#gonna kick that pi's ass all the way to mars

[shroomsnail]

i wanna cry but like the way kids cry at anything that is mildly inconvenient and just yell without tears. i wanna do that.

#i cant cry tears wont come out but i wanna cry 😠😠😠 #im late for an assignment im not really enjoying doing my honours project (even tho i know its a cool little project!!) #learnt today that i didnt need to do as much work as i did during the summer!! the pi didnt need all that!! #bites chomps screeches BITES TEARS KICKS SCREAMS #gonna kick that pi's ass all the way to mars

[anboringday]

Tracey x Franklin: Just Friends

Summary: Tracey De Santa, a college freshman, has a crush on the most popular boy on campus, Chad Dillington. Determined to win his heart, she turns to her best friend Franklin Clinton for help. However, she never expected to start developing feelings for her best friend instead...

Word Count: 5.8k 

Tags: Fluff!! And more fluff!! Slow burn. Friends to Lovers. (Post Ending-C)

Read on Ao3 

Franklin barreled through the door of my room.

Carefully applying my eyeliner in the mirror, I glanced at him. Chiseled jaw clenched and hands balled into fists, a frown marred the space between his arrogantly shaped brows. His strong, muscled arms wired tight beneath his white T-shirt, he stood at the ready for battle.

His cognac-brown eyes searched my room from top to bottom for unknown threats. “Tracey? You good?”

“Um, duh. I’m always fine.” I returned my attention to my makeup. “I’m gonna need you to tone down some of that masculinity. It’s totally uncalled for, super distracting, and it’s ruining my good vibes—”

His warm hand came down on my shoulder. I stiffened, his eyes shrewd and accessing as they bored into me. “You sent me a text saying that you were dying, that you needed my help. You sure you good?”

His voice was soft, filled with concern. My gut kicked. Maybe I shouldn’t have sent that overly dramatic text, but desperate times called for desperate measures. I needed help. Badly. Dad was always busy doing movie director stuff, Mom was too preoccupied with shopping and yoga, and Jimmy was a complete idiot, so Franklin was the only person I could rely on.

It’s been that way for months. He picked me up from school, assisted with my homework, helped me take selfies for Bleeter, talked me through every one of my frequent mental breakdowns—he was a life saver, literally. Because he was so selflessly awesome, I decided to keep him around. Mostly because he did stuff for me, but he also had a nice personality to boot.

And we looked hella good together. Whenever we were out and about in the city, people would stop and turn their heads to gawk at our beauty. I was a celebrity after all, the sexiest girl in Los Santos according to my Bleeter stalkers. And Franklin was powerfully built, dark-haired with stunningly amber eyes. He was a man who looked absolutely gorgeous just about every day of his life. It seemed effortless for him, and I would’ve resented that if weren’t besties.  

I confessed, “I lied to get you here, okay?”

“Tracey…” Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “You scared the shit outta me, girl. What were you thinking—”

“Don’t be mad. I’m sorry.” I hugged him.

The tension in his muscles relaxed beneath my touch. I took his hand and flopped down on my bed. He sat beside me, our fingers intertwined. “A’ight, Trace. I’m here now, so what’s going on with you?”

“I have news,” I smiled. “The best news. You’re not gonna believe this, but Chad Dillington asked me on a date!”

He stared at me, his expression blank.

“Well?” I tapped his shoulder. “Say something! Aren’t you excited for me?”

“Who the fuck is Chad Dillington?” he asked.

“Are you kidding me?” Energy thrumming through me, I jumped to my feet. “He’s like the hottest, most popular guy at my university! He’s a quarterback for the football team, a committed member of the Alpha Omega Theta Pi—”

“The Alpha Omega what?”

“It’s a fraternity, Frank! Chad Dillington is a big effing deal, literally every chick on campus wants to bone him. He has the prettiest blue eyes and the cutest smile ever.” I twirled on my heels. “I can’t believe he chose me of all people to go on a date with. This is so, like, amazing!”

“That’s cool, I guess.” He shrugged. “You called me over here just to tell me that?”

