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zivazivc · 2 months

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Sorry if this has already been asked before but why did the band break up? And did they break up on decent terms? Do they still talk to each other sometime?

It has been asked before, I just never answered jshfbdjcbh I'm still piecing everything together and stuff is changing or getting tweaked all the time, so I'm always super hesitant about answering these types of questions, afraid that people will take whatever I say as the final answer. So basically what I'm going to answer now will already contradict what I told some people already. And maybe in the future the story might go a little differently too (although I'm pretty satisfied with the current events)

Uhhh, get ready for a long info dump. I didn't expect I'd write this much...

Floyd basically stayed with the band for 8 years (from 14 till 22) and got pretty messed up in the process. The rest of the guys are all quite older than him so I guess I could say they were more responsible, or at least had a better understanding of their own limits (also they grew up in this kind of environment or grew up aware of it, while Floyd was oblivious and naive about all of it) and while they do get drunk and do drugs often, none of them are really dependent on them. They are also pretty good judges of character and know how to avoid trouble. Floyd on the other hand drove in with no breaks and constantly got himself in trouble that the rest (mostly Les) had to drag him out of. He also developed bipolar during this time (in my story Floyd constantly fluctuates between being saturated and being desaturated because of this) and his manic and depressive episodes started getting out of hand after his teenage years. (None of them are aware it's a mental disorder that's making him act so out of character.)

Floyd was becoming miserable because of this and all of his problems pilling up, and started blaming Les for the way he was. Les never argued this which only fueled Floyd to blame him more. In the end he was getting so frustrated and irritable that Floyd constantly tried starting arguments with him, even putting him down and getting aggressive at times because Les gets very unresponsive and closed off during personal conversations (guy is a giant onion of suppressed trauma that Floyd is hellbent on peeling open).

Eventually there was one fight too many, terrible things were said, some objects flew through the air, and Floyd walked out (or Hed kicked him out, I haven't decided yet) with the promise of going home and never seeing them again.

So, yeah, it was very messy and Floyd was the primary asshole, even though he's not really to blame either...

But Floyd didn't make it home (was too scared to sneak through Bergen Town to get to the tree (i don't think i can judge him for that either)) and he just returned to the reckless lifestyle, this time without anyone being there to keep him safe. So if he was messed up before, this is the time period where he got absolutely fucked up. This is also when he got heavily addicted to sour worms. And when he chronically slept around (half the time just to get offered free worms or have somewhere to sleep, other times because he was having manic episodes and was feeling hypersexual). (This is also potentially the period when he had the two eggs with that techno troll, but I'm still thinking if I want that to be canon to the story or not.) During this time he also grew to become very anxious and his self-confidence went to shit when he was being himself.

Then after about three years of that, he bumped into Les at some party. He wanted to dodge him out of shame but Les grabbed his arm and manhandled him outside to talk. Floyd felt like shit about the way they had split up and tried apologizing for all the stuff he had said and done to Les, but Les wasn't having any of that because he wasn't angry at Floyd, he was just worried about him. Les is also insanely empathetic like Floyd, and he knew that Floyd never really meant any of it, and that he was just looking for an outlet when he was hurting. Also he does think he is to blame for the way Floyd ended up.

Les wanted to know why he didn't go home like he had said (because that was the only reason Les had even let him walk out in the first place). A few exchanged words later and Floyd broke down telling him all the awful things he'd done, and Les promised to help him, feeling insanely guilty. Floyd wondered if he was allowed back in the band but Les made it clear that the band wasn't good for him and that he was never taking him back. Instead Les helped him go though rehab. I don't think trolls have those institutions (or at least not many are aware of them or how they work (I'm sorry but I refuse to believe the Trolls world has internet and cellphones, Mountrageons can keep that for themselves lol)), so it was more or less just Les finding Floyd a job and his own place to stay in the middle of bumfuck nowhere where he had no option but to detox, and constantly checking up on him to make sure he was doing okay. During this time they grew pretty close again. Or maybe the better term would be that Les slowly started putting his walls down again.

