#but the moment that any of them realize it's hell

[satorena]

taking nerdjo’s glasses while you’re riding 🥸

cw. 18+. semi public sex. sub undertones. breeding kink.

“—ohhhh fuckkkkk,”

he doesn’t understand it— any of it. he doesn’t understand how he, of all people, managed to get you. the it girl on campus— with pretty hairstyles and cutesy nails, flocks of both girls and boys crawling after you for the slightest bit of your attention, is somehow interested in the least known guy around— the lanky, socially awkward physics teacher assistant with fading digimon stickers glued to the back of his worn down computer.

gojo assumes he’s experiencing one hell of a good dream. that’s the only way to explain the insatiable feeling of wet heat enveloping his aching dick. it’s the only way to explain the pornographic sounds of skin slapping echoing in this empty library. it’s the only way to explain why his balls are begging for release with each grind of needy hips rocking against his own.

he doesn’t want to wake up. he feels the cheap fabric of carpet beneath his fingernails from digging them into the floor. his knuckles are turning white from how hard he’s clenching. there’s an abnormal tightening of a knot in his guts begging to be snapped. he can feel beads of sweat forming at his hairline and his foggy glasses are slipping past his nose bridge uncomfortably—

but he doesn’t want to wake up.

planted on the heels of whatever latest trendy shoes you own, you’re riding his cock as if he were your lifeline. god you feel divine— your folds swallowing him into your cunt with such ease and precision, walls clenching down the moment he’s balls deep. he can feel your acrylics scratching at his undercut with one hand while the other holds your body steady down his thigh.

gojo doesn’t think he’s breathing, and frankly, isn’t sure if he wants to. you’re reckless— moaning freely in the emptiness of the establishment and right into the shell of his ear as if your birthright, careless of the thuds of heavy textbooks hitting the floor. there’s a crease in your brows and your jaw hangs slack, glossy lips parted as they release the hymns of your cries,

“—so deep, can feel you in my stomach!”

your tits bounce in clockwise motions. you’d freed yourself from your top sometime between the flirting behind bookshelves and his pikachu drawls dropping down to the floor. the sound of your pussy squelching with every bounce is a memory he wouldn’t forget even on his death bed— cunt so wet he can hardly feel his own dick in you.

the pad of your thumb grazes his bottom lip, and you lean forward to catch it between yours. he’s frozen stiff— the slip of your tongue in his mouth, your overwhelming sweetness invading his senses. he’s moaning pathetically, growing some security in the muffled sounds, so overstimulated by this insatiable pleasure that his arms start to feel weak.

your tongue swipes at his lips before nibbling on the flesh, “—taste so good,” he feels your lips mouthing against his own, and wishes he was able to focus for a split second on what you told him, but the ache in balls are a telltale that this euphoric dream is drawing to an end.

he squints his eyes shut. he tries to focus on the latest chapter of his latest obsession manga and theories he’s conspired. he recalls the sneak of his wrinkly old professor’s ass crack from his early lecture. he thinks back on this auction he’s seen online for retro limited edition video games. did he ever end up submitting that biochem lab assignment due—

“gojo.”

he snaps his eyes open. he didn’t realize he’d clenched his entire facial muscles until the moment he was able to see you again— only releasing those muscles feeling tightness in his cheeks (amongst other places)(read: his cock).

you’ve slowed down your pace. you’ve switched your movements from bounces to grinding. he can feel his tip prodding at your gummy walls. your breath fans his cupid’s bow and he’s only now noticing how close in proximity you both are. he can feel your heartbeat against his chest, and he’s positive you can feel his stomach clenching against your own.

he begins to feel more of your body weight on his, a feeling he definitely wants to get accustomed to, as you shift from your feet to your knees. your hand on his thigh trails upwards past his trail of hair, sliding up past the ridges of his abs, over the planes of his chest and meet at his nape with its other duo. there’s an aroma of vanilla and cherries exuding off you—

heisenburg’s uncertainty principle. star wars mandalorian culture. the roswell ufo incident. fucking neon genesis evangelion’s a cruel angel’s thesis—

“you don’t like me?” you ask him, all doey eyed like. it doesn’t sound like a legitimate question, but his ‘huh’ does draw more into a whine when you intentionally clamp down on his dick. he doesn’t miss the mischievous glint in your eyes.

gojo bites down on his lower lip, fiddling with a loose thread on the carpet. his body releases a shudder at the chills creeping up his spine when you trace a finger down the slope of his neck, “w-what?” he asks weakly, huffing as his toes curl in his socks.

this time, you cock your head just barely to the side, and he watches your gaze trail from his lips to his eyes and back to his lips. despite the agonizingly slow pace, you never stop riding him. his cock is still graced by your warmth, still snatching his soul through his slit. your lashes bat twice before glancing back up at his eyes.

“you don’t like me.” you’re not asking this time, your tone dripping in seduction and like a fool, finds himself swayed. you’re teasing him— he can see it in the way the corner of your lips quirk into your infamous smile. you’ve got him wrapped all around your pretty finger— he knows it and you definitely know it.

as if he was anybody to not like you. your ass cheeks clench when you drive your body forward, gripping on his cock so tight he can feel the wind knocked out his lungs, “no! are you, ngh, crazy— of course i do—”

“because i like you.” it falls short of a whisper, but the vibrations of your words against his lips shoot right to his heart and balls, and he knows his blotchy cheeks are now flushed red for an entirely different reason.

he answers faster than his mind can process, his stomach jumping with butterflies and an oncoming orgasm. your eyes won’t leave his— like a deceiving siren baring deep into his soul and rendering him vulnerable before consuming his entire being. not too far from his reality, hips bucking upwards as desperately as possible to emphasize his immediate answer, “i like you too—”

“you won’t look at me,” gojo hadn’t realized he shied away from your gaze, pouring his entire focus on not spilling both his heart and cum right into you, “talk to me.”

“i-it’s just, um,” he tries to flick his eyes back onto yours, but you’re still staring so intensely behind siren eyes and still rocking your hips. your fluids drip past your cunt and down his sack, before staining the carpet, “i’m a—mmph, nobody and you’re— well, you’re you,” he feels a hot tongue glide over the accumulated sweat on his neck and humps up again, “y’re just so pretty and every time i look at you i get the urge to c-cum but,” your teeth sink into his jugular before nibbling and he whines, throwing his head back, “i want— need you to cum first. . .”

there’s a beat of silence for a while. you’ve even halted your grinding altogether. he prays to god he didn’t mess up the one good thing that’s happened to him in all his twenty one years of living. you’ve even popped his now bruised skin from your lips— hovering right over the mark you left on him. pleasure licks at his limbs feverishly, back arching in hopes to dig even deeper (if possible) in your pussy.

you pull away from his neck and the tip of your nose is back to grazing his own. your usually styled hair is now a mess, your skin dampening from moisture and your lip gloss now swapped for your and his saliva— your overall classic, picture perfect image completely abandoned,

and he doesn’t think you’ve looked any prettier.

“so,” you draw out, freeing a hand from his locks to graze over the throbbing love bite at his neck. gojo sniffs, pushing his foggy glasses back up on his bridge with the back of his hand, and you caress the throbbing flesh, “the problem is when you look huh. . .?”

his neck is suddenly released from blissful torture and he feels his frames coming off his face from no effort of his own. his vision slowly fades and his pupils dilate to accommodate to his now poor quality of sight, “what are you—”

and his breath hitches. he can only make out your shape through your sinful curves but there’s no mistake from your silhouette— your hands, now holding his glasses hostage, press at his chest, “trust me,” you apply firm pressure from your palms to his upper body, and he feels himself sinking into the floor, back meeting the dirty carpet.

trust you? he’d lay his life on the line for a woman like you.

his fingers spread as his palms face the sky, and his breath staggered. the bookshelves, windows and study rooms are all blurry as fuck— which is both off putting and extremely risky since library hours were still valid at this time, but despite it all, it felt as if he could see you clear as day. gojo would usually never put his academics on the line, but he couldn’t deny the thrill of possibly getting caught having sex with the finest girl in school in a public library had his cock twitching incessantly.

god, he is just so happy to be here.

your fingers slide his glasses atop your nose bridge, and your cheeks split into a cheeky smile, hips beginning to roll back into their previous tempo. he feels your hands grabbing his own, before resting them at your hips. he’s a greedy man, and since the opportunity may only come once in his lifetime, he slides his hands further to your ass., and with a gulp, grabs the flesh greedily. damn— it hardly fits in his palms.

there’s a symphony of moans coming from you both when you lift your hips up, and it’s downright disgusting how turned on he gets at your essence trickling down his shaft and past his balls. your pussy lips drool and latch onto his tip tightly, before entirely releasing him and slipping your hand between your thighs. you kneed his nuts, fondling the testicles between your digits expertly and his back arches off the floor, “shouldn’t be an issue anymore, yeah?” you hum.

“y-yeah— oh god, yes,” gojo nods dumbly, toes curling in his socks as you proceed to stroke his cock. his tip is weeping in pre cum blended with your own wetness, and the faster you flick your wrist, the tighter his stomach contracts. he’s lasted quite some time now, considering this being his first time and all, but there’s only so much a man can hold back. his fingernails dig crescent moon shapes into the mounds of your ass as his hips chase after your touch with every stroke. “w-wait, fuck, i’m gonna cum—”

“yeah?” you encourage him, hunching just over his weeping dick, still holding him at his base. you drag his tip in between your lips, back and forth, while your other hand feels him up at his abs. “where do you wanna finish? on my face?” he whines, mindlessly humping and your smirk deepens as you slowly sink down, “on my tits?” gojo shakes his head, and feels drool coming from the corner of his lips. his limbs are on fire and his groin feels like it’s on the verge of explosion, “on my ass?” you’re about halfway down, “or. . . inside?”

“please,” he doesn’t care if he’s begging. snowy lashes bat open as his teary unfocused eyes adjust to the dimmed lights. even your silhouette is sexy, “please lemme cum inside, i-i’ll do anything.”

“hmm, anything?” you purr, knees finally hitting the floor as you straddle him once more. he lets out a guttural groan at the familiar feel of your silky walls entrapping his cock. his mind is fucking hazy and despite never having consuming alcohol, he feels drunk.

“yes,” he pleads, rolling his hips impossibly deeper into you, euphoric pleasure shooting in his bloodstream, “a-anything you want, i swear,” at the sudden intrusion, you let out a loud gasp when his tip bumps into your cervix and drop your body forward, arms giving out.

chest to chest, skin to skin, your lips hover over his as your back dips into an arch, forcing a penetration deeper in your guts. your palms are pressed flat onto the floor at the side of his head, and he can make out his glasses sitting lazily on the ball of your nose. he slides his hands up your sides, kneading at every inch of your flesh, before sliding back down to your ass.

“even my homework? assignments?” you tease breathily, a strangled moan ripping out your throat when his knees push up and fucks into you. your body jerks forward as his feet plant to the floor, hands still gripping on your ass.

when he snaps his hips up, you roll yours down, and the matching intensity sends his brain haywire. he’s desperate for release, forcing your hips down as he nudges his cock languidly into your cunt. his jaw falls slack and he nods again, dumbly, “ngh, for the rest of the s-school year,”

“that easy with you?” you giggle, but is easily interrupted when he leans forward to catch your lips in a messy kiss. there’s a shit ton of saliva involved, some even escapes past your mouths and down your jaws, but he couldn’t care any less—you tasted heavenly. he wishes he had the time to eat your pussy, he’s positive you taste holier down there.

“it’s your world.” gojo moans, snaking his hands from your ass to wrap around your upper body. now caught in his embrace, you let your head fall limply into the crook of his neck as he works his dick in and out of you. he means what he said— it is your world, and he’s nothing more than a happy servant. “i’ll do it all— bring your books to class, rub your feet— i’ll bark if you need me to— just, please, please, please let me cum inside.”

your moans vibrating from his neck run straight to his ears and fuels him further. he’s thrusting relentlessly— there’s no set pace at all, and he’s so close to finishing he’s completely forgotten about wanting you to cum first. he finally understands why everybody obsesses over sex— he never wants to let you go.

your head pushes up from his neck, nosing at his jaw. he feels your hands cradling his hair, and your lips pressing kisses at the corner of his mouth. his heart skips a beat— he revels in the attention you’re giving him, even if it’s just for the moment. he knows he won’t ever be this lucky again, so he might as well enjoy the ride while he’s here.

“you wanna breed my pussy?” you bite your lip, each stroke in your cunt jerking the glasses down the slope of your nose. despite the dense flog clouding the lens, he can feel your eyes on him. he nods desperately, tightening his hold on you, and the new angle has your clit dragging against his pelvis, “mmph— okay, yeah — put a baby in me, freak.”

and so he does. he thrusts as spurts of cum shoots inside your womb. his balls tighten as his hips rut, arms clutching onto your body with every fibre in him. you smell good, feel good, look good— and your cunt milks him dry for whatever he’s worth.

his orgasm feels short of an eternity yet simultaneously a second, his soul having transcended into an outwardly dimension. and it’s only when you scoot your ass upwards, sliding a hand between both warm bodies, that you collect his cum on the pad of your fingers. he blinks hazily, zeroing his focus when he sees you pop your fingers into your mouth.

“mhm,” you hum at the taste. he’s panting heavily, body riding a euphoric high he’s yet to come down from. you don’t seem to mind, leaning forward to catch his lips once again. and he lets you, moaning at the taste of himself on your tongue. when you pull away, there’s a thin string of cum induced saliva pulling at your lips. “‘s my world, right? want my pussy in your mouth.”

and he instantly hardens.

[awrkive]

[TEASER] CATCH YOUR WAVE (m) — JJK.

the last thing you expected when you strolled into your new school is to become the favorite project of the 5’11” tatted-up overly enthusiastic, golden-retriever-in-human-form PE teacher, jeon jungkook. he’s all goofy grins, bad math puns, and relentless charm, while you’re busy pretending you’re immune to his antics... spoiler alert: you’re not. and that infuriates you. 

alternatively, jungkook tries to prove that opposites don’t just attract — they collide. a classic case of one plus one equals: “oh, no. i like him.”

