have i mentioned i want this cat

4

pure sunshine cookie cat gem boy + angry cotton candy ube cake angst boy = giving each other strength

5

A couple of days ago one of my cats got outside and was hit by a car, she’s stable but most likely has a long long way to go… i honestly hate to do this but, with all the meds, tests, samples to send to the lab, special food because she can’t even chew rn and the fact she has to stay at the hospital for days if not weeks, vet bills are piling up incredibly fast, not to mention she’ll probably get surgery later and who knows how much that’ll be… so… i need help and here i am.

i’ll draw virtually anything (if you want something but aren’t sure if i can do it, please feel free to ask) and i don’t mind if all you have to spare is $1, you can pay what you want, i just really want my cat healthy, happy and back home as soon as possible. 

The only conditions for this are: i’ll just draw single character pieces (i may do 2 characters if they’re not full-body, but please ask), and they are just for personal use.

Payment would be to my paypal account, it is: esperanza.mendozabo@gmail.com and i would need you to pay before i start working (sorry, but i just don’t want someone to back off and go away once i already finished a piece)

If you have at least a little bit to spare please consider, and if you can’t, that’s fine too, but please help me spread this

my art blog is @prancing-pixie btw

Things Draco has definitely said at some point
  • “Harry, if you don’t stop molesting me with your eyes I’m going to throw you out of a second story window”
  • “If one more person mentions my hair I swear to god I’m going to commit first degree murder in front of like a hundred witnesses”
  • “That shirt is atrocious and I am ashamed to even know of its existence”
  • “What the fuck made you think that was okay on any level?”
  • “I hate you all”
  • “No, you plebeian, I do not want one of your germ-infested free samples they’ve probably been on that tray for years anyway”
  • “Oh god it touched me I’m going to have to cut off that foot now”
  • “I’m not a cat and the next person to compare me to one will find out what it feels like to have my entire foot up their ass”
  • “Coffee is god’s second most important gift to mankind, with the first being me, of course. Harry, stop laughing”
  • “I can’t tell if that’s a picture of a barf stain or your dog”
  • “Why would you ever”
  • “This conversation has officially bored me to tears, so I’m going to go do something more entertaining, like watch grass grow. Draco out.”
Unsteady - The Yuri Plisetsky Guide to Body Modifications

For my Otayuri Musicians AU, ‘Unsteady’, I’ve decided to make the above picture to show you guys all the things Yuri as at the start of the fic. Most of the placements are different then in the pictures, but the designs are more or less the same ones.

Top row left to right

1 - outside left leg, just like in the picture, though in the story it is described to have both black and white ink and fade out like smoke around the edges reaching until his knee. It’s the first one Yuri ever got. (mentioned and described in chapter 3)

2 - upper middle half of his back. Originally I wanted a tiger head BUT I couldn’t find a cool one so I settled on this lion. It’s a cat so it counts. (mentioned in chapter 3)

3 - inner right foot below the ankle.

Middle row left to right

1 - outside right upper arm. I mean just look at it, I had to take it when I saw it.

2 - right and left ear. (mentioned in chapter 2)

3 - inside right wrist for obvious reasons (mentioned and described chapter 3)

Bottom row left to right

1 - inside left wrist.

2 - outside left upper arm, smaller than in the picture. (mentioned in chapter 3)

3 - right side across his ribs. I needed a tiger, since I didn’t get what I wanted for his back, so I found this one instead. Honestly it’s something even I would consider getting (though I think I liked it a bit more in the fox or wolf design).

And that’s it. Who knows if his collection will grow throughout the story, but I guess eight tattoos is quite the number already. I heard that with tattoos it’s the same thing as with dying your hair - once you start it’s hard to stop. As someone who’s been dying their hair since the age of 14 (honestly I’m surprised I’m not bald at this point), I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s true.

When it comes to Otabek, his skin is ink free at the start of the story, but who knows if Yuri won’t at least try to change that. ;)

SPOILERS BELOW

Keep reading

3

All of these are stuff my friend Thunber and I have pictured and talked about in the past xD See, we share a thousands headcanon lol~

I don’t remember how it happened but one time, we ended up saying we wanted to see Hyde with a cat ear hoodie and making cute nya noises at Licht… and then we mentioned the Cheshire cat from Tim Burton’s Alice in Wonderland, cause we both loved the design and… kajshdkj idk xD

I’ve had these doodles around for a while but I didn’t post them.

Cheerleader Lichtan is a plus(?)

Answers!

Mods answer your questions!! (σ'∀’)σ*。・゜+.*.  I’m Toffee aka @klanceforthesoul​ and my partner in klance is @anetteloli​ and here are answers for some of the questions that are for us and not Keith and Lance!.

Toffee: 

I don’t read fanfic anymore, for a huge-ass reason I don’t wanna bore you with here but I can recommend some fluff I’ve written?? ( °-°)シ ミ★ ミ☆

I’ll be your mothman 2,613

When Lance discovers that the reason Keith’s been so down lately is because he misses the mothman books and theories he left behind Lance decides to create Arus’ own mothman…

I Found Your Smile In The Rain.  1,518

Keith knows Lance smiles a lot but they don’t seem genuine to him. He wants to see Lance smile for real.

http://klance-net.tumblr.com/library - there’s more fluff here, not sure how they are but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯


Anette:

Let Them Have The Ride Of Their Lives!36,838

Keith moves to Planet Altea to study in his new academy, (which it is Voltron) on the same day that he moved in he decides to explore his new living area when he finds a Blue Cat guy driving wildly a motorcycle. He finds himself in a situation where he’s somehow attracted to him and doesn’t know why until he finally meets him.

(Keep in mind! That this story has strong topics in it.) - HAVE FUN~(๑•̀-•́)و✧  Have fun crying  ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) 

Toffee:

as mentioned above I don’t read fanfic BUT I certainly do write it!!!

You want angst i got your angst!!

In The Shape Of A Boy 61,511

When Lance meets a boy in the middle of a rainy night he doesn’t expect to see him the next day at his new school, but, turns out the dude is an asshole.

Tragic memories and horrific events have changed them but can Lance find the truth behind Keith’s mask?. Can he learn to find happiness in a world that seems so keen on tearing it away from him?.

(read warnings on Ao3) 


The Hardest Part Of This Is Leaving You - 4,478

Forever is a farce.

Lance has been in a relationship with Keith since their college days, so why did cancer have to come to take him away?.

Inspired by ‘Cancer’ a cover by Twenty one pilots of a My Chemical Romance song.

(read warnings on Ao3)

remember to check out Anette’s fic too ( Let Them Have The Ride Of Their Lives! -  36,838)

More answers under the read more!! (^O^)~♪

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

i work at an animal shelter and EVERYONE wants a baby. people will come and talk to me in the cat room and be like "i really want a kitten" or "you dont have any babies? when will you get some in?" like im going to pull some out of my ass or like i can order in some cats like we ran out of a size of shirts or something. not to mention i have to remind people they cant touch the cats through the cages when we have signs RIGHT THERE

FFS it doesn’t matter what age they are. They need a home! We found both of my kitties homeless and starving. Cleo was a kitten(not tiny, but not adult yet), but she was damned and determined not to be left behind. I was walking to the gym and she tried following me there. Turned back with her in my arms. Never made it to the gym that day. Midnight came along just before Christmas a year ago. My husband went to the 24/7 Mart walls for some groceries just after Midnight. When he came home he saw an emaciated black cat hiding under a car. He coaxed him out and pet him and lured him into the apartment building so we could feed him. I wasn’t about to let him back out into the cold so he’s with us now. The vet said he was about 2, maybe 3 when we got him. Midnight was neutered already, meaning someone let him outside without a collar and left him to starve. We checked for missing posters for the entirety of last year. There were none. They wrote him off and were probably one of these same assholes that wanted a kitten and he outgrew that. As for Cleo she was far too friendly to be born to a feral mother. We guess her owners realized they didn’t want a pet and left her outside. Again, no collar and no missing posters. She was pretty emaciated too. FUCK PEOPLE! -Abby

Pic of my babies. Fat, happy, and indoor kitties now.

What I want Season 3 to have

- TONS of Cat Grant aka The Queen of The World™
- more James
- no Mon-El (not even mentioning his existence) or any new unnecessary white male character who takes screen time from the actually interesting characters
- also I want Lucy back (I seriously miss her, she was great)
- why did they break up with James exactly when he didn’t end up with Kara??? (Let them be together pls)
- Maxwell Lord could be also back
- more J'onn as Alex’s and Kara’s space dad
- S-U-P-E-R-C-O-R-P !!!
- pls no Sanvers wedding, they are literally dating for two months and they are not ready yet, don’t ruin it for them
- I also love Winn and he should have at least half of the screen time thanks

kidsxuisine  asked:

Some of my family laughs at me when I mention being upset due to the death of my dog, Socks. He died last month and I still cry every night, because he actually helped me through depression and anxiety, and he was like my best friend. I'm kind of questioning whether or not my sadness is justified. They say 'it's just a dumb dog'. Have you ever lost a pet, and if so, do you feel the same way?

OK, so I don’t want to say your family members are being total shits, buuuuut … well, let me tell you a story.

I am 32 years old. I still think about my first cat, Pansy, who I got in third grade after earning S’s for Satisfactory six weeks in a row on my handwriting. She was the most wonderful cat — a big, beautiful Maine Coon with a quiet “Plrrrrp!” sound that she would always greet you with. She liked to follow me around the house, let me carry her like a baby and was, everyone in the family agreed, the best cat that ever existed. My mom called her “The Little Furry Goddess” because she was always so serene and happy. 

She died when I was in 8th grade; we suspected, though could never prove, that the kid next door killed her. At the time, I was undergoing constant bullying in school, with no friends. I sobbed relentlessly. When we gave her a funeral in the backyard, I saw my dad wipe away tears, something I’ve only witnessed one time in the two decades since. 

