#tgp fanfic

[shebeafancyflapjack]

(See Alive by Cecret, its canon fight me)

[musical-chick-13]

[andiwriteordie]

please don’t ever become a stranger | 18.3k words

Mike isn’t sure how much time passes—how long they stay there, foreheads pressed against each other, holding onto one another’s hands like they’re scared to let go. But finally, Mike finds the courage in him to open his eyes and whisper, “I wish we had more time together.”

Because isn’t that what they’ve been missing all along? Time. They’ve never had more than a few months together before being rebooted, and even now, the longest the two of them have gotten to interact, the universe is separating them again. It’s as if every single fucking time the two of them get close and begin to fall in love, they have to start over again.

Now, knowing the full extent of their shared history, Mike just wants more time with Will. That’s all he wants.

Or:

The Good Place season 3 finale, but make it Byler.

— 

the tgp brain rot is so real right now, you guys. if you’ve had to interact with me at all this week, i apologize for dragging you back into your tgp brain rots with me.

also, let the record show that i gave suni @astrobei like three different tgp fic options, and she went with the most devastating idea i had. so she is an accomplice to the crime that is this fic.

anyways, enjoy this late birthday fic for my dear suni, whom i love very very very much <3 

oh and here’s the playlist full of sad songs that remind me of this fic.

(also a big thank you to @messrsbyler​ for helping me with this moodboard!!!!!)

[mysticcoffeecat]

An excerpt from my wip on A03 (and something I’ve been too scared to share on here, idk why lmao) along with some parallels from the show. I’ve been working on a ‘The Good Place’ x ‘South Park’ crossover for some time now. I’m almost to publishing the very last season (most of it is already written and just needs to be edited ).

I’m always a lot of chapters ahead vs what I publish so I can edit beforehand. Part of this is because I’m aware I’m not a great creative writer and want to spend time editing. I’m much more in tune with writing dialogue and argumentative computer science college papers vs pretty prose, but this has been great for me to practice. Below are Google doc excerpts for the last chapter in my Season 3 of 4 I’ll drop on A03 soon:

The above scene corresponds to the Good Place season 3 finale x South Park’s 07x14 ‘Raisin’s’. It was watching those two episodes of the respective shows that got me thinking that a crossover between the two shows in the first place would work.

I know it’s long and at some parts it seems like the end games (Style and Bunny) may not even come to be (I promise they do), but I hope y’all will give it a chance :) I really do care about all the characters I write about, and while it’s quite slow burn and sometimes it feels hopeless, every one gets substantial character arcs by the end along with substantial ship gains… just in a very slow burn way.

Note- you don’t necessarily have to have watched either show to enjoy, but it’s best if you at least are familiar with South Park (since I drop in way too many useless ass references/Easter eggs to SP lmao). Almost done with season 3 of 4 but already have most of 4 already written to be edited and would love to get more engagement xD

[madwomansapologist]

more michael fics please!! (from the good place) i love him sm. he’s honestly my favorite character in the show

dreary mondays | michael realman

Masterlist | Rules | Taglist | Library | More Michael | AO3

synopsis: After centuries of constant work, Michael finally had time to rest. To rest with you. And he can't believe this is true. There must be something wrong.

warnings: demon!reader.

ps: thanks for your request! michael is such a great character, i am absolutely grateful for the consistent way he was marvelous written. sorry for making you wait, this year had been a little bit harsh for me, and then i totally forgot to answer you. i hope you like it!

Michael wandered around your house. He climbed the stairs, found out how to open the cellar door, learned that he was too high to walk there and went back to the second floor. By the time Michael went hunting lost paper clips around your house, you started to worry.

"If you don't stop moving I'll go insane," you threw your book across the room. It wasn't the first time you read The Republic, but it was the first time that it wasn't a ironic act. "What's happening?"

"Oh, sorry," Michael slowly dropped the paper clips he was holding and clapped anxiously. "I don't what you're talking about. Everything is perfect. Nothing different had happened. Nothing. Perfect."

You sat on the couch, now really worried. "Okaaaay", you nodded. "Not very subtle, Mike. Spit it out."

"A week," Michael pointed. "It's been a week without anything happening. No panic, no demons, no explosion. Jason haven't blew anything yet. We didn't found out someone was lying to us. We even had time to took a nap."

You sat on the table, next to the jar full of clips. You took his hands into yours, stroking his thin skin. You kissed his knuckles, and spoke with his skin against your lips. "Are you bored? I can lit something on fire."

"You know me so well," Michael sighed. "But don't you feel something is wrong? When was the last time we had time to take a nap? You been reading for almost a hour. A hour! Without anyone interrupting."

"Maybe," you rest his hand on your thigh. Michael carressed you. "Just maybe, it's because this is The Good Place. The real, truly, authentic Good Place. Maybe we finally made it."

Michael placed his head on your thighs. You ran your fingertips through the pale locks. He melted against you. "You think so?" Michael whispered.

"I do," and you really do. After working for centuries without being happy, torturing the disgusting people that would end up as your dearest friends, running away from demons and The Judge Gen, you finally feel free. Freed from the chains that once held you. "I know."

You both spend some minutes this away. Just feeling each others warmth. Michael was the one to break the silence. "Wanna watch The human Centipede?"

