#look man this movie got exactly 3 things right and this was one of em

[fanfictilltheend]

You should see me in a crown - Chapter 3 (Y/N Grimes/Negan Smith)

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Chapter 1 // Chapter 4

Masterlist

A/n: Hi, this is my second story ever and I wrote it like 5 years ago but was too scared to post it lol so if you could give any feedback that would be much appreciated! I have more chapters to this so if you want ‘em ya gotta let me know! Y/N is like 20 in this and Negan is whatever age he is in season 7 so if that’s too much of an age gap please turn back!

Warnings: 18+ smut dn interact if not 18+ afab!you, daddy kink, kissing, age difference, abusive!Rick Grimes, protective Negan,

Summary: Negan and Y/N ride to The Sanctuary.

After grabbing a shirt and a few other things to take with me, Negan invites me into the passenger’s seat of the truck and he gets behind the wheel as the other men sit in the back, separated from us. This is truly the fucking craziest thing I’ve ever done — including trying to kill Negan the other day. But I don’t care. I’m sick of putting everyone else first. Negan pushes a CD into the player on the dashboard and AC/DC’s “Highway to Hell” starts playing. 

“You’re so cliché,” I tell him with a smirk. 

I haven’t thought about music in so long...

“ Excuse me?” Negan snorts, clearly amused, putting down Lucille next to him securely and hitting the gas. “Me? Cliché? I’m one-hundred-percent genuine, original, motherfucking badass! And don’t you fucking forget it, kid.”

“Yeah, leather jackets and heavy metal. Really groundbreaking,” I smirk as the wind starts blowing through the flyaway hairs around my face that didn’t quite make it into my ponytail. 

“You are such a little shit,” he growls fondly, jostling my shoulder playfully and my heart flutters, as he keeps one hand on the wheel. I wanna touch him too. It’s like we can’t keep our hands off each other. “Like you’re the soul of originality anyway, huh? Mrs. Daddy-issues, falling for the big bad boy in the leather fucking jacket.”

“Got me there, bad boy,” I shrug, grinning. I lean over and kiss him on the cheek and rub my fingers through his hair, messing it up a little. It’s almost insane how comfortable I feel around him now. His stubble scratches against my lips. It was kind of an impulsive move, but he seems to have liked it. His ears go a little red. I count making him flush anywhere as a personal victory. He looks at me like I’m too sweet as I pull away, a little embarrassed, and he rolls his eyes.

“And I’ll have you know,” he tells me, poking me in the ribs for emphasis, smiling with his eyes, getting back to business. “That my silhouette is fucking iconic, okay? That’s how you know you’re fucking original, right? If you can tell who someone is just from behind? Like with movie characters and shit! You see me from the back, holding my baby Lucille, and there ain’t nobody for goddamn miles around who doesn’t know who the fuck I am and what I can do. But most importantly,” he says, his voice getting deeper, his big hand suddenly squeezing down around my thigh and I gasp in surprise. “Is that there is nobody out there as goddamn, motherfucking bad as me .”

The way he says that makes me giggle, but also tremble a little. It doesn’t help when he starts to rub up and down the inside of my leg. I inhale, trying to calm myself down. It feels so good. 

“Yeah, okay...” I nod, trying to keep my cool, but it’s really hard and I think he knows it as I try not to squirm. “Except I don’t even havta see Lucille,” I snicker, thinking about it, trying not to moan as his big hand moves farther up my thigh. God, I am desperate! “I can just tell by how far back you lean. How do you even do that shit anyway? Like you’re not exactly young and spry anymore, old man. And that’s some true acrobat shit,” I am full-out laughing now until Negan starts to rub over my cunt through my pants. Then I get quiet real fast and he smiles big in a kinda dark way I think is so hot. Fuck, I’m really wet now and my breathing starts to get a lot heavier. I’m such a sucker. The hairs on my neck stand up on end. And then his hand moves over just the right place and I let out a little moan involuntarily. I cover my mouth in surprise.

He chuckles like he owns me, his voice low, in complete amusement. And I’m totally fucked because he so does.

“Something funny, sweetheart?” he asks innocently, his hand disappearing under my jeans, rough fingers trailing over my underwear. And I am squirming for him to do more. God, it feels good how he’s moving against me, and my pussy clenches in excitement as I move against him, but it’s not quite enough! My heart beats so fast. I try not to rut into his big hand greedily. “Always so fucking wet for me, huh, honey?” he asks softly in my ear. I fucking tremble . “Christ, baby girl,” he smirks, seeing how worked up I’m getting. I look over and see the large bulge in his jeans and want to point out that he seems pretty affected too, but the pleasure — it’s too much.

“Please, Daddy,” I whine, surprising myself, my cheeks flush pink as I try to arch my hips into his hand. “ Please.”

God, I’m so fucking needy!

But instead of laughing, Negan just groans quietly in response, staring at me hungrily and for a second I’m sure he’s gonna pull over and fuck me right there on the side of the road, hard, and my heart races. But then he takes his hand away, with a huge amount of self-restraint, sighing, and I groan in frustration. He smiles wide at the control he has over me in the situation. 

“Nah. I don’t think so,” He shrugs, smirking infuriatingly. “You get to cum when I fucking say you can. You ought to know that by now, darlin’. And we’ve got somewhere to be. But God, you are such a fucking good little slutty tease for me,” he grins, slapping my thigh. “And fuck if I don’t I love it!” He reaches up to his parted lips and sucks on his glistening fingers that were rubbing against me a second ago. My eyes go wide, heat curling low in my belly. Ugh, I just wanna ride him! Even his fucking fingers. Whatever he’ll fucking give me honestly.

“Still fucking feel like making fun of me though?” he asks like a threat, his voice getting very low as he puts his hand back on my thigh, his words breaking me away from my thoughts. 

I shake my head demurely.

“N-no, Daddy,” I say even though I don’t really want to. 

“Good girl,” he nods, looking very satisfied. And I bask in the praise. But then he takes his hand away! Again!

And then I can’t help firing off my big mouth. And besides, maybe if I piss him off enough he’ll put it back since being good clearly didn’t get me any further...

“Hey, you know when you lean back like that, if I stood right behind you, do you think I could see your vertebrae disconnect?” I ask, trying not to laugh. “I mean really how do you do it?”

Negan rolls his eyes and slugs my arm half-heartedly, rubbing it before he takes his hand away, his tongue on his lips. But he’s smiling interestedly now, like he’s impressed with my persistence. 

“Hardy goddamn har. You are so fucking funny, kid, I’m rolling all over the goddamn floor. And here I was thinking you’d learnt your fucking lesson,” his voice lowers threateningly and I shiver. “Evidently not . But the lean? That’s a trade secret, baby.” His eyes light back up as he tells me. He licks his lips. “But you know,” he says. “Now that I think about it, I bet you can also tell it’s me from behind from how much time you spend staring at my ass .”

My face goes bright red. 

“Shut up!” I stammer, punching him back in the shoulder, hard. “Oh my god!” Am I really that obvious!?

Negan snickers.

“Hey, it’s no problem. I know it’s a nice ass and all —hell, my wives fucking kiss it all the time —but, Jesus, talk about thirsty… ” 

He’s snickering even more now at the mortified expression on my face. He’s so hot it’s hard to be pissed at how smug he is though.

“ Someone needs to get laid…” he snorts like he can read my thoughts. 

Well, whose fault is that!?

My face is bright pink, but I’m smiling too. I can’t help it. I still can’t believe this is happening. He isn’t wrong...

“Maybe you should do something about that,” I challenge, putting my hand on his warm denim-clad thigh. He’s not the only one who can play at this game. I mean, he’s still hard. I slide my hand closer to the large bulge and he sighs deeply in a way I’d like to hear again. “Maybe you need to, uh,” I channel every romance novel I’ve ever read. “Discipline me…” I suggest with a casual shrug. His eyes look amused, excited, and wanting. “You know, like teach me a lesson?” I try to clarify.

He laughs.

“Oh, baby, you know I—“

He’s about to say something sassy and sexy and promising I’m sure —I can tell by his face and the way he’s looking at me and the way my pussy throbs—but then his eyes wander and he notices my shoulder as we go over a bump in the road. 

“Hey, are you fucking dumb? Put your fucking seat belt on!” he barks suddenly.

“What!?” I stammer incredulously, snorting, literally so shocked that of all the things he could have said to interrupt me touching him, this is what he comes up with.

“You heard me!” he repeats like a pissed-off parent. Is he actually serious? “You are not fucking dying like that. Not on my watch. You’re way too smart and badass for that shit and you’ve got a whole fucking life ahead of you and I have big fucking plans for your cute little sorry ass.”

“What kinda plans?” I ask, getting on all fours and sticking my head out the window to egg him on. Is he trying to tease me? If he wants me to tease him, I will. The wind blows my hair everywhere as I look out onto the forest road, giving him a nice view of my ass. 

“I’m serious, Y/N!” Negan snaps, grabbing my ass that’s kinda sticking out towards him in the breeze and I blush. But he doesn’t even take the bait and try to play with me! He just yanks me back in and my ass slams back down into the seat. Boy, he’s strong. I sorta thought he’d spank me or something more fun. “You could get your motherfucking arms and head chopped off!” He shouts.

“Okay, fine, Dad !” I relent, shaking my head, sitting back down in a huff, crossing my arms over my chest. “Jesus, you did say my ass was cute and all…” I mumble a little sheepishly at the pissed-off look on his face in an attempt to explain myself. His face softens. “I was just tryna tease you...” But he was actually worried about me, the big sap! I hope those plans involve a lot of sex. But, like, I don’t think a single person has told me to put on a seatbelt since the apocalypse started. I guess it’s kinda nice that he cares. Jesus, who is this guy? My dad? The fucking safety patrol? A sex god? My personal temptation from Hell? And to think I would have killed him only a few fucking days ago! I reach for the buckle above my shoulder, but when I pull it down, it gets stuck halfway. I pull it again and the same thing happens.

“Jesus, kid, let me fucking do it why don’t you,” he growls, rolling his eyes, and reaches over and slams the metal down into the buckle, but I can see his eyes soften ever so slightly at the expression on my face. 

 “It’s broken!” I pout but cut myself off when I see he’s easily fixed the problem. 

“Broken, my ass. There. Honestly, what the fuck would you do without me, baby?” he smirks, adjusting the strap a little so I’m more comfortable. He looks like he’s enjoying feeling important and authoritative over me. Probably part of his goddamn savior complex he so perfectly laid out for me the other day...

“Alright, alright, I’m good,” I insist, my face a little red from embarrassment at not being able to fucking buckle my own self. “‘S not my fault you’re so fucking strong!” But I like the attention of him doting on me too much and I think he knows it. “Hey, Negan, though?” I ask suddenly, pulling on his shoulder, thinking of our impending arrival. “Hey, are your wives gonna be pissed at me?”

“Pissed? For not wearing a seatbelt? Fuck if I know!” he shrugs, rolling his hazel brown eyes, reaching up to adjust a mirror. “I try not to drive ‘em around too much honestly. Unless we end up fucking in the back. Or if they give me a handy while I’m driving,” he turns to me and winks. “Hell, if they blow me while we’re on the road, they sure as shit aren’t wearing theirs,” he grins devilishly.

“No. Fucking hell. Gross!” I roll my eyes. He smirks. “I mean about me being at the Sanctuary. Being with you. They won’t be pissed off about that?”

“Oh, I highly fucking doubt it,” he tells me with another shrug, rolling his eyes again. “They don’t much care who I fuck as long as they get to keep living the lavish-ass lifestyles they do.” He looks out at the road and not at me like maybe that pisses him off a little. But the look is gone as soon as it came. “Why? You know I’m the boss around there, baby,” he smirks, turning back to me, cocky and confident as ever. “You don’t have shit to worry about on that end.”

“Oh...uh, no reason,” I say quickly, my cheeks turning pink again. “It’s just, —I dunno —if I was your wife, I guess I wouldn’t wanna share you is all,” I shrug.

Sound more pathetic, I dare you!! I think to myself as soon as the words have left my mouth. I shouldn’t have said that out loud, but when I look up he’s actually smiling at me. And it’s not a smirk. It’s a real smile. He looks genuinely pleased. 

“Aw, you are such a fucking sweetheart, aren’t you?” he tells me, as he reaches out and pinches my cheek. I yelp and smack his hand away. And then he’s laughing, but I think he actually looks a little touched. “You are a fucking sassy little shit with one helluva fire in your belly, but sweet and soft as shit nonetheless,” he says fondly, looking me over. “It’s a fucking wonder you’ve survived this long...” he says over exaggeratedly, shaking his head and rolling his eyes, but he’s smiling big all the same. “Not too many people like that last in this shitshow…” he says after a moment a little more seriously, looking at me like he really sees me. 

“Guess you’re lucky you found me,” I grin.

“Guess I fucking am,” he agrees as he ruffles my hair and leans in and plants a playful kiss on my neck that turns into a bite and then a small, purple hickey as the wind from outside blows softly through my hair.

“So what the fuck kinda music do you like to listen to anyways ?” He muses. “And if you say that Justin Bieber shit I’ll throw you outta the goddamn car right here and now!”

a/n: FOR THE RECORD I don't hate Justin Bieber I just think that since the apocalypse happened in like 2010 he was a big thing then and that's the kind of thing Negan would say since he was a high school teacher he would have known his popularity, but all the beliebers can feel free to excoriate me in the comments if they so please. PLEASE leave comments or kudos if you want more I have a few more chapters. Do you like how things are progressing? Do you hate it? Let me know!!

Chapter 4

Masterlist

[magicxc]

Hills and Valleys

Synopsis: Legend has it that Halloween is strictly for the scares. With ghouls and goblins, vampires and werewolves, witches and broomsticks, who could disagree?

However, all this friend group wanted was a little trick or treat. Sprinkle in a few party favors, loud music, and a cabin in the woods, the myth was bound to come true. 

Lurking around the corner is danger like never before, eager to bring this night to a bloody finish. 

So join these friends as they fight to make it through a Halloween they’ll never forget, proving that "the scare" is more than just a fantasy.

Word Count: 4027

Warnings: TRAUMA lol, detailed bloody scene

Chapter 3 - Lorenzo’s POV

Series Masterlist

“Oh my gosh, how the hell did we manage to get roped into helping you cleannnnnn,” Lynn complained. 

“Guys we’ve been doing this since highschool, why are y’all acting brand new?”

“Dammit Lenny, I should’ve left while I had the chance.”

“Steph you’ve been drinking all night, how the hell were you planning on getting home without driving?” I countered. 

“And as ritual would have it, I assume we’re all sleeping here then?” Emery asked. 

“See, Em gets it and I got the guest room all set up for you guys.”

“Two rooms, five people. That gives us about 2-3 persons to each room,” Jason proposed. “Sugar and I are more than willing to squeeze one more in.”

“No, the hell we’re not,” she whispered.

“Woah woah woah, what do you mean five people? Where the fuck is Julez?” Steph barked. 

“That sneaky bitch, she’s probably halfway back to the A right now,” Lynn suggests. 

Ahhh fuck, Julez. I wouldn’t dare say it to her face but I for sure wouldn't mind if she stayed the night. Truth be told, this rift between us has gone on long enough. I was more ashamed than anything for several reasons - number one being that I was scaring the hoes. It was beyond unnecessary for me to snatch them out of their kiss like that and I felt like an antagonist straight out of a lifetime movie. Reason two being everyone saw it all go down. I swear I looked up and the lights were on, the record scratched, and this random bitch was clutching a pair of invisible pearls. Ok so it didn’t exactly go down like that, but a lot of people still saw that shit happen. And reason three being that work became awkward as hell and my coworker ended up putting in a request to transfer departments. 

What’s even worse is that I’m not good with words. I’ll never in my life put a woman in any situation to feel uncomfortable or forced to do something she’s not down with. And the fact that my coworker felt the need to get away from me made me feel fifty shades of shitty.

Meanwhile Julez has actually been trying to mend things between us and like the dumbass I am, have been giving her the cold shoulder. Could you believe that? One of my best friends has been trying to squash our beef and I act like a bitch on her period. 

Maybe I can blame it on my underdeveloped brain? They say men aren't fully mature until they hit 25, and even then there’s still some debate. Yeah, that’s the one. I can hear her and the girls now, cackling up a storm. They’ll never let me live it down, but it’s all good. I fucks with the homies and if communication is something I need to learn to keep them in my life, then so be it. 

But after tonight tho; once I get some sleep in me and this alcohol out of my system. Hopefully Julez will be willing to hear me out, nah fuck that. I’ll fly down to Atlanta if I have to, but she’ll listen to everything I have to say whether she likes it or not. 

“I mean the guest room is big enough right Steph, why don’t we let those three have it while you and I catch up for old times sake?” I teased. 

“NIGGA THAT WAS ONE TIME.” 

“Lenny, you know I'm down to help clean, but I'm pretty sure we can do this tomorrow,” Em yawned. 

“Yeah man, I’m no lightweight but even I can barely keep my eyes open.”

“J’s right Lenny, we can finish this another time.”

Wow, it’s a full on bitch fest in here tonight. 

“No we can’t Lynn, my parents are gonna be back here first thing in the morning and I need this place in pristine fucking condition,” I snarled. 

“Well why would your dumbass host it here at the lakehouse then,” Steph screeched. 

“Because Stephanie, it has more living room space and less valuables to steal; plus the scenery is cooler for Halloween.”

“Mhmm touché. A lake house on Halloween where there’s seclusion and nature, and creepy crawlies.”

“Really Jason,” Lynn butts in. “Since when do you like seclusion?”

“Since there’s no neighbors around to hear the sounds I’m gonna pull from you.”

“Guys please,” Steph gagged. “I know those mummy meatloafs weren’t the best, but I was really hoping they’d come out the other end.”

“Oh whatever, don’t hate just because my sex life is healthy.”

“Yeah a little too healthy. Now I see why they call you sugar,” Steph laughed.

“Dammit now I’ll never hear the end of this.”

“And y’all will never hear the end of me. COME THE FUCK ON, CLEAN AS YOU TALK.”

“Lorenzo, dude relax,” Jason chided. 

“Lenny, it's not like your parents don’t know about your party lifestyle.”

“It’s not that Lynn. The lake house is in Escrow,” I explained. “The new owners are set to move in come Monday while we spend the weekend removing any last minute items. 

“Ohhhh yeah, I would’ve fucked you up if I were your mom and dad,” Steph pointed out.

“Now really ain’t the time.”

Every get together is the same exact shit. They eat my food, drink my beers, then get to bitching when I need help tidying up after. We go on about how tired they are while they drag their asses and the next thing you know the sun is peeking over the horizon. What could’ve taken minutes turns into hours where we all sleep til evening and then laugh about it over some makeshift leftovers. But I’d much rather skip to the laugh over a meal part cause I’m getting real sick of the inbetweens. Next time I'll just let them host at one of their homes and see how they like it. Maybe then they’ll appreciate all the efforts I go through.

Just when I find myself ready to have another screaming match, it seems that Em has beat me to it. At first I thought she just wanted us to shut up, but the way she’s clawing at the glass has me on edge. The scratching of the window soon turns into hitting and I race over there before any real damage is done. 

Grabbing both her hands, I try to pull her away from the window - my attempts damn near futile until Jason comes over, arms wrapped around her waist as we both work to calm her down. But a fist to my jaw has us pinning her to the ground entirely, concern thick in the air. 

“Emery, what’s wrong? Talk to me!” I yell. 

Nothing, just constant thrashing as her arms and legs flail every which way. The screaming hasn’t since stopped and I’m on the verge of having her committed because what the fuck? She was JUST fine a second ago. 

Rushing over, the girls land on the floor next to her, trying but failing to understand exactly what's happening as they shake her shoulders for answers. 

“Em please! Tell us what’s going on,” Steph sobbed.  

“Em- Emery! EM, calm the hell down.”

“Lynn what the fuck did she see? Go and check the window,” Jason orders.

