#bro isn’t paid enough

[midnightfire830]

Sorry about that Kobie I thought he will choose work 😥 how about I invite you coffee my treat

Coffee Break!

Thanks for the ask!

[occamstfs]

Typecast Troubles

After turning down twink roles for too long, Henry needs work. Now. Offered one final lifeline in the role of Brutus, a stereotypical meathead, he has no choice to accept. Worry not, by the end of the audition he'll be more than muscular enough to embody the brute.

Here's an actor learning the hard way that some roles can change you whether you like it or not. Muscle growth and himbofication! Hope you enjoy! -Occam

Henry desperately needed some work. For a few years now he had been consistently acing auditions and getting roles, never a lead but never out of work. After being typecast one too many times as bitchy twink and gay best friend he was ready for something else.

Unfortunately for the C-inching towards D-list star the industry did not care about his desire to move on. Never was he in a position safe enough to turn consistent work down. It has now been long enough since someone’s expressed any interest in having him on set that the theoretical actor has begun to search for other work.

Inches away from applying to some unenviable job out of showbiz, his phone rings. Seeing it’s his agent Jeremiah calling, Henry slams his laptop shut and bashes his phone into the side of his head from the excitement. This does not distract from his anxiety at the pile of bills lying in front of him nor the fingers crossed that a solution is on the line.

“Okay Henry, I know what you said a few months back. I fought you on it at the time, after all why shoot yourself in the foot when you’ve got a mouth to feed.”

Henry’s halfway to agreeing and begging his agent to send his resume to every shitty teen drama and made for TV movie out there before he hears Jeremiah continue, “But, I think this little gambit might have paid off. The studio apparently asked for you by name, my friend!  Of course there’s still auditions…”

His agent presumably continues, explaining details about the show and its production, benefits for taking the job, people who might be part of the audition process, but Henry doesn’t hear that. Despite the mail pile filled with aggressive red text still sitting in front of him, with the prospect of work on the horizon, Henry’s mind is preoccupied with what the role is. The fact that he was asked for my name obviously ringing alarm bells that he’ll be back in the circuit of playing teens at least a decade younger than himself, “so what is the part then exactly? Do you have the script?”

There’s a clear hesitation as if Jeremiah isn’t quite sure how to broach the subject, “Don’t you worry now Hen, as demanded it is not at all like your usual stuff. No screaming yaaas or clapping back to your fag hag. No, no nothing the studios y’know, want you to do.” The agent pauses and resets, putting on a saccharine tone as if he knows he’s about to pitch shit as gold.

“Okay! So all goes well, you’ll be going in for a series regular role as Brutus! He’s well- I’ll just read the casting call specs: Brutish and barely literate, this oaf has a heart of gold and mind like a sieve, loves hanging out with his bros-” With each word Henry’s face scrunches tighter. Eventually he has no recourse but to interrupt his agent.

“Jere? What the fuck is this? They asked for me, specifically to come in for this? Is this some kind of a joke?” There’s another pause before Jeremiah releases the telltale sigh of a man at the end of his rope, “Look, Hen. Kid. I get it, you got these big ideas about dream roles and artistic integrity, but you gotta understand. This is what you got, what we got. You know the agency’s breathing down my neck about cutting dead weight. I- Look, you don’t gotta take the gig if it’s no good, but if you’re not willing at least hear ‘em out. I mean shit kid, you’re the one who asked for new ground yeah?”

Were his piling bills and draining savings not enough of a wakeup call, Jeremiah’s words were. Maybe it’s ironic casting, or an animated project, Jere probably said as much earlier when Henry tuned him out. He doesn’t really have a choice. After a prolonged groan, Henry pinches the bridge of his nose and gives in, “Ugh fine- whatever. Just send me the details and I’ll, I’ll do my best.”

Ever the professional, and hearing his client despondent,  Jeremiah shifts gears yet again, “Aces kid. Gonna be a star yet, remember they wanted you. They need you not the other way around. Sent you the information, let me know how it goes. Phone’s always on me.”

The audition is early the next morning, earlier than the actor usually prefers to be awake. The call said something about Brutus being an early bird which, whatever. Henry’s well past the luxury of getting to do what he usually prefers. He briefly tossed over dressing up in character, though checking his wardrobe there is simply nothing that would fit the bill of Brutus.

Instead, he just cleans up as he always does and heads out the door. Wearing a button up and borrowed shoes, with each step closer to the studio he must continually remind himself that they asked for him specifically. For reasons he can’t understand. For reasons he will hopefully understand soon. His questions certainly aren’t answered when he arrives.

Before the actor even enters the lobby the receptionist rushes to greet him, “You must be Henry Harris! We’re so excited to have you in today!” Escorting him to the elevator, Henry is on edge at just how much the secretary seems to be fawning over him. In between what can only be deliberate attempts at massaging his egon Henry catches a few strange remarks, ‘can’t wait to see what you become’ ‘hope you brought a change of clothes.’

It is upon this bizarre encounter Henry reflects as he rides the slow elevator up to the casting office. There he almost recoils away from the door as he’s greeted by another secretary, almost identical to the first who treats him similarly bizarrely. Frequently eying up the actor like a slab of meat, tossing cryptic wanting flirtations as they go. “Here we are! Director Marlowe’s office. Hope you have a productive meeting in there Brutus!”

Henry sneers at the strange escort, “It’s Henry.” For the first time he notices the glassy, almost mechanical look in the eyes of the secretary. Despite being too chatty in their time together, at this his guide simply tilts his head with a grin before turning away and wandering back towards the elevator. Under his breath Henry complains, “Ugh, already ready to write this whole thing off.”

“Mr. Harris, Henry, do come in!” Henry flinches as he turns to find the bearded tank of a man behind him. Welcoming him into the office with an outstretched hand, Henry shifts into his poised polished self and offers his own dainty hand to shake. “You must be, Director Marlowe? Thank you so much for having me in today! I simply cannot wait to see what you have in mind for me. This Brutus character is absolutely the kind of role I’ve been waiting for.”

The director’s wide toothy smile only grows wider as his face betrays nothing besides a desire to get this process started, “Please come in, come in young man, have a seat.” The director leads Henry to a cozy chair opposite his desk before going to sit down himself, “Of course Henry, after all what actor wouldn’t be excited at the idea of a role made for them in mind. Though let’s cut to the chase. You must be wondering why in the world we came to you for this role hm? Quite the leap from twink-phenom to thoughtless gym rat is it not?”

Henry was on the backfoot from the first moment he saw the man, his dark eyes and darker, well-groomed beard were more than enough to set the actor on edge. Now that the man has directly addressed the one line of question that has been preoccupying his thoughts from the moment he heard the name Brutus, Henry is not sure what his next move is to be.

Easily catching the smallest break in the actor’s facade, the director pounces, “Worry not Mr. Harris! Whatever questions you might have will surely be answered by the time you leave today! For starters though, I hope you won’t mind signing a small NDA and consent form? We’re trying something experimental with this show and we can’t risk the exciting details getting out early. I’m sure you understand.” 

Only now does Henry notice the contract sitting in front of him on the desk. This isn’t his first rodeo though and he’s no fool, his eyes narrow at the document and he begins to open his mouth to assert that he’s not going to even humor signing a document without legal advice. Though just as soon as the thought appears he’s reminded how lacking he is in funds for a lawyer. His desperation and curiosity begin to mount his waning caution.

Marlowe raises his hands, feigning sympathy, “Oh of course, by all means if you want to go through the document with a fine toothed comb be my guest, we also have a legal team on site should you need clarity.” The director has a few more droll lines planned on how excited they would be to have Henry on board, perhaps even revealing some of his hand to further entice the actor. Though this is unnecessary as the actor’s apparently even more desperate than they had assumed. 

Biting his lip and already kicking himself for the foolhardy action, Henry Harris signs on the dotted line. Caught off guard, the director frowns in surprise, “Well! Just like that is it? I do believe we can start this process outright Henry.” He reaches and tidies up the paperwork before filing into his desk. Templing his fingers his wide smile returns as he looks down at the actor who nervously stares off into space. 

“The network wants to try something new. I’m sure you’re aware original content is suffering on streaming and the powers that be are tired of finding new creatives. My solution is simple: mold actors into characters so truthful to themselves that the creation of content is simply second nature. Does this make sense to you Henry?”

Having signed away at least some degree of autonomy, wholly unaware just how deep a commitment he just made, Henry decides to focus on the matter immediately at hand, sighing. “Sure yeah. Why me? This guy’s supposed to be a gym bro right? I mean, just look at me!” Motioning towards his pale, purposefully thin body Henry scoffs before looking at Marlowe. 

The director’s expression shifts severe, chiding. “Now Henry. This negative self-talk, don’t you think it’s unbecoming of Brutus?” Henry reflexively rolls his eyes and scoffs, as he is wont to do. Or no, he tries to roll his eyes and does not. He tries to scoff but instead he finds himself nodding, agreeing. Brutus wouldn’t talk about himself like that. 

He glares at the director as underneath thoughts of Brutus slowly flowing into his mind, he realizes something greater than himself has happened. Something sinister has begun to influence his thoughts and he must understand the rules before it is too late. Having spent a solid chunk of change at drama school he is well aware of Faustian bargains. The director simply grins, exposing too-white teeth, “You were saying Hentry?”

Henry’s mouth squirms as the name hits him like a punch. He knows it was deliberate, he knows it is not his name. He struggles to decide if he should dispute it but instead plays along, clinging to his years of experience at keeping up the act. “Sure. Mr. Marlowe, I am of course quite excited to see where the studio goes with this. As you know I will do my best to fill Brutus’ shoes with aplomb. I love a challenge, and playing this character will be more than interesting.”

Pleased, the director sees blood in the water, “Ah yes. His shoes you say, now what size shoes would those be.” Henry, Hentry? hesitates, struggling to play whatever sick game of 4d chess this is. His attention flicks down to his shoes and he discovers just how supernaturally outmatched he is. He knows he’s a size 8.5. He squeezed his feet into size 8 shoes he borrowed from his corporate friend forever ago for this audition, so it’s no wonder his feet feel a little squeezed.

This does not explain how his feet seem to be pushing against the shining leather with each passing second. Hentry’s hand flies to his mouth as he gasps at his feet bursting the seams of his friends shoes. His shock is displaced by grunting pain as toes burst from dress shocks and shoes he does not have the money to pay his friend back for are left tattered on the floor. He feels his soles stretch wider than the soles as his toes splay further, flexing from the pain as they surge onto the carpet of Marlowe’s office. 

Clinging to reality in the wake of this impossible happening, pushing down the visceral bizarre feeling of his feet growing, stretching against socks before bursting from their containment, Hentry finds himself hung up on how much those borrowed shoes cost. Somehow making him more anxious than the fact his body has changed beyond his control. Drawing his attention more than the feeling of thicker soles and a wider foot flexing out of his control. Then from some recess of his mind comes a ripcord. What’s the problem? Why was he wearing dress shoes anyway, surely he should be wearing his gym shoes like always.

To the delight of the director, Hentry’s eyes shift slightly duller as he stares blankly at his feet as shoes begin to reform. The actor doesn’t hear the sound of leather stretching to hide his newly massive feet, doesn’t see as the tanned leather shifts to cheapening fabric, new laces bursting forth and knotting a few times over as the cheap shoes still struggle to contain feet that absolutely do not wish to be contained.

