#'something something poly!'

[vagueiish]

on the one hand, i'm sad that the unromanced companions can't romance one another bc some of those dynamics are *chef's kiss*

on the other hand, i'm glad for it, because then my tav would be fucked (or, rather, unfucked?) because there's no way anyone's choosing him over anyone else. it just wouldn't make any sense

[evildeerboy]

“no polyamory at pride” is some chronic no bitches shit. that’s got to be made up. no gay person would say that they’d have no fucking friends

[legallybrunettedotcom]

THREE HEARTS THAT BEAT AS ONE I throuples and such I youtube link

[sleyu]

in regards to perv!marauders . . . theyd so get off on the more innocent pics of you— it could be a polaroid of you smiling and it’d be covered in cum by the end of the summer bcos your innocence is so hot to them

i am losing my mind at the thought of this. the mere thought of corrupting you torments perv!marauders and something about the contrast of their filth paired with your seemingly pure disposition makes their cock throb.

the photo usually always comprises you beaming, presumably looking up at them through the camera, batting your eyelashes prettily, looking so radiant and cute. i can picture a photo of you leaning against their palm, their large hands caressing your cheek while you peer up at them. maybe it’s that sleepy look of yours; maybe it’s your flushed face or your puffy, watery eyes; or perhaps it’s the gloss on your lips that makes you look so girly and kissable that has them groaning into their pillow as they fist their aching cock late into the night, feverish and frantic to cum to the sight of you.

it's not only your innocence that gets them off, but it's the thought of ruining it that drives them to the edge. all of them would repeatedly fantasize about making you just as desperate as they are for you. they want nothing more than for you to look up at them—a betrayed, foggy look in your lust-filled eyes—begging them to take you again because three rounds simply aren’t enough and you're far too addicted to their cocks stretching out your ruined cunt to stop.

[ninjasmudge]

oreo poly

this particular goat design is @purrpurra 's bc weve been talking abt all of them

[agendabymooner]

SOMETHING VICTORIOUS !!! CS55 + CL16 + LN4 X FEM!READER (18+)

summary: the podium finishers weren’t the only thing that finished that night.

content warning: smut under the cut (minors dni!), explicit language, gangbang???, mmmf smut content, dubcon, pwp, double penetration + oral sex (m receiving), mentions of sexism/misogyny (NOT APPLIED TO DRIVERS), consensual degradation, squirting, praise kink, i did not proofread this (the race just finished two hours ago duh)

note: i have returned with a short blurb eheh enjoy xx

a - n masterlist // o - z masterlist

if you’d like to get on one of my taglists, check this post out

there was something vile about the way celebrations occurred for the ferrari drivers.

ferrari 1-2’s are rare, sure, so this called for celebration— a massive one even.

so if anyone ever saw how carlos and charles celebrated with their sweet girl, anyone would consider this… morbid.

for some, it was filthy. sinful, even. 

but having walked into carlos sainz’s hotel room after the two scarlet drivers called it an ‘early night’, lando’s eyes couldn’t find themselves to look away when he found the woman sandwiched between the two. 

both carlos and charles were spearing through her holes and carrying her like she weighed nothing, both foreheads were sweaty after fucking her the moment they’ve stepped inside the suite. 

she couldn’t even find herself to talk, her body too busy being manipulated and moved around while both her holes were stuffed with their cocks. 

any man could call her a whore for having not only one, but two men fuck her at once. any man could degrade her for allowing men to do this to her body while she writhed and whined about how good she felt when they stuffed her.

so, it was too bad that lando wasn’t just any man. he couldn’t even stop himself from watching unless someone killed him themselves.

the british man’s mouth was practically salivating when carlos lifted her up and sunk her down their cocks, watching her cunt produce liquids that indicated her pleasure. 

lando was so busy gawking at the way her cunt throbbed around charles’ cock that he couldn’t feel anything but his own cock painfully throbbing under his trousers.

he was too busy watching that he didn’t notice the way charles and carlos glanced at him with amused smirks. 

it was only when charles spoke up did he snap out of his thoughts. 