Hed needed a while to warm up to Floyd again. He's almost as protective of Les as Les is of him, and he resented Floyd for the way he had treated him.

Flea is pretty phlegmatic when it comes to any sort of arguing or drama. He was casual about seeing Floyd again, they were never super close anyway.

And Liv, she left the band when she and Hed broke up (haven't decided if that happened before or after Floyd left), so Floyd didn't get to see her again after bumping into Les at the party. And I haven't thought yet if they'd ever meet again somewhere later in life. But if they did, I think they'd both be happy to see each other.

Anyway...

Floyd managed to detox and successfully kept the job for about a year, but then he became manic again and messed it all up. After that he returned to his nomadic lifestyle, but he never fell as hard as those three years again. In my story Floyd's life is a constant cycle of getting his life together and fucking it up and booking to the next place. And he and Les are trapped in a never-ending cat and mouse game where they're both trying to fix each other.

So, uh, Les and Floyd are still very close and see each other somewhat often...

(sometimes monthly, sometimes yearly)

Yeah...

I am so fucking obsessed with them I'm gonna hurl. Please take this song before I combust:

youtube

#btw the status of Floyd's and Les's relationship is forever set on 'complicated'#but they are as obsessed with each other as i am obsessed with them #the song is too soft and vulnerable to be something les would sing out loud but inside he does feel it #papa roach is nu metal btw. tho idk where this song stands exactly #trolls #dreamworks trolls #ex bandmates #trolls floyd #trolls oc #les #answered #my art #btw I am only self educated on the bipolar disorder from what i've read and watched on the internet so have that in mind #my intention is to be respectful but i might not understand all of it. especially not the personal experience of those who have it #i'm just some random nerd #so in a way you could say floyd was diagnosed by a nonprofessional lol #i stayed up until 3am last night writing this #today i made the sketch that is no longer a sketch #should i put this post under a cut? it is pretty long #long post

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charlattehotte · 3 months

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having a rare day where i can Hear Sounds that Normal People Can Hear and i immediately got overstimulated to the point of throwing up because there was a weird sound outside

#granted im kinda ill anyways but oh my god this is the worst #i know if i do get hearing aids i im not wearing them for nonprofessional purposes fuck being able to hear things

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feverdreamsandlucidnightmares · 2 months

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God I swear I’m not trying to be all doom and gloom talking about my health I know it’s annoying I just really need a break and everyone irl is already done with my shit bc I’ve been too anxious to go back to the doctor bc the last one told me I’d just have to deal with it and potentially get more surgeries and I’m 23 dude. It took nearly 3 years before my doctor even agreed that that surgery was necessary and it didn’t even fully fix my shit it just lessened the pain — which I’m grateful for, don’t get me wrong! But I haven’t had full limb function in my left arm since I was 15 and they made it sound like the surgery would fix it and then acted like I was overreacting when it didn’t. And my left leg has been deeply fucked for nearly as long, and at least slightly fucked at least since I hit double digits, and has gotten progressively worse. So like I know, I get it that I need to go to a doctor, but why would it go better now? What’s going to make a doctor take me seriously now?

I want to be angry, but I’m too tired.

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kristenswig · 5 months

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#250. War Pony - Gina Gammell & Riley Keough

3.5/5

#war pony #2023 movies #a debut feature with nonprofessional actors that looks and feels like a real movie? groundbreaking

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alulars · 5 months

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johnson's main hobby is microdosing on nonvolatile feelings by silently placing himself in public areas. he watches humans and rarely (but does) interacts with them with the same vulgar disgust and curiosity as a child poking an earthworm with a stick.

#he treats feelings like a bad pointless addiction. like chewing tobacco.#his more basal hobby is/was boxing. he sometimes still attends nonprofessional/casual fights. doesn't participate anymore.#*johnson.