“Much of a runner are you Hentry?” The actor slowly shakes his head, uncomfortable with the memories that begin to surge through it. Clenching his jaw he can’t prevent his mouth from answering, his voice sloppy and slow, “y-yeah. Sometimes I’ll jog, I think? Gotta get the blood pumping before an- umph!-” Whatever admission of gym time that was surely coming is cut off as Hentry forces his arm into his mouth, doing everything in his power to prevent himself from finishing the sentence. 

The wheels have been set in motion however as, sticking out from well-worn ratty gym shoes, slightly discolored socks begin to worm their way up his legs. Launching up past his smooth ankles they struggle to reach too high as new muscular legs begin to form. Eyes determinedly ahead at Marlowe can’t help but steal a glance downward as his calves begin to itch and burn. His mind races with new memories of running on treadmills and down streets as his legs surge larger. New muscle fibers and thick curls strands sprouting forth with every must-be artificial memory. 

They flex in place as Hentry sits there. His calves bulge larger with every faux flex, soon enough they’re the size of baseballs yearning to burst from his dress pants. There’s no risk of this however as his pants rapidly pull up into shorts, exposing the hairy calves to the cold air of this corporate studio. They are however not nearly fast enough on the draw to make it unscathed as thighs larger than his waist begin to bulge into existence.

The chair creaks under the weight of his legs alone as his pale thighs send a few tears into his new gym shorts. Marlowe’s eyebrows raise in shock as he seems almost impressed. Seeing this, Hentry is unsurprisingly of two minds, though for their varied reasons they both yearn to address their boss’ surprise. Jaw slightly sore from pain, he removes his arm and allows his mouth mobility once more. His original self thoroughly convinced that the director's simply so impressed at how well he’s fighting back, Hentry can’t help but try and get a dig in. “Betcha didn’t think I’d put up such a fight huh big guy?”

Perhaps a sign at just how much his mind has been eroded already, Hentry fails to see through the truly pathetic performance Marlowe gives, “My my Huntry! Indeed my terrible powers have been unable to change you at all! Perhaps it is the strength of your legs that allow you to stand so strong in the face of my wicked ways!” He does a twee flinch back, leaving one eye locked on the actor to see his reaction.

Arms crossed and smirking, Huntry’s eyes narrow as he finds himself agreeing with Marlowe, that is after the name of course. His name is, uhh. Doesn’t it start with a B? His eyebrows knit together as he skips past this and tries to find what else is bothering him from the director’s words, his legs are built? He works hard for them after all? Squirming in his chair he feels his powerful ass push him higher as he fights the urge to stretch. 

Failing to hold back, he grunts as he stretches taller. His dress shirt coming untucked from the elastic waistband of gym shorts they had no right of being tucked into to begin with. Midriff exposed it is clear that changes have not arbitrarily stopped at his lower body. Across his thin torso muscle has begun to pack on from nothing. His clumsy fingers scratch at his waist as a treasure trail begins to prickle up and decorate his new lowest rung of abs. 

Eyes closed, Huntry’s mind is totally distracted by the pleasure of his body burning as it grows. Forgetting himself and where he is, Huntry feels his cock pulse as the growing pains of his massive form feel decidedly pleasurable. Feeling the beginning of new muscle on his chest his tight lips twitch into a grin as nipples larger and more sensitive are dragged against his button up by a growing chest.

In no time at all, under the frequent barely quieted moans of delight, his sleeves are strained by biceps  that must have taken years to grow. His blue balls become much more of a problem as he feels the fabric begin to tear, thick arms wholly outsizing the tight sleeves by an order of magnitude. Raised in a flex his veiny biceps send tears down the length of his sleeves as they refuse to be held back. As they refuse to be the scrawny twigs that they may have once been.

Huntry bites his lips he feels pre begin to stain his briefs, no, his jock. His shaky hand begins to reach down, getting so far as gracing his new thick bush of pubes before his quest for relief is interrupted  by the director clearing his throat. “Mr. Buntry? If you recall, we were in the middle of your audition?”

Buntry snaps back to attention, gasping in shock in a deeper voice at having been in such a compromised position in the middle of something so significant. His slightly thicker brows, now jutting out ever so slightly over his eyes, furrow again as he realizes he isn’t embarrassed. Though- why should he be. He’s just a dude, sometimes you gotta adjust right? Yeah. A dumb smile plasters its way across his face as his jaw thickens, his pretty boy appeal falling to the wayside as he shifts to become not quite leading man material, but someone who could easily play a soldier, a goon, a brute. “Whaddya need from me next boss man?”

Shaking his head Marlowe is shocked at just how well this has gone, “I believe you were about to take off your shirt. This is after all quite a physique intensive role if you recall.” Buntry guffaws and scratches his chest, seemingly pulling his pecs larger with every pass of his clumsy, calloused fingers. “Why didn’t ya say so boss huhuh!” He goes to unbutton the shirt before stupidly groaning as he finds obviously he’s not wearing a button up. 

The sleeveless garment has turned into a tank, slightly stained around his pits from deodorant that was instantly rendered obsolete by his heady musk, joined by a dark sweaty patch in the center of his massive chest. Eyes caught up on the strained shirt, he gulps as he tries not to get distracted by his pecs overhanging, by the unmistakable hard nipples showing through the tight top. Barely hanging in there, he gets his fingers under the hem of the shirt hugging his abs and yanks. It gets stuck over his head and he laughs again, trapped in a prison of his own design, pits exposed to the open air as thick curls blossom further from his underarms.

Marlowe’s smile flickers as he wonders if this process was almost too effective. Lost in thought he watches as Buntry stands and struggles to escape, knocking over the chair behind him. Eventually the shirt tears before coming off and the brute guffaws once more, “Sorry boss! Guess I don know my own strength huhuh!” Free from the shirt however, he does what he has done in every audition he can recall and begins to pose. 

Sweat courses down from his hairy pits and shines across his burly chest as he flexes and awaits Marlowe’s feedback. The director’s hitherto constant smile flickers as he wonders how he’s going to be able to run a set with a man who can scarcely find two two brain cells to rub together. Lost in thought he loses track of his polished persona and thorough plan and speaks aimlessly, sniffing the air he complains, “Do you smell that?”

The jock pauses his performance and turns to look at his own pits, bending his thick neck down he laughs and confirms that it’s him. “Huhuh Sorry bro! Thought you wanted me to come au natruale y’know! You’re always saying you want the real Brutus! Well here he is huhuh! Hup!” Grunting he launches into a most muscular, crab pose. 

Marlowe’s eyes widen as the actor refers to himself as Brutus. Clicking his tongue, the director can’t help but feel this has gone off the rails somehow. The plan was to create a perfect combonation of actor and character, but clearly something has gone awry, whispering ‘god damnit’ under his breath, Marlowe forces a smile back on his face as he addresses the man who has yet to stop posing, flinging sweat across the room with every clearly practiced adjustment. “Bunt- er Brutus, yes? Would you mind taking a load off?” 

The new bodybuilder smirks and nods with a “Yuh! No problem boss huhuh!” The director feels a migraine coming on as he sees the behemoth crash to the floor as he sits in a chair that can absolutely not hold his weight. “Oh shit! Sorry Mr. Marlowe!” His mouth is hanging vacant as he struggles to lift his impossibly heavy form. Panting as he often is, when Brutus stands he opts to take a load off on the directors desk.

“Pardon my asking, Brutus. But you are an actor, are you not?” The massive man scratches his defined jaw as his face finishes its transformation into a face that could sell any schmuck some protein powder, “Yeah guess you could say so? I’m always puttin’ out content y’know? Definitely a star huhuh.” A gym influencer? That Marlowe could work with. He temples his hands as he schedules a date to potentially give this process another go. See if they can’t bring back some of Henry’s refinement. These things are complicated after all.

Just to test the waters before concluding this ‘audition,’ Marlowe opts to toss out one final question, “Does the name Henry mean anything to you Brutus?” 

In response the man lights up, “Yeah! Course it does boss! That’s my- uhhh?” Somehow the perpetually confused man looks even more confused for a moment, scratching his balls he holds back from smelling his hand in front of the director before continuing, “‘S that my last name boss? Do I got one of those?” Marlowe waves off the questions, foolish of him to try that. 

“Let’s get you to the locker room hm, Brutus? The young man outside should lead you to the setup we have on site.” Without a second thought Brutus sprints out the door, like a dog chasing a squirrel. He runs right past the secretary, apparently already knowing his way around. Marlowe’s phone vibrates as he sees a text that the next actor is apparently on the way up. Some angsty goth who the network has requested to audition for the role of the show’s rich prep.

Hearing heavy footsteps racing down the hallway he wonders if they are biting off more they can chew. No matter though, these are not his calls to make. Still he sighs to himself as he checks the notes for his upcoming meeting, another tall ask, “No rest for the wicked,” Marlowe complains as a pale frowning form is ushered out of the elevator. This time perhaps he’ll try and take it slower.

[vicolette]

Favorite Student !

– A/N : Got requested and I lost the request, what a great way to start the day (it rhymed omg??)

– Warnings : English isn’t my first language, mentions of y/n & pet names, teasing,

"I don’t even need English in my life."

For someone so strong and determined on the field, Pau for sure was neglecting his studies, like probably any other footballer. Even so, you couldn't just let him kick a ball around for hours daily and then not understand a word during interviews.

Pau saw this from a different perspective as he leaned forward until his forehead touch the table, tilting his head to the side as to not hurt his nose. Silence took over the room as he was pretty grumpy at how you were forcing him to take this seriously, although you knew that he needed this.

Especially when you were teaching him how to use the conditional clauses, which was stuff for the eight grade – that is how worse his grade was from all the other students.

But it wasn't even his fault! Whenever he had tried to pay focus on the classes, his classmates would poke him in the arm or exchange playful notes, which would make him face away from them and look outside the window. The green grass got him distracted easily, so that was how Pau ended up never taking any notes.

"Y'know, you're doing a good job in this." His sincere compliment was sudden as you raised an eyebrow in confusion, wondering what made him say that while your lips twitched to form a smile, before you hid it behind your hand. "I didn't understand a thing in Mrs. ... whatever her name was."

"Maybe you should've paid attention." A dramatic gasp left from his mouth as he clutched his hand on his chest, right above where his heart was, as he pouted in frustration. While you might not take it so serious, Pau was extremely hurt – or at least he was trying to act like it.

Over the time, Pau made a mental pro and con note in his mind, sighing as he realized that he indeed needed English in his life as a professional athlete.

"Can we compromise..?" This made you lean your chin against the palm of your hand, pondering about it as you looked up to the ceiling, completely avoiding Pau's gaze.

"Depends." Just a mere word made him sat straight as he smiled brightly, taking hims pen and some paper to take notes as, while you were quite surprised by his sudden determination. Nonetheless, you cleared your throat and pointed with your pen towards the notes that you have took, making him lower his head.

Much to your surprise, Pau was actually a fast learner, which was hard to tell due to his… rather hard-go-read handwriting. Sure enough, he claimed that he was 'fluent' in the language, to which you playfully rolled your eyes.

