#I have a history of spontaneous allergies | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs | Tumgik (2024)

If I ever became lactose intolerant my life would be ruined, I can and have drank an entire gallon of 2% in a day and I cannot imagine never experiencing that joy again

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MINICA FAUST

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B A S I C S

FULL NAME: minica rose faust.NICKNAME(S): minnieBIRTHDAY: april 1st.AGE: twenty - sevenGENDER: cis woman .PLACE OF BIRTH: ashwickSEXUAL ORIENTATION : bisexual.ROMANTIC ORIENTATION:biromantic.SPECIES: Nox Coven Witch.LANGUAGE(S): english.POSITIVE TRAITS : winsome, faithful, whimsical,NEGATIVE TRAITS:capricious, impatient, anarchic

P H Y S I O L O G Y

HEIGHT IN FEET: Five feet eight inches.ETHNICITY: White.EYE COLOR: Blue.HAIR COLOR: Brunette.GLASSES OR CONTACTS: None.RIGHT OF LEFT HANDED: Left-handed.STYLE IN FASHION: It’s all over the place.HANDWRITING: You can barely read it.SEXUAL HISTORY: Experienced.GENERAL HEALTH:Healthy.MEDICAL HISTORY: Several ER trips for broken bones & stitches.ALLERGIES: None.CHRONIC ILLNESSES: None.MENTAL ILLNESS: Type 1 Bipolar Disorder.HANDICAPS: None.

F A M I L Y / R E L I G I O N

FATHER: Francis Faust.MOTHER: Dahlia Hannigan (deceased).SIBLINGS(S): One older brother.BIRTH ORDER: Last.MARITAL STATUS: Single.SIGNIFICANT OTHER: No one.CHILDREN: None.OTHER RELATIVES: All estranged.FRIENDS: r.i.pENEMIES: Looking for one.PET(S): A kitten named Cthulhu.LANGUAGE(S): English.CURRENT RESIDENCE: AshwickPLACES LIVED IN BETWEEN:New York mainly but all over Middle America.DICTATION, ACCENT, ETC: Velma Dinkley, if that counts.RELIGION: Wicca.BELIEFS: The devil will get his due!!!!SUPERSTITIONS: It’s bad luck to cheer with water.

W O R K / H O M E

EDUCATION: GED. Some College.OCCUPATION: Bartender.PLACE OF WORK: The Red Diamond.COWORKERS: ???STATUS & MONEY: Lower middle class.WORKSPACE: Cluttered.EMPLOYMENT HISTORY: Bartending and several other odd jobs.LIVING ARRANGEMENTS: Alone in a one bed.ROOMMATES: None.NEIGHBORS:They exist.MAIN MODE OF TRANSPORTATION: An old beat up VW bug.

P E R S O N A L S E L E C T I O N

FOOD:Picky with texture.LITERATURE: Dark romanticism/cosmicism.MUSIC: A bit of everything but mainly classic/punk rock.CINEMA/TELEVISION: Horror and comedies. Black comedies.HOBBIES & RECREATION: Running, roller-skating, swimming, tarot cards.HOW THEY RELAX: Dancing and listening to music.TALENTS: Dancing, piano, skating.

P S Y C H O L O G Y

FEARS: The Unknown. Dying alone. Never being loved.SECRETS: Set her family home on fire. Past childhood abuse.IQ: Average.SLEEPING HABITS: Incredibly sporadic.EATING HABITS: Snacking. No large meals.GROUPS OR ALONE: Alone.LEADER/FOLLOWER: Leader.PLANNED/SPONTANEOUS: Spontaneous.JOURNAL ENTRIES: Judgmental theories on other people’s lives.OBSESSIONS: None.ADDICTIONS: She is an adrenaline junkie.AS SEEN BY OTHERS: Crazy.AS SEEN BY SELF: Crazy but fun.

P E R S O N A L I T Y T Y P E : E S T P

Extraverted |Sensing |Thinking |Prospecting

Entrepreneurs always have an impact on their immediate surroundings – the best way to spot them at a party is to look for the whirling eddy of people flitting about them as they move from group to group. Laughing and entertaining with a blunt and earthy humor, entrepreneur personalities love to be the center of attention. If an audience member is asked to come on stage, entrepreneurs volunteer – or volunteer a shy friend. Entrepreneurs are the likeliest personality type to make a lifestyle of risky behavior. They live in the moment and dive into the action – they are the eye of the storm. People with the entrepreneur personality type enjoy drama, passion, and pleasure, not for emotional thrills, but because it’s so stimulating to their logical minds. They are forced to make critical decisions based on factual, immediate reality in a process of rapid-fire rational stimulus response.

A S T R O L O G Y

♈︎ SUN : ARIES

The ruler of Aries is the planet Mars, which symbolizes energy, health, fighting spirit and leadership skills. People born under this sign are courageous and decisive in most situations in life. They do any work with enthusiasm and confidence in their abilities, but they often lack deliberation and patience. They have great enthusiasm and desire to always try new things, and they are creative and intelligent enough to handle even the most difficult tasks. They use their extra energy to play sport and they especially like risky and physically demanding types of sport activities. They are physically very talented and courageous and that is the reason why such a high percentage of top athletes were born under this zodiac sign. If they fail, they can get irritated and angry, but their emotions do not last long, because in their essence they are not bad people and it will waste their time. Their occasional impatience is their stumbling block. They should therefore choose friends who they know well and who they trust, so that they will accept their advice and who will slow down and rectify their hastiness. Despite these shortcomings they are people with integrity who like to keep their promises.

♏︎ MOON : SCORPIO

Scorpio Moon in Scorpio creates the need to delve into your feelings as deep as possible and this brings great vulnerability. You never forget anything that was done to you. It’s hard to force you to do anything. Rarely, it is possible to influence you with kindness. You need a deep emotional relationship, even if it is not easy and you are forced to change many things. Shallow relationships do not satisfy you, because they are not purifying enough. You have an unmistakable ability to detect the emotional state of others, even if they try to hide it. This gives you the ability to very effectively hurt or heal others. Your emotions can be extreme, from sympathy to contempt, from passion to coldness. It is necessary to get rid of the fear of betrayal, abandonment, and that you lose what you love. If you do not get rid of your fear, you will lose exactly the things you are afraid of losing.

♊︎ ASCENDANT : GEMINI

Gemini Ascendant is associated with curiosity and interest in how things work. Versatility and adaptability are your advantages, but these traits can lead to fragmentation of interests. These people can do everything, but they do not excel in anything. They do not like to choose only one thing if they have more options. Their mission is to disseminate information. If the horoscope has a water or earth character, then this person needs to develop analytical and objective thinking. If it is of airy and fiery nature, then the mind is very restless, you understand everything very quickly, but only by the head, body and emotions remain untouched.

Sun and Moon Summary

Excitement and thrill are always a part of your life. You move ahead in the world because of great concentration and ambition. You love competition as a result. You are defiant and independent and at times this can be your undoing. Aggression is hard for you to restrain and you do not accept compromise well. Those who stand in your way get no sympathy and you have a drive for life that includes the entire spectrum of the spiritual, emotional and sensual. Mars rules both of these signs and according to mythology Mars also rules passion and war. The result is an aggressive person. Regardless of what you do, fun generally involves a fight. This includes business, love and life itself. Doing something partway is not part of your character because you are an extremist in spirit and thought. The result when you fail is a complete tragedy and when you succeed a total victory. Advice should be listened to at times though, so the next time there is a disagreement, do not be so resistant and prepare for battle, but rather listen carefully. You might learn something. Others might have something helpful to say so compromise sometimes. You are very creative and have an enormous amount of willpower, but you cannot really succeed until you learn to work in cooperation with other people. Constructive and positive outlets need to be found for your aggression so they can be channeled for success. Your concentration is good and you have an excellent intellect. You want to dig deep with your pursuits and are not happy just to get superficial impressions. There are Aries-Scorpio social activists, scientists and scholars. You have the power of self-rejuvenation as do all Moon in Scorpio people. You may get in trouble at times or even fail, but you always have the ability to bounce back. You are a courageous and freedom loving person. Sports like swimming, jogging or tennis as well as creative endeavors like art can release anger better than getting upset with your spouse, co-worker or children. There is a pioneer inside you and great accomplishments are possible with your ambition and enthusiasm. Exploration of the world and seeking adventure when you are young are very likely. You can be very hard to control early in life though, so some professional training is a good idea. Great success later in life is attainable if you are guided properly.

Zodiac Compatibility

Best: Gemini, Sagittarius, Aquarius, LeoWorst: Cancer, Capricorn, Taurus, Pisces

M O R A L A L I G N M E N T : C H A O T I C N E U T R A L

A chaotic neutral character follows their whims. They are an individualist first and last. They value their own liberty but doesn’t strive to protect others’ freedom. They avoid authority, resents restrictions, and challenges traditions. A chaotic neutral character does not intentionally disrupt organizations as part of a campaign or anarchy. To do so, they would have to be motivated by either good (and a desire to liberate other) or evil (and a desire to make those different from themselves suffer). A chaotic neutral character may be unpredictable, but their behavior is not totally random. They are not as likely to jump off a bridge as to cross it. Chaotic neutral is the best alignment you can be because it represents true freedom from both society’s restrictions and a do-gooder’s zeal. Chaotic neutral can also be a dangerous alignment when it seeks to eliminate all authority, harmony, and order in society.

A B O U T (tw abuse)

Minica is the second born child of Francis Faust and Dahlia Hannigan. Coming from a long lineage of hunted witches, Dahlia had kept the truth hidden about her daughter’s nature and attempted to stifle her magic as long as she possibly could. Why you ask? Dahlia would say it was to protect her young child from the dangers of the occult world. The real reason? It was a hidden fear and jealousy that her daughter had magic running through her veins and she did not.

This made growing up difficult. Especially in her teen years, where her father’s drinking and abuse would worsen. All the while her mother’s neglect couldn’t offer any solace in a toxic household. At the ripe age of thirteen,Minica began noticing she had a unique set of abilities she could tap into. Sudden bursts of magic, stoked by anger and fear, would start to become unmanageable in an unwitting child. Though she tried her best to hide this from her parents.

Near the end of high school, Minnie would find kinship in a small teenage coven, where she started to unravel the truth about herself, her abilities, and the history of her own family. . . Confronting her parents only proved to be a step in the wrong direction, as the use of magic brought upon an irrational anger and fear. They attempted to bind her magic, in some sort of botched ritual gone wrong. Bound and tormented in the basem*nt for days, Minnie would tap into a darkness that helped set her free. The flickering of a fire that was used to threaten her own life would magically engulf her family and their home.

It was when the Faust residence burned down, that Minica had left the town running. She would begin a solo journey searching for herself and trying to find more answers. However, everything kept drawing her back to Ashwick, and for as long as she tried to stay away, the recent passing of her mother finally drew her back in.

Q U I C K F A C T S

She grew up in Ashwick but has been gone for over 10 years. She’s been back in town for only a few months.

Her mother recently passed away from a mysterious illness that she is investigating.

Her father has been permanently hospitalized from the burns he suffered on the night the home was set ablaze. She has not seen him since.

She is a recent addition to the Nox Coven and has become fairly advanced in her abilities.

Razzles are her favorite candy.

W A N T E D C O N N E C T I O N S

FAMILIAL: She has one younger brother, as well as cousins and aunts/nephews that could live in the area! They would be estranged, so rekindling a relationship would be a priority!

FRIENDLY: Friends from work (she works at the bar), coven friends, or even girls from the makeshift high school coven she was in would be wanted!

ENEMIES: She gets along with most people, but that doesn’t make up for the fact that she is an absolute menace. She gets into trouble a lot, and that could be a source for conflict. Can be something big or little. Just give me drama!

EXES/FLINGS: Self-explanatory. Could be an old high school sweetheart, something that fizzled out awkwardly, or maybe in a big catastrophe. The more conflict the merrier.

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So because this is the Internet and we cannot have nice things: no, we did not get our dog Holly on a spontaneous whim.

We’ve actually been looking for and preparing for a dog for over 10 months. Specifically a Shih Tzu because we have experience with the breed and we love them. We actually looked into being a foster home for rescued Shih Tzus, and we may still do that once Holly is better settled and acclimated to her life outside of a 4ft cage.

We’ve been in contact with Holly’s rescue for 8 months. They put us through a rigorous vetting (heh) process that included character references, a home inspection, income assessment etc that eventually placed us on a waiting list for a dog in need that would be a good fit for us, and who we would be a good fit for. If we’d wanted a dog on a whim we could have gone to the pound 10 months ago. But we didn’t. We didn’t even go to a breeder. Instead we submitted ourselves to a vigorous process that required patience and a whole lot of preparation and a willingness to work with severely abused animals.

And Holly is a difficult case. She was abused and neglected by her caretakers for years, starved and deprived of any kindness and goodness knows what else. And speaking personally, I have some midding experience with what some of that is like. It’s no mistake that we adopted a dog with food allergies, teeth issues and a history of neglect. It was in fact a driving factor of me waking my husband up at midnight the night her adoption page went live, begging if we could apply for her.

When I read Holly’s story online I couldn’t not love her. But if the rescue had turned round and told us we weren’t a good match for her needs? I would have accepted that. As I have done with many dogs over the last eight months. But the opposite happened. The rescue, in fact, thought we’d be perfect for her, and the day they brought her to our house to visit confirmed it. She didn’t skitter and cower in corners like she had been doing her whole time in foster care. She didn’t even run from ETD despite being extremely terrified of men. She walked on the leash for us. She let us pet her and after a short half hour, felt safe enough to be held. Several hours later she fell asleep on top of me.

Today her tail wagged for the first time.

We are her people and she knows it.

So please don’t come into my inbox making assumptions and accusing me of doing things for clout. Nothing I do is driven by a desire for strangers on the internet to like me. If you think that then you haven’t followed me long enough to know me. Or that I would never use a living creature for fake internet points. Honestly, this kind of sh*t might be the most important thing for some of you, but I couldn’t give a fiddlers f*ck. I just happen to be a person on the Internet people think is occasionally funny. That’s it.

Holly is our fur baby, and I have waited a very, very long time to love her. And she knows it.

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prompt -> everyone cowers in front of ringo's supreme power

There’s a reason why Ringo never played drum solos. If you thought it was because he simply didn’t like them, then I’m sorry, but you got fooled by a famous Beatles lie. No, Ringo didn’t play drum solos because he had stage fright, or he thought that they were too ostentatious - he refused to play them because he knew it would give him too much power. So much power, in fact, that he could cause the end of the world.

Sounds dramatic, I know, but don’t believe me? Back in the Hamburg days, after being heckled by a rambunctious crowd for over 2 hours straight to play something that could put Buddy Rich to shame, Ringo finally cracked. He ran 64th notes down his drum kit in such a rapid succession that he started to glow bright orange, as if he were on fire. Rory and the rest of the band didn’t know what to do with their glowing orb of a drummer, but they didn’t have much time to fret on it anyways because the walls of the Kaiserkeller started to rattle and crack, which made the German audience, still recovering from WW2, duck for cover with a collective yelp.

“Ringo!” Rory tried to yell over the ear-splitting noise that was coming from Ringo as his orange glow got progressively brighter. Ringo couldn’t hear him because he was in the zone. The Auto Zone. “Quit it!!”

Ringo moved from his 64th notes to smacking away at his cymbals like he was releasing the rage of a thousand years. The middle of the dance floor started to cave in, swallowing those who couldn’t move away fast enough. If you listened closely, you could hear a deep, Liverpudlian laugh coming from the pit. The only reason Ringo didn’t cause the end of the world on this occasion was because, as he was about to start balancing his twirling drumsticks on his nose, his allergies (the thing that humbles us all) got the better of him, causing him to let out a loud sneeze that rocketed him away from his set. With his senses knocked back into him, Ringo gaped at the chaos in front of him and turned to Rory, who was gaping back at him with a look on his face that could only mean Ringo was out of the band.

This is the history of The Beatles that you don’t know about. Ringo was a freelancer for a brief moment in Hamburg before John, Paul, and George found him. There had been a rumor circulating that there was something wrong with Ringo, but when the three lads saw him standing outside of a club one cold evening, lighting a cigarette in his own solitude, they just assumed that everyone else was being mean and hinting at how big his nose was.

And just like that, Pete was out and Ringo was in, because John, Paul, and George had heard that Ringo could really bring the house down. Ringo had tried to warn his new band members on multiple occasions that he suspected there was something wrong with him, but all of them insisted that he was fine and that his nose really wasn’t that big, so he had nothing to worry about. Ringo wasn’t so sure about that but, following the Incident, he had braved the drums once again and managed to keep a steady beat without causing Armageddon. Needless to say, that didn’t mean he was any less nervous about playing. Luckily, he insisted enough times that he would never do a drum solo, and John, Paul, and George listened, though they did think he was a little bit looney.

And things were alright like this for a while, through the ups and downs of their career, playing across the globe to thousands of screaming fans. Ringo never once let his guard down: there were no solos coming from him, no matter how many people wanted it.

That fateful night in Hamburg felt like another life, so much so that Ringo nearly forgot about the unusual power he contained. It wasn’t until he was pushed to the edge that he remembered he held the fate of the world in the palm of his hand, and there was nothing anyone could do about it.

The year was 1969, the holiest year of them all, and Ringo was about ready to thrust his head through some drywall, he was so fed up with his bandmates. The incessant bickering over which songs made the cut on the album and which didn’t were really starting to drive him up the wall. Maxwell’s Silver Hammer was just the icing on the cake.

“We need another take on that one,” Paul announced to the band with an air of authority that Ringo wished he could strangle. They had just finished playing through their forty-seventh take and, although Paul was acting like it wasn’t his fault, it was absolutely his fault that they had to play the damn song again. For someone who acted like he was the leader of the band, Paul sure was having trouble remembering his baloney lyrics.

Without a word, John let his guitar slip out of his hands so it clunked to the ground in an amplified drop, its buzzing filling the room. John left them like that, stomping to the door and letting himself out, back to sanity. George gazed longingly at the door like he wanted to follow behind John, but he knew too well that Paul wasn’t going to let that happen. Completely unbothered by John, Paul turned to face the engineers in the sound booth and motioned in a grand gesture for them to start a new tape.

George looked across at Ringo and Ringo stared blankly back at him. He was really trying to repress everything he was feeling.

“Take 48,” George Martin nervously announced into their headphones, like he knew he was stoking a fire.

“Ringo, I’m gonna need some more umph on that drum part,” Paul turned back to Ringo with a smug look stretched across his face. “If you can handle it.”

That was it. That was freaking it. That was the line. The line’s way back there. Paul crossed that line. He crossed that line so hard it’s not even funny.

Ringo stood from his kit but, unlike John, he didn’t book it for the door. Instead, he rushed around the room, gathering every single percussion instrument he could find.

“I’ll give you umph,” he growled at Paul. In return, Paul smiled back at him because that was exactly what he wanted. In between them, George grabbed at his head. His two mates were really making him question why they were his mates in the first place.

