#Timmy you silly goofy guy | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

quaranmine · 6 months

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leave a light on for me

If you think all your friends hate you, it's probably time to go to bed. If you're stuck in your fifth death game, unable to fall asleep, and in pain from injuries that can't heal, then it's safe to say you probably have other issues too. Martyn has moved into Jimmy's shack in Secret Life. They're sleeping in the same room together again, just like all those years ago in the Property Police station on Evo. Unfortunately, a lot has happened between them since.

Word count: 3,167

hiiii so i saw property police were teaming in secret life, blacked out for like two days, and this appeared. CW: there is quite a lot of self-hate, self image issues, and abandonment issues packed into 3k words here. as a result i feel the unnecessary need to once again clarify this is about characters, not real guys,,,

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The thought comes to him late at night, as thoughts of these types often do.

Jimmy’s laying curled in his bed, arms wrapped protectively around himself. It’s a very careful position. He hasn’t slept yet; he hasn’t been able to. Everything just hurts so, so, so much.

It’s not fun living on a server without regen. Sure, the hanging out with friends is fun, and the early days are always fun before everybody hates each other, and the secrets are silly and goofy but it—it always turns. It always turns. And it isn’t fun right now.

His ankle is on fire from where he twisted it earlier by falling. He’s not sure which landing did it; he’s too used to jumping off random heights without worrying about it. He should probably prop it up to help with the swelling, but the mere thought of it makes everything hurt even more. Besides, his leg’s also burned from where Scott set him on fire earlier.

No, curled up is the best way to deal with this. If he stays as still as possible, everything hurts less. Staying still has other benefits too, like making sure the arrow wound on his shoulder blade doesn’t reopen and drip white hot blood and pain.

His thoughts aren’t actually about the pain, though. Well, most of his thoughts. It’s pretty hard to ignore every time his breathing shifts a cracked rib. His green life is hanging by a thread, and every so often it feels like a blanket settles over the critical thinking center of his brain, making it impossible to focus on anything but the klaxon horn going you’re hurt, you’re hurt, you’re hurt.

But the rest of his thoughts are about the usual late night things—

Life. Death. The Universe. Whether people actually hate him or not. That embarrassing thing he did yesterday, and the day before that. His entire past stretched out on a table and examined with a magnifying glass. Weighed and balanced, mistakes and karma and loves and losses. The breathing of the person across the room.

“Martyn?” he calls softly. “Are you asleep?”

There’s a rustle of blankets, and then a groan. “I was until you said that.”

He’s lying. Jimmy knows the way he breathes when he’s asleep. They used to sleep in the same room years ago, too.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. “I was just—thinking.”

“You had a thought?”

Jimmy giggles, and it stabs him. “Stop it,” he says when he catches his breath. “I mean it!”

“Should we break out the record books? Mark the day Timmy had an independent thought?”

“I’m going to—I am going to kick you out of my shack,” Jimmy says. “That’s it, your big man privileges are revoked.”

“You’d kick me out into the dark and scary night all alone?”

“I would have no second thoughts! I would have no second thoughts.”

He’s actually having a lot of second thoughts, which is the problem. He’s having second thoughts about Martyn and—since when was that the case? Needing to question his best friend? Well, he knows since when, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less. In any case, he’s not going to kick Martyn out into the dark. He’s not going to kick him out at all. If Martyn wants out, all he’ll have to do is walk out. Jimmy just isn’t sure he won’t.

“Well, then you can’t leave me hanging,” Martyn says. “What was your thought?”

“It’s silly,” Jimmy says. “I was just…do you ever still think about Evo, Martyn?”

This is possibly the most loaded a question could ever be between them. Martyn sits up in bed sharply, just a shadowy blur in Jimmy’s periphery. “Why would you bring that up?” he says sharply. The venom is clear: this is not safe territory for Jimmy to traverse.

The moonlight is cold and diffuse, leaving the room with a gloomy air. The mood in the room has shifted. After a moment he responds, carefully redirecting the conversation around the Watchers. “It just feels like it doesn’t it? Us sleeping in the same room together? The Property Police.”

Martyn is silent. Then, finally: “I guess it does.”

He sounds calmer now. Jimmy’s mistake was asking a question too open-ended, because for once he’s not thinking about everything that went wrong in Evo. He’s thinking about everything that went right, and that’s what hurts the most right now. Not his broken ribs or wounds, but the way everything used to be okay and isn’t anymore.

