#me all day next day.. he'd keep messaging me switching between 'i still want you we shouldn't throw this away i have feelings for you'

[taegularities]

some men are textbook villains fr

[cssiop]

LA VIE EN ROSE… trent alexander-arnold

part four

trent buys white roses every week in maisie's flower shop, becoming her favourite customer.

trent alexander-arnold x fem!oc word count: 2.1k

other parts

the 'open' sign is turned the other way so that the message 'closed' appears, telling customers that there is no point in trying to buy a bouquet after eight pm. looking at her unlit storefront, maisie gasps in disappointment because, contrary to her grandmother's promise, trent has not come in today.

although she had been dreading the moment when he would walk through the door of the belrose shop, maisie is still saddened by his non-appearance because it only confirms her fears that the attraction she seems to feel for him is not reciprocated by the boy.

shaking her head, she wipes her bad thoughts from her mind and, taking the key out of her pocket, inserts it into the lock and turns it, closing the shop for good. trent didn't come and maisie just keeps telling herself that it doesn't matter, that she'll probably see him next week anyway. he still has to buy bouquets for ava.

with a cold still in her system, maisie sniffs as she puts on her gloves to counter the cold that is becoming more and more prevalent in liverpool as the days go by. but as the girl turns around, ready to walk in the direction she is parked, a car pulls up right in front of the shop's entrance and therefore maisie.

it's not just any car, given the lust it shows, and a leap of her heart in her chest jolts as trent gets out. he's wearing a more casual outfit than usual, consisting of sports clothes, and looks like he's just stepped out of the shower, given his wet hair and the fact that no drops have fallen today.

the boy's gaze darts around and when he finally sees the frozen figure of the one he is looking for, his panicked expression is replaced by a disarming smile on his face. rushing down the pavement towards her, he began to blurt out incomprehensible excuses, "gosh, you're still here. i'm sorry, i wanted to come by today to see if you were feeling better but i got held up at work so i couldn't. i rushed over but i was afraid i'd miss you, anyway, are you feeling better?" he catches his breath after his long monologue as if he'd just run a marathon and maisie thinks she's never seen someone create so much steam with their mouth before.

in a euphoric rush after trent's words, the girl bursts out laughing, and even though he doesn't understand why, his smile widens at seeing her like this.

"don't worry trent it's ok," an amused look on her face, she squints her eyes tilting her head to the side before answering the question he had asked her, "i'm fine. thanks for caring but it was just a little headache, nothing serious."

"i was still worried when i didn't see you yesterday," trent admits with a small pout that makes maisie forgets the bitter cold which freezes her in place.

"oh," she buries her head in her scarf to hide her burning face, "well, i'm better now."

nodding, trent finally raises his head with a small grimace on his face, formed by his lower lip bitten between his teeth and his small nose turned up under his drawn features. waddling to his feet, he ventures to ask, "is there any way you can still make me my bouquet or not?"

maisie would never have done such a thing for another customer, but it's trent, his favorite of all. so even though she feels stupid for agreeing to sell white roses to trent, who will then offer them to ava, the girl opens the door and beckons him in.

clasping his hands together, trent gives her his best smile, "thanks, you're the best."

maisie tries not to think too much of his compliment but her cheeks don't seem to agree with her and once again, begin to blush excessively as his words echo in the back of her mind.

her feet now treading the solid wood floor of the small shop, she searches for the switch with her fingers in order to turn on, not the whole boutique, but only its counter. once done, the atmosphere warms up almost immediately and the dimmed lights make the space more intimate.

facing the counter, trent observes maisie's careful movements as she removes her gloves to better adjust the white flowers. his eyebrows furrow as something seems different about her, he just can't figure out what it is yet.

"have you done something to your hair?" he blurts out and maisie's eyes go straight up to him.

"uh yes? i braided them," a warm feeling spreads in her chest, touched that he has noticed this subtle change in her.

"i like it, you should do it more often," trent compliments her with a smile and maisie doesn't know where to put herself. what is it with him today being so nice?

her previously precise gestures are now made uncertain by her trembling hands, she doesn't know what she's doing anymore. especially since she feels the boy's burning gaze on her person without her being able to do anything about it.

when she's finished, her eyes meet trent's again and she is surprised to see him smile slightly but gives it back to him all the same. his dimples automatically deepen and his two brown irises pierce her all over. maisie finds herself hyperventilating.

she quickly charges him before almost chasing him out of her shop, unable to stay another second in such a small space with the young man and his devastating pupils. once outside, maisie takes a deep breath of fresh air —she needed it.

on the pavement, they stand like two idiots staring into each other's eyes without either of them breaking the silence that surrounds them. trent, finally clearing his throat, thanks her for the flowers and wishes her a good night. returning his goodbyes, she turns back to her car.

thinking she is finally free of his bewitching spell, his voice rises one last time in the air to call out to her and the girl turns around, looking questioning.

"i won't be in liverpool for a month or so because of work, so, i won't be coming to buy bouquets of roses every week," maisie drops her gaze to the flowers in his hands after the announcement and her heart pinches when she catches sight of the label that says 'ava'. "i'm telling you this so you don't worry, well, i'm not saying you worry about me, but... ," he doesn't dare finish his sentence and frantically rubs the back of his neck.

he's panicking, and maisie lets a tender smile playing on her lips. then in a soft voice, she assures him, "okay, thanks for letting me know. have a good night, trent."

"you too, maisie," he replies simply before finally opening his door with a last smile and she struggles to do the same, panting.

her name sounds awfully good in his mouth.

…

as maisie is busy in the storeroom restocking her beloved ribbons to finish her bouquets, a ringing bell quickly brings her out of her slumber and she rushes behind her counter to make sure she is available for the customer who has just arrived. she is surprised when the "customer" is not one at all and reveals himself to be a deliveryman, but not of anything; a gigantic bouquet of white roses is in his arms which obstructs the man's vision.

"uh, hello?" hesitation trembles in maisie's voice.

"good morning, is this the belrose shop?" the boy's words are muffled behind the white petals and maisie confirms his words by inviting him in.

"i don't remember ordering anything like this," thoughtfully, the girl tries to scrape memories from her mind, to no avail.

"it's because you haven't. the person offering it to you wants to remain anonymous," the delivery man says as he places the huge delivery on the counter, a long breath coming out of his mouth as he stretches his back.

maisie finds herself confused by the massive bouquet that takes up most of the space. the delivery man then leaves after making her sign the receipt and she sits down on her stool with her face tensed by her furrowed brows. she notices that the flowers are from the florist a few blocks away thanks to the business card stuck in the bouquet, and if someone were to walk into the shop right now, they would surely see question marks floating above her head.

gingerly, she takes the label between her fingers and reads on it nothing that would enlighten her as to the mysterious stranger who sent the gift. only 'for maisie' is written, but no information on the name's admirer. however, deep down, something is nagging her. maisie doesn't want to play dumb, the only person who comes to her mind in front of the flowers has an undeniable charm and irises so deep you could dive into them: trent.

he is the only one who could send her white roses, or at least the only one who would fit the scene unfolding before her eyes. yet, she can't get her head around the idea that he might be the anonymous sender of the bouquet. or maybe it's all just a coincidence, and maisie is getting too many wild ideas about who sent the secret package.

another memory sets her off; the time she told the boy the meaning of the flowers and how it could be for a love that can't be confessed, and her heart misses a beat.

nevertheless, she shakes her head as if to remove the false hope that emerges in her and mentally remembers many times, he has a girlfriend, ava. maisie has written her name on tags far too many times to forget it. besides, trent is not even in liverpool at the moment so it would be incongruous if he was the one who sent it.

all day long, a thousand and one unanswered questions run through her mind, and when it's time to close the shop, she tries not to think about it —a difficult thing to do, given the space the flowers take up. the young woman goes home, a bouquet of white roses in the back seat and numerous doubts running through her head.

…

for the next few weeks, maisie does everything she can to elude this mystery that is causing her more harm than it should. she questions her grandmother, her friends, and regular customers who often drop by, hoping to find answers to her questioning, but nothing; no one has seen anything or knows who it might be.

well, margaret has her idea, but maisie doesn't want to hear it.

after two weeks, and tired of being in a constant state of limbo, the young florist walks to the rival shop nearby. ready to finally get some answers, she stands in front of the counter and engages the shop manager in a long interrogation.

"i would have liked to help you, but the order was placed online so we can't get his name if he ticked the anonymous box, it's our shop's policy," the florist apologises after checking the history of orders for white roses over the past few weeks.

maisie nods and remains polite, thanking him all the same, but she has the urge to blow him and his shitty policy away because she is still no further along in her quest. huffing and puffing, she exits the shop and heads back towards her own, cursing her competitor all the way.

tapping her nails on the counter of her boutique, maisie slumps ungracefully on her stool, her cheek resting against the palm of her hand as she observes the array of white roses before her. she has tried to talk to them, but they too have given no answers.

maisie is annoyed that she still doesn't have the name of this anonymous sender. the day is slowly turning into a bad one and trent isn't even in town to poke his head through the door of belrose and brighten up her gloomy mood with his smile, which saddens her deeply.

crossing her arms, she lets out a sigh and resolves to do the next thing: take her troubles patiently.

part 5

[toburnup]

I usually don’t really like pov switching in fics bc like you said for me it disrupts the flow of the story and sometimes I like not knowing what the other person thinks and feels and their intentions bc it feels like I’m living the story with the person whose pov it is, but let me tell you, you blew my mind with the Eddie chapters. It was so interesting to look inside his brain and to see his point of view and realize that I, just like Steve, was blind to some things. Like how Steve was always the one to show up unannounced, how he could spend a week without coming not knowing Eddie was waiting for him bc he’d come every day before that. And to see that Eddie was also blind to some things like Steve’s alcohol problems (from what I understood he noticed but didn’t realize how bad it actually was?). And I also loved that those chapters weren’t just a retelling of Steve’s chapters word for word, it just felt like I was watching a montage of some moments through Eddie’s eyes, the ones that were memorable to him and maybe the ones that he still thinks about. I’m sorry for this essay, I just wanted to tell you that this fic has already become one of the best ones I’ve ever read in any fandom, thank you for this. I hope you know how talented you are❤️ Can’t wait for the next chapter!

