#me just tagging mona's edit tag because all her sets really inspired me to do it like this

[lovehugsandcandy]

Until This Time (Colt x MC)

A/N: @choicesarehard is a dirty, dirty enabler and I’m not even mad. She made the gorgeous image below for me as an incentive to write a second part of the tattoo story and, apparently, I am weak. Thank you SO much for editing and for inspiring and for being so amazing each and every single day; you are a ruthless, DIRTY enabler and I love it!

Pairing: Colt x MC, ROD

Length:  4,060 words

Rating: N*FW (swearing and sex, sex and swearing, sexing while swearing? who even knows)

Summary: Colt said he would find her.

Tags:  @deimosensblog @alegria1580  @choicesarehard @thefarrari @client-327 @moonlit-girl-wonder @going-down-downtown@soniadotalves@jolietmaraud @hazah@flowerpowell@poeticscolt @brightpinkpeppercorn @zaira-oh-zaira @powdesiree0816 @umiumichan @akrenich @sibella-plays-choices @leelee10898 @maxwellsquidsuit

Ellie shouldn’t be surprised. Summer faded into fall, fall into winter, sophomore year into junior, and she was still alone, desperate for something, anything, to soothe the ache in her heart.

~~~~~

She couldn’t believe she was so nervous. She had done this before but, then, she hadn’t been by herself, walking into a small room with a stranger, no Mona, no Toby, no Ximena by her side.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

The guy shrugged and started setting up the equipment as she settled into the chair.

It had taken her forever to decide what she wanted. A serpent? It would match but she didn’t know if she wanted it on her own skin. An apple, the symbol of the fall, of the risk of eternal fire? A little too abstract, a lot too Snow White. She finally decided on something, something she thought was appropriate and that she liked; it was a little cliche, but oh well. She had to do a lot of research, find people to consult, lots of internet sleuthing; the last thing she wanted was a mishap and to walk around with gas grill on her hip.

She laid back and shut her eyes as the familiar buzz sounded, biting her lip. It wasn’t that bad, insistent bee stings on her skin, like fingernails dragging deep into her nerves, the vibration rattling her midsection. There were fewer lines than the feather, but thicker, more solid. She wanted to notice it when she looked down, to make it obvious, a stark contrast on her skin.

She didn’t need the reminder of him; he was already in her mind, her heart, phantom lines etched over her body, ever present, every day and, dear God, every night.

But…she wanted it. She wanted the outside to match the inside, her skin to match the marks, the scars, the name on her soul.

~~~~~

And time still passed. Junior year faded into senior year. No one had seen her tattoo; maybe no one ever would. Maybe it was for nothing.

These idle thoughts plagued her mind as she moved forward, towards graduation and what lay beyond for her.

She was torn.

LA had the sun, the East coast had snow. LA had her past, the East Coast had her present. LA had her dad, Riya; the East Coast had great schools with amazing grad programs.

Only one place had her heart.

~~~~~

“Are you sure you want to come back?” Her dad sounded off, strange over the phone.

Weird. “Of course I do.”

Her dad made a noncommittal noise. “It’s just….” A sigh. Ellie waited. “You’re safe on the East Coast, you know?”

“And I’ll be safe in LA. Really.” She knew her dad well enough to know that he was holding something back; throughout the rest of the call, through the updates, the goodbyes, in the back of her mind, Ellie wondered what it was.

It took some digging but, finally, she found it. An article from the The LA Times, posted one week ago. It looked like the Verratti manufacturing plant in Long Beach got hit. Details were sparse, but it looked like someone got away with three prototypes, secret upgrades to their supercars, supercars she knew pretty well. From what she could piece together, the cars were on the exterior quality control track, running some maintenance checks when someone cut open the gate. It would only be a matter of having a good pair of bolt cutters (they never let you down), getting the right uniform to pass as employees (not hard), scheduling the test run for late at night (probably easy to hack if you were able to get into a closed system), and making the getaway to Huntington Beach to blend in with the all the money there (with three good drivers, it was doable). Sounded like an in-and-out job, few witnesses, the cops had no leads. It was like they vanished.

She had to smile. It was a good plan. If someone asked her, she probably would have recommended the same thing.

But no one did.

~~~~~~

When she first moved back, her dad wanted to have dinner with her. Every other night. Lunch on the weekends. She had to pull back, make sure she kept her independence but it was hard, especially when there was nothing that she was pulling towards.