“Julez,” Em hiccups as she points to the window. “It’s fucking Julez. They’ve found me.”

“Julez? What do you mean Julez, Julez what?” I screamed.

“And who the hell is they?” Steph added 

“Ohhh Em tell me you aren’t referring to the Resident Reaper?” 

“Lynn, they’ve got her,” Em says weakly. 

“The Resident - aye y’all what the fuck is going on?”

“Come on Lorenzo, your friend has obviously been through a lot.” 

“J shouldn't have to remind you to be considerate Lenny.”

“I’m sorry Em, I- I’m still stuck on the Julez part is all, wh-what about Julez?”

A shaky finger pointed in the direction of the window is all Em can manage. Silent tears stream down her face and I get this gut feeling in the pit of my stomach that something went terribly wrong tonight.

It's like the opposite of butterflies, that instead of everything being light and airy my stomach feels heavy and sunken to the ground. But I didn’t think it could sink any further until I heard the gasp that Lynn lets out. It’s shallow and wrapped in despair, yet somehow it’s enough to have everyone flocking to the window. 

I hear a mixture of sobs and screams alike and as I lock eyes with Em, I realised then and there that I wasn’t going to see my friend again. That we were never gonna get the chance to patch things up and that for the better part of a few weeks, I’ve been way too stubbornly foolish. 

My feet feel frozen in place but I have to see for myself. Trudging over to the window, I stop just shy of the pane and peer out into the darkness, eyes adjusting as I try to make out what my friends are seeing. Their sobs get blocked out as I stare into the water and stumble upon the gaze of Julez.

Her eyes are bloodshot red and lifeless as she drifts with the tides, a serene scene under different circumstances. Oddly enough she looks content and I’m not necessarily religious, but I say a silent prayer to the big guy upstairs that she at least went peacefully. 

Dropping to my knees I let out a sound that scares even me, roaring out my frustrations and sadness alike. That scene is something that’ll haunt me forever but what hurts most is wishing that I'd never seen it.

There’s a solemness to the air around us, thick with gloom and melancholy as everyone tries their best to gather their thoughts; scared to break the silence and confirm that this isn’t just a bad dream. Quiet sniffles and heavy breathing slices through the silent night until the stomping of feet cuts through it all. 

Looking up, I see Steph marching toward the front door trying but failing to open it as she realizes that the deadbolt is locked. It's one of those deadlocks without the knob turn thingy simply because my parents felt it was better security in a house this far out. Essentially it needs a key to be unlocked. 

“Dammit Lenny, why would you lock the damn door,” she shouts while jiggling the handle. 

Wiping furiously at my tears, I stand up deciding that I’ll have to grieve a little later as my body goes into overdrive, panicking at the idea that someone took it upon themselves to lock us in here. 

“Steph, why would I do that?”

“I’ll check the back door man,” Jason offers. 

“What about the windows, any of them big enough that we could fit through?” Em questions. 

“There’s bars on all the windows” Steph mumbles. “What the hell was your family trying to keep out?”

“Or maybe keep in?” Lynn induces.

“Now is not the time to place blame guys,” Em suggests. 

“Back doors locked too and I’m not getting any cell service out here man." 

“Alright everyone let’s just take a second to think this through,” I snapped.

There could’ve been a thousand guesses thrown my way about how I imagined this night turning out and absolutely none of them could’ve surmised just how fucked it’d get. 

At worst I prepared for a nasty hangover, Tylenol on standby, not a damn murder mystery. And Julez of all people, she’s damn near the most wholesome one of the group and they- they watched as all life drained from her big, round eyes. 

Dragging my palms across my cheeks, I straighten up as my body kicks into autopilot, revenge sourcing it with enough adrenaline to power through this shit show. 

Even with anger coursing through my veins I can’t understand why? Why go through the trouble of killing Julez and locking us in here? It’s not like we discovered her right away, however it’s not something I have time to elaborate on. We need to find a way out of this death trap and call for help immediately 

“Listen, the whole point of shitty cell service in the area is something my parents were banking on when they got this place,” I disclosed. “Some crap about family bonding time, but if I can just get to the -“

“This just gets better and better,” Steph blurted, while she rocked back and forth on her heels. “Escrow or not Lenny, I’m getting out of here even if I have to tear that door hinge from motherfucking hinge.”

“BUT IF I CAN JUST GET TO THE BEDROOM UPSTAIRS, MAYBE WE’LL GET ENOUGH SIGNAL TO CALL FOR HELP.”

“What’s so good about the bedroom upstairs,” Em questioned. 

“It’s the only part of the house that picks up a bar, maybe two from the cell towers.”

“Bars on all the windows, deadbolts on all the doors, only available cell service is in the master bedroom,” Lynn criticized. “Just what the fuck were you four up to in here?”

“What are you suggesting?”

“That maybe you guys ‘family time’ went beyond the occasional movie night,” she sneered. 

“Baby, enough we’re not gonna get anywhere with y’all jumping at each others throats like this.” 

“YOU’RE SICK! LYNN I SWEAR IF YOU WERE ANYONE THE FUCK ELSE I’D-“

“You’d what?”

“Guys please,” Emery sobbed. “This is exactly what that asshole wants, to see us turn on one another.”

“Lynn you’re fucked up for that one and you know it,” Steph admitted. “None of this is helping, so what do we do now?”

“I think the cell service is a great start Lorenzo, but we gotta find those keys man,” Jason suggested. “Where’d you last place them?

“I remember seeing it near the deviled eggs,” I sighed. 

“You max this house out to the brim for a party and don’t even bother to properly secure the keys to your own home?” Emily screeched. 

Inhaling a deep breath, I tilt my head upward desperately trying to hold onto what little patience I have left. Julez is out there floating against the currents and here we are arguing over a set of keys. My friends have never really struck me as stupid, but this night is chocked full of surprises. 

“New locks to this place are getting installed come Monday Em. Between my parents here this weekend and the new owners after that, I couldn’t care less who had the keys.”

“And now we’re all going to die for it,” Steph scolded.

“Shut up, all of you,” Jason yelped. “Every minute we spend here is a minute more that sick freak has the upper hand, possibly plotting. 

“And unless one of you can squeeze through those bars, the only way we’re getting out of here is through that door,” Em chimed in.

“Lorenzo, think man, does your family keep a spare key anywhere around here?”

“Uhh ye- yeah, I think so. Hell if I know where it could be at this point Jason.”

“Where is it usually?” Em asks. 

“By a rack near the back door.”

“There were no keys when I checked back there,” Jason pointed out. “Fuck, we need to get moving NOW.

Facial expressions hardening, I can see the socialite version of him slipping away while his military brain kicks into overdrive. Feet spread at shoulders length and arms placed firmly behind his back, Jason goes on to dictate orders to us, a small thanks on the tip of my tongue considering we were all scrambling.

He directs me to the master bedroom to try and get some signal, Em to the second bedroom, himself to the kitchen and living room, Steph to the bathroom and any miscellaneous closet doors, while Lynn works on picking the deadlock cause God only knows how she picked up such a skill. Why am I surprised tho, this is the same woman who helped me open my car door after I’d accidentally locked my keys inside; criminal ass bitch. 

We all race to our respective areas, more than ready to get this night over with. Upstairs, I make a beeline for the innermost corner of the room between the bed and window. 

Stretching my arms until the phone touches the ceiling, I squint my eyes until they gloss over with no luck to any flashing signal. I dial 911 only to hear the mocking tone of the operator on the other end letting me know that the number I am trying to reach is unavailable. 

Picking up the expensive floral vase from the night stand, I smash it against the wall until it shatters into a thousand tiny pieces; beyond overwhelmed with how everything is going. 

Before I know it, my knees connect to the wooden floor beneath me, palms circling the perimeter of my face as I bawl my eyes out; teeth sinking into my skin to muffle the screams that tear through my throat. If someone would’ve told me 24 hours ago that I’d be stuck in my own damn house while trying to evade a possible serial killer, I would’ve told them to fuck off and yet - here I am.

The rage running through my body comes to slowing stop, adrenaline all but gone as the weight of exactly what’s going on crushes me further into the floor. 

Sitting up against the bed frame, eyes puffy and throat sore, I briefly wonder if it’s even worth the trouble and come to terms with the fact that I may very well not make it out of here alive. 

A low gleam of light pours in from the window above and the moon in all its fullness draws me closer, the same way its gravitational pull does the earth. 

Fingers cradling around the lip of the pane, I pull it up and the gust of wind that whips across my face fills me with a fresh glimmer of hope. The stars in the sky twinkle so brightly and I wonder if that's the last thing Julez saw before her untimely end; a sliver of satisfaction filling me at the thought of her final view being something so serenely scenic. 

Fingers slipping into my pockets, I dig out the cell phone lodged in there and stick my hand through the bars at shoulder length. Iron jabs at my skin the further I stretch my arm through the metal while small beads of sweat gather on my forehead and palms. Tongue slipping between my teeth and over my lips, it plants itself at the corner of my mouth; a telltale sign of my concentration. 

Aiming my arm higher toward the sky, it starts to burn at the sensation and I make a mental note to get back in the gym once this is over with. 

“C’mon you son of a bitch, I dropped $1300 on you, the least you could do is pick up a signal.” 

Angling my arm a little to the left, I stand on my tippy toes in hopes of getting lucky and the small bar that pops up in the corner of my screen is enough to ignore any discomfort my body may be feeling. 

Eyes brimming over with tears, it takes everything in me not to scream through my relief, trying to stay focused on the task at hand. 

Fingers swiping over those infamous three digits, I’m all but ready to hit send until my phone slips through the cracks of my hand. Watching as it free falls 20 feet to the ground, the screen breaks alongside my hope. 

“Son of a BITCH,” I fumed, arms wrapped around the bars as I shook them senseless; annoyance growing once I realized that even after giving it all I had, it didn’t even budge. 

After a few more minutes of me pacing around the room, I get this lightbulb moment of clarity that of the five of us left, there’s still four more phones. 

Racing down the stairs in newfound anticipation, I burst through the doors of the first bedroom, all but ready to snatch Em’s cell phone; only she isn’t in there. Making my way to the front, I see the bathroom light pouring into the hallway and dash inside, eager to find someone, anyone really. 

Slamming through the bathroom door, I get ready to scream the good news to Steph, yet the sight before me has me halting entirely. 

Both hands covering my mouth, I have to physically swallow down the vomit that threatens to surface. Panic rises inside of me as the hands that once wrapped itself around my face now finds itself buried in my hair - frantically running through its tresses. 

A low wheezing sounds from beneath me and I fly to the floor, knees sliding against the tiles until I reach her. 

Blood is everywhere! Splattered drops line the walls as the once white floor slowly turns a shade of deep crimson. I look over to Steph, whose hands are weakly cradled around her neck and it’s only then that I can figure out just where all the bleeding is coming from. 

“Oh shit, oh shit, shit,” I hissed. “Steph it’s gonna be alright, I just need you to hold on for a minute.”

Shuffling, I reach out to the adjacent wall to snatch a towel from the rack. Wrapping it around her throat, I try my best to make a tourniquet, loosening it as Steph starts to make these wet, gurgling noises. 

Tears prickle at the corners of my eyes at the fucked up reality of this situation and the fact that I can’t even sit down long enough to process just what the hell is even going on anymore. 

With the towel securely placed around the wound, blood rapidly seeps through the cloth, my face sinking at the realisation of how futile my efforts are and how quickly she needs professional help. 

“AYEEEEEEEEE,” I screeched. “YOU GUYS GET IN HERE RIGHT THE FUCK NOW.”

Applying enough pressure to the wound to try and stop the bleeding but light enough that I don’t choke her, I finally let my tears fall. 

Shoulders sagging and chest heaving, my body is physically exhausted from this terror filled night. My best fucking friend is getting paler by the minute and the blood that gushes from her neck shows no sign of slowing down. The pool of liquid quickly spreads beneath us and sinks into the tiled creases and I can’t help the wail that escapes me.

“Steph, baby talk to me,” I pleaded. “Who did this to you?”

Heavy footsteps approach the doorway and I hear a muddled mixture of screams. 

Stephs raspy voice pulls me in and her whispered tone is indecipherable. Wrapping her in my arms, I quietly shush her as I rock us back and forth, urging her to save her voice and energy until we can get some help. 

Feet splashing through the blood and plopping beside me, it takes a minute for me to notice that it's Lynn, begging for answers. 

“I don’t fucking know Lynn, for goodness sake make yourself useful.”

“Both of you shut up,” Jason barks. “Dude tell me you got enough service to get us some hel- to get Steph some help.”

Silence is all I can muster up in this moment and yet it's enough to answer their million dollar question. 

Jason frantically paces the floor, Lynn is hovering over Steph yelling out questions and assurances alike, and Em is sliding down the wall, legs cupped between her arms.

Stephs slow breaths stop hitting my neck, her light wheezing all but gone and it's then that the crushing weight of her passing dawns on me. 

Eyes tightly squeezed shut, they do very little to stop the onslaught of tears, my rocking now intensified. Lynn catches on and her high pitched shriek sends a ripple effect of anguish into the air. 

A deafening silence falls on the group, and after what feels like forever, a gut wrenching realisation hits me that it’s one of us - it’s one of us hurting our friends.  

[potatoes-tomatoes]

Those questions are all so good, I can't pick!

1-30 pls? The ones you feel like doing 🫶

I have special interest in your thoughts on veganism tho

chipotle order?

carnitas bowl with pinto beans lettuce tomatoes crema guac and cheese

2. thoughts on veganism?

ain’t for me. I wasn’t born and raised to say no to meat as a hispanic texan. I feel it’s too self righteous a lifestyle, and somethin that’s very…hm… class restricted I’ll say. You gotta be able to afford sayin no to animal products. I understand in practice it’s so that one doesn’t partake in the loss of life or harm to an animal… but it’s like, why restrict that guilt to animals? Why restrict it to signals only we easily perceive? Trees and plants communicate to each other too, they also send their own signals of distress when in danger. They’re their own form of sentient. Whatever we eat, we are taking some or all the life of. (I guess except for eggs? bc that's just chicken period) That’s just something we must accept.

Also sometimes the marketing for it I find is funny. “vegan leather” you mean synthetic shit?? "yeah I'm sippin outta my vegan cup oh what brand is it you ask heh, Solo." like c'mon man. get outta here.

3. a specific color that gives you the ick?

I believe all colors have the potential to be beautiful within the right palette

4. mythical creature you think/believe is real?

answered!

5. Favorite form of potato?

Frenchly Fried

6. do you use a watch?

nah just my phone

7. what animal do you look forward to seeing when you visit an aquarium?

the seals

8. do you change into specific clothes for the house when you get home?

ya my pjs (old shirt and sweats)

9. do you have a skincare routine (and how many steps is it)?

wash my face with face cleanser, put on moisturizer. every other day or so I put on an innisfree mask.

10. on a plane, do you ask for apple or orange juice?

I ask for a coffee with two creams and no sugar.

11. anything from your childhood you’ve held on to?

Oh many things, i got a bin full of em. sketchbooks, elementary yearbooks, diaries. My prized posession is my first stuffed bear, Clover. She’s stuck with me since I was 6 years old!

12. brand of haircare/bodycare/skincare that you trust 100%?

;–; none of them they all did me dirty. and I get too overwhelmed to look into what brands are the cheapest and best for my skin/hair.

13. first thing you’re doing in the purge?

stealing money to pay off my goddamn loans. That or I'd like to know who directly could cancel my loans (like is there a. like a "cancel loan" button on a computer or what. who's in charge of that button. I'm so smart guys I know exactly how the banking system works) so I could spook them into getting it done for me. I wouldn't hurt anyone, but I'd look the part to get them to do what I want.

14. do you think you’re dehydrated?

nah i drink plenty water.

15. rank the methods of death: freezing, burning, drowning

oof that’s tough. They all seem equal to me.

16. thoughts on mint chocolate chip?

LOVE LOVE LOVE!!

17. an anxious compulsion you do everyday?

I often check to see if my back is straight or if I’m not pursing my lips

18. your boba/tea order

matcha or taro, blended.

19. the veggie you dislike the most?

lima beans eughhh

20. favorite disney princess movie?

Tangled

21. a number that weirds you out?

my ex's (badum tsh)

22. do you have an emotional support water bottle?

I am in possession of only one water bottle

23. do you wear jewelry?

no. I own some though for some reason.

24. which do you find yourself using, american or british english?

American, but I prefer using the british grey instead of american gray.

25. would you say you have good taste in music?

My taste in music is the only thing abt myself I’m confident in hgjkfd yes I would say so.

26. how’s your spice tolerance?

Take a look at my hispanic card you’ll see “güerita“ in bright bold lettering. 

27. what’s your favorite or go-to outfit?

jeans and a t-shirt with my chanclas 

28. last meal on earth?

Fettuccine Alfredo

29. preferred pasta noodle?

Bowties, they funky

30. ask me anything !

well gosh how am I supposed to answer this one y’aint sent me nothin on it pinsky XD 

[squiddlysquoo]

So I just saw httyd3

[theinternetisfulloftrash]

My Dearest Trashy,

In honor of my sprained ankle, which is particularly angry today, can you write me a FLUFFY little number where Dylan takes care of his injured girlfriend?

Love,

Your BFF Mischief

Happily. Gladly. Eagerly.

This one goes out to my bestie and her busted ankle. Much love, beautiful human! - Trashy, your filthy enabler ;)

Tags: SWEET AS SHIT FLUFF. DEAL WITH IT, SMUT LOVERS.

Authors Note: Established relationship with a girl named Rachael. Rachael is my go-to for one-shots. If that's your name, I suppose this is an insert? Enjoy? ;) Also, here's some recommended listening, if you're into that kind of thing <3

As Long As You're With Me

God, what a long day. What a long-ass day. Rachael’s ankle ached and throbbed when she finally sat down on the couch. She winced as she reached down to rub at it.

“You’re supposed to be resting that, you know…” Dylan said, walking out from the kitchen into the living room. “Even at work…”

When she’d left that morning, he was still lazily walking around the house shirtless in a pair of grey sweats, so she was a bit surprised to see him looking so pulled together, especially since he said he’d be spending the day at home. He was wearing a dark blue sweater, and a pair of his favorite khakis. His hair was that perfect disheveled he managed to achieve on a fairly regular basis. He looked good, but he always did.

“No rest for the wicked,” she smiled at him, but she was sure it wasn’t convincing him.

He shook his head and sat down next to her, placing his hand on her thigh. “I really wish you’d taken another week off before you started going back into the office.” He looked down at her feet.

“I know, but...they needed me in there and the new guy is a fucking disaster.”

He sighed in resignation with a small shake of his head. “Well come on then,” he said, patting his thigh. “Get ‘em up here.”

“You really don’t have to—”

“Yes I do. So, shut up and gimme the hoof”.

Rachael laughed sliding sideways a bit on the couch so she could swing her legs up over his knees. She rested her back against the arm of the couch, watching him as he peeled off her little ankle socks and balled them up before he set them on the back of the couch.

Dylan ran a long finger down the side of her swollen ankle, stilling over the slight bruise that still discoloured it.

Rachael could see the way his brows knitted together like he was feeling her pain when he touched her skin. He loved her. She could see it in everything he did—everything he said—and she loved him too.

“I should have been there when you slipped,” he said, looking up at her as he laid his palm on her skin, the heat of his skin soothing the ache a bit. “Could’ve caught you.”

She smiled with a sigh. “I would have found a way to bust my ass with you holding my hand, and I think you know that.”

He laughed, wrapping her foot up in his hand and rubbing his thumbs into the arch. “The clumsy does run deep, huh?” he grinned, his hands working over her aching joints, but not stressing her tender injury.

She could feel the tension easing, some of the swelling in her foot and toes calming down under his touch.

“So how was your first day back?” he asked, swapping his attention to the other foot.

Rachel paused for a minute, watching the careful way he held her, the gentle way he worked his fingers against her skin. “I mean...it could have been better? Could’ve been worse?”

