#needle's pencil thing is wrong because

[glimmette]

BFDIA 16 spoilers!

Lasso tool doodles of the new episode, made on my phone.

[luveline]

your bombshell!reader x spencer is feeding me so well, i'm obsessed!! SJSJS since we've seen reader jealous, is it possible to have a fic where it's spencer that's jealous?

thank u!! fem!reader

Your outfit today is simple. Pencil skirt, dark stockings, hair pristine. The thing that catches Spencer's attention, holds it between two squeezing palms, is the shirt and blazer ensemble you've styled. It's cut to fit, sleek and dark and hard to look away from. 

You brush past the back of Hotch's chair with a sigh, clearly unaware of the attention you're garnering from across the way. “What's wrong with him?” you ask. 

“The same thing as usual,” Hotch says. 

“It's not like we've ever instantly solved a case. Gideon knows this takes time.”

Elle pokes her tongue into her cheek, eyes flared wide. She says a lot without saying anything, flicking through the police files in front of her dispassionately.

“How come you stayed?”

It takes Spencer a moment to realise you're talking to him. “What?” 

“You didn't go with Gideon?” You hold your chin in your hand. “Not getting along anymore?” 

Spencer isn't not getting along with his mentor. He would've accompanied Gideon to meet with a past mass murderer, only you're here, and so he'd found unrelated reasons to stay. 

“We're fine,” Spencer says, not wanting to say more and give himself away. 

“Well, he took Morgan.” You pout, your voice dripping to a wistful whine. “What am I gonna do now without him? None of you guys ever wanna play with me.” 

Hotch smiles to himself. Spencer's stomach ties itself in knots, a tight noose that grows tighter still when you notice his expression and lean in toward your superior. “What's that smile for, Hotchner?” 

“Don't you have emails to look through?”  

You hold your cheek in your hand lightly, fingertips digging into the soft of your cheek. Your smile is like a kick to the chest, achingly sweet on such a pretty face. “No…” Your pinky digs into the corner of your mouth. “I don't remember that being on my agenda today.” 

“Consider it an addition.” 

Is Hotch flirting back? Spencer isn't sure why that strikes him so hard. Maybe because Hotch would actually have a chance with you if he wanted it; your flirting with Hotch is more real than if it were with Spencer, because Spencer is a twenty-something know-it-all who still dresses like his mom buys his clothes. 

“It's a lot of emails, boss,” you say. 

“You have time. Start with the ones sent by Hughes and work your way down.” Hotch slides the login information across the desk into your reach. 

You look at it unhappily. Look up at him. 

Just being looked at by you is a full body experience. Whenever you look at him, he begs himself to play it cool as Hotch is now, to treat it as the affectionate playfulness of a friend rather than serious flirting. He'd have a better chance of being taken seriously by you if he didn't blush whenever you so much as breathed in the same room. 

He wishes he could respond calmly like Hotch. (He wishes you'd flirt with him and him alone. He buries that deep.) 

Envy eats at his hands. Pins and needles he tries to shake away. His movements draw your attention, and your smile worsens, which is to say sweetens, like seeing him again is a treat for the eyes. 

“You'll help me, won't you, baby?” you ask.

He goes a little blind. 

Hotch and Elle watch the encounter with similar parts pity and amusement. 

“You can read through them so quickly, I could really use your…” —you drag your fingertips down your face until your nails are at your jaw— “expertise.” 

“Reid has his own tasks–” 

“I can help,” Spencer interrupts. 

You drop your hand from your face altogether. “Thank you. Have I mentioned how much I missed you while I was away?” 

“Only five times,” Elle says under her breath. 

“They try so very hard to keep us apart. It's not fair.” 

Because unlike Reid, you don't have multiple degrees. You're still learning, and you can't be here permanently, but your talent, your knack for profiling, is unignorable. You're guaranteed a place on the team as soon as you can prove yourself to Strauss. Without a Gideon to vouch for you, that could take a while, and yet you're never jealous of Spencer skipping a few hurdles to get here. 

If anything, you admire him. “They don't understand our bond, that's all. And together we're hard to beat. Isn't that right, Spence?” 

Perhaps Spencer shouldn't be jealous. You don't call Hotch by anything so saccharine, after all. 

[whoistartaglia]

crafting with genshin mem

you can’t tell me neuvillette wouldn’t crochet with you. neuvillette would be all into it, buying you all the yarn and hooks and needles you need. and he’s unsurprisingly good at it; someone that graceful is daft at handling the crochet needle with grace and ease. if you thought you were going to be the one teaching him the basics, you’re unfortunately wrong. though, neuvilette will be fascinated if you teach him new techniques or show him new patterns and projects. crochet nights with neuvillette are relaxing, with both of you working on your own projects, together. do expect him to crochet you a lot of sweaters, scarfs, and hats; even if you protest you don’t even live in a cold climate, he won’t hear a word of it.

zhongli would knit with you. yes, there is a difference between that and crochet. you’ll be working on your own project, and zhongli will immediately be captivated. you don’t even consider yourself terribly talented at knitting, but zhongli’s watching you like you invented the craft yourself. eventually, he’ll ask you to teach him, and it’s cute. zhongli is an attentive student; he’ll listen you carefully and ask intelligent questions as they arise. his projects are questionable at first; you’ll have to reassure him every beginner starts out with random scraps and knots. his face scrunched up in concentration makes you want to laugh during his lessons, but you refrain in case he suspects you’re laughing at the “scarf” he’s trying to create.

you tell childe that you heard making abstract art is a good stress reliever, and you not-so subtly add that he should try it. and because he adores you, childe will almost immediately agree. you expected him to give it his best attempt and maybe get a new painting for your living room; what you didn’t expect was how aggressive the paintings looked. the first one was a collection of reds and oranges, jagged lines and dark streaks; the second was similar, and the third one yet again. you figure childe just as a lot of pent up stress, and hey, isn’t this better than him going out and doing hid who-knows-what with his who-knows-who fatui colleages? this is what you tell yourself as childe proclaims he’s made another painting, as if you don’t already have one for your living room… and every other room in your house.

kaeya would want to paint you. specifically, he would want to use oil paint to really “capture your likeliness on the canvas,” in his own words. kaeya will frown if you laugh at that bold declaration, but he’s persistent and you relent. but on one condition: you get to draw him as well. kaeya agrees, charmed you’d want to do such a thing. so you purchase the paints and canvases and invite him over. the rule is that you can’t look at each other’s paintings until the end of the night. expect flirty eye contact as you both try to paint the other. flowery words from kaeya stating he’ll have to use a bit more red paint since you’re blushing so much. the portraits turn out pretty good for a few hours. kaeya will appreciatively tell you that his portrait looks so handsome, and frown should you tell him it looks “nothing like him.” (it doesn’t, but he doesn’t need to know that.)

scara will blush and malfunction if you find the secret pencil drawings he’s done of you. it’s cute, you reassure him, and you’re honestly a little flattered. he’s your grumpy boyfriend going through his doodles and sketches of you, providing context (but not without grumbling a little bit) about each should you ask. some are of you when you’re not looking, others are from memory. you always asked scara to draw you and he’s always refused, so this was an endearing, touching surprise. please do tease him about this, especially given how much he refused to entertain the idea before this. even if you ask now, there’s a low chance he would specifically draw you, for you; it’s the spontaneous nature of it all that gives the drawings their charm. or, so he says.

bonus scene: if you ask scara to draw him, he will give you a disgusted look follow up by a flat-out nope, no thanks. he won’t entertain any conversation about it. not at all. but… should you “accidentally” doodle him when your mind slips or draw a rough sketch of him, scara will protest against it, then ask you to finish it, give it to him, and keep it forever.

[bedoballoons]

Considering my love language is physical touch and all I want after a long day is a hug this literally makes my heart just like melt!! Thank you for this request and I hope you enjoy!!

─⊰⁠⊹ฺ❄️𝔾𝕖𝕟𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕟 ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕔𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕟𝕤⊰⁠⊹ฺ❄️

{༻~A hug a day~༺}

CW: GN! Reader! Mentions of the character being down in the dumps/sad, reader has a kind of sunshine personality and of course fluffy!!

Pet names used on reader: Mon amour, My dear, honey, my sweet

(Includes: Lyney, Diluc, Kaveh, Alhaitham and Neuvillette!)

𑁍༄Lyney:

Lyney rested his head on his arm, slowly turning his hat by the brim as it sat on the table in front of him...to say he'd had a bad day was a understatement. Out of all the things a magician could have happen to them during a performance, having their trick explained by a crowd member who then got everyone else riled up...was probably one of the worst. He could still hear the boos...and feel the embarrassment flow through his veins as things were thrown at him on stage.

"Oh what a day..." He sighed and you could hear his sadness in it, that was the last straw...you couldn't just leave him upset. You wrapped your arms around him from behind, hugging him tightly, "Those people are just mean, your shows are amazing and just because they called out one trick doesn't matter cause you will just come back stronger. I know you Lyney... don't let that one low life make you feel down...you're ten times more incredible then they will ever be."

You felt him tense at your touch, but quickly he melted into it and you could see his smile returning already, "Ah Mon amour, you're right. How can I feel sad when I have you, I'm luckier than any guy in the world. Thank you for reminding me."

𑁍༄Diluc:

Diluc swirled the grape juice in his cup, wishing he could simply forget the things he'd learned today. Gathering intel was normally easy for him, he'd use it to protect Mondstat...the ones he loved, but learning the dangers, what he was truly up against...it made him worry. How could he protect everyone against something so treacherous... "Can I really do it all alone?"

"Alone? You're not alone."

He sat up straighter, not expecting a answer...not expecting you to be walking towards him, how you always managed to know when he was in need of you was a mystery to him.. "When did you get back?" You smiled at him and wrapped your arms tight around his chest, "Just a second ago, I had a feeling something was wrong and that you needed a hug. Was I right?"

"More then you could know, thank you. My dear."

𑁍༄Kaveh:

Kaveh tossed his sketchbook onto the table, his pencil snapping between his fingers as his free hand ran through his blonde hair. Normally he'd just take a step back, cool off before returning to his happy self but the whole day had just been... well not great and not being able to sketch was the nail in the coffin. "I swear if one more thing goes wrong I- huh?"

He looked down at you as you embraced him tightly, your face snuggling into his chest, "It's okay Kaveh, we all have those kinds of days but I'm here and I'll make it a good day. How about I make some snacks, we can look at old photos and cuddle up on the couch."

Whatever he was feeling before you touched him...it was gone, just one hug and he felt better, he was almost convinced at this point you had some type of magic, "I would love that...thank you honey. Sorry you had to see my little freak out...aha not my proudest moment..."

"Everyone has them Kaveh, it's okay."

"Ah...what would I do without you?"

𑁍༄Alhaitham:

Alhaitham knew he didn't handle things like everyone else did, when others had bad days they'd get upset and stressed, take time to themselves...even cry, but he was far better at hiding how he felt. He'd stay in his study...reading for hours until whatever had made his day hard was but a small needle in a haystack of information...or at least that's what he used to do.

Now he had you and you weren't one to let him lock himself away, you would hold him tight even when he'd never usually accept hugs and for some reason...he enjoyed them. Having you so close, feeling your heart beat against his chest, instead of being alone for hours and reading till even he got a headache...it merely took a few minutes with you.

"Better?"

"Better."

𑁍༄Nuevillette:

Rain was batting against the windows, water pouring down the glass outside...and it had been going on for over a hour now. He'd have to apologize to everyone at some point, normally cases wouldn't bother the chief of justice, he'd been doing his job so long nothing really got to him...but the last one, what gruesome case it was and it had ended in such a horrible way...none of it even necessary.

"Neuvillette...you've been staring out the window for a long time. Are you alright?" You looked at him slightly worried, your instincts kicking in as you hugged his side...he wasn't really allowed to share the details of alot of his work, but you could always tell when the clouds appeared that one had gotten to him.