💙💙 i'm!!!! ahh!! i'm so happy! writing eddie's pov was both very fun, and also very clarifying for myself.

also :) the examples you gave! love them. and i want to get into both a little more, so.... rambling below the cut!!

steve letting days go by without visiting because he doesn't realize eddie is waiting!! such a big misstep between them both. in steve's (slight, biased) defence, he didn't know that bothered eddie. steve said (fairly early on) that he "can't tell if you want me to keep coming over" and eddie's response sums up the different way they communicate their feelings. eddie doesn't say, "yes, i want you to come over." he says "if i didn't want you here, you wouldn't be." which is very different in terms of messaging. less direct. also untrue, lol. but steve is more comfortable with verbalizing that kind of thing so he follows it up with "so you want me to stay?" and eddie doesn't answer, just holds out his hand, which is an answer of sorts.

but steve asks again: "is that you saying it?" so that's 3 times that steve is asking this question of do you want me here? and eddie is unable to answer. because to him, admitting that he wants steve there is admitting that he notices when he's not, that something fundamental is missing. that he's lonely. and it's much easier to tolerate being alone when you don't think of it that way.

eddie not realizing the extent of steve's drinking - they wouldn't have the language for this, but eddie's dad was pretty much a functioning alcoholic. like in the opening section of eddie's first pov chapter, his dad is drunk when he drives them out into the storm. i've both struggled w/ addiction, and later on worked with people in recovery, and some people are able to live their lives while being heavily addicted w/o their communities noticing. eddie knew his dad was drunk because he'd seen it happen so many times, but it was also normal for his dad to be drunk and not necessarily act like it. so steve's own drinking wouldn't really be a red flag for him, it's just something he Notices and then moves on from. he's not concerned because why would he be?

the only time it seems to bother him (from steve's pov) is when steve drives over drunk on new years, but even then, from eddie's pov we see that his irritation isn't from steve being drunk at all. it doesn't really register for him like that. he moves steve's car, lets him climb into bed. he's just annoyed because he thinks steve has been avoiding him (not visiting) since he was "back in hawkins" after christmas. this isn't a judgement of eddie that i'm making, either. i think he's a victim of circumstance in a similar way steve s in this particular instance.

a montage of some moments through Eddie’s eyes, the ones that were memorable to him and maybe the ones that he still thinks about - nothing much to add, i just really really like how you phrased this. lovely.

as i went through steve's chapters and picked out some sections to write eddie's pov, there were a few that i wrote bits of, or added to. i had a lot of fun writing the sections where steve's perception misaligned with eddie's. or when he'd say things when he was drunk or post-orgasm lmao, and wouldn't necessarily remember.

super long answer. thank you for sending this message!!

[jd-loves-fiction]

➤ Jason Todd x Reader

➤ Warnings: gun kink, unprotected sex [don’t be silly, wrap the willy ;)]

➤ @catxsnow @internalsealpanic​ @littleredwing89

[22:50] Your lungs burn as you leapt from one building to another, begging you to slow down at once. 

No chance of that, not with the sound of heavy footsteps thundering behind you as a grunt is heard after the man chasing you lands. 

So you keep running, despite the tightness of your chest, the soreness of your feet and burning in your muscles. 

But somewhere deep inside, something urges you to stop. Something more abstract than the discomfort you feel.

"Come on, princess. Stop and let's talk this out!"

"No way in hell, you glorified eyesore!" You yell back, jumping yet another gap between buildings almost perfectly. 

Almost.

You misjudge the distance and are unable to stick the landing, rolling across the roof until you stop on your back. You don't move, already hearing how his footsteps become slower. He approaches your defeated form, panting as your ankle throbs slightly. You know you can't run anymore at this point, so why tire yourself out.

Red Hood steps over you, placing his boots on your spread arms, barely applying any pressure, just enough to send a message. 

You can hear his heave, distorted, and you imagine him to be sweating bullets under his helmet, while you cool off with the cold, humid air of late night Gotham.

"Did you need to do all that? I just wanted to talk." Red hood protests, exasperated and still panting as you do the same with a skeptical look. 

"Seems it was more your gun wanting to do the talking." You bite back, feeling small under his gaze, so far up from you, but refusing to show it. 

You can almost see his red helmet contort into a frown as you both know what you said isn't true. He may threaten you but he'd never actually shoot you. No matter how much he tries to hide it, he enjoys this dynamic of yours. And so do you. 

The sexual tension, usually pointed out by others around you, could be cut with a meat cleaver. And it just keeps building. Every encounter or skirmish usually leaves you with sticky underwear and him with tighter pants. You excite him, keep him on his toes, and he does the same to you. 

Not to mention the more intimate moments you've shared. 

Walking the grey line of morality meant that your friends could be your enemies and vice versa. For you two, it meant that one day you could be bandaging each other up (still with the masks on) and the next day you could be the ones creating a need for the bandages. 

And that is fine. You both think it's fine.

Until the tension brewing comes to a head spills over from the cauldron. 

Red Hood takes his feet away from your biceps, stepping just below them to take the weight off and still keep close. He then takes his shinny, polished gun from its holster, not yet having been used on that night. 

His large thighs flex as he crouches over your chest, placing the gun under your chin as you stare into the white eyes of his hood, hoping to catch a glimpse of what's behind. 

"Well, if that's the only way I'll get you to talk." His deep voice, seemingly deepened by the voice modulator, rumbles through your chest as he speaks. 

"There are other ways…" You whisper suggestively, mask slits lowering as you smirk seductively. The complete switch from your feisty defiance to a velvety tone and alluring expression makes him pause. 

"Oh? And what would those be?" The gun feels cool against your skin as he presses it harder against you.

"You could start by taking off your helmet." You say confidently. And just like that, the gun's pressure leaves you as he pulls it away slightly. 

Red Hood sighs deeply, shoulders dropping, "You know I can't do that, princess." 

"Not for me?"

"Not for you, not for anyone I'm afraid."

"Won't even let me try to change your mind?" You purr. Your hands crawl up his tense legs, feeling the muscles quiver under your fingertips before they settle on his hips. 

"I can't promise you anything." His tone turns stern, almost cold, but his breathing wavers at the feeling of your warm hands on his cold body. 

"Then don't. Just let me do my thing and see how you feel afterwards." You suggest, nails scratching just above his belt. His hand flexes for a moment, contemplating, before he traces his gun down your throat and towards your warm chest. 

"Think you can change my mind, do you?" His free hand brushes your hair away from your face before he grabs your chin between his gloved fingers. "Let's see what you got."

You slip your legs out from under him, placing them around his waist and throwing him off balance to the side, following the momentum and sitting yourself over him. 

Red Hood's helmet hits the floor as he lets his head fall back. You lay your weight on his middle before gripping both his wrists while leaning closer to his face. 

"You sound quite cocky. Not much reason to, since you're the one on the ground while I could just get up and run. You'd be left all alone to take care of your little problem." You whisper while grinding your ass against said problem.

"True, but we both know you don't really want to. And it's not so little, princess." His voice is deep and raspy as you continue your hip movements, taking his gun out of his hand. "I'll believe it when I see it."

"Then you better start working, doll face."

You scoff at his tone before realizing the safety was off on the gun. "The safety was off?" You ask, shocked, as you turn it on, placing it by your side. 

"Sorry, forgot about it. Had more interesting things to think about." His hands reach for you before you grab them, pinning them beside his head.

"You forgot about it? Not very professional of you, considering your impulses." Your chest meets his as you lean heavily on his wrists. You both know your hold on them means close to nothing and that he could easily get out of it, but he'd allow it if it meant having fun.

"Not the impulses you should be focusing on, sweetheart." His legs bend, urging you forward and making his crotch grind against yours.

“Ooh, I’m so scared of a man whose face I can’t even see. Not to mention the fact that you clearly have a very soft spot for me, sweetheart.” You tease, grinding your hips down firmly, reveling in the deep grunt that makes him chest vibrate against yours.

Red Hood lets out a slow breath, body relaxing completely as he stays silent, “Yeah, you’re right.” he finally says, quietly, absentmindedly. You stare deep into the whites of his mask as he stays tight-lipped and seemingly contemplating something. 

"Can I trust you? Completely?" He asks before you hum, taking your hands away and sitting up. You ignore his boner poking your ass.

"Yes, of course you can." Your expression turns soft and serious as you speak. You hope he can hear your honesty more than see it through the mask. 

He nods before reaching for his helmet, "Wait!" You exclaim as your hands stop him. "What are you doing?!"

"Listen, princess. I want this and I trust you. So I'm acting on all this fucking tension because honestly, I can't wait anymore." And so you let him reach for the back of his helmet, clicking it open with a hiss, before he takes it off and you're baffled by the image before you.

His hair is short and black with a white streak, just as messy and sweaty as you expected. His eyes are a startling, pale green, and they watch your reaction for a moment before his cheeks darken. There's the beginning of dark stubble on his jaw and chin. Even the small scars all across his face, from his cheek to the bridge of his nose, add to his rugged handsomeness that nothing your mind has ever conjured up could compare to. 

