#bad ideas
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zippyskyfalls · 1 day ago
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Already posted this on my Zeus rp blog but whatever
Hear me Out: Olympus sitcom AU
The series follows each 12 pantheonic gods (+ Hades) living in Mount Olympus, an apartment complex inside of New York (bc my dumbest knows nothing about modern greece)
Obviously, the family tree is a LOT different in this AU
Hades, Poseidon, and Zeus are all related.
Hera only has 1 sister (Hestia)
Demeter is related to NOBODY, not even Persephone (though the two are good friends in the AU)
Athena and Ares are siblings, same with Artemis and Apollo
Nobody else in the group is related in any way, shape, or form.
FUN FACT: ZEUS, POSEIDON AND HADES WENT TO COURT.
That's right 10 year old Zeus, 13 year old Poseidon, and 15 year old Hades were sent to court for the collective attempted murder of their father, Kronos. Luckily, there was enough evidence that Kronos was an abusive piece of shit, so they got off the charges for self-defense, and Kronos was sentenced to 40 years of prison.
Athena is studying for a degree in architecture (bc I just feel like she'd be into that shit). Athena can and WILL gush about her favorite types of stone material if she gets the chance to do so. Athena's 100% Aroace, but since this AU takes place in the 1980s, she just thinks she hasn't found the right guy yet
Apollo has a pretty face, but the second he opens his mouth, he's spouting shit about the newest black hole discovery. Him and Athena (despite being different in almost every way) get along VERY well
I'll answer questions about the other Olympians later but that's it for now
The show (hypothetically) begins with Aphrodite leaving her fiance (Heph :3) at the altar, causing the whole group to fall into chaos. Heph is obviously heartbroken that the woman he loves left him, but he'll still try being friends with her (though early on he has very "nice guy" energy)
One side is on Aphrodite's side. They know Aph and Heph were just too different to commit to a marriage. It was bound to happen eventually. Aphrodite thought she was in love, but it was never meant to be. She loved Hephaestus, but not in the way he wanted hernto. (that side consists of Apollo, Artemis, Poseidon, Ares, Hades, and Hera)
The other side is on Hephaestus' side. This was the happiest day of his life, and Aphrodite (who was a huge player before she got with Heph) let all of that go like 30 minutes before the wedding was meant to begin just because it "didn't feel right." I mean, what kind of asshole leaves someone they've known for years at the altar!? (That side consists of Zeus, Dionysus, Hermes, Demeter, and Athena... for some reason)
I'm planning on making this a series of comics, but I wanna know if anyone else would like this!
As a thank you for reading, have this Doodle of tiny Hades, Poseidon and Zeus in court
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sara-the-wizard · 6 months ago
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Requests :)
Go to my ask box and write down the most reckless or dumb idea you can think of that Leo would do with the wheelchair.
And I will make a doodle for it!
Ya know, something like this!
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Oh this could be fun! :)
Have fun! Lord bless you!
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foone · 5 months ago
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Bad idea for a story:
The kingdom is in flames, and the King lies dead in a commoner's grave. The people have risen up in a glorious socialist revolution, and they're in power now, the monarchy that ruled this country for centuries is gone... Or are they?
The king had many sons and daughters. The daughters they're not worried about, the kingdom never had a queen, the rules were always sexist. But the princes? Any of them could rally an army of loyalists and try to take back the kingdom.
The more hardline elements of the revolution says that the princes must die. Anyone who has a "legitimate" claim on the throne is a threat.
But the more flexible elements of the revolutionary council have an alternative idea, one that'll prevent any more bloodshed.
We simply feminize the princes! If all the heirs of the King are princesses, none of them can make a claim on the throne!
Sure it's a little unorthodox but it'll mean fewer bodies buried under the foundations of our new more-equal society.
We don't want to set the tone for our enduring society by eliminating some people because they were inconvenient. That's the kind of thing that gets normalized and then you've got genocides and purges as regular things.
Instead we're just building our society on forced-feminization which I'm sure won't affect anything at all.
(I wrote this because I thought it was funny, but I do acknowledge that there's a certain subset of Tumblr users who would think "the Soviet Union but they forcefem you" is the hottest idea ever)
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incorrectbatfam · 3 months ago
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Awful ideas for DashCon 3
- Goncharov movie screening
- Superhell VR simulator
- Tumblr sexyman drag show
- Fanfic reading open mic
- An actual crab rave
- Spider eating contest, hosted by Georg
- Ea-Nasir's gift shop
- Ball pit*
*may contain piss
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lost-but-with-coffee · 5 months ago
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Terrible zzz ideas# 28
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mirqmarq428 · 1 year ago
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we were both catholic but idk what he believes now if anything. we play chess online still and are currently catching up over text
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killowave · 2 months ago
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defire · 6 months ago
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Painful/bad caretaking ideas
Content: very mild gore
(sometimes you don't have what you need or you are STUPID)
(plenty of wives tale type things)
Saltwater bath for cleaning wounds (stings)
I read that you can pee on wounds to clean them (DON'T) but it's a real myth out there (stings, infections)
Whumper that just uses myths for painful "treatment"--"some ammonia in the eyes should fix that defiance!" (Blindness? Burning)
Alcohol on wounds (stings and burns, can make it worse by drying it out)
Cutting away infected skin (you have to cut into the good skin a bit and it feels like ripping it off)
Pulling out the arrow
Stitches obviously but you can also use a good 'ol stapler <.<
"Tonic" for sickness (jalapenos and garlic soaked in vinegar for 3 weeks, or whatever horror you can come up with) (causes stomach pain)
Wormwood. For anything. It's so bitter it brings tears to your eyes (lots of side effects if you have too much)
(yes these are all real)
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discokicks · 2 years ago
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BAD IDEAS (ON THE SAME PAGE) — JAMIE TARTT
a fic inspired by bad idea right by olivia rodrigo!
masterlist! song inspo! AO3!
pairing: jamie tartt x fem!reader (no use of y/n!)
summary: football star jamie tartt is an asshole. he’s the one ex of yours that your friends always hated, one that you now all joke about, and one you haven’t spoken to in four years. however, after a chance encounter, the two of you reconnect, and he leaves you with his new number and a hundred questions about his reformed personality. but seeing him tonight would be a bad idea, right?
word count & rating: 11k (wowza), M! (18+! minors get away or i’ll narc on you to your guardians)
warnings: SMUUUUUUT, porn with plot, lots of suggestive language, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, sprinkling of a handjob, unprotected p in v (wrap it up kids), angst, mentions of alcohol, probable secondhand embarrassment, exes reuniting (it needs a warning sometimes), jamie tartt was an asshole and is now just a prick (in the best way possible), reader is a physio, major fluff, and swearing. also reader is american (bc the author is too. sorry </3)
authors note: well. i wrote it. olivia wrote this song for teenage girls in their twenties (me) only and i immediately thought of this fic the second i heard it. i'm calling this an exercise in smut writing before i embark on my aces (my roy kent series for my new friends) eventual-smut-adventure, so this evolved into something i wasn’t expecting but i had so much fucking fun writing it. god, i love jamie tartt. also! this is my first smut fic at this type of level, so go easy on me. hope you all enjoy. love you all tons! -mags
There are two universal truths in life. 
The first is that the coffee shop you frequent on your way to work will and will always have the best cold brew you’ve ever tasted. The second is that Jamie Tartt will and will always be a massive fucking prick, and you’ll never see him again for as long as you live.
These are two things you live by, and while they may seem rather mundane or petty in the grand scheme of things, they are the only truths you can count on these days. Especially when everything else is so up in the air.
However, the universe doesn’t seem to believe in these things as blindly as you do, and this becomes evident the moment that you step into the shop on a gloomy Wednesday morning. Because these two truths (well, they’re fucking bald-faced lies now aren’t they, huh?) are broken within approximately two minutes of each other with seven words.
It began when you greeted Natalia, the barista who was here every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday before your shift at the clinic with a wide smile. As soon as she saw your face, her expression turned apologetic, albeit a bit dazed.
“You’re gonna hate me,” she says, putting her hands on either side of the register. Your brows shot up at her words. “We just ran out of cold brew.”
Your face falls. “You’re kidding.”
“We were low on it this morning,” she starts to explain, “our stupid night-shifters didn’t prep enough last night. And it’s been selling like crazy today.”
“Seriously?” you nearly whine. “I might cry.”
“I’m sorry, Doc,” she apologizes, but she doesn’t sound too apologetic. Natalia’s eyes keep shifting to your left, the dazed look in her eye never faltering. Then, she says the fated seven words. “But he took the last of it.”
You turn your head in the direction she’s been looking, and your blood runs completely cold. You think you could drop dead and go to hell at this very moment, and it’d be a better existence than what awaits you in the next five minutes. And while this all may sound dramatic, you don’t care. 
You don’t care because Jamie fucking Tartt is standing across from you, newly long hair peeking out from beneath his hood. He’s engrossed in whatever’s on his phone, fingers flying back and forth like he’s texting. 
You think you could run. You’re pretty sure you could successfully make a break for it and leave Natalia high and dry without him seeing you. It’d be an easy exit, and you’d never have to see him again.
But then, as if he can feel your eyes on him, he looks up. And the second he meets your gaze, his face falls in what you can imagine was a similar fashion to yours. 
Fuck.
Luckily, Natalia is none the wiser. She barely notices your expression, and with Jamie by the pick-up area, she can’t see the way he’s looking at you. So, instead of questioning you, she straight-up giggles.
“I know,” she practically squeals. “I was totally going to save you the last of it, but he asked for it. And I mean, c’mon. It’s Jamie Tartt. I couldn’t possibly say no to him.”
You tragically know that feeling all too well. Knowing you probably would have had a snappier, more cutting response to that if you weren’t in the most debilitating phase of shock, you settle for a quiet, “It’s okay.” You nod at her, brushing it off in an attempt to be casual. “I can settle for an espresso today.”
Natalia nods, tapping it into her register. “Same size as usual?”