"Do I look like someone who enjoys torture?" You crossed your arms.

Michael smirked. "I will prepare the popcorn."

GENERAL TAGLIST: @suakemi @notanalienindisguiseblink

THE GOOD PLACE TAGLIST: @suakemi @notanalienindisguiseblink

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

[turboscorner]

wait I just had a fic idea… a ride the cyclone the good place au would EAT DOWN

[i-logophile]

Finally they are home!!! And safe. For now at least. Because can't help but feel Bishop is going to be on a mission, and OH SHIT unless they've moved lairs again, Sister Krang knows where they live....

Once again, Leo's knee, poor guy :( And the rest of them now starting to feel the emotions of everything now they finally have him back and are able to start dealing with it all.

But also yes yes excellent very good on the Leo angst in this and also the prospect of further Leo angst in a sequel!

Finally indeed!

Oh, yeah, Bishop is far from done with them ;) And we haven’t seen the last of the Krang Sister, that’s for sure! (Though Bishop will still be the main antagonist)

Despite Mikey’s hopes, they’ve got a long way to go before anyone feels fully healed

Thank you!! 😋

[notsocheezy]

Brain Curd #47 - Fanfic Friday #6

Brain Curds are lightly edited flash fiction - practically first drafts - posted daily and sometimes written with the express intention of being terrible… but, you know, in an endearing way. Please enjoy these continuing adventures in The Good Place.

“Jason!” Michael yelled out, hoping the Jacksonvillian was just hiding somewhere in the house.

“Michael,” Janet interjected. “Don’t we need to look for all three of the missing humans?”

“I’m not worried about Eleanor, she’s obviously got Chidi with her and that means they’re bonding. But Jason is a wildcard. He could be somewhere making trouble. Jason!”

Jasom, instead, answered his call, appearing out of thin air with a ‘pop’. “Hi, Michael!”

“No, no, not you! The real Jason!”

“Remember, Michael,” Janet interjected. “That other Jason still might not be the real Jason.”

“No, no, I refuse to believe that,” he waved his hand. “You couldn’t possibly have done this all by mistake.” He had an epiphany. “But… you know Jason better than anyone. And that means Jasom knows Jason better than anybody.”

Janet tilted her head. “I don’t know if that’s entirely true. He isn’t a perfect replica.”

“Jasom,” Michael said, interrupting a game of ball-in-a-cup. “If you could go anywhere right now, at this moment, where would you go?”

Jasom scratched his head. “Racing golf carts with dolphins.”

Michael looked at Janet with a puzzled look on his face. “It’s been a while, but that doesn’t sound right.”

“Or sometimes,” Jasom said. “I just like to spend time with my homies.” He kissed his fingers and put them in the air. “Rest in peace, Poolboy.”

“… Poolboy?”

Jasom held a whiskey bottle high in the air, upside down, as he ‘poured one out for the homies’.

Michael nodded. “I think I understand. If he’s not with Chidi and Eleanor, he’s looking for Pillboi.”

“Pillboi just arrived back in the afterlife twelve minutes ago.”

“Find him and you’ll find Jason. Hurry.”

Janet bing’d out of the room.

“Jasom, you come with me. We need to find the others.”

[azulaloml]

the alcott triggers something in me that makes me just want to reread tgp as if i dont have exams in 2 weeks

also i have been ranting abt this fic to a friend so much that iv made her download it to read on her flight because omg is it worth it this fic is insane

[juliberrylive]

Finally got around to editing mine and Kit's fic reading of The Golden Phoenix ch. 12-13

If you want to check our the rest of the fanfic reading series for TGP by emiartse click here!!

[shebeafancyflapjack]

you can't even know how much serotonin Michael's Deal gave me

like in all the best mentally ill ways my brain is spinning this AND i figured how to put actual finale in it, my two brain cells are going rabid

so uhhh thank you from the bottom of my heart (and please please please may i write that sequel)

LOL, I had to wrack my brain a little to remember which fic that was and yeah that one was when I was in a pretty sadistic mood. God I miss being able to use fic as catharsis.

I doubt I'll be writing for this fandom again any time soon so, sure, you have my permission to write a sequel if you want.

[thefae-journal]

make a wish (don't tell me or it won't come true)

fandom: The Good Place ship: Janet x Eleanor POV: second person, Eleanor

word count: 3611 warnings: none

summary: “It’s not something people know. It’s a belief. I believe in it. The coin I threw into the fountain will grant my wish.”

or...

Eleanor finds an unexpected special something with Janet.

Also on AO3

The Good Place masterlist masterlist

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

i.

When you wake up, he’s not there. The side of the bed he sleeps on is empty. No indent in the pillow or the mattress. Instead, he leaves you a calendar, and he is on the cover. And every single page. Every Jeremy Bearimy. 

You don’t hesitate to hang it on the wall of your bedroom. 

Then you remind yourself that you love him. The tape you stole from Mindy St. Claire that’s definitely not Cannonball Run II—you’re not that creeped out by it anymore. You said you love him first. You didn’t expect him to say it back. 

He did. Hearing those words again, those three words, keeps you warm somehow in a place that’s already eternally warm. Even though the sun doesn’t exist. You’re still unsure of how this all works. 

