#meticulous planner

[felixwylde]

Balanced Individuality Symphony

Which aspects do you think makes a person unique? What elevates a person into a realm of distinctiveness isn’t solely their vibrant memory scrapbook or the dynamic chatter in their mind, but also the nuanced spectrum of emotions they navigate. It’s as if their brain strikes a balanced agreement with the universe, exchanging notes on both curiosity and routine, all while their life choices weave…

[absensia]

okay coming off that quiz result, it's clicking for me just now that char doesn't realize just how bright she is because she doesn't see her own brightness. this is something only perceived from the outside looking in/on and so, from her own perspective, she has no idea that she is considered bright, never mind just how bright. the force of her energy and drive, the glow of her friendliness and zest for life, the searing heat of her curiosity and action - first mindset. instead, she thinks people find her off - putting, annoying, and / or dangerous for other ( probably also valid ) reasons, but never would she consider this. . . moreover, she loves the daytime and thinks of brightness as a generally good thing, so why would that be her?

[cappurrccino]

need to figure out how to activate a little internal Vincent Kapoor From The Martian Movie for new situations like "We've never assessed books for acquisition before! [through gritted teeth] And I am excited for the opportunity that affords."

the scary thing MUST get done, and the scary thing WILL get done, and the only way you learn new things is by doing them

[whoredmode]

what you can’t pencil him in or something

[nururu]

Everyone thinks law is an honorary straw hat and so in love with luffy and I'm gonna laugh so hard when endgame comes and law reveals his long con with doffy and double crosses luffy.

[plainselfraisingflour]

I'd really like someone to make (or show me) a picture of the "she's Barbue, he's just Ken" with Cinder and Kai.

Pleeeeeease. And thank you.

[bakersdaughter21]

i wonder what people would analyze about my character via my room if my life was a TV show

[flwrkid14]

I need an AU where Danny and Tim accidentally become the most feared vigilante power couple in Gotham, and they don’t even realize it.

okay, listen—Tim is the master planner. He’s meticulous, always two steps ahead of the rogues, the League, even Batman. Then you’ve got Danny, who’s literally a half-ghost superhero with insane powers. And here’s the thing: they don’t mean to be terrifying. They’re just doing their thing, but together? Gotham villains are shaking.

Imagine Danny using his ghost powers to help Tim patrol. Tim’s grappling onto rooftops, doing his usual stealthy vigilante thing, and meanwhile, Danny’s just casually flying through walls and scaring the absolute crap out of criminals. They’re mid-heist, and suddenly, this glowing kid shows up, phasing through the vault door like it’s nothing. No one’s prepared for a ghost that can literally disappear and reappear wherever he wants, while Tim is in the shadows, taking them down one by one. It’s like horror movie levels of fear for Gotham’s rogues.

The rogues start trading horror stories about the ‘ghost that haunts Gotham’s streets.’ No one knows his name, but they’ve all seen him—pale, glowing, and grinning like he’s enjoying the chase a little too much. And right next to him? That’s Red Robin, cool as ever, silently calculating every move while his ghost partner freaks people out.

Even the Batfam starts to notice. At first, Bruce doesn’t think much of it. Tim’s been working with new people before. But when reports start coming in about how terrified the villains are—like, they’re surrendering before the fight even starts—Bruce is curious. Then he catches wind of the ghost rumors. Now that gets his attention.

Cue the Batfam having no idea what to do with this information. Dick thinks it’s hilarious—‘Timmy? Scary? No way.’ Jason’s a little jealous, not gonna lie—‘So you’re telling me Tim’s haunting the criminals of Gotham, and I’m not invited?’ And Damian? Damian respects it. Ghostly intimidation tactics are just practical in his eyes.

But Tim? Tim’s just trying to do his job. He doesn’t even realize they’ve become the city’s most terrifying duo. Meanwhile, Danny’s having the time of his life. Scaring bad guys? Sign him up. Especially when it makes Tim roll his eyes fondly every time Danny phases into a room with a smirk, all like, ‘What? It works, doesn’t it?’

And yeah, Danny absolutely does the ‘Boo!��� thing just to mess with people. Criminals are terrified, the Batfam is confused, and Tim is stuck between exasperation and amusement because of course his boyfriend is thriving on this ghostly reputation.

Give me a Tim and Danny who become an absolute nightmare to Gotham’s underworld. Give me a Tim who doesn’t realize he’s terrifying, and a Danny who knows it and leans in. Because Gotham deserves to be haunted by a ghost, and Danny’s just the guy for the job.

