#Anyways this fic is so good shut up genuinely oh my GOD

[resident-rats]

I saw a TikTok (shaking my head so everyone knows I disagree with TikTok) about being a slow reader and being amazed when people read 100k word fics in one day. And like the foolish little rat I am, I went to the comments. And like… it was just people saying 100k isn’t long and how they never read anything under 70/80/90k, and saying there’s no plot otherwise. Like someone was like usually I filter out anything under 80k but I never bother reading anything under 40k bc that’s just like a one shot to me, and just oh my god shut up shut up shut up. FIRSTLY, people are missing out on such good fics. Genuinely some of the best stuff I’ve read has been well under 20k, hell even under 10k. SECONDLY, they’re saying that like one shots are lesser?? A fic being long doesn’t automatically make it good? Hello?? And I get some people just like to read longer stuff and that’s okay, it was just the snobbery in the comments. Like 100k words is long. One shots are fun and not inferior.

Anyway maybe I should get off TikTok lol

[pey-up]

THIS is the bitch william thinks is giving him a hetero reputation??? Dude youre sure???

Edit: @peariandpine

Forgot you mentioned you liked to be tagged in fanart-

[19catsncounting]

Therapy isn't enough I need the CW to go back and re-film Season 11 to prove that Lucifer could have been saved if Michael didn't abandon him like Dean refused to abandon Sam.

[wandaslittlebird]

You Look So Good (On Your Knees)

Voyeur!Mommy!Wanda x Daddy!Natasha x Reader

What was supposed to be just a weekly movie night quickly turns into something else when you catch a glimpse of something you weren’t supposed to see.

CW: Voyeurism, threesome, strap-on, flogging, orgasm denial (? A tiny bit?), caught in the act (once again a tiny bit), punishment, dacryphilia, degradation, hair pulling, choking (not really), reader calls WandaNat mommy/daddy

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: This is for @wandamaximoffsbadgirl. Thank you for all your help! I hope this was worth clawing your way under the door. Writing this (particularly the very end) has put me in a total WandaNat x Reader tailspin so expect some fluffy domestic stuff in the coming weeks.

A/N: I kinda sorta definitely double dipped for this fic, and it’s a spin of a different fic I did for a different fandom. But new fandom new crowd, and I figure almost none of you have read my non-marvel work. So the self-plagiarism is strong, but will probably go unnoticed anyway.

“Wanda? Natasha?” You called into the seemingly empty house.

It was Thursday night, your designated movie night with the couple: your long term friends and fuck buddies. They’d given you a key months ago. So, when you knocked and no one answered you just let yourself in.

You set down your bag in the living room, looking for them around the house. Their cars were both in the driveway. They had to be home. After investigating the first floor, you went upstairs. Maybe they were already in the bedroom waiting for you. That is where you always had your movie nights, after all.

You cracked the door open to find them both on the bed, Natasha underneath Wanda in an intense kiss. Natasha was grinding up against Wanda’s thigh, whining and breathless. You could tell by the way her hips were starting to falter, she was close. They must’ve been at this for a while. You didn’t want to interrupt.

You took a step back, trying to quietly shut the door. Maybe you could just wait downstairs until they finished. But before you could click the door fully shut, you heard Wanda’s commanding voice. “Not so fast, little girl.”

You sighed. You’d been caught. You opened the door back up, revealing Wanda pulling herself away from her wife. She looked at you with a cold glare, curling her fingers, instructing you to come to her.

She had you stand between her legs at the foot of the bed. “Did you not think to knock when coming into mommy and daddy’s room?”

“I-I knocked outside! I couldn’t find you! I was just looking for-“ you desperately tried to explain.

Wanda cut you off with a smirk. “Well, you found us.”

“I-I’m sorry,” you apologized. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Oh but honey, you did interrupt,” Wanda explained condescendingly. “You interrupted and now daddy doesn’t get to cum.”

“W-what? No but she was so close! Please let her cum mommy,” you pleaded on Natasha’s behalf. You genuinely felt terrible. You knew what that kind of denial felt like and you would never wish it on anyone, especially not your daddy.

Natasha smiled when you jumped to her defense, joining you and Wanda at the end of the bed. She beckoned you over to her, quickly pulling you to sit on her lap. She wrapped her arms around your waist, whispering into your ear. “It’s okay, baby. You're gonna make daddy cum so good later, aren’t you?”

You whimpered, shivering against her. God, you had hoped movie night would start like this.

“But for right now,” Wanda started. “We’ve got to teach somebody a lesson about knocking, don’t we? It’s your fault daddy didn’t get to cum, so daddy should be allowed to punish you, shouldn’t she?”

You looked to Natasha, who just raised her eyebrows expectantly, and then you nodded. “Yes mommy.”

“That’s our good girl,” Wanda purred, running her hand down the side of your face and lightly pinching your cheek. “Now, daddy’s gonna get you all set up on the bench while mommy goes to get some toys, okay?”

They both stood almost synchronously. Wanda briefly disappeared into the next room while Natasha hoisted you up in her arms, laying you face down on the leather bench next to the bed. She propped the back part up so it turned into more of a seat.

Wanda came from the closet with a long black leather flogger, her implement of choice for this particular scene. She handed it to Natasha, who smiled and gave her a kiss. Wanda sat down next to you, propped up over a seat you were now straddling.

She wiped the hair from your face. “Ready?”

You nodded into the soft, plush leather of the seat. You could already feel yourself easily slipping into that fuzzy space, where all the thoughts, worries, and responsibilities became irrelevant.

Wanda smiled, noticing the way your eyes glazed over. “I need to hear you say it, angel.”

“Yes, mommy,” you said as clearly as you could muster.

Wanda ran the back of her hand down your cheek. You shivered. She was the only lesbian you’d ever meet who always wore acrylics. The sharp point of her stiletto nails on your face sent tingles down your spine. You closed your eyes, losing yourself to the sensation.

You felt the leather tassels of the flogger brush lightly against your back. You whimpered, squirming in your seat.

“You don’t have to count, honey,” Wanda soothed. “Just let go. Mommy and daddy are gonna take care of you. You don’t have to think about anything at all.”

With that you felt the first sharp sting of leather snap against your back. You let out a noise between a whimper and moan. Natasha started slow, each hit a distinct sensation on your back, but as she started to pick up the pace, the strikes became less distinct.

In less than five minutes, she’d made a mess of you. You whined and squirmed against the leather seat.

“Aww sweetheart,” Wanda cooed. “Do you need mommy to hold you still while daddy whips you?” Before you could answer, the blows stopped.

“Nooo…” you whined. “Daddy keep going. Please I promise I’ll sit still. Please don’t stop.”

Despite your protest, you felt two strong hands pick you from your seat. “I’m not done, princess,” you heard Natasha’s soft voice say. “But you’ve gotta stop squirming or I’m accidentally going to hit you in the kidneys.”

You were lowered into Wanda’s lap, where your legs were forced wider apart in order to straddle her. It made it significantly harder to move. She locked her hand around your thigh to keep you in place. Her other hand gently massaged your hair. “That’s it honey. Mommy will make sure you stay nice and still.”

Her long nails against your scalp were almost enough to make the thoughts fly from your head. “But… But you’ll get hit.”

Wanda chuckled and kissed your temple. “Daddy has excellent aim, sweetheart. I’ll be fine. You don’t need to worry about anything at all.”

The leather cracked against your back again. It hurt more now that your back was already raw. If not for Wanda’s hand pinning you in place, you might’ve jumped off her lap entirely. You whined wrapping your arms around Wanda.

She cradled your head over her shoulder, gently shushing your cries as she watched Natasha bring the leather down against your back over and over again.

“Mommy…” you whined into her ear. You were trying to ride her thighs like you had ridden the leather seat, but the awkward position prevented you from getting any friction whatsoever. It wasn’t even until Wanda felt drops of warmth on her thighs that she realized why you were whining.

“Aww,” she hummed, “you’re making a bit of a mess on mommy’s lap, baby.”

“I’m sorry, mommy,” you mumbled into her shoulder. “I just… it feels so good.”

“All this just from a flogging, sweetheart?” She teased. She would’ve loved to tease you further, but she was genuinely afraid you’d accidentally hurt yourself if she stopped holding you in place, much less if she had her hand between your legs.

You blushed, burying your face into her neck. “Mommy…” you whined when the leather stung your back once again. “Mommy please…”

Wanda’s heart melted at your words. The combination of your pathetic voice begging her for relief and your frail body in her arms made her want to ruin you in a different way. You were just so vulnerable. It would be such a waste to not take advantage of you in this state. “Alright,” She cooed. “I think she’s learned her lesson, hasn’t she Tasha?”

Natasha chuckled, but she stopped her flogging. “Do you think she’s learned her lesson, or have you just gone soft for a ‘mommy please’?”

Wanda wrapped her arm around your back, long nails still masterfully massaging your scalp. She rocked you back and forth in her lap. “Oh come on Tasha, look at her: getting all pathetic and leaky in her mommy’s lap. Doesn’t it just make you wanna…”

“Throw her on the bed and fuck her into the mattress until the only things in her little head are mommy and daddy?” Natasha finished.

“Exactly,” Wanda smiled mischievously. It was such a marvelous thing that she married someone who was always on the same wavelength as she was.

You were promptly picked up out of Wanda’s lap from behind. You whined, reaching out for Wanda.

“Now now,” Natasha chided. “None of that. Mommy’s not going anywhere. She’s gonna be here with you the whole time.”

She guided you to kneel on the bed, nudging your legs apart. Almost instinctively, your hands were crossed at the wrist behind your back.

Wanda hadn’t exactly planned on binding your wrist, but when you sat so perfectly, so expectantly, she could hardly resist.

“Natasha, would you like to bind this little darling's hands for us?” She instructed.

Natasha smiled, eagerly grabbing a length of pink ribbon and getting to work on tying your wrists together. She so loved tying you up. While a simple figure 8 around the wrists would’ve done the trick, she decided instead on a more complex design that would bind you up to the elbow. She knew she had time. Wanda would require a thorough inspection before she’d let Nat fuck you.

Wanda ran a singular finger through your slit. Her cold rings and sharp nail bumped over your clit as she dragged her hand upward. The sensation caused you to jump and whimper. Wanda just chuckled, bringing her finger lightly up your body until it was at your lips. You took her finger obediently between your lips.

“Do you think your ready for daddy to fuck you, baby?” she asked. “Does this needy pussy want daddy’s cock?”

You nodded, trying not to wince as her rings made their way onto your tongue, filling your mouth with a metallic taste.

“Which of daddy’s toys do you want, huh?” She asked, intentionally pushing down on your tongue so you couldn’t talk. “I’ll think I’ll have daddy use the purple strap. The one with the- what did you call them- the ‘mean ridges’? The ones that scrap against your special spot?”

You whined around her finger, giving her the most endearing puppy dog eyes you could possibly muster.

“Oh sweetheart,” she cooed, “do you not like that one? Maybe you’d prefer it if daddy tied you to the chair and you watched her fuck mommy instead, hmm? Maybe you’d just prefer not to have any orgasms at all?”

You shook your head frantically. You wanted to protest, to promise you’d be good and take that dreaded purple strap, but you couldn’t speak.

She chuckled. “That’s what I thought, baby. You’re gonna be a good girl for mommy and daddy, aren’t you?”

You nodded. She pulled her finger from your mouth and tilted your head up to kiss you gently.

“That’s our sweet girl,” she praised. “Aw it looks like daddy’s finished tying you up all pretty. Can you say thank you to daddy?”

You craned your neck to the side, trying to see her behind you. “Thank you, daddy, for tying me up all pretty.”

Natasha laughed, pulling you back towards her by the ribbon. She kissed you and smiled. “You’re welcome, baby. Can you show mommy your pretty ribbon?”

You attempted to turn around to show Wanda the way your hands and arms were intricately bound behind your back, but Natasha pushed you forward into the mattress. You yelped, surprised by the sudden move.

“A present, wrapped special for you, my love,” Natasha said to Wanda, leaning over you to kiss her wife.

“You always know just what to get me,” Wanda breathed against her lips. “Now go get ready, love. I wanna watch you make our sweet little girl cry.”

Natasha climbed off the bed behind you, disappearing into the next room.

Wanda’s nails were against your sore back, rubbing soothing as you lay in wait. You attempted to sit up, but Wanda clicked her tongue. “No, baby,” she chided. “Stay just like this.”

You felt the bed dip as Natasha climbed back on behind you. Her calloused hands lifted your hips so you were kneeling tall. The angle forced your face even further into the mattress. You couldn’t put your hands out to hold yourself up with them tied up behind your back.

Natasha ran the tip of the strap up and down your slit, pulling a muffled moan from your lips. She lined the toy up with your entrance, gently easing it inside. She threw her head back and moaned as she felt each of the ‘mean ridges’ push into you, then she pushed your hips forward and pulled them back, silently commanding you to fuck yourself as you adjusted to her girth.

The toy was, admittedly, slightly too big for you to manage without any discomfort. The ridges cruelly raked against your inner walls, causing you to wince with each movement. But with time, you were able to adjust to feel only a slight, delicious stretch.

After you’d grown to a moderate pace, Natasha took over, grabbing your thighs and pulling them back to meet her own. You let your body go limp, allowing Natasha to control your movements completely. You were putty in her hands.

“Fuck, Wands you should see her from here,” Natasha groaned, looking down and watching the large toy disappear inside of you over and over again. “Fuck it’s like she swallowing me whole. Needy little cunt. Can’t get enough of daddy’s cock can you?”

You tried to bury your face into the sheets to muffle the noises she tore from you, but you were unsuccessful. Without your hands or your arms, your range of motion was severely limited.

Wanda’s eyes went wide and her face cracked into a smile when she heard the first hiccup of a cry. She leaned forward. “Tasha, hold her up. I want to see her face.”

Natasha reached down and grabbed your hair, pulling your head up so you were face to face with Wanda. She could see the build up of tears in the corners of your eyes and the way your bottom lip quivered, threatening to give way to a sob.

“Aww, sweet girl,” she cooed. “Are you going to cry for mommy? It’s okay angel, you can cry. Daddy’s not gonna stop fucking you even if you are going to be a sobbing little mess.”

Natasha fucked you harder, nearly pulling all the way out before she slammed back into you again. She kept your head up, forcing you to look at Wanda even as your eyes rolled back and your vision went blurry with tears. Natasha wrapped her hand around your throat, grabbing you just under your chin. She braced her forearm against your chest, pinning you upright against her.

The position only accentuated the effect of the ridges, causing them to bump more aggressively against the spongy spot inside of you. “Aww look at how pathetic you look, crying your little eyes out while daddy fills you with her cock.” Wanda teased.

You felt Natasha’s breath hot against your ear. “Tell mommy how pathetic you are.”

You offered little more than a whine in response. Your bottom lip continued to tremble as tears rolled down your cheeks.

“Aww, sweet girl, there’s no need to be embarrassed,” Wanda assured. “It’s just me and daddy.”

You weren’t truly embarrassed, if you were being honest. You honestly felt like a masterpiece: a carefully constructed vision that Wanda and Natasha had crafted you into. But you played coy nonetheless. You had more fun when Wanda told you how pathetic you looked anyway.

“Poor thing,” Wanda taunted, “never learned how to take a proper fucking without crying.” Her eyes never left yours. Everything about watching her wife handle your helpless body drove her wild.

“I’m sorry mommy… I can’t help it… daddy’s cock feels so good inside of me,” you panted.

Natasha felt a burst of heat in her own core. Between yours and Wanda’s words she could feel herself creeping towards the edge. She just needed a bit of a different angle. She released her hold on you, causing you to fall helplessly back into the mattress. Wanda gently turned your head, preventing you from muffling yourself in the sheets.

