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h-didanart · 24 days

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I MADE IT

CHARACTER REF SHEETS

FINALLY I CAN SHARE THESE GUYS PROPERLY

*ahem* Hello fellow fans and au makers! I am here to showcase my silly little au. Allow me to introduce you to our main characters:

These are Sunset and Moonlight, from The Sunset and Moonlight show! Close ups and info dump below

Where to start where to start, okay, a general description of the AU should be good to start with yeah? Yeah

This is a swap au, but unlike what I usually see swap AUs do, this is less of a full personality swap and more of a ‘bend the characters to a point where they change roles’ thing.

NOW. THE CHARACTERS THEMSELVES—

Sunset Rays Celestial-

Sun is a tired and apathetic guy. He would like to be left all alone in his room for the rest of his days, but that’s not really a good thing so he’s fine just living a calm and drama-free life.

His hobbies include cleaning, painting, sewing, and gaming. The cleaning has gotten embedded into his code to a concerning degree, he will clean a spot over and over for hours if he’s having a bad day. He got into art while he was undergoing “repairs”, he found painting to be a fun activity despite its messiness, and sewing has proven to be fruitful for his wardrobe. He’s gotten so good at these that he actually gets commissions and is paid very well. He prefers to draw with pastels and markers when he can. The video games are a shared hobby with his twin brother, Moon, they both play together sometimes. His favorite game is Cult of the Lamb.

He has a malfunction of sorts where his voice box will give out randomly and he’ll be unable to talk. It’s annoying but he doesn’t really mind, he has gotten really good at sign language from it. Plus, he uses it as an excuse to avoid talking to Moon whenever he gets the chance to.

The Computer absolutely hates his guts and has sent him off to various different dimensions. He’s acquainted with quite a few people and even has friends.

He has very good aim, both in video games and physically. He usually uses it to throw something at Moon to get his attention. Or to get him to leave him alone. Or to annoy him. Or just because. This has proved to be a really bad habit.

Despite being generally apathetic, he’s actually pretty good with emotions, being able to read them well on others and act accordingly.

He also knows magic.

Crescent Moonlight Celestial-

Moon is an energetic and nervous guy. He wants nothing more than to live happily with his brother. And do science, he’s a nerd.

His hobbies include science and gaming. On the side of science he specializes on robotics, programming, and inter dimensional studies, with some advanced physics as well. He’s a genius, basically. Gaming is a shared hobby between him and his twin brother, they both play together sometimes. He seems to have taken a liking to the Kingdom Hearts series, but Pokémon will forever have his heart.

The killing code is very much still in him, it manifests as heat on the back of his head and irritability. During a full kill code episode he’ll be extremely aggressive, on top of having increased physical capabilities and virtually no filter. He dreads having those and constantly checks his temperature. Independent from the kill code he has a bad temper.

He isn’t exactly a ‘people’s person’ yet due to having been the active Daycare Attendant for a few months he has grown acquainted with a few of the Pizzaplex animatronics. Montgomery took a liking to him. Because money.

Because of reasons he has a lot of bunkers on a lot of different parts of the world. He remembers them all thanks to the collection of tree branches he has picked up when he visited. These are jokingly called The Whacking Sticks (and is a genuine joke, he just likes collecting sticks)

He wanted to learn emotions better so he decided to find the code that controls emotions in himself and turned it on all the way. He’s starting to realize this wasn’t a good idea.

A master acrobat, he loves flying with the wire.

In case it wasn’t clear yet, Sun and Moon switch places in this au. Things may change, and I may come up with funny details later, but I hope you had fun reading this little introduction to my au

More stuff about them to come at some point!

#sun and moon show #tsams #the sun and moon show #sams #sams au #sams swap au #swap au #The Sunset and Moonlight Show #sams sun #sams moon #character reference #things may change but this is the general stuff #Go read the fic (please)#(The first chapter is kinda bad but it’s a cool au I swear—)#Sunset’s an asshole by the way I hope I made that clear #Tune in next time #for more character reference sheets #Hopefully Clipsy and Lunar Eclipse’s #Or maybe one of the Bloodmoons idk

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bruisedboys · 1 year

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hey, congrats!! totally deserved AND your celly theme is super cute!! So so so sorry this is super long

SPIDERHEAD, drabbles ─── send in a thought/headcanon you have about a character and I’ll expand on it in a drabble!

This is totally self indulgent but!! Hobie is such a craft guy. It’s totally punk, obviously, DIY that shit!! He maybe won’t call them dates out loud, because labels or something, but he invites you on crafting dates, he’s got boxes of materials and trinkets—beads, buttons, bottle caps, sewing supplies, glue, you name it. Crafting dates are the greatest because making things with/for people you really like can be so intimate

I’ve also been spending my last few days making pins, and tonight, I accidentally sliced my fingertips with an exacto—I think Hobie’s crafting supplies and his suspiciously well-stocked first aid supplies are near eachother for convenience when crafting and totally not because he has a super secret spider-man alter ego

no because ur so right anon

hobie brown is such a crafty guy!!!! you would think he thinks it’s lame and nerdy cos he’s such a cool guy but honestly he thinks it’s totally punk. he for sure is always cutting up his clothes, adding pins to them, making them look better and more unique because why would you want to dress the same as everyone else? he has a bunch of unfinished projects around his place, a vest he was adding patches to or a pair of jeans he was drawing spiderwebs all over in permanent marker but never got round to finishing. sometimes he’ll buy something just for the sake of cutting it up and ruining it (aka, making it better).

when he finds out you’re into crafts too — maybe he compliments a piece of jewellery you’re wearing and you beam, all thanks!! I made it!!! — hobie is immediately smitten. he’s like woah! that’s sick, can you teach me? (cos he’s totally smooth like that. he’s been watching you from across the pub all night and this is the perfect excuse for a ‘date’), and of course you say yes — if a pretty boy like hobie is asking to spend time with you you’re not gonna deny him.

you end up going to his place, and you bring some of your own supplies of course, but he surprisingly already has so. much. stuff. beads and wire, buttons and string, scraps of fabric, a janky old sewing machine that was probably second-hand but it does the job!! you teach him how to make earrings and you both end up making a whole bunch of them and then when you’re done he gives you his favourite pair, claiming pretty jewellery needs a pretty face to go with it :))

after that, craft dates become a regular thing with you and him. you make all sorts of things together, taking turns teaching each other the skills you already have. or sometimes you’ll be doing your own separate projects but in the same room, hobie’s music playing in the corner while he works on a pair of patchwork jeans and you work on a crochet top. after a few of these ‘dates’, hobie asks you out with a handmade necklace that holds one of his guitar picks on the chain. of course you say yes and keep the necklace forever and ever!!!!

also yes he absolutely has a first aid kit on hand. not so much for himself, usually when he cuts himself or pokes himself with a sewing needle he’ll just let it bleed lmao. but once you start coming over more he’ll make sure it’s always fully stocked. and when you hurt yourself, even if it’s just a tiny paper cut or something, he’ll dote on you, kiss it better, and wrap it in a spiderman bandaid <3

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firstemcee · 5 months

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“Nah, It’s all good.”

Veneer x Male!Hip-Hop/Rap artist!Reader (can be read as female or gn, i jus feel like they’re male leaning. uses amab pronouns.)

Part 1(you’re here)—Part 2—

Warnings: just cursing, as far as I know. Reader is written to talk like how I do, which might be a bit confusing to some. No use of y/n.

wc: 799

Summary: Finally getting your first vinyl on the shelves of the record shop that was practically your whole childhood was a huge accomplishment. That accomplishment also came with the well known pop-star coming to get one signed!

THIS IS ALSO MY FIRST FANFIC!! This part is gonna focus more on reader, the second will focus more on Veneer.

thank you @nym-blogs and @miralunawritez for helping me and giving me tips!!! I owe y’all, seriously 🙏🏽

“I can’t be happier my record’s being sold here, man. Really, i’m honored.” You smiled, giving the owner of the small record shop a subtle nod as you spoke with genuine happiness in your tone.

This record shop had been around since you were just a kid, and now you’ve got your first record on the shelves…here. It was just perfect.

The owner gave a small nod in return with a smile, going back to…whatever he was working on.

Award Tour (feat. Trugoy the Dove) - A Tribe Called Quest (I’d say listen to it just for vibes, but you don’t gotta) played quietly in your wired headphones, causing you to slightly nod your head to the beat as you made your way through the isles full of records in search of your own.

You never thought you’d end up here. Doing rap battles in middle school, messing around with different beats in your parent’s basement. Now you’ve finally made a name for yourself.

It brought a huge smile to your face, really. Like a kid getting just what they asked for on christmas, it was perf-

“Oh- I’m so sorry.” A guy spoke softly with hands raised in defense before you after bumping into you. You recognized this guy, who was it again…?

“Nah, it’s all good.” You spoke with a smile and a slight nod to the person who you had finally identified as the overnight pop-star, Veneer. “Nice to see you here.” You murmured, not wanting to cause too much disruption to him. You figured he was used to being interrupted when out, so you wouldn’t give him the whole: ‘Oh my godd, you’re that famous guy!! What’re you doing here—‘

Once you had finally made your way to your record, you gently picked one of them up with a proud sigh and the smile of an accomplished father. You couldn’t help but admire the art, the font, the…everything. Shit, it was yours! You’d look at it all you wanted.

You weren’t gonna look at it forever, of course. You set it down and left the store for a moment to go get a drink from one of the vending machines outside of the shop, returning to the checkout area afterwards while sipping your Fanta.

“You know, some couple just bought your record. First hour and you already got a sale, man.” Your friend at the register subtly congratulated you, earning a smile back.

Sure, one sale in an hour wasn’t much. But you were trying to break out of the underground rap. Plus, it’s a small store, you convinced yourself.

Off of work for the day, you decided to pay the shop a visit…again.

And in that visit, you found yourself looking around the back rooms behind the counter curiously. Until your name was called. “Uh— Yea! Give me a minute…” You murmured informally, stumbling out of the creaky door before making eye contact with the pop-star…again.

“He wants you to sign a record.” Lenny, one of the two guys that ever worked here spoke flatly before handing you a nice pack of bold markers with a raised brow.

“It’s a few. Just for a friend.” Veneer placed three of your vinyls on the counter before you with a sheepish smile. It’s not every day that you were the one signing something for a famous person. So of course, you picked up the yellow paint marker and gave him a small thank you before staring down at the vinyl. “Shit. How does my signature go again…?”

You shook your head to dismiss your thoughts and signed all three in yellow, brows furrowed for a moment as you smoothly glided the marker along. So focused that you didn’t notice the absolute daggers Veneer was staring into you as he watched you do so.

“So, do you uh…come here often?” Veneer asks, snapping out of his small trance and clasping his hands together in front of his chest. His poor choice of small talk made you crack a smile.

“On occasion, yeah. It’s a spot I used to come to a lot as a kid, brings back good memories.” You tried to make him more comfortable, noting his nervousness.

You handed the three back after they had dried, and set the maker down. Of course you weren’t gonna charge him.

Veneer, typically caught up in his fame, never spent any time venturing into different genres of music besides his own. So when he came over to his friends house and happily handed her her birthday gift, the signed vinyls, he was incredibly curious to hear this guy’s music. He had a pretty face, it couldn’t be that bad…

“Oh. My. G- No you didn’t.” The girl’s jaw dropped as she looked over the gift, then to Veneer. Then the gift, then Veneer…before trapping him in a suffocating hug.

“Okay! okay, oh my god, you’re welcome girl—“ Veneer stammered and patted her back with a loud laugh, though desperately trying to make her let go.

When the two eventually started listening to the music, Veneer was practically entranced. It was so different from him and Velvet’s style!

It was so energetic, but still just…calm. And it conveyed so many different emotions and there were so many words—

Clearly he wasn’t used to it.

But he didn’t mind it, not at all.

Again, this is my first fanfic!! I’d appreciate any tips you guys have if i end up doing a second part. Thank you so much for reading.

under no circumstances do i accept you posting my shit on other sites. don’t.

#veneer x reader #trolls band together #velvet and veneer #trolls 3 #veneer x male reader #x reader #reader insert #male reader #gn reader #x you #veneer x reader fluff

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topguncortez · 1 year

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The Origin of Honeybee

pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Female Reader (OC: Bea Clark) word count: 3.5k warnings: angsty, smutty, language, teen pregnancy, religious trauma themes Bob & Bea Masterlist | Opposites Attract Masterlist

It was a fairy tale love story. The two high school sweethearts who were never seen apart. But, it had started before that fateful day in junior year when Bob found the bravery to ask you out officially. He knew you were going to be his from the first day you walked into his father’s 5th grade classroom. You had started the school year late, beginning in October. Your mom had taken over for a teacher who decided to quit during the school year. Mr. Floyd had introduced you to his class, and Bob couldn’t take his eyes off you.

