust. A cursory look to the right shows you the almost hidden cords that are used to open and close them. There is a television, a bookshelf and chairs arranged around the bespoke fireplace which leaps with a gas flame. The paintings are incredible, not casual abstract work, but expensive renaissance art. The floor is a high polished wood, dark and free of either dust or clutter.

You barely had time to assess the room any further before your attention was grabbed by a very unnerving feeling. Every single set of eyes were boring into you; assessing and some wary with curiosity. You hated attention of any kind but always got it. Tony cleared his throat before he turned to the group: “This is our newest addition, as I’m sure you already know,” he said, giving you a tight shoulder hug, awarding him a glare from you to which he humorously winked at.

Nat and Wanda were the first to react, getting up with smiles as they greeted you “Finally,” said Wanda as she approached. Her hair was as waves of pure earth, softly reflecting the light of the outside sun blazing in through the windows; each strand moving freely in an ocean born breeze, a compliment to her kind eyes. “We’ve been dying to get a new female addition to the group” and with that, she hugged you tightly.

“All this male testosterone is starting to choke us to death,” Nat mumbled and gave you a small smile as a greeting, her orange sunset locks capturing the light in vibrant ruby hues. Nat was less affectionate than Wanda, and out of her usual black on black uniform, she looked incredibly mundane.

“I can only imagine,” you said and grinned at them. Your eyes scanned the living room, finding various handsome eyes studying you with curiosity. They watched you, studying how well your Amazonian figure fit against your clothing. How the captive aroma redolent of roses and meadow fresh lavender lingered in the room long before you entered.

But it was the set of pure icy blue eyes that stopped you dead in your tracks, they were staring right back at you. Even from afar, they were unmistakable. The man was absolutely gorgeous and utterly captivating in every way. Handsome and young, looking to be in his early to mid-twenties at most, his fair skin and incredible bone structure were flawless. His dark hair was a messy kind of perfect. And his lips. Your heart rate increased as you watched them curl into an enticing smirk. Oh my.

You blinked, the burning hint of a blush flying across your cheeks. How long had you been staring?

“Welcome to the team.” A voice said from beside you, snapping you out of your daze. Your eyes shifted to meet a handsome blonde man with eyes almost as blue. You blinked slowly. He was handsome from the depth of his eyes to the gentle expressions of his voice. A prominent jaw curved gracefully around and the strength of his neck, showing in the twining cords of muscle that shaped his entire body; strong arms, bold thighs and calves, a firm chest and abdomen. He was an Adonis.

His eyes twinkled knowingly. “I’m Steve,” he said with a smile. “Nice to have you on board.” he finished and offered his hand for a courteous handshake. You stared, unable to help yourself. You placed your hand in his, nodding with a shy smile “Pleasures all mine,” you said. He studied you too, feeling that eerie sensation when you witness someone truly beautiful: that strange and sad feeling; that doomy vertigo. You were enticing and lovely at the same time. He let your hand drop.

Steve blinked, and his lips moved. “That’s Sam,” he said as he pointed to the dark-skinned man on the couch. He gave you a broad smile and a sarcastic salute which you returned right back with a smirk, making him chuckle. “Welcome to the crew,” he said before Steve pointed to a short-haired man “Hey,” he said as he offered you a nod and a large smile as a greeting “that’s Clint,” Cap filled in for you and you gave him a smile back.

“And that’s Bucky, our very own Winter Soldier,” he said as his eyes moved to the icy-eyed man on the couch. To your dismay, he wasn’t much of a talker - he simply offered you a nod in greeting which you returned. His eyes flickered between you and Steve, a flash of something unknown passing before his eyes.

Nat leaned into you “Don’t be offended if he doesn’t speak to you, he’s kind of a brooder.” she whispered and the side of your lips helplessly curved into an understanding smile.

“No hard feelings” you mumbled back to her, watching as the soldier’s gaze lowered and lingered on the curve of your lips. He imagined they’d taste like rose petals. His eyes snapped back to your dazed ones, making your cheeks tint pink once more. You looked away.

Tony clapped in announcement “More importantly, we have, quite literally, been waiting for you all day so let’s get down to the festives”

Your brow arched in question “Festives?”

“Tony had the brilliant idea of hosting a movie night for you,” Nat said, her gaze shifting to meet Tony as it turned narrowed “though I objected because clearly, she might want some space to get used to her surroundings.”

Your gaze flickered from the scattered food on the table to the stupidly massive TV-Screen. Your lips tipped up “Depends on what we’re watching”.

“We had a vote” Clint interjected, “The Titanic won because Tony, Steve, Wanda and Nat are a bunch of sappy bastards.”

Your eyes rounded in feigned horror as you turned to look at Tony “Tony, you’re a great guy, but I would honestly rather stick a pitchfork in my eye than watch that horrid movie.” you said as you tapped his arm in mock condolence. “Maybe next time”

You turned to see Sam and Clint chuckle at your comment “I like her already” Sam said to Clint as he chuckles at Tony’s dramatic hurt expression.

“You guys go ahead and have movie night without me, I’m gonna go upstairs and unpack” you said, gesturing to the bag hanging from your shoulder as you offered them a salute in farewell.

And with that, F.R.I.D.A.Y lead you down the corridor, up a flight of magnificently curled glass stairs and to a wide corridor. “This would be your room Miss” said F.R.I.D.A.Y “Mr.Stark insisted we didn’t decorate it, he thought you might’ve liked to”

“Thank you F.R.I.D.A.Y” you aid and peered inside - it was simple and plain with a white silk covered double bed, and some other expensive looking furniture. “Please don’t hesitate to contact Mr.Stark if you need anything” F.R.I.D.A.Y informed.

And with that, you were left on your own. You peered around once again and sighed as you walked inside. This was to be your home from now until gods know when. Your gaze landed on a digital clock by the nightstand - 11:34pm, it said. You wouldn’t be getting sleep anytime soon so you started to unpack your clothes, neatly folding them and putting them away in the large, walk-in closet clad in marble and glass.

A folded picture came into view, and you stopped, eyes blinking slowly, you grabbed it out of your bag. A picture of your ex-husband - smiling wide, blonde hair framing his lovely face. He reminded you of Steve, his face endlessly beautiful and his eyes impossibly green. The memory of his death swirled in your mind, making your eyes close over in pain. You blinked back tears at the memory, and the pain it caused you. The tears flowed unchecked, dripped from your chin. You were too sad to cry out or wail, you just stood there as still as a statue. You were lost in the torrid vortex of the moment, forever tormented by a past that could not be undone.

Humans are frail, fleeting creatures. You had no place with them and it was naive to think you did. Even Fury himself didnt know the extent of your powers. He took you in because you were an immortal, a goddess of much the same status as Thor himself, if not more grand. Your mother and father father were gods from one of the nine realms of the universe. Your father was from Vanaheim, to be exact. And your mother? you knew nothing of her. You knew you were of Hel, a place of death and doom, the end of the Gods and Goddesses. They said life could not be created in the realm of death, but your existence was proof of otherwise. Vanahiem, however, was the home of the Vanir Gods, masters of sorcery, life and magic and their ability to predict the future. You knew you were the daughter of two elites, so your blood ran pure. You had mastered the art of mimicry, healing and telekinesis. Fortunately, the art of future telling wasn’t something you were gifted with. From your mothers part is where your darkness comes from - your touch could be one of life or death if you chose it to be so. The darkest part of you is a soul harbinger, an illusionist. When you took people's souls, it increased your magical powers. The unity of light and dark swirled inside you like waves. Serene yet stormy, it was a paradox.

Your eyes flipped open and you tightened your jaw, tucking the picture safely. You got up and put on your pyjamas. Your eyes skimmed the clock which signaled it was now nearing 4am, so you sauntered out of your room and down the stairs, hoping no one was awake.

The kitchen was empty and the living room was scattered with empty sweet packets and soda cans, so you assumed everyone had gone to bed. Thankfully, there was also no one in the terrace, so you wondered outside and leaned onto the glass bars, staring up at the sky in thought. Stars lit the sky like snow-flakes in the night, yet appeared still, like an old photograph. You smiled to yourself, feeling the wind blow your hair into a tousled mane. Humans had now idea how the stars moved, how galaxies tumble and dart.

You had been banned from Vanaheim for being born of Hel, forbidden to step foot in it. They were afraid of your existence. You were seen as impure, your blood was not gold like theirs. Your hair was not impossibly golden, nor did it sparkle like sunshine. Your eyes were not pure white and glittering like those of the Vanir. Instead, you resembled the place of your birth.

You had spent most your life on Earth, respectfully. There was no reason to stay elsewhere. Not even Asgard, with all it’s Gods, would grant you refuge. Not even the darkest parts of them dared to keep Death’s daughter. You had never met your father, you only knew glimpses of him - his pure gold hair and his glittering eyes, sometimes passing over you in your dreams. You knew he was still alive, because he was immortal, like you. Your Earth mother, Dione had taught you everything you knew - independence, kindness, beauty, grace, control. But she had also taught you things a father should teach their son, because she knew you would be alone for the rest of your life. Here on Earth, when people are so fleeting - immortality would never be a gift worth cherishing.

You licked your lips, looking away from the sky and as your eyes turned to meet a withering rose. Your head tilted to the side as you picked it from it’s stem and used your powers to let it hover in front of you as it twirled into life, something like golden liquid ran through it before it’s petals turned back to their vibrant red. You had power to give life and take it, two beautiful sides of the spectrum. Sometimes you wondered if where your father came from there were things as lovely as earth’s nature.

“Beautiful.” you heard a voice say from behind you. You whirled around, startled. Your eyes met those very same wonderfully blue ones that had entranced you earlier. You watched as he came closer and crouched before you to pick the rose that had fallen. He held it in-front of you as you stared helplessly into his eyes. Gods, you felt as if you could just get lost in them forever. Their lightness was beautiful.

His gaze flickered from the flower to you “Can’t sleep?” he asked and you swallowed. His voice was like silk. It was unnerving that he made you nervous, it wasn’t something everyone could do. You studied him with curiosity, and he studied you with wonder. Your complexion had an impeccable hue. Your eyebrows eased down gently to your dark, long eyelashes. A sculptor could not have fashioned you any better. He remembered your smile earlier, beguiling as it lit up the room. It could jolt anyone, like an electric current. And your eyes, he thought they were like two jewels melted onto snow.

You blinked, as if to wake yourself from a daze. “Something like that” you replied, as you took the rose from between his fingers.

He nodded and walked past you to sit on the chair by the corner of the terrace. You looked at him in uncertainty, before you plopped yourself down beside him. “And you?” you asked after moments of silence, he turned and raised a brow in question “Can’t sleep?” you said, mimicking his earlier question. His lips tipped up ever so slightly, that smirk was even more appealing up close.

“Something like that” he said, mimicking your earlier words and making your lips twist into a small grin.

“Penny for your thoughts.” he murmured.

“What?”

“What were you thinking about before I interrupted you?”

You took at deep breath as the side of your lips tipped up teasingly “If I wanted you to know my thoughts, soldier, I would’ve said them aloud.”

“Fair point.”

Your head titled to the side, eying his metal arm in curiosity before your gaze snapped back up to his “But I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours”, you teased.

“What makes you think I have thoughts worth sharing?” he asks with an arched brow.

You took a deep breath before trailing your finger down his forearm, a whisper of a touch as you saw the metal shift, he jerked at the contact and your eyes snapped to his. God, they were so much more beautiful up close. The icy blueness of them generated a feeling like you were being pulled into a lake of frozen emotions. It was like all the myriad shades of blue swirled together to form a whirlpool. The depth of them was startling, like he had seen a thousand tragedies. This was a man broken, much like you. You could sense it in his soul; a kind of tragic beauty.

“I’m much more perceptive than I seem.” you say, taking your hand away from his arm as you lifted yourself from the seat.

“Sweet dreams” you mumble. You wrap your gown around you, the silk caressing your skin. He watched you, entranced by how effortlessly graceful you were. Even the slightest movement; a curve of your mouth, the flicker of your sparkling eyes, any movement at all - was lovely.

He watched you walk out of the terrace, and you could feel his gaze boring into your back. When you left, the sweet aroma of roses and lavender lingered still into the early hours of the morning. Something told him you were going to be trouble he couldn’t avoid.

[danddymaro]

By Amazonian Law | Ranma 1/2 Mousse x Reader

 Summary: the Amazonian law states that women who are defeated by outsider women are to fight to the death to regain honor. However, those who are defeated by outsider men must marry those men. In a tribe whom is prideful of producing powerful warriors, such rules would apply for a male defeated in battle. An outsider woman capable of defeating him is worthy of being his bride. In short;  Mousse is bested by the reader, forcing the traditional laws to apply, but she is reluctant, despite the likeness she has for him, and the little aching feeling in her chest, he morality fights against this proposition... And then there's the issue of Shampoo...   Anyways I don't know of many Ranma 1/2 stories, especially including the reader inserts. If you haven't watched it give it a try. It's pretty cute. P.S. Even if it seems they fell in love so quickly, come on its Ranma 1/2, doesn't everyone?

HE’S SO FREAKING CUTE!

Italics are a person's thoughts. example; 'sample.' (f/n) , (l/n) = Reader's First Name, Last Name. (e/c) = eye color (h/c) = hair color Timeskips and/ or changes in scenery are both identified by the little periods I put to separate them. While I do love filling space with a description about just every little thing, it can get tedious, forgive me. I, of course, own nothing but the story itself. The characters mentioned and used are not property of me of course.    Mousse silently followed (f/n), trailing behind the young woman with a dark cloud looming over his hanging head and slumped shoulders. He looked like the definition of misery and suffrage as he followed her like a second shadow, trudging his feet with each step, accenting even more his grief.   It took a while for the (h/c) haired girl to notice his presence, having been stuck in a daydream, one of little significance as a matter a fact. However, when she did notice him and his seldom appearance, she couldn't help but pull up a brow at his actions.   Taking quick glances back at him, making sure she wasn't just imagining things, she looked completely lost and confused at the confirmation that he, was in fact, following her... But as far as she knew the only woman the long-haired boy ever trailed behind was Shampoo, so what was his deal now?   And just Why did he look like his life was practically over?