Yes, she was just a cat. She cost maybe $10 at the pound. She weighed 15 pounds and had a brain the size of a walnut*. Those things are true, but so are these: She was my best friend. She was one of the only good things in that shitty, shitty time in my life. She has been dead 20 years and I can still feel so sad and miss her. Because she was fucking great. Because she brought me so much joy and comfort when I really needed it. Because I spent more time with her than with any human.

And now, I’m a grown-ass woman and I still love that cat who was only part of my life for four years. But in the intervening years, I’ve had other cats, and now Eleanor. Marigny and Eleanor in particular have brought me so much joy and happiness. I refuse to believe that either of them are mortal.

Which is a very, very longwinded way of saying that you never, ever need to feel dumb for being sad over a pet. I think they’re little lumps of God that live with us. They make things better. I hope you feel better soon, too.

anonymous asked:

Do you think ravenpaw and barley are a couple?

SO i’ve got a weird relationship with Ravenpaw and Barley like ok. I do really like them together but I don’t feel comfy with them being together while Raven’s still young u know?  I kind of headcanon that Ravenpaw kinda went off on his own and was a wandering loner for quite awhile.  I know that doesn’t really fit in with the books, as he’s mentioned at Barley’s throughout the series but idk. 

First off I honestly can’t see Ravenpaw being completely content just hanging around the barn. I envision him getting restless and wanting to go beyond the farm and explore and get a taste of the wild warrior cat life he had back in the forest. In Ravenpaw’s Farewell, we definitely saw that he did still have that warrior spirit in him

Second, I think for Ravenpaw to really fully develop and become independent and confident, he’d need to sorta grow up a bit on his own and realize he wasn’t a weak coward like Tigerclaw made him believe he was.  I think if he stayed with Barley, he’d be really really dependent on him, and tbh Ravenpaw’s Farewell shows us that Barely was way more dependent on Ravenpaw.

And also if that were the case, it feels less idk taboo because then, when they did get together, Ravenpaw would be a fully developed, well rounded, full grown tom and much more at Barley’s level. I mean tbh I always imagined them having a gap similar to Dustpelt and Ferncloud’s anyway, which no one kicks up a fuss about, but either way. I like my hc so yea h

Tony hides the cat.

He knows it’s stupid, but he can’t help it. Anything he loves that will let him lock them away, he will. Which means the ‘bots stay in the lab. FRIDAY barely talks to the returned team. And the cat lives exclusively in Tony’s rooms.

Which rather defeats the point, of course. Jinx is supposed to be there whenever Tony starts to get anxious, whenever he starts to have a panic attack, whenever he gets too wound up and needs to relax before he gives himself another heart attack. Vision, FRIDAY, and Rhodey had been behind the idea, but Tony can’t say he minds the therapy cat.

But he won’t let her around the team, won’t trust the team with her, and of course those are the places where he needs her most often. He does have panic attacks in his rooms, but it’s far more likely for Wanda Maximoff’s magic or Clint’s snide comments or Steve’s sudden moves to set him off.

He solves it by spending most of his time in his lab or in his room, isolated from everyone but a select few FRIDAY knows to let through.

“Meow.”

Tony shakily pets down her back. “You’re a good cat, you know that?” He asks. Rhetorical, of course, because he knows she can’t talk back.

But then again, neither can DUM-E or Butterfingers or U, and Tony’s pretty sure he understands them anyways.

She butts her head against his elbow, and he almost manages to smile.

“Meow.”

“Yeah, I know.”

He joined whole-team training for the first time today, and as a consequence saw Steve work with the shield he hadn’t wanted to return but had felt pressured into. The world needed Captain America, needed him at his best. And Tony would keep his mouth shut.

He’d made it through almost all of training, despite Rhodey’s, Peter’s, Vision’s, and even Carol’s offers to make his excuses. But Steve had thrown the shield to Bucky, that well-practiced move part of their repertoire, and they had just been standing too close to Tony, and that had been it. Tony thinks he stuttered something about a broken repulsor–a lie, of course, his repulsors take a lot harder hits to break–and made a break for it.

To Jinx.

“Meow.”

“Yup.”

She sprawls across his lap, belly up, and this time Tony does manage to smile before giving her the requested belly-rubs. Unlike Ana Jarvis’ cat from when Tony was small, Jinx will let him pet her for hours, if he needs to. None of the biting him after precisely three strokes business.

The door opens and Tony flinches, and Jinx, perceptive as ever, bats at his hands.

It’s Peter and Vision, though, and Tony does his best to relax. Jinx gives them a thoroughly unimpressed look before deciding she can settle back into Tony’s lap.

“Colonel Rhodes is on his way,” Peter says, pulling his mask off now that they’re in the privacy of Tony’s rooms. “He’s yelling.”

Vision takes over from there. “He’s restructuring the training procedure,” he corrects. “So this will not happen again.”

“Maybe next time Jinx could be there?” Peter suggests.

Tony shakes his head. “No, I…I don’t trust them with her.”

“Meow.”

Tony begins petting again, compelled by his pushy cat.

“Can we sit?”

Tony nods, so the couch is filled around him. “We can go back to training just us,” Peter offers.

“How productive is that?” Tony asks rhetorically.

Vision actually answers. “More productive than this, I imagine. If you cannot work with them, then you cannot work with them. We would all understand. We all have our reservations and our problems.”

“But you all do it.”

“They weren’t my friends,” Peter says. “And they didn’t try to kill me.”

The door opens again and Rhodey rolls in, groaning. “I let Carol take over yelling,” he says. “I had more important places to be.”

“You all know they didn’t do anything wrong,” Tony says.

Rhodey rolls his eyes. “Forgive us for being a little mad,” he says dryly.

Jinx moves so she’s sitting in Tony’s lap, then moves up his arm and perches on his shoulder. She’s not a big cat, but Tony still goes a little crooked under the weight. Her tail hits him in the face and he smiles again.

“Movie night?” Rhodey offers. “Carol will probably be up sooner or later, we could order food while we’re waiting.”

There’s no mention of anyone else. For a moment, Tony feels bad, but then the thought of them being in here makes him tense. Jinx butts her head against his.

“I want pizza,” he says, reaching up to pat his cat with one hand and reach for his phone with the other, listening to his friends list their pizza orders.

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Write these two things in either order:

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wolfstarshines  asked:

You answered a post a while back that was comparing munchkin cats to ferrets and you mentioned that ferrets have proportionally long legs. I've been looking up pics of ferret skeletons and I'm so amazed by those weird noodle creatures 😂 There's no real point to this ask I guess. I just wanted to let you know that I enjoy your blog and always seem to learn something​ cool from you. Keep being you!

They are certainly strange little noodles.

Personally I often refer to them as kitten souls possessing a sock puppet.

(Randy Toroni’s Ferret Skeleton Drawing)

The original Munchkin cat discussion is here.

Dear Future Me Reading This,

You are gay. Nope, I don’t want to hear any objections, you’re going to shut up and listen.

Remember when you were about nine and used to have all of these characters that you’d put in different scenarios in your head? You would pair all the girls together with the boys because that’s what you thought was the only option. Then, when you discovered that girls could love and kiss other girls. You went through all of your characters with boring, heterosexual relationships, and paired the girls together. I know specifically that the main girl (the one that was your self-insert) would always have the greatest girlfriend and all the boys she used to date before you knew about gays would be so baffled.

I know you thought later that the only reason you did this was because your older sibling is bisexual, and you were just trying to be cool like them, but that’s not it. You have had two boy “crushes” in your short life. One was of the most popular and sought after boy in the first grade, because everyone else had a crush on him, and one was the least repulsive boy you could think of.

I can name about three girls who you have had major, heart aching crushes on: Y, L, and S. When you had that big performance, everyone congratulated you on it, but you didn’t really acknowledge the compliments until Y did, which left you speechless, your heart pounding because she had noticed you! When you were at a sleepover with L, you stayed up all night thinking about how she was so pretty, you wanted to bury your face in her hair and kiss her until the sun rose. And when S confided in you that she was pan, your heart soared and you couldn’t believe it, because she’s the only other person your age you’ve met who’s in anyway lgbt. You’ve spent days thinking about all three. Not to mention that pretty girls continue to shock you every day as you marvel at their beauty.

Don’t kid yourself, you love girls. You know you want to go on cute dates with them, kiss them, and maybe eventually marry them and have a house with a big yard and dogs, cats, and birds everywhere. You could care less about boys, and you know it.

I know you think you’re just trying to be cool and hip like everyone else, but that’s not what that is. I guarantee it. Because the mere concept of being with a girl all those times when you where nine excited you so much that it was all you could think about. On some level, you knew that you were gay, but it took you three years to even come to that conclusion without running for the figurative hills.

You aren’t too young, you aren’t just trying to be cool. Think of it this way, if you honestly thought you were straight, you wouldn’t have followed this blog. You wouldn’t have scrolled through 600 pages of that one lgbt blog when you were figuring things out, and you wouldn’t have followed all those gay youtubers. You wouldn’t get so excited when you were reading a book and came across canon lesbians, or actively seek out books and media like that. If you didn’t know you where gay, you wouldn’t have spent all those hours trying to prove to yourself that you are faking and you definitely, wholeheartedly, would not have taken the time to write this message, or to find it and read it again. 

So stop your doubts, and start loving yourself, because you are gay and you are beautiful. If you don’t want to date a guy, you don’t have to. If you want to marry an amazing woman, do it, and trust me, you will be so so happy that you wont even have to think about it.

Sincerely,

Thirteen-year-old you.