You turn off the T.V. and slip the tape back into its case. 

ii.

It’s a few mornings later that you’re starting to miss him. You avoid all of the places you’ve been to together, especially the places you went to before he walked through that door. You don’t want to be reminded of him, of what you had, at least right now. Mourning a loss that you wish never came. 

You find yourself in your bed for most hours, holding the pillow where his head would be close to you. Maybe you can start by changing the sheets. Or the layout of the whole house. Anything to just make it yours. Not something you share, shared, with him. 

For some time, you contemplate this, wondering if you should change anything at all. If changing the interior of the house is going to help you feel any better. You groan and stare up at the ceiling, then over at his face that’s plastered on the calendar. The shine in his smile, his entire face really. 

He would want you to do this, right? He would want you to grow and discover yourself outside of him. Do things without him. And if that means flipping the house upside down, you’re going to flip the forking house upside down. 

You push the comforter away from you and dangle your legs over the edge of the bed. Your sock-covered feet barely touch the carpet. “Janet?” 

With a light bing, Janet appears in front of you—the Janet you’ve learned to appreciate during your time in the fake Good Place. The Janet that has grown just as much as you have, yet still wears that purple vest and skirt, and blue patterned blouse. Like she doesn’t have any other clothes she can wear, like she can’t magically change her clothes at will. 

Despite the many reboots this Janet had, and the upgrades that came along with them, that same smile paints her lips. 

She waves to you. “Hi, there, Eleanor. Is there something you need?” 

“I would like to reconstruct the house,” you say, gesturing for her to follow you into the kitchen. Days you’ve spent drafting up a blueprint, something that you learned from Michael during the time you took his spot as Good Place architect. 

On the kitchen island is the blueprint, a new design for the house. There is a rock at each corner to keep the blueprint from folding in on itself. And next to the blueprint is a bowl meant for cereal, to remind yourself to eat. 

While you worked on the blueprint, you sometimes forgot to eat, too focused on drawing lines and figuring out the ideal layout for your house. A house that just fits you now. A brand new house where there is no trace left of him. It’ll make it easier for you to move forward, until you’re ready. 

You don’t know when you will be ready, but you’re not going to force it. 

In one bing, the blueprint appears in Janet’s hands. “Are you sure you want to do this?” 

“Why wouldn’t I be sure? I asked for you here. I’m ready.” 

...

It’s like breathing in fresh air. The atmosphere that you live in is entirely new, and you were right: you feel so much better. 

The kitchen is smaller. You don’t need a lot of room, and you don’t really cook, not when you can ask for Janet to conjure up something for you. Or you can cross through that green door and go to your favorite restaurant and not have to pay. You know that past Eleanor, before she was crushed by a line of grocery carts, would’ve loved that. 

Your bedroom is a bit bigger than it was, maybe because you’ve downgraded to a full-sized bed that was previously a queen. It can still fit two, if you happen to fall in love again, but of that, you aren’t sure. There’s a love seat on the other side of the room next to a walk-in closet. On the door, hanging there, is his calendar. You can never get rid of it. That, it always stays. 

Janet gives you a Nintendo Switch that has virtual console—for nostalgia purposes—as a house-warming gift. You tell her that she can stop by whenever she wants to play. All the games will be easy for her, being a vessel of knowledge, but she probably doesn’t care. And she might kick your ash a few times in Mario Kart. Well, any game you play with her actually. You don’t mind. As an apology, she summons a plate of shrimp for you. 

In the living room, on the couch, you hold that plate of shrimp. “You know, you don’t have to give me things every time I lose. I mean, it’s great.” You bite into a piece of shrimp and hum in content. “Third isn’t that bad. Whenever Michael joins us, he always gets in eighth. That’s when you give apology food.” 

Janet nods, and you set the plate down on the coffee table in front of you. “Maybe we should tell him that it’s better to have more acceleration over speed on his kart,” she says, playing around with the back bumpers of her Animal Crossing controller. 

“Nah.” You press A to bring you back to the title screen. “Another cup?” Before Janet can get a word out, you continue. “No using your Janet powers this time. It’s cheating.” You huff and select ‘two-player race’. 

iii.

You and Janet revisit the Good Place, or what it once was. A town with frozen yogurt shops on every corner. Literally every single corner. All frozen yogurt, which does get old after a while. 

The buildings and frozen yogurt shops bright and colorful, maybe even too colorful. A ‘happy’ town that could never be assumed as the Bad Place. And that little fountain. You sit on the ledge with her, your favorite Good Place frozen yogurt flavor in hand. She served it for you. Perfect swirls and just the right amount of toppings. 

You close your eyes as you take in each bite of the tasty treat with gummy bears and waffle cone crumbs. 

With the food variety that the actual Good Place has, you haven’t touched frozen yogurt. Not since you got there. Returning to it, the odd flavors that scale all the way up the wall of the frozen yogurt stores, brings a sense of calm, somehow. A feeling that was absent after Chidi went through that door. Arc. Door? Whatever. But it’s not what he described, when he knew that it was his time. 

For you, your life in the afterlife isn’t complete. Not yet. 