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rigbeesknees · 11 months

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Set up these ledges (Ikea Mosslanda picture ledges) to display the books I contributed to (top two shelves) and to have easy access to flip through while gaming.

#dare i tag this...#Pathfinder #pf2e #starfinder #this is mostly a nonprofessional space so dont expect me to be talking much aboit the games I've worked on here

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swinging-stars-from-satellites · 2 years

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I want an industrial bar piercing so bad actually

#my mom is skeptical but IT LOOKS SO COOL I WANT ONE #idk if there's a place i could get it done near me though bc I'm NOT getting a cartilage piercing nonprofessionally #Lu rambles

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romanceyourdemons · 2 years

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a lot of times when people say oh this director took a huge risk, just a massive gamble casting these absolute unknown actors in their film, when you look it up you see that the people they cast were established stage actors, or they all went to film school together, or something along those lines. but sometimes it’s like “the director met her at a house party and loved her vibe so much that she thought i literally cannot make this film unless i have that woman in the lead role, so she personally gave her acting lessons for nine months prior to filming.” the other stuff is eh but THAT i can respect

#i honestly love when directors cast nonprofessional actors in major roles in their films #like nomadland (2020) or xiao wu (1997) or eternity (2017)#just off the top of my head #like does it make the film a little more difficult to watch. occasionally. acting is a learned skill for a reason.#but!! i genuinely don’t think the battle of algiers (1966) would have been so impactful with an all-professional cast #ryddles

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unwanted-editor · 2 years

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Whilst reading yet another fanfic, I came across this line by the author:

“… her fire wasn’t the usual orange flame that we see- it was instead blue Fire still, just a bit cooler, a bit gentler.”

1st- The sentence would flow better/ be more grammatically correct if it was written “… her fire wasn’t the usual, orange flame that we normally see; it was instead blue fire- just a bit cooler, a bit gentler.” Still, though, even if the sentence was written this way, it would still be factually incorrect- which brings me to my second point.

2nd- Blue fire is hotter than orange fire.

This bugged me, so I scrolled down and looked to see if anyone had said anything in the comments section. Which, someone had:

Reader: “… Just an fyi, blue fire is actually hotter than orange/red fire. Of course if its magic then I guess ignore whatever rules you want.”

Author: “… Haha, seriously just thought that it sounded cool. But, that’s and interesting fact! Yupp, please assume it’s another one of those ‘magical’ reasons. Thank you!!”

(Please note that the reader was being nice and respectful about the criticism! I took it out, because there were potential spoilers/irrelevant stuff, but the reader began by complimenting the writing and expressing interest in what might happen in future chapters. This is exactly how you should go about giving constructive criticism!)

The reader was right, of course. Blue fire is actually hotter than even white fire! And the hottest fire is a white-blue flame.

“When all flame colors combine, the hottest flame color is white blue.”

“The color of the blue flame indicates that it is even hotter than white. Typically, blue flames can go up from 2,600 degrees Fahrenheit to 3,000 degrees Fahrenheit.”

However, there are actually two different ways to turn a fire a different color- temperature, which we’ve already discussed, and the fuel’s chemical composition.

So what chemicals can be used to turn a fire blue? Here is the list I have come up with: Copper Chloride, Copper Halide, Bismuth, Arsenic, Cesium, Germanium, Indium, Niobium, Phosphorus, Selenium, Lead, Tin, Tantalum, or Zinc.

As you can see, there’s actually quite a variety of chemicals that could be used to create blue fire (although the exact shade would need specific ones). However, I have no idea how the chemicals effect the fire temperature, because as one of my previous pictures stated, “… blue flame is typically fueled by natural gas, and natural gases tend to burn hotter than organic materials such as wood.”

“But Unwanted-Editor! None of that matters if it’s magic!” That is correct, my dear readers, magic is a handy little tool that we can use to ignore science and logic. And truly, I would be content with letting it be, if not for a line just a little bit after the one I read that initially got me into this rant:

“Blue fire was known to meld and carve”

Meld. Meld!

