#the One thing that we have that is Maybe directly from him is an email that hes the most likely canidate for

[arolesbianism]

Sigh. Nikola why must you be one of the more interesting oni characters. I don't wanna think abt you with your stupid spiky blond hair and your unethical science that mostly just serves to make Jackie more shitty by proxy. But I do. Because you're kind of orbo blorbo. Fuck you Nikola I hope you explode again

[darlingdaisyfarm]

texting Stan and Ford headcanons

smut version

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ Stan Pines

✧ Stan is the kinda guy who thinks emojis are a scam, but somehow, he figured out how to use the "thumbs up" and "money bag" emoji. so, expect a lot of those in your chats.

✧ his text tone is rough, a little misspelled, typed like he's yelling even when he isn’t. Half of his texts are in all caps, and he absolutely does not care about grammar. but he gets the point across, always.

✧ you’re getting messages at 3 am about some ‘brilliant’ scheme to make a quick buck. he’ll send, “LISTEN, doll, what if we made... GIANT… glitter-filled eggs for easter? Tourists'll go NUTS." you reply, half-asleep, with “Stan, ily but go to bed." and all you get back is a “🤬 YOU GOTTA THINK BIGGER!”

✧ Stan sends those weird chain messages he swears are from some “hotshot businessman” that’ll make you rich in a week. and when you don’t respond immediately, you get a: “Fine, Miss Doubtful, see you when I’m rolling in gold.”

✧ there are whole days where he just floods your phone with random, blurry photos of some new Mystery Shack "artifact" he found. It’s usually junk he picked up at a garage sale, like a “haunted” ashtray or some knock-off painting that’s “probably ancient.”

✧ If he’s feeling sappy (and tipsy): you might get a rare “thinking bout you, sweet thing” at 2 am. but if you try to call him on it the next day, he’ll just be like “Didn’t say that. You’re makin’ stuff up.”

✧ when he’s really riled up about something, though? then his messages are just. . . a stream of caps-lock curses, mixed with misspelled attempts to describe whatever nonsense he just got himself into. you just sit back and let him rant; he’ll cool off eventually.

✧ and the voice messages are something else. they sound like he’s talking through a fan half the time. one minute, he’s rambling about how tourists are “the dumbest suckers on the planet” and the next, he’s ranting about how “bigfoot definitely broke into the shack last night!"

types of messages Stan texts: 

"So… whatcha wearin’? 😏"

“Hey doll, I just found a penny on the ground! Maybe today’s my lucky day… hint hint ;)"

"I’d say somethin’ romantic, but I think my brain just shorted out. You’re a little too cute for a guy like me."

"Just tried that new café downtown. Ordered coffee… tastes like they filtered it through someone’s laundry. You’d hate it. Wanna come mock it with me?"

"Not gonna lie, I miss that face of yours. So what’re we doin’ about it, huh?"

“Again missin’ that cute little smile of yours… maybe you could send me a pic to remind me?”

"Wanna help me scam the tourists today? I’ll split the loot with ya… maybe ;)”

"You wouldn’t believe what I caught Ford muttering in his sleep. Man’s like a walking encyclopedia, even when he’s unconscious."

“Got any plans later? Thought maybe we could… y’know… not have plans together."

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ Ford Pines 

✧ hehehehe he’s like an old-school emailer who’s just now getting the hang of messaging apps. texts in complete sentences, full punctuation, like he’s drafting a dissertation.

✧ He sends you whole paragraphs at random hours, talking about some discovery he’s made, like he’s reporting directly to NASA. you’re like, “Ford, it's just a weird-looking squirrel." and he's already typing another essay about its "possible interdimensional origins."

✧ once in a while, he’ll send you a message that says, “Are you awake?” at, like 3 am followed by a string of thoughtful yet completely bonkers hypotheses. you find it cute, though, his mind never stops, not even for a second.

✧ If he’s feeling bold, you might even get a “hypothetical” confession out of him: “Hypothetically, if one were to develop... strong emotional attachment to a certain person... how would one proceed?" You tease him about it the next day, and he gets flustered, “It was purely scientific curiosity."

✧ Ford isn’t big on emojis, but he likes the brain and alien ones, using them poetically. he’ll sign off texts with a single brain emoji, like it’s his version of a little goodbye wave.

✧ on really rare occasions, he’ll send a voice message. they’re always way too long, and it’s usually him whispering so he doesn’t wake Stan up. he goes on about cosmic rays or “gravity anomalies,” his voice dropping lower when he gets excited. you live for those moments

✧ and if he ever texts you a “good night,” you just know he’s been up thinking about it for hours, trying to figure out if it’s “appropriate.”

types of messages Ford texts: 

“It’s been approximately 3 hours, 12 minutes, and 23 seconds since our last conversation… not that I’m counting or anything. Just… miss you."

sends a meme about science nerds “Us. But mostly me.”

“My hands ache from writing… though perhaps if it were writing about you, I wouldn’t mind.”

“Do you think about me too, or am I the only one utterly ruined by this… whatever this is?”

“I’ve been thinking about that book you lent me... 🤔 It’s honestly so much more interesting than I expected, thank you for recommending it."

"I don’t know how to work this... But I managed to send a meme! It’s not the worst thing I’ve done, I suppose? 

“I did it. I fixed the telescope. Finally. Now we can actually look at the stars like we’ve talked about. :)"

"I hope you’re feeling okay today. I noticed you seemed a little stressed the other day. Don’t forget to take care of yourself. :) It’s important."

"If I could rearrange the periodic table, I’d put U and I together. :( Sorry, nerdy joke... :’D)”

ps - I CANT THEYRE SO CUTE BOTH I WANT TO SMASH THEM AGAINST THE WALL

lmao if someone wants, i can write some spicy types of chatting with them :)))

[shellofhappiness]

The general dialogue between Eric and that AOL girl regarding his philosophy on love has always stood out to me. It's one of the very few moments of vulnerability we've been given / able to find on his character over the past twenty years.

Eric always had his guard up. We all mostly know this from his own writings, no one acts like how he portrayed himself naturally. But, also including the accounts given about him from other people in his life, important or not, before and after passing. Mostly commonly described as aggressive and irritable, yet closed-off and restrained.

Alongside that online exchange, the only other times I can think of were when he called out of work to be there for his sick dog, or the innocent adoration he held toward his older brother, alongside sincere respect for his mother, of course, Reb's "I wish I were a fucking sociopath" Tape, and (arguably) his undisclosed email to his childhood best friend.

He talked about love like he was an outsider. A still figure watching it & whatever shape it may take maneuver around him, but not having the ability to engage. Let alone even acknowledge the fact it could be something of his own as well if he reached his hand out to touch it, but that wasn't even a possibility for him at that moment. Feeling comfortable enough to bring it up, but never to address it directly. Mentioning what he believed, but never outright saying it, afraid to cross a boundary. Though, he was still very careful with his wording despite not feeling confident enough to state his opinion in full. Being just general enough so he didn't risk the girl disagreeing with his words because he didn't give her an opening to do so, but still baring just a bit of his self to her through his ego because it was just the two of them.

Everyone talks about the concept of "love" relating to the case in reference to DK, because it was something that openly consumed him in private, but in a way, I feel the same just might have applied to Eric as well. But, like many other things relating to him, he hid it all away inside of himself. To live is to be vulnerable, and the times Eric was, never ended in his favor. Hence why he conditioned himself to be so isolated from everyone else, emotionally independent.

When Eric did openly talk about his doctrine on love, it was that degenerate & exploitative journal passage in which he wrote in depth about the idea of forcing himself onto certain women in his life alongside gaudy band lyrics. Considering how hesitant he was to directly speak to another girl about love, even under the context they were both being open with each other, the passage was likely written out of some kind of complex frustration. To compensate for how he felt like such a stranger in the face of it, but remarkably knowledgeable when speaking objectively. He wasn't being honest with himself, but still desperately needed some kind of liberation as an attempt to stop whatever feeling of desire he harbored from further stirring inside him.

The passion that stems from hatred is something I'm sure we all know Eric was well acquainted with. I think the hate inside of him masked the love, being overshadowed and making it appear small. It was definitely there, but seldom did it get a voice to speak in comparison to the amount of steam he let out on a general basis.

Eric cared a lot. When you look past the ego he presented to the whole world, he wasn't an individual with ASPD by any stretch of the means. He wanted not to be independent, but his life made him feel that was the only option he could truly rely on with the social instability he faced growing up. He wanted to be seen. I'm sure many people have voiced this before, but it's truly heart-wrenching to think he was doing this big finale act with his best friend, maybe because he had his best friend there to do it with him, only to find out post-mortem that DK didn't hold him to the same high regard. Maybe close, but not at all on the exact same level.

Putting the fact aside both of them expressed fantasies of doing NBK with their own respective "dream girl," DK wanted other options for someone to go through with the date, other actual people in his life, but from Eric's point-of-view, it had to be Dylan. Dylan was one of the very few people in his life, the only one still present with him, that aided his desire not to be alone. To be seen as an individual. To be vulnerable. Under the impression Dylan felt the same way he did, or at least something similar ... and while I won't deny it was there, it just wasn't as significant to the other party.

"What one person calls true love (EH) can be just another cheap thrill to another (DK)."

I'd like to specify that my goal with this post isn't to send the message that they were "gay," nor point out any form of "romantic chemistry," but rather to emphasize how languished love was overall in Eric's life. Also, I think there's an absurdist humor that comes from the irony of him saying this with what we know would follow half at his hands (you know who the other half is).

They both loved each other as friends, without a doubt, but it's so tragic to think that Eric's closest bond, a connection of love so intimate yet unrelated to direct societal romance, which created a strength so abundant that it started a ripple effect worldwide that still persists to this very day, wasn't quite requited the way he thought it was. Just like every other published bond of his, in his sad little existence.

[gremlingottoosilly]

A bomb threat (And how it got you a boyfriend) special forces!Konig x fem!college!Reader

Konig saves you from a bomb threat when you get stuck at your Uni. Based on his bio - presumably, Konig was a part of the Austrian Special Forces before joining KorTac. He is also a bit of a dork and we have a bit of an obsessive episode.

Tags: Fluff, Reader is a cringefailure, Konig is overstepping his authority, hurt(not really)/comfort Warnings: Bomb threats, mentions of terrorism Word count: 2450

Someone called a bomb threat in your college. 

Well, at least, this is what the automatic email is telling you. The email that was sent to you, about especially avoiding the library on the second floor because the anonymous(not for long, since they have a knack for exposing who the hell is calling those threats each time) caller said that there is a huge chance of the bomb being placed here. 

You know, the same library that you were sitting in, right now, reading this exact email on your laptop. You thought no one was around because it wasn’t a busy day, just after the major finals, with most people staying on campus only if they failed first tests or just wanted to get extra credits for some extra curriculum. Even if you were staying here just because you wanted to work on campus’s newspaper – the library is a good place to scoop for some rumors about the dean of the uni being three raccoons in a trench coat, or the lunch staff posing as Polish mafia. 

The thing is – it seemed like you were the last fucking person to receive the email. The thing is, there are only a few weeks left before summer break, and the campus already started to turn off major announcement equipment since no sports or other events are planned. Are you going to die? Probably, there is a huge chance of you dying, as you can feel directly in your bones – god, there are probably some terrorists or uni shooters or that weird Christian suprematist who are going hysterical at the mere sight of religion other than theirs. You are going to die, you are going to die, you are going to…

— Scheisse! There is a civilian! 

You were never particularly religious, maybe only at the time of finals and work submissions – and in situations like this, where you are already mentally preparing yourself to get blown up with unfinished articles and forgotten hopes and dreams and everything and…

You were never particularly religious – so you have no idea why your pre-death auditory hallucinations suddenly included an angel’s voice with devil's timbre and some huge, tree-trunk-like hands wrapping around your waist, checking you for possible injuries or explosive device. 

These hands are really huge – and muscular, you can see how tense they are even through your black uniform, and they are roaming over your body in a way that would make you scream bloody murder and file sexual harassment if it didn’t belong to an obvious angel. Angelm in special forces uniform, an angel with a really nice boyish voice and warm hands that are sliding to your thighs, groping and checking for every possible outcome – for weapons, probably, because you are literally the only person in the room that was deemed as a bomb threat, and if you were this guy, you’d also think that you were the culprit. 

His fingers linger on your hips perhaps a bit too long – you can him patting you down like you were heading to a club – and then he lets you go reluctantly, not finding anything except for your phone which he also checked for possible timers. The interaction lasted…a minute or so, but you are already hot and bothered, getting off the strong hands holding you, even though he already let you go. 

— Are you alright? 

He must have noticed your worried face and international student badge – his English is a bit accented but nonetheless confident. You never thought that small traces of German in a speech can sound so fucking hot but, perhaps, you are just traumatized and high on adrenaline and weren't getting laid for too fucking long. 

He wears a badge – something something long German words, huge design construction that made you think he must be pretty high-rank – knowledge that you only had because of the movies and games you were playing, trying not to get off the military kink too much. Something in the situation told you that you’d spend the whole evening searching for porn with guys dressed in all black today. Maybe, a touch of cargo. 

— Y…yeah. Fuck, sorry. I’m fine, fine. Yeah. 

You are rambling and he tilts his head to the side. This large, looming hand goes to your face – you wait for either a harsh slap to return you back to reality, or a passionate and deep kiss from your fantasies and dirty novels. He slowly traces his fingers on your face, getting up, in the hairline, searching for something – perhaps, a nasty head parasite that got you acting so weird around this random guy. Random guy who is just doing his job, securing that you’re safe, sound, and not going to explode in the next few minutes. 