You just now realize how big the serving of this frozen yogurt is, and the cups of frozen yogurt in the past, before reaching the salvation of the Good Place, and put the cup down beside you after eating half of it. Full. “I think I needed this,” you tell Janet. 

She smiles, a softer one than her usual. “I know. Well, I know a lot of things. Would you like a coin to toss into the fountain? That is what humans do, right? To make a wish?” 

“I would love one.” 

A nickel appears in her palm, and she hands it to you. “Make a wish, Eleanor.” 

You balance the nickel between your fingers and allow yourself time to think of a wish. But how can you make a wish when the Good Place can give you anything you could ever want without a wish? It can’t bless you with a new love, what you’ve been craving lately because you can’t feel that with him anymore. Love that you are starting to miss. The afterlife and Earth are the same in that regard; you have to find love on your own. Does that mean it’s the only thing you can wish for? 

“Okay. I think I have one.” You turn a bit to partially face the fountain and toss the coin in. It plops into the water, doesn’t make much of a splash. 

Janet watches in awe and summons another coin. She drops it into the fountain. “Maybe both of our wishes will come true.” 

You raise an eyebrow. “What did you wish for, Janet?” 

She giggles and stands up, offering her hand to you. “If I tell you, it might not come true.” 

“Yeah. I forgot about that. I kinda think it’s stupid though.” You grab your frozen yogurt and take her hand. “How do we know if that’s real? You should know, knowledge not-lady.” 

“It’s not something people know. It’s a belief. I believe in it. The coin I threw into the fountain will grant my wish.” 

Back to the green door, you walk, throwing out your half-eaten frozen yogurt on the way. You also stop at a few places to reminisce. Your old house in all its scary clown glory, the train station that doesn’t lead anywhere. The large pond with that bridge. Or maybe it’s a lake. Some body of water. 

The area of green and the stage where all of the announcements happened. The fake talk shows and awful book signings. Really awful book signings. Except, on the grass that never grows, there aren’t any chairs. It’s empty.

iv.

Friday nights are movie nights. Nights where you pick a movie Janet has never seen. Of course, she knows about them and their general plot, but she’s truly watching the movie for the first time. A little light bulb glows behind her eyes at each moment that happens on screen, and it warms you. More than the blanket wrapped around you. 

Less than Janet’s arm wrapped around you. Your head on her shoulder. Every now and then, she strokes your hair, your short locks that tangle in her fingers. 

You thought, after entering this position, you would fall asleep, but Janet talking through the movie and asking you questions keeps you awake. Hell, she’s talking so much that part way through, you had to turn on subtitles because all you could hear, can hear, is her. 

She’s trying to understand. The different actions of the characters, why they make them. She searches her ‘knowledge-base’, you call it, and that’s the only time it gets quiet. You’re not sure you like the quiet—quiet meaning she’s not speaking—and would rather have Janet’s voice fill the space. It has a soothing nature. That’s all. 

That’s all. 

...

The credits roll, and you’re stuck, comfortable. You sink deeper into Janet’s embrace, cross your arm over her and hook your hand at her waist. You don’t pause the movie, exit, find another one to watch because you don’t want to let go. You don’t want to lose this, whatever the fork you’re feeling. 

Is it fuzzies? The weird flips in your stomach that people call butterflies? Whenever her fingers touch past the rolled-up sleeves of your plaid shirt, gracing skin. Only for a moment. Then finding the fabric again. 

She leans her head against yours, cheek to hair. “Do you want to watch another one?” she asks. 

Lips to hair. 

Tingles vibrate through veins, from the center of blood flow to your hands. You can’t speak. You can’t answer her. When you try, nothing comes out. She kissed your head, and your whole system is shutting down. Collapsing in on itself. Kind of like Janet after her first reboot. No thoughts, head empty, except for cacti. 

“Eleanor?” She rubs your arm. “Are you okay?” 

You hum a ‘yes’. Or try to. It sort of sounded like a weird whimper. Or just a really high-pitched hum that doesn’t match your voice register at all. You shake it off, ignore it. Pretend it never happened. Move on. 

Next movie. 

v. 

You asked her on a date, and, for a second, or more than a second actually, got nervous because Janet seemed confused. She wondered what the date was supposed to mean. She knows that friends go on dates and that romantic partners go on dates. So which was it? 

She ranted, one of her cute little rants, analyzing knowledge and data. Referencing pop culture and society—as much as she could understand of it. 

You don’t remember how long she went before you told her to stop. Grabbed her hand and tilted your head to the side. By that alone, without having to explain, she figured it out. 

“I’ll go on a date with you, Eleanor.”

...

At your favorite cafe in Arizona, thanks to the green doors, you sit at a two-person table and wait for her to show. Come through that door, not the green one, but the door of the little cafe. 

The cafe is outside your hometown, or was outside your hometown before you died. You’re not sure where it is now, if it’s still standing. How many years have passed on Earth. If it was torn down like that restaurant you got sick at that one time when you were a kid. Your mom told you then that you getting sick there was the reason why it was torn down. Honestly, you believe it. 

It’s Arizona. You had seen crazier things. Not as crazy as Florida, though. Jason won that point. And every other point. 