"What, you don’t think so?" He teasingly leaned closer to your face, the typical childish smile of his on his face as he maintained eye contact. Meanwhile, you could feel heat creep up in your neck, but he somehow didn’t notice and only continued. "You gotta reward me now."

"Hm, how?" In your mind, you would have expected something silly, like buying him ice cream or play FIFA games with him. Never did you ever expect him to say this next.

"Call me your favorite student."

You facepalmed at the request.

"Seriously?" Pau repeatedly nodded his head, excitement evident on his expression. He for sure was going to kill you one day, with his stupid mind and stupid suggestions and stupid smile – stupid pretty smile, if you may add.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. You're my favorite student, happy?"

"Definitely."

- A/N : the first draft was better☹️ also I had to write this in my notes so that I wouldn’t lose this bro

[jd07201990]

“Oh, come on Chuck! This’ll be my second time! You can’t keep forcing me to work another 40 years, just to make it to retirement and do it all again! It’s not yours or my fault that there aren’t enough young folk to take over our jobs! Hell, maybe if we paid a bit more, the few of them out there would apply!”

“It’s Lieutenant Roth, Billy. Now go change out of that equipment and take a shower. Whatever this remote does to strip away all those years, it sure does leave a young man ripe!”

“Don’t call me Billy! I haven’t been Billy in 30 years! Its Bill Damn it! And how am I supposed to explain this, again! to David?! You know he’s not into, well… this!”

“Put your shirt down Billy and quit your complaining. We’re doing something different this time, changing things up, trying something new. See, we couldn’t afford to pay higher wages all these years, because we’ve been stashing extra money away, for a new program. This remote can do a lot more than just wipe away years, Billy. The company has a whole app-store full of features, but they cost a hell of a lot. We only had enough for 2 new features, and we think it’ll really help solve this town’s aging population issue.”

“Wha… what the hell are you saying? What do you mean, something new?! Chuck, dude… you’re seriously starting to crack! What the fuck does any of this have to do with David?! And who is, “We”?!”

“I’m only going to tell you this once, son. It’s Lieutenant Roth. Now, I guess there’s no beating around the bush with you young-bloods. So I’ll get right to it. “We” is me, the Governor, and the Town Board. We investigated every possible fix, and it comes down to this. All the youth are moving out in droves, going to college, or fleeing to the city for excitement, leaving us aging folk to do the hard work around town. With the remote able to take years off a person, we’ve decided that all our current retirees, in every department, will be regressed, and the new feature we purchased will ensure you all follow your new, youthful instincts, providing us with a full generational bump in population.

You will be the hot-blooded virile stud you were way back in the day; you remember? Except this time, just as David isn’t attracted to this prime of your life look, YOU won’t be attracted to David, or any man for that matter. You see, we need all the help we can get, so with this little app, you’ll be chasing pretty women, and will certainly end up settling down, once one of them catches. Ah, by the look on your face, you know exactly what I mean.

Good, because you and the rest of the retirees are going to have your hands full, working these jobs getting paid just enough for a double-wide and a truck, leaving a trail of gals before you settle in with one, and have a whole mess of kids. "

“Ch… Lieutenant, sir… Wha… you’re insane dude! Fuckin’ totally cracked! You hear yourself! You can’t do this! I can’t be… I can’t chase… I don’t… don’t like…. Fuck… fuck dude… what the fuck are you doing?! Quit pointin’ that shit at me bro! My.. my head!”

“Don’t worry son, I’ll let you off the hook for all that mouthing off. It’s got to be rough having your brain completely flipped inside out, dumped out and filled with everything you need to be a, productive, member of society. Isn’t that right Billy?”

“Wha.. Oh, hey Lieutenant! So uh, is it ok if I head off to the showers and hit the road? Kind of a slow night huh sir? If it’d be alright, I want to go down to the Strip and hit the bar. The dudes and I figured we’d start the weekend early, ya know? Gotta get get some tail on lock before the storms hit. Thinkin’ I might run into Becka too, you know, from Thornton Stables? God she’d look real pretty, all knocked up good n’ proper!”

“Oh alright son. Go ahead, take the night off. But you’re on call. Got it! One or two beers, maybe a shot, take some cash and buy the lass one of those fruity drinks, and you treat her like a lady, young man. Got it?”

“Got it Dude! I mean Lieutenant! I’ll make a lady outa her yet! Thanks for the money too! Ya know how rough it is on the town’s wages! Although you and the Board seem to be doin’ alright. I hope I can get to where you are, Sir!”

“Don’t worry Billy, you’ve got a good 40 years or so to work your way up! Go have fun tonight!”

[snowflakes-and-cupcakes]

— this is what forever feels like x mathew barzal

chapter 2: crash landing (onto you)

♡ word count: 3.3k ♡ contains: cursing, reader has a panic attack, Barzy continues to be an insatiable flirt main ♡ prev ♡ next

Soon enough, there comes a point in your new-old life that you decide to just try anything. Sitting in a cafe near Hope’s apartment on a weekend, you spend the morning reworking your professional website and freshening up your accounts on Fiverr and Upwork. You don’t have much writing that’s new, but after a nice reshuffle and some new narrative introductions, you count yourself satisfied.

You’ve always been able to make a story out of almost anything. Emotive, persuasive—that’s your thing. 

The only thing you can’t do is persuade yourself to either open your Google Drive or close your laptop and go do something else for the day.

Around you, the cafe is quiet. This is the kind of place where people like you come to be calm, to find your peace���maybe get some work done, maybe shut the world out for a little while. A couple perches on a cushioned window seat, reading side-by-side. They look in love, and you hope it lasts for them. A middle-aged woman furrows her brow while she taps furiously at her laptop, writing. She looks professional—maybe she’s a professor, or maybe a researcher. 

Your latte, sitting in a mug-for-here next to your water bottle, isn’t warm anymore, but you still pick it up and take a sip because, damn it, you paid good money for that. 

You bite the inside of your cheek and click over to your Google Drive, staring at the color-coded folders.

There’s a pink one that says small town manuscript.

It’s your manuscript: the second draft of a still-untitled romance novel that feels like a pipe dream. According to the date on the folder, it’s been fourteen months since you last touched it. It’s a surprise—2022, really?—the way time eats away at itself, slipping through your fingers. Life started moving too fast, racing past you. Holidays left you exhausted. Losing your job and hopping between freelancing gigs activated your fight-or-flight response.

And, sure, you’re a fighter, but who’s going to work on a romance novel when they’re fighting for their next paycheck?

Maybe your ex—your ex, the finance bro; your ex, the son of two lawyers and grandson of a politician; your ex, the trust-fund baby—could have done a little more to make you feel safe. Isn’t that what relationships are for? Isn’t that what you’d been writing about?

You open the document.

You read the last chapter you’d been editing, and your chest squeezes. A lot of people read romances for the hot heroes, but this chapter is important to you. It’s focused entirely on the heroine when she discovers a strawberry plant she potted has flower buds on it. It’s a pivotal moment, the point at which she starts opening herself up to the hero, finally.

She didn’t believe in that little plant. Her well-meaning neighbor in the small town she ran away to gave it to her, and she was convinced she’d kill it as soon as a plant could be killed.

But you were the one who let your heroine have flowers instead of failures, weren’t you?

You watch the cursor blink after the last line. You read the final paragraph over and over again.

And then you delete it.

You don’t bother to rationalize why. You don’t think about how you could have changed a word here or there, or what exactly about it made it feel wrong to you. You just delete it and let it stay gone, leaving a blank space that, hesitantly, you begin to fill with new words.

It’s the same idea told in a different way. You let her have her flowers, and you take out the bittersweetness you gave her before. Stripping the sadness and leaving the joy, you watch your heroine fall in love with something she made herself. She’s in control of her story now, and you’re just the conduit, the one giving her the life she deserves.

It also feels like pulling teeth, every word put down and not backspaced to oblivion a hard-won battle. It takes so much out of you that, half an hour, the rest of your latte, and a minor headache later…you wrote two sentences.

You sigh and slump backwards in your chair. It’s two sentences more than you’ve written in a long, long time, but you still feel mortified that something that used to come easily to you feels so foreign now. You remember the early chapters of the book, and you remember being happy with them, but the thought of going back to reread your work now makes you feel sick.

Who was that girl? Who was the good writer inside you, and where did she go?

You even think of the girl who sat in a bar and laughed with a man she just met, a man way out of her league, and then let him take her on a cheap diner date. That girl laughed with that man for three hours.

Where did she go?

Who the hell are you kidding? You’re a fraud.

You slam your laptop shut and wince as the woman tapping away at another table abruptly stops, glances up at you, and lowers her brow in disdain. Blushing hard, you avoid her gaze and start shoving your things in your bag. Your phone is what you grab last, but it vibrates in your hand and you make the mistake of looking to see what the notification says.

Mom: Baby, do you have a weekend free? I want to come out to the city—so lonely without my best friend.

The world freezes and you have a momentary flash of dizziness, as if gravity flipped upside down. 

Maybe not telling your mom about being back home—the nicest, shortest way you can describe what happened to you—isn’t the best idea. She thinks you’re still in the city, and since you spent the final, unknowing months of your relationship avoiding everyone else to try to patch the holes between you and your ex, you haven’t seen her in…too many weeks.

Guilt eats at you because of that, and then takes a second bite because you felt a little less suffocated without her constant texts and calls. Your family has always been a disjointed one. For years, you had to force yourself to unpack the dynamic while you were still living in it, and you still didn’t have everything figured out.

You know it’s pretty normal to have divorced parents. Being an only child is normal, too. Your dad moved south after you graduated high school—hard, but not out of the ordinary. Your mom isn’t very close with her siblings—how many times have you heard that before?

But you’ll never forget Hope’s face when, during your first week of college, your mom called you four times in seven days for two hours apiece. Nor when, after you missed a good morning text, your mom called the university directly and a Public Safety officer did a wellness check on you.

You’d been sitting in a dorm room full of your new friends, and seven years later, the pity and confusion on their faces still makes you breathless.

Now, your mom follows up with a second text.

Maybe I can come stay with you? We can see a show, go shopping, get our nails done, maybe stop by a museum? Whatever you want!! Oh, and brunch!

You stare at the text, already growing anxious.

You shouldn’t feel like this, you think, but you do, and you don’t understand it yet. This is the kind of thing that takes years to name, but you’re in it now and you feel like you’re drowning.

You press a hand to your mouth as a sob races out. Your cheeks warm—so does your neck, your chest, and all the way down to your toes—because you know Laptop Lady is glaring at you. The humiliation of crying in public is a new low for you, but you can’t make it stop. 

You’re panicked that it’s happening in the first place. 

You’re panicked that you don’t have the words to figure out why.

You’re panicked because you’re failing everything around you, especially yourself.

So, you’re having a breakdown in a cafe. This isn’t normal at all.

The tension in your chest is unrelenting as you try to pack up your things and leave, hindered by your shaking hands. You feel like you can’t breathe, crushed under the panicked certainty that everyone in the room is watching you. 

All you want is to fade into nothingness and hide from everyone until you get your shit together. Why, why, why are you like this?