Jimmy’s blunt. “Are you going to stay this time?”

“What—what do you mean?” Martyn sputters. “Of course. We’re shacked up together. That’s sacred, you know.”

Jimmy picks at the thread of the blanket. “‘Cause, well, the last time you said it’d just be me and you, you were lying to my face.”

They were in a hilly forest. Jimmy was green for the longest he’d been the entire game, and it felt like buzzing life in his veins instead of dread. Grian was red and the Southlands felt like it was splintering. And Jimmy was running, Martyn hot on his heels.

“Dude, you cannot still be hung up on that,” Martyn says. “That was—hold on, let me count, three whole games ago? Come on, you’re the one who invited me to the shack.”

Why don’t we leave together? We’ll figure something out and we’ll move away together. Everybody knows the Southerners are weak. We can set up the Boogey Blockers, remember? You know, the idea for Property Police two-point-oh from session one. You’ve got nowhere to go and neither do I, so we’ll figure it out together. Just give me the heart back.

“I believed you when you told me that.”

Martyn scoffs. “Yeah, ‘cause you’re the most gullible person on the server. And don’t give me some pity party either, you were literally stealing from me. I’m not going to say sorry for getting my life back.”

Jimmy has a list of justifications for why he stole that heart. He was anxious, for one. He started the game on yellow while other people were given six whole lives. Six! Imagine. Or imagine being one of the few who’d started on yellow and been voluntarily given a life by an ally. Nobody wanted to do that for him, so what if he stole it instead? What about it? Stealing a life without murdering for it is far from the worst crime someone could commit on that server.

He had felt like the group was splintering, for another. Grian was gone. Both he and Mumbo were yellow—one accident away from red. It wasn’t the same as 3rd Life, where he had a husband to stick next to him even when he turned red. Nobody was going to do that for Jimmy this time, which meant he had to look out for himself. He just…didn’t want to have to, that’s all.

But those justifications feel stupid now in the future. He died first anyway, and again, and again. He doesn’t raise these points to Martyn now.

He also doesn’t actually want Martyn to apologize for what he said in Last Life. He certainly isn’t going to apologize for stealing the life. He doesn’t care about what happened in the past—no really, he swears he doesn’t—he just wants to know if Martyn means it this time.

Part of him wonders, though, if Martyn realized just how easily he could manipulate Jimmy back then. If Martyn had known how much Jimmy cared about him and used that to his advantage. If he realizes now just how easily he could do it again, and again, and again.

I didn’t mean a word of what I said, Martyn had spat as soon as Jimmy transferred the life again. You’re an idiot.

Jimmy’s quite aware he’s an idiot, really. He’s reminded of it every day. The thing is, he doesn’t think. He never thinks. His life would be a whole lot better if he didn’t wait to think until it was late at night and he felt alone and all his mistakes were already made.

“I just thought you meant it back then,” he says finally. “That’s all. You lied to me again today too.”

“Sorry. That one was a task requirement,” Martyn says. “I needed someone who’d believe any story I made up. But I’m still here, aren’t I? Big men don’t lie to each other. Starting now."

Jimmy remembers another time Martyn tried to leave, back when it was just the two of them. He’d woken up in the Property Police station to the sound of Martyn rummaging through their chests for supplies to take with him. He told Jimmy he was leaving because he was sick of the Watchers. He’d planned on leaving before Jimmy even woke up, so it was only by luck Jimmy caught him in time. He called Martyn a coward and chased him all the way to the end portal.

Martyn asked if he was coming with him. Jimmy said no. He was only following to stop him or say goodbye.

In hindsight, this was another one of Jimmy’s idiot moments. He was so naive. He didn’t realize how bad the Watchers would become yet, or what the cost of staying was. They should have gone together. He shouldn’t have called Martyn a coward for seeing a future he didn’t. But even if Martyn was ahead of the curve, he’d still been willing to leave him behind.

In the end, nobody could leave. The Watchers had sealed the portal.

But it’s the thought that sticks with Jimmy, even when he pretends it doesn’t.

Martyn trying to leave Jimmy on Evo. Martyn tricking Jimmy on Last Life. Martyn lying to him just this morning. It’s the thought of it that still sticks with him.

“Can I trust you?” he asks.

“Yeah, of course,” Martyn says. “I’m loyal.”

“You’re loyal to Ren.”

