#moe's writing

[moeswriting]

good morning, miller | mine one-shot

this is a part of my series Mine. i highly suggest reading that first to make sense of the little things in this fic. takes place between chapters three and four.

pairing: mine!Joel Miller x f!reader

summary: mornings with the millers,

or sarah’s first day of kindergarten

warnings: doesn’t really make complete sense unless you’ve read Mine, unbelievable amounts of fluff, joel miller is a grumpy boy without his coffee :(, sarah miller doesn’t need coffee– she’s hoarded all the energy (what the fuck, she just stole mine– SARAH GIVE IT BACK!!!!), reader needs some iced tea and a nap, mention of breakfast food (bacon, eggs, that kinda stuff), reader is wearing  Joel’s shirt (described as “fitting you well”, no other description), some subtle hints to Sarah having some really intense ADHD but it’s never said explicitly

word count: 2k

a/n: a little treat for all y’all who waited so long for chapter three <3

series masterlist | read on ao3

✦ ✦ ✦

August 14th, 1995

“DADDY!” With a scream, something light flops down onto his chest, startling him awake.

“Daddy. Daddy. Daddy. DAD!” Sarah emphasizes each word with a bounce, pushing the air out of his lungs.

When he creaks his eyes open, dust piled in the corners of them, it’s bright– sun shining through the window on the side of his bed and warming his bare back. He would give anything for another hour in bed.

“Dad,” she draws out, grabbing the sides of his face and pushing his cheeks together, “It’s my first day of school. You need to get up! Sugar is making breakfast, so you need to get up.”

She’s already dressed and ready to go– hair puffy, but pushed out of her face with her favorite pink butterfly clips, a pink shirt with a few Care Bears on it and jean overalls with little strawberries on the front pocket. It’s very clear to him that you’ve done this since everything looks coordinated and doesn’t clash like it usually does when he dresses her and it isn’t her princess dress, which is what Sarah would’ve put on if she had dressed herself. He wishes you were still in bed with him– he can feel your absence like a missing limb, like a vital part of him is gone. 

His voice comes out muffled, since she’s squishing his cheeks, when he replies, “O’ay, ‘m up.”

She lets out a yelp of excitement, jumps off him, and slides off his tall bed and onto the floor. The only part of her that he can see as she runs out of the room is the top of her hair as it bounces around the bed and out of the door.

When his feet hit the hardwood floor, he shivers. It’s cold, much too cold without you next to him.

He pulls a pair of jeans off the floor and slips them on. Where’s that stupid shirt he threw last night? Whatever– he’ll put a shirt on later.

Stepping out of his room is heavenly. It smells like the diner, but so, so much better and it’s warmer, so much warmer.

He follows the scent into the kitchen, shuffling his tired feet through the hallway and to the entryway to the kitchen, leaning on the wall.

There you are, humming along with the buzzy radio attached to the bottom of the cabinet and pushing scrambled eggs around a pan. You’re wearing gray sweatpants and a blue shirt that fits you well– that’s where his shirt went. 

He thinks it’s a Madonna song playing, but he can’t really tell through Sarah’s rambling she’s spewing at you from the kitchen table.

“Maddie from preschool is going to the same school as me. I think that’s really cool. I wonder if she’ll play princesses with me. Do you think she’ll play princesses with me?”

You turn to look at her over your shoulder and nod, “Yeah, baby. I bet she does. Just make sure you ask, okay?”

“Okay– I think she will too. Remember to ask, remember to ask.” She pushes a finger into the middle of her forehead, as if to force her thoughts to the forefront of her mind.

You nod again, “You’ll remember– just be patient with yourself.”

Sarah starts mumbling to herself and counting her fingers– he cannot even begin to imagine what is going on in her big brain.

While turning your face back to the stove, you catch his eye and a smile takes over your face.

God, what he wouldn’t do to see that smile everyday. He can’t believe that the sight of him makes you look so damn beautiful.

“Good morning, Miller.”

He can’t find it within himself to put effort into forming words with his mouth. Too much energy. He grumbles nonsense instead.

You huff out a breath of amusement, “Come on, grump– I made coffee for you.”

Coffee. That’s what he needs: coffee.

He shuffles further into the kitchen. He feels like a fucking zombie. He’d bet a million bucks he looks like one too.

Without even looking, you hold out a mug of coffee towards him, the other hand pulling the eggs off the heat. He mumbles a thanks and takes it out of your hand.

Oh, he’s so glad you know just how to make his coffee. It’s heaven on his taste buds. Black, not too hot, not too cold. He can already feel the caffeine kick starting his brain.

Placing his mug down, the green one that proudly displays “World’s Best Dad” (something his brother had bought him as a joke when he first found out about Amanda being pregnant– it hadn’t been funny at the time, but he really liked the mug now), he grabs your waist from behind and snuggles his nose into your neck. His eyes slip closed at the comfort he feels being near you.

“G’mornin’.”

You turn your head and press a kiss into his bed-mussed hair, “Morning, baby.”

“Thank you for gettin’ Guppy ready for school.”

You shuffle around in his arms. He’s clearly in the way of you moving around efficiently, but you don’t say anything and neither does he.

“It’s no problem. I woke up earlier than usual and I figured you should sleep in a little. You haven’t gotten enough sleep lately.”

You’re right. You’re always right. Because Tommy’s been gone for two months now, he’s had to pick up the slack with their contracting stuff. He can’t stop doing it, it’s the only way he can afford to feed Sarah and register her for school and keep up with rent. His income from the diner isn’t enough anymore.

It’s fine though. He’ll do it. Anything to keep Sarah happy, healthy, and fed.

But it’s taking quite the toll on his body. He’s way too young to be feeling this damn old.

All he does in response to you is nod into your shoulder and sigh.

“Go sit. I made you a plate.”

He lets go of you, instantly feeling the loss, before he flops down onto the chair next to Sarah.

“Good morning, Guppy,” he mumbles through a sleepy smile, “What’re you doin’?”

She doesn’t even look up to respond to him, still intensely staring down at her fingers, “Counting.”

“Countin’ what?”

You place his forgotten coffee mug and a plate in front of him. It’s filled with bacon, scrambled eggs, and a handful of cut strawberries. You’ve been getting on his ass about being a good example with his eating habits– “You need to eat more fruit and vegetables or Sarah’s going to think that what you normally eat is an acceptable diet.”

He ate them because you asked him to. He knew you were beyond stressed lately, what with starting your senior year of college and getting ready for student teaching next semester. You didn’t need another thing like what he ate to stress you out even more.

“How many friends from preschool I have in my class. Three.”

He takes another sip of his coffee, “I bet that number goes up a lot by the end of today.”

She smiles up at him as he sticks a strawberry in his mouth, “I hope so.”

You chime in, sliding into the chair across from Sarah, “I know so. You’ll have to tell me all about school and how super cool it is when I come over on Wednesday.”

“Wednesday?! You’re not coming back until Wednesday,” she shrieks, throwing her hands up in the air.

He thinks that if he didn’t know that sometimes you needed to be by yourself in your own space and this was the first time you’d told him you weren’t coming back for two days, he would be reacting the same way Sarah was.

You look freaked out for a second with your eyebrows raised and your eyes wide, before your expression cools, “I got school too, Guppy.”

“But– how I supposed remember all the stuff happens today so I can tell you on Wednesday?” She forgets a few words in her need to get out what she wants to say quickly, a common occurrence with his five-year-old.

You shake your head at her, “It’s okay if you forget. That big brain of yours is gonna keep it all stashed in there, you just might need a little reminder to jog your memory.”

Joel butts in, hopefully to take some of the heat off you, “We could write it all down, just in case.”

She takes a minute to think about it, finger pressed into her temple. You both watch as she comes to a conclusion and nods her head definitively. “Okay. But we have to write it down right after school, Daddy. I don’t wanna forget.”

He mimics her nod, “Of course, Guppy.”

You spend the rest of the time that he spends finishing his breakfast singing whatever songs come on the radio and leading Sarah in an uncoordinated dance around the kitchen as she throws her head back with the force of her giggles.

He wishes everyday could be like this. Waking up to you in his apartment. In bed or greeting him in the kitchen– it didn’t matter to him. As long as you were here, he was happy and so was his little girl.

He throws a shirt on (not the one you stole, he insists you keep that one on) and guides his girls out of the second-story apartment and down onto the street. It’s bustling with activity as people come to the busy downtown street to get to work and get errands done.

Sarah’s already hopping down the street, her pink Elmo backpack being jostled up and down with her as she bounces, while he locks the door behind them.

“Sarah,” you call for her, gesturing with the hand you don’t have placed on his lower back for her to come back.

She obeys, but she does so reluctantly. Her hands wrap around her backpack straps and her head faces the concrete below her.

“You gotta hold Daddy’s hand, remember?” He holds a hand out for her to take when she’s standing next to him again. He’s been trying to really hammer this point home to her for years now, to get her to remember, but she has a harder time focusing when she’s really excited. He doesn’t mind– she just needs to be reminded.

“Yes…” She slaps her palm into his and clamps down her tiny fingers in between his thumb and his pointer finger.

“Thank you, baby.”

You start your trek down the street. Sarah was going to the grade school that was on your college campus, the one that the education students helped teach at occasionally. You assured him that you knew a lot of the people that would be interacting with Sarah and that they were all fantastic. It just made him nervous sometimes, but he trusted you.

“Can I hold Sugar’s hand too?”

You beam down at her, “Of course.”

When you give her your hand, she insists that you both swing her, which, of course you do because you both are wrapped around her comically small pinkie finger.

He successfully drops her off with no tears, which he doesn’t know how he managed considering he had cried to you the previous night about how weird it was that his little girl was going to school now and that she wouldn’t have any family around her there like she always did. You had assured him that going to school would be a fun new adventure for her. Sarah was such a social butterfly that she could fit in anywhere. He just didn’t want her to grow up.

He takes you to your dorm room and says good morning to Elaine, who’s snuggled deep in Robin’s chest and barely acknowledges his existence. You give him a long kiss and tell him that you’ll see him on Wednesday. Wednesday could not come sooner.

When he punches his timecard at work later that morning, he sighs in disbelief at how big his little girl was growing– at how much he would give for another morning just like this one. Maybe someday.

series masterlist | masterlist of all masterlists 🌼 | eras masterlist 🌻

[evvyyypeters-fics]

Fuck (Around) and Find Out

Colin Zabel x quiet!f!reader

Warnings! Heavy smut, porn w no plot, fingering, reader struggles to moan stuff, not proofread, another quick drabble

Hopefully will be posting a full fic/ request soon. School’s been beating my ass again. Wrote this bc justice for girlies who are quiet during sex, u deserve love too. Not everyone moans like a pornstar😔

Colin was used to your silence, silent squeaks of pleasure and fish mouthed moans being basically the only pleasurable sound coming from your mouth whenever you had sex. You couldn’t help it, you both knew. But he still found it satisfying because it was you, and also from the cute look on your scrunching and contorting face as you squeak like a mouse at the stimulation. His fingers worked delicate circles around your clit, causing your thighs to shiver.

