#i still have to make their baby but i'm getting tired and will do it tomorrow

[maxv331]

✮ What happened to hello | Lando Norris ✮

Summary: Quick little drabbled based on all the speculation of Lando getting a bad haircut because he wore his hat so much at the Mexican GP

Warning: none :)

word count: 848

a/n: I haven't wrote in a long time so I'm pretty rusty, go easy on me! I also wasn't entirely sure how I wanted to wrap up the ending, so yeah, sorry for that!

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“Take the hat off Lando” You playfully demand with a squint of your eyes as soon as Lando’s face appears on your laptop screen. 

You’re currently on day 14 of being apart since Lando left for the triple-header and it’s eating you both alive. You haven’t been apart for longer than seven days at a time, in almost a year. Everyone around you, even the fans, call you two codependent, but really, you were just in love and wanted to spend as much time together as possible. 

Between the time zone differences and you both working so much, you’ve found it difficult to spend much time together. You’ve found comfort in being able to keep up with Lando from all of the fan and official F1 content posted online. 

You’ve gotten a giggle out of all the speculation surrounding Lando’s hair. It started on the first media day in Mexico, when it appeared Lando had gotten a haircut, but his hat stayed on the entire day. 

The next day was when the rumors actually started, Lando hadn’t taken his hat off again and every fan you came across was freaking out and cracking jokes that Lando got a bad haircut and was embarrassed about it. 

Initially, aside from enjoying all the posts, you hadn’t given it much thought, assuming Lando was mostly wearing the hat because of the heat; but then you realized Lando hadn’t sent you any photos without the hat on, and the handful of late night facetimes you had, he was already in bed with his hoodie up and it was mostly dark. 

Whenever you and Lando are apart, you always made sure to keep each other still included in the day to day parts of your lives; you were always sending photos, videos and voice notes until you could facetime or be with each other again. 

Lando hadn’t changed your familiar routine, he just never had hair showing, which was a little odd, but nothing concerning. You admittingly missed the post shower selfies or the sweaty, messy haired, tired post race selfies. 

You’re instantly met with a giggle from Lando “What happened to hello baby.” Lando’s sat in his drivers room, he’d got a couple hours break between practice and qualifying and wanted to make the most of your shared free time to squeeze in a quick facetime with you.

“Hello baby” You grinned cheekily. “I’ve missed you so much, did you get a bad haircut?” You giggled 

Lando raised an eyebrow as another giggle slipped past his lips. “Did I get a bad haircut?” 

You nodded quickly “You haven’t taken your hat off the entire time you’ve been in Mexico, so show me”

“And how would you know that, hmm?” Lando asked with a smirk. Lando was initially confused, but now all he wanted was to play into the fun he was having. 

A bright rosy blush crept up your cheeks as you briefly glanced away from Lando on the screen. Lando’s now grinning mischievously, enjoying getting to tease you. “Do I need to talk to Osc or have you been creeping on me?” 

Before you even get a chance to answer, Lando starts giggling again and shaking his head. You pout and cross your arms. “A bad haircut is the only explanation for the hat and not getting my selfies”

“Your selfies?” Lando questions, once again raising an eyebrow. He knows exactly what selfies you’re talking about, but one thing about Lando Norris is that he loves to tease his girlfriend.

“I want my post race selfies back Lando” 

Lando smiles widely, taking a moment to take in all of your soft sweet features. Lando hadn’t intentionally been keeping anything from you, the few days he had been in Mexico had been busier than usual and it slipped his mind. “I’m sorry my love, I promise you’ll get one after quali”

“I better” You murmur, arms still crossed against your chest. You did miss the selfies, but you weren’t actually annoyed with him, in fact any feelings that even remotely resembled annoyance or hurt from the past few days all stem from a place of missing Lando. 

Lando knows you better than you know yourself, so he knows that if he doesn’t do something in the next few minutes, the call is going to take a sharp turn from playful and fun to somber and probably leave at least one of you in tears. Neither you or Lando were one to shy away from your emotions, but if Lando could hold off on it, until he could guarantee you his undivided love and attention, that's what he’s going to do. 

Lando winks at you, before taking off his hat and running his hand through his hair. “Is that better my love?”

A small gasp passes your lips, before you break out into the widest smile that Lando had seen in weeks. “Lando!” You squeal happily. “You look so handsome, why have you been hiding your hair?”

“I haven’t been hiding my hair, you doughnut,” Lando laughed. “It’s hot and I like my hat”

[luvyeni]

( reaction ) riize when you’re ovulating ̨ ! ୨୧ 一 라이즈 ՞

⸃ ⸰ ⌁  using riize when you’re ovulating ヾ

OT7!라이즈・ fem!reader ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ g ・ smut ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ cw ・ ‎ wc ・ ‎1k ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎| ‎ ‎click to library

request. hear me out ☝ riding Riize and using them like a toy or whatever you want because you're ovulating.....

「 ୨୧ authors note 」 <3 !!!

﹙ 𐙚 : shotaro ﹚ .ᐟ

your ovulation week really puts his dancers' stamina to the test , but he does keep up – ready to be used by you whenever you need him. “again baby?” he smiled as you climbed into his lap. “so-sorry taro , but i need you.” the feeling of your warm cunt suffocating his cock. “fuck , don’t worry baby , take what you want love.” lets you move on your own pace , just sitting back , toying with your sensitive nipples. “fuck baby you feel good?” he was smiling as you used him , he loved this. “so sensitive baby , you gonna cum again?” you nodded , legs tired as you came , but that didn’t stop you. “taro , need you.” he sprung into action , wrapping his arms around your waist fucking up into you. “fuck taro im gonna cum.” it’s not about if he cums when you’re ovulating it’s about calming you down for a while , and if that means letting you use him to cum then he’s down forsure.

“that’s it baby , i know you want to cum again , cum for me.”

﹙ 𐙚 : eunseok ﹚ .ᐟ

the only time he’ll let you do what you want — but that doesn’t mean he still doesn’t have control of the situation. “slow down now.” he commanded , you whined , your clit grinding against his pelvis. “fuck , I said slow down.” he slapped your ass. “seok please.” you whined , holding his shoulders. “listen here.” he grabbed your cheeks, you finally slowed down. “just because you’re ovulating doesn’t mean you can act like a disobedient slut.” he let your face go. “o-okay.” you moaned , he tapped your ass. “good , now keep going.” you resumed bouncing on his cock , his tip kissing your cervix. “yeah fuck just like that.”

“that’s it keep bouncing on my dick like a good girl and i’ll let you cum as much as you want.”

﹙ 𐙚 : sungchan ﹚ .ᐟ

he loves this, he wants you to do this, use his cock, milk him for all that he has and then more. sex when you’re ovulating is the best sex in his eyes ( even tho it doesn’t matter ) it last for hours and almost every day … he’s in heaven. “oh fuck you’re killing me baby.” he chuckled , his head sticking to his forehead due to swear as you sunk down in his cock for like the 5th time , already full of his past loads. “fu-fuck im gonna shoot blanks if you keep going.” your sweet cunt clenching around him. “we-we can stop.” he slapped your ass making you yelp. “did I ask you to fucking stop?” so you didn’t you actually sped up. “yes fuuuuck.” his hand coming back down to your ass again. “that’s it.”

“keep going , use my fucking cock.”

﹙ 𐙚 : wonbin ﹚ .ᐟ

now this little fucker is a tease, he knows you’re hornier than normal because you’re ovulating, but he just can’t help but tease you. “no don’t move yet.” you whimpered out. “stop it.” he had been holding you down on his cock, feeling him twitching inside of you. “i need to fuck you.” you moved your hips against his wishes , he chuckled at your neediness. “need to fuck me?” he groaned watching your precious cunt suck him in. “so slutty baby.” he said , slapping your ass as you bounced on him, legs slap against his. “using my cock , fuck , humping me like a bunny in heat.” you moaned. “is that what you are? a slutty bunny wanting to use my cock to get off?” you nodded , “yes , please fuck!” he slapped your ass , signaling you speed up.

“then speed up slut, ride my cock like you mean it.”

﹙ 𐙚 : seunghan ﹚ .ᐟ

wants to treat you like a princess when you’re ovulating; but knows you like to take control when you’re ovulating so he lets you — at least that’s what you think. “baby slow down.” he said softly, holding your waist. “i'm not going anywhere princess.” you whined as you held his shoulders, his cock stretching you out just how you wanted him too. “just want to fuck you.” he chuckled, kissing your bust tenderly , you nipples sensitive. “you feel good, baby.” he said , he’d hold off on cumming simply so you could continue. “fuck hannie im gonna cum.” he let you cum , but you kept going. “fu-fuck baby.” he groaned. “hannie im gonna cum again.” you were insatiable but he knew you’d calm down eventually. “go a head princess.”

“cum all you want.”

﹙ 𐙚 : sohee ﹚ .ᐟ

sohee ears and his cock stands up the moment you randomly told him that you were ovulating. “lay down.” you told him, and he obey — because why wouldn’t he? you unbuckled his pants, ridding them of his bottoms along with your bottoms. “so pretty baby.” he groaned as you stroked his cock, sinking down on him. “oh fuck use me baby.” you began to move you hips , bouncing on his length. he was more of a mess than you were , you were using his cock as your own personal toy , you had been at it for about an hour and you didn’t seem to have any plans on stopping any time soon. “oh fuck baby.” he whined , throwing head back in pleasure. “fuck.”

“just keep using my cock , keep making yourself cum on me.”