“Take 48!” Paul called up to George Martin, spinning his finger around to motion that they start the tape. Then, he turned back to Ringo, who was staring at him with so much intensity it was a miracle Paul wasn’t sent flying backwards.

“One, two, one two three...”

Paul started to play the opening chords on his dinky little piano but Ringo wasn’t having any of that, oh no. He pounded into his snare drum so hard one of the drumsticks broke through the skin. Instead of pulling it out, Ringo left it there and grabbed a tambourine, which he proceeded to bang against his hi-hat. Paul wasn’t sure what Ringo was doing, but they had experimented enough in the past that he let it slide. George, on the other hand, was silently whispering prayers to himself as he stared at Ringo's glowing figure in horror. Ringo knew exactly what he was doing; if he did a drum solo, he could wreck their studio enough that he wouldn’t have to listen to Maxwell’s frickin Silver Hammer again. The trouble was, Ringo didn’t know when the right time was to stop.

By the time he started using two maracas as drumsticks on a timpani, Ringo began to slowly levitate. George’s whispered prayers were becoming louder from his panic. Up in the booth, it looked like the two remaining Beatles were performing an exorcism on Ringo.

“What the-” George Martin muttered. The boys must have stumbled across some new kind of street drug that really messed you up.

“Maxwell Anderson, majoring in medicine,” Paul cheerfully sang from his piano, his back turned to Ringo. Ringo started to shake in place, now suspended 5 feet above the ground, clicking castanets angrily while glaring down at Paul. George gaped as Ringo's color switched to a fiery, Kool Aid Man-red. It was bad. Paul continued to unknowingly play, but his left hand took a break to wipe some sweat from his brow. Someone must have turned up the heat, he mused to himself.

But no, it was Ringo, on the brink of causing a thermonuclear explosion. George was initially concerned for Ringo’s safety but, after seeing actual waves of heat emitted from his beige suit, George decided that his pal wasn’t worth it. He’d had some great memories with Ringo, but he could remember those later in therapy. For the meantime, he was getting the hell out of dodge, to wherever John had escaped to.

The problem was, Ringo’s power was sucking George so dry that he hardly had any energy left in him to move. It was like the goddamn relativity cadenza all over again. The more Ringo banged out the drum solo of the millenium, the more powerful he became. No one could stop him, he was a god. Ringo, god of the bongos. The most feared of them all.

Something caused Paul to finally turn around (probably Mal missing his cue to play the anvil because he was too distracted by whatever the hell Ringo was up to) and, when he did, his jaw dropped.

“Wot the f*ck Ringo?” he shouted. They hadn’t agreed that Ringo could become a celestial being during their recording session. At that moment, John barged back in through the door, ready to give his half-hearted apology to Paul. That was quickly thrown in the trash when John looked up at their drummer, who now resembled a ball of fire, like the sun or something. (Even though it seems appropriate, no, unfortunately George didn’t write Here Comes the Sun about this event - that song had already been recorded at this point). John, as terrified as he was, couldn’t help but let out a loud cackle at the spectacle that was playing out in front of him. He knew that their session for Maxwell’s Silver Hammer had been bad, but he didn’t realize it was this bad, so much so that their drummer was spontaneously combusting.

“Silence, mortal!” Ringo boomed down at John, not even missing a beat on his woodblock solo.

That got John to shut up pretty fast.

“No one dares laugh at the almighty and powerful Ringo!” Ringo continued, his words practically searing through everyone’s skulls. “I can end you with the crash of a cymbal, I can tear this planet apart, piece by piece with only the sheer power of my mind!”

“Good for you, Ringo,” Paul stammered out as he tried to hide behind his piano. Paul was smart to pick up on the fact that, out of all of them, Ringo probably had the biggest score to settle with him. He really sincerely hoped that his charm would be enough to keep Ringo from smiting him but, just to be extra safe, he threw one of his famous winks Ringo’s way. Ringo, in turn, glared at Paul and pulled out a triangle.

“With a single ding on this triangle,” Ringo bellowed out, so loudly that everyone in England could hear him, “our planet will cease to exist.” He floated closer to Paul and Paul in return tried to back up, though he quickly found himself pushed against the wall. “Is that enough umph for you, Paul?” Ringo sneered back at him. Paul tried to respond that Ringo really didn’t have to do that and, actually take 14 had come out pretty good, but he found all of his words trapped in his throat. Ringo’s power was too overwhelming. Ringo seemed satisfied that he had terrified Paul so much that he finally shut his yap and, to really gloat in his glory, his hand slowly crept towards the triangle.

The closer Ringo got to hitting that triangle, the bigger he got. The image was straight out of Alice in Wonderland - in a matter of seconds, Ringo had grown too big to fit in their studio. That didn’t matter much, as the heat coming off of him helped sear away the wooden ceiling so it came crashing around him.

He’s really getting a big head, John mused to himself, though he didn’t dare make his observation out loud, which was a good decision because he would have been a goner otherwise. At this point, Ringo’s feet stretched the entire length of the studio (or, what remained of it) and his head was well above the skyline of London, where everyone could see him and scream with horror before going, “Wait, is that Ringo Starr from the Beatles?”

Ringo was only inches away from the triangle now and London had never been hotter. The ocean was starting to dry up on the coast, fields were bursting in flames at random, and children started asking their parents why they didn’t have more fans in their houses. Alongside the heat, the ground started to quiver before shaking, rattling, and rolling. Cars rocked in the street, smashing into each other, and trees and buildings started to tilt sideways, like wannabe Leaning Towers of Pisa. People were starting to panic, because nothing this exciting had ever happened in England before.

“Ringo!” George tried to call up to his mate, though he knew it was no use, considering how high up Ringo was. “Please, stop it!” John and Paul heard George’s desperate pleas over the commotion and joined in, falling to their knees and clasping their hands together, begging with all the energy they had left.

“We’ll let you have more songs on our album!” John tried.

“I’ll bring you more flowers,” George tried.

“We’ll stop recording Maxwell’s Silver Hammer for once and for all!” Paul tried without really thinking.

Ringo was a millimeter away from making contact with the triangle. But then, he stopped. And, faster than you could say “Maxwell Anderson,” the shaking and heat stopped. Ringo had almost instantly shrunk himself back down to his normal size and was no longer glowing a searing red. He calmly set the triangle down on the stool next to his kit and turned around to look at Paul, John, and George.

“Good,” was all he had to say. And, with that, he turned on his heel and strutted out of the practically demolished studio, whistling a happy tune to himself. Left behind, Paul, John, and George all tried to compose themselves.

“A new rule for the band,” Paul started slowly, “let’s not mess with Ringo.”

“Agreed,” John was quick to respond.

“Agreed,” George repeated.

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nuts about you

It’s simple. Thirty days. All of November. No nutting allowed. Can Peter survive? A friends/roommates to lovers tale of stupid bets, sabotage, and most important of all, nuts.

thotumn. day 11. free prompt day finale.

Thank you @spideysmjs​ for organizing this magical month for us!! Because I am TOO impatient, I’m posting this a day early (also to keep my tradition of not posting things at the right time). Enjoy this purely goofy adventure.

--

Of all of the stupid ideas Peter and Ned have thought of in their ten-plus years of friendship, this one’s up there.

Easily in the top three.

No, it’s more than stupid. It’s ridiculous. It’s pointless. No one in their right mind actually thinks this is a good idea or that there’s any reason to do it. It’s an internet joke that’s too old, a meme that has no right being funny anymore. It’s run its course, and the guise of it raising awareness for anything other than the masturbation habits of penis-havers is complete and utter bullsh*t.

Again. It’s stupid.

Still, Peter Parker is not one to turn down a challenge, no matter how stupid. He’s nothing if not competitive. What can he say? If he won’t do it, who will?

This is what he considers as Ned lays it on the table for him.

All of November. Thirty days.

Peter doesn’t know how the conversation even started or how they ended up betting against each other in the world’s most moronic challenge. All he knows is that Ned is more than convinced that Peter is weak and won’t last. In fact, he’s so convinced that he’s willing to bet money on it. His reasoning ends up being that Peter isn’t strong enough.

And Peter? Well, he’s convinced that he will make it, that he can survive an entire month without giving in to his desires to bust a nut, to beat his meat, etc. etc. And he, too, is willing to bet money—a stupid amount, maybe more than a hundred—on his own success and his friend’s failure. He doesn’t want to appear too co*cky, but he’s more than a hundred percent sure he’s got this in the bag. Yeah, it’s thirty days of cutting out one of Peter’s favorite pastimes—if not the favorite—but there’s no doubt in his mind that he’s more than capable of practicing a little restraint.

Still, confident as he is, there’s still that part of him that can’t help but dread the coming month the more and more he thinks about it.

“So, definitely thirty days?” Peter asks, eyes narrowing in thought. He tries to appear casual, as if the idea of no release for that amount of time isn’t a big deal. It’s more for clarification. “November has thirty days?”

Ned scoffs. “Yeah. Thirty days.”

“Any strikes? Any free coupons?”

“Nope.” Ned shakes his head with a soul-crushing finality. “Why? You don’t think you can make it?”

It’s Peter’s turn to scoff, face scrunching dramatically as he recoils. “What? No. I’m worried about you, man. What are you gonna do about Betty?”

Ned fixes him with a deadpan stare, clearly not buying whatever bullsh*t Peter’s trying to peddle. “A bet is a bet. She will respect that.”

“How can I trust you, though?” Peter asks, eyes narrowing in slight accusation. “You’re always at her place. I mean, how’ll I know you’re not lying?”

Ned glares. “How can I trust you?”

Peter sputters, desperately thinking of ways to throw a reverse Uno at this situation. “Wha—I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m—I’m single, man.”

Ned blinks. Once. Twice. “Do we need to talk about Felicia?”

“That was—”

“Cindy?”

“Dude—”

“Johnny? Jessica? Gwen—”

“I get it. I get it—”

“Carlie? Oh—Debbie? Caleb! Then there was Angela—”

Peter’s expression contorts into one of confusion. “Angela?” He tilts his head, squinting, searching for any kind of memory.

“Cute red head. You met her in line at Aldi.”

“Ahhh…” A knowing, borderline too-telling smile of recognition pulls at Peter’s lips. “Angela...” he sighs, almost dreamily. Okay, so maybe Ned has a point. But just because Peter enjoys the company of other people so much that he’s got his own version of Mambo No. 5, doesn’t mean he’s incapable of living without the warm touch of another human being or his hand.

Peter freezes, glancing at his friend. “Okay. Well. What do you want me to do about that? It’s not like I’m gonna call any of them up or anything. I have some sense of self-control.”

Again, Ned blinks.

“And besides, Felicia was freshman year… she’s our friend now. I don’t hook-up with her anymore.”

Another blink. “Dude.”

“Fine.” Peter huffs, whipping his phone out, eyes nearly rolling out of their sockets and onto the floor as he starts swiping through his contacts. “But I’m not deleting any of ‘em, okay?”

“Peter…”

“I’ll change their names! How ‘bout that?”

A beat passes of silent, overtly-judgmental staring on Ned’s part. He huffs after another second, throwing his hands up in defeat. “Fine.” Then, his frown shifts into a nonchalant smirk. “Whatever makes it easier for you to lose and me to win.”

“Please,” Peter scoffs. “I’m not the one with a girlfriend. You’re going down.” He tilts his head, narrowing his eyes, lips pursed in mock-contemplation as he points a finger. “Or I guess… Betty’s the one going down.”

Ned nearly chokes on his water holding back a snort. “Come on, man.”

Peter shrugs.

“Okay, well, are you gonna change the contact name for your right hand, too?”

It’s Peter’s turn to spit out a laugh.

But before he can even come up with another totally awesome comeback, he hears the jingling of keys, the clanking of locks as their roommate comes home after a long day of classes. All he sees is a flash of her curly hair before he’s tearing his gaze away from the front door, suddenly finding the pads of his thumbs to be pretty damn interesting.

“Hey, MJ,” Ned greets casually, as if they weren’t just sorting out a bet where neither of them are allowed to org*sm for an entire month.

“‘Sup.” Michelle flashes them a brief, closed-mouth grin as she makes for the refrigerator, swiping up some baby carrots and the brita filter.

Really, the conversation from earlier should be done there. Nothing else needs to be said. Especially not in front of their roommate.

But Peter can’t help himself.

“Let’s shake on it,” he says, putting his hand out, knowing that the more he keeps talking, the more danger he’s in of saying too much.

Ned takes it readily, eyes narrowed in determination. “Let’s.”

The corner of Peter’s lip twitches upward, but he holds it back. “No… Peanuts.”

“No walnuts.”

They have that understanding, speaking in the code that the two of them have just made up on the spot, something that Peter can’t help but feel pretty damn proud of.

MJ glances between the two, carrot half-way to her mouth, frozen in place, brows pinched in suspicion.

“Peter and I are giving up all nuts for the next month,” Ned says proudly, answering the question that she most certainly did not ask.

“Cool.”

Ned throws a not-as-subtle-as-he-thinks-it-is wink across the table, giving a just as subtle thumbs up from behind one of his stray history books.

Peter nods.

“Why?” Michelle asks, her question—one that shouldn’t have been as much of a surprise at is was—causing them both to exchange wary glances.

There’s a silence that follows, one that might clearly show that these two guys have no idea what kind of hole they’ve dug themselves into. Ned watches Peter expectantly. Peter glares back.

“Is it like a health thing?” MJ offers, popping another carrot into her mouth.

Peter nods a little too quickly. “Yeah. Health stuff.” His stomach flips when her gaze meets his, her eyes squinting as she chews thoughtfully.

“May thinks Peter might have a nut allergy,” Ned hastily spits out. When both sets of eyes land on him, he laughs. “So his allergist suggested going a month without ‘em. To see if that makes it better.”

And honestly, Peter thinks that’s a pretty damn good save.

The best part is that MJ seems to buy it. She nods. “So why are you doing it, Ned?”

“Solidarity,” Ned offers quickly.

Nice save.

“Ah,” MJ purses her lips, though she still doesn’t seem to care all that much. “Well, good luck. I guess. I know how much you guys… love… nuts? I guess?”

Peter nods solemnly.

When she turns back to grab a cup from the cabinet, he throws Ned a quick single nod.

Well played.

--

“So, Peter’s doing no nut November.”

Felicia nearly chokes, snorting as she struggles to keep her vanilla latte in her mouth. “What?” She asks after a dangerous second. They were supposed to be having a nice study sesh, reading about Bloom’s taxonomy, not talking about Peter’s nut habits.

“He and Ned made a stupid bet to see who could last the whole month,” MJ answers, taking a quiet sip of her London Fog. “Apparently they bet a lot of money on it.”

Felicia’s face scrunches in amused confusion. “Why?”

“Do they really need a reason to do dumb sh*t?”

Considering that for a second, Felicia nods with a satisfied frown. “Fair.”

“I bet against Peter, though,” MJ continues. “After he left, I made Ned let me in on it. There’s no way Pete can last the whole month, right? Not even a week.”

“Oh, definitely not,” Felicia vehemently shook her head. “I honestly feel like he’d spontaneously combust after, like, a day.” Then, she lets out a quiet snort. “Combust a nut.”

Michelle wrinkles her nose. “Ew.”

“But for real. He’s not gonna make it.”

“That’s what I said. Ned seems to have some faith in him though—no idea why. I told him that Peter wouldn’t even last a week… and now I guess I’m involved.”

“This would be so easy to sabotage though.”

“Right?”

“Seriously,” Felicia snorts. “All I’d have to do is hit him up one more time and he’s gone.” And then, in that next instant, her face lights up like a Christmas tree. “That’s it!” Before she says anything else, she’s pulling her phone out, quickly scrolling through, looking for God knows what. “Girl, I am gonna win that bet for you.”

MJ leans forward, curious, yet still cautious. She’s not sure if Peter hooking up again with Felicia is the best idea, given that relations within the friend group would just make things a giant, tangled up mess of complicated awkwardness. “How?” Michelle dares to ask, craning her neck to see what the hell Felicia’s doing on her phone.

Her friend is quiet for a moment, locked in concentration on her screen, bottom lip tucked between her teeth, brows knit together. Then, she cracks a satisfied, sly smile, turning her phone to show MJ just what she was looking for.

Simply; a picture of Felicia’s relatively new tattoo which, in and of itself, doesn’t seem like it would get Peter’s peter going. It’s pretty. Floral. Nothing to lose one’s mind over.

No, it’s more the placement.

It’s a tasteful shot, the simple flowers lining the underside of her breasts, her hands acting as makeshift pasties, just barely covering her nipples.

Still, though there’s no actual nudity, it’s enough to make MJ’s eyes bug out of her head for a moment before she’s realizing what she’s looking at.

“Okay. So?” Michelle waits for an explanation.

“I send him this,” Felicia says simply, pulling her phone back and (seemingly) drafting up the very message. “Ask if he wants a closer look at it.”

Michelle considers it a moment, knowing that there’s a very strong chance that Peter could almost immediately fall into such an obvious trap. The corners of her lips twitch into a casual frown. She shrugs. “Honestly. Yeah. That might work.”

“Might?” Felicia almost scoffs.

“You’re a genius.”

A smirk tugs at Felicia’s mouth as she leans back in her chair, swiping up to send the message before putting the phone down on the table. “I know.”

They sit in silence, the two of them watching the screen with bated breath. They both gasp when the read receipt pops up, followed by a dead silence. MJ can only imagine how stressed that boy must be, opening his phone, thinking it’s an innocent text from Felicia, then BAM, he’s vibe-checked by her boobs instead.

She holds back a snort, her stomach jumping into her throat seeing the dot-dot-dot pop up at the bottom of the screen. It’s almost as if she forgets to breathe, waiting to see what he’s going to say to such a blatant come on.

It’s like he’s typing a damn novel with how long it’s taking him though, and Michelle’s not sure she can take it much longer.

And then, her phone dings.

Felicia’s lips pull into a frown reading the message. “‘Wow. Looks cool! No thanks, though.’ Aaaaand,” she spins her phone for MJ to read it. “Thumbs-up emoji. Smiley face with sunglasses.”

Even MJ’s surprised at that response. Maybe Peter is really taking this No Nut November thing seriously. Maybe he’s not as weak as she thought. But… it doesn’t make any sense. Nothing’s adding up.

And with this confusion, there’s a sense of relief, knowing his response. Waiting wasn’t fun.

“Huh.” Felicia sighs, biting her lip in thought as she starts typing out another message and sending it.

“What did you say?” Michelle asks.

“I told him I’d been thinking about getting my nipples pierced and wanted to know what he thought.”

At that, Michelle snorts. “You’re an evil woman.”

Felicia shrugs innocently. “I think he’d really like ‘em.”

Truly, it’s a genius move. It’s something that Peter has to address; Felicia’s nipples. The idea of them being pierced. It’s too much for his brain to handle.

And again, just like before, they get into a staring contest with the conversation, watching as the read receipt pops up again, immediately followed by the ever-cruel ellipses as Peter no doubt struggles with a response that’s not too-eager.

But then, he completely throws them for another loop.

“‘I support you, friend!’ with…” Her eyes narrow. “A smiley face.”