“Yeah,” you say, not completely sure what you’re agreeing to. You glance over again at Jamie and find that he’s still standing there, staring at you, and you immediately blink away. “That’s fine.”
The rest of the transaction feels as though it takes a millennium and three seconds all at once. You’re still caught off guard by the time Natalia gives you your receipt with a dazed look in your eye that now matches hers. 
However, yours isn’t because you just saw your favorite Richmond player or your favorite reality show villain. It’s because you’ve just seen your ex-boyfriend and you’re about to walk over and stand next to him for a prolonged period of time.
Nothing about this scenario feels real. You hadn’t seen him in four years. Not since things ended as ugly as they had, with him leaving you sobbing outside of a club at three in the morning, letting you know that things were over between you two. And he hadn’t even given you a reason. It was just that he wasn’t ‘feeling’ it anymore.
You saw in a tabloid about three months later that he was now seeing Keeley Jones (yeah, having to compete with that did not sit well with you at all) and had drawn your assumptions from there. Whether or not he’d been seeing her behind your back or had broken up with you to be with her, you didn’t know. You didn’t care. You were in your anger stage of the break-up and only knew one thing.
Jamie Tartt was a massive fucking prick, and you’d sooner walk on a bed of nails before you saw him again.
But now here he was. And there were no nails to be found.
You avoid eye contact as you pass him to wait for your coffee. There’s a piece of you that wants to say hi and play it cool, just to put on a show for him about how unaffected you were by everything that had happened. The other piece of you hopes that not a word is said for your entire time here.
Unfortunately, neither of those happen.
Jamie slides over to be near you, awkwardly rocking back and forth on his heels. His hands are stuffed in his sweatshirt pocket, and you wait for him to say something. Anything. But he doesn’t.
Instead, you can feel the ‘play it cool’ part of you rise up to the surface. You could do this. You could feign indifference. Fuck him, you could be cool.
You glance over at him and see that he’s pressing his lips together, eyes shifting around the coffee shop. It’s crazy how familiar you still are with his tells to know he’s desperately looking for a way to say something. 
You say it for him. “Hi,” you say simply. Cool and unaffected.
It’s as if the one word alone makes him flinch. He clearly wasn’t expecting you to say anything. “Hi—” He clears his throat after his greeting comes out cracked, and he stuffs his hands further in his pockets. “Hey.”
The awkwardness of this moment is killing you, and it’s taking everything in you to pretend like it's not. As you search for something else to say, you land on, “You took my cold brew.”
You can see his brows shoot up out of the corner of your eye. “Oh, fuck, did I?” 
You nod slowly. “Yeah,” you tell him. “I come in here every morning. Friends with the barista. Said she was going to save me the last of it, but…” You trail off and finally look at him. “She couldn’t say no to Jamie Tartt, apparently.”
You want to jump up and down about how well you’re doing right now. Maybe you are over him. Maybe you’ve finally moved past this shit, and seeing him once more is all you needed to solidify that. Maybe—
The second he chuckles softly with an apologetic smile, your confidence in those things shoots down. “I’m sorry,” he says.
“Since when do you drink cold brew, anyway?” you ask, frustrated with the fact that he’s fucking laughing in front of you. “You were always a like, caramel macchiato or frappuccino asshole.”
The names make him laugh harder, shaking his head. “Don’t like those anymore,” he responds. “Sugar hurts me teeth. Tryin’ somethin’ new.”
“Yeah,” you mutter. “My fucking coffee.”
That chuckle continues with a shrug. “I’m sorry.” he says again. Then he pauses. “But it’s not like your name was on it, or anythin’.”
Your face draws blank, and immediately, Jamie can tell he’s made a misstep. And it’s not that you’re angry about the joke, it’s just the… everything. Him. The situation. Everything you can remember that you wonder if he bothers to remember too.
Before you can walk away, you feel his hand on your arm. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he repeats for a third time, turning you so that you’ll look at him. Your pissed-off expression meets his easy smile and it only fuels your anger more. “I was jokin’. I’m sorry I took your coffee. We can get ‘em to put your name on it if you want.”
“Whatever,” you mutter. It’s not the most mature thing you could have said, but frankly, you don’t care. You just want to get your consolation espresso and get the hell out of here. “What are you even doing over here anyway?”
You’re not sure why you ask it. You don’t know why you keep the conversation going. Jamie looks just as surprised as you are. “I moved over here a couple weeks ago,” he answers. “Got sick of the old place.”
“Can’t imagine why,” you reply. By the way that Jamie snorts, you know he recalls just how much you hated his apartment when you knew him. It screamed twenty-two-year-old AFC-money shithead and you would tease him about it constantly. “Was the empty beer bottle sculpture finally giving you mold poisoning?”
He chuckles again. “That came down shortly after we stopped talking.”
“Oh, so I was just lucky enough to see it in its final days?”
“Oi,” he says, pointing at you. “That thing was fuckin’ impressive and you know it.”
“Impressive in a dorm,” you shoot back. “Not a seven million pound flat.”
He bows his head in a guilty manner. “You remember that, huh?”
“Hard not to,” you answer. “You never stopped talking about it.”
He at least has the decency to wince at that one. “I know,” he says earnestly. It makes you look at him. He shrugs once more. “I wanted to impress ya.”
He did impress you. But not with things like that. He’d impress you when you watched him play, he’d impress you when he made you laugh, and he’d impress you on the rare occasion that he’d just be himself in front of you. Not some asshole footballer. Just him.
But you don’t say that. You say, “That wasn’t the way.”
“Yeah,” he chuckles mirthlessly. “Got that now.” He rocks back on his heels again, like he’s not sure if he should say whatever he wants to. “I was a proper fucking dick to you, wasn’t I?”
That almost makes you fall over. Did he just say that? Did he actually just admit that? Out loud, here, for everyone to hear? Accountability? Unprompted? From Jamie Tartt? 
You want to glance around to see if Rod Sterling’s going to emerge from the bathroom to narrate the next couple of minutes of your life, but are too shocked to do so. 
Your surprise must show in your eyes, because Jamie laughs to himself. “Yeah. Wild, innit?” He shakes his head. “On a bit of an apology tour this year. Trying to build back some bridges, or whatever.”
The nod you give him is slow, still reeling from all of this. “Right,” you say lamely. “Building bridges.”
“I’m serious,” he tells you and for a brief moment, you think he may just mean it. The sincerity in his eyes is clear. “I was terrible to you. And I’m sorry.”
Whatever you were expecting when you stepped into this coffee shop on this rainy Wednesday, it certainly wasn’t this. And you certainly weren’t expecting your first time reuniting with him to go this way— with him apologizing to you. The actual words ‘I’m sorry’ just left his mouth. 
You genuinely don’t know who this is. Because it’s certainly not the Jamie you knew.
You saw flashes of this guy. Quiet moments during your short-lived relationship, typically when it was just the two of you. It’s the type of guy you always knew he could be if he tried. The type of guy you pushed him to be. 
(Your friends always taunted you about having the ever-horrendous I-can-fix-him gene, and they never quite let go of it. But it’s not like it wasn’t true.)
Those flashes are why you held out for as long as you did. If it were anyone else, any other asshole who treated you the way he did, you would have dropped them in a second. But he wasn’t like that. Not always, at least.
It was terrible to think like that. You’d been in a low spot when you’d met him and had taken even lower when he left you. You’d recovered tenfold from that and now knew your worth. 
But as he stands in front of you, apologizing, genuinely apologizing, and looking at you like that, you start to question it.
No! the logical part of your brain practically screams. Don’t you fucking dare.
You’re keen to listen to that for the time being. It hardens you. And all you can do is nod at him again. “Well, uh—” Your voice comes out hoarse. You cough awkwardly. “Yeah. You were. Terrible to me. And, uh… thank you. For saying that.”
So much for playing it cool. You want to slam your head up against the wall but hold yourself back from doing so.
He nods at you, opening his mouth to say something else before he’s interrupted by one of the baristas calling your name. His cold brew’s sitting on the counter too, something the two of you clearly missed in the middle of your conversation.
When you reach for your drink, he grabs his too. He’s still staring at you, biting the inside of his cheek like he wants to say something. When you go to move around him, he stops you.
“Look, I just—” You look up at him expectantly, and his shoulders deflate. “I know you probably want nothin' to do with me. But, I just… I want to talk to you.”
Your espresso is hot in your hands. “Well, that sounds like a you problem.”
That’s when he says your name. Your actual name. Not the nickname that everyone calls you, not a pet name that he used to use, he says your name. And it makes you stop in your tracks.
It’s so stupid. It’s so fucking dumb that your fucking name can send you back to the day you first met him and were completely taken with him. You hate it. And you hate the way it makes your walls come crumbling down.
“Please,” he begs. “Can we… Can I at least give you my number? It’s a new one, but I-I think I’ve still got yours. You don’t have to use it if you don’t want to. But just so you can… I don’t know? Think about it?”
You wouldn’t know if he still had your number. You blocked him ages ago. But you doubt it. 
However, the more you think about it, the more you consider it. It’s the product of your resolve falling and well, everything else about him now. You think about it.
If you allowed him to give you his number, the ball would be in your court. You could do what you wanted with it. You could text him, you could tell him to fuck off, you could ignore him. It was up to you. 
And you don’t know if that’s worse or better.
You decide on better. The second you sigh, Jamie knows he’s got you. A wide grin breaks out on his face as you hand him your phone. “I’ll think about it,” you mutter. 
That’s good enough for him. He gives your phone back to you, new number inserted and new contact created. You’re glad he didn’t search for his old one. That one just says ASSHOLE in big capital letters with about a million gun emojis. 
(That was done by your previous roommates in an effort to get you to move on from him. You thought it was a bit overdramatic. You were never one for emojis.)
He’s smiling when he holds his coffee out for you. You stare at him blankly, thinking he’s attempting to cheers you. Instead, he shakes his head and says, “Take it.”
You blink at him. “What?”