When she wasn’t in class, when she wasn’t with Riya or her dad…well, she tried to make sure she was busy, that she didn’t leave too much time to think, to worry.

And when she did have spare time? Well, she did dumb things.

Dumb things like heading to the cliff, the cliff she knew like the back of her hands. She was there for less than a minute, making it to the edge before the memories hit hard, their first kiss replaying in her head like a sad movie. She had to turn, walk away, breaking into a run to get back to the car.

Or like last Friday, when she showed up, East El Segundo, 8pm sharp, knowing exactly where and when the sideshow would be. She wandered for a while, marginally interested in the cars pulling donuts and watching the races, but it hurt, expecting to see the flash of a white motorcycle or a yellow GT every time she turned around. She didn’t even see a food truck. It was like time moved on, without her, while she was stuck living in a hazy past she couldn’t escape from. She walked back to her car, head low, trying to hide the tears.

Or this.

At least she didn’t get out of the car, sitting in the driver’s seat, window down, keys still in the ignition. The life of the city was vibrant around her, crowds and noise and action everywhere, except the one place she couldn’t take her eyes off of. It was still a shell, empty. It looked like Colt hadn’t even made an effort to start rebuilding; she could see through the front wall to the debris within, still see soot on the ground, pieces of metal and tools and junk cars lying in waste. It was deserted and empty and broken.

She drove away, torn between resolving never to come back here and ordering cleaning supplies to start the rebuilding herself.

~~~~~

Living with Riya meant living with Darius and, honestly, that was fine with Ellie. The three of them were once again inseparable, better than ever. Riya was working downtown while Darius and Ellie were both in grad school. They were busy but they were able to keep some of their old routines and make new ones as well.

But Crispy’s? Chicken tenders at Crispy’s would never die.

“Hey, at least it’s not Tuesday!”

“Yeah, because going to Crispy’s on Friday is so much better!” Riya shoved him, a gentle push to the shoulder that made Darius laugh and pull her close.

Ellie did have to deal with the jealousy, the worry that she had already had and already lost that passion in her life. She was so happy for her friends, she was; sometimes, she just wished things could be…different.

They were a block away from the apartment, Darius and Riya still bickering, hand-in-hand, Ellie half-listening, mind a world away. She wasn’t really paying attention but she should have been, would have seen it sooner, would have seen the dark shape coming out of the alley with more time to react. She moved on instinct, grabbing Riya’s arm to pull her behind, to stand in front of whatever demon from her past was sliding out of the darkness in front of them.

The dark shape was a person, walking under the streetlights, dark boots, jeans, leather jacket, oh shit.

“Hi, Ellie. Riya. Darius.”

Riya was the first to react, to find her voice. “Hi, Colt.”

He smirked, one side of his lips twitching, an almost smile, his eyes never leaving Ellie’s face.

Finally, she spoke. “Hi.” She could see, in the periphery, Riya and Darius looking at each other, moving, but she couldn’t drag her eyes from Colt.

“We’re gonna….” Riya squeezed her arm, brushing past. “We’re gonna go inside.” She and Darius linked arms, both nodding at Colt as they walked by him, but there was only one thing Ellie was focused on.

He looked good. Leather jacket on, hiding his arms from view. He looked softer, somehow, as he watched her, the shadows under his eyes solely from the light above. The last time they were together in an alley, he was hard, haunted, a ghost slipping through her fingers. But now, he looked solid and real.

“How are you?”

“Good….I’m good.” She couldn’t believe, after all this time, that’s his first question? “Colt, what are you doing here? How did you find me?”

He smiled, rocking back on his heels. “I said I’d find you.”

She watched him, underneath the streetlights, hands in his pockets, considering her. She didn’t know whether to smile or cry; what is the correct response when you feel like your heart would burst?

“How have you been?” She stepped closer, drawn like a magnet. He always had that effect on her.

“Better now.”

She shook her head. She didn’t know what to say, whether she was feeling fondness or exhaustion, whether she was relieved or was still feeling the weight of the time stretching between them. “It’s been years, Colt.”

He stepped even closer, smirking, smug as always. “Ellie, I told you I’d find you.”

A low laugh. “Yeah, because I’m not the one moving around all the time.”

“Ellie…” He reached up to trail fingers through her hair. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what you want me to say, other than I’m sorry.”

She didn’t know what she wanted him to say, what he could say, but she knew she couldn’t let him go tonight.

“Do you…” She gestured down the street, knowing his answer already. “Do you want to come in?