MariChat May Day5: Captain’s Log (The Baton)

Okay, so I haven’t written fanfiction in a while. A LONG WHILE. And I’ve been sucked into reading Miraculous Fanfic since January, which means I’ve been holding out. So bear with me okay? For @baneismydragon  ‘s MariChat May Collab

________________

Marinette steeples her fingers as she leans across her desk, keeping her gaze stolidly forward as to not stare at the object just inches from her elbows. Her fingers rest at eye height causing her to focus on how light plays on her fingers, the translucency of skin and how she can probably play around dyeing fabric to simulate the watercolor-esque beauty of light and life. Alya would look perfect in the dress, Marinette adds, anything to keep her gaze from slipping. Anything to keep her mind from drifting to…

Chat.

Ugh. It’s too late now; Marinette should just embrace it like Tikki said. She feels Tikki’s worried buzz a foot or so away, taking slow, quiet bites from her plate of cookies to give her some peace.  It’s not working.

She leans forward, cupping her face in her hands and lets out a muffled groan.

“Can my yo-yo do this?” She breathes, jerking back as she grabs hold of Chat’s baton. In. Out. In. Out. She has to remind herself to keep breathing; otherwise, she’ll panic, then things will spiral out of control and turn into a mess.

“Of course!” Tikki chirps. “But it’s not like you need it. You already keep a diary with a lock of your own creation! You don’t need magic to keep your secrets safe.” She beams proudly at Marinette, and her charge tries to get a sense of relief.

“But why does Chat have one?” The question is damning for Marinette. When she hears the words escape her voice, she feels the sob clawing at her throat, she hates the threat and demand that tightens her vocal chords. The sound of it scares her, so she tries to play it off with a laugh. “I mean, what dumb boy keeps a diary?”

“Not all Chat Noir’s keep a diary, Marinette, but it’s asked that they do.” Tikki sets aside her cookie and floats to Marinette’s side. She sits just on top of the computer, forcing the young hero to lift her gaze.

“Why?” Marinette asks again, gripping the metal too tight, her gaze once again fixed on the glowing paw.

“Because he’s Chat Noir,” Tikki says as if that should explain it all.

“And they only do as they’re told?” Marinette is on her feet, kicking back her chair and glaring at Tikki. “Or because he’s bad luck and – and – and all he can do is ju-just wait for something bad to happen to him?”

Tikki cocks her head to the side, staring at Marinette with a vague curiosity. The hero knows this look; it’s the look Tikki gives when she’s about to throw out some ancient god history-information-whatever that Marinette should have known the moment she put on the earrings.

“Where do you think your luck comes from?” Tikki asks, folding her arms across her lap. It’s a calm question, one that lines itself with a quiet threat as if to say, ‘do not blame this on me.’

“You give it.” Marinette waves one hand. “I have it.” She waves the other. “I don’t know!”

“There’s a reason Chat Noir and Ladybug fight side by side together. They are a balance of creation and destruction, good luck and bad, give and take. You are equals in that sense. You both take what is given. Chat Noir’s gladly give their luck to those who need it more. They willingly take the bad because they believe in their hearts their purpose is to weather the pain. Ladybugs take luck in whatever form it comes in and throw away the bad because they know their luck will help others. Ladybugs are all about helping others.” Tikki soothes as if knowing this is supposed to be a comfort.

“How do I stop it?” Marinette asks. “I don’t want him taking it from me. We’re a team; we have an equal luck of each kind.”

“It doesn’t work that way, Marinette.”

“Then how does it work?” She snaps, throwing her arms out wildly. The baton slips from her hand and clatters to the ground. It pops open, showing a green screen with a list of numbers and time stamps.

“Whoah! What’s this?” Marinette freezes, hearing Chat Noir’s voice comes from the baton now rolling under her chaise. “Star Date–no–Captain’s Log…”

She dives for it, skidding on her rug. She hears his recorded laugh and finds the wind knocked out of her. She no longer has the strength to move.

“Okay, okay,” He chuckles some minutes later, causing her breath to hitch. “Log three. And I want to say this super important thing before I forget: My Lady made a pun. Not just any pun. She managed three puns in a single sentence! That’s practically im-paw-sible!” He laughs. “I think she’s warming up to this cat. I can see it meow, Chat Noir and Ladybug getting married under the Eiffel Tower!”

“Sap.” Marinette glares at the floor, curling into herself. She knows, in the beginning, the logs are short. They’re mere seconds and glimpses of moments long forgotten. She knows there are hundreds of entries in his baton and most of them are locked. She suspects those recordings have mentions of his civilian life. She wants to know more about him, but there’s a reason Chat Noir’s locked the file. There’s a reason why her diary is sealed in its box right now.

“Dear Diary,” Chat Noir says with a lovesick sigh. Marinette’s lip twitches into a scowl. She’s listened to this recording half a dozen times. “I’ve teamed up with Marinette again today and let’s just say; she’s a very bad actress. Or good, depending on how you see it.” He laughs. “So get this, she’s been acting. ACTING like she thinks I’m this super grand hero–which by the way, I am, no need to tell you that–and it’s kind of a bummer, really. Sure, I have fans, but the first few times I partnered with Marinette, she seemed to be my fan. Not ‘oh I love Ladybug and Chat Noir but mostly Ladybug!’ It was about me.”

He sighs before forcing out a laugh. “And yeah I know, it sounds narcissistic that I was excited over a fan that liked me more than Ladybug but you have to understand: Marinette doesn’t really talk to me. Not in civilian form. I’m worried she might hate me. In my normal life, she gives away her time and attention like it doesn’t cost her anything like she has all of it and then some to spare. And-“ He laughs again. “I know she doesn’t. She’s always running late for things or caught up in an Akuma attack or doing this or that. But when she’s with someone she’s there, nothing can make her move. And sure she talks about Ladybug but only when her friend Alya forces the issue. She’ll talk about me in a heartbeat.

“So I was glad, thinking she was mine. My-my fan, I mean. It turns out; she’s an Adrien fan. A BIG Adrien fan. I saw the hearts doodled on the posters.” Marinette can imagine his Cheshire grin and wants to smack it off his face. “She has no room for a poor stray like me.” He swoons. “Anyway, she dropped the act the moment I commented on her doodles. Who knew Marinette could be so sassy?” He laughs. “She reminds me a bit of My Lady with that attitude. I kind of like honest Marinette but I might ask her to pretend to be my fan, her swooning needs a bit of work.” He cackles before the recording abruptly moves to the next file.

Heavy breathing. Marinette grips the short fibers of her rug as tight as possible between his fingers. Chat curses from somewhere beneath her chaise. “Ah-“ He hisses. “Crap. No, wait, I shouldn’t curse but damn this stings.” He heaves a heavy breath. “I thought the magic prevents us from getting hurt. I thought this suit was practically bomb proof.” He hisses. Marinette can hear the sound of his baton sticking to rooftops and extending. He curses again. “Dad’s going to kill me. My Lady’s going to kill me. I shouldn’t have tried to do this on my own.” He whimpers.

The baton hits something metal; then there’s a grunt and crash, the tinkling of pottery breaking as Chat groans and hisses. “Ow.” He repeats over and over.

“Who’s there?” Marinette squeezes her eyes tight as she hears herself on the recording. “Chat?” She hesitates. “Chat!” Marinette can remember that night. Chat had been clutching his side “Oh my god, you’re bleeding. I thought the magic–”

“So did I.” Chat wheezed. Marinette remembers that day so many months ago. She pulled him through the trapdoor and resting him on her bed that he got blood all over her sheets, which she later explained as a ‘time of the month’ mishap to her maman. She bandaged him, brought him food and water and let him rest in her bed. She sat at the foot of it for the longest time, just watching over his pained sleeping form.

The following recordings are a series of highs and lows. There are moments he’s never been happier to be Chat Noir and moments he’s injured in some shape or form, crawling to her house.

“I’m not a real doctor you know.” She hears herself grumble in one of the recordings. It’s her only real complaint when he comes needing a field dressing; she can’t give him the proper care he needs.

“You’re purrfect, Princess. I’ll be the Cat’s Meow come morning; I just need a little glue holding me together until then.” Chat hums.

The next recording starts out quiet. Marinette knows it’s been months since his first injury and this one. If she strains her ears, she can hear the chatter of the streets and honking of cars below. She thinks she can hear Chat breathe. “Okay,” He says in a breath followed by the awkward scrambling sound of his baton being moved. There’s an ache in his voice, something painful that draws out the words slowly. “Tonight’s been,” He hesitates, “full of discoveries. I just found out some news from Plagg and something else.

“I guess I’ll start with the easiest bit: I like Marinette.” Marinette’s breath hitches in her throat again; she’s replayed this part too many times to count. “And I still love Ladybug. That’s complicated,” He scoffs, “all of this is complicated. She’s pretty, beautiful even, did I ever tell you that? And it’s not just physical, though that doesn’t hurt, she has a beautiful personality? Soul? She’s just all around beautiful. I’ve been visiting her for a while now: before patrol, after patrol, after attacks, even if I’m not injured. She’s always there, and we can talk about anything, which is a change from both my lives.” He sighs a little dreamily. “You should see her when we talk, her eyes lock onto me, and they don’t look away, and then I can’t look away. Her eyes have, like, a million shades of blue. How’s that possible?” He’s silent for a three count before he whispers, “I don’t know what to do.

“And then there’s what Plagg told me.” Chat groans, his voice slightly muffled, no doubt dragging a hand across his face in a moment Marinette is forced to imagine. “There’s a reason I’ve been getting hurt in the suit. It’s partially Hawkmoth’s fault, part Kwamii ‘nature of the beast,’ part my own stubbornness.

“I take bad luck. I guess that shouldn’t be a surprise, but it is. That’s okay; My Lady needs all the luck in the world to save Paris. I’m already pretty lucky outside the suit, a little extra bad luck won’t kill me,” He exhales sharply as a worried tone creeps in,“will it?” Another pause and he seems almost back to normal.