“Wow,” Michelle says, genuinely surprised.

And Felicia seems just as shocked, if not a little offended that one of her oldest tricks in the book seem to have no effect whatsoever. “Did he just… friendzone me?” She asks, absolutely appalled.

“You were already friends before?” Michelle laughs.

“But in this context?” She huffs, shaking her head. A beat passes where all she does is stare at her phone. “That’s weird,” she says slowly, lips quirking into a confused frown. “Huh.”

“There, there,” Michelle deadpans, patting her friend stiffly on the hand.

Felicia laughs. “It’s fine…” She draws out. “A hit to the ego is good for me every once in a while.”

“Oh my God,” MJ rolls her eyes. “You’re still hot. Don’t worry.”

With a sad, a little over-dramatic nod, Felicia’s frown deepens as she pretends to wipe at her eyes. “Yeah. I am.”

“I can’t believe that didn’t work,” MJ muses. Really, she can’t. Peter’s perhaps the easiest person she knows—and there’s nothing wrong with that at all; it’s just a fact of life. The sky is blue. Grass is green. Peter is a thot.

“I guess he’s really following through with this whole no nut thing…” Felicia’s brow furrows as she recoils. “How much money did he bet anyway?”

“A hundred.”

“Oh my God.”

“Yeah.”

“How much did you put in?”

“...A hundred.”

“MJ!”

“Listen!” Michelle reasons, holding her hands up in defense. “This is gonna be the easiest two hundred dollars I’ve ever made.”

Felicia sits back, clearly impressed. “Does Peter know you’re in on it?”

“Nope,” MJ says, emphasizing the ‘p’ with an audible pop.

“Well—” Felicia starts, shifting in her seat, crossing one leg over the other. “—I’m sure you’ll find some way to make that boy give in. Sorry I couldn’t help.”

Michelle lets out a light snort. “It’s okay. You tried.”

“If I think of anything else, I’ll let you know.”

But honestly, MJ already has a vague idea of what her next step is.

And it brings her to his bedroom, to his desk, messing with his laptop while he’s out for his Sunday patrol. His password is entirely too easy to guess—really, you’d think a guy as smart as Peter would have something a little more complicated than “webshooter69.”

If there’s anything she knows about Peter—maybe a little too much about her friend—is that while he mostly enjoys the company of a flesh and blood human being, he’s not above the occasional perusing of adult websites.

The guy likes p*rn.

The plan is to make his chrome homepage one of his regular sites. Confront him with the images that really get him going.

She browses through his history, hoping that he hadn’t thought to delete everything or go incognito. And… luckily for her, that particular idea seemed to have slipped his mind entirely. Literally not even a week out and she’s found a slightly-more-than-nefarious-looking website.

Easy enough.

And it’s exactly what she’s looking for. Nudity galore. There doesn’t seem to be a corner of the site that doesn’t have a boob or a butt. It is truly Peter’s domain.

For a moment, she wonders if she should make the homepage specifically something he searches for… his favorite genre perhaps.

She shakes the thought away immediately. It’s too invasive. Besides, the front page should be more than enough—there’s literally a video that frustratingly autoplays every time she goes back to that one page. And why would she need to know what Peter likes? There’s no reason for that. At all.

Making sure to close out of everything before logging out, she slams the laptop shut, sprinting out of his room as if he was just about to get home. Her heart races as she slams her own bedroom door behind her, catching her breath proving to be more difficult than usual.

And now, she waits.

It turns out, she doesn’t have to wait very long.

That evening, in fact, after Peter’s come back for dinner.

He takes his time microwaving his leftovers from the day before, whistling to himself as he bounces around the kitchen. The whole time it feels like MJ’s just holding her breath, anticipating his early demise the instant he opens up chrome on his laptop. And honestly, this does feel like a low blow, like she’s just snatching up that low-hanging fruit—God, MJ, phrasing—but then she’s reminded that this, again, is the easiest two hundred dollars she will ever earn.

And then she feels a little less bad about what she’s done.

The second he’s finished with his food and disappears into his room, her eyes are on his door, and then it occurs to her that there’s not really a way that she can know he’s, well, “lost.” It’s all based on his own honor, if he’ll admit to succumbing to his most basic need. She likes to think that he would, though. Peter’s too much of a good, honest guy—hiding his secret identity aside—that he couldn’t lie to his friends about it.

Ned comes home not two minutes later, deflating on the other side of the couch.

“Rough day?” MJ asks, the teasing hint to her tone not going unnoticed.

Ned rolls his eyes. “Told Betty I was doing this whole month thing.”

MJ winced. “Yikes.”

“Yeah,” Ned chuckles.

“Well, if it helps, this whole thing is probably gonna end in—” she checks her phone. “—five or so minutes.”

Ned’s gaze darts right and left. “What… What do you mean?”

Before she can answer, Peter yelps from the other side of his door. There’s a loud crash that sounds suspiciously like a laptop being yeeted across the room in a hasty, knee-jerk reaction. Before either she or Ned can move, Peter’s bursting through his door, eyes blown wide, his face drained of all color, and he’s frozen in place, one hand gripping the doorframe.

And it takes everything in her not to grin. “Everything okay?”

Peter coughs, scratching the back of his neck, before his gaze lands on Ned in a challenging glare. “DUDE. Not cool.”

Poor Ned looks as confused as ever, his jaw dropping, brows pinching together as he glances between the two. “I—What—what are you talking about?”

Peter narrows his eyes even more.

“Did I hear something break?” MJ asks carefully, as not to seem too suspicious.

He startles at her voice, sputtering out a response that mostly sounds like the macaroni glue art of sentences. “Oh—uh—no. It—It was the—the laptop. There was—a thing. And—I just kinda—threw it.” He laughs nervously. “It’s fine though. Not—not broken. All good—” He throws some finger guns. “—in the hood.”

Her lips twist as she nods.

Peter nods back, hands in his back pockets as he starts to retreat back into his room—though not before throwing another I’m watching you glare at Ned.

As soon as the door clicks shut, Ned’s in full interrogation mode.

“MJ, what did you do?”

She shrugs, toying with the loose thread of her hoodie. “Nothing much. Just… Set his default homepage to some p*rn. No biggie.”

Ned’s jaw drops, thoroughly scandalized, but there’s a hint of amusem*nt behind his eyes. “Dude… That’s evil.”

Michelle gives another shrug.

So, her second plan had failed. Even after surprise-p*rn, Peter’s still in the running. He’s still holding out. Almost a two days into November, and he is surviving, a surprise to everyone involved, and already, MJ’s running out of ideas. Well, good—plausible ideas. There are plenty of ways she’s sure she could compromise him. Take him to a strip-club maybe, but there’s not a doubt in her mind that he’d be able to pick up on what she was doing. There’s no way he’d fall for it.

Hiring an escort was definitely out of the question.

Theoretically, both of those could work. Were they good plans? No. Absolutely not.

He’s already turned down a previous hook-up. He broke his laptop out of the sheer panic that seeing p*rn brought him.

There doesn’t seem to be much more that she can do.

It’s not until the next day, as she’s walking the clothing section of Target with Felicia that she’s struck with an idea.

Felicia specifically striking her with said idea.

They’re in the middle of the sleepwear section, MJ mindlessly rifling through the fuzzy sock bin, when she nearly collides with the underwear display. She’s distracted for a moment, wondering if it’s too soon since she’s bought new underwear to justify taking advantage of the sale, when Felicia nudges her with her elbow.

“Peter’s really into pretty underwear,” she says as if they’re not in the middle of Target. As if there’s not a mom and two kids in the actual pajama section two displays over.

Michelle recoils slightly, startled. “What?”

“He’s like, really into it,” she says, taking a casual sip of her iced coffee, reaching over to pick up a particularly lacy number. “Just saying. Might be useful.”

For some reason, MJ feels a strange heat rise to her cheeks. “I’m not gonna put these on for him!”

Felicia smirks, holding a hand up in defense. “Who said anything about you wearing it? You can just… leave it lying around for him to find, or something.” She tilts her head to the side, both brows raising. “Jeez, MJ.”

“Oh…” Michelle says, though her face still burns. “Right.”

It’s not a bad idea. In fact, it’s pretty good. If Peter’s as into fancy underwear as Felicia says he is, then maybe leaving them around like some kind of weird scavenger hunt is the best plan. She doesn’t buy much, picking a pair of relatively cheap lace and polyester. She could use her own underwear for this, but… that would be weird right?

(As if this isn’t weird enough already.)

And besides, the ones she’s buying are a little more extra in that department. They aren’t meant to be worn for long, not from comfort.

They’re perfect.

She feels like some kind of underwear fairy, planting them somewhere in the apartment, making sure they’re hidden, yet visible in a place that Peter frequents; it sticks up between the couch cushions, not subtle in the slightest. The second Peter’s butt hits that couch, he’ll see them. There’s no other way around it.

It becomes another waiting game as she sits in the living chair, knees curled into her chest as she pretends to read quietly. It’s pretend because she can’t focus long enough on any single letter to let her brain absorb anything on the pages. Finally, the front door opens. Peter greets her with a cheery smile, making immediately for the kitchen.

Good. Yes. He gets his after class snack. Important.

Just as she’d planned.

He emerges not two minutes later, bag of cheese crackers in hand as he launches himself over the back of the couch. “‘Sup?” he asks after shoving a mouthful of Cheez-its into his face.

Michelle wrinkles her nose, her eyes unconsciously darting between the guy on the couch and the panties peeking out from the cushions. “Reading,” she offers, brandishing the very unread book.

Peter nods, tearing his gaze from hers after a beat and reaching for the remote. When he sits back, his hand brushes the cheap lace and he pauses, curious as he looks down to see what he touched.

All of this while MJ desperately pretends not to notice.

When he picks the pair up though, his brows pinch together, at first unsure as to what he’s actually looking at. “Uh…”

At that, MJ looks up, seeing right as the realization sets in.

Of course, she plays dumb—by staying silent.

Peter quickly looks to her, eyes wide as if he’s seen a ghost. “It’s—it’s not—these aren’t—” His lips press together as he forces a breath through his nose. “I—Oh god—”

And then, for a split-second, she feels the slightest bit guilty. Is this actually a good plan or is she just tricking him into getting a boner over cheap department store undies? That, and is she technically lying to him by not claiming the offending undergarments? By making him freak out over nothing?

He seems to be having some sort of existential crisis, wondering if these really are from some recent hook-up and the psychological effect of not nutting in three days has caused him to forget.

This was a terrible idea.

She has to put him out of his misery.

“Oh, sh*t. Those—” Her laugh is breathy, short. “—Those are mine.”

And instantly, Peter drops the thong, as if his hands had been burned. “Oh!” he coughs, his gaze straining as if he’s trying to keep his eyes on her face. “S—Sorry.” He swallows.

“Yeah.” Rising on legs that are shaky—from sitting so oddly in the chair for so long—she goes to snatch up the baby pink lace, clutching it behind her back before Peter can get another look. “Sorry. Must’ve forgot. Uh, when I did… Laundry.”

Peter nods, breathing out a chuckle. “Yeah. Yeah. S’fine.” He waves her off, scratching the back of his neck.

But even after that, Peter still seems off. For some reason, he still doesn’t seem to be able to look at her for more than a split-second. He doesn’t say anything else, sitting in silence, his cheese crackers long forgotten on the coffee table.

Michelle wonders if she should say something else. Break the tension. It’s awkward, obviously, because he feels weird about touching his friend’s underwear. Anyone would, really. He touched something that theoretically would be on her body; something that normally, he thinks is really sexy, or whatever.

After another minute of some good old soul-crushing silence, Peter stands, excusing himself to his room without another word.

Huh. Weird.

--

It’s the movie night that finally gives her that clarity she’s been looking for; that moment where everything clicks into place, and she can finally see how she’s going to win this.

Ned’s out with Betty, leaving her and Peter alone not for the first time.

She and Peter are sitting on the couch together, her head resting on his shoulder—because that’s what friends do, obviously—the two of them sharing a gray fuzzy blanket. This is a normal occurrence. They’re close enough in their friendship that some occasional cuddling isn’t too weird. Especially given how chilly it’s been lately. And, it’s comfy. Just some nice head-to-shoulder contact.

But later in the movie, when MJ starts to get dangerously sleepy, feeling herself drooping further and further, unable to completely pull herself back to reality. Things are fuzzy, almost dreamlike, as she just pulls herself up from his shoulder, giving up entirely on watching the movie and just grumpily laying down right on his lap, his thigh her make-shift pillow.

This isn’t weird.

It’s normal.

She’s sleepy.

And Peter’s a surprisingly comfy pillow.

Peter doesn’t even have time to ask what she’s doing before she’s just nestling further into his lap. She misses the pure dread and panic that flashes across his face when her head lines up with his head. There’s no safety here. Just a few wrong movements, and she’ll definitely know what’s up. She’ll be an unwitting tourist to Boner City, population: one.

Peter has to do something. He can’t let this continue. Having his best friends head just straight up on his crotch is not helpful in the slightest.

“MJ,” he gently nudges her, grimacing slightly when she just burrows further into him.

He nudges her again, and she grumbles, finally opening her eyes and looking up at him. She puts a hand on his thigh to steady herself.

Peter swallows.

“What?” She asks, not opening her eyes.

“I uh—” Peter can’t seem to speak, trying desperately to come up with some excuse as to why he has to get the f*ck out of there. “—I gotta pee.”

She cracks an eye open skeptically. “But I’m comfy,” she emphasizes her point by—once again—snuggling her face into his lap.

Peter’s about to lose his damn mind.

In MJ’s defense, this had started with the best intentions. She truly was just wanting to lay down and sleep on her friends lap—again, a perfectly normal thing—but now… even through the haze of sleep, she’s seeing how much this is effecting him.

It hadn’t occurred to her until now, that she could be the one that makes him “crack.” They’re just friends. Sure, she thinks he’s attractive, and yeah, maybe she’s had the one or two or three sexy dreams about him before (even some soft, fluffy ones), but that doesn’t mean she thinks about him in that way.

He's just Peter.

Sweet, adorable, kinda hot Peter.

Again, she doesn't think about him that way.

But she supposes it makes sense. Really, she should have known before putting her head on his crotch that he might get a little flustered from the proximity, that it might remind him of certain things. It's just the body's physiological reaction to a stimulus; the stimulus being her head. It's simple science.

So then, it would also only make sense for her to take advantage of that physiological response she's able to get out of him. Maybe not right at this second, given she's been a little blindsided by this whole thing. But maybe now she can rethink her gameplan. Now she has access to tools she didn't know she had access to before.

Her own sensuality.

She can certainly use that.

And it's not as if she'll do anything too out there. Just... make him feel the heat—the pressure—just a little bit. Make him sweat.

Felicia's of course delighted by this development, giving her full support in "seducing Parker into busting a nut."

(Her words, not MJ's.)

She'd also said something about how it's about time, but that'd been promptly ignored—mainly because MJ didn't know what the hell Felicia was talking about.

The problem is now, though, Michelle's not exactly sure where to start. After Peter had made a dead sprint to the bathroom the night before, he's been a little more, shall we say, cautious, around her. He bounces on his feet, trying desperately to appear casual, acting as if nothing was weird about their movie night.

She only has three days left in the week, so she has to think.

And fast.

--

Peter's not sure if MJ's up to something, but he can't help but feel as though she's acting... strange. First, the underwear thing, which made him feel all kinds of flustered and weird, and then her head being dangerously close to his dick. It's a lot. She can't possibly know about this No Nut thing, right? She wasn't there, and Ned wouldn't have told her... right?

Still, he tries to avoid her as much as he can, ready to fly away the second she's in the same room as him.

Truthfully, he's always had maybe the tiniest crush on his best friend. It's faded in and out over the years, especially in their college years. But it's always been there, even if just the ghost of one. And now, he's starting to see maybe how bad of an idea this was in the first place—No Nut November. His roommate is literally probably the prettiest person in the world and he's being constantly reminded of the one thing he definitely should not be thinking about under any circ*mstances if he wants to win. It's a disaster that should have never happened in the first place. This could have been prevented, he thinks.

He's not sure how he didn't think about that when he'd agreed to do this.

He just knows that he has to do something, though he's not sure what.

But any and all ideas of how to protect himself instantly leave his mind, crashing his brain, when he comes back to the apartment the next day to find it sweltering. He looks at the thermostat, thoroughly confused to find the heater set to eighty. He peels off his jacket, recoiling when the humid air sticks to his skin. It's hot. Too hot. Even for early November. It's not that cold outside.

He's about to call out for his roommates when MJ emerges from her room, and he feels like he has to pick his jaw up from the floor.

Her shorts are too short for it being fall. They show too much of her legs for his eyes to not be immediately drawn to them. Her white tank top is tight against her skin, hugging her form in a way that almost makes him jealous. And then, it's almost too much, too dangerous, when he can very clearly tell that she's apparently decided to forgo a bra for the evening.

"Oh, hey Pete!" She says, as if she's not looking like that.

"Hey—hey. Em..." He clears his throat.

Dear God. It's been less than a week. Hold it together.

"Is it..." Peter swallows. "Is it hot in here? The—the heat? Is it—is it on?"

MJ's eyes widen a fraction.

"Oh, yeah. It is," she replies casually. "Is that okay? I was just a little cold."

"So you turn it up to—" Peter stops, craning his neck to look at the thermostat on the wall. "—eighty-two?"

She glances left and right, as if there's nothing wrong with that temperature whatsoever. "Yeah," she says with a nonchalant shrug, her lips tugging into a frown. After a beat, she lets out a faint snort, apparently finding something particularly funny, before turning to the fridge. She opens the freezer, sighing as the cool air hits her face.

Peter doesn't realize he's staring as she reaches in, pulling out a box from the top shelf. When he sees what's in the box, he knows that his doom is near. It's bright, colorful. It's popsicles. He has to leave immediately if he knows what's good for him, if he has any sense of sanity left. She grabs a crinkling wrapper from inside the box, casually whipping it out. She holds one out to him.

"Want one?" She offers.

Peter can only shake his head, swallowing a near-silent, voice-cracking, "Nope."

And it's at this point, as she shuts the freezer door, as she starts peeling the wrapper off the way-too-phallic popsicle, that he knows he should run. It's not safe here.

But he's frozen in place, trying to burn his gaze into the intricacies of the granite countertops, tapping his fingers in an erratic rhythm.

He's an idiot, for sure, because he looks up at exactly the wrong time, right as she wraps her lips around the tip of the pop, her eyes meeting his for a fraction of a second.

How can it only be eighty-two in here?

Thankfully, he gains some sense, tearing himself away from the counter and going over to actually turn down the thermostat. "Is it okay if I—" He coughs. "—Turn this back down?"

"Sure." MJ doesn't stop him. She wets her lips, hiding her satisfied smirk by taking the popsicle deeper into her mouth.

But again, he makes the fatal mistake of looking at her again, because now... well, now she's just messing with him. She has to be.

No one eats a popsicle like that.

When he thinks it can't get worse, she has the f*cking audacity to hum as she pushes it further into her mouth. "This is so good," she says, half-way a moan.