~~~~~

She shut the door to her room, turning to watch Colt surveying everything, hands sliding over her books, her desk, as if he could absorb the memories through touch.

“Graduation?” He picked up a frame. She knew that photo by heart, her dad pulling her close, days before she left the East Coast.

“Yeah.”

He looked at her fondly. “Graduated top of your class?”

“Gave a speech and everything.” She felt unsteady. This was not what she expected when they went to Crispy’s tonight. He was too far away, examining her room, trying to fill in the gaps, like a stranger.

“I missed a lot, didn’t I?”

The intensity with which the tears sprang to her eyes surprised her. He did, over three years, but she missed the same, missed the hiding and the planning and the every night they should have been together. Her voice wavered. “I missed you.”

He was across the room in an instant, three steps, and then she was in his arms, burrowing into his t-shirt, arms solid around her, comforting hands up and down her back. She didn’t know who moved first, if her hand reached for his cheek, if his finger raised her chin, but it didn’t matter. Nothing else mattered when their lips met and she had to sigh, deep in her throat; she had been waiting years for this.

She was lost in his lips, wasn’t paying attention until her back hit the wall, the thin space between her dresser and desk, where they barely fit. She was blocked in by the furniture and his chest and his lips, insistent against her, tongue demanding entrance to her mouth. They kissed, made out like the teenagers they used to be, once upon a time, until he slid his hands to her thighs and lifted. She obliged, wrapping her legs around him, hips grinding together as Colt started a slow roll; she could feel how hard he was, underneath his clothes, pushing into her in a delicious dance, a back and forth she never wanted to end.

Apparently, he wasn’t as satisfied by the angle; he eased her legs down and spun her around, long line against her back, pushing her into the wall as his lips attacked her neck, tongue swirling just so, and his hand made his way down the front of her leggings. She was already keyed up; seeing him after the time and the distance had made her want. He still remembered how to touch her, how to run his thumb in slow circles, when to speed up, where to drag the calluses on his thumb, right where she was most sensitive, to make her squirm and quake and throw her head back onto his shoulder with a cry.

When she came back to herself, when the room came back into focus and her legs stopped shaking and she could see her books had crashed to the floor, he was wrapped around her, murmuring unintelligible words over and over again into her neck.

“Colt?”

The only response was his hand, running up and down her sides, her stomach, mouth still moving against her.

“Colt? Bed.”

Finally, he moved, spinning her so he could kiss her again, deeply, before grabbing her hand and pulling her across the room. She pulled him down on top of her, a safe, heavy weight, holding her there so she couldn’t float away, could only feel him pressing down on her, everywhere. His hands slid up her shirt, burning trails that made her bare her neck to Colt’s lips. She could barely think, only feel, watching as he pulled his shirt over his head, bringing the muscles in his chest, those abs into view, and lower, the feather tattoo sliding over his hip. Damn, she loved that tattoo, the visible ink that marked him as hers.

She reached over, to trail her fingers over it, recommit it to memory so her fingers would always remember the lines, the curves, but then her mind seized. She almost forgot. It had been so long and she was so used to it, used to seeing it when she dressed, when she showered, that she almost forgot her ink would be brand new to him.

She could pinpoint the exact moment he saw it. Her shirt was bunched, halfway up her chest; she thought her bra might be next but, when Colt pulled back, sharp intake of breath in the room, she realized his focus was solely on her hip. She watched him, staring at the tattoo, unmoving, unblinking. She took off her top, her bra, her hands taking over for his. Her pants were still on so he could only see part of it, half of one symbol and the top section of the other, but it was obvious he knew exactly what was written there. She threw the clothes from her hands, waiting; did she break him? He wasn’t even breathing.

His trembling fingers reached out and touched her. Apparently it wasn’t enough, only seeing part of it; he grabbed her waistband and pulled, rough. She could hear the seams tearing as he ripped the pants down to get a better view. She could get new pants. It was worth it, to see the look on his face, the disbelief, the awe. He stared. And stared some more. Then, once he had looked his fill, he traced the symbols, hands reverently mapping the lines on her skin, eyes never wavering from their dark shapes.