You hold your empty hands onto his thighs, clinging to them gently as your back rests flush against him as he sits against the back cushions of the couch, your body melted into him and hips raised forward as he uses a hand to spread your thighs apart, massaging your soaked slit with his thick fingers.

You gaze up at him and his eyes glance away from their focused gaze on your cunt and to the puppy-eye stare you give him, causing his heart to squeeze at the sight of your flushed and blissed-out face. He slowly builds up to work deeper, pushing a finger into your soaked pussy and curling it, massaging slowly and warming you up before sinking in another.

You feel that familiar coil bubble, your eyes glancing back down at his large, rough hands as they work on you. Invisible squeaky moans and shuddering sighs getting stuck in your throat.

Colin tries something more experimental that he hadn’t done before, wanting desperately to test you to your limit, he did some research in secret to really blow your mind. Wanting to find the best ways to understand your body and how to give you more pleasure. He curled both fingers into a strange and unfamiliar spot that instantly had your thighs trying to snap closed. But his hand on your inner thigh kept them firmly apart. You felt familiar thicker moans get caught in your throat, your mouth gaped like a fish like usual, drool spilling past your lips.

To your surprise, his thumb reached over and quickly began teasing your clit while brutally massaging that spongey spot, lewd squelches sounding from your drooling cunt as he pumped you silly with his thick fingers. Your thighs shuddered and a new sensation came over you, squeezing ghostly crescent shapes through his suit-clad legs from your nails into his thighs as you held them tighter, your head pressing back into his chest as your vision blurred. Sparks beginning to fly behind your eyes.

A new sound escapes your throat that stops you both in your tracks. A loud, sweet and erotic whine finally pushes past your lips and realization hits you of the noise when Colin falters and stares at you absolutely mesmerized and shocked, his expression quickly shifting into something more sly.

“I’m guessing it felt good?” He teased, flashing a goofy, charming smile.

You swallow dryly and nod and he quickly picks back up, fingering blasting you like no tomorrow until your whole body is quivering. Silent moans still get choked in your throat, but an occasional whisper of a whimper would break through before a final white hot wave would explode through you and s familiar hot liquid would squirt over Colin’s hand and paint both of your laps.

“You did so good, sweetheart.” Colin says endearingly, placing a tender kiss in your forehead as you go limp in his arms. Post-orgasm euphoria making your mind go numb.

Taglist (you can be added or removed at any time):

@fear-is-truth @xkaisxjazzxsingerx @lemoniiiiiii @jazz-berry @marchsfreakshow @colinzabelswife @dearlizzies @am3ricanh0rrorwh0re @xrag-dollx @lacucarachapisser @alittleobsessedbitch @n0tonlin3 @bellalove69420

[you-see-something-strange-here]

Imagine a “Best Friends-Off” with the Richmond team; Keeley pairs up the lads to answer questions about each other (with the classic whiteboards and dry erase markers yes) and it’s a fun little promotional video for the season.

Obviously with Isaac and Colin would be paired, then Jamie and Sam, I could see Jan Maas and Bumbercatch as an underrated duo, Dani could be paired with anybody on the team because he’s best friends with everyone.

The twist is when Jamie gets called to do the quiz with Roy at the end of the shoot, and both protest it (he’s not my best friend!). Needless to say, they end up mopping the floor and getting all the questions right, leading AFC Richmond to declare Roy and Jamie as the best besties on the team.

[blank-house]

Does the entire cast have social media? If so what do they post on there? Or do we get to see that in game 🫣

it's my dream to include! i really liked how the social media interface worked in the ps4 spiderman miles morales game because of how it kind of fills out the world because you see average npc #1 responding to something plot-relevant that happened, haha. like for keyframes, can you imagine the random passerby that saw this group of college students on a massive lawn waterslide?

[awittlebabbyboy]

Karamatsu who wants to be more courageous

[livwritesstuff]

Hi, you once had a post about Steves Dad dying and Steve and his mom kind of reconnecting... how did that first meeting between her and the kids but also with Eddie go? And is it a stable relationship or kinda like it was with Steve, fizzling out and just popping in whenever?

I really love this AU, excited for more AO3 content tbh ♡♡♡

Happy Pride!

<3

so the thing about Steve’s mom is that she knew everything. Steve never stopped reaching out at any point between when his parents fully cut communication with him (1993) and when they finally contacted him again (when his dad was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer in ‘09). Sure, Steve stopped calling after a while because they never picked up, but he wrote letters, he invited them to everything, he sent the kids’ school photos and holiday cards  – he sort of adopted the approach of “You aren’t in my life because you’re actively deciding not to be. I am leaving the door open; you are choosing to not step through it”.

Steve’s EQ is pretty high. He can see the nuance in the situation – the estrangement was mostly his dad’s doing, but he also knows that his mom chose to align with him instead of her son. She could have made a different choice.

Case in point – on one occasion, she actually did.

Back in ‘04, when Steve and Eddie had first moved into their house, Steve invited his parents to the housewarming party just like he invited them to everything even though he knew they wouldn’t show.

Lo and behold – his mom showed.

She met Eddie and Moe (three at the time) and Robbie (not quite one yet), and then she left and Steve didn’t hear from her again until five years later when she called to tell Steve about his father’s diagnosis.

After his father passed away, Steve worked with his mom to make sure she’s comfortable in the aftermath of everything. He helps her relocate closer to where he and his family live because by that point she's made it pretty clear that she wants to be in his life again.

As far as meeting Eddie and the girls – it goes fine. The thing about polite society is that it’s dripping in pleasantries. Steve’s mom is sweet as pie to Eddie, and she dotes on the kids, which, sure, Steve is happy about, but what he really wants is to have a conversation about the choices she'd made over the years and how they hurt him.

She’s not interested in that though, and while that’s the case, Steve keeps their relationship distant and surface-level, and he definitely keeps her at an arm’s reach from Eddie and the girls because he doesn’t want to allow his kids to start thinking that it’s fine for people to slot in and out of their lives whenever it’s convenient, and he doesn’t want Eddie to think he’d ever let slide the way she responded to finding out about their relationship.

(Even though Eddie forever maintains that, “Steve, the only thing your parents did to me was give me you. You’re the only one here they actually hurt” but, again, Steve is The Martyr of all time, so he has some trouble seeing that).

In the “hierarchy of grandmothers”, so to speak, Joyce 100% reigns supreme because she’s been around from the beginning and they’ve seen the maternal-like relationship she has with Steve their entire lives, which I think Steve’s mom definitely has an awareness of but, again, she can’t exactly bring it up without bringing up the way her actions caused the situation and without acknowledging that the reason Joyce and Steve have that kind of relationship is because of the choices she made.

[jtl-fics]

Fluent Freshman - Part 19

PREVIOUS

There’s a couple things about FF that might be good to know at this point.

1. There are few things in the world he hates doing more than asking for clarification or admitting he doesn’t understand / know something. The thought of going up to someone and admitting that he hasn’t perfectly comprehended the situation upon the first explanation is something makes his stomach twist like he’d just eaten Mango-Habanero ice cream.

He has figured out his own math theorems in the pursuit of not having to ask the math teacher to explain he doesn’t understand. He got lost in an Ikea once for over 6 grueling hours where he considered making a home there and living among the display rooms until his grandma grabbed him by the ear and dragged him to safety (the food court) and let him regain his strength (eat Swedish meatballs). He, to this day, is not sure about one of his foreign language friend’s names (how embarrassing he just keeps waiting for someone else to say it but they go by some insane nickname).

So he has become a master of piecing shit together on his own. He sometimes gets it wrong (Andrew, god how embarrassing) but for the most part 8 times out of 10 he can get to the right answer if he just has a couple pieces to work with. No one had ever actually explained to him how Exy works and he was too embarrassed to ask after the third week of practice in middle school so he just pieced together what he was and was not allowed to do through the art of trial and error. He’s even mostly pieced out the rules for the other positions.

So with the information he has gotten through people being bound and determined to talk in foreign languages in front of him he has an idea about the tenuous situation some of the older Foxes find themselves in.

He’s heard Kevin Day and Jean Moreau talk in French.

He’s heard that the anxiety in both of their voices as they talked about their futures and owing 80% of their salaries to the ‘Moriyamas’ and how nervous they were about getting on professional teams or else they’d be killed.

Captain Neil and Andrew are not always using Russian to talk dirty.

He’s heard Andrew soothe Captain Neil’s worries about playing for a professional team. He’s heard Captain Neil mention that at least ‘Ichirou’ would likely just kill him and not make a game out of it like his father did.

Organized Crime might have more to do with Exy than FF had originally thought.

(He had thought it. Plenty of times he had thought it but his Gran had warned him that he was overthinking things. That he wasn’t playing a sport invented by the Mafia. That he had caffeinated coffee instead of decaf. “It’s going to be okay sweetie. Just take a deep breath.”)

This leads into the second thing you should know at this point.

2.  Before he had signed with Wymack he had known the broad strokes of Captain Neil’s life. There had been a lot of news articles about it and Gran (bless her) loved trashy gossip magazines.

After he had signed with the Foxes he had done a bit of a deep dive on as many of their controversies as he could find. There’d been things from brawls on the court (worrying), player overdoses (concerning), a straight up MURDER (Oh god), and the very public breaking of the King of Exy’s arm resulting in his suicide (Warranted, that wacko was going to take off Captain Neil’s HEAD.)

But the thing that had made him actually a little bit, dare he admit, excited to go to Palmetto was the fact that Captain Neil was there.

For someone who froze for almost a decade, who just took it and didn’t have the balls to even react? Neil Josten is an inspiration.

This is someone who got away, who lived a life completely unlike FF’s, someone who knew how to run and more impressively someone who learned how to FIGHT. Captain Neil was being hunted but he still ripped people to shreds in interviews. Captain Neil was probably more scared of the Butcher than FF had been of anything in his entire life but Captain Neil was way braver than FF could ever hope to be.

Captain Neil was taken and tortured but he still fought. FF had seen the scars and Captain Neil is right to wear them proudly (though based on some conversations he has unfortunately overheard he is sure Andrew may have a role in Neil’s positive feelings about them).

FF had thought that he was being lead to his death down in a basement of a club (Don’t cringe. Don’t cringe. Don’t cringe. Don’t-) and he just trailed right behind the two of them without even an illusion of a fight.

Neil Abram Josten was a bit of a personal hero.