You cursed. The combination of Wanda’s gentle hands and the new angle that hit all your most sensitive spots had you so close to an orgasm. All it would take was just a little more pressure on your clit. Unfortunately, with your hands bound behind your back, you were completely at their mercy.

“Please…” you begged mindlessly. “Please don’t stop. Fuck daddy. Please never stop.” You felt so certain that if Natasha pulled out of you right now, you’d simply die on the spot.

“You want to cum on daddy’s cock so badly don’t you?” Wanda teased. “But you can’t touch yourself. Poor baby.”

Natasha changed her pace. She could feel her own orgasm building as she felt the pull of the toy’s ridges pumping in and out of you. “Beg for mommy to let you cum, baby. I wanna hear you begging like the little slut you are.”

“Fuck!” you sobbed. The words poured out of your mouth nearly as fast as the tears poured from your eyes. “Please I’m all yours. I’m mommy and daddy’s little slut. Please, you can use me whenever you want. I’m just a little toy for mommy and daddy. Please I just need daddy’s cock inside me forever. Mommy please let me cum.”

“That’s a good girl,” Wanda praised, “begging mommy and daddy to use you like a little toy. That’s all you are right? A toy for mommy and daddy’s pleasure?”

“Yes!” you chanted. “Yes! I’m mommy and daddy’s toy. Please let me cum. Please mommy.”

“I wanna see you cum on daddy’s cock. Can you be a good girl and cum on daddy’s cock for mommy?” She asked.

Natasha curled her arm around your waist, pinching your clit and milking it between her fingers. Your eyes rolled back and your mouth opened in a silent scream as you fell apart.

Natasha continued to fuck you as you came, clenching around the strap. The pulsing put the perfect amount of pressure on her own clit, sending her into an orgasm not long after you.

She steadied herself on your hips, taking a few deep breaths in an attempt to regain her composure. She pulled the ribbon, and Wanda watched in fascination as the entire thing unraveled itself. They both chuckled as your arms bonelessly flopped down beside you.

Natasha hooked her arm around your waist to prevent you from simply collapsing when she pulled out. She laid you gently on your side before climbing off the bed. She disappeared into the bathroom, leaving you with Wanda.

You whined as the toy left, suddenly feeling terribly empty. Wanda sat down on the bed next to you, chuckling again as she bent over to kiss your temple. “I know, love. It’s just devastating that daddy can’t stay inside you forever, isn’t it?”

You nodded, whining again as you felt her wipe away the remnants of your orgasm.

“You did so well for us, love,” she praised, adjusting your position on the bed so you rested against the pillows. She pulled up some blankets, smiling as you wiggled in blissful content. “Comfy, honey?”

You nodded, reaching your arms out for her.

She crawled into bed next to you, wrapping her arms around you. She kissed your forehead, earning herself a dopey, blissed out smile from you. She kissed your cheek, licking up what was left of a few salty tears. She moaned at the taste.

Natasha came out of the bathroom, freshened up in nothing but a pair or boxers. She joined you and Wanda in bed, crawling in next to you. She kissed the top of your head. “Are you girls ready for movie night?”

You nodded. “I already promised mommy she gets my movie night cuddles this time, though.”

“What the hell?” Natasha said jokingly, pulling you forcibly into her lap and berating you with kisses. “Daddy fucks you so hard you can’t think straight and mommy still get the movie night cuddles?”

You giggled, squirming out of her kiss attack. “You always fall asleep anyway!”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah. Because I just fucked you so hard you couldn’t think straight. You wear me out, little girl.”

“Fine, daddy cuddles until you fall asleep, and then mommy cuddles,” you compromise.

“That sounds perfect, princess,” Natasha smiled, kissing you briefly.

You looked to Wanda for her approval. She smiled. “Fine. You can cuddle with daddy for the 20 minutes she’s awake, and then you’re all mine for the rest of the night.”

You wrapped your arms around both of them, pulling them into a tight hug. “Deal.”

[star-girl69]

As much as I love overprotective Clarisse which believe me I DO😍😍 am I the only one who kinda wants to see a protective reader if something happens to Clarisse or even Ivy?!

I feel like Clarisse may just sit back and be Yh that’s my girl 🤭

Literally kicking my feet and giggling while writing this

Also I love your writing so much it’s so goodddd I check my phone for any new posts all the time and scream when you do

TYSMMMMM BAE ILY!!!!!! been in a writing slump recently. someone else please write a mind bogglingly good clarisse fic to inspire me again. lord give me strength…

forget the fact this is 2 days late. thank y’all 🙏🙏

anyways officially adding danny to the perfect family bc I DO WHAT I WANT!!!!!!!!!!!

ok so imagine this

clarisse is participating in some sort of contest

like

idk roman gladiators LMAOOOO

but basically it’s like a big tournament? and yk she’s destroying eating it up cooking, whatever you will

finally she gets to like the semi-finals and atp everyone kinda knows she has it in the bag

her opponents are scared

(trust an underground betting ring was formed. everyone who bet on clarisse is thanking the gods and everyone who didn’t is shaking in their boots)

clarisse is happy bc you and the twins (danny and ivy)

are sitting right in the front row cheering her on

and she got a wonderful good luck kiss from you

so not only is she happy and thinking about that but also she’s convinced that she’ll win just bc she got a kiss from you

so the fight starts, ivy is genuinely SCREECHING at the top of her lungs she’s so me she can’t be normal about anything ever

and you and danny are just regularly cheering for her 😭

eventually someone behind you tells ivy to shut up

YOU WHIP AROUND BC WTF???

harshest death glare in the universe. like even zeus would be a little scared.

ivy doesn’t even notice she’s chill

the other person quickly shuts the fuck up.

then you turn back to watch clarisse and the fights just starting, the other dude is scared and knows his ass barely stands a chance

she’s having fun pummeling him

ugh fight scenes are hard to write

so eventually she tosses his ass to the floor

“GO MOM GO GO GO BEAT HIS ASS MOM BEAT. HIS. ASS.”

“IVY STOP FUCKING SWEARING”

and this dude, who’s laid on the ground, who knows he’s cooked, decides the best option is to grab some dirt and throw it in clarisse’s face

and no one was prepared for this

like clarisse was standing over him with her spear at his throat, smile on her face, everyone knew he was done for- THEN HE DECIDES TO PLAY DIRTY AND DO THIS???

like everyone thought clarisse had it in the bag

the rules for this competition were that you’re not allowed to use anything but your person and/or pre-approved weapon(s)

NOT EVEN CLARISSE WAS EXPECTING IT

SO SHES DISTRACTED BY THE FREAKING DIRT IN HER FACE

SO WHEN THIS BITCH KICKS HER SHE GOES DOWN

DEAD SILENT!!!!!!!

EVERYONE GASPS!!!!!!!

whispers in the crowd… “oh bro is cooked…”

(sorry i’m obsessed w saying cooked rn)

and he is cooked

but by someone unexpected.

clarisse is wiping the dirt off of her face swallowing her shame she can’t believe she got distracted and let herself fall she should have saw it coming but suddenly she hears someone screaming

she opens her eyes and sees you menacingly walking towards this dude, who’s still on the ground and scrambling away

and what’s funny it you’re yelling at him like a mother would

the crowd is giggling…

“THAT IS AGAINST THE RULES. WERE YOU NEVER TAUGHT MANNERS??? WERE YOU NEVER TAUGHT DECENCY??? SHAME ON YOU SHAME ON YOUR PARENTS SHAME SHAME SHAME”

clarisse is literally sitting there mouth dropped open when you grab his ear and he HOWLS

dragging him back towards clarisse, he’s kicking and screaming and literally CRYING

“HELP HELP HELP ME HELP SHE CANT SO THIS SHE CANT I DIDNT DO ANYTHING WRONG”

“YES THE FUCK I CAN YOU BROKE THE FUCKING RULES NOW APOLOGIZE YOU LAWLESS SWINE”

“I DIDNT DO ANYTHING PLEASE I DIDNT”

one of the apollo kids who organized the event is looking around (kinda enjoying it) but mostly very scared

“technically you did break the rules… sorry pal…”

“PLEASE PLEASE HELP ME”

obviously, this is the hottest thing clarisse has ever seen in her life.

she’s sitting back on her palms, watching in utter amazement, trying not to bite her lip

someone loving clarisse… that gets her going

someone loving clarisse enough to PROTECT HER??? she’s about to explode. EXPLODE. she’s never needed you so bad in her life LMAOOOO 😭

and this bitch is STILL refusing to apologize

like damn it’s not that hard… it’s not like you have any pride left to speak of you just got dragged around by the ear 😭😭 bro you’re cooked just apologize and get out while you can

AND YOU’RE GETTING FED UP WITH IT TOO

“hey, dumbass, why don’t you look at the stands?”

you point, and everyone follows your finger.

ivy is a literal cartoonish whirl of her pink t-shirt and the white shorts with the little trees on them

danny is holding her back (with ease, might i add he’s strong as fuck 💪)

“i’ll let her out.”

“I DIDNT DO ANYTHING-”

“LET HER OUT”

he barely escapes that attack.

when you finally call ivy off of her attack, she stands next to clarisse, literally growls at the dude, before hugging clarisse

clarisse is still on the ground in utter shock.

she can’t keep her eyes away from you and ivy. she can’t get rid of the GLOWING feeling in her chest

is this… what it’s like… to be loved?

WAHHHHHH WAHHHHHHHH BITCH NOW IM THE ONE CRYING NOOOOOOOO 😭😭😭

danny eventually walks over and helps her up

then they all watch as you smile sweetly at this very traumatized dude and ask if he’s ready to apologize

“IMMSORRUOHGOEE IMSORHR ESEBIMS YORUUE”

(i’m sorry oh gods im sorry i’m sorry”

then you walk over to clarisse, rolling your eyes and mumbling about bad parenting, girl she pounces on you.

kisses you so hard in front of everyone

ivy and danny are hugging each other and shielding each other’s eyes, screaming, begging for you two to stop

“y/n” she breathes as she pulls away “you are… the most amazing mother, the most amazing girlfriend, and literally the love of my fucking life.”

literally twirling your hair “omg baeeeee you’re too sweet 🤭”

(y’all don’t end up leaving her cabin for a LONG time.)

after this clarisse definitely sort of realizes a whole new side of your relationship. seeing you publicly defend her like that, publicly care about her, love her, omg she is going crazy for you!!!

after this incident she definitely stops calling you her gf.

gives you a really pretty ring she got one of the hephaestus kids to make, starts calling you her wife

and nobody better have a problem w that lol or else they got two ares killing machines, one feral attack dog, and a literal mother who is not afraid to drag you by your ear.

—-

taglist:

@lvrue @t-wylia @laughingcheese037 @kroumi @urdeadpoet @colezb @rey26 @harmzilla @elliewilliamsbae @amberfreemansburntface @kyuupidwrites @neverwaakeme-up @shark1008 @liballer @heyimadison @nvirskies @pnsteblnme @mar2ss @restellsss @ravisinghs-wife @marsconer @evangelinexo @randomhoex @luvrrish @rebecca37 @saltair-and-palemoonlight @ace-spades-1

[wonysugar]

hate rodrigo (literally) | aeri uchinaga

a/n: this is not even a fic this is a tiny little one shot that i wrote yesterday night AT LIKE TWO AM due to thoughts we had in a discord server ahem anyways I FELL ASLEEP THO. soo have this now!!

genre : really bad crack smut like i genuinely have no idea how to describe this

word count : like 600 something?

tags : one shot, smut (obvs), crack, ptv mention, falling in reverse mention, olivia Rodrigo mention, mcr mention, taylor swift mention (sorry @pupyuj)

pairing : angsty!giselle x whitegirlmusic!femreader (I HAVE NO IDEA HOW TO LABEL THISSFJEKF)

your music taste wasn’t something you particularly shared with people, but you didn’t hide it, either. to you, it was music, nothing more, nothing less.

however, one of your friends, aeri, took music very, very seriously, and it really showed. she had a certain aesthetic, she wore certain things and god, did she listen to certain music.

“no like i genuinely can’t grasp the fact that you unironically listen to olivia rodrigo?” she laughed, leaning back on her bed as you stared at her in disbelief.

“god aeri, some of her songs are good, you just haven’t tried them.” you snapped back, wearing a convinced smile as you proceed to jokingly hit her arm.

“okay, sure, whatever. but just imagine getting to know someone, going on dates with them, all the sha-bang. then, when it’s time to get down and freaky, they turn on their sex playlist and motherfucking driver’s license starts playing??”

she was basically cackling at that point and you couldn’t do anything to stop it. defending your cause seemed like it would’ve been difficult, with how far up her own ass she was.

“yeah, because that isn’t a sex song? olivia rodrigo doesn’t make fucking sex music?? try putting a falling in reverse song while you get naked, see how that works out for you.” you fight back.

“oh i don’t know about you, but i’d be soaked for sure. plus, anything would be better than hearing young adult women sing about their previous relationship like it was a war they fought in.” she kid, crossing her arms in victory, as if she even won the argument in the first place.

“i’m gonna make you swallow those words right back up, uchinaga.”

“try me, l/n.”

-

“f-fuck y/n, go- mmh- slower..”

so, it wasn’t supposed to happen this way!

it originally was just the both of you, taking turns and putting different songs on the bluetooth speaker and rating them based on ‘how wet it got you’.

turns out, while that was a theory stage, there seemed to be a practice one too, and you’ve been in it for the past 10 minutes now.

thrusting your fake cock in and out of her, paying no mind to the very loud, very obnoxious pierce the veil song that was playing in the background, you pinned her hands above her head. your pace increased with time, and the decibels of her voice increased with the pace.

“oh my god y/n pleasepleasepleasepleasee i’m s-so sorry i- fuck me- i didn’t mean-“ she cried, poor thing probably didn’t even realize that her black eyeliner was running all over her cheeks. her arms and legs wrapped around you,

“shut your fucking mouth and take it, you emo fucking cumslut.” you slammed your strap into her as she yelled out your name. while she was pleading and begging for something, you were on top of her perfect laying-in-mcr-bedsheets body.

she, herself, wasn’t aware of what she was begging for, her mind was completely blank. all she could think about was how good her pussy felt when you pounded it so violently, when you were being so aggressive with her that you just used her body however you wanted.

you thought that whole thing would be a one-time occurrence, but no, it happened a second time, when she said that taylor swift had mid music. was she doing it on purpose or something?

anyways,

yes, you fucked her with the 1989 album playing.

[discokicks]

BOLT FROM THE BLUE - ROY KENT.

PART ONE of ACES AT THE WATER'S EDGE.

(series masterlist!) (series playlist!) (AO3!)

pairing: roy kent x fem!reader (no use of y/n!)

summary: with the departure of afc richmond’s wonderkid, the club is desperately on the hunt for a new coach. luckily for them, you’ve just been wrongfully terminated from your position over at west ham. however, with your outlook on the football world tainted and massive hesitation due to your past with a particular member of their coaching staff, you’re less than convinced about the job. but, that same member may just be the one to convince you.

word count & rating: 8.7k, R (too many roy kent 'fucks' to be pg-13)

chapter warnings: whole lotta swearing (it’s a roy kent fic, do i even have to say it?), talk of workplace misconduct, allusions to (no descriptions of) sexual harassment, roy and the reader are long-lost bickering, angsty enemies with a past, reader is a former team usa player and present coach, author is american (sorry </3)

author’s note! hello hello. so happy to have you here. welcome to my first tumblr fic. certainly not my first fic ever, but first fic on here! hooray! for the sake of this fic, we’re going to pretend like the coaching career of the reader is actually possible in the current misogynistic world football climate. it’ll be fun to fantasize. also, this takes place in s3, and reader is earlyish/midish thirties. also also, i know next to nothing about football/soccer and haven’t played since i was 10, but i’m doing my research! hope you enjoy and love u all tons. -mags

PRESENT DAY. (AUGUST 2023)

Your ex-boss's ex-wife is currently standing outside of your apartment and somehow, that’s not the most surprising thing to happen this week.