‘So many questions...’ she thought to herself, nibbling on the top of her thumb’s nail.

‘ ...But come on (f/n) you have to be imagining this,’  she added, unconvinced that there would be any reason the Amazonian male had to follow her.

I mean, Come on...

‘ Maybe we’re headed the same direction…’ she thought brainstorming for ideas, coming up with the only logical excuse she could muster up, that he was actually headed in the same direction as her and it was just a coincidence.

“But the cafe isn't anywhere in this direction,” she mumbled to herself, dismissing that thought and scratching her head. “ He’s not delivering anything… and he doesn't live around here…” She Said softly. Another possibility struck her,

‘Well, it could be…’

'No,’ she thought, shaking her head in denial. ‘that's not why.’ She rather set that idea aside, certain it couldn't be it because If he was set on revenge on her, he would have attacked her by now. Besides his beef was with Ranma, not her.

‘ i swear, ‘ she started. ‘ it would be because of that Ranma Saotome.’

.......................................................................................................................      ( short flashback)    The last time she had crossed paths with Ranma, and Mousse for that matter, there had been a mistake of identity. That day she had the misfortune of quite literally walking in between one of their squabbles, which of course ended in a fight between the two boys as usual. There was never such a thing as a discussion with Ranma because the boy was a hit first ask questions later, or as she would dub it; a hard headed idiot. Mousse’s horrible vision cost him yet another match when he focused on (f/n)’s blurred vision, rather than the retreating form of Ranma, who had seen his opportunity to scramble away.

 Unfortunately, for someone as gifted and strong as Ranma, he never misses a chance at a  quick escape, a trait he probably picked up from his yellow belly father she supposed. When the opportunity struck, he didn’t let it go to waste, leaving (f/n) to fend for herself against a very vengeful, hot-headed enemy. And while she usually found the amazonian male’s methods of martial arts amusing from outside a match, he was quite terrifying on the other end of the ring.   However, to her great fortune, A bucket of icy, cold water was always available, and with little effort, she had found her ticket out and splashed him with the entire content of a passing little, old lady’s flower bucket onto him. All of which included the rusty can itself, hitting him straight in the face with a rageful force. The curse took its effects and he turned into a squabbling mess of feathers, defeated beneath her right hand as she pressed him down forcefully. 

With another hand reaching out and taking hold of his thick-lensed glasses she placed them on his head, frowning at him when she knew he could see her clearer. The stern look she gave him showed every bit of her frustration, annoyed that he had her heart racing like a stallion on an open field when all she wanted was to get a little snack to begin with. When his eyes set on her he had stilled, releasing one single cry and flopping his head down with a huge honk, making her jump and release him in shock. 

After that he had flown off he left her dumbfounded, a bit worried as well as to why he seemed so frantic as he saw her. The annoyance she felt had washed away as she watched him fill with desperation. 

All she was certain was that whatever his reasoning was for leaving so abruptly, it was enough serious and grave enough for him to cower away and hide from her for the following week, avoiding her whenever she was around, which in a way hurt.

She had assumed they were on good terms for the most part.

……………………………………………………………………………………

 ( Back to the present)

   Taking one last look over her shoulder, she frowned, stopping herself from walking further. ‘I can't just have him following me around like this,’ she inwardly sighed, noticing onlookers stare at the pair, whispering amongst themselves as always. The number of gossipers in town was outstanding and it seemed that there was always a spare set of lips passing on new information, much to her annoyance.

‘I’ve got to just ask, get it over with.’ she thought while Inhaling a large breath from her nostrils. she turned to mousse, directly facing him with determination and without looking up at her, he stopped too, sniffling. “Alright! What in the heck has gotten into you?” she asked bewildered. “What's going on, and why do you look like all is lost?” she said with a heave. He stayed still, unmoving and unresponsive to her questions, until she had an idea of her own, hopefully explaining his display of misery. There was only one reason for his suffering, and it was of course 'his beloved,' Shampoo. “ Ahh, so Did shampoo reject you again?” She asked a bit softly, making him sniffle again at the mention of the purple-haired amazonian warrior. 

At least That got a good response as he exclaimed, “M-my shampoo!” making her ears ring. He continued to cry, making quite the unpleasant scene unfold, rather than just getting on and speaking about the issue. “ my dear shampoo, now we will never come to be!” he said loudly, with his head in his hands.  (f/n) was left baffled, unsure why this had anything to do with her, and before she spoke The dark-haired, bespeckled teen looked up at her, tears streaming down his face like two large rivers cascading down his cheeks.

‘exaggerated as always.’ she thought to roll her eyes at his display, however, it did hit a pang in her heart seeing him that way, especially when it came to shampoo… She could never understand why he kept persisting with someone who clearly had no feelings for him, but she supposed she couldn't speak much on the matter herself when she was just as bad. “Uh, mousse, calm down,” she said softly, gingerly putting a hand to his shoulder and giving him a gentle smile, hoping to cease the ever ending tears he wept.    She felt an immense amount of sympathy and compassion for the weeping boy, compelling her to bring him comfort. “ just tell me what's wrong ok?” she added, trying her best to comfort him and finally draw a clear answer. Nodding silently, he slowly struggled to make the words to come out. “By amazonian law…” He started, “by Amazonian law, you're now my fiance…” he muttered, croaking out the last bit of revelation. 

The sounds around them, the chattering of the passing people, the birds alike, as well as the breeze, stilled and quieted. There was a ringing in her ears, making her spine tingle and feel icy cold pricks run along its course.

‘Did he really just say that?’ she thought wide-eyed, feeling her mouth dry. ‘Amazonian law? The same one that had tied shampoo to Ranma right? That same one?’ she questioned herself, still looking at him bug-eyed.

   She took a couple of moments to blink, cocking her head to the side, and just as the realization hit her like a ton of hard bricks and had its moment to settle, she quickly shook her head, crossing her arms in front of her into an x. “No, no, no, no, no, no “ She chanted out. Unwillingly a fit of laughter left her as she was gone into a full denial and disbelief. “I'm gonna walk away, “ she said unable to control her nervous tick. “ I'm gonna walk away and pretend this didn't happen, ok … ok?” she compromised, immediately, sprinting away, jumping from house to house,  and dashing through the air faster than she ever has before. ‘He's crazy…’ she thought to herself,  feeling the world around her beginning swirl, twisting her stomach along with it. “He's freaking nuts!” she squealed slapping two cool palms onto her very heated cheeks. He had made her entire face glow red and heart wildly beat with an arrhythmic, jumbled quickness.

“ME?!? MARRIED….WITH HIM!?” she cried loudly, leaving a trail of hysterical laughter behind. …………………………………………………………………………………    Shortly after receiving the heavy news she had made it her goal to avoid anything that had to do with the dark-haired young man, and So She went on, going the rest of the week rather stiffly, almost having bit off her nails into short nubs in anxious wait for the inevitable run-in she’d have with him. With her luck it’d be a complete mess, worrying her even further. So She opted for what seemed like a good plan, avoiding the outside world instead, hoping it would blow over. 

The entire ordeal had to go away eventually... if only she’d wait it out.   She was certain it would, and he’d probably forget, and go back to pursuing shampoo like always, an idea she found herself pained at. The wait felt eternal for her and after being confined within the walls of her home for only three days, she found herself facing the front door, glaring at it with uncertainty. ‘I have to come out sooner or later,’ she thought swallowing down thickly. ‘I can't hide here forever,' She contemplated further, mustering the courage she needed. Huffing, she swung her front door open in one quick movement and jumped out into the world. Silently, to not draw so much attention, she walked around town looking in every direction, careful not to run into her new supposed fiance. 

Despite the many time's she's replayed his words in her head, and the scene as well, she still couldn't believe it.

To be roped into something so insane and unbelievable...

‘I bet this is what Ranma feels, having to watch out for all those crazy girls...at least it's just one guy for me,’ she thought with a bit of relief. ‘ just one guy, And he’s actually kind of cute…’ she added in consideration as she peered around the corner. ‘And kinda sweet...adorable really’ she added with a dopey smile melting onto her face, hearing her heart pitter patter within her body like a ball hitting a paddle repeatedly for strive at a world record.

   Her fingers curled around the edge of the corner, holding onto it tightly as she watched a passing couple and as she watched them leave, the instant image of both mousse and her walking hand in hand replaced them, making her breath hitch. “What am I thinking?” she said out loud, slapping a hand to her forehead, staring up at the sky in disbelief. “I cant… I can't seriously be thinking about that!” she cried out, walking forward. Taking another quick glance back, with a longing expression at the sight of the linked hands between the happy couple, she sighed.

    In her own little world of fantasy and longing, a hard object clashed into her, making her fly back at the force in which it came at her. She fell back and landed on the floor with a grunt, feeling her butt already sore and as she looked up she realized just what had thrown her into the air. 

She was met with frantic blue eyes staring down at her, wide-eyed and surprised.

‘W-What the heck?.’ she thought eyeing the dark-haired young man standing before her, already feeling the scorn of before coming back, along with the present annoyance. “Care to watch where you're going Saotome?” she asked huffing, feeling her blood boil at the sight of him. ‘ you giant dork, this is your fault!’ she inwardly screamed, wanting to strangle him right then and there.

‘If it weren't for you I wouldn't have even been thinking of Mousse like that, I'd be able to roam around happily!'

   Rolling his eyes and crossing his arms stubbornly Ranma gave her a halfhearted glare in return replacing the previous look of fretfulness. “ (f/n) I could ask you the same thing, you bumped into me! ” he argued. “The ground’s down here not up there!” he barked, pointing up at the sky. “Maybe if you didn't have your head in the clouds, “ he mumbled, making her glow a bright shade of red, remembering just what had her preoccupied.

‘I was thinking about… about how cute... mousse,' she thought dumbly, unable to fight back at his remark. “W-whatever, drop it! ” she said starting to pull herself up when his hand extended out to her. He had almost shoved the hand in her face for her to take a hold of. The gesture made her stare up at him surprised, but nonetheless grateful. It had been partially his fault, but he wouldn't admit it, instead, he gave her some help, hoping that would suffice as an apology enough, and it did.  To his pleasure the fallen girl gratefully took it, and he pulled her up quickly. “Thanks,” she said forcing a smile at his act of concern, blowing over the less than pleasant greeting as her own act of agreement at a middle ground.

“So whats got you running around like a madman?” she asked somewhat curious, noticing his disabled appearance.

   If he had been running around carelessly enough to run into her like that, there had to be a good reason, she assumed. “It’s that damn shampoo again, “ he breathed, glowing two different shades of red afterward, looking away from her gaze. He wouldn't elaborate more on what had occurred since he was already embarrassed enough to have been there and say her name. All (f/n) knew was that whatever the girl did had been serious enough for him to look like a rugged mess.

“ ....not to mention that idiot Mousse,” he added with more aggravation in his tone, the second name tasting bitter to his tongue. She felt her breath hitch at his words, almost choking on air. “M-mousse you said?” she asked with her eyes bugging out. “He’s not anywhere here is he?!” she asked frantically looking in every direction around. Her state of alarm made him want to ask a million questions but opted to simply keep shut, not wanting any more problems than he was already burdened with. ‘Perhaps another day,’ he thought shrugging, hoping to remember to ask next time. “ it’s alright though ! I think I lost them," he said relieved, hoping to make her drop the panic in her widened (e/c)  colored eyes. “Th-that good,” she said sighing, her shoulders drooping in a melting relaxation before a loud crash was heard besides them.

   The side of the wall they had been hiding beside was no more than bits and pieces.  Instinctively (f/n) flew up, wrapping her arms and legs around the pigtailed boy, and he did nothing more than panic as well,  latching onto her like a tick with the face of utter shock and fear. Releasing a scream she looked to the clearing rubble and noticed the double bun-haired young woman Glaring in her direction like a feral beast. “ You hussy, What you think you doing with my airen! Stay back! ” shampoo cried, swinging at her with one of her custom colored Chui, and by default also aimed her strike at her supposed fiance. Pushing (f/n) away Ranma caught shampoo’s extended weapon quickly and took it from her possession in one swoop. 

Keeping One away from her he felt more confident facing the fiery, angered woman.

“Chill shampoo!” he cried almost pleading, putting on a gentler facade to make her drop her defenses. “ I no chill when shampoo’s  Airen huddle up to other girl! Why Ranma look for other lover?” she said desperately, aiming her other melee weapon at Ranma in retaliation, but missing when he ducked. “ First Akane, then that kodachi girl! That Ukyo, and now this girl! Ranma’s love is only for shampoo!” she cried desperately, feeling scorned, believing he had run off just to meet up with another lover. Her red irises then left Saotome to flew towards her new enemy and glared harshly. “And you!” she said aiming an accusing finger at (f/n) “ You dare steal my Ranma!” she cried out, sounding betrayed.  ( f/n)  stood baffled, astonished at the little time it took for hell to break loose. 'All cause I ran into that butt over there,’ she thought, throwing a glare towards Ranma who in turn grimaced at her.

‘I should be avoiding him instead of mousse now that I think about it,’ she added gritting her teeth. ‘This is a strike two for you Saotome!’ she thought maliciously. “ Your eyes swallow up my Ranma like greedy pig!” shampoo stormed,  making (f/n)’s attention fly back to her. “shampoo, I don't want Ranma!” she said anxiously, paying her attention back to the threat before her. “You lie!” shampoo said aiming all her anger at the other woman, forgetting she had even held a bit of malice for the dark-haired boy, which to (f/n) was totally unfair.

“It's true !" (f/n) said dodging a heavy kick.      She darted her eyes left and right, noticing Ranma gone, leaving nothing but rubble and mess behind. 