Finally, after tracing and retracing three times, achingly slow fingers gliding over her hip, making it hard not to tremble, finally he looked up, catching her eye, emotions warring over his face.

She said the only thing on her mind, the only thing she thought when she was under the needle, the only thing that mattered when she was deciding whether to move back to the West Coast.

“I belong to you.”

It was like a switch flipped. He moved, falling onto her so fast she didn’t even have time to gasp before his lips were on hers, rough, wild. His hands were in her hair, his lips and teeth clashing against hers. She battled back, lips harsh, teeth biting; she had never needed anything, anyone more. She wanted him to consume her.

They barely separated to pull pants from legs, to get nothing between them but bare skin-on-skin. He had always been best at communicating though his body, through how he touched her, their times together a mix of love and reverence and desire. But this touch?

This was desperation. This was Colt falling apart, losing his ever-present control, losing it at being with her again, at their bodies sliding together finally, after so damn long, and, of course, at the sight of the tattoo, the best decision she had ever made, the tattoo that marked her on the outside just as she had been marked on her soul.

“Fuck, El, I need-” His voice faltered, choking off with a moan as he moved back to her neck, rough open-mouth kisses, maybe not even kisses, more bites, pricks of sensation, pleasure-pain invading her senses. His hands were winding through her hair, fist tight, gently pulling her head back so he could mark her throat and further, lower, teeth scraping her breasts, her nipples, everywhere as she writhed underneath him.

He was devouring her, every nerve; he was going to destroy her.

“Yes, yes yes yes.”

He moved between her legs, catching her eye once more, control faltering, barely able to wait for her nod until he moved, pushing inside of her, one smooth stoke.

Her back arched and she cried out to the ceiling as he stretched her all at once. She was losing her mind, his desperation evident in every touch of his hand against her skin, stroking the tattoo as if he was trying to commit it to memory. She wanted him closer, he could never be close enough, not after the years of distance and worry and concern, sleepless nights and imagined fears.

Colt had always burned bright, passion and intensity overlaid with the slightest bit of control; unchecked, she knew he would turn into the blaze that would burn her to a husk. That control was gone now; he was around her, inside her, and she was on fire, would willingly burn if it meant one more moment of this. He moved his hands, one on her clit one on her hip, and his body, smooth motion incessant hard, right where she needed it, right where he remembered.

She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, could only hold on as she reached for him, clinging to his arms, his ink, and holding on for dear life. He didn’t say a word, looked like he could barely produce speech at this point, mouth open and gasping, sucking in breath after breath as he entered her again and again and her heat started to build and her legs, wrapped around him, trapping him, keeping him as close as he should always be, should have been for the last three years, her legs started to shake again.

He pulled out, one hand on his length, one thumb on her clit, stroking himself, rubbing her, all at the same tempo, all at once, so much movement and pressure and sensation Ellie could only grab the sheets and hold on. His hand moved once more, twice, and he came, hard, all over her tattoo, more streaks of him covering her skin. Her hand flew to her mouth and she bit into the palm of her hand, trying to muffle her scream as the world fell apart.

~~~~~

The second time was in the shower. She needed to get clean and Colt wanted to get dirty. He prevailed. She knew that, in the future, every time she stepped into the bathroom, all she would think about would be her hands, flailing against the wall, nails scrambling for purchase on the tiles as Colt took her apart, inch-by-inch, desperate to show her how much he loved the tattoo.

The third time, the third time she resolved to remember every moment. She didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, didn’t know when Colt would need to fade into the night again, but she was determined to catalogue every expression that flit across his face, to remember every slide of his fingers across her body, to mentally record every moan and heated whisper, to hold every single sensation tight, close to her heart, for comfort during long nights. She didn’t cry, not this time.

~~~~~

She was alone when she woke up. The sun was high in the sky, bathing the room in light but, when she turned, there was no one behind her. The bed was cold, no one else in the room. As she expected, she was sore, body the absolute best kind of sore when she stretched. Her heart was a different kind of sore, not for the first time.

She had told herself she wouldn’t sob, please not this time, but indulged one tear, tracking down her cheek. This is how they operated. They would always find each other again but, until that time came, she would make her way through the world, carrying memories and ink and love, alone.