[borntoparty546]

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[oaksgrove]

Strict Schedules, Except…

pairing: John Price x Reader 

synopsis: You live by your meticulously planned schedule—every moment accounted for, color-coded, and efficiently executed. The team loves to tease you for it, but Price? He notices the one exception—the unmovable, sacred block of time you always reserve for them. When the teasing turns to something softer, something warmer, you begin to realize that maybe, just maybe, the best moments in life aren’t the ones you plan.

warnings: Soft romance, teasing/bickering, mutual pining, found family fluff, longing glances, subtle tension.

word count: 794 

There were a few universal truths in Task Force 141:

Soap would always have the last word in an argument (whether he was right or not).

Ghost had perfected the art of appearing and disappearing at will.

And you? You lived by your schedule.

Your planner was legendary—color-coded, neatly sectioned, and organized to the minute. Post-it flags marked priorities, alarms reminded you of hydration breaks, and the team swore you had meal prep down to a military operation.

They found it impressive. They also found it hilarious.

“You’re worse than a drill sergeant, lass,” Soap teased one morning over breakfast, watching you flip through the pages of your planner like it held national secrets.

Ghost, seated next to him, nodded solemnly. “Probably got her sleep schedule penciled in, too.”

“I do, actually,” you replied smoothly, not bothering to look up.

Soap let out a wheeze. “No way.”

Gaz smirked from across the table. “Bet you’ve got a section for breathing breaks.”

You finally glanced up, expression deadpan. “Every 2.3 seconds.”

Price, quietly sipping his tea at the head of the table, didn’t say a word. He only watched, eyes warm with amusement.

The teasing continued throughout the day.

When Ghost caught you meticulously cleaning your boots between briefings, he leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. “This part of the sacred schedule?”

“Could be,” you mused, not missing a beat. “But I’d have to check my notes to be sure.”

Gaz, passing by, let out a laugh. “Come on, even Price isn’t this organized.”

The captain—previously minding his own business—arched a brow. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“That you don’t write ‘clean rifle at 1900 hours’ in a bloody planner,” Soap quipped.

Price simply smirked, shaking his head.

Everyone laughed. Except Price. Because Price wasn’t just laughing at your habits—he was watching. Observing.

Because unlike the rest of them, he’d noticed something they hadn’t.

That night, the teasing took an unexpected turn.

Movie nights weren’t planned. Not really. Someone would throw out a title, and somehow, everyone showed up.

It wasn’t mandatory. It wasn’t a mission.

And yet, you were always there.

No matter what was on your schedule, no matter how rigid your day had been, this time never changed.

No matter how rigid your schedule, you always carved out time for the team.

As Soap dropped onto the couch, popcorn in hand, he grinned at you. “Let me guess—blocked this off in the planner, too?”

“Something like that,” you admitted, shrugging. But this time, the faintest flush touched your cheeks.

Gaz hummed, eyeing you with mock suspicion. “I’m starting to think this is the exception to your precious schedule.”

Before you could retort, Price spoke.

“Of course it is.”

The room fell silent.

All eyes turned to him, Soap’s brows shooting up. “What, Cap’s defending the schedule now?”

Price didn’t look at him. He looked at you. A small, knowing smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

“It’s not about the schedule. It’s about the people.”

You gave Price a soft smile in return. The warmth in his voice settled into your chest like an ember, burning slow and steady.

Your breath hitched.

“Right,” Soap said after a beat, his voice lighter. “Well, if we’re that important, maybe someone could schedule popcorn refills next time?”

The room erupted into laughter, but the warmth Price had left in the air remained.

Soap, caught off guard, whispered to Gaz. “Did Cap just get all sentimental on us?”

“I think he did,” Gaz muttered dramatically.

But the teasing barely registered. Because Price’s gaze hadn’t wavered.

Not from you.

As the movie started, the moment seemed to pass. The team got lost in the film, laughter and commentary filling the air.

But you felt it.

The shift.

Price leaned closer. Not overtly—just enough that his shoulder pressed against yours, solid and warm.

It felt deliberate.

And when he spoke—low, just for you—you knew it was.

“For what it’s worth,” he murmured, voice thick with something unreadable, “I’m glad we made the cut.”

Your pulse skipped.

You turned slightly, meeting his gaze in the dim glow of the TV. There was something there. Something unspoken.

You swallowed, lips parting—but no words came.

You didn’t need them.

Instead, you leaned back against the couch, heart pounding just a little harder than before.

“I wouldn’t miss it.” your voice quieter than intended.

Price’s lips curved.

And for the rest of the night, he didn’t move.

Neither did you.

When the credits rolled, you glanced at your watch, half out of habit, and Price leaned in, his breath warm against your ear.

“Got somewhere to be?” he teased, his voice full of fondness.

You smiled and shook your head. “Not tonight.”

