writers will be like "here's my current wip! can't wait to share more :)" and then you never hear about it again
ok clearly this post is causing more trouble than it’s worth so reblogs are off again. also to clarify I Am A Writer and this was a lighthearted, self directed post so !!! we can all stop getting mad at each other in the notes
whoever posted that gif of mike turning around when will says "what about us?" thank you i will be unable to do anything productive for the rest of the day.
it's just the sequence of
"well what about us?"
"what?"
"what you're mad that i didn't talk to you? seems like you made it super clear you don't care about anything i have to say."
"that's just not true!"
knowing that mike did call, all the time, and he thought will was the one who didn't care what he had to say.
and on top of that finn just being brilliant like look at his face right when he processes will saying, "what about us?" (sorry for the very low qual 😖)
like he just looks so !!! he felt that in his heart bro. this is the conversation he's been wanting to have. what about us? oh my god i am unwell. cuz when he responds he very quickly puts back on his facade and his expression hardens when he says, "what?"
everyone shut up right now. he is down bad and knows it and these tiny moments reveal everything UGH
Henry getting agitated at you during class because you purposefully challenge him, you are academic rivals after all. And him taking it out on you after everyone leaves…
-sun
winding him up for the sole fun of it during class would be such a thrill. constantly challenging and refuting his claims, piping up and perhaps even speaking over him, adding information he forwent... it would set him the hell off.
of course, he wouldn't exactly portray it; you, however, would notice how increasingly tense he'd become, how firmly his hand would close around his pen, how he would need to draw longer and deeper breaths. the agitation would be encrypted in his every gesture, so tense and stiff and thereby obscuring pure anger. it would allure you greatly — mostly because, due to your previously established rather debaucherously-shaded affinity, it would pay off in more ways than one: you would not only prove your intelligence to both him and everyone else present, but also have him generating so much resentful tension that he would have no other choice than to unleash it all on you somehow.
the precise moment class would end, henry would rise into the air rather stiffly, clear his throat and gather his things. then, across the classroom, he would lowly call out to you and say, calmly and diplomatically, "about the last issue you raised — follow me into the library and i will present you with a volume or two that pretty much solidifies my point." at first, you'd even buy into the potential scenario. having drawn your polite goodbyes to the rest of the greek class, who'd claim to be entirely exhausted and announce the desire to retire to someplace other than the library (preferably somewhere with a liquor license), you would let yourself be led down the hampden hallways by a silent, overly tense henry.
on your way there, however, he drags you into the first janitor's closet the two of you walk past. all of your belongings are at once discarded on the floor, and henry's much larger palms restrain you in every way he can — keeping your arms pinned to your sides, gradually pulling them upward and crossing them above your head. his lips would immediately be pressed to yours, as would his towering frame, and you'd merely melt into the curve of his body. a grin would play on your face, mischievous and triumphant — you will have gotten what you wanted.
upon his drawing back for air, you'd quip, "this isn't the library." in response, he would say, bittered greatly, "and this isn't how i appreciate being talked to." whether or not you'd apologize depends on your playfulness, but in either case, it wouldn't make that great of a difference — he would have your face pressed against the cool wall and thrusting into you roughly and punitively some two minutes later in either case. with your hair bouncing in your field of vision, his hand would be cupped around your mouth due to your increasingly bratty urge to make as much noise as possible on purpose.
he would be incredibly agitated with your behavior, marking the fact thereof known via spanking you from behind and feeding you a wholly penal, relentless pace. you'd flutter around his length, dripping on him and down your thighs, which he would only deride you for and forbid you to clean up after you're done — he'd simply pull your tights back over the mess and fold your skirt back over the supple curve of your backside, and drag you back out of the room. from there on, you'd proceed down the hallway with a barely perceptible, yet painful limp.
and yes, he'd still take you to the library afterward to prove his goddamn point. with the evidence of his orgasm still scorching and novel between your thighs and inside you, however, you would find very few reasons to pay exceeding mind — instead, your head would be occupied with various ways to pay him back.