“Trade with me,” he clarifies and your expression turns to one of shock. “C’mon. You said it’s yours anyway, right?” When you don’t move he rolls his eyes. “Offer’s only good for another second. Me arm’s getting tired.”
At that, you sigh rather dramatically and grumble to yourself, trying not to act pleased by the gesture. You hand him your coffee and he gives you his. “Thanks,” you say. It was kind of him. 
His grin returns and he nods at you. “Alright,” he says. After a slightly awkward beat, he steps back from you. “It was good to see you, Doc. Really.” You’re taken back by how genuine his voice sounds and say nothing in return. “I’ll talk to you later?”
He says it as a question, hopeful and well-meaning. “Yeah,” you tell him noncommittally. “Maybe.”
That too, is good enough for him. Because he sends you one more smile, then walks out of the coffee shop with your espresso in hand. 
You’re still reeling from the interaction when you glance down at his your cold brew and see Natalia’s handwriting. She’s made it just as you like it, down to the milk and everything.
But below it is a small drawing. It’s a tiny shark fin with a #9 written inside, with little lettering circling around it.
Doo-doo-do-doo-do-do-doo.
You’re fucked.
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“Are you out of your fucking mind?” is the question that your best friend and former roommate Leah screams at you over drinks at a busy rooftop bar. So busy, in fact, that barely anyone looks over at the two of you.
You’d made the mistake of telling Leah that not only had you run into Jamie on Wednesday, but you’d let him give you his number. 
And you’d texted him after hours of deliberation.
It was something innocent, something you’d thought way too much about, but innocent still. You weren’t sure if you were ready to actually talk to him, but there was something about texting him that wasn’t so scary. Your guard was clearly still up, evident by how dry you were in your messages, and you were keeping your distance. You never texted back too quickly, didn’t ask many questions, and often left him on read. 
(Yeah, you’d turned your read receipts on for him. What about it?)
Your first text was a simple enough question, something that you’d been genuinely wondering about since you saw him. It was open enough for a conversation but not too forward. how’d you know my coffee order?
His response came in minutes later. Is that yours? Good taste. It was shortly followed up with, That espresso you drink was fucking disgusting though.
And that was that. That was how you started texting your ex again. That’s how you reconnected yourself with Jamie Tartt. That’s how you knew it was over for you.
And that’s how you’re pretty sure you’re about to kill your best friend.
Leah’s eyes were wild, somehow angry yet still disbelieving yet intrigued. But the intrigue was very minimal. Very minimal. It was hidden well by how pissed off she was at you.
She had every right to be pissed at you. She was the one who always warned you about him. She’d straight-up nursed you back to health when you broke up. She was the one who had to hear about him 24 hours a day until you were finally over him.
Leah had had a year of peace. And now you were killing her for good.
“You’re kidding, right?” she follows up with. Her grip on your arm is tight. “Please tell me your kidding.”
“Leah…” Your voice is weak.
It tells her everything she needs to know. “Oh, my God! Oh, my. God.” She puts her face in her hands. “You’re insane. You’re fucking losing it and we need to have you checked out right now.”
“I’m completely sentient and in control of my own body.”
“Are you sure?”
You sip at your cocktail. “I reset a knee today. I’m pretty sure.”
“I think you might need to reconsider,” she says. “Because you just told me that not only are you talking to Jamie Tartt again, but you were the one who instigated it!”
You deserve this verbal beatdown and you know it. But all you can do is shrug. “Technically, he gave me his number. He’s the one who instigated it.”
“I’m gonna throw my fucking drink in your face,” Leah threatens, gripping her glass in warning. 
You roll your eyes at her. “Nothing’s gonna happen,” you say, even though you know you’re probably lying. Leah knows this too. “We’ve just been texting a little. It’s nothing serious.”
“Yeah, sure,” she deadpans. “Right. And even if I did believe you, what happens if it does? What happens if you get back in your weird, scary Jamie phase and he kills you again? I can’t deal with that.”
“That’s not going to happen,” you assure her, and this time it’s more confident. Because you know you won’t. Not this time. Not if anything happens.
You’d met Jamie when you were twenty-two. You were in your first year of your Masters program, slightly lost as in your move to London to finish your journey to become a physical therapist. Or a physio, as they called it here. Whatever. You couldn’t keep up with the names. 
You were shadowing a physio at the clinic you now worked at, assisting him as a part of your internship at one of the football tournaments the clinic worked at. It was a ton of big-wig footballers, some names you recognized, others you didn’t. But it didn’t matter. They were precious fucking cargo and you were so paranoid about screwing up that you barely registered who they were when you worked on them.
That was, until a twenty-two-year-old Jamie Tartt sprained his ankle and plopped himself down on your doctor’s bench. He looked at you, you assisted him, and you were wrapped up in what you were doing that you didn’t even notice he was flirting with you. 
You didn’t realize until he asked you out. And the rest was history, for better or for worse.
You were surprised he went for you. You knew who Jamie was, what type of girls he liked to be seen with. They were singers and models and actresses. They weren’t you. 
(Perhaps that’s one of the reasons you liked him so much. Because he chose you. You didn’t like to think about that phase of your life.) 
But after six months of seeing him, he ended things out of nowhere. Right when you’d settled on the idea that despite it all, you might be in love with him. And that was that.
You hadn’t seen him since. Not until this week.
“Not gonna happen my ass,” Leah scoffs, bringing you back into the conversation at hand.
A sigh of frustration leaves your lips. “Listen, I know it’s a bad idea;” you tell her. “I know it is. But, I don’t know. There was something different about him, Leah. He was just… like not someone I recognized.”
“Maybe because his hair is fucking long and stupid now.” She brings her glass to her lips. “His highlights look horrendous.”
“I actually like his hair like this,” you admit, earning yet another eye roll. “Listen. I’m not saying he’s changed. He probably hasn’t. But I…” You trail off with a shrug. “I don’t know. What if he has?”
Leah’s looking at you like you’re the dumbest person she’s ever met in her life. “Are you hearing yourself right now?” she asks incredulously. “Babe, he was a prick to you. Like, category-five, prestige-level twat. Like, worst boyfriend you’ve ever had.”
“I know,” you repeat. “And I said nothing’s going to happen. But if it does, and it goes south, I give you full permission to say I-told-you-so for the rest of my life, alright?”
Leah bites the inside of her cheek, shaking her head. “Whatever,” she says. After a moment, she glances over at you. “I’m just looking out for you, y’know. I don’t want to see you hurt again. And I definitely don’t want him to be the reason for that hurt again.”
You grab her hand. “I know,” you say once more. “And I love you for it. But if I’m gonna be stupid, I’m fully aware of when I’m gonna do it. And it’s gonna be my own fault.”
There’s a moment of silence between the two of you before Leah nods. “Okay,” she finally says. “Okay. Fine. Your fucking funeral.”
“I’ll let you give the eulogy and allow you to call me a dumb bitch for ten minutes straight.”
“Sold,” Leah says, pointing at you. That slight intrigue you previously saw in her eye returns. “Okay, now that I’ve yelled at you, you need to tell me everything.”
And so you do. You tell her how he took your coffee, how you nearly threw up the second you saw him, how you played it cool until you didn’t. How he apologized to you. Joked around with you. Apologized some more. And then he gave you his coffee. 
You despise how excited you sound about it. Again, you’re trying to play it cool, but the people that know you the best can always see right through you. You’re excited about it. Excited about him.
It’s a bad idea to be excited about him.
It’s a bad idea to look down at your phone after you and Leah order another drink. Your heart stops when you see he’s texted you. 
It’s a bad idea to open the message when Leah excuses herself to go to the bathroom. What are you up to tonight? 
It’s past midnight on a Saturday and he’s texting you. It’s still preseason for him, so he might be drunk, he may not be. You’re three drinks deep and aren’t sure if you are.
It’s a bad idea to respond to him. getting drinks with a friend. You keep it dry.
It’s a bad idea to not look down at your phone until you finish the drinks you ordered. Because now, you’re definitely drunk and looking at it all with new eyes. 
Would you want to hang out tonight? No pressure.
It’s a bad idea to consider it. 
But it’s a worse idea to agree.
text me your new address. i can be there by 1:30.
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Before you know what you’re doing, you’re knocking on Jamie’s door, intertwining your fingers together when you realize you’re shaking.
The second you do it, you regret it. You’re no longer feeling the effects of your drinks. It wore off on the Uber ride over here. And everything seems like a terrible idea now.
God, what were you doing? He treated you like that and the second you see him again, you go running back? He was an asshole. He’d made you question everything about yourself, he’d made you cry, he’d made you experience every fucking emotion in the book and all it took is one text for you to be back on his doorstep?
Your roommate was right. This was a horrendous idea and you were an idiot.
However, none of that matters. It doesn’t matter because Jamie Tartt’s opening his door and he’s got a stupid fucking smile on his face. And the second you see it, you know there’s no turning back.
“Hey,” he says as he opens the door. “You alright, love?”
You clench your jaw at the name, at his smile, about how casual he’s being, about everything. “Hey,” you say, avoiding his eyes to look around his flat. 
It’s a complete 180 from what he had when he first joined Richmond and what he had when you knew him. It’s a bit less mojo-dojo-casa-house-looking and something more mature. While you can still tell that a twenty-something guy definitely lives here, it’s decorated well, it’s put together, and it’s clean. No beer bottle sculptures in sight. He’s even got a fucking candle burning on his counter. Who the fuck is this and what did he do with the guy you knew?
Jamie follows you as you enter, wiping his hands on his sweatpants. “You find the place okay?”
His question snaps you out of your flat-induced haze. “Yeah,” you reply. You clear your throat. “This is nice.”
That same, stupid smile returns, but it looks a bit nervous. “Yeah. I told you it was a bit different, huh?” he chuckles. He walks toward his island, rounding it as he speaks. “Needed a fresh start or whatever. The old one was gettin’... old.” He watches you as you nod, continuing to look around. “You still in the same place with the same people?”
