When I tell my students what Hot Topic used to be like, they don't believe me.

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@joaquinwhorres
When I tell my students what Hot Topic used to be like, they don't believe me.
kiiiiinda crazy that you can have someone blocked because they stole character ideas & aesthetic ideas from several oc creators and they somehow manage to steal your oc masterlist format despite the fact you have them blocked. i know it’s because they thought i’d never see it because i 1) have them blocked and 2) am pretty well inactive, but that certainly doesn’t change the fact that they clearly never learned and never gave a shit in the first place.
crazy.
To be clear this ^ also extends to the OC community. Like come on guys, forgiveness and restorative justice are real things that I’m 100% behind, but what is restorative about letting them get away with the same things all over again? Where is the remorse? Where are the amends? We should hold members of our community to higher standards and not allow this human-AI continue to do this.
Edited to add: I thought it was clear but am now worried it wasn’t: this message I sn’t for everyone but for the people who continue to support this behavior rather than call it out or disengage with it.
Q: ..what is her job?
A: TABLES
Braxton feeling the need to practice talking, manically strip down to just his underwear, scream at himself in the mirror, and pace around carrying a gun to prepare for and then make a stressful phone call is so deeply relatable.
james norrington + being a royal bitch (inspiration)
#as a grown woman i realize that he was easily #the most fuckable guy in these films
dear reader | reporter!bob floyd x socialite!oc
SUMMARY: Robert Floyd's first assignment as a reporter is to cover high society gossip. Harriet Spencer is an almost engaged socialite who really isn't as vapid as she appears to be. They could not be more different, and yet there is a magnetic pull between them that soon becomes impossible to ignore...
WARNINGS: set in the mid 1930s, class difference, smoking, forced proximity, pining, angst, one vague masturbation reference. strictly 18+/minors dni
WORD COUNT: 1.2k (i think i blacked out)
A/N: Lew looked so good at the Thunderbolts* premiere tonight. Did y'all see his hair? His suit? That's the reason this exists. Thank you @attapullman for always raving about Lew with me. Enjoy!
“Those things will kill you, you know.”
He’d know that voice anywhere. In a crowded room where he can barely hear himself think. Whispered in the dark, with miles between them. A laugh across the street. Hushed breaths haunting his dreams. It’s a voice that draws you in much like the woman it belongs to.
He hums, blowing out smoke until a pale grey cloud rises to the sky, becoming one with the nighttime clouds.
“I didn’t take you for a smoker, Mr. Floyd.” She’s closer now, her voice a sweet melody in his ears. He wants to wrap it around him like a cloak and carry it home. At least then he’ll have some part of her to cling to.
He’ll still see her—an unfortunate circumstance of the job—but she will truly be out of reach. She was never his, but once that ring is on her finger, she’s lost to him, and seeing her being paraded around that stuffy ballroom made him crave something. Anything to settle the sinking feeling in his stomach. The aching sensation of a loss he has no business feeling.
I did not know how desperately I needed this until now, but I need 20 more chapters yesterday.
thorough (fckboy!Joaquin Torres x f!Reader)
SUMMARY ››››› When Joaquín texts, you know what he wants. And you also know that despite your better judgement and all of the other things you should be doing, you're going to give it to him.
PAIRING ››››› Fuckboy!Joaquín Torres x Female!Reader (written in 3rd person so you can pretend it's an OC like I do) Read the OC version here.
WORD COUNT ››››› 3,928
WARNINGS ››››› Joaquín's pretty out of character because my angel would never. oh yeah, and smut
A/N ››››› This idea has taken over the entirety of my thoughts. It has consumed all of my free time, so I figured I should try to wrangle some of the vibes and vague ideas into an actual story. So, here is this little imagine which is v smut heavy and v plot light. But, I am thinking of turning this into a fake dating/redemption fic, so lemme know what you think! Divider from firefly-graphics (not tagging because this is a work of smut).
A single notification flashed across her screen.
U up?
Y/N reached over, clicking the screen dark. She was up. But not for him. Instead, she turned back to her textbook and the packets of printed out notes strewn across the desk in front of her. The only men who would be getting her attention tonight were the esteemed scholars Sedra and Smith. And maybe Dr. Barnaby if she got around to reading her lecture notes over. He would have to find someone else. And there would be someone else. There was always someone else for him. She just had to hold out long enough for him to move on and go find them.
Her screen lit up again.