While yes, of course, seeing Rebecca Walton on your front steps at nine-thirty on a Thursday morning is shocking, the numbness that’s been coursing through your body since Monday takes some of the edge off.

She’s right before you, clutching her purse tightly, dressed in a fitted trench coat and aggressively expensive heels. Everything about her contrasts the four-sizes-too-big sweatshirt you’re sporting with the age-old pajama shorts with embroidered soccer balls that you’ve been rotting away in for the last three days. When your eyes finally meet once more and you see she’s been sizing you up just as you’ve been doing to her, she plasters on a wide, practiced smile.

“Hello,” Rebecca says. Her smile doesn’t falter.

You blink at her. “Hi.”

She motions to your door and you feel your hand tighten on the knob. “May I come in?”

Your lips part in a way that you’re sure makes you look like a moron. “Like, into my house?” you ask, head whipping to look at the current warzone state of your living room.

Rebecca’s smile gets slightly more genuine. “If that’s alright?”

The shock of her standing before you seems to have worn off, because you find yourself shutting the door slightly. “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.”

“It’s nothing—”

“Look, if you’re here to get me to talk to that Independent journalist who’s called me like, three times asking for a perspective on Rupert for his book or whatever, I’m really not interested.” Your frustration is clearly peaking through your typically reserved manner, and frankly, you’re not in any mood to mask it.

She doesn’t seem to mind. “Who? Trent?” You nod at Rebecca’s furrowed brows. “Oh God, no. We barely want him writing that thing anyway.”

Well, okay. “Then why—”

Rebecca motions to the door again. “May I?”

You suppose if she’s being so insistent about entering your home, it’s her funeral. You step back to allow her in, and the second she sees your living room, she seems to regret it. When she turns to face you, you can’t help the way your brows shoot up, everything about your demeanor saying I told you so. “The kitchen’s cleaner,” you tell her, nodding in its direction.

“Wonderful,” she says as she follows you through the hall. Her next question is hesitant. “So, is all this—”

“The result of getting fired on Monday?” you finish for her, turning to meet her gaze as you stand at your counter. Her eyes read pity and part of you already wants to kick her out. The other part of you wants to hug her. “Yeah. Things, uh…”

As you trail off, you realize something. That thing in her eyes isn’t pity. It’s empathy. Rebecca, more than anyone, knows Rupert. She knows how much of an asshole he is. She knows how special he can make you feel, only to have the rug ripped out from under you moments later. She knows what it feels like to be wronged by him. She knows.

Through your silence, you think she recognizes the sudden shift in tension as your expression morphs into something less hard, and you allow yourself a moment of vulnerability. “Things haven’t been great over here.”

Any sort of practice in Rebecca’s smile completely fades and is replaced with something more compassionate. “I can only imagine.”

You nod, crossing your arms over your chest. While the initial discomfort has passed, the awkwardness still lingers and you realize that you have literally no idea why she’s in your apartment. “Can I… offer you coffee? Or, uh, tea?” you ask.

“Oh, no,” she replies. “Thank you though.”

“You sure?” you try again. “I taught myself how to make an insane shaken espresso during my ACL recovery. Mastered it over the years.”

“Mastered it?”

You shrug. “It was either that or alcoholism. Chose the path less traveled by most washed-up athletes.”

Rebecca’s lips twitch upward. “Oh, what the hell. Why not?”

“Great,” you say, turning to your cabinet to grab your bag of coffee beans. Now for the moment of truth. “And while I get that together…” You stand on your tiptoes to reach the bag. “You’ve gotta tell me what you’re doing here.”

For a moment, you think she’s going to feed you some joke or some bullshit answer. You glance over your shoulder to watch her mouth even open to do so. But she suddenly decides against it.

And you drop the bag of coffee beans and have to stabilize yourself against the counter as she says, “I’m here to offer you a job.”

A job? She wants to give you a job at Richmond? She can’t be serious. Out of all the things that floated through your mind when you opened the door, this was the last thing you thought possible. A job. She’s here to offer you a job.

It has to be a pity offer. That’s where the pity of it all went. But no one knows about what actually happened, you remind yourself. She just knows you were suddenly let go. Well, then it’s just a revenge offer. Some petty thing to get back at Rupert. As much as you want to think that you’d be on board with that, you had no interest in being some sort of piece in the game.

You’re staring blankly at Rebecca as your mind goes to war, certain that you look like even more of an idiot than you did when you let her in. There’s a small pool of coffee beans sitting on your counter. But you can’t find it in you to care. A job. She’s here to offer you a job.

Rebecca suddenly clears her throat. “Is everything alri—”

“Why the fuck do you want to give me a job?” Is what comes out of your mouth, head too far gone to consider a filter. A smirk appears on her face at your words. “Sorry, I just… I don’t get it.”

She looks at you for a moment, taking a solemn pause to evaluate exactly what it is she wants to say. Her eyes flash to your embroidered soccer shorts peeking out from beneath your sweatshirt, then to the plethora of sport-themed mugs hanging beneath the cabinets in your kitchen, then to the framed photo you keep on the wall of your team’s 2015 World Cup win.

“Because,” she finally lands on, “when I see that the new, passionate, wildly qualified West Ham coach is suddenly fired less than two months after she begins, seemingly out of nowhere…” It’s her turn to trail off, and she shrugs. “Something tells me it wasn’t just leadership differences.”

You look away from her as she drops the famous press-release line. Discomfort floods your body as you remember Rupert’s smarmy smile when he asked for your badge. “No,” you say softly. “It wasn’t.”

Rebecca nods, as if her suspicions were confirmed. “Now, I don’t know what happened,” she tells you, “and I don’t expect to know. But as I said, you’re wildly qualified. You were a remarkable talent on the field and more so as a coach. Four Uni championships in a six-year career isn’t just impressive, it’s unheard of.”

You pause your coffee bean cleanup at that. Your brows shoot up and a wry smile crosses your lips. “You know my college coaching stats?”

Rebecca stares at you for a moment. Then, “Not until this week,” she admits quickly, forcing you to bite back a laugh. “But my coaching staff knew. Sang your praises.”

A pit forms in your stomach as you realize exactly who’s a part of that staff. Bull-fucking-shit he sang your praises. You think you’d despise him more if he had.

Attempting to brush off your sudden uneasiness, you try your hand at a joke while measuring out the beans. “Well, two-thirds of them are American, so I guess that makes sense.”

Rebecca chuckled. “Well, Roy Kent doesn’t say much of anything, but you did get a—’” She cuts herself off to make an affirmative-sounding grunt. You’re so thrown off by this that you almost forget to smile at her impression of him. “Which, you know, is about as close to singing as he gets.”

That it is. Because you do know. And that’s Roy code for ‘trying to be normal about this, but dear God, never speak about her to me again.’ You hope the mere mention of your name made him run out of the room. That the idea of you potentially joining the team keeps him up at night.

(The last three days haven’t been good for your dramatics either.)

A sigh escapes your lips and you avert your eyes. There’s an air of embarrassment as you shift uncomfortably. “This is going to be loud, sorry,” you apologize, turning the grinder on. You make a general estimation that this is what your brain would currently sound like if someone decided to listen in. After a moment, the machine turns off, but you don’t turn back to Rebecca. “Would this be a coaching offer?”

“I wouldn’t want you to be anything else,” Rebecca responds. Her tone shifts slightly as she looks at you. “Unless there’s—”

“No,” you say, shaking your head. “There’s nothing else I’d want.” You shift again. “I just…”

Rebecca watches as you trail off. You still haven’t looked at her, focused solely on your espresso task at hand. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting when she arrived at your home, but it certainly wasn’t this. Every time she’d seen you, whether it was on the field, blowing past defenders with impossible efficiency, or coaching your college girls in a way that commanded respect despite the seemingly ever-present smile on your face, there’d always been this confidence about you.

An admirable sense of ego. A love and passion for the game that made every young girl want to wear the number 14. A spirit that made everyone look upon you fondly. A pleasure to be around, and an honor to work with.

Rebecca was now staring at what she presumed to be the shell of the woman she’d heard about. A woman distracting herself from the discomfort of this conversation with coffee-making, afraid of her own shadow. And as you spoke, she knew her assumptions were correct.

“Listen,” you manage to get out. You’ve already tamped the grounds and had returned to the big, fancy espresso machine bought for you long ago by a former friend. “I appreciate you coming over here, but…”

“But?” Rebecca questions.

The words feel dry in your mouth and you have to push them out. “I think I’m done with it.”

It’s Rebecca’s turn to blink at you dumbly. “Done with what?” she asks. “With coaching?”

Shame floods your body. “With soccer,” you reply weakly. That look remained on Rebecca’s face. “Football. Whatever. Whatever you want to call it, I’m done with it.” You turn to stable yourself on the countertop once more as the coffee begins to brew. “It’s just— I’ve spent the majority of my life doing this one thing. I’ve done the Olympic gold thing, I’ve won a World Cup, I’ve won college championships, I’ve been…” Your eyes shut, shoulders sagging. “I’ve just been. And I thought I could go a step further. Break a ceiling or whatever. I thought I was ready for it. And then everything I’ve worked for is fucking destroyed by some douchebag, diva athlete who doesn’t know how to keep his dick in his—”

You raise your hand to your mouth as if that’ll keep it all in, and you realize you’re shaking. You don’t have to turn around to know how Rebecca’s looking at you. “So, yeah,” you finish lamely. “I’m done. It was ruined for me. And I don’t want to go back.”

Rebecca says nothing for a long while. Taking everything you said in, drawing her conclusions, whatever. You grip the granite countertop and it feels cool beneath your fingers. Your eyes open when you finally hear her respond.

“You’re letting him win,” she tells you, voice soft. Slightly broken. Like she knows the feeling.

When you do turn back to her, Rebecca’s sitting at your breakfast bar with her hands folded together, anger poorly concealed. But it’s not anger at you, it’s just anger.

But then you start to feel angry. “I’m not letting him win,” you insist.

“You are,” she replies. Before you can let your temper get the best of you, she continues. “They’re calling you emotional, you know? They’re saying that the ’leadership problems’ were you just being abrasive. Joking that they should have never let a woman into the league because of the drama. Apparently, women can’t handle AFC-level coaching.”

You swallow. “I know,” you say. “I’ve seen it.”

“Who do you think’s pushing that narrative?” she asks.

It’s a rhetorical question, but you still feel like giving an answer. “Basement-dwelling losers who barely made their intramural leagues?”

It’s then that Rebecca smiles for real. It’s like she’s seen a flash of the woman she’s heard about and she couldn’t be more pleased. She makes a noise of agreement, then continues. “This is what he wants. He wants you to feel like this. He wants you to quit.” Her gaze bores into yours with an intensity that doesn’t allow you to look away. “If you give it all up, he wins. He beats you and he’s got another name under his belt. He doesn’t deserve your name.” Rebecca’s index finger jabs in your direction. “Don’t allow him to fucking win.”

The passion in her words is what gets you. Your throat clenches as you feel your eyes start to burn, knowing that everything she said had some amount of truth in it. There’s a frustration that rises in your chest that you don’t know how to handle.

You were letting him win. He took away your career and then threatened your reputation. He made you take the blame for everything. He allowed this to be ruined for you and played an active part in ensuring it. And here you were, cowering in fear at the notion of this small man.

She’s right, and the espresso has finished brewing.

You know she’s right. Rebecca knows she’s right. So, as you stand in your kitchen, fighting an inward battle that’s got you on the verge of tears, your scared, stupid, frustrated little brain can only think of one more thing to say as you pour the coffee over ice.

“Even if you were right—” you begin, not ready to admit that just yet, “—even if you were, and even if I did want to join Richmond, I refuse to work with Roy Kent.”

This takes Rebecca completely by surprise. She shifts back in her chair, eyes wide despite the drawing of her brows. “R-Roy?” she sputters. “Our Roy Kent?”

The word our tells you that he’s been embraced by the club and isn’t going anywhere. Not that you had expected him to. He’d clearly nested well into the team and had taken his coaching position in stride. Just like you said he would years ago.

“Yeah,” you say shortly. “That one.”

Rebecca’s expression remains the same. ”But he’s… I—” She cuts herself off with a question. “—but why?”

A mirthless grin crosses your lips, head shaking like you don’t have the energy to get into it all. “That’s an answer you should probably hear from him.”

Rebecca looks as though she’s trying to make sense of all of this. You want to wish her luck. Because you’ve been doing the same thing for eight years. “I understand he can be a bit… coarse. And intimidating. And hot-headed. But he really is—”

“I don’t care what he is,” you tell her with the most polite, tight-lipped smile you can muster up. “I know who he was. And I’m not interested in working with him.” The words leave your mouth with a bit more venom than anticipated and guilt floods your body. “But thank you for the offer.”

The Richmond owner continues to stare at you while you shake the coffee, still puzzled, but slowly coming to the realization that she’s not going to change your mind. At least not now. Maybe not ever.

She figures that trying to convince you to do anything would be pointless. Your stubbornness had made you a star on the field and had clearly transferred off of it. She supposed it made sense that you and Roy had apparently butted heads.

So, reading the room, Rebecca nods at you and stands from the stool behind your breakfast bar. “Alright,” she says, a somber, apologetic smile on her face. “Message received. Loud and clear.” You watched as she turned and began to fumble inside her purse, placing a white card on the bar when she’d found it. “But… please. Consider it. The offer’s good for the next couple of days. And I… I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t think that you’d be an asset to our team. I truly mean that.”

There’s a genuine lilt in her voice that makes you believe her. Whether or not this was a pity offer, or if she just want to scoop you up to get back at Rupert, she really did want you with the team. You’re rational enough to know that there’s some merit in that.

“Thank you,” you say again, offering a truer smile this time around. You hold up the espresso. “Now, do you have a milk preference? Because I’ve got them all.”

Rebecca Walton left your apartment with the best fucking shaken espresso she’s ever had in her life and a phone held up to her ear.

“Hi, babes,” greeted the voice on the other line, cheery as ever. “I can’t remember the last time you called me this early. Not that I’m complain—”

Rebecca abruptly cut off her friend’s rambling by saying your name. “How the fuck does she know Roy and why the fuck is he the reason she won’t work for Richmond?”

Uncharacteristically, Keeley Jones went silent. Rebecca heard the static from the other end. And then, very quiet, and wildly serious, Keeley said, “Oh, fuck.”

The words made Rebecca stop in her tracks in the middle of the street. “What?”

“You want her to be the new Richmond coach?” Keeley asked, sounding a whole lot like she just scrambled to sit up in bed.

“I just left her apartment. She rejected the offer and sent me on my way with the best coffee I’ve ever had in my life,” she replied. “I want to be bitter about it, but it’s too fucking good.”

“Yeah, got it, she’s a fucking barista on top of being an Ace.” Rebecca wanted to ask about how frantic her best friend is right now, but didn’t get the chance. “Did Roy know you were doing this? Asking her, I mean?”

“He did. I asked him about her,” Rebecca answered. “And he grunted at me. Generally, that’s Roy Kent for ‘go on with it.’”

“Oh, that stupid, fucking self-sabotaging prick,” Keeley muttered. “Of-fucking-course he did. Put yourself in this kind of situation instead of dealing with your emotions like a normal fucking human, good on you, Roy—”

“Keeley.” The rambling stopped once more. “What happened?”

The other line was momentarily silent. Then Keeley sighed, long and heavy. “Well, I don’t know it all,” she began. Her voice was soft. “But I know they knew each other a while back. Like ten years ago, when they were both still playing.” Keeley sighed once more. “But he said he, uh… apparently fucked her over somehow. Didn’t get into it or say what he did, but I think it was pretty bad. And then she got back at him for it and fucked him over. And it… really messed him up. Like, totally broke his heart.”

