#can you tell I’ve got adhd

[wonkyjaw]

Wedding quilt progress is going slow but sure. I’m a little concerned about math given how the shapes shift only half to the side each row. I suppose I’ll just keep some of the material extra and reserved so if I need to last minute add half a jewel it’ll be fine.

[adhdandcomics]

perhaps the most important question i’ve ever asked:

does anyone have tips for people trying to stop being chronically late to everything in the world that aren’t weirdly judgmental and aggressive or flat out lies

[edge-oftheworld]

I don’t really talk about it much on here because I’m extremely lucky to be able to understand exactly what’s going on in my body, but it’s scary to live for years as someone who Gets Things Done in a way your peers don’t really understand, be putting effort into so many things you care about, and then suddenly lose the ability to do not only that but also basic tasks overnight after a deadline, and bit by bit after many. it’s scary getting really irritable sometimes to the point of violence, just when you were meant to be celebrating the rewards from your hard work, the only impact of the work you did that you can see is that you overdrafted your ability to do anything. including have a basic conversation without getting grumpy or crying. and your body is going to make you pay it back with interest, you already know that, but you don’t know how to start filling yourself back up. you’ve only ever enjoyed being on the grind, hard at work on exciting things.

I don’t know how many of you have been through the kind of burnout that’s years of needing 12hrs of sleep a night but with terrible insomnia, waking up to what feels like a hangover for weeks on end with little relief then rinse and repeat without having a single drink, feeling too sick to eat and needing to exercise to emotionally regulate but being unable to, anxiety that doesn’t come from worry but you’ll pick that up too at some point, dissociating every time you try to do mentally taxing tasks that you’re PAID for so it takes an hour of grounding yourself just to get five minutes worth of productive concentration, falling asleep the minute you feel a little safe by being in the presence of loved ones. but I suspect I’m not the only one.

I’ve had songs for the energetic and angsty times leading up to this. for the exasperated times and the brain fog and the times where all my limited energy is tied up in feeling things. that I need to, need to acknowledge, but it’s overwhelming and I live in a haze for weeks as a result of. songs telling of the kind of youth I wish I had, even when I was sold something else. songs for the months spent as a teenager trying to be there for my friends, worrying for them, distracting me from worrying for myself, trying to cling on to positivity and hope amongst it when I had to choose to make a discipline of always seeing that. I’ve had songs for healing and when healing is harder than expected and songs that have the right level of musical complexity to capture the layers of everything that’s happening in my head, making it sound good, telling me it’s gonna be okay.

I don’t know how I could ever say thank you for this. but I do know that I see parts of myself in the people behind these songs, of course I do, and I worry for them as a result and ache for them because it’s hard enough to feel this way when no one knows me or feels the need to control me or mould me into what they think I should be. I’d do anything to keep them all healthy and happy and all of their loved ones too and I don’t think it’s strange as a fan to take that seriously. I hope we can understand the need to treat them gently, and to while not questioning their privacy and the fact that they’re never going to tell us everything they go through, listen to our intuition when we catch something we relate to and treat what they’ve shared with us or hinted at with the dignity we would if someone we love told us something vulnerable. be kind in our expectations and be intentional in the fan culture we create because it does make its way back to them.

and the same goes with all of you. we’re bonding over the same things. I know a lot of this fandom is in the stage where interpersonal relationships are hard. we don’t mean to be grumpy of frustrated but we are. and I’m sending love to all of you. we can get through this together. it’s what they’ve always longed for isn’t it?

[peapod20001]

Haha don’t pay me any mind oho

[leahcee]

The way my heart drops anytime I get an email from one of my superiors at work… like what did I do wrong babe? Am I getting fired for forgetting to input my lunch time correctly? Am I going to get called in and written up for forgetting to email you back by 5pm?

[comicaurora]

Hey, sorry if you’ve been asked this before, but I have ADHD and I’ve been following your comic for years and just now have started to write my own comic (partially because you really inspired me). But I’m really struggling with staying on the project even when it’s boring and getting myself to work on it in the first place. Do you have any tips on how to keep your brain invested or just to make yourself do the work at all?

I have excellent news, I literally just figured out something really important about this.

So when you're an ADHD kiddo or otherwise have difficulty staying on task in a structured environment where Task is the Priority, the main way people try to MAKE you stay on task is by removing your access to anything that is not The Task. No phone, no TV, no doodling, no going outside, etc. In practice, this just makes us miserable because it takes the boredom that's always simmering around a 2 or 3 and cranks it all the way up to 11. In the same way that you would have difficulty staying on task if you were in physical pain, this crushing existential monotony makes it very difficult to work. The work might get done simply because you have no other options, but it will not be done quickly or well, and it will take a while to recover from how much it hurt.

What I realized earlier this week is I caught myself doing this to myself. I had 42 pages of background colors to do, and I thought to myself "this sounds really tedious, but I suppose I have nothing better I can do." And I realized what I'd just thought, and got very alarmed.

Because back when I was an ADHD kiddo imprisoned by school scheduling and a million little factors that keep children immobile and restrained, I couldn't stop thinking about how big and exciting the world was, and how much I wanted to be anywhere but here. When I was feeling really crushed in I'd pick a random spot on the maps on my wall and just imagine being there instead of my bedroom. This was the impetus behind almost all of my creative energy. I've said it before - anything is a prison if you can't leave, and being in a prison makes it easy to imagine how amazing things could be outside of it. Aurora's initial worldbuilding was forged in the crucible of fifth grade misery. My enthusiasm for art and my creative drive are inextricable from my sense of wonder and yearning for excitement in the real world. Not escapism, but appreciation. Wonders unimaginable are out there, and I gain just as much joy seeking them out as I do conjuring them up in my head and sharing them with all of you.

So now that I'm a grown-up with actual freedom in every way I've been able to get, the idea that I was staying on task by making myself believe the world was small and not worth seeing was extremely alarming. It could keep me on task for an afternoon, but at the cost of slowly extinguishing the thing that made me want to make art in the first place - the hunger to experience and draw inspiration from all the myriad complexities in the world.

So what I've been doing is I've been purposefully and intentionally taking excursions whenever I catch myself thinking "I could take a break but it wouldn't be worth it, it's the same outdoors as always, I'll be uncomfy and unproductive and tired." Because that is never true. Every time I've put down the stylus and gone out, I've been renewed in one way or another, and when I come back to comfort fully recharged I get a lot of shit done. Because it is easier to work on anything if you remember why you wanted to make it in the first place, and it is self-defeating misery to just lock yourself in with it and tell yourself you're a bad person if you can't get it done.

I honestly don't know how widely applicable this is. I have worse wanderlust than anyone I know, so for me this has always been modeled as imprisonment vs freedom. I've also been extremely lucky to find myself in a profession that lets me set my own pace on literally everything I do. But I genuinely believe that when it comes to making art with ADHD, you need to give yourself freedom to move laterally, not just in the direction of obvious forward progress. We don't think linearly in any other part of our lives - art is no different.

[luveline]

helloooo, how are you? i’ve been rewatching criminal minds and i finally got to the post-prison part, so i’m really missing shy!r and post prison spencer <33 if you’re felling up to writing something for them again, i would love to see it!! maybe when they kiss for the first time or something else (completely up to you, i would love anything that you write hahah) but if you’re not really feeling it at the moment, please don’t worry about it, it’s so understandable 🩷 have the best day!!

ty for your request I love first kisses <3

Spencer takes you for a walk and explains a couple of courting rituals. shy fem!reader, 1.5k

Profiling is still very hard, but seven months into your new job at the BAU, you’ve become proficient in Spencer Reid. You can tell when he’s eager to work, when he’s down about something, when he’s feeling good. He holds himself differently on his good days, he takes care to coil his hair and wears a clean pair of shoes. 