“Uh, no. Different place. No people,” you answer. You’ve stayed on your side of the counter, actively keeping your distance. “Willa moved to New York last year and Leah moved with her boyfriend. We live in the same building, though, which is nice.”
The small talk is fucking killing you. You’re not even sure if he cared to remember your previous roommates' names, so this all could be pointless. You can’t believe you’re here. You can’t believe you’re actually standing here, talking to him about the past. 
But as you finish speaking, he nods like he’s listening. Maybe he is listening. Maybe he does remember. 
“I’ll have to see that sometime,” he ends up saying, and the implication of it makes your head spin. He wants to see you again. Or he just learned small talk common courtesy. Whatever it is, it’s driving you insane. You have so many questions for him, so many things to say, and as he wipes his hands on his pants again and nods over to his kitchen, he asks, “Can I get you something to drink? I’ve got—”
“Why did you invite me here, Jamie?” The question comes spilling out of you, rushed as if it were waiting on the tip of your tongue and simply couldn’t stand to stay in any longer. Jamie stops in his tracks to blink at you. The look on his face encourages you to go on. “I mean, I know I texted you first. But why… why did you text me tonight? Why’d you—” You grimace, trying to find the right words. “Why’d you give me your number?”
He’s silent for a moment. Thinking. Evaluating. But his eyes haven’t left you. “Because I wanted you here,” he finally says. You cross your arms over your chest as he takes a step toward you. “Because I haven’t stopped thinking about you since I saw you.”
You want to say that you’ve been driven crazy all week because you feel same, but decide against it. Instead, you look away from him and scoff. “Right.”
“I’m serious,” he tells you, and your heart stops with every step he takes. “I felt like I was goin’ insane. I didn’t…” For a flash of a second, he looks shy. “I didn’t think I’d see you again. And I didn’t think you’d actually text me. I mean, I hoped you would, but…”
He’s right in front of you, but you still refuse to look at him. Your gaze has shifted to the floor. “I shouldn’t have,” you mutter.
The asshole has the nerve to chuckle, but it’s nervous. Your stomach churns. You’re not sure if you’ve ever heard him nervous. “No, you probably shouldn’t have,” he agrees. “I don’t deserve it.” He pauses and your throat starts to tighten. “I didn’t deserve you.”
That makes you look at him. Either he’s actually apologetic about everything, or he’s gotten really good at knowing everything you want to hear. “No. You didn’t.”
His fingers tentatively brush your arm and you allow him to take your hand. “I know,” he says. “I was a fucking prick. I get that now. I should never have… done that shit to ya.” You’re close enough to him now that if you moved an inch, his forehead would be up against yours. He brings your hand up to his mouth, pressing a feather-light kiss to the back of it. The action makes your throat tighten. “And I can’t fix it. But I…” He trails off again and looks you dead in the eye once he has the words. “I want to make it up to you.”
Your resolve is getting weaker and you hate yourself for it. You lean back against the counter, like that will put space between you two. “Jamie…”
“Please,” he whispers. His forehead finally meets yours. You can feel his breath on your lips. You don’t pull away. “Let me make it up to you.”
The last front you have standing weakly presents itself. “If you think,” you begin, breath shuddering as his hand meets your neck, “that one 2 AM hookup is going to make up for what you did, I—”
“I know it won’t,” he says, and it sounds like he does know. “But I want it to be a start.” The fingers on your neck are now tracing your jaw. And they tighten when he says, “Let me show you just how sorry I am, yeah? Let me make it fucking good for you.”
Jesus fucking Christ. That last front dissolves the second he says that, and your logic flips on itself. You came over here for a reason. You knew what this was. At least you got an overdue apology. Whether or not he meant it, is still up in the air, but if he’s promising things like that, then you might as well get something out of it.
You struggle to get a word out, so you nod against his hand. “O-Okay,” you finally stammer out. The way he’s looking at you gives you enough confidence to say, “Fine. Make it up to me.”
Jamie’s lips curl into a smirk and say, “As you wish,” before they’re on yours.
He’s softer than you remember. His lips aren’t chapped, he isn’t as aggressive with it, and he isn’t as rushed. Everything about him feels more mature and you struggle to understand how fast he could have changed in four years. But you’re not complaining. Not when he’s kissing you like this, with more practice and passion than you can ever recall.
His hand unlocks from yours to slide it up your sweatshirt, and it’s surprisingly warm against your back. Still, you shiver from the contact and you can feel him smirk once more against your lips. 
The action alone prompts you to fork a hand in his hair and tug at it slightly, reveling in the soft sound that escapes him. Everything about him comes back to you at once, and you’ve never been happier to know that the same things still get him. If he wants to play it like that, you can keep up.
His hands drop to grab your thighs and lift you onto the counter, breaking the kiss momentarily. Your chest is heaving up and down, lips swollen and wet. Jamie appears to be in the same boat. “Fuck,” he whispers, sounding even more out of breath than you. He dips his head to press a kiss to your neck, nose rubbing against it as he makes his way down. “You look fucking gorgeous, by the way. Meant to tell you that at the shop.”
You’re too caught up in it all to play it cool, especially as he works at that one spot on your neck. “You look— fuck, you look good too. The long hair suits you.”
You feel him grin against your neck. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” you agree breathily. “Looked like a prick with the old cut.”
You feel his teeth dig into your skin at that one, and you hiss. “You liked that prick,” he reminds you.
You were in love with that prick, but you ignore that thought. “I liked a lot of things about him,” you respond. While it’s honest, the accidental double meaning of it isn’t lost on you.
It’s certainly not lost on Jamie. “Yeah?” he asks again. He lifts his head to look at you, hand creeping up your leg. “What’d you like?” You grip his arm as it rises beneath your sweatshirt once more. “C’mon love. Tell me what you want.”
You hate the way your breath hitches the second his fingers meet your back. You know what you want. You want to see what he’s learned since you last had him. What he’s like four years later. What’s changed, what’s stayed the same. But you’re too embarrassed and much too proud to ask.
Instead, you decide to say, much too shyly for your liking, “You know what I want.”
He hums in agreement, other hand creeping dangerously close to the inside of your thigh. “I do, don’t I?” he murmurs. “Bet I know everything ya want. But I wanna hear you say it.”
“Oh my, God,” you say under your breath, frustration creeping into your voice. The asshole fucking laughs at you. “I want you to make good on your promise. This seems far from it.”
“Right, right, I’m sorry,” he tells you. He doesn’t sound sorry at all. “Just making sure we’re still, y’know. On the same page.” He glances at you. “Right?”
You blink at him. You’re not sure you could have been clearer about what page you’re on. But that’s not what surprises you. What surprises you is the seriousness in his eyes. How he’s searching for assurance in yours. And you know that if, for whatever godly reason, you wanted to stop, he’d pull away immediately, despite how worked up he clearly is. 
It's the bare fucking minimum, but it's more than you’re used to getting.
So, you nod. “Yeah,” you say. “Definitely on the same page.” 
The grin he breaks out to is nothing short of breathtaking. “Good.”
“But—” you suddenly say, stopping him from leaning in once more. He freezes beneath your touch, brows furrowing. “This is… This is a one-time thing. You’re…” You trail off to find the word. “You’re apologizing to me. That’s all this is.”
His smile falters, dropping momentarily before returning with a bit less radiance. It’s his turn to nod. “Okay,” he says, fingers now toying with the edge of your sweatshirt. “Gotta make it count, then.”
And with that, Jamie presses his lips back to yours, grabbing you securely and pulling you off the counter. Your legs wrap around his waist, grabbing the sides of his face, like that’ll stable you against him. 
This time, it’s more desperate. It’s more tongues and teeth, more force and intention behind each movement. He’s setting the pace, but you’re keeping up tenfold. While it’d been four years, you’re not sure if he’d ever kissed you like this. He’s passionate instead of aggressive. While he knows what he wants, he’s definitely not just going to take it. He may be leading but he’s listening to you. And that stirs something inside you that you haven’t felt in a long time.
That much is clear, because you unconsciously let out a quiet sound against his lips. You can feel him smiling once more as he walks you slowly to wherever the hell his bedroom is. You’re caught up in him. And by the way he’s gripping you, you can tell he’s just as caught up in you.
So much so, that he completely loses track of where he’s going and accidentally slams you into his doorframe. You yelp, more because of shock than pain, and pull away to glare at him.
Jamie’s already apologizing. “Sorry, sorry,” he says. “Still gettin’ used to this place.”
“Well, figure out how to navigate better,” you respond, verging on a pout as you rub the back of your head.
“I’m sorry!” he repeats. He’s still got you against the doorframe. “It’s hard to see with your big head in me face. And I can’t kiss ya with, like, my eyes open. It’d be freaky.”
“I’ll give you a pass for that one,” you reply dryly. “Be weird instead of giving me a concussion.”
He’s walking you toward the bed when he mutters, “I’ll give you something, alright.”
Your back meets the mattress and you try to ignore the way he held his hand behind your head when he laid you down. You have under a second to adjust before he’s on top of you. The desperation returns and it almost takes your breath away.
He’s essentially straddling you, tugging at the waist of your leggings before he leaves one last kiss on your lips. He finally gets to pull your sweatshirt off, something he’d clearly been dying to rid you of since he first kissed you. You lift your arms up to help him, finding that you quickly start to do the same to him. You hear him chuckle as you attempt to get it up his back.
“I got it, love, hold on,” he says softly, tossing your hoodie to the side to take off his own. Your eyes immediately go to his chest and stomach and you refrain from reaching out to touch him. When you look up at him, you expect him to be smirking. However, he’s doing the exact opposite.
Jamie’s looking down at you like he can’t fucking believe you’re real. It’s jarring, seeing him like this, but you figure he’s in the same headspace as you and is still struggling to process that this is happening. It doesn’t matter, because before you can question it, he’s moving to press a kiss to your collarbone.