“which one?” charles asked with a teasing smirk at the british man, making lando shake his thoughts away.

when he saw how lando got confused, charles repeated, “she expressed her interest in inviting you before but not once did we see how… interested you were.”

“now you’re here,” carlos laid her down on the king sized bed gently. “so which one?” 

“i- uh- i-“ lando stammered, his buzzed self no longer there as every rational thoughts he had were long gone. 

“hm,” charles hummed before looking at carlos who stood as well. “do you think she can handle another one?”

“yeah,” the three men looked at the woman on the bed, watching her hazy eyes glossing over the three as her mouth let out, “i want more cock in me…”

“atta girl,” lando’s eyes darkened when he saw how frail, sexy, hot and beautiful the naked woman was. he never truly saw her in a new light until lando saw how fucked out she looked.

so much for a podium celebration with the ferrari men.

anyone with two eyes could tell that this was a sight to behold: her cunt sinking down on carlos’ cock, her back hole preoccupied by charles, and her mouth full of lando. 

it could be considered a renaissance painting, for she was a masterpiece waiting to be coated full of the three men who can paint her in any way they wanted her to be. 

“oh fuck, baby,” lando groaned, growling as the tip of his cock reached the back of her throat. her muffled moans only added to his pleasure as her mouth vibrated around his length. 

“mmf-“ she hummed around lando’s cock. her eyes glimmered. was it in joy or simply in overwhelming pleasure? both things correlate to one another. 

charles thrusted inside her roughly, his hands digging to her hips. he growled lowly and nipped in her ear with a murmur of, “merde, your hole is too fucking snug, bebe. you’re so fucking good for me.”

“you like that, sì?” carlos reached up to pinch her nipples, eventually slapping her tits as she yelped around lando’s length. “hm? you like it when you have three cocks inside of you? you love being a good slut for us?” 

when she was expected to give an answer, lando grabbed her hair and pulled her away from his cock. his other hand continued to stroke himself while he murmured, “c’mon baby, he wants an answer.” 

she tried to utter a word, but it was only the light slap of lando’s palm that had her uttering, “yes- yes. i love your cocks so much.” 

“good girl,” lando’s cock slapped against her cheek before he slid it back in her mouth, now fucking her face as the ferrari drivers behind and under her picked up their paces. 

“fuck- fuck, good fucking girl,” lando praised her repeatedly, hearing her choke on him quietly as she tried to get a hold of herself. 

she couldn’t. she was so… overwhelmed.

“i’m gonna fucking cum, merde,” charles hissed behind her, not even minding that his cock had gone deep inside her as he let out a groan. 

“i can feel you— oh… fuck,” carlos groaned. “you are so fucking good and tight for me, bonita… you gonna cum, huh?”

she couldn’t respond, thus earning chuckles from the three men. regardless of whether or not she could, she was beginning to feel herself cum again. and again. and again.

never mind getting a podium or a race win, because the three men knew that she was the only one who deserved the victory and the celebration that occurred between the four of them. 

it might be morbid for most, but god… no amount of champagne sprays can top the celebration she was having with the australian grand prix’s podium finishers. 

♡ moony’s reminder 🅶 (general): @hiraethrhapsody @avaleineandafryingpan @enhacolor @roseandtulips @woweewoowa @magnummagnussen @happy-nico @architect-2015 @hiireadstuff @biancathecool @scorpiomindfuck @stinkyjax

♡   moony’s reminder 🅴 (explicit edition): @glitterf1 @savrose129 @maxillness @bigsimperika @xoscar03

[ornateorchid]

thinking about poly 141 taking care of you when you're on your period :(

kyle would be the one to go to the store and get pads/tampons for you and he'd be so happy to help. he'd even go the extra mile and get you your favorite ice cream, or just be there for you when you need him.

john would do all the chores for you, including making you breakfast in bed, or just bring you breakfast in general. he'd be super attentive and want you to be comfy, bringing you your favorite blankets and pillows.

johnny would pamper you the whole time, giving you massages, letting you put your feet up on his lap, getting you anything you needed the second you asked.

simon would let you use his chest as a pillow, or even his lap, and will play with your hair to help you relax. he loves to cuddle with you, and his body warmth acts as a heating pad.