﹙ 𐙚 : anton ﹚ .ᐟ

gives you exactly what you want , no fighting. he just lays back and allows you to do what you want to do. “o-oh fuck.” he moaned. “fuck baby this feels so good.” your hand was wrapped around his neck lightly not choking him as you rode his cock. both of you were lowkey fucking each other out , this always happened when you were ovulating and he loved it. he’s a dom , but he loves when you take what you want from him. “wait baby fuck.” he moaned , the room was hot , and both of you were sweaty — and anton was spent, you had milked him dry , but you weren’t letting up. “fuck baby i don’t think i can cum again.” you whimpered , still needing his cock even if you were already stuffed full of him. “pl-please one more , just one more.” you moaned. “fuck im gonna cum.” he was sure he was gonna start shooting blanks soon , but he allowed you to keep going.

“fuck baby keep going if you want.”

©️LUVYENI

[lovecla]

TAKE IT EASY (OTHERWISE I’M LEAVING) | connor bedard.

© property of lovecla, nhl masterlist, single chapter:

ᡣ𐭩 — pair: connor bedard x fmc (olivia)

ᡣ𐭩 — synopsis: in which connor bedard’s girlfiend, olivia, is tired of seeing her boyfriend destroy himself every single day.

ᡣ𐭩 — word count: 3.1k

ᡣ𐭩 — chapter warnings: inspired by the song “you” by chase atlantic, angst, hurt with a dash of comfort.

ᡣ𐭩 — from me to you: the second chase atlantic released this album i knew i had to write something inspired by it. i missed writing for bedsy and since he’s our golden, hardworking boy, i thought this was very fitting. hope u like it 🤍

ᯓᡣ𐭩

but you've been diggin' up the truth

haven't slept in like four nights now

blame it on substance abuse

out in the deep end, i'm swimmin', i'm swimmin' again

YOU WOKE up startled with the loud bang coming from somewhere inside your apartment, your whole body jumping and your heart starting to race inside your chest.

Now, almost fully awake, you stare at the clock sitting on your bedside table, reading the time. 4:13 a.m., and when you pat the other side of the bed, where your boyfriend of two years should be laying, you frown as you find it empty and lukewarm to the touch.

“Connor?” You whisper, scared to wake him up unnecessarily, even if you knew he wasn’t lying with you in bed. Again.

You get up, the fabric of his old Blackhawks sweater heating up your skin, as you put on your slippers and leave the bedroom, noticing traces of Connor’s absence here and there— his slippers aren’t by his side of the bed, his duffel bag isn’t on the hallway like it usually is, his water bottle isn’t on the couch like he had left it last night, when you both went no sleep at one in the morning.

So that’s why you don’t understand what he’s doing by the front door, ready to leave, even if he had only slept for three hours.

“Connor?” You call again, watching as his blue eyes look at you, surprise and guilt decorating his expression like a famous painting hanging on the Louvre’s wall. “What are you doing?”

Your voice is still soft, and despite the scare, your eyes can barely stay open. You’re tired, tonight was the first night you had allowed yourself to sleep freely since now you were done with your exams. And you were happy because you managed to convince Connor to come home earlier, at eleven instead of midnight, just so you could spend some time together, like you used to do when you started dating.

“Liv, hey,” he whispers, adjusting his bag on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

That’s when you realize what he’s doing. The bag, the stick on his hand, the outfit. He’s—

“Are you serious right now?” You take a deep breath, trying to maintain your composure. “You’re going to the rink? At four in the morning?”

“Baby, you know I need to,” he tries to sound convincing and if it wasn’t for the fact that this is probably the hundredth time he’s done this, you would’ve actually believed him. “We have a game coming up and—”

“Yes, I am well aware of that, Connor. But you went to sleep at one. Two nights ago, you also went to sleep at one and woke up at five. And the night before, and the night before that too.”

You don’t try to hide your feelings anymore. You want him to know you’re upset, and you want him to know that this, whatever the hell he’s doing, isn’t okay.

“I know, baby, but you know I have to keep practicing so I can help the guys.” He’s now facing you, his body visibly tense.

“That doesn’t even make sense, Connor, what the hell. There are other twenty fucking people in your team, you’re not the only player there. It’s not your responsibility only!” You cover your face with your hands, truly upset.

“Liv,” he calls your name, and it hurts to even hear it, because his voice is so full of guilt and shame. It makes you feel sick. “You’re not being reasonable right now. This is the NHL. You know how hard I’ve worked for this. There are people counting on me.”

“And I’m not one of them?” You whisper, making eye contact again, only to realize you’re not strong enough to have this conversation at four in the morning.

“Liv—”

“It’s fine, Connor. Go to practice.” You sigh, making your way back to the bedroom, praying that he doesn’t notice the tears running down your cheeks.

ᯓᡣ𐭩

you said, "take it easy, otherwise i'm leaving

yeah, i don't wanna stay and watch you die",

ᯓᡣ𐭩

CONNOR HAD an injury.

His jaw had been fractured, and he had to go to surgery to fix it. You were in the arena watching the game with Connor’s sister when it happened, and you had never been so scared.

You know Hockey is about hitting people as much as it is about playing and winning, but you won’t lie and say your heart doesn’t hurt inside your chest whenever you see Connor getting hurt on the ice.

And you aren’t dumb. You know that some players will purposefully hurt him just because he’s good. And even if people aren’t one hundred percent sure that that is what happened that night, you still remember the terrible feeling of losing when you were in the ambulance with Connor to the hospital, trying your hardest not to cry in front of anyone because you know what they would say.

She’s not tough enough to date a NHL player.

But you believed yourself to be tough. The only problem with all of this is that you knew Bedard would never take great care of himself, meaning that you’d have to be with him twenty-four-seven, which wouldn’t be a problem, if only he accepted your help.

Now, four weeks after the surgery, you’re inside the United Center, the Blackhawks arena in Chicago, stomping your feet as you walk towards the rink, the sound of your steps being muffled by Connor’s constant skating.

“Connor.”

You have to call him a few times so that he can finally get out of his head and look at you; once again, those blameworthy eyes looking down at you, as he skates closer to the benches where you were standing.

“Liv.”

“What do you think you’re doing, Connor?” You snap. “You’re supposed to be resting. You’re definitely not supposed to be on the ice.”

“I know, but my jaw is just fine. It doesn’t even hurt anymore.” He removes his helmet, running his gloved hand through his hair.

“It didn’t seem like it was fine last night when you had to swallow a bunch of pain pills because it was hurting. Connor, don’t you see what you’re doing to yourself?” You can feel your face heating up, and you’re trying so hard to keep your shit together but— “You have to allow your body to rest. If you keep up with this, you won’t get better—”

“That’s not an option, Liv, and you know it,” he hissed back, now looking more distressed than guilty. “This is my life. And I did allow myself to rest, I spent four weeks doing absolutely nothing, just like the doctor asked me to.”

“He said six to eight weeks, Connor,” you sigh, tired, not actually believing you’re having this conversation with him. “Please. Just think about how I feel when I know you’re not well enough to be here yet you still are.”

He pressed his lips together, placing his stick on the floor next to him and moving his helmet around his hands.

“Liv, you know I love you but this— Hockey is what I am. It’s what I do. You have to understand—”

“And I have done nothing but understand you!” You shout, finally losing your cool and snapping at him, your loud voice echoing through the empty arena’s walls. Connor takes a step back, but now you’ve already started and you won’t can’t stop. “Ever since we met, I have been nothing but understanding. I stood by your side at all times, even when what you were doing wasn’t healthy for you!”

“Olivia—”

“I went to sleep alone and cried more nights than you could ever imagine,” your voice cracks, and your stubborn tears are already rolling down your face. “I still supported you no matter what. I cooked your meals, I packed your bags, I went to those ridiculous gala dinners and I did it all with pleasure because I love you and you’re supposed to do these types of things for the people you love!”

“Baby—”

“So you don’t get to stand in front of me and ask me to understand how badly you treat yourself and how you don’t care about anything else besides Hockey when I gave up everything to be with you!” You try to wipe your face, stepping back when Connor tries to reach you. He frowns when you flinch. “I gave up my freedom because I wanted to be with you and God knows I’d do it all over again because I fucking love you.”

“Baby, I know all of this and I’m grateful, I really am but—”

You let out a wet chuckle, shaking your head. “There’s always a but with you.”

“Hockey is important to me, baby.”

“And I am not.”

The silence after your words is cruel, and it tears you apart, scratching your skin and making your insides hurt. His blue eyes, your favorite color to ever exist, are also filled with tears and you hate to see it. You hate to feel bad about saying these things.

The thing about loving someone is that the thread between giving up yourself for them and giving yourself to them is really thin.

You love Connor Bedard. Have loved him for years now. He makes you happy, he listens to you, he’s your best friend.

“You know that’s not true, Liv,” he gets closer, the sound of his skates hitting the ice making you want to puke. “You know you’re more important to me than any of this. You know I love you.”

“No, Connor, I don’t,” you whisper, smiling even when all you feel is pain. “I can’t do this. I won’t watch you d-destroy yourself and not do anything.”

He removes his gloves quickly and grabs your wrist, cold fingers holding your arm down. “Olivia, wait.”

“No,” You shake your head. “I need time. Sorry.”

You don’t look at his face as you leave the arena, and you certainly don’t listen to his voice shouting your name, over and over again.

ᯓᡣ𐭩

i don't know what to do

i’m stuck in a loop, stuck in a loop

ᯓᡣ𐭩

HE WATCHES you talking to the children from afar.

You’re sitting on the floor, and it’s so obvious you’re better different from everyone else at the party. The children surround you like you’re their favorite princess or superhero, all of them wanting a little bit of your attention.