And for once, your schedule didn’t matter.

taglist: @honestlymassivetrash

[nylqnder]

HANDS TO MYSELF QUINN HUGHES

pairing: fem!reader x quinn hughes

summary: after weeks of clashing schedules, yours and quinns calendars finally align for a much-desired date night.

warnings: veerrryyy sexually charged (but no smut), quinn and reader are very much in love, quinn being a lil bit horny, makeout

wc: 2.45k

notes: came so close to writing smut for this fic but i didn't think it would be good. also here is the dress i'm describing if you care!

In a serendipitous alignment of your overfilled schedules, the night finally arrives. Weeks of clashing obligations, games, appointments, practices, and disappointments converge to clear a single slot in time, and Quinn, ever the romantic planner, had spent the entire day coordinating for it. He’d spun a few webs to secure a table at Riley’s, a restaurant that you knew had been booked solid for months. The restaurant itself was peak elegance, serving high-end food with the best of service.

You pulled the black, satin dress that hung in its garment bag out from the back of your closet. It was a dress that had been waiting, forgotten but pristine, for an evening like this. You stepped into the dress, pulling the zipper, but realizing that the button at the top would need the aid of Quinn. Your makeup was done, hair pulled up into a messy, but planned bun on the top of your head. You check your reflection, every detail scrutinized until it's perfect. In the low-lit glow of your vanity mirror, you look radiant, a piece of art made alive.

When you’re finally ready, you drift into the living room where Quinn is waiting. He rises at your entrance, and the room seems to shrink around you. His silence feels louder than any compliment. His eyes take you in, from the cut-outs at your waist to the way the fabric hugs and accentuates the curves of your body perfectly.

Then, as if he can no longer contain it, he utters, “You look… I can’t believe how stunning you are.” His voice is reverent as if you were something divine and beautiful he had stumbled upon.

“Thank you, baby,” you say softly. You take him in as well, the chocolate-colored suit tailored to fit him perfectly, the white dress shirt unbuttoned slightly to show off the curves of his chest. “Can you help me do up the button?”

You turn around, exposing the deep, plunging back to Quinn. When he catches sight of your exposed back, you swear you hear him let out a whimper. His calloused fingers brush against your back, attaching the button. The sensation of his lips pressing a light kiss to the back of your neck sends goosebumps all over.

“All done,” he says in a breathy voice.

As you turn to face him, your heart skips a beat, taking in the intensity in his eyes. There’s a simmering hunger in his gaze like he's seeing you in an entirely new light and savoring every inch of the view. For a moment, his fingertips linger on your bare shoulder, his thumb tracing gentle circles over your skin. He’s close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off him, and the subtle scent of his cologne fills the air around you. The magnetism between you is undeniable, making it easy to get lost in the moment.

Quinn’s eyes drift from yours to your plump, gloss-covered lips, then back up to meet your gaze, smoldering and almost pleading. You feel the tension between you both rise, quiet electricity sparking in the space between your bodies, drawing you closer. He leans in, lips barely grazing your ear, his breath hot as he murmurs, “You sure we have to go to dinner?”

The way he says it makes your heart race, a low hum of excitement settling in your stomach. He’s looking at you as though dinner could wait, as though the evening he planned so meticulously is suddenly the furthest thing from his mind. You manage a playful smile, resting your hands on his chest and pressing back ever so slightly to keep a sliver of space between you.

“Quinn,” you whisper, forcing a bit of composure back into your voice. “I don’t even want to know what you had to do to get a reservation at Riley’s. And if we don’t leave now, we’re going to miss our reservation.”

He lets out a soft groan, but a smile tugs at his lips. “Fine, but only because I’ve waited long enough for this night.” His hands slowly fall from your shoulders, lingering a moment longer than they need to. He takes a step back, slipping one hand into yours, as if reluctant to let you out of his grasp even for a second.

Hand in hand, you head to the car, the cool evening air a gentle contrast to the warm intimacy that still lingers from Quinn’s touch. He opens the passenger door for you, his eyes never leaving you as you slide into the seat. He closes the door softly, circling around to the driver's side.

Once he’s settled in and starts the car, his hand immediately finds yours, fingers interlocking as he gives you a quick, admiring glance. You feel his eyes linger, that same look of reverence and wonder as he takes in the sight of you beside him.

“Eyes on the road, Mr. Romantic,” you tease gently, squeezing his hand.

He laughs, but there’s a slight flush on his cheeks. “It’s a little hard to focus when you look like that,” he admits. “That dress was practically designed to distract me.”

You shake your head, though you can’t deny how his words send a thrill through you. He’s still sneaking glances, unable to help himself, his fingers gently tracing circles on the back of your hand as he drives.