You were mesmerizing, your eyes hidden behind a pair of blue glasses, your hair in pigtails which you had fought your mom on saying that they made you seem too little kiddish, and the most noticeable, a bright pink cast on your right arm. You had taken the only open seat, right next to Bob, by his father’s desk. You two didn’t say anything, paying attention to the math lesson his dad was teaching. It wasn’t until you went to lunch, you sat at the only empty table, opening your purple lunch box and pulling out the PB&J your dad had packed. Bob walked over to you, you looked up at him,

“Can I sit with you?” He asked shyly and you nodded. He sat across from you, opening his Superman lunch box. The two of you sat in silence for a couple moments, eating your home lunches until Bob spoke up.

“I’m Bobby,” Bob introduced himself softly.

“Beatrice, but everyone calls me Bea,” You said.

“What happened to your arm?” He asked.

“Fell off a four wheeler at my grandma’s house,” You said wiggling your fingers, “They had to put a metal rod in,”

“Are you serious?” Bob asked, his blue eyes wide.

“So serious,” You said with a smile. The two of you didn’t separate for the rest of the day, getting to know one another. At the end of the day, Bob walked over to you, he didn’t say anything but held up a black magic marker. You nodded and held out your casted arm, and in very scribbly handwriting Bob wrote his name.

— — — 🌼🐝 🌼🐝 🌼🐝 — — —

It was from that point on, the two of you were inseparable. No one ever saw Bob without Bea, and vice versa. They had moved on from playdates after school, to begging parents and older siblings to take them to the roller rink, to sneaking sips of alcohol at Bob’s older brother Ben’s legendary bon fires. You were lucky to have someone by your side to battle that awkward first of high school, where everyone was starting to change, but they never seemed to change. The only change was that Bob’s father had died your freshman year. You sat by his side the whole time during the funeral, holding his hand and occasionally wiping a tear from his face.

“Have you been asked to homecoming?” Ben asked you, as he sat on the couch in the Floyd family basement.

You shrugged, you were shy, no one had noticed you outside of your friends. You had gotten braces over the summer, and were constantly checking the wires on your teeth in the screen of your phone. You had also started the joyous life of being a woman. Puberty had hit both you and Bob. You guys had now started to move into that awkward phase of life, where you were trying to figure out what was happening and if you found someone else attractive or if it was just the newly released hormones.

“Well since it’s your first homecoming, I’ll take you. . . and Bob.” Ben said and glared at his younger brother who was setting up his model train set.

Bob was thankful that Ben had asked you to go with both of them. It made it easier for him to suppress his feelings a little longer. The only person who he confided in about how he felt was Ben. Bob wasn’t jealous of your relationship with his brother, your and Ben’s relationship was brother-sister. You constantly butt heads but would make up with a joke or buying the other food. Ben had purposely ditched the two of you at Homecoming to dance with Megan Stevens, making you and Bob have to not only talk to each other alone, but dance with each other too.

Freshman year fall faded into the summer, and the boys were busy working on the ranch. You hardly saw the two of them unless you were helping their mother Elizabeth cook dinner, or they needed your help with something. While Bob was sweating in the sun every day, you tried out for the cheer team and made it. You had fallen in love with the varsity quarterback, Logan Brooks, and had decided to join the cheer team. You got your braces off and had figured out a good hair care routine. Your new found confidence was radiant, and the boys could see it.

Much to Bob’s dismay, you had started to slip away from him, spending more time with your new cheer friends and boyfriend. Bob had fought his shyness and stood next to his older brother in the front row of the stands during every football game. Ben knew that Bob didn’t care much about the team, but was there to watch your bright smile as you cheered along the side lines.

“I don’t even understand football,” Bob said.

“It's easy,” Ben said, explaining the game to him, but Bob absent mindedly nodded along, his eyes looking at you cheering in front of him.

“If you don’t ask Bea to prom this year, I’m gonna ask her,” Ben said, snapping Bob out of his daze.

“What? Why would you do that? And what makes you think she won’t go with Logan?” Bob said.

“Cause Logan’s eyes aren’t staring at Bea’s ass right now,” Ben said and pointed towards the quarterback, who’s eyes were looking at another girl.

Bob grimaced and frowned. He saw the way you smiled and hugged Logan’s sweaty frame as he walked off the field after winning. Bob also saw the way Logan was looking at another girl from the other team, as you talked to him about how good he did during the game.

— — — 🌼🐝 🌼🐝 🌼🐝 — — —

“I don’t even know what I did wrong?” You cried, rubbing your nose with a crumbled up Kleenex. Ben was standing in the doorway to his and Bob’s room, as you sat on Bob’s bed. Some sad song was playing on the record player and Bob was handing you more Kleenex.

Logan had started to be secretive and distant. He was constantly on his phone, hiding it from you. The nicknames and PDA had stopped, and so did most of the daily conversations between the two of you. It wasn’t until you went to deliver him some cookies for his birthday that you had spotted the white BMW in the driveway. He opened the door, shirtless and light bruises covered his abs and collar bone. He didn’t even have to say anything, but you knew. Logan had called out to you as you threw the cookie dish at his car and flipped him off walking away.

“We should go egg his house,” Ben said, “Or go all Carrie Underwood with a Louisville slugger,”

“Ben,” Bob said and shook his head no, “He’s an idiot, honeybee.” The nickname that Elizabeth had given her years ago fell so easily from Bob’s lips, “He didn’t even realize how lucky he was to have you,” You looked up at Bob, those E/C that he had fallen in love with wet with tears. He sat next to you on your bed, his arm thrown around you, while Sam sat in your beanbag chair, “You want to watch a movie?”

“Tommy Boy?” You asked, it was your favorite movie, you could almost quote it word for word.

“Well, thank you both for the invite but I gotta go pick up Olivia for our date,” Ben said, winking at his younger brother. Ben came and kissed your forehead, “It’ll all be okay, Bea. But if you wake up and see my face on the front page for egging or slashing a hole in all four tires, it was for a good cause,”

You laughed at the boy and Bob said goodbye to his brother. You two settled in, watching the movie. At some point in time you had both fallen asleep, but when you woke up, Bob’s arms were wrapped around your waist and your head was on his chest. It was then that you realized that you were falling in love with your best friend.

— — — 🌼🐝 🌼🐝 🌼🐝 — — —

There was an obvious shift between the two of you. Everyone could see it, Bob’s siblings, Ben, your parents, Bob’s mom. It was just a matter of time until you two could see it. You both felt the love you had for each other, but both were too stubborn and scared to act on it. It wasn’t until you brought home another boy that Bob knew his window of opportunity was closing. So while you were walking around, pacing the basement floor ranting about whatever his name was, Bob stood up.

“Bea, he doesn’t deserve you. None of them do,” Bob said, “Does he even know your favorite flower? Or what color do you prefer of your favorite flower?”

“No but-“

“It’s orange roses,” Bob said, “You said you hate the cliche white and red, that you prefer orange but will settle for yellow. You fell in love with them when your grandma accidentally planted an orange rose bush when she got sick with dementia. She tried to dig them up, but your grandpa told her that they were unique and beautiful just like she was. You said that was the moment you believed in true love.”

You looked at Bob, his honey brown eyes staring into yours. Your body moved quicker than your brain, and you grabbed his face, connecting your lips together. He grabbed your hips, pulling you into him as you both melted into the kiss. It was like time stopped, and fireworks exploded behind you.

“Ah!” Ben yelled, opening the basement door, “Mom! It’s happening!” He smiled and ran over to go get his mom, leaving the two teens who now had deep red blushes across their cheeks.

— — — 🌼🐝 🌼🐝 🌼🐝 — — —

You and Bob seemed to be even closer than ever before. Like always, where anyone saw Bob, you were surely to follow. When they told their friends that they had finally started dating, everyone let out a sigh in relief followed by a “finally”. It seemed as though you and Bob were the only ones who were oblivious to the love that you both had for each other.

Prom was supposed to be the most important night of a young girl's life, but you were absolutely terrified. You had been hyper fixating on your dress and thinking of all the things that can go wrong when you put it on. Your mother did your hair, deciding to curl it and leave it down. Your dress was black, you went for simple (partially because it was what you could afford). Bob was just as nervous as you as he sat on your couch, your dad staring him down. He held onto the plastic box with your corsage with all his might. He was sure that he was sweating through the rental tux. The moment he heard your mother come down the stairs and he stood up, his blue eyes going wide.

“My god, honeybee,” Bob sighed out and your father glared at him. Bob walked from the couch over to the bottom of the stairs and held his hand out for you. You smiled and took his hand, “You’re gorgeous.”

“Thank you,” You said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, “You clean up nicely.”

“Oh, Bea, be nice to that boy,” Your mom said, “Get close for pictures!”

You probably took a thousand pictures in front of your fireplace. Your face was hurting from smiling so much. Bob had spent all morning cleaning his truck so you didn’t get your dress dirty. He helped you get into the old Ford, making sure that no part of the dress would get stuck in the door. Your mom smiled fondly at the two of you as you drove off.

“They’re going to get married someday,” Your dad muttered and looked at his wife, “He looks at her the way I look at you.”

“I know,” Your mom said and kissed her husband.

You and Bob danced until your feet hurt and he ended up carrying you in his arms back to his truck at the end of the night. There was too much excitement in the air to just go home and go to sleep, so instead, Bob drove you out to the old Oak tree in the middle of his family’s ranch. The night was clear and you could see all of the stars from where you laid in the back of his truck. He put a blanket down so you wouldn’t dirty your dress and you would be somewhat comfortable.

Though stargazing only lasted so long, and soon enough you were in a heated make out session in the back of Bob’s truck. His hands were grazing all over your body as if he couldn’t get enough of you. Your hands tugged on his long locks, his curls curling a bit under his ears. You loved his longer hair, you thought it made him look perfectly older.

“Bob,” You moaned as he kissed your neck.

“Yeah?” He asked, grinding his hips into yours.

“Make me yours,” You said barely above a whisper. Bob pulled away from you and looked at you.

“Are-are you sure?” He asked, caressing your cheek, “We don’t have to do anything just cause it’s prom night. Hell, that’s such a dumb-” You cut him off by kissing him.

“Bobby,” You said, holding his jaw with your hand, “Make me yours.”

“Don’t gotta tell me twice, honeybee,” Bob said, his voice a bit raspy as he leaned back in and kissed you. You guys fell into a frenzy of roaming hands and kisses, stripping each other of your clothes. You guys looked at each other, having to see each other naked and being intimate for the first time. You laid under Bob, eyes roaming all over his body, “You are even more perfect than I imagined,”

“You imagined me?” You smirked and Bob blushed.

“Once or twice,” He said and leaned in to kiss you, “Do you want to do this?” He asked you again, his blue eyes full of love.

“Make me yours, Bobby.”

— — — 🌼🐝 🌼🐝 🌼🐝 🌼🐝 — — —

You had been sicker than a dog for nearly three weeks. Bob was starting to worry when you missed yet another day of school, but you were just too weak to even climb out of bed. He had gathered your homework and planned on stopping by to give it to you after school. But the frantic text from you had him rushing into the parking lot and speeding to get to you.

You were sitting on the couch in tears when he arrived, your mother and father sitting across from you. Bob felt like he just walked into the middle of an intervention, the air was thick with tension. He called out for you, but you shook your head and your father stood up from his chair.

“Robert Floyd,” Your father’s voice was gruff and all Bob could do was nod, “You got my little girl pregnant?” Bob’s head snapped to you and you seemed to be crying harder than before.

“I’m so sorry,” You cried and Bob looked back at your dad and nodded. Your mom let out a gasp and left the room quickly, not being able to look at you any longer.

Your father ran a hand down his face and then put his hands on his hips. His eyes looked at you, “Get out of my house, Beatrice.”

“Daddy,” You stood up from the couch.

“Wait, Mr. Clark-”

“You disobeyed the bible!” Your father’s voice was loud and rattled you to your core. Bob watched as you began shaking like a leaf in the wind, “I will not have a sinner and a bastard child under my roof! Look what you did to your mother!” Your dad pointed to the direction your mother went crying, “Gather your things, and get out of my house.”