He looked at you for a moment and placed a kiss on your forehead, feeling his burden of information slowly grow lighter as your touch lingered, "Yes im alright my sweet, just...keep close to me for a second longer and the storm will clear."

ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚~Have a nice day!~*⁠.⁠✧

[mandomaterial]

Kylo with an oblivious, innocent girlie

Kylo thinks you’re adorable, too innocent for this world, he found you one day at an underground auction, completely unaware of what was happening, you were a jolly thing, truly, too trusting and too nice. You’d been scammed and taken advantage of far too often and lastly you ended up in this place, locked in a cage and on display for all the wild animals people call men. He was there on business, trying to find some relic but when he walked past you he had to do a double take. How could a sweet pretty thing like you be in a cage? He kneeled down, making himself smaller and less intimidating, in hopes of not frightening you and it worked. With a small voice you greeted him, a smile on your face as if nothing was wrong. Kylo was utterly baffled, did you not realize what was happening? He asked if you knew why you were locked up but and you answered truthfully, you didn’t know, but it wasn’t that bad. You told him not to worry and that you were fine but that just made him worry more. He decided that you were too much of an angle to be placed into some slavers hands or worse, you weren’t the type of girl that should be kept on a leash by perverts, so he made up his mind and bid on you.

And he won easily and the auctioneer must have thought he bought you for pleasure because as you were brought out to him, kylo noticed instantly that you were stripped of your clothes that already barely covered anything, you were just wrapped in a ribbon. Literally, the wrapped a pale pink, thick ribbon around your chest and hips, he did have to admit that you looked utterly adorable and the least bit seductive, but this wasn’t the place. As soon as they did the hand over, he slung his cape around your shoulders, almost swaddling you like a child, making sure that you were completely covered from head to toe, but that brought another problem, you could barely walk, being wrapped up in the thick fabric, so Kylo did the next best thing, ha asked if it would be okay for him to carry you, patiently awaiting your answer. Of course you agreed and you were all smiles, he carefully picked you up and carried you off onto his ship.

Now a couple months had passed, you grew close and somehow got into a relationship. You were still as oblivious and innocent as ever, seeing the best in everyone and everything. That’s why Kylo had to keep a close eye on you, mostly he would tell you to stay in his quarters and you followed everything he said, laying your complete trust in him. You stayed and tried to occupy yourself, fortunately Kylo gifted you lots of activities! To Kylo they seemed utterly childish and useless, but he saw how much joy they brought you so he couldn’t help but get you new things every time they made a stop. You asked for things like colouring books and coloured pencils or markers, other times for fabric and sewing needles and another for pearls and beads. He got you everything he could get his hands on and he loved watching you use his gifts. Sometimes when he finds the time, hell check on you over the cameras, only to find you colouring something on your shared bed, he can never stifle his smiles as you remind him so much or his childhood. His life was hard, honestly, he was thrown into training early on and it really heals his inner child whenever you ask him to join in and he can’t refuse his darling, can he? So he ends up helping you color in a random sketch or outline, his hands are rough and a little clumsy, not used to the small movement but he really does enjoy it and he loves when you finish your drawing and stick it in your folder.

There have been a couple incidents where you started wandering, often bumping into troopers and starting conversations with them, at first everyone thought that you were an escapee and they dragged you back to a cell, but you never complained, they were just doing their job after all! And oh boy, that gave Kylo a scare, he came back to his empty rooms and panic flooded his systems. Where the fuck were you? He grabbed his sabre and rushed down halls and corridors, trying to find you. That’s until he overheard a pair of troopers talking about a cute girlish prisoner and he instantly knew they were talking about you. He rushed over and rescued you from that uncork cell and you were so happy to see him, you were so bored in there, and the people next to you were so loud as well! After that, he made you Promis to tell him whenever you go wandering and he made you promise to wear a little pendant that had a tracker built in, he explained that it was for whenever you got lost or needed his help, you just needed to tap the back a few times and he’d know.

You’re the only one who gets to call him Kylo and you’re the only one he’s gentle with. He’s practically forced to be soft with you, how can he refuse you when you ask for a piggyback ride? Or when you ask for hugs and cuddles so adorably? How can he refuse you when you want to braid his hair and how can he say no when you want to Rey your hand at baking with him? You’re basically a princess and you get to do anything and everything you want to. He lets you dress however you want, if that cute frilly dresses or his shirt and pants, the only rule is that you have to change out of you pyjamas. But oh how he loves when you wear his clothes, you look so adorable! Completely dwarfed and stumbling over the fabric, your soft hair flowing over your shoulders as you try to roll up the sleeves of his shirt. He almost dies of cuteness overload every time.

Sometimes you decide to accompany him to the gym, where he decides to show off a little, you tell him how he makes it look so easy and that you want to try too! Then you’re hanging off the pull-up bar as you try to force your muscles up, you manage one but your struggling real hard with the second one, Kylo always gives you a little push, telling you that you’re doing such a good job and you really feel proud after your one and a half pull-ups! You sit down on one of the mats and watch as he does about fifty at an amazing speed, your eyes trail a little lower and you watch his tank top kling to his chest tightly, showing off all his muscles as they flex, you cant help but drool a little, how is he so handsome? Of course Kylo notices your little flushed cheeks and he feels proud, proud that you find him attractive, he finishes his work out and moves on to his sabre. He notices that you seem curious about it so he offers to let you hold it and you almost jump at the chance. He tells you to stand in front of him as he wraps his strong, large hands around your soft ones, helping you hold the sabre, then he ignites it. Red light ans a buzzing sound fils the room as you gasp in amazement. Kylo guides your movement with precision as you swing it around, careful not to hit anything. His chest is pressed up against your back and his nose nuzzled into the crook of your neck, giving you little kisses.

You truly are the perfect partner for him. His complete opposite but perfect for home, like two sides of the same coin.

[poetryandfluffycats]

A Peaceful Night... Or Not?

A/N: I'm overusing the 'character overworking themselves and reader forcing them to sleep/cuddle instead' trope a bit much but I can't help it pls its so fun🙏

Pairing: Shu Itsuki x gn!reader

Content: Nights with Shu are peaceful, calming, a luxury among the chaos of the world. That's what you would tell others, and it was true for the most part! The only time it wasn't was when Shu worked too much and threw one of his "temper tantrums" as you called them. Tonight, it seems he's reached that point once again

Warnings: none🤍 all fluff

Words: 1.1k

Oneshot under cut!

The bedroom was quiet, save for the gentle humming of the sewing machine and the turning of pages in the magazine you were reading-some fashion blog that Shu got for free when he ordered fabrics from overseas. You were sat atop of a mountain of pillows on the bed with a blanket pulled up to your neck whilst Shu sat at his desk, fussing over the small piece of purple thread in his hands.

This silence was one you were used to, one that both you and Shu thrived in. You found that with Shu you never needed all that constant chatter and banter that others needed. You could just be still, comfortable and content in your own worlds but also eachother.

You were happy.

"Ugh! This is the most irritating thing I've ever seen! The stitches are all wrong and the colour is just audacious!" Shu huffed, chucking the piece of fabric across the room and onto the bed, "How can they send me such a monstrosity of a thing, it feels like I'm using a rock as a needle! (name), can you believe this? Awful it is"

That happiness often faded when Shu threw this weekly tantrum.

You hummed, placing the magazine down beside you to pick up the piece of cloth that had been discarded. What Shu was trying to create was a mystery to you. He liked to keep most of his projects to himself, only ever really trusting Mika to help him on the odd occasion. The piece in your hand was simple, a few squares of lilac fabric sewn together into a rectangle with pencil lines detailing the design he was going to follow. It was quite pretty looking, for a mere piece of fabric, and you couldn't personally see anything wrong with it.

"What's it going to be?" You softly spoke, changing the subject so to try and uplift Shus mood, "I like the colours"

Shu huffed, hopping off his chair and stomping his foot on the ground like a toddler then crossing his arms over his chest, "well yes, I choose purple because I know its your favourite, but that is completely besides the point! It is meant to be a skirt, a flowy one for you to wear on our dates, but take a look at it! Can't you see? Its far too stiff, it'll look horrendous on your body like that! Not how I envisioned at all!"

You swore you felt your heart double in size at the words spewing from Shus mouth, a bright pink blush appearing on your face and reaching up to the tips of your ears. The angry and stubborn demeanour that Shu put on was something that you could see right through. Behind the fiery fumes in his eyes, you could see the man that only wanted to impress you, the man who wouldn't allow himself to gift you something subpar.

"Its not that bad, we can just order new fabrics. Pass me the phone and I'll ring them up for you-"

"No no no! I will not allow some idiot with no sense of aesthetic ruin my chances at creating the prefect outfit for you!" He ripped the piece of fabric back out from your hold, running his fingers over each line of stitching and nodding away to himself quietly. "I can fix this, its fixable. Yes, I see now. All I need to do is change out my thread, wash the cloth again and redo my stitching-"

You frowned as Shu continued his rant. He overworked himself quite a lot, and of course you hated to see him doing such a thing, especially right in front of your eyes.

With a small glint of determination in your eyes, you dragged yourself out from underneath the blankets and crawled lazily towards Shus hunched over figure, wrapping your arms around his middle when you did reach him and pressing your nose into his belly. His body tensed at the sudden touch, but he didn't pull away. A good sign.

-"But of course, if I do that, I'll possibly be working late tonight, but I have practice with Kagahira tomorrow morning. I cannot do my best work if I am tired. Perhaps if I call him he'll understand my situation-(name)? What on earth are you doing? Unhand me this instant!"

Despite his cruel words, he subconsciously reached a hand down to lace in your hair, threading through the silky strands and massaging your scalp. You hummed into his shirt and pressed a feather-light kiss on his lower belly before gazing up at him with doe eyes.

"Shu~" You cooed, your voice resembling that of a child who was asking their parents for more pudding after dinner. "Let's just take a break, yeah? Worry about it later?"

"Ha! How foolish of you to think that I, the greatest artist in the world, would stop for anything! Art does not require breaks, it only requires my hardwork and dedication! Now, I ask again. unhand me-ECK!-"

Before Shu could finish his sentence, you had used all of your body strength that you had to pull him onto the bed. In your head it was a show of your immense power, and that Shu would be starstruck at the display and would give up his continuous overexertion. However, Shu was a large man and you were no where near as strong as him, so when you pulled on his waist and the two of you fell backwards, you ended up being squished under his entire body weight and nearly got knocked out from the lack of oxygen.

"What is the meaning of this?! Have you gone crazy!?" The pink haired man hissed above you, attempting to pull himself up but falling due to your arms wrapped tight around him.

You wheezed as you still struggled for air, but you wouldn't give up. You'd get him to lay down if it was the end of you. "I'm sorry... please Shu? I don't wanna fight.."

"Then why did you push me?"

"It was an accident"

"Then why are you holding me hostage!"

"Because I love you, and I miss you. You're always working, I just wanna cuddle for a few minutes" You sighed, nuzzling your forehead against his and making the biggest puppy dog eyes you could muster, "Please? With a cherry on top?"

"Such childish behaviour... I ought to punish you for your actions tonight" He grumbled in that usual manner that anyone else would have froze up and quivered at, but not you. You could spot the twitching of his lips turning into a cheesy grin. A good sign. "But... there's no harm done... alright, my dearest doll. Do what you please with me"

"Yippe!"

Your smile was brighter than the sun itself as you pressed a kiss to Shus lips. And then another... and another... and another. Until the sun came up the next morning.

[hellfirecvnt]

Subordinate (Pt. 2)

Lee Russell x Fem!Reader

Summary: Something goes wrong at the pep rally. You and Lee get closer.

Warnings: SEX (but what's most important is the journey), weed brownies, overstim ig?

Notes: Yee haw, amirite? Hey, sorry this took so long. My life did a 180, but hopefully maybe I'll be back in the writing groove soon???

Part one here!!

Over the weekend, you stay home, battling it out with your soon-to-be ex-husband. Finally, you're able to convince him to leave, taking the bulk of his belongings with him. You toss the rest into the yard and dare your HOA to knock on your door anytime between now and four months from now at 8:27 PM.