You order yourself a latte, and just as it gets to you, the bell of the cafe dings. Janet, wearing a different outfit for once, one you recognize from one of the reboots. A brown vest and skirt with a white blouse with small polka-dots. Her hair is tied half-up. She holds her thumb in her opposite fist, but lets it go to wave to you. 

Soon, one of those hands is in yours over the table. Her not-skin soft and warm. You brush your thumb over her knuckle. Conversation lingers, random things because she knows everything about you. Or you ask about her. The history of Janets. 

“I don’t know what would’ve happened if the judge ‘erased the Earth’,” she says, giving your hand a squeeze. “But I’m glad that she didn’t. I don’t know if I would exist ever again. Or if this would’ve ever happened. If the Good Place would’ve been fixed. I try not to think about it.” 

“You might’ve not met Jason. Me.” You bow your head. “You’re right. Let’s not think about it.” 

Twenty minutes or so you spend in the cafe before you leave, hand-in-hand. You show her around this little town, a town you wished you came to more. The family-run shops and the park a few blocks away. You lead Janet there, to the park you always attempted to drag your mom to. 

With her, you walk the path in the comfort of silence. At least between you. On playgrounds and grass fields, kids play, made-up games or tag. You rarely got that, at least when you were with your parents, because they pushed you and your needs aside. But this isn’t real anyway. Just an image the Good Place created for you. 

Yet somehow, it still hits. A light slap to the face. 

Janet stops, so you stop. You don’t know why, but once she opens her mouth, asks if you’re okay, you realize that your hand was tensed up. Muscles tight. 

“Can I take you somewhere?” 

...

In elementary school, when you would stay over at a friend’s house for multiple days at a time and come to this little Arizona town, you had a secret spot. A tree stump in the woods of the park, and in the rings of the stump marks your initials. Marked, because it might not be there anymore. Washed away or faded overtime. Or just gone. 

“I told my friends that this place was where I wanted to have my first kiss,” you say, approaching the lone tree stump surrounded by alive and growing trees. “Of course, that didn’t happen. I think maybe I forgot about it. I mean, I was just a kid then. I had dreams and fantasies. I played games where I ruled all of Arizona.” You kneel down in front of the stump and trace your fingers over the faint initials that rest there. 

Janet laughs. “That’s very Eleanor Shellstrop of you.” She holds her hand out to you to help you up, and you accept. She takes your other hand, too. “I don’t think it’s a silly thing to dream about. A special moment in a place that makes you happy.” 

You glance around you, at the tree stump, the almost too perfect leaves that carry wind. Or today, a warm breeze. Memories flood you. Your friends saving you from some pretend monster. You were the princess, and the girl you’re pretty sure you had a little crush on then was the prince. A knight that helped you down from the tree you climbed up as your own way to escape the monster. 

You cried so hard that day because you wanted it to be as real as it could be. You were actually a distraught princess that needed to be rescued. And now, you’re just a girl from Arizona that saved the universe. Changed the afterlife for the better. You’re a different person. You make things you want a reality instead of dreaming of it. Instead of pretending. 

That means you can make the kiss real, too. 

You guide Janet’s hands to your waist, tugging her closer, while your own link behind her neck. “Is this okay?” 

“Yes. It’s more than okay, Eleanor.” She leans forward to press her forehead to yours. Noses, lips, inches apart. “I think I love you. We’ve spent so much time together, and I’m enjoying every second of it, even beating you at Mario Kart.”

You giggle. “I knew that you getting first place every single time wasn’t luck! You were using your Janet powers even after I told you not to.” 

“Guilty. When we get home, I’ll make sure to give you extra apology shrimp.” 

You’re looking forward to it. Home. With Janet. Shrimp, so much shrimp. And rounds and rounds of Mario Kart until you grow tired and fall asleep in her arms. Oh, woof. “I think I love you, too.” Pause. Exhale. Your hands settle on her shoulders. “Can I kiss you?” 

“You can kiss me. Right here. I would like to be kissed, very much, yes,” Janet says, pulling away just a bit, enough to see you. 

Enough for you to see her. The light in her eyes. The freckles that dot her cheeks and nose. Quiet, but noticeable at a close distance. A distance that becomes not existent, lips on lips. You cup her face, gentle. 

She doesn’t taste of anything, her lips, like you might’ve imagined at some point. During one of the hundreds of reboots. Or several of the reboots. Despite that, there’s something about them that captures you. A pink fire burning beyond your skull. They’re perfect. Feel perfect. Just like she is. 

The kiss is short, shorter than you would’ve preferred. But you’re letting Janet take the lead, and she ends it after a few seconds to hug you. She brings your head to her chest and whispers another ‘I love you’. 

No ‘I think’.

vi.

“I never told you this, but what I wished for came true.” You pause the game of Mario Kart and lean back on the couch. Eyes meet. “You know, back at the fountain.” 

It’s been a few Jeremy Bearimys since that day in the woods of an Arizona park. Left in the Good Place, it’s just you and Janet. Michael now living through his life on Earth, Tahani making tests, and eventually designing Good Place neighborhoods. You get to see her sometimes, but not often enough. You’ve sent her postcards to all the places you went to with Janet, and she congratulated you on your new found relationship, as weirded out as she might be about it—she still hasn’t quite processed Janet’s relationship (and marriage), to Jason. 