“Anyway, what with Hawkmoth akumatizing people like crazy lately- five in one day, who does that- My Lady’s been needing some extra luck to finish those battles, which means extra bad luck comes my way, which weakens the suit. Plagg said it doesn’t always happen; some Chat Noir’s never have to go through this, it just depends on how much we have to fight.” He sighs, and Marinette can imagine him running a clawed hand through his hair. She curls around herself even tighter because if he were beside her, she’d be hugging him and making stupid promises of never letting go.

“We have to find Hawkmoth,” Chat says, suddenly determined. “If I do that then the bad luck won’t affect as much. I can still be Chat Noir, Ladybug won’t be worried about me, and I can still be around Marinette. Sound like a plan? Great.”

The following logs are more professional, dates, times, and coordinates of places he checked for Hawkmoth’s lair. He mentions briefly if he’s been injured or if he’s visited Marinette.

“I think I know what home feels like.” Chat tells the recorder. He grunts occasionally, and Marinette knows he’s jumping across rooftops. The background noise is minimal, something she’s timed perfectly to the early morning. “I guess I’ve forgotten since my Mom disappeared. Damn, this is a beautiful morning, should I go back and wake her? I really want Marinette to see this.

“It’s, ah, December third, six thirty in the morning and the sunrise is amazing. I’ve, um, just left Marinette’s place,” He laughs awkwardly, and Marinette can just see him reaching to rub the back of his neck out of nervousness. “Last night I got injured more than usual.” His voice is a steadier, which tells her he’s stopped leaping around. “It was awful,” He admits, “And Marinette patched me up, but I wasn’t in any condition to leave so she let me sleep in her bed, like always. This time was different than always. There was the usual stuff; I kept the suit on because Plagg speeds up the healing, I slept on the right side of the bed, against the wall. I wasn’t sleeping, not really. I was in too much pain for that. So Marinette decides to crawl under the covers with me. She tells me stories of her time with Alya or helping her parents in the bakery, petting my head and holding my hand. She reminds me of my mom when I was sick. Mom used to lay in bed with me even though I was coughing up a storm. She was just there for me, like Marinette, and I realize,” He lets out a wistful sigh, “I haven’t felt this good in really long time.”

Another pause before he rushes out, “Also I purred sometime in the middle of that, so that’s…new. I guess it’s going to be a thing now…”

“Oh Kitten,” Marinette manages a smile, lifting her gaze high enough to see the glowing green baton beneath the chaise. She’ll have to move to get it, but she still can’t find the strength.

“December twenty-first,” Chat huffs. “I’ve been at this for hours, and there hasn’t been a single sighting of Ladybug. I’m tailing Juanita Million to see where she goes next, but there’s no point in attacking if Ladybug isn’t here to help fix everything. Hawkmoth needs to work on his puns: Juanita Million-One in a Million, how can he come up with something so terrible? And princess calls my puns bad.” He makes a couple of quiet jumps before continuing.

“Juanita Million is sort of like Reflecta. She’s changing everyone to look like crystal versions of herself. It’s kind of creepy, really. When she first started attacking she went on a super long villain monolog about how the boy she liked thought she was one of the guys? Or he couldn’t really see her? Or that she was really plain? I don’t know; if I’m honest, I was too busy avoiding her rays to pay attention. No way am I getting stuck in heels again.”

Marinette can’t help but giggle at that.

“Long evil rant short, she’s turning people into crystal reflections of her so she can she can shine bright like a diamond? Or that she’ll be the one to stand out? Again, my attention span was not there.”

“Chat!” Marinette hears her voice faintly over the recording. “Chat Noir! Over here!” She remembers waving at Chat from street level as he bounded from rooftop to rooftop. He was confused at first, seeing an akumatized victim, features faceted in crystal actively searching him out rather than hiding.

“Princess!” Chat yelps. “Princess, did you get caught?”

“What kind of dumb question is that, Chat?” Past Marinette grumbles. “I got transformed into glass, and now I’m constantly being blinded by light being reflected off of me.”

“Well, you sure do light up my life.”

“Chaaatt,” She groans. “I can’t decide if that pun is still better than Juanita Million.”

Chat scoffs. “It’s at least a few Kilowatts better.”

“Chat!”

“Yes, Princess?” He asks sweetly, Marinette hears her past self sigh.

“I don’t think Ladybug’s coming anytime soon; I’m worried she got hit in her civilian form-”

“Like you?”

“Like me.” Past Marinette confirms. “I did overhear Juanita saying only true love’s kiss can break the spell. It was something along the lines of, true love will recognize you in whatever form you’re in.”

“Hey, I’m de-lighted to say I recognized you immediately! That watt to count for something!”

“I’m going to be stuck in this form forever!” Past Marinette continues as if she never heard him. “I mean, what if Adrien doesn’t recognize me? And what? I’ll have to ask him? Without stuttering and flailing and going ‘uh-buh-good-Adrien-noon-after!’ It would be a miracle if I could even manage a ‘Kiss me, if you want to live!’ but that sounds way too Terminator and–”

“Can I act as his stand-in?” Chat asks. “I-I mean it’s worth a shot. I recognized you out of all the other victims, that’s worth something, right?”

“I–” She hesitates. “I don’t know. I guess? Just one little kiss?” 

“Princess,” Chat laughs, “I’m not some frog claiming to be a prince. I’ll have you know I am a cat of the highest pedigree!”

“You still seem like an alleycat to me.” She huffs.

“Meow-ch, Princess! That hurts! It’s just one kiss. If nothing happens then, no harm done, but when you do change back, the only thing you’ll be blinded by is my stunning beauty.”

“Kitty, don’t get full of yourself. It’s just a kiss. Let’s just get it over with, okay?”

There’s silence for what seems like a lifetime to Marinette. She remembers what happened. Kissing him while he wasn’t under Dark Cupids control was different. He was hesitant and unsure, unable to decide if he wanted a quick kiss as promised or something more. But there was electricity, Marinette felt it too, tingling down to her toes. She expected the world to shift beneath her, she tried to blame it on turning back but her eyes were closed, and she had no way of knowing if that was true. He seemed to be searching for something in her, and she had found herself searching too, holding him tight in an attempt to stay upright as his arms pulled her closer and closer.

“Oh,” Past Marinette is the first to break the kiss and the silence that follows. She is breathless and panting.

“Oh.” Chat Noir agrees. “Hey,” His voice cracks a little. “You’re back to your beautiful old self.” A pause Marinette remembers was filled with well-meaning gazes. “You should-uh-hide. Don’t want you turning back again. Who knows if-um- t-true love’s kiss works-uh- a second time.”

“R-right! I’ll, um, just go hide, then.” Pounding footsteps drifts away from the recorder.

“Crap!” Chat Noir hisses. “It’s still recording! Well, uh, I guess cat’s out of the bag. I kissed Marinette.” A pause, “Now how am I gonna explain that to Ladybug?”

Two entries pass, more of the same boring professionalism of previous entries, though there’s a clear lack of mention of whether or not he visited Marinette’s. She knows he didn’t. She waited up every night waiting for him to knock on her trapdoor.

“It’s um, it’s-it’s,” Chat sounds choked up. “It’s December twenty-fourth. It’s the day my Mom went missing. I don’t really remember how it happened and it really hasn’t been that long. She was just gone Christmas day. They assume she went missing the night before. My father’s already moping in front of her portrait. He’ll be there for hours. He’ll remember me some time after lunch tomorrow. That’s… okay, I think? People all have their own way of coping, and that’s my father’s. I just wish we could; I don’t know, cope together. Instead of losing one parent I feel like I’ve lost both and I know that’s not okay.” He sniffles and then heaves a heavy breath. “I’m, I’m going to go patrol. Hawkmoth attacked with four Akuma’s yesterday, and I didn’t have time to visit Marinette. Um, well, who knows what he’s planning. He might akumatize someone again over Christmas, and no one should have a miserable holiday.” He sighs and then mutters, “Even me.”

“Okay,” Chat lets out a hurried whisper as the next recording begins. “Okay, okay, okay. It’s um, damn, what is it again? Oh! It’s Christmas day!” He cheers. “And, I might be skinned alive by my father any minute, and that’s fine. One of my nine lives can handle it.” He laughs. “Still terrified though, that’s why I’m running back now. It’s – ah – early afternoon. I spent the night at Marinette’s place, again. Didn’t mean to, she was on her balcony last night, and she looked so cute, and I wanted to hash out what happened with Juanita Million, and then we talked and talked and oh! She gave me a Christmas present! It’s a green scarf, and it’s so soft and warm. And of course, I forgot to get her a Christmas gift, so I panicked and kissed her. That went on for a while…” He breathes. “We stayed up playing board games after that, let me just say: Princess is a sore loser. Meow-ch. Needless to say, this valiant knight calmed her down with a series of kisses. It was downright heroic of me to do so. Anyway, Mr. Dupain finds us in the morning, both of us having fallen asleep in the middle of a card game and invited me for breakfast. It was paw-some. It was like being part of a family. Mrs. Dupain-Cheng kept feeding me, Marinette goaded her Dad into a round of Ultimate Mecha Strike III. It was great. I lost track of time, and well, here I am, trying to make it back to my room before Father realizes I’m gone. Maybe I can sneak back to Marinette’s later…”

Marinette’s trapdoor creaks open, causing her gaze to drift from the glowing paw to the pale hand flipping the door to the floor. A blonde mop of messy hair slowly comes into view followed by the biggest, dorkiest, and darkest sunglasses she’s ever seen. Maman must have bought those for a costume contest because they’re unmistakably feminine and does not belong to its current wearer.

Chat Noir takes slow steps up the stairs to her room, dressed in Tom’s oversized sweater and pants, he looks like a kitten bundled in blankets. Marinette can see the bruises on his cheeks, the cut on his forehead and the bandages peeking out of his collar. A small little black cat sits on his shoulder, nuzzling into the dark blue sweater.