Now, the author isn’t incorrect to say that blue fire is used to meld, but melding (and I assume the author is referring to welding) is bending metal to your will. Logically, don’t you think that the fire would need to be at a higher-than-normal temperature in order to actually do that? Yes. Yes it does.

“Temperatures high enough to produce blue flames are unusual in campfires, which is why they are more often seen when metals are used, as in welding.”

Now, magic can excuse a lot, but I draw the line at having a low-temperature-blue-flame-that-can-also-be-used-for-melding/welding. It just doesn’t make any sense, especially since the magic of the world we’re in relies heavily on the balance of things. Please, if you’re going to make the dragon breathe blue fire, than at least do it right.

Anywho, if you look at one of my previous pictures, you can see that I was already on Chapter 16 when this all happened, so clearly the author wasn’t actually a terrible writer. In fact, I even finished the fic and started the Part 2 of the fic (unfinished) that the author had written before I made this post. So, Kudos to the author for still engaging me, even when my brain rebelled against certain things! Thanks for being brave enough to share a piece of your heart on a public platform, and best of luck on all future writing endeavors!

Sources:

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homicidal-sheep · 2 years

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I just stumbled upon "intrusive sleep" and damn. In the past it hadn't affected me too badly because I live mostly in my own head and kept myself entertained (that or I just didn't notice. I am very unobservant). At my past job there are very few instances I wouldn't either be talking to people or on my phone or at least doing some sort of task.

Now I have a newer job in a museum where usually I stand in an exhibit and while I greet visitors, very few of them want to talk to me. I can't dip into my own head cause ✨️customer service✨️ and whatever, but now I keep almost falling asleep standing up if people don't talk to me😅. Human interaction snaps me awake, and the more engaging the conversation, the more alert I stay and longer.

Was slightly worried I was becoming an extrovert but nah. Just bored to literal sleep.

#intrusive sleep #feel bit like an npc #if no one talks to me I go to sleep #super inconvenient tho #if no ones there I can read which is entertaining enough #but if people are there and just not engaging with me Im kinda stuck #or I keep unintentionally walking in a circle and probably looking hella neurodivergent which I'm pretty sure is counted as nonprofessional #internally ableist take? probably but I work in customer service and things like looking/acting different weirds out the public

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givemebishies · 5 months

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"I know ai art is bad but I'm going to do it anyway fuck real artists"

Okay idk if you’re just telling me this statement or if you’re claiming that I said it because you put it in quotes?

But yeah, AI art is problematic and it can very much harm real artists whenever people profit off of it by claiming it’s original work that they themselves made, or when it’s used in place of real artists in a professional setting. However I do not see much genuine harm coming from casually using generators in a lighthearted way that’s just for fun. I’m not claiming that I made any of the AI art things I’ve generated, and I’m not trying to make money off them or anything

I entirely support the rights of artists, I am an artist myself, but I also don’t see how casually generating a few AI things for funsies is all that detrimental to artists either lol

Sorry but this comment is giving

#I think playing around with AI generators in a nonprofessional setting is completely chill tbth #maybe I’m wrong and if I am I’m welcome to be better informed #but it’s not like NOT using AI generators is actively Helping artists who are exploited by AI #as much of a bummer as it is that ai can be used in a wrong way that doesn’t mean it can’t be fun and non harmful to just mess around with #cif asks #cif answers #chatterbun

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the-everqueen · 2 years

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anyways butches and gnc people are Hot

