#and i decided it would be a good idea to do a re-watch before i potentially start some gifs

[saltpepperbeard]

i think there's something in how episode six begins with a darkened lighthouse. the thing it's known for--the light, the warmth, the guidance--is not there.

and the man inside it encourages that very thing. the man inside it is the very catalyst.

[sirhamburrger]

worth it - m. kaiser x f!reader in which you decide to give it another shot with with each other.

tags/cw: exes to lovers, crack (see original req ask) || wc: 1k-ish (i have gone insane)

courtesy of kai’s cat café! - 150 followers event café menu || order progress asks closed.

michael kaiser is convinced his life is 100% a joke. there’s no other explanation for why he’s currently sitting in a dimly lit, overpriced restaurant, waiting for a blind date that his best friend, ness, had insisted he go on.

it'll be fun, ness had said. you haven't dated since her, so just give it a shot.

michael doesn’t do blind dates, doesn’t do serious relationships, and he certainly doesn’t do surprises - which is precisely why he’d refused ness’s ridiculous proposition at first. but between his friend’s relentless nagging and his own begrudging admission that his love life had the excitement of a damp sock, he had caved eventually.

and now, as he swirls the wine in his glass like some kind of brooding movie villain, he wonders if this is the universe’s idea of a cruel prank.

because the person who just walked through the restaurant doors - the person he's meant to be on a blind date with - is none other than you.

michael nearly chokes on his drink at the first glimpse he gets of you. you don’t see him at first, distracted as you scan the restaurant, looking for whoever your own meddling friend had set you up with. when your eyes land on him, your entire body stiffens, and he watches as you cycle through the five stages of grief in record time.

he knows exactly what you're thinking, because he’s thinking the exact same -

out of all the people in the world, why you?

your relationship had ended on less-than-great terms. there had been yelling, multiple dramatic exits and even more dramatic re-entrances, and at one point, if he recalls correctly, a very unnecessary but satisfyingly cinematic slow clap. it had been over a year since the breakup, and though time was supposed to heal all wounds, he wasn’t sure if it applied to two people as ridiculously petty as the both of you.

you take a deep breath and approach the table, walking like someone being led to their inevitable doom. “this is a joke, right?” you say, pulling out the chair with a familiar enthusiasm - the enthusiasm with which one might do the dishes, maybe.

michael leans back in his chair, trying to appear nonchalant even though he’s nothing but. you look good, infuriatingly so.

“trust me, if i were trying to pull a prank, it’d be something a lot more elaborate than this.”

you sigh, shoulders slumping. “so, what? our friends thought it would be hilarious to set us up?”

“looks that way.”

silence stretches between you, heavy with the weight of tense, withering stares and poor life choices, and michael, for all his arrogance, finds himself at a rare loss for words. he should say something clever, maybe. something that would put him back in control of this bizarre situation. instead, he blurts out, “you look... less mad than i expected.”

you blink. “i just got here. give it a minute.”

a beat of silence. then, against all odds, you both snort at the same time.

somehow, you make it through the meal without either of you throwing your drinks in the other’s face. the conversation starts awkward, progresses to dangerous levels of sarcastic, and before long, you’re both swapping old inside jokes, complete with exaggerated impressions of each other. by the time dessert arrives, you’re laughing so hard you nearly snort crème brûlée out of your nose.

reality seems to hit the two of you, then, turning the sweetness of the custard bitter on your tongues.

you poke at your half-eaten dessert with your fork, your voice quieter when you finally speak again.

“do you ever wonder if we could’ve done things differently?”

he pauses, fork halfway to his mouth. he should brush it off, throw out some cocky remark. but instead, he casts his pride aside, sets his fork down and meets your gaze.

“yeah,” he admits. “i do.”

you nod as if you expected that answer. “at least we know our friends are absolutely useless.”

he scoffs. “truly the worst.”

the check arrives, and the night reaches its fated conclusion. you both step outside, the cool air nipping at your skin. for a moment, neither of you move, standing there like two characters in a sitcom finale that never got renewed.

finally, you exhale, pulling your coat tighter. “well. goodbye, kaiser.”

something in his chest tightens at the way you say it. he forces a smirk, shoving his hands into his pockets. “see you around, liebling.”

you roll your eyes at the old pet name but don’t comment. instead, you turn and walk away, down the block. the night seems to swallow you up in seconds.

he watches you go, exhaling. he should turn around and walk the other way. should go home, pretend this night never happened.

but then, just as you reach the corner, you stop.

you hesitate.

and then, as if it takes every ounce of courage you have, you turn back around.

“kaiser.”

he’s already moving before you say anything else, crossing the distance between you with the same reckless abandon he’s always had. you open your mouth, maybe to say something witty, maybe to say nothing at all, but he doesn’t give you the chance.

because before he can overthink it, before either of you can change your minds, he cups your face in his hands and kisses you.

it’s not perfect. it’s a little clumsy, and more a little desperate. but when you kiss him back, fingers tangling in the fabric of his jacket, he swears it might be the best decision he’s made in a long, long time. and when you finally pull away, breathless and a little stunned, you stare at him like you can’t quite believe what just happened.

michael grins, cocky and familiar and maybe just a little hopeful.

“so,” he murmurs, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “think our friends would find it hilarious if we gave this another shot?”

you laugh, shaking your head. “they’d be insufferable.”

he hums, tilting his head. “worth it, though?”

you pretend to consider it, but you both already know the answer.

“yeah,” you whisper, smiling giddily. “worth it.”

bllk masterlist || general masterlist © sirhamburrger 2025

[puckofparis]

Quinn was looking a little scruffy today so I decided to write about him shaving, may or may not have gotten a tadddd bit carried away.

Warnings: really only a suggestive ending if you squint.

The bathroom tiles were cold against your feet as you sleepily shuffled to where Quinn was standing at the mirror. A small smirk took over his face at the sight of you  rubbing the sleep from your eyes as one of his old shirts hung from your shoulders.

 “Good morning, gorgeous.” he said. You looked up just in time to catch his eyes in the mirror, the admiration in them evident as he gazed at you. HIs heart swelled at the way you wrapped your arms around his middle,his skin warm and slightly damp from the shower he just took. 

“Are you sure you have to go?” you asked. It was normal for him to be the first to leave in the mornings, but this morning he had an exceptionally early meeting that he told you he absolutely could not miss. 

His hands found their way to your waist, fingers lightly rubbing at your sides before he hoisted you up to sit on the sink. He gently stepped between your legs, burying his face in your neck as he nodded. Just as desperate as you to get back to bed. 

The sharp scruff of his stubble tickled your skin and you laughed, lightly pushing his head away. “What?” he asked, as an equally loud laugh bubbled past his lips. He knew exactly what it was, “Is my stubble too much, baby?” he teased. 

You nodded and noted the can of shaving cream already on the counter beside his razor. Usually, you loved it when Quinn let his facial hair grow but today, you knew he wanted to shave. 

Without stepping out from where he stood between your thighs, he reached for the can of shaving cream. You watched as he looked himself over in the mirror before beginning to apply the white foam to his cheeks and chin. You could watch him go about the most mundane of tasks, and still the simple sight of him would take your breath away. 

As if he could read your mind he stepped back to look at you. A sly, slightly crooked smile spread across his face. Then, without a word he reached for the razor, slowly stretching the skin of his cheek, and began to shave. 

“Can I try?” you blurted out, before you could even think about what you were asking. 

He stared at you, brows furrowed like he wasn’t in love with the idea. Reluctantly, he nodded, “Do you know what you;re doing?” he asked. 

You gently took the razor from his hand, “Of course. I just watched you do it.” it wasn’t the first time you had seen him shave, seeing as you had a secret habit of watching him get ready in the mornings while he thought you were soundly asleep. 

He stepped closer, face now mere inches from yours. The intensity of his gaze was always something that enchanted you, and now more than ever you could feel his eyes burning holes into you. 

Mimicking his movements, you reached up and stretched the skin of his other cheek before gently swiping the razor down along his skin. Clearing away the hairs with a smooth line. 

He smiled as he watched you repeat the action, “You’re cute when you’re focused” he said, hands wandering to rest on your thighs. 

“And you thought I didn't know what I was doing.” you joked, bringing the razor across the remaining patch where the shaving cream was. Before you got the chance to wipe the last little bits of foam from around his lips, he leaned forward and kissed your cheek, leaving a blotch of white behind. 

You laughed, and let out a joking groan, reaching for the towel he had loosely around his hips. One gentle tug was all it took to come completely undone, the soft fabric dropping to the floor as you raised the edge of it,  wiping away the mess he had left on your cheek. 

[ckret2]

Chapter 91 of Bill Cipher, still in drag as a Normal Human, getting an unusual amount of unsupervised time outside of the Mystery Shack: Agent Powers very seriously pursues the truth behind what happened last summer.

Meanwhile, the other agents very goofily pursue the truth behind what happened last summer.

Lookit'em go.

Meanwhile meanwhile, Bill faces down the metaphorical specter of his own dying legacy.

####

Ford paced across the ritual chamber, reading and re-reading the script Bill had handed him, stroking his chin in concentration.

Bill watched him from the Blind Eye's favorite brainwashing chair, one ankle hooked over the other knee in a figure 4, hands laced behind his head. "I know the script's a little hammy, but you saw those recordings! This is genuinely how these guys talk, I promise!"

"No no," Ford said. "The script's fine. It's just—I've never played a villain before. I need to get in character."

"Oh, you nerd!" Bill rolled his eyes at the ceiling. "This is a big DD & More D session to you, isn't it!"

"Of course not. DD & More D's RPG system is far better suited to swords & sorcery than cloak & dagger."

"You know what I mean."

Ford was fighting to prevent a giddy smile from breaking out across his face. "I assure you, I'm taking this completely seriously."

"Ha! Sure. You're lucky you're behind the camera, that face would ruin the performance," Bill said. "At least it's an improvement over that scowl you always give me." Slightly deflated, he said, "Yeah, that scowl."

"We shouldn't waste time. Should we...?" Ford gestured to the wrist straps on the chair.

"Ha! I don't trust you that much." Bill held his hands behind his back, wrists crossed. "Just pretend I'm tied up, it's fine."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"What's that supposed to mean."

"I'm not an actor. You're a liar but you're not an actor either. We're missing the chanting chorus the cult leader usually has when he does this. We need every tool we can get to make this look convincing."

"Pfff!" Bill waved off Ford's worries. "Re-lax, he won't suspect a thing. Guarantee it."

"Are you sure he's dumb enough to buy this?"

####

Powers sat on the floor, staring into space, as he reevaluated everything he knew about this town.

####

"It's like that goat can teleport," Trigger grunted, trying to get between a couple of trees. "How did it get all the way—?" He tripped over a fallen tree hidden beneath a blanket of ferns and crashed to the ground with a yelp.

Dale leaped over the log, offered Trigger a hand, and said, "Maybe the trees are messing with the radar?"

Trigger brushed some leaves out of his hair. "Where's it say it is now?"

"About twenty feet..." Dale pointed. "That way."

They looked.

Gompers was stood staring over a thick bush at them. Tauntingly.

"Ah-ha!" Trigger ran for him; Dale followed close behind, looking at his tablet. "Now we've got you!" Trigger fought through the bush forming a barrier between him and the goat. "Stay right there, you—"

He yelped as he stepped on air and lost his balance. Dale managed to stop just in time, the tips of his shoes over the edge, only for Trigger to grab his wrist and drag him down—straight into a ten foot deep crevasse that the bush had been hiding.

Gompers stood on the other side of the crevasse, looking down at them curiously.

Dale and Trigger were tangled at the bottom, stuck in a mud puddle that had been left over from the past weekend's rains. Dale groaned at the goat, "How'd you get over there?"

Trigger attempted to climb up the steep side, dislodged a sheet of dirt, and slid back down on top of Dale. "How do we get over there?"

Gompers bleated at them and took off deeper into the woods again.

####

While the agent was busy having what was no doubt a very exciting look into Gravity Falls' secret unauthorized mental health charity service, Bill decided to make a visit to that curtained-off wing of the museum he'd seen last night—the one with all the warnings against bringing a camera into the area.

It was a lot less exciting than Bill had expected. Just a display of a bunch of local Native art—hide clothes with elaborate quillwork and beadwork, jewelry made of shells and claws, stone carvings, baskets... Most of it was the kind of stuff that had been made in this area only long after the locals he'd befriended had so callously betrayed and banished him several thousand years back; only a couple of objects looked like things the people he'd known might have made, primarily the stone things. But even though most of the stuff in the room was "modern," he thought it looked too modern, not like the centuries-old works he'd expected.

The room was familiar—distantly, fuzzily familiar. As though he'd seen it in a dream.

A glance at a plaque on the wall explained why everything looked so new: most of the displayed items were replicas. This was a collection of objects that the Northwest family had stolen from tribes in the area over a hundred years ago. When the Northwest Manor had been sold to one Fiddleford H. McGucket, all objects left behind in it had conveyed, stolen artwork and crafts included—and an oil painting of the sleazy-looking Northwest who'd done a majority of the stealing, which was now hanging in the museum with a list of his known and suspected crimes and injustices displayed next to the painting. It was, Bill had to grudgingly admit, pretty funny. Kudos to whichever museum employee had thought that up.

According to the plaque, Fiddleford had contacted the nearest tribes to ask them whether they recognized anything in the Northwests' collection and to offer to return the pieces—which surprised Bill. He'd never seen Specs as the kind of guy to be particularly interested in repatriation. Most of the ill-gotten art had been gladly taken; anything that nobody had wanted, Fiddleford put in the museum; and a few artisans had even offered modern replicas of some of the items Fiddleford had returned, for public display with the artists credited.

He didn't see why this room was behind heavy curtains with half a dozen "no photography" warnings. It wasn't like these were priceless antiques at risk of degrading under flash photography; aside from the oil painting—which he doubted anyone was too precious about—everything in this room was under a decade old. So why...?

He had seen this little exhibit in a dream, he was sure of it. He tried to find the point of view he'd seen the room from. The room wasn't a perfect rectangle. It turned, L-shaped, into a little alcove. Bill wandered into the alcove—and froze when he saw his own face.

He was eyes-to-eye with the apocalyptic tapestry through which he'd watched the Northwest Manor's great hall for decades: black sky, red inferno, dead trees, dead humans, dying survivors, and above it all Bill's eye shining blood red like the sun hidden behind wildfire smoke. Another: the odd spaceship-shaped gap in the mountains around the town, and Bill—bright yellow against a deep red sky—framed by the gap as though his eye were the setting sun. And another—a pattern consisting of nothing but triangles with eyes, the geometry unusual for art in this region—and another—Bill surrounded by blue lightning, probably a distorted remembering of the unsuccessful redwood portal—and another, another...

Six tapestries in all, of varying sizes. These weren't replicas. Each showed varying degrees of age—broken quills, frayed edges, fading dye, the grime of an article centuries old that had been poorly cared for—but they were all centuries old. The tributes to him made during his long absence: the echoes of a millennia-old generational trauma memory.

The tapestries weren't all that was contained in this little alcove. He forced himself to break eye contact with himself to look at the other items on display. Photographs of several cave paintings—the zodiac, the ritual to summon Bill, the prophecy of his defeat. A few small carvings of his face in stone and wood. Spear tips with his face carved in them, broken due to the way a hollowed-out eye compromised the structural integrity of the stone. And—one of Mabel's blankets, sitting innocently behind a glass case. He stared at it in amazement. Who would have imagined that he'd find a little shrine to himself, right in the middle of the Gravity Falls Museum nearly a year after his death?

On the blanket, his eye had been crossed out with an X of black electrical tape. Bill's blood ran cold.

He forced himself to look at the tapestries again. Some of the quills were broken with age, yes; but someone had also taken a sharp knife and sliced two neat, clean lines across his eye in each of the tapestries, almost invisible except for a few of the broken quills that now bent out of place. The geometric pattern of triangles had been so criss-crossed with slashes that it was amazing it hadn't disintegrated.

His eyes darted over the rest of the objects, studying them more closely. The stone and wood depictions of his face—all freshly re-carved into, X'es covering the eyes. Where he'd first assumed the spear tips had broken with age, he could now see how they'd all been snapped neatly, precisely in half. In the photographs from the cave, he could see his eyes had each been covered by a red spray-painted X. The summoning ritual had also been defaced: apparently not content with painting over it, someone had fully scraped the ritual off of the cave wall, leaving behind only a few missed marks.

None of these items had been defaced before. Bill had made sure that the people in the area passed on a "superstition" against damaging any images of the One-Eyed Beast. (Translation: after they'd figured out that Bill was bad news and decided to cut ties to him, he'd contacted them in their dreams—"If any of you humans even try to take out my eyes, I'll haunt you all so hard. I'll be in your nightmares, I'll be in your kids' nightmares, I'll be in your grandkids' grandkids' nightmares, do not test me!" That had been about the time the shaman locked Bill out of the valley and ensured he couldn't make good on his threat—but the superstition lingered.) He knew for a fact that some of these eyes had even been working as recently as last summer: he'd watched the Northwests' every move through those tapestries. All this damage had been done after his death.

The only item that hadn't been defaced was the blanket. The plaque: "Artist: Mabel Pines, great-niece of town heroes Stanley and Stanford Pines, age 13. Acrylic yarn, 2012. Recreation of a ritual symbol designed to defeat the Beast with One Eye. Donated by Fiddleford McGucket." He suspected this blanket got electrical tape instead of a brutal slashing as a courtesy not to the artwork's subject, but to its artist.

He read the informational plaque accompanying this anti-shrine.

These were the only items in this wing that weren't replicas—because no tribe with ancestry around Gravity Falls Valley wanted them back. (So Fiddleford had offered to return art in Northwest Manor, had he? Begged was more likely.) The plaque explained that neighboring tribes considered depictions of "the Beast with One Eye" to be cursed. "Cursed" wasn't quite the correct term, Bill knew well; but the plaque didn't leave room to expand. It kept its description as terse as possible. (After all, anybody in Gravity Falls already knew exactly why these particular items were cursed; and tourists didn't need to know.) The plaque ended, firmly, "They say they would rather forget about the Beast with One Eye."