— No head injuries. Gut. 

You want him to touch your face some more. You want him to check for mouth injuries, to evaluate the status of your lips. Maybe do some chemical tests with that gloss you were using today. Check the reaction with his tongue. 

He twirls you in place and you almost want him to press you against the wall. Search you some more, maybe get his hands a bit deeper, pass the oh-so-modest pants that made you look like a little bitch boy – his hand goes to cup your waist again, checking for anything that might catch his interest. Nothing – and you were never this sad about Hot wearing a concealed weapon that might force him to pin you down or get you into a chokehold with those massive biceps of his. 

— What were you doing here, ma’am? 

Studying in Vienna, you never found an Austrian accent this sexy. Never knew that you might like being handled like this before – it’s not romantic, not even in the slightest, but you smile a bit shyly, a bit awkwardly, and look at him from under your lashes, trying to look as innocent as possible. You are innocent – you weren’t doing anything, you were just trying to study and write in the last few weeks. Concentrated enough, so you never even noticed a fucking bomb threat. Didn’t hear soldiers running through the building, securing each room. 

— I…study here? 

You gulp loudly, taking a few steps away from the soldier. Allowing him to examine the room, deem it safe – the bomb threat called on your university was probably fake. Maybe a call from a paranoid individual, maybe someone with nothing better to do than pranking colleges. You seriously doubt anyone would try to blow up this place while almost none of the students are actually inside – especially the library during the low season. Even you almost decided to ditch the traditional writing atmosphere and just do something in the cafeteria. 

— Oh. 

His voice actually sounds…nice. Funny even, that small remark also makes him cough and look at you more seriously. He has a mask concealing his face, some weird hood or net on top of it – you try to see his eyes, but you can only occasionally catch glimpses of ice staring at you. Mysterious, you like it. Too mysterious, that little journalist club member inside of you is itching to get a look at his face better – you tilt your head to the side, contemplating just yanking it upwards and praying that he won’t kill you. 

Although you wouldn’t mind being crushed in his hold. 

— Let’s get you out of here, ja? 

You don’t question him when he suddenly picks you up – when the world starts to spin and you are pressed against his chest, his hands are supporting you under your knees and back. Securing you in place, making sure you are nice and comfy in his hold. You don’t ask questions when he slightly adjusts your hold so he can touch more of your thighs – you think he is just getting you comfortable, and you appreciate just how thoughtful he is. 

You don’t ask questions when he holds you almost like a bridal carry, even though you are certain you aren’t injured, and someone like him probably has more interesting things to do than saving poor college students who decided to ignore bomb threats. 

His hands are warm, his chest is even warmer, and his muscles aren’t even slightly trembling. You don’t know what sort of training those guys are coming through, but it must work – his steps are light and decided even when he can’t press you firmly against him, vest standing in the way. You don’t know what to do with your hands and you don’t want to mess with the government property – you think there is a law against fidgeting with special forces soldiers on duty – so you just get them on your knees. Like a good girl. Polite girl. Girl who isn't drooling over the guy who is just doing his job. 

— Thank you. For saving me. 

You whisper it in his headset – you are worried about someone else also hearing you, but there is something intimate about tilting your head upwards and getting right into his face, your lips millimeters away from the edge of his mask. You don’t want to sound suggestive, so you sound weak instead. You don’t to sound ungrateful, so you sound pleading instead. 

His hold on your thighs gets stronger. You lick your lips nervously, chuckling to ease the atmosphere a little bit. 

Your leg brushes above his waist – and you swear that you can hear his breath hitching. It’s impossible, you think, he must be a tough and content little soldier, perfect to save damsels in distress just like you – but something in his posture, in the way his fingers twitch slightly at the edges of your body, makes you think otherwise. Maybe, you’re just dreaming. Maybe, you know nothing. 

Someone slams into the room. Another man – shorter than the one who holds you, by a large margin, but none less intimidating. Burly, muscular, dressed up in full uniform which is expected – and with his face covered up by a similar veil or mask or whatever this is – which is unexpected. You thought that special forces would have something less eye-obscuring, but what do you know? You would be dead if the bomb threat was real. 

— Other sectors secured. No bomb in sight. Commander. 

He almost hisses, the similar accent in his voice makes your cheeks heat up even more. You feel weird, dirty even, thinking of those two large, intimidating men in such an intimate setting while they are just trying to save your life – but you try to silence that little annoying voice, to convince yourself that this is probably just adrenaline, ovulation and sudden urge to procreate before you would die. 

You feel your entire body stir when the man takes a step closer, looking at you. You can’t see his face, not even the outline of it – but you feel the burning gaze on your scared expression and obediently folded hands. 

— Gut. Other civillians? — 20 civilians in the building in total. University workers, some students. Already evacuated. — Any casualties? You hear a cruel chuckle from a shorter man. — If they were, you’d hear about it, sir. No, the sector is clear. — Gut. Dismissed – we’re finishing here. — What are you doing with the civi…

— Kruger, dismissed. 

The man who holds you is surprisingly stern when he isn’t talking to you. He used a much softer, quieter tone when he was talking to you, observing if you were hurt or in danger – and he is much, much different now. A cold voice, serious tone, the image of the ruthless commander flying in your head – well, at least you were right about his patches meaning something important. 

A shorter man leaves, and the door behind him swings open. To your surprise, the man who holds you – a mysterious stranger, you can’t even seem to find a name on his uniform – doesn’t let you go. His touches feel like you’re burning alive, he is igniting and brilliant and fucking perfect and…

He lets you down to the care of the local police department and some of the uni workers. His hand brushes over your face again – you think he was checking for the injuries but, then again, why would he touch your hair ever so gently only to move it out of your face to take a good look at your lips before letting you go? You’re imagining things, you probably must be – the man is just doing his job, he isn’t trying to fuck you in the nearest hallway even if you wanted him to. 

— Sir. I…thank you, really. For the help. 

— I didn’t do anything, Schatz. Someone must been playing a joke on everyone. 

You are going to find the guy – or a girl, or someone else, you don’t discriminate, everyone is equally capable of calling on the false bomb threats – who informed the special forces about the bomb in the building, and then you are going to kiss them. 

— What kind of joke is this? 

— A dumb one. 

He looks over to his unit – a group of tall, burly men, with weapons and uniforms and everything a girl could ask for – already packing in the vehicles to move out. You brace yourself to ask for his number – for his contact, anything, everything, maybe the favorite tree in the park under which you could meet again. You know that those guys aren’t supposed to reveal their identities, that he is probably out of town anyway, special forces aren’t usually called off to false threats, you know that your attempts are futile and yet, you lick your lips for added confidence and…

— Goodbye, Scahtzen. Stay safe, ja? Don’t want to save you from a real bomb one day. 

— I…I…um, you mean you wouldn’t save me from a real bomb? 

He was already halfway to the armored car before you could say anything. You aren’t nearly confident enough to yell across the whole fucking campus territory to get a number of this hot special forces guy, and something in his hunched shoulders, twitching fingers, and slightly less social and more abrasive manners tells you that he would hate the gesture as much as you would. 

Just like this, your first even real-life military crush is driving away, leaving you bombless, hoeless, and, most certainly, more depressed than ever. Summer is going to be great, right?

*** — What do you mean calling a fucking bomb threat?! 

Your friend wasn’t happy about the pick-up strategy you wanted to use.

*** — Of course, sir, let’s raid a fucking college dorm room. 

Sergeant Sebastian Josed Krueger wasn’t happy about his commander’s newfound love for college girls. 

Mostly because König refused to fucking share. 

[salemontrial]

A list of things (in no order) they BETTER include in the movie

- Rule #1: Don't Get Caught

- "And they are not khakis they're chinos. Khakis are for white people."

- The magazine page

- Zahra stealing Alex's phone and shoving it in her bra after the emails get leaked

- "Numbers on me being into dudes?"

- Get Low at the new years gala (bonus points for "Fuck it up, vato!")

- Alex blowing a beer bottle

- If I don't hear Bea's emotional depth pie speech I'll riot

- "America: He is my choice."

- "Now, I'm standing here, and I'm thinking about it... A reliable, hardworking, honest, Southern Democrat versus corruption, and maliciousness, and hate. And one big state full of honest people, sick as hell of beinf lied to."

- "Say good morning to your strumpet, Henry" "Good morning strumpet"

- Honestly the entire facetime with Pez while him and Henry are in Wales--

- Idk man i wanna see dc dykes on bikes chase westboro baptish church goers down the street

- "I am the First Son of the United States, and I'm bisexual. History will remember us."

- "I've seen Jurassic Park. Did you know birds are directly descended from raptors? That's a scientific fact. Raptors in my bedroom, Henry. And you want me to go to sleep like they're not gonna bust out of their enclosures and take over the island the minute I close my eyes? Okay. Maybe your white ass."

- "i want to see a cage match between your grandmother and this fucking ghoul running against my mom"

- The "Sexual Experimentation With Foreign Monarchs: A Gray Area" powerpoint

- "Sería una mentira, porque no sería èl."

- "Dear Thisbe, I wish there weren't a wall. Love, Pyramus"

- "Oh I'm terribly sorry Pip! So awfully clumsy, I think all that cocaine I did must have done a number on my reflexes!"

- Them dancing to Your Song in the A&V

- Alex NEEDS to fall into that rosebush

- "Hey. We won." "Yeah. We won."

- "But that would be-" "Yes Alex, the day we met, nothing gets past you does it? 'What about you' he asks, as if he doesn't know-"

[partycatty]

Can you do Johnny and a Fem reader thats taller than him? I'm getting KINDA TIRED of the whole 'u look up at him' thing like... no I don't.

the prompt made me giggle bc i have a mk oc that's taller than most people LOL

johnny cage > improv

johnny meets his new partner in his upcoming action movie, he doesn't expect to be outshined.

notes: johnny's like 6'1 probably, so i'm making the reader somewhere around 6'4ish. just taller. like "look down at him" taller.

[ masterlist ]

a new action movie? hell yeah, no problem, johnny figured as he walked with a sway in his arms. walking onto this set and that set was something he was fairly used to, and he practically owned his little area in this particular studio, considering just how often he picked up their projects. what he didn't anticipate, though, was his usual spot by the temporary living space was taken up by a trailer that was most certainly not his. who uses that color on the exterior?

then again, he thought, maybe something changed. maybe his assistant rented a different model and he was supposed to try it out. so, like the gentleman he is, johnny tries the door to the trailer that opens with a firm click. the last thing he expected was to see a figure at the other end of the trailer, sitting at a screwed-in vanity and humming under their breath.

"excuse me," johnny calls out, crossing his arms as he takes a few more steps inside. "i believe we haven't met."

you swivel in your chair, removing the earbud that was settled in your ear. when you realize who you're talking to, you sit up straight.

"oh," you're surprised he just welcomed himself in. "hello. are... is there something you need?"

johnny swallows, a little weirded out by it all. "yeah, actually. uh... you're in my spot."

"your... spot?" you raise a brow, looking around for the imaginary chair he must have been referring to. "i don't follow."

johnny shakes his head. "it's... nevermind. this spot on the lot is usually for the lead role."

his comment makes your brows knit together. "i am the lead role."

you can see the gears turning in his head as he realizes what he got himself into. you're an A-List celebrity, just like him. johnny wasn't going to be the top dog like always. it all makes sense now, reading the script and realizing why all of the emails were cc'd and never directly sent to his manager; you're the lead, he's the secondary.

all johnny could do was step toward you, now looking down at you as you sat at the vanity. his expression is blank, though there is a flush of embarrassment on his cheeks for being wrong. god, he hates being wrong.

"oh, sorry," your hands grip the sides of the chair, snapping him and yourself from the silent tension. "suppose i should introduce myself."

you hoist yourself from being sat and tower over the actor so easily it's a shock his knees don't wobble out of nervousness. you're tall, so damn tall and it flusters him even further. he doesn't even realize your hand is outstretched, he's too busy swallowing thickly over your shadow overtaking his form.

"you're..." johnny trails off, finally attempting to shake your hand. "nice to... meet you. sorry, i—" he spins on his heel and exits the trailer with a slam. you chuckle, realizing he was covering his face sheepishly, raising his sunglasses to the top of his head. interesting first impression.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

shooting the first scenes came quickly after your introduction, the weirdness of it all still bothering johnny ever so slightly. as you stood side by side he couldn't help but steal nervous glances. his side eyeing was not only incredibly obvious but reminiscent of a dog.

he always thought he was into people smaller than him, considering he himself was a big guy. but the way you'd use your height to your advantage, or the times you could look over him, he was blushing like a maniac. tragically, one of the scenes you two were meant to shoot was one where your characters were in a heated argument.

"if we let them go now, this entire mission would have been for nothing!" his character shouts, running a hand through his hair and fidgeting with the prop gun on his hip. "i'm sorry, but i can't let you get in the way."

you weren't blind, you could tell your presence made him anxious. thankfully, just as his specialization is doing his own stunts, yours was improvisation. and boy, was now a time as ever to take advantage of this skill. letting out a faux-angered growl, you grab both of johnny's hands and slam them against the wall above his head. you lean down to get to his eye level, a snarl on your face that leaves johnny a stuttering mess. your frame was much larger than him, and with the way you bent down, he was completely caged within your grasp. you noticed the director stand up straight in amusement.