PAIRING jeon jungkook x (female) reader

GENRE r18+ (fuff, slight angst, mature content) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

WORD COUNT ~15k (still working around the final wc)

TEASER WORD COUNT 1.8k words

WARNINGS/MISC teachers!au, pe teacher!jk, math teacher!reader, seven!jungkook, himbo!jk, coworkers!au (works in the same school), oc gets kinda mean sometimes but jungkook likes it lmfao, extremely corny pick up lines.. he tries 💔 2000s romcoms references (sorry) warnings for this teaser: nothing major. just bad math puns delivered by himbo jungkook :')

NOTES inspired by the whole “can she gaf me💔” vibes in the seven mv (by jungkook) and ultimately the click five’s song, catch your wave (hence the title🥸 pls listen to the song for the whole vibes hehe <3). ive been wanting to write himbo jk for awhile bcs all my jks are like … smart so far so i thought wait we need to change that. gahhhh im so so freaking excited ive been thinking about writing this ever ever since i wrote that one himbo jk drabble 💃🏼

[ CYW MOODBOARD ] • [ MAIN MASTERLIST ]

RELEASE DATE 2025, FEBRUARY 15TH | 01:00 AM KOREAN STANDARD TIME (GMT+9)

They say life is a balance of good and bad days, and you’re not a pessimistic person, but sometimes enough is enough. How is your week already this bad when it’s just barely started? 

Sunday morning, when you picked up your laundry from the shop, you were too late to realize that you mixed not just one but two white underwear with the colored loads. You’d blame it on the fact that they were too tiny, too flimsy for you to notice. But you know you should’ve double-checked before putting them in the machine. And now you have lost two panties. And in this economy? That shit cost a ton. 

When Monday came and the head of the Math Department informed you there was a sudden shift in your schedule for the semester, it meant that instead of teaching three Algebra classes for tenth graders, you’re also teaching pre-Algebra for eighth graders, meaning you’re gonna have to cross the long walk from the high school building to the middle school one, the latter being all the way to the left wing, completely the opposite side of the right wing where the faculty room and your initial classes are. 

Today, you’ve woken up with your WiFi not connected to the internet (something you have to talk to your landlord about when you come back home) and just two minutes ago, you realized you forgot to take your coffee order with you from the cafe across your school building, the sad garlic bread you bought along with it staring right at you without its beloved beverage pair. 

Truthfully, it might be your last straw. How the hell is this happening to you out of all people? The semester is just starting, for god’s sake, and you’re already hanging on by a thread. 

You take a deep breath on your seat before standing up from your cubicle, heading to the coffee machine by the snack bar.

You hate the coffee here. Whatever brand they keep on stocking the pantry with, it’s too naturally sweet – and you don’t like your coffee with sugar. 

But you have no choice but to make do. The cafe’s too far out and your first class starts in about twenty minutes. 

“Good morning, Ms. Math Genius – ready to crunch some numbers today?” 

As if this day couldn’t get any worse, you shut your eyes close for a moment when you hear the familiar voice. 

You stir your coffee with downturned lips.

“Only if you promise to flex those brain muscles—” You say, turning to look to the side. Much to your expectation, it’s Jeon Jungkook, leaning casually against the wall with that usual faux suave he keeps on around you – which you can’t take seriously because his big doe eyes tell you a completely different story. He’s wearing some Nike dri fit shirt, one that’s too tight around his chest and accentuates a comparatively tiny waist that you have to force your eyes upwards. But as they do, they land on the biceps that are straining against the poor material. It wasn’t lost on you though that one second after, they’re suddenly flexing. You arch your brow as you glance a look on his face. “—as much as you flex those biceps.” 

Jungkook’s lips curl into a huge grin, expecting the jab. 

“You know it!” He chuckles, running his fingers through his bangs. “I’m all about solving problems, and I’d say my favorite equation is you plus me equals a perfect start to the day.” 

You fight a loud groan from escaping your lips as soon as he says that, giving him a certain look before shaking your head and going back to your coffee. 

But you should’ve known better by now, because Jungkook – aside from being a PE teacher extraordinaire and every student’s favorite at that, Thee Football Coach, 5’11” tatted brunette with a long, fluffy hair paired with an objectively, annoyingly attractive face – is persistent. 

Most especially when it comes to annoying you. 

A few steps, and then you feel him getting closer to you. 

“Did you know that—” 

You roll your eyes. That’s it. If it’s another one of his corny math pick-up lines again you swear to god— 

“Jungkook, you don’t have to keep doing this everyda—” 

“—we’re like parallel lines?” 

“What.”

“Did you know that we’re like parallel lines?” Jungkook repeats earnestly, just like he always does. When he’s up in your personal space like this, it’s easy to get a waft of his cologne – and your annoyance could’ve been justified if he smelled like shit but somehow, even though he looks like he just got back from a run judging by his running shoes and gym bag, he still smells… okay. 

Just okay. As in, you don’t care how good he smells like or how he smells at all.

You make sure to keep that thought at the back of your head. 

“No.” You say, hoping to dismiss the conversation right there as you pick up the cup of coffee from the machine, ready to turn on your heel, but then Jungkook laughs ever so slightly and gives your arm a barely-there poke.

“Come on, entertain me a little.” 

You squint your eyes at him. He challenges your stare with a growing smile on his face. Scoffing, you roll your eyes again before you put the paper cup back on the table. With a sigh, you cross your arms and look at Jungkook. For a split second, his eyes cast downwards to your chest level but he quickly snaps out of it. 

“Okay… we’re like parallel lines… why? Because we’ll never meet?” You say in response to his little request, keeping your tone impassive. 

Jungkook’s eyes slowly widen at your words, smile slowly dropping – as if the logic of your words have ruined one of his million pick-up lines again. 

“I– no! What? I meant, we’re like, always running to each other! Side by side. Parallel lines.”

“Okay… so still never meeting?” You ask impatiently, brows furrowing. 

Jungkook mirrors your confusion. Then, he raises a hand, one finger up. “One second. I’ll fix this–” he takes his phone out from his pocket, types on it quickly, lip jutting out as he reads whatever he’s looking up, and then, “Ohh, I might have meant asymptote lines. We’re like asymptote lines.” 

Your face contorts into even deeper confusion. Holy shit, you’re not dealing with this very early on in the morning, especially not after the circumstances of the past hours.

“Asymptote lines are more depressing than parallel lines if we’re talking metaphorically.” 

Jungkook squints his eyes at you, suspicious. “Are you sure?”

“I would hope I know my lines, Jungkook. I teach them everyday.” 

He laughs again, eyes crinkling at the corners cutely, and you hate how that tugs something at your heartstrings. 

You catch yourself right at that moment.

Jeon Jungkook is not cute. You keep in mind. He’s not cute. 

Jungkook thinks you’re so cute. Gorgeous, most of all, and unbelievably so. You and your signature furrowed brows and pink pouty lips.

As usual, you have your hair up in a clean bun today, and Jungkook can smell the lace of sweet vanilla from you as he takes a step closer to get a cup for himself. 

He loves the coffee here. Whatever brand they keep stocking the pantry with, it’s sweet as fuck. Just like how Jungkook likes his caffeine dose. Kind of like you, he thinks. 

Jungkook casts a quick glance at you again, can't really help himself when you're so pretty, although he makes sure to be subtle about it.

You’re wearing another one of your pencil skirts, one that he has to avoid staring at for longer than three seconds lest his mind takes him too far – but the upper view is even more of a torture, unfortunaly for him. Because as much as you wear the same outfit every single day and it should mean that Jungkook should get used to it by now, he can never be immune to your silk long sleeves, where you keep the top three buttons open – and as much as Jungkook tries to pry his gaze away from the exposed skin down from your neck, it’s like there’s a strange force in the universe that keeps him on it. Doesn’t really help that you like crossing your arms under your chest, too, making his mind run a mile per minute at the thoughts that form inside his head when a very apparent cleavage shows—

Alright. Damn. It’s like 8 am. 

And you were saying something about lines…

“Yeah? I hope you can teach me too, I need to—” 

“Goodbye, Mr. Jeon.” You cut him off before he can even finish his sentence, taking your coffee with you as you head to the direction of your cubicle. 

The nickname makes Jungkook’s lips curl up. He probably shouldn’t smile, given that you only ever call him that when you want to cut the conversation with him short. But he can’t help it, it sounds sweet coming from your pretty lips. 

In an attempt to not look like a fool, Jungkook bites his lip as he watches your disappearing figure, your heels clicking on the floor as you walk away. Your legs look so long in that grey pencil skirt, and it really should be criminal how you look like that even when you’re just showing your back. 

In his trance, he forgets about the brewing coffee in his cup and absentmindedly takes it out while the machine is still running, the hot liquid pouring from the nozzle quickly burning the skin on his finger. 

“Oh, shit!” He hisses, jumping from the shock, almost knocking his coffee out but thankfully he manages to catch it on time, just as when another member of the faculty walks by the snack bar. 

With an awkward smile, Jungkook raises a thumbs up to Mrs. Lee. 

“Good morning, Mrs. Lee. Looking rad as always.” He cheerfully greets, and Mrs. Lee’s confusion from seeing him fumble with his cup earlier quickly turns into a coo. 

“Oh, Mr. Jeon, you charming kid. I was just gonna get my cup of coffee.” She says, walking towards his direction. 

Jungkook adjusts the strap of his gym bag to his shoulder and takes a cup for Mrs. Lee with a grin, making her smile. 

She thanks him and with a playful salute, Jungkook goes toward the general direction of his cubicle, and because the PE department and Math department are just across from each other, he walks past you, typing something on your iPad before you look around and catch his gaze.

Jungkook automatically waves, smiling brightly, but you only frown, shutting your iPad close and ignoring him.

Amused, Jungkook tries to fight off a huge grin, taking a few long strides to get to his own cubicle. 

His day is already off to a good start.

© 𝐀𝐖𝐑𝐊𝐈𝐕𝐄 2025. all rights reserved. copying, editing, reposting and/or translating any of my works are not allowed.

[grvait]

more old art!! featuring theo and my human harley fan design!! RUN THEODORE RUN (he's cooked)

im gonna talk about chapter 4 under here so only click if ur ok with spoilers! also its a huge yapfest. like HUUGE. i just want to voice my opinions about prototype because i've seen ppl sort of miss the point of what happened at the end of the chapter

I LOVED CHAPTER 4! IT WAS SO COOL!! i was sooo worried but im glad it turned out good. rip pianosaurus tho..

tldr (for the bunch of paragraphs where I talk abt prototype)

prototype being ollie is deranged because it means he was terrorizing the toys of safe haven on purpose for the fun of it when he could have killed them at any time. he also created an extremely close emotional bond with poppy for OVER A DECADE just to tear it all away from her at the end and tell her it was meaningless (he then proceeds to taunt her over the phone abt it). bro is LITERALLY TROLLING

you cant tell me that final scene w the "ive got something special in mind. i prepared it just for you, and this time you'll never want to leave." isnt some tom and jerry shit

ABT PROTOTYPE REVEALING HIMSELF AS OLLIE... (the long explanation)

we ALL knew he was ollie, but i don't think people are seeing the point of this reveal. it wasn't about revealing himself to us the player, it's about the implications that arise from it. he had been playing both sides for 10+ YEARS. that's deranged enough but not even CLOSE to the end of it

as ollie he had emotionally supported poppy in her lowest moments (as heard in the ollie and poppy tape). this tape also insinuates that (at least around the time it was recorded) the two of them called frequently, possibly every night. he wasn't just pretending to be everyone's ally, he was PRETENDING TO BE THEIR CLOSEST FRIEND THAT THEY COULD VENT TO 😭 he heard this poor girl sob into the phone and tell him about how she felt her humanity being taken from her, AND HE KEPT UP THE CHARADE AND COMFORTED HER, KNOWING THIS PATH HAD BAD INTENTIONS

what's worse than all of that, though, is that him being ollie means that at any time in the last 10 years he could have used the persona to force his way into safe haven. AT ANY TIME HE COULD HAVE KILLED THEM ALL. HE COULD SIMPLY USE THE OLLIE VOICE AND ASK THEM TO OPEN THE DOOR. why is this worse, you ask? because HE WAS LITERALLY TERRORIZING THEM ON PURPOSE.

think about the note in the cart/cave area. a toy from safe haven writes that prototype was right outside the door the night before, he'd gotten past the traps and was just tapping on the wall and staring. they said after he was gone they still felt they could hear it. HE IS LITERALLY BEING SCARY ON PURPOSE???? LEGIT TRAUMATIZING THEM AND FOR NO REASON. HE COULD GET IN THERE, HE'S SIMPLY CHOOSING TO MAKE THEIR LIVES HELL

so thats crazy.. BUT ALSO THE ENDING? in the poppy and ollie tape he says "im right here, poppy. for you. i'll always be here." AND AT THE END OF THE GAME, WHEN POPPY ASKS WHAT HE DID WITH OLLIE, HE SAYS THAT. you know what that means? that means he said that shit to her ALL THE TIME. clearly only the two of them would be familiar with the phrase which is why after he said it, she immediately knew he was ollie the whole time

i feel bad for poppy. she ran off but she was valid for that. all her friends from safe haven are dead, the only ones left are the player, kissy and ollie, but she soon realizes that ollie is WORSE than dead. he is LITERALLY HER ENEMY. the thousands of conversations they had, probably hundreds of times she vented and told him her plans and discussed her life with him? ALL FOR NOTHING. any time she thought she was winning the past 10 years was a lie, she was ALWAYS LOSING because he was GETTING ALL THE INFO FROM THEM. she genuinely never had a chance and i think she realized that

in her dialogue you can tell she's grieving ollie (obviously he IS prototype, but i think she's grieving the thought of him). saying "you lied to me" to the prototype of all people is absurd (considering he's done far worse than lie) but when you think about how she feels, it makes sense.

also the part where she said "this isn't right". again, a weird thing to say to him of all people, but if you put yourself in her shoes she's grieving the friend she thought she had, and she's struggling to grapple with the fact that it all meant nothing. somewhere in her mind she believes "ollie" as a personality is there somewhere, because how could someone be that close with you and mean none of it? she thinks that voicing this pain he's inflicted will change his mind, but it won't. and that's why it's genuinely really sad. that's why she asks if there was ever an ollie. i don't think she meant it literally, and i don't think his answer was literal either. she didn't mean "were you a mf named ollie once" she meant it like "was our friendship ever genuine?" which makes his response both heartbreaking and interesting.

so not only is her world shattered now, most of her friends are dead and the one who wasn't turned out to be her opp, but now he's TAUNTING HER OVER THE PHONE AND THREATENING HER. nice one... (loved the quip after she ran off btw. that shit was hilarious. like bro u made her crash out and went "some friend, huh?" YOU CANT SAY THAT BRO)

anyway think of it from her perspective: everyone you knew is gone, and soon the only 2 people that remain will be too. you can't run, or hide, or do anything. he WILL find you, and when he does he'll lock you away FOREVER where NOBODY WILL BE LEFT TO SAVE YOU. I WOULD RUN TOO.............. plus her running off probably led him away so.. she saved us sorta.