Janet sets her controller down and reaches out to twirl a strand of your hair, then retracts her hand. “It did?” She nods to herself and does that thing when she thinks. When her nose crinkles and she hums, a long, drawn out hum. When she tilts her head, then opens her mouth in an ‘o’ shape. “Oh. I believe mine did, too. What was your wish?” 

You turn to face her, bringing your legs up on to the couch. “I wished to find love again. What about you? Not telling me did make your wish come true, huh?”

“Yeah.” She looks down at her lap, her thumb held in her opposite hand as it always is. “I wished to never be alone. I’m not alone. You’re still here, with me.” 

“And I’m not going anywhere, babe.”

[still-scribblin]

Meow: all the things i can't say

dunno, some fluff i guess. it was supposed to be romantic but it was just wholesome so that's good too hah

no tags really .... fic is hyperlinked to the title!

[bloopitynoot]

Some future Bingqiu fic recs for you:

‘A Transmigrator and a Time Traveler Walk Into the Bamboo House’ by VeryCharismaticDragon

Diverges during Shen Qingqiu’s dirt nap. Binghe returns to his Shizun via time travel! ⏳

‘Shen Yuan's School for Unrepentant Assholes’ by TGP

What if OG!Shen Qingqiu was slightly less dickish and adopted Shen Yuan. (Also plays with the popular headcanon of Shen Yuan being sickly in his past life.)

It’s basically the fanfic version of “I’ve only had Shen Yuan for a day and a half, but if anything happened to him, I would kill everyone in this room and then myself”.

‘Now Entering Incognito Mode!’ by travelingneuritis

Shen Yuan runs away from Cang Qiong Sect after throwing Binghe into the abyss, and later mentors a brothel worker who is totally not Binghe also in disguise. 🥸

‘Tarnished Gold’ by Prim_the_Amazing

What if Shen Yuan transmigrated as Gongyi Xiao instead.

Ah! Thank you so much! I can't wait to get into these after I finish the books :D

I am so stoked- tagging this as part of my Bloopitynoot reads SVSSS so I don't lose them.

When/if I get to the point that I have read a buttload of SVSSS fics- I will try and rec some back. BUT, in the meantime if you read MDZS and are interested in Wangxian fics- let me know what flavour (if any) you like and I can rec you some.

[madwomansapologist]

Hi! I love your Good place story’s and headcannons! Sorry that this is long, but can I request a Sadist Michael x Masochist GenNeu Reader (smut)? Maybe they met Michael when he was still working for The Bad Place?? Idk where you cross the line, but can it can include bondage, derogation, biting, foreplay, etc?

Write whoever, honestly! I haven’t seen any yet, but thank you if you do my request! <3

a match made in hell | Michael (The Good Place)

Masterlist | Rules | Taglist | Library | More Michael | AO3

synopsis: when Michael found someone who also was praying for making something different, he couldn't help himself. [2K]

warnings: cursing. very kinky. masochism and sadism, bondage, derogation and some evil schems to torture our loved Soul Squad.

ps: you simply wouldn't be able to understand how much I love that request!!!! Really, that story was perfecly formed on my mind! Sorry for making you wait, I am not so confident in my english and use some time editing. Also, this is my third time writing a smut more detailed, so... Thanks for requesting, I really do hope you like it!

Tedious.

When did you start feeling like this? Maybe two centuries ago? Eventually, everything becomes a blur. All memomies meet and it's hard to say from what moment they are. But you know for sure that, a long time ago, you didn't feel that way. No. It was exciting. It was funny. It was challenging. You desire it. You felt smat, important, talented. And now...

Design the project, build the new neighborhood, deal with Bad Janet, welcome the shitty humans. Do it all over again. Forever and evermore. Maybe try a different coffee, add vanilla on it. Or change the color of your pants, try a new kinda of suit. What about, instead of designing on a white sheet, use a blue one? At the end of the day, nothing ever changes. Ever.

So, yes, boring.

It was supossed to be your dream. And it was, for a really great time. But now, it is just a obligation. Something you have to do because... well, someone has to. And you are great, awarded so many times, an inspiration. How can you be so important, Shaw's right hand, and still feel like that?

When the new architect start his presentation, you we're almost sleeping. Part of it because your work is to irritate anyone that need do to something important, made them deal with a little patient test, but also because what would change if you pay attention? Everything will still the same, so why bother?

What you couldn't imagine, what made you lean your elbows on the table and look at the presentation board carefully, is that you heard something new. Not only something new, but something not fucking stupid. At least not entirely.

"Psychological torture?" You licked your lips, holding the presentation clipboard and reading his name. You knew what his name was, but you pretend to forget so those new demons can be put it in their places. You talked before Shaw, what was normal. You scare the newbies, he watches and have fun. "Michael, thats riscky."

"As it should." His smile was something. You could smeel his nervousness, literally. He is surrounded by experienced demons, by people that torture for way more time than he is alive. Shaw is the most important person down there. A leader. And you are his favorite. You worked for that. And yet stinking of fear, he didn't stopped smiling. Michael was proud. "We should like that job. It should be marvellous. Yes, this is riscky, but if it works our entire way to deal with humans will change for better. Better for us, obviously."