"listen here, you son of a bitch," you follow the script flawlessly, tone straight like you didn't pin your co-star to the wall. "you're gonna take an order and that's that, are we clear?"

johnny looked like he could agree to murder right about now. His eyes are hazy as he wets his lips and darts his eyes between yours. "loud and clear."

a loud "CUT!" saves johnny from further embarrassment, and you pull away from him like it was nothing. if the director was complimenting either of you, it fell of his deaf ears and johnny's far away gaze as his hand falls to his chest to check his racing heartbeat.

"you alright, lil guy?" you fold your arms and stand in front of him, a smirk toying at your lips, but you knew his fragile ego wouldn't be able to handle your full cockiness. however, you were sure the insertion of the nickname got to him like a metaphorical gunshot as he clutched the fabric of his shirt.

"peachy, doll." his grin was so strained he looked to be held at gunpoint. you had never seen an actor, of all people, to struggle this hard.

[orbitariums]

warmth | art donaldson + patrick zweig + black fem reader (a snippet)

full length part 1 here!

i miss posting on here real bad and i keep teasing things (christopher moltisanti, richie jerimovich) and not actually writing/releasing them SO i'm putting this snippet of this oneshot i'm writing to encourage myself to actually put this out.

i think this will probably have multiple parts because the tension needs to builddd. and please, let me know y'alls thoughts!!! what do you think, what do you predict is gonna happen, r u thirsting adequately, etc. i love hearing your little comments <333

& let me know if you’d wanna be tagged when this comes out

essentially: reader, patrick and art were childhood best friends who conveniently were all in love with each other, or at least had enough sexual tension to make it feel that way. fast forward almost a decade later, and reader has made it onto the red carpet with her fantastic pen, and patrick and art have gone pro. when she invites them to her house for a star-studded friendsgiving, tensions rise and old doors open, springing forth new possibilities. this is only the beginning.

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warmth

“We should just turn around now, save ourselves the embarrassment.”

Patrick paid Art no mind, rolling down the window and leaning out of it, pressing the buzzer as you had dutifully instructed them in your email invite. 

“Too late now. Already threw away about a gallon of gas just coming up the hill to this place,” he replied, the sense of ease in his voice only egging Art on even more. 

“Exactly why we should leave. I mean, fuck. Does she have to live on a hill?”

“Residence of [last name], to whom am I speaking?” a male voice rings on the other end. 

“Uh…” Patrick starts, Art reaching up over him, 

“Patrick Zweig and Art Donaldson?”

A silence filled the air. Patrick swatted at Art, forcing him back in his seat. 

“Why’d you say it like a question, dumbass?”

Art stammered, already starting to get red in the face,

“I was --”

The gate swung open and both the boys let out a sigh of relief.

“Thank you!” Patrick chimed, smirking at Art, who seemed to be sinking in his seat. 

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Meanwhile, you were inside the mansion that you call home, flowing around the kitchen like there weren’t about fifty people milling about and mingling amongst one another. It smelled like something out of Hansel and Gretel -- from the fragrant brown roasted turkey sitting in the oven, to the gourmand scent of perfectly caramelized candied yams, to the vanilla musk perfume you dotted on your wrists. A black mini Schnauzer nipped excitedly at your feet as you added half a cherry tomato to the giant bowl of salad you’ve been prepping for the last twenty minutes. You look like a pro, like a party of this magnitude is no big deal to you.

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“Do we ring the doorbell? Or maybe… should we knock?” Art questioned, hands tied behind his back as he glanced up at Patrick for answers. 

“It’s open,” Patrick retorted, but he too stood stupefied at the door, like a weary traveler wavering in horrific awe before the mouth of some epic beast. 

“On three?” Art suggested, and when he didn’t hear a response, he started to count, “one… two…”

Patrick stepped in before Art could get to three. Art scoffed, but followed behind him anyway. 

The two of them stood there silently, taking the grandiosity of it all in — the sky-high dome ceiling, two grand wooden staircases directly opposite one another, the shiny verdant porcelain flooring, the Basquiat painting hanging above the wide bookcase directly in front of them. Mouths open, they looked like they were ready to catch flies. 

“Fuuuck me,” Patrick breathed out heavily. Art’s head was stuck staring up at the ceiling, so high he thought it’d never end. 

“You made it.”

Both Art and Patrick seemed to stand straight at the sound of your voice, like soldiers at attention. You almost laughed, but instead you stood there coolly, smiling at them both with your lips and your eyes— in them, a look that was almost knowing, wise beyond your years. It seemed like a lifetime before either of them would speak. They spent half that lifetime practically gawking at you, drinking you in. And how could they not, when you were draped in that cream-colored silk dress, the flowy bottom dancing above your ankles. You looked more beautiful than they remembered you, calmer, secure — of course, they hadn’t seen you since they were teenagers. Now there was this air of timelessness about you that was only just poking at the surface when you were in high school. Now it surrounded you. Something mystic encompassed your entire spirit, dripping from your head to your feet. They’d spent years seeing you from behind a screen, being interviewed on live TV, attending red carpets for award shows, blending in with the Hollywood mecca — another beautiful twenty-something industry talent. But the glow of the television that seemed to give everyone a perfectly filtered sheen was nothing compared to your beauty here. 

“It’s so good to see you,” Patrick broke the silence first, practically lurching forward with open arms to embrace you. His beard scratched against your cheek. You could smell the cologne that was beginning to wear off, mixed with a hint of cigarette smoke. His arms nearly suffocated you.

When he pulled away, you couldn’t help but chuckle at the way he smiled at you so fervently. 

“Good to see you too, Patrick…” you glanced over at the mousy boy who didn’t seem to have changed much since high school. “C’mere, Artie.”

Art chuckled: a nervous huff of relief, inching forward into your open arms and nuzzling his chin into your shoulder, closing his arms around your midwaist. You could smell the aftershave that still clung to his face, and the detergent still fresh from his clothes. 

You pulled away, but took one of each of their hands, squeezing. 

“My two boys. Man, how long has it been?”

“Oh, just a while—”

“Seven years,” Art interjected. 

“Who’s counting, right?” Patrick grinned, making all of you laugh. 

You looked at them almost expectantly, eyes wide like a doe, the slightest smile playing at your lips. They looked back with bated breaths. Always, you were in charge, always. It had been like this since the scabby-kneed days of childhood. If you wanted to play on the swings, they were there on either side of you. You were the queen of the sandbox. In middle school, they snuck extra cookies for you from the lunchroom and fought over who got to surprise you with the treat every day. Senior year of high school, in the hotel room in London, when you had them perched on either side of you like baby birds waiting for mother’s return— when you had both your hands on each of their thighs, had them panting like puppy dogs, inching your hands further and further only to leave the minute you heard “lights out.” 

It had been seven years since then and still, it was the same. Only this time, you were stupidly rich, thanks to the soaring success of your two psychological thriller books turned TV series. It wasn’t that you’d forgotten about them, or didn’t care about them now that you were rich and famous. You’d gotten accepted to study creative writing at Brown, Art went to play at Stanford, and Patrick went on his path to go pro. You were delighted to see that they were only a click away thanks to the internet, just one click away from being reintegrated into your life. Your childhood best friends. 

“C’mon, lunch is almost ready.”

Friendsgiving. Who didn’t love the concept? It was a readily welcomed, wholesome idea — friends of all ages and backgrounds coming together to rehash their Thanksgiving with leftovers, stories from the year, and maybe a game of cards. Except your friendsgiving was attended by A-list actresses, Cannes festival attending screenwriters, and the odd Grammy-nominated artist. And your friendsgiving was not at all an intimate affair — it may as well have been a club party. Most people were outside, dancing, shrieking with laughter, drinking, and skipping their way to their seats. Your backyard was vast and verdant green, with a pool in the center, the perimeter lined with lemon and peach trees, and miles to explore. 

“This is fucking insane, is that Dakota Johnson?” Patrick scoffed. He and Patrick had been left to their own devices yet again, while you flitted around being the hostess with the mostest, easing and gliding about. A laugh here, a clink of glasses there, and a coolness to you that stood in striking comparison with the warmth that stirred deep down inside you. A warmth that could be served with a ladle into goblets, like some elixir with magical properties only you possessed. 

“No, you idiot, that’s— oh shit. That might be Dakota Johnson.” 

Clink clink clink. 

“Everybody, hi, hi! Thank you for coming, please, sit down,” you called out, clinking your glass to get the attention of your guests. Patrick and Art scrambled to find seats, ending up at a table with people who might have been minor celebrities or art critiques or designers -- at least one of those options. 

“I wanna thank you all so much for coming, this really means a lot to me. I know these sorts of things can be really hectic, but you guys make this house feel like a home. I’m glad that some of you will be staying with me for the next few days, there’s always room for more,” you glanced over at Art and Patrick. “Some of you are new friends, some of you I’ve known for far too long. But I think it’s incredibly fucking cool that we’re all here together now in this moment, just enjoying each other’s presence. I do this every year, and every year I meet even more amazing, talented, fascinating people and you all are so dear to my heart. And now, what we’re all waiting for… lunch is served!”

A cacophony of cheers rang out as staff rushed about to place plates in front of everyone. You stood giggling, basking in all of it. Patrick and Art couldn't help but watch on with deeply impressed smiles — you were meant to bask: in glory, in pleasure, in everything. You looked just right standing where you were.

The rest of the afternoon Patrick and Art spent attempting to blend in as best they could. They were pro tennis players, but this was another level of stardom that they couldn’t quite fathom yet. They watched you ruthlessly the entire night, unable to squash those rising feelings of attraction and yearning for you that had never quite simmered to begin with. You’d always been cooler than them, but watching you now there was a certain air to you that belonged to a grown woman, someone comfortable and confident and in their element. You were positively swimming in the sunlight the entire afternoon. It was like you had this sort of magnetic pull to all things good, rich, and warm. People wanted to be around you. And god, did this prove that. 

By night time, people were finally starting to leave. The sun hung low in the darkening sky, making the fairy lights glow stronger now. The few people that were staying with you for the rest of Thanksgiving weekend had disappeared to their rooms. Besides the waitstaff still milling about, clearing the tables, it was just you, Patrick, and Art. The two of them hadn’t meant to stay so long, really. It wasn’t like they were forcing themselves to stick around and be acknowledged by you in a way that felt meaningful. Sure, you’d had your small talk and cracked a few inside jokes, but as much as neither wanted to admit it, they needed more. If it was hard to get your attention before, it was nearly impossible now. They were surrounded by so many people who all wanted to network and talk and introduce themselves, they found themselves mingling with your friends, some of them people who they’d seen on screen in the past year,  more than you. They’d been dragged onto the dance floor multiple times by multiple acquaintances, only to gawk at you swaying your hips rather than actually dance themselves. It became overwhelmingly clear, in their increasingly present desperation, that they should’ve accepted your offer to stay in this castle of a house for the weekend. Neither of them had packed a bag. 

“This is awkward, we’re the only ones left,” Art sighed, still sitting at their table. 

“Let’s just… wait, okay? She might come back out."

"And give us a little speech?"

"Yeah, asshole, maybe she will."

At that very moment, you appeared again, this time clad in a two piece linen pajama set. You didn’t miss the way both their eyes trailed up your legs as you stood in front of them, arms crossed, smiling expectantly. 

“I was hoping you two would still be here,” you said. You glanced between the two of them, that awkward silence filling the air once again. “C’mon. Let’s talk.”

You turned and walked back inside, the two of them trailing behind you.

"Your house is fucking sick by the way. I mean holy shit," Art blurted once you got to the main entrance hall.

"Feel like I just walked into a page of Architectural Digest," Patrick added on.

You led them up the stairs. Both their eyes dropped to your ass, which poked out just a bit from under the pair of shorts you wore. Silently watching the way your body curved as you walked.

"Ha, thanks. I think I did pretty okay for myself," you replied.

You led them to the den on the second floor and sat criss cross apple sauce on the lush green couch. Art sat on your left, Patrick on your right. Patrick spread his legs and Art had one foot up on the couch, bouncing against his knee. 

“Sorry we didn’t get to talk much. I was so busy being the host of the year that I didn’t pay enough attention to you two. My favorites.”

Art chuckled,

“Favorites? You’re just saying that.”

“No, I’m serious! D’you know how much I missed you guys?”

Patrick scoffed playfully,

“All those TV interviews I watched of you? I wouldn’t even be thinking about us.”

You couldn’t help but grin, that warmth coming through once again. It nearly made the two men melt. 

“Well I was. I always think about you guys.”

Now came Patrick’s voice again, a heaviness to it that almost made you jump,

“Do you think about anything specific?”

Although it had been nearly a decade since you’d last seen each other, you didn’t miss a single thing about either of them. Patrick didn’t mince words, and he never shied away from not just hinting at, but blaring his salacious intentions every time he spoke. You tilted your head towards him, a cool smile tugging at your lips. 

“Just what good times we had.”

A silence, accented with a flood of nostalgia and a pointed reference to those “good times” permeated the air. You took a moment to gaze at the two of them ever so softly — enough for them to feel it, but not enough to make them squirm (though, they were easy to make squirm) — before you decimated the silence by slapping your hands down on either of their thighs and squeezing endearingly. 

“So tell me, where’ve you two been? I’m not the only one on TV these days.”

“Ahh, you don’t wanna hear about boring tennis,” Art waved a hand of dismissal. 