He had left the second both girls looked away from him, finding his ticket out. By that point, he was only a red, tiny speck in her eyes as he retreated far in the distance.

‘That bastard!’ (f/n) inwardly cried, ‘ STRIKE THREE YOU JERK! I’M TEARING YOU A NEW ONE NEXT TIME I SEE YOU! !’ she thought, gritting her teeth, deciding if she made it out alive, she’d pay him back with a boot to his sneaky butt. 

The idea of vengeance left her as her mind went blank when saw six rounded edges rimmed with soft yellow and teal approach her face with vigorous speed. She panicked already knowing that she would end up with a broken nose, or much worse a broken face entirely and In the heat of the moment, she could only cry out.

But rather than a scream, words flew out like water out a broken dam,

“ I HAVE A FIANCE!”

  She screamed at the top of her lungs making the violet-haired girl’s attack stop.  The weapon in the Chinese girl’s hand retracted just as it barely grazed the other’s nose. (f/n)  only felt the cold tip ever so softly press against the point of her nose and she would admit that She had never been so relieved in her entire life, so grateful to breathe air through her nostrils. 

Shampoo and her trusty weapon would have destroyed the thing and given her a new face.

‘Thank god,’ she wheezed feeling her heart on the verge of escaping through her open mouth.  However, her words soon caught up to her as her own jaw slacked open further. “fiance?” shampoo said raising an eyebrow, sounding unconvinced at the revelation. “ who is this fiance, girl?” she said poking( f/n)’s chest in disbelief and with a very noticeable snarky tone.  

She didn't believe a lick of the so-called confession. ‘I can't believe I just said that.’  (f/n) thought to herself, wanting to go hide away for the rest of her life.

‘Great…’

she looked up to shampoo and swallowed hard, finding a way to say the words and fess up. “My fiance…” she started shakily, feeling pressured under shampoo’s dangerously shining ruby eyes.                                                                         The rummaging in her chest didn't help either. 

She struggled to say it, feeling her face glow red, and her tongue get tied.

“My fiance is… is....”

  “Me shampoo, I'm her fiance,” interrupted a new, more masculine voice.

   Both girls turned to see the Chinese, amazonian male step forward, looking sternly at both women. (f/n) let a little sigh of relief leave her, feeling safe, spared from speaking the words herself. 

Looking to the side and away from both people, she averted her gaze unable to face Mousse any longer, finding it increasingly harder when she felt a tiny spark hit her as he directed himself to her, staring at her with expectancy.           “ yeah...it’s mousse,” (f/n) confirmed, not daring to look straight at the teal eyed young man, or the ruby-eyed female before her. With her legs feeling wobbly, she couldn't face anyone or stand well, let alone in the presence of the man that was causing her heart to bounce rigorously. “Mousse?” Shampoo asked cocking her head to the side, visualizing both of the people together, never having thought about it. However, the idea settled into her quickly as her face lit up with joy. 

It meant a free path for her and her Ranma from now on and She couldn't be happier, not feeling any bit saddened at losing the young man ’s interest. It was actually a blessing to her. “Mousse no want to marry shampoo then? Then Mousse no longer get in the way of Ranma and her!” she said looking elated, clapping both hands together joyously. “Is happy day for me, and for Mousse…. You too bride of mousse!” She said graciously. 

Her expression had changed into a sweet cherub, beaming with joy, erasing any trace of hostility once bubbling in her blood.

   Turning to (f/n) fully she smiled, expressing herself like an old-time chum, even after the horrific encounter. “ shampoo sorry, (f/n)” she said modestly bowing, all the while smiling to herself and before leaving with a bubbly step to her heels. She didn't pay heed to the still standing amazonian male, not even enough to take a side glance back at him. her mind was giddy with joy at having an easier path to her ‘Airen’.  With that, Both mousse and (f/n) were left alone, awkwardly glancing at each other, and taking turns doing so. 

Her eyes wandered to him stubbornly, trying to get a read off him, but failing as she cowered too quickly to do so. “Thanks,” she muttered, feeling her cheeks so heated she could probably roast a marshmallow on them. She was certain they were firetruck red since he showed up. Finally finding some backbone she looked towards him in expectancy, waiting for something to come… but he didn't give anything back. 

He looked like he wanted to say something, but instead swallowed his words and walked away. He didn't seem his usual self, still somber but not in a depressing manner like she had seen him before the mess that had occurred… like when he had told her about the Amazonian Law and their marriage.

He acted like a completely different person... and it scared her to a degree. “What's wrong with him now?” she whispered, concerned about his behavior.

   He was empty, not giving her indications of resentment or hate, nor joy and relief and she missed his open expressions. She liked him better that way, when she could read him like an open book and before she knew it her legs moved and she trailed behind him, nervously playing with her hands as she inched closer. 

He walked with his face aimed at the world and straightforward, a tall stride. 

She hadn't noticed how well built he actually was, but as his bare back faced her, giving her a nice sight she took notice. Perhaps it might have been that he always wore such baggy clothing, never indicating he had something so good to hide. 

As his hair flowed smoothly with the breeze, she could see him perfectly well, nice shadows and lines she knew only came with hard work. And of course that was the case, he was a martial artist. ‘He's got a really nice body...’ she said observing him shamelessly. The muscles were obviously tensed, and she held the will to touch them beneath her trembling hands.

   She couldn't decide which seemed like a better choice, his silky locks or his beautifully shaped body all inches from her. Everything about him had started having its effect on her, making her feel weaker and weaker. Her working legs began to fail her and feel like jiggly jello once again.

 Having been focused on the beautiful contours of his body, she hadn't noticed he stopped dead in his tracks and he inhaled a large breath before speaking, probably what he’d been holding in since they saw each other again.

“You're saving yourself for me,” he commented, making her face twist into confusion. 

It wasn't a question, but a statement that he voiced. “you're taking it seriously,” he added, referring to the supposed union between them. It made her wonder if he Was bothered she had brought it up, but to her defense, she had only used it as a defense tactic, blurting it out in desperation, not like she meant to scream it out to the world like a proud proclamation. But even if that had been the case… he came to her first…

   She felt so stupid knowing he didn't want anything to do with her and she knew this fully well from the start, that his heart lied somewhere else. 

Her heart was bouncing heavily for him, and she held undeniable attraction and feelings for him. Those were undeniable facts that weren't cause of some stupid law. They came from within her, nested deep inside the safety of her heart.

‘Stupid mousse… stupid… stupid Mousse… if you had never said anything…’ she thought bitterly, biting her tongue. She hadn't considered the idea of being an item with him, or even of sharing the same sentence in any form of affectionate way, only until he had given her the stupid idea of them being together. She had suppressed all those feelings beforehand, fully knowing the painful consequences of pursuing him. 

Her morality was in a clash with her growing affections, waging a nasty war. On one side she could have him, she could truly enjoy him to herself and be his, But then... At the end of the day, he was being forced, thinking of someone else all along. When she’d face him dressed in white, looking at nothing but him, he'd look past or much more heart wrenching, stare directly at her but imagine everything but her. He’d imagine his true love there, holding the bouquet, dressed as a princess on her special day… He’d imagine Shampoo instead...

(f/n) couldn't live like that. She wanted to push him away before she fell in deeper.

   When he looks at her with his lovely teal eyes, sparkling with joy, it makes her heart swell with a sweet fulfillment, and when he tears up, glossing those lovely gems with fresh tears it makes her want to run to him and hold him, comfort him with every ounce of affection she can muster. 

She wanted him to think of her upon dreaming, wanting her just as much as she did him... but that wasn't something she couldn't ever get. she knew it.

‘ I think I love him…’ She thought sadly, shutting her eyes tightly, already feeling them become wet with tears.

‘ i just wish you'd never said anything…’ she added clutching the fabric of her skirt in her hands. As she opened her eyes again she watched him turn to her suddenly, whipping around and making her jump, scaring her at the suddenness of his movements.

   With both his hands crushing her shoulders in his hands, he aligned his gaze to hers and though she couldn't see his eyes behind the heavy set lenses, she still felt a growing insecurity...

Could he see past her? Could he tell she was actually yearning for him…?

Her heart nearly stopped when he spoke again.

“I should do the same!” he cried out, making her almost faint and topple over. “You pushed aside Saotome for me, and cried out with such pride about our marriage (f/n),” he said with admirance, his lenses gleamed with reflecting sunlight, almost blinding her. 

She wanted to turn into a puddle and slip down the drains now. She didn't expect it at all and was far less certain which she would have preferred, this or the actual confrontation about her big mouth. At least with the harsher scenario he would have made it easier to distance herself… to hate him if he was a jerk… but he wasn't doing such. “ i... I actually… mousse, no.” she said escaping his hold and backing off, watching his face fall as regret settled into her for her actions. 

There was a vice grip capturing her heart and squeezing it bloody, but she had no choice...

‘This isn't right,’ she said to herself, convincing her heart that this wasn't the way. She wanted him willingly.

“You don't have to commit to anything!” she assured him. “Your free to do what you want!” she said quickly, feeling a pang in her chest at the words.

‘Even if it is pursuing someone else…someone who might never love you as much as I know I do.’

   Something inside her was slowly breaking as she spoke but knew she couldn't tie him down like some caged animal, against his will. 

He was doing it out of force, not free will and love.

“You can keep going after shampoo,” she said sounding shakier than she intended. she no longer wanted to look at him and instead found occupation at glancing at the building beside her. “So just leave me alone,” she said tightening her fists.

‘ if I don't see you again, maybe this will go away…’

   He was silent, only looking at her wordlessly, watching her break down, “I just want you to be happy,” she said sniffling, feeling tears already bubbling at the corners of her eyes.

‘This is so hard…’ she thought wiping away what stray tears moved down her cheeks.

'why is this so hard to do?'     She couldn’t pinpoint when it happened...

Perhaps It was when she met him, a year ago in that cafe. He had waited on her, giving her a cute smile, swooning her with the small gesture. He had almost spilled her drink all over her blouse, as well as her order and she never before had been so giddy about receiving such horrible service. 

Before she left he waved at her, asking her to come back again, a courtesy and probably part of his job, but it didn't help her from feeling herself attracted to him. She asked herself constantly ;

‘why him?’

Why someone so clumsy, so silly and blind both literally and metaphorically. Figuratively for not realizing his chase was fruitless, or in literal terms when he could barely see someone standing an inch from him without those large lenses. She concluded that maybe she just liked dorky guys. Dorky, sweet, determined guys.

   She felt crestfallen when she quickly realized he was yearning for someone else. The guy she had so carelessly fallen for already had someone in mind and there was no space in a heart that already had a reserved spot for another. 

From his pursuit of the other girl, she could see his need to be loved and cherished. Essentially everything he did was inspired by love and admiration and she found him even more alluring. (f/n) attempted to make herself to understand that he was already interested in someone else, to get it through her head that he was after another. For good measure she made sure to watch as he chased Shampoo, to watch how passionately he yearned for her, but it backfired and made things worse.

It made her feel admirance for him. It made her feel desperate to comfort him, to be the one to correspond to him unanswered calls for affection. She found her own love being fed by small scraps, and so stupidly allowed it to fester more, to become stronger than she could contain.

Despite the craziness of his proposal, a small part of her became lively and elated, realizing that he could be hers. However, the thing such as morality stopped her, pulling her back from taking the chance.

    “ (f/n) ” Mousse said softly, unsure of how to comfort her, not certain why she was tearing up either, but he knew for a fact it did hurt him. It was like a gnawing feeling deep within the pit of his stomach, begging him to touch her, to give her at least one small comfort.

 She had always been so kind to him, assuring him he’d one day find the way to beat Ranma, winning the heart of his beloved and having his happily ever after. Lifting him up carefully whenever she was around, smiling at him with sympathy and wholehearted kindness. His eyes had never strayed away from shampoo... or at least in the past. When he first came from China, all he had was her in mind. It was years of relentless chase and rejection and he was always sure he’d find a way to get her...And then Ranma Saotome showed up. 

He easily swooped her away without trying, without wanting it. The obvious joy shampoo showed knowing he wouldn't ever bother her anymore pained him, furthering the belief that she never would feel anything for him. And then there was (f/n). Always concerned about him, always wondering what troubled him. He had also noticed that She always ordered the same meal, and smiled all the same when he delivered it or served it to her.

   He would stumble towards her, but not always because he couldn't see well or because he was just that clumsy, but simply because when he actually adjusted his sight on her, he felt a weird tingling feeling knotting his stomach. She made him nervous with a look from her pretty (e/c) colored eyes. he felt shaken by that glance. At the start, he was almost certain it couldn't have been real. 

To feel something strange for another girl, when he was fighting for the love of another... Another who had been his dream since childhood. To him, it had been impossible for some girl to just come along and make him stray off from a romance he’s been chasing for more than the single year he knew (f/n).

He loved Shampoo and only shampoo….He HAD been certain of it. ‘ but why,’ he thought gazing at (f/n), watching her crumble before him…

‘ why am I here…. Why have I been thinking about her so much….? Why even when my Shampoo is there, besides me do I think of (f/n)…?’

… and more importantly,

‘ Why haven't I gone after shampoo yet?’ he asked himself

   There were so many thoughts running his head that when (f/n) ran off, he just watched her get smaller and smaller, at least the tiny blur did… until it was nothing more. The two girls had gone separate directions, making him stand in between the two paths, looking at each side with uncertainty.

‘My shampoo… ' he thought sadly, breathing in a heavy breath. ‘ you were never mine… you even never cared to be...’

With a harsh swallow, he looked back to where his new ‘fiance’ went to. Something drove him to take a path there, to take that risk and make it to her. To at least make sure she was ok.

‘ (f/n), I don't want you to cry again... I want you to come in like every other day... I want you to order the same thing… I want you to smile at me when I come back.’

He took a shaky heave, feeling a strain in his chest.