Who actually says that about a f*cking popsicle?

It's evil, truly it is, because it makes him imagine her swirling her tongue around it inside her mouth, and suddenly, the tightness in his pants gets even more uncomfortable.

He hurries to somewhere else in the kitchen, pouring himself a nice glass of water. It's still too hot in here. MJ sidesteps him easily, still inappropriately eating—sucking off—her popsicle. And he nearly chokes, because as his eyes meet hers again, she takes the damn thing out of her mouth—he thinks he's safe, but oh no—she slips her tongue out, licking a long stripe up the base, swirling it around the tip before taking it into her mouth again.

"What?" She asks—she f*cking asks—when he can't look away.

And unsurprisingly, Peter can't speak. Can't even get a single syllable out.

"Is my tongue red?" She asks, sticking said tongue out that was just seconds before all over the popsicle.

"I'm gonna go hop in the shower," Peter spits out, dropping his water in the sink and making a mad dash to the bathroom, not waiting for a response.

A shower is what he needs right now.

A nice, cold shower.

He needs to take a deep breath. Think of not sexy things. Things that don't make his life out to be a bad p*rno.

Then, he needs to leave. Hide in the forest. Live among the trees, away from temptation, until November is over. Only then can he be at peace.

That's it!

Trees. Nature. Forests. Cold. Snow. MJ in the snow. Kissing MJ in the snow—NO.

NO.

He slams the bathroom door, leaning back against it. He heaves out a shaky sigh, running a hand over his face in frustration. How he can possibly survive the rest of the month, he has no idea.

MJ has to be messing with him, right? There’s absolutely no way in hell she’s not doing this on purpose. And why? Why is she torturing him like this? What has Peter ever done in his life to deserve this torment? It isn’t fair.

No matter how desperately he wants to take care of the not-so-little problem in his jeans, he holds himself back, clenching every muscle in his body as he switches on a very cold shower. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to will the image of Michelle—his best friend and roommate—eating a popsicle out of his mind. It has absolutely no right to be there.

And still, as Peter stands under the stream of freezing water, letting it run down his back and front as he holds himself up with one hand, he can’t help but think that the worst is yet to come. That somehow, someway, MJ would top simulating a blow j*b on an ice pop. He doesn’t know how she’d do it, but he knows it’s coming.

He must be ready.

--

Not to MJ’s surprise, Peter avoids her the rest of the day. He keeps his head down, not daring to even glance up at her as he walks past. Weirdly enough, this is a good sign. It confirms her hypothesis that her actions can have some sort of an effect on him. It helps her to know what to do next.

And, well…

She’d be lying if she said it weren’t at least a little bit thrilling.

There’s something deep inside her that finds all of this so interesting, so amusing. She wants to know how far she can go, how hard she can push before he cracks under the pressure. And the fact that it’s her that has all this power over him—it’s certainly a revelation.

But still, even if this is “fun,” she can be professional about this. She would never let it get “too far,” whatever that would be. No, the goal here isn’t to seduce her way into Peter’s pants, but to seduce him—innocently—enough that he just does it to himself.

Her next plan might be a little more unfair, a little more direct, and perhaps a little more daring than the last one.

And—she should add—much more difficult than she had anticipated.

For one, she just can’t seem to get the right angle, holding her phone above her body, making sure to get both the underside of her breasts—a tasteful amount of boob, thank you very much—and the same cheap, pretty pink undies she bought from Target. It’s awkward, tilting and twisting her phone, her thumb just barely reaching the shutter button. The first few shots aren’t anything to be particularly proud of. Too blurry, her arm cramping up from holding the camera up so long. This isn’t something she’s really done before, given she’s never seen the appeal. Why send pics when you could just, you know, show them the real thing?

But for some reason, it makes her heart climb into her throat, makes her face almost unbearably warm.

It’s when she changes her positioning on her bed, finding some nice light filtering in from the early evening sun. Golden hour has always proven to be exceptionally kind to her. She finds a decent pose, covering both breasts with her forearm, arching her back, making sure to get that perfect “booty tooch” that would make Tyra proud. She breathes out in an attempt to cool her heated nerves, parting her lips in a way that’s sure to incite some kind of reaction.

Click.

And then, she’s got the shot.

Okay, technically it’s not a nude, but there’s something about the idea of sending this picture to Peter of all people that gets her stomach twisting in knots.

And as her hand hovers over the send button, her heart hammers in her chest, hesitation holding her still. She takes her bottom lip in her teeth, beginning to wonder if this is the best idea. Her plan had been to send the picture, play it off as some kind of mistake, and hope that he goes to… take care of himself. Sure, it might get a reaction out of Peter—one big enough that causes him to give up this whole no nut thing—but it almost feels as if she’s crossing some kind of line.

Miming a blow j*b on a popsicle was one thing—one that she can’t decide if she’s proud of or not. That was just a performance. It wasn’t something she was doing to Peter. This—sending him a racy picture when he’s literally in the next room—is a direct interference.

Plus, there’s no telling what this would do to their friendship. It could ruin everything. Catastrophically.

Awkward would be an understatement.

She puts her phone face down on the mattress, avoiding the picture all together, before getting up and pulling on one of her comfy robes.

God, all of this was a terrible idea.

Wallowing in her own self-pity and regret, she flops back down onto the bed, grabbing her phone with the intention of deleting the picture once and for all. It’s still there in the text conversation, just waiting to be sent. She scoffs, shaking her head at herself, only for her heart to stop in her chest when—in her frazzled state—she hits “send” instead of that little “x.”

“sh*t.”

No no no no no NONONONONO.

She drops her phone immediately, wrapping her robe tighter around herself as she scrambles for her bedroom door, nearly tripping over her rug in the process.

Peter’s sitting on the couch, blissfully unaware, when his phone pings. And to Michelle’s utter horror, he picks it up.

“NO!” MJ shouts, jumping on top of him. It’s a futile attempt really, seeing as her best friend—she stupidly forgets—is an actual superhero.

Peter yelps as she pushes him down into the couch, tumbling onto the floor, holding his phone away from her grabby hands as she straddles his hips. “What the f*ck—” And while he could push her off of him with a ridiculous amount of ease, he stills, becoming suddenly aware of their precarious position.

“Gimme your phone!” Her voice comes out in a half-plea, half-demand. All panic.

Peter still holds it away from her, his own brand of panic flashing across his features when his other hand naturally falls at her hip. He yanks it away, instead holding her back by the shoulder. “Why?”

It’s also then that he sees what she’s wearing—or rather, what she isn’t wearing.

And in his distraction, Michelle snatches his phone, instinctively throwing it across the room. She winces apologetically when he looks up at her, jaw dropped and brow wrinkled.

“What the hell, MJ—”

“—I’m sorry! I panicked!”

“Why?!”

“I—”

It’s then, as they both stare at each other in shock, that they both realize the position they’re in—but neither of them seem to be able to move away, frozen solid on the living room floor.

Peter can feel his heart beating relentlessly in his ears, his throat suddenly going dry when he notices how tightly Michelle’s thighs are holding him in place. Another problem starts to arise when he sees how her cotton robe is pooled around their aligned hips, his eyes catching the sliver of shiny pink underwear when one side falls back. “What—” He clears his throat, his voice coming out uncharacteristically breathy. “—What was on my… my phone?”

“Uh—” She presses her lips together. “A picture.”

Peter’s gaze drifts lower for a split second, dipping to the exposed dip in her chest, drawn to the rise and fall with each breath. “Of?”

“Me?”

“You?”

MJ breathes out a laugh, glancing down. “I, uh—accidentally sent… You a picture. Well—I meant to send it to you, not that like, it wasn’t for you, but I kinda decided not to send it… and then… I did. Accidentally.”

And even though he’s trying everything in his power to keep his eyes on her face, he can’t help the way they seem to travel lower and lower with each second. He’s confused at first, but then, it hits him, like a train, what exactly that picture was. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

The air crackles between them, static in their ears. Michelle finds her own gaze drifting lower, lingering on his parted lips, a warmth pooling in the pit of her stomach. She shifts slightly, her breath catching as she suddenly feels the hardness pressing into the inside of her thigh. Peter stares up at her, something in his eyes bringing her closer, inch by inch. The warmth and weight of both of his hands tentatively, slowly moving to her waist causes something to ignite within her, and in a split-second, her lips are on his.

Michelle’s surprised to find herself… well—surprised—at how this kiss doesn’t immediately turn into an all tongue-and-teeth, ripping-eachother’s-clothes-off kiss. It’s sweet. Slow and tender—as if the two of them are savoring it. Nothing like she’d expected Peter to be capable of. Nothing like how he’d painted himself to be from all of his hook-up stories.

And she’s not entirely sure who’s “fault” it is when it turns into more.

It could be the way she’s subtly grinding her hips against his, her body alight with the friction.

It could be how his tongue swipes over her bottom lip, innocently at first.

It could be her soft, breathy whines as one of his hands moves lower to cup her ass, pulling her closer, the new angle against his hardness bringing an indescribable feeling.

And then again, it could be her robe starting to fall off her shoulders—she’s not sure who starts that, but all of a sudden she’s feeling cool air on her skin.

She almost smiles into the kiss, thinking about how easily and quickly this “chaste” kiss had shifted.

And it’s immediately after that thought that she snaps out of it.

“Wait!” She says, pulling back and sitting up—but still staying in Peter’s lap. Before this can go any further, she has to tell him the truth. He has to be able to… back out of it.

Where this sudden sense of generosity’s come from, she has no idea.

He follows, sitting up with her, brows creasing, his expression a concoction of worry and panic. “Oh, f*ck. I’m so sorry—”

“No!” She puts a hand on his shoulder after fixing her robe. Her thumb smooths over the fabric of his shirt. “No. It’s… fine. I just…” Surprisingly, she finds herself chuckling, unable to bite back her smile as he looks at her with concern.

“What is it, Em?”

It’s the nickname for her nickname that does it for her. Truly.

“You good?” He asks, wincing as she shifts in his lap again.

“Yeah, uh—” She coughs, trying unsuccessfully to hide the way her lips are twitching violently as she fights her smile. It takes her more than a few moments, the deep breaths she’s taking not doing all that much to help mask the humor in her tone. “—I know about No Nut November.”

At first, Peter’s confused, staring back at her with furrowed brows, his mouth in a cute little ‘o’. He tries to play dumb, maybe thinking that he can get away with one final attempt to save his pride—letting out a nervous chuckle, scratching the back of his neck, he shrugs. “Yeah, my new diet. Crazy, huh?”

She blinks, blankly staring at him. “Peter.” There’s some amusem*nt there, especially as she pointedly glances down to their current position.

“What?” He asks dumbly.

“Ned told me.”

Peter curses, wincing. “Damn it, Ned.”

“Yeah…” In a strange, very unwelcome bout of insecurity, Michelle removes her hands from Peter’s shoulders, twiddling her fingers together in front of her. “I made him tell me… and I kinda… also made him let me in on the bet.”

His eyes nearly bug out of his head. “What?!”

“We kinda made our own bet that like… If you lasted less than a week, I would get all the money.”

“You didn’t think I’d last a week?” Peter almost takes offense at that, even if there’s merit to her prediction. “Damn, MJ…”

“I mean… I also wanted to win. So… I kinda tried—or I guess have been trying… to sabotage you?”

At that, his jaw drops. “No! Wait—You—What? I—” He stammers like that, his brain short-circuiting as she still watches from his lap. “That was—what? The p*rn? On my laptop?”

MJ nods, grimacing.

“The… underwear? Just in the couch?”

“Yeah…”

“And you were gonna…” He looks down at her, the cotton robe still just barely tied around her—the journey his eyes make also coinciding with his mouth going dry once again. “...That picture you took…?”

She nods again, looking down at her hands.

“Putting your head on my lap?!” He asks, as if he of all people is scandalized.

“That wasn’t part of the plan. That was kinda what helped me figure out that… I could just… do it myself.”

“Oh my God,” he puts a hand on his face. “The popsicle. The f*cking popsicle.”

“That was probably my best work, honestly.”

“That was so cruel.”

And when he laughs, his eyes crinkling, she starts to see that maybe this will all be okay, and a sense of relief fills her chest. “Yeah, sorry. I also had Felicia help.”

“You put her up to that?!”

“Nah. She offered. I felt kinda weird about it—” She says the last part without realizing it, immediately shutting her mouth.

“That’s why I said no,” Peter replies.

It’s Michelle’s turn to be surprised. “What? Really? I thought it was just ‘cause you were so dedicated to this whole no nut thing.”

“I mean, yeah, I was but—” He laughs, reaching a hand up to smooth the curls at the base of his neck. “—I just… felt weird about it. With you guys being friends and all.”

The way MJ’s heart flutters is strange, but not entirely unwelcome. “Why would that be weird?”

“Why did you think it’d be weird?” He throws back, his lips twisting into a curious grin.

And not for the first time when talking to Peter, Michelle feels all knowledge of the English language leave her body. It’s strange, how much confidence she can have while literally dry-humping him on the living room floor, but how scared she can be trying to explain something about how she feels.

She only shrugs.

A beat passes, and still, Michelle can’t bring herself to move.

“So…” Peter draws out after another moment. “All that—” he clears his throat. “—stuff… that was just to win that bet?”

“Well, I mean—yeah?” The look of hurt on his face makes her heart lurch in her chest. She’s quick to correct herself. “But—I… I think maybe that could be a good thing.”

His brows raise in careful curiosity, though he still seems apprehensive. “A good thing?” He asks slowly.

Michelle nods, swallowing. “Uh—Yeah. ‘Cause… If I hadn’t then I wouldn’t have figured out that—um… I might—” It’s weird, how frustrating it is that she can’t seem to find the words she wants to say, that her brain seems to have completely abandoned her in her greatest, most dire time of need. And this shouldn’t be this hard. She’s an adult. She’s in her third year of college.

Confessing the feelings that you’ve just realized you have for your best friend since high school should be easy right?

Right?

And she’s only just figured this out. In the last five seconds. That all these years of weird feelings, long glances, warm faces has actually lead to something, they’ve actually meant something other than a weird stomach bug or whatever.

All it took was attempted sabotage during No Nut November for her to realize that.

The power it has.

“MJ?”

His voice grabs her attention; the caution in his tone snapping her gaze to his. And for a moment, she just looks at him, mouth hanging open as she tries to say something, anything. But still, she can’t.

So, she does the next best thing.

She kisses him—again—trying her best to put all of the words she can’t seem to figure out into it. And although he kisses her back—easily—he doesn’t seem to understand what she means, because he pulls away not ten seconds later.

“Listen—MJ—” Peter stammers, running a jittery hand through his hair as he breathes out a huff of laughter. “—I don’t think I can do—” He gestures between the two of them. “—This… if it’s just… casual.”

So, he really didn’t get it, and now, she’s feeling the impatience creeping up her neck.

“I really like you, MJ,” he confesses, and for a moment, she’s not sure if she heard him right, or if she heard him speak at all. Her brain must be playing some nasty, cold-hearted trick on her, because Peter—perpetually single and ready to mingle Peter—just said that he liked her.

God, she feels like she’s a teenager again. It feels so high school, the amount of butterflies in her stomach hearing him say that.

Even more so when she finds herself responding automatically, “I really like you, too.”

“Cool,” he says lamely, his breathless chuckle making her heart flutter in her chest.

He doesn’t waste another second before he tugs her back to him, capturing her lips to his, one of his hands moving to cup the underside of her jaw. She tilts her head, letting out a gentle sigh as he deepens the kiss. His tongue brushes against her lips before slipping into her mouth. The weight of his other hand on her waist is comforting in a way, heavy and solid as he holds her in place.

Truly, she hadn’t expected any of her plans from earlier in the week to come to this.

Instinctively, her hand snakes down to his hips, sliding underneath the hem of his t-shirt and dragging across his stomach, smiling into the kiss as his muscles twitch underneath her touch. It’s then, as her hand dips even lower, palming him over his sweats that he seems to snap out of whatever trance she put him in.

He grabs her wrist—gently, of course—pulling it away and breaking the kiss.

His chest is heaving with each breath, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in an apologetic smile. “I—I can’t—the… the bet.”

And it dawns on Michelle then, that she’s been co*ckblocked by No Nut November.

Even though she tries to appear understanding, he must be able to see the disappointment in the twist of her lips, the way she nods quietly.

“But—” He starts, pressing his mouth together into a thin line. He nudges her, pointing his finger as he’s hit with a revelation, talking slowly. “—You’re not… doing… No Nut November…”

MJ lets out a surprised laugh, shifting in his lap as her face warms even more. A beat passes as she stares at him, giving him a chance to take it back. “Are you sure?” She finally asks.

Peter nods quickly, insistently. He’s got this. Clearly. “Oh. Yeah. Definitely. I’ll be fine.”

Yeah, she’s not sure how much of that she actually believes.

Probably none of it.

But, that doesn’t mean she’s turning down the offer.

“Okay…” She trails off, unable to bite back her grin at the brief self-doubt that flashes across his features. “What do you—what do you wanna do?” She asks, her face burning, suddenly finding herself the slightest bit tongue tied. It takes everything in her to at least look calm and not like she’s about a half-second away from just jumping his bones.

Or, one in particular.

Peter clears his throat, the tips of his ears turning an adorable shade of red. “Uh—” He huffs out a laugh. “I mean… Whatever you’re comfortable with? I’m cool with whatever you want.”

He’s cool. Okay. Yeah.

She shifts her weight again, biting back a smirk when he inhales sharply as she brushes against the hardness in his gray sweats. “Sorry.” Feeling merciful, Michelle climbs off of his lap, sitting back against the couch, curling her legs underneath her. “Any ideas?”

Though, Peter can’t seem to tell if he’s happy with this new development or not—as hard as it was having her sitting on him. “Um—” And his expression tells her that he does have one. “I could…” He coughs again. “I could go down on you?”

It’s funny, how casually he says it, like he’s offering to give her a ride to the airport, or something. But it still makes her ears ring.

“Yeah,” she says, nodding slowly. She swallows. “That sounds—that sounds good.”

“We should probably—” He gestures to his bedroom door, huffing out a laugh. “—not do this out here.”

“Probably,” she snorts.

The speed at which he scrambles to stand and runs to his bedroom, compared to her somewhat-leisurely pace, makes her let out the most undignified laugh.

A silence falls between them as he shuts the door, the click echoing. MJ takes a moment to glance around his room—literally a single moment, because in the next he’s wrapping his arm around her waist, yanking her to him and crashing his lips to hers. His hands are greedy, twisting handfuls of the soft fabric of her robe, finding purchase on her ass and grinding her against his hardness.

MJ revels in the groan he lets out as she melts into him, her hands winding themselves in his soft curls, twisting and tugging ever so slightly.

He guides her to the bed, pausing to gently lay her back on the mattress before crawling over her, his mouth finding itself on the underside of her jaw, his lips and tongue dragging along the column of her throat. With one hand, he prises her legs apart, happily settling between them while his other fumbles with the tie of her robe.