Shaw silenced some laughs when he threw the clipboard on the table. "And who said we don't like it?"

Even tho you love how nervous Shaw can make anyone feel, that wasn't an ideia that you could just discard. Something on your chest said that to you. Something screamed that it was more than just an attempt.

"I don't."

All demons around the table looked at you. They didn't even say anything, to surprised to use their mouths. What would they say? They are just a group of yes-man without something special to say. The only cruel demon whos oppinion matter to you was Shaw.

"You don't like to hurt them?" Shaw didn't blink. You don't think he ever did that.

"I love to," you reaffirmed to him. "But don't you feel tedious? Like if you closed your eyes for more than three seconds you could just sleep? Yesterday I heard a men screaming because I shoved some spiders up to his asshole and all I could think about was if I had turned off the gas."

At this point you had already stood up, exposing your oppinion as you walked. You approached Michael, the creative novice, but ignored him. With your back to him, you read the million-step plan for the new neighborhood. "The Good Place". You could feel the eyes on your back, but you just stared at the troubled blonde on the sheet.

"Remember when we realized that humans hate when we use their nails to rip out their eyes?" Now you we're looking at Shaw. His faced we're emotionless, as always. "When we started using divorced couples to hurt one another? Or when we finally understood why their vocal cords we're so sensitive?"

"Nostalgia," Shaw said, hating the sound of his own voice. "Thats your argument?"

"Thats the only argument I need," you smiled. "I would do anything to feel that again. Wouldn't you?"

And besides being a cunt on every situation, you knew that he was dying to do something new. "Fine," Shaw said, almost like he didn't want it. Probably he didn't, at least not as politely. "You can mentor him. Have your fun. I bet it on last six months."

"It's a bet."

Exciting with the tought of working on something new, and a little bit worried about making something that Shaw would approve, you didn't realize the eyes observing you. Analysing those four assholes whos lifes you would help turn into hell, you simply didn't pay attention to the man behind you.

Michael wasn't able to use his words.

You defended him. You supported him. You agreed. You felt the same. More than anything, you convinced Shaw that it was a valid idea. Michael didn't expect that from you. Maybe another architect dreaming about something new would act that way, but you? Someone so important, talented, awarded? His inspiration?

Michael was not prepared for this. For you to look at him. To talk to him. To agree with what he said. Michael was not prepared to have you so closed to him, paying attention to his work, believing on him.

And Michael was definitely not prepared for you to mentor him.

Your experience was something that he could only dream to have. Michael lived millennia and was nothing compared to you. And while you mentor him, teaching him what your live had teached you, Michael was responsible for creating the soul of the neighborhood.

"So..." You swallowed. It wasn't what you expected. Walking along the colorful alleys, a strangeness shivered your back. This was so anormal. So different from anything you've ever done. "Frozen yogurt?"

"What do humans thinks that they love but they actually hate?" Michael asked, and even tho it seens obvious, that didn't look like the right asnwer for you. "They took something they love with their whole souls and made it worse so they would have it more. Frozen yogurt."

You agreed, not so sure about that. "It looks just friendly to me. Don't see how that would make their lives something unbeareble."

"It will," Michael smiled, jumping on his pretty suit. "You gonna see it."

The night lit you both. Among the empty alleys, but colored as if they were used every day, you both walked to make sure the neighborhood worked. After so much work, all that remained was to ensure that there was no problem caused by a Janet's mistake and to receive the four little shits. So far, there were no errors. She worked well. Really well.

"I could never have imagined that you were bored," Michael said, walking beside you. "I thought if anyone among us knew what they were doing, it would be you."

"I love this job, but we deserve better. They make mistakes, they hurt others, and it's our job to make sure they're punished the way they weren't while they were alive. But why should that be a penance for us? Those Good Place assholes like what they do. We deserve the same."

Michael couldn't agree more.

"Now that the neighborhood is ready, are you going to move away?" He asked, hoping the answer would be no. "Everyone who will act are ready for work, but you still haven't said what you want."

"I don't think acting is for me. I'll keep causing pain."

"I think you'd do well," Michael was sincere.

When you saw another Frozen Yogurt, you sat in one of the chairs exposed on the porch. Sitting facing each other, you shook your head. "I'm not subtle. It would spoil everything."

"I don't think it would. On the contrary." Michael's smile was... something

"Michael, Michael, Michael. I'm starting to think you don't want me away. Do you like my company or do you just prefer that I am the one addressing Shaw during meetings?"

"You discovered me," he teased. "Now I have to find someone else to do the hard part."

When the silence took a while to break, he spoke again. "Or maybe I enjoy your company."

You just stared at him for a moment, letting the fake moon shine on you. Something in you wished you could touch his hair. It looked so soft. The other wanted to rip that stupid tie.

""Still, I can't see how that would work. I'm sure that on the first problem I would lose my mind and jump on someone's neck. I bet the first one would be the Florida guy. It would ruin everything."

Michael's eyes gleamed. That was a sight that made his chest shudder. He might have shut up, but Michael was never a coward. "You just need to learn to be more patient. I can teach you that."

You leaned your elbows on the table, watching him more closely. The phrase could be understood in an innocent way, but you were too smart for that. A defiant smile appeared on your face. "You think you can teach me something?"