‘I like it when you ask if I'm there… Please pick me up again, please tell me I'm enough. Tell me again how there's a place for me, but this time instead tell me it’s with you...’

With slow steps, he walked to where he saw the (h/c) haired girl run away.

“(f/n)” he said softly, counting each step towards her home. Every inch separating the two.

                                 “I think… I think I might be in love with you…”

To him it wasn't a realization, it was more of a confirmation, finally coming to terms with what had happened. Finally taking notice that what he’d been feeling all along was attraction. 

An attraction that grew into much more than feelings of friendship and appreciation. In his chest a feeling of love blossomed, growing more with each day and finally snapping and breaking loose from the lockup his denial had put it in. He headed straight towards her, not willing to back down or let her slip from within the spaces between his fingers.

‘

    ……………………………………………………………………………...........    “Mousse?” she said confused, not having expected him to be the one standing at her doorstep. He was standing in her doorway holding a bouquet of fresh red roses in his hands, looking down at her with sparkling teal eyes, his cheeks blazed red as he clutched the roses towards his chest, tightly, nearly crushing them. “Roses?” She uttered confused. “ is this about us getting married? “ she asked pursing her lips, averting her eyes from the rather sweet image of him there with a bouquet of flowers for her. 

It was so cliche, and yet here she was, feeling romanticized by such a thing.

“ I told you, you don't have to do that, I'm letting you go free, it wasn't even a real fight,” she argued, trying to put out every excuse to make him leave. She couldn’t have him there. 

She couldn't risk looking stupid again or risk doing something of greater idiocy, like accepting him with such conditions. “ n- no, “ he stuttered, interrupting her with a high pitch to his voice, being almost incapable of controlling it.

   His legs shook and he felt a blooming feeling in his heart. The only hesitance in him was of fear, fear of being pushed away by her. 

He didn't have a doubt anymore. He wasn't wavering or unsure. His heart raced as he stepped forward, lessening the small space distancing them. “ this isn't about Amazonian law.” he insisted. Walking up to her with a nervous smile playing at his lips he swallowed a large breath and pushed the flowers towards her. 

The scent of sweet roses filled her nose and she peered over at him flustered. “Then what is it?” she asked matching the flower’s color, beginning to grow more anxious as the seconds passed. Her hands tightly clutched the de-thorned stems as she stared up at him with shining (e/c) gems. “If you allow me, I will court you from now on, I promise to bring you flowers!” he said rushed, saying it in a single breath. “Flowers of any kind actually, even if they are on the other side of the world I'll find them just for you!” He promised. “ which are your most preferred?” he questioned her, looking enthusiastic, having a new light brighten his vibrantly colored eyes. “No, wait, You don't have to tell me your favorite… I'll devote myself to get you every color and every kind until you're satisfied... If that pleases you.” he said twiddling with his fingers and mumbling the last bit rather cutely. “ anything you want!” he declared tightening his shaky hands into fists, looking every bit as determined as he sounded, swallowing down his nervousness.

   There was something in his eyes that made her melt. He was so hopeful, so full of devotion and love that desperately wanted to be taken in and nurtured. She felt like a sucker, easily mellowing at that vulnerability, feeling it all so different from before. She felt like the only woman on earth, being looked on by him with such affection, one that couldn't be swept from beneath her. “ Mousse, “ she said gently, feeling her heart skyrocket... Looking up at him she gave him a melted gaze, looking vulnerable and sweet. “I want what you want.” She assured, holding onto the bouquet with trembling hands.   “What I want?” He asked, elated, raising both eyebrows growing excited by the minute. Nodding, she stepped closer to him daringly, swallowing down heavily. Her breaths came out heavy and shaky as she was before him. “I want to be with you,” he insisted again sounding certain and decisive, no trace of future regret or turning back.

She Couldn't believe it. 

She couldn't believe he was there, holding flowers just for her, standing there and looking at her with such pleading. “ A-Are you sure? “ she asked, “ what about shampoo?” she said softly.

 At the mention of the name, he smiled faintly, looking at her with sincerity, and speaking with the same tone, not one bit saddened.

“ (f/n)... I love you…

 I was too afraid and stubborn to admit it, that I had put my eyes on someone other than her. It felt like I was giving up. I don't know what you did to me, but I feel like nothing can hurt me with you by me. During that time when you didn't show up to the cafe… When you were gone, I felt alone. I felt like something was missing from my life. I didn't think about chasing shampoo down. Instead, I was worried about you. Worried about what made you cry, about what I could do to make you smile again. Anxious to know if you never wanted to see me again." Something in her just snapped, and unable to hold herself back, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing herself to him tightly in an intimate hold. The roses that had been in her hand slipped from her hands, falling to the ground in a mess, but none of them paid mind to them. 

Slowly his arms wrapped around her, enveloping her in warmth. The way he pressed her to him was almost bone-crushing as he found letting her go not to be an option. With a quick peck to her forehead, he coddled her like it was the only time he’d get the chance and she felt just right being there, not a question in mind, no reason to peel herself away and suddenly the idea of getting married seemed less insane than the first time he had proposed it.

[cescalr]

ME would like to suggest some fluffy willoughby/don

Don had invited Will over for Christmas.

Their year at Whitewater College, a boarding school purely for sixth-form students, had been fine. so much as any year after what happened at Slaughter could be fine. And it was fine because Clemise was in some other country, and Don had taken a few months, but he did get over their break-up. And it was fine because Don felt somewhat - he wouldn’t say traumatised by the events of that night, but… he wouldn’t say he didn’t feel in some way terrible about them, even now, if he reminisced too long on what happened.

But. That’s that, really. Don doesn’t dwell too much. You just got’t’deal with this sort’ve thing, y’know? Deal, and move forward.

Anyway. It’s Christmas. There’s no point bringing down the holiday cheer by thinking on that.

[Fic continued under break, or you can read it on Ao3; my profile is linked on my blog!! I’d put it here but tumblr is stupid and external links break tags.]

Don looked over from his place lying down to where Will was, still fast asleep on the mattress they’d set out for him. It was early morning, still – the light coming through the blinds in lines, brightening up parts of the room and, unfortunately, shining straight into Don’s eyes.

“Fuck,” Don muttered to himself, as he sat up in order to get away from the too-bright sunlight. “Too early. Shit.”

Well. Not that early; the sun didn’t rise until it was actually morning in winter, unlike the bullshit you got during summer – but still. Regardless, Don hadn’t been quiet enough, it seemed, because Will stirred.

After he blinked away sleep, Will seemed to register what day it was.

“Merry Christmas, Ducky,” He said, as he sat up. Don had tried to get him to use the proper bed and let Don sleep on the mattress instead, but Will had refused.

Truthfully, he wasn’t so bothered about that. It meant no springs digging into his back while he tried to sleep, after all.

“Merry Chris’mas,” Don replied, “Or, It would be, if y’d stop callin’ me Ducky.”

“We’ve had this argument for over a year, Ducky.” Will smiled. “You’re too late, it’s stuck.”

Don grumbled lightly and without heat as he scooted to the end of the bed then stood (so he didn’t end up standing on Will – Don’s bedroom isn’t very big), stretched and moved out of the room.

Once he was back from the bathroom, Will was dressed.

“Y’ever ‘eard of a ‘lazy day’?” Don asked, dryly. “Y’know… what Chris’mas is t’mos’ people?”

“I have,” Will said, plainly.

“Alrigh’ then,” Don rolled his eyes. “C’mon. Breakfast.”

They were home for Christmas, of course, but that didn’t mean the teens at Whitewater didn’t throw a week-long event – mostly drinking and partying in the art department’s basement, thrown by the drama club, because of course – in preparation.

“Donnie!” A girl, rather drunk, called out. “Blakey, Donnie! Over here!”

“Lauren,” Don replied. Will greeted in kind, and the two made their way through the crowd to the girl and the rest of the group.

“Neither of you are drunk yet, and it’s five somewhere!” She exclaimed, shoving two plastic cups of some alcoholic beverage into their hands. “Also, Danny got his sister to cough up the you-know-what, so we’ve got some brownies if you want any!”

“They only just arrived, Lauren, stop trying to get our friends addicted to pot,” Sam said, sighing, as he rolled his eyes. He was sat on a free stool, a book in one hand, and a water bottle gripped tightly and protectively in the other.

“Chill, Sam,” Lauren said, loud enough to be heard over the pounding of whatever EDM mess the ‘DJ’ had decided to play.

“I’ll chill when you stop trying to spike my drink, bestie,” Sam said, dryly.

“You know I love you!” Lauren sing-songed, then grinned. “Oh, my girl’s over there – Sammy, dear, show these lot where the food an’ shit is, yeah?” And with that, she was off – Don lost her in the crowd mere seconds after she’d entered it.

Sam rolled his eyes. “C’mon then,” Sam said, standing. “Food’s on the other side.”

As they walked, Don spotted various different people he’d met over his first year at Whitewater. There was Alex, Lillian, Sabrina, Derek – to name a few.

(Of course, there was Jesse, Zak, Michael – but… well, they didn’t really count as much. Though, Zak was talking with Alex; his cousin. Maybe he’d end up a better person in the new year? Only time would tell, Don supposed.)

“Y’ gotta have fun!” Lillian said, grinning. Sabrina slung her arms around their shoulders. “An’ us homosexuals have to stick together,” She added, swinging them around to face the drinks table instead of the buffet. “meaning - I need some money; buy my wares.”

“I recommend the ecstasy,” Lillian chimed in.

“You would,” Will said, smiling, as he carefully extracted himself from Sabrina’s grip. Don stepped away, and walked over to the table. “Five o’clock somewhere,” He said, shrugging.

“Right on,” Derek grinned, appearing out of nowhere. “I heard drugs.”

“Wanker,” Sabrina rolled her eyes. “I thought you were off with your mates?”

“And miss my main friendos?” He laughed, loudly. “No-way, broseph! I’m tryin’ t’ be a bit more sportsmanly, y’know? More of a team player.”

“They’re not gonna let you on the lacrosse team, Derek,” Lillian said, “Not after last time.”

Derek shrugged. “I can try,” He said, solemnly, and then was gone again.

“Jesus Christ,” Sabrina muttered, rubbing at her forehead. “Anyone else get a headache from his sheer presence?”

“I’m still trying to figure out his species,” Sam said. “I’ve figured Alien, but what kind…” He mused.

“Doesn’t matter,” Lillian dismissed. “Drink! Food! Illicit substances to fuel our various addictions, be they basic-bitch or hardcore asshat! Let’s go!”

Don rolled his eyes, and downed his drink.

And that had been the main theme of it.

So. Don had been home for a fair few days, now; Whitewater let you home for the week before, of, and after Christmas, and Don had made the most of it. It’d been a real long time since he’d seen what few mates he’d had back home – what with Slaughterhouse and then joining Whitewater after being cooped up at home for his mandated week-long ‘recovery’ period, after which he was supposedly supposed to be all better now, off you trot, and then the Christmas he’d spent at home with his mum as the actual ‘recovery’ period, according to her, and then another whole few months before summer, but then his mates had been out of the country, so then it was another couple months until now but - whatever. He’d hung out with what mates he had left, that first week, meaning Josh and Terri and James – Josh’s girlfriend and brother respectively. They played video games and smoked in the empty park and pretty much did exactly the same sort of shit they’d been doing when his mum had been wholly convinced that he was ‘depressed’.

Then Josh and Terri and James went off to Ireland for Christmas, and – Will came to stay. For Christmas week.

And then Will got a phone call, and now he was just going to stay until college started up again, and go back to Whitewater with Don. Logically. Practically.

Don – didn’t really need to ask.

Anyway.

“Ah hope you boys are ‘ungry,” His mum said, plating them and herself a full English. “Chris’mas is the only time ah bother, so you both better enjoy it!”

“Thanks, mum,” Don said, and she smiled and squeezed his shoulder lightly as she walked past. “Thank you,” Will said.

(“Thank you for having me over, M-“ Will started.

Babs’ smile dimmed. “Babs is fine, don’t you worry yourself with formality,” She said, warmly. “Come on in, it’s freezing!”)

“Eat up,” Babs encouraged. “You’re both growing boys, and we’ve presents to open!” She smiled, conspiratorially; they’d gone out Christmas shopping with her individually, and so she knew what they’d gotten each other, and appeared to be having the time of her life with this knowledge.

Don ate his breakfast.

“So. This one of the posh twats you replaced your old mates with, then, eh Don?”

“Josh,” Don greeted. “Bit of a dickhead but the right sort.” He told Will. “Will, Josh.” Don gestured.

“Willoughby Blake,” Will said, “And not too much of a twat, I wouldn’t say. You?”

“Josh Blythe, and I ain’t no dickhead to good people, y’ prat,” Josh said, scowling a little at Don. He fished a pack of smokes out of his pocket. “Fag?”

Will smirked. “Yes;” He said, “I also, do indeed, smoke.”

“Cool,” Josh said, tossing him one. “Terri’s my girl, now, by the way.” He told Don.

“Terri… Blythe?” Don cracked a smile. “That’s a bit awkward, innit?”

“Oi, sod off,” Josh flipped him the bird, then set about lighting his own cig. “Blythe’s a plenty common name.”

“I wonder why…” Will trailed off, leaning against the low stone wall.  

“Yeah yeah,” Josh rolled his eyes. “Nothin’ James hasn’t said yet.” He scowled slightly. “Fucken’ incest jokes… made by my own goddamn brother…”

“How’s everythin’ at St. Dunstan’s anyway?” Don asked, changing the topic.

“David’s still a right prat,” Josh said, thankful for the change in track. “Ah heard George is expectin’, but she could just have the flu. Maybe she’s dyin, ah don’ fucken’ kno’. We never talk, do we? Fucken – anyway, Muhammad got into that right fancy college, so he fucked off, along with his family, and jus’ about ev’ryone else ‘as gone t’ some other sixth-form. Yanno, ‘cept me, ma brother and Terri. There are some new arseholes, but they stick to each other.”