“Ah,” he said before he pressed his lips into a thin line. “So on a scale of one to workplace-fuckery, you were sitting around a ‘meh’?”

He had a way of making her feel like nothing was worth sweating over too much. That whatever it was that was bothering her just shouldn’t. That he was there for her, and that they’d get through it together. That she could lean on him and he’d gladly shoulder the extra weight.

“Yeah. ‘Meh’ sounds about right.”

“So,” he said, shifting the conversation “I was gonna cook for you, but I figured you’d actually like to enjoy your meal after a long day.” He flashed her a wink.

“Mmm, very astute of you,” she teased.

“Hey!” he reprimanded, his hands stilling on her skin. “I’m allowed to self-deprecate, but no one said you could pile on.”

“Sorry, sorry, go on…” she encouraged.

“So…” he drew it out, teasing her even more with the way he exaggerated the start of his sentence, “I ordered in…”

“Little Duck!?”

He huffed in feigned annoyance. “The art of surprise is entirely lost on you, isn’t it?”

“You act like I shouldn’t know that you’d order pad thai for such an illustrious occasion.”

He gave her foot a small squeeze before he spoke. “Fair.” He continued working over her sore joints with his strong hands, both of his thumbs driving the tension out of the arch on this foot too. “But, I think I can still surprise you,” he waggled his brows.

“Oh, really?” Rachel grinned.

“Mhm,” he hummed, worrying his lower lip between his teeth.

“We’ll see…”

He didn’t respond, he simply shook his head. “I’m gonna go grab some ice for this, because...while I know I have a magical touch with these,” he held up his hands and wiggled his fingers. “This bad boy,” he pointed to her swollen ankle, “needs the frozen peas treatment.”

She chuckled at him as he carefully lifted her feet from his lap and sat them down on a pillow he tucked under them.

“One sec,” he said, skipping off into the kitchen.

Rachael heard him digging around in the freezer, whistling and puttering around in the drawers for a minute or so before she heard the sound of a bunch of ice skittering across the kitchen floor. “Dyl! You alright?” she asked, sitting up a bit, holding her weight up on her palms.

“I got it!” he said, poking his head around the corner as he chased down an ice cube that had bounced through the threshold into the dining room. “Nothing to see here...don’t get up. I got it under control.”

“All right…just don’t hurt yourself. We can’t both be laid up,” she covered her eyes for a moment with her forearm, clearing her head before she laid back and relaxed, listening to him laugh a little bit before he started to whistle.

“Gotcha, you little fucker,” he said, presumably to an ice cube he’d tracked down in the kitchen. He strode back out into the living room, proudly holding a ziplock bag of ice and a tea towel. “M’lady,” he bowed, presenting the bag like it was a glass slipper on a velvet pillow.

She scooched along the couch to make a bit more space for him to sit down when the doorbell rang.

“Thai!” he almost shouted, wrapping the bag of ice in the tea toweL. He rested it on the pillow and set her ankle on it. “Hold that there,” he said, rushing for the door and flinging it open.

“Will do.”

Their dinner was sitting on the doorstep. “God. Don’t you just fucking love DoorDash?” he asked, plucking the bag from the ground before he shut the door. “Gone are the days of awkward conversations with food-peddling strangers. I couldn’t be happier about it.”

“Are you saying you don’t miss that long minute of awkward silence while you’re waiting for the transaction to finish?”

Dylan walked over and sat the bag on the coffee table. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“Fair enough,” she agreed.

Dylan walked past her to the kitchen and grabbed some drinks before he snatched the remote control off the end table and turned on the TV. “Dinner and a movie?” he asked, looking over at her.

“Sure,” she smiled, sitting up a bit.

“Ah, ah,” he tisked, walking around to her side of the couch, standing over her and grabbing a pillow from the chair to place behind her back. “Rest,” he said, leaning down to press a soft kiss to her forehead.

Rachael sighed at the sweet gesture, but she wanted a little bit more than sweet. When he pulled back from her, she reached and pulled him down to her so that she could kiss him properly. His mouth was quick to adapt to the sudden need hers had for it. He leaned down even more to deepen their connection and his hands were soon knotting into the waves of her hair.

When she felt like she needed a breath, he cradled her face in his hand and peppered her lips and cheek with small kisses until his lips were brushing against the skin of her neck below her ear.

“Someone’s hungry,” he teased.

She smirked, brushing her lips over his ear. “Yeah...but mostly for thai food.”

“Ouch,” he laughed as he stood, “way to hurt a man’s feelings,” he feigned a gutshot as he walked back around the coffee table.

She tucked her legs back long enough for him to flop down onto the couch and adjust the cushion so that it was propped up on his thigh before she rested her ankle on it again.

He turned on the TV and opened Hulu. “Never Been Kissed?” he asked, pausing on the preview screen.

“Really, Dyl?”

“What!?”

“I thought you were going to surprise me?” she teased

He turned to her, looking less than impressed. “Alright, smartass. You pick.” He tossed her the remote.

“Fine,” she said, picking it up as he leaned forward and started taking the food out of the bag. He set her box of pad thai down in front of her, along with a pair of wrapped chopsticks. She grinned when she found the perfect movie. “This one,” she said clicking on it.

Dylan looked up at the TV, and his expression turned to indignation before he turned to her. “Really?” he asked before he ran his tongue along the inside of his lower lip.

“You said I could pick!” she whined. “I’m injured and sad…” she pouted, batting her lashes.

He narrowed his eyes, but she knew she had him wrapped around her finger.

He drew in a long breath and sighed it out before he spoke. “Fine..”

She smiled and pressed play, grabbing her food from the table as the title sequence for ‘Love and Monsters’ began to play.

[matsbarzal]

fluff #12 with barzy :)

fluff #12. couldn't imagine my life without you

word count: 1.6k pairing: mat barzal x reader

Mathew Barzal knew how to throw a party. He knew what beer to get, he knew what food to order, the people to invite, Mat knew how to plan a party for his friends. God, he even knew how to plan a party for his family.

But, Mathew Barzal did not know how to plan an anniversary.

He had begged you for a hint, any indication of how you wanted to spend your two-year anniversary. The Islander’s forward would send you Pinterest links daily, Instagram posts when he found them, anything he could find that may encourage you to give him some hint of how you wanted to spend your special day.

You had planned the entire anniversary dinner the year prior, just something for the two of you, nothing serious or dramatic for your first anniversary together as a couple. Mat loved it, loved the privacy and the intimacy of the date you had planned, loved how much effort you put into him and the gift you bought him. It could have been a date to McDonald’s, and he still would’ve loved every second of it.

“Baby… do you like this resort? Tito said the Bahamas are beautiful this time of year, and him and Em stayed in this resort last summer.”

Taking the offered phone from his hand, you scrolled through the page on the screen. It was a gorgeous resort, a popular one from the looks of it, definitely a resort you wouldn’t necessarily mind getting the chance to visit one day.

“It’s gorgeous, but not for our anniversary. I don’t want you having to do anything extreme, Mat, honestly. Dinner and a movie would be perfect, as long as I get to spend the day with you.”

Pouting at you, his only response was a quick press of his lips to the side of your head before making his way back into the living room, mumbling under his breath something that you couldn’t hear.

Hearing your phone ding from beside you, you picked it up to peer at the message that appeared on the screen. Since when did Anthony text you?

Please say yes to something before I lose my mind. Mat can’t plan shit, and I can only replan your anniversary so many times. I’m begging, I have a life pls just say yes

Laughing at the text message on screen, your reply back was a simple shrug emoji. You knew Mat had been utilizing his best friend and his girlfriend, trying to plan the most perfect day for your anniversary, but you wanted Mat to plan something he’d enjoy, something that would make him just as happy as it would make you. And he knew that, but he was always one to put your feelings and your happiness above his own.

anything he plans will be perfect, go back to barking or sum tito

Two weeks had panned out in between Anthony and Mat bothering you for ideas, and the actual date of the anniversary. Since telling Tito that anything planned would be perfect, neither man had pestered you about it, opting to disregard any mention of the anniversary or the event in question.

You knew Mat had something planned, his phone slamming down on the couch whenever you passed behind him, or his laptop screen slamming shut every time you got close enough. You had debated sneaking around, trying to figure out what he had planned, but you didn’t want to ruin the surprise he had obviously worked so hard on.

“I planned everything down to the last little thing. Your outfit is on the bed in our room, we have to be ready to go by exactly 5:59, any earlier and we’ll be too early, any later and we’ll be late… and I can’t be late.”

Laughing at the rush of words ripping out of his mouth, you squeezed his arm gently as you moved past him and towards your shared bedroom, eyeing the outfit he had laid out on the bed for you. It was a cute outfit, completely your style, but you couldn’t determine any indication of what your boyfriend had planned from the outfit alone.

At precisely 5:59, you allowed Mat to usher you out the door and towards his car, mumbling about how ‘Tito was going to kill him if we were late’, which proceeded to confuse you even more.

“Plan on telling me where we’re going anytime soon?” Shaking his head, all Mat did was grin as he looked towards you.

You watched the houses go by the closer and closer you assumed you were getting to the destination, the area getting more and more familiar the further you drove. Pulled out of your thoughts by the sound of Mat putting the car in park, you eyed the familiar house to your left, a curious glint in your eyes.

“Anders?”

“You’ll see when we get in the backyard, I promise.”

Expecting to be surprised with a multitude of his teammates and your friends, you were shocked to see an empty backyard when Mat released the latch on the gate, the trees glistening in the wind as the almost-empty backyard stared right back at you. A table was placed in the middle of the patio stones, fairy lights wrapped around the edge, the patio chairs pulled out and awaiting the two of you, a bottle of champagne laid in a bucket of ice on the top of the table.

“Anders said I could use his backyard… ya know, cause like… our balcony doesn’t really have much space.”

Laughing in understanding at his words, you allowed him to guide you towards the table, pulling your chair back and then gently pushing you in once you were completely seated. He immediately jumped to the opposite seat, his chair squealing against the ground when he pushed himself in.

“I—”

“I can’t believe you made me buy a whole tuxedo for this, I swear to God, I could’ve done this in sweats.”

Swiveling your body around to look at the source of the voice, Anthony Beauvillier stared back at you, a large grin etched on his face. Decked out in full waiter-attire, and two adorning plates in his hand, you couldn’t contain the grin that slowly started to make its way across your face at the sight.

“Oh yeah, laugh it up, ha ha ha. Just wait until my anniversary, you two are going all out.”

A middle finger from Mat, and a polite thank-you on your behalf were the only responses to Anthony as he made his back towards the sliding doors of Anders Lee’s house, a pep in his step the closer he got to the glass.

Focused solely on the man in front of you, the conversation flowed like it always did, Mathew explaining how he had planned out the entire dinner, what food was going to be made, what dessert, the fact that there were still plans for after and that this was just the beginning. You talked about your day, the last year of your relationship, all the positive ways in which you both constantly demonstrated your love for one another.

You didn’t notice Mat’s hand reaching into the pocket of his coat, his utensils disposed of on the tablecloth in front of you, his palms sweaty as he tried to gently wipe them against his pants without alerting you to any movements.

“I… I wanted to talk to you about something,” quirking your eyes at the sound of his voice and the statement he made, you urged him to continue with a slight tilt of your head.

His chair squealed against the patio stones for the second time that night as he clumsily stood up from his chair, moving around the table so he could grab your hand and pull you from your seat.

“Y/N… I… you’ve been my best friend for the last two years. The person I could come to whenever I needed someone, the one who’s always there for me after a good day, or a bad day. The person who I can depend on for everything, there’s not a day that goes by where I don’t fall in love with you a little more. You stole my heart two years ago, and I have no regrets in the world about you, or my love for you.”

Trying to contain the tears that were threatening to fall, you watched as Mat’s knee dropped out below him, the hand that was in his pocket before now laid out in front of you, the closed jewelry box covering his palm.

“I promise you; no one will work harder to make you happy or cherish you more than I will. I’ll be the man you deserve and more, I know that no one will ever hold my heart the way you do, and I never want another person to. I couldn’t imagine my life without you. Y/N, will you marry me?”

You couldn’t keep the tears at bay as your hand slapped itself across your mouth, the shock and joy at his words taking over every fiber of your being as you aggressively nodded your head, the words muffled behind your hand as Mat’s eyes glistened with unshed tears in your direction.

“A million times, yes. Yes!”

His lips were pressed to yours in a heartbeat, his hand that wasn’t holding the jewelry box cupping your cheek as the tears fell from both of your eyes. His eyes opened to bore into yours, a look of joy etched across his face as he felt the emotions finally takeover.

note: this ended up being a bit more than a blurb... but oh well! thank you for sending one in, and i hope you like it!! <3

[heresathreebee]

Wearing THAT

[Dewey Finn X Female Reader]

Summary: Reader teases Dewey in a Poison Ivy costume. You have a really hard time saying exactly what you want... Masterlist Next

Word count: 3.1k words (no beta) 

Warning(s): 17+ | teasing, lots of teasing and boners, lap sitting, near nudity, touching

AN: only Thots here, thots about Dewey Finn also is Ned British? He's British in my head

This was some sort of test. It had to be. God was testing him through you and you were not playing fair. It’s a costume party not a competition, you pompous little sycophant. And yet he can’t help but tug at the collar of his shirt. It’s not even anywhere near his throat but why else would he feel so constricted? It’s certainly not because of you…

You walked into his shared apartment wearing that and you had no idea the effect it had on him. 

Dewey watches you sling an arm around Ned and kiss Patty’s cheek in greeting. “Hi guys! Thanks for inviting me, I’ve been dying to put this on.” 

“Oh you look lovely,” Patty coos. She plucks at one of the plastic leaves on your corset. “Did you make this?! It’s so intricate.” 

You bark out a laugh. “Oh hell no! I have this cousin, right? And him and his fiancé own this shop where they make costumes for movies and theatre and if you pay ‘em right, ‘personal use.’ And they don’t ask questions what ain’t their business either.” 

“Well, I’m sold.” Ned raises his beer for a toast and Patty clinks it with her bottle of mysterious green juice. “Prost! What’s the name of the shop? Wanna see if they’re online– you know, for... support.” 

“Ned,” Patty swatted his empty hand (no need to be shy, we already know they’re freaky). 

You pat your friends on their backs and take a step towards the kitchen. “Gonna get myself a beer.” 

“Oh honey you don’t have to do that. Dewey!” The man in question nearly covered himself in his own drink when he heard his name. “Be a good host and get this lady her beer!” 

“Yes captain,” Dewey salutes and Patty can do nothing but glare in her Star Trek yellow shirt costume. Original series, of course, nothing but the best for Patricia Di Marco. 

Dewey takes a hold of the moment he has his back to you to take deep, calming breaths. He will not let this be the end of him. Your friendship means so much more to him than that and a little fancy green corset was not going to make him fuck things up with you. 

He’s ready for you when he hands you your beer. Your one arm hug is appreciated because he’s sporting a bit of wood and he’d hate to find out your corset isn’t thick enough to hide it– or god forbid you feel him on your thigh. And god, your thighs… those sheer green nylon tights were doing unspeakable things to him. Maybe if he kept you close and kept your legs out of his peripherals he could make it through the night without embarrassing himself. 

Or maybe not. 

“Are yoooouuu a college student?,” you ask and point at his inconspicuous clothes. 

“Actually– ” he opens the buttons of his shirt to reveal another shirt with a superman logo on it and buttons it back up clumsily as you laugh. “Ssshhh! Don’t tell anybody. Protect my secret.” 

“Of course,” you giggle. God you feel good hanging off him– usually he loves how physical you are but he has to figure out a way to keep his distance without offending you and quickly. “You like mine?” 

The way you pick up a thick swirling red lock and direct his attention to the very thing he’s trying not to look at is killing him. Of course you look even better up close. The leaves of your corset give the thing depth and texture, your gloves are fingerless and go over your elbows, and your heels are high, like make- him- feel- his- below- average- height high. 

“I like these.” Dewey plucks at the ring of leaves at the top of your gloves. It’s a way to keep his mind off your everything else. “Did you dye your hair?” 

“It’s a wig.” You tug on the top and then the bottom, wincing a little. “Sew in, so don’t go snatch it.” 

“I would never!” 

“Poison Ivy, eh? Think that’s one of Dewey’s favorites,” Ned blabs. 

Dewey sends him a death glare so powerful Ned chokes on his beer but you’re looking at your Spock-dressed friend so you can’t see it. 

“Oh, really?” You return your gaze to Dewey and say, “well you must be loving this, then.” 

Dewey swallows. No words come to him and there is nothing to stop the awkward silence that follows. You appear unbothered by it, maintaining eye contact as you smile almost knowingly… 

“We should play twister,” he says with the most unsure voice ever. 

“We don’t even have twister,” Patty mumbled. “Come on, there are like twenty other games setup, let’s play!” 

~

Dewey gives it a minute and when he’s free from you, he catches Ned by his pointy green ear and drags him into the hall. “Hey? What the fuck are you doing?” 

“Whah– what are you talking about?” Ned slaps at the hand fisted in his shirt but Dewey doesn’t budge. 

“You can’t just go telling people I’m into them, dude! Do you know how close you came to giving me away?!”

Ned scoffed. “Her? I hardly think she’s ignorant to your feelings, you’re not like that Steven from Austin fellow.” 

“– Are you talking about stone cold Steve Austin?"Dewey buries his face in his hands- "It’s his last name, not his birthplace–” 

“And besides…” Ned peeks around the corner to see you in the middle of some sort of posing game. Everybody's trying to take the form of some sort of vehicle, and you've got Chloe in a headlock and Vance's leg in the other hand. Ned never got to finish his thought because someone dropped a huge bowl of popcorn and that too became a game of ‘how many can you eat off the floor before Patty cleans it up.’ Ned’s got to help and he’s got to help now. 

Dewey finds himself on the couch with his fifth beer of the evening. Vance, Jeremiah, and Chloe are talking baseball stats when suddenly Dewey’s vision is filled with green and red just before you sit down. Right between his legs. He unconsciously scoots up to make room for you and before he catches on to your game, you nestle into his space by the arm of the couch and sling your legs across his like you belong there. 

Ok, something is definitely up with you. 

Would he describe you as cuddly? A little. Perhaps a more appropriate word would be… hands on. Long before he started wanting more than friendship with you, you two were always just touching. Your presence and your love language was physical. Dewey never felt like you were invading his personal space or overstepping his boundaries because he simply had none with you and the feeling was mutual. But this was something else. Something that wasn’t there before. 

Was it him? Was he fucking up his perfectly in sync companionship with you because he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants or (his heart for that matter)? He wasn’t sure if he wanted to drag you closer or push you flat on your ass right now. 

You were listening to Chloe chew Vance out for hating Gritty the mascot when you felt Dewey plant a hand on your forehead. “Hey, are you feeling ok?” 

You gently shake him off and raise a single eyebrow. He seems serious, his voice gone all soft and making you feel gooey inside. 

“You just seem… I dunno,” he fumbles, “do you want me to take you home after this?”

Hellooooo opening! “Actually, can I stay here tonight?” 

“Yeah, of course.” Fuck, who said that? Dewey? Ah, shit… 

 “Thanks,” oh oh you should not be rubbing his thigh right now… “I think I’ll go change here in a minute.”

Oh please do, please please puh-leeaaase–  

~

After a brilliant movie drinking game (which Dewey tapped out of), the crowd began to disband. 24 became 20, then 18, then 12. You went out to your car to grab your overnight stuff and Dewey was hoping for a brief reprieve from the assault of your visage. He just needed a few more people to leave so he can sequester himself and rub one out– you know, get his head straight. Ever since you left his lap he’s been rock hard, there’s not enough blood flowing to his brain. The guest count is down to 3– 2 with you in your car, and he can’t wait anymore. 