ALL THAT TO SAY THAT I REALLY LIKE THE OLLIE REVEAL FOR REASONS FAR BEYOND A SIMPLE TWIST. him being ollie for over a decade raises many many questions, and suggests very dark things.

hes crazy and the fact he did a monologue means he knows he won. he wouldn't have spilled the beans otherwise...

[cleoselene]

don't doomscroll, DO SOMETHING. Don't complain, TAKE ACTION. here are things you can do:

call your Congresspeople. If you are living in a Democratic district, this is so easy! Tell them how YOU want them to fight! Don't just sit back and complain that "Dems in congress aren't doing what I want." CALL THEM AND TELL THEM WHAT YOU WANT. EMAIL THEM. And be nice about it, lead with the illusion that you trust them to do the right thing. "I know you don't really want this to happen, you're a good person!" methodology.

If your reps are like mine and horrible horrible monsters like Byron Donalds, then you have to make your phone calls differently. You gotta strategize these. There are two ways to do this: 1) be incredibly angry and aggressive, but filibuster about it. Don't give them any ability to get off the phone. Don't curse or insult, just properly outraged. The key here is to WASTE THEIR TIME. I spend about 45 minutes on the phone with one of Rick Scott's people once. The other way, i think is more effective, but this is better than nothing. The other way, 2) is to frame the specific issue you're calling about from the most conservative angle possible. If you're calling to support Ukraine, cry about how your daddy fought in 'Nam to stomp out communism, now you want to let a KGB guy like Putin bring back the Soviet Union? Act super fucking scared of communism. Say the words "KGB" and Putin together over and over. Talk about how America doesn't roll over for Russia, not now, not ever. This is just an example of a particular issue, but it can apply to any. My mom calls it the "sandwich technique." Lead with a compliment, then say what you really mean, and end with a compliment. People get tricked into changing their minds.

I realize this is tumblr so if you are really really that phone-phobic, apply this to email. But really, this is worth making the call for. The call cannot be fully ignored. An email can.

Join the class action lawsuit against the government for Breach of Privacy if you have Social Security or Medicare, and tell people you know who do to join it.

get involved at the local level. Agitate at city council. hell, RUN for city council. I promise you that no matter how unqualified you think you are, less qualified people have run and won. There was a town that had a golden retriever as its mayor for a while. You have to start thinking locally. You have to start doing things ALL THE TIME, not just every 2-4 years. This isn't just voting, but making your voice heard. That tumblr post about ten people showing up at a council meeting being able to change thing significantly? True. "But I live in a red area!" yeah, so do I, and that makes it even more important, since they're doing shit like banning books in schools here.

Run for office!! I just said that, but seriously, run for office!! AOC was a bartender before she got where she is now!! If I were not completely disabled, I'd do it. If you don't feel like it's for you, think of the people in your life who are capable who might be persuaded!

Focus on the real enemy. It's Republicans. It's not Democrats. Like I said, if you're unhappy with the way your Democratic rep is doing things, TELL THEM. Sitting outside the party and criticizing accomplishes nothing, it only weakens our only opposition party in this country. If you want to talk about third parties, MAKE ONE THAT'S VIABLE. But realize that will probably be decades of work. Stop complaining and start doing, start reaching out to the people who at the moment have some ability to do things and influence THEM. You can say a lot of things on the internet and expect to change the world, but you won't. (Yes, I realize the ridiculousness of me posting this on the internet, but I will be doing things, too, not just shouting into this void)

[revelboo]

Your Hound and Trailbreaker fics are making me smile so much! It’s always a delight to see them! I wonder if any of the humans on the Ark have tried to make a break for it? Only to get into trouble out in the wilderness and have to be rescued for real 😂

Hound and Teeb’s humans are making an escape attempt

Too Tired To Wink Pt 3

Trailbreaker x Reader

• Is he sleeping? Do giant, alien robot monsters sleep? His visor had gone dim about an hour or so ago, cheek on his outstretched arm and mouth hanging open. Looks asleep. Back pressed to the wall, you creep along it. Most of his bulk is sprawled out on the floor where he’d trapped you under his berth and trying to coax you out. Moving slowly past his servos, you’re afraid to even breathe in case you wake him up. No real plan aside from reaching the vent set into the wall that’s low enough to be accessible. The slots in it big enough to squeeze through. Hopefully.

• Vents clearing noisily at a soft rustling, his head lifts and for a moment he can’t figure out why he’s lying on the floor of his habsuite. Then he does remember when he hears you break into a run. Because you’re not under the berth anymore, you’re sprinting like your life depends on it and he lunges after you. “Wait!” You don’t even look back, throwing yourself at the grate covering a vent and wiggling through the slots as his spark constricts. Trying to hook his servos against the edges and pry the thing loose as he hears you running deeper inside. “That’s dangerous!” And he yanks the grate loose and lays flat to see inside, but you’re out of sight already.

• Running headlong, you round a bend and shriek when the floor just slopes sharply and you fall to go sliding. Coming to a stop when you hit something that falls on you and yelps at the bottom. Frantically clawing to get away, because you can’t see anything and someone kicks you in the gut. And when you hear the terrified swearing, you start laughing. “Great minds think alike,” you manage as you struggle to fend off your idiot coworker before they try to punch you in the face in their panic.

• Venting tiredly, he mass shifts and still has to bend low to fit through the gap. Wishes he knew the layout of the ventilation system or had time to pull it up, but you’re likely to get yourself hurt while he’s researching. And he’s always been more of an action over planning type. Wonders how well humans can see in the dark as he hears an echoing shriek. Not very well, he bets. Plating scraping the top of the vent, he makes his way forward in an awkward shuffle.

• Finding out your work bestie has been in the vents wandering aimlessly for hours according to their estimate isn’t exactly reassuring. It’s pitch inside, though occasionally there’s a tiny amount of light from a grate and they linger long enough to try and check if anyone is around. Because if they can get out of the vents and into whatever alien central is, they can try to find an open door and run outside. Hopefully. You know that’s a long shot as you trail after your buddy and stop short at a faint cry. Your friend turning to urgently wave you over, a finger pressed to their lips as you join them in peering through the slots. Realizing this vent is much higher up than yours had been and there’s a smaller blue and red alien. And a human. And they’re-oh. Clapping a hand over your mouth as the bot groans, hips pumping and his human begins urging him on. And you can’t breathe as you fight the urge to just start cackling and give yourself away. Because what the hell? At least with yours he’s too big to have nabbed you for that. Though that person seems to be having a hell of a time from the sound of it.

Previous

[aclikeairconditioning]

Since I wrote one for reverse verse Edwin, here’s one for Charles. Takes place in Hell, though nothing’s too graphic (still, be warned.)

I had to go through the torture of rereading/viewing this comic to write this (it wasn’t torture at all, this is one of my favorite @technically-human comics. Charles is so precious, and I almost cried while writing this and looking into his face at the same time.)

I will also add @i-am-as-normal-as-you-are because I forgot you last time. I’m very sorry, that was rude of me, I know this is your au too.

When I got to the end I realized that I was ending similarly to the way I ended Edwin’s, so I leaned into that and used the same wording.

(Ps. @technically-human, you have no idea how much of a euphoric adrenaline high your response gave me last time. Thank you so much, and happy belated birthday!)

-

Charles tripped.

Apparently, 70 years of practice became null and void when interrupted by three decades of peace. Safety. Home.

Charles tripped, and was immediately caught up in the storm of people running by, most of whom didn’t pay any attention to the sixteen-year-old struggling to get back up, to keep going, to not get caught.

Charles couldn’t even blame them. He would have, had in the past, done the same.

That didn’t make him less scared.

That wouldn’t make it hurt less when The Conductor eventually caught up to him.

He did manage to get up, though (a minor miracle on its own.) As he prepared himself to run again, get out as fast as he could, try to make up for lost time, a flash of blue in the corner of his eye gave him barely a moment's notice before he was being grabbed from behind.

His first instinct was to fight. To shove off whoever, or whatever, had grabbed him. Punch and claw and fight to leave the other behind in the dust as he got as far away as possible.

He would have, too. He would have, had it not been for the slightly panicked call of, “Found you!” in his ear, spoken in a voice he knew better than his own.

“Edwin!” The name came out more of a gasp, than Charles would have liked. “What are you doing here?”

Because he was here. God, Edwin Payne (just, devout, brilliant, Edwin Payne,) was here. In Hell. The one place that Charles thought he could protect him from, despite the others’ insistence to protect him (and the others newly added to the ranks of the Dead Boy Detectives.)

Edwin, who he had always thought believed, if only a little bit, that Charles deserved the torment he had been sent to.

Edwin, who was here-

“Protecting you, as always.”

Oh.

Oh.

He was here, because he really believed that Charles needed protecting. Who wanted to protect him, despite the Hell forged demeanor, the unspeakable things he had done before they met.

He was here, in Hell, actively going against his God, mustering up a fragile smile for Charles’ benefit.

He was perfect.

He was everything.

He needed to know.

So Charles grasped Edwin by his shoulders, tears pricking the corners of his eyes as he made the declaration that could change everything (just please don’t take him away from me.)

“I love you,” He all but sobbed, a smile pulling up the corners of his mouth against all odds.

“What?” Edwin asked, taken aback. He blinked, eyes wide with shock. “Well, I- You know that- Me too, of course.”

Charles gave a short chuckle, shaking his head, because he didn’t get it. “That’s not what I meant, mate.”

He sniffed heavily before looking back up into Edwin’s eyes. “I love you. Like courting, sweethearts, holding hands in the park, love you.”

Edwin’s eyes had gotten larger, if that were even possible, panic taking over any kind of control he’d still had. Charles’ heart only sank a bit at that. He could have predicted how Edwin’s deeply moral sensibilities would take this sentiment.

“Charles, I can’t-”

But Charles wasn’t able to figure out what Edwin couldn’t as a burning hand closed over the back of his neck, ripping him away and towards the engine room.

He was taken away to his next death with the sound of Edwin calling his name behind him.

[just-a-creep-babe]

What Makes You Tick - Chapter 5

(Ticci Toby x Reader)

Commissions are open!

Check out my ko-fi if you'd like to support me!

Masterlist: x

What Makes You Tick Masterlist

Divider by @plum98

You can't breathe.

You wonder if he can tell you're faking it. If he's just playing along because this whole thing might as well be some kind of fucked-up game to him.

Breathe in, breathe out, you tell yourself. Slow and steady, in through your nose, out through your mouth.

You wonder if, at any moment, he finally plans on killing you. And it's not the first time you've had the thought, but it certainly doesn't make it any easier to digest. It certainly doesn't make the threat feel any less real.

A nervous kind of energy builds in your system. The anticipation mounts with every passing second of him not moving, not speaking, not doing anything except watching. You dread thinking that he might've done this every night, and that you're only now realizing it because you just so happened to be awake.

Breathe in, breathe out.

You think back to the million and one things you could've done to avoid this moment. You could've slept in the bathroom. You could've screamed for help. You could've jumped out the window and risked a few broken bones. Hell—you'd risk so much more than just a few broken bones to get away from these men.

The bed dips next to you as your thoughts frantically rush by. Your first instinct is to throw yourself at him to push him off and get him away from you, but you quickly stifle the urge.

Maybe he won't do anything, you think. Maybe he's about to leave, and you shouldn't risk it.

Just breathe, you tell yourself. Breathe.

And after what feels like an agonizing eternity, you hear him shift, you feel it on the bed next to you, and then you feel something else.

His hand.

Soft and warm, it's like his touch sparks some strange kind of electricity through your skin. You try not to stir, try not to flinch away from him.

He brushes a strand of hair from your face. To distract yourself from what's happening, you focus on trying to figure out which man this is. He isn't jerking or twitching, as far as you can tell, so you assume it's not the one in the goggles.

The tips of his fingers ghost over your cheeks, trailing your jawline, tickling your skin.

You try very, very hard not to panic. Even when it feels like he's leaning closer into you, you try not to let the stress get to you.

The one with the white mask seemed way too impatient, way too angry to have this kind of gentleness to him. Leaving your last option, you realize, to be the one with the black mask.

But right as you mentally place your bet that it's black-masked man, you feel his thumb caress your lips.

Your body moves before you can stop yourself.

All at once, you open your eyes and shove him away from you.

But right as your hands connect with his body, he grabs both of your wrists and pins them down either side of your head.

It's, unfortunately, a familiar position, a familiar set of motions you've had the displeasure of experiencing before. And when your eyes adjust to the darkness, you understand why.

He's not wearing his goggles, but the mouthguard covering the lower portion of his face is as familiar as ever, even in the inky darkness of the room.

You’re about to keep fighting him off—about to start kicking and screaming and yelling at him for being such a creep—when your gazes suddenly lock.

His eyes are... breathtaking.

It’s the most you’ve ever seen his face without the opaque lenses of his goggles. And even though you can’t fully make out the details through the darkness between you, you can tell this guy’s a pretty boy.

His dark eyes are framed by long and equally dark lashes. Messy, somewhat curly locks of hair fall over the boyish angles of his face, and you hadn't noticed it up to this point, but his hair looks thick and soft enough to make a good amount of girls seethe with jealousy. He seems to be around your age, and the realization has a strange mix of emotions fluttering in your stomach.

There’s no way he’s a murderer, you think. No way someone with that kind of innocence in their eyes could do such a horrible thing.

There's no fucking way.

"There's a notebook," he says suddenly, his voice just above a whisper. And there's this strained kind of urgency in his words that has you snapping to attention. “The symbols in it—the symbols keep him at bay.”

“W-what? What’re you talking about?!”

“He’s—he’s watching—“

He cracks his neck, and then it looks like he’s about to say something else, but he abruptly cuts himself off and freezes.

And, at the same time—you feel it. Someone is watching.

You snap your eyes shut. In a split second, your body takes over, and you’re back to pretending to be asleep. You force your breathing to slow, force your muscles to relax, force everything to soften in a cruel mockery of the panic buzzing through your system.

You feel the brunet lift off of you, releasing your hands, and a tense beat of silence follows.

You can control your breathing, but you can’t control the thrumming of your heart. You wonder if it’s noticeable, even through the sheets covering your body.

The thought’s a welcomed distraction from the paranoia and confusion regarding just what the fuck is going on.

There’s silence for what feels like way too long, until you almost start to wonder if he was just fucking with you from the start, and you’d only imagined feeling someone watching.

But then you hear the ever quiet, ever-faint thudding of what sounds like boots on the floor.

“Hard time sleeping?” a voice, deeper, huskier than that of the brunet, hums over the footsteps.

Your whole body stiffens.

It has to be the black-masked man this time, you think. It couldn’t be the other one—you would’ve recognized the voice. And you dread the thought of another man—a fourth one—being involved in this whole situation, so you don’t even want to consider that option.

Your kidnapper doesn’t answer. And, for a second, your skin prickles with the possibility that he was addressing you instead.