#sorry i'm still fixated on how she equated ''masc'' or at least ''non-femme'' looks with #nonprofessional and not sexy #like the layers of sexism; racism; classism #i do not look less professional in my straight fit jeans than my male colleagues #literally men (grad students and profs) in my dept wear chinos and jeans to teach #i think me in my docs and jeans and field jacket looks Good #ppl who are queering gender in their presentation: y'all look Good!#how does one gender?#anyways i'm realizing that like...#part of the reason my former friends and colleagues always considered me #''not pretty'' was because i wasn't living up to their femme ideal #which i'm going to fail at anyways bc i'm not skinny and white #and no one ever considered maybe i didn't want to emulate that ideal #also just like...what kind of internalized gender bullshit #if you wanna be femme you can be femme! femmes are hot too!#but acting like there's only one approach to ''sexiness'' is so stupid and limiting #consider yr biases and realize ppl are Hot

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murdrdocs · 6 months

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HAUNTING YOUR BED. mike schmidt

description. you, mike, and abby bake a chocolate cake and mike gets to taste it from your lips

→ pt 2 to nothing real

includes. GN! reader (i think), simp mike, abby !!!!, fluff galore, more pining, more domesticity, kissing, one boner mention

wc: 2.2k+

a/n: finally wrote a pt 2 to something who would've thought. title from haunt//bed

When Mike opens the door, he’s too tired to see straight.

His shift ended earlier than he originally anticipated and since he’d clocked out, his body was begging for a shower and sleep. Maybe even just sleep, depending on how comforting his bed looked. If he could tolerate it, maybe even a few bites of a frozen meal.

This is his original plan.

But somehow due to the sleep induced haze, Mike had forgotten that you were babysitting Abby tonight. Not the sitter that had taken your place for a couple of nights, completely incomparable to you to the point where Mike didn’t even waste his time. Abby, though, spent a solid ten minutes each night complaining about the temporary sitter and another five minutes longing for you.

(Mike felt the same but he would never let Abby know lest he wanted you to find out within 2 business days)

So truthfully, whenever Mike opens the door, he’s too tired to see straight, and then as soon as he steps into his home, his vision clears up just enough to see you in the kitchen and his body introduces a burst of energy spurred on by your light squeal and suddenly he can tolerate an hour spent with you and Abby.

“Shit!” your swear shocks Abby as much as it does Mike, the word foreign to his ears from your mouth but it sounds completely natural when you say it. It’s small, a tiny detail, but it reminds Mike that he doesn’t know you. At least, not the you that exists out of the four walls of the Schmidt household.

He doesn’t know what you wear when you’re not babysitting, or what your nonprofessional personality is like. He’s sure you’re more or less the same, but for some reason, Mike wants to consider the opposite.

Despite his rampant overthinking, Abby points at the jar sitting on the end table towards the entrance of the home.

“Swear jar!” she alerts you. Or maybe it’s more of a command. Either way, you shamefully step away from the counter, wipe your hands on the apron you wear, and start to walk out of the kitchen.

Mike guesses you’re heading for your purse, which he assumes is most likely sitting on the bench in front of the window where it usually is. Your plans are halted when you’re made aware of Mike’s presence, and when you say “oh”, Mike feels like he’s living his days over again.

Just a few weeks ago, a similar circumstance, a similar feeling.

Mike touches his hair at the memory, hoping it’s long enough to warrant another cut from you, but it’s the perfect length and he drops his hand.

“Hey,” he greets you first, trying to remain calm and behave how he usually does. But suddenly he doesn’t know how to. Does he usually say ‘hey’? Or has he been saying ‘hi’ this entire time and didn’t realize it? Maybe even ‘hello’?

You seem to care less about that than Mike does, greeting him back casually and then continuing your journey to your purse. Mike watches as you dig around in it for a second, pull a dollar out, and then slide it through the created slip in the top of the mason jar.

Then, you reenter the kitchen and Mike suddenly realizes that time has been moving around him and he’s been stuck between it all, too enamored by you engaging in minute movements to do so himself.

He throws his keys in the bowl and slips his shoes off.

“What’s uh …” He steps into the kitchen, attempting to get a glimpse at what Abby is doing. She’s staring down at the counter, standing on a small step stool that makes her a lot taller than the counter instead of being a few inches off. “What’s going on in here?”