In the bullpen, he’s sitting at his desk beside yours, craned over a desk covered in loose papers, books, and files. You attempt to hide your approach, lest he startle. 

“Good morning,” he says. 

“Good morning.” Can’t hide anything. He’s been an agent for ninety percent of his adult life. “What are you doing?” 

“Just reading.” 

You sit at your desk, clearing a space for your bag among your own mess of files and books. Your monitor turns on with a nudge of the mouse. Your screen is filled swiftly by notifications and Outlook, then the FBI messaging system, and then the ‘filing cabinet’ Garcia built to help you understand the insanity that is the BAU online system. It submerges you every morning regardless. 

“What are you reading about?” you ask. Your emails can’t wait, but you don’t want to read them, so you won’t for another ten minutes. 

He stumbles over a breath. 

“Spencer?” 

“It’s courtship rituals.” 

You regret asking. Whenever you and Spencer talk about feelings, or love, or romance, you end up hot as a kettle on a stovetop, steam billowing from your ears. You choked on a mouthful of lukewarm tea a few days ago when he’d mentioned America's developing hook-up culture. 

He doesn’t tell you any more, which is unlike him. Spencer Reid loves to talk, or loves to share what he’s learned. You looked it up —it’s called info-dumping, and it’s usually because the person telling you is so deeply fascinated by the topic they’re investigating that they can’t contain it. It’s a common symptom of ADHD, or autism, or both. Spencer’s done it since the day you met, which is nice. You feel like he trusts you. 

And so you’re wondering now if you’ve done something to make him think he can’t do it today. Or maybe he’s not feeling well. 

You prop your face in his hand and watch him. 

He doesn’t look upset, only focused. 

You hate quiet. You love not talking, but gaps of silence have you overthinking things. Maybe he’s mad. Maybe you’ve finally pissed him off. 

It’s scary because he’s amazingly kind. Overwhelmingly nice. He’s lovely and good looking but it’s his heart that shocks you every time, how he’s looked after you, defended you.

“Spencer, are you okay?” you ask. 

He blinks to attention. “What?” 

“You’re not talking.” 

He grins. “I’m thinking.” 

His smile when he looks like he’s about to laugh is everything. 

“Don’t think too much,” you say as you play with a button on your coat. “Isn’t that what you always tell me?” 

“Don’t think too much because you think about things you don’t need to,” he amends. “You worry about everything.” 

“Well, so do you.” 

“Exactly. I’ll worry enough for you, too.” Spencer gives you a smile you don’t understand. “Will you come to the archive with me? I want to talk to you about something.” 

“Spencer…” He just acknowledged that you worry about everything. 

“Sorry,” he laughs. “Something with no pressure. I’ll explain it as we walk.” 

You shed your coat and walk together out of the BAU offices down a long hallway. You take the elevator down to the ground level, spring air in the hallways, early morning sunshine lapping at your shoes where it’s settled golden against the marble floor. Spencer professes that it’s nothing to worry about again, but he doesn’t elaborate, and your heart begins to pulse too quickly. 

You can’t look at him. 

“I’ve been reading about these courtship rituals and… looking at which ones are the best. There are thousands of them, but contemporary courting isn’t easy. It confuses me. With my last, my only girlfriend, we wrote each other letters. But I wanted this time to be different, because– because love is different?” He grimaces. 

“Love is different,” you agree. You’re not sure who he means, your chest panging in two different beats. Is he… talking about you? “It’s different every time.” 

“I was looking for the more subtle rituals. I kept thinking I’d find the right one, and that I’d know it when I saw it, but I can’t find anything suitable and I might need your help. Um, if you even want to help me.” 

“Of course I do.” 

Spencer slows just outside of the archive’s door. “Everything I read about feels like it would just embarrass you. I picture buying you flowers and I feel like you’d just– just explode.” He says it with affection and apology alike. “I wrote you a poem. Emily told me not to give it to you, though.” 

“You wrote me a poem?” 

“I made you a love spoon, too, but I can’t whittle, and it looks terrible. I even cut my hand, and if you rejected me you’d have to give the spoon back and I think that would make it worse.” 

You turn completely still. The last thing you expected that morning was for Spencer to confess. And he is confessing, a small smile on his face, patience, nervousness, close enough to feel the heat of him beside you. You short circuit in an attempt to compute the magnitude of it; Spencer wants to court you, and you can’t handle it. 

Your exhale shudders out of you. Goosebumps attack your arms. 

“Sorry,” he says quietly, “are you okay?” 

“Spencer, I don’t think you could ever find a way to tell me that wouldn’t make me feel like this.” 

“How do you feel?” 

“How am I supposed to feel?” 

Spencer’s smile fades a touch. “I don’t know. You can feel how you want to feel, it isn’t up to me. But I have feelings for you. I thought you knew.” 

It’s like knowing that the lottery numbers were chosen specifically to match your ticket. The thing he’s talking about doesn’t make sense. 

“Are you kidding around?” you ask. 

“What? No.” He holds your wrist gently. “Of course not.” 

You swallow a lump and try not to overreact, though you’re already doing that. This is a good thing, it is, but he’s him and you’re you and every time he touches you it’s like fireworks are bursting warm and tingly over your skin. You smile at his chest, cheeks dimpling from how wide it stretches. 

“You don’t have to court me, um. Not in any way like that. I’m just like every other girl, you know? I like flowers. I,” —your cheek lists down toward your shoulder bashfully— “probably would feel a little embarrassed, but I like flowers. I can get you flowers.” 

Spencer really laughs. “You want to get me flowers?” 

“Maybe?” 

He laughs again. His eyes lock onto you and his open hand closes on the opposite arm, putting you face to face. “It was my idea,” he says, playfully argumentative. 

“Okay.” 

“You want to hear the poem?” he asks, quietening again. 

You nod slowly. “N’I wanna see the spoon.” 

“Can I please kiss you?” He takes a breath, like he’s been running. “I know this isn’t the right place, but I didn’t expect to want it this badly.” 

“I don’t think there’s a wrong place…” 

“So I can?” he asks, lifting a hand to your cheek, to hold you with care. 

You nod into his approach, find yourself kissed and held tightly in a split-second of warmth and warm smells. His nose touches yours in a kiss of their own, his lips part lightly before pressing in again. Two kisses lend to a third, but then he pulls away to look at you. As quickly as it started, it’s over. 

“You're overheating already,” he says, thumb rubbing a sweet path under your cheek. 

You don’t know what to say. He ducks his head just that little bit to make sure you’re okay. Understanding flows between you both. His hand falls behind your back to pull you in for a hug. 

“I’ve never been the confident one in any of my relationships,” he admits. 

“I usually am.” 

Your deadpan lights him up. His hug turns strong armed, and he walks you back, giggling, arms a comforting vice around you. “You can be the shy one this time,” he says, seemingly unaware of how his using the word ‘relationship’ has thrown you for another loop. 

You’re hot as a furnace all morning. Spencer makes excuses for you, but Emily’s amazing at her job. 

“Jesus, Spence, you didn’t read her the poem? I told you it was too much.” 

[saphronethaleph]

Literary Illusions

“It’s ironic,” Palpatine said, shaking his head. “He could save others from death, but not himself.”

Anakin frowned.

“And this is something the Jedi wouldn’t have told me?” he asked.

“Of course not,” Palpatine replied. “Is it a story you’ve heard?”

“Well, yes,” Anakin said. “Just now, from you. But not before then… and that surprises me, Chancellor.”

Palpatine shrugged. “I think you’ll find, Anakin, that the Jedi have not been telling you everything.”

“Maybe not, but… honestly, that sounds like exactly the kind of thing they’d tell me,” Anakin said.