Your father stormed out of the room, leaving you and Bob alone. Bob quickly rushed to your side and wrapped you up in his arms. You held onto him tightly, afraid he might disappear on you. Sobs racked your body as Bob tried to shush your tears.

“Shh, honeybee, breathe,” Bob said, rubbing your back. He couldn’t help the tears welling up in his eyes at the sound of your cries. He wasn’t 100% sure what was going on other than the fact that you were possibly pregnant and your parents had just kicked you out.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” You said and Bob pulled back from you. He gently held your face in his hands and wiped your tears away with his thumb, “I didn’t mean for this to happen, Bobby, you have to believe-”

“I’m not blaming you for anything,” Bob shook his head, “Is what your dad said true? You’re pregnant?”

You nodded and sniffled, “I haven’t been feeling good for weeks, and I missed my period. I drove to Davis to the drug store and got a pregnancy test and it came back positive. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, quit apologizing, alright,” Bob said and kissed your forehead, “We’re gonna get through this, together. I’m not leaving you.”

“What about the Navy? Bob, you have been dreaming of that since you were a kid.” One of the first things Bob had told you back in the fifth grade, while you dangling upside down from the monkey bars was that he wanted to join the Navy. His dad had been in for a couple years to pay off his student debt, and he loved it. Bob had grown up watching air shows in Virginia beach during the Fourth of July.

“I’ll figure it out. Whatever you want,” Bob said, and took both your hands in his, “You and this baby are my future, okay,” You nodded and bit your lip as brand new tears threatened to spill.

“I have no place to go,” You cried and Bob shook his head.

“Yes you do,” He said, “What do you need? I’ll go get it.” You rattled off a couple items that you can think of off the top of your head and Bob ran up to your room and packed you a bag. Your parents were hiding in the kitchen, far away from you and Bob. They must’ve really been ashamed of you if they couldn’t even say anything as Bob guided you out to his truck.

The ride to the Floyd ranch was painfully silent. You looked out the window the whole time, resting your hand on your stomach. Bob would steal glances over at you every once in a while. You had stopped crying which was a plus, but your cheeks and nose were still red. When you pulled up in front of the old farmhouse, Bob jogged around to your side of the truck and helped you out. He held your hand the whole time as you walked into the house, the smell of dinner hitting both of your noses. You both could hear Elizabeth Floyd yelling at her younger kids, and the squeals of children running around.

“Allison Floyd, if you don’t stop messing with your sister!” Elizabeth’s voice was firm as you and Bob walked into the kitchen. She took one look at you and knew what was going on. Call it a mother’s intuition.

“She needs a place to stay. . . for a while,” Bob said and Elizabeth nodded.

“You can take Benny’s room down in the basement,” Elizabeth said. You nodded and took your bag from Bob’s hands and made your way down to the familiar room that the eldest Floyd child once inhabited. When you were out of ear shot, Elizabeth looked at her son, “Her parents found out?”

“Yeah,” Bob said, placing his hands on the back of the chair in front of him, “Kicked her out. I didn’t even know until I got there”

“And what are you gonna do? You gonna step up?”

Bob nodded, “Of course. That’s my baby. I’m not gonna leave her high and dry. I’ll do whatever she wants to do.”

“You better not, Robert Floyd. I raised you better than that. Now,” Elizabeth said and walked over to the pantry. Bob watched her a bit confused until she walked out with a sleeve of saltine crackers and a ginger ale, “Go give these to her. Poor girl looks like she hasn’t kept anything down in days.”

Bob nodded again and took the items from his mom’s hands, “How did you know?”

Elizabeth sighed, “Cause I had that same look on my face when we told your grandparents I was pregnant with Ben. Now go on, no time for questions.”

“Thank you,” Bob said and went downstairs to find you.

#bob floyd #bob floyd imagine #bob floyd fan fic #bob floyd fan fiction #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x you #bob floyd x oc #Robert floyd #Robert bob floyd #bob & bea #opposites attract things!#top gun #top gun fan fic #top gun fan fiction #top gun imagine #top gun maverick #top gun maverick fan fic #top gun maverick fan fiction #top gun maverick imagine

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not-goldy · 5 months

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But isn’t JK sort of "queer cleansing" in Ch 2?

All those women in his MV’s who he had zero chemistry with but not a single reference to being into men (not that I expect that of course, being from a homophobic country. More like being in the closet, unfortunately.. but still).

I think his side of Ch 2 is interesting, based on the past ten years up until the military announcement— which is when this sudden "flipped switch" from disliking/being indifferent about dating women, refusing to sing "girl" in a Jason Derulo cover and being the object of other men’s affection, to singing about boinking women seemed to happen.

If the blurry video wasn’t true, I wonder if BH didn’t rush to clean it up because it kind of worked out to help with JK’s new "ladies man" image 💀💀 His face isn’t even decipherable but at least half the fandom ate that up!

To some extent I guess.

Heteronormativity and queer cleansing are two related but distinct concepts so I hope you are not confusing the two as one and the same in this case.

Heteronormativity in this sense is promoting hetersexuality and images of it as the standard or mainstream idea of something. For instance, what is the purpose of choosing a female lead to play the role of love interest besides the fact that that is just how things are done in the industry??

At this point it doesn't even matter at all the female you cast, it just has to be A female to play the role. It's not political, it doesn't speak to the sexual orientation of the individual, it's just what sells and what is considered the norm or standard way of doing things. You could replace the female subject with an inanimate object and the message of love and affection will not be lost.

Over using female as love interests without allowing for much diversity in music visuals has led to a situation where the woman has become a neutral marker in art. Much like words such as Man or other masculine forms gained neutrality and universality such that where you see man or dude or guy in a text you don't necessarily think they are referring strictly to a man, it's the same for women. They are there because they are expected to be there.

We are not wired to see their presence in MVs as contributing any unique or significant meaning to the story telling.

However seeing two men or two women portrayed as leads and love interests adds a political dimension to the message of the song or story of the MV.

It's why visuals such as Blood Sweat and Tears and the whole visual album of HYYH era speaks to many of us. Other wise they are all men, they can just sit and shout into a mic cos no one wants to see them grope each other- it's gay.

It's also why a producer will tell Tae to find a female to sing a part he wrote for Jimin on his personal song- it wasn't because a female voice was required for the song but simply unconventional for two men to sing a duet of that kind.

That's heteronormativity not queer cleansing.

A cleanse is an intentional act meant to please an audience, to calm their wrath and to portray conformity to the desires of the masses.

Heteronormativity is unconscious biases and decisions that are meaningless in themselves and are done not just to please but for the sheer reason that that is what we know and have come to accept as the norm.

I guess the difference is, did Jungkook have a choice other than choosing a female character for the role? No. To choose a male character for such a role would be so political and revolutionary because it would be going outside the norm.

Having a female lead is just a trend. For straight people, if they want to be "political" they often cast the real object of their affections and discard the paid models and artists. JB did that with his wife and uhm- what's the name of the dude who said his lungs under water but was breathing fire?

Queer cleansing is not just about heteronormativity. Promoting and using women as leads is not necessarily a cleanse.

It's heteronormative because whether he is in Korea or not, whether his country is conservative or not, whether he is gay or not, he would have casted a female as lead because it is expected and normalized.

I mean, why else would they have casted female leads for their mv way back when they were starting out, as young as they were, as young as he was?

Why else would he date a girl when he had no feelings whatsoever for her.

Why else were they made to pick up girls and demonstrate how they would ask a girl out or kiss a girl as entertainment disregarding the fact not all of them might have been into girls.

Let me leave you with this imagery:

Heteronormativity, like right handedness, or able bodiedness is the default setting of society. Manufacturers create products build cars, roads on the assumption that every one is right handed able-bodied straight individual and every thing in society is made to cater to this group bu default.

So sometimes when people create products to cater to the audience we can't say they are making revolutionary statements or even deliberately being discriminatory- they doing so simply because it's how things are done.

Jungkook might simply film an MV that way because that's how things are done in the industry.

I hope in the future he realizes this challenge and goes out of his way to challenge it not because he is queer but because he desires to bring change and uniqueness into the world.

And you are right. There are so many instances of hybe cleaning up his image or putting him through queer cleansing- I just don't think the MV is one of those.

Like I said, even his own fans try to queer cleanse his image by cooking up straight rumors and attacking people to try to suppress and disassociate him from any queer narrative.

And it's a cleanse because they do this with the understanding that portraying him as queer is harmful to his image or reputation or even a threat to his commercial success such as them tearing down his banners and even banning BTS in certain places because they seem "gay" smh

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mikeandikeschmidt · 6 months

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🎄Christmas with Mike & Abby: Headcanons

•I think Mike would either be a Scrooge like, “great. One more thing I got to worry about.”

OR he’d go crazy trying to make Christmas perfect. He remembers a time when Christmas used to be such a huge thing for the family and he wants Abby to experience that too. And with you in the picture now, it makes him that much more motivated to make this the happiest holiday ever. So I’m leaning towards the latter. That Mike would try way too hard to make a good Christmas.

•First step? The tree. Mike gets a real tree. He’s very particular about it, he likes the smell of the pine, it brings back memories. Then he’s quickly reminded of how much of a pain in the butt they are and he regrets everything

•Abby’s favorite Christmas song is the Chipmunk one. Just because it’s Mike’s least favorite. The high-pitched voices annoy the crap out of him and Abby likes watching him try not to show how big of a headache he’s developing. His second least favorite song is Mariah Carey’s All I Want for Christmas Is You. When he was a mall security guard, he had to listen to that on the PA wayy too many times.

•Mike’s payback is singing along to Bing Crosby’s White Christmas. And he always jokingly exaggerates the crooner’s voice, making Abby complain she hates his singing. You giggle and reassure him you like when he sings but Abby just comments, “I guess love is deaf too.”

•When it starts snowing and actually packing, you take Abby out to build a snowman. But when you see Mike pull into the driveway, you both get a mischievous idea…and you start pelting him with snowballs.

At first, he’s grumpy from just getting out of work and he shouts at you both to knock it off. So you and Abby pout and go back to your snowman…letting your guard down long enough for Mike to get payback. (And that guy has a good arm. He can throw a mean snowball)

•Three words for you; Christmas. Movie. Marathon. I’m talking Home Alone, Christmas Story, Charlie Brown Christmas. Cocoa with marshmallows. Watching movies together. And seeing how long it takes Mike to fall asleep. (Hint, not very long)

•Mike is a bit of a klutz sometimes. He’s so tired all the time, it manifests itself in occasional bursts of clumsiness. One of those unfortunate times was when he was trying to put up the Christmas lights. He got tangled up in the wires and you found him hanging from the roof, upside down. Like something from National Lampoon or Home Improvement. Abby was laughing hard and you were just panicking, trying to get him down without letting him fall.

•Helping Mike pick out gifts for Abby. He’s absolutely lost on what little girls like so you have to help him, but you both were in total agreement when you both saw a journal and marker pack for your little artist. She was ecstatic when she saw her presents.

•You got Mike a watch, some new comfy sweatshirts, as well as an expensive cologne. You felt he deserved to treat himself a little bit. Mike tried to act casual about it, but you could tell he was all bashful at your generosity. Abby also pointed out that he was blushing (which made his face turn redder)

•Abby made you a homemade card with a drawing of the three of you together at home with a rainbow overhead. There’s also a lot of unnecessary glitter that falls into your lap. But it makes you tear up, because it really makes you feel like part of the family.

•Mike’s gift to you is very humble. It’s something small but intimate. It shows he doesn’t have a lot of money but that he listens to you. It’s something you thought he wouldn’t have even noticed or heard you talking about. But he pays attention to you. And it was the sweetest gesture that melted your heart.

•Back to the topic of Christmas lights, it’s a Schmidt family tradition to drive around to look at other houses’ lights one last time.

Mike drives and he smiles softly, looking in the rear-view mirror and seeing Abby asleep in the back. ‘Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas’ plays on the radio and Mike reaches over to hold your hand, softly rubbing your knuckles with his thumb. And everything feels right in the world.