He’s proud to call him Captain Neil. He wishes Andrew hadn’t been there when Greg had mentioned wanting autographs because FF wants an autograph from Captain Neil but now Andrew has probably mentioned it to Neil.

Long story short, FF had looked into a lot of details on Captain Neil’s case.

Including two of the Butcher’s top men who were still on the loose.

Romero Malcolm and Jackson Plank.

He keeps his presence low but no matter how many times he blinks the man grumbling in Italian next to him continues to be Romero Malcolm.

Moreover Romero Malcolm continues to grumble about the fact that he is having a hard time finding ‘Nathaniel’ and that he’ll have to grab one of ‘The Wesninski brat’s friends’ to draw him out.

FF is a recently confirmed friend of Captain Neil.

FF who is standing next to this man, with his dick out, and trying to remain as invisible as possible.

After two shakes (Yes he was watching but only because he had to! He wonders briefly if he goes to the FBI if they would accept a description of Romero Malcolm’s penis for the wanted poster? Probably not but it is BURNED into his retinas.)

He watches as Romero tucks, zips, and then bypasses the sink entirely.

FF shivers at how unhygienic that is. Who RAISED him?

The door shuts and FF needs to get out of here ASAP but his hands are shaking with the sudden adrenaline of ’One of the FBI’s Most Wanted just took a piss next to me and is looking for me friend’. He pulls his phone from his pocket and ducks into one of the stalls. Even if there’s no door it’ll at least FEEL a little safer, a little more private. He needs to warn Neil, Warn Andrew, and warn-

The door to the bathroom SLAMS open and music blares in (palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy-) and his phone slips out of his hands and into the toilet. There are footsteps coming towards him and FF digs deep.

He’s in ultra stealth mode. He is the wall behind the wallpaper. Mantis shrimp can only dream of the color he becomes, the United States military have the CIA on the look out for him because he’s fallen off all conventional forms of radar and tracking.

He is a bargain fruit platter on a dessert table at a kid’s birthday party.

He is ULTRA stealth.

Romero’s gaze glides over him.

Then the man leaves (STILL DID NOT WASH HIS HANDS).

His heart is hammering in his chest but he manages to reach down and grab his phone. Well, Coach Wymack had gotten the extended warranty at least. (“Do you know what these fuckers do to phones? Josten crushed his last year in a fight with the Baseball team captain.”)

His phone’s extended dip into the toilet water had not done it any favors in working properly.

Well fuck.

He wipes his phone down the best he can. He wipes his phone down with some toilet paper before cramming it into his pocket (Sorry Nicky, he’ll wash the toilet water pants if they survive).

He sees a flyer on the wall of the bathroom and starts to think of a plan.

He rushes out of the bathroom (he still washes his hands because he will not have something in common with a man on the FBI’s most wanted list and he just dipped his hand into a CLUB TOILET) and clocks Nicky’s wild arm movements and WORSE clocks Romero just 10 clubbers away.

He sees Romero’s eyes lock onto Nicky and a smile that terrifies him.

He’s out of Ultra Stealth Mode even if every atom in his body wants to run.

He is so stressed and panicked that he has gone beyond his body’s ability to process that so all that is left is determination. He’s got a head full of a half-baked plan, a hand going to his pocket, a second hand on the only ‘weapon’ he has on him, and a stomach full of acid.

He’s pulling his phone out of his pocket before he can really let himself think about it and walking up next to where Romero is standing. He holds his toilet water phone up to his ear and does the one weird social anxiety thing that he had never done before.

He pretends to be on a phone call.

“Hey Captain Neil,” he says and in the corner of his eye he can see Romero’s gaze shift from Nicky (surrounded by an adoring public, covered in sweat and therefore difficult to grab - a difficult target) to himself (alone, shorter, and probably looking like he’s about to pass out). “Yeah I think I’m going to take a break outside after I grab quick drink and then a water at the bar.” He says because he has to be the easier target and he has to go to the bar. “Yeah, yeah, okay I’ll mention it to that bartender guy.” He says and pretends to hang up.

He turns and he walks towards the bar and feels his pulse in his throat go to the beat of the music (success is my only motherfucking option, failure’s not).

He only knows about the alley because in the car ride to Sweetie’s Nicky had mentioned that he wouldn’t let FF’s first time be out there. He had been embarrassed but it was the only way he knew to get Romero out of the club and away from where he could hurt Captain Neil or anyone else in the pursuit of that.

He spots the bartender who had gotten the drinks for their table and his mind completely blanks on the name but the bartender sees him and smiles. “Oh you’re Neil and Andrew’s new friend! What can I help you with? I thought you were-“

“Hi, yes I am Captain Neil and Andrew’s friend.” He says a little loudly because he can feel Romero behind him and he does NOT want the man to know anything about where Captain Neil was.

“Captain Neil? Oh wow that’s adorable.” The man gushes. “What can I help you with? I won’t ask for ID for one of their friends.” He winks.

“I’d like to order the uh…” he tries to remember the exact drink name from the flyer, “…the deluxe chocolate martini?” He asks and knows he got it right when the bartender’s expression shifts ever so slightly.

“Oh yeah, how do Andrew and Neil feel about that?” He asks and oh great a coded conversation. It’s nice to actually be having a real one of these for once instead of just perceiving normal conversations to have hidden meanings.

“They don’t know. They probably prefer that I order it instead of Nicky or Aaron.” He lets his eyes dart to the wide where he believes Romero is watching him.

“I don’t know if that’s true.” The bartender says, “Nicky knows how to handle a drink and Aaron’s not a lightweight either.” He adds.

FF struggles to find a coded way to say ‘It’s not that someone’s hitting on me too hard like the flyer mentioned. It’s that there’s a mafia hitman in your club.��

Finally after a moment, “It’s not the usual kind of drink they get.” He tries and the bartender looks confused by the statement, dammit. He struggles to find a different way to say it before the bartender smiles.

“Y’know you’re really cute.” He reaches under the bar top and grabs a piece of paper and a pen. “How about you write down your number for me cutie? We can meet up sometime.” He says. “I’ll get started on that chocolate martini for you.” He says.

HE COULD KISS THIS MAN.

“I’d like that.” He says.

He writes out a quick message on the small note paper.

‘Armed. After Neil. Looked at Nicky. I’m going to the back alley. Phone is dead.’

The bartender comes back and looks at his note. “We’re out of chocolate martini mix, can I get you something-“ He hopes the club lighting obscures how pale the man got, “something else?” He asks and FF can SEE his pulse.

“Can I just get some water then?” He asks.

The bartender nods and pulls up his phone and hopefully is dialing the police and hands FF a water. His hand grabs hold of FF’s “You don’t need to go out into the alley. You could hang in the backroom with me?” He offers.

There really are some kind people in the world.

“I think it’s better if I’m not in here for a bit.” He says back and honestly he needs this kindness and he has a spare bit of courage, “What’s your name by the way? Sorry I missed it.” He says.

The bartender swallows, “It’s Roland.” He says.

“Thanks Roland.” He twists the cap off of the water bottle and takes a sip.

He turns and pretends not to notice how Romero is trying to be inconspicuous pretending to be on his phone.

He makes his way over to the alley door and notices that Romero is tracking his movements but is not following him like he did to the bar.

His heart is pounding and he can’t BELIEVE he’s doing this. He wants to run, wants to hide somewhere, wants to become imperceptible but…but…

He opens the door to the alley as the bass of the remixed song finishes.

(You can do anything you set your mind to, man)

He lets the door slam behind him and he is alone in the alley.

He was not expecting a van to come to a screeching halt in front of the entrance and for a different face to appear climbing out of the car.

Jackson Plank.

FF looks at the ugly smile on the man as he walks towards him with a knife in hand.

Okay now what genius?

MASTERPOST FOR ALL PARTS OF FLUENT FRESHMAN AU

NEXT

5/26/23: EDITED. Can’t believe I forgot to put the Captain in front of Neil’s name on the meme. I’m blaming the accidental early awakening.

Per your requests:

@i-have-three-feelings​ @blep-23​ @dreamerking27​ @andreilsmyreligion​ @belodensetdust​ @rainbowpineapplebottle @yarn-ace​ @iwouldlikesometea @lily-s-world​ @obscureshipsandchips​ @booklover242​ @whataboutmyfries​ @sahturnos​ @pluto-pepsi​ @dreamerthinker​ @passinhosdetartaruga​ @leftunknownheart​ @aro-manita-muscaria @hologramsaredead​ @Chaoticgremlinswishtheycouldbeme @tntwme​ @tayspots @nick-scar​ @crazy-fangirl2524​ @blue-jos10​ @stabbyfoxandrew​ @splishsplashyouropinionistrash​ @sammichly​ @the-broken-pen​ @bitchesdoweknowu​ @very-small-flower​ @ghostlyboiii​ @its-a-paxycab​ @bisexual-genderfluid-fan​ @cheesecookie​ @theoneandonlylostsock​ @foxsoulcourt​ @blueleys @adverbialstarlight​ @elia-nna​ @can-i-just-stay-in-the-corner​ @nikodiangel​ @foxandcrow-inatrenchcoat​ @hallucinatedjosten​ @satanic-foxhole-court​ @vexingcosmos​ @chalilodimun​ @insectsgetcooked​ @angry-kid-with-no-money​ @queer-crows​ @lillyndra​ @themugglemudperson​ @readertodeath​ @apileofpillows​ @mortalsbowbeforeme​ @hellomynameismoo​ @next-level-mess @youreonlylow​ @interstellarfig​ @notprocrastinatingatalltoday​ @percyjacksonfan3​ @queenofcrazy27​ @bsmr261 @ghostlyscares​ @spencellio​ @adinthedarkroom​ @harpymoth​ @sufferingjustalilbit​ @anxietymoss​ @oddgreyhound​ @ohno-myhyperfixation-itsbroken​ @ken22789​ @atiredvampire​ @isoldescorner​ @not--a--pipedream​ @azure-wing​ @bushbees​  @roonilwazlib-main​ @crumplelush​ @foldedaces-paperbirds​ @thesenseinnonsense​ @let-tyrants-fear​ @ketchupfriesandallthingsnice​ @legowerewolf​ @deadlydodos​ @but-we-respect-his-craft​ @cariniqe​ @zanypersonapricotbiscuit​

The requests to be added to the tag list keep being spread out across a few different areas. If I missed you please just ask again in the replies I promise I just missed you.

As stated before if you’re up here and I spelled it  right but you didn’t  get a notification there might be something  switched around in  your settings that won’t let me tag you properly?

Lillyndra it worked this time!!!

[moeblob]

having a stressful time at work but i think it's very important to point out the other day i was asking a guy for help and he's like aight gotcha and then we go to this freezer room and he, from somewhere beyond a mound of boxes, just goes "you like anime right?"

sir this is the FIRST TIME we have spoken how did you clock that.