"I know I can try."

You could have stopped that conversation there. Said you was joking, that you needed to get back to work, that you both were co-workers. It was just saying that you didn't want to. No. You just thought: What bad could happen? And that was enough to make any doubts disappear.

"Feel free to try as much as you like. I doubt you'll get anything."

Michael stood up, which surprised you. Thought he wouldn't know what to do. Michael sat on the table, next to his body, and crossed his arms. "I like a challenge," he said.

No.

He promissed.

When his fingers began to undo the knot that held the tie around his neck, a part of you lit up. It was as if he had read your mind. Slowly, he released the fabric and stretched it between his fingers, smoothing out what was previously wrinkled.

"Get up."

You remained seated, arms crossed.

Michael approached. His fingers latched onto the back of your neck, gripping your hair and forcing you to look him straight in the eye. He could even control your head, but not your eyes. You looked down, consciously choosing to make sure he didn't get what he wanted, little knowing it was a sight that made Michael never want to walk away from you again.

"Are you going to make your life difficult, sweetie?" Sweetie. It wasn't an endearing nickname, but rather a harsh word. He released your hair abruptly, causing your body to sway in the chair. "As you wish."

Michael took your hands. With the surprise, you ended up being lifted from the chair. He deftly placed your hands behind your body, bringing them together at the small of your back, and used his tie to secure them. You squirmed, getting in his way, but your intention wasn't to stop him. You just wanted to piss him off a little bit. He knotted it tightly, the fabric brushing against your skin hard enough to mark. You will survive. Better: you liked it

"You don't have to pretend you don't want this," Michael practically purred against your ear. His body was pressed against yours, your back against his torso. When one of his hands pulled your hair back, the other grabbed the knot that held you and played with the battered skin. "Don't act like a saint. That doesn't suit you, sweetie."

The words, the velvety way they came out of Michael's mouth, it made your insides turn. You wouldn't need much more to be ready for him.

"What will you do?" Your voice was husky, as if you hadn't used it in a long time. "I've seen that you can talk, but I don't think you have anything but a foul mouth."

Michael's laugh chills you.

Without warning, Michael forced your spine against the table. Lying on top of it, helpless against the cold metal and with your lower body exposed, there wasn't much to do but wait. Quickly, Michael got rid of your clothes. He just ripped them from your body, not worrying about the future.

The empty neighborhood didn't stop you from feeling like you were being seen by the whole world. Maybe you were. And that was delicious. To think that maybe there was someone lurking in the shadows enjoying the little experiment.

Michael's hands touched you body, grabbing everything he could. He touched you like it was the last time, like he would never feel your soft skin again. He was possessive, brutish, relentless: maybe it wouldn't be the last time.

"I want to hear you beg for me."

"In your dreams." He didn't see it, but he knew you were smiling. It made his cock throb.

He bent down, biting the thin, cool skin of your ass. It would leave marks. A little more force and maybe blood would come out. It wasn't an idea that disgusted you. To think of his mouth wet with whatever liquid your body could produce. Michael hungry for you.

"Is that all you know how to do?"

Michael licked the sensitive skin. His fingers crept up your thighs, tingling, until he reached your core. He pulled his fingers away, brought them to his tongue and moistened them, and without warning he penetrated you. Your body nearly convulsed with the brute act. That muffled sound was so perverted. It almost made you ashamed. Almost.

"Michael," you moaned, knowing full well it would cheer him up. "Oh, Michael."

You felt him spit into you, only to re-enter with force. A few thrusts later, you noticed something crawling on your skin. Something big and thick. Without warning, he started fucking you for real. And Michael had no pity for your trembling body.

"Tell me what you want." His voice was so raw it drew a groan from her. "I thought you liked talking. Come on, I want to hear it."

You wish you could touch him. Pull him close to you and devour his mouth. You hadn't kissed and it was so lewd. You wanted to touch his dick. You wanted to put it in his mouth and choke. You wanted to be seen. You wanted to be heard. You wanted to feel pain. You wanted a lot.

"I want," his hoarse groan stopped you from talking. Michael went harder, laughing at how pathetic you were.

"Speak up, my dirty little whore. I don't bite." Michael sighed, feeling the sweat trickle down his body. "Oh, that's a lie. But you like it."

The more he talked, the more he cursed you, the more you wanted him. Ah, if only you could control the situation. It would make him cry with exhaustion

A slap crackled against your skin. Your ass burned. And more slaps burned your skin. Each stronger. "I fucking want to hear you."

"I want to come." You could barely open your mouth to do anything but moan. "Michael, make me come on your dick."

Michael tapped your thigh again.

"As you wish."

And without mercy, he violated your body until you couldn't breathe. And he didn't stop. Even when it was uncomfortable. He kept going until he was good again and, without saying a single word, he came after your second peak.

"More patient?" Michael mocked.

"Not at all," you replied, barely breathing.

GENERAL TAGLIST: @suakemi @notanalienindisguiseblink

THE GOOD PLACE TAGLIST: @suakemi @notanalienindisguiseblink

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

[darishima]

OH MY GOD. YOU GET IT WEEKS. YOU GET IT. I LOVE YOU. KISS ME ON THE LIPS

i think eleanor and tahani should kiss on the lips