Somebody else had scrawled underneath in red marker, "AND SO WOULD WE!"

Underneath the marker scrawl , someone had written in smaller, neat, black pen, "יִמַּח שְׁמוֹ". Yimakh shemo. May his name be erased. A death threat would have hurt less.

There were under ten humans in Gravity Falls that Bill knew had studied Hebrew. He forced himself to wrench his eyes away before he could be sure he recognized the cursive handwriting.

Behold: the legacy of the great, the godly, the All-Knowing and All-Seeing Bill Cipher. Relegated to old history, shoved disdainfully in the corner of a stupid hick town's stupid local museum, with people fighting over who has to put up with the last remnants of him. For thousands of years, the locals had been driven to preserve his memory, but it hadn't been preserved out of reverence; and from now on, it wouldn't even be preserved out of fear.

Without Bill around to pull the strings, the superstitions would fade, the myths would be forgotten, and humans would get bored with the All-Seeing Eye symbol and stop using it. Eventually, humanity's influence would wane, and another species whose culture he'd never influenced would take over; and within a few short millennia, his face would be forgotten on Earth. His face would be forgotten everywhere.

How could this have happened to him?

He glowered at the array of blind eyes staring at him from the walls.

Bill's pocket vibrated. He pulled out his phone. Ah, right, Powers. He'd almost forgotten about him completely. Ha.

Powers had texted to ask him to come downstairs. He said there was something Bill needed to see. Yeah, he bet there was.

It was certainly better than this.

####

"Hey there," Dale said, crouched on the sidewalk, voice high and soothing, "come on, this way."

Gompers stared at him distrustfully from just within the protective boundary of the forest's treeline.

Dale was holding out a slice of Greasy's cherry pie on a paper plate. "I'm not going to hurt you," he said. "We want to help you. You've got a little piece of plastic inside you that we need to get out... it'll probably be good for your health..."

Slowly, Gompers crept out of the forest, watching the agents warily as he approached the plate of pie.

Standing a safe distance behind Dale with his arms crossed, supervising, Trigger said, "You have quite a way with animals."

"I've always found that animals have a calming effect on me, so I've tried to cultivate a calming air in return." He looked up at Trigger. "You see, the key is respect. Mutual respect. From man to animal and from animal to man. One time I was meditating with this Tibetan monk in a dream, and—"

He turned back toward the goat. The pie was gone. Along with half the paper plate, and a chunk of his suit's sleeve.

Gompers was hightailing it down the street.

"Oh."

Trigger said, "I don't think he reciprocates your respect."

####

One of the files Powers had found was in code—he'd have to ask Goldie to take a look at it—but the other file, the one on the Memory Gun, was all in plain English; and for the past few minutes, he'd been reading through a list of adverse side-effects the Blind Eye had discovered from using the gun. Victims who had forgotten how to drive, forgotten their children, forgotten their own names... The aim of the document seemed to be to determine how to refine their wording when they programmed the gun in order to more accurately select their desired memories. 

But whoever had written it seemed more concerned with the victims who remembered more than they should have.

Powers was startled by a knock on the door. He slapped the file shut. "Hello?"

"It's me." That was Goldie's voice.

He heaved a sigh of relief. "Come in, it's safe."

There was a moment of silence. "It's stuck."

"What?"

"The door. It, ah—must be... heavy?"

Huh. He crossed the room to help open it. It was a pretty heavy door, but it didn't seem stuck to him; but Goldie just swept past him with a muttered thanks. "What's this room?"

"It's—memories, I think," Powers said. "As outrageous as it sounds, it appears that a secret society stores stolen memories in this room. I've only watched a few, so far I can't figure out the pattern to who's being targeted or why, but..."

He trailed off. Goldie had drifted past the piles of memory canisters with only quick glances, drawn to the odd-looking TV-like screen at the back of the room, as if mesmerized by its glow all the way from the door. He sighed quietly. "There's... something I think you should see."

He couldn't look at Goldie while the recording played. Instead, he watched it again, staring at the past Goldie's terror and rage.

When it was over, all she said was, "Wow." Her voice was strangely flat. It was another couple of seconds before she added, "That's—pretty bad, huh."

Her reaction was underwhelming. Powers turned to look at her, puzzled.

Her expression was terrifyingly blank. There was something hard and heavy and distant in her eyes. Exhausted. Like she was just holding it together under some sort of heartbreak. She was always so animated; the change was almost scary.

He said, "I'm sorry, I should have warned you. It must be a terrible shock." He'd been too shocked to think of warning her.

The comment seemed to shake her out of some sort of trance. "It's—fine. Just gimme a sec, I..." She rubbed her eyelids with one hand. "Wow! Okay. I can handle this. It's just..." She gestured vaguely at the screen. "It's a lot to process."

He could only imagine. "Do you remember this happening at all?"

She took a long moment to answer, fingers still pressing her eyes shut. "No," she finally said. "I think I remember being here before. The room looks familiar." That explained how she'd navigated it so confidently. "But—not that. I don't know when that happened. When did that happen?"

"I think it must have been last summer."

Powers explained everything he'd found so far—the contents of the other canisters, the blueprints for the Memory Gun. Goldie had to sit on a nearby table as she processed this—elbows on her knees, knuckles pressed against each other, index fingers tapping together as she listened.

"It looks as though this 'Society of the Blind Eye' has been erasing the memories of people in town—and people who know too much about them. But I don't know why they're here or why they're doing this," Powers said. "In one of the memories, Preston Northwest mentioned a secret town founder. It might be irrelevant to whatever's happening here, but it does sound like the most important thing on any of the recordings I watched. Aside from—yours."

He sat beside Goldie. "I suspect you were a part of the bureau." It was horrifying to think—that they might have worked together and both forgotten—but...

"Yeah. It's possible," Goldie said. 

"Do you remember anything that might have suggested you were part of the bureau? Something we could look up and verify?" Powers asked. "Somewhere you lived in Washington, or maybe part of your training...?"

She winced and broke eye contact with him. "Uh... no. I—I don't."

How much had she lost? Far more than just the details of the investigation she'd come to town for. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders reassuringly. She tensed, then relaxed, then leaned against him—but hardly seemed to notice he was there.

"I think something's coming back," she said, gaze faraway. "Now that I'm here... I remember being in the museum. I think I was caught by somebody wearing a hooded robe."

(Powers glanced at the carving of a robed man in front of the altar.)

"They were angry that I'd taken... some kind of map? It was square, looked really old..."

"A map!" Powers jumped up to grab the file on the Memory Gun and pulled out an odd paper he'd found sticking out of it. "Is this it?"

"That's it!" Goldie favored him with a smile, her first since he'd shown her that memory.

"It looks like gibberish, though," Powers said. "There's several partial images, but nothing clear. I don't know what to make of it."

Goldie glanced over it. "Have you tried folding it?"

He gave her a quizzical look. "Folding it how?"

She raised her hands in a shrug. "It's got creases on it. Looks like somebody's folded it before."

He'd assumed that someone had just folded it to stuff in their pocket at some point—but the creases formed an odd, precise geometric pattern of triangles and diagonal squares. Now that she mentioned it, it didn't look the way anyone would normally fold a paper. He studied the directions of the creases, folded the four corners in to meet in the middle—and a drawing of a pointing hand emerged from what had once been unintelligible lines and curves on the corners of the page. Look at that.

But now the four new corners of the image were covered in inscrutable lines of their own; maybe...? He turned the map over and repeated the process, folding the four corners into the center; and there was a new image, but it looked like a couple of different images jumbled together. "Hmm..." He stroked his chin, staring perplexed at the image.

(Next to him, Bill pressed his lips flat together to keep himself from telling Powers to unfold two opposite flaps and see what happened, come on, do a little experimenting, man. Schoolchildren made these things when they were bored in class and pretended to tell each other's fortune with them, this wasn't that complicated. But no, be patient, it was fine, it was fine, Bill had shown more tolerance for denser humans solving simpler problems than this. What kind of a muse and mentor would he be if he couldn't show a little patience with ignorant mortals? Heck, it was a tribute to Bill's personal patience and strength of character that he hadn't spontaneously combusted the entire Nightmare Realm in the process of trying to get a portal built.)

Eventually, Powers figured it out himself, unfolding the top and bottom flaps to reveal a hidden diagram: a crude graveyard with a tunnel weaving underneath, the tunnel marked with arrows pointing at it. Closing the top and bottom flaps and unfolding the left and right flaps revealed another diagram: it looked like a building floor plan, with a dotted line that led to an equilateral triangle pointed downward. He recognized the floor plan. Aside from the triangle, he'd seen the same map upstairs less than an hour ago. "This is the museum."

"Looks like it. Think it's something important?" Goldie smiled wanly. "You don't typically think of important things being left to rot in some dusty corner of a small-town museum."

"Don't you? If a small town has a museum, I'd think that's where they'd preserve the most important objects they have."

Goldie processed that silently. "Yeah," she said, voice hollow. "Maybe."

"At any rate, it was important enough to erase your mind over. Let's go."

At the door to the pneumatic tube room, Powers said, "I'll follow this map; you watch the exits and alert me if anyone's coming. We don't know who at the museum might be working for..." He turned to look at Goldie, and found she was no longer at his side. "Goldie?" He turned around.

She was storming back across the room, finger pointed like the tip of a saber at the wooden cultist sculpture. "You think you can erase me?! You think you can make the whole world forget I ever existed?!" She clawed at the wooden hood like she was trying to get her fingers into the fabric and strangle the placid-looking figure. "I bet you think you're such a hero! Defending your precious little town from the big scary monster who came here to help you! But you'll never destroy me! I'll make your skin into shower curtains! I'll—let go of me—I'll flip your electrons into positrons, I'll—"

Powers managed to get an arm around Goldie's shoulder and lead her back to the door. She spat in its blinded eye as she left.

####

While Goldie stared at a display on the town's lumber industry (Powers suspected she wasn't actually reading it), he followed the map to find a painting—an odd inclusion in a history museum. It took him a few minutes to realize it should be turned upside-down to match the shape in the map, snapped a picture, and turned his phone over to find an image of an angel.

He didn't know what to make of that; and when he asked Goldie if she could see any sort of codes or disguised messages in it, she said she couldn't. The angel appeared to be a dead end; their only other lead was the town graveyard drawn on the map.

Goldie was uncharacteristically forlorn as they returned to Powers's car and he opened the passenger door for her. As they got on the road, Powers asked, "Are... you alright?" Stupid question. "If there's anything you need..."

"Promise you'll never forget me." He could feel her eyes blazing against the side of his face, staring at him, commandingly.

He nodded. "I promise." Traffic was light; he took one hand off the steering wheel to offer to her.

She seized it firmly, like they were sealing a pact.

####

Gompers ran across the roofs of the businesses lining Main Street, jumping from rooftop to rooftop and bleating in fear as he was chased. And Trigger chased after him, just a building behind Gompers.

But Main Street wasn't very long. Gompers scrabbled over the sloped shingles of a small salon, jumped down to the flat roof of the rival barber shop next door, and found himself out of buildings. He turned around to nervously watch his pursuer.

"I've got you cornered now," Trigger said. "Don't make this any more difficult than it has to be. Just come along quietly, and..." The roof creaked under him. "Uh oh." It collapsed under him.

He landed flat on his back in the middle of a salon. A couple of hairdressers and their customers stared at him. He sat up, looked around at them sheepishly, and said, "Afternoon, ladies."

####

The angel statue was visible through the trees even before the rest of Gravity Falls Cemetery. When they were close enough to inspect it, it was clear the angel's left hand matched the hand drawn on the map; as Powers was inspecting the hand, he accidentally bent its index finger, and the ground opened up.

Goldie elected to stand guard near the entrance, sitting on the steps, as Powers explored deeper; which was just as well, because the tunnel was apparently boobytrapped. (What in the world was the Blind Eye's budget? Hidden subterranean chambers in the museum, hidden underground tunnel in the cemetery, a memory-erasing ray gun, a poison dart trap...)

At the bottom of a steep incline, the tunnel opened up into a chamber. He expected maybe money, or stolen and forged property deeds, or even bootleg maple syrup... you never knew in this town. He didn't expect piles upon piles of crates and files with the Official United States Government Cover-Up Seal—the seal of the Bureau of Covert Investigations' parent department.

He didn't like this.

He steeled himself and began exploring the room.

####

Goldie lifted her head as she saw Powers coming up the tunnel. "Hey!" She held up one of the files they'd taken from the Blind Eye's filing cabinet. "I decoded that ciphered document you found. It wasn't even a good cipher. I think we've got the Blind Eye's address book! Names, addresses, officer titles—say, what do you think a 'secretary' does in a society that tries to erase memories? He's probably not recording meeting notes..."

She fell silent as Powers flung down a file on the step beside her. "What's that?" She picked it up. The file was titled "THE NORTHWEST COVER-UP" and stamped TOP SECRET. The cover-up seal took up most of the cover; beneath it was an X'ed out eye and the typewritten letters, "in collaboration with the Society of the Blind Eye".

"Everything about this town is a lie," Powers said. 

"Everything? What do you mean?" Goldie flipped open the file, skimmed it, and frowned. "Who founded the town?"

"President. Sir. Quentin Trembley. The third. Esquire." Powers pronounced each title separately. He sat down next to Goldie; his hands were trembling. "He was a secret United States president. When he was evicted from office—he wasn't even impeached, they just kicked him out!—he fled across the country and founded This. Town." He shook his head in disbelief. If he hadn't read it himself... "This—this Trembley was an utter madman. He declared war against pancakes, appointed infants to the Supreme Court, banned pants, raved publicly about giant spiders... I'm not surprised he was ousted, he sounds like a complete lunatic."

As he spoke, Goldie's expression darkened. "Huh." But she didn't say anything else. She just stared at the cover-up file.

"Somebody decided to erase his entire existence from history. Nathaniel Northwest was named the founder of Gravity Falls in his place. He sounds like he was just as mad as Trembley was, but—he was just the village idiot, I suppose he must have been easier to control than this Trembley." Powers shook his head.

"So... what does all this have to do with the Blind Eye?" Goldie asked.

"In one of the memory canisters, I saw them discussing this cover-up with Preston Northwest—Nathaniel's descendant. He knew about the cover-up—of course he would, his family's fortune rests upon it!—but... they erased Preston's knowledge of it, too. Not only is this town the center of a cover-up to hide the fact that we once had a lunatic for a president, but also the government set up an entire secret cult to erase the memories of anyone who finds out about it... or, by the looks of things, about anything else happening in Gravity Falls that the government doesn't want civilians looking at too closely."

Powers took a shaky breath. "And that's not the worst of it."

"Oh-oh." Goldie closed the cover-up file and looked at him warily. "What's the worst?"

Powers held out a business card—bent, dusty, worn around the edges from age—that he'd found sitting next to the projector. It was his own business card. "The worst part is, I already knew about it."

####

Dale waited outside the salon, hands in his pockets. He checked his watch, then rocked back on his heels.

Trigger stepped out of the salon with frosted tips. Dale stared at him. Awkwardly, Trigger said, "Well?"

Dale nodded. "Yeah, you look nice, it's nice."

"Thanks. I've always wanted to try the look but never had an excuse," Trigger said. "Anyway—what do we do about the goat."

They started walking back to where they'd parked their car. Dale said, "In my opinion, it's time we call in the big guns."

"You mean...?"

"That's right. Animal control," Dale said. "We can set up a perimeter around town, then slowly close in. We'll tighten the net around it, and—"

Trigger clapped a hand on Dale's shoulder. He pointed down the alley they were passing.

Gompers was eating out of a spilled trash can. He looked up like a kid who'd just been caught shoplifting by two cops.

The agents exchanged a look, then lunged at Gompers.

####

When Bill got back to the shack, he owed the Pines a round of congratulations. Stan for stealing back the file on the Northwest cover-up from the police department, and for planting the papers from the case file and the threatening letter in Powers's motel room without getting caught; Mabel for the terrific forgery work on the fake map, the modifications to the cover-up file's cover, and the threatening letter itself; Ford for—well, he hadn't done a lot, but he'd been a decent actor—but on the other hand that yimakh shemo had burned up nearly all the goodwill Ford had earned last night, maybe Bill would skip thanking him; and Dipper had barely done anything, he'd just helped plant the file and the old business card in the chamber beneath the graveyard, Bill could skip thanking him too. Maybe he'd make a point of praising Soos for his chauffeuring just to rub in the fact that he was leaving Ford and Dipper out in the cold.

Thinking over his plans gave Bill something to entertain himself with while Powers clung to Bill's hand and reevaluated his entire life and career.

"I just don't... What else did I forget?" Powers asked. "I apparently forgot about the first time I learned all this... I must have forgotten you..."

"Hold on. Did we know each other before?" asked Bill, as if he hadn't planted all the clues to ensure Powers would come to that exact conclusion.

"We must have," Powers said. "You were investigating in this town, and yet I don't know you; the letter I received threatened that I might lose 'another' team member; and in your stolen memory, the Blind Eye told you that your team wouldn't remember you. I don't have a cryptologist on my team, and you're a cryptology expert. It all fits together."

Bill nodded encouragingly—yes, that was exactly what he'd wanted him to conclude.

"And there's all the other little clues that fit into place. The way you were so interested in this investigation, right from the outset. It makes sense if it was subconsciously familiar. And you think you're a visitor to town but the people here talk about you like you're a resident. They even seem to know you by two different genders... and when you told me to buy a car, you said to say that a 'Mr. Locke' sent me. You must have been communicating with people in town under two identities."

Hold on. That was dangerously close to information Powers shouldn't have. How had he found that out?