But you still pretend to be asleep. You don’t move an inch, even when a hand—bigger, more calloused than the brunet’s—strokes over your cheek.

You almost stop breathing. Almost.

“She’s a cute one, huh?” And then there’s a brief pause before he adds, “just your type, isn’t she?”

You want to swallow down the lump in your throat, but you don’t dare.

“Fuck do you want, Hoodie?”

Hoodie?

His answer’s another hum, low and velvety.

It almost feels like the sound reaches somewhere deep within you, something that has goosebumps rising along your flesh. You hate the feeling.

“Nothing,” he states simply. “Just wanted to make sure there aren’t any secrets between us. For example,” he trails off, and when you feel his hand at your thigh—even above the covers—you nearly jump. Your pulse kicks up frantically.

“If you liked her…” he continues, his touch slow and lazy as he strokes the length of your thigh. “you’d tell us—wouldn’t you?”

“Fuck off, mind your fucking business,” the brunet spits. “And quit being such a-such a fucking creep while you’re at it.”

You hear him smacking Hoodie’s hand away. And then the warmth and pressure at your thigh leaves, and you nearly deflate with relief.

"I am minding my business, Toby. And you better start minding yours too, before Masky gets involved.”

You half-hope, half-expect the brunet—Toby—to spit out another retort. It doesn’t reassure you when he stays quiet, because it means that this Hoodie guy has a point. And you don't exactly know when you started rooting for Toby, but you don't even think it matters, at this point.

Another long second ticks by.

And then there's finally the sound of boots thudding away, leaving you with your kidnapper once more. But this time, you don’t dare reopen your eyes. You feel like an absolute coward, but even as yet another beat of silence passes, you just can’t bring yourself to move.

Sooner rather than later, you hear the door creaking open, then firmly clicking closed. And you know that you're fully alone again.

Toby, Hoodie, Masky.

You don't know what to think of everything that just happened. Quite frankly, considering the last few days of your life, you feel utterly lost, paranoid and fucking exhausted with worry. You don't even want to think about what that interaction implies.

Toby, Hoodie, Masky.

All you can do is cling to whatever shreds of sanity and normalcy you have left. And the easiest way to do that, it seems, is by mentally repeating the names of the three men over and over again.

Toby, Hoodie, Masky. Toby, Hoodie, Masky. Toby, Hoodie, Masky.

It grounds you—until thinking of their names is the only thing that eventually lulls you to sleep.

That night, you dream more than you have in a long, long while.

You dream that you're back home, but it's not the way you left it. It's dark, and it looks decayed, like it was abandoned years ago. Your neighbor's there, and even in your dream, you realize she shouldn't be there.

She should be dead.

She smiles at you like she knows what you’re thinking. Her teeth are black and rotten, with maggots squirming through the gaping holes in her mouth. And even in your dream, you tell yourself this isn't real.

It's just a nightmare, she can't hurt you.

She offers something—a book, you realize. And when you don't reach out to take it, she opens it in front of you so you've no choice but to look.

At first, you don't see anything. The pages are black like ichor, and when you try to concentrate on the pages, your mind is pulled into it. Like you're falling through a void.

You don't remember who you are. It doesn't even matter anymore. All that matters is that book.

There's a brief millisecond of clarity. You understand everything. You know the answers, know what needs to be done.

But just as quickly as that understanding—the meaning of all that is, all that will come to be—floods your mind, a loud, shrill abrasive sound snaps you out of it.

Your neighbor screams at the top of her lungs, and it’s the same sound she had made when she’d gotten killed.

She drops the book with a heavy thud, and all you can think about is no, not the book.

You need that book.

You scramble to grab it. But when you reopen the pages, they're no longer black, no longer imbued with knowledge you should’ve never had access to in the first place.

The pages are moldy. They're wet and rotten, and the writing is indecipherable. When you flip through it, the pages tear from the binding and disintegrate to ashes in your hands.

But the more you flip through it, the heavier it gets.

You realize, with a vile kind of lurch at your insides, that there are insects inside the book. It's just a small beetle on one page at first. But then on the next, there's a centipede and a few flies, and the one after that has a handful of worms and flies and maggots slithering around.

By the time you realize what's happening, you try to stop, but it's already too late. You're holding dozens—hundreds of insects between your hands. They’re writhing and squirming and wriggling between your fingers, crawling up your arms and slithering all over you.

You scream.

You’re so terrified that you don’t even hear how similar your scream is to that of your neighbor’s.

A spider—so much bigger than the rest of the insects—crawls up the spine of the book and onto the page. And the closer it gets to you, the bigger it gets. Until, next thing you know, it’s even bigger than you.

Its legs are thick and long, its massive inky black form towering over yours. You look up, and you get that feeling again.

That feeling that you’re going to die.

But you can’t run, can’t scream, can’t do anything except stand there, frozen, basking at the creature of death dominating over your form. Its front claws jerk and twitch in front of it, and that’s when you notice its head.

Except it isn’t a head at all. It’s a diamond. Pale, shimmering and impossibly beautiful, it seems to glint in a light that isn’t there in the darkness. It’s… mesmerizing. It takes your breath away.

The spider rubs its legs together, its mass convulsing and trembling, and then glittering webs of diamond are spilling out of it.

It’s, quite possibly, the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. Strings of glittering gems hang freely in the air, like they’re suspended in time. And as you’re admiring it, the spider keeps weaving more and more of its web until you’re surrounded in it, surrounded in its trap, but you don’t even care.

You reach out, fingers extending. And as your skin makes contact, it bursts into flame.

You’re hot. You’re so unbearably hot.

You’re burning alive.

Your eyes flash open, a chocked gasp clawing its way out of your lungs.

You bolt upright to a sitting position. You’re sweating. You kick the sheets off your clammy skin and tell yourself to breathe.

Mouthful after mouthful of the stale hotel air eventually cools you down and clears the panic from your mind.

You look down at your hands. No diamonds. No burn marks. You’re ok. It was just a dream. Just a nightmare.

Still, you feel gross. You feel off, like something inside of you is inexplicably wrong.

You need a shower.

As you stand, you notice a few things on the wooden drawer next to the guys' door that wasn't previously there. There's a McDonalds breakfast trio, complete with a coffee and everything, and a change of what looks to be new clothes, along with basic personal care items like travel-sized deodorant and mouthwash—that kind of thing.

You're beyond grateful for the personal care items, but when it comes to the breakfast, it has you snorting.

McDonalds, you think, they must've been feeling fancy.

You don't know when they dropped everything off, but judging by how cold everything is—including the coffee, unfortunately—your guess is that it was at least a few hours ago. Still, despite the less-than-ideal temperature, you savor the sweet blessing of caffeine.

You spend even more time than usual in the shower. You don’t know whether or not the change of clothes is a good thing or a bad thing. Is it a sign they’re finally going to bring you back—or is it a sign that you’re doomed to stay here much, much longer than expected? You almost don’t want to know the answer.

Instead, you do what you’ve been doing best for the past few days; you cling to whatever thoughts hold your attention enough to distract you.

It has you recalling last night’s events. You think back to what the Toby guy had said—something about symbols and a notebook—and you shudder as last night’s dream resurfaces.

You push the memory back to the recesses of your mind.

It feels like you've been given pieces of a bigger picture, but no matter how much you try to focus, you can't possibly begin to understand what’s going on. And you're painfully aware that your ability to understand the situation might just be the only thing that saves you.

Besides, if you've nothing else to think about, you know your thoughts will spiral. You'll start thinking about your friends and family back home, and what they must be thinking right now. Are they ok? Are they being interrogated by the cops? Were they forced to return to work and carry on like nothing's happened? Have they already started grieving you?

You shake your head, and keep doing what you've been doing for the past few days now; you try not to think about it.

As you finish up your shower, the last question on your mind is why. Why did Toby bother telling you that information? Was it some kind of trick? A test to see if you actually know anything or if you're just bluffing?

You promise yourself you'll be more careful around him. But even as you do, you think back to that look in his eyes, and you wonder if his situation maybe isn't too different from yours. You think about ransom and coercion and manipulation, and it has you thinking about unlikely alliances and how chances of survival are always better with teamwork.

But then you think back to what that other guy had said about you being Toby's type. And you don't know what to think all over again.

You dry yourself off, comb through your hair with your fingers, and make good use of the hygiene products they left you with. The clothes, much to your surprise, fit you relatively well. They're relatively basic; a shirt, a simple pair of pants, and a pack of basic black underwear—which you couldn't be more thankful for.

They still smell like the store they were bought from, which is reassuring to know that they actually bought it, and didn't just steal it off god-knows who instead.

Once you’re done, you step out of the bathroom.

You would've never expected to see the three men in your room—waiting for you. But, lo and behold, as soon as you step out of the bathroom, the three turn their full, undivided attention toward you.

You're a dear in headlights. You're so, so incredibly thankful that you decided to get dressed instead of lounging around in your towel like you would've otherwise done if you were at home. But even then, even fully clothes, you, once again feel like a peace of meat dangling in front of three hungry predators.

The one with the white mask—Masky, you assume—wastes no time for pleasantries as he addresses you with an impatient huff.

"Took your sweet fucking time in there, didn't you, Princess?"

[beloveds-embrace]

Sometimes I wish my brain would shut the fuck up and then it comes up with things like this and I apologise if this doesn't make sense or isnt the best bevause Im at work bit need to get the thought down ; You and rhe boys are together, have been for years. You're another SAS soldier, one of the very best specialising in stealth and sniper shots, but you come from a dodgy background your family having ties to the mafia but you ran away when you were 14 to get away from them and that life, joining the military the minute you turned 18. The boys adore you and would do anything for you and they know all about your family, taking every precaution they can to keep you safe and away from them. Until you're sent on a mission to take down a cartel, one your family has started working with in recent years but you obviously dont know that until you see your brother while doing recon and he sees you and recognises you right away. When taking down rhe cartel, you get seperated from the boys and your brother grabs you determined to take you home and make you pay for leaving your family behind. When the boys finish the mission, their distraught thinking the worst has happened to you until John finds a note you slipped into his pocket before starting the mission the only words on it are 'they found me' and suddenly they have a new, unsanctioned, mission, get you back by any means necessary

The mission had been planned down to the last detail- covert infiltration, silent takedowns, precise shots. You had done this a hundred times before, slipped into the dark and pulled the trigger before anyone even knew you were there. It was what made you one of the best. It was why they trusted you to take point on the most delicate operations. But no amount of training could have prepared you for the moment you turned the corner and saw him.

(Even if you’d had a bad feeling about this mission from the start. Something in your gut twisted and turned, a slow-boiling alarm).

Your brother stood among the cartel men, older, harder, but unmistakable. The years had sharpened him, carved cruelty into his features like a sculptor’s chisel, but the recognition in his eyes was instant. You had once been a ghost to your past, slipping from its grip the moment you turned fourteen, but now it had found you again. His lips curled into something between a sneer and a smirk as he took a slow step forward.

“Well,” he murmured, his voice familiar in a way that made your stomach churn. You need to leave (bitch). “Look what we have here.”

Your body reacted before your mind caught up, gun raising to fire, but you had hesitated. Just a second, barely even a breath- but it was enough. Rough hands grabbed you from behind, yanking your arms back, disarming you in one swift movement. You struggled, twisting violently, but there were too many. You knew, even before the butt of a rifle cracked against your temple and sent your vision spinning, that this wasn’t going to be a simple hostage situation. You knew how your family worked, how your brother worked-

They weren’t going to kill you outright.

No, your brother wanted to make you pay.

The operation had gone exactly as planned- until it hadn’t. The cartel was eliminated, network dismantled, compound set ablaze. But when the dust settled and the smoke rose into the sky, you were nowhere to be found. The moment they realized you were missing, panic set in. Ghost and Soap combed through the wreckage, calling your name through gritted teeth. Gaz scoured the perimeter again and again, checking every fallen body, every possible hiding spot, every scrap of evidence that might tell them where the hell you had gone.

And Price stood still, breath steady, forcing himself to think through the roaring storm in his head. His hand dipped into his pocket on instinct, searching for his lighter, and instead, his fingers brushed against something small and unfamiliar.

He pulled it out, unfolding the scrap of paper, and the world narrowed to the words scrawled in your handwriting.

“They found me.”

His hands clenched around the note so tightly the edges crumpled beneath his fingers. The area fell into silence as the others turned to him, faces drawn tight with anger.

Gaz swore under his breath, throwing his cap aside. “No way in hell this is a coincidence. It’s them, isn’t it? Her family.”

Price exhaled slowly, his grip on the note unwavering. He had been waiting for this day, dreading it from the moment you first told them about the people you had left behind. You had always known they would come looking. That they would never truly let you go. And now, after all these years, they had finally caught up.

The mission was over. The orders were clear- they were to extract, regroup, and report back.

But fuck orders.

This had just become personal.

They weren’t going back without you. Even if they had to tear through every criminal syndicate between here and hell to get you back, they would.

No matter the cost.

[csphire]

Hopes and dreams I had for Dragon Age 4 that we so did not get.🙃😢

An actual RPG game. Not Nice Guy, Nice Funny Guy, and Nice but Stern Guy. Let us screw up and piss off our companions.

No more dialogue wheel selection bait and switches. "Nooo I didn't mean that. I did not think they would say that! That's not what I thought that choice meant. I meant-fuck! *sighs* ...I guess I'll have to reload." Or more accurately, "That was the mean option? Are you kidding me!"

Letting the player be an asshole. Sometimes, it's just cathartic to punch a character. People in customer service especially need this at the end of a shift. Putting this in games is a public service. We needed more of those kinds of moments beyond the bloody tutorial.

More of our previous choices having an actual impact in DA4. Like the Well of Sorrows I was so certain would bite an Inquisitor in the ass somehow in the future. Like Morrigan with Mythal in her could force the Inqusitor to hurt or even try to kill Solas. So I agonized over that choice. The same goes for who we left in the fade. Honestly, the three or so that carried over I did not see any impact on DAVG at all. Am I wrong?

Who we left in the fade showing up or we find their body. "Where's Hawke?" Yeah... where's Hawke BioWare? Get's Hawke's clothes instead. Well, that's... depressing.

The option to play as the Inquisitor trying to be low profile or as a nobody aka Rook. This way, everyone is happy, right? For a lot of us, the Inquisitor going toe to toe again with Solas was important.

By playing as the Inquisitor we would have had one sweet Dagna-created prostatic arm-not from Bianca because screw her. Also, depending on our class each one would be a little different. Oh, and that prosthetic would also be customizable just like Varric's crossbow and every other weapon in Dragon Age Inquisition. I really thought BioWare would jump to help feature an amputee in an empowering way. True we had Neve but it felt like more of an afterthought to give her a prosthetic that honestly looks uncomfortable as hell.