(he claims i had the vibes of someone who liked it then i was like oh like the woman in the deli wearing a jujutsu- and before i can finish the series name he says "no not her, she just liked the shirt. she's never watched anime". . . oh. i see. you have already had this debate with her then. okay.)

[raziraphale]

I've done this myself but it really is so funny to recommend samurai flamenco to people just on the basis of its queer representation without going into much else about it. realizing he is in gay love with his best friend is truly the least of masayoshi's problems. it doesn't come up until the very end of the show bc he simply does not have the time to do an Am I Gay quiz through *gestures vaguely* all that

[ieatcocoa]

A Lasting Impression ♡

Characters: Lucifer/OC/Lilith

Switching POVS

Word count: 3.2k

Important: 18+ minors do not interact. fem dom! Lilith, sub top! Lucifer, fem!reader, threesome, fingering, open relationship, penetrative sex, teasing, oral sex, character uses she/they pronouns.

I made this for a close friend of mine, his OC’s name is Ciel, and she is an overlord in the underworld.

Literally, my first time writing smut…so…

Boarder credits to plutism !

The eternal crimson light radiates above Pentagram City. It illuminates among crumbling sidewalks whose jagged edges are nearly as sharp as a local thief's blade, leaving behind twisted shadows that linger longer than the pungent odor of regret and sex. Dried blood sticks to any available surface, acting as the only reminder of a being's existence after being viciously gored. The light is a terrifying symbol of one's vulnerability to death, where a person's entire being is stripped down to its core and made visible to their true self.

Most hide away as best they can to maintain their sense of seclusion. Stability.

It would be a lie to suggest Ceil is not among them. She has always found solace in the darkness. That is only natural, as it was the first thing she saw when she entered hell. Many assume that when you meet your demise, you are rudely dropped into a flaming inferno and forced to live out the rest of your days as a helpless slave to the man himself. However, after Ciel's final breath and the way the cold air felt against their blue lips, everything became numb. She seemed caught between time and space, followed by an endless nothingness. They imagine it was their punishment to be alone, with only encounters from the depths of her memory bank. But then there came a light, similar to the one she bears witness to before her…

Nestled in the heart of the city's junction, the enormous white and gold estate is a beacon of splendor and charm. Its pristine facade, adorned with intricate golden accents, shimmers under the gentle caress of moonlight, casting a mesmerizing glow that enchants all who behold it. It's almost absurd that something so heavenly is here. As expected, its inhabitants are the embodiment of grace and delicacy.

Lucifer and Lilith Morningstar.

Every sinner knows them, regardless of how recently they have 'dropped.'

Respect is difficult, yet even the meanest brutes can bite their tongues when graced by royalty. Ceil longs for that kind of authority. Talk of the town is like a never-ending telephone game, misconstrued or added on for flare. When others became aware of her presence, there was an unprecedented wave of rumors, specifically in the Pride ring.

That may be why they were invited during their daily tea hour with Rosie. The beautifully sealed envelope exudes an aura of grandeur. Its seal, meticulously stamped with the emblem of the hosting organization, adds an air of exclusivity and importance to the contents within. As they run their fingers along its smooth surface, they can almost feel the excitement radiating from within, promising an evening of elegance.

The king and queen had invited her to their home.

To their party.

To them.

Ciel knew she couldn't pass up this opportunity, which is how she ended up here. Within the walls of the magnificent mansion, the gala unfolds like a scene from a fairy tale. Crystal chandeliers hang from the high ceilings, casting a soft, golden glow over the exquisitely decorated ballroom. Elaborate floral arrangements adorn every corner, their vibrant hues adding to the lavish surroundings.

Guests, fitted in their finest attire, mingle amidst the grandeur, their laughter and conversation filling the air. Servants move gracefully among the crowd, offering trays of decadent hors d'oeuvres and glasses of fine champagne.

At the center of the room, a raised dais hosts a band of talented musicians, their melodies weaving through the crowd with allure. The music swells and dances, carrying with it an irresistible energy that beckons guests to the dance floor.

That’s when she saw them.

The royal pair attracts attention with their elegance and poise. The handsome man with the tousled blonde hair was the first to catch their eye. Despite his stature, his presence fills the room with undeniable charisma. His rosy cheeks hint at his jovial nature, while his piercing eyes sparkle with intelligence.

Beside him is his counterpart, a tall and remarkably gorgeous woman with olive-toned skin that sparkles in the mellow candlelight. Sculpted with refinement, cascading waves of dark hair frame her delicate features.

Together, they epitomize the perfect balance of strength and grace, their union symbolizing harmony and unity within the royal court. As they engage in conversation, their easy rapport and shared laughter illuminate the room, captivating all who have the privilege of beholding them.

Ciel is held hostage by the image of such a delicacy. If she had not been able to feel the gazes of other bystanders, she would have drooled like a starving animal or a dunce.

Amidst the crowd, Lucifer notices the young woman seated alone at a table, her presence a calling to him. He approaches with a stride and a knowing smile on his lips.

As he reaches her table, he offers a drink with a courteous nod. She meets his eyes with a mixture of surprise and curiosity, her demeanor guarded yet intrigued by his attention.

“Hello there, a drink?” The champagne in his hand sparkles tauntingly as Ciel takes hold, giving it a small taste. “Why thank you.”

Lucifer takes a seat beside them, manuring ever so gracefully that his pristine tailcoat tucks perfectly underneath him. “Are you that new face I’ve heard so much about? I must say, you are much less intimidating in person.” The mild jazz playing in the background does not drown out his voice.

"Mm, it seems I am; my name is Ciel. Take passing conversations with a grain of salt, as they are often misconstrued.”

“I see.”

“And what about yourself? You’re not at all what the book makes you out to be.” Ciel looked at him carefully, a gentle smile gracing their lips. Lucifer’s bushed brows shot up in amusement. “I understand an introduction is not needed! How grand! Are you pleasantly surprised I’m not some horrid beast?”

“Would it be wrong of me to say yes?” She teased.

Funny. He likes that.

As the night wears on and the champagne flows freely, they are drawn together by shared laughter and lighthearted banter. Their eyes sparkle with mischief as they exchange playful quips and witty remarks, the intoxicating effects of the bubbly heightening their sense of camaraderie.

With each passing moment, their inhibitions fade, replaced by a growing sense of desire. Their laughter becomes more animated, and their touches linger a fraction longer, igniting a subtle yet undeniable spark between them.

However, amidst their playful flirtation, a shadow of guilt tugs at the overlord's conscience. She steals furtive glances towards his wife, who converses amiably with an acquaintance just a few feet away. Summoning her wit, she offers a sly remark, "Your Majesty, your charm is as dangerous as it is delightful. I fear I may be getting swept away in a current where I shouldn't be swimming."

The king's demeanor momentarily gives way to a thoughtful silence, his expression becoming unreadable as he weighs the words. For a fleeting moment, the air between them crackles with tension, as if suspended in anticipation of his response.

Then, with a subtle shift in his countenance, his features softened, and his eyes were alight with a glimmer of delight. With measured grace, he leans in slightly. "Ah, my dear, perhaps it is the allure of the forbidden that makes life's dance all the more thrilling."

Hm…

“A beauty she is.” Ciel sighs as their eyes drift across the captivating woman again, no longer masking her words with subtlety.

“Lilith? Indeed.” He responded.

“How would she feel about her husband chatting up a stranger?”

“Is this not a social event? Conversation is the pinnacle, sweetheart.”

“Conversation maybe. Flirting is not.” Ciel quips back.

“Ah ha! I see now. Is that what is bothering you? Lilith is not ignorant of my proclivities; in fact, she welcomes them with open arms!” He expresses himself gleefully, animating with his arms outstretched.

“It still feels wrong to be this friendly behind her back.” The once sweet fizz of the drink now burned unpleasantly at Ciel's throat. There is a beat of silence.

“Would you like for us to all get better acquainted?”

How could they deny an offer as sweet as that?

The ascent up the grand staircase is a haze. The soft glow of candlelight flickers against the walls, casting intricate shadows that sway with every movement. As they reach the top of the stairs, the air becomes thick with suspension.

Is this the appropriate thing to do?

Scents of jasmine linger in the air, mingling with the heady aroma of musky cologne, creating an intoxicating allure that pulls Ciel forward, ceasing any previous doubts.

Guided by the faint sound of murmured voices, she stands before the elaborate doors of the king and queen's private bedroom. The wood is warm beneath her fingertips as she pushes them open, revealing a sanctuary of luxury beyond.

The inside of the room is bathed in a soft, golden light, casting a halo around Lucifer and Lilith as they recline upon the plush bed. The queen's eyes are alight with a playful spark, and her voice is a melodic whisper as she welcomes them into their intimate domain. With a graceful gesture, she invites her to join them, her words laced with a subtle invitation that ignites a flicker of desire within Ciel's chest.

“No need to be shy, lovely. Your presence is much appreciated.”

Time feels as though it were moving through a thick puddle of molasses. Lingering touches dance along Ciel's skin; the feeling is so overwhelming that a soft whine escapes her lips. It was not her intention to come and seduce the most prominent individuals in the underworld, but she was pleased with the outcome. Little did she know, the feeling was mutual. Lucifer watches from a distance, his eyes ablaze with tension, his demeanor poised yet brimming with desire.

He knew it was not his turn.

He knows to wait patiently.

His gaze never wavers as he observes the exchange between Ciel and his goddess, a silent witness to the unfolding tableau of intimacy. With a tender smile, Lilith reaches out, her fingers grazing Ciel's cheek in a gesture of affection. In that brief touch, a current of electricity courses through, heightening the intensity of the moment. “I've heard so much about you; please forgive me. I just needed to see you for myself.” “You’re much prettier in person.” And then, as if guided by an invisible force, Lilith leans forward, her lips meeting theirs in a gentle yet impassioned kiss.

In that stolen moment of intimacy, the world outside fades away, leaving only the desperation of her and Lucifer, who watches with bated breath, his need now mirrored in the depths of his eyes. He can feel the distinctive strain against his pants.

All three let out short huffs as they hastily dropped their garments. It was too hot, too sticky. Ciel sought comfort in the cold air wafting throughout the chamber, being able to feel herself slip away in the confinements of pleasure. The only thing that drew her back was the distinct ticking of the grandfather clock.

“How do you feel?” Lilith is imbued with a sultry allure, carrying like a whispered caress throughout the air.

The duvet that was once neatly tucked into the soft mattress below was now thrown aside by the movement of bare bodies. Lilith has them right where she wants them. Their legs spread prettily enough for her to see the glimmer of the slick coat along her fingers. Ciel's cunt flutters greedily as the skillful fingers push inside once more. A mewl escapes her lips as she tries to form coherent thoughts. It was all too much. The tips of her fingers press snuggly against the sensitive tissue, making her chase for more.