“Dunstan’s was always a shithole anyway,” Don said.

“Damn right,” Josh stood, dropped his cigarette to the floor and put it out with the heel of his trainer. “You gotten rusty at Halo since ya fucked off t’ the posh south or what?”

“I did better than you las’ week, y’ dick’ead,” Don said, dropping off of the wall. “C’mon. Y’ever played Halo, Will?”

“It’s fucking freezing.” Will said. “Why are we walking around the town centre?”

“’Cause we got nothin’ else t’do, obviously,” Don said, stomping through the snow. “An ah wan’t’ get an idea of wha’ ah wan’t’ get for my friends, you twat.”

“Should have done this earlier on, then,” Will said, glancing around. “Most places are closed.”

“’Course they’re fuckin’ closed, it’s a Sunday,” Don said, rolling his eyes. “Doesn’ mean there ain’t shit in the windows, y’ twat.”

“Of course,” Will said, glancing around again. “What’s that?” He pointed.

“Fuckin expensive piece of shit, that’s what tha’ is,” Don said, but he walked over to the shop Will was pointing at anway. “Never been inside – ah think they’d chase me off.” He said, dryly. “Smell the fuckin working class on me or some shit, like fuckin’ bloodhounds.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Ducky,” Will said.

“There’s fuckin’ diamonds on those ten-thousand pound and up watches, Willoughby, I ain’t going anywhere near that shit.”

“Come on.” Will said, “It’s the only place that’s open.”

“The fuckin’ Macdonalds is open, Willoughby – oh, for fuck’s sake, fine.”

Don walked after Will, who’d already entered the store.

Don looked around, as he caught up with his friend.

“There’s perfectly fuckin’ good watches elsewhere, Will,” Don said. “What a fuckin waste of ten grand, Christ on a bike…”

“I’ve seen better watches,” Will agreed. “But we’re looking at the ones with price tags, which is stupid. Come on. They usually put the better things near the back.”

“The ones with – Willoughby,” Don said, “What –“

“Here we are.” Will said, satisfied.

The watches did not have diamonds on them, which was preferable – but they didn’t have price tags, which was worrying.

“Why the fuck would you look at the ones without price tags?” Don asked.

“Because you can look at them.” Will said, pointing to the fact that they weren’t hidden behind what seemed like five hundred layers of glass and security measures. “And they’re not particularly garish, are they Ducky?”

“No,” Don said, warily, squinting at the watches. “Ah guess not. But this is pointless, I’m – prob’ly jus’ goin’t’ get a watch where ah got my last one, I mean, it lasted a good while.”

“It lasted a year Ducky, that’s terrible,” Will said. “Mine broke the year before last, but I’d had it for nearly nine by that point, and it broke because I broke it.”

“Fuckin’ dumbass,” Don said. “Perfectly good fuckin’ watch.”

“I am aware of that, yes.” Will frowned at the watches. “Do you like any of them?” He asked.

“Can’t fuckin’ afford any of this shit, can I?” Don asked. “Humour me,” Will said.

Don rolled his eyes and huffed, but did take a proper look at each of the watches in turn.

“That one,” Don said, pointing at a simple black-leather and silver with a white clockface and normal, black numerals and clock hands. “Most normal fuckin’ watch here.”

“Man of simple tastes,” Will smiled. Don elbowed him. “Fuck off. Not all of us are fancy posh twats – hell, I think y’d like a pocket-watch, fuckin – I know you would, you’re like that.”

“Like what?” Will asked.

“A posh, sentimental git, obviously.” Don said. “C’mon, let’s go.” He said.

“My cover’s been blown,” Will said, smiling, and Don rolled his eyes. “Fuck off,” He said, good-naturedly, grinning as they left the store.

Previous Summer:

“How are ya this fine mornin’?”

Don glanced over at Terri. “Not bad,” He said. “You’ll be off t’ Ireland tomorrow, righ’?”

“Nail on the head,” Terri said, dropping down onto the floor beside him. “Josh’s scramblin’, try’na pack all his crap. James is off, prob’ly somewhere with George.”

“Thought she had the flu,” Don said.

(George nearly always ‘had the flu’.)

“Those bitches are getting fucking married, y’know tha’,” Terri snorted. “Or haven’t ya seen the loving couple? No fuckin’ flu or baby rumours are gonna keep ‘em off each other’s backs.”

“Guess not,” Don said. “Smoke?”

“Nah.” Terri waved a hand. “Try’na quit.”

Don snorted. “Bet Josh loved that.”

“He’s a dick’ead, but you knew tha’,” She laughed. “God. Love ‘im tho’.”

“Yeah.” Don said.

“You ‘ave a girl?” Terri glanced at him.

“Did,” Don said. “Clemsie.”

“Clemsie?” Terri shook her head. “Posh fuckin’ princess?”

“Don’t,” Don said, shortly. “She had to move country, with ‘er fam’ly. We broke up ‘cause o’ tha’.”

“Shit, Don, sorry.” Terri sighed. She clapped him on the shoulder, then leaned over to look him in the eye. “Still. Better to be friends than to lose everythin’ over a long-distance piece of shit relationship, righ’?”

Don thought of Meredith and Audrey, and winced.

“Definitely,” He said. “We video call. It’s – not that… we didn’ get t’be together very long. Tha’elps, ah guess.”

“Helps a lot.” Terri shook her head, then flopped back against the wall. “’Elps a fucking lot.”

“Yeah,” Don said.

“Y’make any friends at those posh schools o’ yours?” Terri asked. “Other than that Clemsie chick?”

“Kay, Will.” Don said. “Lauren, Sam, Sabrina, Lillian, Derek, Daniel-“

“See, fuckin’ knew you’d thrive there,” She said, shoving him in the shoulder and grinning. “Always though’ y’ deserved better than fuckin St Dunstan’s.”

“So do you lot,” Don protested. “It’s a shithole, nobody deserves that.”

“Victims of fuckin’ circumstance, the lot of us,” She said, slumping back. “But I mean it.” She turned her head and looked at him. “Y’ the best o’ all o’ us, y’ prat. Accept it. Well. I mean, Muhammad’s a medical fuckin’ genius, but that’s a whole different ballpark and he’s a hopeless twat mostly, so I don’t count him If I did, he’d be the best no question – but yanno. I’m comfortin’ you, ‘ere.”

“Thanks,” Don said, dryly.

“No problem.” She grinned, and shoved him lightly in the shoulder again. “C’mon. Dad recently fixed up an old foosball table o’ his fam’ly’s, an’ I wan’na see if you’re any better than Josh or his bro,” She clapped him on the shoulder. “An’ maybe you can tell me all ‘bout your new friends, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Don said. “Sure.”

“Terri?” Don asked.

“Yeah? Oh, Don,” She unlatched the door and opened it. “Come inside, it’s fucking cold. God, I hate winter,” She slammed the door shut behind him.

“Do you know anywhere I could get a pocket watch?” Don asked.

“At an affordable price? Yes, of course, never doubt me,” She spun on her heel. “Or, rather, never doubt my dad. Dad!” She yelled.

“Wha’?” A voice boomed back.

“Y’know where we could find a custom watchmaker’s that ain’t damn expensive?”

“Yeah. I’ll drive yeh. Say ‘hello’ t’ Don for meh!”

“How the fuck does he know?” Don shook his head.

“The man has magic, I swear to god. It fuckin’ annoys me I got mum’s genes in that matter.” Terri grumbled, and walked into the living room. She dropped onto the couch, and Don followed suit.

“Is this for that boy o’ yours?” Terri asked, grinning lazily as she leaned back on the couch.

“He’s – why d’y’ have t’put it like tha’?” Don leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees.

“’Cause I like to make people question things,” She said, “Obviously.” Terri stood and moved into the kitchen, then returned with two cokes. “Here,” She tossed him a can. “It’s shit but mum’s addicted me to it, damn the woman.”

Terri dropped onto the beanbag. “Here’s to a very fuckin’ Merry Christmas, y’ prat,” She grinned as she lifted the can in imitation of a toast.

“Hear hear,” Don opened the drink and returned the toast.

“Dad’ll be done in a few minutes,” Terri said, “But – in all seriousness, is this your prezzie for Willoughby or what?”

“Yeah,” Don said. “Fuckin’ git’s as fancy and sentimental as it gets, so…”

“Y’ sentimental y’self, ya prat,” She said, fondly. “Which is why we’re goin’ the whole nine fuckin’ yards, ‘cause a custom one’s a better fuckin’ gift than any stock shit. Better quality, usually, too, ‘cause the maker actually cares about the fuckin' end product.”

“I’m not fuckin’ sentimental, much,” Don said.

“No, y’ just sappy, y’ fuckin prat,” Terri sunk down into the beanbag chair. “Don’ lie to me, Don, I’ve known ya for nearly our whole lives, mate. And I’m older, so I win.”

“If I’m sappy y’re twelve,” Don put the coke can down on the floor, unfinished.

“And proud of it,” She grinned at him. “Only way I can win arguments, I ain’t no good with words.”

“How’d you do in English?” Don asked.

Terri pursed her lips and sighed. “Fuckin failed it, didn’t ah?” She glowered at nothing. “Good fuckin’ thing I can drop out ah sixth form and jus’ go for a level four apprenticeship, huh? Or was it three…” She trailed off, frowning as she thought.

“Eh, whatever.” She chucked her empty coke can into the bin. “Score,” She grinned. “Anway,” Terri turned her attention back to Don. “You’re a total sap, I’ve got evidence. Point is, I’m strong-arming you to go the whole nine-fuckin’ yards, because even tho’ I can trust you to do it on yer own, without me you’ll totally get scammed out o’ your money.”

“Terri,” Don said, flatly.

“What? Who out’a the two of us knows trade, huh? Not you, y’git.” She grinned. “Also I wanna know exactly what inscription y’ put on the fuckin’ thing.”

“Fuck off,” Don said, leaning back onto the couch. “Thanks.”

“Mixed messages, there, oh Donald,” Terri grinned, and dodged the cushion he threw at her. She picked it up and put it under her head, her grin turning self-satisfied. “I always win,” She reminded him.

“No you don’t,” Don said. “Remember the trip to Wales, in year eight?”

“We never talk about the trip to Wales in year eight,” Terri said, automatically. “That’s the first rule of our friendship. Right above ‘we don’t talk about Alex Connors.’”

“Noted,” Don said, sitting up. “Which is above ‘there was never a Chase Johnson’.”

“See, he gets it,” Terri grinned at Don. “We keep each others' dirty little secrets, we get along.”

“Blackmail is the only reason we’re friends,” Don said, dryly.

“And don’t you forget it!” She grinned, laughing, and fell backwards onto the beanbag.

“You two. Got t’ get goin’ now.” Her dad said, suddenly appearing at the doorway. How the six-foot-five craftsman managed this had always been and always would remain a mystery.

Don’s started to believe the story that he killed a strange looking wasp that had holed up alone in it’s hive in the attic of a customer’s house and that’s what gave him his strange abilities a lot more since the events at Slaughterhouse.

After all – Meredith’s not dead, and neither is the dog. The dog which looks exactly like the one in the paintings… of a dog that had lived hundreds of years prior.

“We’re ready, come on,” Terri said, standing, and Don followed the two Blythes out of the house.

“Ah, Terri Blythe, it’s been a long time.”

“Heyo, Uncle Terrance,” Terri said, stepping up to the counter. “Ma friend ‘ere – Don, y’ remember? – needs to get a prezzie for his boy.”

“Terri,” Don said, sighing.

“What?” She looked at him. “Fuck off, you idiot. Ah’ve squinted at your act for a week, bitch, I know exactly how you feel about him. Or do we need to talk about Alex?”

“Fuck off,” Don said. “Hullo, Mr. Connolly.”

“Donald Wallace,” The man said, surprised, as he removed his glasses to quickly clean them, then replaced them on his face, mostly all the way down his nose, in order to squint at Don as if he wasn’t sure Don was actually what he was seeing. “My my, it’s been – how long?”

“’Bout a decade, Uncle Terry,” Terri said.

“Indeed.” The man replaced his lens cleaning cloth back into his pocket, like some old-timey handkerchief. “So what brings you both here?”

“Like ah said,” Terri stated, slowly, “He needs to get a present for his friend for Christmas.”

“My dear boy, it’s only four days away!” The elderly man said, agitated, as he went about retrieving various designs and sheets for pricings. “I can make it in that time, of course, and as always you will get the family discount – but you’ve left yourself very little time to plan!”

“Ah only came up with the idea yesterday.” Don winced.

“That’s even worse!” The man came to a stop, the desk that served as the counter piled high with various pieces of paper. “You’ll need to make the decision today, but you can ask for the inscription upon completion, thank the lord above,” The man narrowed his eyes at Don. “And next time, son, figure things out before the deadline!”

“Righ’,” Don said. “Will do.”

“Good.” The man sighed, relieved. “Now. Take a look,” He gestured to the pile, “And tell me which parts of which designs suit best. And remember – family and Christmas discount, so don’t say no for no good reason.”

Don nodded, somewhat awkwardly, as he started rifling through the papers. Terri wandered off, to browse through the clocks, which included watches - pocket and otherwise – lining the walls and displayed, lovingly, across tables.

“Eight years old,” The elderly man shook his head as he muttered. “And now – you’ll be graduating soon, I imagine?”

“There was an incident,” Don said, “At the firs’ sixth-form ah went t’. After tha’, we ‘ad t’ repeat lower sixth at a new place. So, uh. One more year.”

“I see,” The elderly man inspected a watch hung on the wall and frowned, then set about buffing out an invisible scuff mark. “Where did you go?”

“Slaughterhouse School,” Don said, and the man froze.