#josh hutcherson #mike schmidt #mike schmidt fnaf #fnaf #five nights at freddy's #fnaf movie #mike and abby schmidt #mike schmidt fluff #mike Schmidt Christmas #Christmas fluff #christmas imagine #hallmark eat your heart out #hallmark could never #mike schmidt headcanons #mike schmidt imagines

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foreverdolly · 2 years

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𝐅𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 | 𝐛𝐨𝐬𝐬!𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary: you’re hoping to make a good impression on your new boss. there’s just one problem: he’s an asshole. a very hot asshole.

pairings: boss!austin x employee!reader

word count: 2.2k

warning/notes: you guys have begged for more fake dating, so here it is. the beginning of what will be the end. this love story is adorable, and their dynamic is my absolute favorite. can't wait to post part three in the next week.

↰ previous part | next part ↱

“Well I heard he’s quite the looker.” Sophia mumbled under her breath, practically jogging to keep up with your long strides. The last thing you wanted was to be late for the big floor meeting, especially since you were about to be introduced to your new boss. That would be the icing on the shitty cake. Still, you refused to let this morning's parking ticket ruin your good mood.

“Who said that? Nobody aside from Jeff has seen him, and that was only to finalize his paperwork.” One of the plant's leaves slapped you in the face as you began climbing the stairs, and with a groan you tucked the pot a little closer to your side, freeing up your vision so that you wouldn’t fall forward and bust your ass. You had picked up a little welcome gift for the newbie last night during your trip to the grocery store. It was only once you had gotten home that you realized that the plant didn’t have any plastic marker that stated its “preferences”. You hoped your newfound boss wouldn’t mind doing some googling in order to take care of his new greenery. Thankfully the man would be getting one of the nicer offices, which meant he’d have window space.

“Martha from the first floor. She greeted him last week when he ran by to sign some papers.” Sophia was already out of breath from quickly climbing the stairs, muttering a few curse words as she tried to keep up with you and your fast pace.

Martha was also a fifty year old crazy cat lady, so her saying that the mystery man was “handsome” meant nothing to you. If anything you were even more suspect about his good looks than you had been before. You let out a breathy laugh, freeing up one of your hands to open up the door for your best friend.

“Martha also thinks that the mail delivery guy is a “looker”, and that guy has a receding hairline and buck teeth.” You were quick to fire back.

Sophia looked like she wanted to argue, but stopped herself, a thoughtful look befalling her face. “Yeah. . . no, you’re totally right. Why didn’t I think of that? He’s probably going to have two heads.”

You laughed loudly at that, turning to face your best friend as you continued the familiar walk to the conference room. “He’s probably bald- oof!” You grunted as you walked into a solid chest, the potted plant nearly flying out of your grasp.

The person that you bumped into moved lightening fast, strong arms coming to wrap around both the pot and your arms. A little bit of dirt fell on the ground, and as you stared down at it you began to feel sorry for Javie, the janitor. You loved that tiny man. Behind you Sophia sucked in a breath, though you were too embarrassed to really pay attention to anything else other than the stranger’s dirt covered sleeve. You reached out, brushing off their nice- very expensive- blazer.

“God, I should have been paying better attention to where I was walking. I’m so sorry.” You apologized, looking up at who you thought was Jeff.

Because this person was practically a giant compared to most of the people on this floor, and the outfit and shoes? That was at least two months worth of your pay- if not more. Designer, no doubt. When you looked up, rather than meeting Jeff’s familiar brown eyes- you were met with blue.

And there he was, in all of his glory. Him being “quite the looker” was the understatement of the century. This man was a model. His wire rimmed glasses did nothing to make him look boyish. The stranger in front of you was all man. For a few seconds all the two of you did was stare at each other. The blonde looked just as stunned as you did, his plush lips softly parted, eyes wide as he took in your features. After a moment he cleared his throat, his jaw clenching as he must have realized that the two of you were blocking hallway traffic, his hands still firmly wrapped around you.

“We’re about to be late for the meeting.” He took a step back, and the loss of his firm grip on your arm nearly took your breath away.

Within seconds his warm, even soft blue eyes had hardened, his outwardly caring exterior turning ice cold. You tossed a look behind you at Sophia, dropping your jaw animatedly only for her to see before moving quickly to fall in step next to your new boss. “I’m so sorry about your blazer. I’ll pay for the dry cleaning-”

He was already unbuttoning the soiled jacket, shrugging it off of his broad shoulders so that he was only standing in his crisp button up shirt and tie. His waist was narrow, accentuated by his belt. You could tell he was fit underneath all of those clothes. You hated yourself for it, but you were practically drooling.

“Don’t worry about it. Just work hard for me from now on and we’ll call it even. Yeah?” He cut his eyes over towards you, and though you wanted to shrink under his gaze you merely held your head high and nodded. You were above outwardly fawning over the new guy.

You weren’t, however, above silently crushing from afar.

The man commanded the room unlike anything you’d ever seen before. Everything about his posture, his broad shoulders, and the surety of his actions told you that he meant business. Everybody stayed mostly silent as he introduced himself. Austin Butler. He looked like an Austin, you supposed. As he spoke you tried to rearrange the dirt in the pot with your fingers, smoothing it out so that it no longer looked ruined. The card in your purse suddenly seemed like overkill. You wanted him to think that you were nice, not a kiss ass. Then again, you needed to fix the horrible impression you had no doubt left him with earlier. He breezed out of the room the second that he was finished with the meeting, seemingly in a hurry to rid himself of the crowded room. Jeff was nowhere to be seen, but he had sent you an email earlier stating that he might be late coming back from lunch. His wife was out of town and their beloved cat, Mr Samson, hadn’t been eating well over the last week. You stood up, addressing the room with a bright smile.

“Alright everyone, Jeff is going to be busy for the rest of the day, meaning you’ll either report directly to me or Mr Butler. Jenna? Can you drop by my cubicle before you leave today? I’ve got that Henderson file for you.” The blonde nodded, lazily joining the crowd as they dispersed out of the room. For a second you stood at the head of the long table, your eyes nervously darting back over to Sophia.

“Thank god I work the payroll. I’d probably have a heart attack if I had to talk to Austin every day.” She mumbled, pretending to fan herself.

You grabbed the plant off of the table, straightening out your shoulders as you walked over towards the door. “Well- let’s just hope that I didn’t fuck it up already. The last thing I need is for the guy to hate me.”

You waved your goodbyes before heading straight towards the once unoccupied office. There were a few boxes on the floor, but there weren’t any decorations up yet. No pictures of wives or children, which you hoped meant that he was single. Not like you wanted to date him. . . just ogle from afar. You knocked on the open door, ducking your head in to shoot him one of your dazzling smiles. It usually worked on everyone. Almost everyone. Austin didn’t smile back.

Your heart rate began to pick up as you held the plant up, giving it a gentle shake before placing it on the edge of his spotless desk.

“It’s a little bit ironic, but I bought this for you. Consider it a welcome gift from me and my team.” Before he could say anything else, you were already digging into your purse, handing over the card too.

He slowly took it from you, shooting you an incredulous look before opening it. You weren’t sure why. . . but his standoffish attitude was rubbing you the wrong way. Maybe it was the fact that he was outwardly perfect. You should have expected him to be rude. Pretty people are often rotten on the inside. You cleared your throat, pointing at the card.

“Just a few words of encouragement. I thought it might make you feel a little more comfortable around all of these new faces. If you ever nee-”

And then he did it. Did this thing.

He sighed. He sighed like you were bothering him. Like your presence was a nuisance. Your face fell, your teeth clenched, and all at once you decided that you couldn’t stand Austin Butler. He was blowing you off. Shrugging off your kind gestures. Your unnecessarily kind gestures. Your hands balled up into fists at your sides as you tried to fight off the urge to slap the glasses right off of his pretty-boy face.

“I’m not trying to be rude, but I’m really busy at the moment.” He was cool guying you. He was totally fucking cool guying you right now.

“Oh,” Your voice had lowered an octave, shaking with anger. He seemed to notice, his eyes quickly flickering up to meet your face. “I can see that I came at the wrong time.”

You started to walk out of the office, flinching back slightly as you saw Jeff headed towards you with a bright smile. You were heatedly walking off in the direction of your cubicle before the older man could say anything to you.

It was decided. Set in stone.

You hated Austin Butler with a passion.

“Well, what was that about?” Jeff closed the door behind him, nodding off in the direction of the female.

Austin read over the name again and again, signed in her adorable handwriting. He let out another sigh, tossing the card down onto his desk before he covered his face with his hands.

“I don’t know. I panicked. Shit, now she thinks I’m an asshole.” His office chair creaked as he leaned back, praying that the floor would swallow him up.

He had been so overwhelmed in the meeting. He probably came off as cold, which was exactly what he didn’t want to do. His anxiety had gotten the best of him today, and you were proof. Because he had seen you in the hall before you bumped into him. He could have prevented all of that from happening. And how could he not see you? He had been so focused on your button up blouse and form fitting pencil skirt that he had forgotten how to function. And then he learns that not only are you working on the same floor, but working directly under him. Meaning that he would have to talk to you. Every day. Austin didn’t do crushes. He was a workaholic. He was the king of heating up leftovers and eating alone every night. He was too busy for relationships, so it shouldn’t matter that the prettiest girl he had ever seen was just a stone's throw away from him. Right? Right?

“Well, you’re screwed now.” Jeff smiled smugly, crossing his arms over his chest, leaning back against the door.

Austin’s heart jumped up to his throat, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to form a sentence. He looked like an idiot.

“W-What do you mean? I’m screwed? Do you think she hates me? Already?”

Jeff opened the door a crack, peeking his head out. Austin was quick to stand up from his desk, joining him by the door. And there you were, tossing your purse onto your desk like the inanimate object had personally offended you. He had the perfect view of you from his office. He was doomed. Jeff watched her for a few more seconds before clicking his tongue.

“. . . Oh, definitely.”

Austin tore the glasses off of his face, tossing them down onto his desk so that he could rub at his eyes exasperatedly.

“How do I fix it? God. . . Should I go out there right now?” Austin motioned towards the door with one hand, loosening his tie with the other. It felt like it was choking him.

“Take her out on a date.” Jeff was smiling smugly again, shaking his head in pretend disapproval. “I can’t believe you already offended the most hot headed female that I’ve ever met. I was gone for an hour.”

Austin sucked in a breath, his knees buckling underneath him. He had to lean against the desk for support. “I’m not going to take her on a date. I’m her boss, Jeff.” The younger male practically gasped.

Jeff opened the door, leaving the boy with some parting words. “I wasn’t born yesterday, Butler. I give it. . . six months. You’ll see.”

@knoxvillesshoes@cosmorant@ol1viam@simply-sams-things@haim80s@gabbcabb@8hgel@slutt4him@busy-bee-angel-misska@kaitaesupremacy@dazedshoon @4rt3m1ss@cryingabtab@kittenlittle24@austinsrealgf@austinbutlersgirlfriend@clearbolts @dark-as-love@anni-secret-account-75@ab4eva@starcatchxr @julietamidala @obbsessivereader@gwuide@blurredcolour@the-little-red-haired-girl@meladollsims@poppet05@shrekstheloml@randomwriter888@idc123sworld@vane28282@mirandastuckinthe80s@girlblogger2002@rockerchick05@screechingstrawberrysong@simpforevery1@girlabirla@dre6ming@obetrolncocktails@fairyjanes@jensenswinchester@lo-bells @in-my-body-bag@fxntxsix@petrparkrslut@eliseinmemphis @lelifesaver @screaching-cookie@fantuhsise@areuirish @bcofl0ve@mslizziesblog@shynovelist@ssstrangersblog @harrysthecraic@hangmanswhore@jyvnho@mymamalife @melodydior

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honey-minded-hivemind · 5 months

Text

🐻🐥FNAF🐰🦊 AU: Scene One

(Warning: Alludes to this au's Purple Guy/Afton attacking Reader and taking over animatronics in the past, traumatic thoughts, crying, and Reader dealing with trauma and overcoming their fears...)

• It was hard, to be back where it all started... Where it all ended...

• Marvel's MegaMall, or also called Pizzaplex... A name that while bringing so much joy to others, only sent chills down your spine. Being back in the building, just as large and grandiose as you remember, with new upgrades and attractions from when you last were here, it brings back a small twinge of nostalgia...

• You had a past with this place, from ten years ago... (clawsfireitburnsgetoffpainredHIM)... It was safe to say you had memories long buried, and that were better left to fade to dust. You'd only been back for about a month or two, having moved back into town, and since Marvel's owed you a few favors... You asked for a job. Crazy, yes... But... You had your reasons, and they couldn't exactly say no...