His eyes meet hers first, silently asking for permission, before pulling the thick string back. His eyes darken as Michelle helps him slip the robe back, leaving her almost completely bare underneath him. He unconsciously wets his lips as his eyes hungrily rake over the expanse of her body—he feels as if the only accurate description for how he feels at this moment being a deer caught in really well-defined headlights.

She thinks for a moment that he’s just going to do this—stare at her—instead of, well, what he said he’d do.

But he doesn’t seem to have that kind of patience. He lurches forward, his mouth hot on her neck, trailing open-mouthed, wet kisses down to her collarbone, her sternum, the swell of her right breast.

She bites back a gasp as he takes her nipple into his mouth, her back arching off the bed as his tongue swirls around it, palming the other with his hand. It’s a sight to see for sure, Peter’s head on her chest, his curls tickling her skin.

His trail continues, back to the dip in her chest, lower and lower, his kisses hot on her stomach, down to her hips, the lace trim of her thong.

Peter sits back on his heels, breathless as he looks down at her. “f*ck—” He curses, drawn to the damp patch in the middle of the soft faux-satin, how it clings to her.

He doesn’t give it another second, hooking his thumbs around the lace and roughly pulling them off of her legs.

He’s diving his head down in the next instant, his lips leaving scorching kisses on the inside of her thighs. He thinks that he can maybe tease her, trying to slow his pace as he gets closer and closer to where she wants him to be.

(Okay, it’s where he wants to be, too.)

He pulls back a little, trying not to smile too much at the disappointed edge in her shuddering sigh. As much as his mouth waters with her so close to him, he controls himself. Kind of. To a degree. He takes a finger, experimentally teasing her entrance, his sweats—somehow—tightening at Michelle’s quiet gasp as he touches her. There, he collects her wetness, coating his finger in her arousal, swirling it over her c*nt, around her cl*t. And he sits there, marveling at how impossibly wet she is already.

Though, it’s not long, probably less than a minute, before his impatience kicks in again.

He thinks he might actually die if he doesn’t eat her out.

Dramatic? Maybe.

Valid?

Who’s to say?

But he can’t help himself, and any thought about slowing down is thrown out the window as he licks a long stripe up her center, his eyes rolling back as he tastes her. He dives right back in, his tongue circling her entrance, lapping her up.

And Michelle can’t help but notice how at home he looks between her legs, how in his element he is as he moves to start sucking on her cl*t, flicking it back and forth with his tongue as he teases her with two fingers.

His eyes meet hers and she wonders how on earth she’s going to survive this, especially when those two fingers push into her, curling as he pumps them in and out.

“sh*t—Peter!” She cries, her back fully lifting off the mattress as he picks up his pace, moaning against her.

Clearly he’s enjoying this, too.

A choked gasp slips from her lips when he slows suddenly, his eyes locking with hers again before picking back up even harder and faster than before. She reaches down, tangling her hand in his messy curls, holding him in just that right spot. Her thighs try to close on him, trapping him in as the coil in her tightens, but his free hand grips her, holding her in place. And she can’t fight the way her hips buck against him as she begins to grind herself against his face.

It builds and builds, teetering just on that beautiful edge, when Peter adds a third finger—and then, she’s seeing stars, her brain going fuzzy as all of her muscles tense, electricity shooting from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. She comes with a strangled moan, panting as her body’s overcome with pleasure.

Peter’s movements slow, and he pulls off of her sensitive cl*t, wiping his mouth with the back of his arm, before taking each finger into his mouth, sucking them clean.

MJ sits up on her elbows, her chest heaving with each breath as she watches him—and at that moment, her eyes drawn to the hard line in his sweats, she curses No Nut November again, because honestly, she’s never wanted him to f*ck her more, never been so angry at a single month.

He seems to be in the same fire, his expression wrought with the inner turmoil he feels. His eyes screw shut, and he pinches the bridge of his nose, trying desperately to ignore how painfully hard he is, how he can feel his dick pulsing already, and how stupidly hot and beautiful MJ is.

His decision’s made before he opens his eyes.

Michelle lets out a surprised yelp as he leaps on top of her, his mouth on hers before she can start laughing. Somehow, his hands are greedier as they explore her body, squeezing and kneading her breasts, her waist, her hips, down to her ass.

None of that’s to say that she’s complaining, though. Peter just ate her out like it was his full-time job, like he was stopping crime as Spider-Man. As far as she’s concerned, he can do whatever he wants right now.

It’s when he starts to take his sweats—and boxers—off that she gets confused, if not a little too hopeful.

“What about the bet?” She asks breathlessly when he pulls back.

He holds her gaze, his lips curving into a sly grin. “f*ck the bet.”

If there’s a god, Michelle wants to thank her right now.

Peter’s hands grip her thighs, his fingers digging into her skin as he wraps them around his waist. He takes his dick in his hand, pumping a few times, swiping it down her center, tapping her cl*t, before Michelle suddenly remembers to use their one collective brain cell.

“Wait—” she gasps. “Condom.”

Peter curses under his breath, hanging his head for a moment, biting his lip. “Yeah. Yeah. You’re right.”

If she thought he was fast running to the bedroom, watching him scramble through his bedside drawers looking for a rubber is something else. A giggle—a f*cking giggle—bubbles up out of her at his relief when he finds one.

He rolls it on quickly, expertly, days of No Nut November clearly not slowing him down.

He’s back on her in the next second, eager as he gathers her arousal and coating himself with it.

They both let out a string of curses as he pushes into her—finally. Peter screws his eyes shut, taking a shuddering breath as he feels how warm and snug she is around him, almost unable to believe how well she fits him. MJ grips his shoulder, face burning as he gives her a moment to adjust, a moment to take all of him in.

When he starts to move, they both wonder again why they hadn’t been doing this in the first place.

As with everything else, Peter doesn’t waste their time. Even though he revels in how f*cking amazing she feels around him, how he can’t even remember the last time this felt so good, so right, he picks up a steady pace, f*cking into her like it’s the last chance he’ll get. He hikes her leg higher on his waist, the new, deeper angle causing Michelle to arch her back, a wet moan ripping through her.

“Peter—” She chants his name over and over, unable to say anything else as his hips snap into hers. “f*ck—”

“God, MJ, you’re so f*cking good,” his voice is almost a growl, lower and more desperate than he’s ever sounded. “Taking me so well.”

Michelle should’ve guessed he was one for dirty talk, though she can’t say she’s surprised.

Or that she minds.

Peter bites back a groan, stilling momentarily as she clenches around him, burying his face in the crook of her neck. He’s already so close, teetering just on the edge, but he’s filled with a sense of determination at the sting of her nails digging into his shoulders.

His hand trails down her stomach, his thumb pressing her cl*t, scrubbing furiously as he pumps in and out of her. She squeezes him again, head thrown back, slack-jawed as he tilts her hips even further, the new angle causing a string of curses to spill from her lips. Her muscles spasm around him as she comes for a second time, her eyes screwed shut as she clings to him for dear life. His own org*sm crashes over him, and he moans loudly into her skin, holding her to him , fingers digging into her hips as he comes undone.

It’s something MJ can’t help but want to see again. And again.

He flops down on top of her, his head on her chest as he struggles to catch his breath.

Her hand comes to smooth down his curls at the nape of his neck, and she smiles as he shifts his head to look up at her.

“God, f*ck No Nut November,” He breathes into her skin.

A light laugh bubbles up out of her.

He lets out a heavy sigh. “What day is it?” He asks.

“November fifth.”

He groans, squeezing his eyes shut. “Damn.” He pulls out of her, standing up to throw the condom away, almost missing the bin in the corner of the room.

“You made it longer than I thought you would,” Michelle laughs.

Peter flops down next to her, his eyes narrowed, though there’s still a smile on his face. “What?”

“Well, yeah. I bet Ned that you wouldn’t last a week,” she replies, patting him on the chest as she gets up, disappearing into the bathroom.

Peter’s eyes widen before he covers them with his hands. “Oh. sh*t. Ned.”

He’s still there when she comes back; still naked, too.

“Ned, doesn’t have to know,” MJ says, falling back into the bed with him.

Peter peeks out from underneath his arm. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. We can like, pretend you’re still doing it.”

There’s a crooked grin on Peter’s face as he stares at her—a look that makes her insides gooey and heart fuzzy.

And she hates how much she doesn’t hate it.

“And when Betty inevitably breaks Ned,” she shrugs. “We can split the money.”

He shakes his head, amazed and somewhat scandalized. “MJ, you’re a genius.”

Again, she shrugs.

“So, we can keep doing—” He gestures between them, brows raised. “—And let Ned lose. The money’s ours.”

“Right.”

He lamely sticks his hand out, offering for her to shake on it.

“Deal?” He asks.

She kisses him. “Deal.”

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no more hints

changbin has always been telling you his love in the most subtle ways. unfortunately, you don’t hear any of it.

pairing: changbin x reader

genre: fluff

wc: 1.7k

warnings: none :D

author’s msg: i hope you like this mess!

Pursuing you is hard work.

This is what Changbin realized after months of dropping hints of his affection towards you.

Months of subtly stealing glances and brushes of skin trying to feel your warmth even just for a second; months of walking you to your home because yours is fortunately on his way and frankly, to make every second with you last longer; and months of trying not to blurt out the fact that he likes you and scare you away.

It was a long patience of pouring his feelings through small gestures and hoping that one day, you’ll get to see his honest heart.

He honestly thought he could go on like this forever until he was hit with the fact that he is not the only man in your life that could be crushing — hard — on you.

Suddenly, the man who kept asking if he can sit beside you in history class became a threat. The man who always teases you in your theater club became an eyesore. It was these moments that made him realize just how attractive you could be and how any man could fall head over heels for you, if only they made the effort to get to know you. He, of course, did it like it credits 99% of his final grade in the subject called you, and it would make him climb to rank first in your heart. He was only thankful that you are not even one bit interested.

However, your disinterest is also what frustrates him the most because that means he doesn’t stand a chance. Despite the years of friendship, he is at the bottom level with the other men and this fueled the competitive fire in his heart.

He wants to get to know you more, he wants to take you out on dates, he wants to hold your hands and feel your hand curl against his palm, he wants to go on spontaneous trips with you, or just lazily lounge on the couch with your head on his lap. He wants to do a lot more things with you but without the lingering threat of men around you and he could only do that by upping his game.

He bought you flowers, the bouquet that was worth so much to make sure he is properly expressing his love. He even requested an arrangement that does not exist in the flower shop’s menu just so he could personalize it for you. Three red ruby roses with a sprinkle of pink gypsophila wrapped in foil and mesh, just like how he thinks you’d like it. He’d always give you one after your shows.

He also bought you chocolates and it wasn’t the typical one you’d see in grocery stores or convenience stores, it was the expensive chocolates that could be overpriced but are only a mere change for him. He doesn’t want you to feel cheap. He wants you to feel special because that’s what you are to him, so a little effort is nothing.

During the days he knows you would be sulking in the comfort of your home, he’d bring you your favorite takeouts. Lots of them. And he’d eat with you until you feel full, and stay with you until you feel better.

He made sure you feel as much of his love even though what he did is still nowhere near the overflowing emotions he has for you. Yet despite the enthusiasm he has in doing those things, was the lack of reactions he got from you. There were thank you’s and smiles and a hug every once in a while that would constrict his breathing as he felt your body against his.

In those times he thought that maybe, this was a hopeless case. That your reaction was a big red sign that he ignored.

He loves you, he truly does. He wants you to know and keep it in your heart, but if in exchange is your comfort towards him then he’d much rather keep it to himself and let it pass. Maybe it will pass once he gets it off his chest. So one night, while you and him were walking side to side to your apartment, he dropped the affection bomb.

“I’m sorry for doing all those things, ” you turned to look at him in surprise, your big eyes capturing him all over again. Suddenly, there’s a lump in his throat that prevents him from confessing. But this has to be done. His love for you that only keeps growing no matter how much he tries has to end.

“I mean the flowers, the chocos and everything. I just- I don’t know how to do this, my god, but I just want you to know that I love you. Very much. And I am sorry for making you uncomfortable. I’ll stop, i swear just- just don’t be awkward, ” he tried catching his breath after the confession that honestly sounded like a rap because of how fast he talked out of nervousness.

It was the right thing to do, he thought. Maybe it was time to give up until he felt warmth on his cheeks and a soft feeling pressed on his lips.

You were kissing him and the world felt like it was turned upside down.

You were kissing him and it was your pathetic attempt of saying you want to keep him.

You built an ice cold, rock solid wall around your heart before you entered university simply because you wanted to focus on your degree and your passion for the stage. You know you can achieve so much and you are determined to do so, even if you have to block all possible distractions. But all of your efforts came crashing down as soon as Changbin’s warmth reached your heart in all ways possible, melting the barrier you so desperately built.

He was the comfort of your mattress after a long day of rehearsals or the first sip of coffee in a groggy morning. Just his presence alone tingles your heart, and his actions, a whole dust of pink on your cheeks.

He confuses you most of the time. There are times where the back of his hand would brush with yours during a walk and you thought you saw him try to reach for it in the briefest moment. But there are also times where he’d be looking at you with an unreadable expression, then he’d look away with a face that you guessed was disappointment. You were always left thinking what you did.

As if those weren’t enough, he suddenly went out of his ways to give you things normal friends don’t give. Bouquets after your performances, chocolates whenever he feels like it, and takeouts that are enough to last you a day. And although it did a flip in your stomach, you can’t help but smile in guilt because it is everything that you hate: you hate flowers, and you are allergic to chocolates.

Flowers are conventional and predictable, much more a rose. That’s why you hated receiving one. You don’t think a rose holds sincerity, it is merely the first choice one would go to when in a love crisis. It was a no brainer choice but is sure to swoon the receiver. But since Changbin gave you not one but three, you guessed could always make adjustments.

Your body, however, could not make adjustments for the chocolates. Screw allergies. One bite and not a moment later, itchy rashes are to appear on your skin. Even the smell of chocolates has you gagging due to memory of your almost death (exaggeration, i know). You can’t do anything about it, but you can pretend to be fine under your jacket after a bite, just so you can tell Changbin that you appreciate it.

You don’t hate takeouts, you hate how it makes you look bloated and puffy, not really a look you want to show Changbin. You alway hide under a thick blanket on the sofa so he wouldn’t see your face situation.

You appreciate him, you really do. But it was just so confusing. And when you thought you heard him say what you’ve been wanting to hear one night, he quickly took it back. Panic got to you when you realized he was backing up and before you knew it, you were pressing yourself on him. The walls built for your sake are broken by the thing it was supposed to protect.

Just like that, both of you couldn’t believe that as of the moment, as the sunlight peeking from your curtains hit your bed, the two of you were cuddling under the blanket in the morning daze. Your fingers caressing his hair and his arms wrapped loosely around your waist. He hummed as he moved his head trying to feel you more.

“Why are you awake already?” he asked in his sleepy deep voice that sounds like pure velvet.

“Good morning to you too, ” you replied with a lazy giggle. He moved the both of you so he was laying on top of you, his head facing sideways while nuzzling your chest.

There is this weird comforting feeling he feels when he can hear your heartbeat so vividly close. Before, he could only imagine being this intimate with you. He must admit that nothing compares with your skin actually touching his touch-starved ones.

“You’re heavy.” He lazily opened his eyes at your remark and saw the dried roses you displayed on your side table. The one that was awfully familiar.

“Why do you still have that?”

“You gave them.”

“You hate flowers.”

“You gave them, ” your answer was certain.

He looked up at you at the same time you looked down at him and a connection sparked between your eyes, one that was hidden desperately months ago. He tightened his arms around you and kissed your chin to your lips to the tip of your nose.

The soft plants of his lips made you giggle and its wakes burn in want.

“I’d give you more.”

Because pursuing you is hard work and he’d go through it all over again because you’re worth it.

And loving him is easy and you’d break your walls all over again because he’s worth it.

And the subtle game is done, finally. No more hints of his heart, just full confession of his genuine love.

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listen guys it’s 2 in the morning again bc i have no job again and i’ve got a podcast episode to record tomorrow and a job i don’t want to apply for this week and f*ck, i’m about to f*cking cry over f*cking supernatural, and destiel. I found a speedrun of relevant dean/cas episodes about a week and a half ago and on a whim decided to sort of catch up before the last episode and. f*ck. i’ve consumed like sixty episodes straight, jumping from place to place with next to no context. i have stayed up til five in the goddamn morning, twice, watching this show. i have watched more supernatural in the last 15 hours than i’d watched in its whole 15 years, and guys. f*ck.

Supernatural has been on the periphery of my fandom experience for as long as I’ve been in fandom. It premiered in the autumn of ‘05 and I discovered fanfiction.net in the summer of ‘06. I heard of it for the first time reading a crossover with Pirates of the Caribbean of all things later that year. I read multiple Criminal Minds crossovers where the FBI tracks the Winchesters on LiveJournal a few years later. I remember a fanartist I liked for Artemis Fowl writing long essays on Deviantart about her ambivalence towards Castiel, and her annoyance at wincest shippers jumping ship to dean/castiel (this was before the portmanteau shipname vogue). I remember spn from years before it hit tumblr and the floodgates opened wide, long before it became one of the three sacred pillars of fandom from ‘11 to ‘13. f*ck, I remember learning about a/b/o from an Inception kink meme that had to link to a Fanlore page for Supernatural to explain what the requester wanted.

I remember all of this from a fandom I was never really a part of, and I say this not to assert some sort of moral or intellectual superiority but just because at the time it never spoke to me. I’ve know plenty of people who adored spn, who wrote fic, made art, compiled the gifsets its fandom became legendary for, and having finally, finally, here at the end of all things actually watched it, (well, some small salient portion of it) I just wanna say:

f*ck, I am so proud of this fandom. You have done incredible, legendary things. You have made art, drawings, paintings, photoedits, gifsets, cosplay. You have written millions, billions of words of fanfiction and essays and passionate reactions. You have created infrastructure and culture and were an integral part of fandom’s migration from web 1.0 to 2.0, from the ‘journals to tumblr and twitter (for better and for worse). You created one of the first spontaneous crossover fandoms in history. You made history. You inspired paradigm-shifting debate about everything from misogyny in horror tropes to the pitfalls of parasocial relationships. You challenged what we could expect from creators in terms of representation and respect. You demanded better than queerbaiting and denial, and yet persisted in spite of it, for fifteen years.

Listen, I don’t know if this show deserves you, though I suspect it does not. And yes, this fandom, like all fandoms, has had a host of drama ranging from the silly to the horrific, and I won’t pretend it hasn’t. But every megafandom has those troubles; you genuinely were not somehow the worst fandom ever, (far from it) and this post is not about that. This is about how utterly, profoundly inspiring this fandom has been, in its fervor, in its dedication, in its absolute joy that f*cking frankly, too many people have tried for too damn long to crush. Here’s to all of you, refusing to back down and bearing mocking and hate from the cringe culture crowd and the creators alike. Here’s to those who’ve been in this ride since the bush administration, and here’s to those who jumped on right here at the very end, like I did. I’m glad to have known this fandom, long before I knew this show.