Jimmy takes a bit of pleasure in the way Martyn sucks in a breath. It’s a low blow, but it works. He doesn’t know what the two of them have going on, but he knows Martyn would betray him twice over for Ren. He’s since learned about Martyn’s Shadow Alliance plans in Last Life—how Martyn was lying when he said the two of them could run away together, but not lying about being willing to betray the Southlands. Lizzie had told him about it months later on Empires.

Normally, Jimmy wouldn’t have held the betrayal against him. Not this long into the future, at least. It’s a death game; these things happen. But normally Martyn isn’t sleeping in the same room as him.

“Ren isn’t here right now,” Martyn responds, every word clipped and intentional.

Martyn feels dangerous to team with. Martyn might leave. Martyn doesn’t have any qualms about betraying people in these games. But Jimmy would follow Martyn into any fight if they were on the same side. He stood next to Martyn and faced things that the two of them still won’t talk about. He knows the sound of his breathing when he sleeps.

He and Martyn fall into rhythm together.

“You wouldn’t be here if he was,” Jimmy mutters.

“What—What are you on about tonight?” Martyn says. “Huh? What’s gotten into you tonight?” He doesn’t sound as angry as Jimmy expected him to. Instead, he almost sounds…worried.

“I’m fine,” Jimmy says listlessly. “I told you, I was just thinking.”

“Nuh-uh, you never think! Look at me. What’s up?”

“No.”

“Be like that then. I’ll come to you,” he says, and Jimmy hears the sound of rustling blankets followed by footsteps across the wooden floor. Seconds later the bed dips slightly, and it jostles his foot that he has been keeping very still. This sets off fire in his nerves, and Jimmy gasps.

“Ow,” he whines.

“I didn’t even touch you,” Martyn says. His voice is sharp in that acerbic tone he’s so good at, where every sentence is met with either snark or wit.

“You moved the bed.”

“Oh,” Martyn says and then, “Oh. You’re all battered right now. Broken and bruised, not thinking straight. You know, I got down to five and a half last session. That hurt like a—it hurt a lot. It gets better.”

“Yeah, it hurt less after you died from it,” Jimmy says. “No thanks. I’ll stay on green.”

Martyn’s frowning. “You’re in an awfully bad mood tonight,” he says. “You’re like actually upset right now, aren’t you?”

“I failed my task,” Jimmy says.

“So?” Martyn asks. “You weren’t the only one who failed today. Can hardly get worse than being the only yellow, if you know what I mean.” He laughs softly.

“I just needed to tell someone to tell me to get out, but nobody would.” Jimmy sighs. “But they—nobody wanted me there. Nobody. The only reason they didn’t say anything is that they wanted to help me with my task.”

“I don’t know if I see the problem there, Tim,” Martyn says. “Aside from the whole ‘they were too nice to you for you to succeed.’ You said that earlier, that nobody was rude enough to say the line.”

Jimmy’s been turning that around in his head for a while too. What’s wrong? Why does he feel so bad that people were nice to him? Why is he scared that Martyn agreed to be allies? Something about the situation was making him feel awful tonight but he has to work to pin it down. The feeling gets triggered first. He has to track down the logic of it afterward.

He just feels—he feels like they all hate him. All of them. And he hates himself too, so he gets it. There’s something wrong with him and he’s never seemed to be able to figure it out and fix it. He can’t look into the mirror of his soul and see the problem. He can’t adjust his behavior to get rid of it. No matter what he does, it’s there.

The problem is just him. He’s deficient. He can’t fix something that’s innate.

The thing is, it’s not really about how people wanted to help him succeed today, it’s the underlying reasons for it. It’s why they helped him.

“It was just…obligation,” he says after a minute. “It was just an obligation. They were being polite. Nobody said anything because they wanted to help with the task, not ‘cause they actually were willing to let me stay with them. Not because they wanted me there. They just wanted to get rid of me faster.”

“I mean,” Martyn says, dragging out the word. He’s puzzled. “Weren’t you trying to be intentionally annoying about it, though? To get yourself kicked out so they’d say the thing? I saw whatever you were doing in Scott’s house. You were being so weird about it.”

Jimmy presses the palms of his hands into his eyes. His eyes are watering now, little prickles of tears that threaten to spill over if he blinks too much. He doesn’t want Martyn to see. It’s also the most he’s moved in a while, and the motion makes his vision go fuzzy on the edges anyway.