[meowpupp]

as a thank you for hitting 1k followers, and an apology for my absence, I would like to share my take on poly!141.

poly141! x recruit!reader. 1.5k words. mentions of sex, although no smut. yet.

you're a sweet little thing. smart as a whip, nerdy, and confident. having spent most of your post highschool graduate years studying, youve acquired numerous impressive qualifications. while most people your age in university were out partying, getting blind drunk, hooking up, you were studying.

a tech genius. that's what laswell had sold you as to price. he had been hesitant to allow any new members at all, especially ones so young. and yet, taskforce 141 sees two new additions. the newest little tech genius who's climbing quickly through the ranks, and another soldier. someone by the name of roach.

at first, you weren't amused. as a woman in the military, your life was already difficult enough. being assigned to an all male taskforce felt like your worst nightmare. but after some convincing from laswell, and realizing this would be the fastest way to make a name for yourself, you sign the papers.

your first week is smooth, albeit awkward. you and the other new recruit, roach, get along fairly well. he's funny, a little dorky, but obviously skilled. he isn't as intimidating as the others, being almost as young as you. you find yourself gravitating to him often, often staying up late together, eating meals together, and even training together. you make quick friends.

and so, it's only natural that you both end up becoming… closer. late night talks turn into makeouts, and makeouts turn into grinding. it's somewhat clumsy however… as if the two of you can quite place the power dynamics.

the others, however, are much more of a challenge to get along with. you're cautious, aware these men have been in this business much longer than you. the four of them- price, ghost, gaz, and soap- are a power unit. it takes weeks for you to find your place within the team.

price tries to be welcoming, although it doesn't quite work. there's this sense of authority and power around him that makes you feel small, almost submissive. his gruff voice sends shivers down your spine each time he speaks over comms, panties growing wet each time he gives you a direct order.

it's almost as if he knows, whispering your name rather than your military nickname. his voice sounds almost seductive. it makes you feel like a pervert, imagining him growling in your ear each time you get off.

price has a way of always remaining in control and not just with you. the power dynamics within the task force are subtle yet well established. there seems to be a chain of command that follows their ranks. price on top, then ghost, then gaz and soap. you notice how they all drop casual innuendos, their affection for each other, corssing over the boundary of just friendliness.

ghost barely looks, let alone, speaks to you for the first month. you're unsure if he even likes you. on the field, he's sharp and alert. you occasionally hear him share banter with the others, but never feel brave enough to join in. the man is intimidating, almost three times your size, a quiet sort of confidence and dominance that follows him around. he's the one you train with most often.

ghost is ruthless. he slams you into the matt, somehow always ending up between your thighs, his big hands holding them apart and pinning you down. you can't help but memorise the sight. your Lieutenant, panting, slightly sweat as he holding you in such a lewd position, glaring down at you.

it's your favourite fantasy to think about late at night as you touch yourself, unaware that the walls are so thin that ghost himself hears you whimper his name. he strokes himself in time with the slick noises of your cunt, imagining how desperate you must look.

gaz isn't intimidating, per say. he isn't distant like ghost or unapproachable like price. the man has such a casual confidence and arrogance around him. he's the first to speak to you, ask you about yourself. throughout your career, you've met many military soldiers. most the men fit into two categories, misogynistic dicks who don't believe you have a place within the ranks, or disgusting perverts who want a quick fuck (most of them have wives, even kids.) but gaz is refreshing. he fits into neither.

