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Viết hay quá huhu

i would love to request some more zagene!!! preferably some first kiss action? cause you’re super good at first kiss fics!!!!! uwu!!!!!!

this is only four months late and i’m so goddamn sorry! anyways, here’s some first kiss shenanigans, set during Keith and Becky’s wedding reception!

~1.7k, on ao3 here.

shut up and dance with me.

Zach can’t remember the last time he was this drunk.

Presumably, it was for one of their videos, but that’s all he can dredge up at this particular moment. The parts of his brain normally devoted to combing back through his memories are distracted at this particular moment by the champagne flowing through his body, by the warmth concentrated in his stomach and the lightness filling his head like so many helium balloons.

Based on a quick glance around the dimly lit, expansive room where Becky and Keith’s wedding reception is in full swing, he’s sure he’s not the only one feeling this good. Ned and Ariel are sitting at a table over in the corner, and while Zach is pretty sure that Ariel’s only been drinking water for the entirety of the night, the two of them still look tipsy, foreheads resting each other, giggling at some private joke. Various family members and friends are scattered around the room, heads thrown back with laughter as they move to the upbeat music flowing from the speakers set up in each corner of the room. The happy couple themselves are over in a corner, eating off the same plate with matching ridiculous grins.

(The sight of that makes Zach’s heart ache in a way that might border on painful, if he was anything approaching sober.

Thankfully, he’s not, so he barely registers the twinge in his chest.)

And then, of course, there’s Eugene.

Keep reading

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My headcanon is, was, and always will be that Eugene’s favorite is Zach, he really only became part of the Try Guys because of Zach, and he will never admit any of this upon pain of death.  But they all know it; he’s very soft for Zach and would do anything for him.  Zach is the one who decided he should be in their first ‘try guys’ video because he was a great creative person who would bring interesting perspective.  It was Zach who wanted a team of friends, who perhaps unintentionally was always trying to have a squad of friends who were ‘ride or die.’  Eugene hadn’t had friends like that before; he was drawn to Zach’s warmth and loyalty and even his weirdness.  Their first impressions of each other were very negative; they gave each other bad first impressions.  They rubbed each other the wrong way.  They were both film nerds with very particular ideas!  And competitive!  It was a true enemies to friends arc for them.  Now Eugene is 100% pro-Zach and Zach is 100% pro-Eugene.  They and the other Try Guys have become the “squad goals” that Zach wanted those years ago.  Because of Zach, Eugene no longer has to be the loner who can’t trust people; he can reach for the stars while being grounded and supported by his friends and business partners.  

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hi! just saw the post about deleted fic of flintwood (manticore)

i’m may have it downloaded, but not sure about the title of the work. anyway if needed i can find in my downloads!

Omg I just jumped out of my bed from pure excitement. That would be so great, and if it wasn't what I was looking for, I'd still be super happy and grateful to be able to read more fics about FlintWood.

Thank you so very much 💕❤️💕

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vivid

o.

Marcus is - well, Marcus is, and that’s a huge part of the problem.

i.

Oliver is scraped knees and the sort of sideways sun you can’t see so much as feel, and that’s how Marcus remembers it, the one time - thick slats of light in stray ribbons along the ground of broom shed. It smells like dried sweat, pennies that no amount of magic on the planet can cleanse of the thick musk, months of stale exertion, of fury and exhuastion and dried up hope. He closes his eyes through most of it. He can’t see him, and he doesn’t need to. He doesn’t want to.

It’d be redundant. Marcus already has him, loud, underneath. Slick, delicate little hips in his grip. Oliver would fight back, would shove and snap and bite if Marcus called him delicate, which is exactly why he does.

“You’re so delicate.” It’s a purr, it sounds like it was born jagged-jawed against a rabbit's neck because it was. He doesn’t even have to lean in for it to come out crawling and low, his mouth is right on the juncture of throat and ear. Dragging his tongue along the shell, it’s too real to ever go back to anything else. 

He’s Oliver this way. He’s Wood in the air, Wood during a match but in the lack of light, lack of air, knees that must be aching, curling in and away from, elbows on the ground for him, he’s sweet and pliant and Oliver, just this once. Freckle-shouldered and shaking.

And he does fight back, too.

ii.

“So what was Flint like?”

“Who?” Oliver asks, because he’s a fucking moron.

Obviously, Angelina already knows Marcus works with the team or she wouldn’t have asked. Maybe he can get away with it this time though. He blinks, wide-eyed, like he’s looking into a bright light and hopes she’ll wonder if he’s concussed.

He feels the sight of the worried crease in her brow like a thrumming cry of victory in his chest.

“Flint.” She says, an ‘F’ chord stepping down to an ‘E’, a smear slower, even her hands stilling on the clementine she'd been mid-peel on. 

“Oh,” Oliver says, like he’s just now putting together the name, like it’s such a foreign shape his mind hardly knows how to navigate the angles of it.

Flint? Oh, Flint- Flint, like the sound never pulsed through him shivered and slow. Like it’s not a direct capillary to Marcus, to the noise that he choked on, that’s been claimed up by and for the same cruel thing, responsible for rolling his eyes into the back of his head, for making him bite his cheek hard enough that it stayed swollen for the rest of the week. He hadn't healed it; he'd wanted it, running his tongue over and over it. Cherished it between his teeth.