Rebecca stepped out of the way of someone passing by. “Broke his heart?” she asked, eyes closing at the implication of that. “Were they—”

“I don’t know. He didn’t say. He wasn’t exactly open about it. Which I thought was weird because he became pretty open about everything else,” Keeley said. “All I know is that whatever it was, it ended ugly. And that they haven’t spoken to each other since.”

Whatever Rebecca had been expecting, it surely wasn’t that. “Oh,” she said lightly.

Keeley hummed in uncomfortable agreement. “Maybe I’m reading too far into it,” she continued. “Maybe it wasn’t like that. But, he… never talked about anyone like that. Or, y’know, refused to talk about anyone like that. And you know Roy.” Rebecca said nothing, leaving Keeley to ask the million-dollar question. “Are you sure you want to follow through with this?”

“I want her. She’s the only feasible prospect I’ve liked who hasn’t been a fucking twat so far.” Rebecca’s voice was sure. Final. “And I won’t allow for another woman to be quietly taken down because of Rupert. Especially not if what I think happened actually did happen.”

“Well, then babe,” Keeley said, “I think you might need to have a chat with your coaches.”

Then, as Rebecca stood on the edge of the sidewalk, picturing the look on her coaches’ faces as she prepared to integrate Roy Kent, the gravity of the situation hit her like a freight train. “Oh, fuck.”

“ROY FUCKING KENT!”

The entire locker room froze at the voice of Rebecca Walton echoing down the hall, each click of her heels sounding as dangerous as the next. Immediately, all eyes are were on Roy. From Kitman Will to Coach Ted Lasso himself. Not a word was said and Rebecca’s stomping started to sound like a death march.

But when she rounded the corner into the Coaches’ Office with a fire in her eyes that screamed run; that’s when Roy started to sweat.

Immediately, a million things ran through his mind. He wondered if this was about his break-up with Keeley, then realized that she was the one who wanted a break from him, so Rebecca’s got no reason to be mad about that. Had he said something stupid to a reporter? Been photographed poorly? Did something come up in a tabloid from his past? Roy wished he could identify one singular thing he’d done back then in poor taste, but he had a fucking laundry list.

Beard quickly jumped up from his chair to shut the door to the locker room so that the team couldn’t hear whatever was about to unfold in this godforsaken office, and pulled the blinds too. He heard the beginnings of an objection from the boys as they began to race to the window, and sent them all a look before the shade fell.

Rebecca walked further into the office, eyes never leaving Roy’s. If she weren’t so fucking mad, she figured she’d bask in the fact that she was able to make the great, big, scary Roy Kent nervous, but she was currently seeing red. She decided she’d reflect on that later.

“I had a fascinating conversation this morning with a prospective coach,” she finally said, voice eerily calm. “Your name came up. A lot.”

Roy didn’t dare say a word. He wasn’t even sure if he could. Thankfully, Ted chimed in. “Well, Boss, we’ve got a lot of those. Would you mind narrowing down which one you talked to?”

But Roy doesn’t need it to be narrowed down. There’s only one name that’s been floated around that could possibly have garnered this reaction and level of anger. But his stomach sank further as a wild smile crossed Rebecca’s lips.

“Oh, just our Ace Olympic gold-medalist, World Cup-winning, four-time college coaching champion, West-Ham-hating top prospect,” she said, gaze pinning Roy to the wall. “Who apparently has not only been fucked over by Rupert but has also been fucked over by our own Roy Kent.”

All eyes flashed to Roy in surprise. Rebecca hadn’t been lying. Roy hadn’t objected to her name being considered as seriously as it was, and had given absolutely no indication to anyone in the room that there could potentially be conflict with this hire.

“Oh,” Ted said. “Well, that’s a bit of an issue.”

Roy looked at Rebecca evenly. “What did she say?”

“Nothing,” she replied, knowing that that was the very issue. “She just said she refused to work with you. Told me to ask you for the details.”

Roy nearly scoffed. God, that was really fucking like you, wasn’t it? Somehow making his life harder without scorching him alive, leaving him to be the one to burn himself down. Because you could if you wanted to. You could burn him to the ground if you chose.

(And you had. But he wasn’t sure what was stopping you from doing it again.)

He eyed Rebecca, knowing his boss and the way she thinks. There was a piece of him that was curious as to whether or not she’d drop the bomb in front of Beard and Lasso. “And what did Keeley tell you?”

That seemed to take his boss by surprise for a moment. But, as she caught on, it was made clear that she had the intention of saving his ass. For now. “Nothing that you didn’t tell her yourself,” Rebecca said. “Which was pretty much nothing.”

That was true too. There wasn’t much he hadn’t told Keeley, but he drew the line at you. Not only would Keeley look at him differently if she knew the truth, but you were just… too hard to talk about. Way too hard for him.

Which is why when Rebecca threw her hands up in question, desperation in her eyes as she asks, “So, what the fuck did you do to our prospective coach?”, Roy had to calm himself for a moment.

Between his rapidly increasing heartbeat and freshly clammy hands, Roy knew he had to figure out a way to not appear one hundred percent, completely freaked out about this. Besides his vague talks with Keeley, he can’t remember the last time he spoke about you. In fact, he’s not sure he’d ever spoken about you. And he certainly wasn’t in any headspace to do it now.

So, Roy being who he was, looked at the expectant expressions of his coaching staff (and Trent fucking Crimm, who he still couldn’t believe had managed to weasel his way into the club) and sighed. He knew he couldn’t be as intentionally vague with his explanation, especially now that the careers of those he knew and respected were in the mix, but he sure as hell was going to try.

“We—” Roy’s voice came out gruff and he cleared his throat with the roll of his eyes. “We knew each other a while back. I met her at the London Olympics. We were… fucking friends. For a while. And then we weren’t.” Roy shrugged, as if that would get rid of the discomfort he felt. He still hadn’t made eye contact with anyone. “I did some shit I’m not proud of. I hurt her and then she fucking hurt me. We haven’t talked since.”

Rebecca crossed her arms over her chest. “Exactly how long haven’t you spoken for?”

Exactly? Roy knows exactly how long. He could tell her the exact fucking day. But that was neither here nor there.

“I don’t know,” he chose to answer. He’d never faked indifference well. “Couple of years? Eight, nine?”

Beard pursed his lips in confusion. “And you didn’t think to… mention this conflict of interest?”

He’d taken the words right out of Rebecca’s mouth. “Or tell me there was an issue so I didn’t look like an idiot?”

“There’s no fucking conflict of interest!” Roy shouted. Rebecca’s brows rose dangerously at the tone and volume of his voice, forcing him to take a moment to collect himself. His voice was more even as he said, “I didn’t fucking say anything because I didn’t think it was important because we’re fucking adults and I didn’t want to be the fucking reason she didn’t—”

Roy’s words died in his throat, chest heaving as he forced himself to stop short. He finally looked up, glancing between his colleagues. He tilted his head back as he realized that each of them were trying to figure out whether or not to believe him.

He was telling the truth. He hadn’t said one lie. They just didn’t get it. And he wouldn’t allow them to get it. Not yet, at least.

“Well,” Rebecca said after a beat, “inadvertently or not, you are the reason she’s not joining the team.”

(Those words alone sting Roy in a way he wasn’t prepared for.)

Rebecca wasn’t done. “But I want her, Roy. More than anyone we’ve seen. She’s the best we’ve had a chance with so far. And if I have to go with another coach or one of those pricks we interviewed because of that?” She shook her head as if the idea repulsed her, then pointed squarely at Roy. “Fix this.”

His jaw went slack. “Fix— How the fuck am I supposed to fix it?”

Roy was shocked to find that Ted had his back. “I’m with Roy on this one, boss,” he said hesitantly. Rebecca blinked at him in surprise. “I want her too. I’m all for having this Ace up our sleeve. But this all seems like a lot to be fixed overnight.”

“Send her flowers, send her a singing telegram, get on your fucking hands and knees and beg— I don’t care how you do it! Just try!” Rebecca’s gaze had turned back to Roy, this time a bit more pleading. “Please. Fix it.”

And with that, Rebecca left the office, leaving two coaches and a journalist staring at Roy Kent.

This was the worst day of his life. It had to be. He’d never prepared himself to see you again because he was convinced that there was no probability it would happen. Selfishly, he’d figured that you coaching here wasn’t a true possibility, not because of any sort of lack of skill, but because some other team would scoop you up. But it was happening. This was a reality and Roy was sure he’d died and finally gone to hell.

And now he was expected to fix this? To interact with you? To potentially see and speak to you again? He was going to fucking throw up.

With this settling in, Roy released a deep, shuddering breath, heartbeat ringing in his ears. “Fuuuuuck,” he muttered, grabbing his keys from his desk and storming out of the room.

And then there were three. Ted broke the silence with a question directed at Trent. “Y'all have singing telegrams over here?”

Trent nodded. “Oh, yes. And I’m sure they’re just as awful as American ones.”

As Ted hummed in agreement, Beard narrowed his eyes at how his best friend’s attention was back on the open laptop in front of him. “You looking up where to get one?” he asked.

“Oh, yeah,” Ted replied, eyes glued to the screen.

Beard got up from his chair. “Move over.”

Roy Kent is standing on your doorstep, and somehow that’s not the most surprising thing to happen to you all week.

However, you are surprised. So much so that the second you see him, a mix of red-hot anger and panic run through your veins, making you instantly slam the door in his face. Tragically, he’s quick enough to slip his foot between the door and the frame, not allowing you to keep him out. You see him grimace through the slit.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters. “That’s a fucking heavy door.”

“Yeah?” you ask, continuing to push on the door like a five-year-old. “Surprised your reflexes were fast enough to pull that one off, Grandpa.” You glance down and do the math. “With your bad leg, too. Impressive.”

You see him wince at the pressure. “If you keep pushing on that door, we’re going to have an actual fucking problem.”

“Ooh, I’m so scared,” you reply. “Do I get a headstart when you have to pop the knee back in?”

Roy grunts. “I think it’s fair game with that ACL.”

You push harder on the door.

Roy’s had enough. His weird, Superman strength peaks through as he holds out an arm to push back, making you stumble slightly. “Can you fucking… stop?” His voice strains on that last word, finally opening the door enough to free his foot and keep it open. You know him well enough to know that trying to push back is useless. However, as you hide yourself behind it, your hand remains on the door, just in case.

“How the fuck do you know where I live?”

“I frequent the West Ham directory,” he answers dryly. You move to push on the door once more, but he speaks before you can. “I fucking texted Rebecca. She somehow knew.”

While you were also weirded out about how Rebecca knew your address, her presence was much less off putting than the man’s before you. If he’d texted Rebecca about you, that meant you’d been talked about. Which meant that Rebecca had confronted Roy about your conflict. Which meant that he was here to…

The implication of it unnerves you. But still, you ask, “Why are you here?”

“I just want to talk,” he replies.

You scoff. “Well, we talked. I’m good for another ten years.”

It’s then that he says your name. Your actual name. Not your last name, or your number, or the stupid nickname he used to call you. And it’s said so softly. So much more gentle than you ever remember his voice being. It straight-up ambushes you, and the remainder of the grip you have on the door fades.

“Please,” he says in that same way. “Give me five minutes.” You rest your forehead on the door, wanting nothing more than to shut it in his face again and walk away. “Five minutes, and then you can tell me to fuck off.”

You’re not sure what makes you do it. You’re not sure why your resolve suddenly crumbles and you start to consider his words. Maybe it’s because you’re still surprised to see him. Maybe it’s because you’re exhausted from this last week. Or maybe it’s because you’ve spent the last four hours mulling over Rebecca’s offer and have realized you may actually want this.

Whatever it is, you groan dramatically, say something that sounds a whole lot like fine, fucking fine to Roy, and open your door all the way to really look at him for the first time in eight years.

The sight of you seems to catch him as off guard as he does for you. He looks older, years more mature than the last time you saw him. But it’s not just in the face. His entire presence seems matured. Healed. It’s jarring.

He’s well-groomed, a vast contrast to the guy you met back in 2012, but similar to the man you left in 2015. It’s just more so. Everything about him is… more. More well-polished. More striking. The TV spots you’ve seen don’t do him justice.

(You mentally kick yourself for even thinking that and immediately feel like you need to wash your hands.)

The dark Richmond Coaching shirt he wears nearly blends in with his eyes, but you swear they’ve gotten lighter. However, the intensity of his stare hasn’t changed. And that’s the first thing you notice as you realize he’s been doing the same sort of evaluation to you.

However, that stare stays on the stupid embroidered soccer ball shorts you now really wish you’d changed out of after Rebecca had left. There’s a ghost of a smile on his face as he says, “I can’t believe you still have those fucking shorts.”

A sudden, overwhelming feeling of… something washes over you and you can feel tears prick at your eyes. Because you don’t know what to say to that, and because you’re not sure you can respond to that in any sort of way, you cross your arms over your chest. It takes everything in you to keep your gaze on him. “Five minutes,” you tell him.

Roy seems to snap out of whatever headspace he was in, any trace of humor disappearing. Instead, he straightens up, rolls his shoulders back, and clears his throat. He’s standing as if he’s about to make a grand speech, and it leads you to believe he’s rehearsed this. You may have laughed at him if you weren’t anticipating whatever the hell was about to come.

So, as Roy opens his mouth, you brace yourself for impact and wait.

And wait.

And wait.

But nothing seems to come out. He’s stuck there, like he’s frozen in time, as if he’s some sort of animatronic that’s glitching out. You glance around to double-check that the trees on your street are still blowing in the wind.

Your head tilts, and you awkwardly press your lips together. “I think you’ve got four minutes now.”

Roy glares at you. “Can you just fucking—” He cuts himself off, pointing to his G-Wagon that’s parked outside of your apartment. “I spent two fucking hours in that car figuring out how I was going to fucking do this and then another hour outside of your fucking flat trying to work up the nerve to knock on your fucking door, so can you just shut the fuck up?”

Your hands go up in surrender. “Okay, okay,” you say lightly. Then, you mutter, “You just like, gave yourself a time limit and—”

When he grits out your name, you raise your hands higher and shut your mouth.

A good thirty seconds go by before he finally says, “You played for how many years?”

You blink at him. That’s his big opening line? He knows how long you played— “Seven?”

“Yeah, I fucking know you played professionally for seven. How long overall?”

You have to think about it for a moment. “Since I was three,” you answer. “So, twenty-five years.”

“And how long did you coach?”

He knows this too, but you assume he’s doing it to prove a point. “Six,” you grumble, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Six,” he repeats. “That’s over thirty years you’ve devoted your life to football. Three fucking decades. That’s your entire fucking life.”

That same frustration you felt when Rebecca was talking to you this morning rears its ugly head. “What’s your point?”

Roy doesn’t think he could roll his eyes any harder. “My point is,” he says, “you’ve been in this game for three decades. Why?”

“W-why?” you stammer, staring at him like he’s insane. Nobody’s ever asked you that before. “What do you mean why?”

Roy returns the look. “There’s gotta be a reason you’ve been doing this shit for thirty years. Why?”

“I don’t know,” you answer, shaking your head. “Because I’m good at it? Because it’s literally all that I’m good at? Because it’s all that I’ve ever known? I don’t—”

“No,” he says firmly, and for a moment, as he steps forward, you think he’s going to grab you by the shoulders in the way he used to. To get you out of your head and focus on him. Thankfully, he doesn’t. “Fucking nobody does anything for that long just because they’re good at it. That can’t be the only reason.”

As he stares at you expectantly, you start to understand his train of thought. What he’s trying to get you to admit. What all of this has been about since you first kicked a ball at three years old. What allowed you to sport the number 14 for twenty-five years. Because it’s only ever been about one thing, and he, more than anyone, gets it.