Palpatine frowned.

“...what?” he asked.

“You know,” Anakin said. “Some Sith Lord works out how to bring people back to life from the dead, but his apprentice kills him and doesn’t bring him back to life because the Sith are inherently self destructive. If the two of them had worked together and been able to trust one another, they’d have been immortal.”

He shrugged. “It’s a good illustration of the inherently self destructive nature of the Dark Side, and it’s the dichotomy of how the Dark Side leads you to seek power in order to achieve goals that you then discard as irrelevant, because they’re not directly related to gaining power… hold on a second.”

Palpatine was a little distracted by trying to avoid mentally kicking himself, so it took him somewhat more than a second to notice what Anakin was doing.

“...Anakin?” he said. “Are you getting your comlink out?”

“Yeah,” Anakin replied. “Going to text Obi-Wan, ask him what he thinks of the story. Maybe there’s some kind of detail I missed which makes it less of a good illustration of the different worldviews and mindsets of the Jedi and the Sith.”

The Knight shrugged, his thumbs tapping away at his comlink. “He probably knows it, he knows all of the old stories.”

Palpatine blinked several times.

“...don’t,” he said, then very discreetly scrambled for a reason why. “It’s the middle of a performance. We don’t want to interrupt them.”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s on silent,” Anakin replied, with a shrug. “Or vibrate. Did I put it on vibrate… hang on, Chancellor, I’ll make sure it’s on silent…”

He turned the comlink over, then a loud bwing sounded.

“Oh, right, I forgot to set it to do not disturb mode,” Anakin said. “Hang on… uh… yeah, there we go, I forgot I added all these custom modes. I’ve been missing a lot of sleep lately.”

“Perhaps-” Palpatine began, but Anakin spoke over him.

“Huh,” he said. “He says he’s never heard of it either. Wants to know where I heard about it, it looks like he’s really interested… or maybe he’s trying to tell me about a death stick vendor, he’s terrible with multiglyphs and he thinks he’s good at them.”

Anakin glanced at the Chancellor, hoping for some solidarity, then visibly noticed that the Chancellor was several decades older than him and abandoned that.

“Is there a book I can get the whole story from?” he asked, instead. “Obi-Wan is better at nuances, like I say.”

“That is not the point,” Palpatine said, trying not to get visibly angry. “The point is that there is a way to save your loved ones!”

“Maybe there used to be, but not any more,” Anakin shrugged. “Like you said, this was a Sith thing and the Sith are all dead. Well, unless General Grievous is a Sith who knows how to heal people, but I doubt it given how much he got hurt, and I’m not sure Dooku knew it either… hey, if this story needs to be publicized more then maybe we could have them do a play of that instead?”

Palpatine blinked several times, as he tried to keep up with a Jedi with possible undiagnosed ADHD and found himself discovering a lack of talent for podracing.

“What?” he asked.

“You know, a play,” Anakin explained. “Dramatic betrayals, lost loved ones, it would probably do numbers. It’d be better than this, anyway.”

He waved his hand at the ongoing performance of Squid Lake.

“...what is wrong with Squid Lake?” Palpatine said, before reflecting that that had really been a stupid question for him to ask and that he should have asked a much better one.

“Well, uh,” Anakin began, looking a bit abashed. “Actually now I say it out loud this might be really culturally insensitive of me, but to me this play might as well be eighty minutes of people boasting about having enough water to swim in.”

“It’s a ballet,” Palpatine told him, now completely having lost control of the conversation.

“It’s just a less scary version of Sarlacc Pit,” Anakin went on. “Someone tried to drown me in a lake once, because they thought I couldn’t swim, but floating on sand is much harder, you barely have to do anything to escape a lake. You just float.”

Very belatedly, Anakin caught sight of Palpatine’s look of total befuddlement, and shrugged.

“Watto was a lot of things,” he said. “But he had culture.”

Palpatine’s hands twitched, as he very seriously considered the idea of abandoning literal centuries of Sith planning and decades of personal political advancement in favour of stabbing Anakin somewhere it would hurt.

It was extraordinarily tempting.

“...hold on,” Anakin said, slowly. “I guess… the thing I’d like most at the moment is for… and that means… this is literally one of those times when I could fall to the Dark Side because of it, like Darth Plagueis.”

He bestowed a grateful smile on Palpatine. “Thanks, Chancellor! I need to make a call, I guess the ballet won’t mind.”

Palpatine was so thrown by the swerve that he couldn’t think of a way to stop Anakin in the few seconds he had.

“Love?” Anakin said, into his commlink. “I… think we need to come clean, because otherwise I’ll fall to the Dark Side.”

Palpatine’s eye twitched.

[nihilistem]

adhd study affirmations + tips to stray from discouragement by a stem student with adhd.

you’re not always going to be consistent. you’re not always going to be motivated. you’re not always going to be efficient. and that is okay.

edit : thank you so much to whoever blazed this post. It means the world to me.

and the fact that you even got this far is an accomplishment in and of itself. In this line of work, people aren’t always the kindest to neurodivergent people especially since our symptoms can often hinder our performance academically.

if you’re good to go after reading the above, I’ve also made a post regarding adhd study tips that I haven’t seen anywhere else. (Part 2 is here!) But, if you’re burned out like me, feel free to keep reading.

honestly, these might serve a bit more as reminders because they’re kinda simple but even I needed this, so, here we go.

do not seek advice from anyone neurotypical unless it genuinely helps you. I cannot tell you the amount of time and tears I could have saved if I just considered the fact that just because popular self-improvement tips or study techniques didn’t work for me, it doesn’t mean I’m stupid or useless. It simply means our brains isn’t motivated by the same things neurotypical ones are, and therefore a lot of popular self-improvement videos or study tips aren’t going to work for you because 90% of the time, they’re not designed to work for neurodivergent people. So if you’d like to seek help in this area, look for tips and videos that ARE for neurodivergent people.

you might experience burnout a lot more than others. again, that is fine. if this doesn’t apply to you, great! Feel free to skip to the next tip/affirmation. If this does apply to you, read this carefully; if you’ve had any sort of streak in studying right now, chances are you know at least a portion of your studies were led purely on interest, curiosity or even novelty, as these are what keep us engaged in our studies. Knowing this, it is natural for you to experience burnout more frequently than others due to the possible hyperfixations that have been forming around your work. If you get burned out, please remember to take a break for a day and make sure it is efficient. Like your studies, your breaks are the key to having efficient study sessions in the future. So please treat yourself, especially if you’ve been working extra hard!

do not admire studious fictional characters unless it genuinely helps you or they too are neurodivergent. I know this technically could have been thrown in with tip number 1 but I felt like this tip alone is so important, because nowadays I see a lot of study tips with the title, ‘how to study like (insert studious fictional character here)’ and when I look at the post it kinda repeats the same few study tips I see all the time like ‘stay organized’ or ‘time block your day’ and I feel like admiring fictional characters who do things that don’t work for you can be damaging for your mental health, because we’re already told by neurotypical people all around us that we’re slow or lazy just because we don’t do things the way they do, and I think idolizing neurotypical people that make us feel bad at the end of the day just further promotes that kind of toxic thinking.

expect that a routine/schedule/technique that has been working for a while now may not continue to work in the future. things will always have to be new for us to be interested or engaged, that being said, if you expect this in the future you won’t be frustrated with yourself because you already had this in mind. It doesn’t mean you’re not smart. It doesn’t mean you’re lazy. It doesn’t mean you’re useless. It just means that you’ve done what you could, and now it’s time to move on to another routine/schedule/technique.

keep doing the things you love alongside work. I find that because our symptoms may cause us to fall behind on our studies, we tend to neglect our other needs as human beings just to make up for the fact that we simply do not learn or pick things up the same way neurotypical people do. Your hobbies and interests need to be part of your day, just as your studies do, even if you may take longer to learn things or remember important concepts in your studies. Neglecting your hobbies or interests can lead to even more frequent burn outs and even a relapse in depression and anxiety, so please take care of yourself and recognize that you need and deserve these things just as much as anyone else.

regularly discover what works for you on your own. here’s the thing; neurodivergent or not, no two brains work the same. Of course it is good to try out advice or tips you find online because they’re backed up by experience, but they’re backed up by that person’s experience with working with their own brain. So naturally, you need to find what works with your brain. Be open to trying everything, even the tips that are discouraged like listening to lyrical music while studying. That was the only way I learnt that this tip actually does help me at times, even when many people have said that it negatively affects your focus.

that’s all I have right now guys, I think I’m experiencing burn out or probably falling back into depression again so more than anything this also served as a reminder for me, but I really hope it also helped you guys nonetheless.