"Don't comment too much. We can leave the soft stuff for another time. Right now, I just need to be inside you." The heated look in his striking eyes makes your breath stutter, along with his words. Before you smile cheekily while trailing your nails down his hard abs. 

"'Leave the soft stuff for another time?' That better mean you'll be taking me out on a date, or I'm not having it." You tease, winking at him as he smiles fondly. You take off your mask and place it by his helmet, ego massively boosted by the immensely flustered look on his face as yours is revealed. 

"Do comment all you like. And you can call me Y/N." You whisper into the night, lips a breath away from his. 

"Jason. Nice to meet you, finally."

His soft lips crash against yours as months of tension come to a head while teeth scrape and tongues battle for dominance. You lose it and let Jason suck on your tongue as you rush to unbuckle his pants after raising his shirt slightly.

You feel his hands grip your waist tightly, meaning to flip you under him, before you hold him back by placing your hands on his, "Let me ride you, please." 

"Ah fuck, doll face." Jason's voice wavers as you reach past his boxers to grab his hot member in your cold hand. Your hand moves up and down, feeling him harden fully in your palm as your forehead rests against his. 

Your lips suck on his pulse while your other hand brushes a long scar in the middle of his torso, that you refuse to comment on. 

"Princess, you better stop or I'm gonna cum. And I just wanna do it inside you." He grunts, tugging at your pants while holding your wrist to slow you down.

You take your pants off, thankful for the roof's tall walls and the fact that, for once, it isn't raining like hell. The stone digs into your knees as you settle over him once again. 

"You ready?" Jason asks as you move his cock through your folds. You're not sure of the answer. He looks too girthy for you to take without prep painlessly. But with the burning ache on your core begging to feel him inside, your patience is quickly running out, so you're sure going to try.

You sink down instead of answering, slipping only the head of his cock inside you, making his eyes widen and nearly roll back at the unexpected pleasure, before they close tightly as he struggles to hold his own hips down as you adjust.

"Ah! Doll…" He sighs, hips twitching as they try to raise against the weight of you. You hold yourself up on his stomach as your walls are stretched to their limit, trying not to impale yourself too quickly.

You breathe hard and deep as you move down, the base being thicker makes it harder and not painful, but it's worth it for Jason's face as you finally descend all the way until your hips meet his and he gasps before moaning loudly and deeply. His cheeks become even redder than before, looking to the side at his loud noise.

You lean towards his ear to whisper, moving him inside you slightly which makes him groan again, "Be as loud as you like, nobody can hear you. Plus, not sure anybody cares."

“Fuck, princess, please tell me I can move. I just wanna fuck this pussy so bad.” Jason says, hands holding onto your hips. You nod desperately, already half gone with the feeling of his hard cock fully inside, raising yourself with a whimper and dropping again.

“Shit, doll!” He exclaims, hands helping you move as his hips raise while you drop, his tip hitting you impossibly deep as a layer of sweat starts to form on both of your foreheads, hair sticking to the skin.

“Ah, Jason.” You whimper, grounding your clit against his pelvis at the bottom.

“You feel so good, doll. So warm and wet, fuck…” He sighs, hand grasping your hair and pulling your lips against his as you set a hard and fast pace. 

Your lips barely connect for more than a few moments, kisses interrupted by moans and whimpers as you breathe against each other's mouths. 

Your toes begin to curl as sparks of pleasure travel all over your flushed body, breathing heavy as your heart pounds against your chest. Your body jerks as Jason’s rough and calloused finger starts rubbing firm circles on your clit.

“You close, sweetheart? You gonna cum all over my cock? Clench even tighter, shit!” He sighs, followed by a groan as you do clench tighter around him at his dirty words while the pleasure builds.

“Jason, please! I’m so close.” You moan desperately, muscles twitching as you allow Jason to do the most work with his powerful thrusts and rough fingers.

Your back arches as you finally reach that peak, shivering, nails digging into his stomach as you let him thrust into your pussy until he lets out a grunt once he reaches his orgasm, warm filling you as his cum drips out of you and down your thighs.

You open your eyes, gazing up into the dark sky, catching your breath before looking down. Jason lays back, sighing as the aftershocks of his high wears off slowly, leaving him sated and tired, pent up tension finally released.

You lean forward, ignoring the way your pussy twitches as he nudges the inside, and placing a kiss to his red cheek and smiling at his hazy, faraway gaze.

“So, about that date, you free on Friday?”

[downwiththemutantnjnjaturtles]

We Met Within This Screen (chapt. 2)

[Donnie x fem reader]

Sfw, part 1 here

Intellectually, Donnie was the best matchup for their leader as today was sparring day. He'd gone against his oldest brother many times, sometimes even coming out the victor himself, but today was just not his day.

He held his staff with that iron grip of his and waited for Leo to come at him. Donnie was more on the defensive than any of his brothers; he had to be. Out of all he was weakest physically but superior in calculations, but he was missing range in this matchup. Leo had a hard time disarming him as his katana could sometimes get lodged in the solid wood staff, giving Donnie leverage to perform the finisher in the short time it took him to dislodge his sword. He thought this time would be how that would happen.

"You're slow today, Donnie," Leo said as he lunged at his brother with a swing of his katana, forcing Donnie to step back. He was too focused on blocking Leo's rapid succession of attacks to respond.

Leo reeled back to swing his blade again but Donnie parried and struck his arm with his staff, shoving it aside. For a split second, Leo actually thought he was fixing to go down by this move if Donnie could hit him again quick enough. But his brother hesitated in thought, and without any reluctance himself, he used his other katana to put him in a compromising position. The match was over and Donnie was forced to stand down.

"Why did you hesitate?" Leo questioned him, lowering his blade. Raph watched from the sidelines with Mikey as they prepared to go up next. Since Leo was the winner, it was Raph's turn next to spar in his younger brother's place.

Donnie huffed and dropped his stance, putting his staff away. "It's just an off day," he replied. Splinter wasn't there to dictate today's training session and tournament, so Donnie was already on his way out to go to his lab by the time Raph stepped up to spar. But Leo sheathed his sword and put a hand on Donnie's shoulder, stopping him in his tracks.

"You've been pretty eager to run back to your lab lately," Leo said matter-of-factly. He was wondering what was going on, why Donnie seemed weirdly distant the last couple of weeks. He had gone through a very withdrawn phase in earlier times upon entering his teenage years, but now, he was legitimately making everyone guess. He didn't snap at his brothers, and he wasn't any more impatient than usual. But something was different. He'd been spending a lot more time holed up in his lab, which everyone began to notice. Leo wanted to know what was wrong.

Donnie shifted and shrugged, "Like I said, I've been busy with some projects. Also, it's not like I have much to do out here beside training and patrol."

Leo opened his mouth to speak, but Mikey jumped on between them. "You missed game night last week! You never miss it," he butted in. Both Donnie and Leo gave him a look as if to say really? and he added in, "Well, uh...not usually."

Gently moving Mikey aside, Leo wanted to continue, but he saw Donnie staring at him expecting a follow-up when he didn't really have one. Whatever this was, Leo knew that coming at Donnie with questions was not the way to go about it. So he stepped back and gave his brother some space.

"We all have off days," Leo said finally after an awkward moment of silence. "Just work on your speed, Don."

"Got it."

With that, Donnie turned to leave, and Raph entered the ring to go against Leo in the last match of the night.

Once Donnie was gone, Leo got ready to spar with Raph. As they got into position, he contemplated bringing this recent development up with the other two, but decided against it in the end. He didn't want to incriminate Donnie, especially with Raph's assertive approach to handling things. Donnie could be somewhat flighty at times when it came to resolving matters of emotion, at times a little too introspective, but Leo couldn't fault him—he had his own struggles with that very thing, too.

Done, finally, Donnie thought as he skirted into his lab and started up the game. He was late to the party quite literally; training lasted longer than he'd thought, and he was disappointed to see that his newest friend was online, but not responding to his invite. Did everyone get together and play without him? After a few minutes, he almost decided on giving up. The instance made him contemplate whether he even wanted to continue this. Perhaps he'd been too eager.

He sighed. And then the menu pinged, and he was there reading the message in an instant.

Hey, sorry I partied up without you, I just didn't know if you were gonna be on or not :/

Without even thinking, he licked his lips typed back, repeatedly deleting and retyping his message to make sure it was casual but not too casual, apologetic but not desperate—

It's okay, don't worry about it

Likewise sorry it took me so long to get here.

That would do. He'd be lying to say he wasn't feeling that flutter in his stomach; the excitement of something new got to him in a way that only a discovery in his research did, or how he felt when he mastered a new technique in his training.

Let's get started then :)

They started the game, and this time he kept the mic on, as she did. They talked back and forth as they fought creatures and enemies and looted things, eventually coming to learn that she herself was in New York City. He was surprised; suddenly, the world felt a lot smaller, and he couldn't concentrate on just playing after that. The time they spent became more of an opportunity to converse than to play a mundane game for hours on end.

At some point, she switched the topic to his whereabouts. Donnie's breath hitched.

"I'm...not anywhere near. So it doesn't really matter," he told her, cringing. If the guys found out—if Splinter found out—he would be in such trouble.

"Oh," she paused for a moment, trying to find something to say. "That's alright, I don't want you to feel like you have to tell me, you know?"

He'd muted his mic to release a deep breath. He got lost in thought thinking about how in that moment, he wanted to be human. If he weren't a giant mutant turtle, he could actually form a connection with someone. It was a very "Mikey" thing to think, he reckoned, but at times he wanted friends just like his brother did.

"Yeah, sorry, I just…"

"It's really no problem, dude."