As you arrive at Riley’s, you’re greeted with the soft glow of candlelight spilling from the windows, the gentle hum of jazz drifting into the night air. The restaurant is elegant in a timeless way, with dim lighting and warm wooden accents that create an intimate, welcoming atmosphere. Quinn helps you out of the car, his hand finding the small of your back as he guides you through the grand entrance, where the maître d’ greets you with a polite nod.

“Right this way, Mr. Hughes,” she says with a warm smile, as though she too knows how special this night is. You’re led to a private corner booth tucked away from the rest of the tables. A single candle rests in the center, casting a warm glow across the table.

Quinn pulls your chair out for you, his hand grazing your shoulder as you sit. His gaze never leaves yours as he settles across from you, his expression one of barely contained awe. “I wasn’t exaggerating before,” he says softly, leaning in. “You look absolutely breathtaking.”

You feel your cheeks heat under his intense gaze, and you find yourself smiling, eyes twinkling as you return the compliment. “And you look incredible too, Quinn. That suit… I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look so good.”

A waiter approaches, and Quinn orders a bottle of wine, one you remember J.T. Miller suggesting the two of you try if you’re willing to shell out a bit of money on a bottle. As the bottle arrives and the wine is poured, Quinn raises his glass to you, his eyes catching the candlelight.

“To you,” he murmurs, his voice low and warm.

“To us,” you correct. You clink glasses, each sip bringing a pleasant buzz that only heightens the already electrifying atmosphere.

For a while, your conversation is playful and light. You talk about little things — reminiscing over memories that make you laugh, filling in each other on anecdotes that got lost in your busy lives. Quinn leans in, his attention unwavering, absorbing every word with a soft, amused grin. Every facet of him is distracting to you - the way his fingers play with the stem of his wine glass, how he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth when he listens so intently to you telling a story, and the unmissable gleam in his eye when he looks at you.

You each glance half-heartedly at the menu, but quickly abandon it, unable to tear your focus away from each other. The conversation flows with a surprising ease, touching on topics deep and trivial. He confides how strange it felt to find the perfect suit, mentioning how he asked Jack if it was too much. You smile, knowing how important tonight must be for him to fuss over something like that.

“I can't tell you how good it feels to finally be here with you. It’s been a rough couple of weeks.” His expression shifts, his normally relaxed face showing traces of the stress that he’s been carrying.

“I know,” you say, reaching across the table to place your hand over his. “It feels like every time we tried to plan something, something would get in the way. Between your games, my projects…”

He lets out a long breath and gives a slight nod. “Yeah, it’s just been so much with the season, and all I’ve wanted is a night like this. Just you and me.” His eyes soften, and you feel his hand give yours a soft squeeze, grounding both of you at this moment. “Games have been intense lately. And I love it, but… I miss you,” he confesses, his voice almost whispering.

Your heart swells at his honesty. You can see the weariness in him, but there's also a kind of vulnerable tenderness in the way he’s looking at you now. “I miss you, too. But I’m really proud of you, Quinn. I see how much you put into it.”

He smiles, his gaze dropping to your lips for a moment before flicking back up to your eyes, his expression soft yet intent. “That means a lot to me, more than you know.” He leans in just slightly, a private, mischievous grin slipping onto his face. “But honestly, right now? All I want is to be with you. Just us.”

“Well,” you reply, leaning closer to Quinn. “Here we are. Just the two of us.”

His thumb traces slow, deliberate circles on your wrist, sending sparks up your arm. “Yeah,” he murmurs, his voice low and earnest. “Exactly where I want to be.” His eyes drop to the faint glow of the candlelight on your face, and he seems to lose himself in the view.

But the tender moment is interrupted as the waiter returns to take your orders. Reluctantly, Quinn tears his gaze from you, giving his order in a tone that is a bit rushed. You can’t help but smile at his eagerness as you place your own order, stealing glances at him. The waiter leaves, and a comfortable silence settles over you both, the soft jazz music a fitting backdrop to the intimacy between you.

Quinn leans forward, elbows on the table, his fingers interlaced as he studies you again. “I know we’ve been waiting for a night out for forever but…” His voice dips into a quiet murmur, like he’s sharing a secret, “If you told me we could just go home right now, I wouldn’t even blink.”

You laugh, shaking your head slightly, but there’s a warm blush in your cheeks at his words. “Quinn Hughes, you’re telling me you’re willing to give up the table that you pulled some serious strings to get, all because you don’t know if you can keep it in your pants?”

“Yes, exactly that,” he says without missing a beat, his expression growing serious. “Do you know how hard it is to just sit here with you in that dress and keep my hands to myself?”

The boldness in his voice takes you by surprise, and it sends a thrill through you. His words are a reminder of the magnetic pull between you, one that hasn’t faded since the beginning of your relationship. A playful smirk tugs at the corner of your lips. “You know,” you say, voice barely above a whisper, “I’d almost believe you didn’t want this night as much as I did.”