You stand outside on your porch, watching your ex return at night to collect his strewn possessions from the dewy grass. You're silent, even as he tosses you manipulative puppy-eyed glances. You bring a skillfully rolled joint to your lips and light it, making heart-wrenching eye contact with Mark through the flames. God, it hurts, but Daddy didn't raise no bitch, Y/N.

Mark rolls his eyes, calling out some sort of degradation for your recreational marijuana use, but you barely hear him. You're barely here at all. Not from the plant, but the numbness of it all. The empty feeling that follows a great loss. So many years with someone who threw it away so fast. And that poor lady, barely aware of what she's gotten herself into.

Once he's finally gone, you finish your joint and allow yourself to rest. Alone in your bed for the first time in over 10 years. Seven years of marriage, 11 years of knowing each other. You think you know someone.

Monday morning, day one of spirit week, you dawn your muted blue blazer and pencil skirt. Monday is the Blue Out. All day long, everyone tells you that you look like you took a page out of Lee Russell's book but made it "actually wearable."

"We fucking this pep rally up on Friday or what?" Gamby asks, pacing the pine needle-covered ground of their meeting place.

"Outdressing these stupid cunts every single day. She wears a primary color one time..." He mumbles.

"Russell! Pay attention!" Lee is yanked away from his hateful mumbling. The two men are hatching another poorly thought-out plan to deter you from sticking around. Right now their primary focus is stressing you out to the point of leaving town, or getting yourself fired via one of your episodes.

Tuesday's Spirit Week theme is Historical Figures. You're dressed in a dark emerald pantsuit with a cheap remake of Anne Boleyn's initial necklace featuring your initial. Mr. Gamby comes in without a costume, and you can't have that.

"Mr. Gamby, what historical figure are you today?" You tilt your head.

"Oh, I don't do dress ups."

"But it's Spirit Week! You're part of the admin team. We can't skip these things." You shift your weight onto your hip.

"Then I'll be sure to participate tomorrow," Neal rolls his eyes, attempting to walk away and end the conversation.

"No, I think we can set something up for you. Let's go have a talk with Mr. Seychelles." You lead him to the drama room and excitedly task the students with dressing Mr. Gamby as whatever historical figure they can throw together.

"I don't see how this is necessary to express school spirit," he protests.

"Mr. Gamby, I need you to not be a wet blanket this week. Please? I'm begging you." You pinch the bridge of your nose between your index finger and thumb. Once the kids are done, we're left with a very convincing William Shakespeare. "Perfect!" You exclaim, clapping your hands.

Up front, you and Neal resume welcoming late car riders and staff into the school. Lee arrives a little late, explaining that his neighbor has been causing a few altercations with him at random. You barely hear any of that explanation because of his outfit. He's wearing a gray monochromatic suit with a dark crimson tie and something about seeing him in colors so mute is absolutely doing it for you. You're quick to put that thought away.

"Who are you supposed to be?" Neal asks, from atop his ridiculous Shakespeare collar.

"The greatest Korean warrior, Yi Sun-sin." He looks Gamby up and down. "Bold choice."

"He's Shakespeare!" You chime.

"I'm taking off this stupid fucking collar!" Gamby finally blows a fuse and rips the fluffy neck piece off of him. Just then, a group of students pass by.

"Yo, Mr. Gamby, nice Columbus costume!" One shouts as they drift on.

"No... Okay, I need to have a talk with the history department..." You furrow your brow. "Collar stays on."

Wednesday is Warrior Wednesday. Students get to wear their pajamas because you weren't about to let them show up in native American headdresses.

Lee meets with a student to buy a few substances meant to derail all the careful planning you've put into this upcoming pep rally and football game. He purchases a small eyedropper vial of LSD and plans to essentially drug the students so they fumble the game. He wouldn't have to stoop this low if it weren't for this godforsaken spirit week you've put together. It blows anything he and Neal have ever come up with together right out of the water.

Thursday, the theme is Literary Favorites. It's another chance for the kids to dress up, only this time, it's book characters. You wear a gingham shirt, tan slacks, and a straw hat. You're Huckleberry Finn. Everyone thinks you're little Debbie. You're not sure how well this school will do in yearly statewide testing...

Neal Gamby is costume-less again, so you slap another straw hat on him and call him Tom Sawyer. Lee arrives late, once again. He's also sans costume.

"What the hell, Mr. Russell? You can't both leave me hanging like this," you throw your hands up.

"I know, I'm sorry. It's my fucking neighbor! Every fuckin' day is like a knife fight in my God damn driveway," he spits, aggravated and still fuming.

"You should fuckin' kill that guy." You don't exactly mean to say that joke out loud. And you certainly don't mean to deadpan the way you do, causing the two men standing with you to wonder if you're being genuine or not.

"That's what I said!" Lee turns to Neal dramatically, queuing him to remember their conversation where he said exactly that. Wishing over-reactively that he could just murder his troublesome neighbor, Jackie.

"Oh fuck, I'm sorry, guys. That was supposed to be an inside thought," you place a hand over your lips, attempting to stay more aware of your own dialogue.

"There are no inside thoughts here, darlin'. I'm an open book," Lee chuckles.

"Well, speaking of books, you can't just walk around like this all day." You rummage through the drama room once again and find a cheaply made knights robe and a wooden sword. "There. You're King Arthur."

"Why the fuck is he King Arthur and I'm Tom motherfucking pussy ass Sawyer?"

"I will strike you down." The words leave your mouth unprompted. A jestful threat you only find funny in your mind, yet here you are, blurting it out because today's wake and bake got the best of you.

"What?" Neal asks, unsure of what you said due to the low pitch and quickness.

"Mr. Gamby, I just want us to be friends. Please stop pushing me away." You flash your big, shining, puppy dog eyes and place a friendly hand on his shoulder before walking away dismissively.

"I think she might be as fucked in the head as you are, Russell." Gamby confusedly watches you confidently strut down the hall.

"She's something," Lee shrugs, losing the knight's robe, but keeping the sword and plastic crown.

Finally, it's Friday, as a treat for the students and staff, you've taken the whole day to rally in preparation for the biggest game of the year. The theme today is simply school spirit, so you're back in your blue pencil skirt, only this time with a North Jackson football jersey featuring your last name and the last two numbers of your birth year. It felt extra, but you like it that way.

Gamby shows up in his usual school sweater vest and for once, it's on theme, so you have no notes. You send him to the auditorium where the first half of the day will start before moving to the gym. This will allow the band, choir, and drama students to showcase their "spirit."

"Lee Russell, late again..." You mumble quietly to yourself, considering if this is going to be a recurring issue or not. Eventually, you see his car pull into the lot and you step outside to meet him, hoping to talk to him in private to administer a firm warning. He steps out of his car and from a distance, you can hardly notice anything wrong. When he gets a bit closer, you can see a still-oozing split on his lip and a purple and yellow bruise peeking under his sunglasses.

"Sorry I'm late-" he rolls his eyes, tossing his arms up in defeat. Clearly too tired to argue.

"Mr. Russell, you're bleeding," you stare at him with concern, walking him inside and guiding him to the privacy of your office. "That guy really wailed on you, huh?" You tap at his lip wound until the bleeding finally stops.

"I'm not worried about it," he says flatly. It's clearly a sore spot, physically and metaphorically.

"Well, I think we can work up a little stage magic here. Haas is coming by, and-"

"Fuck, I forgot about motherfucking Super Intendant Haas," Lee groans.

"It's fine! I'm a frequently stressed woman in my mid-twenties, I have makeup on hand at all times." You fish for a certain pallet, one meant specifically to color correct and mix for any skin tone. Literal stage makeup, but it worked like a charm in the day-to-day.

With each gentle tap of your hand smearing pigment against his skin, he watches your focused face. He can't pry his eyes away from yours, and you don't notice the entire time. His sight dances from your eyelashes, to your lips, and to the concentrated wrinkle that forms between your eyebrows. You cover his blacked eye effortlessly and his lip split is nearly unnoticeable when you finally stay away to admire your work. He does everything in his power to ignore the stored images of your breath rising and falling in your chest only inches away from him. You swoop into his personal space once again to powder the makeup down with a poofy cotton applicator. His breath hitches in his lungs as your eyes meet his and your bright smile melts whatever it is he has in place of a heart. Maybe one of those monkey toys with the cymbals.

"Perfect. I really am an artist," you brag. The two of you share a laugh and head to the Pep Rally. As you walk down the hall, completely out of your line of sight, two troublemaker students sneak into the unoccupied cafeteria kitchen. They fight to stifle their laughter as they unload their supplies from their backpacks.

A tub of medicated butter slams onto the metal countertops with a loud bang. They manage to bake an entire sheet of brownies with everything they brought, only to be run off from the kitchen by you. You left the pep rally crowd when they switched from auditorium to gymnasium, just to get away for a while. You're overwhelmed by the large crowds and loud sounds.

The kids book it out of there, leaving their dosed treats behind. They're just quick enough to elude your sights, melting back into the line of students filing into the gym.

"Oh, no." You speak aloud, certain you've stumbled upon one of the trays of brownies meant for the students. You're sad and going through a divorce, so what's better than a brownie or two while taking a moment to yourself? You eat one and it tastes peculiar. You chalk it up to being a "healthier" brownie situation meant to be "better" for the kids.

"Hey, there. Dr. Y/L/N." Lee appears before you.

"Excuse the tray of sweets, Mr. Russell. I promise I didn't steal these from the kids. I found them here," you laugh, pushing the dish toward him. "Try one. They taste like someone who's never had a brownie tried to make one using only things they could find outside." He can't refuse if he wants you to get comfortable enough to share sensitive secrets and weaknesses with him, so he digs in. The two of you eat a decent amount between you, unsure why as the hour passed, you just kept getting hungrier...

You and Lee are practically draped across the countertops, leaning against them for support. You were completely unaware of your leisurely stance until the two students returned for their contraband and it felt like it took you seven business minutes to stand up straight again.

"Oh, shit..." One of them gasps.

"What? Who are you two? Robin Shandrell, do not let Mr. Gamby see you sneaking around during assemblies!" You warn with a maternal tone, though it's barely slurred as your high only continues to creep in as the brownies catch up with you.

"You guys just ate so many fuckin' pot brownies..." The alternative-looking kid mumbles with an expression that reads unfazed.

"These are... What?" You and Lee look at each other in horror. The students bolt off in different directions, but you two are too shocked to react to them.

"We gotta get out of here!" Lee exclaims.

"We can't! We can't leave Gamby to fend for himself against all these fucking kids!" There's a certain level of vitriol in your voice.

"We can't just stay!"

"Ugh, fuck! Okay! We need to get out of here and we cannot be seen leaving together." You talk frantically with your hands.

"What do you mean, together?" Lee shakes his head, assuming every man for himself. He wasn't worried about where you were gonna end up.

"Lee, neither of us can drive. I'm not paying for two Ubers. They're fucking expensive."

"Fuck!" The two of you make the first length of your labyrinthian journey out of the school without running into Haas or Gamby, mostly. But anyone would be an obstacle neither of you are ready to face.

"Listen, we've got about 30 minutes to an hour before it gets really bad-" your reassurance is cut off when you hear Ms. Smith's voice calling your name from behind you. She urges you to hurry to the gym where they're waiting for you to give a speech, encouraging the players and all the students. You look at Lee, terrified, following Ms. Smith down the hall as she continues to talk. All Lee can do is shake his head.

You step out, and by the grace of whatever higher power you do or don't believe in, you deliver perhaps the best pep rally monologue in existence. You'd be worried the high is giving you false confidence, but the students are more hype than they've ever been. Neal looks around the gymnasium with wide eyes, unsure if it's about to be a riot. The bleachers break out into a chant as your high climbs, seemingly amplified by the energy of the room. Lee stares in stoned awe as you glow under the adoration of your students. You start to feel your smile extend to a painful territory, and that's how you know it's time to exit, stage left.