Your hand falls into his hair as he works his way down, mouthing the area of your chest. He pauses before he gets to the bra you’re wearing. His eyes flick up to yours. “Can I—”
You’re nodding before he can even get the words out, shifting to make it easier for him. He discards it to the floor with the rest. When he looks back at you, he releases a shaky breath and just stares.
He stares so intently that you begin to get self-conscious. “What?” you ask.
The question takes Jamie out of his trance. He shakes his head. “Nothing,” he says. “I just— I… Fuck. I forgot how beautiful you were.”
That spreads a warmth through you, one that pulls at your core. As you feel your face heat, you realize you have nothing to say to that. Luckily, he’s already moving on.
Jamie’s different. Really different. And you don’t realize how different he is until you start looking at him like you are right now. You were trying to convince yourself when you told Leah that he’d changed, you’ll admit that. But right now, you think you may have been telling the truth.
He grabs the waist of your leggings once more, lifting your legs to pull them off. You can’t help the laugh that leaves your lips as he struggles to do so. He shakes his head with a soft smile. “Missed that.”
“What?” you ask again.
“Your laugh,” he replies. “Missed that more than you know.”
The sweet words hit you like a bullet. The vulnerability in his voice is what gets you. Goddammit, when did he get so fucking nice? It drives you insane. But it also makes you quietly admit, “I think I’ve got an idea.”
With your leggings now gone, Jamie’s smile turns fonder. Gentler. He presses a kiss to your leg but says nothing in response. He simply places your legs down, eyes flicking down. He lifts his hand to trace down your stomach, stopping at the edge of your panties. The feeling makes you flinch.
He hooks a finger in the band, and your hips buck up to encourage him. His other hand spreads across your hip in a poor effort to keep you still. “Easy,” he murmurs. 
You huff out a breath. “You can—” Your breath hitches as two of his fingers push into your underwear. “Fuck, you can take them off.”
His lips quirk up. “Well, thank you for the permission,” he says. “But not yet. I wanna take it slow with ya.”
Your mouth parts. “Why?”
“Because it’s been years since I’ve seen you,” he answers, moving up to kiss you softly. He speaks against your lips as he says, “And I’ve apparently only got one shot to do this right. So I’m gonna make this last.”
You roll your eyes at his terribly disguised jab. “You’re a dick,” you mutter against him.
“And you’re—” He cuts himself off and a gasp escapes your lips as he cups your core and rubs his palm against it. “Fuck, love. You’re really fucking wet.” He’s positioned on you so that you can feel him getting harder against you thigh. “This all for me, yeah?”
His voice is cocky, while still sounding awestruck. The remaining dignity you have left makes you roll your eyes, albeit a bit embarrassed. “It’s for whoever doesn’t take their fucking time to give me what I want,” you bite.
Jamie draws back from you with a full smirk on his face. “That so?” he asks. The hand against you starts creeping up to the band of your panties. “And what is it that you want? You still haven’t told me.”
You scoff. “I told you.”
He pulls your underwear down your legs and the air around you suddenly makes you realize just how exposed you are. You told yourself you’d never give him the satisfaction of seeing you like this again. But here you were.
His fingers brush against the inside of your thigh, and you shiver once more. “No,” he tells you gently. “You didn’t. You just said you wanted me to keep my promise. You didn’t tell me what you wanted.”
He’s moving closer and closer to the place you want him and you don’t know if you can take it anymore. You shift uncomfortably, as if that will cease the ache. But you know only one thing will.
So, you give him the answer he’s been waiting for this entire time. “You.” His gaze meets yours. “I want you, Jamie. Please.”
That breathtaking grin returns. “Just because you asked so nicely.”
And then he puts his mouth on you without warning.
You spasm at the contact, crying out as he uses both arms to hold you still. The second you calm down, one hand leaves your thigh and you feel him work two fingers into you. Fuck. He didn’t know that before.
And it’s not like he was ever bad in bed when you two were together. You’re not sure you would have stayed with him if that were the case. It’s just… he’s better now. He’s hitting everything nearly perfectly, not stumbling like he used to. He’s more confident. More assured. He knows what he’s doing.
And it’s fucking hot.
The sounds that fill his room are downright obscene. He’s gripping one side of you to keep you in place, splitting you open on his knuckles with the other. His mouth zeroes in on your clit, alternating between licking and sucking in a way that honestly has you close already.
“F-fuck,” you breathe. “Fuck, Jamie. Don’t st— shit. Don’t stop. Please.”
Of course, the fucking shit he is, stops. He grins up at you, but continues to slowly pump his fingers in and out. “You sound so fucking pretty begging like that,” he tells you. He’s just as out of breath as you are. He feels you clench around his fingers at the praise and it only eggs him on further. “Look so pretty too. Fucking gorgeous.”
“Jamie,” you whine again. He’s going too slow. Teasing. It’s not fucking fair. He’s supposed to be the one apologizing to you. “I need— Ngh. I need—”
“What do you need?” he asks. “Tell me.”
You think you’d kill him if you weren’t completely incapacitated. “More,” you manage to get out, wincing as he continues at his slow pace. You’re close. Embarrassingly close. “Just fucking more. Please. I’m—” You interrupt yourself with a moan as he shoves his fingers deeper into you.
“I know,” he nearly coos. “I’ve got you.”
And got you he does. Because not only does he pick up the pace, he stretches you with a third finger. The sting of it is momentary, and it subsides as soon as he bends down and swipes your clit with his tongue.
Your back arches. “Jesus fucking— Jamie. Oh, my God.”
He’s good. Of course, he’s fucking good. He’s Jamie Tartt. You’re not sure he’s ever been bad at anything physical in his life. Emotionally was another story. But that story didn’t matter right now. Not when he’s got you like this, and you’re teetering over the edge.
He pulls away from you, breath tickling your core as he speaks. “C’mon,” he chides. “I can feel it. You’re right there, aren’t you, love?” He takes your breathy silence as confirmation and nods to himself. “Yeah. You just need—”
He removes one finger and crooks the rest a certain way, deeper than before. Your heart may stop beating. He’s done something he did to you time and time again, something that he was actually really fucking good at, something he knew you liked years ago. When he looks up at you, he searches your eyes. And by the way they roll back, he knows he’s struck gold.
The smirk returns and he continues to work his fingers into you, smirk growing each time he hears you say his name. “Yeah,” he whispers. “That’s it. That’s still it.”
You could finish at any moment. The telltale heat is rising in your stomach, and you’re just waiting for the cord to snap. And then, as if your muscle memory takes over, you reach out for his arm.
But instead of letting you do it like before, he does something completely different. He intertwines his free hand with the back of yours and guides it to your stomach. And then he presses on your hand.
The pressure builds. You’re barely able to make any noise. And then—
“C’mon,” Jamie repeats. “Come for me, angel. I wanna see it.”
The cord snaps, and you do as you’re told. You come. Hard.
Jamie talks you through it, fingers still moving to coax your climax out of you. You’re sure you look pathetic, crying out and thrashing around in his bed, but you don’t care. You can barely fucking see right now.
It’s been a while for you. Or at least been a while since you’ve had anything that good. And it completely strips away any sort of attitude or frustration you had before.
When you finally come back down, you laugh softly, shaking your head and throwing your arm over your face. “Fuck,” you say through a chuckle.
You feel him shift, moving up the bed to hover over you once more. When he removes your arm from your eyes, you see that he’s smiling. “Nobody’s ever laughed after I’ve done that,” he tells you, a faux pout pulling at his lips. He bends down to press them to yours and you can taste yourself. “It better be a good fuckin’ sign.”
You laugh again, reaching up to cup his cheek and pull him into another kiss. “Very good sign,” you assure him. It’s muffled against him, but you think he gets the point. 
It’s then that you catch him by surprise and flip the two of you over, straddling him in a way that makes him release a breathy sound that you’d missed dearly. But, something feels off.
Your glance down at him, expecting to feel or see fabric once you reach his leg. But there’s not much. Only what feels like boxer shorts. It catches you off guard. When did he take off his—
It doesn’t matter. It’s easier for you now. Especially as your fingers move across his abdomen, biting back a grin at the way he shudders. He looks up at you from his pillow.
“What are you doing?” he asks leadingly.
You shrug innocently, fingers toying with the band hanging low on his hips. “Returning the favor,” you reply. 
Jamie makes a noise of disapproval, placing a hand on your thigh like that’ll stop you. “I’m supposed to be the one making it up to you,” he states, but his voice gets less firm as you cup him through the fabric. “Fuck. Y-You don’t owe me anythin’. No favors.”
You shake your head, pulling at his boxers so that he springs free from inside. Your eyes travel back to his as you reach out and gently grab his cock, staring down at him with a smirk dancing on your lips. “You sure?”
He looks pained. You don’t know why. You’re offering a way to take him out of his misery. But still, he shakes his head and moves his arm from your leg to your back. 
He takes his turn to flip you over next. He swears under his breath as he does so, shaking his head when you land on your back.
“I told you,” he says, taking his boxers all the way off now. “It’s about you. Not me.” He shakes his head again, but this time it’s a bit more frustrated. When he speaks, it’s mostly to himself. “Can’t believe I just fuckin’ said no to that.”
A snort escapes you. “You’re a changed man, Jamie Tartt,” you joke.
He shrugs before placing his arms on either side of you. His voice teeters on teasing and earnest. “I’ve been trying to tell ya that.”
You’re not sure if it’s him, or the situation, or the sex, but you think you believe him. It makes your chest heavy. But you can’t admit that. You won’t let yourself. So, you keep that feeling tucked away, way in the back of your mind for safekeeping. You know it’s better like that. For your emotional sake, at least.
You allow yourself to prop yourself up on your elbow and kiss him instead of responding to that, bringing him in closer. You can feel the length of him press against your stomach, and his groan vibrates against your lips. 
He pulls away, grinding into you. The heat of your body is making him go wild. “Can I—”
You know what he wants. And you want it too. “Please,” you say. 