“Oh,” you hear someone say. The sound is close, and it hangs in the air with a hint of foreboding. “Jesus.”

You recognize that voice, and you bury your head in your hands because please don’t be talking to me, please don’t be looking at me, please don’t be coming toward me. That’s the absolute last thing you need; not only talking to anyone, but talking to him. Of all the cafes on Long Island, what are the odds you’re both in the same one? He doesn’t seem the type to get coffee at a cozy little spot like this. You didn’t even think the team was around—weren’t they just on a road trip?

Fate is a bitch, and you hate her.

The chair across from you scrapes over the floor, and about two hundred pounds of pure man settles onto it. He’s moving gingerly, like he’s aware of his size, his strength, and he’s trying not to scare you with it. Sweet, your brain supplies.

“Um.” Mat clears his throat. “Are you…”

You don’t move an inch, and you leave your head in your hands while you stare down at the table, reconsidering all your life choices. “I’m fine.”

There’s a pause. “I want to agree with you and I also want to say you’re clearly not fine, but both of those feel like the wrong answer.”

A sound comes out of you, but you’re not sure if it’s a laugh or a sob. You lower your hands, but you look away, unable to look at him right now. Your pride is just too fractured for that, especially given how you feel right now.

“You really can’t look any more put-together than that?”

You hug yourself, hands coming to rest on your biceps and giving yourself a squeeze. It’s an old, self-soothing habit that’s not doing a whole lot right now. A part of you wonders if that’s because you’re not alone while you’re doing it.

“I just had a bad day,” you mumble. “You can go.”

He doesn’t move. “Do you have somewhere to be?”

Swallowing, you shrug. “It’s complicated. I mean, I can go—uh—home, but Hope’s home and I don’t want her to see me like this.”

You also don’t want another reminder that your life is such a mess right now. It’s frustrating, painful—the way you bounce between feeling proud that you’re stumbling forward and feeling useless because you’re here in the first place. Such opposite feelings have no business occupying your brain at the same time, you think.

You thought.

His knee rapidly bobs, and you feel it as it gently jostles the table. He’s tense like he wants to bolt somewhere—probably as far away from here, from you, as physically possible. You can’t blame him. 

The girl he took on a date is a basket case. Who would want anything to do with that?

“Let’s go to the park,” he blurts. You stare at him, and he continues seriously, “You don’t want to be around people? Cool. Let’s go find some trees. Cold Spring Harbor is pretty close.”

But he’s no one to you. You’re not his responsibility…and yet you feel a shocking lack of panic over the fact that this guy you went on one date with is personally offended that the universe gave you a bad day. “But you’re not— You don’t need to—”

“I want to,” he replies with a shrug, then braces both his hands on the table to push himself up. One of those hands clasps your shoulder when he’s at your side. “Let’s go. Maybe we’ll catch the sunset.”

Mat buys you another latte and a black coffee for himself to go, and then he drives you to the state park twenty minutes north. The car is silent, and you try not to breathe, feeling like you’re not meant to be here.

You had one date with him, and now he’s taking you to the park in the middle of a cold snap because he found you sobbing in a cafe. You feel unhinged, insane. You feel his pity reaching into the depths of your heart, and you wonder if he’d mind if you crawled under a rock and died.

Even if he does mind, it’d probably be for the best.

He puts the car in park and pulls up the trail map on his phone. There are only a few other people here, judging by the fact that his is the third car in the lot, and you can hear two dogs barking in the distance once you’re standing outside.

He rounds the car and bumps you with his elbow. “Follow me,” that wordlessly says.

It’s also a little demanding, maybe even a gentle threat. It means, “We’re going to walk until you feel better.”

The simplicity of walking in silence strikes you. It’s necessary, but there’s something more, some kind of understanding that you’ve never felt with someone else before.

The park trail winds upward, climbing high over the hills to offer a view of the water stretching on and on into the bay. You’ve always loved the water and its calm endlessness, its possibilities presented so peacefully that it feels like a shrug, like an “of course.”

Though the two of you are dressed warmly, neither of you expected an impromptu hike, so you take the trail slowly in your sneakers. It gives you a chance to linger, to look, to breathe; for once, you’re grateful to be forced to slow down. He has a beanie pulled down over the tops of his ears and gloves on his hands, but his cheeks still turn red and his breath still comes and goes in exhales of white haze. He steals glances at you, checking on you and wondering when it’s okay to break the silence, but it’s not that the silence is bad.

It’s the opposite, actually. The calm rush of the water mixes with the rustle of the wind through bare branches, of dogs barking and crunching on the snow. Even the cars in the distance seem to settle down, their hum background noise you need to really strain to hear.

You don’t bother.

“I ran this trail,” he says abruptly, “after this really bad string of games in my first full season. I was playing, you know, I was out there, but I was doing pretty much nothing. I felt like I didn’t belong with the team. I felt…alone. It was like I made the biggest mistake of my life even though I knew coming here was what I wanted.”

You can tell there’s more for him to say, so you just stay in step with him, walking side by side while he makes the slow, mental approach to his point.

“I wanted to clear my head without being around anyone, but I also liked knowing people were just over there,” he gestures back toward the town, which felt deceptively far away because of the line of trees blocking the view. “It’s a habit now. If something’s ever weighing on me, I come here, go for a run. These trees, I mean…they know all my secrets by now.”

He laughs and looks at you, sheepishness in his lopsided smile. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

“Because you brought me here,” you reply. It’s obvious, isn’t it? Maybe it only is to you. “Did it help? That first run?”

He grins, tipping his face up to the clouds and squinting at the silvery glow. “Scored on the Rangers two days later.”

You both give the silence a moment of breathing room before he asks, “Want to talk about what happened at the coffee shop?”

Well, no. You don’t.

You spend about five seconds wondering if he’d buy it if you tell him it’s not a big deal, but you quickly get the impression that he, like the trees, will keep your secrets.

You blow out a breath and wait for the vapor to fade into mist before you open up, just a little. “I moved back here because I got dumped. It was bad.”

Understatement of the year. You shrug your shoulders, feeling self-conscious, but add, “You and Hope are the only ones who know that. My mom still lives here and I didn’t tell her. I don’t want to. She texted me about coming to visit in the city, and it reminded me that I’m keeping things from her.”

“Oh,” he says, and he’s sure he’s contemplating running for the hills. You’ve revealed a little piece of yourself that you think is ugly, that you think you shouldn’t feel. No one likes complicated things—especially not from near-strangers.

But then, you feel him looking at you. You feel him drift a few inches closer while he walks. He shifts, hesitating. His elbow moves, his shoulders roll, and then his hand slides out of his pocket so it can tentatively rest in the middle of your back. Your breath catches, you look at him, and he’s looking back.

Something hopeful but unsure passes between the two of you.

“I’m sorry about everything that happened before we came here,” he takes a breath, “but I’m glad we did.”

“Me too,” you say. “I feel so normal around you.”

That’s just a simple way of telling him he makes every single one of your nerves fall into quiet harmony, silencing the bad and leaving you aware and curious for whatever good may come.

He gives you a long look, and one side of his mouth tips up. He’s seconds away from teasing you, and you love the anticipation of that. “Yeah? Me too.”

As you walk together, his hand remains where it is and his pace slows to match yours. As much as he likes to chatter at you—or anyone else—normally, he’s quiet now. Walking through the snow with Mat, a cold breeze on your face while the harbor ebbs and flows below you, you feel a peaceful something blanket all the anxiety you felt to get you here.

At this point, when your panic recedes, you usually feel guilt over having those feelings at all.

Right now, you don’t.

Right now, you just tip your head against Mat’s shoulder and let him hold you. He so clearly wants to that it would be rude of you not to let him.

Really.

There’s an overlook partway up the path, two adirondack chairs and a table covered in ice. He tugs you toward them, wanting to give you a break that he himself definitely doesn’t need, and he makes you sit in his lap.

“One pair of wet jeans is better than two,” he says matter-of-factly, then tucks his chin against your shoulder while tucking you against his chest. “Just sit.”

Your heart is racing. You know he feels it beneath the sturdy arm wrapped around you, but he doesn’t say a word. Instead, he presses his cold cheek to yours, and you both wait and watch while reds and oranges paint the winter sky.

It turns out Mat was right about catching the sunset after all.

@barzygirl13 ♡ comment below or on the main post to be tagged please!

[littybeech]

Ten things the Twilight animated series can do better than the original movies (if they care enough to, please add all your own points to this as I will, too.) :

1. Include ALL of the book scenes, without having to change them to make them easier to film (for obvious reasons, since it’ll be animated they shouldn’t have much issue there.)

2. Their daughter, Remoulade can actually look like the book described her (or better or worse) and not the CGI monstrosity we got twelve years ago.

3. Make all the characters fit their book looks to complete accuracy. Alice was 4’10 and the movies made her 5’5. They let Edward have brown hair when he’s a ginger. Jacob and the wolf pack had better be above 6’5! I want 23 year old Carlisle and 26 year old Esme playing parents to like three legal adults and two 17 year olds.

4. The parentification of Bella Swan, by both of her parents, mustn’t be ignored. Bella was making sure the bills were getting paid by the time she was 10 cause her mom was ‘too flighty and distracted’ to do things like that consistently, she also learned to cook and clean early on too because her mom’s cooking was inedible and she’d improperly mix cleaning solutions dangerously. She got a job at 14 and took care of the groceries and any other issue necessary on top of being in AP classes in school. By the time she moved in with Charlie, she was basically more of a parent than he was. He did the bare minimum to ensure her car’s safety by installing snow chains on her tires without telling her and she cried because she wasn’t used to being taken care of.

5. How she cries when she’s angry is peak girlhood and I hate that they got rid of that in the movies. She stomped her feet bro, like c’mon she was so angry and anxious and annoyed all the time and they only focused on her angst.

6. Integrate aspects of Midnight Sun too, maybe incorporate them both so we can get a more full story. Twilight on its own was a bit of a snooze fest compared to Midnight Sun. We’re gonna pretend that Edward hunting and eating Esme’s abusive ex-husband isn’t hot af?

7. Add in more character’s back stories. Alice’s abusive father and stepmother, Emmett’s gambling and womanizing as a human in Tennessee, etc.

8. Unfortunately we need to make it clear that Charlie’s not winning any father of the year awards here either. He congratulated Jacob after forcing a kiss on her and joked about Jacob pressing assault charges on her after she breaks her hand punching him away.

9. Maybe ask why the Cullens…’need’ so desperately to come back to Forks every couple of years? Like they’re multi-billionaires, they’re immortal and there are plenty of gloomy, cloudy places they could live in semi-permanently. Why Forks when they know the Quileutte tribe knows what they are and they know it makes them so uncomfortable? It just seems unnecessary.

10. More of Edward reading Mike Newton’s inner-monologue. I know it would depend on whose perspective we get but I think the idea is hilarious.

[alittlebitofloveliness]

any soda headcanons?