So, as your shoulders slouch and your head bows slightly in an annoyed sort of surrender, he knows he’s got you. Roy fucking Kent, anger-management case study and hothead of the millennium, has got you. And he’s showcasing the type of speech and traits and breakthrough abilities that told you eight years ago that he’d be a fantastic coach. Not that he believed you. Or took it very well, for that matter.

Then, you hear his voice again. And this time, it’s a bit softer. As if there’s a fraction of a smile on his face. “So, why the fuck have you been playing this game for thirty years, you stupid fucking Yank?”

The nostalgia of the name hits you like a bus, and you’re thankful you’re leaning on the doorframe because you truly may have stumbled over. However, there’s no time to dwell on that. You’ve got an answer ready and it takes everything in you not to smile.

A heavy, labored, dramatic sigh escapes you, and you open your eyes to look at him. “Because I love it.”

“Because you fucking love it,” he echoes, and that fraction of a smile you heard in his voice happens to be hidden amongst his perpetual scowl. He takes a step closer to you, pointing at you and tapping on your shoulder. “Don’t you dare let that prick take that away from you.”

You bite the inside of your cheek and look away from him. He’s right. Just like Rebecca, he’s right. You hate that he’s right, but he’s right. It’s been years since you’ve seen him be right, but it hasn’t gotten any less annoying.

You think back to what Rebecca said this morning. Don’t let him win. You didn’t want to. There was actually nothing less that you wanted than to allow him to have that sort of power over you.

But still, the fear lingers. It sits in your stomach and churns it. He said he’d ruin you. Turn the world against you. It’d be your word against the club’s and more importantly, your word against football darling and West Ham star, Tom MacDonald’s.

(“Sure, you can go public with it,” Rupert had told you, basking in the anger written in your expression. “But to be completely honest, love, I’m not sure anyone’s going to believe you.” He shrugged. “Only female coach in the league suddenly crying sexual harassment after she’s been fired? Seems a bit convenient to me, don’t you think?”)

You don’t mean for your voice to be as small as it is when you say, “But what if I’m actually done?”

Vulnerability’s never been something you’ve embraced, especially with your career path, and you hate the way you sound. Weak. Timid. Afraid. As you meet his gaze once again, you realize that you hate the way that Roy’s looking at you even more.

“You’re the furthest thing from done. Done hasn’t ever been a word in your fucking vocabulary,” he tells you. There’s no room for argument. “You wanna know why?” You shrug at him in response, cueing him to continue. “Because unfortunately, I fucking know you. And I know the only time you’d ever be done with this sport is when you’re fucking dead.”

This time, you do allow yourself to smile. It’s small and humorous— a tight-lipped agreement, but it’s enough for Roy to know he’s gotten through. You want to laugh, partly because you know he’s right, partly because you can’t fucking believe that you’re smiling at him, but you’re strong enough to keep that in.

“So, yeah. Don’t let that prick kill you. Don’t let any prick keep you out of this game. Especially coaching.” Roy shakes his head, pausing for a beat, as if he’s making an effort to say, “You’re too… fucking good.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Took a lot to get that one out, huh?”

Roy’s quick with a response. “You’re lucky you got it at all.”

You scowl, but there’s not much in it. You’re used to that type of compliment from him. If you can even call it that. Still, the familiarity of it makes you the most uncomfortable you’ve been all day.

However, you’re distracted by one thing. Don’t let any prick keep you out of the game. He’s said it so casually, like he’d actually meant it. As if he had no sense of irony about it. It boils your blood and stirs something ugly in you.

That feeling prompts you to meet his gaze. “What if one of those pricks is right in front of me?”

For the first time all night, his stoic expression falters, as if that was the last thing he’d ever expected you to say. It was only a fraction of a second. A blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment.

But you hadn’t missed it. You’d seen the Tin Man facade crumble, even for just a second. You’d seen the hurt in his eyes, the regret. You’d celebrate it if it didn’t make you feel so unexpectedly awful.

He abruptly clears his throat with a solemn nod. “Well,” he says gruffly. ”Then don’t let me take that away either."

You look away from him, because you know that’s all you can do right now. Your mind’s racing a million miles an hour, thinking about him, about Rupert and West Ham and Tom MacDonald, and about the Richmond job. There’s a piece of you that wants to believe that everything that had happened this week was leading to this. To seeing him again, to being offered to work with him, to gain an opportunity for redemption in more ways than one.

But the more logical piece of you knows that’s all bullshit. And it’s that thought that puts you back in a more comfortable headspace.

“You know I can’t forgive you for what you did,” you tell him, meeting his eyes once more. The weight of your words is heavy on your shoulders and you lean against your doorframe again. “I won’t forgive you.”

Roy nods stiffly. “I know,” he says. “And I can’t forgive you.”

You return his nod in understanding. “I know.”

His gaze leaves yours for a moment, like he’s trying to figure out how to phrase what he wants to say next. How to work up the courage to do so.

“But if—” Roy’s voice comes out strained and he clears his throat. “If this is something you want, this coaching thing at Richmond, then I…” He looks at you and all you can see is sincerity. You hate it. “It’ll be professional. Civil. I won’t let there be any issues or… fucking whatever.”

He appears to be just as bad at this as he was when you last saw him. You bite the inside of your cheek to hold in your laughter. By the way his face becomes instantaneously annoyed, you can tell he’s noticed.

You’re already talking before he can retract his statement. “How’s the team?”

If he’s offended by you not thanking him for doing the bare fucking minimum, he doesn’t show it, and takes your change in topic in stride. “Good,” he replies. “Pretty fucking good. We’re still trying to figure some shit out when it comes to—”

“No,” you interrupt him. “I’ve seen you guys play. I know you’re good. I mean—” Your throat suddenly gets tight, a pit of anxiety forming in your stomach completely out of nowhere. A shaky breath leaves your lips. “The team. The guys. Are they…?”

Roy catches on. “They’re good lads,” he says, his voice telling you that it’s not a statement, but a fact. “Some of the best I’ve ever played with. Easy to coach too.”

Your brow quirks up. “Easy?”

“If two fucking clowns from Oklahoma and fucking… me are saying they’re easy,” he says, looking at you with intent as he trails off.

That same pit of anxiety bubbles up once more. “And, uh… Jamie Tartt? Is he—?” Roy’s brow furrows. “I’ve just heard some less-than-great things. Him being the star and all. Football darling or whatever. Are they true?”

Your over-explanation of the Richmond striker makes Roy narrow his eyes in suspicion. He opens his mouth to question it, but then realizes it’s you. There had to be some personal reason for you to bring it up. Whatever issue it was, he knew he was no longer personal enough with you to ask.

“He was a prick,” Roy finally settles on. “Now he’s less of a prick.”

The fond look in Roy’s eyes tells you that he’s warmed up to Jamie more than he’s letting on, and it puts you at ease. You nod in acknowledgment. Silence fills the air between you two, neither of you knowing what else to say.

You think about the team you’ve watched quietly on TV, studying up for your rivalry games with them when you were preparing to coach at West Ham. You think about your prospective coaching staff and the vitriol you heard in Nathan Shelley’s voice when you asked him about Ted Lasso. You think about the job and what evidently comes with it.

But most importantly, you think about the potential of this new position and the potential of this new beginning.

And while you’ve got questions, you realize they’re all for yourself. Not for Roy.

You’re out of questions and he’s out of time. Way out of time.

You remember this as you rock back on your heels. “I think you’ve gone over your five minutes.”

Roy looks at you expectantly. “Are you going to tell me to fuck off?”

“You? Absolutely,” you tell him, earning yet another eye roll. “But Richmond?” You pause, trying to ignore just how quietly hopeful he now looks. You sigh, shoulders slumping. “Tell Rebecca I’ll consider it.”

Roy releases a relieved, thankful breath, nodding at you. “Good,” he says.

You nod back at him. “Wouldn’t want you to spend another three hours in your car trying to figure out how you’re gonna break the bad news to her.”

That eye roll returns, but there’s a bit of levity in it. He looks at you for a moment longer, biting the inside of his cheek like he's contemplating saying something else. Your brows furrow in interest, and as soon as they do, he seems to decide against it.

Roy turns to go down your steps with a shake of his head. “Get out of those fucking shorts and stop your wallowing, Fourteen,” he throws behind him as he walks away. “And clean your fucking flat!”

Glancing behind you, your jaw drops in outrage as you realize there’s no way in hell he saw your warzone living room from where he was standing. “You can’t even see into my apartment!”

He doesn’t turn around when he says, “I don’t need to see! I just fucking know you.”

You manage to suppress the urge to actually yell at him to fuck off at that, and instead choose to live with the wildly strange and undefinable feeling that overtakes your body, one that doesn’t dissolve until you watch him speed off down your street.

This fucking week, man.

You shut your door and turn to face your living room, a newfound disgust for the vile state that it’s in. Your lips curls up and you sigh, walking into your kitchen to grab a trash bag, making a plan of action for the night as you shake it out.

You replay your first conversation with Roy in eight years as you tidy up your apartment. You make a mental pros and cons list of the Richmond job as you take the longest, most necessary shower of your life. You chuckle to yourself at the idea of Rupert and Tom’s faces if they were to see that you’d been picked up by Richmond.

You sleep well for the first night in three days, on clean sheets, in clean pajamas, embroidered soccer ball shorts joining your dirty laundry.

You’re bounding into your kitchen at nine the next morning to grab Rebecca’s card that you left on your counter, brewing an espresso as you call her.

[the-unspeakable-tsar]

Kidnapping The Grunk

In 2018, I was 17. I wrote a Gravity Falls/Rick and Morty crossover fic called "Kiddnapping The Grunk". I'm 23 now, and I was looking at my ao3 account, and I saw it. So, I decided to rewrite the fic. The original person who wanted me to write the fic no longer exists on Tumblr. But here's the new version in its entirety.

Stan’s eyes opened up into complete darkness. He started to move but found his limbs stiff and wrapped in something. He was stuck and started thrashing around. He’d gotten it into his head that he was twisted up in his bedsheets again and started screaming.

“Oh god! Soos! Get the jaws of life! Get some snips or somethin’! I’m stuck!” he shouted.

“Nobody’s gonna help you out here, ole man,” said a strange voice from the dark.

“Who’s that?” said Stan. His tone was not so much panicked but annoyed. “Robbie Valentino, this better not be some stupid prank. I’m not playing around with you and Wendy’s games anymore!”

A new voice chimed in, making robotic tutting, “Nah, you don’t get it do ya?” We’re holding your ass for ransom.”

“Ransom?” said Stan. He considered the thought for a moment. “If you cut me in on this, I can get my brother to fork over some more cash. I know he’s good for it.”

“Shut the fuck up!” shouted the first voice. “If your scrawny boy toy doesn’t deliver the Smidgens we want, we’re going to slit your Cromdamned throat!”

“Boy toy? What the heck are you talking about?” he asked and received a smack across the face for it.

Everyone who surrounded him began to laugh as Stan’s head spun.

“Don’t play dumb,” he said. “You were rolling heavy with Rick Sanchez in this part of the galaxy for ten years. Suppose your spastic lust pet doesn’t show up; we’re going to cut your head off and bury you somewhere like a vampire.”

“Who?” asked Stan.

---

A large green portal opened up into a land covered in prone grease grease-slicked grandmothers. Two aged scientists stepped out and into the town. The residents of the town looked at them with fascination. Stanford Pines looked down at his tracker pad, which pinged with a map of this area and the little tracker.

“I cannot believe that my brother has gotten wrapped up in your nonsense, Sanchez,” he said. 

“Better believe it,” said Rick Sanchez, punctuating his brief statement with a burp. 

“You’re lucky I didn’t kill you myself. What are they? Flansians? Predators? The Tall Whites?” asked Stanford, rapidly firing his questions at Rick.

“Beats the hell out of me,” said Rick. “If they’re after me through, Stan I’ll take care of them. Don’t worry your prissy little head about it.” 

Rick reached over and started tussling Stanford’s hair drunkenly, only for Ford to take his hand away. “None of that!”

“You can’t still be angry because I didn’t call you after our night of passion in the Hamburger Fields,” he said. Dismissing him.

“I can be, and I am!” he shouted.

“Oh blah, blah, blah! BLIGHITY BLAH!” shouted Rick. “Stan’s a better man than you anyways. He knows how to make a man feel appreciated. Y’know?” 

Rick then feigned ecstatic moans, “Ohh Stanley, yeah, yeah, yeah, right therreee!” 

“That’s lewd,” growled Stanford. His face flushed a deep red.

“You would know,” said Rick. “I recall you getting very into me sucking on your fingers.” 

“Nope,” Stanford walked forward. Stomping as he went. “Not listening. Just help me find my brother.”

Rick made a dismissive noise. “Bleh…fine….So, does he ever talk about me?” 

“Hmm?” began Stanford. “No, never.” 

“C’mon, i’m being serious right now. He must, right?’ asked Rick.

“Nope. Up until we got the note, I didn’t even know you two were acquainted,” said Stanford.

“What? We spent nearly a decade together, fucking and savaging around the country,” said Rick. “He must remember me.” 

“Well,” said Ford apprehensively. “There’s a chance that he genuinely doesn’t remember.” 

“Oh god, has he been hit with Alzheimer's?” said Rick, feeling his age.

“The truth is more…odd,” Said Ford. “Do you remember when i talked about Weirdmageddon?” 

“Dumb name, yes.”

“Ignoring that…To destroy Bill, Stanley allowed him to invade his mind…Then we erased it,” said Ford.

“You sick son of a bitch!” growled Rick.

“Oh, grow the hell up, Sanchez. I heard about how you regularly erase your grandson’s memories over minor mistakes on your end,” said Ford.

“How did you hear about that?” asked Rick.

“Summer and Wendy are friends on Tumblr,” said Ford.

“Goddamn, Summer,” whispered Rick under his breath. But then Rick smiled, “Hot Damn, Fordy baby, you’ve just given me a chance at this bullshit thing called love!” 

Rick pushed Ford over, and the old man fell on his ass. They opened up a portal that entered them into a dimension filled with bright blue slime bags, and they bounced off of them, weaving between each other as they fell. Rick blessed another portal into the wall of the dimension and it led into the back room of a bar.

Surrounding Stan’s tied-up form were impossibly tall robots and short dwarven aliens with big fly eyes. They all pulled their guns and started firing at the pair. They ducked behind pillars and exchanged looks. Ford looked ready to kill Rick.

“ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND!” he shouted.

“Relax,” Rick stepped in front of the scene.

His body was quickly riddled with plasma fire. The bolts of liquid energy passed through his scrawny form like butter, but he kept stepping forward. The aliens screamed at him in their native tongues—horrid insect chirping. Rick’s left arm unfolded, forming a kind of gun made of green semi-metal and flesh. The flesh gun sprayed the aliens with a horrible mist that caused their skin to erupt in horrible sizzling boils and caused the metal skin of the robots to erode rapidly.

“Come to me, everybody!” he shouted. “Look at me go! Your gods might not be real, but I’m sending you to him all the same!”

Ford stood behind the pillar, picking off stragglers with his pistol and resenting every word that fell out of Rick Sanchez’ stupid head. He didn’t have to do all of this. They could have just killed them; they didn’t have to cook alive inside their bodies.

Once this mad violence was over, Stanford dashed over to Stanley and tore the bag off his head; his brother winced at the light.

“It’s okay, Stanley, you’re going to be alright,” said Ford as he began to undo the binds.

Rick turned and flashed Stanley a look. He thought it was sexy, with is hip cocked to the side and the bulge in his pants prominently displayed. 

“Hey, hot stuff,” said Rick. “I’m Rick Sanchez, and I’m the rescue committee.”  

“Yeah,” said Stan. “I know who you are.”

Suddenly, Rick froze. Shit, he remembers all the scumbag shit I did.