“No! If there’s any hope in winning Chad Dillington’s heart, I’ll need support. Your support and guidance, in particular.”

His brows furrowed. “Uh…why?”

“Because you can help me understand him! Guys know what other guys are thinking, right? You and Chad have so much in common too. You’re both around the same age, you both like getting sweaty at the gym, you both like getting high—”

“No offense, Trace, but me and that preppy ass frat boy ain’t got shit in common. I’m sorry, but I’m finna pass on this one. Maybe one of yo’ friends at school can help you.” He stood and took off for the door.

“Wait!” I swerved in front of him, blocking the exit with outstretched arms. “You’re right, there are some stuff you and Chad don’t have in common. Like, for example, he’s way smarter than you and his parents are filthy rich.”

Franklin glared a hole into me, a muscle in his jaw twitched. Yikes. Probably shouldn’t have said that.

“But you’re sane,” I complimented. “Sensible, wise beyond your years, and levelheaded. You’re playing with a full deck, Frank. That’s a rarity in Los Santos, you know? Everyone here is crazy.”

“Including you,” he snapped.

“But you love me.” I hugged his muscled arm. “You’re like the ping to my pong, the yin to my yang, the butter to my bread, the chocolate to my milkshake…”

“That was cute until you mentioned the part about chocolate. Now it’s weird.”

“Frank, you have to help me!” I pleaded desperately; my mouth set in a pout. “I’m your best friend, you can’t abandon me when I need you most. It’s not fair! I’ll hate you forever if you do—”

He smothered my mouth with his palm, silencing me. “Fine, I’ll help you on one condition. No more whining and crying like a damn baby, it’s embarrassing. Makes my ears bleed, it’s horrible.”

I smacked his hand away. “Deal. Now shut up and listen.” Standing on the tip of my toes, I spoke quietly into his ear. “Chad invited me to a masquerade ball. It’s a top secret, invitation only party the fraternity is hosting at some old, underground speakeasy—”

“Girl, why you whispering?”

“Because it’s a secret. Mom and Dad can’t know about this, they’ll freak out. Promise me you won’t tell them. You know how overprotective they are, they never let me have any fun.”

“It’s all good, relax. Your secret is safe with me.”

“Swear on it.” I rose my pinky.

“I promise.” His finger curled around mine. “So the most popular douche bag motherfucker in school invites you to an invitation only masquerade ball…”

“Could you refrain from calling him a ‘douche bag motherfucker’, please?” I rolled my eyes. “Anyway, all the cool kids are gonna be there. The party is happening this weekend. Friday night. I only have two days to prepare. This is so short notice, I haven’t even picked out a dress.”

“Hey, you could always cancel.”

“No! A date with Chad Dillington is a once in a lifetime opportunity. I can’t back out now. I have to do this.” My stomach grew queasy and my hands wouldn’t stop shaking. I paced the room, my fingers laced taut until my knuckles turned white. “What if I screw everything up? What if he doesn’t like me?”

Franklin appeared in front of me. I jerked to a halt, riveted to the spot as his searching gaze burned into me, glimmering with golden flecks. Lost in the intensity of his eyes, something shifted in the air between us.

As he stared back, he changed…as if the impalpable wall he kept between us began to chip and splinter. His tough, guarded demeanor crumbled before me, revealing a soft vulnerability in his eyes. A tenderness I had no clue he was capable of.

He patted my shoulder and squeezed lightly, affectionately. My skin tingled from the warm, steady pressure of his touch. “Of course the frat boy is feelin’ you,” he said softly. “He’d be crazy not to.”

My cheeks heated. Since when did he become so flattering? “You’re just saying that to make me feel better,” I mumbled.

“Nah. I mean it.” He reached into his pocket for his phone and started tapping away at the keyboard.

I peeked at the screen. “What are you doing?”

“If you’re going to a ball, you gotta know how to dance.” He pulled up a Bleeter video of dancers clad in silk doing the Waltz. “Think you can do that?”

“Uh, I dunno. Last time I tried to slow dance with a guy was at high school prom. I slipped and twisted my ankle in front of everyone. Super embarrassing.”