Connor feels like he should be offended, since those kids were there to see his team in the first place. It was some kind of reunion Foligno arranged with the media team, inviting some of his son’s friends and some other children with less opportunities.

But he isn’t. First of all, he’s thankful because if it weren’t for your charm, he would be the one having to deal with the children, something he wasn’t very fond of. Sure, he likes kids and he’s happy they like him, but if he could avoid social interactions, he would.

Besides that, watching you happy is something that he had missed, and he feels like shit for it. He knows he hasn’t been a good boyfriend, and he knows he should do better. Ever since that one night at the rink, you haven’t been the same.

But if he thinks about it too much, he realizes that you haven’t been yourself for a long time now.

And it hurts.

It hurts because he doesn’t know what to do. He loves you, the very first girl he fell in love with, but he also loves Hockey. As a young player in the NHL, he feels like he constantly needs to prove himself to others, and since people give him so much attention, he needs to keep on being a good player.

He doesn’t know how to balance things, how not to spend hours and hours without end on the ice, muting all of his doubts and worries while he keeps throwing the puck in the net.

You smile at a little boy who’s now handing you a flower, and Connor smiles as he watches you ask the little boy to put it on your hair, laughing when the other kids stop their babbling to clap at your newest look.

You make eye contact with him, and he feels himself getting devastated when he notices that the shine in your eyes lessened a little when you looked at him.

ᯓᡣ𐭩

(why do you hate me?)

i could never hate you, despite the words that you've been sayin'

i’ve been having breakthroughs

and hoping you were proud, just maybe

anxiety drives me insane, and my newest addiction is pain

i know i said it was a ‘phase’

five years later, still stuck in my brain

ᯓᡣ𐭩

CLOSING THE front door with a sigh, you let your first sob out. The tears won’t stop, and you don’t bother to wipe them, it would be pointless.

All you want to do is slide down to the floor and stay there, letting the hardwood hurt your back and get you dirty, but you can’t. Your car decided to break in the middle of the road on your way back from college, and you had to walk until you found the nearest telephone to call your insurance company, which would’ve been fine if it weren’t for the terrible storm going on, the water drops penetrating your thin shirt like you weren’t even wearing anything in the first place.

It’s just one of those days where everything that could possibly go wrong goes wrong, but you’re already so fed up with life lately that this all seems too much.

“Liv? What happened, baby?”

You lift your head up faster than you should've, because now you can see tiny, black dots floating around in your vision. You weren’t expecting to see Connor at your house, much less wearing the apron you gave him when he prepared his first dish by himself two years ago— a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

“Connor,” you whisper, not looking him in the eye. “I didn’t know you were here.”

“I texted you,” he says, removing the apron that read “cook it yourself, cunt”. “What happened, baby? Are you hurt?”

You don’t say anything, mostly because you’re certain that if you let one little word slip past your lips you’ll start crying uncontrollably once again, so you just shake your head and leave your things on the floor beside you, walking past him so you could get to your room.

He’s quick to follow, though, watching as you remove your wet clothes and get in the shower, both of you silent and lost in your own thoughts.

Not talking to Connor about your feelings feels weird, but you can’t help but feel like you’re holding him back. It’s sickening, because all you want is to stay with him and be happy, but sometimes loving is also letting go.

You get out of the shower, feeling the tears coming back when you spot the change of clothes Connor left for you on top of the toilet lid— his shirt, his pants, your favorite panties.

He knows you too well. He knows who you are as a person and he knows who you want to become. He knows your fears and your ambitions, he knows your dreams and hopes. He knows what you stand for and what you absolutely despise.

He knows you.

You change, and leave the bathroom quickly, wanting nothing more than to lay down and sleep for days.

“Some lady from your insurance company just called, saying your car will be ready next week,” Connor says, and only then you noticed he’d been standing next to your wardrobe the entire time, crossed arms in front of his chest. “Why didn’t you tell me your car was broken?”

You shrug. “I knew you were at practice. Didn’t want to bother you.”

“So you walked home? In the rain?” You can tell by his tone that he’s upset, but there’s nothing much you can do.

“I mean, what did you want me to do?” You scoff. “My phone died and I had no cash on me. And honestly, we both know that you would never leave the ice for something like this.”

“Liv, you know that’s not true,” he whispers, getting closer to you. “You know that I’d leave at any moment if I even knew you needed me.”

“Whatever,” you mumble before reaching for your phone in your bag, the device thankfully still dry, and put it to charge, removing the hundreds of pillows you have on top of your bed and throwing them on the carpet floor, already visualizing the amazing sleep you’d have.

“What are you doing?” You feel his hands on your back, his body closer to yours than it’s been in a while. “You haven’t had dinner yet. I cooked…”

His sad tone makes you break again, and you hate yourself for it. But you still love him so much, and it hurts to see what you’ve become.

“Liv, please, tell me what’s wrong,” he pleads, turning you around and wiping your tears with his thumbs. “I’ll fix it, I promise. Just tell me what’s wrong, baby.”

“Can you fix us?” You whisper, resting your head against his chest, inhaling his comforting scent. He smells like home and the winter. “Can you fix what we’ve become?”

He’s quiet for a while, long fingers caressing your hair, like he used to do back when you had started dating.

“I’m trying, I swear I am,” he whispers back, and you can finally hear genuineness in his voice. “You’re everything to me, baby, and I won’t lose you.”

“I’m not asking you to give up on Hockey,” you explain, watching as your tears stain his shirt. “I’m just asking you to take care of yourself. Connor, I need you to take care of yourself.”

“I know, baby, and I’m sorry,” he kisses your cheek, the first time his lips touch you in more than two weeks. “I’m so sorry.”

You listen to his heartbeat and sigh, choosing not to say anything. You know the only way you can find out if he’s being genuine or not is with time, because only it will tell if you’re fixable or not.

But as you let yourself sleep close to his body that night, losing yourself between the sheets and his arms, you can finally breathe again.

Because he said he’ll try, and Connor Bedard always tries his hardest with everything.

[3igbootyl0ver]

A New Face

pairing: Tara Carpenter x Reader

summary: where the group of friends meet Chad's new roommate.

word count: 1737

a/n: heyyyyy this is my first ever fic I've written, don't mind it being cringy and I'm open to feedback teehee hope ya'll enjoy (p.s I'm new to this whole Tumblr thing cut me some slack 😭)

Chad has been trying to convince the core four to hangout at his apartment. He had been feeling lonely recently since Mindy and Anika had recently moved in together. 

It took him a few weeks to finally convince them into hanging out at his apartment. With Sam’s paranoia and busy work schedule, and the heavy workload for Tara,Mindy, and Anika in college, they were finally able to make the time and hangout. Plus, they could use a new scenery besides the Carpenter’s apartment, right?

That particular day they were supposed to meet up at Chad’s apartment, Tara was feeling under the weather, her finals for her college exam was killing her; And all she wanted to do was eat some greasy dough with sauce and meat while watching scary movies. 

“Hey guys! Come in, the pizza is getting delivered soon.” Chad exclaimed while hopping on his toes, feeling ecstatic since he hadn’t met them for a while. 

“What’s with you? you’re acting like a kid, dude.” Mindy commented, noticing her twin brothers’ gleamed faced and excitement. 

“Sorry, I’ve been lonely and I’m just glad we’re all together again. THE CORE FOUR! And Anika, of course.” 

“Didn’t you put up an online ad for a roommate? Where are they?”

“You don’t learn, do you?” Sam added, frowning with Chad’s method of calling in someone to fill in the extra room. 

Chad abashedly chuckled, and lowered his head, his cheeks burning up from embarrassment. It was Sam, who wouldn’t be scared?

“My roommate is cool! They’re out for work and should be here soon. They’re not a psychotic serial killer, I promise.”

Sam was skeptical, rightfully so. Meanwhile, Tara was sat on the couch, with her legs on the coffee table while scrolling through the tv to find a movie to watch. She couldn’t bother joining in on the conversation. She felt mentally exhausted from her exams and just wanted a day’s rest. 

After a while, the group was playing card games while eating their pizzas and watching movies. 

“That’s not fair Mindy! Stop giving me all the +4 cards!” Tara shrieked, feeling frustrated after getting the card that made her double the number of cards she had at least 4 times, making her chances of winning low.

“Whatever you big baby. Just admit that you suck in uno,” Mindy responded, smirking triumphantly while raising her voice

Tara rolled her eyes, not accepting her defeat and continued arguing with Mindy, with the rest watching amused by the entertainment. Unsurprisingly , Tara lost after Mindy getting rid of her cards before her. She couldn’t get rid of her cards with the suspicious amounts of +4 cards Mindy had. 

“Uno! Looks like I win, LOSER!”

“How about I shove this uno cards up your a-“

Tara’s reply was interrupted by the front door opening, revealing you carrying your backpack on your shoulders and your motorcycle helmet hanging off your hand (which peaked Tara’s interest, of course.) You looked tired, with dark circles under your eye, wearing your hoodie and sweatpants. 

Even so, Tara still thought you were the most beautiful human being she had ever seen. She was practically having heart eyes and drooling at this point, with Mindy noticing her stare and grinning cheekily. 

“What’s up dude. Tough day at work?” Chad commented, trying to create a conversation. 

“You know it, man” you softly chuckled while locking the door. 

“Anyways, my friends are gonna be here for a while. I hope you don’t mind,”

“Not at all, I’m probably just going to take a nap anyways,” you replied, finally looking at the group of people staring you. 