Dewey slipped into the only bathroom in the house and prayed to god nobody noticed him. He barely got his hand wrapped around his shaft when Patty’s fist banged on the door demanding he help clean up. Sulking and agitated, Dewey managed to calm down while cleaning up red solo cups, glass beer bottles, cans, and small pocket sized objects that would need to be returned to the guests after their hangovers subsided (no keys, thankfully, everybody’s got a DD). His “predicament’ is nearly forgotten when you finally return with a bundle of clothes, disappear into the bathroom and reemerge in loose sleepwear with your makeup wiped clean and uh… braless. 

You catch him looking. Dewey– surprisingly sober after he gave up drinking half way through his sixth beer– does nothing short of raise a slightly irritated eyebrow at you. “Cold in here, huh?” 

“Shut up. You know how uncomfortable it is to sleep in a bra?” 

You help him collect a couple bottles that rolled under the couch and walk with him down to Ned’s car. Patty would sort the recyclables from the trash in the morning (late morning, she did a couple rounds of tequila shots thanks to you). It’s almost like the party never happened; you’re shooting the shit again and everything is right in the world. He’s got no ulterior reaction to putting a hand on your hip– that’s just a normal thing in your perfectly platonic relationship. God, he really must have been imagining things, he was beginning to think you were actually trying to flirt with him! 

Ned’s bent over the kitchen sink with Patty and holding her hair back. He looks up as you enter the apartment and shakes his head. You and Dewey make yourself scarce by slipping into the shared bathroom to hide. You try to giggle quietly as Dewey surveys the skincare products you covered the counter with. He points to your head and asks, “you wearing that to bed?” 

“It’s sewed in, I’m not taking this off for three weeks at least,” you answer. “Get my money’s worth. I can work it like my natural hair.” 

Dewey nods. You rub your arm nervously and look for something to say, something to circle back to the whole point of showing up looking like a sexed up goddess. What do guys like? Girls wearing their clothes, right? But you need to phrase it perfectly… 

“Dewey?” He looks up from the scrubby lip balm in his hands. “I’m not quite ready to go to sleep yet and it… it is a little chilly in your place. Can I wear your jacket?” 

Just to bring your meaning home, you tug on his sleeve– the very jacket on his back. You don’t want just any jacket, you want that one, already warm and scented by him. You don’t miss the way his eyes glance past you like he was reluctant to comply. And yet… 

“Yeah, here.” He slips out of it with ease and drapes it over your shoulders. You miss the sigh of relief he makes when you pull the zipper closed and obscure your pebbling nipples. “Think I’m gonna go help Ned put Patty to bed.” 

Ned was a scrawny little thing and couldn’t carry her by himself, and she needed to be carried. Competitive by nature, it’s easy to talk her into virtually anything, especially if it feels like girl time. You need Patty in a deep sleep for your plans tonight (sorry not sorry). Dewey’s very sexy as he bears most of Patty’s weight. She’s clinging to Ned, arms around his neck and babbling incoherently while Dewey’s got an arm around her waist and legs, keeping Ned on his feet. You skirt ahead of them and open the bedroom door, help pull her shoes off, her captain insignia, her earrings, you even wipe the spit from her lips and the eyeliner smeared on her cheek. 

“You’re my favorite ever,” she whimpers, “I love you so much, you’re like my best friend ever…” 

You shush her gently. “You say that about everybody when you’re drunk, baby. I promise I’ll make you a fat breakfast in the morning but you gotta go to sleep now, OK?” 

Patty nods. She snuggles into her pillow just as Ned is taking up position as the big spoon when she looks back up at you and asks, “can we go for a run together?” 

You blink evenly. “Yes.” You already regret it as she smiles big and wide. It would be just your luck this is the one thing she doesn't forget in the morning.

Finally it's just you and Dewey in the hallway. It feels like you're standing between two choices: his open bedroom door and the living room. But it seems like only you can feel the weight of it. 

"Are you sure you want to stay over?," Dewey asks, "you can use my bed." 

You perk up out of your heavy mood. "Really?" 

"Yeah, I'll take the couch tonight." 

He can't possibly miss the way you instantly deflate but he's still not putting the pieces of the puzzle together. "Dewey. I'm not going to kick you out of your own room." 

He shrugs. "Suit yourself. I'll grab a few blankets." 

There's a storage closet in the main building with this one extra soft blanket that Dewey knows you'll love. You on the other hand have got no more patience left. Once the man leaves, you stomp your foot and decide to try one final act.

Dewey returns to the apartment to find an empty, quiet living room. Ned and Patty are in bed, but where are you? He wanders past the bathroom door because it's dark inside and checks his room. There you are reclining on his bed. He could have sworn you were wearing pants before but your legs are bare and his jacket hugs the tops of your thighs. He also could have sworn you were wearing a shirt. He finds both items folded neatly beside you with your underwear right on top. 

Oh…

This cannot be happening right now. He just survived tonight by the skin of his teeth and now you were doing this to him. He’s going to pull his hair out, going to scream, it’s so frustrating because he can’t just ask you what you want– you’ll turn the question back on him and he’ll fuck it up. He lets the blanket fall from his grip and with a heavy sigh he whispers in a weak voice, “straight answers only. What are you doing to me? Why you doin’ this?” 

You cock your head and answer leisurely, your eye drifting across the items in his room. “You know that’s not how I roll, but if you want me to address the elephant in the room: I'm naked in your bed right now." 

Against his better judgement, Dewey moves closer. "I can see that." 

One step closer and your eyes find him again. Like an invitation you lean back more, even uncross your legs but go no further. Dewey swallows his tongue and waits for you to elaborate and every second is agonizingly slow. 

"You think you can just walk around here with your pretty face and cocky little attitude like it’s nothing,” you said accusingly. 

Dewey glared at you. “That’s the pot calling the kettle black.” 

“Well we're in agreement then,” you’re almost sneering at him, but he knows it’s because you’re really frustrated with yourself, “I look and I touch and I feel but I don’t know, you know?” 

“Not a clue,” he sighs and sits himself beside you. He’s done trying to keep his distance. “Let’s go back to you being naked in my bed.” 

“Do you like it?” 

“Do I like it?,” he repeats incredulously. Dewey leans back on his elbow to look you over from top to bottom. You look damn good in nothing but his jacket. You’ve got the long ends of your red hair in braids that sweep down to your navel. The zipper rests tantalizingly right below your ribcage. Dewey dares to reach out a mollifying hand and give a tiny stroke to that silver keeper. He cannot bring himself to speak above a whisper as he nods, “yeah, I… I like it.” 

The tension leaves your shoulders and you wear a small grin. “It’s not too late to take it back. Say no, and I’ll put my clothes back on and sleep on the couch like none of this ever happened. This,” you point between the two of you, “doesn’t change unless we want it to.” 

… this was real. In answer, Dewey’s chin wrinkles and he watches his finger travel upwards, drawing a light line up the expanse of your chest between your breasts to feel you shiver at his touch. Thing is he doesn’t want to say no, but wouldn’t it be better? Safer? He asks the question he’s been dying to know all night. “What do you want from me?” 

“Whatever I can get,” you answer truthfully. “Whatever you’ll allow. Don’t trouble yourself with labels and things ‘cause what we have has always been so much more than that.” 

Dewey feels a weight lift off of his chest. His hand works around your waist and drags you closer, halfway under him and he rests his perspiring forehead on your breastbone. Whatever happens next happens, for better or for worse. 

You’re not troubled when Dewey moves the jacket to expose one of your breasts, however you are taken aback when he bites you. You barely manage to stifle your yelp when you feel him growl against your flesh and the sound vibrates straight to your core. Dewey drags his head up and stares you dead in the eye as he kneads your savaged breast. 

“All night,” he growls, “all fucking night for this? We could have done this ages ago. The salon, the drive in, Chloe’s cat’s birthday– grocery shopping last week. But no, instead you pick a party full of people and you’ve had me riled up for hours.” 

Dewey pinches your hardened peak and you keen. “‘m sorry…” 

“No you’re not, but don’t worry: you will be.”

AN: Check Out Part 2 @hoodoo12 @go-commander-kim @escape-your-grape @softbeej @imma-fucking-nerd @werwulfy

[13uswntimagines]

Chanukah party (USWNT x Baby!Reader)

This isn’t a request but @literaryhedgehog​ and I thought it would be fun. The basic premise is that reader is at camp during Chanukah, and the team feels bad (especially Lindsey) so they throw her a party. (thank you @notmia101​ for betaing this for us). 

You smiled at Alyssa as she described her winter plans after training camp. How she was going to visit her sister and her family for Christmas. How they were hoping for snow and how they were going to kill an innocent tree and desecrate its body with lights for their amusement. Her words, not yours. It was a game she and the other girls played every year, trying to make their Christmas plans sound as horror-movie-ish as possible. It was a way of trying to make fun of themselves so you could share the amusement and join in laughing at them. 

But despite their efforts, a little piece of you always felt left out because you couldn’t (wouldn’t?) participate. See, you were one of the few who didn’t celebrate Christmas. You were proud of your Jewish heritage, even if your family wasn’t the most ~religious~. But you were proud of the culture you had been raised in. You held its traditions very near to your heart and weren’t AT ALL bitter that the rest of the team had time designated to visit their family during their winter holidays while you still had training camp through the third week of December.  

You were kinda zoning out because you could only take so much of their cookie baking, their stalkerish man that watched kids while they slept, and their hiding of a stupid stuffed toy you were sure would give you nightmares (who the fuck thought having an ‘elf’ stalk your family all month was cute?!?!? Capitalism was a weird man). (Though you may or may not have paid attention to Lindsey’s plan to dress Ferguson like a little elf…) 

“What about you kid?” Tobin asked, nudging you out of your daydream. 

“What?” You shook your head, making everyone around you laugh. 

“Do you have plans for the holidays?” Lindsey repeated, her smile showing off her dimples. 

“Oh, um. Chanukah started a few days ago. It’s cool, they have an app with a menorah and everything. My family has been face timing me most days, but it will be over before training ends.” You shrugged, hoping they couldn’t see how much being away from your family during this time of year sucked (though you were glad to be included on the camp roster). 

Most of the veteran's jaws dropped, how had they not known that you were missing something so important to you? How had US Soccer overlooked a holiday (and inadvertently given you an ultimatum- celebrate or make the national team). 

“Then why did they schedule training camp this week?” Tobin mumbled. Again you shrugged. 

“There’s 23 of you and only one of me… it’s really not that big of a deal,” you smiled briefly and gave the same speech you had given since middle school, “It’s not like the ‘Jewish Christmas’ even though it happens around the same time some years, my family doesn’t even exchange presents, so I’m really just missing the party they’re throwing on the 18th.” 

“That still isn’t fair though. I mean, we get Christmas off automatically, even if we don’t celebrate it!” Christen huffed, throwing her hands up. 

“I mean, this isn’t like a new thing. We’re always at camp during this time. And next year the holiday starts in November, so it’s not something that can consistently be scheduled around. I guess it’s just a sacrifice I have to make to be the best right?” You said earnestly, shaking your head. You knew all of the arguments, you had heard them for all of your life. 

“But-“ Emily started to protest, but before she could get the words out you cut her off. “Don’t make a big deal guys, it’s fine. Really,” 

The team stared at you for a few seconds, several women opening and closing their mouths several times. You shifted uncomfortably under their gaze, breathing a sigh of relief when your phone rang, glad to have an excuse to get out of this situation. 

“Ok so we’re totally going to make a big deal out of this,” Lindsey said turning back around to face the team the second you were out the door. 

“I’m guessing you have a plan to woo your girl?” Emily smirked, wiggling her eyebrows. 

“It’s not to. No. We are doing this as a team to be supportive of our teammate who is part of a traditionally marginalized culture that we need to be more supportive of,” Lindsey grumbled sternly, smiling when Christen nodded in return. “I’m googling “Chanukah for Dummies” right now. 

They were going to make this camp different from the others (and if she got to impress you that was just a bonus). 

…..

“Umm, why does it smell like something is burning?” Becky asked, walking through the hotel corridor towards the dining room. 

“Because Latkes are apparently more difficult to make than I expected,” Kelley said, tossing what looked like a stack of burned hockey pucks into the trash. “I didn’t realize the whole room was going to smell like fried food- do you think they’re going to fine me when we check out?”

“If they fine you, they better fine Em too. The stench from such a little jar is kind of amazing,” Lindsey huffed. 

“What did she do, get her sardines or something?” Becky asked, shaking her head, remembering the smell that she couldn’t quite place. 

“No. Something called ‘Gefilte fish’”. 

“But isn’t that usually for Passover?” Kelley asked, looking up from where she was trying to scrape burned potatoes off her pan.

“They said it was traditional, isn’t that what we’re going for?” Emily huffed, pouting. Lindsey rolled her eyes at her best friend. 

“I’ve got music!” Chrystal called, walking through the door in a star-patterned sweater. “It turns out there are not a whole lot of Chanukah songs. There’s a Spotify playlist that’s only 3 hours long, or so, so I supplemented it with a lot of Leonard Cohen and Paul Simon.”

“And I brought the sour cream and applesauce as requested!” Sam called, walking in after her, “also some apple juice and honey bourbon. I know apples and honey are a thing for Rosh Hashana, so I thought maybe we could make some cocktails?”

“I won’t tell coach if you don’t,” Kelley said taking the bottle and pouring herself a shot. “Someone else needs to take over the latke making. My attempts have all either looked like lefse, hashbrowns or just burned.”

“Lefse?”

“I had an ex-girlfriend from Minnesota. It was a potato tortilla thing her family sent her at thanksgiving. The point here is that someone else needs to cook or we are just going to be eating sour cream and applesauce on their own.”

“We could make french fries?” Rose suggested tentatively. 

“With bacon and cheese! Those are the best,” Emily exclaimed, only to have Lindsey (gently) slap the back of her head. 

“No, Sonnett. She can’t have bacon and I don’t think she’s allowed to have cheese and meat on the same plate…” 

“I think if we just batter potato pieces in egg and flour and fry them it would taste nice with the apple sauce and sour cream. And we’ve made french fries before so it won’t be so much of a… learning curve. Though you did a great try, Kelley!” Rose said, patting Kelley’s arm.

“You guys are useless. Did you even look at a recipe?” Megan shook her head. 

“If you think it’s so easy you try it.” Kelley scoffed. Megan raised her eyebrow at the woman, stealing the spatula from the defender's hand. 

“Tasty made here we come,” 

*****

“Happy Chanukah!” came from all around as you walked in. Lindsey was very proud. Not only had she gotten the team on track and ensured that they had all of the stuff google said would make the perfect Chanukah celebration; she had also kept you off their trail until this moment. The shock on your face made all the work on their day off entirely worth it. 

The room was decorated in tinsel with a shiny plastic menorah in the center of the table. Several people were wearing ugly sweaters with different “decorations” taped on. A sign on the back wall said “We survived, let’s eat!” Lindsey had decided against hanging up the posters Rose and Mal made saying “Stick it to the (ro)Man!” and “MaccaBEe mine.” The first one because she wasn’t sure it was appropriate, the second one because she knew it wasn’t.

“Ooo who brought the hotdog of the sea?” You asked, biting your lip to suppress a giggle as you walked over to the table to see the food on display. 

“What?” Lindsey’s eyes tried to follow yours, utterly confused. They didn’t get hotdogs. They most certainly weren’t on the list that Chanukah for dummies had given her. 

You smiled softly and shook your head, pointing to the tan balls that Emily had provided. 

“That’s what my siblings and I call it during Passover. Gefilte fish is kinda a love it or hate it thing…” you trailed off, scrunching your nose just slightly. 

“And you’re not a fan?” Lindsey smirked, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. 

“Umm, I plead the fifth,” You mumbled, shaking your head slightly. It wasn’t your favorite item in the world. 

“That was all Emily,” Kelley snorted, clapping you on the back, and you grinned devilishly back at her. 

“Well, it was very nice of her to be so thoughtful. She can try a piece with me,” 

Emily cringed at the idea, but nodded nonetheless. It was your party and if eating the smelly thing out of a jar made you happy, then that’s exactly what she would do. (She also stealthily shot Lindsey the middle finger while you were surveying the rest of the items on the tables). 

“Honestly the sufganiyot is my favorite,” you said, taking a step towards the platter, your lips ticking up at Lindsey’s adorable confused face. “sorry, the donuts,” you clarified, picking up one of the many powdered sugar-covered donuts in the stack, inspecting it to see what kind it was. The Jelly ones were particularly important for the celebration. 

Lindsey blushed a little. “We didn’t know if you wanted jelly or custard,” She said hesitantly, watching as your eyes got impossibly brighter. 

“Both are amazing, thank you,” You smiled softly at the midfielder, brushing a stay bit of powdered sugar off her pink cheeks. You held her gaze for a moment before seeming realizing you had an audience, and turning towards the rest of the team. “thank all of you,” 

It wasn’t the traditional Chanukah you usually shared with your family, but the friends who had become your family made it special nonetheless.

[adobe-outdesign]

TIOL LIVEBLOG: PART 2

Happy Birthday BATIM let’s celebrate by reading about Joey’s lies

Spoilers under the cut:

Part 2, Chapter 1

Nominating this chapter for the best opening of anything, ever

I wonder if this had anything to do with him trying to shove Buddy off the stage balcony in DCTL

I like how this book dips into Joey’s psychology, but it’s just just “lol he’s crazy and evil”. It actually goes into how he sees the world and how that affects his actions, and in turns ads to his characters. Good stuff.

You know this is a good memoir when Joey just casually mentions someone trying to commit suicide in front of him as a child and then never brings it up again

Part 2, Chapter 2

"I am very humble” *NateA: no

You can tell this is in-character because I occasionally start reading it in Joey’s voice unprompted

I need Joey and Wally doing Albert and Costello’s “who’s on first” routine pronto

LET’S THROW PEANUTS AT BOTH OF ‘EM

The foreshadowing in this book is [chef’s kiss]

Part 2, Chapter 3

Glad to see Abby again. I was wondering if any of the DCTL characters would ever appear again

“if women and people who don’t look exactly like me have what it takes, then they’ve got the job” Joey said nb rights

Joey dealing with the toxic masculinity of the other guys is you’re once-per-liveblog “Joey is gay” moment

also him reading Dickens after discovering he made his stuff so long because he was paid by the word is like, really funny

Joey: [says anything] *NateA: no

Slightly off topic but I am the only one who thinks that the whole “I think therefore I am” thing doesn’t make that much sense or

Part 2, Chapter 4

While “art can literally transform the world” is obviously referring to the ink creatures, part of me wonders if it has something to do with the weird ink realm the studio is in

Henry: [creates literally everything Joey profits off of] Joey: yeah he’s okay I guess not a genius like me though

I wonder if Henry ever got a chance to read this

I love how bold-faced Joey is with his lies. Not even hesitation, just “lmao yeah I made these, but I’ll let you think whatever you want despite the fact that you’re wrong”

I like how Joey’s talking about his complex philosophy but it boils down to “just lying a lot”

Joey said turn off your damn phones in the movie theatre

Part 2, Chapter 5

Abby has strong lesbian vibes, just tossing it out there. both in personality and the gay fashion sense

Used my “Joey is gay” comment too early because Abby mentions a date and literally has to tell him that it’s not that kind of a date and not to go running for the hills lak;f

mlm and wlw solidarity

“Only rich people like these romanticize having nothing”

god abby is so gay. sorry I’ll shut up now

“the queen of the peacocks” is Joey aware that a peacock is male (female is a peahen) or is this just him being gay again

This book is really funny. not really in a “intentionally telling jokes” way, more of a “Joey’s snark is amusing” kind of way

“too many people write novels these days” says Joey, writing a novel

you know in some ways I actually think Joey’s got more of a ego than Bertrum does, and he’s literally a big head

As others have pointed out, Joey playing a devil and wearing a bow-tie is probably a reference to the Ink Demon

not gonna lie, this play kind of slaps

Joey: if I kill someone does that count as entertainment

Not sure if it was intentional, but it strikes me like Henry’s supposed to be the man in this play

TL;DR: Really enjoying this so far; it’s giving really good insight into Joey’s character and manages to be really entertaining. Also Joey is gay

[kangaroo-sniper-imagine]

Scout, Demo, and Sniper with inexperienced reader

- i combined these two cuz they both had the Aussie on them. NS/FW stufff ahead so caution -

Scout

Jeremy may act like he’s God’s gift to women, but let’s be honest, aside from some trysts and a girlfriend he had for three weeks in the tenth grade, homeboy ain’t got no experience either

He wants so badly to be a good boyfriend! He tries so hard to be nice and to be a gentleman to you, often times putting on such a fake persona that you have to remind him that you like Jeremy because he’s a loud, fast-talking jack ass from south Boston. Not those words exactly, but you get the idea

Tries the classic dates like fancy restaurants and romantic movies, but chances are if you liked Jeremy enough to date him, you probably hate that stuff too. Good dates are outing to parks, watching action movies, going to bars, etc. fun, not stuffy dates.