Open worlds to collect mats, and kill things to craft gear and weapons for our team only better. It would have given us time to breathe and enjoy the scenery. Plus I like doing that kind of tedious shit and if you don't, fine go buy that stuff I guess.

Vendors that will sell us the goods if we got the coin and none of that faction BS.

"Knife ear!" You think at least the venatori would be shouting that at my elf. Nope! I did not feel like my character's race mattered in this game. I don't think Solas over a decade really put the fear of the gods into the North. We all know isms and slavery are bad but putting those things in a game's world helps people realize why they're bad and can even help people feel what it's like to be on the receiving end of such abuses which can help create a thing called empathy.

Blood! Where is the blood? Why is my character not covered in dirt and the gore of their enemies? Don't like that, fair but what about an on-off feature in settings?

Enemies that send chills down my spine. Instead, the ogres and darkspawn made me bust out laughing. I cannot take them seriously, especially the ogres. I see them and think, "Derp a durr... oh I'm an ogre and soooo scardy... rawr."

Dagna... because she's adorable and if any dwarf deserves magic it's her. Or at least let her nerd out, study Lace and help her understand more about her new abilities.

Sandal Cameo at least. Also adorable aaand... ENCHANTMENT!

Our companions can get hurt. I'm starting to think they made them immortal because they knew some of us would let them get hurt on purpose. There are no feelings of concern at all for them going into combat now, no pick-up mechanics it leaves me feeling only more apathetic about them.

Quicker cooldowns on abilities instead of spamming the left mouse button all of the time. And more than two fucking abilities on my hot bar. BioWare... what were you thinking?

Three or more companions traveling with us instead of two. It was the gold standard all throughout the franchise. How are we supposed to get to know them all when limited to-oh right most of them have a personality as deep as a kiddy pool, never mind.

Companions with personalities and problems deeper than kiddy pools. That tension between Cassandra and Varric, Dorrian and Vivienne, Cole and Sera, and so forth was... chief's kiss.

Control of all THREE of our companions traveling with us in combat. Look, I'm a control freak who likes strategy. Combat for the series has always been centered on strategy, pausing, builds, and gear. Am I still bitter that they dropped us to two? ...Yes.

If playing as the Inquisitor you get the option to romance someone new. Especially let us have the option for Lavellan to move on from Solas.

Better-looking hands and body proportions. Why are the heads so damn big? And honestly the hands in failguard genuinely creep me the hell out with tucking the pinkies away all the time. It's weird! Strange hill to die on I know but they just make me cringe and die a little inside.

Romance scenes that would make Larian and BG3 fans blush. This game was always meant for adults. Adults have *gasp* SEX!

Solas not being a total red flag d-bag for killing our favorite dwarf! Run Lavellan Run! You're probably next. And if not him, Bianca is going for your eyes!

Solas being less of a manipulative antagonist twat and/or the player has the ability to be more diplomatic from the start with Solas to get his help. I feel like Solas' character development sorta backtracked by a lot.

Solas once again is a romance option but this time to EVERYONE! That and I wanted to see Lavellan and Solas finally get it on.

They finally let us romance Varric. Oh they did you so dirty, baby... *ugly crying*

A memorable soundtrack that sets off all the feels and is not stuff that's reused from the Inquisition.

Last but not least, where the fuck is our Golden Nug Bioware?

I might add more later, but feel free to add more and comment below!

[hywonuka]

already pulling me in | jww

every step that i take is another mistake to you, chapter 3

Sypnosis: With the sudden appearance of Chan, Wonwoo has realized something: is time for man up and actually talk to you. And, with a bit of hope, even get to spend some more time with you

Pairing: college!wonwoo x college!fem!reader

Genre: college au, falling for a bet or dare trope, slow burn

Warnings: wonwoo is a pathetic loser AND oblivious, a bit of jealousy

Word count: 2k

chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 4

“And you still keep your glasses tapped?” Vernon laughed at Wonwoo’s spec, holding for dear life by the tape Y/N placed at them. “Well, I have no time to go get them fixed!”

Seungkwan had dragged Wonwoo from his bed to come eat breakfast with him and Vernon. But literally. He almost broke down his dorm door, slamming it so Wonwoo would get out of bed. Mingyu, Wonwoo’s roommate, was laughing his ass off at the scene, while the one with glasses sent him deathly glances as he didn’t defend him from Seungkwan.

“God, it feels like it has been ages since I last saw you!” Seungkwan said, returning to the table they were sitting with his and Vernon’s breakfast order.

“Cuz it has been. Wonwoo has been locking himself up in his dorm since last Sunday” Vernon chimed in, taking his coffee and doughnuts from Seungkwan.

“It is not that I have been locked up, c’mon!” Deep down, he knew he was. He was avoiding any sort of social interaction since he fell in front of her and Chan. Just remembering that moment made him feel awkward as hell, wanting to run back to his dorm and stay there until his hair turned completely white.

“Liar. You haven’t even gotten your glasses repaired, or a new pair!!!” The tallest one rolled his eyes at his effusive friend, even if he knew Seungkwan was right. He lowkey didn’t want to get them repaired. After all, she repaired them…

They kept chatting, until Seungkwan excused himself to go to the bathroom, leaving his boyfriend with Wonwoo, which didn’t ease the one with glasses at all. He knew his friend was plotting something, and he didn’t like the smirk on his face. At all.

“So… you still keep those Spongebob boxers, right?” Wonwoo's expression was of pure horror. He needed to win this damn bet, otherwise he would be walking around campus only wearing his stupid underwear.

꩜ ‧.°. 𖦹.°.‧ ꩜‧.°.𖦹 .°.‧꩜ ‧.°. 𖦹.°.‧ ꩜‧.°.𖦹 .°.‧꩜ ‧.°. 𖦹.

[wonwoo]: yo

[wonwoo]: u are in dramatic arts right?

[tiger wannabe]: it was about damn time you learnt my major dude

[tiger wannabe]: but yeah, why?

[wonwoo]: yk chan??

[tiger wannabe]: eeeeh….. that kiddo a year younger than us that has his hair dyed yellow??

[wonwoo]: guess so?? idk his age

[wonwoo]: he is y/n friend

[tiger wannabe]: OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH

[tiger wannabe]: yeah is the guy im talking bout

[tiger wannabe]: why u ask?????

[wonwoo]: can i ask u a favour?? plz

[wonwoo]: :(((((((

[tiger wannabe]: sure tell me

[wonwoo]: could u tell him to practice this afternoon or smth??? just to maintain him occupied

[tiger wannabe]: what the hell, sure

[tiger wannabe]: is for the bet i suppose

[wonwoo]: she brought him over last time

[tiger wannabe]: uuuh

[tiger wannabe]: got ur back buddy

[tiger wannabe]: go kiss that girl rawr

Wonwoo chuckled at Hoshi’s text. At least one of his friends wanted to help him. Between Hao’s judgement and Vernon’s teasing, he was slowly losing his mind. He packed his stuff, as he was at the library while he waited for Y/N’s lessons to end and go continue helping her. She texted him this morning, right after he ate breakfast with his friends, and saw this as an opportunity. It was now or never.

As he walked towards her building, he couldn’t help but to think of what he would say to her. He decided to have a whole conversation with her today. Not more small talk, that was it. It was about damn time to man up, has he been telling all the way towards his destination.

When he reached the front door of her building, he quickly stared at himself through the reflection of the glass door of the building. He looked great, except for his broken glasses. He had to go get them fixed or buy a new pair before the weekend. Well, mostly like he needed it. They were starting to feel uncomfortable. He looked away and pushed the door, being welcomed by the colourful lobby, where art students were loudly chatting with each other, discussing over some exhibition they had recently visited. Wonwoo wouldn’t admit it out loud, but since he knew Y/N was an art major, his interest on the subject had peaked, and he found himself paying more attention to it. Damn, he even found himself reading about history of art, or different artists she would mention when their friends hung out. But he would never let her know that, of course. He couldn’t even talk to her properly, without getting utterly nervous, but that would definitely change today.

He finally reached his destination. A small auditorium, in which he has spent a few hours this last week, and she was already there. She was focused on some papers she had on hand. Wonwoo held his breath. How could someone be so effortless pretty? Just the sight of her, standing in the middle of the room, absorbed in whatever she was looking at, made his legs tremble. She has always had that effect on him, but lately it has been getting worse. Maybe because Wonwoo has finally started talking to her, even if it is just a couple phrases. Or maybe it was just the bet, that’s what he told himself. It was just the bet. Nothing else.

“Hey,” he said, startling her. The tall one chuckled at her reaction, finding it… cute? Yeah, definitely cute. “Didn’t mean to scare you, sorry… What were you looking at?”

“Oh, just some notes from class…” She seemed confused, which Wonwoo completely understood. He has never seemed that open to talk to her. “Chan won’t be joining us today, he told me he had to rehearse.”

“Was he supposed to join us?”

“Well… he is part of the play so, as I told you, I thought it would be nice if someone who was implied in the play would join us, so we can know how to better arrange everything” she explained, putting her notes on one of the chairs, and walking closer to Wonwoo. He could feel his heart beating faster, and how nervous he was getting.

“Hoshi is also part of the play and you don’t call him to come over” damn, did he sound jealous? He had no reason to be jealous, not at all.

“Well… I’m much closer to Chan than Hoshi, that’s all”

“How close?” He asked, readjusting his glasses, which made the girl focus on them. “I’m either getting them repaired or getting a new pair this weekend, don’t worry about that”

“Oh, great… and, well, about Chan, we know each other since high school actually!! Asher, him and I were in the same class!!”

“And you are still friends with him after all those years?”

“Well, you and Jeonghan have known each other since kindergarten and are still friends, am I right?”

“Good point”. His glasses were about to fall down so he took them off and placed them on a table next to him. Why was he acting like that? Why did he care so much about Chan and Y/N’s relationship? God, he was about to lose his mind.

“Wait, did you just say that Chan and you were in the same class?” Wonwoo asked, leaning his hands on the table where he left his glasses.

“Uhm, yeah, I did…” she said, confused as the topic had resurfaced.

“Wait… are you 21?!” Wonwoo said, clearly surprised, which made the girl in front of him laugh.

“Of course I am!! Not everyone in the friend group has to be a dinosaur, you know?” she said, laughing at him, which only made him blush for some reason. “Oooh, now you are blushing!! Wonu, did you really think everyone was your age?”

Wonwoo nodded, still perplexed. “So… you are the same age as Vernon and Seungkwan too?”

“Yeah, pretty much… by the way, it's the first time I have heard you talk this much!!” she said, smiling widely. God, could she stop? And she was getting closer and closer…

“I’m not really the talkative type, you know…” he said, moving a bit uncomfortable due to the sudden attention.

“Why do you always wear glasses, by the way? Haven’t thought of wearing contacts?”

Wonwoo could feel his cheeks burning at this point. Why was she paying so much attention to him out of nowhere? Is this what he got for trying to actually talk to her? “M-my eyes are way too dry… I prefer wearing glasses because of that…”

A look of understandment crossed through her face, leaving him some space again, and focusing on her notes. Wonwoo took the hint and started working again, connecting his computer. He had a long afternoon ahead.

꩜ ‧.°. 𖦹.°.‧ ꩜‧.°.𖦹 .°.‧꩜ ‧.°. 𖦹.°.‧ ꩜‧.°.𖦹 .°.‧꩜ ‧.°. 𖦹.

As hours passed by, he found himself picking up his stuff, until he glared at her. It was now or never, he said to himself. “Hey, Y/N, are you free this weekend? I-I was thinking about going t-to the arcade and I was wondering if you’d like to join or something…” He said, trying to look at her, even if he was fighting the urge to look away. He could see her surprised expression, and expected a rejection from her, but nothing could prepare him for her following words. “Yeah, sure! Who is going?”

“I-it would be just us…” Ok, there was the rejection he was waiting for. He could see it coming.

“Oh, sure! When and where are we meeting up?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…” The tall one stopped talking, his eyes wide opened in confusion. Did she really say yes that easily? “Wait, did you just say you are up to it?”

Y/N chuckled at Wonwoo’s expression. Was it endearment reflected on her gaze? No, Wonwoo was definitely dreaming now. “Well… Asher is spending the weekend with Minghao and Chan is on a trip with his family so… I don’t really have any other plans this weekend, so it might be funny!!”

꩜ ‧.°. 𖦹.°.‧ ꩜‧.°.𖦹 .°.‧꩜ ‧.°. 𖦹.°.‧ ꩜‧.°.𖦹 .°.‧꩜ ‧.°. 𖦹.

“YOU DID WHAT?!” Mingyu screamed as Wonwoo threw himself to his bed. He could feel his face blushing under the intense gaze of his roommate, who was way too close to start jumping of excitement.

“It’s just a friendly outing, Mingyu…”

The tallest one jumped from his seat. “Just a friendly outing MY ASS”. Mingyu started walking around the room, yapping about what Wonwoo should wear, how he should act… Wonwoo decided against listening to him, in order to keep some of the mental health he had left. He lifted his head from his pillow, and took his phone. To his surprise, he had tons of notifications, but none of group chats. What has gotten into his friends’ mind? Disoriented, he unlocked his phone, but he quickly regretted it.

[tiger wannabe]: MAAAN U WASTED NO TIMEEEEE

[vernon 🥸]: YO IS IT TRUE?!?!?!?! SHE SAID YES?!?!??!?!?!

[hannie :)]: JEON WONWOO U GOT A DATE?!!?!?!?

[hannie :)]: god im so proud of u

[hannie :)]: #overcomingfears

[minghao psycho]: no fucking way u got the guts to ask her out

[minghao psycho]: better treat her right during that damn date or ill be ripping ur head apart heard me?

[cheol (??? hannie)]: congrats on the date, BETTER TELL ALL THE DETAILS CUZ WTF

[woozi music]: u dating wasnt on my bingo card

[woozi music]: maybe i should update it?

[happy guy]: IM SO SO SO HAPPY U GOT A DATE

[happy guy]: AND WITH Y/N FINALLY YAAAAY

[he likes tangerines]: hmmmmmm thank u??

[he likes tangerines]: u have been GONE for days, i invite u over for breakfast AND U GET A DATE?!

[he likes tangerines]: better gimme all the details cuz the fuck

There were more messages, but as he was getting more overwhelmed per second, he threw his phone aside, making it fall to the floor, which made Mingyu stop his yapping session. How did all of them know?! It was impossible, after helping her he went straight back to his dorm… He hadn’t talked with anyone… Except for… “Kim Mingyu!!! What have you done?!”

“Me? Just updating all our friends from your love life? It’s something that never happens you know!”

