meme to lower my stress level!

[seventhe]

Give me a character and I will tell you:


Why I like them
Favorite line
Favorite outfit
OTP(s)
A wish
An oh-god-please-dont-ever-happen
5 words to best describe them
My nickname for them

Comments

[seventhe]

psychological topping based on one's own insecurities and shortcomings mentally "personified" while longing for someone else as a substitution fantasy?

THAT IS THE SIZE OF MY BONER

For real: just write ANYTHING and you will get spaghetti porn as a prize

[flecksofpoppy]

Oh, I'll try. I DOU have a few ideas.

MAYBE MUSH BRAIN OVER HERE WILL ACTUALLY BE ABLE TO COME OUT WITH SOMETHING. EVEN IF A FUCKING DRABBLE. THAT'D BE NICE.

WORDS. THAT ARE IN SENTENCES. YES.

And if I'm not mistaken, there exists on your computer at least ... what is it? 6,000+ words ... of spaghetti porn. Well, potential porn. LULZ.

PLEASE...PLEASE Dx3x4 THREESOME IN A GIANT VAT OF GUNDAM SPAGHETTI.

I have no idea what that means, but I do have a mental image to go along with it.

[seventhe]

He’s still in his work clothes, and now he’s covered in dust and Trowa’s fitted sheet is only halfway on, and only eighteen volumes of Lord Vortalon! And The Terrible Wormhole Accident have been chronologically shelved, and Quatre suddenly doesn’t care. He flies on stocking feet and almost slides past the door. The knob wrenches open and Trowa’s standing there, his hand hovering near the doorbell, as Quatre catches his balance on the slippery floor and looks up, flushed bright red. Trowa’s eyes are the tiniest bit wide and, judging by the tension in his mouth, he’s holding in a laugh.

“Don’t say a word,” Quatre warns him, and Trowa’s composure breaks; his lips curl upwards in amused relaxation. “Come on in.”

Trowa steps in and closes the door behind himself, quiet and graceful. He is wearing jeans and a turtleneck and a camel jacket, and is carrying the smallest weekend bag Quatre has ever seen over his shoulder; then again, this is Trowa, who once carried out an entire week-long mission with only an apple and some spare change. “Hi,” Trowa says.

“Hi,” Quatre says. He’s dumbly breathless. Trowa always does this to him, at first, when he’s never sure if he’s allowed to give a hug, or if they should just stare at each other through suddenly-thick air, or if he should just give everything up and draw Trowa down for a kiss. Eventually they settle into each other, always, but these first moments between them are excruciating. “Thanks for coming out. I think you’re the only one.”

“Thanks for having me,” Trowa says with a smile that’s both gentle and amused. “The circus is actually off for this holiday. I was hoping you’d be out here.”

“I’d take all eight days if I could,” Quatre says as he sticks his hands in his pockets. “Do that many people celebrate it?”

“Ringmaster’s Jewish,” Trowa says, and he makes a gesture to set his duffle on the floor.

“Oh,” Quatre says, making an abortive handwave and turning to head back down the hallway. “Come on in, you can throw that in your room. Although I’ve got Lord Vortalon all over.”

Trowa follows him in silence, seeming uninterested – but then when they get to the room, he hears Trowa’s low surprised chuckle. “You do not have a full set of Lord Vortalon just lying around this house.”

“I don’t know if I do,” Quatre says slowly. “Is this a significant – how do you know Lord Vortalon?”

[flecksofpoppy]

Omg, as usual, cross between hilarity (Ringmaster's Jewish LULZ) and LEGIT SHIPPING-THIS-PAIRING-ALL-OVER AFTER READING THIS.

Wait, is this the beginning of spaghetti pronz? I can't remember.

[seventhe]

Yeah, from here Dorothy showed up and then there were like 3 pages about spaghetti that I actually REMOVED because I WAS DRUNK AND STUPID and then it leads into some crying scene where Dorothy wants to lick Quatre's scar from fencing and I DON'T EVEN KNOW OKAY

[seventhe]

UH PRETEND ALL THE ITALICS TRANSFERRED OVER TOO BECAUSE, YOU KNOW, THEY EXIST AND SHIT