As always, tell me if you guys would like more posts like these and I’ll be happy to make more <33 please take care of yourself guys, and remember that your studies is just one aspect of your life. There are other aspects that need your care and attention too.

[idiopath-fic-smile]

so literally eight years ago i posted a snippet of a modern retelling of Much Ado About Nothing set in a student co-op and for no particular reason, the concept is tickling my brain right now. so uh here, have this? i guess?

“So, Ursula, my dear,” said Lee, taking the seat across from her at the dinner table. “My fluffy little crumpet. My buttery brioche bun. My tangy slice of pumpernickel—”

Ursula squinted up from her Anthro reading. “Uh-oh,” she said. “You only call me bread when I’m in trouble.”

“Happened to glance at the meeting notes this morning,” Lee continued, her voice rising. “You’ve got anything you wanna explain or defend?”

Ursula flicked her highlighter from one finger to the other, determined to play it cool. “I think it’s all pretty self-explanatory. Which meeting notes, exactly, were you glancing at?” She peeked out of the corner of her eye to check how this was going down. 

Poorly. 

Lee stared at her, apparently at a loss for words, which was not a great look for the house president.

“You did this more than once.”

“I take notes every meeting, Lee,” she said, as levelly as possible given how Lee’s ‘I’m not angry, just disappointed’ Mom vibes were oozing from every pore. “It’s my job, as house secretary.”

“Is it?” said Lee tightly. “Is it your job?” She whisked opened her laptop and read aloud: 

“Benedick’s eyes blazed with passionate fury. His nostrils quivered. ‘Well,’ he said in a low growl, hair resplendent under the environmentally friendly fluorescent lights, ‘personally, I think if anything, there's not ENOUGH lentils—’ Beatrice gasped. It was so wrong, and yet…”

Ursula winced. “‘Said in a low growl’ is wordy. I should’ve just put ‘growled’.”

Lee pinched the bridge of her nose. “Ursula,” she began, “just how much of our official co-op house notes, which by the way are formally submitted each month to the Co-op Board, are written as if Benedick and Beatrice’s stupid arguments are some kind of torrid Harlequin paperback?”

“That depends.” Ursula steepled her fingers, dropping the highlighter in the process. “How much of my notes do you have access to?”

“All of them,” Lee gritted out. “Because they’re public. That’s what I’m saying.”

 “Look,” said Ursula. “I don’t think I said this when I ran, but I wanted to be house secretary in the first place because a lot of the time, taking notes is the only way I can make myself concentrate. I would literally be taking notes during the meeting anyway. It’s an ADHD thing.” 

Ursula sighed. “And pretty early on, it became clear that meetings in Messina House are basically just a Sexual Tension Thunderdome for Benedick and Beatrice. They go back and forth for pages sometimes. I can feel every electrical connection in my brain fighting to zone out. So yeah. For a while I rewrote their fights as rhymed couplets, for a very short bit of time I had Balthazar set them to sea shanties, and since last December, I’ve been transcribing very close to their actual words, with very close to their actual intentions, plus just a tiny bit of genre trimmings. If they’re gonna waste my Saturday and test my focus, I’m doing what I can to stay awake and keep my typing fingers limber. I’m up to 75 WPM, by the way.”

“December?” Lee repeated. “Ursula, it’s October. You’ve been doing this for over a semester?” A terrible wave of realization seemed to sweep over her just then, regarding the general pacing and content of a standard Harlequin. “Please tell me,” she whispered, “there is no sex in the meeting notes—”

“There’s no sex in the meeting notes,” Ursula interrupted. “Per se,” she added under her breath.

Lee’s lips were pressed together into a thin line. “One year,” she said. “I want one year where nobody drives a motorcycle down the hallway or accidentally mixes up chlorine gas during their bathroom clean, or spends almost a full calendar year slipping smut into the public record—!”

“Excuse you,” said Ursula. “Smut’s a different genre altogether. This is romance. Slow-burn, enemies to lovers.”

Lee threw up her hands, nearly knocking over her laptop. “What are you gonna do if Benedick or Beatrice sees this?” “Oh.” Ursula froze. “Uh-oh.”

“Yeah, uh-oh,” she said. “Look, clearly there’s only one thing to do.”

Ursula nodded. “Right, we have to execute a series of far-fetched shenanigans designed to turn those two fighting fish into a pair of cooing lovebirds, stat.”

“No,” said Lee. “What? No, you need to go back and rewrite all of—”

Pedro slid into the room in his socks. “Oh sweet, are we hooking up Benedick with Beatrice?”

“Hell yeah,” said Ursula. They high-fived.

Lee closed her laptop with a snap. “Ursula, what are the odds,” she said, “that you actually buckle down and rewrite all of the meeting notes to read like they were written in the genre of meeting notes?”

“Oh, like, zero,” said Ursula, as Pedro chimed in, 

“Yeah, that will not happen.”

Lee looked despairingly back and forth between Ursula and Pedro. “What do you think is the likelihood that playing love gods will like, actually, genuinely work?”

“Twenty percent,” said Ursula.

Margaret glanced up from the other end of the table, where she was gluing together a collage of every restaurant on campus that had ever given her food poisoning. It was for class, was the thing.

Art school kids, man.

“We’re tricking Benedick and Beatrice into giving themselves over to their intense chemistry?” asked Margaret.

“Thirty percent,” said Ursula, because Margaret was inscrutable much of the time but surely they would have a fighting chance with more of the Humanities on their side.

At “intense chemistry,” Lee shuddered. “That reminds me,” she said, standing and scooping up her laptop, “I need to post a sign in the basement bathroom warning people not to mix bleach with acid.”

“Are you in?” said Pedro as Lee attempted to slip out the door. “Love Gods?”

“Jesus Christ,” said Lee.

“Not a love god,” Margaret announced. She had found the sequins, and was applying them with enthusiasm. “Except in the general Peace on Earth sense, I guess.”

“I’m texting Hero,” said Ursula, digging for her phone. “She knows Beatrice better than anyone. She’ll have tips. That puts our potential success rate at 45%, easy.”

“If we’ve got Hero, we’ve got Claudia,” Pedro added. “And she’s been BFF with Benedick since freshman year.”

“This is a terrible plan,” Lee muttered. “Yeah,” said Ursula, “but you implied it yourself. If, uh, certain parties see my meeting notes, they will murder me. Do you really want a fellow co-oper’s blood on your hands?”

Just then, Benedick burst into the room, Beatrice on his heels.

“I’m sorry,” Beatrice shouted, “are you genuinely trying to argue that soybeans are the superior legume? Soybeans? Over chickpeas? Over kidney beans? Hell, over peas?”

“Soy milk,” said Benedick, counting on his fingers, “silken tofu, miso, tempeh, firm tofu—”

Beatrice took a step closer to him, eyes flashing, “I have never in my life had tempeh that tasted like anything other than an evil Cliff Bar.”