Or has circuits put u to sleep? 🥱
This time she rolled her eyes as she dismissed the notification, a small smile playing at her lips despite herself. Of course he knew exactly what she was doing. Even if he never acknowledged her, he still sat in the same lecture hall as her and dealt with the same lectures and exams.
Y/N returned back to the textbook example problem, fingers sliding under her glasses to rub at her eyes. She withdrew her hands, fixing her glasses before picking up her pen once more. She needed to stay focused. This test was going to be thirty percent of her grade. If she wanted to pass, she needed to learn how to apply input resistance to both Example 6.11 and her own life.
Oh god. She was broken.
Shaking off the thought of her mental deterioration, Y/N pressed her pencil to her notebook paper, copying down the problem in front of her. Just one more section and a skim through of her lecture notes after this. If she powered through, she could probably finish before three and get a solid five and a half hours of sleep before the exam. Yet, as Y/N worked her way through the problem, her eyes continued to slip over to her phone and the dark glass screen that reflected her desk light back up at her.
Circuits.
Not dick.
Circuits.
Not–
Her phone lit up again.
It didn't kill u did it??? 😱🪦
She snorted a laugh through her nose as she picked up her phone, thumb swiping to unlock it. As she began to type out a reply, the white auto suggestion box popped up.
Not today Satan.
She exed out of her roommate's attempt at a safeguard, as if on autopilot.
Not yet but I am slowly dying.
The three dots in response were instantaneous.
Sounds like you need to take a break. 😉
The auto suggestion box popped up once more as she typed, this suggestion an indictment of both her idiocy and predictability. She clicked on it.
Come over.
Very little studying was accomplished in the time between Y/N sending her text off and receiving the text that he'd arrived. The promise of a break seemed too much for her brain to withstand, and she'd only managed to work out an answer for the RIN before she finally gave in and took off her glasses. After that, she'd only had time to shove her dirty clothes in the closet and straighten her sheets up from where they hung off the bed before her phone buzzed.
Y/N put her phone back down, slipping out of her chair and padding across the still apartment towards the door. Pulling it open revealed Joaquín dressed in a maroon ASU hoodie and dark grey sweatpants. His hair was ruffled, and his own glasses were on.
Evidently he'd been studying for Circuits too.
The corner of his mouth quirked up into a soft smile—the same one that he'd given her last fall when they met eyes across the crowded frat. She had known even then exactly what she'd be getting herself into if she smiled back. But there was something about the genuine delight in his smile–the fact that he looked almost awed–that had her lips curving into a smile almost on their own accord. Much like now.
"Hey," he whispered.
Y/N leaned against the partially open door "Hey."
"Is it cool that I parked in the lot?" he asked with raised eyebrows, and she nodded.
"Yeah, they don't usually check for tags at 3 am."
Joaquín breathed out a laugh, hanging his head and shaking it as his own stupidity as Y/N smiled at him. "Yeah, I probably should have guessed that." He looked back up at her with a small smirk, and it was Y/Ns turn to shake her own head before motioning with it that he should come in. He obliged, stepping into the small dark apartment and waiting for her to lock up behind him.
He probably could have made his way back to her room without her, but instead he remained, eyes roaming over the dark living room and kitchenette as if it were his first time there and he was taking it all in. She took this as an act of kindness–a preservation of the little dignity she had left when it came to Joaquín Torres.
So, Y/N quietly led the way back to her room, ushering him in and closing the door as softly as possible behind them to avoid waking her roommate.
When she turned back to him, she found Joaquín bent over her notes, curls falling into his face. He looked intently at what she had written, his eyes following along each line of her solution before he shook his head. "That problem's been kicking my ass for the last hour," he said, tilting his head to look up at her. "Think you could walk me through it tomorrow?"
The sheepish grin he gave her made her stomach flip, and she really should have kicked herself for it. Because there was no way he didn't know exactly what he was doing when he looked at her like that. And he knew that she knew what he was doing whenever he flashed his dimples too. And yet she still couldn't find it in herself to tell him to go to hell.
"Depends how much sleep I get," she said with a shrug, attempting to fix her face into something more smirklike than smiley and feeling like an utter failure at it.
His eyes gleamed mischievously as he straightened up and turned to face her. "How much sleep is enough?"
She shrugged as she walked past him and over to the foot of her bed, setting herself down to sit on the edge and leaning back on her hands. "I don't know, three hours? Four?"