“Let’s make sure you don’t trip this Friday, a’ight? We can practice together.” He propped his phone on my desk and took my hand in his, the other rested on the small of my back. “You ready?”

Our eyes locked, I nodded weakly, my breath coming in short and fast. The contact was electric, I could feel the edgy energy radiating from him—like a magnetic pull that grew harder to reject by the second. He started moving, his strapping body gliding across the carpeted floor with confidence and easy rhythm. Jeez, when did he get so good at this? He was a natural! My knees wobbly, I followed his lead to the best of my ability.

I felt so small and insignificant in comparison to him, my movement stiff and awkward. And it didn’t help that I was petite, barely over five feet, and he was huge—a tall, deep brown slab of solid muscle and well-exercised strength. The force of his presence was difficult to ignore in a crowded room, and doubly so in an enclosed place like this, so close to me…  

After a few beats, the heat of his direct, prolonged gaze became overwhelming. I lowered my head shyly.

“Chin up,” he instructed, tipping my head upward with a gentle push of his thumb under my chin.

Sucking in a harsh breath from the mind-boggling intimacy, I lost my footing and tripped over my own feet. He caught me in his arms just before I collided with the floor, his strong-featured face hovered over mine. Hit with all that striking masculinity at eye-level, I could only stare. Stunned. His beard was well-groomed, complimenting the hard lines of his square cut jaw, and his lips were like the icing on the cake…the fullness gave his rugged good looks the perfect touch of sensuality.

He helped me to my feet. “That wasn’t part of the dance, Trace.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” Pinching my lips together, I kicked a tube of old nail polish across the floor. “I’m never going to get this right. I’m so screwed.”

“It ain’t the end of the world. You still got time. Don’t give up, girl.”

“I wish I could be as optimistic as you are.” I sighed. “I’m sorry for being a bitch. There’s a lot of pressure on me and I’m taking it out on you.”

“It’s all good. I’m used to you being bitchy. I’m used to the screaming temper tantrums—when you beat yo’ fists against the floor and your legs start flailing like a fish outta water …” He grinned.

My stomach dropped. “It’s not funny.”

His laughter quickly faded. “My bad.”

An awkward silence filled the room. Twisting a finger around the hem of my blouse, I broke the quiet. “I’ve been working on my temperament with Doctor Friedlander. Do you think I’m getting any better?”

He leaned against the wall, his hands tucked casually into his jean pockets. “You haven’t had any episodes recently.”

“Because you calm me down right before I snap. Every time.”

“So why are wasting stacks on therapy, then? You’ve been seeing a therapist for what? Years? And you were still having panic attacks until…”

“Until you came along,” I completed his sentence. “I don’t want to become so dependent on you, Frank. It’s like, totally unfair to you.”

“Shit, I don’t mind. I ain’t going nowhere, unless you want me to—”

“No!” My heart lurched at the thought of losing him. Shocked by the fury of my reaction, I took a careful step away from him. “You wouldn’t leave me. You’d miss me too much.”

He stared at me for a moment, silent and thoughtful, his brow quirked.

I tensed. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Uh, no reason.” He lifted the brim of his black Los Santos snapback to scratch his head. “I should probably bounce. It’s getting late, and you got class in the morning.”

“Wait.” I passed him his phone and gave him a brief good-bye hug. “Do you think you could give me some guitar lessons after school tomorrow? Music class is kinda kicking my ass. I could use the extra help.”

“Yeah. Of course. No problem.” He chuckled, seemingly nervous for some reason. “I ain’t the best with the guitar, but uh, I know a few things so…”

“Are you kidding? You’re way better at it than me.”

“Slightly better.” His teeth gleamed in a smile. “A’ight. I’ll hit you up tomorrow.”

I was a little bummed about him leaving, but he was right. I needed the rest so I could wake up bright and early tomorrow. I returned a smile. “Bye, Frank.”