he often starts conversations with you. asking questions and truly listening as you speak. little do you know he records each one, saving them for when he's alone late at night. something about the way you speak, your tone, the quiet rasp or accent, it makes him stupidly hard. he's not above recording you while you workout, standing just close enough to capture each huff and grunt as you lift. it's those recordings that get him off the quickest, wondering how whiny youd sound if he held a vibrator to your clit, didnt let up until you were crying and covered in slick.

and soap. the man is difficult for you to read. your first impression is that he's one of those men who fit into the ‘misogynistic asshole’ category. apart from your initial meeting, he practically ignores you.

you can tell its not deliberate. he just seems more immersed in the natural, pre-established dynamic of the taskforce. the one that doesn't include you. it takes a while, but after a month or two, your interactions become more common.

he turns out to be very respectful- even helpful. due to your background in tech, you skipped a few ranks when you joined. soap helps you in the shooting range. standing behind you, body pressing into yours from behind, correcting your posture before you fire.

you even create games with each other. he gives you little quizzes. theyre normally about gun components, military jargon, or even field upgrades. with each quiz he promises a ‘reward.’

its embarrassing whenever you blush and grow wet when he says it. the rough growl of his voice, combined with the accent he has, all makes you dizzy. you don't even notice how he plays it up, practically purring out the word, smirking as you squirm, making sure to graze his fingertips over your hot skin.

it's obvious that after a month or two, that roach is significantly more acclimated than you. it feels unfair. your relationship with each member is steadily growing, yet something about how roach interacts with them is so different. it's like you're missing a puzzle piece.

it isn't until one night when you're venting your frustration that roach reveals the reason he's clicked with them so quickly.

“It's like an initiation,” he smirks, eyes flicking away from you, “think of it kind of like…. hazing.” his eyes are almost predatory as he meets yours again, so unlike the goofy persona he usually has, “if you like, I could speak to price. they have started to discuss inviting you in.”

it's as if everything made sense now. it wasn't your fault. it was another case of discrimination, you being left out because you didn't fit into their stupid boys club.

ever since that conversation with roach, you have become frustrated, irritable, and short with them all. you fulfilled all your required tasks but refused to engage with them any further. denying invites to the pub, ignoring gaz when he tried to speak, training alone, no longer asking soap for help.

after about a week of this, price calls you to his office.

a sick sense of unease and anxiety settles in your gut. the man is so intimidating, and this surely wasn't a positive meeting. you've never been in a position like this. all throughout school, you were a grade A student, and within your years in the military, you've always maintained basic respect and politeness. you've never been in trouble with a CO.

when you step into his office, however, all your expectations are subverted. price sits at his desk, smoking a cigar. roach leans against it next to him. the two of them are speaking lowly.

price notices you first. his eyes carry an emotion you haven't seen before. lust. he's staring at you as if you're some sort of prey. with a smirk, he blows out a large puff of smoke. it curls around him, only making him more intimidating.

“if you were feeling excluded, sweetheart, you should've made me aware.” he leans back in his chair. suddenly, the room feels so small, your body getting hot, “id be more than happy to include you.”

roach walks towards you, guiding you further into the office. he doesn't let you sit, however, instead standing behind you, hands groping your hips. his fingertips slip under your shirt, brushing the sensitive skin of your stomach.

he kisses your neck, “price wants to see how pretty you are,” his hands slide further up, taking your shirt off, “let's give him a show, yeah?”

cont.

[vanglaggle]

they do not care

horror belongs to sour-apple-studios

nightmare belongs to jokublog

killer belongs to rahafwabas

dust belongs to ask-dusttale

cross belongs to jakei

[ferritins]

IN A STITCH, IN A PINCH | J. TODD

SUMMARY: you’ve developed something of a friendship with the Outlaws, but you’re not quite sure about what the irascible Red Hood thinks of you.

WARNINGS: graphic description of burn injury, oblique reference to canonical parental drug dependency, reader is a meta.