"What if it's two and a half, but I buy you coffee," he bargained, leaning back against her pushed-in chair with his arms crossed across his chest.
"It'd need to be really good coffee."
"Starbucks counts as really good coffee, right?"
She scoffed, and Joaquín laughed softly, his head tipping back as the amusement lit his face up. When he faced her again, it was with an expression of warm amusement. "What if it's Starbucks, but I make sure you thoroughly enjoy all of the time you're not sleeping tonight?" he asked, eyebrows raising up over his glasses as he took a step towards her.
A tingle shot through Y/N as she followed his slow, purposeful movements towards her, and she fought the urge to press her legs together. "I guess that would depend on how thorough is 'thoroughly'." Somehow her voice managed to keep its teasing playfulness even as the look in Joaquín's eyes became more focused, more intense, more hungry.
Three more days until there’s more like this.
Imagine she meets another guy though and there's tension OOH OOH OOH WAIT STOP
Imagine Joaquin sending videos like this to you after missions to let you know that he did in fact not die
I may not post the whole of Mr. Fix-It today but I’m at least posting a Part 1 that’s edited and ready to go because I can’t wait any longer on sharing this.
As an update: life really came up and sucker punched me.
iM LAUGHING LIKE A MANIAC MY RAT JUST WENT INSIDE MY BROTHER’S TOY CAR AND SAT IN THE FRONT SEAT
AM I SUPPOSE TO LAUGH AT THE RAT OR THE DOG
I may not post the whole of Mr. Fix-It today but I’m at least posting a Part 1 that’s edited and ready to go because I can’t wait any longer on sharing this.
new rules
summary: "Don’t pick up the phone, he’s only calling because he’s drunk and alone. Don’t let him in, you’ll have to kick him out again. Don’t be his friend, you know he’s going to wake up in your bed in the morning. If you’re under him, you’re sure as hell not getting over him." rating: explicit (18+ mdni) pairing: bradley 'rooster' bradshaw x f!reader word count: 8.5k (this got away from me sorry y'all) warnings: angst (lack of communication!), idiots pining, PiV (unprotected), oral (f receiving), hangman x phoenix (blink and u will miss it), no use of y/n. notes: thank you to @waklman for letting me bounce ideas off you! im very nervous abt this one, i feel like its dif from my other stuff so pls pls let me know what u think! my other works are here
Friends with benefits is maybe an inaccurate way to describe what’s going on between you and Bradley. Friends? Sure, since he asked you if you were using that bench at the beach and then he’d introduced himself. With benefits? You’re not sure if they really could be classified that way.
Bradley’s almost always a perfect gentleman.
This fic always gets to me. I've read read it a million times, and every single one, it makes me feel emotional and just overwhelmed with how much I want them to be together. What a masterpiece.
Mr. Fix-It (preview)
You swept stray wisps of hair back into place, as you stared down into the drum of your washing machine. Your gaze drifted to the tupperware container in your hand and then back to the soapy water.
It'd been fifteen minutes since you started bailing out water with the largest container you had, but the drum was still half-way full. At this pace, you'd be running between the machine and bathroom until three in the morning.
"Motherfucker," you swore, throwing the tupperware at the washer. The hard plastic clanged loudly against the metal side before clattering to the ground.
It wasn't as satisfying of a tantrum as you'd hoped. Not when this was the sixth time in four months that laundry day had turned into a complete disaster.
"Mother-fucking-piece-of shit!" You kicked at the machine between each word, drops of water flying off your rain boot as the echo of each hit reverberated through your apartment.
This outburst felt a little better.
With a heavy sigh, your shoulders drooped and you stared back at your washer, the panel still completely dark. "Why won't you work?" you whined, bending down to embrace the appliance. "Just turn on please," you whispered into the drum. "I promise I'll be nice if you just turn back on this once. I'll never use you again. I'll go to a laundromat and you can retire if you want. I'll even let you stay here–"
There was a knock at your door.
You screwed your eyes shut, lightly banging your head against the washer. Of course. You gave yourself until the next knock to wallow in misery before straightening up and heading for the door.
Naturally, as you moved towards the door, your foot slipped out for the second time today (despite the rainboots you'd put on to prevent it from happening again), and you slid across the floor, finding your footing for a second only to stumble forward as your body continued over your stopped foot, crashing right into the door.