It’s to no avail.

Each time she experiences that wonderful feeling, it is abruptly taken away, leaving her bewildered and dazed.

“Confined.” Ciel manages to sputter out after the loss of Lilith's touch. “I understand that, darling. What do you seek?” Lilith asks as she presses against her soft and sticky walls once again. She hisses, annoyed by the teasing. With a sharp retort poised on their lips, they muster the courage to respond with a sly remark, hoping to regain control of the conversation. “Release.”

But as the words leave their mouth, a wave of instant regret washes over, like a cold shower extinguishing the fire of their defiance. They realize too late the weight of their words and the potential consequences of their impulsive retort. Lilith's mouth curls into a grin as she makes a disapproving sound with her tongue.

No.

“Greedy thing.”

Please!

Ciel finds themselves consumed by an insatiable desire for her touch once more. Every fiber of their being yearns for the electrifying sensation of her fingers against their skin, aching for the pleasure it brings. Her voice trembles with intensity as they plead, their words an impassioned request for her return. Lilith coos gently, wiping away the salty tears that collected at their lash line. A forgiving queen she is. “Shh shh… I’ll ask you again.“

A murmur echoes within the room, laced with an ethereal appeal that holds them transfixed. "What do you seek?" With trembling breath, they confess their deepest longing, their voice barely a whisper, “Power.”

“Good girl.”

The stretch of Lucifer’s cock lacked the familiar, painful ache Ciel was accustomed to. He glides inside smoothly and bottoms out fully. Lilith’s preparation had made it easy; a puddle of arousal coats the underside of their body. Never in his life would he compare the beauty of another to his love, but this one? This one was making it increasingly difficult. Her walls had him entrapped, earning a low groan from him. So soft, even the jagged stitches that etched across her body felt gentle. His pulse flutters as he drags an earnest finger over the raised skin. He could not explain the growing impulse that rose within him, as he frequently acted on it. Lucifer presses a long kiss on the scar at the junction of her navel. “You’re doing so well, taking me so well.” He softly murmurs while pressing his finger against her sensitive nub, causing Ciel to cry out. His pace quickens and the sound of skins hitting against one another grows in passion-filled intensity.

Ciel's muffled squeak was met with the sweet taste of Lilith, a mixture of nectar and lust. The mound, so snuggly pressed against her lips, flutters with need. “Sweetheart—!” Lilith whimpers.

What a beautiful voice.

Ciel had no time to enjoy the sweet sound as Lucifer's rhythmic hip movements clouded her mind. She could hear the distinctive sound of lips meeting one another in a feverish haze. So passionate. They feel a sense of awe and reverence wash over them as if witnessing a sacred union that transcends mortal understanding.

“I love you.”

It was not said to her, though the effects were all the same. Ciel wailed loudly as their hips stuttered, their orgasm rushing over them so hard it left a dull pulse within. He groans in response to the connection between the inseparable duo becoming tighter. He presses his hands against her thighs, massaging the sweat-coated fat in between.

“You’re okay, lovely. I got you.”

The smooth exchange between the two leads Lilith to rush after her release; she can feel the coil inside snap. Coming down from her high duey sweat beads at her forehead, she was satisfied.

Ciel yearns for the snug embrace of Lucifer, their bodies still entwined in the aftermath of their passionate encounter. It took a moment for her to gasp for breath before her eyes trailed downward. He hadn’t cum.

She could cry.

Lilith, ever so perceptive, notices their discomfort and moves to reassure them. She offers a warm and understanding smile as she softly touches their cheek. "How precious. Do not be troubled, my dear." She says softly, her voice a soothing melody amid their turmoil. Drawing them up into a tender embrace, the queen whispers words of reassurance, her voice a balm to their wounded pride. With her gentle guidance, Ciel begins to feel the weight of embarrassment lift from their shoulders. “This is not your doing. Luci requires a little extra attention.” She gently pulls Ciel aside, then lays her husband down.

He had waited patiently, so who was she to deny his release?

Ciel peeks in marvel as she kisses him up his jaw, her fingers gripping his cock securely and slowly pumping it while cooing.

“My dove?”

“Yes, honey?”

“Can you feel me?” With that, her free hand glides three fingers into his inviting hole, delicately pumping in and out. She receives no response; instead, Lucifer lets out a pitched whine, and he puffs out a strangled breath. To see someone as significant as him come undone so effortlessly made the familiar warmth of yearning pool in Ciel's gut.

“Are you paying attention?”

In their oblivious state, she fails to register the question, their mind preoccupied with the grandeur of the moment. Her laughter fills the air, quickening their heart with realization. A rush of warmth floods their cheeks as they finally comprehend the implications of the words. With an impish glint in their eye, Ciel teasingly inches closer to her, their movements slow and deliberate, like a predator closing in on its prey.

How ironic.

Hearts race with excitement at the audacity of their actions. “Whatever for, your majesty?” With a charming smile, the queen leans closer, almost meeting lips for another kiss. How she wishes she could taste her once more, the flavor forever grained into her mind. This was no mistake. She is thankful for the rumors, the yearly gala, and the chance to savor such a delight.

The air surrounding them thickens as Lucifer moans once more before cumming, and the sticky remnants drip from her fingers as she brings them up to Ciel's mouth. They do not hesitate to suck, and the taste is as sweet as hers. Heavenly.

“Why for our next rendezvous, of course.”

Author's Note: thank you so much for reading ! If anyone is here for an update on my Alastor fic I'll be working on it soon enough! Let me know if anyone wants a variant version where it's x gn reader. much love! p.s my ask box is open pls come talk with me.

[jamiesfootball]

Moe stared face to face with the one-eyed rat and contemplated the unfairness of a society wherein your existence relied on caveats.

Sure it’s a rat, but this one’s nice.

Sure it’s a rat, but this one lives indoors all the time and never interferes with anyone else.

Sure it’s a rat, but have you ever considered it has rat friends who really love it?

Keeping it indoors must really help with overpopulation.

No one wanted rats, not really.

Sure, the rights of rats had never been more boldly understood. They were pets like any other, and the people who had them cared for them the same way you would any other pets. But there was a difference between a pet rat, one that lived in a family, and a non-domesticated rat, one that roamed the streets without any intention of settling down.

The metaphor may have gotten away from him.

That was fine.

This rat technically had both its eyes, but the right one was milked over. The presence of functional without any of the appearance. A portion of the world obscured, extra effort needed to make sense of it.

Moe stared face to face with the one-eyed rat and wondered if any of its little rat friends ever conflated something missing with something wrong.

The lads were talking about the Bantr promo ads.

Or they had been, but now the lads were talking about girls.

Used to be that if the topic of girls came up, Moe could rely on Colin to shift the subject, always interrupting the flow of conversation to ask if someone had a comb or some socks or a can of Lynx he could borrow.

After years of being a professional footballer, he should really have basic hygiene dialed in by now, but that was Colin for you.

Also used to be that if it weren’t Colin, Jamie would inevitably derail the conversation. Moe wasn’t sure if it was missing socialisation cues or problems with learning socialisation in general, but Jamie had missed the usual lessons that girls were a topic ‘men’ should enjoy discussing, and were therefore worth discussing for all of the some time until Moe wanted to put his head through a wall.

Used to be that you couldn’t pay Jamie to stay on topic. 

One second it was girls, then it was the girls on Lust Conquers All, then it was lads on Lust Conquers All, then it was breakfast-themed alcoholic beverages, then breakfast cereals, then some new snack he’d seen when he was getting petrol and had anyone else tried it yet, then it was what kind of fabrics everyone preferred in their cars, then he was off on whether or not he should get tested for allergies because after he’d switched to a new detergent, his sheets were making him itchy.

That had been the time Moe insisted on helping him test for bed bugs. Jamie had taken him up on his answer because as insensible as he could be, he took hygiene seriously, and also because Isaac had threatened to kick him out of the dressing room forever if it turned out Jamie was infected with tiny creepy crawlies.

As soon as they arrived at Jamie’s house, Big Ben – a fat orange cat with a grumpy face and a Gucci collar – came up to say hello, yowling in their faces until Jamie bent down to give him ear scratches.

Both cat and owner followed Moe room to room. Moe diligently laid down the test strips while Big Ben twined around his legs. Jamie talked his ear off about Jurgen Klopp’s Gegenpress tactics and whether it was a strategy Ted might be open to trying.

(He even pronounced all the words correctly; he must really be serious.)

That was the other thing he’d noticed lately – it used to be that no conversation left around Jamie could go long without returning to football. When they’d signed Zava, Isaac had actually called a team-minus-Jamie meeting to discuss how best to prevent Jamie from cornering the legend himself with aggressively pointed questions about obscure matches no one remembered.

To Moe’s knowledge, that hadn’t happened yet. Without being asked, Jamie respected Zava’s space far more than he respected anyone else’s, and he hadn’t gone on a proper football rant in a while.

Now it spewed out of him like a dam unleashed.

Equally demanding of attention was Big Ben, who threw himself at Moe’s feet with his paws curled up in front of his chest in a false act of supplication that Moe wasn’t going to fall for. 

When Moe stepped around him, the cat repeated the gesture, adding a plaintive mewl for good measure. After his third attempt at gaining Moe’s attention, Jamie scooped the cat up – an impressive feat, considering it was the size of a small blimp.

Jamie cooed at the gargantuan ball of hair, “Cut that out. He’s trying to help us out, King.”

The cat purred in contentment, already satisfied.

That was the difference between cats and rats. The cat could have what it wanted, because its needs were understood.

A big acceptable tomcat; a man amongst men.

A man, full stop.

In the end, Jamie didn’t have bedbugs. Just delicate skin and bad taste in overpriced household products.

After educating Jamie on how the phosphates found in laundry detergent had devastated oceanic ecosystems around the globe, Jamie and his cat solemnly promised to look up Moe’s recommendations. Both wore matching, befuddled expressions and a sort of distracted interest, as if Moe was a creature that, once gone, would cease to be more than a novelty. A one-time interruption in a life that would spin rather much the same once he was gone as it had before he arrived.

Or he’d let the metaphor get away from him again.

That was fine.

Moe went home.

Remy had a cage for when Moe was away. The first thing he did whenever he returned was open the door to his rat’s home. Together they roamed the flat, clueless in communication but free to do whatever they wanted.

What Remy wanted to do the most was curl up on Moe’s shoulder, making a nest between him and the couch cushions while he dozed into a peaceful rat nap.

Moe might not matter to the world, but Remy mattered to Moe.

With Remy for company, Moe had everything he wanted.

No one’s making the rat participate.

In no way was Bantr a worse option as a sponsor than Cerithium Oil. Not in a million years. The damage Cerithium Oil had done to the planet would stretch on forever – there would never again be people in the world not affected by their disregard.