“Bye, Trace.” He turned to leave but stopped at the door, his gaze shifted to me. “By the way, you don’t have to lie to get me here. You ain’t gotta send no dramatic texts or nothin’ crazy like that. If you need to see me, whatever the reason, just…call. I’ll be here in a heartbeat.” 

A pang struck my heart. I swallowed deep, fumbling for words. Before I managed to find my words, he was gone.

With a heavy sigh, I collapsed on my bed. What was the matter with me? Why were my brain cells starting to fry around Franklin? I had a huge date planned with Chad Dillington, but for some reason, I couldn’t stop thinking about my best friend.

My phone vibrated on my nightstand. I grabbed it and found two new texts from Franklin.

Still thinking bout how tripped over your own damn feet earlier.

Girl, you clumsy.

Oh my god. With an embarrassed grin, I texted him back; Wow. You sure know just what to say to boost a girl’s confidence :P

He responded a minute later. What if I told you that I like when you’re clumsy? I get to pick you up whenever you fall.

I read the message with wide eyes and then powered down my phone, my nerves danced wildly in my stomach. There was an ache in my chest, and I rubbed at it. Jeez. Pull yourself together, Tracey…

Read more on Ao3

#franklin clinton #tracey de santa #grand theft auto #gta #gta v #gta 5 #grand theft auto v #gta fanart #gta fanfiction #trevor philips #michael de santa #writers on tumblr

[whoacanada]

Sailor Moon Zimbits AU - Part II

Listen, I love the idea of Sailor Moon AU but I don’t want to recap the entire first season so I’m just gonna play fast and loose with the timeline so Jack and Bitty get together as fast as possible :) 

LINK TO PART ONE POST

ALSO ON Ao3

Life goes on as normal, better than normal, because Jack’s finally chilling out, classes are getting easier, and Bitty’s crush on Tuxedo Mask starts to blossom into something far more tangible as they continue chirping, fighting, and flirting; until finally, one night, Tuxedo Mask stays close enough Bitty feels he’s being invited to touch. Bitty takes his chance, gives the man’s jacket a soft tug, pulling him down inch by inch until Bitty can gently press their lips together.

Bitty waits for the man to respond. Prays he doesn’t recoil in disgust or pull away angrily. And, no, Tuxedo Mask doesn’t pull away. Instead, he slides one hand into Bitty’s hair, holding them together as he brings up his arm to shield them from view with his cape. What was intended to be a chaste first kiss becomes a dance of cautious tongues, soft lips.

“I have to go,” Tuxedo Mask apologizes when he finally pulls away, pressing a last peck to the corner of Bitty’s mouth. Then another. “I’ll see you again very soon. I promise.”

“Gonna hold you to that,” Bitty breathes, staring up into his partner’s pale blue eyes. “Maybe you could even swing by when I’m not in mortal danger?”

That gets a laugh, Mask ducking his head and nearly losing his hat. “I’ll do my best. Until next time, Sailor Pie.”

With a rush of wind, he’s gone. Disappearing into the night like Bitty’s hopes of going to bed early. Oh course, Luna is waiting. Wide eyed, like she’s ready to give Bitty a stern talking-to.

“Nope.” Bitty vanishes his costume, bypassing his guide, practically walking on air. “Not tonight.”

__________

Classes are normal. Practice is normal. They’re winning games, which is fantastic, and Bitty’s finally feeling like he has some control over his normal life. Bitty’s world is perfectly fine, you know, except for the fact he’s still dealing with murderous monsters and a mysterious paramour who only shows up when his life is in imminent danger.

On the plus side, Bitty’s midnight monster-slaying sessions are now being followed by increasingly enjoyable make-out sessions. Like tonight, for example. The dust has barely settled on their battle with a soul-stealing cat witch, and Bitty is perched on Tuxedo Mask’s lap, palming at the man like a rowdy teen.

“You were beautiful,” Mask nuzzles Bitty’s throat, clutching at his waist as Bitty slides off his hat. The mask stays on. Just like Bitty’s costume stays in place. They haven’t discussed boundaries, but they’ve found them all the same.

“Kiss me again,” Bitty orders, nudging Mask’s chin up. He’s so handsome. So familiar.