Mindy gave you a nod, already knowing who you were from her brother. Anika smiled and waved at you, which you responded by giving a soft smile back. Sam was staring you down, which made you uncomfortable and creeped out but ignored her action. Tara was well, staring at you? But not how Sam stared at you, she had a blank look on her face. 

Once you left and went into the hallway to your room, Mindy decided make a certain Carpenter’s life a living hell. 

“Tara, are you blushing right now? I didn’t know you had a type” she teased

“Shut up, Mindy. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You guys don’t find her suspicious? Seriously?” Sam commented, wondering why they weren’t skeptical like they usually were when there was new people around. 

It wasn’t new, after the incident of Ghostface, they all had their guards up, scared to open up to new people, to new faces. 

“They’re nice, I promise. How about I call them out so you guys can get to know them? They’re Y/N, by the way” Chad suggested, trying to convince them (especially Sam) to get to know you better before jumping into conclusions that you were a serial killer. 

All of them collectively agreed, with Tara nodding with a slight tint on her cheeks. Chad went up to your room and called you out, suggesting that you should hang out with them. Tara assumed it went well, as Chad grinned toothily and walked away. 

You’ve really peaked her interest. She didn’t know she had a type. The people she had dated before didn’t really cast a spark on her.  She didn’t feel happy or enjoyed her time during those relationships. It felt like she was the problem, however the thought was down the drain after going to a few therapy sessions with Sam after the Ghostface incident. Through the sessions, Tara found out that she didn’t feel happy through the lack of trust and being paranoid that her partner would be a killer. That’s understandable, it’s not everyday that your (ex) girlfriend tries to murder you. 

However after seeing you for 10 seconds, her mind was clouded by you. She noticed that you were as tall as Chad and probably plays sports too, based on your physique. All she thought of was finding out more about you.  Do you study in Blackmore? What bike do you own? Do you prefer cats or dogs? Did you find her cute?

‘Come on, Tara. Get it together.’ She reminded herself  after that embarrassing thought. 

When she saw you come out with the same sweatpants, but with a black t-shirt that showed off your arm sleeve tattoo on your left arm, she was practically drooling. You looked hot as fuck. 

“Hey guys, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Y/N”

“I’m Tara,” she quickly replied, seeing Mindy and Anika grinning at each other with a knowing look from her peripheral vision. 

You gave a smile. You looked cute. You had that cute ass dimples no one could ever resist, Tara thought. You might be the death of her. 

The group settled down and decided to watch a movie, you sat the end of the couch while waiting for the movie to start. Mindy, being an (alleged) amazing wingman she is, literally forced Tara into sitting beside you by pushing her. She sat on the couch with a sigh, annoyed at Mindy’s antics and rolled her eyes. Sam was just giggling at the other side of the couch. 

As much as Sam didn’t trust you, she was glad that Tara could act like a normal teenager again. After multiple therapy sessions, she gave Tara a little bit of more freedom and let her make her own decisions, even if it’s distasteful to her. That doesn’t mean she wouldn’t tase someone in the balls again, though. 

You mistakenly thought the sigh Tara gave out was because she had to sit beside you. You had known about what happened to their group from Chad, after he poured his heart out when he was blackout drunk. You understood the group of friends can be lack trust and be suspicious of new people. 

“Sorry, did you want to sit with someone else? I can sit on the floor if you want-“

“No! I mean it’s okay, I don’t mind sitting with you,” Tara replied with a heavy tint on her cheeks, embarrassed at her sudden reaction. 

Throughout the movie, you were munching on your pizza, oblivious to the amount of times Tara took glances at you while trying to think of topics to create a conversation with you. 

“So..How do you find the movie?” Tara questioned you, trying to get to know you a little bit better. 

“It’s alright, though I prefer other scary movies. I definitely do have favourites.”

“Oh, what’s your favourite horror film?”

“I absolutely love The Babadook, it’s amazing because I..” Any words that you uttered out of that beautiful mouth of yours disappeared. The universe must be sending a sign, she needs you badly. There’s no way Chad’s super cute, hot roommate would coincidentally like The Babadook, Tara thought 

“Blah, blah, blah, proper name, place name, backstory stuff..” was all she could hear. 

You on the other hand, only saw Tara staring at you blankly while she had her own inner turmoil and crisis.

“Uh, Tara..? You alright there?” you chuckled awkwardly.

“What? Oh, yeah sorry. I love The Babadook too! What’s your favourite scene?” Tara smoothly taught of a way to continue the conversation, silently cheering for herself. 

It took you both 2 horror films and a shared bag of popcorn to exchange numbers. Tara was secretly cheering in ecstasy of course. She would’ve jumped around and start dancing if she could. It was already close to midnight, and Sam decided that they should go back home before it’s too late to catch the last train.  Tara was devastated, she wished that she could’ve spent more time with you. 

“Soo, I’ll see you next time then? It was nice seeing you.” You initiated a conversation, seeing that Tara was pouting at Sam while trying to convince her into staying a little while longer

“Y-Yeah, see you. We should continue our horror fanatic activities again,” She chuckled, trying to prolong the moment. You nodded your head, giving her a soft smile while leading her, Sam, and the couple out of the apartment, since Chad was knocked out and asleep.

You took your last goodbyes with the group, even giving Sam a small wave, before closing the door. 

In the elevator, all Anika, Mindy and even Sam did was tease her on how red and lovestruck she looked. She didn’t pay any mind to it, all she could ever think of was you. 

[angelwithdemonictendencies]

i could never be lost, all the street signs read your name; is this the same place you once kissed me?

make yourself at home; chapter one.

6.5k. no warnings besides tension and parental disapproval and mentions of beauty standards (and tedious amounts of exposition).

(a/n: okay, favorites. to those of you that remember my tyson story, this chapter will look very familiar. i added this beautiful gif in honor of that. i promise that the other chapters (like, from three onwards) will be practically entirely new. with that being said, it is my pleasure to introduce you to olive and russell. you'll see as we progress, but do not be fooled by the "she's not like other girls" potential this story has. i hope to prove to you that the kind of beauty that i'm talking about is all about kindness and patience and thoughtfulness. all i ask is that you give this is shot. if it's not for you, if you can't look past the lack of x reader or direct hockey relationship, that's completely okay. olive, at one point, was simply "kid'" - the way some of my characters have been sugar or baby or doll. and russell was once tyson. i am incredibly nervous to share this with you, to embark and commit to sharing more with you in the future. as such, i hope you will respect and honor my vulnerability. but i'm also excited! very much so! to you and your snakes. thank you thank you thank you. and i still want to gush about hockey with you - just send me an ask! love you always).

it had probably been too long since olive fleming had been home.  it had probably been too long since she’d last ventured back to granite falls, new york, but, in her defense, the trek from los angeles was long and daunting.  olive made the trip as infrequently as possible, so each time she found herself back in this town, part of her expected it to look unrecognizable.  it never did.  

it was impossible not to recognize the slow-moving streets, lined by pine trees and the same storefronts, same quaint buildings, same lightposts that needed repairing.  every time she drove through, olive felt a stab of guilt in her chest that she swallowed down dry, like some hefty pill.  

the directions displayed on the screen of her phone were more a comfort than a necessity - she would know the route to her street blindfolded, maybe dead, but it was sort of nice to think that she needed help getting there, to think that she had grown up so much that she no longer knew this place the way you know the songs that your that dad used to play in the car on the way to school when you were young - entirely and wholly, if not a little senselessly.

in what felt like a blink, olive had already made it into the driveway, her subtly luxurious suv suddenly feeling much too big and attention-seeking.  she felt as if she might as well have been driving a limousine, maybe one of those sleek borderline race-cars painted some flashy color.  something entirely out of place, something desperately screaming look at me, even though she didn’t want anyone to see her at all.  even her reflection in the rearview mirror above the dashboard made her flinch.  meeting her own eyes was recognition enough to be jarring.

olive finally shifted her car into park and unbuckled her seatbelt, her hands still gripping the wheel hard enough that her knuckles paled.  "arrived at home," the robotic voice from her phone said, which made her choke out a short laugh, ugly and tired.  in all ways but the ones that mattered, yes, she supposed, this was home, at least for a little while longer.  just until she packed up all her things from her parents’ house, just until she drove her life back to los angeles and stayed there, this time for good.

would it be frowned upon to leave the car running? just in case she needed to make a quick exit, like some blockbuster-movie spy, tucking and rolling from a plane mid-flight?  olive groaned, laid her head down against the steering wheel, careful not to press her forehead down hard enough to honk.

this was exactly what coming home always felt like - frustration to the point of madness, self control to the point of lunacy.  home left olive crazy, either way.  

“you must be so excited to get out of your favorite city,” her manager, celeste, had said to her over the phone just before she left.  celeste was something of a close friend, after a few years of partnering and working together.  she was fully aware of olive’s subpar relationship with her hometown, but she also knew olive wasn’t the biggest fan of los angeles either.  olive had entertained the possibility that she was just hard to please on multiple occasions.

olive had laughed at this comment.  “oh, for sure,” she had agreed, “but out of the frying pan and into the fire, you know.”  Into the longest-burning fire she’d ever known.  she was thinking about that conversation with her manager when a sharp knock on her car window forced her head to snap up.  

olive’s mother, danica, was looking warily at her from the other side of the glass as she rolled down her window, blinking at the woman she hadn’t seen in a while, registering her presence while attempting to summon a normal reaction.