Abby turns around, and Mike gets a glimpse of a big plastic bowl in front of her, along with the carton of eggs, the jug of vegetable oil, and a cake mix box.

If he needs even more clarification, Abby happily declares: “We’re making a cake!”

Initially, Mike’s upset. His logical (grumpy, in Abby’s words) side comes out and he’s thinking about how at least two eggs that could’ve been used for breakfast has gone down the drain and cake provides no nutritional value so not only is Abby going to be hungry, she’s also going to be bouncing off the walls from the sugar intake.

His thoughts show on his face, just like they always do, and then Mike is looking over at you from where you’re grabbing the whisk out of the drawer and your head lifts. “I dropped the shells into the bowl,” you add, initially oblivious to Mike’s inner turmoil. Your mishap explains your out of character swearing, and Mike would comment on it but instead he’s trying to make his face neutral.

But you see it, the exhaustion and slight frustration and worry.

You send him a smile that’s nothing more than one side of your lips pulling into your cheek, pronouncing the apple of it that presents a faux complimentary color to your skin tone. You look … upset? Are you upset?

Mike can’t tell and this makes him feel worse.

He decides that instead of pouting and grumbling about it, he unzips his jacket, throws it onto the kitchen table, rolls the sleeves of his thermal up, and then steps to join you two.

“Let me help.”

Mike ends up wearing a pink apron that he knows for sure does not belong to the Schmidt household. At least, it didn’t whenever he left for work.

Mike attempts to hide his surprise whenever Abby excitedly tells him that you brought the apron for him. His eyebrows lift, he looks over at you, and you’re suddenly really focused on the written instructions on the back of the cake box even though they really are incredibly simple.

“Really? She did?”

Abby hums and Mike hopes you’ll look over at him, but you don’t, instead gnawing on your bottom lip and squinting as you concentrate even harder.

“Mm. It’s cute. I like it.” And that’s when you lift your eyes, sending them over to Mike to give him a quick once over.

“It suits you,” you compliment, just before putting the box down and grabbing the cake pan.

Some time has passed. The cake has been baked, decorated (white frosting with pink, green, and yellow swirls from Abby), and eaten with slightly freezer burnt ice cream. Abby has pouted when Mike declared one giant slice was enough for her.

The shower has turned on and off, Abby has run into the living room to give you a hug and say goodnight, and now comes the part that Mike hates the most.

He’s still tired, maybe minutely more energetic from the sugary cake, but his body is still begging for a good rest. Yet, he doesn’t want you to leave.

You start to grab your things, jacket pulled back on, purse thrown over your shoulder. Just before you can slip your shoes on, Mike stands from his spot on the recliner.

“Do you want another slice?” He gestures lamely at the cake on the kitchen table. “We can’t eat this all on our own and I refuse to let Abby try.”

A small laugh from you as you shake your head. “No, it’s okay. Abby should be able to enjoy the fruits of her labor.”

“She’ll enjoy it too much until she has a cavity and I have a dentist bill.” A pause where your eyes shift over to the cake, then back to Mike.

“I really don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

“If that’s what you’re worried about then you’ve got it all wrong.” Mike replies as he walks to the cabinets, pulling out two small plates and then two forks right beneath it. He slices the cake, the pieces almost proportionate but you seem to have gotten just a bit more.

Maybe it’ll take you longer to eat and Mike will be in your presence for just a bit more.

It’s silent for just a few moments before you’re talking about everything and nothing all at the same time.

Raves about the cake the three of you made turns into reminiscing about the triple chocolate cake they used to serve at Sparky’s before they underwent new management. The talk of new management turns into you ranting to Mike about the manager at your day job and Mike listens intensely, thrilled to have a new piece of information to add to the puzzle of your life. When you apologize, a little shy and maybe even embarrassed, Mike shakes it off instantly.