“It’s not my fault your tastebuds were installed backwards,” said Benedick. “This from the woman who still, in the year of some people’s lord 2024, thinks lattes are ‘too trendy’—”

“Espresso is a waste of coffee grounds,” said Beatrice in a low, dangerous voice.

Benedick gasped. “You take that back.”

Beatrice took a step closer. “Coldbrew has more flavor and more caffeine.”

“Coldbrew,” Benedick echoed, stepping even closer. “You’re defending that swill over a nice mocha? Get latte’s name out of your mouth.”

Benedick and Beatrice were standing almost nose to nose, breathing hard.

“You know what?” said Lee from the door. “Ursula? Fuck it, I’m in.”

Ursula whooped. Margaret reached for the glitter glue. Benedick and Beatrice visibly both ran through their mental rolodexes of coffee-related insults. 

From the entryway came the distant revving of a motorcycle engine. Borachio was no doubt doing wheelies in the foyer again, but that was a problem for house presidents, not innocent house secretaries who had done no wrong, thought Ursula as she returned to her reading and her growing mental to-do list.

[rebelliousstories]

One in the Same

Relationship: Logan Howlett/The Wolverine x Reader, Wade Wilson/Deadpool x Reader

Fandom: X-Men

Request: Yes by Anon

Warnings: Fluff, Brief Angst, Brief Strong Language, Brief Mentions of Violence

Word Count: 1,508

Main Masterlist: Here

X-Men Masterlist: Here

Summary: Hailing from the land of maple syrup and politeness, Logan is not sure how he feels about this arrangement with the merc.

“Oh, I’m telling you peanut. I feel wonderful about this one.“

“Would you shut the fuck up already? Don’t wanna scare her off before she agrees to help us.”

If you were to ask Logan how he felt at the moment, he would tell you that no one should be this excited about meeting someone at eight in the morning. Wade had insisted on being up early because, according to his research, their new teammate was going to be unavailable for half of the day.

The duo made their way, in civilian clothes no less, to a random apartment in Queens to find this person. She was not particularly difficult to find, but she was always busy. Wade never got bored conducting reconnaissance on her because she moved around and did enough things to satisfy his untreated ADHD. A dingy gold plated 97 hung on her door, and caused the bald mutant to get all giddy.

“Oh this is it! This is it. Okay, how do I look?” Wilson fixed his clothes and imaginary hair while Logan arched an eyebrow.

“As ugly as you usually do.” The older mutant took it upon himself to knock three times. No answer. He rapped three more times, and waited for a moment.

A muffled voice called out, “be right there!”

The two men stood awkwardly in the hallway as they waited. Wade kept bouncing around from foot to foot, and fiddling with his clothes. When he inevitably got bored of that, he took to trying to tickle one of the tuffs of hair on Logan’s head. That only earned him a warning the first time. The second, claws were coming out and dangerously close to cutting off the offending hand.

Before he could, the door in front of them opened to reveal a woman that was bundled up for the cold New York weather. They all took a moment to see what was happening in front of them before someone decided to move. Her eyes were wide as she traced over the smooth lines of Logan’s claws, and the rough dimpling of Wade’s skin.

“Oh my god. Hi! You finally answered!” The merc exclaimed happily. He dodged the metal that dared to slice his hand off, and made his way to the mutant that had opened the door. Logan, still feeling her eyes on his claws, sheathed them back into his body.

“Hello. And you two are?” She asked hesitantly, feeling a bit uneasy around the two men.

“Well that was probably as good of a first impression as we could get. I’m Wade Wilson, aka Deadpool, aka Marvel Jesus. And this hunk of a man next to me is Logan, aka The Wolverine, aka Marvel Daddy.” Said hunky man closed his eyes, sighed, and dropped his head in defeat at the words the man spoke.

“Well, how can I help you boys? Would you like to come inside?” Stepping to the side, she led the two men inside to her living room.

Logan tried to keep his eyes on the woman they were there to see, but occasionally, his eyes would drift off to take in his surroundings. Wade, on the other hand, had already tried to break off from the group twice. Except Logan would not allow him to wander around the area, which meant that he kept his hand on the back of his collar until they sat on the couch.

“Can I get you gentlemen anything? I’ve water, coffee, some juice. Might even have something stronger, but it’s a little early for that.” A chuckle ripped from her throat.

“I’ll have a coffee. But only if it comes from a laughing man.” Wilson spoke up, happily bouncing in his spot. Two sets of eyes looked at him confused.

“I’ve just got whatever they carry at the bodega. Hope that’s okay.” Making her way into the kitchen, the woman began to make a small pot of coffee.

“So, what brings two gentlemen to my door on this fine morning?” The aforementioned men turned to face the woman who was now leaning against the threshold. Wade was on the edge of his seat at the prospect of telling their tale, meanwhile Logan had his elbows on his knees, ready to jump in and save this nice woman from the red menace.

“We need your help with restoring the multiverse. And I need someone to help this old grumpy kitty relax a bit. He just needs some human companionship.” Logan grabbed Wade’s wrist before the hand could plant itself on his shoulder.

“I’m not sure how I can help. My powers don’t tend to play well with others.” She lamented, grabbing the tray that now held all sorts of things. Coffee, cream, milk, sugar, and snacks littered the area once she set it down on the coffee table. As she made her cup, a solemn look took over her face but Wade was having none of that.

“Listen, I get it, okay? My friend here, he’s also the brooding, ‘haunted by the mistakes of your past’ kind of mutant. But you can overcome that! You can help save people. Sure we might not be Chuck, but we can definitely help you. So what do you say?” Wade tried to convince her. However, it only worked a fraction of what he had hoped.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know if I’ll be able to help,” she stated once more. While they talked, the Wolverine looked around the apartment and noticed something curious.

He placed his hands on his knees and stood, letting the two other people talk to each other as he explored. Logan felt his feet meet to where his eyes were locked on. Before he could stop himself, his hands curled around a picture frame that was surrounded by memorabilia. Turning, Logan brought the picture frame back to the living room. As he came back in, the woman and his reluctant friend had ceased their talking to focus on him.

“You play hockey?” There was a beat of silence.

“Yeah,” she began, “used to play anyways. Got an injury that took me out. But it was some of the best times of my life.”

“Who’d you play for?”

“A small female team. My personal favorites were the Maple Leafs from Toronto. Always good to have a good home team.”

“Wait a damn minute,” Wade jumped in, “‘home team’?” The mutant gasped dramatically.

“Yeah. I’m originally from a little town outside of Toronto, but I lived there for a long time.” She explained, a fond look crossing over her face as she looked at the frame.

“Oh my maple syrup.” He became misty-eyed as he looked towards the woman, “You’re from the promised land. You are Marvel Mary.”

“Shut up.” Logan growled, handing her the frame again.

“I’m confused. Why does it matter that I’m Canadian?” She puzzled, tracing fingers absentmindedly over the grooves of the picture frame.

“It doesn’t.”

“Oh, yes it does. It means that you are meant to help us save the timeline.”

“But why?”

“Because, our big ol’ kitty cat friend here hails from Canada. And, plus, we all know that this franchise would have never gotten anywhere without some spectacular Canadian actors and directors. Let’s face it. Canada turns out the best people for Marvel, not so much for the bastard’s across the road.” Wade’s explanation only further confused the woman, and infuriated the other man next to her.

“You’re Canadian?” She asked, turning to Logan. He grunted, but nodded his head in conformation.

“See? You’re meant to help us. We’re meant to be together! Like peanut butter and jelly, or Rose, Blanche, Dorothy, and Blind Al is Sophia.” Wade’s eyes were wide like saucers, and held a child-like excitement in them.