“hey, mom,” was the lackluster greeting olive landed on, internally cringing at her tone.  she realized she was still gripping the steering wheel and dropped her hands to her lap as if she’d been burned, the way you’re taught to when caught in a lightning storm.  

her mother let out a soft laugh, but her gaze was sharp.  “going to wait out in the car all day, are you?” she asked.  olive could feel her heartbeat in her head, the kind of pressure she always felt when on this end of her family’s disapproval.  “come in, olive, not like we get to see you every day.”

olive felt a smile stretch across her face, false and heavy like a waxy halloween mask, like her lip gloss weighed something severe.  “yeah, i’ll be right in,” she said, willing any shake out of her voice.  “it’s good to see you.”

her mother murmured her agreement before turning to head back inside, which olive supposed was better than nothing.  an important reminder that things could be so much worse, that she could be grateful for what she had, that someone better probably would be.

olive took a last stabilizing breath before finally getting out of the car, pulling her suitcases from the trunk and entering her childhood home through the front door.

she’s back? the doorbell seemed to whisper to the bushes by the porch steps, it’s been a while, no?

the bushes shook their heads in condemnation, she’s so unappreciative, they said, so selfish and vain.

“you don’t know me,” olive muttered as she lifted her luggage into the doorway, the wheels on the bottom making a clicking noise as they made contact with the hardwood of the mudroom.  she could hear her mother humming quietly in the kitchen.

“who are you talking to?” 

olive recognized that slow and deliberate voice as her father, jerry, and quickly turned to greet him, eager to change the subject away from her talking to inanimate objects and plants.  “dad,” she said, smiling at him despite his sour expression.  “how’s it going?”

“is that a new car?” he asked, bypassing a hello, his gaze already wandering from her, straying to her vehicle through the window.  her stomach turned.  she knew what was coming.  “how’d you afford a new car?”

olive laughed, like he’d said something tastefully funny, waved him off.  “my job pays me for what I do, dad,” she clarified, “you know how jobs work.”  olive regretted it immediately.  she realized how patronizing she sounded.

her father’s grimace and grumbly voice wasn’t lost on her.  “right,” he said, “your job.”  his voice took on a slight sarcastic tone at the last word, even though she supposed that was to be expected.  it still stung, just as it had before she left for college, just as it had during every venture back to granite falls before this one.  

“let her put her things away, jerry,” danica called from the next room over.  he started to roll his eyes, then appeared to remember he had an audience midway through, his annoyance dissolving instantaneously into something like boredom.  

he nodded to olive.  “off you go, then,” he said, phrasing odd and stiff, like some black-and-white film actor, making olive scrunch her nose up in distaste as she lugged her bags up the staircase and rolled them into her bedroom, the last door at the end of the hallway.

upon entering, her gaze flickered to her bed, low to the ground, the comforter a pastel pink, the sheets printed with a pretty tulip pattern.  it was every bit the bed of a child, but there was something she liked about it, even now.

olive sighed, pushed her suitcases to the closet door and left them there before sitting down on the edge of her bed, letting herself fall back until she felt the softness of her sheets on the back of her neck.  travel always took it out of her, but this fatigue went deeper than just jet lag.  it was a tiredness she felt in her chest, on the roof of her mouth, coating her throat like a lemon ginger lozenge.  

olive wanted to enjoy being home more than anything.  the desire ran so deep it felt like it had infected her bloodstream.  she wanted to feel comfortable and welcome, like she belonged here, but she didn’t, not really.  she hadn’t felt that way in a while, probably not since she was a teenager.  at twenty-two, that felt scarily long ago.  

she exhaled and rose again, looking around her room with displeasure.  the space was just so cluttered.  even her bedside table was practically overflowing with trinkets and picture frames, old books and school binders.  sorting through everything and packing it up was probably going to be quite the laborious task, could take longer than she anticipated.  was this room smaller than she remembered it?  the walls closer together, the ceiling lower, perhaps?

“dinner’s ready!”

her mother’s voice once again shook olive from her thoughts, her eyelids fluttering.  “coming!”

family dinners at the fleming household had taken on many shapes and sizes over the years.  When danica had been in the thick of her corporate law career, as demanding as anything, such events had not existed on a consistent basis.  instead, olive and her father would scramble to put together something like cereal, or pasta with butter, or if they were feeling fancy, tomato soup and grilled cheese.  olive’s mother always ate at her firm, or on the way home.  

danica, thanks to her hard work, was able to retire quite early, not into lavish wealth or anything resembling it, but early enough and into a general sense of comfort.  it was then that family dinners became a bit more frequent in the household.  after jerry got home from work, he would call olive down from her bedroom, and then the three of them would sit around their small table, chatting about whatever had occurred during the short time they had spent apart.  

of course, once olive reached a certain age, she wasn’t always around for dinner time, and her parents didn’t require her to be.  it did mean that they grew sort of out of practice though, as olive was home less and less.  when olive went to college across the country, that lack of familiarity wasn’t really felt, but whenever she was home from school, when they were all forced together again, the walls felt to olive as if they had some tripwire hidden within them, some explosive ticking regularly, louder each time that she did something that amassed disapproval.

as olive walked down the stairs now, her steps light enough to not make a sound, she attempted to mentally prepare herself, then shook her head, almost laughing.  it was funny, mentally preparing oneself for salad and roasted chicken.

“is this a new wallpaper?” olive asked cordially as she pulled a wooden chair out and sat down, folding her napkin and placing it in her lap.

“no,” danica responded.

olive had never really been able to miss the slight pinch in her mother’s brow, minute but telling in its distaste.  “same wallpaper as always.  you don’t remember?”

olive forced the corner of her mouth to turn up in a smile, but her stomach was churning with something other than travel-induced hunger.  “it looks great, was all i was going to say.  like new.”

unfortunately, such awkwardness did not evaporate as the dinner progressed, the lack of ease sitting atop the table as naturally as the floral centerpiece.  olive expertly tried to veer the conversation away from herself as gracefully as possible, instead oversaturating the discussion with questions directed at her parents.  

olive was usually quite good at saying the right thing.  it was a huge part of her job, of her success.  she knew what to say in different situations, with different people, in front of different audiences.  home left her deft tongue fumbling though, left words feeling out of reach in her mind, like her mouth was not her own.  

she asked questions about her father’s work and cooking endeavors, her mother’s home renovations and volunteer work at the daycare, but whenever they asked her about her own work, olive would clam up, maybe give that nervous laugh that she disliked so genuinely, make some joke at her own expense.  

by the end of the meal, olive was thoroughly exhausted, socially drained in a way she hadn’t been in a long time.  it didn’t really make a lot of sense to her - she could work a crowd of thousands at an awards show, craft a post palatable for millions, but a simple dinner with her family was where she stumbled?  

“thanks for having me,” was what she said to her parents after she had placed her plate and silverware in the dishwasher, drying her hands with a rag before making to head up to her room.  

this was the wrong thing to say, if her father’s voice and the twitch of his mouth was anything to go off of.  “this is your house,” he said, simple, plain, and olive didn’t even look at her mother, for fear that she’d see some kind of sadness or disappointment that would keep her awake that night.

“right, of course,” she tried, “i just mean thanks.  for, you know, letting me stay here on such short notice.”

“what, like we’re a hotel?” danica said, almost humorous, but there was a shake in her voice that olive read as a storm siren, scarily close to something disastrous.  

olive sighed.  it wasn’t her parents’ fault, and she knew that.  olive knew her wording could be taken as offensive, but she just couldn’t see it until after the words were already out, until they were of no use to anyone.  “no, just,” she tried, then gave up, figuring maybe she just needed some sleep to make her brain work again.  “goodnight.  love you both.”  she’d try again tomorrow.

danica and jerry seemed to soften a bit at this, each quietly returning the sentiment in harmony with olive’s soft footsteps up the staircase, wooden panels giving a comforting creak under her socks, some reminder that she was a physical body, that her weight could be felt.

tomorrow will be better, olive thought as she unzipped one of her suitcases, pulled out her pajamas and got changed.  what she really wanted to do was sink into her bed, sleep the day off and start fresh in the morning.  

“fifteen minutes,” she murmured to herself, her bag of skincare products in one hand, phone and ring light clawed in the other.  “just fifteen minutes.”

after several years of practice, olive could crank out a get unready with me video in just a few moments, but something about setting up her tripod and lighting mechanisms in her childhood bathroom was intimidating, the crossover of worlds leaving her sluggish and self-conscious.  

her apartment in los angeles was practically built for this kind of thing, all ample storage and spacious countertops, and this room was built to be exactly what it was: a child’s bathroom.  it offered not much other than backlighting and cramped corners, faded wallpaper and shower curtains yellowing towards the corners.

olive quickly set up, took a deep breath and summoned a smile, the one reserved for this - the one for video and film and interviews and social media posts.  just big enough to appear genuine, just subdued enough to be sexy, mysterious.  once the camera was rolling, she ran through her nighttime routine, highlighting the moisturizer she was being paid to endorse, before quickly cutting the clips and typing out a caption: get unready with me at home!  She sent the video to her management to be approved by the brand before turning off her harsh light and setting it next to her bag on the closed toilet lid.

even after several years of working in social media, several years of visiting home every now and then, it felt weird to mix the two of them together, almost like a middle school science project with oil and water, like no matter how hard she tried for it to be a natural fit, the two would always make their repulsion known.

olive brushed her teeth, her phone buzzing as she spat into the sink.  With so much of her life existing on her phone, such an occurrence was mundane, but the name that lit up her screen made her blink at herself in the mirror, made the overhead light feel hot, simmering.

are the rumors true? read the message, is the starlet back in town?