He felt as though he could hear the smile in her voice. What did she look like, he wondered. He wanted to see her, but he couldn't ask for that when he could never do the same. If he could get her name, he'd be in the clear to do some preliminary lookups on this person, but so far, she'd been dodgy about sharing info about herself as well. He couldn't blame her. They were two strangers online, one with a huge secret and the other completely in the dark about who he truly was. For all she knew, he could have been a creep, looking to stalk her online and perhaps do even worse. The thought made him feel almost nauseous, how she could be considering that about him as a possibility as they spoke. But she seemed comfortable enough. Unlike him, who was still slightly skeptical of the entire thing, because after spending his whole life in practical isolation, he was at a loss as to what to say or do after a certain point. The conversation died off and both of them thought simultaneously about how weird the sudden silence between them felt.

She hummed, as if searching for something to bring up. When she spoke, he was taken aback—"Hey, I'm gonna be honest, I really like talking to you but this game is getting boring. Do you wanna chat somewhere else?"

"Uh…" he trailed off, mind shooting blanks. Oh, was it just a horrible idea. He couldn't keep the jig up forever; the truth was bound to get revealed somewhere down the line. He was fixing to reject the proposition, tell her that he didn't want to take it that far. She could be anyone. The likelihood of it being a clever ruse on account of the Foot Clan was slim, but the paranoia still worked ambiently in the background noise of his mind. But his other doubt stopped him—when would he ever have a chance at this again? He wanted to have the strength to say no and leave it at that. The loneliness that crept up on him from time to time had something else to say.

"Yeah," he answered after a terribly long pause of mumbling, fighting with himself all the way as she told him where to add her. He could have kicked himself had it not been for the fact that he knew how to encrypt data, and that as long as he didn't leak a word about his inner circle or life, it would be okay. It didn't feel okay, though.

"Nice! I'll text you, see you later, Bo. I had a lot of fun tonight," she chirped.

Before he could respond, she was gone from the party, and the mic went silent. It happened so fast. He was barely caught up with the fact that he was now receiving messages and prompts to talk, but he couldn't bring himself to answer right away. He had to refocus his logic; how could this be used by the enemy as a way to get to them? Could they have somehow anticipated he'd download this game and find this random on there? The more the thought about it, the more glaringly obvious it was that it was not the case. It was just too improbable.

"The probability of the Foot being able to simulate such a specific scenario in order to get intel on us is so slim, it is practically non-existent," he told himself as he finally pulled up the messages. He read through them. "Approximately a zero-point-zero-zero-zero..."

My name is (Y/N), by the way :)

Well, that was easier than expected. He figured that somehow, the name suited you—a fitting name for such a personality. But it also gave him a glimmer of hope. It made him want to ask why you appeared to trust him, as he could be anyone on the Earth over the screen, not his benevolent self. Which she had no way of proving, technically. But he soon came to realize the screen painted him in a whole new light that it casted on him. It hit then that he could be anyone. He didn't have to be himself; not necessarily. She'd never have to know, as he could wear a human mask and she'd be none the wiser. Problem was, the lying made him feel guilty, and slowly would develop to be the thorn in his side.

Donnie thoughtfully stared at the screen. Now that he was here, some of his anxiety began to fade. He found himself actually able to talk, someone to listen to his tangents and even build upon them. They spent hours texting back and forth about anything and everything until it was almost time for him to put the phone down to leave for patrol. He felt giddy, like a kid, all over again.

________________________________________

Had you ever been able to talk to someone this easily?

You asked yourself that question as you exchanged with the faceless and nameless stranger over your screen, chatting from afternoon to night. Time flew by in an instant, with him, and you loved every minute. He was someone intellectual, but funny and so easy to talk to that it was as though the conversation carried itself. After some time he came out about his age after you revealed yours. Oftentimes, he'd just present to you a random question when the subject tapered off and run with it, like now:

What do you think of reptiles?

Puzzled, you took a second to reply. Odd question.

Why do you ask? Do you have one?

I was just curious

What do you think of them?

The chat indicator flip-flopped between "typing" and "idle" a few times before a message finally popped up, and you smiled. You'd learned over this short time that he was a dork in a cute way.

Well...I think they're pretty cool.

They've got natural armor and you would be surprised to know just how fast a turtle can be

You laughed a little to yourself. It was such a random thing to bring up, yet you were endeared. Deciding you'd go along with it, you asked him what else he knew about turtles.

Well...

__________________________________________________

Donnie was wondering what he was talking about just as much as she probably was. Stupid, he thought, facepalming. His first time really speaking with a human as an equal and he starts talking about turtles. Of course he knew a lot about them, he was one himself—but for some reason he found himself wanting to dispel myths and misunderstandings about turtles as if they reflected on him, when as far as she knew, he was just a human guy like herself.

He groaned lightly and typed, thinking up a fact that wasn't too conspicuous.

Red eared sliders are semi-aquatic.

As he typed the next part, he caught himself writing "we" instead of "they", to his dismay. He quickly fixed the error and continued, feeling weirdly exposed as it was almost as though in sharing this information, he was putting himself under a microscope for her to inspect.

They can hold their breath for up to thirty minutes, usually

Holding his breath was something he'd tested numerous times before. He and his brothers had actually made a game out of it on a few occasions, with Leo leading at thirty-three minutes, Donnie in second at thirty-one. Raph broke at twenty-nine minutes and Mikey followed behind in last at just twenty-seven. The ability could be trained, nonetheless.

That's interesting, I wonder what it's like to be able to go underwater so long?

It's kind of cool, you should try sometime

For THIRTY MINUTES?

Shit. He promptly replied:

No—not like I can hold my breath that long, I just mean you should try to see sometime I guess

I tested it just for the fun of it.

Looking up how long humans could hold their breath on average (between thirty seconds and two minutes), he bumped the number up a little bit and added:

Personally, I'm at two minutes and forty-five seconds

He was embarrassed, partially covering his face as he waited for a response. Such a foolish slip-up; he couldn't afford to say anything cryptic. But he still was fairly sure that he had recovered that alright. He couldn't help but think about how awkward or weird he seemed to her. Who talked about this?

I don't think I could hold my breath for more than a minute, kudos to you haha

Anyway, sorry to switch gears all of a sudden but if you don't mind me asking, what's up with your family? You have any siblings?

He told her no. He would not bring his brothers into this, lest it be the slim chance of a ploy, after all. He said his family situation was unconventional and left it at that.

With that, he said to her goodnight and put his phone away, getting up to go get geared for patrol. It was only then he noticed the figure leaning against the doorway.

Chapter 3

[hawksugarbaby]

Bakudeku- tongue tied

Lime + Tattoo/piercer Au

A/N: TO BE CLEAR. I don't ship toxic bakugo who told Deku to kill himself with baby deku who can't stand up for himself. I ship emotionally mature, developed, redeemed bakugo who is helping deku become a hero (more evidence in the manga than anime right now) with a strong independent deku who can stand on his own feet now.

It was a slower day for the parlour today than typical but this early in the year less people were interested in getting tattoos or piercings since it was cold and people would be wearing fleecy layer over layer and covering every stretch of skin on their bones to keep warm. What was the point in permanently altering a part of you if most of you was covered up?

Of course the tattoo side of the department had it harder than the piercing side as the piercers had enough options on the face and ears to keep them going. And that was where the great Katsuki Bakugo came into play. Hovering around the parlour like a moth waiting for the lights to flicker on, the annoying buzz of his angry voice that never shut up infiltrating Izuku's ears without of a choice making him unwillingly blush whenever he said anything that caught the freckled boy off guard.

The blonde barged into the shop like he owned the place and tapped his foot at the front desk ringing the bell for service continuously until someone paid attention to him. Izuku looked at his colleagues who all turned around and pretended to work, drawing scribbles on their page for new designs which looked like toddlers artwork until it was refined and then, if they felt like it, coloured.

The green haired boy stood begrudgingly from his desk and sauntered over to the front desk to greet his most common customer. "Afternoon Kacchan" he faked a smile and ran his hand through his curly emerald locks grabbing a pen from the pot, flicking the cap off so forcefully it flew across the room like a rocket for someone else to deal with. "It's evening deku" he argued and leaned his bulging arms on the counter smiling irritatingly at izuku. "Sure whatever. What are you here for" he asked, chewing the end of his pencil and glancing from the blonde's face to his muscular arms without a second thought.

Bakugo stuck his tongue out laying it flat against his chin and stared seductively into Izuku's green eyes. His face lit up red and he closed his eyes ignoring the taller man's angry flirtations. "A t-tongue piercing then?" he stuttered, turning around to face the wall and scribble on the clipboard. "Date of birth" he asked, not looking back at the angry customer being ignored by the reason he was there in the first place. "20th of april 2037" "making you 22" Izuku muttered filling in the information on the sheet. He knew Bakugo's phone number and email by heart by now, in case the courage ever took over to message him.

"Sign here" izuku said, turning and handing the clipboard to bakugo who was cracking his fingers as if it was a time killer and pointed to the line for bakugo to sign his loopy name on. For such an aggressive personality his handwriting was saccharine, it felt ungenuine watching the way his wrist flicked so smoothly with each curve connecting every consonant and vowel. "Can I get a hole in my tongue now or?" he asked placing the board on the desk and leaving the question open ended.

"Is everyone else busy!?" izuku shouted to his coworkers who all shouted yes back not wanting to deal with bakugo's attitude when he wasn't being pierced or tattoo'd by izuku. Izuku didn't have a problem around Bakugo, the problem arose when he couldn't focus on the work because his customer was seemingly attempting to seduce the poor artist. His insistence to be with Izuku was also an issue because god forbid he be with another customer when he came in, the indistinguishable groan when he was told to wait was enough to make the customers waiting to book flee the establishment.