“January eleventh,” Past Chat’s voice echoes through the room, causing current Chat to stiffen on his way up. “Marinette and I are dating now. I think. I did ask her, but she didn’t really give me a response. All she said is that it’d be hard with me in costume all the time. But then we made out for an hour, so I think we’re okay.” Marinette stares at present Chat, feeling her cheeks warm. “And I think it has to be this way for a while. I don’t think Ladybug will appreciate me revealing my identity to a civilian when we don’t even know each other. Marinette probably would have said yes to my alter ego, but I can’t justify it when she has all those Adrien posters on her wall. She has a crush on a celebrity, a mask of some kid who doesn’t know what he’s doing. I’m the one who’s honest with her, and I’m glad she likes me, the real me.”

Present Chat crawls on his knees, closing the trap door before joining her on the rug, lying far enough away that only their fingers touch.

“And yeah,” He huffs. “The irony is not lost on me. I wear a mask too. When the time comes to know who I am, Marinette will already know. No matter the name behind it, I’m still her kitten.” Past Chat Noir giggles as current Chat beams fondly. “She calls me kitten,” They say together. “Isn’t that cute?”

Marinette stares at Chat, feeling his gaze but unable to see his radiant green eyes behind those bug-eyed sunglasses. They skew to the side as he rests his head on the floor, his messy hair falling in waves with gravity.

“Shit,” Chat’s recorded curse causes Marinette’s eyes to widen. “Four Akumas in one day again. It’s, ah, n-nearly two in the morning. And it’s, it’s pretty bad. Before Hawkmoth was sending quantity over quality but it looks like he’s managed to get both this time around. I-crap-I was hit clear across the city from the last attack.” His teeth chatter between heavy breaths. “Crashed through two bridges before hitting a boat and falling into the Seine. The Seine, in the middle of winter, how cruel could this Akuma get? Anyway, the Ladybug cure came by maybe ten minutes ago? I don’t know, it’s fuzzy. Everything fuzzy. I remember they repaired the bridge and the boat but just skipped right over me. And that’s, I don’t know, whatever? You’d think a Ladybug would help a stray cat.” He coughs and breathes a wet rattling breath. “Oh man that hurts. I don’t know if I can even see straight. I hope Plagg’s driving this suit, I hope he goes to Marinette. I can’t,” He chokes on a breath, Marinette can hear the blatant pain. “I can’t just disappear on her. I can’t.” He whimpers.

Marinette scrambles for the baton and shuts it tight before past Chat can say another word. She knows there are a few more recordings after that, but she can’t bring herself to listen to them just yet. They’re too close to the present, too close to how Chat looks right now. She knows the most recent one is what she stopped yesterday when he collapsed on her rooftop on the verge of death.

Yesterday was awful. She can still remember the blood staining the terrace, much more than she thought a person could hold. Marinette remembers being frantic, that she clumsily dressed most of his wounds. When Chat passed out, Marinette transformed into Ladybug hoping to give him a miracle; and it worked, somehow, though she’s still not sure how. He was still in bad shape, but his wounds were closed enough that she could call for help from her Papa and Maman to bring Chat inside and treat him properly.

She had to explain why Chat was on her rooftop. Why he kept visiting, why he was getting hurt, and why he came to her of all people. Some questions she answered truthfully; the others she left unanswered, her distress the only thing they need to know.

“You’re out of your suit.” Marinette whispers, clutching the baton tightly to her chest. How can the baton still be here when his suit isn’t? Will it disappear the moment he touches it? She doesn’t want it to disappear; she needs to know what happens next, even though she’s afraid to find out.

“Your parents needed me out of the suit to patch up everything. I’ll change back soon,” Chat promises. “I’m just giving Plagg a little breather. He’s been trying to heal me all day.”

“And now I’m tired and starving.” The little black kwamii flops in Chat’s hair, raising a paw to his forehead. “Woe is me; I’ll never fix Ad-Chat Noir like this. There’s no Camembert in the entire building. I’m too weak to move!”

“Plagg!” Chat warns. “The Dupain-Chengs are nice enough to let us stay in their home. You could be more grateful.”

“I’d be more grateful if I had some cheese.” Plagg grumbles.

“You had some Brie. Besides, Mrs. Dupain-Cheng already said she’d get you some Camembert. It takes a bit to get to the store, so stop complaining.”

Marinette can’t help but giggle. Plagg abruptly lifts himself from Chat’s hair and narrows his eyes at her. “Something funny, Pinky?”

“Nothing,” She tries to suppress a giggle. “You’re, um, just like siblings. I, I don’t have any of my own but Alya and the twins, they’re like that all the time. You guys really like each other, huh?”

“This lovesick kitten?” Plagg makes a gagging noise. “It’s a miracle I even let him put on the ring.”

“Hey!” Chat protests.

“You gonna talk about the audio journal or what?” Plagg ignores Chat’s protest and floats away, no doubt to where Tikki’s hiding. He says this on purpose, Marinette thinks, to steal away time with the other Kwami and layer the young heroes in thick tension.

She stares at the obnoxious sunglasses, feeling his firm gaze. She doesn’t know where to start. She wants to tell him her identity, wants to promise she’ll stop turning into Ladybug so he can keep his luck. But that’s a stupid argument waiting to happen, she doesn’t want to give up being Ladybug, and he definitely won’t let her.

Marinette wants to lecture him about being reckless when he knows he’ll get hurt. Then again, Ladybug has forced those moments more than a few times.

She wants to hold him, but he’s hurt.

She wants to kiss him, but his lips are split in a few places.

Marinette wants to tell him she loves him but he might not believe her. Not with the adrenaline high of him almost dying and the Adrien pictures she still hasn’t taken down. Not with Tikki hiding somewhere nearby.

“I’m scared,” Those two words slip past as tears break free. “Chat,” Marinette whispers. “Chat,” She sobs. “How can – and you – please don’t – I mean, just be – ”

Marinette doesn’t know what to say.

“Hey,” He whispers, calm and soothing as ever. “I’m here, see?” He reaches out, his fingers brushing her cheek. Oh. She’s never touched his bare hand before. She expects claws and cool material, not manicured nails and feverish skin. “We’re okay.”

“No, you’re not.” She chokes out thickly, rubbing furiously at her tears.

“I’m a superhero,” He says it like that’s supposed to assure her. “We all come with tragic backstories, it’s a membership fee.” Marinette scoffs. 

“I agreed to this life, Princess.” He tells her. “I want to do this.”

“I want you to stay with me.” She sobs.

“I am with you.” Chat promises. “There’s nothing scary in that baton, Marinette. Everything that’s on there is gone. It’s over. I’m here right now.” He shifts, hissing as it aggravates something as he pulls Marinette into his arms. “It’s nothing to worry about.”

“It’s plenty to worry about, Chat! Do you even hear yourself?”

“No, I don’t.” He admits quietly. “I make those entries, and that’s that.”

“Chat,” Marinette starts and stops as Chat holds her tight, burying his nose into her neck and purring, his last ditch effort to soothe away any pain they both feel.

“Play it, Princess.” He whispers into her back between purrs. “We’ll get through this together.”

Some (more) Otayuri headcanons

(A GIANT thankyou to the previous anon…like you are so sweet…thankyou!!! I hope you have a good day. 😊 and also a small note that Kae is still, amazing…like how does she do it no one knows! Just incredible, anyway I love headcanons SO LET’S DO THIS!!!)

.Yuri IMMEDIATELY steals Otabek’s hoodie.
.It is so warm! And nice like why wouldn’t you???
.It also smells really nice, like a portable Ota hug.
.And that was the day that Otabek realised that he would never get his hoodie back again…
.RIP Otabek’s hoodie…
.Anyway it is also good to mention that Yuri’s cats LOVE Otabek.
.Like always cuddling up to him and lying on him.
.And Yuri just really happy in the background.
.The only slight problem is that Otabek isn’t the fondest of cats…but he will get used to them!
.Actually if we were to link this back to the hoodie you COULD say that Yuri may or may not sometimes cuddle his cats in the hoodie…
.You know that thing where you bring the pet up and through the head hole…
.Yeah he does that.
.It is big enough.
.Otabek has to admit it is adorable.
.Yuri whispers shut up with a red face and Otabek suddenly has the straightest face ever…
.He is shitting himself on the inside so funny and cute.
.To be honest…I must say I am team Yuri gets taller than Otabek eventually and later on in their relationship it is really funny and sweet…
.Like Yuri will use Otabek as an armrest and will sometimes say in a menacing voice, ‘who’s the tall one now?
.Even though they are dating they are also really good friends which is what you kinda want in a relationship anyway.
.I have mentioned Yuri being basically like a cat before…but I will mention it again!
.Actually I must also mention that one time Otabek fell asleep on Yuri’s shoulder and Yuri was…so filled with joy…
.I like to also think that Otabek is really clumsy sometimes so just you will hear across the house a really loud bang…
.And Yuri isn’t even fazed anymore it is a fairly common occurrence.
.“You ok?”
.“Yep fine thanks!”
.Yuri is very soft around Otabek and Otabek is the same.
.They are comfortable around each other!
.And lastly Otabek’s reaction to Yuri’s taste of music…
.Like half of it would be alright but the other half is like…what is this human??? Doing??
.Yuri a defender of his music taste EVENTUALLY agrees for Otabek to suggest some good bands and such…
.He and Otabek now listen to them non stop…
.Success!