You drop the microphone on the ground and dash off toward the door. The room is too distracted by the excitement, barely anyone notices your getaway. Lee notices, of course, because he can't take his eyes off of you. Super Intendant Haas notices, because he needs to talk to you, so he recruits Ms. Smith and starts hunting you down. As soon as Lee notices their objective, he rushes to meet you on the other side of the school.

"Hey! We gotta go, we gotta get out of here!" He exclaims, sprinting down the long hallway.

"What? Why? What's happening?" You panic. "The Uber isn't here yet!"

"Well then we need to hide," he speaks sternly. Just then, you both hear the sound of footsteps approaching you from down the hall. "Fuck this!" He shoves you into the nearest Janitor's closet and the two of you remain perfectly quiet. You're so focused on the sound of passing footsteps, you're both late to realize you're pressed chest to chest with each other.

"Not very much room for Jesus in here, Mr. Russell," you laugh, fighting hard to hold back the sound. Lee's face reddens and he apologizes under his breath, stepping out of the closet. Just as he does, he spots Haas and Smith at the end of the hallway, luckily too distracted by their own conversation to notice him stumble out into the hall. He quickly zooms back in, retaking his place flush against your body.

"They're right outside," he whispers. This time, waiting for them to leave seems to take an eternity as he's hyper-aware of each inch of him that's touching you. He's doing everything in his power to not wrap you into his arms and pull you closer to him, he's so fucking touch-starved. You were his adversary yesterday, but today has changed something. Not to mention he's absolutely blitzed.

You can still hear people talking outside the door, so Lee remains in your personal space. You both try your best to hold perfectly still, as any amount of friction could trigger something in his touch-starved mind or your heartbroken psyche that there's no coming back from. It's pitch dark in the closet, and the faint scent of Pine Sol fills your nose for just a moment before Lee's cologne takes over. The scent causes your knee to buckle, but you catch yourself.

The sharp, grinding motion of your body against his elicits an involuntary huff from Lee's chest. His face heats up, and he's ever thankful that there are no lights or windows in the closet. Finally, you both hear the sound of Haas and Ms. Smith saying goodbye and heading separate ways. Haas leaves the building and Smith returns to the rally. You're in the clear... But you're still in the closet.

"Um, Mr. Russell," you start. "You can open the door now."

"No, ma'am. I cannot." He wiggles the doorknob, jostling against you.

"What are you talking about? Is the door jammed?" You whisper harshly, trying not to draw accidental attention to this seemingly highly inappropriate situation. "Let me try!" You attempt to turn the knob and it seems completely stuck.

"Grab your walkie and radio for Mr. Gamby," you suggest, readjusting your hips against his for easier access. His cheeks burn in the cover of darkness. He attempts to reach for his walkie in the crowded, small closet and when he finally gets it back up to his face, he presses the button to absolutely no sound.

"Oh, fuck," he mumbles.

"It's dead, huh?" You sigh.

"It's dead." The two of you spend the next 15 minutes or so attempting to wiggle the knob loose. All the jostling of the hardware leaves the two of you aching from teasing friction between you. Neither of you wants to be the one to speak on it, unable to see the other in the blacked-out storage room. You're almost certain you can feel his cock stiffening under his slacks, but just then, the door slings open and he stumbles backward.

"Oh!" You gasp, in shock and reeling from the absence of touch. You feel damn near edged by the whole encounter. You remain in the closet while Lee stares at you from the hall, speechless for only a moment.

"Okay, well. I guess I'll- I'll see you Monday, Dr. Y/L/N." He begins to nervously walk away, as if he's still considering if that's what he wants to do.

"You can call me Y/N," you call to him without thinking. At this point, you two are close enough for casualties. He deserves a first name basis since you would definitely be revisiting this event in your bedroom by yourself later.

"You can call me Lee, Y/N." He smiles, walking away a little more confidently. The door to the closet slowly creeps closed and you remain there for a moment, collecting yourself and reminding yourself that it's fucked up to lust after an employee just because you forgot what intimacy feels like. You take a big, shuddered breath and straighten up your clothes.

Suddenly, you're hit with the wind of the closet door slinging open. The sudden revealing of light causes you to squint your eyes, but when you open them, you see Lee. He's standing there with purpose, mouth slightly agape as his eyes desperately study your face in the light. Neither of you says anything and he steps into the closet with you again, intentionally pulling the door shut with one hand, while the other finds and cups your face as he plants a hungry kiss on your lips.

With zero hesitation you kiss him back, pulling him into you like he's the air you need to breathe. He takes a well-kempt hand and slowly trails down the side of your body, hooking under your thigh, and pulling your leg up to his waist. Your pencil skirt is forced up from the motion, and you can feel the air brushing against your damp panties.

"Goddamn, you drive me fucking crazy," he growls into your mouth as you both move your heads in sync. He snakes a hand between your legs and gently toys with your clit through your underwear. The wetness expands until you're nearly dripping in his hand, then he finally pushes them aside. One long finger slips slowly inside of you, followed by another. Quiet, held-back moans pour from your mouth. Lee pumps his nimble fingers in and out of you, still holding your lips captive.

"Lee," you gasp as he curls his fingers inside you. "P-Please..."

"You really want me to fuck you on the job? In this Janitor's closet?" he taunts with that trademark sass in his voice. "The boss?"

"Right fucking now, Lee," you whine.

"Alright, alright. Keep it down," he chuckles as he wrestles his fly down in the close quarters, freeing his throbbing erection. He can barely hold himself back, he pulls your panties to the side and slips his head in delicately. A long, sensual sigh emits from his lungs as he sinks further inside of you, reaching his hilt. He takes your other leg and wraps it around his waist as well, fucking you rhythmically against the shelves.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" You whisper harshly, gripping hopelessly on his shoulders for support as he drills into you.

"Shh, sweetheart. You gotta be quiet or we're both fucked," he speaks condescendingly to you as his hips sharply buck his shaft as far as you're body can take him. Each stroke guides you closer and closer to your climax, and the scandalous environment and time limit only add to your adrenaline. One of Lee's hands leaves your legs and begins to work little circles into your clit, still fucking you steadily. You throw your head back, snapping your lips shut, begging the universe to keep you quiet while he fucks you to and through your orgasm.

"There it is, now, darlin'. Cum for me," he mumbles, listening closely to the sounds of your poorly stifled gasps and moans. You reach your climax and he doesn't let up, whispering praises to talk you through it.

"I don't think I can-" you gasp, overwhelmed with pleasure.

"You can take it, Y/N," he huffs, quickening his pace. He fucks you rough and hard for a moment, almost out of character. Almost as if he's angry at you for something you're unaware of. His grip on your skin tightens and you can feel the pressure securing bruises on your flesh. He's creeping into hatefucking territory, angry at you for Amadeus-ing at this job he wants so badly, but you're none the wiser. You just assume the weirdly dressed VP is a little bit of a freak and you're into it.

"You're gonna knock every one of these shelves off the wall," you huff between thrusts, relishing in the lightning bolts of pleasure coursing through you with each slam of his hips against yours.

"That's. Fucking. Right," he punctuates each word with hard thrusts, filling you to the point of cum dripping down his cock. When he finally stills, he remains sheathed inside you, breathing heavily in your ear. As everything falls quiet, your lust-fogged mind clarifies and you realize how insane this was. You're both devastatingly high, jumping in startled fear when you receive the text that your Uber has finally arrived.

"Oh, uh... Our ride's here," you relay the message as you read it from the lock screen of your phone.

"Right, yeah. Okay," Lee nods, stoned and oblivious.

"So, could you just..." You do a kegel around him, eliciting a shocked gasp of overstimulation.

"Oh, fuck, sorry," he chuckles, finally pulling out. You're both a mess and no amount of cleanup in this tiny closet is going to get you right. You pull your skirt back down to its proper length and decide to just handle it when you get home. Lee does the same, fastening his pants and hoping the evidence of your orgasms is well enough concealed by his fly.

Later on, just before the game is scheduled to start, Gamby and Russell meet up near the locker rooms to execute two different plans that neither of them discussed with the other.

"Alright, let's get in and get out while they're doing warm ups on the field." Lee slinks into the locker room with Gamby in tow. It isn't until just now that Neal realizes Lee's plan to drug the students.

"Whoa, whoa. What the fuck are you doing?" He asks with urgency.

"What? I'm putting fuckin' acid in the water so these little fuckers lose! It'll make her little show at the pep rally look like a joke!" Neal can't deny, Mr. Russell makes a good point.

"We can't... Look, we can't throw the game over this."

"The hell we can't?" Lee sneers at him, reaching an arm over the water, just seconds from emptying the small container of LSD.

"You're really gonna do this to Y/N?" Gamby asks, hands authoritatively on his hips. Lee hesitates. "I knew it!" He points at his enemy-turned-partner in crime. "You can't come up with a worth a fuck plan because you're over here falling in love. Catching feelings and shit."

"Shut the fuck up, you fucking child. Nobody's in love. It was a one time thing in the Janitor's closet-"

"When the fuck did that happen?"

"Few hours ago, idiot." Lee screws the cap back on the tiny bottle of hallucinogens. "So what's the plan if we're not throwing the game?"

"I don't know! I was following your lead, an obvious mistake." Gamby scolds himself.

"A mistake? Motherfucker, I'm the only one who showed up with a plan at all!"

"You know we can't risk losing this game. If we win, it'll be the-" Gamby's reasoning is quickly cut off.

"Will you shut the fuck up for a minute. Do you even hear yourself? If she wins the first game after all this time, we are fucked."

"This plan won't work, Russell. You can't do it to your new girlfriend and I can't let you do it to North Jackson. Figure something else out." Neal's words are serious and harsh, a certain power lingers behind them that he usually doesn't quite possess. Lee stuffs the container into his handkerchief pocket of his fancy little suit.

"Then what do you suggest we do, Gamby. Fuck all my fucking plans." Lee tosses up his hands in frustration.

"Well give me a god damn minute. I didn't know I was gonna have to rewrite the fucking blueprints because you're over here falling in-"

"Will you please shut the fuck up with that?" Lee whines.

"Oh, shut the fuck up? I thought you wanted me to make a plan. Because you apparently fuckin' can't!" Neal speaks quickly in harsh whispers. Finally Lee loses his cool, he shoves Gamby against the locker. As he hits the metal storage areas, he bounces off and flies toward Mr. Russell. They collide and a faint 'pop' can be heard between them. When they both look down, a large wet spot stains both of their shirts.

"You fucking idiot!" Lee exclaims, still to Neal's confusion. "This shit gets absorbed through the skin!"

"Oh fuck!"

"We need to get out of here, now!" Lee shoves him out the door. They're scrambling into the hallway as you round the corner, seeing Lee for the first time since your awkward, quiet Uber ride home.

"My seconds in command. I was just looking for you!" You chime, smiling brightly at your administrative team. They both glance at you and then break into a sprint in the opposite direction. Your stomach sinks. You've certainly been avoided after a hook-up before, but this seems quite bold. "Oh."

@sexy-monster-fucker !!!

Pt. 3 in the works!!

[duckduckhjonk]

oohhh hoo hoookaayyyyyyyy

time to tackle this big ass review. uhhhhhh welcome to the BFDIA 17/TPOT 15 review!

as noted, Spoilers Ahead!

so hhhhh lets start off with BFDIA 17. Personally, I think that this was the weaker of the two episodes, but!! and this is a very huge massive but!! That doesn't mean it was bad because hooooollly shit. As much as a Time Travel episode/episodes was a guarantee, I was NOT expecting it to be this well done.

Needle, the absolute Icon she is, starts off this episode with some awesome skills. She is running from Evil Leafy, she is amazing! and she is part of a bike now. Yet another brilliant 3d section.

I'm incredibly glad the lol-ers are gone. Ballooney did get annoying last episode tbh. Also the Spongey hate game is commendable. Also incredibly glad the other eliminated contestants are here to host now. Although, and this is a big although, I wish theyd stick to one host. I do like seeing Golf Ball again.