You chortled, a trademark of yours that Art and Patrick had always poked fun at in school,

“You’re right, I don’t.”

“You still laugh the same,” Patrick said, grinning like he was trying not to but was unable.

You chuckled, this time low in your throat, and turned your head to face him again. You and Patrick were similar in the sense that you were always pushing the boundaries, tiptoeing closer and closer to the line — but the three of you had never quite established where that was. At some point, you were all just too close to even think about “the line” or “boundaries” — all of you appeared clueless to societal expectations of friendship, spurting a sort of cultlike relationship where everyone else was an outsider. 

“Do I?” smiling at him like you were warning him not to tease. 

“Yeah, that little snort you do,” Patrick replied, unshaken. 

“You do do a little snort,” Art chimed in, always chirping like he spoke from a less nefarious place. 

“And if I get started on you guys’ little tennis grunts?” you grinned fully now, showing teeth, looking between the two of them and leaning back a bit.

They followed, leaning back against the couch and keeping their heads in line with yours so you were never too far away from them, each of them turning their heads to look at you. 

“No way you actually watch us,” Art replied.

“I do!” you insisted. “Seriously, if you’d asked anybody here you would know.”

“Sure, let me just strike up conversation with George Clooney,” Art shot back.

“Ha-ha,” you bleated sarcastically. “I don’t even know him… but I have walked past him once on the carpet.”

“Look at you,” Patrick smirked. “Little Miss Superstar.”

He punctuated his sentence with a hand on your knee. Your eyes flickered over to him and you caught the way his Adam's apple bobbed in his throat when he swallowed, felt the way he gazed up at you. You didn’t miss the desire twinkling in his eyes. 

Then Art, always second but not necessarily last, 

“She’s our little superstar, you know that, right?” 

His hand just gently grazing your shoulder.

You let them revel in the moment for as long as you felt appropriate, then huffed.

“You know you guys can stay for the weekend, right? I mean, you should.”

“Oh… no, we wouldn’t wanna impose,” Patrick said, his hand slinking away from your knee.

Another chortle from you, this time the kind that said everything about how you lived in comparison to them,

“You wouldn’t be. This is a five bedroom house. It’s fine. Besides, don’t you guys wanna actually catch up? I’ll let you torture me with tennis talk.”

Art started to stammer,

“I-I mean… we didn’t bring anything.”

“Just our idiot selves,” Patrick added.

“Don’t worry. I’ll get Charles to get you guys all set up.”

“Charles?”

“Oh, he’s my assistant,” you said nonchalantly, as if it were nothing. “You’re not fighting me on this. I want to spend some quality time with my boys. Don’t make me have to beg for it.”

“We could never make you beg for anything,” Art replied, just a little too quickly. 

“I know, Art, that’s why I love you,” you grinned over at him. “So, are we all in agreement? Stay with me. Just this weekend.”

“Yes,” they both replied a little too quickly this time. 

You bit your lip, suppressing a smile. 

“You know… I really, really missed you guys. And those good times we had.”

You let the memory of that night of almosts in London resurge, let their minds run amuck with whatever teenage fantasy was still left over from that night. A moment so brief it could almost be forgotten, could even be flagged as incidental, accidental, but the three of you knew, even as grown adults (especially as grown adults), that it would always stick and remain unresolved, unless someone ran to the rescue with some sort of solution. Once again they held their breaths. You stood up, glanced between the two of them like you were sizing them up, and then smiled as if nothing had happened at all — you let them breath. 

“Your bedroom’s the second on the right when you leave here. Charles will help you get set up— I’ll see you guys in the morning for breakfast.”

And just like that, you were gone. The air in the room seemed to clear. Your presence was like a thousand tons of pressure weighing on their bodies and their minds. Finally, they could breathe.

They glanced at each other with the same longing, almost nervous expression — high school all over again.

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eek let me know what y'all thought. i wanna finish it by this week <3

[justastraymoa]

ADVENTURES WITH CHEESE EXTENDED EDITION PT 10

Im lost. Hopelessly lost with a cat in a bag on my shoulder looking at me like I am the dumbest person on the planet. And honestly, I feel like I am right now.

How do I go out for a simple walk around the neighborhood with my cat and get lost for hours. And my phone is dying on top of it all!

There is no way I could call the boys. I would never live it down. And I mean never. Plus how were they supposed to help me if I didn’t even know where I was? I couldn’t even find a street sign to give me a hint of where I was.

And im tired, hungry, have no more water, and didn’t bring any money because it was supposed to be a short walk. Only I could get myself into situations like this.

If I use my phone to get a map up, I will kill the battery and I didn’t think to pull a map up earlier when I had more battery, because why would I do that? Why would I be smart enough to do that?

Honestly when I get back to the apartment, I am just never going to leave it again. It wasn’t worth it and I am apparently too dumb to go out on my own anyways. Maybe I could flag down a police officer or something if I see one. They may be able to at least put me in the right direction if they wouldn’t give me a courtesy ride because of Cheese.

When I finally saw the boys, it was almost completely dark. The streetlights were already on and no one was walking around anymore. I was so relieved I felt my stupid eyes start to stupidly tear up. Stupid.

Binnie walked up to me and wrapped his arms around my head so I could hide my face in his chest while the emotions passed. I held onto him tightly. Someone tugged Cheese away from me at some point, most likely Lino. And there were several rubs and pats as we stood there.

“Lets get your dumb ass home.” Lino sighed. I just nodded, thankful yet again for all 4 of them. And for the terrible circumstances that lead me to meeting and befriending them in the first place.

Once at home I was deposited directly into a chair and a large glass of ice water was placed in front of me. I drank a few gulps before forcing myself to slow down so I didn’t get sick. That would be the perfect end to this perfect night. Praying over the porcelain bowl because I drank too much water too fast.

I was lucky enough to work from home most of the time. The occasional meeting forced me to go in and work trips, but 90% of the time I spent working from my bedroom or the living room couch or the dining table. Kind of wherever I felt like sitting and a lot of the times I sat at all places throughout the day, just for a change of scenery.

The boys worked from home occasionally, when they could. I always knew when one of them was home because Cheese would abandon me for someone else. Always excited to have someone new to cuddle and bug all day. Also, he knew the boys would give him treats. I was the strict parent in this relationship. But he was still a mama’s boy at heart, so I was okay with it.

Today it was Bin who was working from home. From the dining table by the sounds of it. I could hear him talking to both himself and Cheese. And could also hear the occasional thump of something falling as Cheese was a turd because Bin wasn’t paying enough attention to him. Spoiled child that he is.

I stayed at my desk, both relieved to not be bothered and distracted by Cheese and lonely because Cheese was not here cuddling and distracting me. It was an odd combination. I would probably join Bin at the dining table later just to not feel so lonely. However, for now I had 30 emails on a crisis that popped up overnight that needed attending to.

I laughed out loud as I heard Bin go into Linos room and start to look around for the sling bag. He must be desperate enough to risk Linos wrath.

“I can lend you my makeshift sling. It works just fine!” I called.

“He cant just gatekeep all the good stuff and expect to get away with it! It’s the principle of the thing!” He called back. There was a crash as something was knocked over.

“He is going to kill you for going through his stuff!”

“He wouldn’t.”

I raised my eyebrows and waited for that to sink into Bins head.

“You will save me right. He is a softie for you.” I eventually heard him say.

I scoffed doubtful that Lino was a ‘softie’ for anyone. Except maybe his cats. He was soft for them. Humans though, me included, he was not soft for. “I will try.” I promised nothing more.

Later that night, hours after everyone had gone to bed for the night, there was a high pitched scream that tore me from my peace.

On instinct I ran from the room. Bins door was open and I could see Lino standing over his bed with a very creepy, very psychotic smile on his face in the dark room. The only light source from the hallway nightlight.

(A/N: I picture something like this look)

“I see you went into my room.” Lino stated lowly, face not losing an inch of psychotic.

My body sagged as I realized what had happened. Lino was getting his revenge. In a very Lino way.

“Im sorry.” Bin said lowly.

Beside me Chan laughed quietly. “He spent all evening trying to figure out how to get back at him for tearing the room apart.”

Hyune didn’t even look like he woke up, let alone looked to see why Bin had screamed like a little girl in the middle of the night.

I rolled my eyes and went back to bed, pulling Cheese closer to rub my face on his soft fur and hear his purring as I drifted off.

A/N: And here we are with part 10. Honestly every time I do another one of these I have so much fun but I also wonder how the heck this even happened. How the heck did I turn a bunch of random pinterest cats into Cheese and create a whole ass cat. And all because I love black cats and have had several of my own that vie for the braincell of orange cats on occasion.

Anyways enjoy! See you next time

Skz + pets masterlist

Taglist: @whatdoyouwanttocallmefor

[mangoshorthand]

A request via DM from @respecttheno:

I mean i have this idea in mind and i dunno who to peddle it to. Its about reader being too cute that five gets cute aggression and you know, one thing leads to another, probably something smutty. Or basically just him being unable to take how cute the reader is that he becomes aggressive, i'll leave the details up to you, your writing is really good, maybe you can whip something up with my idea.

So here we go! Cute aggression sexy sex. Hope it lives up to expecatations!

Goddamn Darling | Five Hargreeves/ f Reader 2.1k words

You had a certain look that Five couldn’t help but be fascinated by. It creased your brow and pouted your lips like a toddler about to lose their mind. It happened from time to time when you were frustrated, inconvenienced or annoyed. It had a strange effect on him, that look. You were too damn pretty when you were pissed off that way. Not when you were really angry or upset, but at that perfect point of disquiet beyond mild but below major.

Directed at other people, that look on your face spurred him to protect: to put himself between you and whichever asshole made you feel that way. Directed at himself, however, that look made him feel two conflicting desires: to kiss every inch of you until you were smiling again, but also to manhandle you, pull at you, even crush you under the sole of his shoe. Not to hurt you, not really: he’d never do anything like that. But still, the feeling was there. And it drove him crazy. smut below cut

He knew it was wrong for that feeling to make him hard, but there it was. 

You were catching up on emails when his hands came to your shoulders, massaging them gently. 

“They aren’t paying you to work in the evenings, dearest. Come downstairs, I made dinner.”

“Sorry, I’ve got to get ahead of these before the morning,” you sigh, “my boss has been riding my ass this week.”

“Hm,” he said, hands coming over your shoulders to caress your neck,  “We can’t have that: I’m the only boss allowed to ride your ass.”

You dismissed this with a tsk and ignored his roving hands, his breath on your skin as he stooped to kiss your neck, gently.

“I’ll be another half-hour,” you said, “sorry to miss dinner. I’ll warm mine later.”

But one of his hands reached over your shoulder and closed your computer. 

“Hey!” you said, looking around at him.

And there it was. That look. The furrowed brow, the crinkled nose and your lower lip pooching out.

Almost by reflex, his left hand tightened around your shoulder. His other hand came to cup your face, angling it harshly upwards and towards him to give him the best possible view.

A lick of fire behind his eyes, tension in his neck and jaw.

“God,” he growled, “you are so fucking cute.”

The hand on your shoulder suddenly grabbed your shirt. He used the grip to pull you to your feet, chin still tightly held in his other hand. Holding you there for the moment, his eyes scanned your face: the pure, clear, soft skin; the way it dimpled and discolored around the hard press of his fingers. 

Beautiful.

“Do you know what you do to me?” he said, punctuating the sentence by shaking you, “you know what you do when you give me that look?”

“What look?” you said, hotly.

“That look!” he hissed, turning you so that you were looking directly into his wild face. Petulant; adorable; tantalizingly vulnerable.

He surged forward, bumping your nose with his and tugging at your lips with his teeth. The hand on your shoulder jumped to your head and he balled his fist around the length of your hair. He pulled, slightly too hard to be described as gentle, tilting your head backwards and holding you fast, angled perfectly for his tongue to explore. Taking advantage of this, he deepened the kiss, his teeth hitting your teeth, his tongue laying claim to every square inch of your mouth it could reach. 

He growled into your mouth frustratedly before coming up for air, lips swollen, pupils dilated and nostrils flared. He was breathing hard, like he'd sprinted a mile. You felt yourself flush, your body responding to him in delay, in shock at his sudden attack. His fist tightened in your hair, teeth gritting together as he looked at you. Beneath your shirt, you felt your nipples harden, 

He backed off, tried to get himself under some degree of control. He put aside the fire in his belly, the writing mass of heated serpents coiling deep in stomach and the tight press of his pants against a throbbing hard-on. He relaxed his fingers with difficulty and tried to give you a reassuring smile.

“Sorry,” he said, “Are you okay? I got carried away there. You’re just…you’re so,” he sighed and shook his head, at a loss for words.

“What am I going to do with you?” he finished, not quite disengaging from you, but backing off enough to be respectful.

Your answer surprised him. Looking directly into his eyes, your brow pinched again into that sour look. 

“Anything. I want you to do absolutely anything with me.” 

His cock jumped in his pants.

As if pulled forward from the groin, he was on you again. This time, one of his hands squeezed your cheeks together, squishing your lips as he kissed them. With his forward steps, he compelled you backwards too fast for you to keep up with, making you stumble backwards. At this, he lifted you into his arms for the final few steps and threw you bodily onto the bed. He climbed on top of you immediately, pinning you in place with a tight squeeze of his thighs. 

He leaned over so that his nose was an inch from yours, his fingers scrunching tightly at the hair above your temples and pulling painfully. When he spoke, all his teeth were visible. 