"I guess it'll have to be me then" he sighed and walked to the back of the shop expecting bakugo to just follow behind (which he did). Izuku spun a wide leather seat towards the blonde and slapped the seat making a loud thump and he rolled his neck cracking the bones like loud enough you'd assume they broke. "Y'know for someone who's done this too me a bunch of time's i thought i'd know you better" bakugo sighed slumping into the seat while Izuku stretched a pair of latex gloves over his thick fingers, pinging the band against his wrist then pulling the other one on fiddling with the blue rubber.

Izuku his his blooming cheeks unable to tell if bakugo meant for his words to have a double meaning or if Izuku's mind was just all the way in the gutter. "What could you possibly want to know?" he grumbled looking to bakugo from his peripherals. The red eyed male fiddled with his ash blond locks of hair trying to spike them back up but they were flopping down and plastering to his forehead. Izuku's mini studio was ludicrously warm for the beginning of the year when it's supposed to still be winter, but his box felt like a trip to hawaii! "I dunno, why'd you start tattooing and piercing and shit" he asked gulping nervously at the needles laying out on the metal counter.

Izuku turned with the clamp looped on his fingers, a sure way to shut him up and scooted his own chair forward. "Tongue out" he ordered and bakugo smirked leaning forward "very demanding of y-" Izuku rolled his eyes and caught bakugo's tongue while his mouth was open talking and pulled it out by the clamp. "Eenngg! he huuh?" ("heey! The fuck?") bakugo began to gripe incoherently and izuku pressed harder making bakugo gasp and wave his hand "eh ehh ohay ohay" ("eh ehh okay okay"). He stopped attempting to talk but rested his warm hand's just above izuku's knee's making the green haired boy burn pink.

He fiddled with the needle and held his hands in front of him until they stopped shaking and held the clamp firmly grasped on bakugo's tongue "I started tattooing because my mum was struggling with money and I wanted to help her so I found an apprenticeship. Piercing just came easy after tattooing" izuku explained thinking about his mothers partially impressed, mostly shocked when izuku came home with his first tattoo. But she never stopped him if it was what he enjoyed. "Then you became obsessed with me and now I can't leave" he chuckled.

Bakugo's eye's rounded at the sound of Izuku's sweet laugh he'd never heard before. He would have smiled if he could have but there was a needle encroaching slowly. The tip of the sharp metal balanced on his tongue and izuku checked the placement again and nodded to himself "okay i'm going to count to 3 and on three take a deep breath through your nose okay" he quirked an eyebrow and the blonde nodded hesitantly.

"Okay 1... 2... 3 deep breath" he instructed and katsuki inhaled sharply as the needle went through the pink flesh a tiny dribble of blood and izuku switched in the jewellry so quick bakugo hadn't even realised the needle went through. "And you're done. You can exhale now by the way," izuku said, keeping the clamp on his tongue for longer than he needed to just for the satisfaction of silence but of course he had to take it off sooner rather than later.

"Did' ethen hur. Fuck i hath a lithp" he rolled his eye's and wiped away the drool at the corner of his mouth. "Hard to be sexy with a lisp," Izuku threw him an icy bottle of water he barely caught before the words caught up to him. "You think i'm thexy?" "not right now I don't" he laughed and sat back in the chair leaning over the back and hanging his arms over the armrest. "In about 5 minutes when your not afraid of moving your tongue, probably" he glimpsed at the blushing blonde and sighed. "Not afraid" he mumbled "then why do you have a lisp?"

Silence.

"Exactly." izuku retorted quickly and pushed bakugo into the leather seat climbing onto it himself and sitting between bakugo's thighs and grabbing his face. "I hate you you know that" the green haired male pushed bakugo's hair out of his face giving him a clear view of his sparkling red eye's and leaned into him pressing his soft lips against bakugo's rough, cracked ones. Bakugo's hand's hovered around izuku but izuku's gloved hands pushed them down so they rested on his waist gently.

He kissed back softly trying to pull izuku back so neither were in danger of falling of the chair and nothing could be heard except the heavy breathing and their hearts hammering rapidly in their ears. Izuku pulled away resting his forehead against bakugo who was intoxicated by his lips. "I really hate you" the freckled boy muttered and put his hands on bakugo's chest separating them slightly. "Can I come back for a tattoo?" bakugo mumbled not sure what to say and Izuku snorted sliding off the chair and standing up putting his blue gloves in the bin. "Just a tattoo?" he flirted and bakugo, still trying to reboot his brain just blinked and nodded dumbfoundedly.

"Sure come back for a tattoo" izuku laughed and showed him to the door trying too brush his hair down so he wouldn't draw any attention from his coworkers. Bakugo finally formed coherent thoughts and at the door leaned next to izuku's ear "you know why I really got my tongue pierced?" izuku shook his head and bakugo dug his hand into his pocket pulling out a pill sized piece of metal and held it in front of izuku's eye's. Clicking a button on his phone it started to buzz lightly and izuku shoved him out the shop. "GO. NOW. HERE'S YOUR CARE PACKAGE" he shouted shoving a small poly-bag in his hands and slamming the door shut behind him, hard enough an earthquake line ran up the glass.

His brunette coworker bounced up to him, "SOOO" her sweet voice started and izuku shoved her away jokingly. "Get away!"

[ayellowcurtain]

Hi! I'm sending you this message in hopes you take no offence whatsoever, because I LOVE your fics and I love you for taking the time to produce all this content for us!

This is about the last promt regarding Robbe not eating because he'd be bottoming later that night. That fic, although it was great, was just a little confusing. In the first paragraph, you switched from a present, to a past and back to a present event, with no notification. You maybe could have used "That WAS a pleasent surprise" to indicate that it was over. Shortening overly long sentences can also help with reader confusion.

Also, about that bit about "introduce him to his mother" and "a friend offerered me a room". Is this fic set before the start of canon season 3? If yes that's cool, but would Sander not be a little excited/relieved for his bf to live alone or maybe concerned that the situation at home is so bad that he has to move out?

Sometimes you work on prompts you receive and sort of miss the point a little bit. I understand that you do your own thing and maybe are not comfortable with the direction the promt was going... In this case it was Robbe’s friends teasing him for his obviously sexual plans with Sander and his reason for not eating (bottoming).

Again, I adore your content, and I can only imagine how much time and effort it all takes. It's just my suggestion that putting a few side notes before the fic to hint at the setting and rereading for just one more time to be save, would eliviate your stories even more!

I hope you will not be at all upset reading this... I would hate to troll, I just noticed this pattern in many of your fics and thought I'd point it out. If you disagree just ignore this message please!

Hii!

Before I start, I’m just gonna say: Even if I feel all types of shame getting messages like this (not because of what you’re saying or how you’re saying it, it’s just that I feel dumb and ashamed when what I write isn’t as good as what I had thought) I would never not answer it because I don’t wanna be creating this bubble where I only share when people are happy with what I write or say. So yeah, I’ll take the good and the bad and roll with it ❤️

Now, these days I was thinking about changing what I have written as my bio because I wrote it a long time ago when I was really happy with how my relationship with the people that read my prompts was and I was mad at the time but then I didn’t change to something more “professional” because, well, my writing is messy.

I can’t promise you or anyone that what I write will always make sense or that’ll meet canon or anything. Because yeah, sometimes I will work harder, I’ll reread anything I write a million times, I’ll search on my doc of vocabulary to see if what I’m saying can be written in a better way, not the usual broken english. Last week I was reading, watching every possible video about how to improve my writing. So sometimes I’ll go that extra mile but it’s not always that I feel like doing that. Sometimes I’m overwhelmed and I’m just taking my word-vomit and posting it as it comes out of my brain. Sometimes my lack of enthusiasm will come from the little notes my prompts get, sometimes I will just not have the energy or inspiration to do better.

So: I’m not a planner, I have very little patience, my english is so far from perfect and sometimes I struggle and I just want to put some ideas out because I’m excited about it or I’m tired and if I work hard or not, the notes are basically the same.

Writing in a language that I’m used to but it’s still not my mother language is not easy. The grammar is completely different, the way of using words on a phrase are completely different and I struggle a lot with it, all the time. I NEVER know where to put commas in english, it makes absolutely no sense to me (with my portuguese brain).

Now about that fic specifically: it was one of those ideas where I just ran with it, had absolutely nothing planned, wrote it for fun and post it as I wrote it. It’s not exactly canon because the boys are not gamers, they weren’t online friends that quickly became lovers so I didn’t worry much about meeting S3 events but decided to nod at some of them. Robbe was living with his parents when they met, he was living with his parents when Sander invited him to spend a few days at his place. Since we were basically in Sander’s POV most of the time, he didn’t know but in between them talking while playing games and Robbe going to his place, “a friend” offered him a place to stay, so he’ll be moving out of his parents’ place on the weekend and he invited Sander to help him out. It’s a slice of life, so I wrote it as Sander already knowing Robbe isn’t happy living with his parents. He doesn’t ask because he knows Robbe uses their time together playing as a distraction and he doesn’t want to keep asking about a matter that Robbe doesn’t share naturally. I think this is what I was thinking while writing.

Missing or not missing the point is not something I think too much about these days, to be honest. I’ll read the idea and I’ll write as the idea comes to me when I read the prompts. It may be something similar to what the person asking wanted and it can be something completely different. I try not to think if I got it right or not because that would give me too much anxiety trying to meet goals of people I don’t know instead of my own that I do know.

If the person is not happy, anyone can come back as many times as they want to ask for it again (like I got the messages asking to get more in depth about Robbe’s sex conversation with the boys a few times, like I get people asking me to write protective Gio, etc). I’ll write the idea that comes to me at the time that I sit to write the idea, that’s why I have some prompts that have very similar core prompts, that’s why sometimes I just send people old prompts - because the idea they want me to write I already did and I can’t seem to find another way of writing it.