"Are you ok?" the person on the other side called through, and you exhaled through your nose all of the frustration and despair you felt in the moment, plastering on what had to be the most artificial smile you'd ever given.
"I'm fine!" you called back, undoing the locks to pull open the door.
There, standing before you, was an incredibly attractive man.
Because of course there was when you were wearing soaked laundry day sweats tucked into your rainboots, your hair all over the place, cheeks flushed from running the length of the apartment between the washer and tub.
"Hey," his brow furrowed in concern as he took in each part of your frazzled presence. "I'm Joaquín--your downstairs neighbor. I heard some banging and just wanted to make sure everything was ok."
"I'm so sorry," you shook your head. "My washer's broken, so I've been trying to fix it, and I just got a little frustrated. I'll make sure to keep it down."
"No!" he said quickly, waving his hands in front of him. "No, I didn't mean--the noise is fine. I hardly ever hear you which is what made me think to come up. Your washer's broken?" He threw in the last question as if he'd just realized he was rambling and needed to find a way to stop himself.
"Yeah, it won't turn on."
"And you texted Jim?"
You nodded. "He said his guy's on vacation til next Monday, so it'll be Monday or Tuesday at the soonest." As if you hadn't waited until you were completely out of clean underwear to do laundry and could make it five days. Mentally, you added Go to Target to your to-do list.
Joaquin nodded, seeming to mull over the information. "Do you want me to take a look at it?"
You shook your head tiredly. "It's fine. I'm probably about to give it up. I just couldn't go down without a fight."
He grinned at this, and you had to admit, it made you feel the tiniest bit better. "You sure? Fixing machines is kind of my thing." A thought seemed to strike him as he looked a bit horrified for a second and added. "Then again, if you don't want to let a guy you just met into your apartment, I totally understand."
"I mean at this point I'm open to being murdered, so by all means," you stepped back from the door, gesturing for him to come in, and he did so, laughing.
"Sorry, murdering isn't really my thing."
"And I was just starting to like you, Joaquin," you said, dryly, shutting the door behind him.
Proof that I am working on this, and I think it’ll be out this weekend:
"Thanks for coming," you said, earnestly, and he shook his head before you could even finish the last word.
"You don't have to keep thanking me. Or apologizing," he added.
You shrugged, looking down into your tea and watching the steam curl off the top. "I just know it's kinda silly that I'm a grown adult who can't sleep alone."
"Hey," he prompted, causing you to raise your eyes to meet his. "I get it. When I come back from deployment, I always tell everyone that what I'm most looking forward to is having more than ten seconds alone. But at night--it's weird. It just feels extra lonely."
"Is there anything that makes it easier?"
"A noise machine helps a little," he offered, tilting his head from side to side. "But mostly it just takes time to adjust."
"That's...not what I wanted to hear."
He laughed. "Yeah, well, you have me. I'll sleep out on the couch as long as it takes."
An overwhelming thankfulness bubbled up in your chest. “I'm really lucky to have you."
Mr. Fix-It (preview)
You swept stray wisps of hair back into place, as you stared down into the drum of your washing machine. Your gaze drifted to the tupperware container in your hand and then back to the soapy water.
It'd been fifteen minutes since you started bailing out water with the largest container you had, but the drum was still half-way full. At this pace, you'd be running between the machine and bathroom until three in the morning.
"Motherfucker," you swore, throwing the tupperware at the washer. The hard plastic clanged loudly against the metal side before clattering to the ground.
It wasn't as satisfying of a tantrum as you'd hoped. Not when this was the sixth time in four months that laundry day had turned into a complete disaster.
"Mother-fucking-piece-of shit!" You kicked at the machine between each word, drops of water flying off your rain boot as the echo of each hit reverberated through your apartment.
This outburst felt a little better.
With a heavy sigh, your shoulders drooped and you stared back at your washer, the panel still completely dark. "Why won't you work?" you whined, bending down to embrace the appliance. "Just turn on please," you whispered into the drum. "I promise I'll be nice if you just turn back on this once. I'll never use you again. I'll go to a laundromat and you can retire if you want. I'll even let you stay here–"
There was a knock at your door.
You screwed your eyes shut, lightly banging your head against the washer. Of course. You gave yourself until the next knock to wallow in misery before straightening up and heading for the door.
Naturally, as you moved towards the door, your foot slipped out for the second time today (despite the rainboots you'd put on to prevent it from happening again), and you slid across the floor, finding your footing for a second only to stumble forward as your body continued over your stopped foot, crashing right into the door.