“I’m going to fucking destroy you,” he said, softly, “You realize that? I’m not going to be able to stop myself.”

You just looked up at him, eyes telling him that this was more than okay with you. Your pussy was already wet and ready for him to enter you with no resistance. Looking up at Five, looking back at you so aggressively and knowing he was about to brutalize you? Was there a better aphrodisiac?

You bit your lip and he grunted, rutting his crotch into you as he sat up again, removing his own shirt and allowing you to pull off your own.

“So fucking cute,” he whispered, feverishly, still grinding into you as you finished with your shirt. 

The moment they were fully revealed, his mouth was at your left breast, sucking a bruise into one and slapping the other with an open hand. He laughed in satisfaction at your little hiss of pain and dug his teeth cruelly into the spot he’d just marked. 

The pain made you whimper and jerk your hips upwards into his. His eyes were trained on your face, watching your reactions and chasing them as far as they would go. Though his hair partially obscured his eyes as it slipped out of his neat side part, it couldn’t obscure the piercing, menacing expression there.

Still gently nibbling at the breast between his teeth, he gave the nipple of the other a hard flick and a harsh squeeze between his finger and thumb. As you cried out, he switched his mouth to suck briefly on the newly stinging nipple before taking the swell of this breast into his mouth too. Much like the universe, Five was always a sucker for balance. He again sucked, bit and raised a purple love bite as he slapped your left breast, flicking and pinching at this nipple in its turn. He wanted to be able to look back at you tomorrow, marked with his teeth, and remember this moment.

His roving right hand found its way beneath your skirt, stroking at the crotch of your panties: probably transparent from the soaking you'd already given them. He gave a growling chuckle as he felt the evidence of what he was doing to you.

He raised his head for a better view of your face. Your mouth gaped wide, allowing him to see the saliva glistening on your tongue. Still too fucking cute, still too fucking adorable. Still absolutely, maddeningly, infuriatingly goddamn darling. 

Unable to take it anymore, he climbed off you abruptly and grabbed your hips, nails digging into the flesh.

“Turn over. Head down.” he said, pulling you into position and lifting your hips so that your ass is in the air, “Turn your head,” he said, “let me see that face.”

You looked over your shoulder, just able to see Five’s face, suffused with rage and lust which commingled into a stony, burning force. With his eyes locked tight on yours, you heard his zip, the metal-on-metal clink of his belt buckle. The familiar, evocative sound made your pussy gush again. You felt his hands creep up your skirt, flip it up and pull your panties aside. With an intake of breath, his eyes briefly left yours to devour the sight before him.

And he slapped you across both buttocks: hard.

“Ah!” you yelped, indignant and irritated in equal measure.

But, unknowingly, you made the mistake of pulling that face again as he caught your eye.

Five’s lips curled upwards into a snarl, exposing sharp canines beneath.

“Gonna fucking…I’m gonna...”

But words failed him, leaving his cock to state his intent. He took himself into a tight grip and nosed his dick sharply between your legs. He looked into your eyes, darkness filling his yet still looking at you for your confirmation. Looking right back at him, right into the just-restrained aggression, you spoke deliberately:

“Fuck me.”

He let out a breath he’d been holding. He didn’t need telling twice. He poked at your wetness  until, with a guttural noise, he slipped in tight and to the hilt, nails digging into your hips with the keenness of his pleasure.

In this position, his cock fit you like a hand in a glove. You couldn’t help but moan as it filled you, its perfect curve hitting you in that sweetest place. He began to thrust with ferocity that left you gasping for air. Though he wasn’t always a gentle lover, this was something else. His fingers pressed into you: flexing, pulling and clawing at the flesh of your hips. It wouldn’t just be your breasts left bruised by the time he was done.

He slammed into you, grip tightening even more as he watched your ass ripple every time his hips collided with yours. You pushed backwards onto him, bouncing your ass and matching him thrust for thrust.

“Oh fuck,” he breathed, eyes closed now, neck arching backwards, “you’re so fucking…” he didn’t finish, instead,  letting out a moan that sounded more like a whimper.

As he filled you - drilled you, even - the pressure built inside you. You could feel pleasure reverberating from the rough, fevered kneading of his dick against your g-spot, from the rough coupling and way he grunted with every press into you. His hands occasionally left your hips to slap hot, red prints across your buttocks. 

Finally, he leaned forward and grabbed you by the shoulders, barely pausing in his harsh, abrupt fucks into you. He pulled you to balance only on your knees, before shifting his fingers inwards so that they pressed lightly around your neck. Using this hold as a brace, he started to slam into you harder than ever.

“Oh shit!” you shrieked, the change of angle and his hands pressing into your throat redoubling the pleasure inside you, “Oh shit, Five!”

Hearing his name drawn out on your lips felt like a prayer of supplication. This, and the walls of your cunt trembling around him as you came was almost the final straw for him.

“Look. at. me.” he said, through teeth ground tightly together. 

Mind nearly blank from your ongoing release, your neck nevertheless turned in his grasp, looking over your shoulder to meet his eye. What he saw in yours, you never knew, but the result electrified him. 

Though you didn’t think they could, his hips sped up even more, fingers tightening. He didn’t consciously let go, but he must have done, because all his muscles loosened. Growling shouts spilled incoherently from his mouth as hot come spilled explosively from his cock. All you could do was try to stay upright as he desperately rode out every spasm: every electric shock up his dick as it spurted inside you. 

Finally, he slowed down, his forehead pressed against your back, his breathing beginning to return to normal. Simultaneously, you both lay on the bed, his softening cock slipping out of you with the movement. He pulled you close to him, his chest pressed against your back, and you let your body melt into his.

“Are you okay?” he whispered, kissing your hair.

You nodded, still too overwrought to speak. He rubbed you softly: the reddened flesh of your buttock and purple bruises from his fingers. 

“Do you need anything, cutie?” he said, clearly concerned by your lack of verbal response. 

You took another couple of breaths, coming back to yourself.

“What’s for dinner then?” you asked, nonchalantly. 

Megalist

Request info + rules

NOTE:

I take Five requests, I'm fairly versatile in what I write (fluff, smut, angst, psychological character study- I'll try it all) but I will consider them on a case by case basis. See request info + rules for request status and more.

[softspaceboibrian]

Fell in Love with the Fire Long Ago || Jamie Tartt

Prologue

Pairing: Jamie Tartt x Y/N - Social Media Manager for AFC Richmond || I used she/her pronouns, but there is no actual physical description, so the pronouns can be switched with whatever anyone wants or prefers!

Summary: The first meeting.

Warnings: maybe some swear words? a lot of anxiety. I think that's it

Wc: 3593

A/N: this story is based on this idea . as always, if you want to read more, feel free to leave a comment. If you wish to be added to the taglist, let me know! anyways, thanks for reading! ALSO I'm making a playlist for this fic inspired by the chapters! let me know if you would like me to post it!

Taglist: @nicklet94 @respondingtoshowerthoughts-blog @katdahlali @sonyume @kerguelenn @janalustare @thebarisinhell99 @dancemajor1 @f1maverick @shakespeareanwannabe

The team had eventually gone to the pitch to train, while you had stayed behind. You inhaled deeply. For the moment, you were safe. You had managed to slip away and into your office unnoticed. However, after a few minutes of sitting alone in the room with your laptop’s screen casting a gentle blue light over the documents in front of you, you couldn’t ignore the unsettling sensation that anxiety was leaving in your stomach, as if a hand from within was gripping and squeezing all of your organs, tugging ever so slightly at your heart and making it drop whenever you heard muffled footsteps down the corridor, approaching, passing by, then moving away. I can’t take it anymore, you said under your breath, as if you were talking to someone that wasn’t there. Quickly, you gathered your stuff and made your way down to the coaches’ room. Was it the best place to hide? Obviously not! The room was directly connected with the team’s changing room. Still, the corridor on the ground floor wasn’t carpeted, and you could much more easily control the situation from there. Also, despite being still angry at Ted, you knew that the coaches, all three of them, would do anything just to know you were comfortable. And so, you settle down in the spare chair on the opposite side of the room from Nate’s desk. That was going to be your office for the day. You nodded, as you displayed all your documents and stationary carefully, with order, on the desk in front of you.

You looked around the room as you waited for your laptop to come back to life. You didn’t exactly love the charcoal walls with the AFC Richmond logo right in the middle of it. You often wished they would let you redecorate the space, but everyone was too afraid you would choose a wallpaper similar to the forest green one in your office. You would laugh. You were spending most of your days in your office, anyways. Except for that day. So, grey walls would have to do.

A ding sound brought you back to reality.

You immediately directed your attention to the screen in front of you and opened the notification. It was an email conversation between Rebecca, Keeley, Higgins, and you. The title: TARTT’S COMEBACK ANNOUNCEMENT. All capital letters, as if that was the most urgent thing in the world. You opened it and read through the messages. Rebecca was asking when the announcement was going to be put on the team’s accounts, because she thought it was important to do it as soon as possible. The sooner, the better, read her email, the sentence in italics, as to attract more attention. You could feel that nauseating sensation slowly remerging. You took a deep breath before moving to the next message. It was from Keeley, and she said that it would be better to just wait a while. Ted has decided to put him on the second team for now, she said was the reason she thought we should wait. But let’s hear from Y/N first, she’s the expert. The corners of your mouth turning slightly upwards, as you felt Keeley’s preoccupation and affection for you disguised beneath those words. No answer from Higgins yet. The decision was yours. You were the social media manager. You set the rules when it came to these things. That gave you a bit of relief. You clicked the Reply to all button, and started typing.

            Dear all, [you always wrote that, even though it was just the four of you and there was no reason for you to be so formal.] if you want my personal opinion, I think we should kick him off the team. [You weren’t exactly sure why you were so angry. Because, in reality, you weren’t. You were sad, disappointed, but not angry. Maybe it was easier to be angry than to be sad.] On the other hand, if you want my professional opinion, then I say we wait. If it’s true that Ted has put him on second team, then there is no need to announce it just yet. It would be misleading for the fans who would then expect to see him out on the pitch already in the next match. I say we wait and, when the time comes and Ted puts him in, then I’ll take his picture while he’s playing with the team, and we’ll announce it that way.

You clicked Send. You waited. Two minutes went by. No answer yet. You could already picture Rebecca stomping down the corridor to come and talk to you, saying that she had to make the calls - not true: you were in charge of the socials, you decided. Plus, you knew that Rebecca would understand your point of view. Or at least you hoped.

Five more minutes went by. A ding. Message from Leslie Higgins, Head of Football: I agree with Y/N. You smiled. Three minutes later, another ding. Message from Keeley Jones: I second that. You inhaled deeply. You could feel a weight lift off your chest. For now, you were safe.

After scrolling on Instagram for a good ten minutes, stalking other teams profiles to get inspiration, you actually started working. You weren’t sure how, but you had managed to get so focused on what you were doing, that you got startled when the distant murmurs of the boys coming back to the changing room for lunch break eventually reached you. You looked up from your iPad, where you had been sketching the new social media campaign, only to realise that an hour and a half had gone by without you even noticing. You looked around, panicking, trying to get your mind to slow down and think of an escape plan. But when you finally settled on leaving everything there and running outside to the parking lot, the soft murmurs had become clear voices only a few meters away. You were stuck there, with nowhere to run.

So, you stayed there, paralysed in that chair, until the coaches walked in. You could tell they were not expecting to find you in there. Ted looked at you, quietly, and you knew he wanted to say something, but you never met his eyes, hoping that would be a clear enough sign to him to just leave you be. You knew you had no reason to be angry at him nor at Rebecca, but it was the easiest way to get your frustration out. And Ted himself knew that what had happened that morning wasn’t truly directed at him, that you weren’t actually mad at him. So, as he walked by, he offered you a kind smile, one that said I’m sorry. But you just couldn’t bring yourself to reply.

Beard, on the other hand, laid a hand on your shoulder as he walked by, giving it a quick squeeze, before going to take his place at his desk. Somehow, somewhere down the line, Beard had become a sort of father figure for you, the type of bond that you can only share with certain people: the quiet looks, the silent nods, quick side hugs, hands on the shoulder or the arm as a reassuring sign. And you actually loved this subtle relationship that you two had. Most people would think that neither of you wanted to have nothing to do with the other, but that was far from the truth. You had bonded over your shared passion for reading, even though you mainly read narrative books, while he generally went for autobiographies and inspirational books. However, what truly brought you closer was the fact that, despite being half his age and being born in a different country, having grown up to different music and films, you were still able to understand 80% of his pop references, and more importantly, were always asking him curiously to explain the remaining 20%.

You gave him a quick smile, before turning around and meeting Nate’s gaze. “Moved in for the day?” He asked with his newly found confidence.

A quick nod. “Yep.” You replied, popping the p.

“Still thinking about renovating this place?” He asked jokingly.

“Always.” Your subtle smile told him that, as much as you enjoyed talking with him, that wasn’t the best moment for you.

“D’you want me to go and get Sam for you?” He asked, already making his way towards the door. “I promise I’ll be discreet.” He smiled a kind and comforting smile. You nodded as the memory of him walking in on you and Jamie in the boot room came resurfaced in your head. How is this the same person you wondered.

A few moments later, Sam walked into the office, already changed in his normal clothes. “We’re going for kebabs.” He told you, the invitation implicit in the way he spoke the words.