-Ana

William Nylander - Part Two

So glad you guys seemed to enjoy the first part! Now we start getting into the good stuff… 

The slap of a clearing attempt after a frenzy of Flame chances at the opposite end of the ice. Everything seems to be going in slow motion though I don’t see what’s going on, having been staring at center ice the last several seconds. I sure feel it though. A blinding pain erupts right above my right cheek and my eyes instantly water. I don’t make a noise. I just lean forward in my seat as the crowd goes ‘OH’, clutching at the side of my face. Rian touches my back and I can feel her lean down with me.

“Y/N? Are you okay?” She asks, worry lacing her tone.

I can’t answer her, my cheek feels like it’s on fire and I’m scared to move my jaw. My hand feels hot and wet and when I pull it away from my face it’s covered in blood. I lift my head up and again the crowd gasps as one. My face is hot and sticky, and blood has already spilled down my face and into my shirt. Thank God I’m wearing black.

“Oh my god, Y/N!” Rian gasps beside me, taking her scarf off and pressing it to my face. Feeling the stares of thousands of people, I turn my head into my sister. Nathan is at my side as well, kneeling before me and gently pushing my hair out of my face. I whimper quietly and press my sister’s scarf tighter to my face, convinced that it looks just as bad as it feels.

There’s a voice I don’t recognize to my right and Nathan turns to say something back. I then feel the scarf being pried from my face, quickly replaced by a towel from the bench. Blinking several times I look up at the jumbrotron to see myself, despite the pain I give a thumbs up and receive a roar from the crowd.

               The game starts back up and the crowd quickly turns its attention back to the action much to my happiness. Not matter how long I press the towel to my face I can’t seem to get the bleeding to stop and soon there is no longer a spot of white on the towel. I eventually turn to Rian and Nathan and ask them to look. With the way their faces pale, I don’t take that as a good sign.

               “Who even hit me?” I ask after another couple minutes, the pain is still incredible and I have to grit my teeth to get the words out.

               “Nylander,” Nathan says, still kneeling before me, worry in his eyes. “You should have stopped bleeding by now.” He murmurs, the future doctor in him coming out. But I guess two years into medical school will do that to you.

               “I bleed easy,” I say and he rolls his eyes at me.

               “I think you need to go to a hospital,” he says and I give him a filthy look.

               “If you think for two seconds that I’m leaving this game to go to a stupid doctor you’re ev-“ I’m cut off by a tap on the shoulder. When I look over to see who must be the athletic trainer for the Leafs.

               “Come on,” he says, gesturing to the railing between us.

               “What?” I ask dumbly.

               “We’ll fix you up,” he says and again gestures for me to get up.

               Nathan helps me stand, I’m a little wobbly with the pain still throbbing on one side of my face. I step onto the first rung of the railing and throw my leg over, Nathan’s hands on my waist as he steadies me. Pulling my other leg over as well, I reach for the athletic trainer whose hands replace Nathan’s as he helps me down. I keep one hand pressed to my face as he wraps an arm around me, helping me down the tunnel.

               I can’t seem to gather my bearings as he pulls me down a long hallway and into a side room that I realize must be the medical room. I’m ushered to a cot and told to sit down. Obeying, I dangle my feet off one end, looking around the room in confusion, the throbbing in my head growing by the moment.

               I hiss when the trainer returns to my side and takes my towel, pressing my cheek gently with his now gloved fingers.

               “Doesn’t feel like anything is broken,” he says calmly, ignoring my glare as he continues to poke and prod my face. “Tough kid.”

               I sigh in relief when he finally releases my face. “Thanks.” I mumble and glance down at my now completely ruined shirt. “Dammit.”

               The guy hears me and laughs. “You could have lost your eye and you’re upset about the shirt?” He asks, returning to my side with a small kit of medical supplies.

               “What can I say, priorities,” I say back, a smile pulling at my mouth. I eye the kit warily and give him a questioning look.

               “This might take a little while, you’re still bleeding and the cut is pretty deep. Might have seen the last of the hockey game tonight, kid,” he says and I sigh.

               “I was afraid you’d say that. You gonna fix my headache too?” I ask, not bothering to argue.

               “Probably a concussion, we can do some testing after I get you stitched up. Until then, keep your eyes open. No falling asleep,” he says sternly.

               “Yes, dad,” I mutter under my breath as he turns to his kit. If he hears me he doesn’t show it. “Why are you even doing this?” I ask louder this time. “I didn’t think this kind of thing was allowed. Aren’t the medical people on the concourse supposed to take care of crowd injuries?”

               “Usually, yes,” he says slowly, focused on the kit in front of him.

               “What was different about this time then?” I ask frowning.

               He doesn’t answer me for several seconds and I begin to think I won’t get an answer when he turns to me, wipes in hand as he gets set on cleaning the wet and dry blood from my face.

               “Someone seemed to feel a little guilty and asked if we would clean you up,” he says, stepping back to the kit and taking out a small needle that I don’t even know what it’s supposed to do.

               “Someone?” I press, eyeing the needle as he steps back to me.

               “The someone who hit you.”

               “So Nylander?”

               “He the one that hit you?”

               “That’s what I was told.”

               “Well then there you go,” he says simply and I can’t decide whether I like this guy or not.

               “Do you always give straight answers?” I ask, raising my eyebrows as he numbs my cheek enough for the pain to be bearable.

               “Do you always ask so many obvious questions?”

               “In case you forgot, I was a little distracted by the little rubber disc denting my face to pay attention to who it came from,” I retort.

               “They replayed it on the big screen,” he says, focused on threading his needle.

               “I had a towel pressed to my face!”

               “Only half of it.”

               I sigh in frustration and a smile tugs on his lips.

               “I’m starting to think that I would rather be bleeding out there,” I mumble and at that he laughs.

               “I highly doubt that. I’m sure by the end of the game your jeans would have been ruined too.”

               I open my mouth to retort but the buzzer sounds for the end of the period and echoes down the hallway and into the room. Almost immediately I can hear the voices and skates on the walkway. I shift slightly when Mr. Athletic Trainer turns back to me, this time with what I know are stitches and a needle, so that I’m blocked from view of those passing by the doorway.

               He works in silence and I sit in silence, except for the occasional gasp as he touches a part of my face that hasn’t been affected by the numbing. When he finishes up the last stitch I sigh in relief which he finds hilarious.

               “You acted like I was ripping your face apart that whole time,” he chuckles and I scowl.

               “I can see why you decided against being a surgeon.” I snap back. “How many cups of coffee did you have before the game?” It only makes him laugh harder.  

               “That was a good one. I’ll have to tell my assistant that,” he says through a grin, covering the fresh stitches with a couple butterfly strips. “Looks like you already have a raccoon eye,” he adds.

               I immediately bring my hand to my eye, ignoring the sting. “Do I really?” I ask, looking desperately around for a mirror. “Oh my God!” I exclaim when I spot one almost directly in front of me on the opposite wall. The swelling is slowly showing up and I know by morning I won’t be able to open my eye. Apparently the guy takes a pity on me because he returns with an ice pack and small towel.

               “It doesn’t look that bad,” he says, obviously uncomfortable with the tears in my eyes.

               “My face!” I exclaim again, looking over his shoulder into the mirror.

               “It will be okay!” He says, looking like he would rather be anywhere else right now.

               I snatch the ice pack from his hand and press it to my face, turning so I’m facing the door frame instead of the mirror. “Thank you,” I mutter, still silently freaking out. The dark shadow of a bruise has already formed from my cheek bone up, making me look like I have a seriously fucked up cat eye.

               “Ice it for a little while, hopefully the swelling will go down a bit. I know you would rather go back out to watch the game but I need you to not blush for a little while if you want to get your face back to regular size and being in front of thousands of people staring at you probably won’t help.” He says, putting all his supplies back in order on the other side of the room.

               My cheeks heat at the mention of the crowd and he notices.

               “My point exactly.” He says and turns on a TV that I hadn’t noticed at first and I see that the period has started back up and the Leafs are still in the lead 3-0. “I have to get back to my regular job, but I’ll be right down the hall if you need something.” He taps my foot once on his way out the door and just like that I’m alone.

               I scoot down the cot so my back is against the wall, keeping the ice pack firmly to my face. More time had passed than I had thought, the clock in the corner of the screen says there is less than ten minutes left in the third period. Out of habit I reach for my phone and realize that I must have left it in my coat which is still in my seat out by the ice. Sighing, I return my attention to the television, keeping in mind what the guy said about falling asleep.

               The ice seems to help, combined with the numbing injection he gave me. Soon enough the throbbing becomes dull and I’m able to focus on the names and numbers flying across the screen. I don’t cheer or clap when Toronto scores again and I also don’t clap when Calgary scores two goals late in the third. Again I remain silent as the game comes to an end.

               I tense when I hear the sounds of players coming down the hall and wish the guy had closed the door when he left. Keeping my eyes on my shoes, I avoid the glances that I can feel by the doorway. Only looking up when someone enters the room and I smile.

               “Y/N!” Rian cries, rushing to my side. “I was so worried when the athletic guy came back but you didn’t.” She gently puts her hand on my wrist and I lower the ice pack. Rian’s face doesn’t pale this time and I take it as a good sign. “Looks much better,” she smiles. “How do you feel?”

               “Just a headache right now, but I’m sure when the numbing meds wear off I’ll be crying.” I say, bringing the ice pack back to my face, refusing to look in the mirror again. “Where’s Nathan and Jake?”

               “Only family could come, they are waiting for me to tell them where to go.” Rian says, leaning against the cot. “If it makes you feel better, Nathan barely realized you were gone after Jake got another couple beers in him. He was pretty miserable for the rest of the second period after you left.”

               I roll my eyes. “Of course he was.” I feel a little guilty for my tone, but as of late nearly everything Nathan’s done has annoyed me in some way.

               “He was just worried, Y/N.” Rian says exasperated. “Just like I was.”

               I soften and reach out for her hand. “I know, I’m sorry. I’m really okay, just a little sore.” I give her a smile and her face lifts.