Fumigation made me laugh, GET THEM OUT OF THERE!!! THEY ARE PESTS!!!

I'm glad Pencil got the boot. She deserved it. Put her back in that classroom/j

SHOCKED THAT NEEDLE DIDN'T GET OUT BUT LIKE- ICON THAT SHE IS LETS GO. SHE WAS UP FOR ELIMINATION TWICE, FUCKING TWICE, AND SHE WAS SAFE. Honestly she's my pick to win BFDIA.

I'm glad she didn't stay with doing the two team thing. You go with Fries, girlie. FrieSmart forever.

incredibly based challenge btw. I really like the concept tbh.

Also shout out to Big Block.

I adore Book's storyline in this, probably more than any other in this episode. Ultimate Fetch Quest. With great cameos btw!!! Although I think Mirror and Spool are my favourites.

Nickel and TB had a fun storyline with the time travel stuff. I like the explanation to what Donut and Bottle were discussing in BFB 1.

The weakest one was probably Coiny and Pin's and Needle and Fries. Although I do like Fries calling Evil Leafy "EL". Besties to me... also a little Toxic of a team... love them lots...

As much as I dislike Coiny and Pin, ik with their popularity, I think one of them might win. I still want Needle to win, or Nickel! I think Nickel deserves a win.

Overall a little more boring than TPOT but there are moments I enjoy. I suppose we're getting the return of Leafy but idk, I've never cared for Leafy.

NOW TIME FOR TPOT!!

RAHHHHGGGGHHHHHH SO MANY THOUGHTS

the failed Debuters plus Nickel being the cause of all this. love them lots. Oh the guilt Nickel must know if he ever finds out...

I find this episode very chaotic, but it sets up so SO much.

Gaty and Two bestieness real... "Don't worry about it, Two, I can handle this!" PROCEEDS TO NOT BE FINE.

I honestly cant wait to see how this storyline plays out. I adore that Two has their favourite contestant and keeps her around. like- sorry they're so besties to me.

ALSO THE CONFIRMATION OF TWO'S TEXTURE!!! EVERONE CHEERED!!! THANK YOU LIY!!!! Papery motherfucker/affectionate. Honestly my one question I had if I go to the meetup this year would have been what Two's texture was, mayhaps I can ask about One's or smth...

anywho! Cake at Stake was... far too chaotic for my liking. I know it was to set up the "Something is wrong here" but like- I just- I don't get it. On my initial watch I could barely keep track of what was going on. As much as I didn't really like Black Hole for most of BFDI, I think he really stuck out this episode. He was the best straight man he could be, he played it well.

also FUCKING BASKETBALL AND ROBOT FLOWER GETTING THE BOOT?????? WHAT????? HOW DARE US????

That begs the question, What happens to Basketball with One? Is the contract revoked? Does she get special treatment? What happens??????????

The appearances from Three were interesting. They do exist! But who are they? What do they want? Many questions....

also VR HEADSET!!! PLAYED BY JACKSFILMS!!!! Tbh I really enjoy Jacksfilms content. I'll like- binge his videos every few months. Its a good time. I kinda hope we see more of Vr Headset.

Onto the challenge. Might I say, incredibly fun challenge! The use of the yoyleite, despite it being obvious, was still fun to see. I liked how it was done.

One stand out part was Shoppy Cart. She was the only one remorseful. Only one with any guilt. She's willing to go back, and didn't need to die. I think that makes me like her a lot more tbh.

I feel like it got to a lull midway where it felt a little repetitive. While it had its moments there still, it just felt like Get Contestant, Kill Them, Cause a Fuckton of Damage, Leave. Although my two standouts were Liy ofcofc being her girlbossiest self and finally getting her fully flipped power boost, and the section with Boom Mic. ALSO THE FANNY AND BUBBLE TRUTHERS REJOICE! Even if you don't ship them, honestly their platonic friendship is something I could make an essay on.

The ending, oooohhhh the ending. Pencil's crash out... As much as I dislike Pencil, I kinda felt for her in that moment. Good for her. GB also getting a beautiful spotlight again... you go girl.

AND THAT MOMENT OF "its too late... we've caused too much damage..." I WANTED TO CRY... I HAD TEARS. THE. THE LITTLE GROUPINGS... SNOWBALL AND GRASSY... DEATH PACT... THEY FINALLY BROUGHT PIN INTO THE GROUP HUG........ ICE CUBE FORGIVING BOOK FOR THE END OF THE WORLD... EVEN JUST FOR A SECOND.... TENNIS BALL AND TV HAD TO FACE THE END ALONE... TB WAS SEPERATED FROM GOLF BALL... IMAGINE HOW THEY FELT...

Fanny and Ice Cube's silent agreement about One is everything to me.... I hope to god they're safe..................

TWO SEEING THE DAMAGE, TWO SEEING THAT GATY IS GONE.... TWO WILL NOT BE OK... HELL, I'M NOT OK.

ALSO THE POST CREDITS. Firey and 8ball!!! Good for them on they adventure....

AND THE ELIMINATED CONTESTANTS AT THE NUMBER PLAYGROUND WHAT

WHAT

WHAT!!!!!

and the the Fanny plush!!!!! you already know I'm gonna get that.

ok...ok I think I'm done. Sorry for getting a little emotional, it was, a lot...

It's gonna be one hell of a year for bfdi!

let me know what you thought!

[macawthestarwing]

This is very specifically for @floppydiskz Flopp this is a continuation of the conversation ur welcome:

So if you didn’t see my post for Microphone’s design, My AU has this thing called Dracanthropy. It’s basically Lycanthropy but dragons instead of wolves. There are two types of dracothropes:

Lunar Dracothropes

A stereotypical werewolf situation cranked to a high. Every time they fall asleep at night, they go into their dragon form. If it’s a full moon (doesn’t have to be just one if it’s in Savior there can be two full moons), they go into a hybrid of normal and the dragon form which is basically them with wings and a tail, sharp teeth, and whatever abilities the dragon form has. If the dracothrope is skilled enough, they can go into any form whenever they want.

Pathos Dracothropes

Basically instead of the day-night cycle controlling the form, it’s the dracothrope’s emotions. If they feel scared or angry or anxious, they’ll go into either dragon form or hybrid form depending on how intense the feeling is (hybrid means the feeling is extremely intense). Like Lunar Dracothropes, they can control it if they’re skilled enough, but it will go rogue a bit. This type of Dracanthropy is extremely rare.

In the II X IOSAU, there are four Dracothropes. The objects in order of first to most recent bitten is:

Microphone: bit by Adam (a Dracothrope who works for the Starwings) and is a Siren/Night. She has the mind-reading teardrop and very strong hivemind song. Bitten because Adam thought the mind reading would drive her insane or she would go power-crazy with her hivemind song. He was wrong.

Nickel: also bit by Adam since he used him as a threat to hurt all of Mic’s friends (she then proceeded to beat him up). Nickel is an Ice/Night in his dragon form, with frostbreath and foresight. He kept his Dracanthropy secret for a long time because he kept having a reoccurring vision of him biting Balloon. He’s outed eventually and the vision does come true, but he’s comfortable openly speaking about his visions with others afterwards.

Balloon: Balloon is one of the rare Pathos Dracothropes. His constant panic of being a Dracothrope causes a lot of chaos (specifically him not being allowed to be in the hotel if he feels nervous so he doesn’t destroy it) he can control it pretty well but it still gets out of control occasionally.

Trophy: this one is kinda funny. Trophy wasn’t exactly listening when they were explaining everything that had happened to the objects that weren’t there when Taco was temporarily back at the II universe. Trophy was bullying Balloon when out of pure instinct and anxiety-induced rage he went dragon on him and bit his arm. Trophy didn’t even believe Nickel, Mic, and Balloon when they tried to explain it to him until he woke up with wings and a tail and was surprisingly about as tall as the trees in the forest! His dragon form is a Sky/Mud with fireproof scales.

In BFDI X IOSAU, there are two Dracothropes:

Pencil: Also bit by Adam as a way for One to psychologically torture her, her dragon form is a Sand\Ice with frostbreath. She does get a bit psychologically tortured, but she gets used to it eventually.

Needle: bit by Pencil accidentally when Needle falls and Pencil accidentally grabs her with her teeth out of instinct. She’s less skilled than Pencil and can’t control it often, but once in a blue moon she can control it. Her dragon form is a Night/Silk with normal silk and fire (oh god imagine calling her Needy while she’s in dragon form oh you’re just dead).

[nogacheloveka-blog]

Horrorgaze

"I'm not very good at speaking and writing in English. I did my best to make the text understandable, especially the jokes, but I may have been mistaken in this. If you see any serious mistakes, don't hesitate to write about it. You will help me a lot. Thank you.

Pairing and Characters: Killer/Nightmare, Horror/Cross, Killer/Cross, Cross, Nightmare, Killer, Dust, Horror

Other Tags: only Horror point of view, no sexual scenes(i think so), a lot of reflections, some memory lapses, weak sexual dimorphism, pairings hinted at in general

Description: Horror lives among variations of himself. He can think a lot and say little. He is also a nearsighted stalker.

Notes: All "Sans" in the text belong to Horror. According to my headcanon, he looks somewhat frightening and beast-like, with fangs and claws, keen hearing and smell, but extremely nearsighted. He is also "older" than Killer and Dust: Horrortale moved forward in time, while the universes of these two remained frozen in repetition.

***

Sans often gnawed on things. This habit remained from the hungry years in the Underground: to suppress the gnawing feeling of hunger, akin to the birth of a black hole below the sternum, he would scrape his teeth against his post in Snowdin, the resinous bark of trees, boil pine needles, and the hard-earned fish. He chewed on thin children's bones.

After Nightmare gave his world a chance to survive, Sans had to keep an eye on his habit. It would be rude to leave marks on someone else's territory, right? But even so, the pens and pencils that came into his possession, as well as the mugs with cutlery, suffered. All his belongings bore the imprint of his sharp-toothed jaw.

All his belongings, not himself.

Sans noticed a bite on his left hand while cooking, surprised by its presence. It was not painful at all, but deep enough to still be visible. It crossed the malicious "U" of his metacarpals and slid into scratches along the heads of the proximal phalanges, becoming particularly deep on the middle phalanx of his pinky finger. Sans himself could not have forgotten to bite himself this way—such an awkward angle.

The injured head made itself known. His memory sometimes failed to retain recent events. It was not as dire as with the Multiverse Defender, as he did not forget his daily routine. Only incidents with strong emotional outbursts, moments of excessive tension, became heavily blurred and slipped away, leaving gaping holes behind. He remembered things in fragments, from the words of those around him or by finding himself in similar situations, but he never had a complete picture. Life now presented itself to him as a series of calm days with patches missing during certain missions—when something went wrong, he had to operate at maximum capacity.

All attempts to recall the nature of the injury were unsuccessful. He remembered a vague excitement and an unclear obsessive desire, as his hands were tightly wrapped around something thin, like tree branches. No, no, wait, it was round and rough. And fabric. The claws on his right palm had definitely snagged something made of dense fabric, digging in, and it had torn under pressure, but it hadn't split apart. And he sank his claws deeper, simply because it felt good to have that sense of power.

His soul raced slightly even at the attempts to remember. Sans swallowed.

Judging by these scant fragments, it seemed he had been holding someone. Perhaps Nightmare had tasked him with stirring up trouble in some place, and he had gotten carried away? That seemed quite plausible. In most universes, just the sight of his massive, twisted figure in the middle of Snowdin or the New Home was enough to raise the level of negativity. Usually, during such missions, time did not particularly constrain him, and he allowed himself to chase the locals, driving them through the woods or engaging in extortion. He loved hunting too. It reminded him of the old days, but now he was full and could do it for fun, like someone of royal blood. Nevertheless, Sans did not like to kill—this did not apply to variations of Undyne—and he had a good sense of his opponents, which was why Nightmare appreciated the work he did.