He nods, moving to angle himself against you. You glance down to watch him, heat flooding your face as he strokes himself before glancing up at you. You nod in return, giving him the confirmation he needs. Jamie grins.
He slides in you slowly. The stretch is mild but grows as he hovers over you once more. It’s easy to adjust, having been warmed up moments before. But for Jamie, it’s not as easy.
He bottoms out almost immediately, tensing over you. His head bows, chin falling to his chest. “Fuck,” he curses. It’s quiet but straight-up sinful. “God, fucking— you’re so—” You grip onto his bicep as he steadies himself. “I’m sorry. It’s just— i-it’s been a minute. And you’re f-fucking tight. Jesus.”
You don’t mind. He feels good like this, despite the fact he’s not moving. Your hand travels from his arm to his hair, tucking a piece of it behind his ear before settling on his jaw. “It’s alright,” you tell him. “We’ve got time.”
Jamie’s eyes snap open at that, but he’s not looking at you like you thought he would. You were expecting a cheeky sort of smile, a smirk, something in that realm. But he’s not. He’s looking at you like…
It’s something you can’t define. Something you’ve never seen before. It churns your stomach yet makes your heart race. Neither of you says a word.
He just dips down to kiss you again and slowly begins to move inside you. Your lips part in a gasp, and he slides his tongue in your mouth. Your back arches into him.
Before you know it, he's breaking from you and is breathing heavy against your neck. “Shit,” he groans. “You’re just— fuck. You…” He trails off, mouth hovering over your collarbone. “You drive me f-fucking mad. God, everything about you. Y-you don’t even know, do you?”
The pace picks up. He’s thrusting into you harder now and your nails dig into his back. You hear him hiss at the contact, but neither of you seem to care. “Fuck.” It’s all you can say. “Fuck, Jamie.”
He’s clearly not done talking. “How’d I-I fuck this up? Huh?” You can’t tell if he’s talking to you or himself. His mouth is on your chest now and the feeling runs through you like fire. “Fucking idiot. Didn’t know what I had. Can’t believe I let you go.”
You clench around him and it throws him off kilter. You watch his jaw clench, hand beside you gripping the pillow you’re on. “You w-were an idiot.” Your agreement is much less effective when it’s closed out by a high-pitched moan.
“I know. Fuck, I know,” he says. “I’m sorry. Deserved better.” He continues to slam into you. “I wanna gi—” A strangled sound erupts from his lips. “Give you better. You’re so—” When he shakes his head, he looks wrecked. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
Something about that sends a shock to your system. It makes you cry out and you can feel it. Your legs tremble around him. You’re close again. You’re really fucking close. 
He kisses you once more, deeper than before. It’s more frantic. Everything about him is more erratic. You can tell he’s getting there too. “Couldn’t stop,” he manages to get out, hot against your lips. “Couldn’t s-stop thinking about you. I missed you.” 
You clench around him again, the admission inching you closer. “Shit,” you say. “Fuck, Jamie, keep going.”
And keep going he does. His hand moves down your stomach, fingers finding your clit. He rubs circles into it and that sends you into a fucking tailspin. He swallows the sound you make. 
“Missed you,” he says again, but it’s more helpless. Jamie fucking whimpers. “God, I f-fucking missed you, angel. Missed you so fucking much, I—”
You don’t hear the rest of what he says because you come the second he makes that sound. It’s white-hot. Blinding. Your legs twitch around him and you claw at him as he continues to rub your clit. You’re loud, but you don’t give a shit. It seems to spur him on.
He’s not far behind you. He spills into you with a groan, stomach flexing as he heaves over you, twitching inside of you. You’re still recovering from your own high as you open your eyes to watch him. You catch his expression for a moment before he’s collapsing into you.
You release a soft ‘oof’ at the sudden weight of him. He doesn’t say anything for a moment and neither do you. You just breathe together. But after a moment you allow yourself to put a hand in his hair.
“You’re fucking heavy,” you tell him, but there’s not much bite in it.
You feel him chuckle. “Give me second,” he says. “Not as fuckin’ agile as I used to be. Took a lot out of me, alright?”
You roll your eyes but continue to run your fingers through his hair. “You’re twenty-six and like, the face of the AFC,” you tell him. “Richmond might have to shorten your contract if you’re dying after that.”
He presses a kiss to your shoulder. “Take that up with me Chairwoman then.”
You can’t help but laugh as you push him off of you, wincing as you feel him slip out. He lands with the same noise you did. “If she heard you complaining like that, she’d be on my side.”
Jamie grins at you, joining in on your laughter. He shifts toward you, grabbing your hand to play with your fingers. “You’re probably right. Shouldn’t be complainin’,” he says. He lifts your hand to his lips. “Not when you’re here.”
They’re sweet words. The casualty of them makes your heart swell. But that anxiety about him returns. One time thing, you tell yourself. Apology. One time. That’s all.
You pull your hand back softly and he glances over at you. There’s a hint of worry in his eyes, like that one movement set off alarm bells in his head. You give him an uneasy smile.
Before you can move to get up or say anything or do something, he’s talking. And you have to refrain from wincing. 
“I know…” He looks away from you. Shy. “I know you said one time,” he says, as if he can read your fucking mind. “And that’s… That’s okay. I get that, yeah? But I—” Jamie wipes a hand down his face, staring at the ceiling. “I meant what I said. I missed ya. Really.”
You missed him too. But your walls have been rising back up since he started talking again. “I don’t know what you want me to do with that,” you tell him, only partially lying.
You feel like an asshole when he winces. Maybe you were being an asshole. Maybe it was finally your turn to do so. 
“Just…” He finally looks at you. “If you ever… don’t want this to be just a one-time thing.” He waves it off in an attempt to look casual. You know he’s anything but. “You’ve got my number. Or whatever.”
The timidness in his voice makes your resolve soften. Even if you don’t see him again, you suppose you can let him down easy. He’s been kind enough tonight to deserve that. You nod at him as you sit up. “Okay,” you say. “I’ll let you know.”
It’s only slightly awkward as you get out of his bed and search for your clothes. He asks if he can call you an Uber home and you reject it, letting him know that you’ve got one on the way.
You can feel his eyes on you as you dress, ignoring the way they burn into you. You can tell he’s searching for something to say, or something to talk to you about but doesn’t know what.
You’re half-dressed before he can shoot himself in the foot and say something stupid. “Hey,” he finally says. You glance over your shoulder at him after you slip your sweatshirt on. “I’m really glad you texted me.”
The nice streak you’re riding on continues and you offer a small but genuine smile in return. “Me too,” you admit, ignoring the way that his own soft smile pulls at your heartstrings. 
Before you leave his room, you offer one more admission. You stop in the doorframe he hit you against, lips curling further upward. “It was really good to see you, Jamie.”
He props himself up on his elbow, smile growing. “Good,” he says, nodding. Then, like a prick, he winks at you. “Glad we’re on the same page.”
You physically cannot stop yourself from rolling your eyes and you hear him laugh to himself as you walkdown his hall. “Goodbye, asshole.”
He shouts a tired-sounding ‘bye!’ when you slip your shoes on, shaking your head as you look around his apartment once more. The candle on his counter is still burning, smelling of amber moss and palo santo.
You blow it out before you leave, knowing he’ll forget.
And as you do so, you feel yourself regress. Or grow. You’re not quite sure which one.
But it makes you curse under your breath and leave his flat immediately.
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There is one more universal truth you forgot to mention. 
And that’s that the second you think you’re over Jamie Tartt, he comes back into your life and flips everything on its head. And it’s the only truth that’s been confirmed to you all week.
Because the second you arrive home and see that you have a text waiting for you, your heart picks up. You hate the way you get excited to see it.
I had a really good time tonight.
And the second he comes back into your life, you’re reminded that you’re not over him. Not even in the slightest. And it’s fucking debilitating. 
me too. 
And you know your friends are going to kill you the second you follow up with:
i’m free friday if you want to grab a drink.
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todays-xkcd · 1 year ago
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People may complain about readability, but even with jpeg compression, extracting the data points is usually computationally feasible if there aren't too many of them.
Compact Graphs [Explained]
Transcript Under the Cut
[Left: graph of points plotted along two axes, headered by:]
Variable 1: X Axis
Variable 2: Y Axis
[A arrow pointing to the right.]
[Various semi-transparent numbers in different colors stacked on top of each other, headered by:]
Variable 1: Hue
Variable 2: Label
[Caption underneath:] Design tip: you can make your graphs more space-efficient by using hue and label for the first two variables, instead of only turning to them once you've used up the X and Y axes.
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officialbruciewayne · 4 months ago
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I miss her.
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ourloveisforthelovely · 22 days ago
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Bad Ideas (Part 17)
Regulus Black au
Summary:  It started as nothing now it’s something. Voldemort has been defeated but that doesn’t mean the wizarding world is still a good place to be.
Pairings: Regulus Black x Reader
Rating : M
Link to Part 16
AO3 Link
________
“We were all apparently having sex at the same time. Surprise, Grandpa.”
James continued to stare at Regulus as if he had reached across the table and slapped him. For a moment, he was curious if Regulus was just screwing with him. That would definitely be something Regulus would do.
“You…you as in you are having twins with my daughter?”
Regulus raised an eyebrow while Sirius stood up and moved to stand behind James. He wasn’t sure how James was going to react to this news. Something told Sirius to be ready to grab his best friend and haul him out of the room. Sirius wasn’t afraid of what James would do. He was more concerned that Regulus would fight dirty. The last thing Sirius wanted to deal with was a trip to the hospital.
“Yes, it was I that slept with Y/n. Sex is how babies are created if you didn’t know. I would certainly hope you knew considering you have kids yourself but never know.”
Regulus replied in a patronizing tone. He considered saying something more crude like “Yes, James. I knocked up your daughter. Again, surprise grandpa” but decided not to. As much fun as that would be, Regulus didn’t want to give you any reason to be upset more than necessary. He knew that he would have to find some way to be nicer to James and Lily but at the moment that wasn’t a huge worry.