“Don’t apologize for speaking your mind,” he tells you. You joke about the line being poetic and Mike finds himself revealing that he used to write teenage angst poetry in his bedroom at night. When you laugh, it’s not as if you’re belittling him, it’s different. Light, airy, filled with enthusiastic shock and a little bit of wonder.

It makes him laugh, too, and for a moment he forgets that his sister is sleeping just down the hall.

You both seem to remember at the same time, laughter tapering off into small intakes of air and then fizzling off completely in the vibrant night air.

He glances at the clock on the wall.

10:47.

“It’s getting late,” Mike thinks out loud.

When he turns back to you, you look a little sadder. “I guess I should get going then, yeah?”

Shit. Mike wants the opposite. He wants you to stay over for the night. He’ll take the couch if it means you’ll take his bed. He wonders if the small space would smell like you afterwards. He pictures you sleeping in his clothes, forced to wear them instead of the jeans and sweater you wear now.

He’s thinking too far ahead.

“Oh, I didn’t mean it like that.”

You stand anyway, taking a final bite of your cake before you set the fork down. There’s still a tiny piece left, waiting for you, just as Mike is.

He stands too.

“No, it’s okay. You have work in the morning and I shouldn’t be on the road this late anyway.” Your jacket is zipped up, your purse is back over your shoulders.

Mike says your name, firm despite the low volume. It’s vulnerable, a plea almost. It stops you, makes you look at him with wide and wondering eyes.

It’s on him now. He’s the one who has to speak.

He takes a breath. He licks his lips.

“I would like it if you stayed. Honest.”

His admission has weight to it. The words are that of a concerned friend, but the way his hands nervously play with his jeans and the way his eyes bounce around the room with your frame as a continuous anchor says much more than the eight words could have.

Your voice just barely shakes when you speak. “Tell me I’m reading this wrong.”

He shakes his head. “You’re not.”

In the nervous energy that rakes through Mike’s body, it’s unclear to him who moves first. All he knows is one moment he’s staring into your eyes, and then the next his lips are against yours.

The kiss is soft, nothing more than the lengthened press of lips against lips. His hand cradles the side of your face, yours bunches the fabric of his thermal around his bicep. And while it might be nothing objectively, it’s so much to Mike. For him to finally feel your lips against his, rougher than he imagined but even that means something to him.

It’s euphoric.

Your lips pull back from each other, but neither of you move. So, Mike is clear this time whenever he initiates, giving you one more safe kiss before he starts moving his lips against yours. Still, it’s polite, just like you deserve.

His free hand presses into your middle back, pulling your chest into his. He tilts his head just a little for comfort. He’s holding back.

You, on the other hand, aren’t.

You pull Mike impossibly closer to you by his shirt, your other hand digging into the short hair at the back of Mike’s head. You turn the kiss into one of more desperation, parting your lips to introduce open mouthed kisses instead, slipping your tongue against his.

Mike is trying to keep his composure as he reciprocates. He’s trying to muffle his little sounds before they even come out, push them down his throat. But they climb up anyway, jumping from his mouth to yours with the access.

He can’t control himself whenever your body is pressed against his. He can’t hold back when he tastes the chocolate cake on the tip of your tongue and the mint leftover from the gum you’d been chewing earlier in the night. He presses his hips against yours, shamelessly displaying the tent that’s growing. He runs his hands along your sides and back and hips, feeling every curve he has analyzed with only his eyes from afar. You’re softer up close and it makes Mike want to feel you as you are, devoid of any clothing to cover you. He hopes he’ll get his wish soon.

You pull away and Mike has to restrain himself from following your lips.

“If I stay over,” his ears instantly perk up. “Can I wear your plaid pajama pants?”

The grin he gives you is genuine. It hurts his cheeks and heals his soul.

“Of course.”

#mschmidtsworld!#mike schmidt x you #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt #celeste writes fnaf #fnaf movie #mike schmidt fluff

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