"Are you ok?" the person on the other side called through, and you exhaled through your nose all of the frustration and despair you felt in the moment, plastering on what had to be the most artificial smile you'd ever given.
"I'm fine!" you called back, undoing the locks to pull open the door.
There, standing before you, was an incredibly attractive man.
Because of course there was when you were wearing soaked laundry day sweats tucked into your rainboots, your hair all over the place, cheeks flushed from running the length of the apartment between the washer and tub.
"Hey," his brow furrowed in concern as he took in each part of your frazzled presence. "I'm Joaquín--your downstairs neighbor. I heard some banging and just wanted to make sure everything was ok."
"I'm so sorry," you shook your head. "My washer's broken, so I've been trying to fix it, and I just got a little frustrated. I'll make sure to keep it down."
"No!" he said quickly, waving his hands in front of him. "No, I didn't mean--the noise is fine. I hardly ever hear you which is what made me think to come up. Your washer's broken?" He threw in the last question as if he'd just realized he was rambling and needed to find a way to stop himself.
"Yeah, it won't turn on."
"And you texted Jim?"
You nodded. "He said his guy's on vacation til next Monday, so it'll be Monday or Tuesday at the soonest." As if you hadn't waited until you were completely out of clean underwear to do laundry and could make it five days. Mentally, you added Go to Target to your to-do list.
Joaquin nodded, seeming to mull over the information. "Do you want me to take a look at it?"
You shook your head tiredly. "It's fine. I'm probably about to give it up. I just couldn't go down without a fight."
He grinned at this, and you had to admit, it made you feel the tiniest bit better. "You sure? Fixing machines is kind of my thing." A thought seemed to strike him as he looked a bit horrified for a second and added. "Then again, if you don't want to let a guy you just met into your apartment, I totally understand."
"I mean at this point I'm open to being murdered, so by all means," you stepped back from the door, gesturing for him to come in, and he did so, laughing.
"Sorry, murdering isn't really my thing."
"And I was just starting to like you, Joaquin," you said, dryly, shutting the door behind him.
Proof that I am working on this, and I think it’ll be out this weekend:
"Thanks for coming," you said, earnestly, and he shook his head before you could even finish the last word.
"You don't have to keep thanking me. Or apologizing," he added.
You shrugged, looking down into your tea and watching the steam curl off the top. "I just know it's kinda silly that I'm a grown adult who can't sleep alone."
"Hey," he prompted, causing you to raise your eyes to meet his. "I get it. When I come back from deployment, I always tell everyone that what I'm most looking forward to is having more than ten seconds alone. But at night--it's weird. It just feels extra lonely."
"Is there anything that makes it easier?"
"A noise machine helps a little," he offered, tilting his head from side to side. "But mostly it just takes time to adjust."
"That's...not what I wanted to hear."
He laughed. "Yeah, well, you have me. I'll sleep out on the couch as long as it takes."
An overwhelming thankfulness bubbled up in your chest. “I'm really lucky to have you."
ADMIRAL Bob Floyd, at your service. ⚓️ ✨
https://www.tumblr.com/joaquinwhorres/776694877861920768/httpswwwtumblrcomjoaquinwhorres7757806074919
MHM we’re definitely gonna need a full fic of this 😭 and i just KNOW both of them get flustered easily…… let’s just say there’s gonna be a plenty of cold showers in joaquín’s near future
You are SO right.
Also please come off anon and be my friend so we can discuss ideas. 💙
https://www.tumblr.com/joaquinwhorres/775780607491997697/nsfw-torres-headcanon-where-hes-having-some-me
I fear we may have moved on from this too quickly. Like just imagine the aftermath of that? Just going out with Joaquín to the gym and him panting out your name after a particularly taxing exercise, and you just immediately turning red because it reminds you of a certain accidental phone call……….
I can’t and won’t get this out of my head.
Because he definitely notices how you suddenly won’t make eye contact with him. And when he stretches a bit and lets out a small groan, you suddenly seem very tense.
When he thinks over your weird reactions, he considers these maybe you did hear part of his call the other night but didn’t want to say anything.
So even though it’s embarrassing and the absolute last thing Joaquin Torres wants to do, he decides to ask you about it again—this time face to face so you can fully talk it out.
And he was going to do it. He really was.
Until he heard you from the other side of your door.