Hi! I hope these suffice, I couldn't help but throw a little bit of Stevepop in :)

Sodapop Curtis Headcanons

-The Curtis house has a half finished basement which is where the laundry machine is, but the ceiling is FULL of spiders and spiderwebs. Both Darry and Pony are PETRIFIED of spiders, like Ponyboy is jumping from foot to foot and hyperventilating and Darry SHRIEKS when he sees one, so its always Soda’s job to de-spider the basement and he absolutely hates it (he's a little scared of them too, but not nearly as bad as his brothers)

-He has the friendship equivalent of those ‘you cheated on me in my dreams and now I’m mad at you”. One time he dreamed Steve left him stranded at the Dingo and was lowkey pissed at him the next day. Poor Steve was SO confused

-Loves both peanut butter and chocolate by themselves, but HATES when they’re combined together. Bro HATES reeses cups with a passion

-After the Curtis parents died he snuck into their room, stole his mother's half full perfume bottle and hid it in his bedside table. Sometimes before he goes to bed, when Ponyboy is busy brushing his teeth, he’ll spritz a little on his wrist because when he closes his eyes and smells her perfume he can pretend his mom is hugging him again.

-Thinks bananas are spicy (they’re not, he’s just mildly allergic but doesn’t realise it. Everyone in the gang thinks he’s making a joke every time he says it. He isn’t.)

-Him and Steve swing dance together at work sometimes when they’re working alone in the garage and his stomach flutters every time Steve dips him 

-Cannot sing to save his life and does it all the time anyway. Like, he sounds like he’s gargling with rocks, it’s actually painful. Dally has literally paid him to shut up before.

-Steve’s pet cat absolutely HATES him and Soda will always and forever be mad about it because “what did I ever do to her???”

-Can’t remember what his dad’s voice sounded like anymore. It haunts him.

-The easiest way to piss him off is to disrespect Steve in front of him. Sodapop is convinced the sun shines from his grumpy best friend’s glaring eyes, and if anyone doesn’t see that he WILL throw hands, no questions asked

-The Curtis’ have a chore jar full of little slips of paper with the really unpleasant chores they only have to do once in a while written on. Every three months they each draw two each so that way it’s fair who does what. EVERY single time Soda ends up having to clean behind the stove and he’s forever bitter about it because “it looks like a crime scene back there Dar and I know it ain’t just my fault!”

-He and Steve gave each other stick and poke tattoos once but his got SUPER infected. He would’ve had to tell Darry and probably go to the hospital if it weren’t for Evie, who luckily had some training from her tribe’s medicine woman and managed to fix him up.

-Him and Darry do rock paper scissors to decide who has to tell Ponyboy when he has a doctors appointment because Pony always gets SO mad and neither of them wanna deal with him

-Once walked in on Two-bit in an, ahem, compromising position, and hasn’t been the same since

-He used to socially drink pretty often but stopped when he realised how much drunk him really wanted to kiss Steve on the mouth

-Started drinking socially again when sober him kissed Steve on the mouth and the world didn’t end

-He draws faces on the eggs in the fridge, partially because he just finds it fun, but also because it always gets Darry to smile and shake his head fondly, and there isn’t enough that makes Darry smile these days

-Darry made him promise when he first started work full-time that he’d keep half his pay check for himself. He promised, but only ever keeps about 10% of what he makes as spending money. He’s determined to make sure neither Darry nor Ponyboy ever find out

-Wishes he was a bit more like either of his brothers, because even though he loves them more than anything, they have more in common with each other than they willl ever have with him and sometimes he feels like the odd man out in his own family, especially now his mom and dad are gone

-Had asthma as a kid but he grew out of it by the time he turned 10

[vinelark]

i would 100% read a brain/carmichael spin off

you and i are on the same page here, the briarmichael (coined by @feyburner) spinoff that lives in my head has rapidly grown to at least 35k worth of plot so far. some highlights:

brian has cared deeply about carmichael since high school, but isn’t In Love with him until later. like the summer makeout could’ve been the start of something, but when carmichael seemingly freaked about it and ghosted, brian pretty much moved on. he mourned the friendship more than the potential relationship. he was always the only one to really see past carmichael’s bullshit exterior, but brian was also 18 and going to college and not going to fight for carmichael’s attention if he didn’t want to give it.

meanwhile carmichael has been screaming crying throwing up in love with brian since like middle school, which he would admit to no one ever

carmichael now goes by "carm" as a nickname (per @cairoscene)

until they reunite post-college, brian does not know where/why carm left, because they weren't really talking at that point, and also brian is going to rutgers and experiencing living somewhere where they don't do like fear gas drills on campus for the first time. brian finally gets to flourish in his true form (affable bro who gets to flirt with everyone he wants at house parties)

i’m still deciding if brian even knows carm got disowned or if it was like a society secret. like carm’s parents made it sound like he just went off on a rebellious little trip or something. or if it was like, society gossip

also haven't totally nailed down the disinheritance situation but i want to say like. carm was interning at his dad’s company or his dad’s friend’s company and saw an executive do something Bad in a way that was very jarring to carm, who until this point has been willfully ignorant about most real-world things, and carmichael still saw himself as untouchable and used his annoying personality for good for once by making enough of a fuss to his dad about it that his dad was forced to cut ties with the executive to save face, but in the fallout carm was quietly sent away aka disowned. which carm did not expect, but had just enough backbone by then to not come crawling back immediately.

it was like. in carm’s mind. the right thing for him to do but also like he wasn’t even losing everything to be heroic, to save the world even the city. he just refused to shut up. and he ended up here.

he leaves gotham for a bit. i think he ends up working in a low-level mob restaurant in bludhaven for some time. he finds out he likes designing logos for things so he’s been taking cheap classes when he can and doing a bit of freelance work (starting with again a bludhaven mob but like, not like he could choose his clientele. and they paid him with bonus free dinner every shift). graphic design is his passion.

and @tigerjpg sent me an ask about them taking a road trip, and i wrote like 500 words off the cuff in response and then tumblr just. ate it. it disappeared into the void. the ask is back in my inbox like nothing happened. one day i'll re-type it, but for now just know that post-disinheritance carmichael sells his bmw convertible (that + what he could fit were the only things in his name that he still owned) and buys a used subaru that he is unhealthily emotionally attached to.

[justhereformilgram]

WARNING: Mouthwashing spoilers ahead?? it is a psychological horror game so there is a bit of blood and gore, themes of suicide, cannibalism, all that. So be sure to read the content warnings if you haven’t heard of it before but decide to check it out!

Anyways. I introduce milgramwashing. because I fell down the rabbit hole and loved the complex storytelling and horrific situations of the original game. HOWEVER, for this AU, it definitely will be a different sort of storyline because while I appreciate the hard subject matter Mouthwashing tackles, I don’t feel comfortable putting any of the milgram cast in those positions.. I do love to point out parallels, though, and things will definitely still go terribly wrong.

Just imagine they’re a different branch, a different ship, on the Pony Express— or should I say, the Jackalope Express?

(1) I was torn between making the MILGRAM (replacing Tulpar) just a delivery crew like the OG, or a ship carrying prisoners, closer to MILGRAM. Or prisoners who become a crew after an emergency happens and Es can’t handle it on their own. 🤷 None of this explains putting Es, a 15 year old in charge. Were they a child pilot prodigy? A nepo baby? Who knows. But they are Captain Es.

(2) Next is Yuno, the first one I drew so she’s in color! She’s a psychology intern, just learning the ropes, tagging along because she needs money to provide for her parent and little bro. Also she’s under a false name since idk how legal her side job was in the mouthwashing universe. The Anya parallels are… quite real, though in this case she would’ve gotten pregnant from her clients like in MILGRAM but before she got on the ship, and only realizing later, and then it becomes a whole situation. She becomes an assistant nurse to Shidou after the crash happens.

(3) Fuuta! I think he shares in Swansea’s grumpiness, and it does make sense for him to be an electric engineer or hacker due to his focus in tech. cough. not always for noble means. Haruka will be his intern he has to deal with—though he isn’t middle aged, I think a mentor/older brother and younger brother dynamic mirroring Swansea and Daisuke could be fun and tragic for them. Also Kotoko definitely slices him in the eye. I don’t know why or how, I just feel like it fits pretty well.

(4) As said before, Haruka is another intern without much experience, sent into space because his mother didn’t want to deal with him anymore. Harsh. Meanwhile, after her incident at her school, Muu’s parents paid big money to cover it up then shoehorn her into an “internship” where the authorities can’t get her. She gets the nicest room on the spaceship.

(5) Kazui! The muscle of the group, originally I gave him captain or pilot since he really does give Curly vibes (means well, hurts the women in his life anyways through inaction/telling the truth/lying) and he also has a mid life crisis. then all this happens. I’d imagine he’s fairly level headed and would’ve intervened in the Kotoko incident and the Crash. (Related somehow? I don’t know, I didn’t think the lore all the way through) Not fast enough to spare Mahiru, though… Mikoto is not an intern, but a very stressed mouthwashing sales representative part of the advertising sector. His job still sucks. He’s due for a breakdown at any moment. John was always there, but he probably comes out more during great times of stress, like the Crash. Maybe he’s partly responsible, trying to defend from Kotoko or something. In no way people are letting Amane onto the ship willingly so I made her a stowaway fleeing her conditions under the religious organization after she murdered her mom. She sneaks into a shipment of mouthwash or something idk. Shidou is doctor but in space. I imagine his family passed in a terrible, terrible accident and he did lots of medicine malpractice still.

(6) Finally, Kotoko and Mahiru. Kotoko needs to use that axe, it fits too well.. I do think the Crash, just like Trial 2, is a turning point, so she probably has some hand in the Crash as well, if not purposely then it might be from swinging that around recklessly. She still looks cool doing it, though! And Mahiru. I imagine she pulled a legally blonde and followed in her boyfriend’s footsteps to become a pilot. After he passed, she continued her schooling and ended up as co-pilot on MILGRAM. Tried to stop the ship from crashing from the asteroid, and got caught in the blast zone… I’m sorry Mahiru it’s just you’re the only one with many bandages as a character design element 😭 and it made too much sense 😭😖 I think she’s still cute though. I gave her Daisuke’s hibiscuses since I like that imagery

[heestruck]

Bad Reputations ; Park Sunghoon SMAU - jake has L rizz

synopsis ; you’re one of the big three on campus, but little does anyone know that your trio isn’t as strong as it looks. behind closed doors you’re outcasted by your dorm mates, they’re always ditching you, excluding you, and always trying to tell you what to do. So what happens when you go to a party and basketball player Jake Sim encourages you to take a break from your girls squad and hang out with his friends?

That’s when you meet him. Park Sunghoon. The most infamous guy on campus with a bad reputation.

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jake is on the basketball team, and he cannot for the life of him leave y/n alone. he just likes to tease her and try fail miserably to hook up with her. aside from his basketball bros he has his best friends heeseung, professional gamer, avid weed enjoyer, niki who definitely is not a drug dealer, jay who doesn’t get paid enough to babysit them, sunoo & jungwon who gossip way too much for their own good, and last but not least sunghoon. sunghoon is many things, he’s notoriously known on campus as a bad guy. someone to be feared. rumours are constantly buzzing around him, some even as bad as saying he’s killed someone. everyone says he’s bad news, but to be fair, he is.

[sjw-publishings]

Lit Gud Streamin

With much encouragement from @dumb-and-jocked

>First Time Streamin’ bro?

The house husband blushed at the first comment coming to respond to him.

Carson Green was anxious…he’d heard of streaming but never tried it until some pestering from his Gaymer group as of late.