NOTES: bringing back an old work! Re: the burns treatment depicted here - my area of study was clinical microbiology, not emergency medicine; everything I know about burns is relegated to opportunistic Staphylococcus aureus infection and how Gram negative skin flora influence wound healing. Take none of what you see in this fic as medical advice; if you do have a severe burn, call 999 and get your arse to an A&E ASAP.

After an extraterrestrial incident in your city that ended with something to the tune of 5 and a half million dollars worth of property damage and you knitting Arsenal's torn-open back together in a moment of adrenaline-fuelled insanity, you've developed something of a friendship with the Outlaws.

What that really means is that you periodically come off your shift at the hospital to find 2 mercenaries and an alien princess divesting your fridge of it's contents, and get wheedled into using your meta abilities to heal wounds that would otherwise take them out of play for a good few months.

You're under no illusions. You're aware that a healer is a useful contact to have, that should the situation necessitate it they'll take the few scant inches you can give and run a mile with them.

However, you're also aware that being a meta is a risk and that it pays to be liked and valued by dangerous people.

It's a friendship of convenience, but a friendship nonetheless.

Kori picks you up bodily and spins you in a tight circle until you're giggly and dizzy when confess her favourite shirts of yours are always freshly washed, just in case.

Roy gives you a vulgar wink when you order his shirt off to take a look at where his back scarred over, but faithfully applies the Vitamin E cream you give him for the scarring, trusting you to ease his discomfort, and sneaks bottles of your favourite elderflower cordial and the tins of Zambuk you can never find in the US for you to find when he leaves.

The only one you can't quite puzzle out your relationship with is Jason. He's taciturn, stands watch faithfully as Roy and Kori pull you into friendly hugs and dizzy spins, pepper playful kisses on your cheek and rub their knuckles into your hair. He rolls his eyes at his teammates' antics, huffs through his nose at your fussing.

Sometimes though, he'll call you sweetheart in a low rasp as he bumps you away from the sink to take over doing the dishes.

Sometimes, you think you catch him watching you with something unnameable and warm in his eyes.

You're not expecting your front door to fly open and damn near off the hinges late on Saturday evening — just as you're fresh out of the shower and only just into your pyjama shirt & shorts, might you add — but your alarm and annoyance die on your tongue when you see Roy and Kori's grim faces and the way that Jason sways despite both of their considerable strength holding him up.

You smell the odd, sour-smoke char of burned flesh as they pass you to ease Jason down oh so gently onto your sofa, and your gut goes cold with fear. The burn, once you get his shirt cut open, is not as extensive as you'd feared, but it's still something from a horror scene.

It's a third degree burn, skin mulberry-red, weeping and blistered in a long arc that curls up from his right hip to just under his right pectoral.

"Bloody hell." You breathe, horrified.

You run to your room, digging out your first aid kit, and drop to your knees by the couch as you tear it open.

Roy snorts, bitter as cyanide. "Yeah, that's a fairly accurate summary of the situation, sweets. The only reason he's still alive is because he dodged and got a glancing blow from the energy beam instead of a direct hit."

You look up from Jason's side.

"I'll need you and Kori to get some things." You say, hands shaking at the prospect of the task in front of you. "I can reduce the severity of the burn to a first degree, maybe, but it–"

"What do you need?" Kori snaps, terse. You reel off a list - topical antiseptic, light bandages, a banana bag & an IV kit, amoxicillin - and then look to Roy.

"I need you to get him to take some co-codamol. It'll kick in in about 10 minutes given his enhanced metabolism, but I can't do anything until he's got painkillers in him."

Roy's brows tighten further.

"Jason doesn't do opiates."

"Roy, if this was anybody else he'd be hooked up to IV morphine! If I start working on him without him having painkillers, he'll go into shock which could kill him." You exclaim.

You make low, soothing sounds when Jason tenses at the shouting, only to groan at the fresh wave of agony in his side.

The sound of Jason's pain seems to be decisive enough for Roy, who moves round the couch and grabs the box of effervescent tablets, dissolving two in water and coaxing Jason into drinking it down.