"And you know my first name," Powers went on. "Most of the BCI's field agents use code names even in the office. I've been working with Trigger since he joined, and he still doesn't know my first name. If you do..."

Bill was relieved they were back on track. He'd planted that clue on purpose. "Then we must have been close. No wonder I can't keep away from you."

Powers glanced away bashfully. (Ha! Too easy.) "And yet... I don't even know your name."

Alarm shot up Bill's spine. "What?"

"I thought 'Goldie Locke was an improbable name the first time I heard it. But, it's the exact kind of name the bureau would give a field agent. It has to be a code name."

Bill mentally kicked himself for the hundredth time for not choosing a subtler fake name. At least Powers had drawn the wrong conclusion. "Oh. Well. When you put it that way."

"Do you remember your real name?"

He hadn't prepared a backup fake name. He scrambled for another name that wasn't too masculine, too exotic, or even more fake sounding, and came up blank. "Uhhh, yyy—no."

"I wish I could help you remember it," Powers grumbled. "How much do you remember about your life?"

Bill had been deciding that since Powers asked at the museum if he remembered any verifiable biographical details (a question he should have anticipated sooner). He didn't want to say nothing, that might look too suspicious; but he didn't want to give any leads Powers could follow up on. "Not much. Faces without names, flashes of different cities I must've visited... I thought I just... had some kind of amnesia. The people in town have been nice enough to let me bum around here while I figure things out."

"At the Mystery Shack?" Powers asked. "You've been working with Stanford Pines."

Bill flinched. "I—yeah. I have." Sheesh, how did he know that?

"You didn't mention you were staying there," Powers said wryly.

Bill laughed. It came out more nervous than he'd have liked. "Yeah, well. I'm gonna come clean with you: I didn't want you to find out when I was trying to charm you into charming me out of my dress." (He was gratified to see Powers flush pink and turn away to loudly clear his throat. Bill had lost control of this conversation so fast, it was nice to know humans were still predictable in some ways.) "I mean, who wants to tell the handsome federal agent in the nice suit that you're a brain damaged bum couch-surfing in Oregon's most rickety tourist trap?"

"With all due respect, the brain damage wasn't as well-hidden as you think."

"Wh—hey! What's that supposed to mean?!"

"Your trouble with your eyes. Issues with binocular vision are a common consequence of brain damage." (For the first time that day, Bill was suddenly hyperconscious of the way one of his overtaxed eyes was twitching as he struggled not to let it squint shut.) "And I skimmed the file on the Memory Gun. It mentioned cases of victims forgetting how to safely cross a street, how to ride a bike, how to throw a ball... I figure forgetting how to open doors falls under the same umbrella."

A chill settled over Bill. "Oh," he croaked. "Noticed that, did you. You've... been paying pretty close attention to me." Not to mention talking to someone about him.

"Of course. You're a mysterious woman. I want to learn more about you," Powers said. "We spent all day talking yesterday, and I don't think I learned anything about you except that you've been in town for a month, you have an uncanny knack for cracking ciphers, and you make very interesting culinary choices. You kept the conversation off yourself." 

Bill hadn't realized he'd noticed that. Powers wasn't supposed to have noticed any of this. This was what Bill got for trying to dupe a professional investigator. Thank goodness he'd gotten him set him up on this wild goose chase before he'd really dug up too much about Bill's history. Sometimes it was easy to forget that some of this planet's idiots were smart. "Well," he said awkwardly, "now you know why. At the moment, I don't have much I can tell you about myself."

Powers gave Bill a wan, sad smile. "It'll be alright," he said, sliding a reassuring arm around Bill's shoulders, and Bill realized more of his panic must be showing on his face than he'd wanted. "We'll fill in the gaps."

That was just what he was afraid of.

For the first time, the arm around Bill's shoulder felt less like a piece of a puzzle slotted into the proper place—all according to plan—and more like the kill bar of a mousetrap that hadn't yet realized a rodent was standing on the trigger.

Powers's phone rang. He picked it up, and Bill quietly sighed in relief. "Hello?"

"Sir!" That was Dale's excited voice on the line. "We got it! We've captured, extracted, and sterilized the flash drive!"

"Didn't you say it was in a goat? How did you get it out?"

"The, uhh... old fashioned way. Apparently cherry pie didn't agree with his digestive tract."

His voice a little more distant, Trigger emphasized, "Thoroughly sterilized."

"Excellent work," Powers said. "Where are you now?"

"En route to the motel."

"Very well. We'll meet you there."

Perfect, thought Bill. The sooner he finished this, the sooner he'd never have to worry about the agents learning too much again.

####

(Post-TBOB edits! Had to change the age of the items on display in the museum, since TBOB changed Bill's interactions with the shaman from being about 1000 years ago to about 4000 years ago; and since a tapestry like we saw in the Northwest Manor is unlikely to have lasted 4000 years and is made in an art style that seems to be about 1500 years old, had to make up an excuse for it to exist; in the tapestry description, added in the tapestry in Pacifica's room mentioned on TINAWDC; and I think that's it? Just minor details.

And now y'all know why a few chapters ago I had to very clearly establish the distance between Powers's team and the guys who actually know about Trembley lol.

Anyway we are MOST OF THE WAY through the exciting action! Looking forward to hearing y'all's thoughts on this week's chapter! And I mentioned it on my blog but for those of y'all that only show up for the chapters: we're switching to every other week posts for a while because working on another flashback arc ate up more of my chapter buffer than I'd like. In between weeks with new chapters, I'll be editing and posting old chapters to AO3.)

[sockswithsog]

“Yes Captain.”

I had fun writing the first one i apologize if C-url is OOC 😓

This definitely wasn’t appropriate, everything about it. The age difference, the power dynamic, and he was probably never going to ever be interested in you. His role is too important, and he’s your mentor, he was more important things to do on top of having to teach you. You were most likely the last thing on his mind.

But that didn’t stop you from enjoying the long contact, playing dumb so he speaks to you more, the way he asks for confirmation that you’ve understood what he said. God he was sexy, before he was just some normal guy who was supposed to be teaching you a little more about the job on a relatively easy task. You had gotten along with everyone else except Jimmy, he reeked of envy and it was off putting to you, but you weren’t worried about making friends, this was a learning opportunity and you know that. So why have you found yourself so into your mentor, but you couldn’t help it.

You found yourself in front of the control panel with Curly, going over basic controls, he’s reminding you what does what and how it does it, but you’re not paying attention to what he’s saying. You’re focusing on the tone of his voice, how he sounds when he’s teaching you things you’ve asked him to re-explain several times, and the aching between your legs. The same ache that urged you to stand closer and talk sweeter. It was almost unintentional, you just hoped he couldn’t differentiate the difference in your behavior.

After he finished his explanation you two move to something new, you notice he’s more tired than usual, seeming to be more tense.

“Are you okay Captain?”

You had no idea how it made him feel when you called him that, he tenses at the question, letting out a sign before he answers.

“It’s just… a lot going on right now.. I don’t know I don’t want to stress you out.”

“You don’t have to tell me about it, is there anything I can do for you Captain?”

He smiled a little, you lifted his spirits enough to make him look up to you when he speaks now, not at the screen nor the panel.

“You know you can call me Curly right?”

“I like Captain a little better, feels more… official”

He chuckles a little at that, amused by your response, and your unconscious submission in this dynamic, Curly had been aware you were into him, but he figured it was purely because of him being your superior, but the way you’re looking at him and the way you’re acting tells him otherwise.

“That’s cute kid, but I don’t think there’s anything either of us can do, it feels nice having someone to talk to about this though. Thank you [name]”

“I could massage your shoulders…you look a little tense.” You realize half way through how straightforward that must’ve sounded, you hope he wouldn’t notice you obviously attempt just to get your hands on him. The way your confidence fleets mod sentence makes him laugh, he decides to humor you.

“Yeah, hell why not. It couldn’t make things worse”

He chuckles a little more before he leans back a little in his chair, watching you sit up to move behind him. Your hands meet his broad shoulders, you feel a rush of confidence as you slide your hand under the top of his jumpsuit to imply you wanted it off, and he obliges. Now the only thing that separated you from his bare skin was this stupid company tee shirt, but it would do for now. You push into his shoulders, up and down his neck, pressing your thumbs along his spine. He’s groaning a little and god does he sound good, you imagine if that’s how he would sound when he was being pleased in a different way too.

“Can you take this off..?”

You don’t fucking THINK before you speak, and your inside thought came out as an actual request, luckily he chuckled more before swiftly sliding it off, how only sporting the rest of his jump suit, and whatever is under it, around his waist. You continue on for a couple more minutes before he speaks,

“[name]?”

“Yes Captain?”

“Why are you doing this?”

The question makes you think twice about what he just said, but you’ve settled on an answer you knew he’d like.

“Just to make you feel good”

He pauses, breathing a little heaving, you just now notice the grip he has on his own thighs, seeming to hold back.

“…You know what would really make me feel good?”

“Yes Captain?”

“Get on your knees.”

“Yes Captain.”

You get down on your knees in front of him, barely controlling the feeling between your legs, he slowly pulls down the rest of his jump suit, watching your face for any signs of hesitation but there was none. He let his clothes pool at the bottom of his boots.

You’re ready, you’ve been ready, you can feel yourself salivating at this situation. He looks just as satisfied about the predicament you too are in as he pulls himself out of his boxers. He’s already hard, letting you know exactly how he feels about this, letting you know that he feels the same as you do.

Your hand takes the place of his holding his shaft, immediately you kiss from the tip to the base, testing the water. He urged you to continue by placing his big hand on the back of your scalp, running his hands through your hair to your roots, getting a sturdy grip on your head. You love it, and just when it couldn’t get any better, he starts speaking to you.

“Hmmn…you look so good, keep going, don’t you wanna make me feel good?” He’s on the verge of moaning while speaking to you, he almost sounded pathetic and desperate, you didn’t mind. It was sexy, and it turned you on too. You take him into your mouth, hoping he’d say more, and he does.

“This is.. what you were wanting right… mmfh shit..”

He starts pushing your head down, making you take more into your mouth, you’re letting drool pool down his shaft while you try not to gag. Even now, this was totally worth it, and he seems to think so too. His head is tilted back and the hand that isn’t in your hair is gripping the ledge of the panel, and he’s mumbling about how good it feels. Experimentally you try to cup him, massaging with your hand while the other rides up to his sides, lightly rubbing the extra flesh on his stomach and settling your grip on his hip.

After a couple minutes of said “experiment” you feel his hips twitching and his sack starting to tense in your hand. Then he suddenly pulls you up, off, and against him

“Not yet, just a little longer..”

He starts kissing your neck up to your ear and then down to your shoulder, leaving marks that get darker as he goes lower. He reaches the collar of your shirt and decides it’s in his way.

“Take all of this off.” He gestured to your clothes.

“Yes Captain.”

You fling your shirt to the other side of the room, and he continues kissing down toward your bra, this time he doesn’t ask and reaches back to unclip it. It falls down your arms and Curly reaches his hands up to cup your chest, lightly massaging them in his hands, similar to what you were doing to him prior.

“You’re so beautiful, you have no idea how tempting you are… you mouth feels better than it looks.”

He continues with these praises, moving his hands up and down your figure, using his hands to map out every part of you. He moves both his hands to your ass, squeezing before slightly lowering them more.

“Jump for me.”

You do and he lifts you from the back of your thighs and you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist, letting his carry you to the nearest clear spot on wall, pinning you against it. Once he’d settled you against the wall he holds you up with his arm around you waist, using the other hand to position himself against your entrance and push in.

You both groan, to you he felt bigger from the inside, and for him this felt way better than your mouth. For a few moments he kept you still, moving hand other hand back to support you from below, then he started moving, every thrust hitting that same spot inside you. His head settles in the crook of your neck, and he’s groaning and breathing in your scent. You’re watching his arms flex while holding you up and moving you on him.

He keeps hitting their spot inside you that you didn’t even know existed, your moans turn into pleads for him to continue,

“Mmn..Curly…please, don’t stop.”

It was quiet but he still heard you, and he loved it. He couldn’t remember if he’s even heard you say his name before, you always addressed him as “Captain” and he never minded that, but the way you said his name gave him goosebumps. You started to see sweat start to accumulate on his back, he seemed to be getting tired of the position.

“Fuck…”

He pulls out and sets you down before grabbing your hip in one hand and bending your back with the other, you brace your hands against the wall while he moves to push himself back into you again. Once he’s in he grabs both of your hips and slamming into you immediately, the forcefulness made you lose balance but his hands keep you steady, you feet end up dragging as he holds you up, using you like a rag doll. The collision of your skin echoed into the large room, the sound drags you into the reality of the situation, thinking about it while Curly continues to use your body makes you finish fast, and very hard. He can feel you contracting around him and soon after his thrusts become frantic and uneven, before he pulls out, finishing against your back. He keeps one hand on you hip the whole time to steady you.

He uses his tip to rub the cum onto your back while you catch your breath. He moves to grab his shirt off the ground to clean you off then you braces you to his chest, breathing in your scent one more time before helping you get dressed. He was gentle and tender, treating you like a porcelain doll. Once he finished getting himself dressed he embraced you again, letting his hand slip into your hair, smoothing it against your head.

“Was that okay?”

He was speaking softly, he genuinely wanted to make sure you were okay.

“Yes, I really enjoyed myself.” you look him in the eyes.

“Thank you…for this I guess, I’m sorry. That sounded weird..” You mentally bash you head into a wall at the lack of cohesiveness in that sentence but it seems like Curly got the point. He smirks at you and huffs out a laugh at the way you stumbled on your words

“I should be thanking you, little lady. You did an amazing job.”

He smirks at you when he says the second have of the sentence, knowing that his praises would make you feel hot again. You have no words going through your head in response to his comment, you just couldn’t take your eyes off of him. You couldn’t believe that your crush on your superior would ever get you this far, after about 30 seconds of you staring he laid his hand on your face. You lean your face into his hand and he leaned down to kiss you, running his thumb over your cheek.

You two kiss for a solid couple of minutes, he takes his time remembering this moment you. After you both pull away, he looks you in your eyes and smiles,

"Pretty sure we missed dinner."

He chuckles a little, you think about what he said for a second, and at first the initial thought of just skipping dinner wasn't too concerning, then you realize the implication this would definitely give your crew-mates is.

"Fuck."

[ofswordsandpens]

lowkey it’s a relief to know someone else who didn’t enjoy sunrise on the reaping because i really (sadly) disliked it but everytime i check the sotr tag it’s nothing but praise. it’s not entirely unwarranted because the general ideas and themes of this book ARE good they’re just… not done with the finesse and skill i’ve come to expect from suzanne collins.

but if you want to, i’d love to hear more of your thoughts on the book and its problems, especially re: haymitch’s characterization and the rebel subplot.

I think the crux of the issue of SOTR for me is that while it is a very interesting story with powerful concepts and messaging and themes, it doesn't quite feel like it was supposed to be Haymitch's story.

It feels a little too at odds at times from what we learn of Haymitch when Katniss and Peeta watch his games in Catching Fire. And before anyone tells me "that's the point!" or "you're falling for Capitol propaganda! We all fell for Capitol propaganda!!" the issue here is that no, I don't think we did, because when SC wrote about Haymitch's games in Catching Fire, I doubt she was doing it in mind of a Haymitch prequel more than a decade down the line that would recontextualize the entire story. I think what she wrote in Catching Fire in 2009 about Haymitch's games is exactly what it was supposed to be.

Then I think present day SC sat down to write sotr and decided she wanted to write a story about the long-standing power of propaganda. That rebellions are long burning and slow building and people will try and fail and try again. And so she adapted Haymitch's story to fit those themes.

And that's fine! It's fine that it's a bit of a retcon. A retcon doesn't have to be inherently bad and I did find SOTR entertaining overall but like I said, I don't think it fits so cleanly with the rest of the trilogy as others seem to think it does.

For instance, taking these scenes from Catching Fire:

Given what know now from SOTR... well Katniss and Peeta's understandings and takeaways aren't quite right anymore, are they? "But what she doesn't know, and what he does, is that the ax will return." The implication here being that Haymitch planned that moment. But actually Katniss, that's wrong! Haymitch wasn't intentionally leading Silka to the cliff to use the forcefield against her, that was all a complete accident. And it's even worse because Katniss follows it up with: "I think I finally know who Haymitch is. And I'm beginning to know who I am." because now this is a scene where she's actually misreading Haymitch to a degree. Sure, her final conclusion is still ultimately correct: She and Haymitch are both people who have caused the Capitol trouble. And she's right in more ways now than she can know but she's also wrong about Haymitch in a significant way as well. (And it sucks because I've seen so many takes now joking about how Katniss is just sooooo bad at reading people but guys I think she was spot on here until Haymitch's story was altered lmao)

And then, just in a general sense, I think the pacing of SOTR is odd at times. I also think it occasionally suffers from a telling instead of showing, being a bit more heavy-handed in its messaging where the original trilogy wasn't. (Like when Haymitch abruptly called Maysilee his sister, just to make sure that we the readers understood their dynamic).

I also struggled to get into Haymitch's and Lenore Dove's romance because despite him waxing poetic about her every page, we only had a single chapter to establish their relationship and her character before they spend the rest of the book apart until the very end. And its a struggle for me because her presence takes up so much of the story and his thoughts, to a degree that I almost felt I wasn't reading about Haymitch anymore at times. On the flip side, I felt like his brother and mother didn't take up nearly enough of his headspace. Like Sid gets pretty much a single line in the epilogue in a sea of Lenore Dove paragraphs.

As for Haymitch's characterization... this is where we get far more into a personal preference territory, but I won't lie, I was and still am far more partial to a "resourceful Haymitch exploring the arena out of his own volition and outsmarting the gamemakers through his own ingenuity" instead of a "resourceful Haymitch acting out a rebel plan from others". I also am more interested in a Haymitch that lead Silka to the cliff to goad her into essentially killing herself than a Haymitch that ended up there seemingly just to escape her or buy time. And sure Haymitch was still intelligent in SOTR, but too often it felt like he was no longer the driving force in his own story. (which very well might have been the point? but if it was, then the execution of it didn't do much for me).