I promise you I’m working as hard as I can right now to not let these mistakes happen often or at all but there’s only so much I can do.

I try to reread my fics before posting but sometimes I don’t have the energy. I’m not a planner, I’m not a writing notes before writing (trust me, I tried with my SKAM NL S3 fic, and with the Druck chaptered fic and it’s not something that works FOR ME, I feel like when I write notes before writing the fic I lose the main idea in the middle and it’s even worse) I’m not a slow-burn type of writer (or reader) because my patience and my basic understanding of english can only take me so long.

I’ll really try to pay attention next time and work harder every time but I can’t promise it’ll be like that every time, I can’t promise to write things that make sense all the time because just as I am trying to write good, fun things for the fandom, I’m also trying to have with it myself.

Not that anyone cares about my proving what I'm saying but here's some of my notes

[og-danny-dorito]

Tommy Shelby NSFW Headcanons

as requested by anon, thanks for the request!

N S F W :

- sweet Jesus where do I start

- SO

- we already covered that he's bi because bi rights an’ all that jazz, but we never covered what his kinks were in the past headcanons cause I like to keep the sfw and nsfw separated for anyone who's sensitive/uncomfortable with that shit

- so let me start off with something kind of vanilla: he's always liked the way that someone’s body is shaped, tending to go toward formless figures with relatively soft features. but the fact that there may be danger underneath that sweet persona stirs something dark in the pit of his soul, keeping him from falling completely in but backing away at the same time

- there are a number of reasons as to why I think he’s like this, and it's mostly because he wants control to be taken from him

- the weight on using shoulders is almost impossible to bear, and so not having to control something and just being able to trust someone helps him ease down into his own sort of bliss that he doesn't need to share with anyone else. in the earlier stages of the relationship he'd be hesitant to give up control out of fear, but give him a month and he'll eventually start showing signs of secret submission

- for instance, when told to do something simple like put his clothes back where they should be or telling him to clean his damned ash tray, he's a little more begrudgingly compliant than anything. what's odd, however, is that he almost always says he'd “better be getting something out of this” like a transaction

- and so since you're in no way stupid, you'd end up asking him about it. of course he'd play it off, saying something like “What, you really think I'm that much of an ass?” (to which you will raise a brow and say “Yes, yes I do.”) but his ambitions are made clear when you put on a more commanding voice that sounds like stern chastising than a question

- he'd stiffen, his eyes going to the ground as he purses his lips defiantly. your hand would go to grab his chin and tilt his head up, a very smug grin on your features. oh, you get it now. “So you like to be bossed around, Tom?”

- he's going to be VERY embarrassed about it for like a week and may even actively avoid sexual contact which is rare since like??? that's his love language??? he's truly, genuinely just a little nervous. he's not had someone dominate him before and honestly he's a little scared and might rush into it headfirst without even thinking of setting up a safeword

- like you'll be sitting down somewhere when everyone else is gone and it's late, and he'll sort of just bring up that he wants to try something new that's night. and you're gonna be like, uh? yeah, sure, what's up?

- it's gonna take him a hot minute to formulate the words, with his hands clenched in his lap and his eyes trained on your reaction the whole time. sweet jesus, this is embarrassing- “I'm sick of controlling everything.” and that's pretty much all he has to say to get the message across

- your reaction is based on preference entirely. don't be afraid to say no; he understands and won't ever ask again. there'll be other places for him to decompress and let you do your thing. you could be sitting together in bed reading and he'll place his head in your lap. you could be taking a bath and he'll just casually ask to join in, letting you wash his hair or something. he likes you either way, and it's ok to feel safe to say something makes you uncomfortable

- saying yes will lead to a very exited but nervous tommy. exited because he lowkey wants to do that shit as soon as possible, but nervous because it's something new. but he'll suck it up and not back down since his pride usually gets in the way of most things. when asked about a safeword, he'll probably be a little stuck before deciding on “Whiskey.” easy to say and not to hard to remember

- the first time you try it out he's going to get all nervous and tense. “Scared?” he'd harrow his eyes. what made you think that? is it how his knuckles are turning white as he clenches the edge of the bed? “No.” he's lying. a chuckle, light, but with a slightly more sinister tone to it. shit, now he's already half hard. he wasn't aware he'd be so sensitive to that- “You don't have to lie, Tommy. It's fine, I won't hurt you...unless?” Tommy’d roll his eyes

- and that's when he discovers he is in fact the biggest switch on the planet, although predominantly bottom. like, he's very bratty and lowkey refuses to give up to any challenge or demand made of him. he'll eventually ease into the punishment part which may soon take up most of what you do in the bedroom

- my mans moans. a lot. when he's a top he doesn't make much noise; mostly groaning and huffing quietly. but when he's a bottom he's biting back moans, it's almost like a completely different person, but the defiance is almost unmistakeable. any command will be either begrudgingly abided to or outright refused. he needs to be put in his place, and honestly he loves the process

- spanking? it kind of humiliates him a little, but he likes it. he wants to have trouble sitting down tomorrow in his desk

- likes marks being left too, although he'd prefer it just below his shirt collar so only he knows about it. he'd rather no to get weird stares as he walks by people in public

- tommy feels more comfortable being in control, but not being in control is just 100x better. he'll eventually feel more comfortable around you with being able to give you that sort of trust, and tends to be more submissive in other areas of your life as well, although never completely cause this is tommy's we're talking about. he likes to be coddled, and likes to be taken care of. even if he doesn't admit it

- catch my mans being more obedient in your domestic life, since he feels more agreeable. he likes a bit of edge and challenge to his authority or position in those situations. he likes to have something to say “no” to when it's not entirely necessary

- but in general he's not very sadomasochistic, although he does like having “reminders” of the night before. once again, he's usually the one introducing things to your bedroom, and so bdsm might be brought up on more than one occasion on as a joke the first few time since and then seriously

- probably would be more into tying you up than having himself tied up. when those sorts of things come into play he's more prone to being dominant, which leads us to top tommy headcanons

- my mans, as i said, doesn't make too much noise, although in this state he's very very sensitive to touch. not only that, but usually a certain type of glance will get him going for no apparent reason in like a millisecond. he loves the way you look at him, and he loves the way you feel around him, beneath him, your chest rising and falling unevenly ad your eyelids flutter and clench as he grips harder at the base of your hips-

- most things get him thinking dirty in a few seconds, like some sort of horny teen. but as soon as you're out of the public eye, away from the rest of the crowd where they can only sense your impending tension in the air, you bet your ass he will not hesitate to rip off your clothes and get straight to work on that pretty neck of yours

- he's probably down for semi-public sex where he knows you might get caught, but regardless of where you're doing it. once again, the kind of bitch to get turned on by danger

- like the rush of it sends him through the roof, although he's cautious about it too. but don't expect him to be gentle on you when he hears someone come by, no. not at all. he'll cover your mouth, suddenly placing a finger to his lips and turning his head to the direction of the footsteps. all is dead quiet, and yet...he's still grindingly his hips against yours, the hand that once told you to be quiet coming to squeeze your hip to try and make you disobey that command. you'll have to bite back moans, or whines, or whatever you can muster, because as soon as he hears them out of earshot you're going to be fucked into the he wall/table/wherever you've gotten yourself into this time

- his most preferred spot, though, is his bed. mostly because it's the most comfortable and he does like the privacy of feeling at home. he likes to think that this thing that you share is only between the two of you, that no one can take it away and no one else will see these parts of you, physical or not

- he likes to worship you just as much as he likes it done to him, although he might get to eager and rush things up like halfway through. it'll be you who's has to take it slow if you please, whispering sweet nothings against his skin as he watches you with a keen eye, curious to see what's next

- and now for my favorite part: miscellaneous headcanons ;

    + his favorite part of a person’s body is their eyes, and he likes dark eyes the most. they're a nice contrast to his own baby blues

    + sometimes, if he's feeling especially desperate, he may be more clingy than usual

    + if you're working and he wants your attention, he pulls up a chair next to you and caresses/gropes your thighs to tease you into being frustrated enough to spend time with him

    + he'd probably never do anything in his military uniform, although he likes to be called “soldier” when both in sub and dom position

    + if you call him daddy or sir like mid fuck he might just cum right there no cap

    + regular dick size, about 6 inches with a pretty good girth. moderately hairy but keeps good manscaping

    + he's even paler beneath those clothes of his lemme tell ya

    + v prominent dick vain when erect. like, when the blood rushes down where the sun don't shine you can SEE it

    + opposed to popular belief he's v sensitive and i see the most sensitive on his inner thighs and ear area. like, if you give him hickeys there he's going to feel it for at least a few days. also bite on his ear a little bit when y’all’er getting frisky cause he starts to moan a LOT

    + people that can handle a gun are HOT. especially if they don't take shit from anyone

    + if he's had a particularly stressful day he's probably going tom be very eager to just be near you in general

   + chest or ass man? the answer is chest. he likes chests that look strong, boobs or not. it kindof depend so on the shape of your body but someone who carries themselves with their chin held high is a turn on

    + confidence is hot as fuck okay

    + also really likes quickies

- in conclusion, he's a passionate lover when he's not all caught up in the world outside of the bedroom. it's quite literally his sanctuary, his oasis in the middle of a sandstorm. but it wouldn't be complete without you, and even through his pride he can see that as clear as day.

[hearteyes-for-killmonger]

4. Patience

Erik passed his hand by the sensor overhead light overhead so that it'd shine on Ivy's face while he returned to the silver cart to grab his loupe glasses, putting them on. In the mean time, he set up his Tobii video-based eye tracker. If he'd used a pupilometer, she wouldn't be able to see anything because her sight trajectory would be blocked by the device.