• The place didn't need as many human staff members, but you were able to become one of the (un)lucky few who worked for the large family-fun centered company. You were able to work mostly in the Marvelous Diner, a breakfast-and-brunch themed restaurant inside the vast mall. You had a few other jobs, such as fixing up the gift shops, making sure the central main entrance fountain worked properly, and keeping an eye out for any odd behavioured individuals. You could never be too careful about that, after all...

• And... well, you had made a friend... Her name was Laura, and she seemed rather... lonely. So you kept her company. Asked her if she wanted free food (you paid for it), buying extra tokens or passes so she could have fun, giving her small tips on how to win various games... (You noticed her clothes were worn in some places, and that she was just as jumpy as you when surprised... You felt like you could see a part of yourself in her, the part of you you tried so hard to hide)

• And she seemed to like you, too. If her sticking around awhile after eating, telling you a little bit about her day, and how well she did on various games was an indicator. She had grown on you, to be honest. Hopefully, she'd be okay... It had been years since "The Incident", but a part of you was still scared. That it wasn't over. That HE would be back. That the beings you called friends would turn on you, fingers crushinggraspingscraping- ... You had to keep an eye out, to say the least...

• You were pretty good at the jobs you did. Cooking up pancakes and eggs, making milkshakes, frying hashbrowns, making buttered grits and sweet oatmeal... rearranging plushies, dusting shelves, organizing pamphlets, setting up dress-up stations... untangling wires, screwing in light bulbs, reinstalling doorknobs... You were busy, yes, but it beat being alone with your thoughts all the time. Plus you got to see kids light up with joy and people enjoy the fruits of your labors. It was a nice feeling.

• You supposed that when you were asked to look through a few old rooms, to sort through "relics of the past", that maybe you shouldn't have asked Laura to come along. But you had said you would spend some time with her, and while looking through dusty toys and pictures and pamphlets might not be the most fun thing in the world, hopefully it would still count for something. Of course you should have known you would find a few things best left forgotten...

• It started when you uncovered a wall full of drawings. Sifting through the marker and crayon sketches and doodles, you made a guessing game up for her to figure out which scribble was which animatronic... Mistake number one, right there. Because after a few minutes, she had asked for you to look at one of the ones she found... only for you to find a drawing yellowing around the edges, with different animatronics drawn carefully on, with a little child with them... And written on the bottom of the page, a name... Your name...

• "Reader... Is this you?" It was a simple question. Easy to answer. Yet all you could manage was a small nod. "I didn't know you were here when you were a kid... Was it any different than it is now?"

• "It... it was pretty fun. Heh. I, uh- I was here, a lot. My parent had to work late, and they heard this was a good place for kids so... Yeah." It felt odd, talking about the good things you remembered... It was nice to know there was good to remember...

• "Were they your friends?" It's asked in a curious tone, with curious eyes. But you still can't help but take a moment to answer. To push down your fear.

• "Um... Yeah. We... we were. But, that was a long time ago. And some things are best left in the past," you reply, and you change the subject. You find a few old plushies, and ask Laura if she wants to keep them, only to be met with excited eyes. You're glad she can enjoy this stuff...

• Your second problem comes when she tells you she made a new friend. Well, a few. You smile and ask her if they're good to her, and she nods eagerly. Then she runs off, and you're back on your own, fixing up pancakes and frying bacon... A few minutes later, you heard loud thumping noises, followed by Laura's voice loudly saying, "They're over here!" And then, a few faces you never wanted to see again pop into the area, and you feel a shiver go down your spine. Oh no... NonoNonono...

• She tugs one of them by the hand, so much larger than her's or yours, and then your face to face (more like face to waist) with someone you used to call friend...

• "Reader, this is my new friend, Wolverine! Oh, and that's his friends Gambit and Storm! Guys, this is my friend, Reader!" You gulp, looking up at the animatronics that tower over you... You're able to offer a small wave, then back a step up. "Reader, don't be shy. I told them about the picture we found." You can't help but let out an awkward laugh.

• "Um, Laura... They've met plenty of kids, and plenty of people over the years... There's not any way of knowing if I even met them back then. It's likely just a small coincidence," you chuckle, and sidle another step back. You're having to stamp down the memories of sharpcrushingredredredironpiercingstabbingpain- ... With a small excuse, you rush back into the kitchen, your heart pounding and your eyes slightly watering. You can hear a few voices outside, until they fade away, followed by loud thumping...

• Later on in the day, when you've calmed down enough that you're only mildly shaking, you meet up with Laura again... You apologized for getting so scared, and ask her if you can tell her something... When she gives you a nod, you gently tell her that when you were little, yes, you did know them, but something bad happened to you, really bad, that involved a very bad man who hurt you, and hurt the animatronics, too... You give her a a gentle hug, and ask if she can remember to be careful when around them, at least for your sake... She nods once more... And gives you a firmer hug...

• Things seemingly go back to normal... except now you have a few more encounters with the animatronics, who act surprised to see you.. But you're pretty sure these small run-ins are more than just coincidence... Especially when they start actively seeking you out to talk, asking you if you'd like to spend some time with them, or have a small competition... Which they keep pushing each time... Until finally, you have to take a break, and go to the bathroom... You're trembling all over, tears filling your eyes, and you can't help but let out a stifled sob. You're terrified, okay? You just- it's hard. Every night, you have dreams, over and over again, of what happened. Or course you miss calling them friends, but- But dear heavens, you're f*cking traumatized from what happened that night. The scars are still there, not all of them mental... You can see smudges of where the powder has rubbed off, revealing scarred skin around your neck... It only sends you into deeper despair...

• And then you hear a knock, a loud knock, and immediately try to silence your breathing. "Are you... are you okay, kid? It's uh, it's just me... I'm one of Laura's friends..." It trails... When you don't answer, you hear then speak up again. "Look, I know you're scared... Laura said... something happened... and we wanted to make sure you were okay. Can you come out? Or do I need to come in?"

• You really don't want anyone to see you like this, but you'd rather not be in the bathroom and have one of them come in, so with reluctance, and a quick wipe of your tear-stained face, you exit... And are met with Wolverine towering over you. The moment he sees your face, he seems to soften a bit. In a careful motion, large arms are wrapped around you, pulling you into a warm embrace...

• "I think that we need to talk... Do you feel like talking, kid?" he asks, and you give a tiny nod of your head. "Okay... I... we... used to have a friend, a few years ago... They were our little buddy, and they were always playing with us... But... something really bad happened one night... Something... something hurt them... And I tried to protect them... They left, and we never heard about them again... But... Laura said that they might be you. Is it really you, kid?" He looks at you, calm and caring, and you feel small. You don't want to answer... But he'd know if you lied...

• "... yes... hi, Logan..." you whisper, and look down at your feet. You don't want to see his reaction, you don't want to see any anger or hate or-

• "Oh kid... I missed you..." The arms around you squeeze you, and you're lifted a little off the ground as you're hugged even tighter. "Where have you been? I... I thought you were dead..." You're still being held like you might disappear when you see another animatronic show up, and you feel somehow more tiny when you see it's Sabretooth... And right next to him...

• "Um... hey, Laura... can you... please ask him to put me down?" The girl sends a small smile up at you, and then she gestures to the behemoth of an animatronic next to her, who leans down so she can whisper to him... And then he goes still, and looks back at you with sharp, piercing eyes.

• "Kitten? That you?" You can only give a small, shaky nod, before you're being hugged by another large animatronic. "Where has my little cub been?! We thought you were..." He trails off, and you wonder just how many of them thought you had died after that night...

• "Well, looks like we have some catching up to do, heh, pup?" Logan says, and finally, finally you're set down next to Laura, who gives you a sly, pleased grin...

• "...You set this up, didn't you?" A giggle is your only answer... "Wait... how many of them did you tell about me?"

• "..."

• "Laura..."

• "I told all of them..."

• "Ah, nuts..." It seems you're going to be dealing with your trauma, and a lot more animatronics than you wanted to... At least you have Laura... Wait... She's friends with all of them?! Oh dear... That's going to be a lot more cuddles, isn't there?

(If The Incident happened ten years ago, at most, Reader was age 5, 6, or 7...meaning they are somewhere between ages 15-17...)

(The animatronics come in different sizes... So, let's look at it this way: the taller ones would be around 8 to 9 feet tall, right? So the shorter ones are about 6 to 7 feet tall... Laura is about 4-5 feet tall, and Reader is a few inches taller than her...)

(Yes, imagine Wolverine and Sabretooth holding Reader up like a kitten/puppy. And yes, Reader kinda looks like a kitten/puppy compared to them...)

(And here is the deal: The Marvelous Mechanations live partially in their own world, due to having programmed backstories and memories, but they see themselves as mutants (and if you add in other superheroes/villains, powered individuals), and have programming to not hurt children. Some special members (such as Reader and Laura) are logged into Marvel's system as "mutants", due to getting along so well with the animatronics, and due to the staff who remember Reader from their baby years hoping it adds an extra layer of security (plus incorporating Reader into one of the few human staff members who become a part of the attractions/shows... Now they just have to actually tell Reader about it, and get them on board with it...)

(Enjoy this au, and ask any questions you have about it or the other aus, or just the characters, if y'all want to! Have a merry day!😊💛🧡)

#honeycomb thoughts #platonic yandere marvel #yandere platonic marvel #platonic yandere #platonic yandere x reader #platonic yandere xmen #yandere x-men #platonic yandere marvel x reader #🐻🐥fnaf🐰🦊 au

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c4tto626 · 27 days

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BARBED WIRE BUTCHERBIRD

well. i said i won't do self-insert and then i made him a bisexual german who likes cats and dnd ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ anyways! charlie! got fucked over by military politics and shady machinations and now he does. also shady freelance work for the highest bidder. or maybe for certain people (coughPricecough) if they ask nicely 🫡 shrikes are one of my favourite birds, i love these violent little guys 💕

👇 i'm putting the empty template under the read more, if anyone wants it!

if you do use this template i'd love to see it! ♥

fonts used for the template are tox typewriter and top secret, handwriting font is hand marker 📝

#i'll no doubt keep fiddling with him in my brain #what do i even tag this as uhhh #cod oc #c4.ocs #might as well make my own tag too #also in my mind laswell took these notes lmao #also also yes i'm playing it fast and loose with military details #i'm here for funsies 🫡#if there are typos in anything. keep them as souvenirs lol #oc: charlie

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knight-king-ler69 · 1 year

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PROM QUEEN LEE 👸🏼💦

When the popular girl at school was mean to the wrong person and is taught a lesson that being popular isn’t the most powerful thing at all. She’s never been so helpless before and she hates it. The verbal teases, “is the prom queen ticklish?” “What would the other students think if they saw you right now?” Tears stream from her eyes wide with desperation but laughter flows from her wet lips.

Digging into her soft sweaty arm pits and watching them ooze the sweetest beads of sweat as her laughter reached fever pitch. She thrashed and cursed with ever ounce of violence she could muster. The poor cute thing, I wanted this tickling to be memorable. I held her from behind with one hand and ran my knuckles up and down her ribs with the other. Her knees buckled, she collapsed into my arms with her head flung back, only the restraints holding her upright. Useless to herself she stared into my eyes, searching for some form of compassion. Still cackling and gagging as my knuckles never stopped straddling her stretched ribs. I moved to her tiny fleshy obliques. They were like prime meat, tight and tender. In a sheer desperate act she tried to bite me wohahh 😂😂😂 I laughed because that’s how I knew she was beyond hope, she would do anything 😈 I sunk both my hands into both obliques and stepped back with my arms outstretched still diligently administering a healthy dose of side tickling. She had nothing to attack despite her best efforts, I was out of her reach, But she wasn’t out of mine 😏😏

We laugh with her as we discover her left lower ab muscles seem to host a rigid cluster of nerve endings that the others don’t posses as much. Basically, it’s her worst tickle spot.

“ Is this your worst tickle spot princess?” I asked while I let one finger dig into the tender muscle. The answer came immediately and violently. She bellowed a raspy scream of terror and desperation eyes wet with tears and sweat streaming down her face. Her abs caved in so deeply that my finger slipped from the spot I stroked to the indented crevice that defined her abs. Only to discover those deep crevices were damn near laced with oodles of nerves that layer so low one would think they were hiding just to protect their owner. Poor girl, blame your sweaty tummy 🥹🥹🥹

We had not intended on tickling her so hard, but the more her body betrayed how ticklish her potential was the more I had to find out. We held her, one braced her from behind so she couldn’t recoil while my oiled fingers dug deeep into the crevices of her perfectly toned abs. She was a mess, a beautiful ticklish mess. Hair now frizzed to the heavens, face red with terror and embarrassment, every vein popping out of her forehead. Face wet with sweat and tears, sweet saliva flashing from her mouth every time she screamed or begged for mercy. And her abs, due to her dehydration, we’re peeled to perfection every line, vein and striation now visible with every gasping breath.

