ic fmk: sing edition

[singhelpers]

Fuck (kiss), marry, or kill


— post your a toplevel for your character or throw three people's names out into the ether
— decide which one your character would like to fuck (or hug for the wee ones), marry, or kill
— respond appropriately
— shenanigans ensue

Comments

[ployboy]

[Tell that to an overactive imagination. Tim gestures uselessly, at a loss because now she's smiling and he's still flustered, which is very topsy-turvy.

He considers asking March for a drink, and then promptly remembers that he actually kinda hates the taste. Alcohol is gross. Tim's curiosity was satiated years ago. It tastes dis.gus.ting.

Kate goes blank.

Tim lets his head drop, meaning it bumps and rests on her shoulder heavily and annoyingly due to their relative positions on this Bonfire Night night.

He's no mind reader. But he's seen some things.

He hopes his hair doesn't smell like a barn, though it's wrangled into submission despite the unruly growth. What kind of tiger are you, asked Salamanca. The kind that headbutts for attention, apparently.]

You're fine. 'm not a fan of Other Things either.

[says the Lying Liar Who Lies.

...........god has forsaken them.


so

naturally,]

Who's going to tell Derpy we're not gonna tie the knot after all...?

[castitas]

[ Everything's blank and then the next thing she knows is Tim's head is resting on her shoulder and she's suddenly very aware of that fact. She makes no attempt to move him off, because that'd be pretty rude. It's not like he's doing anything crappy—

but she's just sitting there— very quietly— red in the face—

It's a very close proximity.

To, like, a boy.

(His hair does kinda smell like a barn. Sawdust too, she thinks. It's not all that gross.)

You're fine. 'm not a fan of Other Things either. and she's glad she doesn't have to explain anything further with that, her shoulders seem a whole lot less tense. ]

Frodo. [ She corrects him. ] We're not calling him Derpy, anymore.

[ployboy]

[Any dangerously domestic quip or over-eager encouragement of all things geeky goes unsaid.

Tim's hot leaf juice (tea) is no longer warmish and the cup just sorta precariously dangles off the fingers of one limp hand.

Tim, having found a mildly horizontal surface to rest his head against as he sits, is breathing very evenly, very deeply.

Her shoulders are too small, too bony, and a flyaway strand of hair tickles his nose.

7/10. Would not recommend.

Dead to the world, she should count it as a miracle that he's not even drooling. Tbh.]

[castitas]

[




... oh my gosh, did he... literally just fall asleep on her?!

Her face is still burning with... well, it's not indignation but it sure is burning. It's... something. A BOY FELL ASLEEP ON HER AND SHE DOESN'T KNOW WHAT TO DO.

So she's just going to... sit there, still as stone. Face bright red.

(And also take that tea away from him before he spills it all over them.)



(Thank you for not drooling.)







Someone please help. ]

oopzzzzzz

[ployboy]

[Denied.]

SO RUDE

[castitas]

[ Why are you so intolerable. Why must you do this to her. ]