Once up, Stan strode across the room and pushed Rick up against the wall, forcing his tongue into his mouth and dry-humping him against the wall. Ford stood by, irritated that it built up to this. He turned his head so he didn’t have to see the image of the two.

“You scrawny son of a bitch,” said Stan. “You made me remember that I missed you.”

[awkwardtickleetoo]

Water Works

hellooo everyone

so, in my time on this app i feel like i’ve done my fair share of birthday fics (as it is my origin story and everything) so i don’t really do designated birthday-centered fics anymore, however!! that doesn’t mean i can’t do something special for our little idiots birthdays still, so in honor of george’s birthday i wrote up a little lee!george thing just for fun :)

this is an idea from back when i said i was gonna be doing my “ficlets” with people i don’t really write for super often (post found here), but those fickets just turned into normal fics anyway, so… here’s one of those with george and larray!!

(also just for the record i am still gonna be doing those so if anyone wants to see any pairing you’re still welcome to send them in!! im getting them out slowly lmao)

lee!george, ler!larray, 2.2k words

enjoy!

--

The first thing George heard when he broke through the surface of the water, pushing the wet hair back off his forehead and wiping the water off his face, was Larray laughing at him from the opposite side of the pool area. He chuckled to himself, blinking one eye open but keeping the other squeezed shut where he could still feel water in it, paddling towards the edge of the pool and climbing up over the side.

“Was that good?” He asked as he walked back over to the pile of things they’d taken outside, his clothes dripping and his soaking wet socks making him more uncomfortable by the second. He grimaced at the feeling, scrunching up his nose and quickly grabbing a fluffy, sun-warmed towel to wipe his face off.

“Very good. Stupid, but funny. So perfect for you,” Larray replied, and George chuckled again and nodded.

“Perfect, yeah. That was the goal.” George unzipped the ridiculous highlighter yellow life jacket he had on, throwing it off to the side and picking the towel back up. “Ugh, I feel so gross and like… soggy, it’s awful.”

“You’re always gross, George, just embrace it already.”

“Oh my god, you’re soooo funny,” George mocked, speaking in an exaggerated nasally voice, making the other man break out into soft laughter. George undid the string of his waterlogged sweatpants, slipping his thumbs in the waistband of them and peeling them off his legs, letting them drop to the floor with one of the grossest sounds either George or Larray had ever heard.

“Ew, what the hell was that!?” Larray asked, whipping his head up from where he was looking at his phone, leaning over the wall of the hot tub and letting his legs float up behind him.

“That was genuinely awful. Oh my god,” George laughed as he stepped out of his pants, leaving himself in the equally soaked boxer briefs he wore underneath them. He adjusted the bottoms of them over his thighs and took a few steps over to where Larray was still in the hot tub, sticking his foot out and gently poking Larray’s butt with his toes before dropping down to sit cross-legged on the ledge next to him. He pulled his knees up one at a time, pulling off his socks next and groaning again. “Ugh, ew! Bye!” He continued to complain, picking up his wet clothes and tossing them to the side like he had with the life jacket.

“That’s what you get for wearing normal ass clothes in the pool, you freak, what did you think was gonna happen?” Larray teased, moving to stand flat in the hot tub once again, turning his phone off and putting on top of the computer tower they’d precariously brought out for the stream.

“I knew what was gonna happen, idiot, but it still feels gross!” George swung his legs out, letting his feet hang over the edge of the hot tub and dip into the water once again. “This is still nice, though. Hot tubs feel nice.”

“So profound.”

“Shut up!” George said as they both laughed, reaching out and shoving Larray’s shoulder before leaning back on his hands and letting out a soft exhale. The pair were silent for a few moments, before Larray furrowed his eyebrows and spoke again.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, of course. Should I be scared? The stream’s over, I’m not getting dunked if I don’t answer!” George spoke playfully, making Larray laugh and shake his head.

“No! No, no, it’s nothing bad, just…” Larray paused, leaning forward against the wall of the tub, his elbow resting on George’s thigh as the older man crossed his ankles under the water. “Was that all real? Like you didn’t… play that up?” He asked, a smile present on his face through the question. George squinted in confusion, tilting his head to the side.

“What do you mean? I didn’t play anything up, I-I didn’t think I was acting that different?” George thought for a second, still confused by the sudden question. “I mean, maybe a little bit because I don’t usually do streams like this, but I didn’t thi–”

“Oh, nonono, Georgie, I didn't mean, like, the way you were acting, you weren’t acting any different at all!” Larray interrupted to quickly correct his statement, resting his free hand on George’s arm to calm him. “I meant, like… I meant this,” He continued, and then suddenly there were four slim fingers wedged into his underarm. George jumped and yelled out in shock, pinning his arm to his side and twisting his body to the side to dislodge the offending hand, splashing water all over both boys as his leg kicked with his movements. Larray’s jaw dropped in awe, watching with an ecstatic glint in his eyes as his fingers were replaced with George’s own, rubbing away the leftover feeling.

“Ow!” George complained, pouting slightly. “That hurt!”

“You’re kidding, right?” Larray asked in disbelief, guiding George’s leg back so he would sit straight again.

“Shut up,” George grumbled, clearly embarrassed by the notion that he was not only ticklish to begin with, but so ticklish that Larray thought he was playing it up.

“That’s completely real, you’re really that ticklish?”

“I’m going inside now.” George attempted to push himself up, but Larray’s hands landed firmly on his knees, forcing him to stay seated.

“No!” Larray yelled, pushing himself to stand in front of George instead of beside him, using George’s knees as leverage to get closer and standing up on his toes, leaning in as George looked off to the side, a bright blush already forming on his face. He bit his bottom lip nervously, leaning back further but keeping his arms close to his sides. “Excuse me? Absolutely not! How did I not know you were ticklish, this is incredible!”

“I-I don’t know, okay! It just- it just never came up! It doesn’t matter!” George replied, tilting his head back to continue avoiding eye contact, curling his legs in and pressing his feet against the wall of the hot tub.

“Do Dream and Sapnap know about this?” Larray asked curiously, eyes widening, leaning in closer as George finally managed to meet his gaze again, only intending to stay there for a second but feeling trapped in the knowing smirk Larray wore, unable to look away. “Oh my god, if they do, they probably use it against you all the time with how much you instigate, right, Georgie?”

“I… don’t want to answer that,” George answered, hesitation clear in his voice as he kicked his feet nervously in the water. Larray giggled cruelly at his obvious flusteredness, and George turned his head away again, his cheeks beginning to hurt from smiling so hard.

“Oh my GOD, I can’t believe this, do you have any idea how much easier it’s gonna be to deal with you now?!”

“Wh- deal with me?! You don’t ‘deal’ with me!” George defended, putting air quotes around the word ‘deal’ and biting his lip again when Larray looked at him knowingly.

“Baby boy, you and I both know that’s a lie,” Larray said, making George roll his eyes and giggle, visibly tense and nervous. He scoffed, shaking his head, squirming where he sat and bringing his hands from behind him to rest on his lap, fiddling with his own fingers.

“Whatever, shut up, I’m going away now–” He said as he tried to lift his legs out of the water, but this time Larray simply grabbed his ankle and pinned it under his arm, sticking his hand under the water and brutally tickling George’s foot. “NO! NO, STOP! GET OHOFF– NOHOHOHO! GEHEHET OFF MEHEHE!”

“Oh, this is so good. This is just so good,” Larray mused to himself, still in slight disbelief at the absolute piece of gold he’d just discovered, scratching his nails up and down George’s sole quickly. The water made the action much more smooth, his fingers gliding over George’s skin easily, only making it more hellish for George.

“FUHUCK– LARRAY, STOHOHOHOP!” George’s hands landed on Larray’s shoulders, grabbing onto him and desperately trying to pull him back and shake him off his leg, but he couldn’t get a good grip with both his hands and Larray’s shoulders still wet from the pool. “NOHO– AHAHA!” He continued his strained protests through his laughter, his hands slipping down to Larray’s arm to try and yank him off to no avail. “STOHOP, STOP! STOHOHOP!”

“Uh, no? Why would I ever do that?” Larray said as if it was obvious, earning himself one final weak punch to the shoulder before George gave up his futile attempts to pull him off, knowing that nothing would work with his hands still wet, and not having enough brain or strength left to grab for the towels that most likely weren’t even within reach. He opted for covering his face instead, the embarrassment washing over him once again, now joined by the breathlessness and frustration of the tickling itself.

“NAHAHAHA–AH!” He let out a particularly loud squeal when Larray’s nails made their way underneath George’s toes, and he threw both of his arms over his face and laid back against the concrete, desperate to hide himself as much as possible until Larray decided he’d tortured him enough.

“Aw! George, that was so adorable, do it again!” Larray teased, adjusting his grip on George’s leg, yanking it to sit out straighter and somehow managing to trap him even worse.

“NOHOHOHO?!” George denied instantly but he felt Larray’s fingers start moving anyway. “NOHO! Nonononon–AHAHA, FUHUHUCK–!” He cried out, his toes curling and legs kicking when he felt nails scratching maddeningly against the same spot under his toes, splashing water just about everywhere in the process. His back arched off the concrete, one arm falling to the side so he could smack his palm against the ground, shaking his head desperately even though no one could see.

“Awww, Georgie, is it really that bad?”

“YEHEHEHES, YES, IHIHIT IHIS!”

“God, I just can’t believe it, who knew such a gorgeous, rugged, handsome, strong man like you could have such a small, simple weakness, right?” Larray said sarcastically, voice slow and sickeningly faux-sweet, earning a strained growl from the other man.

“GOD, SHUHUHUT THE FUHUCK– OKAHAHAY, OKAY, LAHARRRAHAHAY, IHIHI CAN'T, STOHOHOP, PLEHEHEHEASE!” George begged, making Larray burst into bright, elated laughter at the reaction, but to George’s delight, he did in fact stop tickling. George sucked in some much needed air, his chest heaving as his lungs burned with each breath. He yanked his legs back the second he was free to, pressing the soles of his feet down into the concrete and curling his toes as hard as he could, covering his face with the palms of his hands as he gathered his composure as much as he could– which, granted, was not a lot, considering he had just been tickled half to death and the culprit was still laughing at him from four feet away.

“Holy shit, George, are you okay?!” Larray asked once he stopped laughing enough to get the question out, wading back over to the edge of the hot tub and hoisting himself up to sit on the edge.

“Fuck you,” George replied, voice still shaky and broken, and Larray laughed at him once again. He wiped his eyes with the backs of his pointer fingers, removing any stray tears that had welled up from how hard he’d been squeezing them shut, before pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes to hide his face again.

“Aw, Georgie,” Larray cooed, sliding back until he sat next to George’s head, reaching down and carding his fingers through George’s hair to soothe him. His other hand ventured down to George’s stomach, his palm resting flat against it, over his two layers of still wet tshirt, but it was still enough to make George flinch at the contact. “No, no, it’s okay, I’m done tickling. For today. You can relax,” He explained, cupping his fingers around George’s side and feeling George do exactly that. His hands moved from in front of his face, and he stared up at Larray with teary, half lidded eyes that fought so hard to stay looking angry.

“I hate you. I will literally never forgive you for that.”

“That’s not true, you already forgive me,” Larray said with a smile, and George couldn’t help but smile and roll his eyes himself, shaking his head in dissatisfaction. The pair stayed like that for a few minutes, George catching his breath and Larray helping to soothe him by combing through his hair, before Larray reached over to check the time on his phone. “C’mon, tickle boy, if we wanna get food we better get changed and go soon. Let’s get moving,” Larray said as he stood up, reaching a hand out for George to grab to help him up as well.

“Don’t- don’t call me that.”

“Changing your contact name as we speak, tickle boy!” Larray teased, making George groan in disapproval and press a hand to his tummy to ward away the sudden butterflies that wormed their way in there. Both boys began to gather their belongings, getting ready to clean up and bring everything inside so they could continue their evening as intended… even before their little detour.

[memberment]

Good evening

Guys I just got home from work and proofread everything I needed to including this next Dandelion chapter and I'm trying so hard not to just fucking SOB over it.

I hate it here I want out LMFAOOOOOOO THIS IS SO SAD WHY DID I WRITE THIS FR

10:59 update......

I'm thinking about an absolutely diabolical twist for the Trin series(it doesn't actually change the story in any way, if anything it actually makes it make so much more sense). Like, I've been ruminating on it since last night but idk if it's gonna throw people off. But at the same time like part twos and threes never do as good anyways so do I really even care?? Like, I'm just out here telling stories in fanfic font bc I would rather throw myself in the street than make OCs and not share my fun little stories.

I think I may commit to it.

I don't wanna say it on here though bc it's one of those plot twists you get will not forget even though part three is like FOREVER out.

The more I think about it the more I wanna do it. Someone tell me I should do it.

Oh my god I am shutting up and finishing reading Dandelion, y'all will hear my virtual screams in approximately one and a half business hours.

(11:43) I'm actually fucking sobbing and I didn't even start the last few chapters. Like, I'm actually crying over this. It's not funny.

(12:00) Never by mag lo coming on while I'm finishing up reading this is not funny. I'm devastated. I hope you all hate me after this oh my god I feel like I just ruined my own life. WHY IS IT SO MUCH WORSE AFTER BEING DONE WITH THIS FIC FOR ALMOST TWO MONTHS. Jesus Christ. Yeah. No more angst from me for a long while. I'm banned.

(12:20) Me skimming through tags on fics debating if I want to pick up something new. Everything being totally normal. Suh happy. Trying not to stew in my own misery. And then I see such a vile tag my stomach twists and now I'm just like okay I'll go fuck myself I guess I'll go write or do my homework. I'm sorry, I adore ao3 and I'm never gonna be a hater, BUT SOME PEOPLE ARE WILD. LIKE I AM TALKING SO BAD I'M ACTUALLY CONSIDERING DOING MY HOMEWORK OVER THAT. LIKE I ACTUALLY JUST WIPED THE TEARS OFF MY FACE AND GOT OVER HOW SAD I WAS BECAUSE OF HOW GENUINELY SHOCKED I WAS. Like wow oh wow.

Anyways. Updates here if there's gonna be any. Also Dandelions up if anyones reading this LMAO

It's 1:40 in the morning and the beginning of Morning Glory is making me fucking unwell. I was not joking when I made that joke about like ten dreaded weeks of angst, Jesus Christ.

(2:12) This is my second time posting this exact part. Like I know I've posted this exact part. But I seriously love Christophe and all of his dialogue with my whole heart.

(4:31) I do not recall making Dova this tragic and I'm literally about to sob over him. LIKE WHY???? WHY DID I DO THAT??? WHY ARE HIS LITTLE SUBTLE BITS OF STORYLINE SO ACTUALLY PAINFUL AS THE STORY GOES ON????? (I am allergic to happiness I am my own canon event at this point)

(4:48) THE ABSOLUTE DEVASTATION THAT COMES WITH WANTING MORE STORY BUT IT SIMPLY NOT EXISTING BECAUSE YOU HAVE TO WRITE IT IS DEVASTATING.

(5:02) Welp. I'm ruined and am now compelled by god to start working on Morning Glory again. We're at 73k rn. And only two chapters that aren't the prologue are under 4k. That's fucking terrifying. Like I have 17 minus the prologue rn. WE ARE LITERALLY THREE CHAPTERS AWAY FROM THE FOURTH OF JULY. THERE ARE SUPPOSED TO BE ANOTHER 16/17 OF SUMMER ALONE. AND THERE ARE SUPPOSED TO BE AT LEAST ANOTHER 14 AFTER THAT. LIKE THE 14 ARE THE PLANNED SPECIFIC EVENT CHAPTERS. BRUH. WHY DID I DO THIS????

regret.

regret is all I feel.

but I will push through.

(7:38) before I go to bed I will just say I am at 75.3k. I had no idea how I would even get close to 4k on a birthday chapter where the group effectively decided to just stay home and hang out. But now there is like 1.5k of them playing muffin time. It's wild. I love it. GOOD NIGHT.