               “Then you ready to go? Can you leave yet?” She asks and a voice answers from the door.

               “Just a few more minutes.” My little nurse had returned. “There’s actually someone who would like to see you if that’s okay.” He says and I frown at the smirk playing on his face.

               “Who?” Rian asks for me and before he can answer another person appears at his elbow.

               “Me.”

               I gulp as I meet those blue eyes again. Rian freezes beside me, obviously caught up in his so called ‘godliness’.

               “If I may?” He asks and I’m taken back at how polite he is. I nod and he glances at my sister a little awkwardly and she jumps to attention.

               “I’ll uh, be out there. Waiting.” Rian stammers, looking between Will and I like a tennis match. Mr. Athletic Trainer winks at me before closing the door gently behind him and Rian.

               I look back to Nylander, unsure what to do. His eyes are on my cheek and a frown tugs down the corners of his mouth.

               “I guess I just wanted to apologize,” he says after a moment, his eyes coming back to mine.

               “Nothing to be sorry about, you didn’t mean to,” I smile slightly which causes me to wince. He notices and guilt flashes across his face.

               “I didn’t, but it happened,” he replies and cautiously moves closer. I eye him warily.

               “Did you just come in here to say sorry and give me stick or jersey or something?” I ask, annoyed with the way everyone has been staring at me the last hour.

               Will pauses and blinks at me. “Uh did you want a stick?” He asks slowly, and the awkwardness grows.

               “No.”

               “Then why did you ask that?”

               “Because you look like you’re about to burst with a question and I don’t like waiting.” I say right back and he smiles.

               “I didn’t have a question.” He says and I roll my eyes.

               “Yes you did. I can tell. My friend gets the same expression on his face when he wants to ask me something but isn’t sure how to.”

               Will pauses for a moment. “You mean blondie out there?” He jerks his head in what must be the direction on the ice.

               I have to laugh at both his frown and tone, my eyes fleeting over his own blonde locks. “Must be a blonde thing.” I quirk an eyebrow at him and his cheeks turn a faint pink.

               “I didn’t know what else to call him.” He says defensively and I laugh, ignoring the tingle in my cheek that it causes. Will watches me silently, his lips pulling up slightly when I laugh.

               “Nathan, you can call him Nathan. Speaking of who is celebrating his birthday today, so I should get back to him.” I say and swing my legs over the edge of the co+t and make to stand only to be greeted by a spinning room.

               “Whoa!” Will says and reaches out to me, pressing on my shoulders to get me to sit again. “Probably a good idea to go a little slower standing up.” He adds, releasing my shoulders as quickly as he grabbed them.

               I don’t reply, a wave of nausea rolling over me though I keep it together. I just take several deep breaths. He watches me in silence, hovering just a feet away while I stare at his bare feet, waiting for the nausea to pass.

               “I’ll take this time to ask my question.” He says and my eyes snap to his, a knowing smile on his face. “What’s your name?”

               I have to fight the urge to roll my eyes so hard that my eyes twitch. “Y/N Y/L/N.” I reply and he holds his hand out. I eye it a moment before reaching out a shaky hand and taking his. It’s a lot warmer than I had expected, callouses from years of hockey tickle my palms and I ignore the upside down feeling in my stomach, this time not from the nausea.

               “Nice to meet you.” He says warmly and I can’t help but smile.

               “If you just wanted to introduce yourself to me I’m positive there are about a thousand different ways to do it rather than hit me with a puck.” I tease and he laughs.

               “True. But I think this was a pretty unique way.” He grins at me and I roll my eyes.

               “I’ll say.” I get my feet under me again and without letting go of his hand, I steady myself on my feet. His other hand hovers slightly just in front of him like I’m about to fall over. Which I might.

               “Okay.” I say after a moment and don’t see or feel any spinning. “Much better.”

               “Good.” Will nods and when I take a step he puts his other hand to the small of my back. I stiffen slightly but don’t say anything, mostly because I’m still not positive I won’t fall over.

               Will opens the door for me and ushers me out to my waiting sister. Rian’s eyes widen slightly when she sees my hand in his and I’m quick to drop it and step out of his arm.

               “Ready?” I ask her, moving to her arm instead. It’s not as warm as Wills.

               “Sure.” Rian says, looking a little unsurely between Will and I. “Come on.” She gently takes my hand and helps me towards an elevator I hadn’t noticed before. “Someone told me how to get outside the quickest.” Rian adds when she sees my confused expression.

               I glance over my shoulder at Will who is still standing there, watching me. “Bye.” I say softly and he smiles.

               “See you around.” He says and I tilt my head slightly in confusion but I don’t get a chance to ask what he means as the elevator dings as it opens in front of me and Rian ushers me in.

               “Can we get Bitondo’s tomorrow?” I ask her as the doors slowly close and I lean my head on her shoulder.

               “Of course we can.” She laughs and pats my arm, playing the part of my seventeen year old mom.

               “Awesome.” I whisper and want nothing more than to crawl into my bed and sleep for twenty nine years.

anonymous asked:

okay i could have sworn that i read a poem a while ago that paul wrote about john? i don't remember much about it but i think cats were mentioned and johns breathe or something maybe i'm completely wrong bc this is a vague memory, but i thought if anybody would know, it'd be you??

I want to smell
your underarm odour
I want to drink
your ice cream soda
Reminisce
about our childhood
What we did
in deepest wildwood
Let’s remember fifites cars
And hanging out in
late-night bars
Want to give
your back a rub
Then jump into
a foamy tub
Laugh at all
your High School jokes
One too many
Scotch and Cokes
Want to stroke
your furry kitten
Don’t be shy
you won’t be bitten
When we’ve seen
the babies doze off
Let me see you
take your clothes off
When this world is
dead and gone
We will still be
Rocking on!

The Black Cat Flu - LWTM #2

Author’s Note(s): it’s kind of long and not exactly as great as I had wanted it to be, but regardless, hope you guys enjoy :) also there’s mentions of like puking and stuff so if you’re squeamish, I wouldn’t recommend this one. 


Originally posted by marauderseraimagines

Lamplight illuminated the dark room as your eyes slowly blinked open. You felt hasty movement on the other side of you. Rubbing your eyes, you rolled over, expecting to see Remus having yet another nightmare. Instead, you found the right side of your bed bare, both pillows thrown haphazardly on the carpeted floor, blankets bunched up near the bottom of the bed. You sat up slowly, rubbing your eyes and looking across the room where the bathroom door was slowly closing. 

You got up, nearly tripping over Sirius, who lay on the floor beside the bed wrapped up in a green knitted blanket. A small trashcan and a roll of paper towels sat adjacent to his head. You had no idea when or how he’d gotten there. You quickly opened the drawer on your bedside table and took out your wand just in case. You thought it was just Remus bumping around in the middle of the night, but with all the state of his side of the bed and the loud thumps that woke you up, you could never be too sure. 

Creeping into the bathroom, you turned on the light to see Remus hunched over the toilet. He glanced back at you for a split second before turning away. A terrible noise came from the back of his throat and he was vomiting moments later. You reacted instantly, flicking your wand in every which direction. The sink began to spew water on a rag as you dropped down beside Remus, rubbing circles on his back. You knew there wasn’t much comfort to give to someone in his state, but you could at least try. 

He puked until there was nothing but bile filling the toilet bowl. You’d been dealing with this all week at work. There was a stomach bug going around and you were sure you’d brought it home from St. Mungo’s. You’d built up an immunity to it by now after being surrounded by it day after day, but it was clear Remus’ immune system hadn’t. He spit thrice before taking the warm rag you’d handed him and wiping his mouth. 

“You okay?” you asked, standing up. You knew it was a stupid question. Obviously he was sick. 

He followed suit, depositing the rag in the hamper. Remus groaned, “This is the third time I’ve puked tonight.” 

“Well, it looks like that’ll be the last of it,” you said, glancing over at all the acid and stomach bile in the toilet. You weren’t ever squeamish and this was what work had entailed all week. Remus started to brush his teeth and you flushed the toilet before wiping the seat down with another rag. You sprayed far too much Lysol through the room. 

Remus put his toothbrush back in the holder, “I hope so.” 

You returned to the bedroom behind him only to find Sirius sitting cross-legged on the floor, fingers curled around the trashcan. His other hand was busy wiping his mouth with a paper towel. You sighed. There were two different kinds of sick people and here you had both of them. Sirius grimaced up at Remus, “You sick too, Moony?” 

“Unfortunately,” he huffed, crawling back into your bed and burrowing under the comforter. The lack of pillows on his side suddenly appearing to the wizard. He grunted, turning over and yanking one of your pillows under his head. You rolled your eyes. You hated when Remus was sick. He turned into a childish, complaining ball of frustration. 

Walking over to Sirius, your nose shriveled up. “Bloody hell, that reeks. What did you eat?” 

He almost smiled, “Marlene made me lunch…and well, you know how that goes.” 

You didn’t answer, just scooped up the bag in the can and tied it up. You looked over at Remus. His eyes were scrunched closed and it was obvious he had no intention of staying up. Sirius stood up, wrapping his blanket around his shoulders and following you down the stairs. You reached the kitchen to find the lights already on and James rummaging through the medicine cabinet in his underwear. He craned his neck around the opened door and looked at you, “Do we have any laxatives? My stomach feels like it’s going to explode.” 

You walked past him and to the trashcan, Sirius piping up before you could. “Vix, you hear that? Looks like James got the shitty end of the stick, literally.”  

He laughed as James whacked him with a magazine. Sirius was the complete opposite of Remus. He was very lively and didn’t seem to mind the fact that he was sick. You wished everyone was like that. After depositing Sirius’ bag of vomit, you directed your attention towards James. You plastered a smile on your face that you hoped just screamed “don’t worry, I don’t need sleep and your stomach explosions are very important to me.” 