Horror glanced at the calendar. He marked the days when he experienced memory loss, just to ask the others for details later. Or they would tell him themselves if they saw a new note. The bite had been less than a day ago. Meanwhile, the events of the current day seemed quite coherent, and Sans had noted the second half of yesterday. It seemed unlikely that this was a task from Nightmare, and he would remember many more details if that were the case. Perhaps it was related to someone here at home. In that case, it definitely wasn't Dust: he had left for a mission three days ago. He had seen Killer this morning, bored in the living room, and he looked the same as usual. Judging by the feelings from the memory, his victim should have been pretty battered. And it definitely wasn't a boss. Simply because it's hard to imagine how Lord Nightmare would bite him in self-defense rather than leave him with yet another hole in his skull.

Then Cross…?

He hadn’t seen him today, so that made sense. Did he get into a fight with Cross? Should he...

…The strong, white radial and ulnar bones in the grip of one of his hands, due to the splayed fingers, look like maple branches. Almost dazzlingly white compared to the grayish-yellow of his own bones. They are beautiful. Their color is indistinguishable from the snowy white of his clothing; even the scars do not mar them. Sans sees a brief flash of fear and how Cross freezes, pinned to the floor by his weight. He takes a breath to ask something…

...bring him some healing food?

A brief flash of memory pierces through like a spark.

…Sans covers Cross jaw with his free hand, not allowing a sound to escape. Cross's head is now pressed to the floor, revealing his beautiful profile and the white pupil widened in confusion at what is happening. From this angle, the strong cervical vertebrae, usually hidden by clothing, are visible. They are as lovely as blank sheets of paper and white, sweet marshmallows. He wants to bite-

His heart races from the unclear images. Sans runs his palm over his face. This is just disgusting. Yes, Cross is definitely beautiful, but that’s no reason…

…Hypnotized, he releases the other’s wrists and places his hand on the warm side. Cross flinches. Sans's claws dug into the layers of clothing, tearing through under pressure, but not splitting apart. And he sank his claws deeper, simply because it felt good to have that sense of power. He feels a smile stretching across his face. He wants to purr from the intoxicating sensation…

...to pounce on bones like a hungry dog. Sans wants to be dusted right now. No, no, first he needs to check on Cross's condition, to do everything he can to atone for his disgusting act — whatever it may have been. And then he’ll go impale the remnants of a skull...

…Suddenly, his victim kicks out and bites the hand on his face. He blinks sluggishly, and that moment of confusion is enough for Cross to slip away and disappear in a flash of shortcut teleportation...

...on something deadly.

Okay, fine. Great. He just scared him. The collar of panic and guilt around his neck loosened.

He will get up now and make a coffee pot of hot chocolate. And he will go talk to Cross about what happened. Apologize. Maybe he’ll try to…

It’s painfully shameful because Cross is really too good for all of them.

***

Sans remembered how Nightmare brought in a creature that smelled of dust and human blood. It was like a ghost: a silhouette near the occupied sofas in the living room, disappearing food from the fridge, the scent of cigarettes in empty rooms. One-word answers and silence to personal questions.

It was acutely aware of monster magic — Killer was openly losing at hide-and-seek.

It only yielded to Sans himself in the real hunt. Sans even managed to remember its scent of death before it turned back.

The frightened expression of the skull reminded Sans of his own past when he looked at his changing body in the shards of a mirror. Back then, he saw living emotions. And how much effort it took him to discern in it the almost defeated self from the past, the one who needed help.

Hunger, long-standing trauma, and LV had long ago twisted Sans's bones, making him more dangerous, like a wounded animal. Dust's LV hung around like a heavy, biting cloud, constantly warping his mind, turning him into a madman, quietly begging the empty corners for either forgiveness or help. Horror caught snippets of phrases as he silently passed by. The addresses to Papyrus particularly pierced his soul. Sans remembered the times of the eighth human's fall and all that exhausting dance with timelines. In Dust's case, the hopeless conditions of the game broke him so much that he couldn't hold on. But it must be said that guy was holding up pretty well now, albeit with disgusting methods.

Dust's refuge was not far from Sans's own room, and at night, his keen hearing picked up unsteady footsteps, while his sensitive nose detected the alcoholic haze, in addition to the usual smell of the dust old attic. Horror was wildly glad that the skeleton didn't use shortcuts in such a state. Sometimes he heard the footsteps stop at his door. From that side came whispers and sobs, provoking a strong desire to grab this dummy by the scruff of the neck like a wayward kitten and carry it to safety.

On one of those days, Sans realized that he simply couldn't ignore his younger and more confused version. He had something to offer him. He did what Sanses did best:

“Knock, knock,” the knuckles rhythmically tapped against the door from the inside. There were doubts about the success of this plan on the first try, but at the very least, it would let him know he was open to company.

“ Who… is there?” The voice sounded uncertain from the other side, as if it were trying to remember the beginning of such jokes. Or preparing for an attack.

Sans was still glad to hear a response.

“A liver,” his large, clawed hand slowly unlocked the horrifically creaky door, creating a small gap. He could distinctly hear a shaky step back from the other side. A faint light streamed through the small opening into the dark corridor. Sans saw half of a skull, a swirling two-colored pupil beneath a disheveled hood, and an elbow frozen in a defensive gesture. The air smelled of fear.

“What… liver?” came the quiet mumble.

“Delivery,” Sans replied with a satisfied rumble, extending a Spider Donut.

It reminded him of how he used to lure children into traps in his Underground with bright sweets wrappers. In any case, the sweets had never been a trick — a really nice scream. He wasn’t a complete fiend.

Dust looked unusually bewildered. But he took the donut. What a good boy. Sans's hand itched to pat him on the head. But he had to hold back.

“Knock. I’m usually here. I’ll open up and help if you need it.”

Dust didn’t knock. It was as if he had completely evaporated. The need to find him and make sure he was okay left Sans restless. But there was no shuffling around and emptying the stock of strong alcohol in the kitchen either. Not for a while.

One calm day, early in the morning, Sans woke up to the sound of something falling outside the door. Could that be considered a knock? Yes? Definitely, yes.

Dust lay there without lights in his eye sockets, like an old, slippery, dusty rag that had wiped up a puddle of absinthe and hadn’t been wrung out properly. Sans took him in. He stripped off the stale Dust's clothes and the only remaining slipper, wrapping the unconscious bones in a blanket. After a moment’s thought, he brought an orange and a glass of water from the kitchen.

He would take care of him.

***

Sans stared blankly at the bare bones, unsure of what to do with himself. Scored with scars and illuminated by the poisonous crimson of the target's soul, they couldn't hide the gentle curvature at the joints. The light, elegant rib cage, with its lovely splay of collarbones, emphasized the fragility of the shoulders. The spinous processes of the vertebrae, unlike the others on the team, were not spiky like a gnawed fish spine but rounded, like feathers on a bird of prey. He had forbidden himself to look below the lumbar region of the spine, but even so, he counted three large vertebrae. The black tears of hatred, it turned out, concealed the subtle differences in the facial bones and jaw. Until that moment, Sans hadn't realized how nearsighted he was. Not just him, but everyone on their team of world evil.

Killer tilted his(?) head questioningly at Sans's confusion. The shattered radius seemed to bother him(?) not at all, just as the broken false ribs didn’t; he(?) was playfully swinging his(?) legs while sitting on the table amid the rubble of bones, like an unfinished cookie. A bit of bandaging and some healing food. That was all. Sans managed it in a couple of minutes, under the mocking, uncomfortable squint of the chocolate-black voids of eye sockets.

It was a pity that sorting out mixed feelings wouldn’t be so easy. He was somewhat old-fashioned about such matters. Sans was so flustered that he didn’t ask anything or request to cover up. Why did none of the guys react to—

But on the other hand, Sans reacted normally to other variations of himself. Himself who killed his brother. Himself with four tentacles. Himself in a blue neck scarf. Himself as a creator, himself as a destroyer. Why did he only short-circuit at the thought of himself

as a girl?

Their kind had weak sexual dimorphism, and the presence of an ecto-body reduced the natural sex to something akin to hair color, essentially a joke. It was a remnant, considering the overall bisexuality. In his time in Horrortale, there had been other skeletal beings — not that Sans “shared a closet” with any of them — who helped him a lot by looking after Papyrus and providing both brothers with an education when their father to vanish into Core oblivion. At the very least, he knew how the females of their kind differed from the males (a couple of anatomy atlases from the Surface had lived under his bed throughout puberty).

Sans decided to observe.

All previous interactions with Killer had not revealed any concern: his(?) clothing was unremarkable, he(?) didn’t try to cover his(?) nudity (Sans realized he hadn’t really noticed nothing during those times), he(?) spoke firmly in the masculine form, teasing without hesitation. Even the tone of his(?) voice (Sans had to listen closely to all the nonsense that came out of that voice) hinted at nothing. The only thing that distinguished him was his(?) fighting style, where Killer preferred to use his(?) natural flexibility and show off in close combat, impervious to pain. And, damn, it was beautiful. Inventive. Next to Killer's deadly tango, Horror felt like a clumsy bear.

The others also didn’t react. Only Cross occasionally grumbled about the need to constantly heal Killer’s fractures, to which the latter shrugged, saying, “It’s so you can touch me a little more, Crossy.” Dust was irritated to the point of cracking with barely restrained magic. Their LV didn’t allow for any other kind of communication.

It became amusing that in all their variations of unfortunsanse outcomes, the conversation about pistils and stamens would only be his. Nightmare clearly had no intention of changing the current state of affairs. Although Sans had seen how disapproving he looked at the flirting from his protégé. To be honest, he himself also looked at it disapprovingly — Lord of Negativity was too old for Killer.

In the end, Sans resigned himself. Killer had socialized as a guy for too long, so even the sudden news that his body was somehow different and that he had to behave differently wouldn’t affect much. If someone suddenly told to Sans, “Hey, buddy, you have feminine bones,” he would shrug it off and do nothing. But Killer could throw something unexpected (in a bad way) in response. So he needed to take his gentlemanly instincts and shove them far up his backside.

Killer was a guy. Conversations about his body being female wouldn’t change anything — they were, for star's sake, made of bones that were covered in magic when it was really needed, with open interpretations the rest of the time. Case closed. Apparently, the long-simmering tension made him worry about trivial matters.

“Been a while since you ran from me, big guy,” Killer said, playing with a knife. “Thought I’d lost my charm with you.”

Sans snorted softly. He had only been thinking about him these past few days.

“I haven’t fought in a long time.”

“Ah, that’s it. Then…” His bored expression shifted to childlike joy. “Hi there! I’m Kill the Killer! Want a little LOVE from me? I share it through my little, pointy ‘friendly knives’!” And with a laugh, he launched magical attacks that appeared in the air, not particularly aiming.

***

Lord of Negativity was strange.

But that was somewhat pleasing, as he didn’t respond to “Sans.” And his brother didn’t respond to “Papyrus.” The body made of black sludge was strange too. Theoretically, it was the same substance that flowed from Killer's eye sockets, which explained the latter's attraction: a part of the substance inside him longed to reunite with its source. Or something like that.

The only thing that was not strange, but rather predictable, was the aura of negativity that followed him like a cool trail, displacing even the feverish, biting whispers of their colorful company’s common LV. When it was nearby, breathing felt easier. Dust relaxed his tense shoulders. The trails of eternal tears from Killer dried up. Only Cross became more serious, but he revered Nightmare.

It was no secret that he simply fed off them during such moments.

Well, so what — he didn’t consume regular food, so everyone just benefited at dinner. And dinners were always communal since Nightmare always gave instructions for the next day if there were any. He didn’t make his presence known every time, but judging by the feeling of relief, he was always nearby. Sometimes, Sans felt like he was even сhecking on their well-being during such visits. The feeling of being Checked could have just been a figment of his imagination.

“I don’t need you worrying about your problems,” Nightmare said authoritatively when he sealed their deal. “Just take care of my instructions. I take you, your world takes the food.”