The tickling was now pure and effortless. Her body now taught and tender. Her mind fucked to sub space, we gently slithered our oiled fingers over her smooth sweaty abs until her last bit of resolve was broken. Her jeans began to get dark, and it was spreading. We tickled the poor girl so badly her bladder gave up on her, the ultimate betrayal. She was done.

We called in her classmate, the girl she made fun of for having old clothes. We made her apologize to her face. She did so quickly and profusely. “What did you guys do to her?” She asked… Oh, sometimes you just have to find a person’s weakness to remind them that they’re human just like you. “What’s her weakness?” the girl asked almost timidly. I took a marker and drew a circle around miss prom queen’s worst spot, she flinched violently, still overwhelmed from her ordeal. “That’s her weakness” i said, that spot is her undoing, “sometimes perfect abs comes with little wiring malfunctions” I said cheekily 😂 “Could I try?” The young girl asked…. The terror that leapt in the eyes of miss prom queen. It was one thing for us to tickle her, but for someone who every day she deemed beneath her to make her beg? It was almost too much, I couldn’t resist😂 Go ahead I said… the young girl placed both hands on Prom queens soft wet sides and said “you really are gorgeous, but you need to be nice to others” she began to tickle the desperate defeated queen, maintaining eye contact as if to be psychologically taking back her power, shifting the balance and confidently so.

It was a win in my book.

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intheorangebedroom · 2 years

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Pleased to meet you, chapter 1

Summary: You meet Frankie Morales. Twice.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader. Reader's French. 😬

Rating: Explicit 🔞

Word Count: 2.9k

A/N: shameless mention of the fucking Andes™️.

[series masterlist] * [next]

Chapter One: Lovesong

“This is a Brooklyn bound L train. Stand clear of the closing doors, please”.

The distorted voice booming from the speakers comforts you in your theory that New York is a city made for New Yorkers, and New Yorkers only. You can’t imagine how anyone who doesn’t live here year round can go by in this monster of a city. Paris is so much more tourist friendly. You don’t get why everybody thinks it’s so dirty. Okay, maybe you do, but riding the Parisian métro is definitely easier than dealing with the MTA. And Paris is the most visited city in the world so if it is, indeed, dirty, it's probably because of the hordes of tourists roaming the city streets. Parisians can be unpleasant, though. You can admit to this.

Sitting beside you on the hard plastic seat, Rosie is chatting animatedly. Her bubbly enthusiasm soothes your flaring anxiety and a surge of affection warms up your heart, knowing all too well that’s precisely what she’s aiming for. It’s only the third time you two meet in the flesh but the familiarity between you is a testimony to the deep bond you’ve been sharing since chance brought you together five years ago, through a student exchange program during your freshman year in high school. You’ve been writing one another twice, three times a week, long letters, short postcards, a few words on a scrapped piece of paper, witty jokes etched in markers on ripped off magazine pages… The recent acquisition of an internet connection in the shape of a very expensive and noisy black box has brought you closer yet, with the ability to communicate in real time. You would spend endless hours on the phone, but phone calls are for emergencies only, as you simply can’t afford it. You’re entirely on your own since you left “home” after graduating from high school, and if you haven’t looked back, money’s tight. Despite working two part-time jobs on top of your scholarship, you never could have paid for this summer trip to New York, if Rosie’s mother hadn’t wired you a hefty part of the airfare. You’re pretty sure she won’t let you give her back the money either, even though they’re not exactly rolling in money, sharing a two-room apartment above a laundromat at the corner of 1st Avenue and East 115th Street. You don’t feel good about it, but being surrounded by their loving natures is a welcome respite from your loneliness, one that surpasses your guilt. You've never known such generosity from your own mother, despite her situation being more enviable than that of Dolores.

You shrug away the thought of your mother and bring your attention back to Rosie. It has got to be about the hundredth time she’s babbling on about the guy from her improv class who’s throwing the party she’s currently dragging you to, her black eyes shining bright with excitement. You nod absent-mindedly, taking in her perfect features, high cheekbones and golden skin, her luscious black hair tied in an effortless bun.

Notwithstanding your physical differences, you two come across as very similar, at least at first glance. However, where her extroverted nature is one of her chore character traits, yours is only skin deep. If you had to explain why, you’d probably say that the only thing setting you apart is that her mother loves her. Both women got pregnant during their senior year in high school, but while Rosie’s mom affectionately talks about her daughter as the best thing to ever happen to her, yours refers to you as "her failed abortion”.

Putain, just stop thinking about your mother, already.

You smile at Rosie, hoping it will convey all the affection and gratitude you feel toward her right now, unaware you’re riding at a 30 mph speed into an evening that will forever alter the course of your life.

Ignorant as you may be, you’re absolutely terrified. You don’t do well at parties, you usually drink too much, feeling too awkward in these kinds of social settings. A bunch of unemployed aspiring artists with useless BA degrees, you can’t imagine what you’ll have to offer any of them with your equally useless French degree in Roman History.

The dimly lit apartment is already overcrowded when you get there, garlands of colourful bulbs hanging from random pieces of furniture. The acrid smell of sweat mingled with smoke stings your eyes and you feel slightly light-headed for a minute or two. Despite her many promises not to do so, Rosie leaves your side almost immediately, having spotted the birthday boy upon arrival. You don’t resent her for it, you could have bet on this outcome the moment she told you about the party, but you feel utterly lost nonetheless. There's a lot of alcohol, some drugs, the music's loud, people are cool, you guess, but you're overwhelmed so you step aside for a beat, seeking refuge on the fire escape.

He’s hiding, just like you, but he sees you right away, and it’s not long before you see him too. He's standing in a corner by himself, a plastic cup in his left hand, tall and lean and broad, you can tell by the way his green plaid shirt is pulled taut over his shoulders. A strong nose, a sharp, clean-shaven jaw, thick brown locks swept back. When his dark eyes dive into yours, your breath hitches. A gentle smile lifts up the right corner of his lush lips and you have to pull yourself away from his gaze. You don't hear him arriving but you feel him as he slightly brushes against the naked skin of your arm with a bottle of ice-cold beer.

"Hey" -you can barely hear him over the music, his voice a low whisper, is he shy? "I thought you might need this."

“Oh yeah, cheers.”

You take the bottle, chug on it for dear life with a silent prayer of please please make me drunk not too drunk just enough because your insecure brain can’t make out what he’s doing standing next to you on the metal grid. The first notes of Song 2 by Blur blast from the giant speakers inside the room and your damn brain yells at you to go dance, you love this song, just get out of here.

“I’m Frankie.”

His eyes pin you down.

You chat for a while. A long while, actually. It’s hard because you can’t comprehend for the life of you why a guy so smart and handsome would be… into you? Is he into you? But it’s easy because he can’t comprehend, for the life of him, why a girl so smart and sweet would be into him. You’re into him. You talk about your lives and your dreams, it's that age. You’re broke but in France college is free so you get by, you’d like to be an archaeologist one day but you’ve no connections, and you’ve been told they are needed, never mind, education’s education, you’ll take it, see where it takes you. He’s very broke and he wants to be a pilot (“you wanna fly things?” He’s so handsome when he laughs, is that a dimple on his right cheek? You feel very hot under his gaze. It’s too deep. “Yeah I wanna fly things. Over the fucking Andes!” a flash of the dimple and you refrain from touching). He’s been working as a mechanic in a garage in Queens for the past two years, to pay off some of the student loan for his Bachelor’s degree in Aviation, and it’s about how long he can put up with the status quo. So he did the logical, efficient thing, he enlisted with the US Army pilot training program. They’ll educate him for free, or so he thinks. He’s unsure whether he should have told you that last bit. It probably won’t sit right with what he can tell are your politics. Did he fuck this up already? God, you’re sweet. Would you taste as good as you look? Probably.

There’s a pause. Not uncomfortable. Just unsure. Expectant. You rest your hand on his forearm and you squeeze, “when you’re a pilot, will you fly me over the fucking Andes?”

***

You leave with him, something you’ve never done before. Something about his eyes that makes you bold. You spend the entire weekend locked up in his apartment, in a bedroom with orange curtains, losing track of time and fucking until you start making love. You hardly talk. You don’t need to. You’re both young and fairly inexperienced but the attraction and the curiosity make up for it, and you venture so far, so, so far, you let him take you anyhow anywhere and he gives just as much as he takes. On Monday he’s shipping out. So you give and take and give and take as much as you physically and emotionally can. And then some. He writes his number on a piece of paper, swear you’ll call me, you don’t even own a cell phone but you swear, i’ll call you. You safely tuck the paper in the watch pocket of your jeans. And you part ways.

***

On your way back to Rosie, you’re caught in one of those NYC rainstorms, and the distance between the subway exit and Dolores’s apartment is enough to have you drenched completely. Rosie’s rightfully pissed at you for disappearing all weekend, and yes, you get it, but you can’t bring yourself to care. She’s mid sentence into telling you no one at the party seemed to know that tall dude she saw you leaving with, that anything could have happened to you and she’d never know, when you suddenly blurt out “I’m in love, Rosie.”

Your tone speaks of certitude.

She stares at you with owlish eyes. She knows you to be overly enthusiastic about a lot of things, books, movies, places, heck, even cheese, but hardly ever about people. She wants to crack a joke, one of her witty one-liners that never fail to single her out in a crowd, you look every bit the hectic walk of shame you just came from, your features drawn with tiredness, runny makeup, hair a mess, soaked in rain. But your demeanour stops her abruptly and the words die on her tongue. She narrows her gaze on your neck, eying closely the extent of your skin speckled with purple mottled spots tracing a constellation, and at the crook of your neck, deep, red, bite marks, Jesus fucking Christ, did that guy try to eat you up? You’re standing up tall. What happened to you this weekend? Your eyes are alight with a bright, profound spark, there's no trace of the blurry sadness that usually lingers around you like a halo even when you laugh. She stares at you in disbelief for a beat. It's palpable. You’re vibrating. She knows at this very moment that she will never experience the depth of feelings you’re experiencing right now. Her smile drops. For just a fleeting second, she envies you.

You recount your weekend but you remain scarce with details. The orange bedroom is yours and Frankie’s, and yours and Frankie’s only.

Later that night when you pull out the little piece of paper with the intent of calling him from the kitchen phone, the digits are just a smear of wiped ink, washed away by the rain.

You cry until your voice is hoarse, until Dolores suggests you return to his place to leave a note in his mailbox. He told you his sister was scheduled to meet his landlord there in the afternoon, to retrieve his remaining belongings and negotiate for the deposit, but you’ll try anyway. Rosie escorts you, Dolores insists on it. On the never ending subway ride, you curse the size of this city, your leg bouncing nervously on the hard train floor, your jaw clenched. She throws anxious sideways glances at you, it drives you crazy.

When you exit the G train on Greenpoint Ave, it’s late already and the usually busy street has been nearly emptied by the heavy rain. You turn around the corner of Huron street, and you see it right away: the orange curtains are no longer hanging from the third floor window.

***

On a bleak Sunday morning, thirteen years later, you wake up to the sobering realisation that you can’t conjure up any of your youthful dreams, save for the ones of the orange bedroom. You’re definitely not an archaeologist. Your father died before you had a chance to reconnect with him, not that he ever seemed interested. You’ve come to terms with the fact that your mother is nothing more than a mean stranger who gave you life.

You did, however, make an effort to mould yourself into some kind of normality. The one thing that brings you joy and balance is your job in one of Paris’s most prestigious patrimonial libraries. You go out to the movies, visit exhibitions, argue with friends about the latest series over expensive beers in hipster bars, attend weddings and birthday parties in Buttes Chaumont in the summer and celebrate Christmas at your in-laws… Not your in-laws, really, you’re not married. But you bought an apartment with Eric, the man you’ve been dating for the past 5 years. An apartment is big enough of a commitment. Eric. Cold blue eyes behind 500€ tortoise shell glasses, thinning blond hair, more charming than handsome, junior editor at Gallimard. The loan is bleeding you dry. A civil servant, your income doesn’t quite match up with his. All things considered, the person you’ve become is not that different from the young woman you once were: enthusiastic, caring and fun, if a little insecure (and around the edges of you, ever present, the lingering sadness). Why, then, does he treat you like dirt? Why do you put up with it?