Quinn reaches across the table, capturing your hand in his as his thumb glides over your skin, the touch featherlight yet stirring. “Trust me,” he murmurs, voice thick with sincerity, “I want tonight. Every part of it. But right now, it’s taking everything I have not to pull you out of here and make you mine before our food gets here.”

Your breath catches at the intensity in his voice, the raw honesty in his words unraveling you. The ambiance of the restaurant fades into the background; it’s as if the two of you are in a world of your own, insulated by shared desire and the gravity of this long-awaited moment.

You lean forward, your eyes locked onto his with equal fervor. “I guess we could always… take the food to go,” you whisper, testing the waters.

A glimmer of excitement flashes in his gaze. “Are you serious?” he asks, barely able to keep his voice steady, as though the thought alone is almost too good to believe.

Your fingers trace slow patterns over the top of his hand. “Quinn, this night is already perfect… you went above and beyond to make it perfect. But, truth be told, we could’ve just ordered Chinese food and I would have been just as happy. I just want to be with you”

Quinn signals for the waitress, quickly requesting the check and your ordered meals in boxes with a smoothness that belies the fire simmering beneath his calm exterior. He leans over and gives her a charming but hurried excuse about needing to leave for a family matter, handing over his card before she can even respond. The minutes it takes to process feel like an eternity, but Quinn’s hand rests over yours, grounding you in the electric silence shared between you.

Finally, the waitress returns, and he leaves a generous tip before helping you to your feet. You weave through the restaurant together, stealing glances and half-hidden smiles, every step charged with anticipation.

Outside, the city air hits cool and refreshing, but the chill is quickly forgotten as Quinn’s hand finds its familiar place on your thigh once you’re seated in the car. His fingers trail subtle, teasing patterns that have your pulse racing, yet he maintains a sense of composure, his gaze focused forward as he drives the short distance back to your place. You both sense the unspoken thrill of getting back as quickly as possible, yet his hand remains on you, tethering you to the rising tension.

When he finally pulls into the driveway, neither of you wastes a moment. The world outside becomes a blur as you make your way up the steps to the front door, his lips already brushing against your neck as you struggle with the key. By the time you stumble through the door, his mouth finds yours, and the soft click of the door closing behind you is drowned out by the rush of your heartbeat.

[the-crooked-library]

here's the thing. yes hannibal is gleeful and yes will is brooding, BUT:

hannibal is a meticulous planner, a polyglot, a genius, nigh unstoppable in a fight but always opting for prep time whenever possible, the wealthy owner of a gothic-style ancestral estate; he sees himself as a manifestation of justice, is represented visually by a leathery-black animal/human creature, had a childhood defined by a family loss, maintains a secret basement, and has a flouncy, cheerful, socialite public persona

will is a nobody from nowhere - "always the new boy at school," no family, no close friends, no past where he would be remembered; he is also a genius, but his most dangerous trait as a killer is that he is chaotic, disorganized, vicious, artistic but impulsive, ruining his own carefully-laid plans on a whim; he has successfully seduced an employee of a mental hospital into killing in his name, and he is a jealous little bitch, ruled by his emotions first and foremost

they're dancing to the same tune as batjokes, just in reverse

[harunayuuka2060]

Remington: I offer my most profound and sincere apologies for the actions of my subordinates. Their conduct, regrettably, reflects a lamentable deficiency in refinement and sophistication, a consequence, no doubt, of their humble and unprivileged station in life. One can scarcely hold them entirely accountable, given the limitations imposed by their modest origins.

MC: *hides their disgust as Remington holds their hand while he speaks*

MC: *smiles* Apologizing on behalf of your subordinates—you must have been raised in a good household.

Remington: *chuckles* One might indeed concede to such an observation, for it is not without merit. As the progeny of a fae, my maternal lineage has bestowed upon me an innate understanding of elegance and the art of refinement.

MC: His mother is a fae, and yet I see no resemblance. He should at least have pointed ears like Sebek.

MC: ...

MC: By the way, Remington, I hope you don't mind if I ask my friend to join us? He seems uncomfortable with the presence of the Arcane Hunters.

Remington: I'm sorry, my dear, but I have to decline. You have no idea what S.T.Y.X. technology is capable of, and besides, he's a living... threat.

MC: I see. In any case, I couldn't help but be curious about your motives.

Remington: I would describe it as... nothing more than a fleeting dream, a quiet aspiration that once took root in my mind.

Remington: It was a vision of liberation, to see all the overblot beings freed from the oppressive chains of S.T.Y.X. 

MC and Ortho: !

Ortho: Is he serious?

MC: ...

MC: You have quite an interesting perspective. May I ask why you wish to free them?