I’m proud of you, and you all should be proud of yourselves. So no matter how this final episode goes down, no matter how exalting, joyful, and satisfying, or how bitterly disappointing, please, please. Be proud of yourselves. This fandom is a part of history, a seismic event, an indelible mark on the geologic record of fandom and the internet. You have done incredible things. You have inspired me, and I’ve barely seen Supernatural. Imagine, and remember, all the ways you’ve inspired each other. I’m glad to have lived and been in fandom during its reign.

(I’m actually tearing up a little as I write this, which could just be from allergies and sleep deprivation, but let’s be real, it’s not the allergies and sleep deprivation.)

Thank you, Supernatural fandom. Carry on.

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1102

survey by joybucket

What color are your eyes?They are dark brown. They’re actually really more of black because of how dark they are, but that sounds creepy so let’s just go with really really dark brown.

What's your favorite type of milk?I don’t take a lot of milk and am not familiar with most of them.

What's your passion?What a deep, introspective question three questions into this survey lmao. My interests are always changing so I don’t really give much thought into this. I don’t let myself be bound to just one thing.

What's your favorite color?I really like the way baby pink looks on everything.

Are you shy?Sure, but I’m trying to break out of that shell. Based from hundreds of past experiences, being shy is the easiest way to be forgettable and I’m tired of people never remembering my name or anything about me.

What is/was your favorite school subject?History. Anything about it I will surely enjoy.

Do you celebrate Christmas?Yes.

What's your favorite quote?I don’t keep track of quotes.

What is your natural hair color?It’s black.

Do you like it?There’s nothing to complain about. I’d love to have it dyed just to try out something new with my look, because it’s been black and untouched for 23 years; I guess it’s just a matter of when I’ll push through with it.

Are you happy with the way you look?I wish some aspects were different, like my hair to be less frizzy, my front teeth to be straight, my eyesight to be clearer, etc. But it’s also whatever; I don’t really focus on these things too much as I’ve never been the type of person to concentrate on my physical looks.

What would you change about your appearance if you could?^ Well, those things I listed. Also, to have boobs?? Puberty never did anything for me in that department.

What would you change about your bedroom if you could?I’d move the bed up against the wall because that’s always been more my vibe. If I had the energy, I’d buy a storage container and place all Gab-related stuff in there so I can finally hide away those things (but not entirely throw them out). I would also fix my closet, all three sections of it. I’d also love to get a homey and soothing night lamp and be able to regularly buy scented candles to de-stress at the end of the day. In other news, my room has remained stale for so long and needs a revamp HAHAHA.

Are you rich or poor?I’d say we are in the middle, but our financial situation throughout Covid has been making me increasingly worry.

Are you double jointed?Nope.

What's the most physically painful thing you've ever experienced?The time I ripped my ear piercing, and my foot infection from snorkeling. Also getting my blood drawn, but that’s only because I’m a big baby when it comes to sharp things.

Do you like shots?See above.

Are you afraid of spiders?Our spiders are never too large or look menacing where I live, so not really. I’m aware of how big they can get in other places though so I totally understand the widespread hatred for spiders lol.

Have you ever had an allergic reaction to something?Not sure if it’s an allergy, but my legs quickly get irritated if they’re exposed in a grassy area for too long. My face also doesn’t seem to appreciate face masks, (the skincare kind), but I’m not sure if that’s an allergic reaction or if face masks are meant to do that.

Name a food that you like that's green.Green curry, or broccoli.

Do you like to read?Yes. More of non-fiction, though. I haven’t read a fiction book since I wasssss probably in middle school or early high school.

Do you know what your purpose in life is?No. I don’t stress out over stuff like this lol, I just make sure I’m happy where I am and at the same time, still feel fulfilled with the things I’m doing.

Are you lonely?I can be, but I guess it’s just meant to happen sometimes.

What's something you are good at?Reading people. Sometimes to my benefit, sometimes otherwise.

What's a color that looks great on you?Olive green and maroon are my favorite shades.

What's something you would like to improve at?Being creative. My work requires a lot of it and I end up being a sh*tty teammate whenever we have to do brainstorming, because I literally just stay to the side, unable to think of anything.

Do you believe you have great potential?Yes.

What's one word to describe you?Right now? Tired.

Are you spiritual?Nope.

What's one thing that you get a lot of compliments on?My writing.

What's one hidden talent that you have?I dunno if it counts as a talent but I memorize a great deal of songs from Jay-Z and Kanye’s Watch the Throne album, which has always been a fun‘talent’ to whip out and surprise friends with when we’re partying at a club/bar and a song from the album is suddenly played.

What are three girls' names that you really like?I love Olivia, Mia, and Harper. I’ve probably listed those names a thousand times on these surveys by now.

What are three boys' names that you really like?I like Liam, Mason, and Lucas.

What is the most beautiful scenery you have ever beheld?The prettiest place I’ve been to was probably Palawan.

What is your favorite pizza topping?Just cheese is fine with me. If that doesn’t count, bell peppers come second. I can definitely live without the other usual toppings like pepperoni, beef, etc.

Name a food that you like that's red.I said green curry in the green foods question, and I’ll answer red curry here, haha.

Are you color blind?Nope.

Have you ever had a crush?Yes.

Can you type fast?I can and I do on a daily basis.

What's your favorite type of cereal?Erm, I’ve never tried them before but I’m drawn to cereals that are rather sweet lol, like Reese’s Puffs or Hershey’s Kisses cereal line. The thing is, they’re classified as one of the luxury imported brands over here so their prices are very unreasonable for a box of cereal, and I never get to have them as a result. Otherwise I don’t enjoy cereal too much.

What is one of your dreams?I would love to have a family.

What are your top three favorite colors?Baby pink, white, and mustard yellow.

What is your favorite book?I don’t have one.

What is your favorite amusem*nt park ride?Ones that would provide enough thrill but won’t make me pass out, like the octopus.

What are three middle names you wouldn't mind having?Idk, I’m fine with my second name. I actually really like the name Isabelle and at one point I unsuccessfully tried to make it my main name, back when I still hated Robyn.

Are you flexible?Not really anymore. I used to be, kind of.

Do you consider yourself religious?Not at all. I haven’t been in around five years. I’ve been atheist since I was in the 4th grade, then I had this very sudden (but very brief) change of heart back in senior year when I started praying a lot. I went back to atheism as soon as I started university.

Are you bold?I can be, but it’s not one of my principal traits.

Are you spontaneous?It’s nice to be every once in a while, but I’m not always.

Do you have a significant other?No.

What's your pet peeve?Lateness.

How tall are you?Just a little over 5 feet, which does not classify me as tall at all.

What's your sexual orientation?Demi. I’ve also been increasingly self-identifying as asexual, so let’s go with that too.

Can you sing?Nope.

Can you dance?Nope, but I still do it when I’m alone.

Can you draw?No.

Do you play an instrument?I mean, just the recorder, but I don’t know if that counts.

What school subject do you hate the most?Chemistry. I struggled with it both in high school and in college. I hated physics and geometry too, but at least I got better at them as I got older. Chemistry is just far too complicated for me to appreciate.

What's your least favorite color?Most shades of yellow and neon green.

Do you eat healthy?I wouldn’t say I exclusively eat healthily, but I do keep a good balance in the food I consume. I enjoy my junk food as much as I like eating vegetables.

Do you think you look better with short or long hair?I’d say short.

What's a color that doesn't look good on you?White.

Are you passionate?Sure.

Are you doing the most you can with your life?Right now, with the world falling apart around me? I definitely try to. I have a great job, I spoil myself and try out new things for myself every now and then, I’ve pulled myself out from the rut I used to be in a few months ago, etc. I guess I can say I like where I am.

Are you proud of yourself for the way you are living?See above.

Do you love yourself?I've started taking a couple of steps down that path.

Do you have regrets?Sure.

Do you have wishes and dreams?Of course.

Do you have a huge secret you are keeping from the world?I suppose so.

Do you have neat handwriting?Yeah, I get quite a lot of compliments on my penmanship in general. I liked practicing my writing as soon as I learned how to properly hold a pencil, so I guess all those times served as good training.

Name a current favorite song.I dunno but Hayley is set to release a new album by tomorrow so a couple of songs from there will most definitely end up being a favorite.

List a song lyric that you like.“Can you live with what you know about yourself when you're all alone, behind closed doors?”

Are you happy?I think so. I’m definitely not as sad as I used to be.

Are you a generally optimistic person?I try to be, but I allow myself to be negative or realistic sometimes.

Have you ever had something horrible happen to you?Between deaths in the family, depression and other mental health issues, and personal life events that were less than nice, absolutely.

Have you ever been abused?Sure.

Have you ever been harassed and/or bullied?I was bullied as a kid because of my name, and as a result it was difficult to make friends for years. I’ve never been harassed though.

Do you love nature?Yes, I love being around nature when I get the chance.

Are you free-spirited?I wouldn’t consider myself that. I like being on the careful side when it comes to many things.

Are you carefree?Not really.

Would you say you are an overcomer?Yup.

Are you a good friend?I hope I am.

Do you like animals?Love them, except insects.

Do you meditate?No. I actually tried yoga for the first time yesterday because that’s what my workout app had planned for me, but I quickly learned that I am way too impatient for it, lmao. The whole session was meant to be I think 30 minutes? but I quit by like the 14-minute mark and did another program. Idk, I guess it’s just not for me.

Do you pray?No.

What month were you born in?April.

What's your favorite season?We don’t have the usual four seasons but I’m gonna go ahead and say winter because it’s what appeals to me most.

What's one place you've been to that you want to visit again?I want to keep coming back to Sagada.

What's one place you want to go that you've never visited before?Thailand.

What's your favorite type of tree?I don’t have one.

Are you laid-back?I tend to be uptight most of the time, actually.

Are you hard on yourself?Yes.

How's your self-esteem?It’s been getting better, but sometimes I still can’t help but feel insecure.

What medical conditions do you/have you had?Scoliosis.

What are you allergic to?I have had itchy, irritable reactions to face masks and grass before, but not sure if they’re allergies.

Do you like to try new things?For sure, as long as it’s not a crime or if it involves my fears lmfao. Like I would be willing to skydive or dye my hair a strange color, but I’d never scheme a burglary or jump in a tub of co*ckroaches.

What's one word to describe your style?Chic.

What's one word to describe your bedroom?Plain. I definitely need to mix it up so that it can feel more like who I am.

What's one thing you like about yourself?I like that I’ve always been able to surpass difficulties and come out a better person from them, instead of letting them consume me.

What's one thing you dislike about yourself?I need to stop blaming myself for things out of my control.

Are you competitive?To a fault.

Are you faithful?Sure.

Can you cook?Hell no.

What's your favorite restaurant?Ramen Nagi.

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Okay to Cry (Natasha Romanoff x female reader)

Hi!! Can I please make a request? Natasha romanoff and reader? Established relationship. Reader has a really really bad day and comes home crying, doing her best to hide her tears from her girlfriend but Nat finds out anyway?

As hard as you tried, you just weren’t like Nat. It’s not that you exactly always wore your emotions on your sleeve but you also didn’t think it was the end of the world to get out a healthy cry sometimes. Then there was Natasha: Trained to be this unemotional, unflinching killing machine. She wasn’t that person anymore and had come a long way in terms of emotional awareness and health but you still felt like you were the weaker one that always needed to rely on her for comfort instead of the other way around.

You wiped a couple of stray tears off on your sleeves and blinked profusely while fanning your face. Looking in the rear view mirror again you noticed that your eyes were indeed a little puffy but you could just blame it on allergies. Sighing at your predicament, you dragged your way out of your car and tried not to make too much noise fumbling with your keys at the door. You opened it as quietly as you could and stepped into the house.

“Hey, babe,” Nat’s voice came from the kitchen where you could also smell leftovers being cooked up.

“Hi!” you tried to sound like your normal chipper self but then whined at how over exaggerated that came out. She would definitely be suspicious now...

“You’re excited. Good day at work?”

“Um, yeah,” you carefully put up your coat and bag near the door so that you were facing away from your girlfriend at all times.“Addison’s birthday was today so she brought in cupcakes for everybody.”

“Ooh, those ones her boyfriend the baker does with the homemade icing?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you bring me one back?” Natasha eyed you looking up from her food and you did your best to try and just casually shrug before just naturally becoming interested in arranging the vase of flowers in the hallway. It wasn’t your worst coverup since you often went a little OCD and organized random things around the house, but you still hadn’t even looked at your girlfriend which caused her to frown in suspicion.

“Uh, no, sorry. He only made enough for everyone at work.”

“I think you’re lying,” her words pierced you with fear and you froze for a second. Trying to play it off, you fake sneezed into your elbow and then continued to take your shoes off, never looking her way.

“You’re right,” you playfully fussed back.“Sorry, I just got hungry on my way home. You know, in the traffic?”

“Y/N,” Natasha was blatantly demanding that you look her in the eyes. You cringed and took a deep breath in before putting on your best face and turning around. You couldn’t take it. The way she was looking at you with pity and concern in her eyes caused you to break down immediately.

Before you could crumble down into a little ball on the floor, Nat was by your side feeling the back of her hand across your cheeks and forehead feeling for any signs of overheating. Your crying fits were often accompanied by spontaneous fevers and the heat building up in your body usually caused you to panic even more.

“Shhh, shhh,” she pulled your hair out of your face and tied it up behind you so that your neck was uncovered.“Count with me,” she settled her hands on your shoulders and began to count down.“One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.... one, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Inhale and exhale, that’s it, baby.”

The only thing keeping you from hyperventilating was the calmness that radiated from Natasha. She was your anchor; gradually, with her soothing you could form the words you had yet to say aloud in your mouth.

“Colton’s dead,” you whimpered into her shoulder.“He was just alone in his home when he had an asthma attack and couldn’t reach the phone. His neighbors found him three days later.”

“Colton,” Nat murmured the name immediately running through every person she had met or heard of with that name. She was puzzled at first, not that you would blame her. Colton was technically your older brother though due to your abnormal childhood you didn’t even know he existed till about five years ago. You’d only met with him in person a half dozen times or so and barely knew anything about him but was technically his only living family.“Oh, kitten. I’m so sorry.”

“I know we weren’t even close; we were more like acquaintances than friends-”

“But he was still your brother,” Natasha reasoned.“It’s alright to feel sad about losing the last of your flesh and blood.”

You just nodded, understanding her reasoning in a general sense but still feeling awkward about applying it to your own situation. God, you couldn’t even think of the last conversation you had together; it was probably just your standard Christmas greetings when you called him over the holiday. The phone call was probably less than 5 minutes too. You struggled to think of anything you knew about him but couldn’t even come up with his favorite color. It felt so strange knowing that you had spent almost all of your life not even knowing an individual existed but could cry over their death like you were old friends.

But Natasha was right. Colton and you were all that remained of your family and now even he had left you. The idea of being alone in the world with no family or history wasn’t hard for you to live with while growing up, so why was it hard now all of a sudden? Still, the tears continued to wet your face and Natasha gently rocked you in her arms as you just allowed them to fall.

“We have what we have when we have it,” you repeated the words that she had somberly reminded you of so often. More and more you think you were beginning to understand what she meant.

“That’s true... but right now I have you. And I’d like to take care of you if you’d let me. I’d like to be here for you now.”

“Nat,” you let out a small, dry chuckle and wipe under your eyes.“You’re always taking care of me though. I just feel like I never get to be there for you,” you admitted the thoughts that had been weighing you down with guilt for some time now.

“But I know you will be when I need it,” she lifted your chin up, beckoning you to meet her green eyes as they radiated a cool, calming look.“I know I don’t always show it but I do need help. A lot, actually. Mostly in learning how to be human; how to feel,” she studies your face as you take in each of her words carefully.“You have no idea how much I need you. It’s okay to cry... you taught me that.”

“Okay,” you nod, finally letting yourself cry freely and without any care. Half of your tears are for the brother you never really knew but wish could have lived longer. Though your mourning is a mystery, it’s purely from the heart. The rest of your tears are shed for the woman who holds you, who you know you love more than life itself, and who you know will stay with you forever. You thank the universe for her as you allow yourself to drift off into a dreamless sleep in her arms.

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KAI ONODERA

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B A S I C S

FULL NAME: kai asahi onodera.NICKNAME(S): noneBIRTHDAY:december 27th.AGE: thirty-fourGENDER: cis man .PLACE OF BIRTH:seattle, waSEXUAL ORIENTATION :heterosexual.ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: heteroromantic. SPECIES: Human (hunter).LANGUAGE(S): english, japanese.POSITIVE TRAITS : observant, resilient, disciplinedNEGATIVE TRAITS: stoic, caustic, judgmental

P H Y S I O L O G Y

HEIGHT IN FEET: Five feet eleven inches.ETHNICITY: White & Japanese.EYE COLOR:Brown.HAIR COLOR: Black.GLASSES OR CONTACTS: Reading glasses.RIGHT OF LEFT HANDED: Right-handed.STYLE IN FASHION:Suits and leather.HANDWRITING:Clean and meticulous.SEXUAL HISTORY: Experienced.GENERAL HEALTH: Healthy.MEDICAL HISTORY: Wiped clean..ALLERGIES: None.CHRONIC ILLNESSES: None.MENTAL ILLNESS: None.HANDICAPS: None.

F A M I L Y / R E L I G I O N

FATHER: Akio Onodera.MOTHER: Adelaide Thomas.SIBLINGS(S): None.BIRTH ORDER: First and only.MARITAL STATUS: Widower.SIGNIFICANT OTHER: No one.CHILDREN: Jasmine Onodera (deceased).OTHER RELATIVES: All deceased.FRIENDS: r.i.pENEMIES: Several..PET(S): A koi fish pond.LANGUAGE(S): English, Japanese.CURRENT RESIDENCE: AshwickPLACES LIVED IN BETWEEN:Seattle, WA.DICTATION, ACCENT, ETC: None.RELIGION: Agnostic..BELIEFS: None.SUPERSTITIONS:4 and 9 are unlucky numbers.

W O R K / H O M E

EDUCATION: Bachelor’s in Science.OCCUPATION: Self-employed, private eyePLACE OF WORK: None.COWORKERS:None.STATUS & MONEY: Lower middle class.WORKSPACE: Clean and organized.EMPLOYMENT HISTORY: Worked as a science teacher before self-employmentLIVING ARRANGEMENTS: Alone in a three bedroom houseROOMMATES: None.NEIGHBORS: They're around.MAIN MODE OF TRANSPORTATION: An old chevy pickup truck

P E R S O N A L S E L E C T I O N

FOOD: Eats a bit of everything. LITERATURE:Textbooks and historical fiction.MUSIC:Classical music.CINEMA/TELEVISION:Black and white movies and TV.HOBBIES & RECREATION:Gardening.HOW THEY RELAX:Drinking whiskey and watching reruns.TALENTS: Martial arts, boxing, blade combat

P S Y C H O L O G Y

FEARS:Never finding the creature responsible for murdering his family.SECRETS: None.IQ: Above average.SLEEPING HABITS:Sleeps during the day, awake at night.EATING HABITS:Whatever there is.GROUPS OR ALONE: Alone.LEADER/FOLLOWER: Leader.PLANNED/SPONTANEOUS: Planned.JOURNAL ENTRIES: Descriptive data on supernatural creatures and their weaknesses.OBSESSIONS: Retribution..ADDICTIONS: Coffee.AS SEEN BY OTHERS: An asshole.AS SEEN BY SELF:Also an asshole.