You didn’t say anything. You just stood up and grabbed your bag, before following him into the corridor. Isaac, Colin, Dani, and a few others were standing right outside the door, almost creating a sort of barrier between the exit and the door to the changing room. You looked at them, a soft smile forming on your lips. But in your head, all you could hear was you brain telling you stop being so dramatic, he’s just a boy. And you knew your head was right, but your heart still ached at the idea of seeing him back.

You eventually started walking down the corridor, linking arms with Sam on one side, Colin on the other, as Richard told everyone that one day you all had to allow him to take you to this new French winery that had just opened in Chelsea. A night on the town, he said with his strong French cadence, it would be fun! And you rejoiced in seeing him so passionate about something. You had grown to love seeing the team being truly happy about things, about life. A nostalgic feeling, maybe, because it reminded you about how excited you used to get when Jamie used to make reservations for the two of you at those posh little restaurants that you would have only been able to admire from outside where it not for him. Let me spoil you, babe, he used to say. You missed that, the thrill, the enthusiasm, the looking forward to those kinds of things. But you pushed the thought aside, focusing on what the conversation had just moved to.

You had almost made it out the door, when a voice echoed down the corridor, bouncing off the walls until it reached your ears. “Y/N!” You would be able to recognise that thick Mancunian accent everywhere. You looked slowly at the men in front of you as you took a deep breath, gathering all of your strength, Then, you turned around, finally meeting his eyes. Oh, how you had dreaded that moment. You had imagined it several times in the private of your own house. The doorbell would ring, and you would go open the door. He would be standing outside, hood on his head, his hair – which were now longer – falling in front of his face, in an attempt to cover his puffy red eyes. It was all a mistake, he would say, almost choking on his words. I shouldn’t’ve left. I should’ve never broken up with you. You’re the love of me life. You would stay silent, letting him do the talking. He would tell you how miserable life was without you. He would tell you that, without you, life was pointless, all black and white. And when he would eventually look at you, his eyes would be filled with tears. And you would drag him in, grabbing him by the collar of his hoodie and pulling him to you, kissing him so passionately that he would need to press you against the wall to hold you up. You would kiss, you would make love, and then, naked in your bed, you would talk, for hours. But that wasn’t real life. That only happened in rom-coms. Real life was there, in front of you. And he wasn’t wearing his hoodie, he didn’t have puffy eyes. He looked fine.

You said nothing. You looked at him, you held his gaze, but said nothing. “Hey.” He said softly, in a warm familiar tone that, with the gentle smile he offered you, immediately brought back that burning sensation in the pit of your stomach. You could feel your heart beating, thumping in your ears. You nodded in return, the word stuck in your throat. You said nothing. “Can we talk?” He asked, hope plain on his face. You had almost forgotten that kind voice he usually used when talking with you, when he knew you were feeling uncomfortable, restless, nervous, when he could tell that something was disturbing you, and he wanted to make you feel better.

A part of you wanted to just run to him, immediately melting in his embrace, as he pressed his lips against your forehead. You wanted him to comfort you, to hold you, to rock you, as you finally took in his smell, one that you had loved so much, but had now forgotten. But another part, the sad part, the disappointed one, the one that couldn’t seem to forget how he had treated you in the last few days of your relationship, the words he had used, the coldness, that part stopped you from doing anything. So, you didn’t move. You stood there, surrounded by the people that had actually been there for you. “No, I’m sorry.” You replied flatly.

“I just-” He started to speak, and deep down in your heart you wanted him to talk, to say what was on his mind. You wanted to know if he was sad, if he regretted it.

But Isaac cut him off, putting himself between you and him. “She said no.”

You watched as his expression changed, as the hope on his face was slowly replaced by pain. “I understand.” He said. “I respect that.” You knew him well enough to notice the shift in his voice, the watery words that slowly left his lips. “Another time, maybe.” He added, his eyes lingering on your figure for a few moments, before turning around.

You stood there, frozen in the middle of the corridor, biting the inside of your cheek, as you watched his shoulders drop with disappointment. You had never seen him like that, and it hurt you. For a moment you thought of saying something, of calling him back, but as you tried to find the right words, his sulking figure turned right and retreated into the changing room.

Your eyes remained fixed on where his figure was a few moments before disappearing. As guilt and grief washed over you like a tidal wave, you almost forgot about the people next to you.

“That was very brave.” Sam’s voice brought you back to reality. You nodded still unable to look away, still hoping he would come back out.

“Sì!” Dani agreed. “Muy valiente!” and you could tell he was actually proud of you. They all were. In their heads, you had handled it greatly. But you hadn’t. And you hated the sensation it left in you.

Eventually, you all made your way outside, deciding to walk to the kebab place instead of driving. Fresh air is good for us, Jan Maas stated in his Dutch manner. But you knew that it was all a ruse, a way to get your head off what had just happened. They were all terrible liars.

As you got to the place, you settled in a booth, adding a few chairs so that you could all eat together at the same table. The boys immediately slipped into their usual topics for whenever they were out eating: the upcoming match; the last episode of that new action tv show that they had decided to watch together; making plans to go to the movies to watch the new Bond movie – planes that were never met due to matches and practice; someone’s latest match on Bantr; where to have the next family dinner – that was how they called the biweekly dinner the team had together. You nodded along, but your head was someplace else. You could have let him tag along, you told yourself. He’s probably eating lunch alone. You hated the idea of having abandoned him. And as the food finally arrived at your table, you felt the hunger in your stomach being replaced by sadness.

“Aren’t you going to eat?” Isaac asked between bites, noticing you hadn’t yet touched your wrap.

You quickly glanced around the table, feeling everyone’s eyes on you. “I can’t stop thinking about him.” You whispered. “We could have invited him. It wouldn’t have hurt anyone.” You said, tears instantly pooling at the corners of your eyes. Breathing had suddenly become more difficult, and you felt trapped in the middle of the bench, stuck between Colin and Sam.

“You have to give yourself time.” Sam put down his food, turning slightly towards you. “If you feel like you-”

But you cut him off. “I’m not talking about me. I’m talking about him. About how you all took my side, which I truly appreciate. But now he has no one there.” You started rambling, saying how you felt terrible because it was your fault, because you shouldn’t have gotten them that involved.

“Listen, Y/N, we understand your point. But he mistreated us as well.” Colin stopped your train of thoughts. “Don’t know if you remember, but he called me a jaundiced worm.” You met his eyes. “None of us is going to hate him forever. Pretty sure no one actually hates him. But we’re mad at him. He disrespected us. Yes, we took your side, but it was also our own side, okay? So, stop blaming yourself because it’s not your fault.” There was a small pause. “We just want him to realise what he did wrong, an apologise would be great. But I promise, no one is going to treat him like he treated us.” His voice was sincere, which in a way lifted a weight off your chest.

Half an hour later you were all back at the clubhouse, and the boys immediately ran to the changing room. You smiled at them, before entering the coaches’ room and taking your seat at the desk you had claimed as yours for the day. Post-lunch drowsiness washing over you, you decide to wait for the team to go out to the pitch before resuming your work. You picked up your phone and immediately opened Instagram. You hated how addicted you had gotten to social media, especially since you spent most of your days on it for work. But still, you couldn’t help it. You scrolled mindlessly down your feed, leaving the occasional like on puppy pics, videos of animals and of your favourite celebrities – Harry Styles, Hozier, Phoebe Waller-Bridge. You read the usual inspirational quote from one of those pages that you always end up following after a breakup, those that always provide you with the most appropriate sentences to write down on a sticky note, which you would then put on your fridge or on your desk at work, as a reminder of some sort. “You need to fall in love with yourself first”. Bullshit, you had thought, as the pen traced the words on that square piece of yellow paper a few months prior, before putting it on the mirror in your bedroom. It was still there.

“It’s one of the greatest gifts you can give yourself to forgive. Forgive everybody.” That’s what read the latest post. Damn you, Maya Angelou, you whispered, as you wrote down the quote on a new sticky note.

You stared at the piece of paper for a while, reading the words over and over. Then, somehow, your phone was back in your hands. On the screen, a chat. At the top, the name read “J” followed by a white heart. You had thought about changing it. But you never did.

Before you knew, your fingers were already typing away.

I don’t hate you.

You hit send.

I just need a little more time.

Send.

Not even five seconds later, the word Read appeared beneath the two bubbles.

Three little dots. He’s typing.

The little dots go away. Then they reappear. Then, they’re gone once again.

You locked your phone and put it down on the desk in front of you.

You could still clearly hear the team talking in the other room. The coaches were still talking in their room. He had time. He could still reply.

You stood up from your chair. Maybe I shouldn’t have messaged him, you thought as you paced the room, glancing at your phone every now and then, wondering why he hadn’t yet replied. You could feel Ted’s eyes on you, and you knew he wanted to come to you, ask you if everything was alright. But you were glad he didn’t.

You kept pacing, your steps measing the length of the room, the distance between the two desks.

Then, a notification.

You immediately ran to your phone.

I know, and I understand. Take all the time you need.

You felt that all too familiar itchy feeling of tears pooling at the corners of your eyes.

The three little dots appeared once more. You stared at the screen.

I’ll wait for you.

A/N: once again, thank you for reading <3

[shadowkoo]

A Sweet Mistake

→ Summary: Your boyfriend texts you something rather surprising that sends you spiraling through past memories.

↠ yeosang x f.reader | 1.1k words | 18+ ↠ genre: smut, angst, meet ugly au, (there’s also a dash of fluff bc why not)

→ Prompts: #32. “I dare you.” + #48. Sometimes you question how everything could have turned out if that day had gone differently.

→ Warnings: getting dumped via text, praise, being called a good girl (bc you are duh), talking on the phone while being fingered, Yeosang is kinda depicted as an dumb asshole but you’ll forgive me (and him) by the end lol

→ Author Note: Thank you for requesting @anyamaris I hope you enjoy! Learn more about my mini requests here. As always, all likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated <3

Your phone dings, drawing your attention away from the book you’ve been devouring for the last hour. You blink several times before staring at the text you just received in total disbelief.

[ From Y♡ at 3:15 PM ]

‘I think we should break up’

A few seconds later another message pops up.

‘I’m sorry’

Your heart races as you reread both. He can’t be serious. No way. After how you spent all evening together? The fresh memory floods your mind…

- Flashback begins -

Yeosang smirks as his fingers curl inside you, bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Wait, wait!” you rush as you reach for your ringing phone, “That’s my boss's ringtone.”

“Go on, answer it.” His eyes flare, “I dare you.”

You’re not one to back down from a challenge, so you do. And at that very same moment, his lips find their way around your already sensitive clit.

“H-Hello,” you answer shakily, “Yes Ma’am, your schedule? It’s been confirmed and emailed to you. Uh-huh. Yes, okay. Will do.” You answer your boss's questions quickly and silence your moans with a hand over your mouth as she rambles on about flights for her upcoming trip.

Your breath catches in your throat as the heat grows hotter in your lower belly, you’re almost there.

Yeosang groans as your walls begin to tighten around his fingers. “God, you’re perfect,” he whispers before licking you right where you need him. “Let go for me, baby.”

“I’ll look into it and get back to you!” you rush out, quickly hanging up before she’s suspicious, and come undone onto your boyfriend's fingers and mouth, leaving behind a soft sheen of your release.

“That’s my good girl. I love you.”

- Flashback ends -

And that was just the start of the night. So what changed between then and now? He suddenly doesn’t love you anymore?

That thought sends a sharp pain directly to your chest and tears well in your eyes while you type a message back to him.

[ Sent at 3:30 PM ]

‘Why??? What’s going on?’

[ From Y♡ at 3:31 PM ]

‘I just think it’s for the best…’

‘I’ll come by your place later to pick up my things.’

So his mind is already made up. It’s a good thing that your workday is almost over. You need to go home and cry. Maybe you’ll doordash some dinner and ice cream too. You certainly deserve it.

The ride home on the train is quick, and thankfully no one pays any attention to you as tears fall silently. And before you know it, you’re staring at a box half full of things that belong to Yeosang.

Your fingers play with the bracelet around your wrist, the one he bought you for your three-month anniversary. Its charms are a sun, strawberry, and pie slice, all of which are a small reminder of the day you first met.

- Second flashback begins -

The soft spring sunshine tickles your skin as you walk to the train station in the mid-morning light. The birds are singing, flowers are blooming, and it seems like it’s going to be a good day.

You smile. Not just a good day, a great day.

All of those happy thoughts come quickly crashing down when something from above smacks onto your head, easily knocking you down to the ground.

You gasp after the sudden impact. “Ow. What the fuck?” Your fingers reach up and touch something gooey that’s now covering your hair and face. “Ew.”

“Oh my god! Are you okay?” a stranger asks, kneeling down beside you to help. “Here, I’ve got a couple of napkins in my pocket. Let me help you.”

“What is it? Why is it warm and sticky?!” you panic, not sure exactly what to do in this situation.

“It seems to be a type of dessert? A strawberry pie, perhaps?”

“You’re kidding,” you groan. “So someone decided to just throw a pie out a window? The universe hates me.”

The kind stranger laughs, “Or maybe the universe thought you could use a little more sweetness in your life?”

“Unlikely, but thanks,” you say, using one of the napkins he handed you to wipe your eyes clean. You can see better now, he’s a cute stranger - if you have to be totally honest. Of course you would meet someone attractive in a ridiculous way like this. It’s just your luck.

You lick your lips, it’s tasty at least. “What a waste of good pie.”