But at least Cerithium Oil had never given a damn whether Moe Bumbercatch was ‘single.’

He hadn’t wanted to be a part of the new Bantr promo in the first place, but group advertising didn’t work on an opt-in basis. Everyone at the club did their bit knowing that somewhere down the line someone else would do the same for them. The team relied on each other that way. For every Sam Obisanya and Dani Rojas and Jamie Tartt who racked in money for the children at the annual gala, there were a dozen smaller PR stunts that could be handled by one of the any-players.

Moe didn’t mind being one of the any-players. What he minded was the arbitrary nature by which his participation had been decided. He disliked the sensation of being ‘singled’ out.

Moe put up with dozens of small slights every day.

Like the ‘mens’ label on the toilets by the dressing room, even though they were the only team that used this part of the stadium and therefore had no reason for the specificity. The culturally acceptable amount of sexual innuendos surrounding men’s fitness whenever it came time to do interviews. Team movie night, which purported to be about emotional release but usually revolved around rom-coms or media geared towards children (many of which also featured romance.) Most days these weren’t more than a prick against the skin, a bristle of discomfort that lingered more in memory than in lasting hurt.

Richmond was a good club, with a disproportionate amount of good people and a host of benefits to make up for it. 

One of said benefits of Richmond: the talk around the dressing rooms tended to be more palatable than what he’d dealt with in past dressing rooms.

How unfortunate that past performance was not an indicator of future results.

Zoreaux held up his hands to fend off the jeering. “All I’m saying is that when this shirt comes off? There’s no need for words. I let my body do the talking.”

He invited booing, really. Only Dani approved, nodding sagely as if this was great advice (which made a certain amount of sense; Moe couldn’t imagine any advice would make Dani less successful at winning people over.)

Once towels had been thrown and collected, the attention turned to the next victim in line.

Isaac elbowed Colin. “How about you? What’s your pitch for getting a woman to stick out a date after she’s taken a spin in your car?”

Colin took the good-natured jab with a corner kick smile. “Keep it simple. Go for drinks, catch a film, and if the movie sucks, I’ll pay for your Uber home.”

This was treated to a round of chuckles and a few outcries of ‘lame!’

Personally, Moe appreciated his teammate’s brand of dry self-deprecation. Colin gave off the sense that he was someone who knew himself well enough to make a joke of it—a quality Moe certainly couldn’t say he’d cultivated.

Hard to cultivate in sand when you were meant to have soil.

“Hey Jamie, what about you?” Colin asked, making a grabby motion towards the Lynx cupboard. “Did you think of something to say for the ads? Or are you just going to take your shirt off?”

A can of Lynx was tossed across the room with little regard to aim. Colin fumbled the catch. 

Languid with his knees pulled up on the bench, Jamie’s smirk did nothing to dissuade Moe’s notion that he was a large, acceptable feline in his natural habitat. That said, his answer came surprisingly devoid of the self-congratulatory manner with which they were all accustomed.

“Date’s not about me, is it?” he said simply. “I’m not doing it for me. I’m just there to show her a good time.”

Some thoughtful hums and considering ‘good points’ went up around the room. Personally Moe thought that sounded lonely. His own experiences in dating were limited, but he was pretty sure that fun was the point.

Hence why he’d stopped doing it.

As if sensing his dissatisfaction, Jamie narrowed in on him. “Moe, how about you? What wisdom are you bringing to the women of Bantr?”

Sometimes, he had to remind himself that he was used to slights.

Moe shrugged into his jacket. “Haven’t decided.”

Some of the joking demeanour slid off Jamie’s shoulders. His uneven eyebrows puckered together, the slit on the right making the effect of his expression more severe.  “What d���you mean you haven’t decided? We film tomorrow.”

“Means I haven’t decided on anything I want to say to help our corporate overlords squeeze more money out of our increasingly impoverished society.”

“Ah, we can help you figure something out!” Dani offered. He seemed excited by the prospect. “What do you like to do on dates?”

A tingling sensation spread into his hands. “I don’t like dates.”

Colin tried to share a smile with him. “Too capitalist for you, boyo?”

“Who the fuck doesn’t like dates?” asked Zoreaux, perplexed and usually kind and now-

Moe sidestepped the scrutiny. “It doesn’t matter, because we’re not looking for real dates. We’re just selling the idea that we could be looking for dates. It’s an illusion.”

“He’s right,” Colin added. Heads swivelled his way. “It’s not real. If one of us was seeing someone, this wouldn’t even be considered cheating. It’s just doing a job.”

Moe raised an eyebrow; Colin was hardly someone he’d describe as cynical, but that response was practically dripping with- with-

With something he couldn’t place. He’d come back to it later.

“Is that the problem then?” Goodman asked, throwing an arm around Moe’s shoulders. He sounded positively chuffed. “Finally found someone and you don’t want to share?”

“No.”

“Ooh, I think we hit a nerve,” O’Brien chortled.

Moe pushed Goodman’s arm away. “Sure did.”

Once again, Jamie’s confusion was a mirror image of his cluelessness kitty cat’s when Moe refused to follow the script. “Hey, man, we were just messing around.”

He reminded himself that the slights didn’t matter, because it wasn’t like he’d told anyone that he was being slighted.

He also reminded himself that the rat can do whatever it wants.

Because Moe didn’t want to make an exception of himself. He didn’t want an exceptional place, a place he carried around with him where people would edit their words in his presence and continue unfiltered the moment he left. He wanted a life free of caveats. A normal life, in a normal place. He wanted the place he was already in to not have been de facto claimed by the majority. He didn’t want to speak up only to defend himself against accusations that he was spoiling their fun; he just wanted somewhere where his inclusion could be felt without the stinging sensation that he was being patronised – that the world had built around him a pocket, instead of letting him choose to crawl inside.

He wanted to be more than a rat in a pocket.

The rat wanted a home too.

He fled the dressing room.

Call that rat behaviour.

The way Moe figured it, he’d developed an aura of mystery enough that his exit would either be seen with a classy amount of intrigue or with a neon sign glaring on his back. There was no in-between.

“Moe, wait up!”

The approaching canter of Jamie indicated that the answer lay towards the option cast in a garish light.

Jamie slowed to an awkward stop. “Hey, man.”

Some hits happened so often he hardly noticed anymore; today wasn’t one of those days.

“Sorry if we were prying too much. Didn’t mean anything by it you know,” Jamie explained, in a tone so sharpened with sincerity and glass that it pierced Moe sharply between his ribs.

He liked Jamie, really. He loved everybody on the team. It was the world he didn’t like, and hardly their fault that the world extended beyond what their eyes could see.

“Yeah, I get that,” he sighed. His hands still felt tingly, and he pinched his nose. “Just not up for it today, alright?” Or any day.

Jamie bobbed his head in agreement – only to stop suddenly, his head tilting as he studied Moe. With growing wariness, Moe watched his hands slip under the front of his shirt, twisting the fabric around his fist. It was a motion Moe had caught himself mirroring a few times, usually when he needed a little extra oomph to push through some discomfort.

Anxiety creeped into his chest.

With entirely too much focus, Jamie spoke carefully, “I’m just saying, it’s none of our business if you’re seeing a girl. Or anyone.”

He added the last bit in a hushed voice.

The missile missed its target by miles. Nevertheless, Moe felt dizzy from how close it’d come to contact.

“No,” he answered. Because what?

The confused tomcat expression returned to Jamie’s face. Without giving Moe a second to catch up, he changed topics completely.

“You know those two girls Dani was seeing?”

Moe nodded, feeling very much like a trap was being laid before him.

Jamie bounced on his toes, full of nervous energy as his eyes flitted around. “And you know he’s still seeing them, yeah? Like, the three of them are still together.”

Moe did not know that. Why just that morning, Dani had leaned up against Zoreaux, phone in hand, bemoaning how much more successfully his friend’s Bantr profile attracted matches (an opinion that only belonged to Dani.)

Jamie shrugged. “Just saying, we already got an extra non-single guy signed up. Seems fair then that one of the single guys should get to sit this one out.”

If he was dizzy before, now he found himself fighting back a wave of nausea. For someone swatting through the dark, Jamie had gotten remarkably close at hitting the heart of the matter.

Heart cowering in his throat, he let the tail of the truth slip loose:

“Not single.”

For once, Jamie didn’t press. He went unusually still, and he blinked slowly at Moe like-

The fuck, was he intentionally copying his cat?

Moe sighed. His own hands fisted into the front of his shirt, where they could tremble instead of his voice. “Single implies the existence of a double. Or a triple. Or any further number of consenting adults, I presume.” He shrugged. “Point is I don’t see myself like that.”

It was the closest he’d ever come to wriggling into the light.

“Oh,” Jamie said, an odd hint of wonder slipping under his tone.

Moe looked at him.

Really looked.

Beneath Jamie’s shocked expression, something understanding crawled beneath the floorboards.

The rat stared back at the cat, confused at how the trap had snapped on them both.

The cat stared back, perhaps not even realising they were stuck in a trap.

Perhaps in looking for a mirror, he’d ignored any signs of familiarity.

Moe found himself saying, “You know that time we all went to that pet sanctuary? When Isaac got Bun-Bun?”

“When Sam got tricked into getting two snakes?”

Moe nodded. “I went back later and adopted a rat.”

Jamie perked up, tossing contemplation and personal space aside in favour of crowding up close like he intended to twine himself around Moe’s legs. “Can I see it?”

Moe retreated. “I don’t have it on me?”

“No shit.” Jamie rolled his eyes. “But you got pictures, don’t you?”

He said it with the self-assurance of someone who believed that taking thousands of photos of your pets every day was normal activity.

Moe shrugged and took out his phone. He did take a lot of pictures.

Heart in hand, he showed Jamie his phone. “This is Remy.”

In a remarkable display of restraint, Jamie lasted about five adorable rat photos before whipping out pictures of his cat.

One by one, the team filed out of the dressing room while Jamie sat next to him on a bench in the hallway, the two of them swiping through their favourite pictures. Jamie kept insisting he make Remy his own Insta so that he could show him off to the world.

Cat behaviour.

Isaac gave them an approving nod as he passed. Colin watched curiously but didn’t say anything. Goodman and O’Brien attempted some apologetic sign language, the success of which somehow captured the meaning, ‘Sorry for our impudence and thoughtlessness. Next team dinner, first round’s on us, yeah?’

That’s how you won rats over: you offered them cheese. You placated them with drinks. You won them over by dangling something they wanted in front of them, and then when they crawled out of hiding, you picked them up and held them to the light.

Jamie blew out a breath and flicked off his phone. “Alright. I better get going, or this one’s going to scratch my eyes out for dinner being late. How bout you and this ad then? If you want, I can tell them you couldn’t make it.”