P E R S O N A L I T Y T Y P E : I S T J

Introversion | Sensing | Thinking | Judging

Logisticians pride themselves on their integrity. People with this personality type mean what they say, and when they commit to doing something, they make sure to follow through.This personality type makes up a good portion of the overall population, and while Logisticians may not be particularly flashy or attention-seeking, they do more than their share to keep society on a sturdy, stable foundation. In their families and their communities, Logisticians often earn respect for their reliability, their practicality, and their ability to stay grounded and logical, even in the most stressful situations.

A S T R O L O G Y

♑︎ SUN : CAPRICORN

Capricorn sign is ruled by the planet Saturn, which gives people born under this sign peace, patience, perseverance and ambition. These people are able to put maximum effort into work they have chosen to do or which they were told to do. They are friendly and cheerful people, but in their essence they are serious and responsible, and everything they do is based on these attitudes. They are very strong-willed and therefore usually achieve what they want and do not leave anything to chance. In business dealings they will adhere to well-defined contracts, and they will adhere to good practices during research work for preparatory studies or in the field of art. It is interesting that these people usually choose the most challenging tasks, and obstacles actually make them stronger instead of causing them hardship. It never bothers them to start the same task again and again until they attain the best possible result. Not many people are as suitable for research activity as Capricorns.

♍︎ MOON : VIRGO

Your feeling of safety is related to order and clarity, even in emotions. You may have the need to organize everything chaotic and disorganized. Try being more tolerant and accept imperfections of life. You may be terrified to show your dark side, but this can unnecessarily include something that your mother considered unacceptable or something that was denied to you in your childhood. Suppressing healthy, but problematic passions can turn into a hidden inner desire. Great emotional intensity and suppression of natural emotions can lead you into solitude, it is better to trust life and let it run its own way, not everything must be according to your expectations.

♍︎ ASCENDANT : VIRGO

People with Virgo Ascendant develop the best through spiritual analysis, discernment and self-criticism. Application of knowledge must be appropriate and consider the benefits that it brings - it must be beneficial to the public. The focus is interest in body and health. It is necessary to carefully select negative experiences in the person´s mind and get rid of them. Beware of obsession with neatness, precision and perfection because the person loses his natural spontaneity.

Sun and Moon Summary

You struggle to get as much status and power as possible to compensate for those fears. Your greatest pleasure comes from the admiration and prestige your work provides, so like all Capricorns, you are very career minded. You are very responsible and you are not really happy until you have plenty of power. You have the resolve to conquer any barrier and incredible determination and inner strength. Logical, thrifty, and cautious Virgo in your combination links up with determined, resolute, and career minded Capricorn. Your strength is cold, hard logic and you are a person with no illusions. You see things precisely as they are because you are a total pragmatist. Fantasies are a waste of time in your book. Instead of dreaming, you plan and are practical and efficient. Deep inside you most likely feel vague fears or indecision even though you appear rough, detached, and even a little cold. You also have fantastic powers of attentiveness and quite a mind. You are astute and calculating and know how to convince people of things, but for a lot of Capricorn-Virgos, winning becomes an end in itself. Participate in all the wonders of life, including the romantic and the religious. Do not allow your job and status to be an obsession. All Moons in Virgo people are picky, but your criticisms are frequently directed at yourself. Simply trying to accept yourself is the challenge for you. Your combination is perfectly fitted for managerial and leadership roles. Your rational and shrewd mind is ideal for academic activities. After you put your mind to something, you will be content until you have mastered it completely. A stable and equal relationship is important to your psychological well-being, but you are not exceptionally romantic. You are actually quite a sensitive person no matter how removed and cool you try to be. Do not try to deny or hide that sensitivity by taking on a role that is at odds with your true nature. Neurosis or self-destructive behavior can result from the fear of actual or imagined failings in life. You despise the idea of having any weaknesses. Capricorn-Virgos are never content. Regardless of how successful you are in life, something in you always tells you that you have not gone far enough. Try to have a little more sympathy for yourself because we all have limitations. Refrain from dwelling on those tiny imperfections you are you always think you have.

Zodiac Compatibility

Best:Taurus, Virgo, Scorpio, PiscesWorst: Gemini, Aries, Leo, Libra

M O R A L A L I G N M E N T : L A W F U L N E U T R A L

Typically driven by a strong sense of fairness and duty, these characters are often willing to take extreme personal risk to stay true to the accepted behavior and beliefs of their deity or society. Being morally neutral, a character of this alignment sees both good and evil as tools to use to maintain order. While members of many classes can be lawful neutral, the ideal class for this alignment is monk, whose dedication to their training, tradition, and personal perfection give them a clearly structured view of the world. Sometimes, however, a lawful neutral character can take their fervor too far, becoming near-tyrannical in the name of upholding justice and order.

B I O G R A P H Y

tba. im tired rn

QUICK FACTS:

He wife and child were murdered one night by some unknown creature.

He has taken on the life of hunting, and still searches for the one responsiblefor his family’s death.

While he is a hunter, he does not kill all supernatural creatures. He rather investigates them to determine their guilt and acts accordingly. If someone slips up, he is not afraid to go after them.

Works as a private eye to get by. Mainly investigating strange disappearances and the occasional adultery case that gets thrown on his desk.

W A N T E D C O N N E C T I O N S

tba

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( margot robbie. twenty-nine. cis female. she / her. )was that monika adler? i heard a rumour they work for the faust family, but who knows for sure ? they can be a bit calculating & vindictivebut i also heard they can be adventurous &ambitious. you’ll usually find them at wolves in their spare time, when they’re not being a caporegime & burlesque dancer at centro del sole. you may want to keep an eye on that one !

bonjour! it’s me again—your local trashcan chrissie with another muse. this is my precious angel ( more like a demoness, tbh but still ) bby girl monika and, to quote the legends that are queen, she’s a killer queeeeen. she’s sassy, classy and a lot badassy. she’s a rather feisty, fiery, ball of rage and anger with hella abandonment issues like woah. but uhhh, anyways, hmu for plots here or on discord, i’m open to everything and anything so fire away!

MONIKA’S PINTEREST BOARD!

fundamentals.

full name. monika odette adler.

nicknames. moni, mon, & nik.

current age. twenty-nine.

date of birth. august 15th.

gender. cisgender female.

pronouns. she / her.

nationality. american.

religion. agnostic.

birthplace. manhattan, new york city, united states.

current residence. chicago, illinois, united states.

sexual orientation. pansexual.

romantic orientation. aromantic.

education. psychology degree obtained from nyu.

past occupation. bartender, & dancer at genesis.

current occupation. burlesque dancer at centro del sole.

affiliation. the faust family.

rank. caporegime.

connections.

birth mother. unknown.

birth father. unknown.

sibling/s. unknown.

adoptive mother. rachael adler.

adoptive father. william adler.†

adoptive sister. lucy adler. †

adoptive brothers. jacob, & noah adler.

significant other. n/a.

child/ren. n/a.

pet/s. a balinese cat named tigger after the character in winnie the pooh.

proficiencies.

spoken languages. english, spanish, french, italian, german, & russian.

negative traits. brusque, obstinate, destructive, deceptive, & promiscuous.

positive traits. elegant, headstrong, observant, independent, & confident.

strengths. optimistic, energetic, creative, practical, spontaneous, rational, knows how to prioritise, great in a crisis, & relaxed.

weaknesses. stubborn, insensitive, private, reserved, easily bored, dislikes commitment,& has a rather risky behaviour.

skills. skilled with blades and various knives, skilled with firearms, hand-to-hand combat, memory recall, physical stamina, able to use initiative, & excellent problem-solving abilities.

talents. violin, piano, ballet, dancing, singing, bartending, & photographic memory.

appearance.

eye colour. blue.

hair colour. naturalblonde.

height. 5′5″.

weight. 61 kg.

build. she is considered average height for a female and is both slender and toned.

scars. a rather noticeable one across her clavicle and a few others in less visible places.

tattoos. a crimson lily on her left shoulder.

piercings.both earlobes.

glasses. n/a.

prominent feature. sparkling sapphire eyes.

miscellaneous.

zodiac. leo.

strengths.creative, passionate, humorous.

weaknesses.arrogant, stubborn, self-centred.

likes.theatre, being admired, expensive things.

dislikes.being ignored, facing difficult reality, not being treated like a queen.

element.fire.

colour.gold.

day.sunday.

ruler.the sun.

lucky number.three.

house. gryffindor.

myers briggs type. istp-a ( introverted, observant, thinking, prospecting. )

alignment. chaotic neutral.

enneagram. type 7: the enthusiast (the busy, fun-loving type: spontaneous, versatile, distractible, and scattered. )

temperament. sanguine.

intelligence type. intra-personal.

character label. the vixen.

diseases. infertility.

past mental disorders. drug abuse, acute stress disorder, depression, & anxiety.

current mental disorders. addiction, & abandonment issues.

addictions. tobacco, cocaine, & alcohol.

vices. lust, greed, & wrath.

virtues. temperance, diligence, & humility.

allergies. penicillin.

diet. vegetarian.

dominant hand. ambidextrous.

accent. american.

blood type. o negative.

felonies. petty theft charge when she was fifteen. she also has a history of both kleptomania, & pyromania when she was a teenager.

vehicle. red 1966 shelby 427 cobra.

background.

( triggers for abandonment and abandonment issues ) in truth, monika isn't entirely sure where—or how—her story originated. well, minus the obvious: the birds, the bees, yadda yadda. whether or not her biological parents ever actually cared for her or loved her will remain one of life's greatest mysteries. at only one month old, she was discarded by those who gave her life; left abandoned and unwanted. a feeling the girl would grow up carrying around like a weight around her neck for the rest of her life. an incessant voice telling her she wasn't worth it, niggling at her every single time she would allow herself to get close to another human being. a dark shadow looming over her shoulder, whispering sinister thoughts into her ears—warning her that everyone would eventually leave in the end. they would always leave in the end.

( trigger for a mention of foster homes ) monika's earliest memories feature fragmented visions of various foster homes and the faces of many guardian figures; some good, some bad and some not worth even mentioning. that was her life for the majority of her childhood—bouncing from one home to another but never sticking in one place for too long. given her turbulent upbringing, she was somewhat of a difficult child. too boisterous, too unruly, too stubborn, too inquisitive. too much of everything but never enough of anything. never enough for anybody to want her.

( trigger for a mention of adoption ) finally, after eight long years of being uprooted and thrown into new environments time and time again, monika was adopted by the adler family. and, from that instant onwards, her upbringing was mostly positive. of course, she was thankful and grateful that she had been welcomed into their family and given a good life. things could have been a lot worse for her and she knows that. still, it didn't take the girl too long to figure out that it was just her alone, against the big bad world. from the age that she was old enough to realise it, monika knew that she had to fend for herself—that she could never truly rely on a single soul but herself. rachael and william adler were the best family that she'd ever had. the only family that she ever truly felt she might have belonged to. the only family that she cared enough about to continue carrying their last name, even to this day.

however, once monika reached a certain age, her personality shifted south. she was outgoing as ever but soon became meddlesome, troublesome and much too outspoken. the hollowness inside her chest never quite satiated, leaving her empty and only too well aware of the lack of her real parental figures. as a young adolescent, this started to crawl under her skin and mess with her mind. it rendered her void of affection and unable to form genuine bonds with others—filling her with deep-rooted resentment that festered beneath the surface of the indifferent demeanour she plastered over herself every day. no matter what the adler family done, monika always felt starved of love. despite their best efforts, monika never felt fully satisfied—as if some integral part of her heart was missing, leaving a gaping void nobody could ever fill. thus, as a teenager, she started searching for a cure in the wrong places. she fell in with the wrong crowd, causing trouble for both herself and her family.

as a result of her out of control behaviour, monika found herself shipped off to an esteemed all-girls boarding school from the ages of fourteen to eighteen. once again, she felt as if she was being cast aside. admittedly, at first, it didn't seem so bad and although she took a while to settle in and adjust, it wasn’t long until the girl found her feet and made her mark. she had always been intelligent so it was no surprise that she excelled in her classes and extracurriculars. of course, true to form, she remained prone to rebellion every so often, but never enough to become detrimental. she had a small group of friends and the clique was rather close-knit and she finally felt she belonged somewhere.

( triggers for mentions of death, cancer, mental health issues, alcohol, and drugs ) however, as all good things do, they come to an end. in monika's case, those few blissful years reached a rather abrupt cessation—taking a drastic plummet into darkness. she was sixteen when her younger sister, lucy, tragically passed away after battling leukaemia. as a result, monika lost control of herself and of her path in life. she spent weeks alone and aimless, wavering on her tracks. she became isolated and withdrawn. she hid away in her dorm room that school year, only leaving to go to classes. she became quiet, reserved and wanted to be alone. after months of this—reverting to type—she went looking for stability in the wrong places once more. running with the ‘wrong’ crowd was simply something that came naturally to monika, as if she felt comfort in pressing the self-destruct button when times got tough. for her last year at school, she partied hard, drank way too much, experimented with drugs and with people and although these instances gave her a thrill, it never lasted too long. therefore, she continually crawled back to the things and the people she knew deep down was no good for her. but as long as she felt the high, nothing else mattered.

( triggers for mentions of death and huntington’s disease ) after she graduated, she moved back home to her adoptive parents and brothers, which, at first, felt as gloomy as she'd expected with the absence of her sister. due to her lifestyle in the final year of her education, monika's grades didn't quite cut it—not for her dreams of attending an ivy league university, anyway. after some consideration ( and the encouragement of her mother ), she attended night classes in order to obtain better grades before she managed to obtain a place at nyu where she studied psychology. but, once again, tragedy hit the adler's like a freight train. the summer before she left for university, her father passed away. while monika had always known that william's death was imminent given the fact that he had huntington’s disease, it didn't make the reality hurt any less. still, monika knew that life had to move on—as it always had—thus, she had no choice but to pack up her belongings and move to into her new home for the following few years: nyu campus.

during her university years, monika worked a lot of jobs around new york while visiting her family home on weekends. finally, once she graduated with rather impressive grades, she'd decided that her life was no longer tethered to manhattan. so, aged twenty-two, she packed up and travelled around the states for two years until, eventually, she wound up in chicago. in the beginning, she managed to get herself a job at genesis as a bartender where she met oliver faust ( without knowing his surname, of course ). completely clueless as to his prominence within the city, the two had a one night stand, seemingly never to see one another again. at least, until a year later.

after bartending in the club for quite some time, monika plucked up the courage to take her work a step further and take her place on the stage as one of the dancers. it was during this time that she met another faust member and quickly, the two became friends and through this friendship, only then did monika find out a little background information on the faust name. this faust member was the one who brought monika into the fold where she started as an affiliate. of course, you could imagine her surprise when she uncovered oliver's role as the boss—especially after a whole year had passed since their first encounter. regardless, monika felt secure and welcomed among the faust family, thus she was more than happy to work for them.

due to her no-nonsense approach and attitude, and her ability to handle herself whilst dancing, she found herself promoted to a solider. then, after ‘dealing’ with a target ( a regular at genesis who just so happened to request a dance from monika every night ) under the guise of an escort, the blonde was swiftly advanced to a crimson whilst continuing to dance at genesis. after maintaining the role of a crimson for a year, she climbed the ranks where she now remains a caporegime while now dancing at centro del sole.

throughout her twenty-nine years of life so far, monika has built herself back up time and time again. with every punch swung her way ( both figuratively and literally ), she has risen to her feet each time. for as intelligent as she is, she is just as resilient and unyielding. the need to prove people wrong is almost overwhelming but never to her detriment. while she continues to bear the emotional scars of her past, monika refuses to write herself off. she allows herself to admire people, history, art, music, places, but she never grows comfortable enough that she is prepared to show even the people closest to her, her innermost, truest self.

as a result of her chaotic upbringing, fragments of monika are broken beyond repair—lost to the depths of her mind. yet deep down inside, the faintest sliver of that optimistic little girl remains. where she is now is precisely where monika wants to be and perhaps this is the exact path she needs to take in order to fully emerge from the ashes of her haunting past. from her teenage years, she easily fell under the bracket of an adventurous, charming, ‘party girl’ which hasn't altered much over the years. honestly, monika is content with playing this ‘role’ of a carefree, curious, typical blonde as she finds it helps with her work. after all, how unsuspecting does the pretty blonde dancer seem? not many people look at her and realise just how deadly she is underneath.

all in all, monika gets from one day to the other by dancing her worries away or drinking her problems out of her head. she rarely lets herself get attached to anybody and builds the highest walls around herself to ensure nobody wants to put the effort into trying to break them down. it's that little voice that's rattled around inside her head from childhood that has her this way—still telling her she isn't worth it. and she believes it. she believes that if she ever slowed down and stopped adopting her reckless lifestyle that the emptiness and loneliness would creep in and hold her prisoner. and if there's one thing that monika adler swears she'll never be, that's a slave to her mind or to anybody else.

some tidbits.

nicknames: monnie, moni, mon, nik, barbie, blondie ( if u wanna lose ur eyes ) …spawn of satan>:-)

scared of goats. thinks they’re satanic creatures. those eyes are hella creepy, don’t even try and tell her otherwise.

her signature scent is chanelN°5.

she’s fearless af. throwback to her upbringing, most likely.

she’s all sweet smiles and charming words until her expression turns sharp and deadly. it’s her tactic to entice then pounce, if you will.

she loves to surprise people. most assume she’s a pretty blonde but oh, she loves the look of shock on their faces when she waves a knife at them.

in a way, her words are like her weaponry but really, monika would much prefer to point a gun in a person’s face. plus, it’s more efficient, she thinks.

an angel of vengeance in a pair of designer sunglasses tbh.

much prefers to be called a murderess / demoness as she believes it has a nicer ring to it rather than murderer / demon. she’s dramatique like that.

owns waaay too many pairs of heels.

her signature look is her blood-red lips.

often wears suits and totally rocks them.

she’s…experimental. she’s experimented with just about everything: hairstyles, clothing, drink, drugs, people…

quite power hungry tbh.

she does have a shot at redemption but she doesn’t want it lmao. she’s already been to hell so why bother trying to right her wrongs?

and boy, are her wrongs a century long list shkjsh.

doesn’t believe she’s capable of loving anyone.

when it comes to whether or not she is morally decent or an extremely bad person, she is somewhere in the middle of that spectrum—she isn’t heartless but she isn’t compassionate either.

she’s v ambitious, v morally ambiguous, v self-serving and v self-involved.

extremely skilled with knives and blades. always her weapon of choice when on a job. always carries one on her person at all times.

although she wears a lot of red, black is actually her favourite colour. she feels her most powerful in an all-black outfit.

her most prized possession is her brushed chrome zippo. it has her initials engraved on it and where she got it or from who is something she’ll never tell.