"You're a very attractive girl. The naked eye wouldn't do you justice, that's why I'm using these," he tapped the lens next to the protruding binoculars attached on the glasses. "Let's see these pretty eyes up close."

Between the lights and the glasses set to 2.5 magnification, he used his bare fingers again to stretch her left eyelids wide, keeping her from blinking as he examined her eye.

The iris had a warm psychedelic pattern, the outer ring a strong steel grey, contrasting against the white of her sclera. Inside, a bed of mossy soft green was tie-dyed with bronze. The two colors danced until a burst of black rays shot from the black hole that was the pupil.. like a black sun. Her eye was essentially a sunflower in the grass set against a sky of white. That's what it looked like. He released her lids allowing her to blink as he focused the eye tracker he'd already set up to record the precise movements of her pupils.

"Don't talk or move your head now, or else I'll.." he paused, "you know what? Just don't do it."

Once he was satisfied with the machinery and all of its attachments (that he'd had his assistant Draya assemble for him while Ivy was knocked out), he focused his attention on Ivy.

"The eyes," he gestured to his own, "truly are the windows to the soul."

The bulky and ugly device which sent information directly to the computer into a software program for graphing and analysis would reveal to him all of her thoughts and it would do it by measuring the movement and dilation of her pupils.

He waited a few moments allowing it to get a baseline measurement for comparison as Ivy kept herself still.

"Hm. You ever think about putting a needle through your pupil," he murmured keeping his voice low and calm. "I'd put it right through the center."

Her pupil enlarged visibly and he grinned watching them through his loupes.

"I'm kidding, I don't plan to mess with your eyes. That would be crazy."

He watched the data on the computer screen. Her eyes were so responsive. He could see the difference in her reaction between the two prompts he'd given.

"You really don't like talk about things going into your eyes. You'd like me to leave your eyes alone. Unfortunately for you.. I do what I want."

The new data aligned with that of the first prompt. This was her fear response. The other was a bit closer to pleasure, though it was still fear. He needed to explore the pleasure response a bit more for accuracy. He sighed.

"Kidding. You don't want me to do that.. I don't have to. There are plenty of other things. For example..," he leaned in close and noticed her pupils dilating again, "..I could count how many licks it take to make you melt like ice cream on this beautiful summer day."

Those pupils told him everything.

He checked the monitor. Despite her fear response, she was still attracted to him and experiencing pleasure. He removed the loupe glasses. He could still see her pupils clearly since he was close, and they were in the way of his eye contact.

"Look at me. Look close." He guided her attention to his face bringing his index between his own eyes, watching her eyes settle on his. "That's insane," he laughed watching her pupils dilate. He checked the graph briefly. The sight of him now was aligning with pleasure and when he stuck out his tongue, flattening it before flicking the air and showing her how full and long it was, the data went closer to the side of pleasure. These were her thoughts, though she was still very afraid.

He decided to switch tracks.

"You like... watching porn a lot, I know. You like asses... lesbians... deep penetration with big dicks... and you looove rough sex. If it's not that soft shit, it's that rough shit," he chuckled thinking back to her the data he'd purchased which included info about her browser history. He'd seen some interesting video titles that caused him to look them up himself to see what she saw in them that may have turned her on.

"Tell me, do you imagine that it's you when you see girls swallowing dick as big as their forearms? Do you cum imagining that it's you being fucked with your head in the mattress? Is that what you want.. to be treated like that?"

She didn't speak though he'd waited for her response and he was almost annoyed until he remembered, he'd told her not to.

"Good girl," he whispered looking to the data. Fear and pleasure.

"I know the niggas you keep ain't hitting it right," he frowned watching the reaction of her eyes. He'd purchased access to her contacts, photos, and messages through one of her phone apps. Privacy really wasn't shit.

"They don't do it like your favorite videos. They don't talk to you the way you imagine when you got your fingers knuckle deep. Mm nah, there's something missing. Dedication."

He didn't even need the data at this point. She was an open book with no words or gestures necessary.

She wanted to be freed. She wanted to escape. She wanted to fuck. She was confused and afraid.

He didn't even need to see her eyes anymore. He turned off the machinery and moved all  of the pieces out of the way returning the loupes to the cart with a metallic sounding drop.

"Your eyes are beautiful. I bet that's why your folks named you Ivy. Not clever, but still cute.. just like you and guess what?"

He rounded the chair to her right side again to whisper in her ear ignoring her hard cringe, "I'm so fuckin excited to finally have you here."

Pulling back he grinned, humoured by her wide eyed expression.

---

Ivy was breathless and confused, completely unsure of the dentist's intentions. What was his goal? Why was he doing this? What did he want? She wondered if she should risk speaking. She wanted to know what he had planned. What the hell was he doing?

"Patience, Little Ivy. I might think you're in a hurry to get away from me," he smirked, eye contact strong. The silver in his mouth glinted slightly, drawing her attention. She acted like she didn't see it, not wanting to give him anything else to go on.

"Aren't we having fun?" He stroked her cheek and she fought the strong urge to turn away, her lids dropping as she assessed the pressure of his fingers trying to guess his intent. Would he hit her? She braced herself, preparing for it.

"I haven't hurt you yet have I?"

"You did, you put wasabi in my mouth and it burned!" She spoke before she could think. At first, she was scared that she'd made a fatal mistake, but then she said fuck it.

His chin met his chest as his shoulders bounced. His locs shook lightly with his head. He looked up and shook a few of the dangling locs from his eyes focusing on hers, black eye to green. Her focus dropped to his lips again and he leaned in, putting his arm over her so that he practically hovered above. Her attention snapped back to his dark eyes lit with mischief.

"If you think that was pain, you have a big surprise coming," he whispered. "..Little Ivy."

He kissed her lips lightly and she didn't breathe the time that their lips were together, nor did she close her eyes. She watched him, remaining alert. She didn't trust him at all. His hand rested on her cheek sliding up to rub through her twists.

Apparently, he'd grabbed a handful because he pulled and her mouth popped open in protest while he used the opening in her defenses to slip his tongue in her mouth deepening the kiss.

Despite the fact that Dr. Stevens was a sociopath, he definitely knew how to kiss and though Ivy had fought it, she felt herself getting swept away. Her eyes fluttered shut before opening again. His head moved to the side and his eyes were closed. When his kiss grew more aggressive, hesitantly, she closed her eyes.

His coarse and heavy right hand joined his left sweeping gently from her hair, down the sides of her face and her neck to her collarbone. She was breathing hard and fast, squirming in the seat. She couldn't help herself. Everything about it seemed wrong, but in the moment...

When he sucked her tongue into his mouth, it came with a moan that surprised and horrified her. It had just.. happened. Somehow she'd allowed herself to be turned on and now he knew she was turned on.

His fingers were traveling to the base of her throat and wrapping around. The pressure slight and his devilish lips never left her, his tongue in a deep match against hers. She could feel his grip on her neck tighten just a little and when he pulled back, he took her bottom lip with him between his teeth, releasing it.

Again, he squeezed the sides of her neck, applying pressure until she felt light-headed. Her pussy was wet, she could feel it. Again, he released her.

"This one of your kinks, you might as well enjoy it. Look at me. I wanna see your eyes when I choke you."

He knew. Of course he knew. Her knees pressed together lightly. She couldn't afford to lose control of herself. She had to remain aware and search for any opportunity of escape.

---

Again, he squeezed enjoying her beautiful and powerless green eyes and her small gasps of pleasure. He released her and watched as she gulped, her chest rising and falling with her breath.

"I find it so interesting that you can be vulnerable like this with your life in my hands. It's almost like.. you're so much of a slut, you can't control yourself. You can't, can you? Your pussy wet right now.. ain't it?"

He knew it was, however, he didn't plan to take care of that. Not yet. He could see in her eyes that not only would she allow it.. she wanted and craved it. It was very possible that she herself was crazy.

It was very, very interesting.

"Patience," he whispered.

@honey-poooh @missshae @raysunshine78 @destinio1 @marvelmaree @honeytoffee @thickemadame @heykillmongerluhme @ghostfacekill-monger @killmongersmistress

[duanecbrooks]