The stay at home husband wanted to help with the finances, hence why he even considered it in the first place. Sure it was nice being a homemaker, and definitely had a flair in cooking, but he wanted to do something different.

“Y…Yeah, it’s my first time.”

>LOL K

He was relatively unsure of this, but he had known and spoken to several of the guys a week ago, and though he could have sworn they talked about a different topic entirely, he recalled about many of them bragging about ‘raking in the dough’ for gaming.

True enough, many of them are not only being paid handsomely in royalties for streaming, but they have a surprisingly large fanbase!

Admittedly, he was sort of shocked…and sort of jealousy that many of them are quite popular online, almost like they reached stardom within a week or less.

But regardless, his group also promised that they will help out with ‘assimilating’ him into the platform and moderate his stream. So surely he would reach a certain level of success with their guidance.

Though he’s still unsure how exactly will do they so.

“W…What games will we be playing?”

>Dis the game dude

>Ur in it, brought in da Boiz to watch the stream.

With that, the number count rose exponentially, from single digits, to doubles.

The house husband blushed, twiddling his thumbs at being watched by wide audience. Is it like a reality show game? Or is it something different entirely?

Granted, there weren’t any instructions or briefings given about it. Maybe it is a more on the spot, spontaneous kind of thing?

“D…Do I need to do anything in particular?”

>Just be yourself , LOL

>You gotta impress us Noob.

He…kind of doesn’t like being called a noob, but he is new to streaming after all. So he ought to listen to them, no matter how they are like.

>Dude, ur Tagline?

Tagline…?

Oh yeah! All the cool streamers he watched had one.

Wait? Since when did he watch…well he is a gamer after all, so it’s only natural that he DID watch streams, at least some of em by proxy. He is rather connected to the other guys.

“Ummm…ok LOL, what kind of tagline. Do you all have any suggestions, dudes?”

>Just Lit Gud man.

>Yeah RAT

He thought maybe it’s tough love or something…though it really feels extremely rude. Almost draining even, like yeah it was exhausting trying to keep up with his group’s gaming shenanigans, but even in their streamin’ advice?

C’mon Man!

Plus he’s just got married not a while ago! They could’ve at least be NICE to him since he’s now tied down! Like don’t get me wrong, he loves his husbro, but when all is said and done, he does miss the glory days of being with the rest of the guys.

“Look, I-D-K if Lit Gud Noobs is such a nice tagline?”

Desperate for a win here. Yeah, he may be getting quite aggro. But it’s justified! Bro.

“And who you callin’ Rat, RATZ!”

His mouth slurred at that remark, a very sleazy…immature slur as he quickly covered his mouth in that regard.

Though admittedly, he kinda liked that.

After all, if he was the rat, then these noobs are his goons. And while he usually isn’t the dominant one in his relationships, admittedly he kinda liked roleplaying as one of the typical bros, even if he wasn’t THAT asian compared to them.

>RAT BOD

>You lift Bro?

“My body…its not that well off-“

>Get lit or get Shyt on

He’s gotta get LIT.

Watching as his weight sizzle away down, melting away the bubbling tummy fat into a faint trail of a six pack, straining loosely on the shirt being his college grad pectorals.

Gotta show off after all. Specially during the bachelor’s party!

His diet consisted of pizza, soda and chips. And so ducking what? Body trim as DUCK, that’s how he lived and how his rats loved it. Some people said it was his GENE-tics or some shit that he had this bod, but you know what he says to em’?

Get lit or get Shyt on!

But even so, da shyt? Why did these bastards gotta treat him like that? Weren’t they all buds or somethin’?

“You RATZ are always so rude.”

>We rude? KAPPA

>Haha Noob!

With every interaction and vocabulary pollution, hunching lazily towards the screen, eyes entranced by the masses of comments.

LIGHTING and EMPHASIZIN’ random words, like an obnoxious mixture tainting his patience. Persistent name calling and being on the receiving end of the relationship kinda pisses him off.

>LOL K, How’s the stream?

But admittedly, a growing part of him is really getting pumped, while irritated, a small part of him liked broadcasting to these gamers.

If only they had some MAN-NERS, sheesh!

“How the streamin’ goin? Dude IDK, just a Jerkin’ stream today, nothin but insults.”

> Git Gud

> Just Git Gud

> Noob

Chat, filled with your run of the mill, cloned responses. Your typical mocks and insults, passive threading onto aggressive, a fine balance of being slightly very aggro but chill, producing RUDE DUCKIN’ INSULTS.

Each one after another, a shytposting blend that makes the stupid obnoxiousness rise higher and higher. Calves toning out from jumping upwards in sports as his body shrunk downward, making sure he sees eye to eye with dem BOIZ.

One liner aggressiveness alongside swarms of memes and complete nonsense. Idiotic behaviour, fitting a ‘RatChat’. Blending in with the other dudes, speakin’ their language, participating campus exercises and roughing around with the other bros!

Like a game, course, they are gamers after all. They know the COMBO, dissecting their streamer bud like it’s nothin’! Insults kicking right from the beginning!

He wanted to beat them at their own game!

Be hetter-BETTER! Calson Greo wanted to be a PRO.

“Alright RATZ, What’ll make me less of a noob and g-”

>Git Gud Noob

“GIT GUD?”

His voice slurred, eyebrows raised as he slumped back in his gaming chair. Like a simple command burning into his skull.

He just gotta GIT GUD! No instructions needed, except you gotta be IN DA LOOP. At TOP! As his buttocks clenched at the refusal of being BOT! Cheeks meant for exercise and gamin’.

He had to GIT GUD! And that’s being on top of his game always!

>You gotta be LIT Fam

“LIT?”

A delicious fuming rage erupted from his screen, as a multitude of laughing frogs and emojis filled his entire chat.

Igniting a fire within, his skin tanning till its just RIGHT. Made for a BOI who spends time gamin’ both online and in sports. Just like every other of his classmates back on campus.

>Stop being such a QUEER

“QUEER? Da SHYT?”

SHYT, these men tryin’ to get under his skin. Really making him all pent and rock solid. NO HOMO!

Wait WUT?

DUDE! LIEK…man he’s really even sounding immature in his thoughts? Wasn’t he some sort of QUEER? DA FK? He was g…a…guy, A GUY! YEAH! He was a guy like em!

“Thought you all stand for GUY RIGHTS?”

HE ALWAYS TOPS! Yeah so maybe he had a PHAG, but it was clear they are ‘sabotaging’ his GAY STREAM and tryin’ makin’ it the way it ought to be!

Full of SHYT-talkin’, assholes are dragging him down to THEIR level. A more rodent, nastier bunch instead of friendly GHEYS! But alright! If these idiots want to game, then they gonna-

>Look PHAG, if you want to WIN you gotta stop sucking

“SUK DEEZ NUTS!”

GOTTEM

An obnoxious Tenor bursted out from the man, retaliating like an immature douchebag as he finally sunk to their level. Height stooping at an average 5ft 9, GPA scores barely scrapping by the median. A fellow backslider like the crowd.

And HE was going to let these DOUCHEBOIS get it HARD!

>Just Chillax Gay Boi

“I AM CHILLAX!”

He sneered, as his voice rose into a stupidly obnoxious loud tenor, allowing that youthful tone engulf him in an asian tan like his peers, makin’ sure he is part of the Hivemind that is Snitch culture.

“No Sweats allowed…Just CHILLAX man…”

Feeling his mind sinking into the mass rebellious conformity that is his gamin’ community, his voice cooled slightly, gifted the flexibility to yell when he WANTS to BOIIII!

His buttoned down fused, as the simple white tee clung over his frame with slackened glee, bluntly accentuating his pectorals, as a typical print was plastered over like another typical meshed up shirt that the zoomers would wear.

He was NO SWEAT, Trousers shortening up to his thighs, lightening up into a more mesh, flexible material. Hanging loose L-sized on his waist are his flaming red basketball shorts, stickin’ out like a sore thumb whenever the dude stands up or goes for a bathroom breaks.

>Yo streamer, you a player?

“Am I a play-yer?”

The young man slurred, smirking as he acknowledged that remark, teasing those thirsty PHAGS and RATZ like he always does.

ResidentSnorer and various funny frogs spammed the chat box like no other, skyrocketing his view count to the thousands.

The young Boi loved every minute of it. He was getting the fame, boi.

“Course I am, ain’t easy being this good…”

>u dating someone?

“DAY-TING?”

Slippers took a hit in their quality, soft material becoming a pair of stretchable basketball shoes. Made for the kind of guy who keeps his options open.

Both in da basketball court, and in da bed. And yeah, it was technically his home. Well, he and his GAY fiancé’s. But it’s mostly a BRO thing! Roommates with benefits!

“Boiz, I have a fiancé , but..”

>Sounds Sus

>you gay or what?

His eyes widened, SHYT, he wasn’t supposed to say that. Not that he minded the older man…except when he was being GHEY-but weren’t they a couple…of MEN.

But aren’t they together? Da SHYT! He was a playah! BUT what about that time when they cuddled-BRUH that’s GHEY! BUT WHAT ABOUT-YOU GHEY BROSKI? BRO? B-

“BUTT-FK! I mean…I MEAN my BOI-FRIEND!”

>MEGAFAG

Fiddling the ring, the band stretched beyond the size of his palm, turning into pure eleastic as it slid down his right wrist, loosely fitting like its part of some showoffy trend.

As the chat continues to spam various emotes, including a distinct rainbow head, don’t these douchebags know he’s single and ready to mingle? Why are they thinkin’ he’s gonna be bangin’ it with some dude?

“Who you noobs calling GAY? It’s just ONE night!”

> QUEER ALERT!

> GAY GAY GAY

One hand palming below, the other one flippin the stream. Colson Groh’s darkened hair flicked down the side, his new asian ethnicity fully taking hold without remorse, blending in with the group of bullies pickin’ on him and his-FAG!

“One night of PRANKIN FAGS!”

Picking on em hard, he wasn’t one of em, but man is it HOT setting them STRAIGHT! The twenty two year college dude smirked, as PHAGS couldn’t resist starin’ at his clean-shaven slack-jaw and risen cheekbones till they get completely RAT PRANKED.

GGEZ

>Ayyy LIT

>Lets go BOI

>AFKin’ RAT!

“Bet you all can’t get ladies to your doorstep.”

>Check GayPay

GayPay my arse, StraightCoin’s the deal bro.

Though speakin’ of ladies. Hot damn…is he THAT dry? Cause he’s having that fantasy every straight, gamin’ charged college guy’s has.

Surrounded by hot ladies.

Then again, he’s always THIRSTIN’. Course, a guy like him can get a bunch of women in a flash. But he totally can jerk like a maiden-less douchebag like a bunch of the idiots watchin’ him.

Makes him relatable to his RATZ, yeah? Sides, nothin’ wrong with a lil jerkin’ on cam, nothing GHEY bout it!

>Yo RAT, check out your numbers

>BRO past 7k

>NO CAP

LIT_GUD: +7k subs

“Nggh!”

Rapidly vibrating his 7 inch joystick, brows raised as they thinned out. The last bit of hesitation melting away, making way for youthful gamin’ bravado as a seedy wide grin beamed in the stream.