The blunt syllable is still as dazing and hot and fucking ugly as he is.

“He was fine.”

iii. 

Marcus doesn’t know how it happened, before. It was just the one time and frankly he doesn’t care, never thought about it again after that, barely even remembers it. It was Oliver, though, definitely. Oliver’s fault. Quidditch, probably. Something mean that found a new way to burr and ache. 

He doesn’t think Oliver planned it. Little captain - he was alright with tactics in the short term, much better at memorizing a maneuver than at keeping it together for a whole game. He’s too emotional, he cares too much. It’s written all over his face, furious in the air or even more so, the one, unthought time, between Marcus’ legs.

He’s a better follower than a leader, really, which is something Marcus also told him during.

And then, years later, three inches taller, broader, and still less so in both directions than Marcus is, Oliver is standing in his doorway, sour-faced. Follower still. Though, when Marcus says it, he'll say at least he's on the team.

"It's better than equipment managing. Spiffy office, at least. Really. Cool."

Marcus snorts. He knew he was coming, that he’d been drafted onto the team, but he didn’t know he’d come here. Here.

Same fucking haircut that Marcus dragged against the dirt with a fist. Easy.

for day 12 of @microficmay

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I will forever mourn the death of you. The future generations can only hear about you in the myths of good days.

One of these days, people will see me cry and there is a 50% chance that I am crying because a favorite fic was deleted. The pain is unreal.

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Me with the fucking phrasal verbs

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Guys with painted nails (preferably dark colors) doing hand jobs or fingerings is my new fictional porn kink unlocked

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Phil Dunster at the 30th SAG Awards Season Celebration presented by City National Bank

Source

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Yall should all go watch Ted Lasso. The plot is so good.

♪ Fat bottomed girls, you make the rockin' world go round ♪

PHIL DUNSTER as Jamie Tartt in Ted Lasso 3.13 "Mom City"

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Jamie Tartt + adventures in sitting

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Ss2!Jamie hits me so fucking hard in the head

Ears (3/?)

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my ass is so grabable spankable squeezable if u even care

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Is there a gifset of all the times Roy refers to Jamie just "Jamie" rather than anything else - no insults-as-a-name and no full name usage, Jamie Fucking Tartt or whatever? Especially to his face, or in his presence? Whether it's friendly or not?

He does usually call him Jamie to Keeley, like when he talks about Jamie apologising to him for the funeral, but I think that could be put down to the fact that he's speaking to Keeley in "her language," and she calls him Jamie. However, it does happen more in the dressing room environment than people maybe think it does - it's definitely not a never situation.

He calls him just Jamie in 1.03, to Ted, to Jamie himself, and to Colin and Isaac when talking about Nate, in 1.04 with the little bitch pre-Madonna line, in 1.06, about drinking Dani's booze (Jamie's not wrong, ghosts prefer empty bottles that we've all drunk,) in 2.07 when he calls Jamie out for his perceived mistake with Richard in the box - he screams just Jamie, not Tartt, in training - in the press conference in 3.11, talking about Jamie leading the league in assists, and when he asks him out for a drink in 3.12...

I'm blanking on other moments, but it starts early on, and my basic thesis here is that for better or worse, and despite what Jamie himself might think, Jamie has, from fairly early, always been "Jamie" to Roy in his mind, not Tartt or anything else, and the uses of Tartt or insults are actively performative (later affectionate) rather than Roy's automatic identification of him.

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Jamie's slutty thighs

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I would read the living hell out of any fic that has hozier's lyrics as the title

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To the artists that feel like they'll never be the muse, you emotions toward your muse is my most gorgeous muse of all

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P.L.E.A.S.E.

I need Roymie fanfics with Roy who does the pining and Jamie is the oblivious one. If the angst is there, then that's the big bonus for the journey *bite heads off*

“no, roy doesn’t like me like that.” jamie insists while the team is at the bar. “roy hates me still. love ain’t on the table.”

everyone shares a glance, unable to really believe that.

isaac watched as jamie wordlessly walked over to where roy was eating lunch and handed over his clementines. roy peeled them without breaking conversation with beard and nate, going so far as to peel the little white bits off too before handing the clementine back. everyday jamie does that, and everyday roy peels them without complaint. if that’s not love, isaac doesn’t know what is.

sam overheard as jamie talked for several minutes about something so random and inconsequential to their daily lives, but roy listened. he didn’t say a word, didn’t interrupt other than to add a little tidbit of his own to the story. there was a small smile on the corner of his lips and his eyes were bright. it didn’t matter how boring the topic was, roy wanted to hear it. if that’s not love, sam doesn’t know what is.

the whole team witnessed roy coming into the locker room before training and saw jamie wasn’t there. they all watched as roy began to pace around his office, head down and not speaking to anyone. that is, until jamie came strolling into the locker room a minute before training started, drinks in his hand; one for him and one for roy. jamie knows roy’s coffee order by heart. if that’s not love, the team doesn’t know what is.

keeley pointed out that whenever roy says something that causes the team to laugh, he always looks at jamie to see if he’s laughing. if jamie’s not, roy adds to the joke until he does. if that’s not love, she doesn’t know what is.

“and,” jan says pointedly. “the two of you were kissing in the boot room yesterday.”

“yeah, out of hate!” jamie defends even when everyone starts laughing uncontrollably.