Remington: *sighs dramatically, lets go of their hand, and walks a few steps ahead, seemingly recalling something from the past*

Remington: My mother was taken by S.T.Y.X, seized by force, and from that day forward, she never returned. The memory of her arrest lingers, a wound that refuses to heal, a reminder of the cruelty and injustice that took her from me.

MC: ...

MC: He's not lying; however,...

MC: ...

MC: No wonder...

Ortho: Eh? MC...?

Idia: Huh? What? They're showing him sympathy?

Ruggie: They're not... They're not actually convinced by what he said, right? He was obviously lying!

Malleus: ...

Malleus: Could it be that my child has uncovered something about Ashford?

Idia: I wonder what it is for them to act dumb.

Ruggie: Hmph.

Remington: Oh, how delightful that you grasp the essence of my intentions! Indeed, the fae are renowned for their boundless kindness and grace. Given that, might I dare to hope, my dearest, that you would lend your support to my designs to dismantle S.T.Y.X? 

MC: ...

MC: *smiles* Yes, Remington. I will give you my support.

Ortho: EH?!!!

Idia: Time! Time! They said—What?!

Malleus: ...

Ruggie: O-Oi! What are you playing?!

Malleus: ...

Malleus: I see.

Malleus: Shroud.

Idia: What?

Malleus: Can I ask you... not to interfere with my child's plans?

Idia: Huh?! You're asking the impossible!

Malleus: I believe it's not enough for them to simply escape their current situation.

Ruggie: They're dealing with Arcane Hunters! It's not the time to be—

Idia: ...

Idia: Wait. You're right.

Ruggie: You too, Idia?!

Ortho: MC! What was that about?!

MC: Please lower your voice, Ortho.

Ortho: ...

Ortho: You're not actually going to do it... Right?

MC: *chuckles* Was I that convincing?

Ortho: ...

Ortho: Then... why did you say that you would help him?

MC: He may seem like a fool, but he's a meticulous planner. If he doesn't get his way, he'll do something even worse.

MC: That's why *smiles*, we should let him act on his delusions.

Ortho: !!!

Ortho: *giggles* I see... Do you need me to act as well?

MC: Please do. *chuckles*

[calolily]

New one shot fic cooking. Baker x Wedding planner AU

“When Gale arrived at the venue clad in black chefs coat with matching gloves, hefting box after box of cake components on the the appointed set up table, Astarion couldn't help but stare. It had been several years since they were in the same room and seeing him again in person made something long dormant squirm in his chest.

The familiar intensity on his ex-husbands face, the careful way he pulled his hair back in an artful half twisted topknot. It took his breath away for a few tense moments.

He was more muscular than Astarion remembered, thick biceps and chest pulling the heavy duck of the coat taught with every reach and stretch as he assembled the cake with practiced precision. He was now greying around his temples with errant patches of white on his left eyebrow and chin.

He had let his hair grow considerably longer in their time apart and now sported a meticulously trimmed beard. A change that suited his round face far better than the short cropped cut and bare face, he wore when they were married.

He was still on the heavier side but he had always carried it handsomely. He was densely muscled with a layer of plush fat rounding out his shoulders, hips, and stomach. Not to mention the supple swell of his ass in his perfectly fitted jeans.

Astarion stared for a moment, his memory clearly didn’t do the man justice.”

“Simple plans and half-baked apologies”

[ilovemilestellersmoustache]

The Party Planner

Matt Rempe x Reader

Summary: Trevor, Jack, and Luke learn they probably should knock before surprising people for their birthday…

Word Count: 2K

A/N: Gonna make this a series abt her being a lowk nepo baby

Y/N’s life had always revolved around hockey. As the daughter of a star defenseman from the ’90s, her childhood was filled with rink-side memories, locker room laughs, and endless conversations about the game. Her dad had gone to university with Ellen and even played on the Mens National Team when Ellen played for the womens. With that remaining close especially when she married Jim. They all remained close with him. Because of that, Y/N grew up with the Hughes brothers—Jack, Quinn, and Luke—feeling more like family than friends.

As she got older, Y/N’s life diverged from the rink. She found fame as an actress, rising through the ranks to become a household name in Hollywood. Still, no matter how bright the spotlight got, she stayed close to her roots. Her friendships with the Hughes brothers expanded to include other NHL players like Trevor Zegras and Cole Caufield. Whether it was hanging out in the off-season or cheering them on from the stands, she was the unofficial sibling of hockey’s rising stars.

But her personal life was a little more complicated.

For the past few months, Y/N had been dating Matt Rempe, a towering enforcer with a reputation for physical play and an even bigger temper. The hockey world knew him as the guy who spent more time in the penalty box than on the ice. His aggressive playing style and frequent fights had earned him a demotion to the AHL—a fact her father and friends couldn’t overlook.