When the glass is empty, Roy is back to his feet, quick as lightning. He strides to the door, shepherding Kori out of your apartment.

"We'll be back with everything you need in half an hour, tops. Please, help him."

Jason comes out of the shrieking adrenaline of agony to the sound of your voice, and a slight cotton fuzz in his head.

Narcotics, then, but a fairly low dose for him to still retain this degree of alertness. Feeling the encroaching spectre of that terrible pain just barely held at bay, finds he's grateful for the medication.

He goes to prop himself up on his elbows, only to strike a line of phosphorus-white flare of pain down his side that has him hissing breath through gritted teeth.

Above him, you make a startled sound, press a hand to his sternum to keep him down. His eyes catch yours, and he sees the relieved sag of your spine and shoulders at the alertness in his eyes.

"Thank fuck you didn't go into shock." You sigh. "Stay still, I've just about got this down to a second degree burn. I've just got your hip."

You snap off your nitrile gloves and lean forward, cupping his face in your hands. "Don't make a habit of this. You'll kill us off with stress if you keep on nearly-dying."

As if on cue, the front door opens and Roy and Kori come into the living room, pharmacy bags clutched tightly in their grips and fragile hope in their eyes.

When they see Jason's alert eyes, the slow knit of skin and sub-dermal tissue and hear his sheepish grumbling in, response to you, their smiles are like sunlight.

Healing the burn is slow going, taking a full five evenings after your shifts.

Roy and Kori are intent on Jason staying the full course of treatment — settled by a, literally, on account of Kori, flaming row when he asks for his helmet and body armour —and though your entreaties are quieter, they're no less insistent.

It serves him right, probably, but it's driving him to distraction.

Specifically, the feeling of your hands over his skin is driving him to distraction.

He's not sure whether it's mercy or the sweetest of torture when you approach him, eyes darting down his body in a way that's half-assessing, half appraising before the heat-shock of your touch makes contact, pieces his skin back together.

(The thing is, Jason's attuned to everything about you, has been ever since you pulled Roy's flayed skin back shut whilst the city was still smoking behind you, totally unafraid in scrub trousers and a hoodie.

He's got it bad, and it's not exactly subtle.

Roy and Kori haven't missed that, or the way he reacts to you, judging by the raised eyebrows and teasing smirks as they lean up against the wall and watch you work.

He hopes the glare he levels at them over the top of your head communicates exactly what he'll do to them if they open their mouths.

It all comes to a head on Monday evening, when you come home from your OR shift, duck into the shower and then come into the living room in a too-large grey t-shirt and deliciously short sleep pants.

Jason's heart stops for a second. He lets his eyes flit despairingly over to Roy and Kori as you prep your kit, watches their unrepentant grins with a burning resentment towards them.

Having you this close to him, worry-soft and lit like a Rembrant from the lamp on the side table without being able to touch you is the closest thing to hell there is. You're close enough that he can smell the overlapping, inoffensive fragrances of your facial skincare products, see the faint pearlescent sheen of the residue of some serum on the apples of your cheeks, the tip of your nose, the soft line of your jaw.

Your nitrile-gloved hand settles gently on the raw new skin just above his hip and he jumps, his own broad hand flying up defensively to catch your wrist and still your movement. It's a mistake he regrets immediately.

The skin of your wrist is still tacky-soft with still-settling moisturiser, hair curling damp where the spray of your shower caught it. Jason's mind spins an unbidden reel of your hands, smoothing lotion over the plush expanse of your thighs, the line of your neck and the gentle swell of your décolletage, the curve of your hip.

He presses his eyes shut tightly.

He feels feral, the hungry bones of him blown open and exposed like the hull of a shipwreck. He wants to worry marks the shape of his mouth into your thighs, your neck, across your collarbones. He wants your knees bracketing his hips, the weight of you on top of him.

God, he wants–

"Are you okay? You're not in too much pain, are you?" He hears you ask.

He knows he's in far too deep when the thought of tasting the way the words roll off your tongue flits across his mind.