As for the rebel subplot: conceptually I thought it was interesting... but again, I thought the execution of it left a lot to be desired as it completely lost me the moment Haymitch wasn't insta-killed after blowing the water system. And I know we're given in-universe reasons for why he wasn't killed, but I simply can't buy into it. There were still plenty of tributes left, so it's not like the game makers and Snow had to keep him around. I don't think it would have mattered how popular Haymitch was at that point to the viewers. Haymitch also hadn't done anything yet that couldn't have been edited out so it's not like he had to be kept around by Snow and made into an example for other victors. And I think Haymitch had "suffered" enough in the games at that point for Snow to take him out with mutts. (ALSO - I couldn't help but feel that this rebel plot might have been better suited to an Ampert-centered story? Since Ampert seems to be driving so much of the crucial, behind the scenes work that is.)

But this is grossly long so to wrap this up: In my ideal world, this prequel would have gone one of two ways.

(1) A prequel with the themes and messaging and storylines of SOTR but centered on a different character (Ampert? A career, even? This could be an entirely different year of games with no Haymitch)

(2) A Haymitch prequel, but his games are way more in-line with what we were presented with in Catching Fire (still with a degree of propaganda), no beetee-rebel subplot, and we would've spent more time before the games in district 12, as well as after the games tracking his downward spiral.

[ohimsummer]

✎ . . .❝ KEEP IT ON, ANGEL…❞

— satosugu x fem! reader, shoko might be a little into you, pet names (princess, angel) bratty reader, slightly suggestive near the end, outfit is inspired by something like this

summary; you're all getting ready to go out, but both your boyfriends' clothes make a better outfit than your own

Shoko steadily eyes your silhouette behind the partition, watches as you eventually step out in your third outfit of the night. A pout is still etched onto your glossed lips, and she giggles at the exasperated stomp of your bare foot against the floor. Heaving out a sigh, you look over your figure in the nearby floor-to-ceiling mirror. This fit looks nice, cute even…but it's just not good enough. Your last handfuls of attire have all been missing something, a certain razzle-dazzle that left them lackluster and needing a little something more.

“Well?”, Shoko asks, though the answer is evident from your adorable frown and stiff pose. “This one a winner?”

You hum in response, throwing your hands on your hips and lolling your head to the side in a desperate attempt to make the outfit work. Maybe a different angle will make it look better is your logic. Alas, it has the same problem as your previous attempts.

You groan. “I don’t like it.”

“Looks cute, though.” You’re too busy drowning out the bickering from the bathroom and wondering where this outfit went wrong to notice how her eyes trace over your body.

What you do notice, however, is Suguru’s shirt laying idly on the bed.

It’s a neatly ironed black tee decorated with warm-coloured graphics on the front of some band Suguru liked to listen to. Shoko follows your gaze to the shirt, but remains quiet. She decides to see where you might go with this.

You glance towards the bathroom. In the mirror, you catch a sneak peak of Suguru’s irritated expression as he fails to tune out Satoru’s nonsensical rambling. Both are too busy sabotaging eachother to spot you prancing over to the bed where their clothes are laid out. Next to Suguru’s shirt is Gojo’s black, leather jacket, lustrous and extremely expensive. The gears are starting to turn in your head. Shoko, intrigued, watches you strip down at record speed. The faster you can get their clothes on, the easier it’ll be for you to keep them. You slide Suguru’s oversized shirt over your body, fabric still a little warm even though it's been a minute since he ironed it. The shirt hangs loosely around your waist; you’ll fix that in a second. Satoru’s jacket is cool and heavy on your skin, but it looks incredible with the shirt.

“Need a hand?” Your attention draws to the couch, where Shoko balances a few safety pins between her fingers.

It takes a couple minutes to pin the shirt how you like, and you both listen for the end of the boys' bickering to make sure they don't catch the two little partners in crime. In the end, the final result looks amazing. Geto's tee now fits you like a glove, and the thigh high stiletto boots really bring the whole thing together. All that’s left is a matching handbag and accessories, so off you disappear into the closet. You’re so engrossed in the hunt for that one name-brand handbag from Satoru, that the pair of heavy footsteps approaching you from behind fall on deaf ears.

“Hey.” Suguru says to you, appearing over your now frozen form kneeled on the carpet. “My shirt. Where is it?”

Satoru chimes in from his spot leant against the doorframe. “And hand over my jacket, would ya, princess?”

You cross your arms underneath your chest, plumping your tits up just enough to get them to stare, and jut your lips out in a pout as you glare up at them both. “But I’m wearing them.”

“...And who authorized that idea?”, Geto asks in that ever-so-tolerant tone of his.

“They looked abandoned to me," You quip back. “And the shirt’s wrinkled now, anyway." You turn your attention back to the shelf of handbags. "It needs re-ironing, so might as well just find somethin' else.”

Satoru interrupts before Suguru can argue any further. “Okay. And my jacket?”

“Mine now.” You reply in a sing-songy tease, topped off with the same shit-eating grin Satoru's always giving everyone else, and blink your lashes up at them. “Besides, I look great as fuck! You two aren’t gonna make me take it off now when I look so-," You tuck a hand under your chin and breathe out," ravishing, are you?”

Gojo chuckles and starts to fire back, “We’re gonna end up taking it off you later anyw-“

“Fine.” Suguru quickly cuts him off. “Fine. Keep it on, angel.”

Even a deaf person could hear the absolutely treacherous tone laced beneath the pet name. But if there’s one thing you and Satoru are good at, it is waning a poor Suguru Geto’s patience.

“Thank you, Suguru, so kind, so generous.” You purr his name and give Geto those puppy dog eyes that make him wanna choke you on his fingers. And you’re sure he will, later when Shoko has long gone home.

“Hmph.” Gojo pouts over Geto’s shoulder. “No wonder she’s so spoiled when you give her everything she wants.”

And just like that, you’re coming for Gojo as well, pouting and whining at him, “You gonna take your jacket back from me, Satoru?”

Geto turns to look at him and, underneath two pairs of eyes, suddenly the great Satoru Gojo finds the closet wall extremely interesting. He really wanted to wear that jacket out to the festival tonight, but when you whine his name like that…

His thoughts are interrupted as Suguru gives a huff and shrugs out of his grasp, turning to exit the closet. “No wonder she’s so spoiled.”

“Shut up, Suguru.” You can hear Geto and Shoko laughing at him in the next room. And, now that their attention has moved elsewhere, you can focus on finding that pesky, elusive handbag.

[swiftsdelucaa]

Hello!

I was re-watching greys firsts seasons and saw that scene with izzie and george when she hugs him and says "i want you to be happy, if callie makes you happy then go be with callie".

So maybe you could could make a jackson avery finding out that his ex is getting married to alex karev and he feels like his world is falling apart?

Maybe they broke up because he was falling for kepner and she started hanging around with alex and he was like "i would never let you go if you were with me"

Alex and y/n are engame :)

❛ 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒏𝒆 ❜

𝙋𝙖𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜: Alex Karev x reader ♡

𝘼/𝙣: Yes omg sorry I haven't died, I'm lowkey back now 😭 Hope you like it btw !

Since the day you and Alex decided to get married every day seemed to be so good for you. Believing it was still difficult, but indeed it was all real and you were so happy.

Alex Karev getting married? Hell, you must have really changed him. When you and him started to hang around and getting close he made you feel like the luckiest girl ever, which was difficult to believe. It was a moment where you were still feeling so bad from your last relationship.

Jackson had been one of the most important people in your life, of course you couldn't forget it. But he chose someone else. And that hurt you a lot.

You found so much comfort in Alex that actually you didn't even think was possible, but he suddenly became so important to you. At first it wasn't really easy, you knew he wasn't really a people's person, but you found a way with him and he was always the best with you.

The moment where everything started was maybe one of the cutest that you could've never forget. It was a late evening and you both have had a long ass shift; between random but nice talks he couldn't stop listening at you yapping even if he was so tired, he just loved that, he loved every simple little detail of you.

“Damn, I would never let you go if you were with me” those words had came out of his mouth in such a spontaneous way that you finally understood he was the one, well just the one you really needed. And look at you now.

However, the news had already spread in the whole hospital and everyone looked so excited for you two. Everyone but Jackson. You couldn't understand why as you both moved on, yet his reaction was so... cold. You decided not to touch the topic, after all it would have been useless. This was a new chapter of your life that you clearly wanted to enjoy.

When Jackson had heard about you and Alex he couldn't exactly describe what kind of feelings started to manifest inside him. All that you had was perfect and he screwed up everything, he knew that. And right now it seemed like if the idea of you with someone else was unacceptable.

Today you had to scrub in together in a surgery, it didn't bother you that much. Luckily for the whole time in that room everything stayed professional. Just silence and medical talks. Until the end of the operation.

“So” he started as you two were still scrubbing out “You and Karev...”

“What?” he did it. He had started with that and you couldn't believe that.

“Nothing, just... I'm actually happy for you guys. But don't you think you're rushing a bit too much?” he went straight to the point.

“No. He really loves me Jackson, and so do I” you simply replied. You could still feel his gaze on you. “And you are the last person I'd rather to talk about this honestly” you then said.

“I didn't mean anything else with that Y/n, I just want you to be happy. And if Alex makes you happy then go and be with Alex” his tone sounded really honest as he pronounced those words.

“Well, thanks, but I didn't need your permission. Like you didn't need mine to run to Kepner. But what matters now is that we are both happy I guess” you took off your scrub cap. “See you around” was the last thing you told him before leaving the room. As you walked out you let out a deep sighed, thinking about the last five minutes. You and Jackson never had a real conversation after the break up, so this felt almost right. Maybe you needed it.

Jackson watched you leave, knowing well he couldn't do or say anything else. He couldn't accept the fact he was losing you, but he had already lost you.

After your shift was done you came back home to Alex, who was already there. He smiled at you when he saw you walking in and got up from the couch. He greeted you with a soft kiss that you reciprocated. Then he looked at you, noticing a hint of overthinking in your face.

“Is everything ok?” he asked.

You looked at him, your lips curved into a smile as in that moment you were able to forget the whole day. “Yes... Just tired” you gave him another little kiss.

For the rest of the evening you've been laying in bed together and dicussing about some details for the wedding, you two had so many different ideas, but it was funny. That was definitely the best part of the day.

[schlattslonghairytoes]

omg wait i just sent in the baby it’s cold outside request and im now realizing that YOU PLANTEF THE SEED IN MY BRAIN WITH YOUR HCS WHEN I CATCH YOU!!

but if you don’t mind could you please go more into depth with that idea pls pls pls

the christmas spirit

you were sat on your sofa watching you boyfriends newest podcast episode, you were sorting through your own footage when you hear him talk about making a christmas album

now you knew he could sing, but an album worried you, he was no sinatra. so you decided to call him up and see what he was thinking

you clicked on his contact and began calling "jayjay😏" after 5 rings you really considered giving up, but you finally saw the word connecting

you again considered hanging up when he answered the phone looking like this.

"what." he groaned it a low pitched voice, you giggled before realizing what time it was by him

"jay why were you sleeping at five P.M" you squinted your eyes at him

"im tired." he deadpanned. you sighed before laughing again at his mad face, before you could speak he began to stretch and the angle where he dropped his phone gave you a full view of his beautiful body.

"do you know hot you are?" you ask admiring your boyfriend.

"ill hang up on you, slut." he never did like compliments.

"brat, anyways." you rolled your eyes "i just finished watching chuckle, you looked very cute, but what was this about a christmas album?"

his face lit up "i forgot to tell you! okay so remember my way, well i know you remember it but you get it, i wanted a new project to focus on so im going to make a christmas album!"

schlatt found it very hard to focus on one thing for a prolonged period of time, but he always loved singing so you believed this would be good for him.

"babe and how are you gonna do that?" you questioned, he began to pout as he walked to his bathroom and set down his phone on the counter

"what you dont beweve in me?" he asked in a weird baby voice, while alos having a mouth full of toothpaste

"gross. no of course i do, but i mean your gonna need a producer, a person to re-write the music so you can own it, a vocal coach, how much is this gonna cost you?" you voiced your concerns

"not as much as ill make from it" he laughed

"ugh i hate you" a sigh escaped you but he persisted

"and one more thing.. i want you to be in it."

-if there is one thing you knew about yourself, it was that you were not about to be one of those youtubers who started making shitty music

-so when i tell you it took a long time to get schlatt to convince you to be on the album, it took months

-but when you eventually came around schlatt was ecstatic

-and honestly you were kinda excited too, you would get to see your boyfriend after not seeing him for over a month

-and with this album drop, you both agreed it would basically be your own version of a hard launch

-you wanted to pick songs that would compliment both of your voices, but also make it pretty clear you were more then just friends

-you chose santa baby and baby its cold outside, but schlatt added another, your favorite song, something stupid by frank and nancy sinatra

-you were so excited to see him that the thought of having to sing that well didnt even cross your mind

-but you boarded your flight to LA without second thought, excited to see your favorite boy when you landed

schlatt fucking hates Los Angeles, its hot, the people suck ass, theres always traffic, and right now, the fact that your not with him is driving him insane.

your flight should be landing any minute, and hes sitting in an airport trying to hide and make sure no one recognizes him.

the reason that becoming increasingly difficult is because fucking jack manifold, tom simons, and harry tornado (average harry), waltz off the plane, into the airport, in los angeles.

where everyone is always looking for someone to recognize.

schlatt is hiding twenty feet away from them, but hes already gotten noticed four times, the man cant catch a break.

he just wants to see his girlfriend, not interact with his fuckass fans

that fact that your relationship was private didnt help, he would one hundred percent makeout with you in the middle of the airport, but now that you have planned your hardlaunch he has to contain himself.

harry and jack were taking a picture with a fan, and tom was pissing as usual when schlatt finally saw you

he launched himself up and flailed his arms around like a clown to you, when you saw him you bolted across the floor and threw your bags at harry, who fell over from the force.

like flat on his ass.

you ran and jumped your man “i missed you so much baby” you laughed

“there is a group of teenage girls to your left that have their phones out, i love you so fucking much but save it for the bnb.” he smiled down at you

you giggled and looked over at the six girls, who were activley ignoring harry and tom who were awkwardly standing by them

"holy fucking shit im your biggest fan, please please please can i get a picture with you ive been watching you since i was fucking ten." one girl yelled

"kezia shut the hell up your gonna scare her away." another slapped her

"alanna you dont understand." she wailed

"you look alot like our art teacher" another added

"renn arent you a patron of her podcast?" holy fuck there were so many of them

they all began yelling over eachother and fan girling over you, "do you guys want a picture, or we can make a tiktok or something, up to you guys." you said politely

"can i be in it?" harry asked quietly

"um, sorry, who are you?" tom and jack started hysterically laughing and slapping harry

you guys ended up making a funny tiktok in the middle of LAX and they told you they were all friends because of an art class they have together.

after you all said our goodbyes you all loaded into ted's truck that schlatt was borrowing to haul you all around

you got in the passenger seat as schlatt went over the plan for the week

"okay, we have an airbnb for all of us, but two of you have to share a room, theres three in total. so jack tom and harry two of you will have to be sharing a bed, no homo in my airbnb do ya' hear me?"

they all burst out laughing and agree to schlatts terms

"okay, today once all of you are back at the bnb, im gonna head to the studio to record my solo songs, tommora' im recording with tom and jack, harry you can tag along or whatever, wednesday me and you are together"

he rested his hand on your thigh as he looked at you, his eyes full of stars, looking at you as if you had hung them

"then Thursday, me ludwig, quackity and theo are gonna be down there, the rest of the week is scheduled incase we need to re-record anything or just have fun, everyone undertand?"

he squeezed your thigh as he drove, eyes locked on you

"eyes on the road buddy" you pushed his head foward and sat back in your seat admiring you boyfriend as your friends wrestled in the back.

"harry cut it out, tom stop touching his bum or whatever you britsh fucks call it. youre being gay man, what did i say about that." schlatt jokes, he told you privately that he was bisexual so you knew his jokes were simply just jokes

you watched him as he yelled at the monkeys in the back seat and all you could think is how good of a dad hes going to be, you've spoke about kids before, and your both on the same page which is a huge relief.

you thought about what features your kids would get from him, and god you hoped it was his nose, you loved his nose.

"can ya' stop thinking so hard i swear i can hear your thought." he laughed as he stopped at a red light, looking over to you again

"i just love you so much." you laughed

"ew mom and dad are gonna fuck!" tom gagged

"get a room you perverts" harry lent over the middle console and made smooching noises, schlatt grabbed his face and pushed him back into his seat.

"this is gonna be a long fucking week, im gonna kill myself i swear." schlatt scoffed

"take me with you then" you sighed and slouched into your seat.

day one. (six days remaining)

you woke up with schlatts arms wrapped around your waist, good start.

you both woke up early so you could get breakfast for you and your kids, as you walked up the streets of LA all you could think about is how you want to spend the rest of your life with this man.

"penny for your thoughts?" he laughed, but was one of his calm laughs that was so genuine and unforced

"just love you, love us y'know? i wanna have a big house, a cat, maybe a dog, some little you's running around, i just cant wait to move in with you next month"

"if you say anything like that again ill fuck you right here. dont test me, im gonna have to walk around witha' boner now you whore"

your laugh escaped you and you had to bend over and stop walking as you look up at your now tomoato colored boyfriend.