olive sighed, couldn't help the tiny smile that pulled at the corner of her lips, regardless - even though she was no starlet, even though the thought of small-town rumors made her breath feel short and shallow.

as much as coming home made her want to tear out her hair extensions one by one, as much as the monotonous judgment from this town made her almost dizzy, there was one thing, or one person rather, whose relentless sameness olive looked forward to, every time, without fail.

that person was russell mcIntyre.

olive had known russell practically forever, or at least for what felt like forever, ever since he and his family moved next door the summer before they started middle school.  she still remembered seeing him for the first time, watching from her big bedroom window as he carried boxes from his mom's minivan up his driveway.

it had started as all lovely things did - so naturally it was hard to pinpoint how exactly it had started.  olive swore she could remember his green eyes meeting her brown ones through the window, his unruly curly hair in his face, like he’d only just woken up, the easiest smile she’d ever seen slanting across his mouth, only barely visible above battered cardboard flaps.  still, she didn't dwell on what exactly had been the beginning of her and russell, knowing it didn’t really matter how it began, only that it was.

all olive really knew was that throughout middle school and high school, russell had been her everything.  her school bus seat buddy, her locker neighbor, her smile shared across the classroom.

he was the one who cheered the loudest at her tennis matches, and she never missed one of his baseball games.  he was over hers doing homework every weekday, she was the first person he picked up when he got his license, when he finally could drive his old truck without his anxious mother holding on tight in the passenger seat.  russell was her secret language spoken between opposing bedroom windows, curtains pulled far apart so as not to intrude one’s view of the other while they talked.

of course, as he shed his baby face and she got her braces off, things changed a bit, but not really.  olive was still his stop it, rus, giggled under her breath when he'd make goofy faces in class, just to get her to laugh.

russell was still her you'll be there, right, kid? spoken so earnestly on the morning of a playoff game, something like worry clouding his usually relentlessly bright eyes. worry that had floated away when she’d hugged him close, mumbled her of course into his chest.

his constant support, his never-wavering smirk of a smile, it had been exactly what she needed during one of the most turbulent times of her life.

high school is weird for everybody, but it was especially weird for olive.  she was a people pleaser, an approval seeker, and at some point she began to realize that others weren't always as forgiving as she was, that other people may not give her the benefit of the doubt, as she tended to afford them for free.

it got worse when olive realized that she was pretty.

sometimes, olive felt as if she had been beautiful since she could listen, since she could first turn her gaze on someone and make them feel heard, make them feel seen.

that was a big part of it all - her quiet kindness, combined with that lovely smile, with that careful posture and easy laugh - it seemed that others had become acutely aware of her beauty long before she had.  She caught on, eventually.

olive was sixteen when she started to feel the weight of male attention on her in the hallways, when her bare legs in the warm weather started to feel heavy with expectation, when she started to notice how groups of girls would turn and giggle behind their hands when they thought she was just out of earshot.

it was exciting, at first.  girls wanted to talk to her, to be close with her.  guys wanted to hang out with her.  people wanted to give her things, seemingly for nothing.  she distinctly remembered one humid night, in russell's bedroom, just after he had driven them both home after his practice.  his hair had been damp at the roots, his face still a bit flushed in that rosy way she loved.

he'd been scrolling on his phone while she worked on a geometry problem set, half-focused, the other half telling him about the senior in her economics class who had asked for her snapchat.  olive could still picture russell’s narrow gaze, barely looking up from his screen.

"you know he doesn't want to, like, marry you, right, ol?" he'd said, and it was so flippant that it made her pause.

olive had looked up, blinked, felt suddenly so embarrassed she thought she might be sick. "what?" she asked, "yeah, of course, I just-"

"like, he knows nothing about you besides you being hot," russell finished, almost coldly, rolling onto his side on the beanbag he was sprawled across.

and he was right, obviously, but it still felt really mean, felt like tiny drops of flame were pricking at her cheeks.  olive felt that she actually might cry.

"why do you have to say it like that?" she’d asked, hating how pathetic her voice sounded, how it broke towards the end.

this must have gotten his attention, because when russell finally looked up, his eyes flooded with gentle apology.  he let his phone fall to the side, opened up his arms in invitation.

"i’m sorry," he mumbled into her hair when she joined him on his beanbag, let him wrap his arms around her. "'m sorry, ol, know that was mean.  i'm just jealous, i think."  his tone was so matter-of-fact, not trying to hide anything. olive supposed he had always been like that.

she laughed softly into his breastbone, felt the warmth of him all over her face. "you're jealous?" she asked, "what do you have to be jealous about?"

then he gave olive her favorite kind of smile, the one that gave her butterflies even now, even just at the memory.  "maybe 'cause you're in my room, and you're smilin' 'cause of some other guy," he mused, which made her look up at him, find his gaze drenched in completely genuine adoration.

she hummed.

"and i've been trying to get you to see that i like you, and it hasn't been working-"

her heart stuttered, because of course she liked russell.  how could she not, when he was her everything?  when he had been the one who had declared her special, before everyone else had seemed to catch on?

"you like me?" olive had repeated, almost like a prayer, and his big, beautiful eyes had shimmered with something lovely, something almost bashful.

olive swore she could feel something rumbling against his chest.  "well, yeah," he said, "but i don't wanna lose you, kid, so if you don't feel the same way-"

she’d cut him off by pressing her lips to his in a kiss that felt like sunshine, like a sigh of relief, like pillow forts and fall foliage and sunday morning waffles.  so, from then on, not only was olive the beautiful girl, she was the beautiful girl dating the budding baseball superstar, her best friend, her everything.  

as such, olive was seventeen when she realized that as much as it may have seemed that people wanted to give her things, they wanted to take things from her more.  much more.  still, as long as she had her small group of friends, and her grades, and her parents, and russell, she told herself she didn't really need everyone to love her.

as long as she was kind and generous and empathetic, everything would be fine.

it grew tough to turn the other cheek all the time, though.  especially when guys didn't seem to respect that she was in a relationship, when people were starting rumors about her sleeping around, when girls tried to get with her boyfriend just to prove they could take him from her.  they were never successful, but it hurt nonetheless. 

still, she would go to every one of russell's games, as long as he would jog to the fence afterwards to give her a goofy kiss, like he'd missed her, even for just the few hours he'd been playing.

olive would ignore the snide comments in the stands about her outfits as long as he'd whistle afterwards, wrap his arms around her waist, pull her back against him and tell her that he almost dropped an easy ball in the third because she had looked so distracting.

she’d let people assume that she was dumb and obnoxious and entitled as long as he'd ask her about her advanced calculus tests, her data analytics internship over the summer, her speech and debate competition. and that was enough.  for high school, that was enough.

inevitably, it became clear that people wanted what olive had, no matter what it was, no matter how hard she had worked for it.

olive was eighteen when she realized that she could make a career out of people wanting things that she had.

as much as her parents didn’t seem to believe her, social media was something olive stumbled upon accidentally.

just a random post one day, a couple of pictures of her on the tennis court, a few of her in the stands at one of Russell's games, and rather suddenly, olive was flushed with followers and likes, more than she knew what to do with.

of course, this only made the rumors worse, but her real friends thought it was funny, and russell thought it was awesome, so she didn't mind.  she just continued posting exactly what she always did - her outfits and weekends and dinners and the like - nothing crazy, always tasteful, always genuine.

it was only a matter of time before brands were reaching out to her, before she suddenly had the need for management, before her social media accounts actually started to become a source of income.

even at the very beginning, olive recognized how lucky she was for this to even be an option for her - how it was mostly because of something as shallow as appearances, how there was nothing more vain, more potentially vapid than social media.

she never cared about the numbers of it all though, never looked twice at pictures of herself, never scrolled through her comments.  russell was always the first to like her posts anyways, always commenting first! followed by a string of incoherent emojis, usually including the flame one.  once it started to become a business, olive let it be just a business, trying her absolute hardest not to invest any personal stock into her work, making sure to turn her phone off as often as possible.

russell would text her, too, after she posted, something like love the filter on the second photo! or quite the handsome hand in the fourth :) about a picture of her coffee that he was holding.  enough to let her know that he looked at every picture, that he supported her unconditionally, even though olive herself sort of thought the whole ordeal was kind of suspicious, that social media was dumb and not worth anyone's time.  her skepticism of her own work was something of an obstacle then and something of constant now.

given the flash-flood-like nature of her success, olive was at a bit of a crossroads towards the end of high school.  she wanted to get a college degree, that was non-negotiable, but it seemed too good to be true that she could be paid just for being herself online, just for developing a personal brand.  it seemed too good to pass up.

before she knew it, it was time to apply for university, and it only made sense for olive to aim at schools in los angeles, across the country, but right in the arrhythmic heart of her industry.

olive was a good student too, and a hard worker, a quick learner, so she was accepted to her top choice, a school that her parents could brag to their friends about, if they wanted to.  

everything about olive’s choice made logical sense.

just as it only made sense for russell to play for the state school, the reigning champions of their respective league and only a forty-five minute drive from granite falls.

he’d been getting recruited since he was a freshman, and even though he offered every day, the thought of russell changing his whole plan and future for her made olive nauseous.  

long distance loomed over the two of them like a thunderous cloud, and the weight of it felt more deadly than just calling it off, even though splitting up with Russell was still the most painful thing olive could remember enduring.

she vividly remembered him dropping her off at the airport, insisting on carrying her suitcases all the way to security, even if he had to leave his truck idle in the departing flight zone, even though he was definitely going to get a ticket about it.

of course, she still remembered how his bright eyes had gone glassy, how he still tried to smile despite his slightly quivering bottom lip.  how he'd shuddered in her embrace when she hugged him goodbye.  how small his broad shoulders had seemed.