“I can’t believe it landed directly on your head. I watch the whole thing happen in slow motion,” he says, struggling to hold back another laugh. “I’m Yeosang. Normally I don’t laugh at pretty girls who almost get knocked out by flying desserts, so my apologies.”

“Apology accepted. I’m Y/N, normally I don’t smell like I came directly out of a strawberry bake off but here we are.”

- Second flashback ends -

And that was the beginning of it all.

Sometimes you question how everything could have turned out if that day had gone differently. For instance, if you would have been slightly late to leave for work you wouldn’t be sobbing while packing up his things right now. Which is the last thing you thought you would be doing after falling so easily for him.

But you’ve never been one to beg for someone to stay. You’ve always said, if they wanna leave, let them.

‘He’s worth fighting for.’ The voice in your head practically screams at you. ‘Don’t give up so easily.’

Your doorbell chimes, breaking your thoughts and letting you know that he’s here. He has a key, which is how he normally lets himself in, but you guess things are different now.

You take a deep breath before opening the door, not sure what to expect exactly.

“Hi,” he smiles nervously and looks down at his hands which are holding…flowers? “Can we pretend the last four hours didn’t happen? I had a momentary freak-out and realized that texting you about breaking up was a mistake.”

“What?” your brows furrow in confusion.

“I still want to be with you. It just kind of hit me earlier how much I love you and I can’t imagine you not being in my life. But everyone leaves me at some point, and to make it hurt less I thought that by breaking up with you, it would make a future difficult thing less painful in the present.”

“Well,” you ask, crossing your arms. “Did it work?”

“No, I’m an idiot.”

“That may be true, but I love you anyway.” You hug him tightly and let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding. “Next time you want to run because you’re scared, just remember that I will always love you, even when you make mistakes - like believing that I’m going to leave you.”

“Well, that’s good to know. I’m still sorry.”

“Good. You should be.”

©shadowkoo 2024. All rights reserved.

[scottsstreet]

home | Luke Hughes

summary: after a long day, being with Luke was just what you needed.

warnings: none

author note: this is my first time writing something, like ever. if you have any feedback or suggestions please let me know :)

It had been a long day.

it started with your boss giving you terrible feedback on your most recent assignment, and made you revise the whole thing. then, your coworker called out sick and you were left with all of her paperwork and emails along with your own.

you felt so pressured to get all of the work done so you didn’t stop. you were staring at your computer all day. your fingers ached from all the typing, your eyes burned, and a terrible headache had begun to form just around lunchtime.

needless to say, it was brutal.

it felt like a miracle when the day came to an end. you just wanted to get home, get in some comfy clothes and relax with luke.

as you got in your car and began your drive home, all of the stress and anxiety from the day seemed to be hitting you at once. you truly were exhausted.

once you finally arrived home, you couldn’t help but eagerly throw open the door of your shared apartment, your bag down and kick your shoes off. you let out a sigh of relief at the feeling as you do so.

upon hearing all the ratchet luke calls out to you “babe?” he says, “that you?”

“yeah, it’s me.” you shout back, slightly flinching at the pain in your head the noise caused.

luke comes out to greet you wearing a smile on his face, only for it to slightly drop after taking in your entire appearance. you looked tired. you had bags under your eyes and your hair was messy from having run your fingers through it so many times, even your clothes were wrinkly.

once he reaches you, luke brings you into a warm embrace. you immediately relax against him, your arms wrapped loosely around his waist and your head rested against his chest. he places a tender kiss on your forehead and begins to gently rub up and down your back knowing it’s something that helps relax you.

“rough day at work?” he asks,

“rough doesn’t even begin to describe it.” you mumbled back into his shirt.

“i’m sorry baby. how about we go lay down for a bit, hm? get you out of these clothes and maybe watch a movie?” he responds hoping to make you feel better.

“yeah, that sounds nice” you say just liking the idea of being with luke.

“alright, come on”

he begins to lead you back to your shared bedroom and over to the bed. he walks over to the dresser and grabs one of his old t-shirts and a pair of your pajama shorts. he then walks back over to you and helps you undress. you loved moments like these. they were intimate moments, gentle and so full of love but never anything sexual.

once you’re dressed, you both settle into the bed. luke is laying down on his back, an arm wrapped around your shoulders, his hand playing with the ends of your hair and the other drawing meaningless shapes on your back. you got comfortable as you laid directly atop of him, your head resting on his chest as you listened to his steady heart beat. you closed your eyes taking a deep breath inhaling luke’s familiar scent and placed a gentle kiss to his clothed chest.

“i love you” he whispered, just as he thought you were drifting off.

“i love you too” you whisper back, not wanting to miss an opportunity to tell luke how much you loved and appreciated him.

“i love you more,” he challenged you.

“i love you most,” you say with certainty in your voice.

luke just chuckled softly at you knowing he wasn’t going to win this battle. he kissed your head one last time before drifting off himself.

[magicalrocketships]

hi! are you planning to write more of de-aged max bc he is just so cute it’s giving me a heart attack. saw a tiktok the other day w photos of baby max and all i could think about was this verse!!!!! ahhh lysm

Thank you!!! Here is a little bit more, in honour of grown up Max's adventures with colouring in.

(Hopefully this link shows the stuff I’ve already posted in chronological order. But anyway, this bit follows directly on from this part.)

It has been five full days since a seven year old Max showed up at Daniel's door in too-big clothes and holding out a little card with Daniel's name carefully printed on it in grown up Max's blocky handwriting. Baby Max shows no signs of going big again. He follows Daniel around his apartment, looks at his flag book, and plays with the Jimmy or Sassy cats — no further narrowing down of cat identity has occurred, due to Daniel having little to no interest in identifying cat penises, and grown up Max's complete fucking inability to put his fucking cat names on a fucking collar, or, indeed, to have informed Daniel of his Go Small plans at any point in the past three fucking years, but that's fine, Daniel is fine with this responsibility. Max has wet the bed every night and Daniel is just having to cross his fingers that he's not making everything worse by each and every decision he makes.

Anyway: if grown up Max doesn't show up again extremely soon, Daniel's going to have to bite the bullet and call Christian and tell him Max isn't going to be able to race. Max will hate that when he's back, if Daniel brakes too soon and makes the call, and more than that, it's going to turn baby Max into a Thing, and if there's one thing Daniel has learned in the last five days, it's that Max one hundred percent does not want to be a thing of any kind.

So, it's time for Emergency Measures. Maybe what will kickstart baby Max back into adulthood in time for his next race will be a race track, and go-karting. Daniel takes advantage of Max being distracted by his coloured pencils in the living room to google nearby karting tracks, and sends the nearest one a message to see if he could book out the whole track for a private session. The answer comes back with an immediate yes, which is probably in some part due to the figure Daniel had dropped in his message about how much he's willing to pay for the privilege.

He leans against the doorframe into the living room. Max is concentrating very closely on his colouring book, his coloured pencils all out on the coffee table. A little something in Daniel's chest shifts a bit.

"Maxy-Max," Daniel says, half way through his email response to the karting track. "Would you like to go karting tomorrow?"

There is a pause. "No, thank you, Daniel." Max does not look up from his colouring book, nor does he stop colouring.

Daniel also pauses. Max's little fingers hold onto his pencil tighter. He's pressing down hard on the picture.

"Okay," Daniel says. "Would you like to go another day, if we don't go tomorrow?"

"No, thank you, Daniel," Max says again. He still doesn't look up. His pencil might tear through the paper soon.

Daniel's been reading up on Going Small. Well, googling randomly when he can't sleep. Most people tend to think about Going Small as a way of connecting with your kid self, like… remembering who you once were in case maybe you wanted to stop being such a cunt or that you always wanted to sew clothes or build bridges and maybe your hedge fund job isn't as fulfilling as you maybe thought it was. Some people say it's as much for the people around you as it is about you, but whatever. Daniel had had a great fucking time in the pit lane six years ago, he remembers that much, although the detail has always been fuzzy. Like it happened a very long time ago. But there's another school of thought, one about the kids that don't age back up after a day or a couple of days, the kids who maybe lost a part of their childhood the first time around. Daniel's never met anyone who stayed small longer than a couple of days though, and it's so rare that the theory could be complete bollocks, and no one would ever know anyway. You can't battle data against the universe, it's not like race strategy. There's no science to it.

Max continues not to look at him. He's colouring the same line over and over again.

Daniel closes his email app, and slips his phone into his pocket. "Can I come and colour with you?"

Max nods, but doesn't look up. His fingertips are white around his pencil. He's used it down to the nub so that it's almost too blunt to colour with.

Daniel tries to sit down on Max's right side, but Max shakes his head and makes him come and sit on his left. Daniel positions himself cross-legged by the coffee table and it becomes clear just why Max wanted him this side when, a moment later, Max's little hand slips into Daniel's bigger one. Daniel does not now have a hand to colour with, but maybe it doesn't matter, because Max is colouring with enough concentration for the two of them, a big picture of a train with a cat sitting in the window next to the driver. He's being very careful. He still doesn't look up.

One of the Jimmy or Sassys wanders over to curl up by Max's little Pikachu-socked foot. The other one, the one who doesn't like being petted as much and prefers to watch you in a creepy and furry way while you're doing perfectly normal things sitting on the toilet or in the shower, perches on top of Daniel's shelves and stares at them.

Max's grip on his pencil loosens a little. Daniel leans over and kisses the top of his head. "You're very good at colouring," he tells Max. "We can cut out ones you've finished and put them up on the wall, if you'd like."

Max looks at him then, his eyes big and wide. "My pictures?"

"Your pictures," Daniel agrees. He reaches for the Pikachu pencil sharpener in the middle of the table. "Can I sharpen your pencil for you?"

Max dutifully hands him his blue pencil. His eyes are still shining, even though Daniel's had to stop holding his hand so that he can sharpen it for him. When he hands it back, all sharp, Max tucks his hand into Daniel's again.

"You've done some good colouring in of this train," Daniel says. "Have you been on a train, Maxy-Max?"

Max shakes his head.

"Would you like to go on one?"

Max's eyes widen. "A train?"

"Yeah," Daniel nods. "If you'd like, we can go and find a train to go on tomorrow. If you want to. We can take Pikachu."

"But not the Jimmy or Sassys," Max says, frowning. "They would not like the train and they might get lost."

"No," Daniel agrees. "The Jimmy or Sassy cats can stay here."

"There is a cat in my train picture but it is not our cats."

"No," Daniel says. "So, should we go on a train tomorrow?"

"Yes, please, Daniel," Max says, in satisfaction.

Daniel watches him colour even as he's avoiding texting Christian to let him know Max has gone small and isn't getting big again. He follows up on his avoidance by ordering a night light for Max's bedroom and one for the bathroom, in case his little boy is frightened of the dark and is too scared to say. He pays extra for same-day delivery.

He'll call Christian later, when Max is in bed. Instead, he googles train stations, and train timetables, and puts together a plan for the morning.

Max keeps his hand tucked into Daniel's, carries on colouring, and doesn't let go.

Thank you so much to Zoe @flawlessassholes for giving this a pre-post read through, and for consistently being interested in all baby Max lore!

[prof-peach]

ADOPTABLES NOW LOOKING FOR A HOME £25 (British Pound) per mon, Paypal only, First come first serve, DM to proceed with a paypal email for the invoice should you be interested.

BULBASAUR ------------------------- SOLD ARON --------------------------------- SOLD SKITTYxGLAMEOW -----------------SOLD CACNEA ----------------------------- SOLD

(evolutions for tany adoptables are avaiable at additional costs should people want that. DM for information.)

------------------------------Bio's below-------------------------------

It is a rainy day on Dotaku, most shelter under awnings and sit watching the weather from cosy positions in cafes, frequenting the arcade by the docks, and wandering the greenhouses to dodge getting wet. You however have found your way out to a pitched marque with a handful of pokemon inside, one somewhat gloomy looking member of staff with them handing out treats. The staff member wears a zip up Dōtaku green jacket, only noticing you after a moment, a middle aged man with a rounded shape and kind eyes, one thick moustache hiding his top lip but yuo can tell he smiles.

"Come to make a new friend today? We''ve still got two trouble makers searching for the right match, maybe one would suit you. Would you like me to tell you a little about them?"

You nod, eyeing the four, two of which ocming more forward with looks of intruigue.

You're not unfamilair with bulbasaur, this one however looks very unusual, its bulb is no bulb at all, complexion far lighter, with the brightest eyes watching you. "This little lady was hatched right here on Dotaku, but she lacked what give bulbasaur their energy, not having been hatched with the seed that grows to be the typical heafty bulb on their backs. It wasnt an issue, happens from time to time, and so the Professor planted one within them, and put them in recovery. We had a freak power cut and the containment unit that had her in it was breached by Morelull spores. They took hold in the fresh surgery area,and when her bulb started to grow, it came out like this. Peach has checked her over a hundred times, and she shows no adverse issues other than being less tolerant of direct sun, and a little more active towards the end of the day and night time. She's jolly, sweet and curious, but quite young, so she can be a little naive about things. She shows a lot of talent with spore attacks, but struggles with more phyical moves. In time she may prove a very functional contest pokemon should she like that lifestyle." Moving along the line, more at the back chewing on a rather destroyed toy is an Aron with darker metal than normal, and more spikes than youre use to seeing.