At that time, his words sounded like selling one’s soul to pure evil, which doesn’t keep promises. And he agreed to it simply because everything that gave him the strength to survive was dying in his hands, turning hopes and dreams to dust. But the longer he worked under his patronage, the clearer it became that putting Lord of Negativity's concerns above his own was the best means of achieving any other goals and desires. He wasn’t senseless evil; rather, he was a spectrum from chaotic to lawful and was a personality.

It wasn’t an act of love or care.

For a knife to attack your opponent, its tip must be pointed where you want it to go. If it looks elsewhere, you’ll miss. If the knife is dull, you’ll waste your strength. If you apply constant pressure to it, the knife will break, and you’ll be left unarmed. Also, butter knives are bad for chopping trees, and axes are for social receptions.

Nightmare solved their problems if it truly required his intervention. He taught them tactics and strategy, kept the necessary books on the lower shelves (even if it contradicted the library system), and personally trained them. He gave them personal time and time for healing if it was needed. He didn’t send them on missions if it didn’t suit their abilities.

In other words, he replaced their goals with his own, didn’t let them dull, and didn’t pressure them more than necessary. A delightful approach.

And Sans was devoted to him out of gratitude.

Dream's arrows were no more dangerous to him than usual. You could say he took only half the damage from them, just like any normal skeleton*. And he calmly caught them mid-flight with his bare hands or…

“Wow, big guy, you’re completely insane!” Killer sounded genuinely enthusiastic, encouraging his ego with a peculiar compliment.

His admiration warmed the soul pleasantly, like a fletching of pure positivity warmed his mouth. The magical arrow crunched like glass under the pressure of his teeth.

Dream looked flustered. Blue and Dust even paused their fight to see how the half-broken arrow vanished into cool blue sand in the air along with Sans's 5 HP. For Nightmare, it would have taken comically more.

Horrortale made all parts of the body weapons, so there was nothing strange about utilizing everything available for Lord of Negativity. Magic wasn’t as fast.

And by protecting Nightmare, he was primarily protecting everything most precious in his life, which Nightmare also protected.

However strange that may sound.

Notes:

Horror: Well, I would be quite hot in a female body. Killer: Flirting with a 500-year-old surströmming. Horror: Damn

- In games, skeletons often have resistance to swords or arrows

[treatsf]

Scout was screwed. Royally fucking screwed. Hands were shoved into drawers, frantically searching, shaking, sweat dripping down his skin as he desperately looked for his next hit. He knew he had to have some of it somewhere, he knew that because he needed it, because he couldn’t live without it, and if his past self left him empty handed again he might just strangle himself to give some sort of point because damnit he needed to be more prepared for these kinds of things. He threw whatever was in there out of the compartment; he threw books, he threw pencils, he threw stickers and pieces of paper and rolls of bandages and cords and needles and syringes until he dumped out the entire drawer and found nothing. He was beginning to panic, beginning to panic more than he already was before, because that was where he always hid his stash, that’s where it had to have been, and if it wasn’t there then it wasn’t anywhere and he couldn’t possibly be out because he was sick and he hated being sick and he needed to be normal and he needed to feel good again and he—

There. It was right there, in the next drawer down, a tiny ziplock bag containing all his hopes and dreams, everything he ever lived for etched into the powder held inside the plastic. He could tell there was none left for a second hit, and after this he was screwed, truly screwed: none of this frantic searching bullshit would be able to save him. But fuck if he cared. Fuck if he ever cared. Because in that tiny pouch contained his ticket to happiness, his ticket to success, his ticket to everything that would make him whole again. He would be normal. He needed to be normal, even if just for an inconsequential blip of time.

Snatching it like a falcon pouncing on its prey, he opened up its insides, hand fumbling for his spoon and his lighter before he grabbed a syringe and his cord and wrapped it around his arm. He had stolen the thing from the Engineer while the man was in one of his sporadic bouts of slumber, none the wiser to what was going on, and while of course he felt bad he knew he was doing it because he needed it so maybe it was okay. He had a bag of cotton balls he used when he wanted to be careful, when he wanted to inject the right way, but injecting the right way didn’t matter to him at that moment so he didn’t. Setting everything up was quick. It was easy. It was fine. He was going to be fine. He had a syringe full of euphoria, and nothing else mattered in that moment.

However, for just a moment, he had a sense of clarity. He was broke, ass broke, and after this hit he didn’t know where he’d find another one. Their paychecks came in 5 days, and he couldn’t wait it out for 5 days. He couldn’t be sick like this for 5 days, sweating through his clothes and shaking and yawning and sniffling and sobbing and aching and feeling like utter shit. He had just emptied out one of his drawers, and what if someone decided to come in and saw all of it, saw everything out in the open like that, with him in the center of it all? Were his doors locked, were his windows locked? Had he made any noise, any sounds, any smells? Shit, was he addicted?

But fuck, it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter because as soon as that needle was thrusted into his arm, as soon as he pulled the plunger until blood pooled in the syringes barrel, as soon as that brown tar entered his veins, he was in heaven. A smile danced across his lips, a heavy one, a droopy one, and he fell onto the bed, ripping the instrument out from his flesh, body too numb to remember where it went. It was like he was back at home, back in his mothers arms all the way in Boston, held and coddled and wrapped and swaddled like a baby, told it was all going to be okay. He didn’t have any more money and he was out of smack so if he couldn’t find a way to get more fast he was fucked and if that happened his coworkers were bound to realize something was wrong soon enough, but none of that mattered. None of that mattered because he felt good. He felt great. He felt like nothing could ever touch him, because up was down and left was right and water was red and fire was blue and the devil was good and god was bad but fuck, he felt amazing. None of it mattered.

@gravitytrips

[writefinch]

In Hot Pursuit (Part 1)

(She-Ra CatrAdora slashfic you're welcome)

'Don't say it.'

Throat tight, ears ringing, palms shot through with cold little needles. She knew what she was going to hear. She'd heard those words so many times.

'Catra, I--'

'No!' Hoarse, and harsh. 'Please. Please. I can't take it. Not… not now.'

Her back and shoulders wound themselves tight under the weight of words to come. It was going to hurt her. She knew on some level that it was her fault, that the pain was her own stupid prize for her own stupid game, it was what she deserved for thinking she could push away those words with force of will, for daring to think that she'd never let herself be hurt again.

Silence in response. The silence felt good, and it felt so good as the seconds stretched on, but it only made the pain worse because it wouldn't last forever and when it ended it would hurt so much it would grind her to dust.

She had to pull the pin, she knew. When Kyle had dislocated his shoulder and she and Lonnie held him down so Rogelio could shove it back into place they'd told him 'it's better if it's quick.' Maybe they'd been right.

'Do it. Say it.' Tears burned her cheeks. 'Say it!'

Scorpia's voice sounded so very small through the transmitter. 'We covered it in Force Captain orientation…'

Catra groaned. The tears dried and once the wave of shame flowed through her the knots in her shoulders and the brittle rock in her throat softened. As the tension left, something worse took its place.

'It was easy to miss! I swear, it was a single line in the main presentation. I don't even think it was in the handout. Maybe it was in the appendices, I should take a look and see--'

'Okay, whatever, lemme get this straight--Hordak put poison in the brown blocks, and all the poison we ate is finally hurting us after all these years?'

'It wasn't poison, it was preventative medicine. As soon as we stopped eating it, it slowly wore off, and now we're just going through what would have happened naturally without it.'

'What? Listen to yourself, there's nothing "natural" about this! It's completely wrong, it's not right, it…' Desperation crept back into her voice. 'H-have you gone through this?'

'Oh yeah, big time.'

'What's going to happen to me?'

'First thing is you're gonna really want to find someone special and just… lock your claws with them. Really get in there tight, pincer on pincer like you're never gonna let them go. After that you get the weak venom in your stinger but there's a lot of it and it'll feel so full like it's ready to burst, and you just get an urge to hold someone tight and pepper them with stings while they--'

'Scorpia, I don't think it works the same for me.'

'Oh.'

'I don't have a stinger.'

'You don't, I'm sorry. Of course.'

'Can you at least tell me how long it lasts?'

'Three days, four days tops if it's dry and someone is bringing you food. After that you're in the clear.'

Three days. Three days was… possible. The exercise was supposed to take three days, but it could just as easily take four days or even five days! As long as she didn't screw up and let Adora catch her early, she'd be free and clear when they met up at the final checkpoint.

'Okay, I got it. Thanks for the heads up.'

'Are you sure you want to continue? It's only the first day, we could call this off until you're feeling better.'

'No way, I'm not letting Adora--I'm not letting everyone think I'll screw up our training just cause I feel weird.'

'All right. Do you have your pencil ready? The co-ordinates for the next transmission point are X623, Y031, Z108.'

'…Y031, Z108, got it. I'm outta here.'

'I'll talk to you soon. And good luck!'

Catra closed the line. She looked down at the map and up at the horizon. East by north-east there was a hill with a forest, and past that a bigger hill with a darker forest, and past that was a clearing with the next transmission point. A skilled scout could make it there in fourteen hours. She'd do it in ten.

The rain had stopped. She'd rigged her poncho to keep the rain off her head while she set up the transmitter. As she took it down, she poured off the pooled water into her canteen, which had been running dry a whole lot quicker than usual over the past day. She shook the oilcloth dry, rolled it into a side pouch on her backpack, and slung the bag on her back. She was going to be fine. She was going to win this.

…what the heck was an 'estrus suppressant' anyway?

[chirin-chironup]

Creativity is getting harder

I used to hold a pencil in my hand and idea after idea would would come to my head. I would draw, and draw, and by the end of the week I'd have a pile of filled notebooks. But now, I hold the pencil, and nothing comes. My head is empty. I wrack my head, but there is nothing to wrack. There is nothing there. Games where the incentive is creativity have become dull, because my creative well is completely dry. Giving me a paintbrush, some modelling clay, a pair of needles and some yarn, or any number of creative tools... It does nothing. It's all gone. I don't know why. I thought it was just a temporary thing, that it would come back to me... But it hasn't. It hasn't, and I'm terrified that it never will. I want to create, but I just can't. ...What is wrong with me?

[annawayne]

I LOVE YOU ART

♥️ 💥 👻

OH MY THANK YOU SO MUCH! I appreacite it a lot T_T

(sorry I didn't find the white heart, so if I missed it somehow, just send me a question, pleeease, and sorry T_T, so I would answer just a simple heart)

❤️ What is your favorite line that you’ve written in a fic?

Hm, I just realized I actually have a lot, wow!

From BMSS:

Chapter 1:

Some sketchbooks remain open, displaying unfinished strokes of pencils like the firm proof of her futile attempts to catch inspiration. The brushes and pencils are all over the surface, and some watercolors are long-dried. This table is like the cemetery of her dead muses, and the crumpled papers around the surface resemble tombs of what she called once drawings. Near the table, calmly rest canvases, covered with fabric, as she can’t face it. As if it has its will and power, the blonde woman can’t stand its muted screams of whiteness. The artist’s touch is the blood for it, it begs her for it, but she can’t be a donor when her blood is charcoal-dark. And it lazily savors her, tasting piece by piece all of her hollow beliefs and dull desires - everything that hangs on the apathetic carcass people give a name of a body. 

Chapter 2:

Silver rainy drops seem to be the bravest thing in the world, as they keep falling, falling, falling down from the sky - like the monotonous, infinite heartbeat of clouds. The rain continues to pour at a steady pace, and the timid piano sounds flow into the watery symphony outside the window, making ripples with its gentle, sensual tune. His breath, his heartbeat, his heat, his blood - everything dive into sleep. There’s no past, there’s no future, there’s even no present, and the sense of time has erased the same second the needle hit the record. There’s only now, only this exact instant that he wants to embroider over his body with the tight stitches of his memory - maybe, “forever” is the word that was created not for people, but for the moments like that. 