“In Slaughter,” The man – stated. It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah.” Don said. “The School –“

“Blew up, yes, I heard.” The elderly man pursed his lips. “A right shamble. Still, at least you got out safely.” The man turned away from the watch on the wall, then cleaned his glasses – avoided eye contact. “… What really happened?”

Don looked blankly at him.

“I may be old, Donald, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know things.” Terrance squinted at him, then put his glasses back on. “Fracking doesn’t usually cause that sort of damage.”

“Well,” Don said. “They weren’ very –“

“Responsible Frackers, I know,” The man’s nostrils flared. “They give it a bad name, that company. No, what I mean is – stories spread. Legends… an old clockmaker hears things.” The man sighed, and looked at the pictures of his customers on the wall behind the counter.

In a few of them, there was a familiar dog.

“Big fuck off mole rats,” Don said. “We had to blow it up.”

“We?” The man’s head snapped over to Don. “How many people killed them?”

“… Dunno,” Don said. “Mr. ‘Ouseman killed one, mostly, then we beat it the rest o’ the way dead. Then – I used Will’s snuffbox to get another, an’ the lighter Will’d been bequeathed to blow up the school – usin’ the gas,” Don explained. “Clemsie killed a li’le one.”

“I see.” The man paused. “Well. I suppose we’ll see how that turns out eventually.”

“Wha’ d’y’ mean?” Don asked.

“Here.” The man said, instead, handing Don a stack of designs. “Find your friend a pocket watch. And think up an inscription, while you’re at it! Don’t leave that as last minute as you left this! I need to talk to my niece. If you’ll excuse me…” And with that, the old man had bustled him off and walked away, over to Terri who was poking a stuffed cat.

“Merlin died then?” Don heard.

“Not all pets can live forever,” The man sighed. “It’s a burden some must face alone.”

Don looked back up at the pictures.

1891

1912

1925

1956

1993

2001

2014…

Don frowned, then shrugged, and looked down at the designs.

Design 3048: Forever.

Design 246: Eternal.

Design 13: Infinite…

Don raised his eyebrows, then shrugged, and started picking out parts of the designs he thought Will might like.

Previous Summer:

“The Johnsons moved to America?”

“No Idea where they go’ the money either, mate,” James said, leaning back on the couch. Terri, from her place on a cushion on the floor, chuckled. “Inheritance, got’t’ be,” She said, as she dispatched of a few grunts. James nodded as he circle-strafed around a hunter.

“No wonder I ah’ven’ seen Mikey ‘round.” Don said.

“They didn’ tell nobody,” Terri scowled. “Fucken’ Lillian didn’ even bother tellin’ her bes’ friend, the wanker.”

“Lisa cry on your shoulder ‘bout it?” Don asked.

Terri grimaced as she picked up an energy sword, then started running around hitting elites with it. “Yes.” She said, glowering at the TV. “There was snot and everything. Fucken’ wan’ed t’ punch Lil’ for tha’.”

“Can imagine,” Don said.

“’Course y’ could, y’ sap,” James said, and Don elbowed him, which caused him to fail in circle-strafing and get shot.

“Bastard,” James said, elbowing Don back, and Terri laughed, finding an enemy-less corner so James could respawn.

 “Willoughby Blake,” Terri said. “Don kno’ yer ‘ere?”

“I have it under good authority that you’ve known him for a very long time,” Will said, “And I was wondering if you could distract him for a – short while, while I go get his Christmas present?”

“Fucken’ell, mate, what’s with posh bastards and waitin’ ‘til the las’ minute?” Terri grumbled, but she stepped inside, and left the door open. Will hesitated before following, and stayed at the door while she put on her boots. “Relax, y’ twit,” She waved a hand, before she started doing up the laces. “I don’ bite.”

“Alright,” Will said, and moved to lean against the wall.

“Da’, I’m off! Seeing the Wallaces!” Terri shouted, as she stood. Terri grabbed her coat off of the stairs, at the end of the bannister, and threw it on. “Fucken’ cold out, innit?” She said, as she walked out of the house. Will followed. “Yes,” He said. “Quite.”

“Post twat,” She said. “You be good to Don, y’ ‘ear meh?”

“I-“

“Don’ even,” Terri warned. “I ‘ate liars. Now go ge’im somethin’ fucken’ nice, and don’ le’im say ‘no’ ‘cause ya spent money on it, ya hear me?”

“Roger that.” Will said, “Ma’am.”

Terri snorted. “Ge’ the fuck out’t’ ‘ere, y’ posh bastard. An’ I expec’ somethin’ nice enough, too, for the good fucken’ advice ah give ya both, y’ blind twits.”

-

“Initiation’s simple, bitches.” Terri slammed a crate of beer onto the table. “Drink me under, an’ ah’ll respect ya fer life.”

“Y’ for real about this, Terri?” Don asked.

“Well, no, bu’ it’ll ‘elp,” Terri said. “Wha’, col’ feet already, Wallace?”

“No,” He rolled his eyes and gestured with the beer he’d already picked up. “Jus’ remember when Mikey drank you under the table?”

“Not my best momen’, bu’ I’m tryin’ t’ recover from tha’, ‘ere. Whoever ‘andles their drink bes’ wins.”

“Ah know who’s gonna fucken’ lose ‘ere, then.” Don said.

“Fuck off, Ducky,” Will said. Terri grinned.

“Fuck’s sake, Willoughby,” Don downed some of his drink.

“Don, Donald, Duck, Ducky. Ah ge’ it, tha’s cute,” Terri grinned, leaning back on her beanbag. She downed a beer, then slammed the empty can down on the floor. “Pacing’s for wimps,” She announced to the ceiling.

“If y’ say so,” Don said. “’S no’ fuckin’ cute.”

“I’m older, what I say goes, it’s cute,” Terri said. “Get me drunk enough, Blake, mate, an’ I’ll tell ya stories about ‘ow much of a sap ‘e is.”

“Fuck off,” Don said. “Or I’ll bring up Cha-“

“Two can play at tha’ game, Donald Wallace,” Terri said, interrupting, as she reached over for another can.

“I have to say, I am curious,” Will said, supressing a smile of amusement. He was onto his second can.

“Ah-ah,” Terri waved a hand at him. “Y’ get t’ know Don’s embarrassing shit, but ah jus’ met ya. Which means y’ don’ get t’ kno’ mine… problem ‘ere is if ya ‘ear Don’s from me, ‘e’ll tell ya about mine. So, yanno, that ain’ ‘appenin’.”

“Shame,” Don said, downing his drink. “Really.”

Lunchtime on Christmas Eve saw a small get-together, with the two Blythe families and the Wallaces.

“Lisa’s still fuckin’ angry at Lil’, an’ she’s over at her gran’s for the yearly fam’ly gatherin’, so she ain’ showin’ up this year. Jus’ us lot, Mrs. Wallace,” Terri said. The two families would be leaving later on, to be in Ireland for the next day. Cutting it a bit close – but then, that was the Blythes, for you. Both sets of them.

Babs smiled at the two sets of Blythes as she stood aside and let them in. “It’s Babs, Terri,” She reminded the girl, like she’d been doing for years. “Come on. Group photo – Don, grab the camera, I’ll go get Dad.”

“Mum-“ Don started, but she was already gone. He sighed, shook his head. “He’s fine where he is,” Don mumbled, but he went to go get the camera anyway.

“Ev’ryones ‘ere,” Don said to Will. “Terri, James, Josh, David; ah, Terri’s dad, an’ Mr. and Mrs. Blythe.”

“So all the Blythes, then,” Will said. “Christmas eve dinner?”

“Fucken’ lunch, mate,” Don said. “Dinner’s later.”

“Ah, but it’s breakfast, dinner, and supper or tea.” Will said.

“Fuck off,” Don said. “We’re doin’ a fuckin’ group photo. Mum’s gettin’ dad’s urn. Let’s go.”

Will nodded, and followed Don into the living room. It wasn’t too cramped, but it was a fair bit cramped. Babs placed the urn on the mantlepiece of the electric fire. “Ev’ry one, gather round, I’ll jus’ set up the camera.” She said, taking it from Don. “Found out a remote activation method, bloody handy,” She explained as she went. The Blythes used the urn as a dividing line, and made sure to leave enough space for the three remaining individuals. “C’mon,” Terri said, gesturing. Don walked over and stood next to his dad, and Will, being tall, went on the back row, between and behind Terri and Don. “There we go,” Mrs. Blythe muttered, then smiled at them. There was space on the other side of the urn for Don’s mum, though it was a bit of a squeeze, and as Babs set up the camera, she asked everyone to move a bit closer in, so they were all in frame, and posed properly. Babs then quickly squeezed into place, and they all smiled at the camera as the flash went off a few times.

“Great!” Babs smiled, and Mr. Blythe – Josh’s dad – clapped his hands. “What’s for Lunch, eh Babs?” He asked.

“Sunday roast,” She grinned. “Wen’ all out for it, so be grateful it’s not sandwiches. Le’s go eat!”

"Present time!" Babs said, clapping her hands once after she'd received confirmation that they'd finished eating. "I'm gon' go grab somethin' while you two start - go on, go on!" She gestured, herding them into the living room before absconding up the staircase. 

"Camera," Don said, knowingly, then flopped down onto the couch. 

Presents from their friends had been coming in since the Christmas holidays started - Don's not entirely sure how Lauren knew to send Will's here, or how or why she'd convinced Sam and the others to do the same, but he hadn't paid much attention to that. Will had brought ones that Clemsie and Smudger and Kay and Hargreaves and Wootton had sent - after all, if it does anything, living through what happened at Slaughterhouse at least makes you a permanent entry on the Christmas shopping list - and Don's had arrived last week. The various Blythes' presents were also under the tree, a couple joint presents; Josh's family got Don and Will and Babs one present each, so that made three presents from the four Blythes, and David got Don and Babs - the Wallaces - some chocolate, but Terri gave Don and Will and Babs a present each - so four from the two Blythes. 

Trying to figure out which bag of presents had been from which Blythe family had been somewhat futile. Thankfully, the individual presents were a bit more obvious. 

(Both families were - bad at tagging, still, though.)

"Alright, which first?" Will said. Don sat up, stood up, and walked over. "Let's get the Blythes over and done with," He said, "Can' fuckin' figure out which is which for them, an' it's bugging me."

"Indeed," Will said, picking up one that had 'Will' on it in sharpie. Don picked up his, and dropped back onto the couch. He opened it, and a note fell out - Terri's, then; she always wrote little notes that she stuck inside the packaging, instead of on it. 

Told him you like him yet, dickhead?

- T. 

Don resisted the urge to facepalm and hid the message amongst the wrapping paper. "Who's your from?" He asked. Will was struggling with an overly sellotaped lump of a present. He found a place he could rip it from, though, and quickly did so. "Terri," He said, frowning slightly at a message written on paper with, of course, sharpie. It bled through, but Don didn't try to read it via the back of the paper. Will scoffed, lightly, and dropped the message, which disappeared into the wrapping paper. "Your friend has an interesting sense of humour," Will said. 

"She's like tha'," Don said. "Always 'as been."

Don grinned at the copy of a Halo game he didn't yet have - a present that was as much for him as for her, likely since co-op was the only way she ever accepted anyone play Halo - and placed it down on the couch next to himself. "What'd she get you?" Don asked.

"A - puzzle box." Will frowned at it. He shook it, and there was something inside it, but how to get in there was - well, a puzzle. "... Interesting choice."

"She got me a cardboard box once," Don said. "And a coat hanger."

"Why?" Will blinked at him. "No' sure," Don shrugged. "She got 'er own boyfriend - b'fore they were t'gether, obviously - a keytar once. Tha' was mem'rable." 

"... Alright, then." Will said, for lack of a better response. Don wasn't sure what you could say to that, anyway. 

They made their way through the rest of the presents, and on the fifth Babs entered the room. 

"Candid." She said, grinning, and Don sighed. "Mul'iple, actu'ly."

"Mum," Don sighed, and she laughed. "Come on, Don, grab Dad, would you? ;E's still in the dinin' room." Well. The kitchen/diner, since it was one room with a table crammed in the corner. 

"Alright," Don said, standing. "Yeah, I'll get him."

Don left the room, and Babs sat down on the couch. 

"See, I've known Don for a very long time, bein' 'is mum an' all," Babs said. She turned and smiled at Will, "An' I knew 'e liked tha' Clemsie girl from the momen' 'e saw 'er - an' ah can tel when he's grown t' like someone, too."

Will didn't reply.

"My boy's go' a big 'eart, and 'e cares abou' you," Babs said, plainly. "An' I'm no' gon' warn y' abou' no' 'urtin' 'im, b'cause ah kno' y're no' the type," She said. "So jus' let y'self be 'appy, Will. Y're a good kid; y' deserve it."

Babs stood and set up the camera as Don entered the room. "Will, be a dear and take the photo, wou'd y' please?" Babs asked. "Don, bring y' father over 'ere." A few flashes later, the photos were taken. "Ah've got' go take a few presents round to our Jackie's," She said, "So ah'll be back soon enough. You two carry on with the presents, don' wait for me." And with that, Babs was gone. 

Don shook his head slightly, and moved to the tree. "Which next?" He asked.

"Ah - why not the Lawrences?" Will asked.

"Then the other 'slaugh'erians'" Don grinned. "Sure." Don tossed Will his present from Smudger - customary, generic; they hadn't really gotten to know each other, after all, Smudger and the rest of the group, since after the events of Slaughterhouse and everyone went home from that police station, well, the Lawrences moved country, so. Don put the riculously expensive chocolate - the same as what Will had gotten from the male Lawrence - aside, and then grabbed Clemsie's presents for them both. He handed Will his, then opened his own. 

Don, a letter read, Merry Christmas! It's been such a long time - we should all really meet up in the new year. Kay will be back in England in the summer, and we'll be visiting family then, so I could pull some strings. It'd be nice, to see everyone again. Staying friends after everything that happened - well. It feels like a good idea to me. 