"Sorry." He croaks, releasing your hand. "Instinct."

(Roy turns to Kori with a snort, murmuring low so you can't hear.

"He's been watching like he wants to eat them alive since the first time we met and it's a miracle he's got enough blood north of his waistband to be capable of speech, but sure. Instinct.")

[kingskyless]

nothing will drive us apart

[hajihiko]

The polycules are falling apart

[saywren]

I can't stop thinking about free use medic!reader. Earnest girl who joined up to help people, keep them healthy. Who becomes part of the 141 and comes to realize that though they're a united force, they're each so different, with their own strengths and personalities and quirks that she quickly grows to appreciate not just professionally but personally too. She likes Price, and Gaz, and Soap, and Ghost, and so she tries hard to keep her boys healthy. Patches them up, keeps an eye on their injuries even once they're healed so they won't act up, cause them undue pain. Makes sure they're eating right and resting between missions, not pushing too hard in training or drinking and smoking too too much. Okay, they don't love that part, but she's good at her job, and they do secretly like the attention, how she fusses over them, even if some of them pretend they don't. It's a different sort of care than they show each other, and it's nice to have that extra support, know someone's looking out for them beyond just their usefulness.

And, well, if their physical health is important, so is their emotional health. Lots of cortisol and adrenaline involved in their line of work, and not a lot of ways to burn it off. It only makes sense really that if she's sewing them up and rubbing out the tension in their muscles, she may as well bend over and let them use her holes for stress relief. That's what she joined for, after all; they need her, she's there, ready to take care of it. Anything to make sure her team can function to the best of their ability, of course.

And it works real well, letting them fuck her whenever they want. Their moods have improved, along with their training stats, almost across the board. Teamwork, too, and their medic has certainly had a hand in that seeing as they work together to work her over fairly regularly. They can't even remember a time when Task Force 141 didn't have their little medic with them.

And then hmm idk, mayhaps reader's IUD fails idk idk

[marrfixated]

Okay so maybe I am less sick than yesterday at least

[yesimwriting]

Study Break

a/n halloween drabble <333 i wrote this while kind of sad so if it's bad that's why <3

Summary: Final-girl verse fic!! You want to catch up on homework before Halloween, unfortunately your best friends have other plans

----

Whoever decided to make October one of the most academically crucial months of the year was definitely not a teenage girl.

You sigh, attention shifting away from your textbook and towards the fabric hanging on your closet's door handle. The dress, a pale pink thing that you'll definitely regret wearing the second the late-fall chill settles over the night, is the main part of your costume. A costume the world may never see if you don't finish studying for your history test.

The thought of the totally unacceptable brings you back to reality. You turn your head, forcing yourself to reread a passage on the Treaty of Paris.

After familiarizing yourself with some familiar names, you pick up an orange highlighter--which is the closest you've come to being seasonally festive--as your study mix CD begins to play a new song. The soft notes that make up the intro are cut off by a sharp click.

It's not horrifying, but you can feel your back straighten out of instinct. Your back presses into your desk's chair. You turn your head slowly.

The door to your bedroom is open, but there's nothing to be scared of in the doorway. "Guys."

Stu grins at the recognition. "Your mom let us in." He moves his hand away from your CD player before letting his arm fall to his side. "We wanted to scare you."

Despite knowing better, you let the corner of your mouth pull itself upwards. "Well then I'm completely terrified."

"Good." Stu steps further into your room, approaching your dresser. He picks up a tube of lip gloss you keep forgetting to reunite with the rest of your makeup. "Festive." He twists the tube's lid--back and forth, almost fully off and almost fully on. "Now let's keep that up and go."

You blink. Stu's sudden shifts don't surprise you as much as they used to, but you still haven't figured out how to keep up. "Go?"

Billy straightens, his body shifting away from the doorway. "The movie theatre's playing the first Halloween."