“Maybe I want someone to stay,” Jimmy says, voice cracking. “Maybe I want someone to want me to stay. Even when I’m being especially annoying. Even when I’m being me.”

For a moment, the room is so quiet he could hear a pin drop. Then Martyn just says, “What?”

“I don’t—I don’t want people to leave me, or lie to me, or pretend to want me in the room when they’re actually just happy the moment I go home.”

“Tim,” Martyn says. “Do you actually think all that? That people hate it when you’re yourself?”

Jimmy shakes his head. “I dunno. Maybe. Maybe not. It’s bad tonight.”

“Are you sure it’s like that?” Martyn says. “I mean, like—do you think that’s an accurate idea of what’s going on, or just your brain tellin’ ya that? I had fun with you today. Wouldn’t have followed you home afterwards if I didn’t.”

He knows he’s having irrational thoughts about this. He knows he’s had irrational thoughts before, so this time they might be irrational too. He can recognize this part of the cycle, at least. But the problem is, are they irrational this time? Are they? Is he confident they are? How can he be confident they are? Is Martyn just telling him what he wants to hear so he’ll stop acting stupid?

Will Martyn be here in the morning?

He grimaces. “I think I need to sleep,” he whispers. “This no-regen nonsense hurts and it’s making everything worse.”

Martyn doesn’t know what to say, so he dodges it. “Do you…d’you want me to call someone for you? Who could help better? Maybe Scott, or Tango, or Grian….or maybe not Grian, but anyone else really…”

Jimmy turns his head to look at Martyn, revealing his face again. Martyn’s eyes are wide and unsettled. He is sitting on the bed, but he’s also sort of hovering, being very careful not to touch Jimmy. They’d been joking earlier, why aren’t they now? Jimmy’s not sure. They operate well when there’s a bit to play into, but there isn’t one now. He thinks maybe their years of playing bits have left them without the words to truly communicate anything else.

While looking at Martyn, it strikes Jimmy: He doesn’t even realize. He thinks there’s someone else more important to Jimmy who could be in the room right now instead of him. It’s almost laughable. Martyn’s right, there’s many people in Jimmy’s life who are important to him. Who can, and have, helped him. But is it Jimmy’s fault that Martyn doesn’t realize he’s still one of them?

While looking at Martyn, it strikes Jimmy: He has to give this alliance a try anyway. He can’t write it off before it begins. It might be doomed to fail. Certainly will be, with Martyn being the first yellow and Jimmy’s illustrious record of survival. It might hurt him. It might fix him.

What’s actually real, though, is that Martyn is here right now. It feels like the old days. They only get scraps of time together these past few years. A MCC team here, a death game there. They’re rarely on the same servers as each other. They don’t see each other like they used to. They don’t live together anymore. They don’t sleep in the same room anymore. It makes Jimmy’s chest ache.

“I’d rather have you here,” he says finally.

Martyn is surprised. “Oh!” he says. “D’ya want me to do anything?”

“No,” he whispers. “Just stay while I fall asleep. I’ll be okay again in the morning.”

Jimmy closes his eyes and they feel like they burn underneath his lids. There’s tears drying on his cheeks. His ankle still throbs.

He feels fingers card through his hair gently, the touch hesitant and light. Uncertain. “Shh,” Martyn says. “Big men don’t cry.”

Jimmy tries to sleep, and knows that isn’t true.

#secret life smp #slsmp #inthelittlewood #jimmy solidarity #solidarity gaming #secret life #life series #trafficblr #property police #quara fanfic

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ticklishtimothee · 5 years

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giggly mornings (timothée chalamet x reader)

summary: a lazy morning full of laughter with timothée.

a/n: this is my first attempt at writing a reader insert so i’m totally up to constructive criticism!! i hope you guys enjoy this xx

words: 1,015

Timothée is just so fucking adorable, okay?

You know this, of course, but he never ceases to amaze you with just how cute he can be. With you, he is not Elio or Nicholas or Kyle; he’s not even the incredibly talented and sexy actor Timothée Chalamet; he’s just Timmy. goofy, silly, awkward, fun, and loving Timmy, with his messy hair and soft lips.

It’s an early New York morning in your shared apartment, sunlight streaming through the windows. You are laying on your back in bed, and he’s snuggled up to your side, his head resting on your shoulder. The sheets are tangled around his waist, his long legs nearly dangling over the end of the mattress. He looks like a fucking Renaissance painting, but you know it’ll be creepy if you just sit there and ogle him all day.