So on that bleak Sunday morning, you finally walk out. You walk out after too many years of trying your best, with nothing to show for it but a small nest egg and a persisting feeling of waste.

The following year is a blur of depression until Rosie shows up on your doorstep one day to wrestle your head out of the water. She convinces you to use that money to turn your life over, move to New Jersey and live with her. At the moment, it makes sense, she’s the one steady, comforting, benevolent element in your life. It’s a relief to put your life in her hands and to follow her.

The two first months after that are exhilarating, if a little terrifying. Rosie was right, as always. You needed a drastic change in your life, one that would place you so out of your depth you’d be forced out of your thoughts and propelled into action. Action is where you excel.

Your superior isn’t too pleased when you announce to her that you want a three-year sabbatical. You’re a very good asset. But as a civil servant, you’re entitled to it and she can’t deny you. She reminds you however that it is tacitly renewable every year until the third year, when it will become definite. She also stresses out that she cannot, statutorily, hold your position beyond the first year and will have to recruit a replacement. You don’t budge. You reckon three years is all you need to get back up on your feet.

You start drawing lists of what has to be done and sorting your belongings into categories: keep, storage, sell, charity. You happily get rid of what little furniture you own, as it was acquired during the period of your life you are currently trying to leave behind. Plainly spoken, none of it is in your taste. Nothing makes it into storage, either. You can’t part with many of your clothes, and your books even less. You’re going to have to use some of the money from your share of the apartment -and Eric made sure to screw you over the increase in value- to have them shipped to you anyway, so you might as well add your collection of vintage photographs and the many trinkets you brought back from your travels across Europe. Being virtually on your own, you have surrounded yourself with objects that bring you comfort, and a sense of home your failing family never provided you with.

You stay with Rosie for a while, in her cosy little house with two gardens (“one in the front and one in the back” she’s keen to precise with great pride) working with Dolores in her thrift store in Manhattan, near St Mark's place. The commute is insane, exhausting and long and has you questioning the entire enterprise. You hardly ever see Rosie, she works the night shifts at the hospital and when she comes home you’re passed out on the couch. But after a couple of months that feel like a lifetime, you find a position in a bookstore near Rosie’s place. After that, the rest of the plan is quickly set in motion. You rent out a furnished apartment, have your belongings shipped, and you unpack.

Jersey City is certainly not the place you would have singled out for a recovery, yet it works just fine. Far from home, you get reacquainted with yourself. After a while, it becomes less painful being you, until it starts feeling good again. You even date. You meet this playful, kind-hearted, spontaneous guy, Benny, in the most unlikely place. He makes you laugh and fucks you right. It’s a slow pace but he likes you and you like him, he wants more of you in his life, so on a Friday evening in early April, he takes you to a bar to introduce you to his friends.

“And this right here is Frankie, he’s like a brother to me.”

Taglist

#Francisco Catfish Morales #Frankie Morales #The Pilot™️#frankie morales x fem!reader #frankie morales x you #triple frontier fic #Frankie morales x fem!reader #frankie morales x ofc #frankie morales/fem!reader #frankie morales/you #frankie morales/ofc #triple frontier

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just-an-alligator · 2 years

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BNHA - Villain!Mic AU - The Obsession

Put Your Hands Up!

The first time Hizashi sees Eraser (his wonderful, terrifying, beautiful future husband nemesis) is on a rooftop. It was overcast, dark as the void, and if it wasn't for the glitter kids obnoxious headpiece it would have been like floating in space looking down at the star speckled universe of the city beneath them.

Hizashi has always been a hopeless romantic. Sue him. Hope is one of the only things he had going for him growing up with an obnoxious and dangerous quirk that left him abandoned again, and again, and again. He wants love, attention, stability. He wants and wants and wants so badly that he's almost sick with it. Which is probably why half his villainous stunts involve a stage and a pyrotechnic display.

Eraserhead looks at him like he’s interesting. Looks at him like he’s important. He always lingers to make sure Hizashi picks himself up after their little bouts of violence. He’s stuck to Hizashi like glue on the bad days when it takes everything he has not to start screaming until the world turns to dust around him. Let’s him rant and rave about ever little inconvenience and every trauma that has ever befallen him with a reserved yet honest care that makes him want to cry.

And he did cry that first time gentle callused fingers traced the silvery faded scars where a muzzle bit into his cheeks.

Makes him want to wrap him up in that capture weapon of his, drag him back to his lair, and never let him go again. Never let anyone but him touch Eraser again. Every time he sees the other man covered in new injuries that he KNOWS that HE didn’t put there his possessive lizard brain jumps to attention. It makes him want to… he cuts the thought off there because Hizashi is a lot of things but he isn’t going to be the guy who hurts people because it makes him feel good.

Not unless it’s a mutual feel good~

Ahem… Mind out of the gutter Mic. Come on man.

The point is, if there is a point at all, even Hizashi’s easily distractible brain is starting to doubt it, the point is that just months after their first meeting on that rooftop Hizashi is inventing reasons to ‘casually’ run into Eraser. It doesn’t take him long to figure out the vigilante’s patrol routes. For all that his Eraser is a terrifying cryptid that travels by telephone wire and operates with feral ambush tactics in the cover of darkness he is also a creature of habit.

He maps the routes out and is always conveniently around if there's a villain that gets a little too violent or a hero that gets a little too handsy.

And some of them get way. too. handsy.

Like that detective gets way too close. Who the heck is that guy anyway? He’s always there now. Hizashi has even caught them having coffee together once and he almost bit off his tongue to keep from screaming.

And there's that other vigilante that hangs around Naruhata with that big guy who likes manhandling HIS Eraser. Honestly, its exhausting trying to keep the lovey man safe so can you really blame Hizashi for sometimes going a little overboard? It's not like writing Property of Present Mic on the back of his uniform in permanent neon, glowing fabric marker (He has to thank the Auctioneer for that one its great) really hurts anything does it?

That look of righteous anger on Eraser's face was just too cute. The man might act tough, but Hizashi knows he's about as scary as a wet cat. Adorable. How can anyone be afraid of this face?

You can't its literally impossible.

You're only saying that because you're obsessed Hizashi. It's not healthy Hizashi.

And Hizashi's going to cut that off right there because he's pretty sure bringing Eraser coffee at three in the morning and sitting quietly in the moonlight until he quietly tells Hizashi the latest instalment in the odyssey of the floating, six-legged, teleporting cat is the most healthy thing he's done in YEARS.

Just sitting together quietly is the best he’s felt in years…

#bnha #bnha fanfiction #present mic #eraserhead #erasermic #yamada hizashi #aizawa shouta #aizawa shota #yandere mic #This AU is now called Put Your Hands Up!#Villain mic au #villian mic #vigilante aizawa

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valreadsfics · 2 years

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♡ genre: non idol au, librarian!chan, all fluff

♡ pairings: chan x reader, changbin x reader, seungmin x oc (kind of)

♡ word count: ~1.5k

♡ description: you didn't even want to go to the stupid library to begin with, but unfortunately, your best friend needed a movie and you both couldn't find it online.

♡ warnings: none, as far as i know

originally, you were just going to borrow your best friend’s card, but upon hearing they had nearly double the fines that you’d had at the start of your life, you had no choice but to get a new card for a different branch. you walked in with the intent of this being an in-and-out thing, since you had places to go and people to see. places being your house, and people being the pizza guy, but who was asking?

you walk up to the vacated desk, full of unmanned computers and scanners, waiting for someone to help. there was a bell with a sign that begged you to ring it for service, but you would rather die than do that. so, you waited. you looked around at all the people, seeing a couple people walk by. a guy with some sapphire blue hair holding a stack of books about cats, holding hands with another man with soft, blonde hair, complaining about said cats. another guy, down the aisle, sitting comfortably in one of the chairs, nose pushed into the latest chronicle of some book about dramas.

a voice, deep and warm, shook you from your thoughts, “um, sorry, how can i help you?”

your eyes snap back to the person behind the desk, and immediately you’re startled. in front of you, a guy with a thousand watt smile and crescent-moon eyes, dimples in his cheeks as he smiled. thin, golden wire rim glasses perched low on his nose, he still smiled, and you realize you had been asked a question.

“oh, uh. i needed to get a library card.”

“yeah, sure!” the guy responds, smile getting larger if that’s possible. you search for a name tag or some indication of who this is as you spout absent information for the librarian to fill in. finally your eyes catch the ID card laid on the desk from when the librarian had hurried up to help you. christopher.

after a few minutes, christopher hands the finished card to you, smiling, “now all i need is for you to sign it and then you’ll be all set.”

“thanks,” you reply, still lost in the concept of the librarian boy in front of you. christopher hands you a permanent marker, and you sign.

“if you need any help, feel free to find me, or... i think seungmin is also working today.” between the two, you already preferred christopher, but the two didn’t need to know that.

you hurry along, going to get the dvd you came to rent. it was your dumb best friend’s idea to rent it to begin with, since they couldn’t find it anywhere else and their internet was broken. they were waiting outside in the parking lot to drive back to their house to watch it with you.

you search through titles, reading the spines of them as you go, finger trailing down the sides. you regretfully discover they’re sorted not by alphabet but by ISBN number. searching for what felt like hours, your fingers finally reach a copy of ponyo. jesus... why did things take so long... you pull the dvd out and another hand reaches close to pull another dvd out. you squint at it as it’s removed from your sight. the shining. your eyes follow the dvd up to the owner of the hand, seeing a tanned guy with a fierce expression. he was wearing a white tee shirt that was probably a size too small and showed off more of his body than you’d typically deem acceptable, his brown wavy hair falling towards his eyes.. despite the fierce expression, there was a hint of softness to his eyes.

the guy speaks, a warm, rough voice, “i’m sorry, did you want this one?”

“n-no!” you quickly say. “uh. i just... uh...” didn’t know how to explain yourself. “s-sorry.”

a small smile pulls at the guy’s lips, “it’s alright. what movie did you pick?”

you simply offer the case to the guy, too afraid of saying something else dumb.

“ponyo... i haven’t seen this one.”

“it’s really good. one of my favorites.”

“i’ll have to see it sometime,” the guy says. “maybe we can do a movie exchange.”

“maybe,” you say, increasingly losing confidence in this conversation.

the guy smiles again, “i’m changbin. it was nice to talk to you...” his voice was hardly above normal library volume, but seemed to resonate within your head. “i hope i’ll see you around.”

“y-yeah,” you say.

changbin hands back the dvd and walks off. you stay rooted to the spot until he’s borrowed his dvd and has left. when you look down, you see that you have...not ponyo. in your hands instead is the shining. oh no... he was gone now... there was nothing you could do.

you go back up to the desk, and christopher is there, grinning brightly again.

“find everything okay?”

other than the fact that you now had the wrong dvd and there was only one copy of ponyo in this library... “yeah.”

“i’ll just scan this and your card and then you’ll be on your way!”

“thanks,” you say. christopher does so, and waves to you as you leave.

“come back soon! we always have new dvds being cycled in and out!”

you planned to never come back to the library ever again after returning this stupid dvd....

~*~*~

but you couldn’t resist. christopher’s smile was infectious and changbin always had something funny to say or a laugh to share. after that day, you and changbin began to recommend each other dvds, and then come back the next time and discuss. this week’s choices were big hero 6 from you and insidious from changbin.

“it was so creepy!” you say. “and i felt so bad for the wife. after all that, she gains one family member, but loses another...”

“ah, yeah... i agree. but that’s part of what makes the story really emotional, even though it’s scary, right? as for big hero 6, i knew it was going to be fun... i liked it a lot. baymax would be a helpful invention.”

god... he was so cute. “yeah.”

changbin offers you another horror movie, and you offer an anime movie that came out recently. you smile at each other and part ways.

you go to christopher to get your dvd, and christopher smiles at you like he does every time. “find everything?”

“yup,” you say, smiling back.

christopher opens the dvd to check that the magnetic lock on it had been taken off, and looks surprised. he says nothing for a moment, before saying, “hang on.”

had someone tampered with the dvd? you stand and wait. christopher steps back to a desk further back behind the counter, and beckons seungmin over. they talk heatedly. in the meantime, your mind wanders again. you’d been thinking about introducing your best friend to seungmin, but you’d never got around to it. maybe if something worked out, you could double date. your best friend and christopher’s coworker, and then you and ... changbin... and christopher. was it still a double date if you had multiple dates? would they be cool with th--

“y/n?” christopher’s voice snaps you back.

seungmin was back to shelving the holds over behind the desk. christopher was offering the dvd to you. woah... how much time had passed?