"you'll come back, kid?" he'd asked, almost pleaded, into her neck.

"of course, rus," she’d said, but even the memory of the words felt weightless. "don't forget to call me, okay?  every day, if you can."

he had laughed, short and choppy, wiped at his nose with the sleeve of his sweatshirt, like the child that he had been.  his voice was wobbly.  "i’d never forget," he said, and it had felt true then.

and so olive and her everything went separate ways.  she fell into a routine in california, balanced school and her relatively new job as an influencer.  russell had a routine of his own, too, practice and lifts and games and the odd class here and there.

she called everyday, in the beginning, heard about how everyone was really good on rus’s new team, how he was nervous on the field for basically the first time ever, how classes were hard and everything was hard without her.

olive told him about how smart and cool the girls in her classes were, how she really, really wanted them to like her, how she found herself going to baseball games in the fall just because it felt familiar, something to recognize in an unfamiliar fairytale land.

he'd gotten a sad sort of tone in his voice at that.  "how's their shortstop?" he had asked, and her stomach had flipped, because that was his position, and she had a feeling she knew what he was looking for, the only answer that would satisfy him.

"i've seen better," olive had whispered into her phone, the weight of missing him like an anvil on her chest.

even though she and russell weren't together, at that time, in the technical sense of the word, it still sort of felt like they were.

there were guys, sure, and she could only guess what a hit russell was with the sorority end of greek row.  olive wasn’t typically a jealous person, but something sickly rolled through her body at the thought of russell being someone’s class crush, of someone looking him up on the roster after seeing him play.  it was a jealousy that she wasn’t necessarily entitled to, but it was there nonetheless.

olive pretended not to notice, over facetime, when there would be purplish bruises on the column of his throat.  she pretended not to notice how angry it made her that someone else knew what his pulse felt like under their lips, especially when it was that feeling in particular that had made its way into her dreams.

just as russell probably pretended not to notice when the back of some other guy's head would make an appearance in one of olive’s posts, just intriguing and secretive enough to run up the comments, to make her interaction data spike.

even during those years apart, russell still liked every single one of her pictures, still texted her about almost every one of them, but for those ones, the ones that shimmered with someone-else-ness, he was notably silent.  during those times, olive would find herself checking her phone even without a ping-like notification, like her want alone could will his name onto her screen.

neither of them seemed to like the notion that one had an entire life away from the other.  both of them seemed to agree that what they couldn’t see right in front of them couldn't hurt them, as long as they didn’t let it.

every school break though, without fail, the two of them would come home and fall back into whatever they were, without explicitly saying what that was.

What olive knew was that when they were home for thanksgiving, or christmas, or a week in spring, or whatever else, her phone would light up with a text like heard you're around?

usually the night that followed would involve huddling together on the massive bean bag that was still in his room, pretending to watch a movie for a half-hour or so before his lips found hers and her hands found the warm plane of his chest.  the air would be hot with the unspoken truth of just one more time, just until i leave, just for a second because i missed you.

he never treated her differently, never made fun of her job, even though it would have been so easy to, never was anything but supportive.  he was the same gangly boy walking up his driveway, and she was the same shy girl looking at him from her bedroom window, even if that shy girl now had hair extensions and a bit of lip filler and received invitations to black-tie events.

russell never seemed to care about all of that, anyways, even as years went on, and they both returned home less and less, texts and calls becoming less frequent, the distant presence of the other like the lull of a fan at night, a relaxant, a constant white noise, a standard off of which to judge everything else.

now, as olive turned the light out in the bathroom and walked towards her bed, she stared out her window, could almost make russell out in the one just across from her if she tried.  the image of him wasn’t particularly hard to evoke, always waiting just in the wings of the playwright’s perfectly scripted performance in her mind.  olive leaned back against her headboard, stared at the text.  there was a bittersweet sort of taste in her mouth, because this actually would be the last time.

olive and russell had both graduated about a month ago, and after being picked in the draft by the team he had grown up cheering for, he had moved back home to play for their minor league affiliate, not even twenty minutes from his parents’ house, hoping to gain enough traction to eventually earn a spot in the big leagues.

this time would be olive's last routine visit home, one she hoped to spend packing and shipping all of her stuff back to la.  the move only made sense.  she had an absurd amount of followers now, and all her biggest partners were located in southern california.  olive couldn’t really afford to make decisions that didn’t make sense, at this point in her life, in her career.

this would be her last routine visit home, and then upstate new york wouldn't be home anymore.  los angeles would officially occupy that space in her life.  the thought wasn’t as comforting as she hoped it would be.

olive pulled her blush-colored comforter up to her chin, thinking about what to respond, if she even should respond.  the last time she’d seen russell, the last time they’d both been home, they’d done what they always did - fall back into each other so easily it felt like falling asleep.  but that couldn’t happen this time, olive reminded herself.  when she left granite falls this time, she was leaving for good.  her exit would be smoother if she didn’t follow russell into any territory other than the friendly kind.  

they had been friends at first, all that time ago, after all.  how hard could it be to go back to that?

i'm home but we can't fuck because i think i’ll cry if we do! olive typed, then promptly deleted.  she sighed, exhaled some of her anxiety, willed herself to just be normal.  barely in the driveway, she sent instead, how did you already know?

got eyes and ears everywhere, russell sent back almost immediately, and she could practically see his smug smile.  it lit up her dark room like a night light.  told dyl at the library to watch for your car.

olive had no idea who dyl was, but figured she’d probably meet him.  she softened to russell’s message, but it made her feel sort of guilty too, with the knowledge that she would be blindsiding him some time soon.  yet he was, telling his friends to watch for her car, like her arrival was something special, something worth waiting for.

she didn’t know what to say then, so olive just set her phone on her bedside table and tried not to let visions of deep green eyes drown her while she slept.

fin. until next time.

[eloquentcoconut]

TWST: 🤔 What Would They Name Their Child?

.‧₊˚ ⋅. ݁₊ ⊹

it's the infamous High School baby project

TWST does not care about verbs/nouns/gender when it comes to names, I'm only going to do 1 'gender neutral' name (in theory), in twst fashion. For instance, a boy has an equal chance of being named Sarah, Kart, or John and vice-versa for a girl. I'll be using a randomizer for the gender and number of children, you can decide on what gender the baby is (unless you comment which character(s) you'd like to know.)

.‧₊˚ ⋅. ݁₊ ⊹

🌹Heartslabyul

🌹 Ace - Stariya nn: Ari

If Thorn's eyes just so happen to match the name (starry) that's between Ace and himself. I just made up the name ^ ace/star are like synonyms.

🌹Deuce - Dawner

Dylla, Deuce, might as well have another 'D' name. I tried to make dawn sound more unique. Dawn represents 'new beginnings' since Deuce would want to leave that rebel past behind and step up to father a bag of flour.

🌹 Trey - Blithe

Trey and Blithe are both word names where I feel they're both so in use they don't conjure up an image. Blithe means happy/joyful. When scrolling through baby name websites I did see 'Almond and 'Nachos' listed, I need you to know this.

🌹 Cater - Dice nn: Icy

When making this I realized the characters aren't exactly named after games, sorry Uno, Scrabble, and Yahtzee - but parts of it, so Dice.

🌹 Riddle - Bridge

The card game bridge, he so would, but also a reference of Um from Umbridge. 'Rule' was listed as a baby name I--

🐾Savanaclaw

🐾 Leona - Folasade nn: Sade

(Based off my fav singer Sade ♡) I think Leona would like the meaning 'honor earns a crown; rule with nobility'

🐾 Ruggie - Junior

Thorn and Ruggie could not agree on a name - no the baby isn't Thorn jr or Ruggie jr, they're just Junior. Ruggie's name is a joke about his rugged life right? If he was based on a carpet his child could be Matti.

🐾 Jack - Gabrielle nn: Brielle/Gibby

Jack is one of few characters that has a common/average name - the child will need this stability in a place like twst! He's also a serious guy so it would be impossible to get him to agree on any name trends like alternate spellings/locations/words etc. Thorn finds a loophole with nicknames.

🌊 Octavinelle

Azul - Seren and Perle

I changed the spelling of 'pearl' and I keep debating if I should have or not. Seren is pretty close to siren, these names sound mermaid-y.

Jade - Nori

From the character Nori in Barbie Mermaidia, I think it means seaweed. Jade was nice enough to let Thorn pick out the name, and Thorn went for the first fictional mermaid that came to mind.

Floyd - Nike

Names from sneaker brands you could use as baby names and no on would know: Nike, Chuck, Chelsea, Taylor, Jordan, Mary Jane, Croc, etc.

💜 Pomefiore

💜 Vil - Liesel, Eden, and Hansl

I don't think Vil would be one of those celebrities parents that have all their children have the same initial, unique spellings, or invent names, or maybe he would? You know what? Having a common name would be a celeb niche in twst, he did not beat those allegations.

💜 Rook - Giselle

Is Rook French? bc I feel like he just uses French bc its trendy - he'd still pick a French/French influenced name though. Giselle is from the ballet 'Gisele' its romantic/dramatic/dark (quite sad really.)

💜 Epel - Ruby, Opal, and Jona

Part 2 of names from apples you could use and nobody would know: Crispin, Jonathan, Gala, Ruby, Opal, Ambrosia, Autumn, Rose, Granny, etc. When I realized I could make all their names 4 letters I had to take that opportunity.