Closing the cabinet, you spoke, “Why don’t you guys go into the living room and watch an episode of Jerry Springer while I put on some tea?” 

Sirius grinned, turning away from you and stalked into the living room, fist bumping the air, “Jerry! Jerry! Jerry! Jerry!” James followed behind him sluggishly, clearly not as enthusiastic about Jerry Springer as Sirius was. You hoped that would keep the two of them occupied for a while, giving you time to wallow in the kitchen. Work never really does end, does it?

You moved to the stove, putting on some ginger tea. You knew the boys would hate the taste, but if it helped, they’d drink it. It would be at least twelve hours before they could keep actual food down, so tea was their best bet. You slumped down at the kitchen table, resting your head on your hands. This was going to be a long night. 

The tea finished sooner than you would’ve liked. You loved Sirius and James and didn’t want them to be in any kind of discomfort but you were supposed to be in bed dreaming about a certain brown eyed boy. You sulked into the living room where Jerry Springer was cracking a dumb joke on the TV. You noticed Remus had come down to join the “fun” and was curled up in the recliner with the comforter from off of your bed. 

“They’re all actors,” he yawned. “None of this bullshit is real.”

“Doesn’t make it any less entertaining,” James grinned, accepting the cup of tea you handed him. He took a quick sip and his whole face scrunched up, “This is putrid.” 

Sirius took a sip of his as well to test James’ theory. He shrugged, “I’ve had worse. Like the soup Marlene practically forced down my throat today.” 

You gave Remus a cup with a kiss on his forehead. He took it without protest and began to sip on it. You plopped down on the couch beside Sirius. For a few minutes, all was kept to minimal chaos. Sirius was chanting along with the crowd, Remus was complaining about the ignorance of the show, and James was egging both of them along. Until the show ended and James stood up, taking three big gulps of his tea. He looked down at Sirius, “It’s time.” 

“Time for what?” you asked, about to shoot down whatever crazy idea James was about to perform. It was two in the morning for Merlin’s sake. 

James started towards the bathroom. “McGonagall told me once ‘Potter, nothing is accomplished without a little hard work and a little encouragement. You’re the only one standing in the way of your own victory.’” 

“What does that have to do with anything?” Remus asked, annoyance lacing his tone. 

“I need to poop, so that’s what I’m going to do,” he answered promptly. “And Sirius, you’re going to encourage it. Come on.” 

“For fuck’s sake,” Remus huffed, exasperated, pulling his blanket over his head. You fought the urge to giggle as James and Sirius marched off the the guest bathroom. After a minute or two, you could hear Sirius clapping his hands and giving James a pep talk through the bathroom door. You crossed your legs on the couch, putting your head in your hands and listening closely to the ridiculousness down the hall. 

“C’mon, Prongs, you can do it! Just give me a little push! Keep pushing, James! Go! Go! Go! Merlin’s beard, you can do better than that!  A big push!” 

“Fucking Christ,” Remus muttered under the blanket. 

You did giggle then. Remus poked his head out, eyeing you with an annoyed expression. “If Pettigrew wasn’t awake during the fucking ‘Jerry’ fiasco, then he sure as hell is now.” 

You blinked a couple times. You’d forgotten all about Peter. Remus was right. You stood up, not bothering to give Moony an explanation before venturing off to Peter’s room. You picked at your fingernails up the steps. You felt like a bad mom. You reached Peter’s bedroom door and cocked your head to the side at what you found. Taped to Wormtail’s door was a white piece of paper. Written in big black letters, it read: SANITIZE BEFORE ENTRY

At the bottom of the door, a basket held two containers of hand sanitizer and a big can of Lysol. You chuckled under your breath, knocking softly, “Peter?” 

You heard movement behind the door and it creaked open moments later. Peter stood behind it wrapped in what looked like the slipping slide you bought last summer, held together with clothespins at the top. He had a doctor’s mask with pictures of Winnie the Pooh all over it covering his mouth and a pair of mittens on his hands. You raised your eyebrows as he spoke through his mask, “Did you spray?”

“What?” you asked. 

He gestured to the basket at your feet. You reluctantly picked up the Lysol and sprayed yourself thoroughly. Peter moved out of your way then, letting you into his bedroom. He pushed down his mask once the door was closed, “Sorry, Y/N. This is a germ-free fortress.”

He padded over to his bedside table and picked up a plastic cup full of purple juice. He held it out to you. “Grape juice guarantees you won’t get sick. Want some? Oh, and Vitamin C, here.” 

You politely declined. “Trust me, I don’t need it.”

“More for me,” he shrugged, sitting it back down. “So, if you’re not trying to get away from the germs, what are you doing here?” 

“Oh, I was just checking up on you,” you answered, plopping down on his bed. 

He took a sip of his grape juice, “Well, I’m good. So, you can be going, then.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to get rid of me, Pettigrew,” you snarkily replied, standing up. He laughed nervously following you towards the door. You stepped outside and Peter sprayed something behind you, presumably Lysol as you went. He closed the door and turned out the light, whispering something about germs under his breath. You ran your fingers through your hair in the middle of the hallway. What the fuck even is your life?

After a moment to yourself, you walked back down the stairs. You were met at the bottom by James. He held a roll of toilet paper in his hand and had a victorious grin on his face. You raised your eyebrows expectantly. He gave you an award winning smile. “I pooped.” 

“He couldn’t have done it without me,” Sirius said, appearing behind him holding a red pom pom. Where the hell did he get that from? He and James high fived and you pushed past them, not wanting to get sucked into that conversation. 

When you got to the living room, Remus was gathering up the blanket in his arms. He spotted you and sighed, “I’m going to sleep.” 

You yawned, “I think I’ll be right behind you.” 

He nodded, walking past you, placing a hasty kiss on your cheek. You heard him bicker with James and Sirius at the bottom of the steps and smiled, turning off the TV. After turning off the kitchen light, you went up the steps and into your room to find all three boys arguing around the bed. 

“You’re not sleeping in here,” Remus hissed. “No, absolutely not. James, don’t touch that pillow.” 

“Come on, Moony. Stop being such an asshat,” Sirius tried to reason. 

James spotted you in the doorway. “Y/N, tell Remus we can sleep with you guys.” 

You sighed lightly, shaking your head at the boys. Sure, they were a handful, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

anonymous asked:

Reader has a crush on Gladio but is a few years younger and is worried Gladio will turn them down due to them being younger (like 4 years younger) but he actually doesn't mind the age difference. What would Gladio do when the reader would finally confess to Gladio while at camp one night?

You were nervous. Your hands felt clammy and you paced around the lightning energy deposit just outside of camp. It sparked and you jumped backwards, decided maybe it was a good idea to just get it over with.

You spotted Gladio sitting in one of the lawn chairs by the fire, reading his book. Prompto and Noctis were playing cards in the tent, and Ignis was sipping a cup of Ebony. You approached the campsite and tapped Gladio on the shoulder.

“Can I talk to you?”

He blinked at you for a second, and then rose from his chair as you led him away to a thicket of trees.

You’d met Gladio while you were still in high school. You were hired as a tutor to Iris, who was four years your junior. Gladio was four years older than you, and you’d developed a crush on him basically the moment that you saw him. Which you were sure he was used to, because he always had a crowd of girls following him around wherever he went.

You’d always been determined to have him see you as something more than just a kid, but you weren’t actually sure what he thought of you. He treated you similarly to how he treated Prompto, with casual teasing and reminders to stay focused during hunts. You came along on the trip because you’d become close friends with all the guys, and because your specialty was in healing magic.

Gladio always gave you a hard time, but you appreciated it. It kept you strong and kept you alert. Not to mention that you just, in general, enjoyed being around him. You’d resolved that you would tell him how you felt, rejection be damned, because it was getting overwhelming having to keep it a secret for so long.

“What’s going on?” he asked, once you turned to face him.

“Um…” It’s okay. Just say it. “I…”

“What’s wrong?” he grinned. “Cat got your tongue? Too distracted by my devilishly good looks?”

You let out an incredulous laugh, scratching at the back of your head. “Actually, that’s what I kind of wanted to talk to you about.”

That shut him up pretty quickly. He waited for you to continue.

“I have…” you cleared your throat, looking anywhere but his face. “I kind of have feelings for you.” You looked intently at the ground. In a rushed tone, you added, “I know that I’m a lot younger than you, and it’s probably really stupid, but I’ve liked you since I first started tutoring Iris, but I don’t want you to see me as a little kid—”

“Hey,” his voice made you stop. He put his finger under your chin and lifted it so that you were looking into the warmth of his eyes. “Slow down.”

“Uh…” you started, dumbly. “You want me to repeat all that? Because I’m already pretty embarrassed.”

“Don’t be,” he chuckled, his voice deep and smooth. “It’s cute.”

You stared. Deadpan. “It’s what?”

“Yeah,” he said, stepping a little closer. He ran a hand down your arm, the roughness of his calloused hands sending shivers down your spine. “If it makes you feel better, I don’t care that you’re younger than me. I like you, too.”

“Y-you do?”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “Why do you think I always try to push you so hard? And give you such a hard time? You’re strong, you’re smart, and you’re resourceful. And I admire that about you. And,” he added, his hand moving to the small of your back. “You’re also smokin’ hot. That’s just an added bonus.”

He leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to your lips. He pulled away too soon for your liking, as you barely had time to reciprocate, but you were smiling nonetheless.

“We can go slow,” he said, looking into your eyes. “At your pace. If there’s anything that makes you uncomfortable, we can stop. The last thing I want to do is hurt you in any way.”

You bit back a smile and hugged him, feeling a weight finally lifting off your shoulders. “I’d like that.”

“Good,” he said, leading you back towards camp. “Come on, let’s get back to the others. They made a bet about how long it would take for us to get together, and Blondie owes me fifty gil.”