“How to LIT GUD getting chicks?”

>PRO-DUCTION BRO!

>GIT LIT STREAM!

>YEEEEAAAAH BOI!

Comments flooding all over his stream, a mass mindset and mentality calling all to pump. PUMP! Pumping his POG-O STICK to the MAX! The Go-To-Game for men of his kind.

The HIGH score, as his eyes narrowed in utmost dumb simplicity, tilting his head upward to the ceiling as he grinned wildly as he thought bout’ that simple fantasy!

All da LADIES comin’ at him. YAAA BOIII!

“JUST LIT GUD BOIIIIIIIIIIIIII!”

Colton Goh no scoped all over his boxers, slumping back as drops of youthful rebellion spluttered all over, mucking it with obnoxious bully testosterone like he always does.

Feels so LIT! Being able to climax whenever the heck he wants, why abstain when he can just LIT GUD MAN! All those goody two shoe brethren back at campus grounds are really missin’ out.

But of course, he’ll scoop the remaining wads of mayo to his jerk off bottle later. He may be a backslider, but he gotta be up in his production game, beat his last record and all that shiz.

Speakin’ of which.

“E….Z….”

7k’s still just rookie numbers for a guy like him, but considering he got it all in a bunch of hours, he’s as good as the pros like the rest of em’!

“Yo…and that’s how you dudes get the ladies, man.”

>AYYYOOOO

>MY STREAMER!

>YA BOIIIIII

“Boiz, if you see any gays going all homo on ya. You gotta give em the LIT GUD!”

Normally he would collab with his streaming buds, but he really oughta help his Bromies out by teachin em.

Especially ratting out GHEYS until they turn into a couple of rats like he is. And what better way than to create his own Streamin’ channel? All he got to do was be himself bro.

Brings in the subs, and sides, hot chicks dig him, and fags thirstin’ over him get weeded out until they are a bunch of rats like he and his gamer crew.

‘[TOP] Gay Dude Joined the stream’

Speaking of fags…

“Ayy, a new fag joined the stream, sweet.”

Not sure how did ‘Gay Dude’ squirmed into his ‘TOP’ friends list, but he must’ve added him during that stupid RNG game he tried last night while he drank Heteroade with the bois.

But honestly, heh, he doesn’t give a Rats arse bout em’. After all, he needed someone to dunk on to celebrate his 7k Subs, so why not make sure the fag gets the whole RatChat streamin’ experience?

Heh, this will be hot.

“Give em a couple of Lit Guds in the chat, noobs.”

[i8ickygrl]

（⭒ ˘˘）ᵎ🖋️➞﹕ready player one 🪷

featuring: streamer!gojo satoru x fem reader warnings: dubcon, mention of spit, a bit of exhibitionism, blowjob proofread(?): i think so authors note: thank you guys soooo much for the support on my last two fics! this one is a little rushed so i'm not sure if i'll keep it up but my brain was itching to write this concept. don't forget to like, reblog or leave a comment if you can! hope you enjoy! thank you for reading, lovey <3

streamer!gojo who spends so much time around that desk. you know how much he enjoys being a streamer, interacting with his followers and basically getting paid to hang out with his friends all day. but you can’t help but whine when his attention isn’t on you.

“yes, love?” he’d pull one side of his headphones off of his ear and raise an eyebrow. 

“what time do you think you’ll be off?” your plump lips formed into a pout.

“soon, baby. i promise.” he’d take one of your hands and rub his thumb over your knuckles loving before turning back to his screen.

it was the same every time. you really didn’t mean to be annoying, you just missed him so much… so how could he blame you for crawling under his desk and seating yourself in between his legs?

streamer!gojo who’s still so caught up in his little game, yelling at someone to revive him. not to worry though. his attention would be all on you soon enough. you smooth your hair behind your shoulders and lick your lips before sliding your hands over his knees. 

streamer!gojo jumps slightly at the feeling, stopping his sentence mid way and looking down at you. you smile sweetly and bring your finger up to your lips, silently shushing him. 

streamer!gojo who plays off his sudden change in demeanor, making up some dumb excuse. his eyes are wide as he tries to refocus his attention, feeling you palm him through his shorts.

you feel his cock twitch under your grip, looking up at him through your lashes and smiling wickedly. feeling him close to being fully hard, you tug at the waistband of his shorts signaling him to lift his hips. 

streamer!gojo glances anxiously at the chat, noticing a few “you good?”s but nothing too alarming yet. he didn’t know how far you’d take it but he was sure he could play it off. 

he was in his boxers now and you smiled further before sliding your hand into the slip and pulling his cock out. you hummed happily at the sight and began slow strokes around the tip, watching his length grow in your hands.

you hear his breath hitch above you and it only encourages you to go further. you place your other hand around the base and stroke faster, giving him kitten licks every now and then as his pink tint began to swell from the stimulation. 

streamer!gojo who’s face is starting to contort is pleasure. he attempts to clench his jaw to hide it but its a bit too far gone now. he looks down at you, seeing you begin blissfully sucking his cock. your head bobbed in rhythm with the hand you twisted at the base as you happily and hummed around him.

“uhhmmm… is he okay?”

“bro does your stomach hurt or something?”

“gojo??”

he glances at the chat and curses under his breath before hearing a loud voice blare through his headphones.

“LOCK THE FUCK IN SATORU!” 

“i’m sorry, ma- fuuck.”

streamer!gojo who looks down at you, your shirt off now and his cock wet with your spit. your mouth was opened slightly as you looked up at him, panting and silently encouraging him to cum for you. god, he wished he could take a picture. you looked so damn perfect. 

streamer!gojo is close to his limit now, barely trying to hide the way he lovingly looks down into your eyes and sighs in pleasure. 

suddenly you push your breasts up against his cock and he swears he could cum right there. you pump his length, still keeping eye contact, and your lips moves to say something barely above a whisper. 

“come play with me gojo.” a moan slipping past your lips as you speak.

streamer!gojo is immediately ripping off his headphones, spewing apologies to his chat while whoever he was playing with screams through his headphones. he frantically closes various screens and waves bye to his chat before hurriedly guiding you towards him by your chin, surprising you with a deep, heated kiss.

“let’s go finished what you started.”

[66germs]

Vinsmoke Shipping Week Day 5!

Almost there!!!!! Auegwjauaua!!!!!!!

YonCose - Love Letter

Not quite a letter but yknow me by now I’m just a silly guy. Yonji will sneak the most random notes without telling Cosette and will just wait for her to find em. He finds himself very funny. She gets a lil laugh out of em everytime •v•

Silleyyyy

SecondPage - Royal x Knight

Bro isn’t paid NEARLY enough for this.

That is all.

[kittykat-25]

And They Were Roommates- A Chan Oneshot

Pairing: Chan x Reader

Genre: Roommates to lovers, Protective Channie

Summary: Going out on dates to get over your crush on your roommate was a great idea until you have to call him for help.

You lock the stall door behind you and pull your phone out quickly hitting the number on your most recents. Please answer! please answer! You think as it rings. You know he’s working, praying he’s not in a meeting, you start to lose hope when your favorite roommates voice fills your ears. “Hey!” Chan answered, “please come get me Channie.” You beg. The desperation in your voice has him standing up from his seat. “What’s wrong? Where are you?” He asked already packing up his bag, ignoring the stares from the other producers in the studio. You quickly sent him the address. “He’s a creep Chan. I’m not getting in his car and I’m scared if I walk home he’ll follow me.” Chan clenched his fist, he knew he should’ve talked you out of this date the second you told him about it but he let Han and Bin calm him down. Chalking it up to jealousy. Sure he has had a crush on you since Han offered you the fourth bedroom, pushing it aside to be friends and he truly cherished your friendship, he was also convinced you’d never feel the same way. “I’m on my way.” He said into the phone, “where are you now?” He heard you laugh, the sound alone calming his nerves. “Hiding in the bathroom. Our food isn’t even here yet and I’m debating on climbing out the window.” Chan chuckled. “We both know you’d end up hurting yourself. Just stay put and I’ll come get you.” You thanked him profusely before hanging up and walking out of the stall. You knew this date wouldn’t have ended well, you honestly didn’t have high hopes for it to start with. But you were putting yourself out there, trying to get over your crush on the beautiful Aussie currently coming to your rescue. You had fallen for Chan so quickly after moving in with them. Han being the wonderful friend he is offered you the spare room in their apartment when your lease ended, you were skeptical about moving in with three guys, producers at that but once you met the two other boys you were sold. The other five friends of theirs had quickly taken you in as well but you had bonded to Chan on a different level. Maybe it was your crush but you clicked well enough for him to become your rock, the one who kept you stable.

You debating staying in the bathroom until he came but your bag was still at the table. Cursing yourself you pushed open the bathroom door and begrudgingly made your way back to the table. Your date however was standing at the bar flirting with a cocktail waitress. You thanked the lucky stars and grabbed your bag. Hoping to sneak out the door. You saw Chan through the window and went to walk towards him when a hand came down around your wrist. “Where are you going baby?” Your date asked, grip getting tighter on your wrist. You turned, yanking your arm out of his grasp. “I have to go. You can go back to your waitress.” You said with a sarcastic smile. He chuckled, making all the hairs on your body stand up. “I took you to a nice place. I paid for your meal. I think you can at least put out. You know since I did all of this.” You rolled your eyes, “a meal I didn’t get to eat? All you’ve done is make me uncomfortable so no thanks.” You stated before turning around, your face collided with a chest and the familiar smell of Chan engulfing you. “Everything alright here?” He asked, sliding you behind him. Your hand grasped in his, “we’re fine bro. That’s my date. We’re trying to have a meal.” He scoffed at Chan. Chan looked back at you, then turned to face your date. “Looks like she’s leaving bro.” His voice icy and cold. Not the normal Chan you’re used to. He turned and started to lead you out of the restaurant when your date reached forward to grab you again, Chans hand came down on his arm. “Do not touch her again.” Chan ground out. His grip tightened until the man let go of you. Before tucking you safely in from of him and walking outside.