“MINGYU!!”

A/N: omg its been so long since i last updated im so sorry😭😭 i got caught up in a writing block + depressive episode and got no strength to write a word… i had this chapter planned since i posted the last one (and next chapter too hehe) i hope yall enjoyed it!! dont hesitate to let me know your thoughts hehe

Taglist: @adonisbtch @mydearhangel @wonvsmile @wonuilu @peachyaeger @minwonwoozi @syluslittlecrows @divigo @coupsgfsstuff @jennwonwoo

[avesrinapproved]

My head cannons about the demigods

Nico never gets bit by mosquitoes or ticks or any of that because of his death aura

Will while self-proclaimed not as good at music as a siblings still has what I call musical memory (which is something I have that I didn't realize everyone else doesn't until my partner pointed it out) and that is basically he can sing any song off of the top of his head if he's heard it at least once. It doesn't have to be good singing but he can. (Also music gets stuck in his head so fucking easy)

Percy doesn't eat fish (this might not be a head cannon this might be actual Canon..... But I don't think it's mentioned on the wiki?? I don't know and I'm not looking it up)

Annabeth does actually have a power from her mother and that is just that she always has a writing utensil and something to write on on her person at any given moment. She can't summon a pen and paper. But she can sure as hell reach into her pocket at any given moment and find a scrap piece of paper or a receipt and something to write with.

Leo regularly forgets that stove tops are hot and normally burn people and we'll just flip his food over by hand in front of mortals... Then uses excuse that hes mexican He can just do that.

Annabeth stims a lot when she thinks. Like full hand flappies while pacing around.

Ahhhhh that is all I got for right now I have had 4 hours of sleep so I'm headed back to bed I'll add more if I remember them. Good night

[radioisntdead]

I have another one! Rosie, Velvette, Verosika, and Loona (respectively) x reader.

Reader 'dies' in a big heroic explosion/self sacrifice way. Then a day or two later, they get a text from reader that is legit just the "I lived, bitch." meme; them all bandaged up in a hospital bed giving the middle finger. How they react to the initial death and the surprise text.

(Cartoon violence rules are in effect, so don't be afraid to let any of them be angry if you see fit.)

THE WAY I LOVE THIS REQUEST??! THIS WAS SO MUCH FUN TO WRITE RARAR

Warnings: None but this isn't taken seriously at all, it's pure crack and silliness, some of these are a little short because I'm writing them while sleep deprived

Rosie

You died during extermination day, based off reports from other cannibals you saved one of the cannibal kids [who shouldn't have been there in the first place where the fuck are their parents?!?] In exchange for your own life.

You had a empty funeral, she cried whilst holding your portrait, she has a little memorial for you in her house.

Now I imagine Rosie doesn't have a modern phone, so imagine her surprise when she receives a letter from you??

You?? Her darling who died??? Was this some type of sick joke???!?

Inside the envelope the letter only contained a few words, no apologies just.

"Greetings Ro-ro!! I'm alive!!!!! Was in a coma but I'll be home soon!!! <3"

With a picture of you giving heart hands in a hospital.

[disclaimer your wounds are not as bad as Captain Curly's from mouthwashing.]

HOW ARE YOU SO CAUSAL ABOUT THAT??? WHAT THE FUCK???

You didn't specify where you were, so she had to play detective to find out where you were because WHAT IS THIS???

The moment she finds you, you are going to get SMOTHERED with affection but not before getting scolded because??? The letter??? You think you're cute being all "Teehee I was in a coma!! I'll be home soon teeheehee (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)"

AND NOT PUTTING YOUR LOCATION??? GET RECKED THE NURSES ARE NOT SAVING YOU FROM ROSIES WRATH.

On the bright side she feeds you soup until you're all better!!! It's chicken soup!!

Chicken sinners are still chickens.

Velvette

You!!! You!!!!!

Do you know HOW WORRIED SHE WAS WHEN SHE REALIZED YOU SNUCK OUT TO FIGHT WITH THAT HOTEL?!?

Do you know how she held her breath when you decided to sacrifice yourself?? And of all people you decided to sacrifice yourself for, an EGG?!? A FUCKING EGG WITH A TOP HAT!!?!?!?

The stupid camera filming it was knocked out of the way before she could see if you survived.

Do you know how she had to act nonchalant when Vox's drones returned telling her that there was no trace of you anywhere???

Do you know how she wept for you? Do you know the TRIBUTE POSTS SHE HAD DRAFTED??

She was arranging a FUNERAL FOR YOU!!!

and you have the nerve to text her.

"I lived, Bitch."

With a blurred selfie of you bandaged, WITH THE FUCKING EGG?!??

THE NERVE OF YOU????!?!

You are going to WISH you died because she's beating your ass!!

She's storming into the hotel finding you and beating you up with a selfie stick.

You'll be okay, eventually, she's dragging you back to the Vee's tower.

Verosika

Do you know how heartbroken she was when she heard you died? From Blitzø nonetheless? That you apparently died during a mission gone wrong?? Saving some other member of I.M.P?

She mourned you for 48 hours until she got a text from you.

"I'm alive!! I'm stuck here help!"

And you weren't dead, you were alive!!! And from the looks of it you were stuck in a fucking Walmart.

Turns out you didn't die! But you did get stuck in a Walmart for two days with a dead phone, hiding in the ceiling and sneaking food and other things when the lights were out.

You finally managed to snag a outlet and charge your phone to contact her!! And the rest of I.M.P to get you back to hell.

Afterwards she's not letting you out of her sight for AWHILE, tell Blitzø you're on vacation.

Loona

Hey so, what the fuck???

You DIED saving her, pushing her out of the way of something.

She cried, nothing Blitzø or anyone could do or say would cheer her up, your friends mourned you, they planned a funeral.

But YOU HAVE THE NERVE, THE NERVE TO SHOW UP, AT YOUR OWN FUNERAL?????

WHO DOES THAT??

you apparently

everyone's mourning you, saying speeches and you're just in the audience, and eventually you lean over to her.

"I should've asked this earlier but who's funeral is this?"

"WHAT THE FUCK?!?!"

After all the hugs and "You're alive!!!!?!?"'s

you get smacked because WHY WOULD YOU SACRIFICE YOURSELF??? AND THEY THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD???

Apparently no! You just got knocked unconscious, probably got some brain damage now, you got stuck on earth for a hot minute but you were back now!

GOOOOOOOD EVENIN' FOLKS!!!! THANK YOU FOR TUNIN' IN I HOPE YOU ENJOYED!!

I'm working on a little animatic with my OCs rn and it's EHABGEEHSB I also got some fics cooking, speaking of cooking I'm hungry I should eat breakfast, which I normally don't despite it supposedly the most important meal of the day! Also I'm getting unwillingly dragged into another fandom, this time it's Sonic, Sonic underground got me when I was 11 and it's come back for me but this time it's the entire franchise wish me luck.

ANYWAYS have a wonderful rest of your night folks!!!

Psssssst!!!! Join our discord!!!! It's radio themed and any fandom is welcome!!

[onceuponaoneshotfanfic]

I Can Show You Lies

I'll Write Your Name Chapter 11

Roy Kent x Latina!Popstar!Reader

6.6k words

Warnings: Language, angst and pining, Vigilante Shit & Roy's very understandable reaction, mentions of an almost-hookup, Roy is still an idiot

A/N: I hope you enjoy the angst! I can't believe I'm almost done with this series... Thank you for being so wonderful as always ❤️

“Uncle Roy, did you get all these bracelets last night?”

Roy glanced over his shoulder from our spot in the kitchen to the living room, where Phoebe was. “Yeah,” he called to his niece before turning to face me again. “Thanks,” he continued, grinning down at the tickets on the counter. “She’s going to lose her shit.”

My own smile grew as I looked over at Phoebe, sitting crisscross on the living room floor and sorting through the friendship bracelets Roy had been sporting the night before. “I’m a little offended you felt like you had to ask,” I teased as I took a bite of one of the cookies I’d brought over with a pair of concert tickets. “I thought you bringing her would be a given.”

Before Roy could answer, Phoebe’s little voice cut though our conversation. “Uncle Roy, why does this one say ‘Daddy’?”

Cookie crumbs sprayed onto the counter as I tried and failed to hold back a laugh. Roy shot me a dirty look, his face furiously red as he stammered out a couple syllables of nonsense.

“Uncle Roy!” Phoebe ran into the kitchen, clutching the bracelet in question. “Are you two having a baby?!”

My face was probably as red as Roy’s now. I eyed the manager, wondering how the hell he wanted to navigate this one.

“No one’s having a baby,” he growled, hastily taking the bracelet from his niece and stuffing it into his pocket.

Her smile faded into a small pout. “Oh,” she sighed. “I would’ve liked having a baby cousin.”

At least this time I didn’t have a cookie in my mouth to spit out. Roy paused for a moment, eyes flickering briefly to me, before snatching the pair of tickets from the kitchen counter.

“Here,” he said simply as he handed them to Phoebe.

There were a few seconds of silence in the kitchen as she scrunched her nose and cocked her head, studying the tickets she clutched. That silence was pierced by a high-pitched shriek as Phoebe threw her arms around her uncle, who now wore that smile he only ever had for her. He laughed and hugged her back, planting a little kiss to the top of her blonde hair.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she was gushing, sounding like she was about to border on hyperventilating at any moment.

“You’re welcome,” he chuckled, releasing her slightly; he was probably hoping she’d take a breath or two, I realized. When we locked eyes over the top of her head, his smile softened. “D’you think there’s someone else you’d better thank?”

In an instant, Phoebe’s arms were around my waist as the little girl beamed up at me. “Thank you,” she repeated. “Thank you so much. This is going to be the best night of my life!”

Unable to help myself, I hugged her back tightly. “You’re so welcome, Pheebs. I hope you have a good time tonight.” I glanced back at her uncle, who was watching us with that familiar fondness on his face. “Both of you,” I added with a grin.

~

“Wembley, you are looking beautiful tonight!”

The crowd cheered boisterously for the popstar, who smiled as she took in the sold-out arena. Roy was impressed; her energy was just as strong as the previous night, her awe and amazement genuine, as though this was her first time performing for a full stadium as opposed to her second night in the row.

When Roy managed to tear his eyes away, he looked down at his niece. The look on her little face was magical. She was completely entranced with the show- the lights, the dancers, the music, her- that she barely even looked at Roy. He smiled to himself, remembering his own catatonic state the previous night; this must have been what it was like for Keeley and Jamie. This concert really was impressive, he told himself. That was why he’d been so enraptured, of course.

Onstage, the singer strummed her guitar casually, beaming at her screaming fans. “You know,” she was saying, “I’ve been hearing a lot of rumors lately. And, if it’s alright with you, I’d like to clarify something.” The song she began to play was familiar, bouncy and fun, sending the entire stadium into an uproar.

I love my hometown as much as Motown, I love SoCal And you know I love Springsteen, faded blue jeans, Tennessee whiskey But something happened, I heard him laughing I saw the dimples first and then I heard the accent They say home is where the heart is But that's not where mine lives

When Roy glanced down, his niece was positively gleeful, singing along to every word of the pop hit from the singer’s previous album. He felt a strange surge of pride at how familiar he was now with her discography. A smile on his own face, he turned back to the stage just in time for the first chorus, her pretty voice almost drowned out by the fans who sang along.

You know I love a London boy I enjoy walking Camden Market in the afternoon He likes my American smile Like a child when our eyes meet, darling, I fancy you Took me back to Highgate, met all of his best mates So I guess all the rumors are true You know I love a London boy Boy, I fancy you

Roy bopped his head along, almost tempted himself to sing along; maybe, just maybe, by the end of this tour he would be, he pondered. That would be fucking something. Surely their publicists would be thrilled at that image, of Roy Kent singing along to these silly love songs that weren’t as silly as he’d initially believed them to be.

And now I love high tea, stories from Chelsea, and from Richmond You can find me in the pub, we are watching football with his teammates

The stadium practically shook with excitement at the lyric changes. Roy’s cheeks were red-hot from the sight of all the eyes- and camera phones- that turned his way immediately. His face burned hotter when he caught that cheeky grin onstage, clearly smug over the reaction her surprise had garnered from her fans. Roy laughed and shook his head when their eyes met; he could admit when he’d been bowled over.

But God, I love the English- And he laughs at all my jokes And he says I'm so American Oh, God, it's just not fair of him To make me feel this much

Fucking hell, Roy thought, tearing his eyes away from the singer to marvel at the crowd. Has Wemley ever been this loud in its entire history?

He vaguely knew the song she’d switched over to; it was by another singer, another American popstar, he recalled. It was a cute song, one that Phoebe really liked, based on the way she bounced and sang along. He’d heard that this was a common thing at her concerts, covering songs by friends or singers she really admired, as well as mashups. And, if the crowd’s reactions were anything to go by, this would end up being a fan favorite.

I'd go anywhere he goes And he says I'm so American Oh, God, I'm gonna marry him If he keeps this shit up I might just be in lo-lo-, lo-lo-, lo-lo-, lo-lo-lo-lo-love

Her eyes were on his, sparkling and joyful. Fuck, she was perfect up there, singing and smiling. Something in Roy’s chest ached as he watched her, that weird ache he’d begun to feel back at the lake, the one that popped up in her kitchen and at the quinceañera. He wasn’t quite sure what it was, or what he should do about it. Hell, he wasn’t even sure if he liked it.

But damn, he couldn’t help but admit to himself as she basked in the audience’s deafening applause. He sure as hell liked watching her.

~

The Liverpool crowd was deafening, just as loud as the fans at Wembley had been. The first three shows in London had streamed all over TikTok; it was fun to see people so excited to share their experiences, but I had worried about it taking some of the surprise away for other fans. If the Anfield Stadium audience felt any disappointment, they sure as hell weren’t showing it. They screamed and cheered and cried just as much as that first night at Wembley did.

One of my stagehands, one who’d been touring with me for years now, handed me my guitar with a smile and a wink, the way he always did. I slid the strap over my shoulder and smiled into the microphone, letting the sound of the stadium sink into my heart. I didn’t care how many times I did this or how “used to it” I was supposed to be; every little moment made me wonder when I was going to wake up from this fantasy.

“Liverpool,” I started, the simple few syllables sending the stadium into pandemonium. I laughed and shook my head. “Being here is so unreal. I mean, you’re only the home of the biggest band in history!” The mention of the city’s musical history garnered more shouts and cheers. “And I would be completely remiss if I didn’t take the opportunity to pay tribute to them and share one of my favorite songs with you.”

I closed my eyes and gave a little strum, smiling at the light, easy sound, one I’d played countless times in my bedroom as a teenager.