"c'mon keep it moving." he gunted, a small smiled appearing on his stone cold face.

you ate breakfast together then made your way back to the bnb to deliver food to your "kiddos", soon after they all left for the studio so you decided to start a little project of your own, a suprise one

since schlatt was going to hard launch your realationship through something he loved, you decided you'd do the same

a little video about the love of your life

day two (five days remaining)

you and schlatt repeated the same routine in the morning, you went and got breakfast, went back the bnb, got changed and finally left for the studio

on your walk there schlatt warned you about the homeless person right infront of the studio

"no im so serious, he actually tried to stab me two days ago, and when i finaly got away from him he started yelling how he could take me, and not in a fight. let me tell you, he was not my type."

you both walked into the studio to be met by a italian man named David, but it was pronounced daviday.

he directed you both to a booth were you were instructed to drink tea and blow bubbles into a cup

"babe im starting to get nervous, if i fuck up, or have a voice crack, and you laugh at me. so help me god im breaking up with you" you told him

"lemme tell you what happened yesterday" he sat down and began drinking his tea. "i let harry sing one line on jingle bells and his voice went up and octave and cracked. it was so funny holy shit, i have to get that recording."

you both contiuned talking about the recording process so far, until david told you he was ready to begin, starting with baby its cold outside and you were gonna do a full run through no matter the mistakes.

the music counted in and you started off the song "i really cant stay" you sang. then your boyfriend came in with "but baby, its cold outside" and your eyes widened at how good he sounded

you went through the full thing and after the last line you laughed until you heard davids voice, "both of you, that was shit, do it again."

schlatt didnt even seem fazed by this. holy fuck you were in for a long day.

once david was semi happy with that song you moved onto something stupid, and that one went by much faster.

but the song you were dreading most was next, mostly cause you had to carry the whole song

schlatt started off the ong with the iconic bu-bum, bu-bum' when your voice came in "santa, baby, just slip a sable under the tree for me, been an awful good girl."

as you sang your eyes looked up at him an winked before you focused on singing again.

schlatt continued through the song, but the moment you were done, he scurred off to the bathroom while you did certain lines and verses over and over

when he came back, his face was significantly redder, but you just laughed and moved on, too focused on perfecting your song

you had been recording for over 12 hours now, both of you exhausted.

when you were finally done it was two am.

you called an uber and headed back to the bnb

as you fell asleep on schlatts chest, all you could think about was how you couldnt wait to upload the album, and finally live with the love of your life.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Kojo Bradford, Wingman

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader (+ the one and only Kojo)

Summary: Tim is (still) a bachelor, until Kojo decides to change that.

Warnings: FLUFF! Kojo's thoughts (italicized) are from 101 Dalmatians

Word Count: 1.4k+ words

A/N: KOJO!!!

It was plain to see that my old pet needed someone. But if it were left up to Tim, we’d be bachelors forever. He was married to his work. Catching bad guys… Oh, he’s intelligent enough, as humans go. And I think you could say that Tim is a rather handsome animal in his way. I could see no reason why my pet didn’t deserve an attractive mate. At least, I was determined to do my best. Of course, dogs are a pretty poor judge of human beauty. But I had a rough idea of what to look for… It was a problem. A real problem… Well, now that’s a bit more like it! It was almost too good to be true… Ah, they’re heading for the park. A perfect meeting place, if I could only arrange it.

Kojo has the frisbee in his mouth, and Tim is squatted, waiting for him to return with it. Suddenly, though, Kojo sprints in the other direction.

“Kojo! You- Boot, get back here!” Tim yells, running after him with the leash in his hand.

✯✯✯✯✯

The park is one of your favorite places to hang out and relax. Sitting on a bench, you glance up from your book when you hear the water in the small pond ripple. You don't, however, see a dog slowing as he trots toward you.

I couldn’t depend on Tim. He’d settle on the grass, and that would be it. No, it was all up to me. Well…

Something lands in your lap, and you move your book to the side to look.

“Oh, hi there,” you say, smiling as you pat the dog’s head.

At first, I had no particular plan, just anything to attract attention.

“Who are you supposed to be with, buddy?” you ask, running your hand over his collar until you find his name tag. “Kojo?”

His tail wags and your smile widens as you look around for his owner.

“Kojo!” someone yells.

You look away from Kojo, who doesn’t move his wide, puppy gaze from you. The man stepping around the tree searching for Kojo is undeniably attractive, and you smile when his eyes meet yours.

“I think I met a friend of yours,” you say as he hooks Kojo’s leash to his collar.

“I’m so sorry,” he apologizes.

“No need, Kojo’s a sweetie.”

“Well, thank you.” 

Nodding, you return your attention to your book as Kojo lifts his head to look at his owner.

“What were you thinking, buddy?” the man asks quietly.

Glancing at your watch, you notice it has gotten later than you realized. Sliding your book into your bag, you stand and walk in the opposite direction of Kojo.

For a while, it seemed to work. At least they had seen one another. Things were going along first-rate. But for some strange reason, she left!

✯✯✯✯✯

Kojo pulls on his leash, moving as quickly as possible toward your retreating figure. He's practically dragging Tim, but he needs to catch you.

“Kojo! What is your problem? Stop!” Tim demands, holding the leash tightly as he follows Kojo as well as he can.

But I wasn’t giving up. I was determined that, somehow, they just had to meet.

Kojo catches up to you, and Tim notices a moment too late what Kojo is doing.

✯✯✯✯✯

You hear Kojo bark lowly just before he walks before you, his leash digging into your legs as he keeps circling. As you turn with his movement, you run into his handsome owner from a few minutes ago. Your hands are on his chest as his arms instinctively wrap around you.

“I am so sorry,” he apologizes, trying to get Kojo to walk back around.

“It’s fine,” you promise. “Just don’t-“

Before you can say ‘tip over,’ he leans too far, accidentally falling backward and pulling you with him. You land on top of him, his arms still around you.

“Oh my gosh, are you okay?” you ask.

Kojo barks, and you look at him, smiling as you see his tail wagging quickly.

“I’m fine. Are you?”

Nodding, you move sideways so one of your hips is on the ground as you reach down and uncurl the leash from your joined legs.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. Standing, he offers his hands and asks, “Please let me help.”

“Thanks.”

“Kojo,” he chides. “I really don’t know what made him do that. He’s never done anything like this before.”

“Well, no, I can’t imagine he has. He’s a sweetheart.”

“You- are you not mad?”

You laugh, and he soon joins you. Now that he thinks of it, the situation really is funny. Kojo sits beside you, looking like he’s smiling.

Offering your hand, you introduce yourself.

“Tim Bradford,” he replies, shaking your hand kindly. “And you’ve met Kojo.”

“I think Kojo might have done that on purpose,” you whisper. “In which case, he’s a pretty good wingman.”

Tim smiles at you as he agrees, “Yes, he is.”

✯✯✯✯✯

✯✯✯✯✯

“Kojo!” you call, setting your bag by the door.

He makes a lot of noise as he runs to greet you, but you still hear Tim’s grumbled complaints.

“Always want to see my dog before me,” he says.

“Hey, without this beautiful dog right here, I wouldn’t even know you and you’d still be devastatingly single.”

Tim rolls his eyes, offering a hand. He wraps his hand around yours, pulling you into his chest and kissing your forehead. Kojo barks, looking toward his leash, which hangs by the door.

“I don’t know what’s worse, that you won’t let me forget Kojo introduced us or that he seems to know,” Tim muses.

“He’s a good boy.”

Shaking his head, Tim clips Kojo’s leash on, holding it in one hand while the other wraps around your shoulders.

Once you're at the park, you sit on the grass beside Tim, watching him and Kojo play. When Kojo gets tired, panting heavily, he walks to your side and lays down, placing his head in your lap just as he did the day you and Tim met.

“Just don’t knock us over this time,” you tell him, laying your hand on his head as you pet him.

“I wouldn’t be completely opposed to it,” Tim hums as he joins you.

✯✯✯✯✯

“What is Kojo wearing?” Angela asks. “And why is Kojo here?”

“He’s wearing a tie,” Tim answers. “I didn’t choose it, don’t ask. And he’s here because we’re on our way somewhere.”

“You’re proposing,” Angela realizes.

“Yes,” Tim answers as Kojo barks once in reply.

“That is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen and I will never let you live this down.”

“I- I can’t even care right now.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Kojo, my handsome boy!” you yell, kneeling so Kojo can run into your arms. “Tim, my other handsome boy.”

Tim asked you to meet him in the park after work, and you’ve been looking forward to it all day.

“Kojo, lead the way,” Tim calls.

You furrow your brows but don’t hesitate to loop your arm through Tim’s and follow Kojo down a path to the bench where you first met Tim. Fairy lights are strung in the tree above it, and while you watch Kojo jump onto the bench, you miss Tim pulling his arm from yours.

When you turn toward him, Tim is kneeling on the path, looking up at you with a small velvet box in his hand.

“Tim,” you gasp.

“This was Kojo’s idea, too, but let me finish before you say anything, okay?”

Nodding quickly, you can’t bring yourself to look away from Tim even when Kojo nudges his head against your hand, arriving at your side.

“Even though I didn’t know what I was missing, meeting you completed me, you completed me. And I will never be able to tell you enough – or thank Kojo enough,” Tim says, licking his lips when he sees the tears in your eyes. “So, will you do me…” Kojo barks again, and Tim adds, “me and Kojo the honor of marrying me?”

Unable to speak, you drop toward Tim, trusting him to catch you as you cling to him, nodding excitedly as tears stream down your face.

“Kojo,” Tim warns.

You laugh when you feel a leash drag across your side. Tim catches him by the collar, bringing him into the hug.

“I love you,” you whisper. “And I love you, Kojo. Thank you, buddy.”

[puttersmile]

Smiling Critters OC: Ruby Rivers

Ruby Rivers is technically the main character of the Critter Crossing AU. An animator who worked within the in house animation studio of PlayCo. Also worked on commercials and box art. She was a pretty down to earth person but some of her co-workers believed in some weird things.

Here is some story stuff written like emails. To give some backstory. Enjoy!

From: Ruby Rivers

To: Peter Klein

Date: April 12, 1991

Time: 10:23 AM

Hey Pete,

Got your notes from yesterday’s meeting. Thanks for following up. I noticed you didn’t mention anything about your “poppy ink theory.” Maybe you realized it sounds a bit, well, out there?

You know I’m all for creative energy and inspiration—who wouldn’t be in this line of work? But this idea that our work is alive? Or that ink mixed with poppy seeds could somehow “bridge worlds”? Come on. Feels like you’ve been spending too much time watching the Twilight Zone.

Let’s not forget the real world here: poppy seeds contain weird compounds that can mess with your head. I’m pretty sure you’re not summoning spirits; you’re just getting secondhand microdosed. If anything, it’s probably giving folks mild hallucinations, not creating sentient cartoons.

Ruby

PS: Good idea switching to personal emails. I think our boss wasn't enjoying your crazy talk! No offense.

Subject: Re: Meeting Follow-Up

From: Peter Klein

To: Ruby Rivers

Date: April 12, 1991

Time: 11:09 AM

Ruby,

You’re missing the point! Sure, poppy seeds have… side effects, but this isn’t just about the ink. Have you ever thought about why characters like Dogday and Catnap feel so real? Why their stories seem to write themselves? Or why we all end up saying, “That’s exactly what Dogday would do” as if he’s deciding, not us?

I’m telling you, the ink might just be the catalyst. Look at the anomalies: the way sketches sometimes seem to shift slightly after we leave the room, or how animation frames appear more fluid than the tech should allow. Did you know Jill said she dreamed of Dogday last week, warning her not to approve a particular scene? She swears she woke up to find her storyboard reworked—better than before!

Something’s happening here, Ruby. Whether you believe it or not, you can’t deny the connection we feel with these characters.

Pete

Subject: Re: Meeting Follow-Up

From: Ruby Rivers

To: Peter Klein

Date: April 12, 1991

Time: 11:37 AM

Pete,

��Sketches shifting”? “Dream warnings”? That’s not supernatural, that’s sleep deprivation and caffeine overload. I don’t know why Jill redid her storyboard, but it wasn’t Dogday whispering in her ear. Maybe she was inspired and forgot about it—our brains are weird like that.

And yeah, we connect with the characters. We created them, after all. But they’re not real. They’re reflections of us, our ideas, and our teamwork. And a unhelpfully healthy dose of instructions from the higher ups. But anyway, That’s why they seem alive—it’s projection, not some alternate dimension leaking into the studio. Come on, Pete.

As for the ink, I’ll humor you for a second. Let’s say it does something weird. You think PlayCo would let us use it if they knew it could, I don’t know, break reality? They’d sell it as a toy themselves if it were that special.

Ruby

Subject: Re: Meeting Follow-Up

From: Peter Klein

To: Ruby Rivers

Date: April 12, 1991

Time: 12:15 PM

Ruby,

Have you looked at the new toy prototypes yet? You might be more right than you think, Ruby.

You don’t have to believe me, but don’t dismiss it entirely. You said it yourself—our characters are reflections of us. What if those reflections are more than just ideas? What if they’re connected to something bigger?

Remember the early versions of Dogday and Catnap? You told me once that you used to imagine Hot Clawffee and Snoozle Dreamhound sitting on your shoulders, like little muses. Maybe that’s closer to the truth than you think. Maybe they’re still there, influencing what you create.

I’ll leave you with this: if these characters weren’t real in some way, why would they mean so much to us?

Pete

Subject: Re: Meeting Follow-Up

From: Ruby Rivers

To: Peter Klein

Date: April 12, 1991

Time: 1:08 PM

Pete,

Hot Clawffee and Snoozle Dreamhound were my creations, and yeah, I still think about them. Sometimes when I’m stuck on a scene, I picture them sitting on my shoulders, one whispering something clever, the other reminding me to take a nap. It’s silly, but it helps. Kind of soothes my wounded pride that PlayCo wanted so many changes.

Eh Dogday is fine. But Catnap. When I see the big one walking around in that orphan city, it creeps me out like crazy. I can barely stand to look at it directly. But this is getting off topic!

All of that is just my imagination, not proof of anything supernatural. Characters are important because we pour ourselves into them, not because they’re alive. And I won’t deny that Dogday and Catnap feel like they’ve taken on lives of their own in some ways. We are working near unethical work hours in this place. Probably why we are hearing and seeing strange shit.

So no, I don’t think we’re breaking any laws of nature here. But I’ll admit this much: these characters matter. To us at least. And the kids. Not because they’re "real", but because they remind us of the best parts of ourselves. That's just how I see it.

But anyway, I've got to go turn in some animatics. See you later.

Ruby

[holycowboytiger]

(Platonic!) NikPrice x Reader

this thought has been kicking around in my mind for some time now so i decided to let myself ramble

CW: Neglect, child abuse, alcoholism, underage smoking,

Author knows nothing about cars yet writes about them

(Reader is implied to be in their teens and is a little shit at first)

(mostly uneditited and not re read, word vomit if you must)

Imagining Nikolai and Price finally settling down together in some small town, planning to live out the rest of their years in peace, away from the danger- away from everything.

It's quaint, even if it takes a while to get used to, it's a nice coastal town, John always loved the seaside, and Nikolai likes colder weather, this town seemed perfect for the two of them- even if the housewives fill the streets with gossip, and the teens are rowdy, and everyone manages to know everyone's business, it was never too hard to just.. blend in.

Price is scarily good at keeping himself away from the gossip circles, but every once in a while he'll indulge to get a better idea of what the people are like around here, he doesn't care that Mary is getting a divorce, or that Phil is sure that his kid is actually the mailman's, but he does care about whose dangerous, and who could be a threat.

To his relief, whenever he brings up troublemakers, the only name that is spoken of is yours, just some random teen with an attitude that likes to scuffle with other kids and graffiti walls or bridges sometimes.

He figured you were just a stereotypical teen who thinks the world is out to get you, and you'll settle down in a few years, he's sure your parents will straighten you out, he does feel a little bad that grown adults are gossiping about you tho..

''Really they are so disrespectful!''

''Ugh Charlotte I know! My daughter came home smelling.. weed, turns out she was hanging out with them, you best fucking believe I nipped that friendship in the bud''

''with any luck they'll turn out better than that father of theirs, disgraceful''

Ok this was just.. foul- you cant be that bad? You're just a kid..? Shit maybe the world isn't out to get you but this town certainly is.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

At home, John opened the door and kicked off his boots, still annoyed with the neighbourhood gossip session.

''John?''

''It's me Nik''

''How'd It go? Make any friends?'' He chuckled, obviously teasing, walking into the hallway with a bottle of beer in his hand

''Think I'd rather go back to active duty before I even consider befriending any of those cunts''

''That bad?'' Nikolai raised his brow before he handed John his beer, watching as John downed the thing in seconds ''They're so.. Judgemental..''

''They've got nothin better to do hun''

John shook his head, moving towards Nikolai and wrapping his arms around his waist, sighing into the crook of his neck ''You weren't there Nik''

He stepped back, letting Nik hold his face ''What is it? Are you ok?''

''I'm fine its just... they seem to have it out for this one kid-''

''Maybe they're a little shit-''

''Nik-''

''I jest- I jest..''

John rambled about everything as Nik led him to the living room, about how they wouldn't let their kids be friends with you, and how weird this one sided beef was with a random teen, Nikolai tried to play devil's advocate for a while before he eventually stopped and let John talk, he knew how it got under his skin, and truthfully, as an ex ''bad kid'' it irked him a little.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Months went by and John and Nik had found themselves settling in nicely to the little town, beginning to remember names, and even making some friends at the local pub, but it wasn't so easy when both were very secretive about their life.

People started to talk, which led John to reveal that he's ex special forces, hoping it would calm the chatter, but then came the questions on his wedding ring, and where his wife was, why he lives with Nikolai-

Soon enough he heard rumours of him being a widower that wears his ring for comfort, and Nikolai was his friend from the army.

They weren't completely wrong....... He was married- just not to a woman, and Nikolai was a friend from the army, before he became his husband.