NS/FW

Jeremy has SOME idea of what he’s doing, but its more so getting himself off than trying to get his partner off. It takes some re-learning on his part to figure out that sex is supposed to be mutually fun. If he suck at it, tell him! Boy needs to learn!

He gets that you have almost no experience, and that just adds to the pressure for him; he’s already so insecure and this is just another are he has the potential to disappoint you in. First time together is gonna be real awkward and slow, as neither of you wanna fuck up

After the two of you get more experienced with each other, oooooooooh boy, Jeremy is insatiable. Partially because he’s never had a steady s/o who lived in the same building as him. He is always dtf; like, come in while he’s regaining one of his (dramatized) wins, give him a “look” and he’ll stop talking mid-sentence and follows you to wherever for a quickie

Jeremy’s favorite position is probably doggy style. He gets to give all his love and also gets to hide his face of he starts to feel embarrassed; its easier to have the macho sex god persona if his partner can’t see his face all flushed and pinched in concentration

Demo

Tavish has had plenty of date mates, but when he starts his relationship with you and learns that he is your first ever boyfriend? Fuck, it might as well be his first relationship too (the Scotsman is soft lbr). He knows that each relationship is different from another, even minusculy, but since you have no reference point, he’s gonna start from square one and work your way up to normal relationship things

By that I mean this man has, like, an itinerary. Week one: holding hands, Week two: eating meals together, etc. Tav is THOROUGH! He wants you doing lame couple things and wants you to be comfortable with them asap. He’s like one of those high school girls who are like “we need to be dating for six months before we can kiss.” It’s not that he isn’t ready, he just wants to make sure you are

Dates with him are weird and varied. One night he takes you to a nice bar, the next date is helping him set off about to expire explosives. A very lovely evening of him playing piano with you, then it’s Loch Ness Monster hunting. Suffice to say that your dates are never boring.

NS/FW

Tavish sets the relationship at a slow pace so that you’ll feel comfortable; introducing sex into the relationship is no different. He’ll let you know when he’s comfortable with it and is fine waiting until you are ready for it and won’t do jack shit without your permission.

When you are ready, be prepared for the cheesiest seduction ever. You’ll walk into Tavish’s room one day and there’s a trail of rose petals leading to the bed where the Scotsman lays, naked, with a rose between his teeth and a heart shaped pillow covering his junk; candles EVERYWHERE. It takes every ounce of willpower not to laugh (plz laugh, Tavish is trying so hard to make you relax before doing the do)

Despite the fact that the man likes his drink, Tavish refuses to fuck drunk. Sleeping with you is an honor, and he 1. Doesn’t wanna not remember it, 2. Doesn’t want to do something dumb while he’s drunk and hurt you, 3. Doesn’t wanna do something embarrassing in front of the gang while trying to seduce you. He’s a good boy who knows better

Sniper

Mick has had plenty of short term date mates, considering his job keeps him moving around. Before Teufort, he never bothered trying to keep a serious relationship because he would be gone by the end of the month. Then our favorite Aussie meets YOU and the whole game plan changed. He couldn’t be a “love ‘em and leave ‘em” man anymore, and he didn’t want to be with you. You’re special

Mick’s not 100% sure exactly what dating him would entail. You two go out to the local bar to drink, you spend your meals and down time together, you haven’t moved into the truck camper yet but you sure do spend a ton of nights there. Mick doesn’t have domestic experience so he tries to do what his parents do and what they told him to do, so it’s a lot of laundry together, movie nights at the local drive-in, reading the same book and talking about it, etc. Mick skipped right into the “old married life” kind of relationship

The Aussie is happy to take things slow with you, considering THIS kind of relationship is new to him too. You’re a special person the Mick wants to keep in his life

NS/FW

BAAAAAAAAAAAAAABES, I KNOW everyone’s like “oh, Sniper is an awkward loner with social issues” but listen darlings; Mick is a businessman, he used to have to talk to tins of people to get jobs; had to have connections, had to be charismatic, he to be willing to hang out in seedy bars and joints to eat gigs. What I’m saying is, aside from Spy, Sniper is probably the one who can manipulate the room to his advantage best, cuz he’s been doing it since he started. The point of this rant is to say SNIPER CAN GET IT! Homeboy’s got tail game! You cannot change my mind! He’s probably had more quickies than a rabbit hutch; he’s attractive as hell and knows how to talk to people to get what he wants and how to clock people at the bar who wants to get laid too! He came, he saw, he didn’t call he next morning. Okay end of rant and back to the original purpose of this point

So! Mick has plenty of sexual experience, and rather than see you as some sort of delicate flower, he sees it more as an opportunity to let you experiment ON him. Whatever you wanna try, he’s done it like 9 times. You wanna do some nasty shit? Okie dokie than, he’ll get the “Camper’s a-rocking, don’t come a-knocking” sign up and clear his schedule. Aussie knows what he’s doing

Plz bring up riding to this man, he’ll fucking propose to you. He thinks riding is the best position because he has all the access to your fun areas, he’s able to bury his face into your chest or neck, and its minimal movement for him

[descendantofthesparrow]

the D3 outfits and designs look like they belong on 30 year olds, not 17-20 year olds

this was said by @darkprinceofdarkness​ on the descendants discord but i wanted to bring it up here, rn I'm redesigning almost ALL the descendants d3 outfits, including making some brand new ones for new characters for my rewrite, and in looking at the D3 outfits, i remembered what darkpinceofdarkness had said last month (aka ash so imma just call em ash now so i dont have keep typing their tumblr name)  they had said that the designs seemed to fit better on the actors, and not the characters, as in that the designs seemed they were made for 25-30 year olds (the age that most of the actors were at at the time) instead of 17-20 year olds that the characters were aged at.

 i mean look at Mals outfit for the talk with beast, belle, and FG, it doesn't seem right for her,

 its too simple, to plain, there's nothing going on, it looks like she's a wine mom, she looks like she's dressing up as an old ass boring adult when she's just gotten out of her teens 3/10 burn it

and again when hades comes to wake up Audrey 

boring colors, boring texture, boring hair, boring shoes, again, nothing interesting going on, i feel like im looking at a (again) 30 year old wine mom instead of a young adult that just graduated from HIGH SCHOOL 3/10 would gag

now there's her engagement/getting the vks dress

while its one of her best outfits of D3 it still feels....old to me, like, i feel like yes this is still young adult, but not 19 years old young adult, more 23-26 young adult. i think it might be the neckline and form of the dress, the coloring and the textures are nice and i think they do fit well with Mal, but overall, it still feels like something someone over 22 would wear, not a 19 year old. i understand Mal is stepping into the role of a lady/queen, but shes 19, not 30, give her fun clothes! give her ripped denim, give her spray painted leather, give her pins, let her chop her hair short, leggings under shorts! loose tops, t-shirts, spiked chokers, jeans, sneakers, hoodies, just ANYTHING other than loose-form fitting 40 year old woman who doesn't know how to style herself and listens a YouTube video about how to color match your clothes-clothes!!! anyway 6/10 its okay but would def NOT wear

before we continue i would like to say Kara Saun is a great designer...but she wasn't the greatest fit to design for a series about teenagers. anyway onto good to be bad!

now good to be bad, is probably my favorite Mal design out of all of D3, it looks like Mal took a paint brush and her spray paint and just went ham on it, which is perfect, because that suits her (original) character! its all over the place, yet it seems planned, its a mess of colors yet it seems as if they were meticulously  picked! Mals original character was someone while they seemed they had no plan, they had millions of them floating through their head, or they seemed to have a plan but they were just mentally going “fuck it what happens happens” and that unfortunately seemed to be drained from her as the movies went on and someone fucked up by trying to make her a perfect character, which made her completely horrible, in the first movie, her not thinking things all the way through (Ben and the love spell and how that would end) was more endearing than completely annoying and frustrating, D1 Mal, when she didn't think things through, ended up floundering over herself but trying to come up with a quick solution (when the quilt trip FG with Jane plan failed, Mal groaned for a moment then immediately went to her spell book for another plan) yet D2 and D3 Mal, if her plan didn't go her way she got upset, and blamed her fault on other people, even if why her plan failed was completely her fault (the barrier closing thing; she tried to push the blame onto just wanting to protect her cushy life, where if she was written correctly, she would have taken blame and acknowledged that she had doomed the rest of the isle kids and actually apologized for lying to Uma and her friends, instead of saying “she had no choice” (yes you did bish you just didn't want to do any actual work) anyway enough of analyzing Mals horribly written character back to the outfits, so ill sum up Mal’s gttb look, its funky, its fun, its colorful, her jacket is not tight fitting and has a fun tail, popped open collar, its just overall a cute outfit. 8/10 wouldn't wear but it looks like something a punk alt young adult would wear.

so her outfit for Janes party....okay yea i like this one

its splotchy, its denim, its loose yet form fitting, hell i would wear it (minus the shoes)  it feels like something a 15-19 year old feminine presenting person would wear to a party! which guess what! she is! shes going to a party! the only thing i would change is to possibly give her shorts or calf ending cargo pants, and change her open toed heels to wedged sneakers. other wise 8.5/10 would wear.

her motorcross gear.

i...dont like it, its super tight fitting, her butt in every single shot that usually just has Mal in it with her facing towards the camera is reaaaally obvious and its just...iahsiodhasid bad, is bad. her boots are clunky as fuck and hardly practical at all and for what she was planning to do with them makes no sense and girl get the fuck over your height complex.(clunky boots are cute but...girl...come on...) and it seems like its suited for a person in their mid twentys instead of a 19 year old. its hard for me to say exactly why i dont like it (also i will say, if you like tight fitting clothes, fucking go for it, you rock that shit, it just...doesn't look good on Mal and its a fukin kids series, and  the camera loved Mals butt and i was always like “yo camera man, pan up a bit why dont cha”)but i feel like if Mals pants weren't all a shiny tight fabric, i might like them a bit more but its all one thing and all one shade with different tones. like, comon, pockets guys, they are a thing, and put them on her butt so it derives from it when its in the shots.

i hate hate hate the hades color shift, because at least with the green/purple it had two shades and broke up the outfit but now...

its just blue and purple...there's like...nothing breaking up the tones or pieces of the outfit and now its all just tones of blue and purple that you cant tell apart and you have no clue where it begins or it ends and its ugly. 5/10 its better than her “fancy” talk shit but still burn it and keep it away from me. 

and now the dreaded outfit...her engagement party dress.

*shivers* its just...so bad, everything is just so tight and stiff that it just doesn't...feel like a real dress, it looks like it belongs on a doll, i don't even think a 30 year old wine mom would wear this its just so bad. Even the long version of the open skirt (which is impossible to find on google) doesn't flow like it should, its stiff and keeps its form the entire time, and when you want a long flowing engagement party dress made for a princess? that's not a good thing, whatever fabric they used was not a good one and they should never use it again...the texture on the dress is awful too. i think the only thing i like about this abomination is her tiara...that's it, that's all i like, and only because its so much better then that foam garbage that was her dragon dress crown. 0/10 fucking erase it from existence.

i was going to do Evies outfits but i feel like i took too much space up on Mal...i have alot to say on this abomination of an Evie “outfit”

what is this WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?! EVIE YOU ARE 19 NOT A FUCKING 40 YEAR OLD REALTOR?!

so i might do a whole post just for Evies “outfits” 

[cellard0ors]

Fic: Movement (5/5)

YAS.

I got it done.

My pornstar!Rhett and College!Student!Link fic is DONE.

...it was supposed to be a short ficlet thing (hahahahahaha - cries) Still, it's done - so I hope you enjoy it @peachworthy! It was all for you!

If you want to read the previous part on tumblr: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

OR

You can read it ALL here on AO3 Link!

Dating a porn star is not what Link expected.

Not that Link ever expected to be dating a porn star, but the point remains – dating one is not like he thinks one would envision it. To be fair, this is probably because he’s not just dating any porn star, he’s dating Rhett and Rhett is far more to him than just a porn star. In fact, he was his roommate and secret crush long before Link even recognized him by his profession.

But now, having watched one of Rhett’s films, seeing him in action (full porno sex action), Link can confirm that that is indeed what he is. But that doesn’t really matter to Link. Nothing does, but how sweet Rhett is. How doting and romantic and kind of the best boyfriend anyone could ever have and it sort of boggles the mind that he is Link’s boyfriend.

But he is and their relationship is moving along quite amicably. Nights spent watching movies together, going grocery shopping, sharing chaste kisses and the occasionally more heated ones and it’s not all that different from how it was when they were just friends minus the addition of said kissing.

However, it’s more than a few weeks in, and it’s clear to Link that sex is an issue. Or not so much an issue as a nonentity. Neither of them have pushed farther than the classic over-the-clothes action and Link isn’t sure if it’s him or Rhett or both and it finally reaches a point where one of them has to speak up, so he decides to brave the field, “So, um, Rhett?”

“Yeah?” Rhett asks and he’s a little distracted, making dinner for them as he is. Still, Link sees no reason why this discussion can’t be casual, so he shoots for that as he asks, “You…? Ah, you think we’re ever gonna-? Gonna, um, have sex?”

The last comes out so horribly awkward and Link is rubbing at the back of his neck and somehow feeling like a heel in all of this. But communication is important in a relationship and he figures it’s better to speak now then forever hold his peace or whatever. Rhett looks up from the skillet he’s working over, eyebrows raised high, “Why? You don’t want to?”

“No!” Link rejoints quickly, “No, I definitely want to! I just…? I noticed we, uh…haven’t? Yet? So, I-I wasn’t sure-?”

So, you want to talk about it, but you can’t string anything coherent together? His thoughts hiss, but Rhett seems understanding as he removes the skillet from the heat and clicks off the stove. While their food cools, he carefully removes his oven mitts and shrugs, “Well, I mean…I’ll confess, I’m a little…apprehensive to kick things off.”

Link perks up at this and Rhett shoots him a lopsided grin, “Mean, you’ve seen one of my films now. Before you, when I’d get in a relationship, when people found out about what I did – I guess you could say they broke down into two types. First type expected me to be some god of carnality, y’know? Like, the best bang they’d ever have in their lives.”

He runs a hand through his thick hair, tossing it, which Link now recognizes as a nervous tic on his part, “And it’s not really like that. Don’t get me wrong, I think I’m a good lover. I don’t see myself as horrible in bed or anything, but what I’ve found is that a lot of those types of partners had these overblown expectations of me. Like I’d get them off in a second or that I’d ruin them for others or, I dunno, give ‘em orgasms every five seconds and I-?”

Rhett trails off, looking at a loss for words, but Link gets it, “They couldn’t sperate the fantasy from the reality.”

He gets a snap of fingers at that, Rhett looking pleased, “Exactly! Even though people say they understand that porn is fake and that a lot of it is exaggerated, for some reason, if they’re with a person who does it for a living, they expect something…I don’t know, revolutionary.”

Link nods and Rhett starts plating up their food, avoiding Link’s eyes as he speaks, “And I guess I just-? I don’t want you to be one of those types of people.”

Link’s heart stings a little at the thought – or more, at the idea that Rhett had had that thought. Rhett takes the plates towards their kitchen table, eyes still downcast and cheeks clearly red as he murmurs, “I don’t think you are. Truth be told, I know you’re better than that. But…I really like you, Link. And I don’t want to lose you because-!”

Link takes the plates from Rhett and sets them down, he then tips Rhett’s face up by his chin and kisses him tenderly, looking into his eyes as he speaks, “You won’t.”

Rhett doesn’t look convinced, so Link kisses him again, then wraps his arms around his neck, tugging him close, “You said there were two types?”

“Ahhhh, yeeaaah,” Rhett draws out, looking at little sheepish even as his arms settle around Link’s waist, “The other type is the one I’ll admit I’m a bit more worried you might fall into.”

Link’s eyebrows rise, asking for him to continue more than words can. Rhett does; but resumes not looking at him while he does so, “The other type are…intimidated.”

Link lets out a snort that speaks volumes, clearly saying there’s no way Rhett ‘intimidates’ him but that doesn’t stop him, “No, seriously – they think because of what I do, how many films I’ve made and how many partners I’ve worked with, that I’ll be hard to please or that they’ve got to do something extraordinary to stand out.”

“Well, I mean…I’m already extraordinary, so-?” Link teases and Rhett rolls his eyes, starting to edge away, but Link lets out a little abortive ‘Hey!’ before dragging him back over and kissing him. This time they kiss for a while, Rhett’s fingers hooking into the beltloops of Link’s jeans and dragging him closer. It’s right on that edge of sweet and sexy and, after a while, Link manages to draw in a rather audible breath, enough to murmur, “No, I get what you’re sayin’…”

Link puts space between them, knowing that now’s not the time to just jump into bed considering Rhett’s concerns. Especially in light of their legitimacy, which he confirms as he takes his seat at the table, “Look, I’ve thought about all of that. Everything you’ve worried about or your old flames thought, I’ve run ‘em through my noggin and I gotta say, all of it did trip me up. At first. But then, I had an epiphany!”

“Really?” Rhett asks with a very incredulous tone as he takes his own seat. Link’s already started digging into his meal, looking smug even as he answers with an agreeable, muffled hum – mouth full of food. Once swallowed, he grins and gestures at Rhett with his fork, “And my thought was, we just gotta get on an even playing field.”

Rhett looks a little stumped by that, blinking rapidly, “Meaning?”

“Meaning,” Link says cheekily, “We’re making a movie.”

+

“You…sure about this?” Rhett looks at the Go-Pro set up in front of his bed with a mixture of uncertainty and dread. Link doesn’t mind the first, but is bothered by the second, even as he adjusts the camera, “Absolutely.”

“I don’t know, man…”

Link looks through the view finder. The lightning is just right, but he adjusts the angle some. He wants to make sure he gets a good, wide shot of the bedroom – especially the bed. That’s where the magic is going to happen. Just thinking of it, a whole maelstrom of butterflies churn through his central nervous system. Still, he’s nothing if not determined.

Some would call it stubborn. He prefers determined.

Regardless, Link looks to Rhett, “Look, this is just for us. Alright? Nobody gets to see this lil’ gem but you and me. It’s,” he looks into the distance, thoughtful, “It’s a Link and Rhett production!”

This gets a laugh, “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah!”

“Considering my extensive filmography, shouldn’t I be the headliner? Shouldn’t it be a Rhett and Link production?”

The name flip causes Link to make a face and drags another chuckle out of Rhett, “Take it you can’t handle that?”

“Well…I am the one in school studying film…”

“Okay, but I’m the star attraction here.”

“Are you?” Link asks with a devilish grin, even as he goes about adjusting various throw pillows and things, as if to perfectly set the scene for what is about to take place, “How do you know I won’t upstage you?”

The sound of disbelief that emerges from Rhett causes Link to make another face, “Seriously. You haven’t had all of this yet,” he gestures to his whole body, “Might just be I’m the one that ruins you for anyone else. That I just-! Just blow your mind so much sexually that you can’t get enough of me!”