Here, making each day of the year Changing my life with a wave of his hand Nobody can deny that there′s something there There, running my hands through his hair Both of us thinking how good it can be Someone is speaking But he doesn't know she′s there

Through the lights and blur of faces I managed to find Roy’s eyes, a familiar anchor now that made my smile grow instinctively. I shook my head at him as I sang, hoping he’d recognize the look in my eyes, the one I always wore when he was around. His own grin widened as the song went on, and I swore I saw him mouthing along to the words. Somehow, in a stadium of thousands of people, it felt like it was just the two of us, the way it had been by the lake, where the rest of the world didn’t matter as long as we were together.

Knowing that love is to share Each one believing that love never dies Watching their eyes And hoping I′m always there I will be there, and everywhere Here, there and everywhere Mmm-mmm Here, there and everywhere

As the stadium burst into cheers and applause, I kept my eyes on Roy, who wore that stupidly bashful and adorable grin that made my insides scramble. Unable to help myself, I blew a kiss in his direction and mouthed the three words I couldn’t help but think every time I saw him-

“I love you.”

~

Roy should be used to the knowing smiles at this point, he realized. For months now, the Greyhounds had smirked and winked at him whenever her name, her music, her pretty face appeared. So, he really should have known they’d spend half her concert with their eyes on him rather than the stage.

She’d generously offered to host the Greyhounds at any show they wanted to attend, probably assuming they would want to see her at Wembley. Instead, Richard had joked about everyone coming to France for the Paris show, Jamie had said something about wanting to take April to see the Eiffel Tower, Colin commented that he and Michael were planning on something special for their next holiday, and the next thing Roy knew, about half the team was booking flights and hotels to see her opening night in Paris.

Roy wasn’t sure how many of her shows he was supposed to travel to- especially with pre-season training looming on the horizon- but he was keen to fit in as many as he could. Initially, he’d grimaced at the thought of seeing the same show over and over, convinced that it would eventually grow tiresome to keep rewatching it. But, not for the first time, the pop star proved Roy wrong. Between the energy of the crowds, her adlibs and surprise song performances, and, honestly, her magnetic showmanship, Roy found himself just as enthralled as he’d been that first night at Wembley.

And he had to admit, seeing his team so mesmerized was pretty fucking fun.

“Roy, you must really love those costumes of hers, no?” Richard chuckled, elbowing Roy in the side. “Does she ever bring them back after a show?”

All Roy could do was roll his eyes and blush, hoping that was a believable enough response for his player. As he watched her strut in the dark blue bodysuit she’d suddenly appeared in- this one’s new, Roy mused with a quirked eyebrow- Roy couldn’t help pondering that last bit of Richard’s teasing. Those bodysuits were flattering, he admitted. Each and every one was custom-made, after all, designed to show off both her fluid dance moves and her gorgeous figure. He’d stumbled upon some photos and videos online of people- men and women alike- gushing over how good she looked and calling Roy a lucky man.

Yeah, he admitted with a dry chuckle as he watched the lights change for the next song. If this was real, I’d probably insist on seeing those fucking outfits at home.

But he didn’t have time to scold himself for his admittedly dirty thoughts, or to linger on what those thoughts could mean. Not when the music started and the dancers appeared back onstage with- chairs?

On Roy’s other side, Jamie leaned close. “Don’t remember this part,” he said, echoing Roy’s own thoughts.

Before Roy could confirm the striker’s comment, his mouth went completely dry.

Shrieks and screams filled the stadium, along with the sultry music, but Roy honestly couldn’t hear any of it. Not over his own heartbeat pounding in his ears, drowning out every noise in the packed stadium- except for her voice.

Draw the cat eye, sharp enough to kill a man You did some bad things, but I'm the worst of them

Once again, he knew the eyes of his teammates- and probably a lot of other people- were on him. But, fucking fucking fuck, he could only gaze at the vision onstage.

She stood center stage in that shimmering bodysuit- with so many damn cutouts he wondered if she was sewn into the thing- looking like sin itself with that red smirk of hers. One boot stomped onto the seat of the chair in sync with the music, showing off those thick, powerful thighs that Roy couldn’t help remembering feeling wrapped around him. Her movements, while smooth and confident as ever, were methodical now, copied by dancers Roy’s fuzzy brain barely registered.

I don't dress for women I don't dress for men Lately I've been dressing for revenge

Her hand traveled down her front slowly, tantalizingly, bringing Roy’s wide eyes down its seductive path that ended before it could land anywhere truly scandalous. The smile she flashed was sinful and teasing- and aimed right at him.

Without missing a beat, she turned and plopped herself into the chair with practiced ease, bouncing enticingly with her legs spread, the way Roy suddenly wished she would bounce on-

Whoa, he warned himself, swallowing hard and forcing himself to blink. Don’t fucking go there, Kent. He wasn’t sure what he was more worried about: crossing lines that had already been violated, or his… arousal becoming obvious to anyone who glanced at his jeans. More than ever, Roy Kent needed to get his imagination under control- and fast.

But it was as if she was trying to thwart his attempts to keep his cool. She stood and strutted as she sang in that sultry voice, the sequins on her costume shimmering as if they were trying to keep his attention on her suggestive movements. Hips that dipped just so, coquettish winks over her shoulder, open-mouth smirks; Roy couldn’t stop watching her even if he wanted to.

And she looks so pretty Driving in your Benz Lately she's been dressing for revenge

Oh fuck, she was doing that hand thing again. An involuntary gulp travelled down Roy’s throat as he once again forced himself to blink, briefly wondering what kind of dazed expression he wore; he’d be seeing it soon enough on social media, he thought wryly. There was no fucking way his every reaction wasn’t going to end up all over the internet.

She hovered over the chair, her back to the crowd, and slowly lowered herself back over it. Lower, lower, lower… and down with a satisfying bounce, her ass perfectly curved as she arched her back.

Don’t get mad, get even

Roy’s face- hell, his entire body- was white-hot as his jaw slacked, watching her turn over her shoulder to sing directly at him, adding a shameless wink as she continued to sing. She held his eye firmly for a moment, as if this were a private show, just for Roy, rather than a stadium filled with screaming fans who only grew louder with every erotic little movement.

So on the weekends She don't dress for friends Lately she's been dressing for revenge

She rose from her seated position, her movements slow and enticing, keeping Roy’s eyes glued firmly on her backside. He marveled at how truly sexy she was up there. Thinking back to the previous concerts, to the events where she was all dolled up, to the sleepovers where she wore pyjamas and sweatshirts, even to that night that he kept trying to push out of his mind, Roy had known all along that she was beautiful and attractive. But fuck. She was glowing up there, confident, moving flawlessly. She looked like any man’s fantasy come true.

Fuck it, he thought, shaking his head and grinning at her. She kind of looked like Roy’s fantasy come true.

~

April giggled as she scrolled past another video. “Holy shit, look at this one.”

I rolled my eyes and attempted to take her phone. “Stop,” I whined as she pulled out of my reach. My cheeks warmed as I glimpsed yet another video of me dropping onto the chair during “Vigilante Shit”, a sight that was apparently trending online.

“You look great,” my assistant insisted as she perched her phone on my nightstand and out of my reach. “Believe me.” She offered me a wicked smirk. “Roy Kent seemed to think so too.”

My face was warm as I laid back on my bed. “Oh hush,” I scolded, trying to hide a growing smile.

Her smirk widened. “Jamie said Roy looked absolutely wrecked when he saw you up there doing that chair dance,” she went on, as though I hadn’t just shushed her. “He barely blinked the entire song, just kept watching you do that little chair dance.”

I narrowed my eyes at her. Dating Jamie Tartt had made April bold, I realized. She had never teased me this much during my other relationships. But for some reason, here she was, sitting in my hotel room after a night out with the Greyhounds following the show, giggling like a schoolgirl over my fake boyfriend.

She went on. “And you’ve seen the videos of him during the concert, right?” She fanned herself. “I think Mister Roy Kent might have lost his damn mind watching you, babe.”

“Sure,” I scoffed, shaking my head. “Kent, interested in me. That’s a laugh.”

April studied me carefully for a moment, as if she was considering her next words. “What if he was? Interested in you, I mean.”

The words caught in my throat. Sure, I’d spent months with this man on my arm, kissing and fawning over him for the world to see. And for a few weeks now I’d been singing songs about him, teasing an album about him. But I had yet to tell a single living soul how I felt about him. How could I? Nearly everyone in my life thought we were in a serious relationship, clearly blissful and in love. The only people who knew the truth about me and Roy were Lanie, April, and Keeley Jones. Lanie was out of the question; she’d kill me for complicating the plan and mumble something about shitting where I ate. And Keeley Jones? The thought of telling Roy’s gorgeous model girlfriend- the one who got away- that I had feelings for Roy made me feel like my head was going to fall off.

So that only left April.

I swallowed hard and turned my gaze to closed curtains, as though the greige material was the most interesting thing in the world rather than April’s implications. “If Roy Kent was interested in me,” I repeated slowly, knowing that I’d never get this cat back into its bag, “it would not be the worst thing in the world.”

April shot up faster than the fireworks my brothers set off in the streets after the Dodgers won the World Series. “Excuse me?” she squeaked, eyes wide. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what I said,” I scoffed, sitting up. “It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.”

“Does that mean…?” She quirked an eyebrow at me expectantly.

For a moment, the two of us simply stared at each other, neither willing to break the silence. We’d engaged in countless staring contests just like this over the years, with victories shared pretty evenly between us. But this time, I was determined to take the win, desperate to prolong the way I kept my feelings for Roy to myself.

Sure enough, the corner of April’s mouth finally ticked upwards. “You finally gave in, huh? I wondered how long it would take.”

My friend’s smile was impossible to resist. “Guess I did,” I chuckled, running my fingers through my unruly hair.

Before I could get in another word, April grabbed me and pulled me in close for a hug. “I knew it!” she gushed, laughter in her voice. “I knew from that first match I went to with you that this would happen.” She let me go, choosing to simply take my hands in hers, reminding me of childhood sleepovers with friends, chattering about crushes and chisme. “When did it happen?” she demanded. “How’d you realize you liked him?”

Unable to help myself, I shifted on the mattress, straightening my shoulders and thinking back. “When I met his niece,” I finally murmured, feeling my entire body soften as I remembered that night. “He was so soft and gentle with her.” I sighed dreamily. “And… and we ended up sharing his bed that night- Not like that!” I quickly added when I saw her eyes light up wickedly. “But I did wake up with his arms around me,” I admitted. “And I realized… I think I could love him.”

“Love?” April’s smile widened. “All of those songs were for him, weren’t they?” she whispered, eyes sparkling with suspicion and joy.

“Maybe,” I murmured with an eyeroll. It was pointless trying to play coy now- but it was kind of fun. “The man is kind of… inspiring.”

April shook her head. “I’ll bet,” she purred, waggling her eyebrows. She sobered a little, giving my hands a squeeze. “And Roy? How does he feel?”

My smile faltered. “I… I don’t know,” I admitted. “We, um, nearly had something happen in L.A., after the quince. But then he just kind of left.” I blinked rapidly, trying not to dwell on that night. “And then we came home, and after a while we went back to normal. Which is good.” I cleared my throat.  “We’re friends. And that’s good.”

“But you don’t want to be friends, do you?”

I shook my head. “It’s good enough for me,” I assured her. “I… I’d rather have Roy as my friend than not at all.”

April studied me for a moment, her head cocked thoughtfully. “But what if…” She pursed her lips. “What if he does feel the same way?” As I opened my mouth to refute her, she continued. “I mean, Jamie talks about Roy. A lot actually. It’s a bit concerning sometimes.” She let out a fond chuckle and went on, “And he cannot stop saying how in love Roy is. How he’s always got your music playing, how Jamie’s seen him just casually scrolling through Tweets and TikToks about the two of you, how he lights up when you’re around. How he hasn’t seen Roy like this in a long time.”

My voice came out so small I hardly recognized it, especially after singing in front of a sold-out stadium. “Should I tell him?”

“That’s up to you,” April said slowly. Leave it to April to choose now to stop trying to tell me what to do. “But,” she added, “I think either way, you can’t lose Roy Kent.” She squeezed my hand. “I think you’ve got that man for life.”

~

Some small part of Roy was almost dreading the second Paris show. Not that he was tired of seeing it; on the contrary, the show only seemed to get better with each performance. He found he not only had, well, fun, but he had a sense of pride watching her grow in confidence each night, looking more and more at home on that stage and the joy that radiated from that pretty face when she saw her fans’ passionate reactions to the new work she premiered. No, Roy could watch this show every damn night and never get bored.

What had Roy’s palms feeling clammy was knowing he’d be seeing that dance again. During the late dinner the Greyhounds had shared after the show, the guys had teased Roy nonstop, eliciting soft chuckles and eyerolls from him and the popstar who snuggled close to him at the table. Roy’s chest tightened with every joke about that little bodysuit, every wink shot their way, making his mind wander back to her bedroom in Los Angeles, to her arms around him and her mouth desperately on his, to all those things he was still trying to shove into a small corner of his brain and forget about.

But fucking hell she made it impossible, grinding on that chair again, putting on a damn burlesque show that made his skin go hot. At least this time he didn’t have to watch it in front of his entire team; no, tonight his only company was Keeley, who’d insisted on flying out after seeing all the clips of “Vigilante Shit” that Jamie kept sending her the night before.

Keeley’d said it was because she needed to see the sultry performance in person, something every single Greyhound understood. But, if the blonde was being honest, she wanted to see Roy. She’d had her suspicions for a while now, but she needed to see up close and in person how her ex reacted to seeing that gorgeous woman moving around in ways that made even Keeley’s mouth go dry.

And oh, Roy did not disappoint either. Keeley caught the way his jaw slacked and the way his Adam’s apple bobbed when he watched her plop onto that chair. If nothing else, Keeley mused with a smirk, her friend was clearly attracted to the beautiful singer. That much was obvious.

Roy managed to get his heart rate back down in time for the surprise song. He couldn’t help smiling as he watched her strum her guitar, reminding him of those afternoons by the lake, of that late morning in her backyard, moments he realized he held close to his heart.

Moments that might be more special to him than he’d even let himself believe.

“I want to share a really important song with you,” she told the already screaming audience. “You know, when you meet someone, it’s the scariest and most exciting thing in the world. You’re so thrilled to find someone so amazing and wonderful, but there’s that gnawing feeling of… ‘they’ll never like me back’. And living in that limbo is the most wonderfully hellish thing.” She laughed and shook her head. “And everything just feels so… Delicate.”