Oh. It's the kind of thing you'd usually love to be invited to. "It sounds fun," you keep your voice light, doing your best to keep your tone enthusiastic enough to convey that you do want to go without coming off as overly chipper, "But there's this history test on Friday."

Stu stills, his fingers pausing against the lipgloss tube. You tap your nails against your knee. There's objectively nothing wrong with what you've said--the three of you didn't have any pre-established plans and they didn't even call ahead to ask if you were free. But saying 'no' to them almost always makes something in your stomach knot. It's not guilt exactly, but it's an uneasy enough feeling that you do your best to avoid it.

"Yeah, your mom mentioned something." Billy steps forward.

You frown at the thought of your mom making you sound a lot lamer than you really are. You're too old to be embarrassed by your study habits, but it doesn't mean you need them advertised. "Yeah?"

"She said to see if we have better luck pulling your head out of that textbook than she did." For a second, you think Billy might be smiling, but he turns his head too quickly for you to be sure. You narrow your eyes at him as he approaches your CD player. He presses play, letting the next song on your CD finally start.

An uncomfortable warmth begins to crawl up your neck. "I..." You busy yourself with placing the cap back onto your highlighter. "I have a schedule."

Stu walks towards your bed. He sits down with a much too heavy sigh. "You always have a schedule."

"Not true."

Your defense is immediately countered, "Kind of true."

You twist in your seat, neck craning in an attempt to look at Billy. He briefly holds your stare before letting his chin dip downwards, his eyes focusing on your floor. "You guys are being dramatic, I just want to do good on this one test."

"Come on." Stu's pulled your fluffy pillow onto his lap. "You study more than anyone I know." He drags his nails against the pillow, flattening tufts of synthetic hair. "You're gonna be fine."

With a sigh, you turn your attention back to your open textbook. You have been reviewing the first few units for days now... "I just..." You don't know how to make it make sense. You know that you study and that you try and that realistically you're not going to permanently damage your GPA, but it's not easy to let go of. "Worry, I guess."

Stu lifts his head. "Then you need someone to distract you." He combs his fingers through the pillow's fluff. "You don't want to end up like Jack."

It only takes you a second to realize that he's talking about the Shining. You fight against a smile, pressing your lips together in an attempt to seem neutral. "Pretty sure he had other things going on."

"Actually," Billy starts, "I think in the original draft it was a history test that drove him crazy."

"Very funny." With a sigh, you push your seat back, moving to stand, "Let's play it safe and not risk it."

Stu grins, moving your pillow off of your lap before standing. He's next to you before you can even think to step away from your desk. "You should always listen to us, babe." He places a hand on your shoulder. "We know best."

You roll your eyes at the comment, but let him guide you forward anyway. "Don't start."

"Ignore him." Billy pauses your music before stepping towards the door. "He bought Halloween candy today and he's already had more than half the bag."

You're not surprised. "Makes sense."

Something sharp presses into your shoulder--the pressure just pointed enough to be noticeable. Did he just--"Stu!" You turn your head towards Billy. "He pinched me."

Billy turns just enough to glare at Stu. "Really?"

"She's being dramatic." As if to prove his point, Stu makes a show of smoothing his hand against your shoulder. "And you can't let her get away with everything just because she's pretty."

You're used to Stu's compliments, but this one was sudden and indirect enough to take you by surprise. You're too distracted by the warmth crawling up your neck to say anything.

[relaxxattack]

trying to go through the psycholonials tag why are you people saying the art is ugly and bad what the hell. did you actually read the whole thing or were you turned off by the Pixels on the first page

“it’s not as imaginative or interesting as anything in mspa” what the hell are you talking about.

do you understand how hard it is to get these colors to look this gorgeous together. do you even try to be immersed in zhens mental state (which is quite obviously what the art is evoking especially for characters like percy or the cops).

i would argue that not only is the juxtaposition of this style incredibly whimsical and fun as hell but actually some of it’s more technically advanced than art in homestuck

look at this guy! look at the level of rendering and shadow! how are you thinking this is ugly!