She slowly pulled on some sweats, hearing Riya talking in the living room. At least she and Darius were still here, some kind of distraction. As she walked down the hall, she could hear the familiar laughter and noise. They had been obsessed with Horizon Chase, playing until 3am some nights.

She was still groggy. “What time is it?”

She padded to the couch and froze. The screen was split and her car, always the bottom left, always the pink speedster, always, her car was winning. Darius was coming up fast but he wasn’t going to make it, her pink car flying over the finish line. Riya was last, as normal; Ellie could usually beat her but had a harder time beating Darius. Her car never won, especially when she wasn’t playing.

Time stopped as Ellie watched Colt, sitting on the couch in her living room, sitting next to her childhood best friend like he belonged there. He was in his clothes from yesterday but the jacket was off, tattooed sleeves out of place squished next to Riya’s pajama top, worlds colliding.

“You’re like a good luck charm!” He raised his hands in the air, reaching behind him, trying to grab her waist.

“Cuz Darius cheats.” Riya pouted, throwing the controller to the ground.

Ellie just stared.

“I don’t cheat! You just don’t know how to use the boosts, babe, we’ve talked about this!”

“No Darius, you’ve talked about this. I think it’s like cheating.”

Her brain wasn’t working, words weren’t forming.

“You wanna play, Ellie?”

“I think…..I think I need coffee.” Her brain would work better with coffee. “Colt, can you come with me for a second?”

He stood, dropping the controller on the couch and following her into the kitchen. She turned to face him and opened her mouth. Closed it. Tried again. Nothing came.

He leaned against the counter like he owned the place, looking expectantly at her, eyebrow raised. She could only gape at him, standing there in her kitchen as if he had a standing brunch date.

Finally, she spoke. “Are you staying?”

“What?”

She tried again. “Are you staying? Here?”

“Well, I’m going back to my apartment at some point.” He tilted his head, shrugging, palms out. “I don’t have any more clothes.”

She cuffed him on the side of the head. She missed this. “I mean, are you sticking around? No more moving around this time?”

He stepped closer. “They stopped investigating five months ago. I don’t need to hide underground anymore. And you’re back in LA.”

She was still uncertain, didn’t want to get her hopes up. “But-”

“Ellie…” He reached out, curving a hand around her hip, fingers stroking, slowly, tracing the familiar lines, spelling out Golden Child, Kaneko, with the pads of his thumb. “You have my name on your hip.”

She nodded, tears starting to prick her eyes, voice soft. “Yeah…I’m not going anywhere.”

“Neither am I.”

She couldn’t stop herself from from throwing her arms around his shoulders and kissing him thoroughly. This time, he didn’t need to promise a next time. This time, he never left.

#playchoices fanfic #colt kaneko #colt x mc #choices rod #lemon #30 diamond scene #n*fw #amy writes

[i-am-adlocked]

Got tagged by two people and since the questions are custom-made (lol) I guess, I’ll answer twenty-two instead of eleven LMAO. Love you both guys!

The rules are:

• Post the rules

• Answer the questions given to you by the tagger

• Write eleven questions of your own

• Tag eleven people

QUESTIONS FROM @equusgirl​

1. If you could have lunch with anyone alive or dead, who would it be?

This is a tough one. I have many different aspects of myself—several masks. My joker-self would want to be with my friends because I never fail to make them laugh their pants off. My lonely-self would want my future spouse, whoever that person is, right now. My artist-self would want Vincent Van Gogh so I could do the Doctor Who thing where I would reassure him that he is amazing. 

My desperate-self would want Bob Ross because I bet he’d inspire me the hell out. My sad-self would want to have lunch with my dead happy-self because I bet I’d slap the hell out of my face. My family-oriented-self would want my maternal grandfather I never got to meet because he doesn’t know me and it’s nice to have a family who would probably say that they’re proud of me. Estranged relatives are like that, I think lmao

OH and I would also want any psychologist, so I’d have free sessions to deal with my ADHD because I can never afford to have more sessions, and I’d finally get a prescription cos I need dem meds.

2. You’re stuck on an elevator with whoever is on your lock/home screen. Who is it?

If we’re talking about my phone, I guess I’m stuck on an elevator with the Eiffel Tower (lock screen) and Mona Lisa (home screen). If we’re talking about my computer, I guess I’m stuck on an elevator with Sherlock (lock screen) and Leo Valdez (home screen). Ho-ho-ho I will be in an elevator with self-loathing mask-wearing joking-but-dead-inside heroes. That will be fun.