“Always.”

The stay in the park for a little while longer, until Bitty’s lips are swollen and his pants are getting uncomfortable (not that Mask needs to know about any of that just yet). Bitty wants this all the time. He wants Mask in his dorm room, wants him in the stands at games, Bitty just really, really wants a boyfriend.

“You’re strong enough to face down the General sending these things every night,” Mask offers before they part ways, straightening his hat, adjusting Bitty’s hair. “You know you are.”

“I’m not sure,” Bitty hesitates. The sentiment is kind, but their whole relationship has been predicated on Bitty’s ability to not-handle most situations. “I can barely use the attacks I want, when I want.”

“Hey.” Tuxedo Mask rests his hand on Bitty’s shoulder, comforting, sincere. “Sailor Pie, you can do this. I’ll be right there with you. Just like always.”

So, fun fact, Bitty is actually not strong enough to face Nephrite alone, and for once Tuxedo Mask, for whatever reason, does not seem to have Bitty’s back.

“Oh, poor Sailor Pie,” the General taunts, summoning shadow tendrils from nowhere and thoroughly screwing any attempt at Bitty getting the high ground. “Nowhere to run? Here, let me help —” Bitty finds himself upside-down being lifted and crushed by the dark energy. Unable to escape, with a growing dread that no lame, last-minute interruption could stop this.

No one should be in Faber this late. No one should be able to hear Bitty getting his ass handed to him by Nephrite. He’s going to die, and things only get worse when Ransom, Holster, Shitty, and Lardo come running in from the locker room, gawping at the scene.

“Fucking what — “

“Don’t you hurt him!”

“Sailor Pie! Hold on!” Lardo yells, throwing open the gate. “We’re coming!”

“Run,”  Bitty chokes, grasping for the Moon Wand and any hope of breaking free. “Guys — run.”

“No escape,” Nephrite yells as the magical bonds trapping Bitty tighten. “You’re too late.”

“Don’t you hurt our frog you ugly fuck!” Holster shouts, enveloped in an orange-gold glow as he flashes the finger and shouts, “Venus Power, Make Up!”

Bitty’s vision is sparking but he’s still aware enough to see his orange clad teammate in a fighting pose when the light clears, fists raised and ready to rumble. “Listen up you Nega-dick, let go of him or, I, Sailor Venus, will rip your heart out through your dickhole in the name of love!”

“Sailor . . . Venus . . .?”

A flash of green, another of red, and one more of blue has Holster, flanked by three more scouts wearing familiar faces. They’re all wearing the same uniform, the compression suit, like Bitty’s, but Shitty is the odd-man out in a green skirt and knee high boots.

Lardo, in red, a tiara shining on her forehead, whips her arm out and yells, “The Soldier of flame and passion, I am Sailor Mars! Back the fuck off, bitch!”

Shitty steps up onto the bench, allowing Bitty to see his bare legs. He hasn’t shaved. “The Scout of courage and protection, Sailor Jupiter, is here to knock your fucking teeth in, bro!”

“With Water and Wisdom as my guides, Sailor Mercury will drown your chances of victory! Let him go!”

Ransom — Mercury —  sounds good. Very official. Maybe it’s the lack of oxygen, but all Bitty can think is, what does it say about him that he hasn’t been able to come up with a kick-ass one-liner introduction like literally everyone else he knows. Lord, he’s still going by Sailor Pie instead of Sailor Moon.

Darkness begins to creep at the edge of his vision as the others begin firing off elemental attacks. Then, head lolling, Bitty finally sees a flash of red in the rafters. Tuxedo Mask.

“You’re . . . late . . .” Bitty whispers.

“Sailor Pie!”

Everything goes black.

“— knew it. I knew Bittle was special. No human could make pies that good.”

“Sailor Pie, man. I thought it was just Jack fucking with us again. You think there are more?”

“Enough. We need to let him rest.”

Bitty clenches his eyes closed, the voices aggravating his splitting headache — all he wants in the world is to slip back into unconsciousness, but his two working brain cells start putting together the fact his secret identity isn’t a secret anymore, and his teammates know too much for him to play dumb.