I hope you and Will have had a good time at that new college - I keep getting letters from Wootton, bless him, about the place his mother sent him to this time. At least Hargreaves is keeping an eye on the poor boy; much like you, they were lucky enough to get sent to the same place. I'm pretty sure if they could, the Hargreaves would have adopted Wootton already, but - well. Given how often he's with his actual family, he might as well already be Isaac's little brother. 

We really should all speak more. It's not like we have phones and skype or email or anything... certainly, we have a lot better than letters. I mean. Really.

See you both in the new year!

Signed,

Clemsie. 

"Got a letter," Don said. "You?" "Yes," Will nodded. "Something about getting the gang back together, as it were."

"'S no' a bad idea," Don said. "Ah mean. We 'aven' spoken in around a year. Tha's a while."

"True," Will said. 

"Guess we'll see if Smudger's therapist thinks it's a good idea," Don said, because though they didn't all keep in much contact, they did say the important things occasionally - usually on gift-giving days. Really, they did need to keep in better contact.

Ah well. That'll be a new years resolution, then. 

Don turned to the present, which was a simple photo album. I heard you take photography, now, some paper masking-taped to the inside cover read. Here's a place to store it all. :)

Signed, Clemsie.

Signed, Smudger. 

"Huh." Don shrugged and put down the album. "Alright."

Will put down his present from Clemsie and ostensibly from Smudger - obviously the presents were from Clemsie, but Smudger had signed the notes masking-taped onto both, if not the letters. 

Don took the present from Kay Will handed over to him and opened it. 

Clemency's gotten it into her head we're going to catch up in the summer. I'll see what I can do, since I will be back in dreary old England, but in the meantime - I heard you take maths. 

You might want to train up your logic if that's the case, so I've given you a 'how to' book on chess, free of charge. I usually make people pay for this since I wrote it, but. We're friends, and it's Christmas, so.

Just try and fucking beat me next time we meet, I dare you, Wallace.

Signed,

Kay. 

Don shook his head and held up the book in response to Will's identical copy. They grinned, slightly, at each other, then reached for the next presents. Hargreaves sent them both identical copies of dungeons and dragons, which he'd presumably sent everyone, and Wootton had sent them fudge. After that, it was Babs' presents - a scarf for Will and a camera for Don (who attempted not to think about how much that cost; most of the Christmas shopping budget, probably) - and then it was time for the presents they'd gotten each other. 

"You first," Will said, handing over his present to Don. Don took it - internally thankful his present didn't go first, for a multitude of reasons - and opened it. 

After the cardboard box and the wrapping paper had been put aside, Don looked at the watch - repackaged, likely, so Don couldn't see the price just from looking at its original box. It's the one he'd pointed out as the one he'd liked best, simple and sleek and fucking expensive, probably, and completely out of his range. 

"Will-" Don started but - "Just take the present, Ducky," Will said. 

Don tried to read his expression, for a moment, but gave up and nodded, slowly. "Well? Go on then, Willoughby, open yours," Don said, gesturing, as he finished removing the protective wrap from the watch and put it on. 

Don waited as Will unwrapped the pocket watch, and waited as Will took a moment to look at it. 

"I..." "Just take the present, Duck," Don said. Will smiled at him, and Don smiled back. 

"There's an inscription," Don said, gesturing. "On th'back."

Will closed and turned over the pocket watch. 

Bequeathed. 

Don watched his face, quitely - Will's reaction was immediate. Many feelings were quickly telegraphed across his face, but Don only caught a few - wonder, surprise, but chief among all - 

Panic. 

Ah. Shit. 

Will stood and walked out. Don hesitated, but this was much less life-threatening than the last time he'd hesitated to go after Will - so, he went. It didn't feel much less nerve-wracking, though, but Don didn't focus on that part. 

Don had heard the front door close, and sure enough - when he opened it, Will was there, out on the cold, snow-covered pavement. 

"Y'kno', if y'ate the gift, y' can jus' tell meh - y' don' 'ave to leave the 'ouse y' dramatic git," Don said. It was cold, and he was still in his pyjamas, and the posh twit currently stood outside his house was probably the most interesting thing to have happened to his little council estate street in years, but at that moment Don didn't rightly care much what Mrs. Johnson saw from between her half-closed curtains, or what Clara-Anne Jenkins could spy on from behind her blinds.

"It isn't that I hate it - It's more - I -" Will stopped, mid-sentence, frustrated enough to start pacing, back and forth, crunching a short path into the snow.  "'S'more wha', Willoughby?"

Will didn't reply immediately, just let out a breath that clouded in the cold air. 

"It doesn't matter, Ducky." Will said.

"'Course it fuckin' matters, or y' wouldn' 'ave left th'fuckin' 'ouse." Don pointed out, reasonably. 

"Donald." 

"Willoughby." Don walked over, mindless of the cold and the snow, and frowned at the other eighteen-year-old. "I don' wan't' renact a fuckin' soap-opera, jus' tell me wha' the fuck is wrong."

"Nothing's - wrong," Will said. "I just - I didn't... No-one's ever thought I or... anything about me was worth remembering. Especially not - something like that. Something that..."

"Important?" Don asked, quietly. 

Will nodded. 

"Well. I do." Don said. "Fuckin' 'ell, Duck, o'course I do."

Will stared down at him, for just a moment - and then, carefully, a move you could almost call furtive - leaned forward, and pressed his lips (cold, chapped - but soft, softer than he'd have thought) to Don's. 

Somewhere far away, a door slammed shut, and Will moved back. 

Before he could get the wrong idea, Don caught Will's hand with his own. "Y' kno', Will, I kno' yer cold-blooded an' that, but I'm fuckin' freezin' out 'ere."

Will laughed. He let himself be led back inside the house. Don dropped his hand and closed the door, then turned to look at Will again. Before he could say anything, of course, the door opened. 

"Candid." Babs said, grinning. "Tha' was a beau'iful momen', really; one for the scrapbook."

Don sighed.

"First've all," Don said, "Mum, what the fuck, d'y' think y're doin'?"

Will grinned. "I, for one, think it's sweet. I should like our moments together to be captured."

"Ah, shut up, ya sentimental git." Don rolled his eyes. "Mum, 's weird, y' really don' need to."

"Actu'ly, Don, ah do," She said, frankly. "Mem'ries're precious thin's. Bes'to capture 'em so they're no' forgo'en." 

"Alrigh', alrigh'-" 

"Great!" Babs clapped her hands. "Now. Who wants lunch?"

[theatricks]

Seisho School Story - Chapters 6-10 (English Translation)

Happy birthday, Hikari!!! ✨ 🎉

Chapter 6

Mahiru: Karen-chan, Hikari-chan. Are you done changing yet? Karen: Nnnn, Bananaaa, more rice... nomnomnom. Zzzzzz... Hikari: Karen, there's rice on your cheek... Zzzzzz... Mahiru: Wha-, you're sleeping again! And that's not all, you two! Mahiru: Geez~ Your uniforms are going to get wrinkled~! That's enough, wake up, you two!! New Year's is over!! Karen and Hikari: ....Wha-!! Mahiru: Are you awake? Today I want to air out the bedding and clean the room. You two are always messing it up... Karen: You sound just like a mom, Mahiru-chan~ Hikari: ...Mamahiru. Mahiru: I'm not your mother!! Mahiru: You two are going out today, right? Karen: (Oh, right... Got it.) Y-You're right. Hikari-chan, let's head out! Hikari: ? Did I make that sort of promise with you? Karen: It's fine, it's fine... (Karen and Hikari leave) Mahiru: Is it really fine? It'll be a tough performance, but do your best... Karen-chan.

Hikari: So, where are we going, Karen? Karen: Let's go to the lesson room! We got a bit rusty during the break, so let's work up a sweat practicing! Hikari: Then, I have to go back and get my leotard. Karen: You're right, let's go back to the dorms and...

~Karen's Memory~ Nana: We'll be using the kitchen until evening, so take care of her until then, okay?♪

Karen: Aah, no, we can't go back! Er, I mean, it'll be a pain to turn back now, so let's just go someplace else! Hikari: Oh? Karen: I wanted to do a little shopping. Hikari: The mall, then?

~Karen's Memory~ Futaba: Karen, make sure you don't go to the mall that day, got it?

Karen: Ah! No good... I was told to stay away from the mall today... Hikari: By who? Karen: M-My horoscope! In any case, that's a non-non, Hikari-chan!! Hikari: A more forceful non-non than usual... How about we go to the aquarium? Karen: Yeah, if we're going to the aquarium, then we can take the train there, and...

~Karen's Memory~ Claudine: We'll be looking around the store at the station, so avoid it if you can, okay?

Karen: Yeah, that's a non-non... Hikari: ...... Let's just go to the park. Karen: The park? The park is... The park is A-OK, Hikari-chan!!

Karen: Looks like there's someone doing something over there? Street Performer: Here I have a ballo~on! I do this, give it a twist, aaand~ Now it's a doggy!! Karen: Woo~~w!! That person's amazing, Hikari-chan!! Karen: Excuse me, please make me your apprentice~~!! Hikari: Ah, Karen! She was drawn in by their energy... Street Performer: First up is~~ The method of preparing~~ The balloon's air~~ Karen: The balloon's air~~

Karen: Hikari-chan, thanks for waiting! Here you go. Hikari: Mister White balloon art...? Karen: I made it for you. Go on, take it! Hikari: Huh...? Karen: Teacher's example was so good... I'll do my best to make something even more sparkling next time! Hikari: Karen... Karen: You weren't bored, were you, Hikari-chan? Hikari: No, it was fun just watching you. And you gave me Mister White. Hikari: Karen, thank you. Karen: Don't mention it! Karen: Evening crept up quick. Hikari-chan, let's go home. Hikari: Is that okay? Karen: Yeah, it's probably fine by now!! Hikari: Right... Hikari: (Oh, Karen, you're terrible at keeping secrets...)

Chapter 7

Futaba: I wonder if they're doing okay... Junna: I wonder... Futaba: The cooking crew should be fine, but I'm worried about Kaoruko and Karen who's in charge of being the diversion. Junna: I'm worried too. Especially about Karen. Futaba: She needs to keep Hikari away from the dorms, but the station and mall are off limits, too... Junna: And she needs to do it without her suspecting anything. This might be a tough mission for Karen. Futaba: Well, all we can do is carry out our own mission here.

Junna: Now, let's go to the goods department on the 3rd floor! Futaba: ...You sure are dependable, Hoshimi. I could just sit here and there'd be no problem, easy-peasy. Junna: Hanayagi-san would be angry if she heard you say that, you know? Futaba: It's the truth, though~ She even got lost here recently. Futaba: That Kaoruko... Hope she's not giving Kuroko and Tendo any trouble.

Kaoruko: ...Achoo. Someone's talking about me. Must be Futaba-han, she's probably anxious being away from me. Claudine: You never know, maybe she's taking the chance to let her hair down? Kaoruko: Unacceptable.

Junna: This miscalculation is unnaceptable. To think that it would be sold out...! Futaba: It's popular merchandise. That thing... Junna: We'll just have to go looking for it elsewhere. It's something the eight of us decided on, after all. Futaba: Alright, let's pick ourselves back up and head to the station!

Futaba: Let's see here... Oh, looks like the goods department is on the second floor. Junna: If it's sold out here too...what'll we do... Futaba: Well, there's still time, so don't give up just yet. We can try the shopping district too. Junna: You're a positive thinker, Isurugi-san. Futaba: You think? Futaba: It's probably because Kaoruko used to be such a sourpuss. I was always having to pull her along, I never even had the time to be negative. Junna: Understandable... To the point of being respectable.

Kaoruko: Achoo, achoo!! Claudine: Oh, Futaba's talking about you again. Maya: "To sneeze twice means you're being talked poorly about"...or so they say. Claudine: Well, she must be insulting you then. Kaoruko: How can you two say that!? There's no way that's the case!!

Junna: If this is the place, then it must be that shop at the corner there. Junna: Excuse me. There's something we're looking for... Junna: I see. You're sold out... Junna: Huh... You'll look into which shops have it in their inventory? Thank you very much!!!

Junna: ...Isurugi-san, we're going back to the mall! They said that someone cancelled their order and it's available now!! Futaba: Alright, let's go!!

Junna: Haa... Haa... We've been doing nothing but walking around but, as expected, you're not showing it at all. Futaba: This is nothing compared to theatrical combat practice.

Shopkeep: Thank you and come again! Junna: We did it... We finally bought it! Futaba: Haa~h, thank god. With this our mission is accomplished. Futaba: But, man, that was a long trip! I didn't think we would have this hard of a time. Junna: Now all that's left is the wrapping materials. What color do you think Kagura-san would like? Futaba: Out of those... It'd have to be the blue, right? Junna: Then, blue wrapping paper and a red ribbon? Futaba: How about we go a bit fancy with a gold ribbon? Junna: Good idea, that suits her! Futaba: This is a celebratory day, after all!

Junna: It's bulkier than I thought... Is it heavy, Isurugi-san? Futaba: Nah, not at all. You had your hands full with the shopping, so let me take care of this. Junna: I'll rely on your strength. That must be from carrying around Hanayagi-san's things every day. Futaba: She's actually been carrying her things herself lately. Junna: Wow... That's progress. Although it's normal for most people... Junna: But with that, our mission is complete. Now we just need to hope it goes smoothly for everyone else. Futaba: Let's hurry back. So we get there before Karen and the others. Junna: Yeah, let's help out the cooking crew and decorations team! We still have to do the wrapping, too.