Both men knew that it was best to wait a while before they revealed their marriage, test the waters.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You somehow still made your way into conversation every once in a while, You'd pass by with a cigarette in hand and the insults would fly, and whilst John still felt bad, he slowly started to understand the town, seeing you push past someone without apologising, or walking around with bruised knuckles, glaring at any and everything, you even bumped into John once- and the only thing you uttered was

''Fuckin' watch would you? old man..''

Ok.. so you were a right piece of work, disrespectful and antagonising, and maybe he started to agree with the gossips, maybe.... guilty as he felt, you were a bit of a dick.

And when he found out his house had been egged one night, he didn't doubt it was you..........little shit.

Nikolai laughed at him as he grumbled on ''I told you so..''

''Shut up Nik'' he sighed as Nik kissed his temple ''Disrespectful little-''

''They're a kid John'' Nikolai playfully reminded, and John scoffed, now he understands what its like to be in your 40s and beefing with a teenager.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Nikolai didn't hold an opinion on you, you were a little dickhead, and that's all he thought, better to not get so upset over some kid, even after you'd egged his house, he made sure to glare at you when you walked past him, but he was only met with your own, bruised face and all, still staring at him like you knew you could take him down. He was never serious when he looked, it was only an effort to scare you off, to make sure he doesn't find toilet paper littering his garden, but it didn't seem to work...

''Fuck you lookin at? Auditions for grease are that way.'' you scoffed

......ok that was fucking hilarious, fuck you.

He was perplexed, you weren't afraid of him, or John, seems like you feared no one, which was a funny concept, Ex special forces couldn't even make you flinch, what could?

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

One day, Nikolai was in his driveway, trying to bring an older car back to life, something he'd picked up to keep himself busy, he was always in a trance like state when he was working on cars, like nothing else mattered, but he found his focus being pushed to the side when he heard footsteps approaching the bottom of the garden.

He turned, curiously, and his eyebrow raised when he spotted you, your eyes scanning over the car, not even giving him a second glance,,, its rude to stare you know..

''Can I help you?'' finally, you looked at him

''No. Just looking''

''..Shouldn't you be at school?'' he tilted his head

''didn't go today.'' Of course.

He looked you up and down, noting the bruised knuckles and busted lip, another fight? How many enemies did you have- and how on earth did you make them?

''That a mustang?'' you shifted your gaze back to the car

''It is, 67''

''old ass car.'' You replied, he chuckled

''well I'm an old ass man'' you smiled, looking back to him ''How long have you been trying to bring that hunk of metal back to life?''

''Couple months, I think I'm almost there''

''uh...Can I,, take a look?''

Your gaze shifted to your feet, you and him both knew that you really didn't have a right to ask, you weren't the nicest, but- Nikolai found you entertaining enough, and he figured the worst you could do is mock his hair again..

''come'' he gestured for you to come over, you looked surprised at first, before a small smile made its way to your lips and you walked into the garden, still hesitant.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

John looked out the window from the kitchen, shocked to see you, sitting against the hood of the car as Nikolai rolled underneath it, he even saw you pass a wrench to him.... how on earth-.......

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

2 Weeks flew by, and without fail, every Friday and Saturday, you'd find yourself in their garden helping Nikolai fix up the ''scrap of metal'' with John occasionally coming out to greet you and provide snacks and drinks for the two of you, lingering for just a moment.

Neither of them said anything when you would light a cigarette infront of them, or when you would appear in their garden with busted knuckles, they simply just.. let you be.

They noted that you'd never join them for lunch, but always find excuses to stay later and later, never wanting to go home, and whenever either of them would remark how late it was, your shoulders would drop, and you'd seem upset at the fact that you had to leave.

You'd flinch away from them when they got to close, or get defensive when they'd push too much into your life, but you had no problem prying into theirs, you were quite the spitfire.

But as the 2 weeks turned to 3 Nikolai and John started to grow concerned

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Something else that had entered their routine would be patching you up from time to time, when you would let them close,,

It started after John noticed you could barely pick up a tool for Nik, wincing as your hand closed around the bottom of it, he sighed and gathered ice and some bandages from the first aid kit, and some rubbing alcohol to clean whatever wound you had found yourself with.

He doesn't know how he convinced you to sit down, on the hood of the car, or how he convinced you to let him fix you up in the first place but that doesn't matter.

John had picked up that unless you were glaring or threatening someone, eye contact wasn't something you were good at, and it became significantly clearer now as you stared at your hand guiltily whilst he cleaned and wrapped it wincing every time he was a little too rough...

He's used to hauling injured grown men over his shoulder to get them out of the crossfire or putting half of his body weight onto someone to stop a bleeding gunshot wound, not gently wrapping your smaller bruised hands in bandages, but-

As time went on, he found himself doing it more and more, same question everytime, with the same answer

''What happened?''

''Woke up like this man.''

It frustrated him, but it didn't take a detective to figure it was another fight, he always wondered why you found yourself in them so often,, until one day you actually answered

''What happened?''

''Kids were talking shit...''

''What did you do?''

''Not about me..''

''Well then? Who-''

''You and Nik... called you guys weirdos and.. gay.. and ...stuff I dont remember much after the first swing''

He stopped wrapping your hands to look up at you, his gaze trying to study yours... You always looked half dead, and today was no excuse, as unreadble as ever kid

''A- hah... as much as i appreciate you standing up for me and Nik, i promise you that a few kids calling us gay isnt hurting anyone, I dont want you throwing yourself into fights over us two geezers''

''They said Nik's hair was stupid.... only i can do that''

''MY HAIR IS LOVELY-'' He heard his husbands gruff voice call out from under the car, shit he forgot he was still under there....

———————————————————————————

Admittedly, you were growing on them.. They'd never really had the conversation about kids, they knew they'd be lucky to retire, but now that they actually have, John finds himself,,, longing for some reason, and Nikolai jokes a bit too much about being referred to as someone's ''old man'' down the line, he thinks the title suits him.

And John's habit of picking up strays, and Nikolai's hobby that was fixing broken things.., you seemed like a perfect fit, a feral skittish thing.. you reminded them both of Simon...

You let them both in...slowly, so slow that questions would still burn in their minds..

Why did you never want to go home? Why were you always getting in the scraps and scuffles? You were abrasive and confrontational, like a cornered animal.. but why?

It didn’t take a genius to figure that life at home wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows for you, and as the two men got closer to you, they found themselves wanting to pry more and more.

They wanted to shield you, to help you find your way through life, but how could they? They were just two fellas that you fixed cars with on the weekend, neither of them were your father, or in any sort of authoritive role in your life-

Even if that fact reigned true, it didn’t stop you from valuing their opinions.

John told you it was bad to smoke, and despite your glare to his cigar, you stopped smoking as much around them, Nikolai advised you stopped fighting as much with the neighbouring kids, and you showed up at their house with less and less bruises.

They were both happy to know that you listened to them, and you were just happy that they hadn’t thrown you out yet, that they hadn’t got tired of your defensive nature, that they hadn’t yet realised how much of a bad kid you really were.

You were happy that they didn’t know who you really were…. Yet.

As the days flew in, you itched more and more to tell them what was really going on, why you were the way that you were.

And one day you did.. subtly, and you only spoke to Nik, but he was able the piece it together, and soon after you went home, he found himself telling John about his concerns

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was late, you and Nik were sitting on the grass, staring at the car you’ve spent so long on fixing up, your knees were tucked under your chin and the two of you found yourselves in a comfortable silence, even if you were itching to break it.

“..so you were a pilot?” Your eyes didn’t leave the car, but Nik turned to you, a confused smile on his face

“Yes.. how’d you know?”

“You have a patch on your jacket” you pointed out “my dad has the same one,,, tho he threw it out years ago.”

“Pops also a pilot then 'm assuming?”

“Was…. Helicopter”

“Ahh..” he shouldn’t ask…

“He got into an accident… lost his leg,, couldn’t fly no more”

“That…-“

“Fucking sucks I know” you chuckled dryly “just wish he wasn’t so angry at me about it.”

“Why would… he be angry at you?”

“He says I ruined his life..” you shrugged, still not facing him “Momma left him after he started drinking too much, and he thinks it’s my fault”

Nikolai stayed quiet again, you were finally opening up, and he didn’t want to say something that would cause you to clam up

“He still drinks a lot.. but most of the time I’m lucky and by the time I get home he’s knocked himself out.”

“Most of the time?”

Oh.

Oh.

“Kid- Are you-“

“M’fine.. made it this far, I just need to wait until I’m old enough, I’ll enlist and leave this shithole of a town behind.” You scoffed, now turning to him

You could see the concern written on his face, and the anger that bubbled beneath the surface, he had half the mind to show up at your door and show your old man what it was like to have all of his ribs cracked.

“I’m… I’m sorry.”

“For what kid?”

“….. for egging your house….. it was a dare….. also for saying you look like you belong in grease…….. and for calling John … old”

he chuckled at your apology, his hand landing on your shoulder, patting you like an old dog

“…. All is forgiven kiddo… come on… it’s getting cold,,,, join me and John for dinner?”

“I can’t -“

“You can stay for dinner Kid, it ain’t no burden to us.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dinner was… nice, you can’t remember the last time someone cooked for you, nor the last time you sat at a table with people and actually.. talked, you don’t remember the last time you acted like…. A kid..

But as the two men shared stories with you, mocked each other, told you of their comrades (with some ridiculous names mind you.. who the fuck is Soap?) and filled your plate, you found yourself relaxing, for the first time in years it felt like you were safe….. even if it was just for now.

(pls im open to more ideas on part two)

[gingerlee-holds]

I feel bad for popping a request in ☠ anyway

If you're feeling up to it, perhaps ler Todoroki x lee Reader (bc me and reader insert are inseparable /j) from MHA? Length, perhaps 900+ words if possible? But I'll be grateful for anything haha, I also don't want to force you to write more if you're not feeling inspired i'm gonna be honest here I haven't watched MHA in a long time ☠ and I have no idea what scenarios would be realistic because he's,, Todoroki,,

Personally i'm a sucker for evil/more intense tickles because I wish I was ticklish but if that makes you uncomfy do feel free to ignore :)

oh hush, you!!! i love requests, so thank you so so much!! i just hope this is somewhat what you wanted heehee- enjoy!!! i have a huge crush on this dork so that creeps in- also the reader's quirk is whatever you want it to be, cuz its not mentioned- also also!! im really really sorry if i fuck the names up cuz from what i know of the show, Todoroki is the family name, so Shoto is the given name but i could be totally wrong

i just wanna say that i really really like writing the rambly bits from Shoto about the book-

the reader is sorta a brat lol

Like Poetry

Words: 2,334 Pairing: Ler!Shoto, Lee!Reader Warnings: lotta fluff!!! not proofread!!!

You groaned as you entered the common room. Mr. Aizawa’s personal training was brutal today, and you were not looking forward to feeling how sore your muscles would be tomorrow morning. Sighing, you grabbed one of Sato’s cupcakes from the counter and flopped onto the sofa, confident it would be unoccupied. It was about seven in the evening on a Friday, which meant everyone was either in their rooms or somewhere around town. 

You huffed into the mattress before gasping at the sound of a page being turned. Looking up, you saw you were about a foot away from, in your mind, the strongest student in your class. He was sitting with perfect posture, reading a book with yellowed pages. On the coffee table sat a mug filled with tea.

Shoto Todoroki didn’t look up from his book at you. If he knew you were there, he didn’t show it. He silently read, seemingly fully absorbed. You sat upright, shaking off the embarrassment of almost landing on him, of all people. 

You cleared your throat and gobbled up your cupcake in one bite, setting the wrapper down next to his tea. Still, he didn’t move. Raising an eyebrow, you poked him in the side to get his attention, and the surprised gasp he gave made you giggle. Shoto looked at you, brow furrowed in annoyance, but his face soon softened when you smiled and waved.

“Hi!” you said chipperly. 

He nodded politely in return. “Hello, Y/N. I’m sorry I didn’t hear you.”

With a chuckle, you shoved his shoulder. “No worries! Whatcha reading, bookworm?”

Shoto tilted his head. “I’m not a worm.”

You sighed and repeated your question without the tease. You loved that your classmate was so adorably literal. 

“I’m reading this book of old poetry. I don’t remember where I got it - it feels like my family’s always had it lying around. I decided to read it today since everyone’s out.” His voice was calm as he spoke.

You were somewhat interested in the subject but mostly just wanted to hear him talk some more. It was so rare that he spoke. “Anything good in there?”

“I found this one that I liked,” Shoto said before flipping back a few pages. “Rain on lemongrass. / Ash trees weep o’er their lost sun: / Their light and love, gone.”

The poem made you hum in thought. “What’s it about?”

“Well, isn’t it obvious?” he asked. Taken on its face, it was an insulting question, but you knew Shoto was genuinely unsure whether to explain it. You shook your head in reply. “The poem is about heartbreak. A woman falls in love with someone, and suddenly, that person has to leave. The woman feels like she has nothing left as she cries into a world that has bigger concerns than her. Soon, perhaps, her love shall return, the sun re-emerging from the clouds, but there’s also the possibility that she doesn’t last until then, and the wind blows her over. Ash trees symbolize grief, so perhaps they may never meet again. The lemongrass, evoking a cheerful memory, is smothered under the rains that hide her beloved.” Suddenly, he looked up from the page. “Sorry, I didn’t realize I was rambling.”

You scratched your head. “How did you get all that from just three lines?” You didn’t mind, of course. He was cute when he rambled. To your great surprise, he let out a soft and sheepish smile. 

“Well, I suppose I have too much time on my hands,” he said, looking away. You smirked and poked his side again, giggling at his surprised reaction. Shoto let out a muffled yelp and jumped, glaring at you suspiciously and rubbing his side. “Quit that.” 

“Sorry, Icy-hot! Can’t be helped!” You held up both your hands in mock surrender.

“Hm,” Shoto mumbled, looking back to the book. “This book was written entirely by hand. See? This character is slightly different here, here, and here,” he continued, pointing at different parts of the page. “And from what I can tell, its publication predates quirks, hence why they are not mentioned. If they had quirks, you would think there’d be a suggestion of their existence, no? Yet there’s nothing. For all intents and purposes, it seems like this book is a remnant of a simpler world.” His expression looked distant as if his mind were a hundred miles and years away. 

You leaned back, folding your arms behind your head. “Sounds dorky. Maybe you should tell Deku! I’m sure he’d be all too interested,” you chuckled, then looked over. If he heard your comment, he gave no sign. He must still be lost in thought. Looking down at his side, you saw it was perfectly exposed. You were pushing your luck. Then again, what is a hero if not someone who tries their luck? You pursed your lips together and quickly extended your hand to poke Shoto’s side again. 

But he was faster. As if expecting your reckless act, he set his book down and grabbed your hand before it made contact in one fluid movement. “You don’t listen, do you?”

“I do my utmost to avoid doing that, yes,” you said, giggling nervously. His grip was firm, giving you no delusions of escape. His hand was chilly, as if Shoto was threatening to encase your whole arm in ice at any moment. You tugged slightly.

He didn’t let go. “No, you need to learn this lesson.” Somehow, that was among the scariest things you’ve ever heard, right alongside the speech of the hero killer and Mr. Aizawa announcing an extra homework assignment before the summer break. Shoto pushed your legs toward the end of the couch, pinning you to his chest with both hands held behind you. You shuddered as Shoto said, “Now, learn well.”

Since both your hands were stuck behind you against his torso, you couldn’t defend yourself whatsoever when he descended both hands onto your stomach. You erupted into bright, bubbly laughter and kicked your feet like that would do anything to help. All that went through your head was repeated, ‘Oh, fuck, that tickles!’ 

You heard Shoto’s hum of approval from behind you as he clawed his fingers over the thin fabric of your shirt. “Interesting,” he mumbled to himself. 

“ShIhihihihIt! ShohOhOHohotoHoHoho!” You shook your head and thrashed all you could, but it didn’t matter. Shoto was stronger, and he would make sure you knew it. 

“Yes, Y/N?” he asked casually.

“STohohoHOAhaap!!” It didn’t have a chance of working, but it didn’t hurt to try.

“No.” Shoto’s clawed hands squeezed around your stomach in circles, taking a moment to dwell on your extra-ticklish lower stomach, which he took delight in exploiting. If you didn’t know any better, you would even say he enjoyed it as much as you were. 

“NohOHoHOhoHT TheheHEherre!” you pleaded helplessly, throwing your head back to give your torturer the best puppy eyes you could… although they were far less effective than you had hoped since they were quickly squeezed shut in uproarious laughter. 

“Here? Right here, yes?” Shoto released a flurry of pokes on your lower stomach as if he wanted confirmation.

You nodded and hiccupped, doing all you could to contain the blush that bloomed on your face at the sound of his cooing hum. Mercifully, he gave you a break, and you panted for breath against him. “Shihihitt…” you giggled, squirming in his grasp to get the ghost tickles off your tummy. 

“Here,” Shoto said, and you turned to see he was holding up his mug for you. Gratefully, you took a big sip of the refreshing tea, smiling a little at the warmth of it. It was strangely sweet; you had expected Shoto to only like the bitter teas, but surprisingly, the flavor was somewhat sugary. As if reading your mind, Shoto said, “It’s chamomile. It helps me relax.” He took the mug from your mouth and set it back on the table. 

Shoto cleared his throat. “Now,” he began, “Have you learned your lesson?”

“Is my release dependent on how I answer that?”

“Yes.”

“Then… Never!” You madly giggled as you attempted to escape his grasp before quickly regretting it. He had you suitably pinned, and to further reinforce his lesson, you realized with terror that he was rolling up your shirt to your ribs. “Wait, Shoto-!”

Your tormentor didn’t give you time to finish. Without fanfare, his hands descended onto your exposed tummy. Instead of clawing around, as he had done before, he was using quick scribbles, which, coupled with his cold fingers on your bare skin, was maddening. 

“SHohOhoHOTO!” You had no idea you were so ticklish! By the looks of things, it seemed like he had been in tickle fights before, and from how badly he was wrecking you, he was used to winning them. 