Logan scrubbed his hands over his face, but could not find the words to speak. On the other hand, the woman was giggling behind her hand so as to not aggravate or encourage anyone. But she eventually composed herself enough to form a sentence.

“I guess when you put it like that. I could be convinced to help you guys.” At her acceptance, Wade let out a happy yelp and clapped, while Logan just gave a small smile to the woman.

“Let’s go! Awesome. What do we do know?” He rattled off, stopping both Logan and the woman.

“What?”

“You don’t have a plan for what to do afterwards?” Logan snarled. Wade shook his head sheepishly.

“Why don’t we go get something to eat? I don’t have anything going on for the rest of my day. And I could certainly use some food.” Once more, Logan snarled at the merc who was looking giddy and terrified at the same time.

“What? Did I say something?” She asked, worry clouding her face.

“Nothing. Come on. Adventure awaits, mother Mary!” Wade skirted past Logan and grabbed the woman by the hand to lead her to the door.

It was going to be a rough morning, but there was nothing else that anyone wanted to be doing.

[strnilolover]

how did adhd!reader and chris or matt meet? (you choose which boy)

yk what let’s do both cause why not

Chris … You weren’t even supposed to be at the party. But, you somehow drug your friends along to some random house throwing this giant party that caught your eye. They kept telling you it was a bad an idea — you didn’t even know who’s house this was. But, you weren’t focused on that — not until it came to trying to socialize with random people.

You sipped on your drink, wandered through the house, and even made awkward small talk with a few people. But eventually, you escaped to the backyard for some air.

That’s when you saw it. A ping pong table.

It wasn’t just any ping pong table — it was set up with plastic cups arranged in a triangle at each end, a clear sign that an intense game of beer pong was in progress.

You didn’t even think before walking over.

“Hey, can I try?” you asked, interrupting a tall guy with messy hair who was mid-throw. He froze, blinking at you like you’d just asked him to solve a math problem. “What?”

“Beer pong,” you said, pointing at the table. “Can I try? I’ve never played before, but it looks fun.” The guy — Chris, as someone nearby called him — narrowed his eyes, sizing you up. He was cute, annoyingly so, with that effortless “I don’t care” attitude that made him stand out in the crowd.

“You’ve never played beer pong?” he asked, his voice dripping with disbelief. “Nope,” you said, popping the P with a grin. “But I’m really good at making random shots with, like, crumpled-up paper or popcorn, so I figure this can’t be much different, right?” Chris smirked, setting his cup down. “Alright, newbie. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

You picked up the ping pong ball, your hands slightly jittery from excitement. Focus wasn’t exactly your strong suit, but in that moment, the world narrowed to the ball, the cups, and Chris’s teasing smirk. You threw the ball — and missed. By a lot. Chris burst out laughing, and you couldn’t help but join in, doubling over as the ball rolled across the grass.

“Okay, so maybe it’s a little harder than it looks,” you admitted, straightening up. “Ya think?” Chris teased, still grinning. “Here, let me show you how it’s done.”

He grabbed another ball and lined up his shot, sinking it perfectly into one of the cups. The small crowd around the table cheered, and Chris turned to you with a cocky grin.

“See? It’s all about precision,” he said, miming a slow-motion throw for dramatic effect. You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help laughing. “Alright, show-off. One more try.”

This time, you aimed carefully, sticking your tongue out in concentration. You threw the ball — and it bounced off a cup and into someone’s drink. The crowd groaned, but Chris was laughing so hard he had to clutch his side. “That… was the worst shot I’ve ever seen,” he said between gasps. “But, honestly, 10 out of 10 for creativity.”

“Hey, I said I’d try, not that I’d be good,” you shot back, crossing your arms. Chris leaned against the table, his grin softening. “You’re funny. Annoying, but funny.”

“And you’re cocky, but surprisingly nice,” you replied with a smirk.

From that moment on, the two of you kept bantering back and forth, and by the end of the night, Chris was dragging you into more games—not because you were good (you were terrible), but because he liked how you made him laugh.

-

Matt … Matt had decided to take a walk through the park, his headphones on and hands tucked into his hoodie pockets. It was his go-to way to relax, soaking in the quiet hum of nature. He hadn’t planned on meeting anyone, least of all you.

The first sign of chaos was the bright pink kite, spiraling wildly through the air like it had a mind of its own. Matt noticed it out of the corner of his eye, just as it smacked against a tree branch, dangling pathetically.

“Ugh, no, no, no! Come on!” you groaned loudly — maybe too loud. Matt turned toward the voice and saw you, jogging toward the tree with a determined expression, your hair slightly disheveled and a spool of tangled string clutched in your hands.

“Stay here,” you muttered to the kite, like it could hear you. “Don’t go anywhere. Not that you can…”

You didn’t notice Matt watching as you grabbed the lowest branch, trying to pull yourself up. “Need help?” he called out, his tone amused.

You froze, halfway through an awkward climb, and turned to see him standing a few feet away. His dark hoodie, slight smirk, and steady gaze made him look effortlessly cool—so naturally, you immediately blurted out the most chaotic thing you could think of.

“Nope! Got it under control!” you said, though your foot slipped slightly as you spoke. Matt raised an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. Because it really looks like you’re about to fall out of that tree.”

“I’m not gonna fall,” you insisted, though your grip tightened. “Probably.” He chuckled, stepping closer. “You sure? I can just grab it for you.” You sighed dramatically, giving up your pride. “Fine. But if you fall, that’s on you.”

Matt smirked, rolling his eyes. “Noted.” With an easy jump, he grabbed the branch and climbed up just enough to free the kite. He handed it down to you, brushing a few leaves off his hoodie as he hopped back to the ground.

“There. Crisis averted,” he said, smiling softly. You looked at the kite in your hands, then back at him. “Wow. I don’t know whether to thank you or feel embarrassed.”

“Both?” he teased, shoving his hands in his pockets. You laughed, your smile wide and genuine. “Okay, fair. Thanks, uh…”

“Matt,” he said, nodding slightly. You smiled, introducing yourself as well. “Didn’t mean to get the kite all stuck in the tree — i haven’t tried to fly one of these in a long time.”

He chuckled. “Well, you definitely made my walk more interesting.” You chuckled. “Glad I could entertain,” you said with a mock bow. Then, biting your lip, you added, “Hey, uh, since you saved the day and all… you wanna help me actually fly this thing?”

Matt tilted his head, considering. “You’re not worried I’ll run off with it?” You snorted. “Pfft. I’d chase you,” you said confidently.

He laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “Alright, let’s do it.” The two of you spent the rest of the afternoon trying (and failing) to keep the kite in the air. By the time the sun started setting, Matt was laughing more than he had in weeks, and you were certain you’d just met someone who might make your life a little brighter.

[i-may-be-an-emu]

TELL ME ABOUT THE MEN!!!!!!

HELLO!!!

GLADLY :DD

THE MEN. :)

They’re called shoot from the hip (sfth) and are @shootimpro on youtube, tiktok, instagram, facebook, x/twitter, Bluesky, as well as on linktree, patreon and ko-fi.

(Hi just a note that I’ve updated this post a bit :))

They’re London based but have done shows outside london like in Scotland (Edinburgh Fringe) and even to Spain. They want to hopefully go to other countries in the future too!!

From left to right they’re Sam, Tom, AJ and Luke :)))

Ok, so. They do improvised comedy and their shows have two halves (generally with a break in the middle) they play lots of short drama games in the first half and then improvise 20-30 minute (on average) plays in the second half, sometimes with another game at the end.