“I know how babies are made. I am not an idiot, Regulus. I was simply hoping it would be someone else…anyone else.”
“Considering she is married to me that would be problematic.”
James sighed and put his head down on the table. When he came back, he was under the impression that both Harry and yourself were still babies. He was looking forward to all of life’s cheesy moments. He wanted to take both of you to the zoo and play tea party. James never expected to walk in and find out that both of his children were grown with lives of their own. He wasn’t ready to find you married to Regulus.
“Just ignore me. I need to sit quietly for a moment.”
Regulus felt his temper beginning to build yet again. From the time that James and Lily came back, James hadn’t done much but gripe about how you had decided to live your life. Regulus had to give Lily points for at least trying to take things as they were.
All Regulus could see was the look of disappointment on your face when James started fussing about your life. The werewolf in Regulus was more than happy to tear James a new one.
“You have sat quietly for long enough and so have I. Since you have been back you have done nothing but bitch about how Y/n has chosen to live her life. I’m not stupid and realize most of it is due to me but you need to get over it. Y/n chose me and I chose her. None of your little comments is going to change that. You need to do us all a favor and accept it before I have to take you outside and beat you.”
Regulus gave James another glare that said “Try me bitch” before turning back to you. His expression has softened in seconds before holding a hand out to you.
“Come on, darling. We need some air.”
You didn’t argue nor disagree with Regulus’ statement. It was best that the two of you left the house as soon as possible. You knew Regulus was about to lose his fragile grip on his temper.
Following Regulus into the back garden, you gave him a moment to pace around before speaking.
“I know I told you the other day but thank you for always having my back.”
Regulus stopped pacing and turned to look at you. He sighed before running his hand through his hair. You stood holding your right arm looking at him with those perfect doe eyes.
In some ways, he had accepted the current predicament that the two of you found yourselves in. In others, he still felt in denial. His eyes dropped down your body. You stood with an oversized sweater hiding your lower body. While you weren't showing yet, Regulus knew that it would only be a matter of time. Everything would feel real then.
“Come here.”
You walked closer to Regulus and waited for him to pull you into his arms. When he did, you snuggled your face against his chest. Regulus gently kissed the top of your head.
“There is nothing that I wouldn’t do for you.”
You were silent for a moment before speaking again. From your spot, you could see Lily looking out at the two of you with a worried expression on her face.
“We will have to find some way to get along with them. As much as my father’s less-than-stellar behavior has been, I do need to cut him some slack. They probably never expected to walk into this. I think they expected to return to toddlers.”
“I’ll try to be good.”
Regulus replied. He wasn’t going to promise it but he would try his best.
“If we can find some way to be civil, it will make the next few months slightly more bearable.”
Regulus took a breath before sighing.
“Will you think that I am a big dumb jerk if I tell you that I am terrified about the idea of having twins? Having a single child scares me to death add two…I am freaking the fuck out.”
You softly laughed before moving to look up at your husband. Regulus was usually so calm and collected. Seeing the look of panic in his eyes was almost foreign.
“I would never think that you are a big dumb jerk for how you feel. If it makes you feel any better, I am terrified too. When I signed up to be friends with Hermione and Ginny, I thought we were going to do things like go shopping and have tea together. I never expected to be pregnant with them.”
Regulus smirked.
“Yeah, me neither. As much as I like your brother this is not the situation I expected us to be in at the same time. So, what if we lose a kid?”
You couldn’t help but laugh at that one.
“I have already been thinking about that. We can dress each child in a certain color, if the twins are of the same gender. If they are different genders then our work is a little more cut out for us. Worse comes to worse, the muggles make these things called Air Tags. We can track them on our phones.”
Regulus nodded.
“That might just work…especially when they become teenagers…especially if one turns out to be like their uncle.”
The two of you shared matching expressions of horror. You weren't sure if you could handle a child like Sirius.
“Reggie, I know lord snakeface is long gone but this world still isn’t a great place. Is it selfish to bring two children into the world? What about when the next big bad comes about? What if that is worse than the other? That will be something that our children will have to deal with.”
Regulus was quiet for a moment before speaking.
“I’ll make you a deal. When these kids grow to be adults, if we aren’t totally sick of them, we will just lock them in their bedrooms and never let them leave.”
Regulus was relieved when you laughed at that. He wasn’t a fool. Regulus knew that you were as scared of this pregnancy as he was.
“Deal.”
The following weeks were some of the most awkward that you had experienced. James was still in a state of unending shock about the situation at hand. Lily was eagerly trying to do whatever she could to help you. You had to give her points for trying. She wasn’t nearly as bad as you thought that she was.
One thing that you were thankful for was the fact there had been no morning sickness yet. Unlike Hermione and Ginny, who were sick as dogs, you were still living life normally (with the exception of drinking pickle juice right out of the jar).
Regulus had backed off of harassing James so much. Whenever he felt like saying something snarky, Regulus would simply leave the room before the temptation became too great.
One morning you sat at the dining room table looking over patient charts while Regulus sat stirring a cup of tea.
“Does dealing with all of those sick people not make you nauseous?”
You shook your head.
“No, surprisingly. I think I will be able to handle all of the gross things like diapers.”
Regulus nodded.
“So does that mean that you are volunteering for that duty? I don’t want to throw up on our child’s head.”
Chucking, your eyes rolled up to Regulus’ worried face.
“I hear that it's different when it's your own child.”
“I suppose we will see.”
Regulus commented as Ron entered the room with a very pale Hermione behind him. You frowned at your best friend’s face.
“Y/n, can you do something to help her”
Scooting your chair back, you moved to walk over to Hermione. Sirius and Remus pulled up a chair. They were getting used to having ring side seats to his so-called “event of the century.”
“What’s wrong?”
You asked as Ron sank down in the chair nearest to him.
“She won’t stop vomiting. It goes on from the time that she gets up until the time she goes to bed. There is no stopping.”
You gave Ron a frown as Harry and Ginny came in.
“There, there.”
You replied condescendingly before moving to Hermione. Placing a hand on her forehead and the other on her stomach.
“Yep, you are definitely pregnant. I have a potion that might help.”
Walking out of the room, you came back with a clear vial. Hermione nearly tore it out of your hand before downing it. You blinked a few times before turning back to Ginny.
“What about you? Do you need some too?”
Ginny shook her head.
“I’m okay today but it's good to know that you have something. I mean with being a healer I would be concerned if you didn’t.”
You nodded before going back to your seat and sitting down. Picking up the jar of pickle juice, you took a small sip. Sirius stared at you looking horrified.
“I can get you a glass.”
You shook your head.
“No, the jar adds to the experience. You could go get some of those crisps with the ridges. Those would go really well with this juice.”
Sirius nodded before getting up and going off in search of crisps. Hermione gave you a frown.l
“How are you not sick?”
You shrugged.
“No idea but I am not complaining. Afterall, I wasn’t the one who thought that this great friend experience we are having was a good idea to begin with.”
Ginny turned to face you.
“So, will you deliver my baby?”
You nearly choked on your pickle juice at that question.
“You know that I don’t typically do that, right?”
Ginny shrugged.
“I wouldn’t want anyone else scoping out between my legs. Besides, I have faith in you. You’re a good healer.”
You crinkle your nose at the “scoping out between my legs” comment.
“Ginny, I don’t want to be scoping out between your legs. That sounds dirty.”
“So? You're one of my best friends and I know with you I would be comfortable, so will your brother.”
You met Harry’s eyes before sighing.
“I swear to Merlin. I’m sure there is a book I can read on the subject. Fine. I swear, I keep getting roped into weird shit with the two of you. For the future, the next time you decide to have babies at the same time. Don’t include me.”
Hermione smiled, squeezing your hand.
“I’ll need your help too.”
You sighed.
“You are playing on my emotions, holding my hand like that. May I make a suggestion for the two of you?”
Both Hermione and Ginny nodded.
“When they offer you drugs for the pain, take them.”
The following few minutes were fairly uneventful. After the conversation that you were just a part of, you needed a break. You glanced over at Regulus who was still shaking his head.
The doorbell ringing got your attention as Ron got up to answer it. When he came back with Neville, you could see Regulus tensing up. Neville’s eyes flickered over to Regulus. Both men were still clearly not each other’s biggest fans.
“You wanted to see me, Y/n?”
You nodded, ignoring the way Regulus was staring at you.
“Yes, I needed to ask you a question.”
Regulus muttered about owls being a very real thing. You chose to ignore his snide remarks as Neville sat down near Harry. He had a feeling that Regulus wouldn’t try anything if he was that far away. Neville had no doubt that Regulus would climb across the table after him if the opportunity presented itself. He only wanted to put that off as much as he could.
“What can I do for you?”
Neville asked, taking his attention off of your husband. He still found himself cringing at the thought of Regulus being your husband. Knowing that you were having the man’s baby, made Neville feel even more sick to his stomach.
You reached for your work bag and took out some papers.
“What if I told you that I could put your parents right?”
Neville frowned.
“Do it. I would tell you to do it. Why?”
You blinked a few times.
“Well, I may have created a potion that could fix memory curses in the most severe form. It's never been tested. In theory, it should work…if I have done my calculations correctly.”
Neville stood quietly for a moment.
“Do it. What are you waiting for?”
“I have to have your permission. I couldn’t just drug them and be like surprise! That would be unethical. We thought about trying it out on Lockhart but nobody really wanted that.”
Regulus leaned back in his chair. Both he and Remus were staring at each other in total surprise from the moment the conversation started.
“When have you had time to do this, love?”
Glancing back to Regulus, you shrugged.
“What do you think I am doing when I can’t sleep? When something is important, you make time.”
Neville, meanwhile, held his hand up. He didn’t have time to listen to any explanations. The thought of having his parents back was everything he had ever wanted. Seeing Harry and yourself have your parents come back had given him some hope that Alice and Frank could be restored too.
When they remained as they were, Neville quickly began to lose faith. Now here you stood offering the possibility of being able to help. That was all that Neville needed to hear. He didn’t care about any outcomes other than having his mother and father in complete control of their minds.