He hummed in thought as your thrashing weakened. “Your belly button is incredibly ticklish,” he observed. It was, to your dismay, very accurate. It didn’t help that his cold finger was heightening the feeling!

“PLehEHehEHHEase! MeheHEheheercyy!” you squealed out, kicking and bucking like a horse.

“Goodness, you’re dramatic. It’s only tickling, Y/N. If anything, this should build your endurance. What if the League captured you? I doubt you’d last a minute before you spill everything you know if they knew this weakness of yours.”

Why did he have to be so monotone with his teasing? He sounded so casual as if he were still explaining the history of that old book - only he was speaking over your hysterical cackling. He was a fast learner, too: he was pretty adept at locating the spots that got an especially wild reaction out of you and cruel in punishing them.

Shoto’s fingers increased in pace while always keeping one wiggling about in your navel. “I know,” he said, “I get it; you’re very, very ticklish. Now calm down.” You could hear the smile in his voice. He was having fun! “I wonder… you’ve inspired me to write my own poetry! Let’s see…” He paused to think, unfortunately not slowing down the tickles, making you yelp and shriek. “Ticklish cutie / Squealing on the couch with glee / With a cute tummy,” he slowly said as if writing it down. With a gasp, you felt him do just that, writing down the poem on your belly with the tip of his fingernail. 

You turned beet-red as you threw your head back, your laughter turning silent. You had long since begun crying with delight, and tears rolled down your cheeks in rivers, but he didn’t stop until you started coughing. With a chuckle, he released you, and you panted for breath. You didn’t move from his lap, and Shoto didn’t seem to mind. He gently placed a hand on your forehead, tilting it toward him. 

“Are you alright?” he asked gently. You nodded with a smile, which he returned. His smile was inviting, like a sunbeam on a winter’s day. He slowly helped you sit back up and handed you his mug again. You eagerly gulped it down. The tea was warm and sweet, and when you finished it and set it back on the table, you realized that Shoto wasn’t too different. 

“Thank you, Shoto,” you said softly.

“For the tea?”

“Yes,” you replied, “and… for the tickles. It… helped me unwind.” You looked away and rubbed your neck shyly. 

“You’re welcome, Y/N. It was fun for me, too. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you laugh like that.” He smiled again, a small treat like candy. “It’s nice to see you so carefree. You’re usually a ball of nerves,” Shoto admitted bluntly, making you sigh and nod in agreement. 

You basked in the silence for a bit before both of you suddenly looked up. That was the unmistakable sound of… And right on cue, the word ‘mumble’ began to figuratively float across your field of view. At its origin, you and Shoto saw Izuku madly scribbling in his notebook and mumbling about something. You swore you caught the words “ticklish,” “stomach,” and “squeals.” 

Behind Izuku, standing in the hallway, were Ochaco, Denki, Tsuyu, Mina, Eijiro, and Kyoka. The first two desperately attempted to quiet Izuku, to no avail. You sat bolt upright, glaring at the unwelcome audience. 

Eijiro broke the silence with a playful swat to the back of Izuku’s head. “You got us caught with your nerd shit, Deku,” he joked, making the green-haired hero look away backfully. 

“That was adorable!” Mina grinned, pointing at you. “You made a bunch of noise, so we wanted to check it out!” 

“You’d better erase what you wrote, Deku.” You spoke calmly but in a way that gave no misapprehensions about your seriousness. 

Ochaco looked over Izuku’s shoulder. “Doesn’t look like he’s gonna do that.”

“Midoriya,” Shoto spoke up. “Be sure to write that they couldn’t use their quirk while being tickled.”

You gasped at the betrayal. “Don’t you fucking dare write that, Deku!”

With a glance, Denki, Kyoka, and Tsuyu replied simultaneously, “Oh, he’s already writing it.”

With a growl, you shot from the couch. “You’re fucking dead, Deku!” Your classmates yelped with shock and ran down the hall from you, stifling their giggles. 

Eijiro, egging you on, tossed back over his shoulder a snide, “Now you’re sounding like Katsuki!”

“Oh, I’ll make Katsuki look like a fucking bag of pop rocks when I’m done with you idiots!” Your threat carried no heat since it was filled with giggles. You couldn’t help but laugh at the ludicrousness of the situation, smiling fondly at how much you loved your friends.

And behind you, on the couch, Shoto grinned with pride as he picked up his book to continue reading. He was glad he had been allowed to be so affectionate with someone for a chance. Absent-mindedly, he picked up his mug of tea for a sip but sighed disappointingly at the lack of tea inside. Maybe he needed bigger mugs. 

[luimagines]

Flower Petals

Another commission!!

They commissioned me right after He Realizes You like Him and died. I made this as a companion piece to Legend's since they liked it so much. They asked for Legend and to make it hurt. This was written in the chaos that was February so I have no idea if I delivered or not.

Masterlist

Content under the cut!

There was a time when his life was nothing but monotony. 

Wake up. Fight the deadline. Go to his apprenticeship. Work. Come home. Go to bed. Repeat.

Sure there was the occasional hiccup where he had to leave his village to save the world and defeat the darkest known evil known to man. But that was only going to happen so many times, right?

Following his typical routine, he gets out of bed and relishes at the thought of not going into work today. Link stretches and pulls his arms over his head. His spine pops a few times- easing the constant ache in his bones for a moment before everything settles back into place.

He yawns and gets out of bed.

It’s weird, he thinks, to actually have a routine that normal people have.

There’s no coffee in the house.

Link groans loudly in the safety of his own home. He needs to go shopping.

He collects his things and slings his satchel over his shoulder. Walking outside, he’s momentarily blinded by the bright light. Not that his house is particularly dark on the inside, but maybe he should have opened up the curtains inside so the transition would be easier on his eyes. 

Too late anyway.

Link buys his food and his coffee and avoids as many people as he can until he gets back into his house to make his cup of bean juice. He… marginally successful. One elderly lady asked why he was in a hurry and another was wondering why he looked like a racoon. Both were kind ladies with little to gain from talking to him so he spoke with them, not wanting to be rude. 

His uncle would be rolling in his grave if he ever thought Link would be disrespecting his elders.

Link gets home and puts everything away, getting started on his coffee first thing. With only a minor hiccup of spilling the water before it could even go to the strainer, Link can say that it’s a strange sort of boring to be home with nothing to do.

He’s not used to relaxation.

He’s always on the move.

He’s always doing something.

It feels almost… wrong to just sit around and watch the time go by. Surely someone is in need of help around the town. Finishing his cup of coffee at last and no longer feeling like a hog troll climbing out of the bog at three in the afternoon, Link decides that he’ll go around town just to see if there’s anything he can be of assistance for.

He searches. He asks. He’s denied. Again. And again. And again.

“Oh come on.” Link mutters under his breath as he re enters his house, shaking off all the tools and items he didn’t even get to use. He doesn’t bother putting them properly away. Link shucks them into a corner and rubs little circles into his temple.

His whole center of balance has been tilted.

What good is today if he’s not doing anything with it?

He makes his way back to his kitchen. Aside from the hasty cup of coffee, Link realizes that he didn’t actually have anything to eat once he woke up. And then he ran everywhere talking to everyone and everything so he’s more than a little hungry at the moment.

But cooking? Seriously? He doesn’t want to. Can’t he just have something that doesn’t require any prep? Doesn’t he have anything that he can just shove in his mouth and call it a day?

Link opens a cupboard and starts shoving things about with reckless abandon, looking for something to eat. There’s a book that he pushes aside that opens slightly. A few pages fall out due to age and decay but that’s not the only thing. 

He sees a flower.

He pauses.

You gave it to him.

“He has everything! What do you give to a person who doesn’t need anything?!”

Link smiles and picks it up, twirling the delicately pressed and dried flower between his fingers.

He remembers that day. How can he forget?

“I really, really like him! Help me figure out what to give him!”

Link hadn’t meant to over hear your conversation. In fact, when he had passed by, he thought you were talking about a different person entirely. You certainly weren’t talking to him when he heard you say those things. It was only until later when he gave up on trying to fish that you walked up to him and handed him this very flower.

He promised himself that he was never going to lose this flower.

It is his most prized possession. 

Delicately, he takes the book out of the cupboard and picks up the papers that had fallen out earlier. It’s a cookbook, he notices as he puts the papers back in order. Once the fallen pages are in their rightful place, he picks a new, sturdier spot and opens the book to that page.

He slips the flower inside and closes the book.

It ends up back on the cupboard where it was before and Link has decided to make a sandwich instead of making an elaborate meal.

It gets the job done and he once again finds himself with nothing else to do.

His front door opens and his heart jumps into his throat. His half eaten sandwich drops from his hands onto the plate in front of him as he dashes to the entrance.

“You’re back!” He yells and all but dives towards you, crushing you in the biggest bear hug.

“I was only gone for three days.” You grit out, barely restraining your laughter as he spins you around the living room. “This is a bit much don’t you think?”

“Hardly.”

“Link, please.”

“I’ve been so booored! There is nothing to do anymore.”

“Spoil sport.” You flick his nose and dig through your bag. “I did manage to get you something though.”

You hold up a new flower.

“I love it.”

[shiftingconfessions]

I will be pulling a wild one here

I am shifter before shiftok and shifting tumbler and so on, I was part of the firsts shifting plataforms to ever exist, the work of my friends and colleagues are diluted and changed in many methods the community still using today, or use and not yet know about it.

Shiftok is a lie. It is straight up a lie, more than half of accounts in there are lying, take the big 10 accounts all around the globe and you will see how deeply unsettling and ego blinded these ppl are.

I will share a lil secret to shifting on tumbler, most influencers KNOW that they are talking shit nowadays. The so proclaimed creators of shittok vanglorizes themselves for creating it, but deep down one was a absolute baby shifter and the other one knew her stuff but was caught in drama.

They both are part of the first shifting community ever, started on 2017, they were warned to use their voice to spread information but they decided to blind themselves and continue their fights and dramas.

Besides that, the modern Mainstream Shiftok is around money. TikTok monetizes creators and for these creators to have a base, they need people to watch their videos

Information is freedom, and there is no way to get the proper amount of needed information on shiftok, it is a short video app, we are discussing a experimental practice on reality switching.

Besides that, people now want to make you pay for shifting info, or manifestions courses, and so on

Let me tell a thing that sadly will make sense in the future: Shifting is free, shifting has always been free and those people do not have authority on the matter to even teach it

While the community has been improving, there is a lack on the shifter vanguard, on ACTUAL new stuff and an actual understanding behind shifting. Some people shift by oversimplifying things, others by hard looking into why's and hows, both are valid but they need to correspond to each other. If a community is too complex shifting becomes too hard, if a community is too simple shifting becomes a myth.

That is the state of the community, anyones out there who wants to understand why's and how's can't even find good bases since everything is gatekept and even the so called shifters from shiftok can't even understand it or desire to share it.

Therefore creating a community that is constantly a lie, people tell experiences that don't match when being re-telled and either make sense, many have been spotted doing so. Shifting changes someone, it is a trace marked on their minds forever, to fully shift is to be forever changed. Most people are either LDs or having false awakenings and calling it a day.

Besides all that people are fighting for stupid ideas. Being taboo, race changing was never a topic in our community before it began on shiftok. You know why? Because everyone knew that infinity selfs does not mean that you are equally in all realities, we all playing roles, if I am certain race in my Dr that is not the one I am in this reality, then I won't act like I am part of the minority in this reality.

As for the hypocrisies of these people, most accounts that moved this debate was being xenophobic on Portuguese and Spanish communities.

As an extra information, If you know Sunni Method, you should know that sunni was one of the first shifters (on our understanding of DR, WR and scripting) that created and sourced so many different shifting practices and helped the first gen of the community to understand the practice. She did not only proved shifting to the subliminal communities as well define a work that would be still being used today, the Sunni method is the basic for every method. And she is afro American, and for today terms, she would be changing her race depending on the reality.

For the people that keep making futile problematization on this topic, it shows that you never fully understood shifting and created fake scenarios on your mind to source a point that was never a actual point. Minorities need support on day to day life, not whatever people are believing on determined practice.

tw: mention on self harm

As for respawning, anti-respawing are a bunch of ungrateful. Respawning made the very much bases of modern shifting. And for the respawners that belief that it should end on self harm, you do not understand how respawning work and how delicate are the structured you about to mess. If you are suffering from any mental difficulties, search professional help and not spiritual help that often leads to bad escapism.

Going back

The individual journey of someone starts on the seed planted by the community they find shifting, the hard truth is that shifting isn't only a personal experience but a collective one. In another words the community state you get, is the seed of your journey. Before 2018 people had a hard time shifting because they could not understand what it was, a few years later the community achieved a gold state with sharing knowledge and methods (which the English community would constantly gatekeek to their siblings communities btw) and after the mainstreaming on TikTok shifting went down to a stone age.

People are debating either if they can or cannot do things. In shifting. The. Belief. Of. Infinity.

I can understand why baby shifters do these questions, but I see people on this community since 2020 and the ones from 2019 who end up on the wasteland of other social platforms, asking questions that are so OBVIOUS

You don't need to know everything, but for star sakes you NEED to understand the basics of the thing you are doing, what a script is and how to write one, a few methods and your own cosmological view settled down.

Shifting allows you to mix and match beliefs like a Lego set, do it for your personal journeys using what other have found in the past.

While people are degrating the community and locking good stuff a way, shifting gets every day harder and harder, becoming everytime a godfied event and a hard and thought task that only a few can achieve, that is the mindset that is being grown on the community.

Why the hell the overall community nowadays have less and less actual experiences that the community a few years ago?

For the future, I am not sure but I bet on the end of the practice in a few years, when outsiders "grow out of it". Some will shift, others will just move on with their spiritual journey and so on, the community slowly fading.

I am not here to bring a salvation message, I am so tired, I have been making so much for the last 5 years, trying so hard to archive, share and teach people about shifting, in a way that was forgotten and locked down.

I am permashifting soon, and I am posting what I know on the community where I learned shifting in my native language, this end up more in a vent and a warning to what is happening. Do not believe me if you do not want to.

As for the people that want to understand more, I really recommend for you to dig in the past, a hint is that shifting started on amino. ik it is a bad app but sometimes gems appears. Shifting predecessors (quantum immortality and dimensional jumping) are available on Reddit to be studied (see the archives version of D.J) but they don't fully translate to shifting. (do not use the reality shifting subreddit)

And leave the damned app that is TikTok, you may be laughing for 3 seconds with some random girl talking about draco, but would be way better to be in your dr. why would you let your mind rot?

Shifting is a spiritual practice sourced on scientific facts and theories, both may be fighting a lot but a thing that they have in common is digging stuff, dig and search like never before, the community and it's beliefs are open on the internet, sometimes all you need is to answer a few questions and you will be able to find a good plataform

Your journey will be good no matter what.

Happy shifting.

.

[strawberrysnoopy]

ACT ONE: The Photo Shoot, part one

prologue

summary of the series: for months, leon has been writhing in his bed dreaming of his friend's wife (you). he's been fighting the desperation for months until that one night you bring up a lingerie shoot you've done for a prestigious brand.

summary of this part: recalling the first time you and leon met, you've realized you've been poorly treated by your husband. leon is no different, in a toxic relationship with his wife, ada wong. as the seeds of resentment have begun to germinate, the desire for you grows like a brush fire nearby.

warnings: MENTIONS OF PUKE, BUT NOT ACTUAL PUKING, leon teaches you how to smoke (i don't wanna see no dumb stupid comments about "oh but leon hates smoking", well leon isn't disloyal but here we are), brief use of (adjective) girl (atta girl, good girl, silly girl), praise, mentions of misogyny (not from Leon ofc), awkward, tense ass convos, a fuckton of desc. and a little description, no sex (yet ;) ), cussing, descriptions of fucking, descriptions of masturbation, semi-public masturbation, almost caught masturbating, slight corruption kink (? if you squint), alcohol consumption, use of tobacco, smoking, implied sexual references, etc.

also a/n, writing this as of feb. 2nd, 2024: 60 notes?!!!!! i was writing this for my own personal pleasure but like...??!?! i got reblogged so many times?! im gagged, tysm you guys!!! making a playlist rn, so excited to release the soundtrack. if you see little random edits, i'm probably obsessing over the fic and trying to make it perfect lol/anticipate changes. i would also like to write I DO NOT CONDONE CHEATING! always communicate with your partner, discuss issues, etc. this fic is just a lil’ taboo type of fantasy, do NOT cheat on your partners.

The first time you met Leon was at a grocery store: two weeks before your husband would have any idea of his existence and one week before he had invited Leon and his wife, Ada, over for dinner. You were picking up a bottle of red wine for you and your husband under the guise of wanting something nice for date night. The reality would actually be you were buying it for yourself after your husband decides you're not worth his affections anymore, lazily mosey on over to the spare room, and pull out his phone to text other women. The wine would be something to drink to inebriate you while you watched a shitty re-run of a sitcom from the 90s. Maybe if you got lucky, Golden Girls was on.

He was only browsing, stumbling upon the liquor section and staying to look if there would be anything worthwhile. And there was. It was you. He knew he had to think of something witty, something cool people say, before you left and thought he was some creep staring at you because he saw a smidgen of your breasts in a magazine. "You're a famous model, right?" He asked. Oh, how stupid he felt. He was a chronic overthinker: thinking of every last terrible scenario, a trait he picked up after becoming an agent. This had certainly felt like one of the worst options he picked, especially with how you would-- You interrupted him. "Yeah, that's me." The subtle sweetness, the slight rasp in your voice was better than anything any street drug could offer with the amount of dopamine flooding into his brain: overloading every neuron, synapse, dendrite, and cell membrane in his body.