“You know you aren’t our Captain all the time. We should be here when wakes up. To explain.”

“You’re so loud,” Bitty moans, trying to roll away from the noise only to be gently rocked back by large, familiar hands that coax him upright against his every silent wish. “Ow,” Bitty cracks his eyes open and finds Holster, Lardo, Shitty holed up in what appears to be Jack’s room, except there’s a familiar top hat and mask on the desk beside Jack’s calculus textbook.

There’s no way. This is a dream. A terrible trick.

“There he is,” Holster says, voice far too loud even as he’s trying to be gentle. “Thought you were toast for a minute, Bitty. Good thing Jack got there when he did or we might have lost you.”

“Not fast enough,” Jack curses from somewhere Bitty can’t see, and when he turns to look there’s no warning before a light is shining in Bitty’s eyes, making everything suck so much worse.

“Easy,” Ransom urges, his hand holding Bitty in place as he tries to get away. “You hit your head pretty hard.”

Bitty blink away, spots dancing in his vision, to find Jack hovering in the doorway, arms crossed, as stern as ever. Except, if Bitty wasn’t mildly concussed, he’d say his Captain looked almost upset. Guilty, even. (And now that Bitty knows Jack is probably pulling double duty as his secret not-boyfriend . . . )  

“It’s my fault,” Jack mutters, and Bitty knows a Zimmermann apology when he hears one. “I could have stopped this.”

“What’s with the selfless act, man? We were all there,” Ransom tucks away his penlight. “We were just as helpless as you.”

“It’s different for him,” Lardo says cryptically, giving Bitty’s foot a squeeze before rising to join Jack. “He has to be the fall guy on this one.”

“Can I have a few minutes alone with Jack?” Bitty asks. “Please?”

Though they go reluctantly, the room does clear, and Bitty is left with his overbearing, overdressed hockey captain, who is also, apparently, his midnight beau.

“So, it’s you?” Bitty tugs at a loose thread on the dark blue comforter trying to calm his racing heart.

“It’s me,” Jack agrees, knocking his heel against the floorboards. “And it’s you, too.”

“Was it all a game?” Bitty presses his palm to his temple as if the action will stop his head from throbbing as he slides off the bed. Jack’s bed. Tuxedo Mask’s bed. “The flirting? Pretending to care about me — Did you know he was me?”

“No.” Jack breathes, still as Bitty crosses the room to confront him. “Never. I didn’t pretend to do anything, and it wasn’t a game, I —” he swallows, forcing himself to look at Bitty like the act is painful. It probably is. “I had suspicions, but I couldn’t confirm anything. Not before tonight.”

“How do you feel? Knowing I’m . . . me?” Standing, Bitty can finally feel just how messed up he is. Everything aches. Even his hair.

Jack swallows, hand lifting as if all he wants is to touch, so Bitty obliges, leaning into his Captain’s personal space, allowing Jack to catch him. To hold him. Again, just like before.

“I don’t feel any different, you’re still you,” Jack whispers, cradling Bitty close, “Crisse, I told you to fight. You could have died.”

“But I didn’t.” Bitty whispers, wincing at his own voice. “I’m okay.”

The only response is a soft pressure against his scalp. A kiss. The sudden relief that floods him is better than any drug — Tuxedo Mask still likes him. Loves him, even. Now, maybe Jack can love Eric Bittle, too.

“You need to rest,” Jack holds Bitty steady, guiding him back to the bed. “The guys are going to keep watch while I take care of a few things with Hall and Murray.”

“You’ll come back, right?” Bitty eases under the covers, wincing. “We’re going to talk?”

“In the morning,” Jack promises, brushing the fringe out of Bitty’s eyes, expression unbearably fond. “When you feel better.”

The sheets smell like Jack. So does the pillow. It should be gross, but, Bitty kinda likes it. Before he knows it Jack is gone and everything is dark once more.

#sailor moon au #zimbits #my stuff #my fic #another grade-a crack au from whoacanada #who should be working on other things #but whatever we have fun #long post