Moe tested the light. “Depends on what kind of excuse you’re going to give.”

“Nothing, I suppose.” Jamie shrugged like it was that simple. “Unless you want me to?”

“Not really,” Moe confessed. “But they’ll probably ask anyway. Like it’s their business.”

“It is a business, mate,” Jamie pointed out – for a second time that day, one of Moe’s teammates demonstrating an uncharacteristic amount of cynicism. “How about….”

He chewed on his lip, feline attention turned to a rodent’s problem.

“…How about I tell ‘em you had a rat emergency?”

“A what?”

“It’ll confuse them, won’t it? ‘Cause no one knows what it means. Sounds exotic and shit. Could mean anything from ‘my rat’s escaped’ to ‘my rat’s got off it’s leash and into the petunias and it won’t come out’ to ‘my rat’s got a sexy photoshoot coming up and I need to knit him a tiny outfit.’” 

Sounded like a good life, the version Jamie made up in his head.

Then again, Moe had never had the opportunity to break out his size 14 knitting needles.

Jamie waited for his answer with all the eager impatience of a cat with its paws curled up against its chest. Attention-seeking behaviour. False supplication.

Something that had needs easier to understand, yet every bit as trapped in a cage.

Moe supposed you drew cats out the same way you would any creature. You offered them care, respect, affection when they needed it – space when they wanted it. You offered them freedom.

Maybe you offered to sit in the trap next to them, because it was unfair to make them do it alone.

The metaphor may have gotten away from him.

It really was fine.

“Might show up anyways. It’s for the team, isn’t it?” Moe decided. He nudged Jamie in the side. “Besides, this way if I change my mind halfway through, I can lie and say I need your help with the rat emergency.”

Never one to stay on topic, Jamie turned to Moe with bright eyes and asked, “Have you ever thought of dressing him up?”

“What? Remy?”

“Yeah! Saw this picture online the other day of a little rat dressed up for the tropics. It had sunglasses and a tiki cup, and it was chowing down on a peanut that barely fit in its hands. I’m telling you, you’ve never seen a rat so happy.”

Moe should not have expected better from someone who dressed his cat in Gucci.

But he didn’t hate the thought.

The rat was not alone.

[moeswriting]

delicate | d.b.

Pairing: dieter bravo x f!interviewer!reader, social media and interview transcripts

summary: Your internet show “A Little to the Right” is popular enough that you’ve been invited to interview a red carpet. What happens when Dieter Bravo shows up?

Warnings: mostly dialogue if you’re into that (because i needed a break from writing action; i am a dialogue whore); any pictures i use are for inspiration purposes only and do not reflect the reader’s appearance at all; takes place after the events of The Bubble; i had way too much fun making up dieter bravo fandom usernames; talking about Grey’s Anatomy including a spoiler for season 11 (dear god, that show is ridiculously long)

word count: 2.7k

a/n: this is lightly based on andrew and amelia having the most insane chemistry i’ve ever seen. like literally wtf is going on with those two? (/pos) not sure if i’ll ever do this again, but it was a fun way to tell a story that i’ve never done before. this is all just for shits and giggles and to slightly make fun of fandom because i’ve participated in it for most of my life and i think we all have humiliation kinks.

dieter bravo masterlist | masterlist of all masterlists🌼

My reputation's never been worse, so

You must like me for me

Is it cool that I said all that?

Is it chill that you're in my head?

'Cause I know that it's delicate

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Transcript of the first interview:

Y - “Dieter Bravo!”

D - “Hello gorgeous, what’s your name?”

You introduce yourself to him with a shy grin.

D - “Beautiful name for a beautiful woman.”

It should be noted that at this point you are already flustered.

Y - “Oh, thank you!”

D - “You’re welcome, pretty girl.”

You brush him off with a professional smile.

Y - “So, how’s it feel to win Best Actor tonight?”

D - “It feels like the best high of my life.”

Y - “Oh, really?”

You have a smirk on your face. Everyone knows Dieter Bravo’s reputation. He rolls his eyes playfully.

D - “I’ll tell you if that���s still how I feel tomorrow after the after-party.”

Y - “Okay, you let me know.”

D - “I will, I will.”

There’s a moment of quiet where you both look each other up and down. You shake it off pretty quickly though.

Y - “So, you worked on this movie for quite a while if I’m not mistaken?”

D - “Too long, but hey, y’know what?”

Y - “What?”

D - “It all worked out, because now I get to stand here next to a beautiful woman.”

You fan yourself with a hand.

Y - *slightly sarcastically* “Oh Dieter, you’re gonna make me blush.”

D - “That’s the goal, darlin’.”

You seem to notice something off screen.

Y - “Oh, I think it’s time for you to switch.”

Dieter pulls his lips down into a dramatized frown.

D - “But I don’t wanna.”

Y - “Unfortunately, that’s the rules.”

D - “Eh, rules are stupid.”

You give him a big smile, not sarcastic or condescending, a genuine smile.

Y - “Well, you’re gonna get me in trouble, Dieter.”

D - “Oh, we wouldn’t want that.”

You shake your head.

Y - “No, we wouldn’t.”

D - “Next time, pretty girl!”

He hands you his microphone and starts to walk away. You turn over your shoulder and yell back at him.

Y - “You wish, Bravo!”

The viewer can hear Dieter’s muffled hyena-laugh as he walks away.

Comments:

dieterydoo is it just me or is the chemistry insane?

dbscontroversiallyyounggf no one talk to me

bravocanhitthis him calling her pretty girl is CRAZY for it being the first time they’ve ever met

moeswriting oh this is going to be my roman empire i fear

rightytightyleftyloosey i have never seen her go this off-track with someone before. he had her so flustered lol

daddyissuesoops THIS WAS TOO SHORT I NEED MORE

↳ alittletotheright that’s what she said 

(note: This is the only comment on this video that you responded to, nor do you bring up Dieter again after this until you see him again three months later.)

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Transcript of the second interview:

Dieter approaches you from behind you, where you can’t see him. He has a very large grin on his face.

D - “Oh my god, it’s my pretty girl!”

You turn to look at him with an equally large grin, like you’d been waiting for him.

Y - “Your pretty girl?”

D - “Yeah, sweetheart. My pretty girl.”

Y - “This is– what?– the second time we’ve ever talked to each other?”

D - “What can I say, baby? When you know, you know.”

Y - “Oh, you know, do you?”

D - “Yup. Can’t deny the tension we’ve got goin’ on. Everybody can see it.”

You willfully ignore him by changing the subject.

Y - “So, you’re up for Best Supporting Actor tonight, right?”

D - “Yes, I am. Got some good competitors, but I have high hopes.”

Y - *in a stage whisper* “Don’t tell anybody, but I’m rooting for you.”

D - *in a stage whisper* “I would never betray you by telling everyone just how obsessed you are with me, but I think they all already know.”

Y - “I’m not obsessed with you. I just think that you’re a good actor.”

D - “Okay, pretty girl, you keep telling yourself that.”

You jokingly go to snatch his microphone out of his hand with a giggle, but he dodges out of the way with a “HA!” He runs slightly away from you, but still in the camera’s line of sight.

D - *gasps* What are you doing?”

Y - *yelling over the cacophony* “Taking away your ability to speak to me.”

D - *yelling over the cacophony* “I don’t need a microphone to speak to you.”

Y - *yelling over the cacophony* “You do on a red carpet, Dieter.”

He walks back over to you and screws his face up like he’s about to cry, but it’s obvious he’s just being dramatic.

D - *pretend sobbing* “She hates me.”

Y - “Oh, I do not.”

D - *pretend sobbing* “Audience, she hates me. I thought she loved me.”

Y - “Well, I don’t love you either.”

Dieter’s mouth drops into an O and he makes a dramatic show of pretending to stab himself in the chest.

D - “I’ve been stabbed! A direct hit to the heart and the ego!”

You stare the camera dead in the lens like you’re on The Office.

Y - “This has been me interviewing Dieter Bravo. He’s going to give me his microphone and he’s going to walk away now.”

D - “AH!” *pretends to stab himself again*

You hold a hand out for the microphone and he reluctantly drops it in your hand.

Y - “Goodbye, Dieter.”

Now it’s Dieter staring down the lens of the camera. He leans down to talk into your microphone that you still have propped up to your lips.

D - “Never trust a woman with your heart. She’ll stomp it to pieces.”

You push him away from your microphone with a hand pressed to the side of his head and a big goofy grin stretching your cheeks.

Y - *through a barely-contained giggle* “Goodbye, Dieter.”

This interaction can barely be heard as Dieter walks away.

D - “Next time, pretty girl.”

Y - “You wish, Bravo.”

Comments:

youwishbravo i need 8 to 10 business days to recover from this

rightytightyleftyloosey i’m going to stick them in a room until they kiss

↳ dbscontroversiallyyounggf knowing dieter, that would take approximately one second

alittletotheleftbravo you know she comes prepared with actual questions to ask dieter and he doesn’t even give her the chance to pick up the notecard

↳ imalittletothewacky which sucks because her questions usually are actually kinda fun ↳ alittletotheleftbravo but you can’t deny that this is a cute interaction ↳ imalittletothewacky oh no one can deny that, i just wonder what she would ask him given the chance ↳ alittletotheright fun fact: i do, in fact, have many questions prepared to ask dieter and he does, in fact, never give me the chance to ask them. maybe someday.

moeswriting get dieter bravo on a little to the right RIGHT NOW

bravodieter i swear i’m not usually a crybaby, but this woman just does things to me

↳ alittletotheright oh, don’t deny being a crybaby, emotionally available men are hot ↳ bravocanhitthis EXCUSE ME?????

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

Transcript of the interview:

Y - “Hello.”

D - “Hi.”

Pause. Heavy staring ensues.

D - “You’re really gonna just sit there and stare at me. Isn’t it like your whole job to talk to me?”

Y - “Yes. It is.”

D - “Then say something, weirdo.”

Y - “No. You say something.”

D - “Okay, fine, I will say something!”

Y - “Okay, then say something!”

Pause. Dieter points accusingly at you.

D - “I’ve been begging her to date me.”

Y - “Yes, you have and it’s mildly disturbing.”

D - “Wha– Me!? Mildly disturbing?!”

Y - “Yes, Dieter, you. Mildly disturbing.”

D - “That’s rude. I should just leave.”

Y - “Are you going to?”

Pause. Dieter gives you an unserious scowl.

D - “No. Obviously not.”

Y - “Good for you.”

D - “Ask your questions.”

Y - “Hm.”

D - “Don’t ‘hm’ me. Ask your questions.”

Y - “What’s your favorite thing to hate-watch?”

D - “Grey’s Anatomy.”

Y - “Seriously?”

D - “Seriously.”

Y - “That show is good.”

D - “No. It used to be good.”