Once the spring air hit you felt yourself breath fully for the first time since you left the house. “Thank you Chan.” You said quietly, “sorry you had to come rescue me.” Chan lead you away from the restaurant, still tucked against his body. “Why are you apologizing?” He asked. “I just know your busy and I pulled you away from important things to help me over some stupid date and-“ you started to continue when Chan gently cut you off, “you are important to me. Work will always be there but I will prioritize your safety over everything.” You stopped and threw your arms around his neck, breathing in the comforting smell of his cologne. “Thank you Channie.” You mumble into his neck. His arms wrap around you squeezing you tighter into him. “Why did you go on a date with that guy to start with?” He asked as you resumed your walk home. You felt your face heat up, looking down at the sidewalk to hide it you quietly answered, “I was trying to put myself out there.” Chan chuckled, “but with someone like that?” You shook your head, “he asked and I figured why not? The person I actually want doesn’t want me back.” You immediately regretted your words the second that came out. Chan pulling you to a stop. “Woah who do you actually want?” He asked, surprising himself with how steady it came out despite his heart rate spiking. “I’m not saying.” You stated as you continued walking. “We don’t keep secrets.” Chan said catching up to you. “Well you know them and it’ll make it weird.” You shot back, knowing you were being too defensive. “Everyone I know would never be dumb enough to not be with you given the chance.” He retorted. You paused, “what?” You asked, making sure you heard him right. “Which of my idiotic friends are stupid enough to turn you down? Because I would give anything to be in their position.” He quickly fired back, not processing what he said. You pulled his hand, which still engulfed yours to a stop. He looked down, trying to hide the blush which now covered his ears. “Chan.” You prodded, hoping for some sort of explanation. “I’m sorry. I know you like someone and you don’t really want your friend confessing to you like this. I don’t want to burden you, I know you’ll never feel the same but I like you. And it kills me that someone is dumb enough to not realize what a treasure you are.” He said quietly, slowly pulling his hand out of yours. After a minute of you being silent he looked up to find you staring at him, mouth slightly open with tears in your eyes. “Why are you-“ not even letting him finish the question you closed the distance between you, throwing your arms around his neck and bringing his lips to yours. Chan stood in shock for about a second before kissing you back. When you pulled back slightly, leaning your head against his. “It’s you. You’re the idiot I didn’t think liked me back.” You giggled. Chans face broke into a massive smile before he pulled you back in for another kiss. When you pulled back again he pulled you closely to his side, “come on let’s get you some food and go home.” Walking side by side you were so glad you went out on this horrible date, and thanking every star for the wonderful man at your side.

A/N: So for someone like myself who is a Danceracha girly through and through. I always get carried away with Chan Fics😂 I don’t know what it is about this man but I had to cut off the ending to not drag this out! But I hope you enjoy🤍

[asayamas]

A Night in Malum

Black Rabbit Brotherhood Ficlet

“Fucking Alchemists.” Battle Maniac growled out as he crossed the threshold of the Town Hall, slamming the door shut behind him and earning a glare from the Eldest who had accompanied him; not that Battle Maniac cared.

“Let me guess…” Eccentric began, trailing off as in deep thought. “The bodies weren’t enough?” He asked, buckethead tilting. Battle Maniac fiddled with the straps on his mask as he walked over to the table in the middle of the room. “Weren’t enough, weren’t good quality, we didn’t get paid what we were owed.” He huffed out in annoyance, tossing his mask onto the table in exasperation.

The Rabbits had been working tirelessly collecting bodies for the Alchemists to use for god knows what. The more bodies, the more Ergo for their broker and therefore the quicker they can get out of this godforsaken city. However, Alchemists are ever so picky of what is brought to them, sometimes even forgoing pay if the haul isn’t good enough.

“Did we get anything?” The Youngest piped up from her perch on the tired looking sofa off to the left of the room, looking at her brothers with hope filled eyes despite the circumstances. “Enough for food. Enough for supplies. But it won’t be enough for the broker.” Maniac sighed, pulling out a chair and taking a seat at the table, happy to finally rest his legs. A small whine of disappointment was heard from the Youngest.

The Eldest had also taken off his mask too, prompting The Youngest and Eccentric to remove theirs too as all the rabbits were together, a small tradition of theirs. Eldest chuckled as his baby sisters reaction and rewarded her with a gentle but firm pat on the head to which she beamed up at him. “As long as those smelly alchemists didn’t hurt my bros, I’m fine!” She reassured everyone, trying to bring up the mood.

“Exactly!” Eccentric said, leaning back in his chair (which was starting to creak). “We’re all together, safe and sound! We’ll just look harder for the good stuff.” Eldest nodded in agreement but Maniac still had a sour look on his face.

“What’s the matter, bro?” Eccentric asked, leaning forward to get a better look at his brother. Maniac let out a sigh and wiped his face with his hands. “I just want the Brotherhood to survive. Survive and Win. It’s what we do.” He said solemnly, clenching his fists. “The Alchemists seem hell bent on us not leaving. Nothing is ever good enough for them and I am starting to believe that it was a mistake to ever work for them.” Maniac admitted, picking at the skin on his fingers.

“Cheer up, bro! We always win!” The Youngest chirped, hurrying over to her older brother to embrace him with a small ‘oof’ from Maniac. “Exactly right, sis! As long as we work together we’ve got this! We will get out and start again.” Eccentric added enthusiastically. Maniac sniffed and smiled slightly, a rare sight indeed. “We need to be more careful.” Maniac said, patting his sister’s hand. “The Alchemists told us about Geppetto’s puppet waking up. We may need to clash with the Hotel after all.” He sighed in exasperation. That’s all they needed, another threat to their freedom.

“We keep watch.” The Eldest signed to the siblings. “Patrol local areas, report back to each other if we see it.” The 3 younger siblings all nodded in a quiet agreement. “For now, we celebrate another job well done.” The Eldest chuckled and went to the makeshift pantry to pull out a crate of wine stolen from the Red Lobster’s decaying wine cellar. The siblings let out whoops and cheers at the sight, finally releasing the tension that had built up.

“To the Brotherhood! Fight and win! Reap the spoils!” They all toasted each other, laughing well off into the night as if it were their last, because who knows what the next day would bring.

[shieldofiron]

Vibe Check Part 3: Quid Pro Bro

The Frat Boy Au, Part 3

Read Previous on Ao3 or tumblr.

Steve wakes almost falling out of a chair.

He blinks, looking around the empty lecture hall and then finally looking up at the girl who’s still shaking him.

“Hey, yo, I’m up, I’m awake!” He wriggled out of her iron grip.

“You have to leave.”

“When did I pass out?”

The girl scoffs rolling her eyes hard, “Like halfway through the lecture, dingus. You snore, by the way.”

“I do not!” He snapped. Billy’s never said anything, and they’d roomed together all of last year.

“Oh yeah,” she nodded, crossing her arms. “Drool too.”

Steve just began to gather his books, “Why are you even here? Just let me drool.”

“I’m the TA,” She smirked. “And I didn’t want to be caught grading your absolutely half baked paper.”

“Yeah,” he smirked right back, giving her a little of the patented Harrington sparkle. “A likely excuse.”

She just huffs, heading back to the front of the room and gathering some papers, “you try to help a guy.”

“Want me to walk you home?” He glanced at his watch. “Kinda late.”

“I live off campus.”

“Your car, then.”

She blinks at him, “you’re not getting in my pants.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m gay.”

“And I’m just offering a walk home,” Steve shook his head, “you try to help a girl.”

She pauses, “you’re serious. You don’t have to do that.”

He nods, “yeah I am, dude, it’s like 9 pm. I’m not gonna let you walk home alone.”

She’s pretty, short hair sort of messy around her freckled face, which morphs slowly from a scowl into a more confused expression.

“Okay, I guess.”

“You thought I would just leave you in the lurch?”

“Not-“ She just laughs and shakes her head. “Fine, dingus. Prove to me that frat boys aren’t all the same.”

“We’re not!”

“Your taking a nap during the lecture non withstanding. Like it wasn’t even during a film day.”

Steve massaged the back of his neck, “My neighbor at the house has this girlfriend, she’s like a banshee. We didn’t sleep at all last night.”

She swung a multicolored patchwork tote bag onto her shoulder, “Can’t you just outbang him? Fight fire with fire?”

Steve’s brows rose as he scrambled to shove his notes into his backpack. “Whoah, I didn’t expect you to say that!”

She giggles, “I’m a TA not a nun.”

“Fair enough. How do you get to be a TA anyway?” He holds open the heavy metal door as she sails past, her tote bag hitting him hard in the solar plexus as she did.

“Sorry,” She says. “You take enough of Herman’s classes that he starts to remember your face. It’s a blessing and a curse, I wouldn’t recommend it to anyone. And the pay is dismal.”

“You get paid too?” He followed her down the hallway and out into the brisk fall air.

“I thought frat boys had all the money for keg parties and togas and house dues and lawsuits…”

“Not all of us,” He scoffs, as if he isn’t absolutely the exact type of guy she’s talking about. “It’s always good to let the brothers know about stuff like this.”

She rolls her eyes, “I can’t believe you actually talk like that.”

“What? Brothers?”

“Yeah,” she raises one shoulder. “Isn’t your boyfriend one of your brothers? Isn’t that a bit creepy?”

At first he thinks it’s the fall wind. That whooshing sound.

“What?” He realizes he’s frozen, locked to the spot in his adidas slides, staring at a tree rather than her.

“Oh,” She falters in her skipping. “Did you two break up?”

“Who are you talking about?”

“Uh, I don’t really know his name but he used to walk you to class last semester for Women in Film? Blonde guy with the curls? He has an embarrassing and frankly dated 80s thing going on?” She blinks at him. “God, you did break up. I’m so sorry, Steve.”

“How… wh… we’re not boyfriends,” he finally manages to stutter after a few seconds of autumn-chilled silence.

“Oh,” Her expression morphs into pity and it’s fucking awful. “I get it.”

“No, no I… we’re not like that at all. Billy and I are roommates. We’re…” he couldn’t bring himself to say brothers, his mind still scrambled. “Friends.”

“Oh.” She tips her chin down. “Sorry. My mistake.”

After another stilted second, they start to walk again with purpose towards the parking garage.

But she keeps sort of glancing over at him. Like she’s checking.

“We’re just friends,” He repeats after a moment.

“Got it.”

“Nothing going on there.”

“Okay.”

“And we’re straight.”

“Interesting how that came up last.”

“I’m fucking serious. We’re just friends.”

“Got it. Broken gaydar. It happens,” She shrugs, and he tries to do it too. Just like… no big deal.

But he can’t seem to stop wanting to say it. They’re just friends. How could anyone read them as anything else.

The more he thinks about it the funnier it seems. Of course nothing is going on, it’s so crazy that she thought so. He’ll have to tell Billy, even though the idea makes him feel like he has a nest of angry scorpions in his stomach.

Finally, they turn sharply for the nearest dorm, just past the garage near the theatre building.

“I thought you said you lived off campus.”

“I thought you might be a serial killer. I don’t know which one of us is more disappointed.”

He laughed through his choked throat. “I’m Steve, by the way.”

“I know. You’re Steve ‘the Hair’ Harrington. You’re the party chair for Theta House and you’re like,” she puts on a silly high voice, “so cute.”

“And straight.”

“And straight, that too,” she giggles a little nervously. “I’m Robin Buckley. We’ve had classes together for two years.”

He rocks back on his heels, “you did the John Waters short for Dr Casey’s class. That shit was legit.”

“That’s me,” She smiled, “sorry about confusing you and you’re friend earlier. You’re just so… anyway. See you next time.”

“See you next time, Robin,” He says.

The whole way back to the house he can’t shake the feeling. Like a leaf blowing on the back of his leg he’s jumpy, sure he’s feeling spiders and skeletons.

He whips out his phone and dials the first number he can think of. Surely it will all just seem like a joke tomorrow. A harmless mistake.

“Hey,” Billy picks up on the second ring.

And it’s like all the words in the world have dried up in his throat and he can’t speak for the corpses. He just makes a little aborted wheeze.

“Stevie? What’s up?” Billy asks.

“D-do… do I snore?” He asks, not even sure where that came from.

“A little. But it’s cute. Why, is some girl giving you grief?”

Steve is so nervous he just up and disconnects the call. The wind blows at the name of his neck and his whole body breaks out in goosebumps.