The plays are so much fun (they’ve got 43 of them up on youtube so far!! (< updated January 2025)) and they’ve also released three full specials (full shows) which you can find on their channel :)

For a few of the older ones (apart from the first one) they were filming on an iphone and just projecting their voices, so the the audio and image quality can be hard to deal with (but all their videos are subtitled by the AMAZING volunteer subtitlers!!!) the older videos are well worth watching, though!!!

They have SO MUCH CONTENT because during covid they did zoom-style improv shows with eachother and you can watch those as a patreon. (To find out what else you get with patreon go to my pinned post :))

They also have SO MANY VIDEOS that are just the regular public ones!!!! They upload short ones of the games and some 5-10min ones of the games too, as well as the long forms (plays)

Now some info about the guys :D

Samuel Thomas Russell-Holmes:

Birthday 21st July 1989 (35)

Married this year and expecting a baby!!! :)

wears a red flannel a LOT (less recently, but still a LOT, it’s his Thing)

he says some very risky things sometimes but also has the audacity to look shocked when the others do it lol

Fav colour is green

he’s 5”10

brown eyes

currently producing a radio show for the bbc called wing it (available in December!)

if he were a Disney Princess he said he’d be Rapunzel

VERY GOOD AT ANIMAL (specifically goat/sheep) NOISES

initiates kisses with the others a lot (all of them do but I’ve counted and he kisses Luke the most and initiates kisses with all of them the most overall) (in the videos they’ve posted at least))

great at talking in Spanish gibberish, often paired with opening his shirt buttons

loves fantasy things

interested in Greco Roman mythology

wrote an audiobook called “Evergreen”

his mother and grandfather are/were successful actors

Has a drama degree

Low spice tolerance

has eaten raw egg live on camera

likes to cook

Thomas Mayo-Woodman/Hodgson-Mayo:

HES SO TALL (this man is almost 2m tall- he’s 6”5.5 :0)

brown eyes

his birthday is 10th July 1989 (35)

Married to a drag king (@pipdream on insta, tiktok, youtube, ect.) whose pronouns are they/them (they’re an icon and we love them)

Wrote a graphic novel (it’s called Future it’s about space lesbians)

literally one of the sweetest and kindest souls on this planet I’ve never met him but every time he says anything it’s like WOW OK YOURE SO NICE AND KIND AND WONDERFUL (everything I’ve heard from people who’ve met him is SO NICE)

SO GOOD AT IMPROVISING (specifically Shakespearian-style) MONOLOGUES

his favourite colour is red

has two english degrees (very good with grammar and words)

has adhd

makes a garbled choking noise very well (you have to hear it to get what I mean I guess lol)

has eaten a teabag live on camera

He’s referred to as the “dad” of the group a bit

Very hard to make him laugh on stage (but he’s been laughing more, recently!!) and each one is treasured

He’s so kind did I mention he is so kind

lovingly called a squid or squidboi by the fandom because of one time (a few times actually) he like stuck his hands in his sleeves and was like “I’m a squid”

does a lot of admin work for sfth and handles the finances (at least he did, they might have someone for that now I’m not sure) and takes care of the patreon

Makes a lot of spreadsheets

DID I MENTION HOW NICE AND KIND HE IS

Alexander Thomas Jeremy (AJ):

Birthday on 4th November 1991 (32)

CONFUSION KING /aff (he gets confused easily but we love him for it)

He’s bald and gets made fun of for it RELENTLESSLY (again, lovingly)

Absolutely ANGELIC singing voice

Blue eyes

born in Manchester(UK) but grew up in France (fluent in French)

makes movies/short films on youtube!! He’s working on a new one now and you can find them @lofi_film25 on youtube (that’s also his film insta)

does a lot of the editing for sfth and has a lot of input into which longforms to upload apparently

he’s such a himbo (/aff)

fav colour is blue

He’s 6 foot tall

On their covid livestreams would always forget to get costuming ready “I don’t do costumes” (king <3)

his rapping is BEAUTIFUL (words that barely rhyme at all and make NO sense 😌)

He delivers GREAT one liners

so good at playing children it’s crazy

can do magnificent cartwheels and loves to jump on the others with no warning

lots of muscles but lost an arm wrestle against Tom

Thinks he can’t do an Irish accent but I think it’s pretty good

also has a drama degree

He creates such amazing characters in the longforms

this is more just my opinion but I love his laugh

VOLDEMORT IMPRESSION IS SPOT ON

Luke Christopher Manning

Birthday is the 23rd October 1989 (currently 34 about to be 35)

Hazel eyes

hes not short but he’s the short-EST, 5”7.5

gets made fun of for his height a LOT (lovingly!!)

SO good at accents

so good at playing women

also so good at playing children

such a good actor overall (the only one of them currently perusing acting I believe)

says THE MOST UNHINGED THINGS

people think he’s innocent (somehow) but he’s SO unhinged

took his pants off live on stage (wearing underwear but still lol 😭 he’s a menace)

lives in Spain with his long term girlfriend (fluent in Spanish)

so much attitude in such a small guy (/aff)

sometimes compared to Macaulay Caulkin looks-wise

plays bass guitar in a band

Teaches acting (to kids??) in Spain

also has adhd

also has a drama degree

His favourite film is back to the future I’m pretty sure?

So confident in himself I aspire to be like that

people say he “doesn’t age” and looks really young but I personally think he does look his age

sometimes called “Luke Womanning” as a play on his last name because of how amazing all his female characters are

They’re all really close friends and met at uni and started doing improv around 13 years ago together! Started gaining popularity in 2022 on tiktok and are gaining more and more fans every day!

Um. Whoops I wrote a lot lol. (It totally hasn’t been an hour of me just writing this hahahaha)

anyway I love them so much :)))) (as you can probably tell)

anyway!

THANK YOU SO MUCH ANON THIS ASK MEANS SO MUCH TO ME :DDDDD

[misiahasahardname]

things created from hyperfixations are always the best!!!!

banger chapter as per the norm

mikey the scaredy-cat of the family

“who starts a conversation like that?! i JUST sat down”

ouch. that hurt

that entire conversation hurt, actually

gotta love how you write the mikeys so well in any kind of situation, funny and upsetting

guys not the time!!!!! (love the ‘gentlemen (and angelo)’ btw. neither gentle nor man)

yep that summarises the uno experience (they should try cards against humanity, that would go very well i think)

69 michelin star chef

JSBJSNAKSNKEJAK

they get over serious moments QUICK

this fic has altered my brain chemistry for all of eternity i love love love love it sososososososo much

you are such an amazing person and writer genuinely!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Aaaahhhh thanks! Glad you like my insane hyperfixation manifestations about fictional turtles on phones lol

[gothicflowers]

Listen, Alex has been consuming my brain for weeks. It’s a whole issue (it’s not an issue, I love it really). So can I get something that’s maybe a little darker with him? Doesn’t have to be too dark, just maybe showing that side that isn’t the golden retriever we all love. Maybe a little more of that something that makes him such a good CIA operative.

Something protective/possessive perhaps? Can be NSFW or not, totally up to you.

Also, I hope you’re doing well! I know what it’s like to just need a distraction and get out of your head for a bit 💙

(MDNI +18)

Sorry this took me forever but I’ve been fighting waves of ADHD paralysis that even my meds cant fight. And I’m doing a little better, not fully healthy but I’m getting there❤️

ALEX KELLER IS A GOLDEN RETRIEVER.

At least that’s what he lets you see.

Because he doesn’t want you to know how dark and dirty he can be. Your family is fully convinced that he is the perfect man, which he truly is. Always getting you flowers and planning dates or small getaways. You clearly won the lottery with Alex. You see Alex as a night in shining armor, a kiss from the stars.

But Alex sees you as the dusk sky, beautiful colors that light up the sky before the light disappears. Soft delicate hands to hold, no blood or dirt under your nails. Your voice is the crackling of a fireplace in deep December snow that warms his soul. You’re the flower that blooms from the spring frost after he tills the ground with his bare hands.