[crowtrobotx]

I know this is out of the blue, but thank you so much for being a real one 👍✨️

Like I have nothing against people who see Heisenberg as a gay man, they’re entitled to think that. But I draw the hard line at people who feel the need to bash others just because their views don't align, and then when confronted use the piss poor "it's just a joke" or "it's just an observation" excuses. If you're going to be a bitch at least have the balls to own up to it.

Anyway, loved your work since 2021 and wishing you all the good vibes. 🤗

Oh my goodness, thank you!!! This is such a kind message and I appreciate you so much. ❤️ Good vibes right back at you. I’m glad that my rantings have resonated with folks because sometimes I wonder if *spongebob voice* I’M the maniac. Getting dragged into this stuff really makes me feel like it sometimes, haha.

Yes! To be clear I also truly do not care what your HC’s are! I love that there are people for whom gay Heisy is their thing and I hope they are having fun and keep making their art/fic/etc! Even if I really can’t stand the popular fanon ship I’m so glad it exists for folks who enjoy it and I am not going to spend my time posting about what I don’t like/agree with when they’re not hurting me and I can spend my time on stuff I do like!

And like. I know. I KNOW a lot of these people are teenagers. And I struggle sometimes because “do not fight literal children” is a rule I try to live by lmao but I also really don’t like seeing people target and mock folks for harmless fun. (It’s on sight if a 25+ year old starts putting this shit in the tags tho. I know they’re out there.)

Still, it’s extremely weird because they always defend themselves with “it’s just a joke/it’s not that deep” or “oh my god no one is stopping you from liking x why are you so pressed 🙄 i can’t believe you’re letting my nasty opinions bother you just because i put them right where you can see them with the intent of insulting you.” 💀💀💀 Like what could possibly be the point of doing this if not to, at the very least, actively try to dissuade people you don’t like from engaging with the community? Obviously no one can stop me but if I know that there are dickbags out there who are going to vaguepost and make fun of me when I do, I don’t care how confident and thick skinned you are (and I am very,) it’s still going to sting!

People are not bothered because they’re disconnected from reality and think they’re really married to a pixel man, they’re upset because life is hard enough and you come into your hobby space to have a good time and then find lame ass idiots infesting it. I also think the whole “ohhh my god why are you so upset he’s/she’s not real!!” is a blatant attempt to discredit the hurt parties by once again insinuating that they are “crazy” which once again conveniently ignores multiple realities, chiefly that 1) most people are not upset by a simple opinion that their fave wouldn’t fuck them IRL, they are upset at the blatant meanness of the person making the accusations and 2) even if they are genuinely hurt by the thought because it’s a coping mechanism for them, why does that make it okay for you target them? What gives you the right to harass and mock people who are not bothering you? Do these people think they’re doing these folks a ‘favor’ by forcing them to contend with what they perceive to be some kind of delusion? Shut the hell up. Why do people decide it is their god given right to hold strangers on the internet accountable for psychological “problems” that they’ve completely made up.

Anyway SORRY I have a serious problem shutting the fuck up lol. I have never been good at phrasing my thoughts in a coherent way especially when I’m grumpy. I am very glad my little circle is full of awesome, open minded and levelheaded folks and not gatekeepers/weirdos (derogatory) who have decided that diversity of opinion in fandom is bad actually and that women and femmes specifically are enemy number one.

[runecel]

Dear @jigen-papa

I Runecel/Celerine/ @lossinicognito (I know save the applause, I have 3 identities and a secret 4th if I should ever reveal that one haha!) am your giftee for the @dcmk-exchange ! Now I know what you are thinking.

Apologies for my random disappearance, I wasn’t sure how to reply to you in rythmatic format but I genuinely adored how you played along and I loved your poem it was so good!?

ALSO WHERE THE FUDGE IS MA BOI HEIJI!?!?

And to that I say!

This was supposed to originally be a multi chapter fic however! I didn't want to go beyond the deadline and may never know when the second chapter is completed so I at least wanted to make something for you before I go into the deep end haha.

Here is the ao3 version of the fanfic: https://archive.org/works/5321279

And I hope ya have an amazing day now without further a due!

Sonoko’s Confrontation With Love

The first time a conversation about phones and Shinichi was brought up resulting in the incarceration of one idiotic teenage detective occurred on a bright, and sunny day of which Sonoko was internally screaming in her thoughts. To say that Shinichi’s umpteeth attempt to disappear in the night like a tuxedo mask would ever be what caused Sonoko’s life to become so stressful would be the understatement of the century. That incident was the cherry on top of an amazing ice cream at best and a footnote on the most awful (but irresistible) trial exam book at worst, no. What made Sonoko’s life so stressful, in her opinion, would just be Shinichi’s entire existence.

"Sonoko, stop being so dramatic,” is probably what her best friend would say. Well, Ran, the most beautiful being to ever god damn exist on this planet. Have you ever stopped to consider that this is KUDO SHINICHI THEY ARE TALKING ABOUT?

“I know you don’t mean it.” Yes, Ran, she 100% means it, and it’s going to stay that way if Ran doesn’t shut up about the next murder case Shinichi finds himself in because the last murder case already was in Tropical Land and he solved it within an hour.

“It was 3 hours, Sonoko.” 3 HOUR HER BUT! At the end of the day, she knows he can finish quicker because THIS IS KUDO SHINICHI THEY ARE TALKING ABOUT!

Hhe could easily solve that case if he wanted to, and he has a very amazing reason to do so as well! What gives him the right to leave such a beautiful lady like Ran towards her lonesomeness anyway? Anyone with eyes could snatch that beautiful angel away, taking her to high-budget cinema movie date and make out under the moonlight as Ran talks about how she successfully whooped another person in the ass. Heck, Sonoko could easily do it as well if she wanted two!

"Sonoko.” She bets it would be Sxhinichi’s as well! Imagine him coming back; ah, he would probably do one of those overly basic apologies that you would see in those romantic comedies that’s supposed to make the situation lighten up.

What will lighten up is his vision when Sonoko decided to beat the ever-loving daylight out of him.

“Sonoko” Then again, it’s much better if Ran was the one to do it with Sonoko at her side, punch him right in the gut as they both stare down at Shinichi’s rotting body before leaving him there.

Ran would hold her hand as they both could only gaze at the horizon, unsure of what their new-found freedom would hold but smiling, knowing it would be better.

“Sonoko!”

‘Rotten husband he is’ Sonoko thinks towards herself as she places herself amongst a poorly cushioned couch, he does nothing but torment the two. He would have been dead if Ran hadn’t want to marry him, and oh god; she’d probably go easy on him and then say something amongst the lines of.

‘Just don’t do it again,’ she would say to that bastard . It was probably best if Sonoko was the one to beat him up, teach him a lesson.

“Sonoko!” The imagining of Ran’s voice, an angelic choir with a acidic tinge reminiscent of those badass scenes in movies where the hot main character is holding a cool sword of which Sonoko would swoon for their rescue.

Yeah no Ran’s doing the beating. How could Sonoko not allow it with a voice like that? Heck, her presence is so strong that Sonoko might as well look like a fool by responding to her when she’s not even here.

“Yes Ran-chan?~” Sonoko's cheekish response becomes further more evident as she manoeuvres herself to be able to see behind her in expectation to see no one to respond to her.

“Don’t Ran-chan me!” Only to see the angel herself placing her hands on her hips with eyes ablaze as if she just witnessed a war crime. Sonoko would gladly be the one under that gaze under certain circumstances but sadly, today wasn’t one of them.

“I told you we shouldn’t have come, you were just recovering from illness!” Ran harshly protested leaning towards Sonoko's forehead to determine her current temperature.

Foreheads touching, Sonoko couldn’t help but stare with awe at the concerned look she was given by Ran whose deep lilac eyes could only stare at her with worry. Placing her hand amongst Ran’s silken hair, she give her head a few pets before flinging herself back onto the couch

“I’m fine Ran!” Sonoko exclaimed, dragging Ran down with her as Ran is placed by her side, head nestling on her shoulder in an attempt to look at something of which barely interests Sonoko.

It was probably the diary of which Sonoko was writing in with her internal Shinichi rants and her growing progress of becoming not sick.It was true that Sonoko was recovering but that doesn’t mean that Sonoko was unable to not stay at her house to fully recover. Wait, she's not at her house. . where is she?

Reclining alongside the couch she quickly paces herself up once more to scan the area of which with dread, she realised was not her room nor her couch. The wooden bench is decorated strongly amongst the grovery of nature surrounding her as she finds herself amidst a small crowd of people bustling around what seems to be a mall.

Shops were aligned quaintly organised as a staircase can be spotted signalling the entrance towards the cinema. Remembering the diary note she had entered, she quickly backtracked her memories towards her previous conversation with Ran about changing towards a different movie due to the movie (of which Sonoko had desperately wanted to watch) sharing too many themes with her disappeared beloved.

“So that’s why I was thinking about your husband,” Sonoko's dull groan filled the air, having finished her daily imaginary rant about Shinichi as she looked once more towards the movie selection on her pamphlet.

They had recently decided to go on a movie date due to the brat’s group of friends wanting to watch that new Kamen Yaiba they kept yapping about. Whilst the kids themselves tend to be left alone without surveillance, the group’s recent expedition resulted in a hostage situation and well. . .

A concerned parent will do what a concern does, resulting in the wife of Shinichi taking charge and declaring that she will be the one to take care of the kids in the meantime.

“Not my husband,” Ran countered, having now taken the pamphlet completely away from Sonoko to point at one of the movies that caught her interest.

“Stupid husband, I don’t feel like watching that one” Sonoko grumbled as she kicked her feet amongst the concrete floor before continuing her thought process.

It honestly would make sense why Sonoko had thought she was in the confinement of her luxurious room. Normally those imaginary rants are within the compounds of her room, feels safer there where she can ignore those thoughts of someone reading her thoughts and betraying Shinichi’s status amongst the media. She might hate the man but that doesn’t mean she wants to ruin his damned life, he already does enough of that.

‘How about this one? ' Sonoko pointed, notioning towards another romance movie of which she also wanted to watch but would have preferred to watch it at home.

“Is it possible if we pick something else?” Ran commented, eyeing on the watch on her wrist with great interest of which intrigued the confused Sonoko. “Preferably something under 2 hours”

‘Why’s that?” Sonoko queried, placing her slender arm amongst Ran’s broad shoulders in an attempt to see if there was anything else the queen herself couldn’t see.

“The movie is too long and if I don’t make it on time I won’t be able to strangle the person you just wanted to kill” Ran pointed, booping the shocked Sonoko on the nose as the confused female can only reboot.

“I said that out loud?”

“You don’t say stuff out loud?”

“RAN!” Sonoko puffed out, dragging out one of Ran’s hands as she quickly met Sonoko's forehead resulting in the two girls' foreheads to once more be touching.

“Just teasing,” Like the sun on a summer’s day, there was something truly intoxicating about Ran’s mischievous grin, the way just like her voice it is unexpected of when she will attack and thus Sonoko had a tendency to forget how cheeky Ran could be.

It would be like standing outside for too long, only to find out how immensely damaged you got from the sun resulting in the person going to the hospital and now they have skin cancer. . . ok that was a bit much.

Sonoko noted as she finally noticed the way Ran’s finger slowly pointed towards one of the movie suggestions.

To say Sonoko was unimpressed would be the opposite of an overstatement.

It was a movie adaption of both of her childhood’s friends' favourite tv series with both the mystery to appeal towards Shinichi and poetry to charm Ran. Sonoko could only nod along with disappointment, the poetry was nice but the audience wouldn’t hold a candle to the romance movie Sonoko had suggested. Goodbye potential love interests and hot men she could have sawn through watching the movie.

Hello nightmares of Shinichi staring like the shinigami himself, forcing Sonoko to listen more about his obsession with Sherlock. Don’t get Sonoko wrong, she two has raved towards Shinichi about her favourite obsessions (specifically romance) but to get that compared to a crime scene from one of his favourite books was not always a pleasant experience.

“Why can’t you just message him? I’m sure he can bother to read messages” Sonoko argued, sliding among a line of people waiting to buy a movie ticket.

“Well Sonoko, let me just grab my phone” Ran proclaimed, mimicking the movement of grabbing a phone out of her pocketed dress to only appear empty handed. “If memory serves me correctly I had lost my phone at an aquarium of which I told you about”

“You did?” Was now the best time for Sonoko’s memories to flunk on her now? Sonoko had specifically asked if she could be the one to gift her a phone with Ran responding it was Shinichi’s punishment. Like he’ll find a good phone for her.

“Also. . .” Ran stops in the middle of her explanation, face dreary in what Sonoko could only assume was another excuse for Shinichi making a dumb move.

“Also?”

“He hasn’t been calling me through his phone number” Ran ushered out, hands fiddling with her skirt as she silently looks down before continuing “ I don’t think he can even use it”

To say Sonoko didn’t know this information was a shock, she did and totally didn’t assume that Shinichi was blocking her for the 100th time whilst not recognising the fact she was the one to block him first resulting in an apology for her end.

“I’m sorry what?” Sonoko stuttered, thoughts completely emptied from this revelation of which she responded by turning towards Ran amidst the line of people that really wanted to watch a movie.

“It’s because of the-”

“Case! Case! I know, it’s always about cases with that man,” Sonoko angrily expressed, when was it not about a case in Shinichi’s eyes?

The cashier could only stare at them in complete tiredness when Sonoko had boldly asked two tickets before dragging Ran by the arm to a seated area inside the other side of the cinema lobby.

The cinema lobby itself luckily had a restaurant section for people like Sonoko and Ran to earth and wait for the perfect opportunity to head inside the cinema viewing when the timing is right. The movie wouldn’t start in a couple of minutes which gives more time for Sonoko to converse with Ran about the idiot at hand.

“One day he’s going to get himself into trouble and I’m not even sure if we can be there to help” silence can only be pursued as Sonoko couldn’t help but bite her tongue on what she just suggested.

“I had a dream about him” Ran stuttered out, barely containing her stress for those who know her as her quivering hands imply.

“Oh honey,” Sonoko expressed in sympathy like she had done so every time similar moments were to occur like today.

The truth was he had, very much so. Sonoko would have nightmares and at some point she questions whether those stories were fake or real due to how much trouble that murder magnet finds himself in. It was so simple when they were younger, when Shinichi wasn’t purely trusted by the police and thus wasn’t sent out on cases.

It would be a couple of minutes until the ad roll comes into play.

“Don’t worry about it Ran! He’ll be fine!” Sonoko assured, placing her hand towards Ran’s quivering one in reassurance.

“Are we even sure? He can’t even use his phone!”

“He probably lost it!”

“He doesn’t normally take cases this long Sono-” Ran cuts herself off in a mid-stutter as though she was contemplating on the next words she was about to say. - “He’s our age, why is he taking cases like this?”

“Because we befriended a murder magnet,” Sonoko sighed having one more relayed what she had always said towards the downturned Ran in need.

How can’t he see how amazing she is, truely. The girl’s stressing out about him and where is he? Probably nowhere for all they could know. He could really use someone to tell him- wait a minute.

“When’s the phone call?” Sonoko queried, body stiffened in anticipation upon what Ran could say in desperate hope.

“8:15pm” A whisper of a response from Ran was all Sonoko needed, eyes concentrated on the motivation. Sonoko could only speak from what she could gather from her chest.

It might not have been the best of speeches, but Sonoko could not just stand there as she watches her best friend shrivel up like this as if some random boy isn’t ruining her life..

Honestly it might have been the best speech Sonoko has performed since her poetry recital.

“We are going to watch that movie!”

“Sonoko-” A finger placed amongst her lips was all Ran needed before Sonoko could continue her amazing speech.