Rhett is all smiles, enjoying Link’s boastful side more than he probably should. But it’s hard not to. It’s so endearing and, oddly, attractive and Link knows it as he claps his hands together and a couple ‘alright’s’ leave him in rapid, nervous succession because, well, it’s showtime.

And showtime means sex time.

Sex time…with Rhett.

Link is going to have sex with him and okay, okay, okay…

“You alright, buddy?” Rhett asks seriously and Link realizes his ‘alright’s’ have switched over to nervous ‘okay’s’ and he’s sort of a rambling, shaky mess. He looks at Rhett and oh gosh, the man is too attractive by half. Link needs to get back in charge of this situation. As such, he draws in a deep breath through his nose and nods to himself, “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”

“You sure?’ Rhett returns softly, looking worried as he speculatively eyes the camera and then the bed again, ‘Cause I remember my first time filming and I was a mess.”

This draws Link’s attention, “Yeah?”

Rhett nods, “I didn’t know what the hell I was doing. I mean, yeah, sex is pretty matter of fact, but knowing how to go about it and with a bunch of people watching…”

“Okay, but,” Link walks over to Rhett and gives him a quick peck on the cheek, before taking one of his hands and giving it a squeeze, “No one’s watching but you and me.”

“True,” Rhett confirms softly, “But that doesn’t mean you’re not nervous.”

“Are you?” Link asks and Rhett grins, “What? Nervous?”

At Link’s nod Rhett laughs, squeezing Link’s hand back, “You bet your sweet bippy I am!”

“Great! Then we’re on the same page!” Link beams and then draws back his hand and goes over towards the dresser, grabbing a folder he brought with him when he brought in his filming set up, “Speaking of pages…”

He draws out one and Rhett looks over it before letting out a loud boom of laughter, “You wrote a script?!”

Link shrugs, “Just a couple of words…”

“I see,” Rhett giggles and flips through it, reading quick snippets of the ridiculous prose, “And you said ‘Movement’ had bad dialogue.”

“What’s wrong with the dialogue?” Link asks with distinct affront and Rhett waves the pages at him, as he coos dramatically, “‘Ohhh Daddy Link, you’re so big’?”

Link snatches back the pages and tosses them to the side, “You just wait!”

“Uh huh,” Rhett is still giggling but Link looks serious, “You’ll be saying that and more!”

“Oh, I will?” Rhett wheezes and he wasn’t aware this was going to be so much fun. To be honest, neither was Link, who looks a little sheepish even as he reaches for Rhett, “C’mere…”

Rhett does and they kiss for a while. Nice, warm, comfortable kisses until Link sneaks in just the slightest nip of teeth along Rhett’s bottom lip. The tiny sting draws Rhett up short, makes his breath catch and Link draws back to look at him, blue eyes heavy lidded as he hums, “I’m gonna push record now.”

Rhett can only manage a nod and Link pushes a button on the Go Pro. They resume kissing and Rhett can’t help but let out a whimper as Link…pushes him backwards. The push isn’t terribly forceful, but it’s enough that Rhett finds himself backing up towards the bed. He feels the tap of the mattress against the back of his knees and at Link’s next nudge, he falls back against it.

Link clambers over top of him and their lips have hardly broken contact the entire time. Link’s frame is slighter than Rhett’s, but not any less substantial, and Rhett groans, finding he rather likes it beneath the other man. More so when Link leverages himself up a little…higher. Somehow Rhett finds he feels…small. Something he’s never really ever felt before and the sensation shoots straight to his dick, more so when Link husks, “You ready to learn a new form?”

That was actually something Rhett remembers seeing in the script Link wrote. It was a haphazard line tossed in amongst the sillier remarks he’d picked out, but hearing it now, he shudders, “I…?”

“C’mon,” Link whispers against his neck, which he peppers with little sucking kisses, “Gotta master some other…movements…”

The last is said with a level of severity that Link’s surprised he manages, but also – hearing it – he can’t help but laugh at himself. Okay, so, his dialogue isn’t all that great. To be fair, he wrote it more for fun than anything.

And as kind of a segue into how Rhett should be prepared for him, not the other way around. Link supposes it was his approach to avoiding nerves – an air of bravado that would sustain him through any potential worries.

After all, Rhett’s not wrong. Rhett is experienced, he’s done a lot – in comparison, Link’s sexual history is dismal. Still, Link’s sure he can provide something the previous lovers didn’t and he, heart in his throat, asks, “Tell me, baby…you ever bottom?”

It was, in fact, a question he asked in his script but, also, one Link wanted to ask for real. Considering his stature, Link’s pretty sure Rhett hasn’t. And with Rhett’s answering groan of desire, the question is confirmed, albeit the core of it still unanswered. Link whispers, “…you want to?”

“Fuck,” Rhett manages in such a breathy way that Link feels his balls tighten, more so when he can feel Rhett’s whole body nod beneath him, “Yeah…”

“You want to?” Link asks again, wanting Rhett to be absolutely clear about what he’s agreeing to, even as Rhett’s head starts rapidly bobbing more and more, “Yes, yes…yes, I want to, Link.”

“Link?” he asks and it’s a clear tease, one met with Rhett groaning again, this time not from pleasure, so much as amused aggravation, “I’m not calling you Daddy, Link.”

“Mmm, not yet,” Link purrs into his chest even as he eases up enough to draw Rhett’s shirt up and over his head. Rhett, not to be outdone, grabs the bottom hem of Link’s shirt and, working together, the two ease it up and over Link’s head. Now shirtless, the two resume kissing and moving against one another, hips lewdly grinding even with their jeans on and Link absent mindedly wishes they’d worn something simpler to remove.

But the feeling of his denim clad erection rubbing roughly against Rhett’s does create a magnificent friction that draws a curse from him, his skin breaking out in a light sheen of sweat as they continue undulating. Rhett’s fingers, which had once more gripped to Link’s belt loops, now dive beneath the back of his waistband, dipping beneath his underwear and gripping his ass firmly and Link grunts his name approvingly.

If Link learned one thing from watching Rhett in that film, it’s that the man has amazing hands. Big palms, long fingers, and Jesus – his grip. He’s latched on and breathing heavily and the sounds of those pants in Link’s ear is better than any music he’s ever heard.

Another thing he learned from the film – cheesy music is not needed. Just the sounds of two people together, seeking pleasure, is more than enough to get the fires going. Although frankly, Link was on fire the moment his lips met Rhett’s. And it’s a fire that only stokes higher as he eases up, pulls back and Rhett goes with him.

Link’s legs are on either side of Rhett’s, practically putting him in Rhett’s lap and Rhett curls up, his mouth aimed at Link’s dusky nipples. He claims first the left, then the right, licking and nibbling at the sensitive tips and Link’s head falls back, Adam’s apple bobbing on a low groan because, yes.

He’s always had such a sensitive chest. It was a source of embarrassment for him once. That his nipples were such an erogenous zone. But now, with Rhett feasting there, he’s more than okay with it. Okay with Rhett’s hands having left his ass to grip at his bare back, to hold him still while he feasts on his chest.

Rhett’s teeth scratching through swaths of chest hair with abandon as they trail down as far as they can go before arching back up, searching out Link’s mouth and Link kisses him again, his hands tangling in the back of Rhett’s long hair, fingers ensnaring themselves deep within the mass of curls and tugging just so. Rhett whimpers at it, hips jutting upwards and Link feels himself bounce some, smirks into their kiss as he murmurs, “Tryin’ ta take me for a ride?”

His accent comes out thick, a sweet southern drawl and Rhett’s eyes are glossy green as he puts up again and Link’s own hips answer – a dirty dance beginning as they rock against one another. And while the simulation of the actual sex act is pleasing enough it’s just – not the real thing and that’s what Link wants.

He wants it, but not like this – not this time and he lets out a whine even as he forces himself up and off, forces himself to pull away and stand – his hands shaking as they remove his jeans. And while Rhett is still lying there on the bed – looking like some kind of sexual Adonis – Link can just make out the slightest sliver of insecurity in his eyes.

It hides well beneath the open lust, but it’s there. And even though he’s clad only in his underwear – a rather funny sight no doubt, given the way his stiff cock is making the material curve outwards – he asks gently, “You okay?”

Rhett nods and starts working off his own jeans and underwear, even as he breathes, “Just…look at you.”

“Me?” Link laughs lightly and Rhett nods, sitting up enough to pulls everything off. Once his cumbersome clothing is removed, he looks to Link again, his gaze full of wonder, “Yeah. I mean…you’re just-?”

Rhett licks his lips and swallows, his eyes darting away for a moment as he whispers, “You’re so…pretty.”

“Aw, shucks,” Link waves a hand before going to take his underwear off, “Bet you say that to all the guys.”

“I don’t,” Rhett intones with such severity that Link’s hands freeze on the elastic waistband of his underwear. Rhett’s looking at him now. Staring at him and Link feels all the tiny hairs on his body stand on end as Rhett speaks, “You’re…you’re beautiful, Link.”

Am I? Link wants to ask; but feels ridiculous at the prospect. He toys with repeating the sentiment – because (of course) Rhett is beautiful too. But there’s something about the way Rhett said it, about the way he’s looking at him, that keeps Link’s mouth closed. Keeps it closed as he finally removes his underwear and somehow that’s what breaks the serious tension between them, Rhett’s eyes going wide, “Oh.”

“What?” Link asks and he looks down and then back up again, confused.

“That’s…” Rhett runs a hand over his jaw, “That’s…a big dick.”

The shocked, delighted laugh that breaks out of Link is surprisingly loud but Rhett just sits up more, grinning, “No, I’m serious, man. You could make a lotta money in the biz with that thing.”

“I could?”

“Yeah. Big market in the big dick department.”

“…so what I wrote in the script was accurate?” Link waggles his eyebrows, shooting him a gloating look even as Rhett sighs in defeat, “Well-? Yeah? Yeah, I guess so…”

Link lets out a little ‘woo hoo!’ and it’s hard for Rhett not to chuck a pillow at him and call this whole thing off. Not that he ever would, smiling as he is. Smiling and chewing on his bottom lip as words rumble out from deep within his chest, “But do you know how to use it?”

Link goes over towards the nearby dresser and, far more smoothly than he even imagined, he draws out a tiny bottle of lube. He quickly coats one hand before tossing the bottle near Rhett and, making sure to keep eye contact, he takes a good grip on himself. His words come out in a pleasured hiss as he strokes himself, his length growing wet and slick, “You’re about to find out.”

The visible shudder that moves though Rhett makes Link have to tighten his hold, because it wouldn’t do to cum from just that. It’s hard though. Not to lose himself at the mere sight of Rhett’s sheer arousal. Still, he manages as his eyelids grow heavy, his voice thick with emotion as he murmurs, “Go one then, Rhett. Get ready.”

“…ready?”

Link nods and his chin juts towards the direction where he tossed the lube, the tiny bottle resting against Rhett’s left hipbone, “Ready for Daddy’s big dick.”

A strangled sound erupts from Rhett and Link knows it’s not a laugh. It’s something much more lascivious as Rhett takes the bottle and begins to coat his fingers. He lies back and parts his legs and Link just keeps talking, “That’s it. That’s a good boy. Draw your knees up…”

“Fuck, Link…” Rhett openly moans and does as instructed. He pulls his knees up and it makes himself more compact, smaller, and he arches his hips, makes sure to put himself on full display as his fingers drop to his entrance. He eases one finger in past the tight ring of muscle, then another, and Link keeps speaking, even as he continues to jack himself (the sound of his hand on his flesh bordering on obscene) as he speaks, “That’s it. Get yourself nice and open for me.”

“Link…”

“You’re so tiny, baby. Gotta make room for me.”

The tight mewl of pleasure that leaves Rhett at that, the way his hard cock stirs against his belly, the wet tip smearing the skin there as he does as Link asks, makes it difficult for Link to continue. He’s panting now and there’s not enough air and he needs to get in. He needs to take Rhett before he loses himself to all the sensory stimulation going on around him.

He kneels on the bed, making the mattress dip and Rhett’s fingers lose their rhythm. He slowly withdraws his fingers, a noise of discontentment leaving him but Link just shushes him, kisses him, before he grabs the nearby throw pillows.

They work together to adjust them beneath the curve of Rhett’s spine, making it more comfortable for him to lift his legs higher, the tops of his thighs pressing back lightly against his body. Link doesn’t want Rhett turned into a pretzel for them to fuck properly, for them to face one another – that won’t look good on camera.

Link’s not one of those driven by the sight of two lumped up forms – bodies a heaving, tangled mass while they work away at one another. Same goes for up close, zoomed in shots of their bodies making a connection. While pleasing in the moment and certainly something he likes to see in the throes of passion, it’s never been something he’s enjoyed in adult films.

Granted, it’s not like he can zoom in with the camera now, so that’s not something he has to worry about exactly, but the fact remains – the two things are not something he wants captured on film. He wants their movie to fulfill his tastes. In reflection, he should have asked for Rhett’s tastes as well, what he would have liked to see, but then he feels fingers pinch at one of his nipples and yelps.

“What was that for?!”

“You’re distracted,” Rhett hisses, squirming beneath him, “Distracted instead of fuckin’ me!”

“I was thinking…” Link looks to the camera and then to Rhett and then back again. Rhett’s head knocks back against the bed on a sigh, “Link, please don’t go all directorial on me now...”

Link lets out a pleased little chuckle, “Lil’ impatient?”

“Ain’t nothing little about me.”

“I beg to differ,” Link growls and he kisses Rhett, buries his hands in all his glorious hair and then – thankfully – he pulls back enough to take a good hold of himself, to direct himself in. Rhett chokes out a sound that is the perfect cross between pain and pleasure and Link glows, “Yeah, see that? You’re so small and tight, sweetheart. I don’t even know if you can fit all of me.”

The cords on Rhett’s neck stand out as he tosses his head back, whimpering as Link spears him open, as he cries, “Jesus, Link.”

“Yes?” Link asks in a strained voice, but one that is light with enjoyment. Because he knows. He knows that – if anything – there’s nothing little about him. And Rhett is recognizing that now. Recognizing that Link is big and thick and filling him up quite nicely. His body is doing its best to stretch, to be accommodating, but it’s hard.

As hard as Rhett’s own dick, which he reaches for, giving it one swift, firm stroke before Link lets out a snarl of disapproval. He snatches back Rhett’s hand, presses it hard back against the mattress with a light, chastising ‘nuh-uh-uh’ and Rhett lets out a tight whine because no. He needs more, he has to have it, and then Link moves.

And this is very much the definition of movement.

Link’s hips work like a well-oiled machine, his length beginning a steady pistoning in and out, and Rhett’s hands can’t help themselves, fleeing to Link’s ass, needing to hold on to something – anything. He grabs it hard – fingers digging in and pressing him down, pressing him deeper, and Link answers with a curse, Rhett’s name following after as he picks up the pace and it’s clear neither of them is going to last long.

Their lips lock and unlock in filthy, wet kisses – their damp foreheads pressing together now and then when they have to draw back for air and just breathe. But they share oxygen between the pants, the bed beneath the shaking slightly – shaking like their limbs and Link’s mouth moves to Rhett’s ear, brushing against it as he whispers, “That’s it. That’s my good boy.”

Rhett sobs and Link kisses his earlobe, gasping, “You going to cum from my big dick alone? You going to do that for Daddy?”

Another tight sound winds its way out of Rhett’s throat and his body is growing rigid even as it trembles and Link can feel him squeezing around him, can feel how close he is. The pressure is fantastic, yet link can’t help himself, can’t help but kiss Rhett’s cheek, can’t help but meet his eyes as he asks, “Tell me…”

“Yesssss,” Rhett hisses and Link presses for it, “Yes, what?”

“Yes!” Rhett pants, his head nodding, “Yes, Da-!”

He doesn’t finish saying it. The word ‘Daddy’ gets lost, becoming a pure, jubilant shout as his body breaks apart, his climax washing over him like a warm, sweet cascade. The feel of it – of Rhett breaking apart beneath him – the sight of him losing control – sends Link over and he cums harder than he ever has.

His body loses complete control, snapping like a rubber band pulled too tight and he knows he goes a little crazy – his body jack hammering away with the kind of force he would normally abhor, but – what can he do? Rhett feels so perfect around him.

Link’s lost – swept up in the storm of Rhett’s release and his own and Link can feel starkly hot, wet spurts against his stomach and his own body is going much the same within Rhett. The collide against one another, again and again, until all the stings of pleasure are wrung out of each of them. They end up a sweaty heap until Link rolls off and looks up at the ceiling, eyes wide, “Wow.”

The word comes out winded. Impressed. Rhett responds much the same. They both stare up at the ceiling and Link knows the camera is still recording, but he could honestly care less. He feels weightless, buoyant, and just as he thinks he might float up and out of his body. Rhett sighs, “I need a new job.”

Link frowns, eyebrows knitting together, and he turns to Rhett, confused, “What?”

Rhett doesn’t look at him, eyes still glues upwards, as he exhales, “Need a new job, man.”

“…why?”

Rhett turns to him and his green gaze is unbelievably soft, “Told you. I said I’d always planned on getting out when I met someone.”

Link doesn’t speak, he just waits. Waits for Rhett to make him one of the happiest men on planet earth, as he says, “And I met you.”

“Yeah?” Link asks shyly, uncertainly and at Rhett’s nod, he smiles, licking his lips, “You saying you like me?”

“Shit, bo, “Rhett laughs, “think it’s pretty obvious I do more’n just like you.”

“Oh?” Link’s heart twirls up inside him and truthfully? This? This is even better than the world shattering sex they just had. More so when Rhett rolls to one side and, looking deep into Link’s eyes, confesses, “Yeah. I love you, Link.”

I love you, Link.

Link rolls on to his side, kisses Rhett, and – finally – gets to say something he’s been thinking for a very long time, “I love you too.”

+

The film they made is raw, messy, and the best film Rhett thinks he’s ever made.

Link points out it didn’t win any awards, but Rhett boasts that Link IS the reward and honestly, Link will take that. He’ll take that and then some. Rhett drops out of the business; Link continues with school – they transition fully from roommates to friends to lovers and both recognize that this movement in their lives is far better than any other kind of movement.

Because it’s one they’re sharing together.

[missmorosis]

Sokka S/O Headcanons!

from my matchups <3

i found a couple of em cute and decided to combine em all LSKDJFLKSDF

i got rid of the ones that were too specific to the person, but other than that, here you gooooo

here’s the zuko version, if you’re interested!

aang version here!

suki’s version here!!

toph, ty lee, and katara’s here!

if you like hugs, he’s your man

he loves giving you hugs

he’ll SQUISH you

but issokay- YOU LOVE IT LKSJDFLSJDF

⊷⋆⊶

just THINK about the art dates you two would have

“okay okay, just try to guess what this is”

he would eagerly shove his drawings into yours

you would have no idea what it is- poor baby i- he tried, okay

MEANWHILE he loves loves loves your art sm and thinks its SO GOOD

he would def try to recreate some of your art and it would just be the sweetest thing 🥺💖 even if it doesn’t look exactly the same :)

even though he’s not nearly as good

its something both of you enjoy!

“LOOK AT MY DRAWING!!” “wow sokka... it’s.. great! what about mine??” “it’s great, but not as good as mine 😎”

⊷⋆⊶

yall could sass each other back and forth

both of you would MAYBE hate each other sometimes but then yall would get along so well AHHHHHH

probably would tease each other a lot???

⊷⋆⊶

he’s pretty kindhearted- although sometimes he may tend to focus on goals and whatnot

and sometimes he can be a bit... aggressive?? is that the word lskdjflskdf

ANYWAYS

overall, he’s a caring person <3

he will TOTALLY put in as much effort into the relationship, if not more!!

HE LOVES YOU AND HE WANTS TO SHOW IT

⊷⋆⊶

he’ll totally throw a bunch of parties for you!!

“hi sokka i’m ho-” “SURPRISEEEE” “what’s the... occasion?” “NO REASON!!”