AND

She isn’t beautiful. She’s like the art she is so in love with - beyond this valueless, average sense of beauty. The man always thought about languages as the unseen, ultimate power that could express anything, and he thought that she is a forgotten lingua - another challenge, another source of knowledge. But he was wrong. This woman gracefully outshines any word humans could master. She would be so cramped between trivial letters that wouldn’t give even the closest thing she actually is, and every century with its standards of what is pretty or appealing cry out loud with bitter tears of jealousy that they never could have her. She said that art was born to make people feel something and make people think. And now, every fiber of his corrupted body, his messy, dirty soul, finally understands the true meaning of it. 

From Neverland of (our) desires

For him, Annie was the shoreline of wonder, the one he never refuses to chase even if she pushed away his waves. 

For her, Armin was the sea, he has his storms and his serene times, but the boundless patience of his waters is the bright promise of the future. 

They are just two pieces of the same phenomenon, impossible to separate. They always meant to be, because every sea needs its shore, and every shore covets its sea. 

It’s the rules of nature - and with nature, humanity can’t argue.

So, the tides of their bodies crash into each other. Every gentle movement of his lips against hers is like the long-awaited drops on her heated sand, every inexperienced slide of their tongues is filling his missing waters with the new soil.

It’s happening, her trembling body leaves the footsteps of their kiss in her sand. 

It’s happening, his goosebumps create the water circles of his erratic heartbeat.It’s happening, their kiss washes away all their thoughts.

AND

 Everything just fell into place. 

They are parallels never meant to collide, but breaking the rules of the universe, they always meet in the middle. Annie and Armin have the same start, the A as the spot of their rendezvous. Their date is limited to one letter, only to depart in their universe with different sounds.

He is the pleasant exhalation, the lack of vowels, the crash of waves with the extended N like a perfect piano pitch floated in the rising sun. 

She is the bird’s song of the early spring morning, the repeating vowels, and the continuous N sound like the infinite whisper of the sand pattern.

They're different, but they begin with the same tonality. 

They're different, but their names muse together, like the light shivers offshore through the tide of the sea. 

He knew her body like a musician knew his instrument. The curve of her waist was like the graceful smoothness of the clef; each dimple on her lower back was the piano key he knew exactly how and when to press to create a pitch of her beautiful whimpers; each rib a guitar string, pleading with the softest chords under his calloused fingers when he is in search for a melody of her heart; he could name each mole on her skin with his eyes closed like the dearest and memorized to the last digit sheet music painted the rhythm of her body over his mind; her thighs like a violin, the intonation of her beauty so close to the perfection he is playing with the only true condition - with love.

Different, but this is how nature is. Opposites attract and fight for their chance to change the already written truths.

From My yellow light in your soft whispers (based only on posted chapter 1) (but it's a lot, WOW!)

Her throat fires with the dry winds of suffocating, and the bizarre construct of words appears in her mind in a weird, erratic dance of senses as she’s looking at the man, who sacrificed his everything for the sake of tomorrow, erased his today, and forgot his yesterday. So vulnerable, brave, fragile, and strong, Armin is showing this side of him that only her has witnessed. Only her has tamed, only her hands have deep cuts of the tight embrace of the comfort, only her ears and the distant light of the moon hold his tears, and only her heart knows all his battles. 

AND

His back an open field of the still fuming battlefield with the smoke of his bright enthusiasm burning in flames of the cruelty of this world, the dry branches of the burnt beliefs all around like the barbed wire, and the blood, all unspoken wishes of his fallen comrades whittle away his posture.

AND

Armin knew all of it.

AND

Years passed and all their firsts were already a precious echo of time so distant, but not forgotten. However, with the steady rhythm of their life together, comes the most natural thing ever - the realization that each "I love you" doesn't taste like first, but the beauty of every day "I love you" feels natural as breathing.

From Golden hour of our forevor

His love for her may be the sunset itself, the everyday promise of another morning with the bright rays of the new, rested sun after the velvet touch of the night, each intense blaze of colors - gentle pinks, rich oranges, vibrant purples - the poetry of his heart from the flame to the soothes warmth, each verse is the rays chasing the stars. And even if poets already describe with all the lyrical possibility what love really is, he knows that whenever it’s real - nobody could find the words so right and so full to convey what sets their heart afire with the myriads of emotions living inside. 

AND

People say the golden hour is the magic hour, the evenings of the ethereal dream from heaven, sprayed like the angel’s stardust among the shadow silhouettes. And only among the slipping beauty of the never-stopping life, it’s possible to find the unmasked happiness, riding on the radiant rays of the dying sun like the manifest that even something so beautiful can’t freeze the flow of time to cement the perfect memento, but the sixty diamonds minutes of the pure fairy tale is worth of living the limited forever. 

💥 What is one canon thing that you wish you could change?

Hm, not to change, but to add. Aruani sweet interactions, hugs, kisses, all this jazz :D

But, well, no, one thing I would change for real. It's Eremika kiss. I just wish for them, it wouldn't happen the way...it happened (I love the angst and feels, but I just want them to be happy, so they could to vibe with Aruani in Switzerland...).

We don't have Aruani kiss, but we have Eremika's, but at what cost...

👻 What is your wildest headcanon?

You know, it all depends on what is considered wild... And I'm terrible at this stuff, if the question would be more specific like about kiss or nsfw - I would tell you, but wildest...

I would share just my headcanon, that is not really headcanon, but the thing that I like, okay?

I really like Armin-Historia being siblings or very close friends, if AU has them as siblings, I start giggling like a child who received their favorite sweet.

[eyes-inthe-skies]

can u rank all the saw movies? or at least the ones u saw (pun intended)?

Thanks for my first asked and for being my #1 fan of all time!!

Luckily I actually just had a conversation with my friend Abt this that sees me prepared for this task I'm about to overcomplicate.

(Post Script: God I went on for a while strap in gang)n

1: Saw X (possibly the objectively Greatest Saw movie. Tobin Bell is fascinating to watch bring humanity to this murderer, Shawnee Smith is so beloved and I LOVE the kills in this one. Top teir)

2: Saw 2004 (Classic, what's to be said that hasn't already been said. Carey Elwes does a rly bad American accent, Shawnee Smith makes Amanda the single most iconic woman in fiction just by sitting there. This movie caused me a lot of distress as a child and that fascinated me so thoroughly that I think it may have been a defining moment of my horror fanatasism despite not watching the full film till a decade later. I could go on.)

3: Saw 6 (I don't know if this is controversial or not, but Saw 6 is genuinely a high point of the series to me. I love watching William Eastons trap plot, which is not something I can say for most other Saw films. And that fucking ending man! Saw 6 is very personal to me in that I too would love to stab the man who killed my father with hydrochloric acid filled needles and watch him melt from the outside. Very fun scenes with John, Hoffman getting his mouth ripped open is hot, etc etc)

4: Saw 3 ( only reason this isn't 3 Is because Jeff makes me chew through pencils I hate this guy. People are NOT JOKING ABOUT THE YURI. ITS ACTUALLY REAL. I love love lOVED Amanda in this movie, I don't think I blinked the entire time, I love seeing everything crash down around her and John until there's nothing left but blood and bones and flesh, and not a single soul went to heaven that night, etc etc.)

5: Saw 4 (I don't know why but I love saw 4 actually, I think Hoffman, strahm, Perez and Rigg were all rly fun to watch. I love the spy x spy ass soap opera plot. I LOVED seeing Eric Matthews head get exploded between two ice blocks. FUCK YES. Again this trap plot I actually really dig which helps with the watchability of the thing, plus Hoffman hot who said that)

6: Saw 2 (I know this is insane I know I wish I liked this movie more but the only good thing is setting up Amanda as jigsaws successor, some nice time with John kramer being a cunty old man, and also establishing I hate Donnie whalbergs stupid fucking face. Don't at me.)

7: Saw 5 (I literally don't remember what happened in saw v. I had to look it up. It's honestly not the worst, Hoffman and Strahm are pretty enjoyable once again, but it's completely unremarkable, I don't have anything to say Abt this movie.)

8: Jigsaw (Trap plot makes me want to rip my own eyes out. "Plot twist" is dumb and falls apart. Fucking. Jigsaws Nephew. Whatever man.)

9: Saw 3d (Probably one of the worst actual movies I've seen. I love Larry coming back don't get me wrong, he's very cunty, you know. But they literally barely use him till the end, which is a mistake. The fucking Bobby Dagan plot could've been interesting but it wasn't due to him being not at all helpful and the end is genuinely maddening. Also I HATE THE HOME DEPOT TRAP GRRR GRR DO YOU JESR ME GRRGRE)

Spiral- I have not seen spiral.

[gravitytrips]

(Same anon who asked to post their ramble.)

Scout was screwed. Royally fucking screwed. Hands were shoved into drawers, frantically searching, shaking, sweat dripping down his skin as he desperately looked for his next hit. He knew he had to have some of it somewhere, he knew that because he needed it, because he couldn’t live without it, and if his past self left him empty handed again he might just strangle himself to give some sort of point because damnit he needed to be more prepared for these kinds of things. He threw whatever was in there out of the compartment; he threw books, he threw pencils, he threw stickers and pieces of paper and rolls of bandages and cords and needles and syringes until he dumped out the entire drawer and found nothing. He was beginning to panic, beginning to panic more than he already was before, because that was where he always hid his stash, that’s where it had to have been, and if it wasn’t there then it wasn’t anywhere and he couldn’t possibly be out because he was sick and he hated being sick and he needed to be normal and he needed to feel good again and he—

There. It was right there, in the next drawer down, a tiny ziplock bag containing all his hopes and dreams, everything he ever lived for etched into the powder held inside the plastic. He could tell there was none left for a second hit, and after this he was screwed, truly screwed: none of this frantic searching bullshit would be able to save him. But fuck if he cared. Fuck if he ever cared. Because in that tiny pouch contained his ticket to happiness, his ticket to success, his ticket to everything that would make him whole again. He would be normal. He needed to be normal, even if just for an inconsequential blip of time.

Snatching it like a falcon pouncing on its prey, he opened up its insides, hand fumbling for his spoon and his lighter before he grabbed a syringe and his cord and wrapped it around his arm. He had stolen the thing from the Engineer while the man was in one of his sporadic bouts of slumber, none the wiser to what was going on, and while of course he felt bad he knew he was doing it because he needed it so maybe it was okay. He had a bag of cotton balls he used when he wanted to be careful, when he wanted to inject the right way, but injecting the right way didn’t matter to him at that moment so he didn’t. Setting everything up was quick. It was easy. It was fine. He was going to be fine. He had a syringe full of euphoria, and nothing else mattered in that moment.

However, for just a moment, he had a sense of clarity. He was broke, ass broke, and after this hit he didn’t know where he’d find another one. Their paychecks came in 5 days, and he couldn’t wait it out for 5 days. He couldn’t be sick like this for 5 days, sweating through his clothes and shaking and yawning and sniffling and sobbing and aching and feeling like utter shit. He had just emptied out one of his drawers, and what if someone decided to come in and saw all of it, saw everything out in the open like that, with him in the center of it all? Were his doors locked, were his windows locked? Had he made any noise, any sounds, any smells? Shit, was he addicted?

But fuck, it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter because as soon as that needle was thrusted into his arm, as soon as he pulled the plunger until blood pooled in the syringes barrel, as soon as that brown tar entered his veins, he was in heaven. A smile danced across his lips, a heavy one, a droopy one, and he fell onto the bed, ripping the instrument out from his flesh, body too numb to remember where it went. It was like he was back at home, back in his mothers arms all the way in Boston, held and coddled and wrapped and swaddled like a baby, told it was all going to be okay. He didn’t have any more money and he was out of smack so if he couldn’t find a way to get more fast he was fucked and if that happened his coworkers were bound to realize something was wrong soon enough, but none of that mattered. None of that mattered because he felt good. He felt great. He felt like nothing could ever touch him, because up was down and left was right and water was red and fire was blue and the devil was good and god was bad but fuck, he felt amazing. None of it mattered.

SHAKING YOU AND SCREAMING.

THIS IS REALLY GOOD.

Substance abuse is a plot that is very underused with Scout angst. It is VERY well written as well.

you should post it on your main page!!! @ me if you do :)