“here’s your dvd.”

“th-thanks.”

what was wrong with it?

you walk out and open the dvd. everything looked fine but... inside was a little dark blue card. there was a star on the front, with your name written in it, in scratchy pen.

y/n.

the words were in pretty silvery ink.

on the backside was a message.

do you want to see a movie with me together? we could go see watcher. it’s another horror movie. tomorrow at 2?

-cb

underneath it, in neat, boyish handwriting, in a gold-ish ink, was something else.

i know that that was an offer for you, but i’ve also been interested in you and changbin. can we make it three?

-chris

both of them...? with you?

on the bottom were both of their phone numbers, each in their respective colors. how did changbin get the card inside the dvd? that must’ve taken some planning...

you text changbin first, saying that you’re interested, and asking if it was okay if christopher came too.

changbin texts back almost immediately, saying he’d be more than happy to have christopher come along. you tell christopher, and christopher responds with excitement. you’d just set yourself up on a date with two different guys...

you feel a tap on your shoulder, and turn to see the puppy-like coworker of christopher. “hey, uh, did you say yes to going out with chris?”

“y-yeah. why?”

“you know that person who drives you to the library every day?”

“what?”

“the one with the green car. they drive you here every day.”

“yeah...?”

“can you introduce me?”

you can’t help but laugh. fate worked in fickle ways. the next day, you, changbin, christopher, seungmin, and your best friend all went to see a movie. you felt on top of the world when changbin twined his fingers with yours, and your heart soared when christopher took the other and slotted your fingers together. things were looking up, all because you went to the stupid library.

#changbin x reader #bang chan x reader #changbin x y/n #bang chan x y/n #stray kids fluff #skz imagines #skz fluff #;;comments-#um !!! yeah !!! this is a fic i wrote !!! its not my best work but i really wanted to contribute something !!!#especially contributing to the chanbin x reader world because theres never enough of that shit !!!#;;reader #;;changbin #;;bangchan #;;nonidol #;;fluff #;;val.note

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ffsg0jo · 17 days

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my favourite type of asmr is that one french guy with the tennis raquet and black marker. he just counts in french and cuts random wires on the racquet, and it's the best thing ever

#its so funny and satisfying #brainrot is brainrotting fr #🌻.lija speaks

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amandacanwrite · 7 months

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Blue Veins • A Short Story

genre : contemporary/fantasy

warning : themes of suicide, depression, foul language, cigarettes, existential crises

a/n : Here is a little short I wrote a while ago for a contest that wasn't selected, but I still really enjoy it and I hope you guys do too! I purposefully didn't give the narrator any defining gender markers so feel free to imagine whomever you like there.

I sat with my feet dangling off the edge of the cliff side, staring at the churning sea below with glazed eyes. Beside me was a single glove, upon which I’d set my pack of smokes, protecting it from the dirt and gravel. I was working my way through the pack, chain smoking. I wasn’t thinking about much, only what I’d do after I smoked that last cigarette.

Life had been a series of disappointments—dull and colorless, every day another shade of grey, pewter or charcoal. I decided I was finally tired of it. I was going to end it. No reason to waste a good pack of cigarettes, though.

Nobody was going to find the damned thing up here. I could have given them to some vagrant, I guess—or I could have left them at the venue where my former band mates were playing songs I wrote, where some intruder was singing words she didn’t write about pain she didn’t earn.

But fuck that, I paid almost fifteen bucks for this shitty hipster brand of organic tobacco. I was going to enjoy it.

Looking across the horizon at the endless black of the nighttime ocean scape, I snuffed out my most recent smoke. I lit another immediately; the flame flickering white as I inhaled a throat-paralyzing drag. I let the smoke leave my nostrils.

“Got one to spare?” A voice said from behind me.

I jolted and looked back at the intruder, my brows knitting. He was half hidden in the shadow of the trees I’d woven through to get to the lookout. I bristled. This was a sacred moment—my sacred space—no outsiders allowed.

“What the fuck?” I griped.

“What is this, your private cliff or something?” The voice was lilting, amused.

“I climbed over a barbed wire fence to get here. I was kind of hoping for some time to clear my head, asshole. Why don’t you go to some other craggy outcropping of rock and mind your own business?”

“Mostly because I smelled cigarettes and decided I wanted one,” he said, stepping out of the shadow.

Ripped black jeans, a white shirt, pasty white skin. His eyes were greasy smudges of old smeared eyeliner around even blacker irises. A shock of messy blue hair tangled and ratty sprouted from his head—chin length—grown out.

“You follow me from The Nest?” I asked, defensive, pissed off, generally annoyed.

“Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t.”

The stranger came to sit next to me despite every social cue, telling him I didn’t want company. He hung his legs off the side of the cliff alongside mine, kicking feet clad in converse held together by staples and duct tape. I occupied my mouth with a sour inhale from my cigarette, silvery ashes blowing in the whipping wind as I burned it down half-way.

“Bro, do you not take fucking hints? I’m not interested in company right now,” I said through smoke.

“Oh, I caught that,” he said, flashing a grin at me.

“So why are you still here, then?”

“’Cause I want in.”

“In on what?”

“The suicide.”

I froze, looking at him through the ribbons of smoke I involuntarily gusted out. His eyes weren’t black, I realized. They were a mossy shade of green. They crinkled with far too much humor for the dismal situation.

“No thanks, I’m doing this one on my own—maybe next time,” I said in deadpan.

“Oh, come on. Will it be so bad to have a bite-it-buddy?” he asked, “What’s the game, huh? Finish the last cigarette and bombs away? Sounds like a pretty sick deal to me. Let me in on it.”

I scowled at him for a few minutes, thinking about it. A red-hot pain seared my finger, and I looked down, dropping my smoke that had burned away while I spoke with him. I shook the pain off my fingers.

“Damn it, look—you made me waste one,” I said.

“Sooner the better, right?” he asked, “Unless you’re planning on backing out last minute, which would be boring as shit,” he said.

I leveled a glare at him, flicking the butt off the side of the cliff, letting it fall to the ocean below.

“Yikes, litterbug.”

“Fuck off,” I muttered, picking up the pack of smokes and flicking it open.

I looked down and my heart stalled. Two left. Had I smoked that many already?

“It’s perfect, isn’t it?” He asked as if he’d read my mind, “One for you, one for me, and then we can shuffle off our mortal coils in fashion. It will be like some shitty movie, like Harold and Maude.”

I chuckled, gloved hand holding the open pack, as I looked down at those two lonesome sticks.

“I love that movie,” I mumbled.

He put out a hand toward me, two fingers extended, fingernails painted a sparkly dark violet. I looked at them for a while, considering.

Finally, I used my ungloved hand to fish them out, placing one between those outstretched fingers and poising the other between my own.

“Thelma & Louise,” I said.

He looked at me, brows rising as he hung the cigarette between soft, pinkish lips, “Huh?”

“It’s more like Thelma & Louise,” I corrected, “Harold loved Maude, we don’t love each other, we’re just two buddies getting out of a shitty situation.”

He smiled, holding the cigarette between his teeth as he fished a cheap plastic lighter from his jean pocket. “Buddies, huh?” he asked.

“That’s what you called it—a bite-it-buddy,” I said.

“One of my better ideas, I think.”

The familiar hiss of the flint sounded from his lighter as he lit his borrowed cigarette, his borrowed time—time he borrowed from me that he had no intention of returning. After lighting his own, he offered the orange flame out to me and I leaned forward to catch it, watching his hand illuminate in the red glow of the igniting cinders.

After that, we smoked in silence for a while. I removed my other glove and put it on top of the one that still rested on the ground.

“Leaving those behind?” he asked me.

“It’s my suicide note, I guess,” I said, “Not that anyone will come looking for me but, you know, just in case. It’s got my name written in them.”

“What is your name, anyway?” he asked.

“Does it matter?”

“Guess not,” he relented, taking another drag. Silence stretched for a few heartbeats, drowned out by the waves crashing on the rocks below. “So how come you’re doing this?”

I shot him a bitter look. “Is this the part where you reveal you’re some kind of shitty negotiator trying to convince me not to kill myself?”

“Nah, guess I just thought we could swap stories to pass the time.” He shrugged, leaning back on his free hand, “Don’t have to if you don’t wanna.”

I smoothed a hand through my hair.

“I dunno, feels like I’ve hit dead end after dead end in my life. This seems like the only viable open road left.”

“If there was another open road, would you take it?” he asked.

“There is no open road.”

“I know, but like—if there was one.”

“There isn’t.”

“Shit dude, it’s like you’ve never heard of a hypothetical question before. Talking to you is like talking to a fucking wall,” he said.

“Whatever. What about you? Why are you kicking the bucket?”

He shrugged, taking another puff of his cigarette. “Seems like a fun experiment. Wanna see if I’ll end up in hell like all the bible thumpers say or if I’ll see a white light and meet buddha or some shit, I guess,” he said. “I’m just bored.”

“You’re killing yourself ‘cause you’re bored?”

“Is your reason so much better?”

I looked down at my cigarette, already half-way done. I lifted it to my lips and puffed conservatively at it.

“No. I guess it isn’t.”

We smoked in silence after that. I guess we were just making peace with whatever we considered God, grieving the potential of our lives. I don’t know if it was all the nicotine or the fact that I’d be going out with a friend, but my heart was light. Lighter than it had been in months. Like a drink of ice-cold water on a blazing hot day; a relief.

We finished our cigarettes, and he stood, holding out a hand for me. I took it and rose to my feet, dwarfed by his lanky build.

He gave me a sad smile and squeezed my hand.

“You ready, Thelma?” he asked.

“After you, Louise.”

We stood on the precipice, the angry black waters churning hungrily below. Our hands clenched so tightly, breaths coming fast and labored. I swallowed. My throat was so dry from all that chain smoking I’d done.

We didn’t need to time it. We didn’t need to count. At that moment, we were both sharing one soul with a common drive.

We plummeted.

Down.

The regret I felt was instant.

I didn’t want to die. I wanted to live. Fuck everyone else, fuck the dead ends. I could make my own goddamned road. I was throwing everything away. And for what? Some mediocre punk band who didn’t deserve my music, anyway?

I heard my bones shatter and crack like thunder. Icy darkness blinded me.

Hell.

I was in hell.

But shit, at least I wasn’t alone. I felt that hand squeeze mine a little tighter. Felt the tickle of something. Felt the breeze.

The breeze.

It rustled in my hair, across my eyelashes. My eyes flickered and opened.

Above me was the dappled yellow-green light of sunshine through lush tree boughs. The tickle, I realized, was the lapping of warm waters against my exposed skin—the nipping of little suckling lips of golden-scaled fish. Through one ear I heard the lilting of delicate birdsong.

That hand I held so tightly released mine and moved to my shoulders, tugging me out of the water onto a moss-scented shore—onto his lap.

The man who looked down at me resembled my bite-it-buddy only loosely. His hair was blue, but it was pale and otherworldly. His moss eyes were verdant and brilliant like perfectly cut emeralds set in alabaster skin. Pointed ears pushed past his silken hair, laden with dangling earrings.

“Holy shit,” I breathed.

“Welcome to my realm, you depressing little shit,” he said, smiling down at me. “I hope you like the harp because I’m going to need you to learn it to entertain my court.”

“You better be fucking joking.”

He laughed, full and bright.

It brought a smile to my face.

“I’m sure we can come to a compromise,” he said, flicking my forehead. “You paid the toll. Here’s your open road.”

“Toll?”

“The cigarette,” he said.

“Pretty cheap fucking toll,” I choked out.

He shrugged. “I really wanted a cigarette.”

I shook my head.

“Are you sure this isn’t just some stupid dream?”

“Maybe it is—maybe this is just your brain getting you through your moments of agony before you fade into nothing,” he said. “You might as well enjoy it while you’re here.”

I looked up at him, looked up at all the color surrounding us, all the color that seemed to follow him like it belonged to him—heeded his beck and call. My manic pixie dream boy. Literally.

I thought to myself that a world with some color would do me a world of good.

“You know what? I think I will.”

#short story #my writing #writing community #writers on tumblr #writing #authors #book quotes #romantasy #historical fantasy #creative writing #fic writing #original writing

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