The Return Of Girls Gone Write     Further unmistakable evidence that women, by and large, are the superior writers: the former George W. Bush press secretary and current Fox News host Dana Perino's my-life-with-my-dog-Jasper memoir Let Me Tell You About Jasper...: How My Best Friend Became America's Dog and the large-screen sprite Anna Kendrick's personal/professional memoir Scrappy Little Nobody. These two books are, frankly, flat-out joys to read, the former being a frequently warmhearted, often humorous, always heartfelt telling of her life and experiences with her pet dog Jasper, who, as she convincingly claims, has become the real and true star of the Perino family; the latter being an engaging, sprightly, consistently witty literary self-examination of one of the modern-day American cinema's most succulent and most appealing chicks. To partake of these tomes consecutively, both from beginning to end, is to spend quality time with a pair of delightfully quirky, keenly aware, firmly articulate she-babes who, each in her own way, have a marvelous sense of proportion, a marvelous refusal to see themselves as having any kind of Greatness.             Before getting into just exactly why these superb books are superb, allow me to go into how I first became aware of Kendrick (If you'll remember, Perino first came into my life via her first-rate within-the-George W. Bush-administration memoir And The Good News Is...: Lessons and Advice from the Bright Side). Kendrick caught my attention, as do many other other folks and things these days, via YouTube. Specifically, first, during a compilation of Kathie Lee/Hoda's "best" Today "celebrity moments," wherein, when Kendrick was asked whether or not she'd like to play a game, she facetiously mimicked Nader and replied mock-earnestly: "No! I hate games! I hate fun, I hate laughing!" (Later, she was shown doing some mock-dirty dancing with said girls); second, during a trailer for one of Kendrick's more recent theatrical films, namely Get A Job, the aforementioned trailer's two highlights, for me, being 1) this scene where Kendrick's filmic character, Jillian by name, is sitting on the floor lamenting the fact that she spent almost all of the money she had on a BITCHIIN' pair of shoes, while clad in a pair of equally bangin' black toreador pants that, given her sitting position, magnificently show off her magnificently long, lean legs and her magnificently-proportioned bare feet; and 2) a long shot of Kendrick adorned in a man's white shirt and tie and black high heels and again displaying those stylishly long, lean legs. Thus I was already primed, due to being previously turned on by Kendrick, to favor her tome.             It's here where I'll deal with the highlights of both books, the places where our memoirists especially grab ahold of and, simultaneously, charm and delight us.               .Perino, on the vast network of fans/friends that has developed due to her having Jasper: "It is a bit wonderful that through television and social media, Jasper and I became friends with so many people across the country. I enjoy interacting with my followers and fans, and I really feel that we have modern-day friendships--people I've never met, but that I've come to know over time through short digital interactions. It has widened my circle of people I talk to, and it's deepened my appreciation for people from all walks of life. I now get a chance to communicate with people I wouldn't have ever known; the Internet has given us a way to connect and network that didn't exist before. We're all neighbors now (with the proper amount of fencing to keep things friendly).               "Often this new group of people has cheered me up or warmed my heart just when I needed it. Working in politics and live cable television can be stressful, and switching off at the end of the day isn't always easy. Jasper's following has actually given me a way to set aside the work portion of my day and exchange some messages with my electronic friends, which helps me keep grounded and cheerful."                 .Kendrick, on her brother Mike: "My brother is my hero. I've idolized him since the day I was born and I still do. He's responsible for at least sixty percent of my personality, for better or worse. I'm told that if you're an only child, you grow up thinking you're the center of the universe, and if you have tons of siblings you grow up with a healthy perspective on how small you are in the grand scheme of things. I'd like to think that my brother told me I was a worthless brat often enough that I got the same effect...     "Mike's main interests [when we were kids] were watching Star Wars, playing Magic: The Gathering, and avoiding his annoying little sister. The only time he happily included me was when he wanted to play 'Pro Wrestling Champions,' as I was an ideal partner on which to inflict moderate injury."           .Perino, on Jasper's television debut: "Jasper made his debut on The Five [Perino's Fox News political talk show] as a sleepy puppy at just two months old, and a star was born. I brought him on set and when we were back from commercial break, I showed him off for the camera. He looked right into the lens with his deep blue eyes (a Vizsla [Jasper's breed] is born with blue eyes that eventually turn amber). He snuggled into me. Hearts melted.             "Jasper has tons of personality and is as photogenic as any dog I've known. On Jasper's birthday, my [The Five] producer lets him come on the show and he sits on a chair, for the most part, wearing a bow tie collar, and you would think he knows exactly what he's doing when he looks into the teleprompter. He's certainly better behaved than [Five co-host Greg] Gutfield."             .Kendrick, on her early period as an actor: "Starting in theater gave me a basic work ethic that I may not have gotten if I started in film and television. I worked six days a week, eight shows a week (two shows on Wednesdays and Saturdays, Mondays off). It wasn't so much the schedule--I worked in accordance with child labor laws--it was that I was held accountable for my work.             "Once, during rehearsals, our director was playing with the shape of a musical number that involved most of the cast--which jokes should stay, where they should go, etc. He decided to try reinstituting a small joke I'd had in a previous draft, and we started the number again from the top. I lost where we were in the music and I opened my mouth to say the line, a measure too late. He was already shaking his head and signaling the pianist to stop.             "'Anna just lost a line. Let's go back to how it was before and start again.'"         .Perino, on her period as W.'s press secretary: "[B]ecoming the White House press secretary was the best thing that ever happened to my career. I learned so much--about policy, world affairs, management, and politics.             "But the most important lesson I learned working for President Bush was about character and how to conduct myself under stress and attack. I found out how to be productive despite obstacles, and appreciated how a communicator can help calm a situation, advance a negotiation, or lead to a solution.               "The press secretary is the pinnacle for a public relations professional--it was the opportunity of a lifetime.                 "But having worked in politics for so many years, I'd built up a fairly tough exterior. The daily battles can wear a person out, and in some ways, I became edgier and harder than I'd ever been.         "It was also a lofty position, and the surest way you can lose your way in Washington, D.C., is to let any of that power or prestige go to your head.             "Throughout those years [first dog] Henry kept me from losing sight of what was important in life: appreciation and gratitude for my health and blessings, and the love I shared with [hubby] Peter and our dog."     .Kendrick, on her early life as a struggling actor: "The next pilot season [for television series] was starting up, which meant I was usually sent on one to four auditions a day. I discovered MapQuest and wrote down directions by hand since I didn't have a printer. Between that and my growing knowledge of the city, I was only getting lost, like, six times a day. Pilot season is grim because you're sent in for everything, no matter how wrong you are for it. I kept a mountain of clothes and accessories in my trunk so I could go from the fourteen-year-old goth daughter on a TNT drama to the spoiled twenty-two-year-old receptionist on a workplace comedy. It's obvious now that splitting my focus made it responsible for me to do well on any of them, but I was in no position to turn down auditions.               "How do I describe my personal life during this time? I met funny, interesting people. I went to art galleries downtown, I performed a one-woman show for free on the street corner. Except none of that's true. I spent most of my time trying to find ways to occupy myself without spending money or ingesting calories."                     .Perino, on what she terms Jasper's "protest pee": "When I wrote And the Good News Is... I received a lot of gifts for Jasper, including an embroidered quilt with the Great Seal of the United States. It is beautiful and functional. [Peter and I] take it with us to our friends' homes if we are invited to stay the night, because, well, you try telling Jasper he can't sleep on the bed. With the quilt, we're covered. Literally and figuratively.                   "When we're at our place in South Carolina, leaving him in the house is even more stressful. For a while, whenever we'd go out, we'd come home and find that he'd peed on the floor. As soon as we'd walk in, we'd know something happened, because Jasper would grab a toy as he always does, but instead of frantic joy and butt wagging, his tail would be down and he'd look guilty. It was hard to discipline him because you're supposed to catch them in the act. [Hubby] Peter would get pretty made at Jasper, and I'd feel terrible.                 "'He's so scared to be left alone,' I'd say.           "'No, he's being a brat,' Peter responded."                   .Kendrick, on behavior at showbiz events: "There's a campaign called #AskHerMore, which was started by some thoughtful, intelligent females (Lena Dunham, Reese Witherspoon, Shondra Rimes, etc.). It aims to ensure that when women attend events, they are asked about more than their dresses. Men don't answer questions about their clothes; why should we [women]? A simple and understandable request.                 "However, if people could ask me less, that would be great. I would love it if we could limit my red carpet topics to my favorite colors, what sound a duck makes, and my thoughts on McDonald's All-Day Breakfast--blessing or curse?"                 Also: Nearly the final half of Perino's book consists of various @FiveFanPhotoshops pictures that very humorously show Jasper in a collection of quite colorful poses--Jasper painting a portrait of Perino's former boss, W.; Jasper as a race-car driver; Jasper and Perino involved in the Kentucky Derby with the latter on top of the former, et al. And Kendrick's tome closes with a "Bonus Reading Group Guide," wherein there are "a few questions to help you get the most out of your reading experience."(As an addend, Kendrick wittily 1] apologizes for the "fact" that her "Guide" offers no red meat for those of us who "happen to run a trashy celebrity news blog that requires you to peruse the content of privileged cretins like me"; and 2] gives us permission to "use these questions [in the "Guide"] as a template for creating misleading but juicy headlines." She winds up by, also wittily, summing up what she, so she claims, is conveying: "[F]amous white girls are really fun to be mad at") Among the queries asked in the "Guide":                                        .."Though every page of Scrappy Little Nobody is perfect in every                           way, which part is your favorite? Make a list (it can be a Post-it that                           says, 'Every part is my favorite') and tape it to your chest for the rest                                 of the day."                                        .."When Anna compares Zac Efron to Charles Manson, is she making                                 a joke or trying to warn us about a potential murderous mastermind?"                                .."In the sections about Alexa Chung and Olivia Palermo, the author                           viciously maligns two innocent and very fashionable girls. Is Anna a                           shady, basic bitch, or the shadiest, basic-est bitch?"                                       .."Anna makes a lot of bad decisions. Can you think of a time when                                 you've made a bad decision? Oh wow, really? We're gonna pretend                                   you can't think of a single example? YOU THINK YOU'RE BETTER                             THAN ME?!"             And thus there are the books of Dana Perino and Anna Kendrick, the former being a greatly stylish, consistently witty, always loving paean to a dog who is not only a beloved pet but, as Perino very convincingly limns, one of the most well-known and well-regarded personalities in America (easily, happily, well above and beyond any yammering about "animal rights"); the latter being an engagingly lively, undeniably honest, unrelievedly funny self-portrait of a celebrity gal who is obviously on the sides of life and living, whose unflinchingly upbeat, never-say-die attitude comes through in literally every paragraph.                 In the much-lauded theatrical film The Magic of Belle Isle, the single Mom Charlotte O'Neill (Virginia Madsen), during an evening dinner with her daughters and that evening's guest, the renowned Western novelist Monte Wildhorn (Morgan Freeman), asserted: "I've always felt that a book does something no friend could: Stay quiet when you want to think." To partake of the Perino and Kendrick tomes as they "[s]tay quiet" is to have you "wanting to think" about them--always favorably and, very often, with unsheathed laughter.