“Are you sure about him?” her dad had asked more than once, skepticism clear in his voice.

Even Jack, Luke, and Trevor had their doubts. “I mean, he’s a good guy, right?” Jack had said cautiously. “But, uh…maybe not your guy.”

Yeah, like someone who doesn’t punch people for fun,” Trevor added.

Y/N brushed off their concerns. They didn’t know Matt like she did. Sure, he had a reputation, but beneath the rough exterior was a man who was kind, funny, and fiercely protective. He treated her like gold, and that was all that mattered. Winning over her friends and family would take time, but she was willing to wait.

As her birthday approached, Y/N opted for a quiet celebration. Between work and travel, she wanted nothing more than a simple dinner with close friends. What she didn’t know was that Luke, Jack, and Trevor had cooked up a plan to surprise her.

Trevor stood in the aisle of a party supply store, holding up a pack of balloons. “I’m telling you, this is the move. We sneak into her place, decorate, and when she gets home—bam! Surprise party.”

Luke raised an eyebrow. “How do we know she’s not there?”

“She told me she was filming or something,” Jack said, tossing a bag of confetti into the cart. “We’ll be in and out. Easy.”

An hour later, armed with decorations and a cake, the trio let themselves into Y/N’s apartment. Trevor insisted on carrying the cake, while Jack and Luke carried the rest.

“She’s gonna love this,” Trevor said, plopping the cake box onto the kitchen counter.

Jack grinned. “Yeah, if we don’t screw it up.”

The three quickly got to work. Jack wrestled with an oversized banner that read HAPPY BIRTHDAY, trying to hang it over the living room window. Trevor blew up balloons, complaining about the lack of a helium tank, while Luke meticulously set up confetti-filled balloons around the coffee table.

“This is looking pretty good,” Luke said, stepping back to admire their handiwork.

“Where do you want the cake?” Trevor asked, balancing it precariously on one hand.

“Counter,” Jack mumbled, still wrestling with the banner. “Let’s finish before she gets home.”

“She’s not home,” Trevor said confidently, grabbing a balloon to blow up.

But he was wrong.

Y/N was home, and she wasn’t alone.

In her bedroom, she and Matt had spent the morning together, enjoying a rare, quiet day off. They’d slept in, laughed over shared jokes, and gotten caught up in each other in a way that made the rest of the world fade into the background.

Matt leaned back against the headboard, a lazy grin on his face. “So, part one of your birthday present?”

“Can it be presented with people around? Or is this a private one” Y/N replied, running a hand through his tousled hair.

“Definitely just us, might give your dad a heartattack” Matt teased, pulling her closer. “Come here”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help smiling. They leaned in for another kiss creating explicit faint sounds of muffled noises through the apartment.

Out in the living room, Trevor froze mid-step. “Wait. Did you hear that?”

Jack, teetering on a chair, glanced over his shoulder. “Hear what?”

Trevor held up a hand, signaling for silence. All three of them stilled, ears straining. From down the hallway came the faint sound of moans—deep and unmistakably male and female.

Luke’s face turned bright red. “Oh my.”

“No way,” Trevor whispered, a grin spreading across his face.

Jack hopped down from the chair, his expression one of sheer panic. “It’s not what you think. Maybe she left the TV on.”

Another sound—this time softer, followed by an unmistakable thud—left no room for doubt.

“Oh, this is gold,” Trevor whispered, clutching the edge of the couch for support.

Luke groaned, burying his face in his hands. “We have to leave. Right now.”

“Agreed,” Jack said, already gathering their decorations. “Pack it up. Let’s go.”

Trevor, however, lingered. “Guys. We could just—”

“Nope,” Jack snapped, grabbing Trevor by the arm. “We’re leaving. Now.”

As they scrambled for the door, another sound—one that they really didn’t want to identify—echoed from the bedroom.

“Call Quinn,” Luke muttered as they fled into the hallway. “Call Quinn right now.”

Quinn answered on the second ring. “What’s up?”

Trevor’s voice came through in a near-shout. “You’ll never guess what just happened!”

“What did you do now?” Quinn asked, sounding suspicious.

“We didn’t do anything!” Trevor insisted. “But we went to surprise Y/N for her birthday, and, uh…”

Jack snatched the phone. “We heard them! Her and Matt. Going at it like rabbits.”

“What?!” Quinn sounded half-amused, half-horrified.

Luke’s groan was audible in the background. “It was so bad. I don’t think I’ll ever recover.”

Trevor took the phone back, grinning. “Quinn, I’m telling you. I’m traumatized, but it was also hilarious.”

“You guys are idiots,” Quinn said, though there was laughter in his voice. “Please tell me you didn’t say anything.”

“We ran out of there so fast, they probably didn’t even know we were there,” Trevor assured him.