Alex has fought for too long and shed too much blood in the name of justice and peace for anything to take away the one pure thing the universe owes him. You.

But sometimes dispute all his training and good intentions you see small glimmers of what Alex could be if he didn’t keep himself in check. Sometimes it’s in the way you end up bent over the counter with his fingers laced tightly in your hair as he rants on about this little bitchy attitude you’ve had since you woke up. He knows you love it and it feeds a dark pit of control that burns for you. Every thrust making you gasp. All Alex can grunt out of his gritting teeth is MINE. MINE. MINE. And is he gonna let you come? No. Not unless your pretty little eyes are welling with lust and love filled tears begging to cum. He’ll eventually let go of your hair and hold you by the jaw and let you confess that you just needed some dick, and he’s the only one that can satisfy your craving. Such a sweet thing, such perfection, so delicate.

Alex doesn’t mind letting other guys how possessive he can get. He didn’t like that guy that keep trying to dance with you at the bar. It’s surely a coincidence that guy slipped and hit his head on the sink. Other times it’s simply staring them down with a look that even Simon wouldn’t mess with.

When your ex tried to weasel their way back into your heart they abruptly stopped. They sent flowers, chocolates, jewelry, everything they could think of to win you back. You figured they finally got the message that you didn’t want them. But in reality your ex came home to a large envelope packed full of evidence of everything they’ve ever done, things you never knew about. Paired with a simple note “leave what is mine alone or else”.

Alex never wants you to know about what he truly does. Would you ever hold his hand again knowing how blood stained they are? Would those soft lips still say I love you? Despite his pure intentions he knows not all of his orders he’s been given were good. So he just tells you he works in surveillance. It eases your mind thinking he’s hiding on a roof somewhere, not down in a gunfight.

When he comes home after an extended time away you’re distraught with worry that he lost his leg. You will die never knowing the truth about what went down that day.

It’s not always that he wants to keep you in the dark, but sometimes it’s just truly classified information that you can’t know. And shouldn’t, it would give you nightmares. This man could rewrite history books if he shared what he knows.

Alex keeps hidden security cameras around the house. You don’t even realize they’re installed. He’s got extensive knowledge of technology and he used it to his advantage. He’s very good about keeping you a secret from his job but sometimes on those late nights he just needs to see you sleeping peacefully at home. And yes there is a tracker on your phone. Can’t lose track of his sweet little angel.

Everyone highly underestimates him. Too soft hearted, too eager, too naïve. The way his eyes darken and chest heaves as he stands covered in someone else’s blood shocks a room of experienced soldiers. A version of a man they rarely see, a version of a man you don’t know. Yet that version of him is who checks the house when he hear something at night. The version who corrects people who speak to you rudely. The version that growls in your ear from behind as your bodies tangle. The version who got rid of all of your problems. The Alex that will pull the earth apart and unleash hell to create a heaven on earth for you alone.

Alex is a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

[starshideurfics]

Buzzed, Buzzing - part 2

part 1

Buzzed, Buzzing

JQ, you can’t go dropping TWO horny photoshoots on us in less than a week!

steddie, omegaverse, Buzzed part 2, mdni 🔞

Finally being with Eddie is a dream. At least for the week he’s in town, fully foregoing Steve’s guest room and its comfy mattress.

Instead, it’s a week of Eddie wrapped around Steve each night, skin touching skin, bodies sated in a bone-deep way Steve’s never felt before.

A week of waking up to Eddie’s lips on his neck, to whispers of, “Morning, Puppy,” and sleepy yawns, arms tugging him closer and closer.

A week of Robin saying, “I’m happy for you, truly, but could you try going five minutes without swapping spit?!” only for Eddie to look her dead in the eye and lick whatever part of Steve is closest to his mouth.

A week of Steve floating on a cloud of affection and hormones.

Then Eddie has to leave, head to Chicago and buckle down for long days filming.

Steve mopes their whole last morning, sneaking shirts out of Eddie’s suitcase until the alpha relents and dumps out his dirty laundry. “Put ‘em all in your nest, I can get new shirts.”

Steve purrs, gathers the shirts, and herds Eddie back to his room for a last quickie before Eddie’s Uber arrives.

Being apart sucks. They videochat daily, text constantly, but Steve still misses Eddie every second he’s gone. So, he’s back where he started, mooning over pics on his phone, scenting at Eddie’s boxers as he works three fingers into his aching pussy.

He’s holding out, but Steve is counting down the days until shooting wraps, when Eddie would fly straight to Indy.

Steve’s on his lunch break, typing out a response to Eddie’s latest text as he shove pretzel thins and hummus in his mouth, when his phone starts buzzing.

Robin is calling, from the other end of the building. “Hey, Robbie, need me to get you a coke zero?” he asks instead of saying hello.

“Don’t tell me you got rid of your Munson-stalking web alert, because that’s the only reason I can think of for why you aren’t freaking out!”

He did, not really needing it when he has Eddie checking in with him at least hourly. “What? Robin, I’m texting with Eddie right now, what do you think I missed?”

“Just, look him up; your ADHD gremlin boyfriend probably forgot to mention it!”

Steve opens google, starts typing Eddie’s name and only gets as far as “ED” before autofill finishes it for him.

A new photoshoot and accompanying interview. Steve gets caught by a photo of Eddie eating a peach. It’s such a thirst trap, but it makes Steve smile.

Besides, there are other notes, but Steve’s scent has always been peach-forward. It might be a coincidence. Steve doesn’t think it is.

He reads the interview; about his current project, lots on the movie coming out next month that filmed a year ago, and his costars including a chill cat.

But right under the peach picture is a question about his personal life, how he stays grounded and connected when he’s constantly moving around for work. 

Eddie starts, as he always does, with Wayne, his friends, his charity work, the arts scholarship he funds.

“The truth is that it’s all for my partner. Like, I want to put good into the world, help kids like me who didn’t have the best start in life, but my focus is on being good enough for him, being the kind of person he can be proud of.” 

The journalist asks him to elaborate.

She writes about Eddie’s smile, the small one where he averts his gaze, emotions too big to share. “I dunno, just that he’s got me beat by a mile—he’s a teacher, middle school, you know, the worst time in a kid’s life. And he loves it!”

More words on Eddie’s laugh and kind eyes.

“So, yeah, the people I love, the people who love me, that’s how I keep my head on straight. That’s what it’s all about, right? Family, friends. Pack.”

Steve’s vision goes blurry on the last little paragraph. He wipes the tears from his eyes and pulls out his phone.

Just read the article! I’ve always been proud of you ❤️

Three little dots appear immediately to show Eddie’s typing, but they disappear and instead Steve’s phone buzzes with a call.

“I forgot that was coming out today! I should have warned you!”

Steve grins. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not, but thank you. And it wasn’t too much? I’m trying to keep my private life private, but if I can’t talk to you, I wanna talk about you. All the time. Because I fucking miss you, Puppy.”

“It’s okay,” Steve reiterates. “I miss you, too. So much. Wish you were here.”

The whine he lets out makes Eddie chuckle, low and dark. “Wish I had you here, could show you how much I miss you. At least you’ve got some new visual aides, but maybe tonight, when I call you could show me… Get your fingers wet for me.”

Steve lets out another breathy whine. “Yeah, want that.” He presses his legs together, tries to tamp down the feelings of desire before he gets too wet at work. “Miss your fingers, though.”

“Good,” Eddie husks. Steve can hear him lick his lips, so he knows Eddie’s nervous. “And it was supposed to be a surprise. But I’ve got the weekend off. My flight gets in at 9 on Friday night.”

Now expanded into a full fic! Read here