3. Last TV show/movie you watched?

I rewatched the last episode of The Crown again after I binged-watched Riverdale and re-re-re-binged-watched The Good Place. Movie-wise, it was the Filipino film called “Ang Larawan”. It’s actually hard for me to watch films because it takes a lot of time for me to stay focused in one episode.

4. A cottage on the beach or a cabin in the mountains?

Cabin in the mountains. I hiss angrily at beaches because I tan so easily and I kid you not, I haven’t swum in a beach since 2009. In a country where lighter paler skin was more cherished, and being an insecure bullied 10-year-old. You’ll understand why. Nowadays, I guess the habit just stuck. ALSO CABIN IN THE MOUNTAINS HOW FREAKING COOL WOULD THAT BE... I’d be surrounded by trees, it would be cold there, I can sit by the fireplace, look out my window to view the beautiful forest and night sky, and just drink whiskey, read a book, and quietly whisper, “Bless.”

5. Last song you listened to?

If we’re not including Brooke Simpson’s performances (specifically, “It’s a Man’s Man’s Man’s World”) in The Voice which I legit just binge-watched before opening Tumblr, it would be the Riverdale Cast’s cover of “Mad World.” I was shookt that I liked it.

6. Most recent obsession?

Video-editing. More-so than usual. I legit have anxieties when I’m not making a video. I should probably stop after finishing these videos I’m doing because I know it will hinder my studies (which I’m already failing at because of my worsening ADHD), and it’s already ruining my sleeping patterns and eating habits. It’s a toxic kind of obsession.

7. Last thing you googled?

“people find out harry potter is abused fic rec” shut up (if interested, click here)

8. Which city would you most like to visit?

(for the first time?) Athens. (again?) either Assisi or Rome or Paris. You can’t make me choose.

9. If you could bring one (1) fictional character to life, who would it be?

I’m having a hard time between Mary Watson (Sherlock) and River Song (Doctor Who) *sobs*

10. Favorite thing about yourself?

My... God, I don’t know, really. I don’t really like myself so how can I find a favorite thing about myself? My ability to brag for things I’m not even good at, I guess? False advertising of myself, I guess? HAHAHAHHA WAIT NO! My ability to make anything sad or depressing. Yes, I’m good at that. It’s not my favourite thing about me but out of all, that’s the only thing I think I’m really good at.

11. Ideal career?

Becoming a wife and mother. Some people give me odd looks for this but I really want to take care of people in ways I never experienced. I want to be there for some people—to feel needed and depended on—to be trusted, long-term.

Younger-me would be furious. She was aro-ace. As a person who grew up only relying on books as company, I thought I would grow up as the typical strong independent woman who is a CEO or is an actress, or a musical theatre performer... I used to want to be that... 

But those dreams were based on what my family wanted. CEO because I grew up poor and being a CEO would make me financially stable which my parents wanted. Actress/Theatre Performer because my sister and I bonded through musical theatre, TV shows, and films, and we both love the arts (but I have to admit that she’s better than me with everything srsly im not kidding)...

But as just for myself? I really don’t see myself working for money, or working for the arts. I mean, obviously I want to work for money and for the arts, but... I want to work for people I care about—for a family I will finally not be scared enough to say “I love you” without fearing they would laugh in my face.

—oOo—

OKAY, NOW QUESTIONS FROM @musical-chick-13​

1. If you could wake up and be magically good at something you’ve never done before (or have little experience doing), what would you want it to be?

The ability to quickly understand things I’m not interested in and explain them to people easily with how I understood them. I think that would help me a lot in my Law class now at uni. Seriously, I’m having troubles reading, and I always stutter in class because I’m not good at formal English. 

My stupid brain needs time to process what I learned (which was written in English), explain it to myself (in Filipino), translate my explanation from Filipino to English, and focus enough to say those things out loud.

2. What is/are your favorite genre(s) of music?

I have an odd range: musical theatre, rock, indie, classical music, PIANO IS LIFE, ANYTHING AS LONG AS IT IS GOOD PIANO AT THE BEGINNING (usually starts with an A, idk why). Also, Lady Gaga and Beyonce. Hands down.