Chapter 8

Kaoruko: Snip, snip, snip... Kaoruko: Aaah, impossible...! This isn't what my fingers are meant to do! Kaoruko: They're for perfectly holding a folding fan!! Claudine: You chose this job because you said it seemed the simplest. Maya: All you have to do is cut along the lines. Claudine: Your ballet coupe isn't very good either. Kaoruko: What does that have to do with anything!? Claudine: "Coupe" is the French word for "cut". Kaoruko: S'that so... The A, P, B, and R are so difficult. What's up with those shapes? Holes are the worst. Maya: Shall we change it to kanji? How about "誕"... would that be preferable? Kaoruko: Hell no. Claudine: Put them up on the wall when you're done cutting, Kaoruko. And you, what are you working on? Origami? Maya: Take the paper like this and fold it over and over again repeatedly... Cut it with scissors... Claudine: It looks like you're just cutting at random though... Maya: And then open it up... Claudine: C'est quoi ça!! How did you do that!? It's shaped like birds!! Claudine: ...Impressive. Mine are paper flowers. I've already made this many of them. Well? Fast, right? Maya: You got better and better as you went along, didn't you? Claudine: Each one is in a topdown perspective, but... Well, whatever.

Claudine: Haa... Haa... Claudine: Look how large the balloons I inflated are! Seems I come out on top in terms of lung capacity. Maya: ...... Claudine: Hey, say something... Maya: Large balloons don't look very pleasing when gathered together, do they? Claudine: Guh-... You're right.

Maya: A little higher. Now a bit to the left. Good, there. Claudine: There we go. Oh, Maya, can you hand me a thumb tack? Claudine: The garlands and balloons are up. They look nice, don't they? Maya: The cooking smells good as well. Claudine: Mmhmm, it's going well, isn't it? ......? What are you looking at, Kaoruko? Kaoruko: I mean... I can't really tell if you two get along or if you don't. Claudine: Did it look like we were getting along!? Maya: Oh, were we not? Claudine: Were you trying to!? Maya: That's what I was assuming, Saijo Claudine.

Claudine: W-Well, if you think so, then that's fine, I guess. Kaoruko: ...You really do get along, huh? Kaoruko: Oh, by the way, I'm done cutting. "HAPPY"! Claudine: That's it!? Where's the rest!? Kaoruko: I'm working on it... Claudine: You're working on it? Do you realize what time--... Kaoruko: Don't worry. Any second now... Futaba: Kaorukooo!! We're back! Kaoruko: See, they're back. Futaba-han will take it from here. Futaba: Huh!? You're not done with your work? I mean, I kinda figured as much, but... Kaoruko: Isn't the fact that I'm on the decoration team in the first place weird? Having to use these tiny scissors... Futaba: So what would you rather have done? Kaoruko: Taste testing? Anyways, here, I leave the sniping to you, Futaba-han. Futaba: ...Geez, whatever.

Futaba: Hehe~n, finished. How's it look? Maya: Lovely... You're quite dexterous, Isurugi-san. Claudine: Thanks to that, we'll finish the decorations just in time. Give Futaba your thanks, Kaoruko. Kaoruko: I did all the work I possibly could. I'm clumsy, you know. Futaba: No, you keep working too! Claudine: They sure get along well. Maya: They really do.

Chapter 9

Nana: Flour, eggs, butter, cream, and lots of fruits... Mahiru: Carrots, onions, nori, and... umm, let's see... Mahiru: My family sent a whole bunch of potatoes to the dorms, so I think that'll do it. Nana: Your family's potatoes are really tasty♪ Mahiru: I'm always surprised when they send so much, but your cooking really helps out. Nana: Now that the shopping is complete and we've got all the ingredients, it's time to put our skills to the test. I hope the others enjoy it, too. Mahiru: Even the cake will be homemade. They'll definitely enjoy it!

Nana: Okay, I'll prepare the cake and desserts. Mahiru: And I'll handle the potato dishes and sushi rolls. Both: Nanahiru Cooking♪ Nana: Sift the flour~ Melt the butter~ Preheat the oven to 180~♪ Nana: Crack the eggs in a bowl~ Add the sugar and use the hand mixer~♪ Mahiru: You're as skillful as ever, Banana-chan. I can't make sweets unless I'm looking at a recipe... Mahiru: Boil the potatoes... Peel the skin... Mash until fluffy... Nana: You don't peel the potatoes first and then boil them? Mahiru: My Grandma taught me that if you boil them before peeling, their flavor won't escape. Nana: Bananice♪ I didn't know that. I'll try it next time. Nana: We should clean up while we're at it. I'll wash the bowls and knives. Mahiru: Then, I'll wipe this down! Mahiru: ...This kinda takes me back. I come from a big family, so there was always a lot of cleaning up to do. Mahiru: My grandma would wash the tableware and I would wipe things off. Nana: Fufu... You have a big family even now. That's what we are, after all♪ Mahiru: Banana-chan is the mother, then... Nana: And Mahiru-chan is the older sister.  Karen-chan always seemed like the youngest child, but... Nana: Lately she seems like an older sister, too. Mahiru: Then, the youngest is Hikari-chan? Nana: Fufu, probably♪

Nana: Sponge cake, cookies, fruit punch, sweet potatoes... Mahiru: Potato salad, German potatoes, mashed potatoes, fries... And finally, the sushi rolls... Nana: We made quite a lot...♪ Mahiru: And there's just as much cleaning to do now!! Junna: I'm home. Nana: Welcome back, Junna-chan... Ah, it's already this late!? I have to hurry and decorate the sponge cake! Mahiru: The table still needs to be set up, too! Oh, no! Karen-chan's gonna be back any second. Junna: It's okay. Start by taking a breath, you two. I'll take care of the cleaning, the two of you handle the table and cake. Nana: That's our Junna-chan♪ You must be the eldest. Junna: What are you talking about?

Nana: I think that's a good consistency for the cream♪ Mahiru: Is it okay to cut the strawberries like this? Nana: Perfect. Nana: Alright, let's decorate it. Junna and Mahiru: Wooo~w! Mahiru: Banana-chan, you're like an artisan. The cream is turning into roses! Junna: The cream is dancing on the stage of the sponge cake... Even in a place like this, your mettle as a Stage Girl is tested. Junna: ...Cake making is profound. Nana: And now for the finishing touch... Mahiru: On top, a chocolate slab with a message written on it... All: It's ready to be served♪ Claudine: Karen and Hikari should be back soon. Kaoruko: We've finished decorating the room, too. Junna: Dim the lights and get ready. Mahiru: Everyone, when Hikari-chan gets back we'll... All: Celebrate!!!

Chapter 10

Karen: Hey, hey, Hikari-chan, Hikari-chan. What day is it todaaay?? Hikari: Hmm... National Earbud Day? Karen: Is it really?? I didn't know that~... wait, no!! Karen: Today's your birthday, right? Hikari: ...You remembered? Karen: Of course I did, Hikari-chan!! I'd never forget the birthday of someone important to me! Hikari: Thank you, Karen. And for the Mister White balloon, too. Karen: Let's allllways celebrate your birthday together from now on. Hikari: Yeah, and your birthday too. Even when we become adults and then old ladies. Karen: It almost feels like we've jumped straight from our reunion to now. Everything went topsy-turvy, helter-skelter! Karen: Hikari-chan, thank you for spending the day with me! Hikari: Yeah... It was fun, Karen.

Karen: We're hooome... *pop* Karen: Eek! A party popper...? All: Welcome baaack!! Hikari: This is...! Karen: Wo~w!! Amazing!! You guys!! There's so much wonderful food! Mahiru: There's lots of potato dishes and sushi rolls that you can choose your own ingredients for. Hikari: The room decorations are cute, too. Did you all put this together...? Kaoruko: Cutting out letters was tough. It was a good way to kill time though. Futaba: It was Karen who planned it out. Karen: I just said I wanted to celebrate Hikari-chan's birthday with everyone. Karen: Then everyone pitched in and it turned into a big thing!

Hikari: ...... Karen: Hikari...-chan? Are you crying? Hikari: ...I'm not. Junna: Let's get this party started. The food's going to get cold. All: Leeet's eat!!

Kaoruko: Pheeew. I can't eat another bite... Maya: It seems there's dessert, as well. Mahiru: Oh... Then it should be time for that! Hikari: That? Claudine: Here, a birthday present from all of us. Go ahead and open it. Hikari: ...... This is...a Mister White hanten!! Hikari: It's the one I've been looking for. It was a limited edition, so I wasn't able to find it.... Kaoruko: That incredibly lame hanten...? I don't understand how she could possibly be happy to get something like that... Futaba: Kagura likes it, isn't that all that matters? ...It is pretty lame, though. Karen: For Hikari-chan, it's gotta be Mister White. Nana: Okay, next up is the birthday cake♪ Light the candles aaand dim the lights! Hikari: I had no idea... To think you'd do all this for me. Karen: Hikari-chan... Kaoruko: Kagura-han, as a return gift, feel free to give over the role of Claire in Starlight to me. Futaba: Kagura, what sort of lessons did you do in England? Let's practice them together sometime! Junna: To take your and Karen's place as my own, I'll be aiming for the next lead role and I won't lose. Nana: I'm glad we can stand on the same stage together for the Seisho Festival and DramaFes, Hikari-chan♪ Claudine: Let me see some acting from the English version of Starlight sometime. I'll show you something from the French version in return. Maya: I look forward to seeing your performance as Claire, Kagura-san. Mahiru: Hikari-chan, I'm glad I became friends with you. Let's keep taking care of each other from now on, too. Karen: Okay, everyone... one, two!! All: Happy birthdaaaay!! Hikari: Everyone... Thank you... Karen: Come on, let's cut the cake together, Hikari-chan!! Hikari: It's... not a wedding, though. All: Ahahahahahahaha!!

(TL Note: Just to clarify, the term that Karen uses (入刀) is specifically for when a couple cuts their wedding cake together and Hikari is like, "Umm, I don't think that's the word you're looking for?")

[mittensmorgul]

I was tagged by several people to do this memethingy, most recently @laranmina. And I’m being extraordinarily lazy tonight, so here have the thing. :P

Rule #1: Tag 9 people you want to get to know better

I think I’ll tag everyone reading this who was born on a Saturday.

Rule #2: bold the true statements: (I put snarky comments in parenthesis because of who I am as a person)

I am 5'7 or taller

I wear glasses

I have at least one tattoo (i have 12 so far)

I have had at least one piercing (11 in my ears, and one in my tongue)

I have blonde hair 

My abs are somewhat defined (they exist, and that’s enough for me)

I have or had braces

I love meeting new people

People tell me I’m funny (looking) (no i guess some people just have terrible senses of humor) (and sometimes i trip and fall and i guess it’s sorta humorous)

Helping people with their problems is a big priority to me (i mean it’s not my life’s work or anything but I’m not a monster or anything...)

I enjoy physical challenges (depends... does this mean like climbing Everest or climbing my driveway?) (an: i have a very steep driveway, I’m not being flippant)

I enjoy mental challenges

I’m playfully rude to people I know well

I started to say something ironically, now I can’t stop saying it

There is something I would change about my personality

I can play an instrument (I can play a bunch, but I haven’t practiced in a while so I’m probably horrifyingly rusty...)

I can sing well (well, I can sing...)

I can do 30 push-ups without stopping

I’m a fast runner  (over short distances, for a middle-aged person with one destroyed knee who’s wrecked both feet several times... I mean I can beat my 17-year-old in a sprint so...)

I can draw well (BAHAHAHA i can draw stick figures pretty well)

I have a good memory (mostly for supernatural. everything else got shoved out or crammed into file boxes years ago)

I’m good at doing maths in my head

I can hold my breath underwater for over a minute (I haven’t tried since last summer, but I assume I still can)

I have beaten at least two people in an arm wrestle (pretty sure my dad just let me win)

I know how to cook at least three meals from scratch

I can throw a punch

I enjoy sports (playing sports? sure. Watching sports? baseball and hockey and that’s about it)

I have learned a new song in the past week

I’ve gone running at least once a week in summer (I used to run xcountry, at least 3 miles a day. That’s how I ended up with one wrecked knee... so I don’t run anymore)

I work out at least once a week

I have drawn something in the last month (conclusions, the drapes, a bath, but not art...)

I enjoy writing (waves at over 600k on AO3) (then again I’m doing this memethingy to avoid working on my holiday fic so how much I actually enjoy writing is constantly up for debate. :P)

I have done martial arts (i need to get back to kung fu... it’s been a few years)

I have had my first kiss (I’ve been married for more than 20 years... )

I have had alcohol (I’ve been married for more than 20 years... no see that’s a joke. Mr. Mittens would think that was hilarious)

I have scored a winning goal in sports (i used to play goalie on a soccer team and I once shutout the other team... does that count?)

I have watched an entire season of a TV show in one sitting (a few months ago there was a GoT marathon on and I watched the first 19 episodes before I passed out from exhaustion (one shy of two full seasons)

I have been to an overnight event

I have been in a taxi

I have been in a hospital/er in the past year

I have beaten a video game in one day

I have visited another country

I have been to one of my favourite band’s concerts (so many actually)

I have at least one person I consider a best friend

I live close to my school

My parents are still together

I have at least one sibling

I live in the US

There is snow right now where I live

I have hung out with friends in the past month

I have a smartphone

I have at least 15 CDs (i have a wall of cd’s, I am an old person who buys everything on cd’s)

I share my room with somebody (I mentioned the married for 20 years bit)

I have a crush on a celebrity 

I have a crush on someone I know

I have been in at least three relationships

I have asked someone out or admitted my feelings to them (again i feel like this falls under the married forever banner)

I get crushes easily

I have had a crush for over a year

I have been in a relationship for more than a year

I have had feelings for a friend (mr mittens is my friend, so yes) :P

I have break danced

I know a person called Jamie

I have had a teacher with a last name hard to pronounce

I have dyed my hair (shockingly, blue is not my natural color)

I am listening to a song on repeat right now

I have punched someone in the past week

I have known someone who has gone to jail (I mean... probably? possibly?)

I have broken a bone (so, so many)

I have eaten a waffle today (but I thought about eating a waffle today...)

I know what to do with my life

I speak at least 2 languages

I have made a new friend in the last year