“-Hush darling, I’m speaking.” Sonoko notions towards the trouble Ran as her breathing slowly shortens enough for Sonoko to continue talking

“We are going to have fun,” Sonoko declares, standing proudly as her first part of her speech was completed. Poking at her best friend as she continues along. “WE are going to receive a call by that murder magnet at 8:15pm of which you will hear my yells of torment on how he could leave such a beautiful maid alone”

“Sonoko!-”

“- of which I will declare my love to you and we shall get married at sunset!” Sonoko finished with a flick of her wrist to allow Ran to softly rest on the palm of her hands.

“I’m not that beautiful,” Ran splutters, giving Sonoko an annoyed grin as though Ran has insulted her first hand.

Someone please remind Sonoko to reprimand Shinichi for not calling Ran cute, cause clearly Sonoko’s displays of admiration are not getting through Ran’s thick skull but then again. Neither did their upper classmate’s recreation of Shinichi’s speech give any hints so what does Ran know about density?

“No complaints from you, have you seen how the brat looks at you?” No seriously has Ran ever seen how the brat looked at Ran?

“He’s just a kid Sonoko!” Ran counters, somewhat disgruntled by the suggestion but from the tone of her relaxed voice to how rested she appears. Sonoko could honestly just take it as a win.

“Yeah, if you say a teenager possessing a brat is a brat then maybe I will believe you.” His mind could be much older at times, Sonoko noted, reminiscing the times of which one could see Conan at his most vulnerable.

Heck it was just recently when Sonoko noticed the way Conan looked at Ran when the two groups departed that afternoon. The face of sulken defeat as he quickly covers it in hopes of something good happening in the future. Sonoko should know, she bears that face on a daily basis.

“Sonoko!” The choir of laughter erupts from the pair as if a damn finally crashing amongst its weight.

Ran’s laugh was special, Ran herself was special and whilst Sonoko’s appearance is weak and someone who is unable to protect her. Sonoko does know one thing.

“Now what are we going to do Ran-chan?” Sonoko

“Have fun?”

“Have fun!” Sonoko confirmed, squishing the cheeks much to Ran’s dismay as she drags the poor girl into the cinema booth.

At the end of the day, Sonoko was there for support whether it be enabling or wingman in dating. Just like the day of which the first met underneath the sakura blossoms Sonoko associates with Ran, Sonoko will be there for Ran no matter what.

The movie was. . . fine. Deductions were never her interest and flowery poetry that was not about romance was definitely something that did not intrigued Sonoko. If given the opportunity to stay at home or to be at the cinema to waste money on a boring movie then Sonoko would pick the former.

But it was for Ran, Sonoko reminded herself, resting upon the chair as she reclined herself upon Ran’s shoulder. A faint cherry blossom smell could be noticed by Sonoko, a reminder of Ran’s as Sonoko slowly feels the sleep of her eyes settle more.

The movie was halfway over when she had noticed a small child enter the cinema booth unnoticed by most watching including Ran, too focused on the movie to bother noticing people entering and leaving. The child, reminiscent of another child Sonoko knew, quickly looked both ways before pocketing the glasses of which he was not using.

The child places himself on the chair with the dignity of someone about to die as Sonoko notices the pure paranoia emanating from the child as he once more scans the area of which no danger was present. Had Sonoko been awake a bit more she would have recognised the child whom she kept in prolonged contact with someone not of the brat but a childhood friend.

Their eyes glanced at each other but Sonoko was too tired to stay awake, too tired to notice when she had left the cinema or the conversation of which she held with Shinichi via phone, Sonoko’s phone no less. Not noticing the promises or unhinged way of how he talked but what she did notice however. Was the faint echo of her voice being heard when she goes outside of the cinema to notice the same brat with a bowtie clutched onto his hands speaking in the same manner of which Shinichi was speaking.

Sonoko knows her feelings, she knows how to see others such as the brat’s despair written across his face similar to that of a certain detective keeping face or a martial champion trying to focus on others before herself. She knows Shinichi’s feelings, the man of which Ran was talking to shared the same love of which Sonoko shared towards Ran, one day they will talk alone about these feelings but today was not today

Leaving the area and resting with Ran amongst their bed was comfortable as finally, sleep finally takes over Sonoko.

[megantheebaddest]

Hiyyaa saw your post about wanting more Marcello fics and please I would love. Maybe like a fluffy type of fic of a first kiss? If you’d be keen xxx

Friends to lovers - Marcello Hernandez x f!reader

Warnings: Fluff

-phone buzz- Your eyes fluttered open, darting shut at the sun gleaming in through your bed room window. 7:11 am read on the clock.

M: We still on for tonight?

You let out a little giggle at the thought of tonight already on his mind.

y/n: You’re really asking that right now? Shhh

M: Ooops. Snl schedule 😬 buttt… are we?

y/n: Yes Marcello.

M: Can’t wait

You eventually laid back down resting fully before waking up for the day. You woke up to a few more texts from Marcello. Lately he’s been texting you so much more and wanting to hang out all the time, you really haven’t minded. You genuinely love his company and love his entire vibe as a person, so you definitely weren’t complaining. You always thought to yourself too that it’s such a treat to take in the sight of him during your hangouts. You’ve been trying to push aside the fact that he’s been very touchy with you all of the sudden. When he sits next to you his leg has to be touching yours, He grabs onto your arm when he laughs at something, when he leans in to show you something on his phone he leans all the way into you, ect. His eyes linger on you for extra after a finished sentence or conversation. All of these things have made you question your own feelings towards him, so you tried to push them away as much as possible.

Marcello was on his way over, he wanted you to try this new wine and he got a drinking game he said it was gonna be fun but you were definitely nervous. You had no idea what this drinking game involves. You had just got the wine glasses out when you heard a gentle knock on your apartment door. You swung the door open to reveal him standing there with the most genuine smile. You noticed his eyes scanned your body in one quick motion.

“Finally you’re here!” You said going in for a hug.

“I know! It’s been so long” He said half joking half not. He giggled and kissed your cheek quickly, as he does everytime he greets you. You stepped aside to let him in, him naturally flowing to the kitchen.

“Yeah it’s been two whole days” You said laughing.

He turned to you with a smile as he watched the way you laugh. “Well i missed you anyways” He said shaking his head matter of factly. “Wine?” He says holding it up with a cheeky smile. You shook your head ‘yes’ and made your way to his side so you could grab your glass. You both clung your glasses and took a sip.

“Oh my god.. This is dangerously good!” You groaned out. He grabbed the game and made his way to your couch setting everything down on the coffee table, you were right behind him plopping down too. He scooted to the edge of the seat on the couch and repositioned to where his knee and thigh crashed right into yours. You silently smiled to yourself.

“Okay so this is called ‘Anyone’ basically you read a card and it says to, do or ask, whatever the card says, to “Anyone” in the room. But it’s obviously just us asking each other.”

“Oh okay that seems simple enough?” You say.

“Wanna start?” Marcello Asks handing you half of the deck.

“Sure.. who is your best friend?” You say looking into his eyes.

“You!” He says with out needing a second to think, he immediately grabbed a card. You felt your cheeks heat up. The questions were very innocent for a while until you picked up a certain card. Your eyes bugged out a little.

“Uh oh, what?” Marcello grinned.

“Pick anyone and sit on their lap for 3 minutes” You say hesitantly looking up. He smiled wide and scooted back on the couch, he grabbed both sides of your hips and hoisted you up onto his lap facing you. His body tensed but his smile and eye contact remained. You on the other hand tried to contain yourself. You were sitting right on his bulge, this was the closest you two had ever been! He reached for another card nonchalantly. “How long was your longest relationship?” He said looking into your eyes. “Oh umm.. 3 years.” You said quietly and picked another one. “Do you want kids?.. It’s getting deep now” You giggled.

“4.. I absolutely want kids. I want a big family” He smiled. You couldn’t help but smile back at how much he lit up thinking about it. He grabbed the one card that would change this night.. this situation.

He read the card and his eyes got big and his lips smashed together into a thin line. You instantly got nervous.

“What?” you asked.

“Kiss anyone in the room on the lips.” He said slowly looking up at you. Your eyebrows shot up. “It’s okay if you aren’t comfortable with that card i’ll read a new one” He quickly said. You grabbed his hand, to prevent him from picking a new one up. “No it’s okay!” You blurted out with out thinking. Your eyes widening a bit.

“Are you sure? Cause I-“

“Positive” You said.

He smiled and grabbed your face and leaned in slowly until his lips hovered over yours. He rested his forehead against your own then opened his eyes to look into yours. You pushed yourself forward, not being able to wait any longer. The kiss immediately felt magical. You both pulled back slightly, until he dove right back in, his body completely taking over. His hands creeped from your face onto your back. He rubbed soothing patterns on you while passionately kissing all over your lips. You moaned at the sensation of making out and him rubbing all over you. He squeezed your hips at the sound you made.

The kiss lasted for a few long moments before you both pulled away again. You both giggled at each other.

“Okay why does that feel like we’ve been holding that in for a while?” You giggled some more.

“I don’t know Y/n… But I have” Marcello said.

[thegoldencontracts]

So. You know promise rings? Not exactly an engagement ring but a little more serious than boyfriend-girlfriend... merfolk wear promise shells. Shells that represent the person they're with... Azul's partner (It's Ri--💥) wearing a small spiral shell that's wide at the opening with bumps along it, its coloration a deep purple and black. You could almost confuse it for a tentacle from afar.

How many biographies and autobiographies do you think he'll have? Self-help books?

Annnd what do you think Azul's future mega corporation would be called? Because I've seen some iterations use the 'Mostro' name and I used 'Ashengrotto' because... come on. It's his name! People need to recognize him!

The more I think about it, the more I need to see Azul meet his future self. Would he love the guy or treat him like... Cece? Hehe.

OH MY GOD PROMISE RING JUST GIVES ME THE CUTEST IDEAAA (in my opinion at least)

Azul with ri- I mean, his totally anonymous partner... He gives them a promise she'll and he tries to act as nonchalant as he can but he's also so embarrassed about ITTTT and he's trying to be smug and everything but then rid- I MEAN his partner is like "wow, this truly is quite important to you I'm pleased to see you so greatly value our relationship" not even in a teasing way just genuinely trying to be good faith and appreciate Azul's efforts yk...

But of course Azul gets embarrassed T_T I-It isn't like that, he's just... Yeah he has no defense for himself and he gets so pouty and huffy "Not now, I'm losing" (This line is paraphrased from a tootally random fic that you toooootally didn't write and I toooooooooootally didn't reread 5 gorillion times lmao)

A bunch, Azul is all about that grind 💪💪💪 he will power through the writers block

Anndd if Azul has a restaurant chain I feel like he'd actually keep Mostro because despite him acting aloof and business-minded he actually truly cares for the Lounge (one of the funniest parts of twst imo is that fact that Azul in canon is basically... A FUCKING TSUNDERE OVER HIS LOVE FOR IT'S CRAFT IT'S THE FUNNIEST THIGN EVER Jade says it's clear he cares about the lounge, Azul says "Hah! Do you honestly believe me to be capable of an illogical sentiment such as 'attachment'?" And Floyd and Jade are like... Yeahh... Sure we totally believe you Mann he's literally a tsundere for his restaurant HOWEW-)

Anyways sorry the temptation to yap was there and I couldn't resist but back to what u were saying so I feel like he'd be attached to the name too and no matter how he tried he can't bring himself to change ittt

CECAELIA FAIRBANKS MENTION SPOTTED I WILL NOW RAMBLE Cecaelia is Azul's worstie she breaths within 1000000000 miles of him and he's immediately like "SHUT THE FUCK UP NO ONE ASKED YAP YAP YAP RIZZLESS BETA WHITE KNIGHT L + RATIO + I HAVE MORE CONTRACTS THAN U" nothing can compare to his hate /j

But actually though I feel like it depends on whether or not Azul knows this is his future self bc with cecaelia that's the conflict it's literally a better version of Azul bc... Azul from the future but Azul doesn't realize thatttt

But the version you're bringing up? Even better version of Azul. More successful and more skilled. If Azul doesn't know... Poor dude's gonna be put through the emotional wringer (and develop a strong hatred for what is quite literally himself) His hatred will be stronger than what he harbors for cecaelia lmaooo-

If he does tho I feel like he might have mild jealousy that's overshadowed by "HOLY SHIT THIS IS WHST I'LL BE IN A FEW YEARS" kind of thing...

Anyways that concludes my ramble thank you

[fireessie]

2) 5 times Yuki ruined a proposal and one time he didn't

Oh my gosh, okay. I love this fic so so so so much and I didn't realise how much until I read through it for this ask!

So it takes place in the same universe as my previous Charles/Pierre + Yuki fics (Yuki's very bad day and the Case of the missing blanket) and basically it's what it says on the tin. Charles is trying to propose to Pierre and Yuki keeps getting in the way 🙄 (accidentally of course)

*******

"YUKI! I SWEAR TO GOD I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!" Charles screamed, lunging across the massage table as a red mist descended over his eyes. 

"Charles please," Yuki squealed back, ducking and crawling under the table in an attempt to hide. "I can fix this…" he tried but Charles cut him off, dragging him out from under the table and pinning him down, forgetting that Pierre was only next door as he let out another yell in frustration. 

"Everything all right in there?" a knock at the door caused both Charles and Yuki to look over but thankfully Pierre didn't enter. 

"Perfectly fine," Charles forced out. 

"Yeah yeah all good," Yuki echoed. 

"Okay, I'll be downstairs when you two are ready," Pierre replied, clearly not believing their answers but choosing not to question it. 

"I'm sorry, I genuinely didn't mean to," Yuki mumbled and Charles sighed, rolling off of him with a thud and pressing an arm over his eyes. 

"At this point I feel like you're trying to disrupt this proposal on purpose Yuki. Five times now you've ruined it. Five times." 

"It's not on purpose!" he protested but Charles continued as if he hadn't spoken.

"There was the time you just wandered in, the time you got sick, the time you needed stitches, the time Helmut was shouting at you-" 

"Surely Helmut shouting at me wasn't my fault." 

"Shut up it is because I say it is. Anyways Helmut shouting at you and now this. Losing the damn ring. The ring I spent weeks picking and you lose it." 

"It's not lost, it's just misplaced." 

"Yeah misplaced in a place that you don't know!" 

[campbyler]

Hello! I’m here to rant bc I’ve been planning on doing this for a while but I never got around to it. I got this app just for you guys, I literally never use it otherwise.

Anyway, I’m so insane about this fic it’s not even funny anymore (incase you haven’t noticed, I literally don’t shut up about it on twitter). It’s gotten to the point that when my roommate asks why I’m smiling I just say “Walter” and he goes “That bear again?” LMAO

Speaking of my roommate, whenever we drive somewhere we always complain about the teslas and how people never use their blinker, which is so Will Byers of us.

I’m sosososo unbelievably excited about chapter 6, and chapter 7, and all the rest of the chapters bc I’m insane. I honestly have no idea how you write so fast, it takes me like 4 hours just to READ the chapter (I’m very thorough. No fearless lore will go undetected). You guys could literally post one chapter a year and I would worship the ground Walter walks on, istg. I’m just happy to be here lol.

In conclusion, thank you so much for blessing my eyes every few weeks. You are single-handedly keeping my hyperfixation alive. I know I’m joking around but I genuinely really appreciate it, you deserve to get paid for all your hard work. I’ll give you all the money, just say the word and I’ll rob a bank or something. You’re amazing, and unbelievable, and you deserve everything good in the world ever. <333

(I didn’t mean to turn this into an essay, but it ended up having an introductory and concluding paragraph, oops. Where is this energy in school?)

oh my god this was so unbelievably kind 😭 thank you so so much for sending this <3 we love love love acswy, and we're so grateful that you and so many others are enjoying it too!! 🫂🫂🫂