always seen with a cigarette in hand. she seriously chain smokes. always says she needs to quit but never does and probably never will either.

when she was a little girl she’d always dreamed of having kids of her own one day and told herself she would love them unconditionally and never abandon them as her birth parents had but unfortunately, she is infertile and the likelihood of having her own kids one day is extremely slim. this is something that devastates her every day but you’d never tell. she has never told anybody about this.

drives way too fast but loves the thrill of it.

she can be pretty deadly if you piss her off enough.

thrives on chaos.

a tad theatrical.

is truly an independent woman who don't need no man.

plot ideas.

ok so pls excuse me and my last two remaining brain cells—we try real hard but it's tough skjhjks but gimme all of the connections from friends, frenemies, enemies, hookups, exes, rivals and everything else in between. added bonus if there’s angst or drama. if you have anything in mind feel free to throw it at me, i’m open to the majority of things and have zero triggers so come at me bro! below you can find some connections i’d love for my deadly bby.

the faust member who brought her into the fold. open.

her adoptive brothers. open and open. ( their names are listed as jacob and noah, but this can be changed if ya ain’t feeling those names! )

you’re a bad idea, but i like bad ideas. so, this could be somebody that monika knows through her dancing at genesis. maybe this gentleman pays for private dances and tips extremely well? i have an idea in my head that this man would trust monika and confide in her. in a way, she’d kind of act as a therapist for him and his paying for her private time would be more about talking than anything else. maybe over time, she would tell him things about her past or about the things she has done. maybe he could be somebody who, when he/if he realises she works for the fausts, asked her to take out a target for him. there are endless possibilities for this one! of course, added angst if he’s affiliated with a different gang. OPEN.

when friends become enemies. maybe this person and monika were friends from new york that she hung around with and got involved in reckless behaviour with. or maybe this person was someone monika befriended during her university years. or they could be someone that monika met when she moved to chicago. under whichever circ*mstance they met, one fact remains: the two are no longer on friendly terms. they were once close and trusted each other with anything but now, there is obvious hostility. perhaps there was a betrayal, blackmail, a breach of trust, lack of communication, a simple misunderstanding. whatever it was that cracked this relationship is set in stone and is unlikely to ever go back to how it once was. some things are just too broken to be mended. OPEN.

you’re in my veins, you f*ck. monika has always had bad habits. has always gravitated to toxicity like a moth to a flame. thus, it would be safe to assume that 90% of her relationships have also been bad for her. the broken element inside her always found itself magnetised to the darkness in people. more especially, attracted to people she knew were no good for her. though, in the end, monika would always manage to break free and leave these people behind. however, there was always this one person she couldn’t seem to stay away from. she met them when she moved to chicago and instantly she knew they would break her heart yet it didn’t deter her from continuing to crawl back to them. these two have what can only be described as a toxic relationship. neither is good for the other yet neither can seem to walk away. OPEN.

if you don’t have enemies, you don’t have character. of course, it goes without saying that monika is the kind of woman who could make enemies for herself very easily. due to her sarcastic and distant nature, it would be safe to assume she has quite a few enemies and rivals. though this particular person would be the enemy of all enemies. somebody that she cannot abide and someone who cannot abide her either. they can’t stand the sight of each other and refuse to share the same space unless absolutely necessary. otherwise, there’s a massive chance of a fight outbreaking between them. there could be a history between them that has brought about their hostile nature toward each other. or they could simply dislike each other for no real known reason other than a sense they get from the other. bonus points if they’re walsh affiliated! OPEN.

a gal gang / her ride or dies. taken by amara ricci, & genevieve bisset.

a chance encounter / one night stand. taken by oliver faust.

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You can't bring a sugar glider or a snake into a new environment because of what they could possibly be carrying and how destructive their presence could be in a place that they otherwise do not belong in. It's not like anyone uses sugar gliders or snakes for support animals either as well. Some animals are just not meant to domesticated. it's because people abuse and sell animal parts/sperm, that's what the restrictions are for.

It’s getting pretty common at conventions of various types for glider breeders to come and show off their gliders so people know what they’re like and don’t get ridiculous ideas like“a five inch long fruit-eater that weighs less than a D battery is somehow automatically more destructive than a 70 pound carnivore with inch long teeth”. Snake ambassadors have always been popular at a wide variety of events and are frequently brought to museums and schools. Kids love patting snakes and it’s a great way to get them engaged with science and the environment.

A sugar glider is no more likely to carry disease than any other vaccinated, medically cared for animal, including both dogs and humans. Same goes for a clean snake. On the contrary, one of the big advantages of sugar gliders is that they do not carry any known diseases and do not bear heart-worms or other parasites common in dogs and cats.Animals don’t just spontaneously develop contagious diseases because they’re not cats dogs or humans. The reason raccoons, squirrels, etc. frequently carry diseases is because they live in the wild and are not cleaned or given medical care. An animal won’t magically generate rabies virus cells while it’s sleeping in your living room.

People absolutely 100% have sugar gliders and snakes as support animals. Sugar gliders are very social and playful, require very little space, enjoy curling up against you for long periods (they’re marsupials, not rodents, so they think of a pocket as a pouch), have roughly the same intelligence as a dog and can follow commands, keep themselves impeccably clean, couldn’t harm you if they wanted to and are therefore good for people who are scared of animals or with a history of abuse, very rarely trigger allergies in even the most animal-allergic, and one of their unique traits is the extreme intensity with which they bond with their owners. In other words, a perfect emotional support animal.

Snakes are good for people who benefit from the routine and responsibility of caring for an animal but can’t sustain the interactive time and emotional intensity required with a cat or dog (or sugar glider). They’re also completely hypo-allergenic, being furless and without dandruff, which even so-called “hypo-allergenic” dogs like Poodles and Mexican Hairless are not.

People may choose a reptile because it gives many of the benefits of an ESA:

a reason to get out of bed, a reason to not commit suicide, reduces blood pressure, increases production of oxytocin, dopamine, and serotonin, interaction without demand of social performance, aiding in mindfulness techniques, grounding by not reflecting extreme emotional states, etc.

Without many of the downsides of a mammal (or bird):

they don’t require regular exercise which is impossible for many disabled people, don’t set off allergies, don’t make noise which is intolerable for many disabled people including many with PTSD and autism, have no smell which can be a problem for those with sensory sensitivities, don’t make emotional demands, they’re clean which can be necessary for people with OCD or people who don’t have the ability to clean up after a shedding animal, etc.

I do not know what you’re talking about with that last sentence. I’ve never heard anyone suggest that restrictions on ESAs should be put in place to prevent people engaging in illegal animal/animal part trafficking. There are a number of arguments people have made and that is very much not one of them, for a wide variety of reasons including a) traveling or living with an unusual ESA is going to get you Twittered like crazy, not exactly good for illicit traffickers b) it’s extremely difficult to have more than one ESA and a single exotic animal isn’t exactly going to set you up for a strong business.

The only restrictions currently in place on species for ESAs are in the ACAA which says an airline is permitted to disallow“certain unusual service animals (e.g., snakes, other reptiles, ferrets, rodents, and spiders)” but not as a rule“unusual or exotic animals that are presented as service animals (e.g., miniature horses, pigs, monkeys)”. You... really, honestly think that if that restriction was based on “selling animals parts/sperm” they would permit exclusion of hamstersbut specifically say you’re required to carry monkeys?

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Never-Ending Survey: Severine Sauvageot

Tagged by: @eorzean-capitalist

Tagging: @otolin-xiv ; @geimhleag​

BASICS.

FULL NAME: Severine Sauvageot

NICKNAME: Sev, Saint, Saint Savage

AGE: Young Adult

BIRTHDAY: 8th Sun of the 4th Astra Moon

ETHNIC GROUP: Duskwight Elezen

NATIONALITY: Gridanian

LANGUAGE/S: Common, Old Elezen

SEXUAL ORIENTATION : Pansexual

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION : Aromantic/Gray romantic

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Single

HOME TOWN / AREA: South Shroud near Amdapoor Keep

CURRENT HOME: Ul’dah

PROFESSION: Grifter, glassblower

PHYSICAL.

HAIR: Dark blue, past shoulder length in a mullet-style haircut with short shaved sides and undercut.

EYES: One light grey, one dark grey

FACE: Narrow, sharp chin and jaw

LIPS: Dark and plump

COMPLEXION: Grey blue, lighter than her hair

BLEMISHES: Beauty mark beneath her right eye and one beneath the left corner of her mouth.

SCARS: Incredibly light, faded burn scars on her arms and hands.

TATTOOS: None

HEIGHT: 5’ 8”

WEIGHT: 120 ponzes

BUILD: Almost willowy with sharp shoulders and almost surprisingly toned upper arms and thighs. And dat ass.

FEATURES: Prominent nose, highly expressive eyebrows

ALLERGIES: None. (Sunlight)

USUAL HAIR STYLE: Slicked back mullet

USUAL FACE LOOK : Sly or coy expression with a smile close by.

USUAL CLOTHING: Generous wardrobe but favors shorts, thigh boots and sleeveless shirts. Hardly ever seen without a pair of pince-nez style glasses on.

PSYCHOLOGY.

FEAR/S: Possession, mind control, black mages

ASPIRATION/S: To live better than she deserves

POSITIVE TRAITS: Insightful, kind, humorous, supportive, artistic, clever

NEGATIVE TRAITS: Manipulative, secretive, paranoid

TEMPERAMENT: A woman of many faces, Severine can make herself fit any facet of any situation. Typically she is laid back, warm and convivial and she’s giving and caring with those she’s closest to.

SOUL TYPE/S: Artisan (Crafter)

ANIMALS: Fox

VICE HABIT/S: Drinking

FAITH: None

GHOSTS?: Yes

AFTERLIFE?: No

REINCARNATION?: No

POLITICAL ALIGNMENT: None

EDUCATION LEVEL: Self-taught

FAMILY.

FATHER : Cyrille (Birth)

MOTHER : Elodie (Birth)

SIBLINGS : Numerous

EXTENDED FAMILY: Massive

NAME MEANING/S: ‘Stern’ and ‘Savage’ (for a person considered unmannerly or coarse)

HISTORICAL CONNECTION?: No

FAVORITES.

BOOK: The Five Ages

DEITY: Nymeia

HOLIDAY: All Saint’s Wake

MONTH: April (Second Umbral Moon)

SEASON: Autumn

PLACE: The Wood

WEATHER: Overcast and cool

SOUND / S: Lapping or flowing water. Wind through leaves.

SCENT / S: Woodsmoke, clean skin.

TASTE / S: Tart, butter

FEEL / S: Always watching, soft cotton, raw silk, broken in shoes

ANIMAL / S: Owls, dragonflies

NUMBER: Seven

COLORS: Grey, purple, dusty rose

EXTRA.

TALENTS: Singing, calligraphy, sketching and painting.

BAD AT: Being honest

TURN ONS: Wry humor, unexpected intelligence, quiet jokes, thoughtful gifts and actions, independence.

TURN OFFS: Abrasiveness, over the top assertiveness, cruelty, neediness, demands of her time.

HOBBIES: Studying history, practicing calligraphy.

TROPES: Badass Crew, Functional Addict, Guile Hero, In the Blood, Badass in a Nice Suit, Seamless Spontaneous Lie, Personal Horror/Dark and Troubled Past, Photographic Memory

QUOTES: “You don’t have to ask me twice.”

MUN QUESTIONS.

Q1 : If you could write your character your way in their own movie, what would it be called, what style would it be filmed in, and what would it be about?

A1 : Either a heist movie where a past comes back to haunt a main character, or a fantasy-like origin story with a solid horror background.

Q2 : What would their soundtrack/score sound like?

A2 : Her spotify playlist is kind of all over the place. Lots of minimalist female-voiced semi-electronic music.

Q3 : Why did you start writing this character?

A3 : I moved over to FFXIV after a very long time of playing WoW almost exclusively and I needed a reboot. I had a very vague character concept in mind when I started through the MSQ and by the time I was through ARR I had a much more solid grasp on the character.

Q4 : What first attracted you to this character?

A4 : Her initial concept was much more shallow and I liked the idea of some grifter who could change herself to fit almost any situation.

Q5 : Describe the biggest thing you dislike about your muse.

A5 : She tries a little too hard to get people to like her.

Q6 : What do you have in common with your muse?

A6 : Wanting people to feel good about themselves.

Q7 : How does your muse feel about you?

A7 : 'Is it so hard to just take a break every now and then?’

Q8 : What characters does your muse have interesting interactions with? A8 : Anyone with their own secret pasts or criminal backgrounds, quiet people who need a boost of reassurance.

Q9 : What gives you inspiration to write your muse?

A9 : Music. Interesting in character interactions.

Q10 : How long did this take you to complete?

A10 : I did the top part in an hour or two and then forgot about it for a few days.

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A VERY LONG SURVEY; SIF

Tagged by: @blood-of-the-dragons (This was FUN, thank you! 💛)

Tagging: Oh god, I couldn’t ask anyone to just fill it out on a whim, but I will GLADLY challenge my friends to do so! TAG ME so I can read it!

Notes: It’s under a cut for sheer length, but there’s good stuff in there. I particularly like the tropes bit under “Extra”, if you read nothing else.

BASICS.

FULL NAME:Sifhalla

NICKNAME: Sif

AGE: 39

BIRTHDAY: 32nd Sun of the 4th Umbral Moon (8/31)

ETHNIC GROUP: Hyur (Mixedlander)

NATIONALITY:Ala Mhigan

LANGUAGE/S:Common

SEXUAL ORIENTATION:Great question.

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Confused.

RELATIONSHIP STATUS:“Married”

HOME TOWN/AREA:Ala Ghiri, Gyr Abania

CURRENT HOME:Camps along the road.

PROFESSION: Drunk, bard, and wastrel.

PHYSICAL.

HAIR: Pale blonde, just below chin length.

EYES:The color of pyrite, hazy and half-focused. Rarely, fiery and hawk-like.

FACE: Soft angles, a few lines at her eyes that betray her age.

LIPS: On the thinner side, often pulled into a crooked grin or a smirk.

COMPLEXION: Bronzed, sun-worn.

BLEMISHES: Often flushed when she’s drunk.

SCARS: One across the bridge of her nose.

TATTOOS: None

HEIGHT:5′4″

WEIGHT:Underweight from her looks.

BUILD:Waif.

FEATURES:Hints of what was once formidable upper body strength.

ALLERGIES:None.

USUAL HAIR STYLE:Tousled, often slept on.

USUAL FACE LOOK:Far-off, almost smirking.

USUAL CLOTHING:Light linens and leathers. Boots for travel, wide-brim hats.

PSYCHOLOGY.

FEAR/S: War, loss, prison, torture, and suffocation.

ASPIRATION/S:Keep herself and Dugald alive to see the next sun, write a new song, maybe.

POSITIVE TRAITS:Optimistic, easy-going, good-humored.

NEGATIVE TRAITS: Flighty, self-serving, impulsive.

TEMPERAMENT: Melancholy-Sanguine. [ the four temperaments ]

SOUL TYPE/S: The Artisan. [ the seven soul types ]

ANIMALS: Magpie.

VICE HABIT/S: Drinking, stealing, back-talking.

FAITH:The Twelve

GHOSTS?: Yes

AFTERLIFE?: Yes

REINCARNATION?:She sure hopes not.

POLITICAL ALIGNMENT: She has some socialist leanings, but deep down she’d be a democratic. She likes structure, but not too much.

EDUCATION LEVEL:Knows her letters, as well as a decent chunk of military history and survival skills.

FAMILY.

FATHER:Halvard, deceased.

MOTHERS: Frida, deceased.

SIBLINGS:None.

EXTENDED FAMILY: None that she knows of.

NAME MEANING/S:Her first name was nabbed from another game. Her last name mean“longbow”.

HISTORICAL CONNECTION?:Sif from Norse mythology, but only in name.

FAVORITES.

BOOK:Lol.

DEITY: Nymiea, the Spinner.

HOLIDAY:Moonfire Faire.

MONTH:Fifth Astral Moon (September).

SEASON:Autumn.

PLACE:A cabin in the woods.

WEATHER:Fair skies.

SOUND/S: Folk songs, tavern crowds, laughter.

SCENT/S:Road dust, sagebrush, cedar wood.

TASTE/S:Whiskey, spiced ciders, freshly-baked bread.

FEEL/S: Suede leather, instrument strings, another’s touch.

ANIMAL/S:Songbirds, small rodents.

NUMBER: 2

COLORS:Gold, white, earthy browns, yellow.

EXTRA.

TALENTS:Singing, song-writing, playing the oud, making acquaintances and friends, keeping secrets,converting people into Ala Mhigans.

BAD AT:Committing, confronting uncomfortable truths, aiming.

TURN ONS: Sly banter, spontaneity, a good laugh.

TURN OFFS:Ignorant, timid, stodgy, or arrogant personalities.

HOBBIES: Songwriting and rehearsing, sleeping, story-swapping. Attempting to reclaim her skill with a bow.

TROPES: Lady Drunk, Wandering Minstrel, Outlaw Couple,No Accounting for Taste,Will They or Won’t They?, Mind Control Music(to a degree), and many lyrical tropes.

QUOTES : “I’m jus’ another soul ‘got lost somewhere on th’ longest road.”

MUN QUESTIONS.

Q1: If you could write your character your way in their own movie, what would it be called, what style would it be filmed in, and what would it be about? A1:Sif & Dug’s personal arc. Probably a self-narrated, humorous biography that details their misadventures out of order, and leaves the audience to piece together the kind of life they led. Names are hard.

Q2:What would their soundtrack/score sound like? A2:Folk music with some country leanings.

Q3:Why did you start writing this character? A3:Because the people I was RPing with at the time didn’t like hyur, Ala Mhigans, emotionally-strained ships, or plots that weren’t straight out of a Saturday morning cartoon. And I’m a little vindictive.

Q4: What first attracted you to this character? A4: I love playing characters that fell from grace, and even moreso, I love playing characters that belong to a duo. Wanderers and solace-seeker characters speak to me more than heroes and villains.

Q5:Describe the biggest thing you dislike about your muse.A5:It’s hard for me to RP her in big groups AND keep her as interesting as I’d like. She’s much more suited to one-on-one RP, and even then, it takes MONTHS of RP to understand what kind of a person she is beyond“sings and drinks a lot”, and that’s not rewarding enough for some.

Q6:What do you have in common with your muse? A6:A bit of a strained relationship with love and romance, a soft spot for folk music, and a habit of running from problems.

Q7: How does your muse feel about you? A7: If we assume that she doesn’t know she’s a fictional character, she thinks the gods are fickle and flawed, and more like Spoken than perfect beings.And she’d be right.

Q8:What characters does your muse have interesting interactions with? A8:People who challenge her habits and butt heads with her. I like character conflict! But also kindred spirits and people in whom she sees a part of herself, even if it’s a younger self.

Q9:What gives you inspiration to write your muse? A9:Traveling, listening to lots of folk and country, thinking about how she would react to disturbances in her routines.

Q10: How long did this take you to complete?A10:Like three hours because I got lost on TV Tropes....

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