Roy’s ears were bombarded with screams as the crowd recognized the title, one of the songs from the new album. He allowed himself to add his own clapping and shouts, thrilled to get to hear yet another song that she’d kept hidden from him. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Keeley, her mouth wide with glee and her phone ready to record; but, not for the first time, he ignored the sight of his ex-girlfriend in favor of focusing his attentions on the popstar who began playing the new tune.

This ain't for the best My reputation's never been worse, so You must like me for me We can't make Any promises now, can we, babe? But you can make me a drink

She swayed to the music she played, looking bashful in front of the thousands of people screaming and cheering for her. Her voice was tender and vulnerable, as sweet as Roy remembered it being those afternoons at the lake, in their own little world of laughter and music. Some of the happiest afternoons of his life, he realized. Just the two of them, the cat, and her pretty voice.

Is it cool that I said all that? Is it chill that you're in my head? 'Cause I know that it's delicate Is it cool that I said all that? Is it too soon to do this yet? 'Cause I know that it's delicate

Roy stopped fighting his usual statuesque instincts and let his body rock back and forth to the music, the way he had in her kitchen while cookies baked in the oven and a Selena song filled the house and her fingers intertwined with his.

Another memory locked in his heart.

Third floor on the West Side, me and you Handsome, you're a mansion with a view Do the girls back home touch you like I do? Long night with your hands up in my hair Echoes of your footsteps on the stairs Stay here, honey, I don't wanna share

Something in her voice changed, carrying an almost desperation, something strangled, something that made the muscles Roy’s throat freeze up, making it impossible for him to swallow all the feelings that refused to stay squashed anymore. All he could think of was the image of her in her bed, the smell of alcohol floating in the space between their mouths, the shots he’d taken all night whispering doubts in his ear, telling him that the desire in her eyes was drunkenness and months of pretending, nothing more.

But when her eyes found his in the crowded stadium, he wondered if maybe, just maybe, those doubts were wrong. Because she was singing, right at him, eyes sparkling with something Roy knew his held, too.

Sometimes I wonder, when you sleep Are you ever dreaming of me? Sometimes when I look into your eyes I pretend you're mine all the damn time

Fuck. Fuck. Oh fuck. Roy’s heart pounded in his chest so hard he pondered if he should call a medic.

What the fuck was he doing? This woman- this beautiful, talented, intelligent, fun, sexy as all hell woman- was serenading him in front of thousands of people. The past few months with her had been some of the best he’d ever had- months of laughter and joy and affection.

He loved her. Fucking hell, he loved her. Of course he did. He’d been in love with her for a while now, if he was being honest. How could he not be?

Isn’t it delicate?

Yeah, he realized as he added his clapping to the cheering crowd. It was delicate. Really fucking delicate. He couldn’t just dive in; he needed to get this off his chest and talk to someone, get some advice.

“Keeley,” he huffed in the model’s ear. “After the show, can we talk?”

~

See you at dinner!

I reread the text from Roy and fought the silly grin that grew at the sight of his contact name on my phone. After the show he’d suggested we grab some dinner, saying I should take my time getting ready because he needed to talk to Keeley first. (“Some stupid PR shit,” he’d grumbled with light eyeroll.)

A late-night dinner in some cozy Parisian restaurant after performing one of the most vulnerable songs I’d ever written? Seemed like just romantic enough to be the perfect opportunity to tell Roy how I felt about him.

I took a deep breath as I entered the restaurant, thankful that neither of our publicists had insisted on tipping off our location to photographers. No one paid any mind to me and my racing heart as I scanned the tables looking for-

Roy sat with his back to me, with Keeley perched on the chair next to him. Neither seemed to notice me, too engrossed in whatever somber conversation they were in the middle of.

I pondered what was the least obvious way to get Keeley to leave so I could be alone with Roy. It wasn’t that I didn’t like her, she’d actually grown on me quite a bit, but I couldn't handle having to fake my way through a casual dinner. Not when I had my feelings for Roy weighing in my chest.

“Keeley,” Roy was saying as I got closer, “I just don’t know how to fucking do this anymore.” His growling sigh had me stopping in my tracks. “All this fucking pretending, I… fuck.”

The model patted Roy’s arm sympathetically. “You’ve gotta tell her,” she said softly. “You really have to just tell her.”

Roy shook his head. “Fuck am I supposed to say?” he hissed. “I mean, I only did this in the first place because I was trying to win you back, Keels. Because I never fucking got over you.”

My hands began to shake as I took a step backwards, turned, and briskly walked out of the restaurant. I tried to get my breathing under control as I flagged down a taxi and climbed in, mumbling the address for my hotel.

I was trying to win you back. I never got over you.

Stupid, stupid me.

I stumbled into my hotel room, finally allowing the tears to fall as I slammed the door behind me. The feeling in the pit of my stomach was all too familiar as I flopped onto the bed, not caring about the mascara stains I’d leave behind on the pillowcase.

I was trying to win you back. I never got over you.

How dumb could I be? I really thought Roy felt something more than friendship for me. Really? After that night in L.A., how could I be so damn foolish? A few smiles, a couple of compliments, some tipsy encouragement from April, and I really tricked myself into believing that Roy could love me too.

As I turned onto my back and let the silent tears stream down my cheeks and onto the pillow, I made a decision.

Friends with Roy Kent was no longer enough.

~

“You’ve gotta tell her,” Keeley had told him. “You really have to just tell her.”

 “Fuck am I supposed to say?” he had argued. “I mean, I only did this in the first place because I was trying to win you back, Keels. Because I never fucking got over you.”

After a moment, Keeley gave a twinkling little giggle. “But you did,” she pointed out. “Just like I knew you would.”

She admitted it: this had been her plan all along. She knew from the moment she met the pop star that she was something special, and that she and Roy could be something special together. All Keleey had to do was give a few little pushes- sleepovers, a vacation, an album full of love songs- and watch the obvious attraction take its course.

As Keeley explained the plan she’d deviously masterminded, Roy glimpsed his phone; a text, saying the popstar was really tired after her show and would be staying in.

“Go get her,” Keeley had laughed, seeing Roy’s disappointed face. “Hurry up now, or I’ll steal her from you.” She fanned herself playfully. “I mean, after that chair dance, Roy-o…”

So now, Roy strode down the hotel hallway, clutching the sunflowers he’d nicked from a closed flower stand on the corner; he figured the fistful of euros he’d left behind would more than cover his theft. Maybe it was a little cheesy, bringing sunflowers for the woman he called Sunshine, but to hell with it. He’d listened to enough of her music to know she liked cheesy and romantic and all the other silly things Roy suddenly wanted to be.

It felt like an eternity before he was finally in front of her door. Scrounging up every ounce of bravery he had, Roy knocked, two quick, hard raps, praying she was still awake and that he wouldn’t have to pound on her door like a werido-

The door opened quickly, revealing the popstar, in those familiar cozy pyjamas Roy found so damn endearing. His entire body softened at the sight of her, his excitement fizzling slightly when he caught sight of the streaks running down her cheeks. But dammit, he was a man on a mission and he just needed to fucking say it.

“Sunshine,” he breathed, his entire body trembling. “Listen, I-”

“Go away, Kent.” Her tiny, sharp voice stabbed at Roy’s heart.

His face fell, but he took a miniscule step towards her. “No, see, I’ve gotta tell you-”

“Just leave,” she said harshly. “Like, back to London.” She shifted, leaning in the doorway, her body blocking Roy from entering the room. Her eyes refused to meet his. “We’re done with this. We did our jobs, I got the press off my back about Everett, so congratulations. We can be done with this whole charade. So just… go home.”

Roy couldn’t believe a single thing she was saying. “But Lanie and- and Keeley-”

Something in her face darkened. “Yeah, I think Keeley will be just fine,” she all but spat. “So, why don’t you go so ask her to book you a seat next to her on the next flight out to London, hmm?”

What the fuck?

“We have that preseason match coming up,” he tried again, growing more desperate with each word out of her mouth. “You’re still coming, right? Even just as my friend- we’re friends, right, sunshine? Real friends?”

The dry laugh that came out of her mouth lodged a pit in Roy’s already turning stomach. “Friends?” she repeated. “Roy Kent, let’s be fucking honest about one thing, nothing about any of this has ever been real.” She shook her head, gripping the door so tight her knuckles turned white. “I fucking heard you, man.”

Roy winced at her words, at her tone, at her stony expression, and could do nothing but blink at the furious popstar.

She went on, “I was going to that restaurant to tell you how I felt about you, maybe turn dinner into a real date.” He now realized the streaks on her face were from crying- because her tears were flowing like a pair of rivers. “And I got to hear you tell Keeley Jones all about how you only did all of this to win her back. Well, congrats. You’re officially single again, so go fucking get her.”

With a finality that stole the breath from Roy’s lungs, she shut the door, leaving him with a bouquet of sunflowers and maybe a broken heart.

Taglist: @infinetlyforgotten@ladygrey03@book-of-roses@thatonedogwithablog@misshall14@wibblywobblyvampywolfystuff@akornsworld@itswhateveripromise@purecinnamonextract@oceanncurrent@dearvoidgoodnight@hopefulromances@respondingtoshowerthoughts-blog@hotleaf-juice@emmy2811@captainorbust-blog@preciousbabypeter@shion-ah@royalestrellas@eugene-emt-roe@littleesilvia@teenwolf01@sisinever@yagotgames@queen-of-the-downtown-scene@emmaallisonann@mrdsturd@confessionsofatotaldramaslut@charkachow@mrdsturd@littlepinapple@sunfairyy@shadowzena43@uhmidkmuch@imsoluckyeverythingworksoutforme@alicedsworld@222333777@thegivenvoid @tortilla-maria1@treblebeth@maackiimoo@di-essere-amato@sortzz@i-am-mrsreckless @dreadfuljas @klaudosh @adri4na

[mattsbratt333]

TW: The following contains mentions of r*pe, SA, and religious trauma.

I went to a very bad religious school growing up, that gave me severe religious ocd and trauma, that I was too scared to talk to my parents about until I left the school.

Thankfully, I am in the process of healing and trying to forget and undo the trauma I have. I do not like to consider myself "religious" in the sense that I have to do or partake in any specific religious activity to earn my salvation. However, I personally believe that God is more of a father figure and a loving God rather than the harmful things I was taught and feared of as a child. I want to state that regardless of my view on God and religion, I believe everyone should have their own opinion and view and I am no where near entitled to speak on how people should live their lives. However, I am only stating how I live my life.

When I was fourteen years old, there was this boy at my school that was known for molesting his younger sister. I blame the school leaders for not forcing him to leave this school as he was only there because his parents made him attend. He would watch me and sometimes follow me as well. As I was too scared to speak up to anyone about this I continue to not say anything and avoid him at all cost.

One day I went to go walk to the bathrooms, and he followed behind me. Thankfully I saw him walking behind me from the glass doors that showed his reflection. Panicking, as I knew that I was alone and he was following me, I sped up as fast as I could. I cannot express the fear and the pit in my stomach as I realized that nobody was around to help me. I thank God so much for protecting me in that moment, because a former police officer who was now a teacher at that school so happened to exit the mens bathroom at the very moment that the boy was close to catching up to me. I have never, in my life experienced a relief like that before.

So when I say that rape is not a kink or a joke or a subject to write fanfic about, I mean that with everything in me. I cannot express how sick to my stomach I am about the things i am seeing on this app. Seeing everything makes this all come rushing back to me, and I cannot sit back and not express my concern. I don't really know what to say or how to say what i'm feeling, but know that if you support any form of that terrible account, I ask that you would block me immediately. I am trying to heal and seeing kinks about something that I barely escaped from experiencing first hand makes me sick. I cannot even imagine the pain from those who have experienced something as terrible as this.

My heart is hearting for all of you, that have experienced this or have been close to this happening to them. Please know that I am here for you all, I understand how hard and damaging experiencing religious trauma is and how these terrible acts of evil can hurt someone. Please reach out to me if you need to talk or rant. Because I know that as a fourteen year old living in fear of the things she was taught, that it is a living hell.

[lych33dragoncookie]

Okay I’m curious, what would you change in Dark Cacao’s Beast Yeast episodes to make them more interesting/compelling/in-character etc?

okay this is admittedly a bit of a tricky one to tackle B.Y Ch3's main thing is that. Really, there's... not very many interesting character moments or interactions in particular? And that's sort of an issue with most of the DC Kingdom characters, they're sort of plain (not a bad thing) and work best when bouncing off of other characters; see Dark Cacao & Hollyberry, and Crunchy Chip & Wildberry. So, inherently, just sticking a bunch of DC Kingdom characters with each other will result in cutscenes that are just sort of a slog where not much of interest really happens. It's kind of interesting any time the whole Flour Disease thing is actively in play, so maaaybe if they had leaned harder on it they could have done something more interesting to watch? Unsure. Again, tricky situation.

As for Ch4, I do think Dark Cacao's climb up is pretty interesting, but it's... not that well paced? Like, not a lot happens, really. It's a lot of cutscenes, but not very much of interest happens Within those cutscenes. It's at its most entertaining when Peach Blossom is onscreen, because he's a weird old man who can't help but make himself Look evil when he's literally not doing anything wrong, and I like him for that, just kind of makes for a fun guy to have next to Dark Cacao The part I REALLY feel like was wasted was his awakening scene. Frankly, it feels underwhelming. Barely anything changes, and it just sort of feels like he's going back to his default. In his ingame dialogue and the one cutscene he gets for the 4th anniv there's Some convincing and actually fun change, but... not a lot, honestly Personally, I really think they could have benefited from having him show stronger emotion during his awakening. Resolution doesn't JUST have to be a completely serious super-focused determination on seeing things through to the end; that determination can, in fact, be more passionate. I really think that, silly as it may be, they could actually have leaned on the "i know how to laugh now :)" thing that they do with some of his ingame dialogue and animations. Have him laugh in the face of Mystic's absurd propositions, laugh at the fact she could have even thought for a second that showing him a future where his kingdom prospers after his passing through his own son's will would actually make him give up. outright mock her, make it clear that all she's done is give him more of a reason to strike her down, to ensure that his son and his kingdom will both thrive long after he's gone. that he will not, by ANY means, let her destroy that which he loves

aka please. please just let that man love his son. properly. in a way that feels sincere and at least somewhat well executed. that's part of what fucked over his Crispia chapter's ending, how abruptly he went from "KILL" to "LIVE" without so much as a fight scene showing him gradually realizing that he's most certainly fucked up and that he really should have done better and that as much as he loves his son he never showed it and that the only way he can correct that mistake is by starting to show that love Now. just. please. let him show actual sincere human passion and emotion. please. how the hell is it that it took until THIS UPDATE, in a short little event-only side cutscene, for him to show ANY kind of actual convincing warmth. like that's such bullshit

↑ This. More of this and I will be satisfied.

[iniziare]

Tag drop: Aventurine.