HE LOVES YOU HE LOVES YOU HE LOVES YOU

⊷⋆⊶

he is definitely someone you can have fun with!!

it’ll never be boring with him as your s/o

tell me yall wouldn’t have prank wars

whether it’s you drawing on Sokka’s face when he’s asleep (which is often) or him replacing your toothpaste with frosting- it goes on forever, and none of you mention it directly

SOMETIMES it gets annoying, but issokay cuz you prank him back :D

the gaang def finds it annoying tho

“DID YOU TWO DO THIS.” “of course 😏”

LOTS of laughter between the two of you <3

⊷⋆⊶

he’ll take you on trips to the beach

he’ll totally splash you in the waves

“DUDE SOKKA DO NOT-”

too late-you’re already drenched in sea water 🤪

looking for crabs together!!

“I FOUND ONE” “QUICK GRAB IT AHHHHH”

⊷⋆⊶

or mayhaps a walk at the park!!

he just wants you by his side the whole time

crunching on dry leaves in the fall :D

yall would go out for ice cream after hehe

⊷⋆⊶

movies for dayysssss

he’ll totally watch movies with you!!

you guys would have movie nights every Friday~

he WILL cry if it’s a sad movie (no shame in that tho I CRY ALL THE TIME WHEN WATCHING MOVIES)

“h-he’s deAD 😭😭😭”

he has definitely cried while watching up. definitely. 

you would totally be comfortable with sokka!

he’ll make you feel SO SO loved

he’s literally so supportive and you would feel right at home with him :)

⊷⋆⊶

yall can quote tiktoks and vines together

“uhm chile anyways”

*debby ryan*

“can you read this for me sokka?” “no because what up, i’m jared, i’m 19, and i never fking learned how to read” “SOKKA JUST READ THIS FOR ME PLEASE”

⊷⋆⊶

10000/10 supportive baby

if you’re into music, he’ll go to EVERY SINGLE PERFORMANCE 💕

even if it’s a dress rehearsal

he’s screaming your name, cheering so loud lskjdflskdjf

⊷⋆⊶

if you like to flirt, he’ll flirt back

will OCCASIONALLY get flustered at first

but pickup lines with this dudeee

⊷⋆⊶

if you like skating, HE’LL SKATEBOARD WITH YOU!!

he kinda gives me skater boy vibes 😎

you two would skateboard around the neighborhood

if it’s during the day, you would skate and talk at the same time

can you even skate and talk at the same time sljkdflkjsdf IDK IDK

if it’s late at night, you would skate to an ice cream place that’s still open

he’ll get you ice cream, and yall would chill together for a bit :D

⊷⋆⊶

GOING TO CONVENTIONS WITH SOKKA

if you like to cosplay, he’ll take you to a convention

he’s there for the food ngl

you’ll cosplay together!!

yall would probably have a cute matching costume :D

⊷⋆⊶

2am convossss

“is water wet?”

“oh my gosh sokka it’s 2 in the morning. But no, water isn’t wet.”

“but like… water makes stuff wet.”

“yes, but it’s not wet. can water be dry? no.”

“OHH. okay. good night.”

“good night <3”

“... what about me? am I wet? hm. not yet 😏”

LSDKJFLSKJDFLKSJDF ANYWAYS

⊷⋆⊶

he’ll be so so happy when you get him gifts

“YOU THOUGHT OF ME 🥺😭💕”

“of course!!”

⊷⋆⊶

hiking to the top of a mountain together hehe

“let me carry you if you’re tired!!”

stubborn you would reply “i’m perfectly capable of walking mysel-”

too bad you’re already on his back lsjdfkl

⊷⋆⊶

he loves to braid your hair when you’re reading!!

it gives his hands something to do

he’ll chat with you and braid at the same time!!

the braid itself isn’t very good, but the time spent together is 🥺

⊷⋆⊶

please cook for him omg- he’ll love all the food you make him!

“THIS IS THE BEST THING I’VE EVER TASTED!” “Let me try some.” “NO, I’M NOT SHARING WITH YOU. MAKE YOUR OWN.” “SOKKA, I MADE THIS FOR BOTH OF US.”

he’ll lift the food out of reach and you end up giving up 😔

⊷⋆⊶

SHOPPING DATES WITH SOKKA!!

you guys would go to a mall or outlet together!

first, get a snack, like a pretzel or a smoothie :D

then yall would head to the clothing shops!

he would choose an outfit for you, and you would choose one for him hehe

make him fashionable 😌

he would either get something really cute OR really fugly on purpose- it depends on his mood

if he wants to laugh at you for a bit, expect something hideous :D

⊷⋆⊶

if you like music, you two would have a playlist yall work on together 👀

“ooh I like this song! Put it in our playlist.” “this song reminds me of you, add it”

⊷⋆⊶

he would make you bookmarks!! 

if you like to read, he would make you bookmarks for fun! maybe those photos from the photo booth?? Yknow the line of multiple photos 

he would laminate those and decorate them for you to use 😭😭💕

stickers are a bookmark’s best friend :D

and every time you open up a book you see you and sokka posing in the goofiest poses

mY HEART SDLKFJSLDF

⊷⋆⊶

sokka would love ALL of you!! 

Including your flaws

in his eyes, you are PERFECT PERFECT OMG WHAT DID HE DO TO DESERVE YOU

⊷⋆⊶

overprotective baby 😌

he will do all that he can to make you feel as safe as you can

he would do ANYTHING for you!!

⊷⋆⊶

would rest his chin on your head when you’re just on your phone or reading, and wrap his arms around you!

sokka would LOVE you and would def make you feel like the most important person in the world

⊷⋆⊶

play a sport? he would CHEER YOU ON and would love that you play a sport like

:O

is so excited for every game/match/practice

would play with you, even if he wasn’t good at it

helps you practice and get better :D

you would help him get better until he masters it

then it turns into a competition between you and him 🤷‍♀️ can’t help it

⊷⋆⊶

you two would have the cutest art-related dates???

just chilling together, sokka drawing and you’re writing

would def make posters for your writing and advertise it for you

“yall see this poster”

“its for y/n’s writing 😌”

“you need to read it”

⊷⋆⊶

you two would talk everyone else’s ears off

everyone’s lowkey tired of you guys

even sokka gets tired of you sometimes 😳

“can you just… shut up for a sec”

“no 💗”

but yall are cute so issokay :D

⊷⋆⊶

hiking trips with sokka hiking trips with sokka hiking trips with sokka

he would be the one planning them, ofc

mapping out the routes and stuff, perfect scheduling

he’ll make sure you guys get home on time

“can we stop for a sec- it looks so pretty here!”

“okay, you have 5 minutes before we need to move on”

“it's all part of my schedule.”

⊷⋆⊶

if you’re anxious, its okay :D

sokka will def help you feel better

will cuddle you

so much.

i hope you like cuddles sldkjflsjkdf

he’ll make Zuko make you tea so you can feel calmer!

this baby literally loves you sm <3

⊷⋆⊶

hope you enjoy hehe <3

[archivingspn]

2019: Twitter- Eric Kripke

therealKripke: “In honor of #SPN300, here's my original #SPN pitch from 2004. The pilot story is very different, but the tone always rang clear to me. Could never have imagined what this show became and the good it's done. Humbled and grateful beyond words to you all. #SPNFamily @cw_spn ‘[images of spn pilot’s 4pg script]’“ - 12:08 PM Feb 7, 2019

[source]

                                                                                                       1

Supernatural

Pitch by Eric Kripke August 30, 2004

I. TONE AND WORLD

In one sentence, this is X-FILES meets ROUTE 66. Two brothers, cruising the dusty back roads in their trusty 64 Mustang, battling the things that go bump in the night. But much more than that, it's a show about an obsession of mine...

Throughout the U.S., (especially the MIDDLE, where I'm from), we have a folklore, as uniquely American as baseball, as rich and varied as any world mythology, and almost nobody knows it. For instance, Robert Johnson sold his soul to the Devil, at an abandoned Mississippi crossroads, to be the world's greatest guitarist. But he died violently, poisoned at age 26, screaming about Hellhounds as he choked on his own blood. In the shadowy north woods of Minnesota, lives a creature named the Wendigo. Translated from Native American, it means "evil that devours.” It feeds on human flesh. And even today, dozens of witnesses say it's very real.

There are literally HUNDREDS of these stories and legends and urban legends. There are dark and dangerous things out there in the corners of our country. So here's a show that travels the diverse highways and byways of supernatural America. Black woods, ghost towns, those tourist trap mystery spots. Really, a show ABOUT our country-the bloody, beating heart of America.

Unlike X-FILES, this show isn't Vancouver rainy. It's brighter, more colorful, more VISCERAL, and more irreverent. The humor here is extremely important to me—but it has to arise from the characters and their attitudes. The characters can be funny, but the weekly stories have to be SCARY AS SHIT– I'm talking THE RING; how what you don't see is much more terrifying than what you do. I'm talking about making this series as scary as I possibly can, until you guys call and yell at me.

But I also want the tone to be GROUNDED. Where BUFFY, for example, felt HEIGHTENED, our show should feel like OUR WORLD, real-life America. With a darkness that bubbles and boils just beneath the surface. And I want to keep the weekly stories CREDIBLE- leave 'em with a question mark, the possibility of a rational explanation. Something early X-Files did very well.

Finally, I want this show to capture a certain SPIRIT. For one, that youthful electricity of dropping out and hitting the open road; the freedom of wide-open American spaces. But also, EVERY road trip story-from FEAR and LOATHING to Kerouac to The Odyssey, are inherently mythic quests, hero's journeys, real Joseph Campbell stuff. The way STAR WARS, LORD OF THE RINGS, and MATRIX are all the same story, with the same beats. So our series, too, is an epic hero's quest-- across the United States. Almost like a modern western, and our heroes are gunslingers. Or, as I like to call it - it's STAR WARS in TRUCK STOP AMERICA.

                                                                                                                2

II. CHARACTERS AND FRANCHISE

Now, let's get into establishing our characters, and launching our franchise.

So if this is STAR WARS, meet LUKE SKYWALKER. SAM HARRISON, 21. Think Jake Gyllenhall, or Tobey Maguire. Smart, funny, handsome, maybe a little type-A. He just graduated Stanford with a 4.0, and now he's heading back down to L.A., where he lives with his Aunt and Uncle, he'll spend the summer clerking at a powerful law firm. And in the Fall... Harvard Law, thank you very much. Pedal to the metal, Sam is cruising the track to success. But, like all good Luke Skywalker heroes, Sam is vaguely restless. He tells his girlfriend, maybe he should drop everything this summer and blow off to Europe. But of course, he doesn't. He has too many responsibilities.

Sam's well adjusted, successful life, it's a real triumph, especially considering his background. Fifteen years ago, his dad JACK became increasingly dark and depressed. He drank. A lot. Until Mom and Dad were in a car crash. Dad was driving. He lived. Mom didn't. That triggered a schizophrenic breakdown in Dad. He swore that twisted, dark, horrific things caused that crash and took Mom away. And those same dark things were chasing after him. Dad was institutionalized. But he escaped. And disappeared.

Sam is ashamed of his tragic past. Hates his Dad, blames him for killing Mom, and NEVER, EVER talks about it.

Now, Sam's mythic CALL TO ADVENTURE, the events that will change his life forever, begin simply enough. When his big brother DEAN rolls into town. Meet DEAN HARRISON, 25, think Colin Farrel. If Sam's the good kid, Dean's the troublemaker. If Sam's Luke Skywalker, Dean's Han Solo. Charismatic and dangerous. Cocky confidence masking a troubled soul. Sam hated Dad, but Dean was older and remembered Dad in brighter days, and he worshipped the man. Sam buried his past and ignored it, but Dean was haunted by it, never quite got his shit together. Dean never went to college. Just sort of traveled around. In fact, Sam hasn't heard from Dean in almost 3 years, which Sam clearly resents.

And now... Dean makes Sam a proposition. Let me drive you down to L.A.- it's just one day, we'll get a chance to catch up a little. Reluctant, Sam agrees.

At first, they're enjoying the electric, carefree pleasures of a ROAD TRIP. Top down, radio blaring, singing their lungs out to AC/DC.

But then... at twilight... on an empty stretch of highway... Dean's driving. And he has to make a confession. (Though I'm sure we'll break this up into a few different scenes.) "Sam. There's something I need to tell you," Dean says. “I went looking for Dad. And I found him. Took just about every dime I had, but I found him. And I've been with him, for almost 2 years." Sam is shocked and betrayed: "what?! Why didn't you tell me?!" But Dean continues: "listen. I know this is hard to believe. But Dad WASN'T nuts.

                                                                                                                    3

Demons really DID kill Mom. Dark, awful things WERE following Dad. I know. Because I can see them. Because they're following me, too."

Obviously, Sam is BEYOND freaked and well aware that schizophrenia is hereditary. Dean goes on, getting worked up-“so Dad figured out how to kill these things, and he showed me how. Until they caught up to us in Baker. They got Dad. Before I got them." "What do you mean, you GOT them?” asks Sam. “I killed a demon. In human form," says Dean. “You killed somebody?!" "No, I killed a DEMON, it only LOOKED human.” (Which could be a scary, visceral teaser, by the way.) Anyway, DEAN continues: “Listen to me, Sam... it was Dad's wish, his DYING WISH, that I find you, that I teach you the way he taught me.” At this point, Sam goes into placating, survival mode. “Okay. Sure. Just calm down." But Sam's terrified-of his own brother.

Meanwhile, as this conversation's going on, Dean isn't going to L.A. He takes a detour-- for all intents and purposes, kidnapping Sam. They pull into a small, faded, all-American town in Central California. It's 1950's American optimism gone to seed. Basically, they pull right into the pilot's SELF ENCLOSED B-STORY. Whatever it is, the story should be simple, giving us room to focus on the brothers. It should be based in Folklore. And it should be personal—the job their father never completed.

Now, here's an example of exactly the kind of story I'm talking about. The real life ghost story of the "Weeping Woman," a sobbing wraith in a bloody white nightgown. She murdered her children by the river side, as revenge against her unfaithful husband. And today, it's said she lures unfaithful men to the river and drowns them. And sure enough, several MEN in this town have turned up dead by the river's edge. Anyway, something like this. And Dean, despite his smart ass jokes and references to the movie Poltergeist, seems to be taking this SERIOUSLY.

But Sam doesn't believe a WORD of it. First moment he's alone, he calls his Aunt and Uncle. “I'm with Dean, I think he's sick.” They tell him—"cops in Baker found your Dad's body. And a truck driver's body, too. Dean's the suspect. You have to get away! Where are you?!” But before Sam can answer-he pivots, right into Dean. Who grabs the phone, SMASHING it, furious: “Dammit, Sam, I'm not insane," Dean says, “Caspar the unfriendly fucker is really out there!"

Then, as Dean delves deeper and deeper into the ghost story, dragging a reluctant Sam along with him... INEXPLICABLE SUPERNATURAL phenomenon begin to occur, which SERIOUSLY RATTLES Sam. We'll have several good, scary set pieces. And soon, Sam doesn't know WHAT to think. And in the B-STORY'S climax, he'll even save Dean at some crucial point. (Though we'll be careful to leave things open ended, with just the possibility of a logical explanation.)

Afterwards, a beat in which Dean, vulnerable, says to his brother-"I've been thinking. And you're going home, Sam. You're smart, and you've got everything going for you. I don't care what Dad said, I can't let you live like this... Still," says Dean, "it was nice having you around. When you're with somebody... you just don't feel as crazy as

                                                                                                                   4

often." Sam's very conflicted, and he feels awful, but he can't just abandon his old life. So the brothers part ways. Sam hitchhikes up the road. Meanwhile, thanks to his Aunt and Uncle, the cops have been searching for Sam, and now they find him.

At the station, Sam tells the cops, Dean's in Colorado by now. But a patrol car has spotted Dean's parked Mustang at a nearby motel. The police grab SHOTGUNS, they're going to take Dean with force. And in the face of ONE PASSING COP, Sam sees-a glimpse. A shimmer. Something DEMONIC and INHUMAN flashes across the cop's face-and then it's gone, just as quick. Did Sam imagine it? Is he going insane, too? Or is Dean really in danger? Are dark, awful things really after him, like he said?

This is Sam's crossroads moment. And he makes a decision-he takes off. Steals a car. Beats the cops back to Dean. Warns him at the last minute. It's very TIGHT and very HECTIC, but Sam and Dean get away. Escaping by the skin of their teeth.

As we leave Sam... he doesn't know if he's losing his mind. He doesn't know if Dean's a hero or a homicidal schizophrenic. All he knows is-Dean's his brother, and he needs help. And for now, that's enough.

III. THE SERIES ITSELF

I think the overall GOAL here, is building an engine that gives us SELF ENCLOSED STORIES. I am gonna pitch some very simple mythology, but STAND ALONES are a format I really believe in, they're the shows I loved and grew up on. Like the best EARLY episodes of X-FILES.

So basically, our two heroes, avenging their parents' death, cruise the golden backroads of America-picture chrome diners and bucolic farms and dusty Route 66 towns. Places that are mythic and American, but also haunting, in a way. Places where horror can strike in broad daylight. Sam and Dean are kind of like classic gunslingers, or dragon slayers, finding-and KILLING—the monsters of American folklore.

So first question-how do they find the damn things? Dean tracks these creatures in a low-tech way. He scans obituaries for strange deaths. Dean also has a loose network of contacts - defrocked ministers and trailer park psychics, who impart information to our heroes whenever necessary.

Second question-how do they KILL the damn things? The answer—they have no fucking idea. They're outgunned and desperate and in completely over their heads. They don't have a WATCHER, like in BUFFY. They don't have an OBI WAN. They're on their own. Each week, they gotta figure out what the hell they're dealing with, and how the hell to kill it. And a lot of the time, they're wrong, and they have to improvise. Whether it's finding a ghost's remains - and burning them into dust; or loading a shotgun with silver buckshot, our guys will do whatever it takes to get the job done.

[blitzturtles]

Title: It Starts Like This, Ch. 3/?

Rating: Teen and Up

Fandom: JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Golden Wind

Pairing(s): BruAbba, Platonic Bucci Gang

Summary: “I’d ask how you’re feelin’, but I’m guessin’ the answer’s ‘not so hot’?”

Bucciarati hums at him in lieu of an actual response.

Notes: Turns out being dead has a bit of a long term effect. Who would have thought?

This fic got away from me, so I'm breaking it down by character interaction (sort of). This is Mista's part of this very Bucci-centric fic.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

-

Mista is too busy watching a movie from his spot on the living room couch to notice his two new companions until one of them is practically deposited on top of him. He startles but reigns in his reaction when he sees that it’s Bucciarati. He looks like-- ‘hell’ would be putting it nicely. The poor bastard looks like someone put him through the wringer, either before or after running him over with a train.

“What the hell?” Mista asks, looking up at the room’s only other occupant. Abbacchio isn’t looking at him so much as frowning at the back of Bucciarati’s head.

“He had three seizures,” Abbacchio says finally. Bucciarati makes a noise in the back of his throat and flaps a hand uselessly in Abbacchio’s direction.

“Three?!”

“Yeah,” Abbacchio says shortly, “They did it on purpose. I need to--”

“Wait, what the fuck? I thought they were supposed to help!” That’s the whole reason Abbacchio took Bucciarati, right? Giorno had told Mista about it earlier after Abbacchio had apparently stopped by his office for long enough to explain why he was skipping out on work for the day.

Abbacchio pinches the bridge of his nose. Now that Mista’s looking at him, Abbacchio also looks wrecked, but in a different way. Exhaustion shows despite his makeup, and there’s black smudges around his eyes. It’s not significant, but enough that Mista has to wonder if Abbacchio attempted to clean it up after making a mess of it.

“They have to trigger them to-- I don’t know, evaluate them or whatever,” Abbacchio starts for the hallway. “I’ll be back in a minute. Just keep an eye on him.” He’s gone before Mista can respond. His voice has an odd waver at the end of his sentence that gives Mista a good idea of what Abbacchio is up to.