Y - “Oh? You wanna elaborate?”

D - “As soon as Derek dies, it’s unwatchable.”

Y - “Spoilers!”

D - “Oh my god, it’s been almost ten years since that episode came out.”

Y - “Still!”

D - “Get over yourself, babe.”

It should be noted at this point that you won’t stop giggling, even though arguably Dieter isn’t saying anything funny.

Y - “Why do you still watch it?”

D - “Because it’s nice to know that my life could be a lot worse.”

Y - “That’s horribly morbid.”

D - “I also just like the drama of it all.”

Y - “Well, of course. You’re you.”

D - “Well, obviously.”

Y - “Who’s your favorite character?”

D - “Derek or Meredith.”

Y - *sarcastically* “Woah, that’s a really controversial choice. I can’t believe you just said that.”

D - “Hey! I like Meredith’s dark and twisty and I like Derek ‘cause he’s hot. I thought this was a judgment-free zone.”

Y - “Who the fuck said that?”

D - “Well, no one, I guess I just assumed.”

Y - “Well, you know what they said about assuming.”

D - *sarcastically* “Haha, very funny.”

All you do is flash a large grin at him in response.

D - “Well, who’s your favorite character?!”

Y - “Christina.”

D - “Now, I wouldn’t really call that very original either.”

Y - “I didn’t say it was original. I’m just stating the fact that Christina Yang is the best Grey’s character.”

D - “Oh, whatever.”

Y - “Well, who’s your least favorite character?”

D - “Sloan. No question.”

Y - “Well, that’s horribly ironic.”

D - “How so?”

Y - “Are you– are you being serious?”

D - “Yes?”

Y - “If I picked one Grey’s Anatomy character that you were most like, I would say Mark Sloan.”

D - *gasps* “No fucking way. Now, that’s just mean.”

You put your hands up in defense.

Y - “Sorry, sweetie. Face the facts. You are a Mark-Sloan-man-whore.”

Dieter doesn’t respond. He looks you up and down slowly.

D - “You’re ridiculously attractive, did you know that?”

Y - “Did you know that you’re a pain in my ass?”

D - “Yes. I did.”

Y - “If I made you sing karaoke right now, what song would you sing?”

D - “None. I’d burst your eardrums, baby. I can’t sing for shit.”

Y - “Okayyyy, but if you could sing, what would it be?”

Pause. Dieter is pretending to think dramatically with a finger tapping his lips.

D - “Blank Space.”

Y - “Good choice.” D - “Thank you. And what about you?”

Y - “Hmm. Depends on my mood.”

D - “Okay, what song would you sing based on your mood right this very second?”

Y - “Hmmm. You & I by One Direction.”

D - “You’re in a love song kind of mood?”

Y - “No. I just like One Direction.”

Dieter has a very large smirk on his face.

D - “Mhm. Everybody does.”

You have an equally large smirk on your face.

Y - “Bravo.”

D - “Yes?”

Y - “Stop looking at me like that.”

D - “Like what, baby?”

Y - “Like you’re gonna jump my bones.”

D - “And would that be a bad thing?”

Y - “I mean, there are cameras filming us, so probably.”

D - “Don’t wanna make a porno with me?”

You are shifting in your seat, with your hands wringing together on the desk.

Y - “Not particularly.”

D - “Are you sure about that?”

Y - “Yes, I am.”

D - “Okay, pretty girl.”

Y - “Okay.”

D - “Ask me another question.”

Y - “Okay.”

You shift around in your seat again and click your nails on the desk.

Y - “Give me a random fact about anything.”

D - “Hm.”

Dieter looks up as he thinks.

D - “Did you know there’s a room full of penises in the Vatican?”

You raise your eyebrows in question.

Y - “Excuse me?”

D - “The Vatican had a whole campaign in 1563 where they chopped off the penises of statues from the Romans and Greeks because they thought nudity was immoral. But! Because they thought the statues were so beautiful, they couldn’t get themselves to get rid of the penises so they stuffed the bronze and marble dicks in a bunch of vases and stuffed them in a room.”

Y - “Is that true?”

D - “That’s the rumor.”

Y - “Of course, the first fun fact you can think of is about penises.”

D - “It’s a fact about the destruction of art committed by the Catholic Church that also just happens to be about penises.”

Y - “I petition we stop talking about penises, Dieter.”

He holds his hands up like he’s being held at gunpoint.

D - “Whatever you want.”

Y - “That is what I want.”

D - “Am I allowed to ask you questions?”

Y - “Um, I guess. But I highly doubt it would make the cut, so it’d be kind of a waste of time.”

D - “Not to me. Not if I get to learn about you.”

You pause, obviously flustered.

Y - “Go ahead.”

D - “What’s your ideal first date?”

You glare at him.

D - “You said I could ask a question!”

Y - “I feel like it was implied that it shouldn’t be a question like that.”

D - “Okay, what kind of question did you want?”

Y - “I don’t know, like something about my life. You’re the one who wanted to ask me a question!”

D - “And how was my first question not about your life?”

Y - “Not about my love life!”

D - “Okay, okay. Umm, give me one reason you won’t date me.”

Y - “That’s about my love life.”

D - “Oh, do you consider me to be a part of your love life?”

This transcript writer is pretty sure that if looks could kill, Dieter would be dead by now.

Y - “I won’t date you because I don’t need drama in my life.”

D - “You interview celebrities for a living. You are surrounded by drama. Give me a real reason.”

Y - “Because I don’t want to.”

D - “Why not?”

Y - “Because I like you too much.”

D - “Huh.”

Y - “I don’t want you to disappoint me.”

D - “And how would I do that?”

Y - “By being an ass.”

D - “What if I promised not to be an ass?”

Y - “Are you even capable of that?”

D - “I could be, especially for you.”

Pause. You just stare at Dieter with a dopey smile on your face.

Y - “What’s the most normal, every-day, human thing that you’ve never done?”

D - *in a sing-songy voice* “Changing the subject…”

Y - *in a sing-songy voice* “Shut up and answer the question.”

Dieter takes a second to think before he gives you his answer.

D - “I’ve never done the dishes.”

Y - “What?!”

D - “Not once in my whole life.”

Y - “How?”

D - “I’m a nepobaby, pretty girl.”

Y - “I don’t know how that’s possible.”

D - “It’s very possible.”

Y - “Okay, well now I feel morally obligated to make you learn how to do the dishes.”

D - “You wanna teach me?”

Y - “I think I have to.”

D - “I have a proposal.”

Y - “Oh?”

D - “Let me make you dinner and then you can teach me how to do the dishes.”

Y - “Are you serious?”

D - “Extremely.”

There’s a long pause where Dieter grins at you while you stare at him with a small smile.

Y - “Okay.”

Dieter is gobsmacked.

D - “What?”

Y - “I said ‘okay’.”

D - “Wh- why?”

Y - “Well, someone has to make you do the dishes, Mr. Nepobaby.”

Dieter stares at you with a disbelieving smile.

D - “Okay.”

Y - “Okay.”

The interview ends with a photo of Dieter doing the dishes with a dramatic frown on his face in your tiny kitchen, pink plastic gloves on and an apron that says “Kiss My Ass” tied around his waist.

Comments:

bravocanhitthis literally what the fuck

bravocanhitthis my dreams have come true

daddyissuesoops her calling dieter a manwhore… real

dbscontroversiallyyounggf why am i blushing? i wasn’t even a part of this conversation

dietersvaticanpeens i don’t think we’re acknowledging dieter’s fun fact enough… like what do you mean there’s a room full of penis vases in the vatican?

alittletotheleftbravo she is a much stronger person than i am, i would’ve jumped across the table as soon as he suggested making a porno

moeswriting i have never rooted for a celebrity couple more in my whole life

rightytightyleftyloosey “because i like you too much” excuse me??? why aren’t more people talking about this???

bravodieter next time, pretty girl

↳ alittletotheright you wish, bravo ↳ dieterydoo get a room???

masterlist of all masterlists

[old-skyguy]

Look.

Ace Attorney fandom.

I know why people don't like Turnabout Bigtop. I am among the people who dislike Turnabout Bigtop.

But I GET why people like the case. I'm not going to be one of those annoying people who just blindly dump on it because I hate those mfs too.

Thing about Bigtop isn't that it sucks. Thing isn't the weird grooming stuff (though that is a huge part of it). It's not that it could've been good.

It's that - in my personal OPINION - it could have been *great*.

I think it had the potential to be one of the best third cases in the trilogy. It had everything; a fun and goofy setting fit for a pretty dang goofy lawyer game - where the environment itself had jokes and quips and one-liners and mishaps and tomfoolery written all over it, it had the previous case introducing a very interesting and important plotline that gave background for one of the more well-loved characters while also introducing an equally fucked up and lovable new one who was a child forced into a shit childhood of naivete in a CIRCUS with another character who was very naive and childish - whose interactions could have been funny and cute and reflective of said shit from the previous case (seriously she becomes such an important character in the 4th case, WHY would they not include her in this one for some character development? How did they fuck up letting a CHILD explore a CIRCUS?? That would have made the interactions flow MUCH better).

They had a pretty good, sympathetic killer imo, a morally dubious victim, an asshole of a client (who was pretty flat admittedly in-game, but I like his weird, topsy-turvy reasoning for it in the anime. Also, I think Max being kinda a dick would have bode well for the themes of Farewell since most of his clients up to this point have been like...nice? Not nice, but sympathetic, but him having to defend someone who's innocent but a prick would have shown him that just because someone is an asshole, doesn't mean they deserve to suffer for it and that they have the potential to grow as people, which is almost a complete foil to what Matt was. Ultimately, I would have loved the contrast of them as clients and I think it would have also served as character development for Phoenix, especially with his low-empathy tendencies).

They just didn't think that far ahead. They just didn't execute it well enough. They just decided to make three of the adult characters fight for the hand in marriage of a teenage girl. (Bat's part of the story was actually kinda good if he was just YOUNGER, I think him doing that for Regina would have been a stupid thing someone in the circus would do to impress their crush. Damn you Ace Attorney and your weird treatment of underage girls!!)

It just flopped and that's ok.

Even though it kinda sucked, it can still mean something to me.

Also I'm a Moe Curls apologist. I liked him, shut up.

[lintwriting]

rewatching a DBH play through for the first time in years and god damn I thought we cooked up the HankCon energy the way people did for like,,, BBC Lestrade x Mycroft. But no, that shit was already in there. I’m continuously shocked by how bold it is. Was this made by animators with age gap twink x bear kink or something lmao?

[sleepyminty]

Oopart hired me i made u memes

[epickiya722]

I think about the fic I wrote where Miruko and Tomura met in an electronics store and she suggested a cord for him to buy and then later Miruko brought up the meeting to Burnin and described him and she went "Maybe you're distant cousins".