But for whatever reason, he stretched his hand outwards and lazily grinned towards you. "I'm Leon." "Nice to meet you. Well, I'd say my name but y'know..." He nodded in an awkward agreement before you could even finish your sentence, but not daring to go as far to interrupt you. He felt as if he already started off the conversation with a cumbersome beginning. "Right, right. So, that's your real name? I see a lot of models use stage names n' stuff like that." He adjusts his weight from one foot to the other, switching the hand holding his grocery basket from his right to his left. He felt so...awkward around you. Maybe it was the fact you were a famous model, or maybe it was the fact you were just so calm. The joke causes a soft chuckle to leave your lips and the mere look of a fleeting moment of bliss to cross over your features makes his knees turn into gelatin. Those nerves solidify into stone when the overwhelming sense of guilt hits him like a tidal wave but allows it to wash over him for the sake of continuing the conversation.

"Yeah, just my regular name. I'm not that creative outside of modeling. Usually the photographers do the thinking and the creative processes for me." He chuckled, shaking his head and barely moving himself a little closer. Leon wanted to sink in that gentle, warm, and soft presence you carried around with you. Your aura felt comforting: like a hug after a tough day: it had felt so much more different than his wife. True, Ada could be affectionate but that's usually only after something good has happened to her or Leon was her last resort of attention. He really hated how much he would act like an obedient dog, awaiting her arrival home, coming back to her after she's treated him like dirt. You? You felt so goddamn altruistic and considerate. And he's only known you for three minutes.

You notice he's gone silent and you're silently hoping he thought you were cool. Cool. Like a teenager trying to fit in. You silently cringe at yourself until he smiles at you, almost like he's signaling you to continue the conversation. You can't think of any conversation starters. And you're a model for gods sake. You're usually so outgoing and social with other people but now it's like a cat came by and stole your voice box. Thankfully, he takes over that portion for you. "Buying wine?" He knew it was dry as all hell but he wanted to steer the conversation away from him being a fan of your modeling gigs. No, he just wanted to talk to you and discover what you were like behind the camera. (Okay, and maybe he wanted to see if you'd flirt with him.) "Yup. But I'm just buying wine for..." You paused, about to say 'for me and my husband' but your throat becomes dry whenever you feel like you're about to announce it to him. "...Myself."

He smiles. He likes that you're awkward in real life. The fact made you feel more real, like you weren't just some sexy model with expensive tastes and a bratty attitude. You were a person like anyone else.

"Right. Me too, just uh...just browsing." You nod, fidgeting anxiously with the sleeves of the coat you decided to toss on last minute before leaving the house.

The conversation went on to end when you eventually realized you would be home late. Although you thought that worrying your husband a little would be the thing that reignited the spark in your marriage, you knew that punctuality was a habit you'd like to upkeep. That, and you also knew if you talked to this handsome stranger for longer, you'd cheat on your husband. That night, Leon had fallen asleep to the thought of you for the first time. Soft little visions of pressing his lips against yours, caressing your cheek softly and whispering sweet nothings into your ear, etc, etc, cheesy lovey dovey bullshit. So much more different than the truly filthy thoughts he had about you nowadays. You're torn from your conversation with your friends when you make eye contact with him. You can practically feel his eyes travel from the hair at the highest point on your head to the very last bit of your black, leathery heels with perfect pretty pearls embellished on the pump. For a moment, you feel like you're trapped in some type of horny labyrinth while you stare longingly at him.

He's ripped out of his own longing by the feeling of your husband's hand slapping his back. Ada sat beside Leon with her arm protectively wrapped around his bicep. You felt as if the gesture were a signal to everyone at the party that Leon belonged to her. He was under her control, nobody else's. Or maybe the protective message was for her husband, as if he was an unruly friend to her husband. And you could agree with that. You fell in love with your husband because he was wild and care-free but after the diamond ring was slipped onto your ring finger, you realized he was also carefree in the sense that hurt you: talking to other women behind your back, and leaving for days at a time only to come back inebriated. But you stood by his side, no matter what. You hated how you felt like a doormat but you didn't know what else to do besides stay married and play the role of an oblivious wife while your husband fucks other women in various positions. In a way, you and Leon sat in the same loveless boat. Who knew when that same boat would be shaking from the violence of the both of you fucking, clothing pulled out and to the side instead of being fully taken off. Your thoughts become interrupted by an unmistakably handsome voice.

"Hey."

You feel a hand being placed upon your lower back except it's so much more different than your husband's. The palms were rough, callouses inside the nooks and crannies, and pulsing veins make you all dizzy if you thought about it for too long. His voice was dampened with some undertone of lust, his fingers prodding into the skin of your sides. He's always been a little too handsy for a man that's supposed to happily married. But you always figured touch was how he communicates: touch. But he's never touchy with your husband. Or any of your friends. And he missed you? Sure, your're friends due to the fact your husband was friends with Leon. (Even though you met him first, but I digress.) The simple phrase had your mind reeling, cheeks flushed red due to the hidden intimacy of it all. His wife shoots him a look and his hand immediately retreats back to his side, fighting the urge to palm the engorged erection struggling against the seam of his boxers. "Haven't seen you in so long, hm? Thought you disappeared on me for a minute." He's holding his facade of being totally and irrevocably in love with Ada up and steady. Like he had no feelings for you other than being friends.

"Of course not." You murmur, feeling a hearty chuckle reverberate from his chest. He takes his index finger and his thumb and gently swiping it against your chin.

"Atta girl." And of course, with how hoarse his voice is, your panties are instantly puddled with a thick pool of arousal. You hate his stupid, thick, sexy, and deep voice. You especially hate his voice whenever you imagine him degrading and praising you whenever your husband was away and you just happened to have your hand down your underwear, playing with your clit to ease the throbbing impulses you felt for Leon. He gives your back a single pat before moving back to stand beside his wife. You really hate that you feel jealousy flare like wildfire within you, but you brush it off.

Everyone would eventually be drawn to the several dining tables that were arranged in a group and had golden candlesticks and smooth white tablecloths on top. Once you are seated, you observe that Leon appears to be striving extra hard to guarantee his place beside you. He looks right at you for a brief moment. And only then can you see, just a hint of thirst sprouting in his eyes, before he glances away from you and gives Ada a quick smile while patting her thigh.

It's only a few minutes before Leon decides to break the awkward silence.

"How's that modeling gig going?" You nod, gulping down way too much champagne.

"Good, been going good. Have to admit it gets a little boring posing in front of the camera after a while but can't bite the hand that pays you, right?" You joke, and the table laughs with some sense of jealousy. "Nice to hear. What was your latest shoot?" He asked, leaning forward in a sudden rush of intrigue. Then those words pass your lips. Words he had never anticipated, even in his wildest guess (oddly.)

"A lingerie shoot. For Chanel." The table goes quiet. And everyone, including your dumb-ass husband, look at you. Someone (Ada) clears their throat in the dining room, hinting at you to elaborate and it's almost like you suddenly developed to ability to hear from light years away.

Leon, who had just finally got his goddamn boner under control feels his cock twitch back to life, fully hard instead of a semi this time. And correct him if he's wrong, but he starts to feel pre-cum smearing his dress pants. He's thankful he chose the black slacks instead of his lighter colored ones otherwise this would be downright humiliating.

"Sorry, um...I did an intimates photo-shoot for Chanel a few weeks ago for their new line of clothing." That seems to help lighten the mood a lot more because everyone goes back to their conversation with their respective friends, the embarrassing "confession" from you immediately leaving their minds. "The theme was Overtime. Like, staying later in the office with my shirt unbuttoned and stuff. Nothing that interesting."

The table simultaneously nodded, Leon going as far to excuse himself for a cigarette.

"If you'll excuse me, I'm gonna go have a smoke." Leon scoots out from his seat, heading towards the upstairs balcony to take care of business. Asshole, leaving me with his mean ass wife.

You decide to join him outside.

The air had finally gotten too tense, felt too judgmental for your taste. Scampering outside, you're met with the sight of Leon smoking a cigarette outside. That's odd: you've usually pegged him to be the straight-laced, no-nonsense type of man yet here he was, smoking a cigarette while leaning against the balustrade of their friend's top floor home. At the sound of the balcony door opening, he turns his head to see what you're doing out here. His eyes scan you, almost like he would while he's in combat but it's more or less to get another glimpse of the outfit you were wearing tonight. Okay, and maybe he wanted to commit the sight of you to memory.

"You alright?" He asked, trying his best to look straight forward when you step closer and cross your arms over the balustrade.

"M'fine, just needed a minute of fresh air, I think." When you sit beside Leon, there's a few things you notice. The first was his outfit. A white button-up that usually would be covered by his black suit jacket, though he left it behind on his chair in the dining room. There's also mentioning his blacks slacks, fitting his muscular thighs a bit tight but loose enough so they're comfortable. Then there's the dress shoes, ones he wore at his wedding due to how overly formal they looked. Maybe he wanted to get some more use out of them? Who knows.

"What about you? Why are you out here?" You decided to be the one to take the reigns since the air outside had become incredibly awkward as well. "Same. Thought I'd take a minute of fresh air, you know?" The second thing you notice about Leon is how much he calms you. More importantly, how much you never noticed that you were anxious when you were around others. He had this aura of relaxing or maybe you were just buzzed, who knows that either? Maybe it's the cigarette, speaking of...

"I haven't smoked since college. Cigarettes, I mean. Don't think I even know how to do it anymore." The confession makes his head tilt to the side, now taking more of an interest in the conversation than before. He grinned wolfishly, taking your chin in one of his thick and strong hands and pulling your head forward. For a second, you could almost be dumb enough to think he'd be moving in for a kiss. Of course not. You'd never be that lucky. "Open f'me, sweetheart." And like an obedient puppy, you opened your mouth just enough so your pretty pink-shaded lips could be parted. He placed the cigarette on your lip, the moisture making the filter stay in your mouth alongside his index and middle finger holding it up, thumb brushing your chin. Little hazes of grey smoke dance along your tongue without even taking a sip of the smoke yet, your lips trembling with a lustful agony. "Now close your mouth..." He whispered, his damp and hot and horny breath hitting your ear like an affectionate declaration of love. "And inhale."

You close your lips around the cigarette, faintly tasting the flavor of him where he had sucked on the cigarette. You got notes of citrus, rum or some expensive, top-shelf label of whiskey he used to help quell the pain he experienced on grueling missions, tobacco, and maybe even the slightest hint of his wife's lipstick. Chanel's Rogue Allure, if you had to guess correctly. "...Now hold it..."

You held it. "Silly girl." He whispered, pulling the cigarette away from your lips while you slowly exhaled the rest of the smoke you've been holding in your mouth and then some. You can't tell if it's because of the alcohol, Leon's presence, or your mere anxiety but you begin to feel dizzy. Thankfully Leon seems to swoop in with his questions to keep your head in the game. Bless him.

"Why'd you need a minute, huh?"

For a minute there, you didn't know how to respond. Looking down at the leathery pumps you chose for the evening, you begin to wonder why you even chose them instead of answering his question. But you answered him. Eventually.

"I'm just tired. This whole night just seems a bit…” You gesture to the party in the background. “Fake. I don’t want to be here."

He hummed in agreement, but it felt like more of a signal for you to keep going. "I'm also just terrible at making conversation. Especially when it's awkward and silent."

His eyes flicker down to the pumps he'd already stared at tonight, not finding an interest in them anymore than your own body. He tucked his lip between his teeth, pulling the pink flesh away from his mouth before he spoke up again. "You're not that bad, you know? I think you're pretty good. How about this?" He pauses. Then a beat passes.

"Tell me something true. Tell me something you wouldn't brag to anyone about." He moved his cigarette to rest on the balustrade instead of the space between his fingers. "Something that's yours...and only yours."

You look at Leon with wide eyes, mouth agape as you struggle to answer his question. Your eyes rake down his face from the space between his eyebrows to his parted, pink lips: just a little chapped from the cold chill of the night air. You wanted to kiss him. All of those times you've had him over for dinner, all of those times you've spent with your hand down your panties while your husband was away on "business": dreaming of his best friend, Leon, and god, all of those times you thought about throwing caution to the wind and leaning in to press your lips against his: the sum of all of those moments had you quivering for more.

But you'd never cheat. You have a reputation. You have a husband that gifted you the pretty diamond ring on your finger. But how did it always feel so...impossible? Like you couldn't live another day if you weren't able to fuck Leon like a rabid dog in heat. But he was staring at you, almost as if his eyes were laser beams and searing holes into your skin: you had to answer.

"I don't know what I could tell you that's only mine." You chew on your lip. "Huh. How about..."

How about the fact I wanna kiss you? I wish it was you I was in bed with rather than my stupid, cheating husband? The fact you are so much hotter than him?

"I hate being a trophy." And that brings the biggest grin on Leon's face. A massive shit-eating grin. Leon had gone stir crazy. He wanted to peel your entire being open, see all of the nooks and crannies of your soul and devour it whole. But now wasn't the time to scare you away: even if he wanted to fuck you, you were still a friend to him. So he calmed down. "I can't say that's too surprising. I mean, who would? Being able to be pretty and have money being tossed at you is nice until you want something deeper. Then it seems like one of the only things that are scarce in your life."

You nod, letting out a breath of consolation. "That's exactly how I feel. Like my only purpose is to sit still, look pretty, serve my husband, and be a hole when he needs it."

His eyes become downcast, looking down at the garden on the ground level of the restaurant. "I get what you mean." The moment was interrupted by a waiter peeking out on the two of you: head poked outside of the door that lead to the outside area. He pulls his hand away from your soft skin and back to his side, sighing wistfully that tonight wouldn't be the night he gets to act on his desires for you. Damn it all to hell.

"You should head back. I'll be back, yeah?" You nod and within a few seconds, you've returned to your spot at the dinner table. He sighs, hand slipping down to palm at his erection. Fuck. Can't go back like this.

Just resist. You're just another woman. You have a husband, He thinks to himself, I'm married to a lovely woman. I am a faithful husband. The silent mantra he practices on himself works about as well as a band-aid on a bullet hole. Resist. God, but you looked so pretty tonight. That cute jewelry set you wore with your little black dress? Hot. The smoothness of your skin?

Resist.

But he can't stop picturing you on your knees in front of him, sucking on his cock. The sounds your perfect, wet mouth would make. How he'd ease himself down your throat. How you'd whine.

Resist.

Or how about when he could be fucking his cock into your tight, wet, and warm cunt? The tip of his dick kissing your cervix? Or what about the positions he could force your body into? Like having his arm around your throat, bicep curling into your mouth to muffle your moans from his wife hearing? Or how one of his hands would be gripping your hips while he needily plowed into your pussy, while you begged him to let up. Resist.

Resist.

Fuck it.

In the few moments after he's excused himself from you, he's already rushing to the upstairs bathroom of the restaurant: thanking the holy beings above for making it a single stall bathroom for his jerking pleasure. He hastily unbuckles his belt with one hand, other hand impulsively opening Twitter as a first resort to find some fashion fanatic post about the slutty lingerie photo-shoot you did for Chanel. Alas, you're still a bit of an undiscovered goddess in the modeling industry at the moment: so Google is his next best option. He pulls out his half-hard but hardening cock from his jeans before he can even find your photo-shoot and gives it a quick few pumps to ease the throbbing that's starting to build up in his loins. Eventually, he finds it. Thank fucking god because the creativity for his fantasies are beginning to run quite dry. And instantly he's grunting and groaning while he strokes his cock and scrolls through the multiple scandalous photos the photographers took of you.

"Fuck." He winces in pleasurable agony as he stares at quite possibly his favorite photo of you. The photo was in black and white: theme being "Overtime" like you mentioned. The white button up shirt was undone, revealing you had nothing on underneath, and allowed for the side of your perfect breasts to be revealed. If he squinted just a little harder, he could see your puffy nipples threatening to peek out of the shirt. He tried squinting a little harder to see your nipples a little easier. And oh my god. You have piercings?! He almost shot his entire load on the spot. God, he needed to fuck you. And hard. He groans as he feel himself get closer to orgasm. Closer, and closer, until--

"Leon?"

Fuck. It was you. God, of course you're so goddamn sweet, checking up on him to make sure he's okay. He didn't dare stop stroking himself off, especially not when he's got jerk-worthy material of you almost catching him. That's also not mentioning the soft intonations of your almost innocent voice right there. He's trying not to cum too quick, wanting to savor those images for as long as he could but he also realized his wife might start asking some questions and she wouldn't be on the other side of the door if she came upstairs. "F-fuck, yeah?" He responded after much too long of hearing your sweet voice. "Did you need something?" "Are you okay? I just got worried when you left. You've been gone for like..." You check your wristwatch: a classic and dainty Timex from the 80s with a blank band that wrapped around your wrist snugly.

"Fifteen minutes. Do you need water? Ibuprofen?" He shakes his head as if you could see him while he continues to jerk himself off, hand swirling in a sort of cranking motion as he tries to work his cock to orgasm. But his pre-cum isn't coming out fast enough, not as fast as the pumping motions his hand was doing right now, so he spits in his hand before bringing his palm back down to his cock and lathering his dick in spit. You believe him enough to think he might be getting ready to vomit.

"Nah, jus'...ngh, drank too much, I think." Please keep talking, He selfishly thinks to himself. "Oh, okay. Well, if you need anything, just text me?" He nodded, grunting out a thank you while he continues to dream of ruthlessly fucking you until you're embedded into his mattress. He wants you. He needs you. He feels himself get a little closer until he finally releases into his fist. His hot and sticky cum ran down his palm while the waves of post-orgasmic bliss and post-nut clarity simultaneously moved together as one. For a few minutes, he's panting like a rabid dog in heat until his breath eventually stills and he's able to walk downstairs and look his wife in the face while giving her the impression that he definitely didn't just masturbate to his best friend's wife. When he sits down at the table, the first person he makes eye contact with is you. You smile at him, mouthing a "you okay?" because, of course, you're still worried about him being sick. He nods with a grin peeled onto his face. Because he came to the sound of your voice. And you didn't have a fucking clue.

credits: snoopy divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more heart divider by @saradika-graphics