No problem, if the man needs a minute, Mista’s more than happy to keep Bucciarati company.

“I’d ask how you’re feelin’, but I’m guessin’ the answer’s ‘not so hot’?”

Bucciarati hums at him in lieu of an actual response.

“Yeah, thought so,” Mista shifts them so Bucciarati is tucked into his side. He wraps one arm around him, loosely, before letting the Pistols out to find perches of their own. They’re pestering him too much to keep them locked up, and the extra eyes can’t hurt.

They catch onto the situation quickly enough. Five snuggles up against Bucciarati’s neck, half obscured by black curtains of hair. The braid is still absent, which means there’s a lot more to hide in. Mista figures that that’s about where the rest of the Pistols end up, considering the fact that he can’t exactly see them.

As long as they aren’t fighting, Mista’s sure it’s fine.

He turns his attention back to the TV. He had only just started the movie about twenty minutes ago. Giorno had kicked him out of his office, claiming that he needed to focus on paperwork. Mista doesn’t think his presence was the problem, but he gets the nerves. They’re all a little on edge. It’s why he’s got a movie on in the first place. Something to distract himself, but now he has Bucciarati pressed against him. He remembers what Abbacchio said about stimulation the other day and decides to turn down the volume to near silence. He’s only interested in the gun-slinging parts anyway. Mostly so he can judge the accuracy (or lack thereof).

The two remain in silence for well over fifteen minutes before Mista is startled by the sensation of someone petting his head. Only it’s not his head. He glances down to see that Five has come out of his spot to cling onto Bucciarati’s shirt-- Mista takes a moment to appreciate the fact that Abbacchio got Bucciarati to wear something other than a suit in public, but that’s not important. He’s more concerned with the Pistols and what they might be getting up to.

But Bucciarati doesn’t seem bothered as he gently pets Five’s head with two calloused fingers. Five starts chattering away at him almost immediately. Talking about anything and everything. Mista’s cheeks heat up slightly. They don’t have to be so embarrassing, he thinks to himself, but Bucciarati doesn’t seem to mind. Nor does he seem to mind when One and Seven clamor in for their turns.

Mista startles again when he turns his head and ends up face to face with a blue helmet and a head full of spikes. They’re inches apart, and it’s a little unnerving to be stared at by something that he can’t actually meet the eyes of,

“Hey, SF.”

Sticky Fingers reaches past him and extends a hand out to the remaining Pistols. Two and Three climb on, each grasping a finger, while Sticky Fingers settles themselves on the floor, in front of the couch.

It’s a little odd to watch a stand so much larger than his own sit on the ground with their legs crossed, as if that’s totally normal. Mista has a feeling it has something to do with Bucciarati’s current condition. Five is always quick to pop out when he thinks Mista is in danger. Sticky Fingers must feel their user’s distress, and, if petting the Pistols is helping Bucciarati, they might as well join in.

Absently, Mista notes that Six must still be in Bucciarati’s hair.

“I thought I told you to keep an eye on him,” Abbacchio grouches upon his return. His footsteps give him away, thankfully. Mista doesn’t think he can take another shot at his ego. He’s already been startled twice. A third time would be absurd. (A fourth would be catastrophic. He’d definitely have to go check on Giogio with that kind of luck.)

“I am,” Mista says with a half grin, “Got fourteen of ‘em.”

Abbacchio grumbles something under his breath as he approaches. His fingers brush over Sticky Finger’s head carefully, “You know he doesn’t like it when you fuss.”

Sticky Fingers gives him a look that honestly amazes Mista. He doesn’t know how a stand with half their face obscured can be so expressive, much less expressive the level of unimpressed that SF is.

“Yeah, yeah,” Abbacchio pats Sticky Fingers and moves past them to take up the nearby chaise lounge.

Mista takes a moment to look him over. More so than earlier, and he winces. Abbacchio’s eyes are definitely red, despite his newly redone makeup. He must be trying to do his best to hide from Bucciarati. Not that Abbacchio walks around all that often with his face bare, but to take the time to redo his makeup and at least attempt to look like he hasn’t been crying from the stress… Mista feels for him, but he doesn’t know what he can offer.

He’s tempted to give Abbacchio his spot on the couch, so that the two can curl up together, but Bucciarati seems content where he is. Mista’s afraid to move him around too much, plus, Abbacchio isn’t exactly shy about asking (demanding) for something when he wants it.

The trio lapses back into silence. Bucciarati’s seemingly dozed off with two Pistols cupped under his hand. Two and Three join the pile when Sticky Fingers’ form dissipates, apparently recalled to their owner upon his falling asleep.

“They really take a lot out of him, huh?” The seizures, not the Pistols. Mista doesn’t think he has to clarify.

It’s weird to see Bucciarati like this. Two days in a row no less. There have been times-- in the past-- where Bucciarati had worn himself into complete exhaustion, but it’s a rare sort of thing where Bucciarati shows his weakness. Mista’s privileged enough to have seen it only because he’s been Bucciarati’s right hand a countless number of times. Plus, despite how he acts, Bucciarati isn’t that much older than him. He can’t soldier through everything. He has limits, like the rest of them. And trauma. So much trauma. Mista thinks anyone other than Bucci would have suffocated under it all by now.

“They gave him something to help relax his muscles. It’s supposed to help with the seizures, too,” Abbacchio explains, weary eyes flitting across Bucciarati’s form. He looks much more relaxed now, thankfully. Abbacchio doesn’t exactly like seeing his partner this way, but he prefers it to the painful tension that had been there earlier.

Mista frowns, “This all sounds crazy dangerous.”

“It is,” Abbacchio admits, eyes darting away.

“Oh,” Mista looks down at the man curled against him. Right.

“They wanted to admit him.”

“And he said ‘no’.”

“Nailed it,” Abbacchio sighs. “Look, it’s not exactly my place to tell you this, but… his father had seizures, too. One of the bullets,” he motions vaguely. Uselessly. He hates all of this, and he feels like he’s out of his depth, “Nicked his brain. Fugo and I think this is more uh-- he called it an ‘anoxic event’, but anyways. We don’t think it’s a hit that did it, but from when Giorno brought him back.”

“Oh yeah, Giogio said Bucci didn’t wake up when he healed him at the church. He had to do CPR.”

“Yeah, exactly, and it took him a minute. The brain doesn’t like that anymore than a bullet, I guess,” Abbacchio runs his fingers through his hair, only now realizing he never put his headpiece on. He can’t bring himself to care about it now.

Mista nods. That makes sense. He’s had his own head injuries in the past, and they usually throw him for a spin. He couldn’t imagine that being dead did the brain any favors. No blood flow, means no oxygen, and that usually means cellular death. That’s how Giorno explained it, anyways, and it makes sense to Mista

He runs his fingers up along Bucciarati’s arm. A gentle, comforting touch that he hopes isn’t too much. The man needs a break. Maybe they can plan a getaway for him.

“You said they gave him meds. They gonna always do this?” It’s honestly scary to see Bucciarati like this. Quiet and compliant. Mista doesn’t think there would be much protest no matter which way he might turn the man. He won’t. He doesn’t want to hurt him or set off something worse, but it’s disturbing all the same. This isn’t the man they’re used to, and he knows Bucciarati would hate it if he were more aware.

“Depends,” Abbacchio shrugs. He tries to sound nonchalant, but it’s obvious he’s failing, “Everyone responds to different shit differently, but this was more like what they’d give him if he went to the ED.”

It’s a lot to take in. Mista’s starting to get why Abbacchio looks the way he does. He feels completely overwhelmed, and he’s not actually dating the guy. He can’t imagine how Bucciarati is coping with all of this. Stubbornly, but it’s got to be a lot. More than anyone should have to deal with.

“I’d offer to get you something to drink, but I’m kind of pinned down by your partner here. But you look like you could use it. I still have seven sets of eyes… if you want to.”

“Maybe a little bit,” Abbacchio says after a moment. He wouldn’t consider it if Bucciarati were awake, but all he’s doing now is stressing over something that none of them can do anything about. He’s a coward for it, nonetheless. Bucciarati isn’t getting a break from any of this, except for when he’s unconscious. And Abbacchio has spent years trying to quell his tendency to reach for the bottle when life pushes him too hard, yet here he is.

“You’re overthinking it, dude.”

“Shut up,” Abbacchio grumbles as he gets up.

______

One glass easily turns into two, then three. Somehow he loses the bottle before it turns into four. He can’t figure out where to, and that keeps him busy and distracted for a while.

Whatever it takes to get Abbacchio out of his own head, Mista thinks. He teases him a bit, but he’s just relieved that Abbacchio doesn’t look like he’s going to have a breakdown if someone says the wrong thing about the color of his nails.

He doesn’t point out that the bottle is next to him and Bucciarati now. It’s not his own doing, of course. Bucciarati is firmly pressed against him, seemingly more drool than coherency. The Pistols can’t lift it either, at least not in any way that they could have gotten past Abbacchio unnoticed. The only thing that could do that would be the golden shine of a familiar zipper.

The other thing he fails to mention is the way Bucciarati had whispered, ‘shhh’, against him as SF made off with the bottle. It’s a little funny, and Mista’s happy to keep the secret for now. He figures Abbacchio’s good. Prone to drinking more than he needs to, he’s almost as likely to send himself careening back off the mental health cliff if given the opportunity (and enough wine). Right now, he’s perfectly tipsy and distracted.

Abbacchio eventually gives up his search for the bottle-- he never suspects his partner, nor his aptly named stand.

Bucciarati quietly restarts the movie and turns the sound up a bit. He doesn’t feel great, but his thoughts aren’t completely static now, which isn’t to say much about the coherency. There’s a full body nausea that he can’t shake, either, but the medication makes him feel somewhat detached from his body. Enough so that he doesn’t think he’ll be physically sick.

The television catches Abbacchio’s eye after a few minutes, and the man is scoffing almost immediately at some horribly inaccurate detail or another. Bucciarati says nothing, but he smiles in amusement.

“Thank you,” he whispers to Mista when he thinks Abbacchio is too engrossed to notice.

“No problem, Bucci.”

Mista grazes his fingernails over Bucciarati’s arm, a gentle press that feels nice against sore muscles. Bucciarati hums in response, once more grateful for his right hand. He’s not sure what he would do without his team.

[callemreine]

It hurts a little bit too much

'It’s time to grow up. I’m finally doing something that people enjoy! Something that people take time to pay attention to! Why can’t you understand that!'

Au August

Day/Prompt: Day 2 - Acting

Ship: Prinxiety, brief platonic moxiety

Word count: 1780

Cw: swearing / yelling (I'm sorry) / self-deprecation / crying / La la Land spoilers? (some people haven't watched it)

A/N: This is solely based on La La Land but I changed a few things that may change the direction of the story than what was actually in the film and this is my first time writing something angsty so forgive me angst gods </3 Also, Roman wants to be a Broadway actor but signed as a pop band singer instead. Virgil is still like Mia but not as headstrong

@tsshipmonth2020

Virgil has been with Roman for quite a while now. Roman has recently signed a contract for a pop band with his old friend, Janus, despite their doubt about the guy. Virgil wasn’t exactly pleased with what he witnessed when he was invited to one of his partner’s concerts. With the single confused tear left on the venue floor, Virgil has been worried since then about what Roman has gotten himself into.

~*~*~

Virgil was returning home after his dinner out with his friend, Patton; the only person keeping him stable since Roman left for… Boston? Maybe Dallas? He stopped keeping track a while ago.

When he reached the porch of their apartment, he hears the faint instrumental of ‘Only Us’ playing inside. He continues inside to see his partner setting up the table, his back facing him. “Roman?” The man suddenly drops the pot he’s holding on the table and turns to him. Roman let out a sigh of relief before flashing a small endearing smile to Virgil. “Surprise?” The taller man says in a small breathy voice, almost a whisper. “I have to leave in the morning but, I just had to see you,” he continues.

Virgil freezes for a moment before rushing to Roman, dropping everything he’s carrying, wrapping his arms around the other’s neck to kiss him. Roman wraps his arms around Virgil’s waist to keep them steady.

~*~*~

“I’m so glad to be home,” The taller man says with a smile. “Stay,” Virgil replies with a hopeful look; only to be returned with the same look from the other.

The pair are now seated at the dining table across from each other, instrumental music playing in the background.

“How’s your play? Hope you’re not too nervous,” Roman breathes out as he notices the other’s mood shift as he mentions the play. “You know me. I’m nervous about everything,” Virgil jokes with a chuckle. “Plus, what if people show up? I’m gonna perform in front of them. They’ll think I’m terrible,”

“Fuck ‘em” They laugh a little before Roman continues, ”They should be lucky to see it. It’s gonna be incredible. YOU’RE gonna be incredible. I can’t wait.” Virgil looks down on his food with a sad smile.

“I have to leave early tomorrow,” As much as Roman thinks that the statement sounds wrong when it left his lips, he doesn’t want Virgil to worry. “Boise, right?” Virgil inquires still looking at his food. Roman hums in agreement and continues, “You should come,”

“Wish I could. I still have to rehearse cuz’, we’re not all gifted in acting like a certain prince-like man I know,” Virgil teases with a smile. Roman chuckles, “Well, if you wanted me to help you, you could’ve just said so, darling,”

“I guess it’ll have to wait until you’re done with the tour,” Virgil replies with a forced smile. Roman’s face falls. “When are you done?” Virgil continues. “Uhm. Well, we’re only touring so we can make the record. After we’re done, we’re gonna record then, we go back to tour that record…” He trails off.

Virgil processes this information and decides to just let his brain talk. His heart is too soft for this conversation but, it can’t continue hurting for months. Or years.

“Do you like it?” Roman was caught off guard with the question and was confused with what Virgil meant. “The music, the band, the tour, singing on stage. Do you like it?” Virgil clarifies.

“I…” he trails off. “I don’t know how it matters,” Roman doesn’t like where this is going. All this time. All this touring. He thought it was what Virgil wanted him to do. Roman looks Virgil in the eyes, “Do you like the music?”

“I do. I just didn’t think you did…” The pair fell in uncomfortable silence, letting Virgil’s last statement linger between them.

“Why are you doing this? I thought you wanted me to do this. This is what we’ve been waiting for,” Roman is deep into confusion at this point. He’s been in this band for a while, he just wants to know why Virgil hasn’t anything before he signed on the dotted line that would seal his life.

Virgil sighed, “I just wanted to know where you’re theatre is gonna fit into all of this.” He said in such a small voice that, Roman wanted to just sweep Virgil off his feet to make everything better again. “There’s a reason why there are no theatres here because no one is like me. No one likes musicals here. Not even you,” Roman explained.

Virgil can’t take how pathetic Roman thinks of this entire situation. Yes, it’s Virgil that usually overthinks these things and, it’s not entirely impossible for Roman to as well but, this is just pure non-sense to Virgil. “I do like them now, because of you!” He blurted out with a slightly raised voice.

“Well, what am I supposed to do? Wait for you to be successful only for me to build something no one likes? It- It’s time to grow up. I’m finally doing something that people enjoy! Something that people take time to pay attention to! Why can’t you understand that!” Roman exclaimed, determined for Virgil to understand his point of view, not bothering to look at the other.

“Since when did you care about being liked? Why do you care so much about being liked-”

“You’re not an actor! How would you know?!” Roman immediately regrets his statement, knowing he doesn’t mean it. To him, Virgil is the greatest actor he has ever seen and, nothing would ever change that. He glances at Virgil and, sees the destruction his statement has caused slowly unfolding.

“No. No- I- I didn’t mean that, Virgil. I’m sorry. I promise it’s not true-” he tried to reverse his mistake but, to Virgil, the destruction has always been always there, this was just what he needed for everything to fall apart.

“Maybe you just liked me because I made you feel like a better actor,” Virgil stated blandly in a matter-of-fact manner. Roman knew that he was never better than Virgil, as an actor or not. He was heartbroken to hear that his partner thinks that he was just being used. His statement earlier was just a slip-up but this… What Virgil’s feeling is all his fault.

“Are you kidding?” Roman can’t bear to lose someone that he loves so much. Tears well up in his eyes, tempting to let them fall.

“No,” Virgil calmly replied, keeping a stern face.

Both of them, heartbroken, stared at each other, not letting go of what’s left between them.

But before any of them could say anything, Roman’s phone, which he left in the kitchen, rang. His ringtone echoing through the apartment. Roman sighs at the sound but doesn’t stand up. However, Virgil does and eyes for the door. Roman stays frozen for a moment before going after Virgil.

“Virgil, wait-” before he could continue, Virgil had already slammed the door.

~*~*~

You guys can use your imagination to fill in what happens after the argument up to before the next part.

But, if you haven’t watched La La Land, basically, Virgil did the one-man play and Roman didn’t show up and only a few people show up then, he goes back home to his parents in a different state, leaving everything behind. I think that’s all you need to know??

~*~*~

It’s been a few weeks since Virgil came home to his parents. He was devastated to see his old stuff and how hopeful he was to become an actor. Yet, he can’t bring himself to take it all down.

Virgil had abandoned his phone and his laptop to the very back of his closet and sticks to using his mp3 in the meantime. He has been needing some time to rethink his life decisions before facing the real world again. Leaving Roman to pick up whatever he left in Los Angeles.

He was finally enjoying peace and quiet for the first time in a while, until…

HHHHHHHNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG

~*~*~

“The fuck are you doing here?!” Virgil whisper-yelled as he walked towards the man, wondering what’s so important that Roman had to follow him all the way to another state.

“Thomas Sanders. The casting director. He was at your play-” Roman began. Just at the mention of the name, Virgil had become more troubled but hopeful at the same time.

“And he loved it so much, he wants you to audition for this HUGE-” Roman stated as he slammed his hand on his car for emphasis, startling Virgil a little. ”-huge movie that he’s got,” He continued with visible excitement.

Virgil shook his head with a little chuckle before running his hand over his mouth, “I- I can’t- I’m not going to that- That.. will kill me,” he continues to shake his head.

“WHAT?!” Roman exclaims, startling Virgil again. “What?! Shh shh! You have to be quiet cuz’ if my neighbors don’t call the police on you, I will,” He attempts to calm Roman down. “No. You have to make sense. You can’t stay here and be miserable for the rest of your life. You need to be reasonable here,” Roman persists.

“Because it’s just another goddamn audition!” Virgil explodes with all the hurt and anger he’s gathered through the years of auditioning for shows. “I’ve been to hundreds of auditions and it’s just the same thing over and over again! I’m sick of it! Yeah, sure, I get callbacks but, where does it end? Another fucking rejection! All of those countless hours of waiting for the phone to ring. Be- because maybe I’m not good enough,” Virgil pauses.

“I’ve been wanting this for years. And, now... Now that I don’t want it anymore. Now that I gave up on it. Another one fucking presents itself to what? Another rejection? I’m- I’m not giving myself another heartbreak, Roman. It hurts a little bit too much,” Virgil admits, already crying. It hurts Roman to see Virgil this way. He’s seen Virgil become so passionate about his play, he needs to let him see that this is not ‘just another audition,’ it’s the reward his hard work is all for. He needs to know.

“You’re a baby,” Roman bluntly states. “Maybe I am,” He couldn’t continue arguing anymore. “But, you said it’s time to grow up. And, I’m doing that so, why won’t you help me?” Virgil continues.

“You have an audition at 5:30. I’ll pick you up at 8,” as much as Roman wants Virgil to grab this chance, he can’t force him to if he doesn’t really want to. He loves him too much for that. At least he tried. “You’ll be out front or not. I don’t know,” Roman continues as he gets in his car and drives off, leaving Virgil standing in the middle of the road, staring at the library in front of him. The library that once helped him set his path to acting.

~*~*~

Perhaps Virgil was out front at 7:30 and got accepted in the audition.

Perhaps he wasn’t.

Told ya I'm not good at angst ;-;