3. What was your first fandom?

Avatar: The Last Airbender. THE SERIES OKAY. A year after that was Harry Potter and Sherlock AT THE SAME TIME 2010 was a crazy year. Just like that, since I was eleven years old, I went down the road to fandom hell.

4. What is a play/musical/opera/etc. (basically any fictional work that’s not a book, movie, comic, or TV show) you like?

BOY YOU CAN’T MAKE ME CHOOSE BETWEEN UGHGHGH ILL JUST PUT MY TOP SIX

Spring Awakening, Next to Normal, In the Heights. (I listen to the full album completely. The music is divine and the stories are beautiful. You got a story about sex, a story about mental illness, and a story about Hispanics). Spring Awakening’s and Next to Normal’s rock + violin music in a setting of 1800′s Germany and a typical family house, gets me on, ya know?

Sweeney Todd, Wicked, and Rent. (The typical classics I love, note that whenever Sweeney Todd’s Prologue and Wicked’s As Long as You’re Mine starts, I get orgasms just as much when the peak of Rent’s Goodbye Love goes). Great songs, seriously.

5. If you could get paid for doing a mundane task, what would you choose to get paid for?

Organising files.

6. What is a joke you really like?

My death.

7. If you had to have a job working under a fictional character, which character would you choose to be your boss and why?

Sherlock. He would know how to take care of me. He would know how to make me feel better. He has great work ethics, and he knows when to be harsh with his words and gentle, because he knows which people are deserving to be called idiots and those who are just insecure. Though I’ll probably annoy him because of how nervous I’d be but since “Faith Smith” I’d think he’d know how to deal with me, I guess.

8. What article of clothing is your favorite to wear (i.e., dresses, skirts, pants, suits, hats, jewelry, etc.)?

A gold necklace my grandmother gave to me because out of all my cousins (or our generation in our lineage), I’m the first one she gave an “inheritance” to because I happen to be her roommate. Considering that I am the dumbest in the family as well as the family freak, I consider this as my sole victory.

9. Do you consider yourself to be an optimist, a pessimist, or something else entirely?

A total pessimist. An optimist to those who are feeling pessimistic.  In my head, there is nothing but hopelessness, despair, and utter misery and pain. But homie, you say shit like that to me? You tell me you are feeling those? Yo, imma throw my rainbows and sunshine up your ass, you are gonna vomit glitter and light, I swear to all deities out there.

I may claim to say that I’m like this because I’m the only one who should be pessimistic, like I’m some narcissistic the-world-revolves-around-me idiot because I don’t like being depicted as anything else but manipulative, cruel, and an arsehole. So please stop telling me I’m nice or that I’m a good person. It makes me feel weird. They’re like unnatural things to say to me.

10. Feelings on cats?

Tolerable. My sister loves them. My school has cats just chilling around. They love me idk why. I love dogs more so I’m surprised they let me in their pack.

11. Favorite soda (or beverage in general if you don’t like soda)?

ALL MY FRIENDS KNOW OF MY WILD ADDICTION TO COCA-COLA.

—oOo—

MY QUESTIONS:

1. Are you feeling okay right now?

2. What is the funniest thing you have ever first-hand witnessed/experienced in real life?

3. Who is/are the most important person/people in your life and why?

4. What is a memory that wouldn’t fail to make you smile like an idiot while you’re in public?

5. How did you come to your current obsession?

6. Why do you ship your OTP (either real-life or fiction)?

7. Let’s pretend speed and distance (lol basically velocity), and quality are the same, would you rather be in a plane or a ship in a storm where there are many lightnings and thunder involved in December?

8. What is the object that is most sentimental to you?

9. If you could be in any fictional world, which one would you explore, and will you or will you not interact with your favourite character? Why or why not?

10. What animal do you most relate to or you consider to be your spirit animal? Why or why not?

11. How do you define the word, “Happiness”?

Tags: @thank-you-for-being-with-me​ @sentimentalgenius​ @addignisherlock​ @randombiochemist​ @simpleanddestructivechemistry​ @its-sentimental-adlock​ @themissadventurer​ @sorrowsflower​ @throughtheparadox​ @theleftpill​ No pressure, guys! Also to anyone who wants to answer, too! I even tag those who tagged me.

#personal #tag thingies #i love dem tag thingies