"He was brought in with several dents, and substantial damage, this little bruiser despite being sick at the time was picking fights with things ten times his size. The dents were buffed out where possible, he shed chunks of his shell, and regrew in tough as ever with time. None of his damage was long lasting, and when asked wether he wished to return home, he decided travel was a better choice for him, seeing many visitors battling at the island inspired him I suppose. They do very well with steel tying and struggle with their usual rock moves, so we'd advise against pushing them down that route if they're not comfortable doing so. He has a fondness for Sour foods and likes a lot of pampering, though he may seem bashful about this at the start. Buffing their shell up so it shines will bring out a very pleasent disposition in this critter, so we advise you keep a cleaning set on hand for those days when its rainy or theres a lot of fights ahead. He mixes well with others, but can be a bully to weaker constitution mons, so keep an eye on them. We nicknamed him ‘Chunky' but he has no real affinity for the name, so feel free to discuss a pick a new one."

Next along, sitting directly in the centre of the table, so you couldnt possibly miss it, a curly tailed feline looking pokemon.

"This ones Belladonna, a real diva. Her old owner spoilt her rotten, and her behaviour got out of hand because of it. She's since been retrained and the naughty personality traits have been reeled in to a more managable level. She has become well behaved with other pokemon, socilising shouldn't be an issue now, she shows a great enjoyment of walks, but will not roughhouse, soexercise with her should be very heavily based around play and games more than battling. She loves a brush, loves to be doted on, and may weaponise her cute apperance, so dont let her get the better of you, clear systems and rules in place with reward when followed is key to her not taking full advantage of you. She has a good heart, just takes a little while for her to warm up to you."

The final one in the line is a cacnea that looks like its been stretched in a taffy puller, who sits with its little legs swinging off a crate.

"And finally that little man is perfectly healthy, happy, and otherwise well adjusted. He was brought in because someone thought there was something wrong with him, there isnt, he's just tall. His variant type has been seen working in tandem with ranchers in hotter climates to manage pokemon herds, their evolutions can see all around for a fair distance, and srve as rgeat guards, towering over their normal counterparts. He's got a real level head on him, and should grow to be a fantastic friend. He loves spicy foods, and tends to put others before himself alot, so make sure to give them dedicated time and space to maintain their health and happiness."

[saladmix]

can we discuss totmnt? we get a bit more insight into them as characters which is great! i like that donnie & mikey got a bunch more moments to shine! also! leo saying hes nothing without his brothers, raph's insecurities being touched on with the whole "your bros are in danger because *you* couldn't protect them and aren't strong enough" DUDE its the best. i like how this show added some aspects of their rise versions in that way & i enjoy it bc i liked how they were represented there. leo being anxious & insecure as his role of leader, raph's tough/aggressive veneer bc he feels like its his job to be the protector. + those little chunks of info we got from their character descriptions where they say raph is sensitive and "wants someone to talk to." more realistic & less one note for them!

ugh YES! we sure can it's all I want to talk about anyway I sit at my little corporate job answering my little corporate emails but inside I am like DO YOU PEOPLE KNOW ABOUT TEENAGE MUTANT NINJA TURTLES.

Anyway, that's embarrassing! Thoughts below the cut so I don't clog up a dash with spoilers and rambles <3

I'm going to address these in (as Jenny Nicholson says) an internet-friendly numbered list! And also adding that these are just my opinions, as I am but a nobody on a rock floating through space.

Also these thoughts are SO HALF BAKED this is like stream of consciousness if you ask me what I said here I may not remember I'm just living a turtle life.

Leo saying he's nothing without his brothers ugh you are so right that was such good content! This strikes me as such a core Leo trait, maybe not shared across iterations in 100% the same way but I really do see that sentiment under the surface frequently. I found it so charming that in Leo's little re-telling of what happened with Bishop and the ambush, he basically made all of his brother's seem like these useless side fools, bolstering up his own role (even lying and saying he was the one to check out the hologram), but then we quickly see that he doesn't at all feel that way. In fact he feels the opposite, and it just felt like such a young growing teen thing to do, try to make yourself the hero. It's also my personal interpretation of why specifically this version of Leo wants to be a leader so badly! He's not the muscle, he's not the brains, he's not the charm. So what is he? He has to find a way to make himself feel important when he feels like maybe he has no other stand out qualities to contribute. But I also happen to think it's the right role for him! He shows his bravery again and again, and his ability to put together a plan, when other people are in need. He can't seem to muster that same courage for himself yet, that's part of his growth, but for the people he loves he comes out in front. I think TotTMNT did a great job with that aspect. <3

Raph! Raphael! What a lad! I really latched onto Raph in this iteration more than I have in previous ones, I really enjoy how he's written. I've always found Raph's anger across iterations to actually really make sense. Of course he's angry, he's a mutant turtle living in the sewers with no real sense of place in this world and no way to interact directly with it! And Rise Raph, while not displaying that direct explosive rage that Raph is known for, kind of showcases it in the stress and responsibility he feels for his family. Anyway, all this is to say we get both of those aspects here in this version along with the flavoring of what appears to me as some real teenage excitement for a little bit of chaos. And that scene was extremely telling I super agree with you!! I mean Raph sees all of his brothers as little shaking chihuahuas, particularly Leo which was VERY charming to me. He definitely sees himself as the protector, but even more, honestly, I think they do to. I mean Leo basically assumes Raph can handle four mechazoids on his own, he's got a lot of faith in his brother's ability to be that brick wall for them. And even though Leo is still the oldest, I do feel like they brought some Rise Raph energy to his character with how responsible he feels. Typically we see Leo as the character who is two seconds away from blowing his top off with all he takes on, but I see that a lot in Raph here too.

Donnie's interpretation of the ambush actually made me so so sad. Like it was basically how he thinks his family views him, as the one who has to save the day but gets no respect of it and doesn't have the tools to do it. He thinks they view him as this megamind that should be able to handle it because what else is he good for? All the others had flashback sequences that kind of center them as a hero, and while Donnie's did have him the last one standing, it didn't have that same kind of vibe. And in all the brother's flashbacks, we see that while they do see him as this dorky nerd, it's never said with any anger or annoyance. I'd call it more of a silly little fondness. But I think this insecurity is an important aspect of Donnie's character that we see in a lot of iterations. The big change here is that Donnie really does feel like just a kid. He's not out here ready to build high tech weaponry or distill medication. He's just a kid who is into coding! He's still learning! And I really enjoyed that. And in that second arc, we get another taste of how level-headed Donnie can be in a crisis situation, which for me tied back to how in the Mutant Mayhem movie, Leo kept looking to Donnie for help and answers. Leo is a frazzled lil man, and Donnie seems to be his source of stability. So it really did break my heart that this poor sassy and sweet boy thinks his family doesn't value him. It's a different flavor from Raph's and Leo's, both of whom have insecurities but they're mostly internal reflections. Donnie seems to feel that coming from the outside, and has twisted that into his own self-image.

Mikey is such a fun character like what a scene-stealer he's so funny in every part of this show, his VA is K I L L I N G it I find his voice acting so charming as Mikey and it brings such life to the character. But I really love how this version of Mikey is so dynamic. Mikey has always, always been a really dynamic character but I think it was a little more hidden, if you know what I mean. Rise Mikey flipped a big script and I like how this version really feels like a true combo from the rise version of Mikey to the traditional core Mikey energy, if that makes sense. I LOVE....this Mikey. He might be my favorite Mikey ever and I am a huge Mikey fan I am probably the only 2007 Mikey Super Fan out here in the world. Anyway, I love how his episodes had him forcibly shaken out of his comfort zone as lil bro. In the first arc he's suddenly in charge of a whole new mutant and Useless Man of the Year Rod. In the second arc he's got to save a whole store of people and a cat! It's A LOT of responsibility for this lil child! And he does a great job! All while expressing the whole time that he doesn't really know what he's doing, and he's afraid he's going to mess it up. It reminds me a lot of how other version of Mikey were often thought of as the weak spots by their respective families (intentionally or not). It was always Mikey the goof. TotTMNT Mikey is a HUGE goof but he's also got this energy to him that PROVES how I always felt about Mikey: I CHOOSE to be a goof, but I can and will step up if I need to! And it makes sense that he looks up to his big brother, that Leo is the one he tries to emulate in times of stress. When the going gets tough, Mikey has to get going, and Leo is his framework for how to do that.

boy was this a ramble and a half. I just had a lot of thoughts. Was any of this coherent? Jury is still out. Thank you so much for sending this in!! And listening to me ramble. I really agree that this show did a good job of bringing in a lot of different traits from different iterations it's so much fun and leads to really dynamic versions!

[leiflitter]

Hi I'm doing a research paper on antiheroes and I'm using Oliver as one example. Could you maybe tell me why he appeals to you as a character despite the murdering and the scheming etc

You come into my askbox while I sleep and make me think? First thing in the morning? BUT I SHALL ANSWER

won't make any sense probably but HEY!

I think the main reason I love Oliver is because I can see a lot of myself in him.

Cut bc this will be long af

Granted, my perspective on the character is... I spend a lot of time thinking about that idiot, so this is fully based on my interpretation of him buttttt

Okay, so the murders and scheming are firstly... Ambiguous. Elspeth is the only one we see as it happens- not in a flashback, big-twist, oh it was my evil plan all along #classwarfare #girlboss #theyhatetoseeabadbitchwinning way- and she's so far gone she's on a ventilator and just dies without it. How did she get so sick? It isn't mentioned. Honestly, as someone with long covid, she's wandering around London without a mask. LADY. YOUR LUNGS.

Everything else? The spiked bottle. The razorblades. They're shown to us at the end, this big gotcha moment... From someone who has clearly spent every moment since Felix Catton died trying desperately to gather some small piece of him.

His home is decorated like Saltburn. He's immediately trying to get back in. The moth battering itself against the window.

Whether or not Oliver Quick is an evil, scheming murderer is entirely down to your interpretation of that reveal montage. Mad props to Emerald for that.

My interpretation of it is... Not to say he's innocent, but that he's a sad, sad man grasping at straws to give himself more agency. He's spent years dwelling on and analysing the worst time of his life, and as a good Eng Lit student (dude was doing essays on Browning) he's turned it into a narrative.

If we stop suspending disbelief, then we have:

Felix

Oliver put some cocaine in a bottle (as evidenced by Oliver having the same sort of vial Farleigh has in the main hall). Oliver drank some. Felix drank some. He threw up, Felix died.

I have probably said this before, but Felix's death cannot be directly attributed to Oliver's actions.

Felix was in the bathroom, and although we don't see him doing lines, he's not just hanging out there for funzies. He's going hard, probably mixing drugs and booze. He's so off his tits that he doesn't notice how bad/bitter the booze Oliver gives him tastes. Plus there's a reason people snort cocaine; it's efficacy is highly reduced when eaten, and it takes far longer to reach the brain. How long would Felix have just stood in the maze? Waiting there like a sim with no activities queued until he keeled over?

It's likely that Felix overdosed, but it's really unlikely that Oliver was the sole cause, if he was the cause at all.

Venetia

He left razorblades near her. That's literally all we see. From Oliver as a character, I don't think he has the guts to actually, directly kill- and it wouldn't make sense to. He'd be found out immediately if he did- any sign of violence and the Cattons would have private investigators and all sorts at their disposal. He was in the next room. It'd be open and shut. I do think, from the blood on the floor, that she tried to go to his room for help and he ignored her- but!

Leaving something sharp near someone in distress is another shitty scheme. What was he going to do if she didn't notice them? What if she knocked them off the side of the tub accidentally? Was he going to leave her a post-it note like HI V PLS KYS LUV OLLIE to make sure she noticed them?

Another thing that often is kinda... Glossed over... Is that Oliver is a fuckin teenager, and he isn't as smart as he portrays himself.

Olls. Why would you fool about with Felix's sister in plain view of the house? Ollie. What exactly did you expect one email to do? Erase Farleigh from existence? Oliver. Mate. You left your phone in the bathroom? Where Felix "no boundaries" Catton could find it? Why? Did you need to play Snake in the bath THAT BADLY? Oliver. Why would you lie about something so easily disprovable? Oliver Quick, you started digging a hole and it became Felix's fucking grave.

Older Oliver has turned what happened into a narrative where He Has Agency. He did it, and he did it on purpose, because HE WASN'T IN LOVE WITH FELIX (he was in love with Felix). He had a plan, you see, it wasn’t him being desperate and trying anything, everything he could to stay close to Felix.

He wasn’t a weird, awkward teenager who went away from home, fell in love with someone entirely unobtainable- due to socioeconomic bracket, gender, the year, all of that- and was so desperate to be near Felix that he built an unsustainable web of lies that fell apart. I think the maze scene is Oliver at his most honest, because he doesn't understand why his performance is any different, other than the amount of effort he's put in.

No, he was evil. A bad guy. A wolf in sheep's clothing, Felix his innocent victim. He's a genius... Because what is the alternative for Oliver Quick?

Admit that he was little more than a child, lashing out, unable to accept his own feelings- as he's unable to accept them as an adult- and now...

The immutable fact is that Felix died, and Oliver will never be over it.

What's the safer option?

I was a mess and I might be responsible for this and I was lashing out and I might have killed the thing I loved most because I fucked it all up.

or

I did it all on purpose.

And... To bring this back to the question.

I have been Oliver Quick in the bit before the bike scene. I've watched people I'd like to be friends with, living a life I was too shy or scared to go after. I can remember desperately wanting to be cool, to have a backstory, to be compelling...

I just never got desperate enough to lie. And I'm doing pretty good now, but I fucking get it. To want that connection so badly, to yearn for the life you see other people living, to want to be someone other than yourself.

So y'know

That's why I love him.