“Excuse me, but back to my parents. Where do I sign and when can we do it”
You held out the paper with all of the information.
“If it doesn't work, there could be…”
Neville cut you off.
“I don’t care. It isn’t like they have much of a life anyway.”
Neville snatched the paper out of your hand before scribbling his name. James and Lily came back with Siruis who had located the crisps you had sent him off for.
“What’s going on?”
James asked. Remus turned to his friend with a proud smile.
“Time to see if your child be a genius.”
“Or a bloody failure.”
You added. Neville was nearly jumping up and down white pointing to the door.
“Let's go! I’ll meet you there.”
He disappeared without another word. You reached down for your bag before meeting your family’s gaze.
“Well, are you lot coming to either watch me succeed or fail?”
Ginny and Harry were on their feet while Regulus stood up and went off for your coat.
“If this works…”
Harry started but stopped as you turned to him.
“It will be time to update my Chocolate Frog.”
_____
@millies0bsimp @geeksareunique @fific7 @jessyballet @knreidy1 @teletubiswszpilkach @spideyxalmighty @dumbbunnys-safes @dumybitch @readtomeregulus @i-love-scott-mccall @taylor-will-be-the-death-of-me @s-we-e-t-t-ea @iluvthe-marauders @woohoney @abaker74 @regulus-black-223048 @saramaple @missgorldafirst @stelleduarte @gugggu6gvai @jag9000 @bennyberry @f4iryluvy @panpride @haroldpotterson @mentally-unstable-hoe @goldensunshineshit @ravenhood2792 @playmore-zeppelin @authoressskr @empty-cass @knight-of-gleefulness @coffeeaddictednymph @livshifts @ell0ra-br3kk3r @ad-astra-again @regulusblackswhorecrux @kindestofkings @criminalyetminimal @rubes-xoxo @untoldshortsofthefandoms
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kick-a-long · 2 months ago
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I am happy to attend my husband's family Christmas this year. my husband's family this Christmas are his immigrate Chinese grandparents, Chinese American mom and his half Italian/half Chinese lesbian sisters with their WASP girlfriends. none of the people in attendance are catholic or ever have been. Septe Peche is the roman catholic celebration of the feast of the seven fishes. On Christmas eve Italians traditionally cook and consume 7 forms of fish including shellfish. My husband is the last person continuing the Septe Peche tradition. This year he will get to Septe Peche at 7pm, after a full day of work, and have to cook 3 of the dishes with me to keep the tradition going.
I am a secular jew who has recently gotten really into my jewish both to spite the rise of antisemitism and because I find enormous peace by jewish practice. The conflict for me this year is minor. I am fighting the urge to procure herrings and cream, a fish dish that is exactly what it says on the tin, raw herring preserved in salty cream with cream pickled onions. I have never yearned for in my life before last year. It was a staple of jewish holidays for my family because my jewish dad would eat it to the horror of all us kids.
'This is a fish dish' my brain whines, 'They should love it! plus it's preprepared so they can eat it right out of the tub. How convenient and lovely!' But this is a lie. Herrings and cream is advanced jew shit. this is a deep cut of jewish culture. This is dangerous to reveal to a goyish family in a goy space on a goy holiday. Why do I want it this year so badly? Why is it something I now crave?
But the urge continues to bray and grows stronger as the 24th draws near... "provide the raw cream fish and they will rejoice. the jews of history demand it." constantly rings in my ears.
Hashem, help those two poor wasp lesbian girlfriends... they don't even know anyone who willingly eats fish eyes. They might die simply knowing herrings and cream exists.
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foone · 5 months ago
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I was gonna do a quick "wtf is the human domestication guide?" post to explain the basics since I've reblogged it a bunch and people are always confused. I may still do that, but I realized I could do something much, much worse.
I could do a video essay. I could talk about the human domestication guide not to an audience of tumblr, but for reddit, for twitter, for youtube. clips out of context showing up on tiktok with someone's face over my face going "bruh wtf is this".
Imagine how badly that would end? I could end up on fucking fox news.
ahh, the dream
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masterjedilenawrites · 1 year ago
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@dragonrider9905!!! I have sat on this prompt for way too long 😩 I almost let it go but I already had a few hundred words written out, so I went ahead and added a few hundred more to finish it. It's a lot shorter than it could have been but oh well... maybe it's something I add to later? Anyway, hope it was worth the wait! 😬
Tech x reader | 1.1k words
Content: references to reader being a little dumb/having bad ideas, descriptions of traps and peril, mostly comedic with some heart
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Fact: Your family was missing, and the only hope you had of finding them was by teaming up with a group of tenacious clones called the Bad Batch. You were restless in your search for them, doing all you could to keep up with the Batchers as they chased after clues.
Fact: You were not the brightest star in the sky. At least when it came to mission plans. You'd led them on wild goose chases, miscalculated various risks, and almost burnt down the ship one time. To say it was fitting you be banned from any strategy meetings was simply a given after a certain point.
Fact: Tech liked you anyway.
He wasn't sure why, given the obvious differences in the ways your minds worked. He was methodical, technical, and realistic; you were hasty, abstract, and idealistic. He was content to work on plans until they were perfect, while you were quick to take action, even when you weren't sure what those actions were. He was intellectual, you were imaginative.
And yet, despite all these differences, all the ways you two just never saw eye-to-eye, he found himself drawn to you anyway. He got close whenever he could, picked your brain on whatever he could think of, just to see what your answer would be. He looked forward to seeing you each day and couldn't help but prioritize your well-being just a little higher than any others'.
The rest of the Batch didn't quite hold the same fondness. They were polite enough, and you did have some good times laughing around campfires. But they had drawn a hard and fast line around letting you call any shots on missions. Tech was fittingly put in charge of holding you back. He could listen to your dumb and silly ideas all day, but he would also know to never let those ideas turn into actual plans.
For a while, the arrangement worked. Tech kept you from interfering without making you feel bad. And the rest of the Batch was able to continue making progress toward finding your family.
But then one day, they got themselves in a mess so bad, not even their own bold strategies could fix it. They were on a rescue mission. A kidnapped senator held hostage in a mansion on an outer rim planet owned by Separatist sympathizers. Supposedly the senator had been the last person to see your family. You and Tech stayed behind in the Marauder, watching the heat signatures of the rest of the Batch make their way through the labyrinth of rooms in the mansion, coaching them around corners and keeping them one step ahead of any enemies.
They had made it to the senator easily enough, but then a whole slew of alarms and booby traps went off, a completely unaccounted for defense system. Every counter measure known to the galaxy seemed to be deployed. The holopad lit up in Tech's lap, while the comms link in your hand vibrated with panicked voices. Chaos.
Tech tried his best to get them out safely, but every new exit route he picked had a threat worse than the last. They were trapped.
"I'm trying Hunter, I'm trying!" he snapped as his fingers swiped back and forth on the holopad, desperately trying to find even the smallest chance of escape.
"I have an idea," you offered, but even if you had been allowed to have ideas, your words were lost amongst the chorus of yells and shouts through the comms.
"The hallway you came from is full of soldiers now, both stairwells are booby trapped with grenades, the back hall to the servant's quarters is on fire..." Tech was explaining as he did one more thorough sweep of the options.
What about the air vents? asked Hunter.
"They're being filled with venomous bees as we speak."
Jump out the windows? Echo asked.
"You're hundreds of feet up. No way to scale down. There's anti-air turrets that'll shoot down the Marauder as soon as I get it off the ground. And I'm pretty sure the glass is shatter proof anyway."
"I have an idea," you tried again, louder this time, but Tech waved a hand at you to be quiet.
The room's filling with water now! came a moan from Wrecker.
Hurry up Tech, Crosshair hissed. We're running out of time.
"I know!"
You'd never seen Tech lose his cool like this before. This really was a bad situation. It didn't even matter about the information the senator may have about your family. They could all die if you didn't act quickly. And seeing as Tech wasn't interested in hearing you out, you decided to waste no time arguing and just jump right into your own plan. You were fairly confident it would work. Maybe 60%. Which was better than your usual calculation of 50/50, and certainly more than anyone else was coming up with at the moment.
You jumped out of your seat and rushed toward the ramp. This got Tech's attention. He looked between your empty seat and the mayhem emitting from the technology in his lap a few times before finally running after you.
"What are you doing?" he asked just as you jumped onto the muddy ground of the forest you were camped in.
"I'm going to knock on the front door and ask them to stop hurting our friends," you explained, never breaking your determined stride. Thankfully you were parked close to the tree line, and then it was only a short walk across the lawn to the mansion.
Tech blinked. "What?"
You were already several paces away so he shook himself and ran to catch you.
"What?" he asked again as he spun you around by the arm. "That's your plan? Just asking them to stop?"
"I'll ask nicely," you shrugged. "They're not droids, they're people. So who knows, they might just listen."
"But that's not... You can't just... Wait..." Tech sputtered as you turned heel and began walking again.
"Or maybe they'll want to negotiate," you called over your shoulder. "It'd be better if you were there for that part."
You did pause, turning slightly to give him a questioning look, waiting to see if he'd follow.
Tech was dumbfounded. Asking the enemy to simply stop didn't follow any line of logic or reason. He looked down at the holopad he still had clutched in his hand, knowing it wouldn't show him any more hope than it had before. Five heat signatures - one for each of his friends and one for the senator - were huddled in the middle of a room that was trying every which way to kill them. And there was nothing he could do about it.
Nothing, except to listen to you.
"This is by far the stupidest plan you've ever had," he said, meeting your earnest gaze. He took in a deep breath, already picturing the lecture he'd get from Hunter for daring to entertain your idea. But what choice did he have? He cared too much to let them perish. And, if he was being really honest, he cared too much about you to really believe you were as dumb as they all said.
So with that, he turned off the holopad and squared his shoulders, ready to follow your lead, logic be damned.
"Of course I'll help."
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