🦜 Scarabia

🦜 Kalim - Salim

Derived from the Arabic expression 'salima' which points to something 'safe' and 'sound' Salim means peaceful/safe.

🦜 Jamil - Rana

Rana has so many meanings from around the world, in Arabic it means 'eye-catching' or 'beautiful' and in Sanksrit it means 'king/nobility'

🦋 Ignihyde

Idia - Raiden, Kaeya, Haruhi

There's no way Idia isn't naming his kids, real or not, after his fav characters. I settled on these names bc I was tired of thinking 😭he's a gamer and otaku and I could not think of anything niche or any deep cuts, they're all from Genshin Impact or OHSHC, lets face it, Idia wouldn't like the mainstream anything. Thorn was just trying to save these kids from a 'Bakugou Johnson' situation.

🍵 Diasominia

Malleus - Maenight and Twillian

(I invented these names part 2) Maenight is meadow + midnight bc no child of Malleus is mid 😤 and Twillian is twilight + lillian. Both kids are named after their parents initial and hobby: nature/night walks

Lilia - Garnet and Dove

Lilia has interesting naming conventions (Silver), so I tried to apply that here. Let's say child one has his eyes, so garnet, and child two has a calm demeanor, so dove.

Sebek - Amoret and Evermore nn: Ami and Ever

Sebek and Thorn have a book club so they'd pick literary names. Amoret is a character from the epic poem 'The Faerie Queene' by Edmund Spenser, and I think Sebek would like it. Evermore is from 'The Raven' a narrative poem by Edgar Allen Poe (there's a raven character that repeats evermore/nevermore) BUT if thats too dark there's also the Taylor Swift song 'Evermore' (which I feel has inspiration from 'The Raven')

Silver - Aurelia

Aurelia means gold, but I was trying to have Thorn and Silver apply their own meanings, aurora + starlight = aurelia. (Named after how their parents' eye colors are described)

.‧₊˚ ⋅. ݁₊ ⊹

(Should Ortho + side characters be included? Let me know in the comments if you'd like to see anyone else!)

[rainismdata]

I'm stressed right now, so— here I am thinking about mpreg!Bruce and how would he deal with the information that he's now pregnant. Because... well— because. And this is all would be very much out of character.

this would be for AquaBat, SuperBat, and LanternBat.

It's in one tumblr post bcs I'm too tired to make separate posts.

Arthur × Bruce

Bruce would be furious, confused, afraid, and sad at the same time. Because, he doesn't have any relationship with Arthur (or maybe not yet, idk). Also, it's only a few years after the first born of Arthur Curry's child. He knows Arthur and Mera has separated and still become good friends with each other. He knows he's older than he was the first time he met Arthur and if anything, this pregnancy then would be having more obstacles than if he's younger.

Arthur would find him in the training ground, tiring himself out of confusion as to what should he do about the information. He was just found out that he's pregnant after he was fainted on patrol, and Alfred was checking up on him.

Arthur would catch him into his embrace to stop Bruce bruising himself any further. To watch the realization hits Bruce's eyes. Bruce then get a hold of Arthur, leaning closer.

I'll make Atlanna and Mera (hell, also Orm, later when the babies has been growing up) to be happy and congratulating them. Helping Bruce in the process. Helping Bruce to live in Amnesty Bay, so Arthur, Atlanna, and Mera can keep an eye on him.

Clark × Bruce

Idk but I think they would be very much in fluffy domestic thing. Like I know He would be very much freightened still, but he's more calm. He waits for the right time to tell Clark about it.

Until then he told Clark about it, and Clark was a smiling mess even more. Clark knew about it, because he heard more clear heartbeat, a new one, coming from Bruce, but it's not Bruce's. And Clark also wait the time for Bruce to tell him.

Bruce would probably protest as to why Clark didn't let him know earlier. But, actuall, Clark has gave him signs. For one thing, he realized as to why Clark's becoming to be more protective, alarmed, and attentive to Bruce; Clark tried so hard not to make Bruce's stressing out of the League by making one himself.

Fluff. Domestic. Cute. Everything. I'm adding it right away.

Hal × Bruce

It was actually close as what he feels on what I was writing in Arthur×Bruce, but without the fighting. It's just him becoming more quiet. He didn't tell anyone about it. Just Alfred who knows about it. At times, he would excuse him self to go out from the JL's meeting room. Hal would recognize the unusual eye blinks as if Bruce is more tired than usual. He's continuously telling Bruce to drink more water as his lips sometimes was dry.

After two weeks of Earth time out for galactical mission, Hal's back to the Mansion when he found out that Bruce wasn't at the batcave. Alfred told him that Bruce was in his room all day. He didn't know if he's already eat or not. He asked Hal to tell him know if Bruce has ate the foods Alfred brought to his room.

Fast forwards, Hal sits on the bedside, Bruce's side and heard faint sniffle. They talk a little, to the point of Bruce telling Hal the truth. Hal asked "How are you feeling?" when he's given the time to finally speak after Bruce's story and sorry(s). Bruce got his head down and closed his eyes while answering the question.

Hal put his hand on Bruce's cheek to feel the tears coming down to his hand. He get Bruce's head up towards him. "Show me." Hal said, then Bruce opened his eyes, Hal sees the watery hazel eyes of Bruce. Hal could see what Bruce is feeling.

[cranberrymoons]

.

[sleepykittties]

tag game

Tagged by @mercurymiscellany, thank you!!!

⟡ rules: answer + tag 9 people you want to get to know better and/or catch up with!

⟡ favourite colour: Generally mid-to-light shades of blue, not super bright or dark though

⟡ last song: Bad for Me- Landon Austin

⟡ last movie: Uhhh... I'm genuinely not sure. I think I watched the new Mario movie with a friend a couple months ago? I struggle to get myself to watch things recently, I've been intending to watch Puss in Boots: The Last Wish for literal months and just executive dysfunction says no that's too hard.

⟡ currently reading: Nothing but fanfiction. Reading physical things with new characters is challenging because brain won't let me focus and none of the series I follow has put out a new book recently.

⟡ currently watching: Mostly reaction stuff on youtube, it's fairly entertaining, mindless, and let's me not think which is all I want at this point.

⟡ currently craving: The energy to do anything. Mostly to redo my resume so I can find a new job and hopefully recover from burnout enough to actually have a life. I am suffering but don't have the energy to do anything about it and thus continue.

⟡ tea or coffee? Coffee, I don't like tea, it tastes like hot perfume water, and the past year or so caffeine is how I force myself through the workday

Tag: @prince-liest @ectochoir @vypridae @themackenziemachine @showyoumyfavoriteobsession if you guys feel like it, or whoever else wants to! please feel free to consider yourself tagged

[leavemetoplaythesims]

two very tired new parents

[tchotchkez]

😮‍💨

[sorry for the hardcore tag rants, y'all]

[clhampir]

one of my least favorite themes about the internet lately is non-american people complaining that americans are talking about american-centric issues on the internet and being like "nOt EvErYtHiNg ReVoLvEs ArOuNd YoU iDiOtS" and it's like. yeah buddy. that's why we didn't apply it to anywhere else in the world. we're talking about the specific issues we are facing as americans living in the states. the reading comprehension is atrocious

[sysig]

It always seems like such a good idea in the moment (Patreon)

The first four are in reference to a great idea I had of - since I’ve finished my lower-limit page number testing for making books; shorter fics take up less page space, and just increasing the font size isn’t as handsome! - simply making a mini book! All it would take would be to halve the pages again, right? Just cut them right down the middle! Easy peasy!

As I’m sure you can tell by the second, no. Not easy peasy. Difficult painful un-fun >:(

Obviously I still did it tho! What do you take me for, someone who could have the idea of an even tinier book and then not do something about it?? No It’s also the only one so far to have a paper bookmark rather than a ribbon!

All told it’s a bit smaller than your average manga (I love the monochrome covers on these under their dust jackets haha <3) - you can see even with effectively doubling up the pages by halving their size, it was still very small-spined!

A quick shot while it was still being made hehe ♪ It’s Out! Paired here - and the earlier one, just without its dust jacket haha - with my Zarla SC2 collection (ft. Family, Negotiations are Going...Well, and With No Obligation) - I absolutely kicked myself after the fact for not including Out as the run-up to everything, I was really trying to make a full collection in probably-chronological order! Out would’ve been a perfect start! And it only would’ve taken like four pages!!

Ah well, it was still quite a learning experience - I probably wouldn’t make another standalone of under 4k-ish just for formatting reasons but I did get some good ideas of how to do so if I wanted to! Although, my next project is going to be even more of a formatting nightmare........I’ll get there when I get there! Lol

[chillllii]

it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it

[frostbite-the-bat]

I really wrote a mini essay in tags on how high roller would survive fnaf 3 only to realize the post said fnaf 4 and I'm dyslexic AND dyscalculic and described the wrong game

Either way high roller would survive in fnaf 3, thrive, even

MORE AT 5!

[welcometogrouchland]

Absolutely fascinating to be in the middle intersection of knowing that Thing is really popular, and that because Thing is popular there's a fair bit of vocal backlash to thing (because people are very mad Thing is popular when they don't like it) and you find yourself running through the unpleasant takes (not bad, just not what you're here for) from people who don't like Thing like snow white running through the scary fucked up forest until you finally find the fucking cottage where people who like Thing talk about Thing. Then you pass out in the cottage and when you wake up a bunch of small and opinionated creatures still carrying their burdens from the content mine arguing about Thing and also now your presence in relation to Thing bc you were clearly fleeing from the bad takes forest. This metaphor isn't what I wanted it to be but you get the idea