“Mornin’,” you mumble, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

He hums in acknowledgment, still far too sleepy to form a coherent reply. You look at him with fond eyes, and start to play idly with his long, dark curls, and he lets out a small, content sigh.

“That feels nice,” he mumbles, curling closer to you as if that’s even possible, finally gaining the strength to speak as his eyes flutter open, squinting against the light.

You chuckle softly, your fingers trailing from the crown of his head and down his neck, sending goosebumps over the skin as he gasps ever-so-slightly. Now you can’t help but smirk, your touch impossibly light as you trace his collarbones, relishing in the way he wriggles slightly.

He’s not exceptionally ticklish—at least, not quite as bad as you, but it really isn’t a hard task to get him giggling.

And giggle happens to be exactly what he begins to do as your fingers trail closer to his underarm, skittering against his soft skin teasingly, and his high-pitched, goofy giggle spills from his lips, just like the sunlight through the curtains of the bedroom.

You can’t help but laugh too, amused at his reactions to such a gentle touch, and even more amused by the fact that he doesn’t shy or squirm away, but rather leans into you even more, as if he can convince you to stop with the way his breath ghosts against your jaw or the way his legs brush against yours as he fights to keep himself from kicking and flailing out.

You found out he was ticklish pretty early into your relationship−well, you’d had your suspicions after those few scenes in Call Me By Your Name, but didn’t confirm them until the third time you two were...intimate, and you dragged your nails down his sides, resulting in a sharp intake of air. When you asked him if he was alright, he had nodded fervently.

“Just ticklish,” he had explained, blushing.

It hadn’t really been the right time to test that theory, but you remembered to try it out the next morning, and you certainly weren’t disappointed in the results. Your hand is at his ribs now, taking time to trace each bone with the tips of your fingers, and his giggles melt into quiet wheezes and squeaks as he lazily tries to bat you away to no avail.

“You’re mean,” he whines, eyes squeezed shut, his brows knitted together as he tries to keep his composure, and his cheeks have flushed a deep pink color, whether from the efforts to hold back his laughter or the embarrassment at his sensitivity, you can’t tell, but either way, it’s precious.

“Oh, really?” you ask, grinning as you tweak at his side, watching him jerk away and watching the way his waist curves and returns to its original position. He’s too beautiful for his own good; you have no choice but to touch him. It’s not your fault he’s so sensitive. “You think I’m mean?”

“Yes!” he replies, and finally, as you dive to grab at his hip bones, he rolls away with a loud laugh, having always been particularly ticklish there. “So mean!” he manages to say between laughs, nearly tumbling off the bed in his attempts to escape your playful torture.

You stop your attack like the gracious partner that you are, letting him catch his breath. However, you should have known that he would never let you get away with such tricks without some form of revenge.

Anticipation prickles against your skin as you see the mischievous, predatory glint start to form in his eyes as he moves back to his original position at your side.

You could always try to make a run for it, but there’s no use—he’ll catch you eventually in this tiny apartment, and you’re in no state to go out the front door dressed in near-nothing. Plus, you can’t say you’re really complaining.

He’s clambering atop your waist within seconds, and he’s light enough that it doesn’t hurt, but he’s definitely got you pinned and at his mercy.

“Payback!” he cries, laughing along with you as he tickles at your stomach, a bit harsher than you had been with him, but oh well. All is fair in love and war, after all.

Your laughter mixes with his like the harmonies of a song, a song that sadly must end, because oxygen is much needed for you both, but a beautiful song at that.

You lay panting, smiling beside him.

He turns his head to look at you, before leaning in to press your lips together.

You wrinkle your nose and push him away. “Morning breath,” you explain to his hurt expression.

He puts on a fake yet well-acted pout, reaching out on hand to tickle your belly again, and you bat him away with a squeal.

“Okay, okay, I’ll kiss you!”

He grins triumphantly and presses his lips against yours softly, and despite your previous complaints, you melt into it easily, cupping his face in your palm. you lay there, kissing for what feels like forever, although forever could never be long enough to spend like this.

He is so fucking adorable, and you feel so fucking lucky.

#timothée chamalet #timothee chalamet #timothee x reader #timothee reader insert #timothee chalamet x reader #tickle fic #ticklefic #*

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