“Good,” Quinn said. “Because if Y/N finds out, she’s going to kill you.”

Later that day, Cole joined the group call, his laugh echoing through the line as they recounted the story.

“She’s going to find out eventually,” Cole said, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. “You guys are the worst.”

Jack groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

Meanwhile, back in her apartment, Y/N had no idea what had just transpired—or the chaos that her well-meaning friends had unleashed.

Weeks after her birthday, Y/N found herself seated in a sleek studio alongside Jack, Trevor and Jamie Drysdale, appearing on Instagram live. The atmosphere was casual and lighthearted, the kind of energy Trevor thrived on—and the kind that made Y/N suspicious of what he might say.

Jamie leaned forward with a grin. “So, Y/N, how was your birthday? Heard stuff happened but I’ve been so busy can’t believe I missed it.”

Y/N smiled warmly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “It was great, honestly. Very low-key. Just how I like it.”

Trevor, sitting to her left, suddenly perked up, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Not that low-key,” he muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear.

Jack immediately groaned and slumped in his chair. “Trevor, no.”

“What?” Trevor said innocently, spreading his hands. “It’s a funny story!”

Jamie’s grin widened. “Oh, I need to hear this. What happened?”

Y/N shot Trevor a warning glance, but he was already leaning into the phone, fully committed to his role as the ultimate pot-stirrer.

“So,” Trevor began dramatically, “we thought it would be a good idea to surprise Y/N for her birthday. You know, being the amazing friends we are. Balloons, banners, cake—the works. We figured we’d sneak into her apartment and have it all ready for when she got back.”

Y/N shook her head, already sensing where this was going. “Trevor…”

Trevor ignored her. “The thing is, we didn’t realize she was home—and, uh, she wasn’t alone.”

Jamie burst out laughing. “You’re kidding!”

“Oh, yeah,” Trevor continued, grinning ear to ear. “We’re mid-decorating—Luke’s got balloons, Jack’s fighting with a banner—and then we hear…” He paused for dramatic effect, lowering his voice. “Let’s just say we heard things.”

The studio erupted in laughter. Jack buried his face in his hands, muttering, “I told him not to tell this story.”

Trevor was on a roll now. “We froze, completely starstruck. Like, ‘Is that Matt?’ And sure enough…” He trailed off, smirking at Y/N.

Y/N, her face a mix of embarrassment and exasperation, finally spoke up. “Are you serious right now?” She turned to Jamie. “This is Trevor’s favorite pastime—making up ridiculous stories to embarrass me.”

Trevor looked affronted. “Making up? Oh, no, this is 100% real. Ask Luke!”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “I’m telling you, it’s not true. Matt and I would never—” She gestured sarcastically and vaguely, clearly trying to keep the conversation from getting too graphic. “This is pure fabrication.”

Jamie leaned in, still laughing. “So you’re saying you weren’t home?”

“I was home,” Y/N admitted, her voice calm but firm. “But Trevor has a very active imagination. Matt and I were for sure watching a movie in the bedroom.”

Jack, seeing an opportunity to back her up, jumped in. “Yeah, I mean…we didn’t actually see anything. We just heard…stuff. Could’ve been the TV.”

Trevor groaned. “Don’t cover for her! You know what we heard.”

Y/N crossed her arms, leaning back in her chair. “Oh, please, Trevor. You probably heard muffled sounds and immediately jumped to conclusions. Matt and I were watching a crime thriller.”

Trevor shrugged, clearly enjoying himself. “Hey, if the shoe fits.”

Jamie laughed so hard he had to wipe his eyes. “This might be my favorite story of all time.”

Y/N sighed, half-laughing despite herself. “I can’t believe I’m defending my perfectly pg 13 relationship on live.”

“You’re welcome,” Trevor said smugly.

Jack chimed in, trying to steer the conversation away from further disaster. “Honestly, the best part is how fast we ran out of there. Luke didn’t even look back. We just left everything—balloons, streamers, the whole setup. It’s probably still there.”

Y/N groaned, burying her face in her hands. “You guys are unbelievable.”

Jamie grinned. “Well, whether it’s true or not, it sounds like Y/N’s birthday was very memorable.”

Trevor gave a mock toast to the phone. “To Y/N and Matt—congrats on keeping things…entertaining.”

Y/N gave him a playful shove, laughing despite her embarrassment. “Next time, maybe knock before you decide to play party planner.”

As the live wrapped, Y/N couldn’t help but shake her head. She might never live this down, but at least life with these guys was never boring.

[nondelphic]

mystery writers are either meticulous planners who know every clue and twist before they write chapter one, or chaotic gremlins who go, 'the killer will reveal themselves to me in the final act.' both somehow nail it every time.