#poor pom dude

[thatonepikminperson]

Going through the pikmin 4 soundtrack and the name of this song kinda got sadder when I thought of it from the perspective of my time loop fic

Like normally it’s a “omg let’s go fate” kinda feeling

but with the time loop it’s a resigned “it’s fate I suppose.”

Yes I love my fic that much ❤️

[toptophat]

2.6 thoughts!!!!

Spoilers for anyone who hasn't finished it yet!

It was a freaking blast, a rollercoaster of emotions, I honestly thought that Mr Reca, with how cuckoo he was in the trailer, was gonna be the antagonist, turns out he's a quirky memokeeper (who may still have his motives but for now he was definitely an ally) I guess, much like the galaxy rangers, there is no uniform, because I honestly thought they all would have some resemblance to Black Swan, but I can't wait to see more memokeepers, as well as more galaxy rangers

Speaking of galaxy rangers, ok!! Rappa and Boothill were the real protagonists here!!!! Poor trailblazer became a side character to these two champions and I love it!!! I've already made it clear that I adored Rappa from the moment her drip marketing dropped, I initially found her strange way of referring to everything as ninja stuff hilarious and quirky, I thought "are all galaxy rangers gonna talk funny?" But that was my first impression, now I wanna [forking] cry!!! I was already skeptical of this "Master Kucha" from the way he spoke! I didn't know that he was basically like the only parental figure she had, she's one of Dr Primitive's (Evil Ninja Osaru) test subjects in a hidden lab (Ninja capital) having to undergo harmful tests and torture (Ninja trials) this, coupled with the fact that her only source of free time and entertainment has been a ninja manga, she may have developed some sort of mental/ identity disorder, she's been living in a fabricated reality and no one can help her because they don't see the full picture, even her backstory has been distorted by her own retelling making her some sort of unreliable narrator in her own story. Dr Primitive is truly a despicable monster, torturing people and distorting an innocent girl's mind. There's a bright side to this tragedy though! That innocent girl is now our Rappa, and although her mind has been messed with, she still became a righteous galaxy ranger, kindhearted, unmatched skill, hellbent on hunting down the cruel doctor and she definitely lives up to that title too!!! So I'm rooting for her!!! And the moment we got to fight alongside her at the end after hearing "No Dazzle No Break" was gorgeous (can't wait to finish building her so she can continue to show them the way of the ninja!)

Once I finish reading her character story, I'll make a further analysis

Speaking of which, I'm actually gonna make 2!! One for both of our stars of the show, Rappa and Boothill, two people who had to revisit their past, and come to terms with their present and future, living up to the ways of The Hunt! I already deeply respect these two, the more I get of them, the more I can't help but respect them more!!! And I'm definitely excited to get more of them!! Galaxy rangers are the best!!

Boothill's up first because obviously I've already read his backstory so his POV was like an added 5 course meal!!! But I do wanna talk about his best moments (aside from the obvious highlight that blew me away) Firstly, we got more of Boothill the identity stealer (First Pom Pom now March 7th???) Actual Robinhill moments??? (I'm more of a GunsNRoses person now but it's still really cute) The way he was so relieved that he could "fake swear" again instead of the banana cussing was hilarious, Star Rail don't do this to my man, at least give him the "Ninja slang" treatment, let him swear 😭😭 And Boothill owned the dancefloor in the DJ Robin cutscene!!! We have a rapping ninja and a dancing cowboy, could this get any better!!! And obviously, there's the Lore!!!! Which was actually insane !!! I literally wanted to avoid spoilers in order to experience it blindly and it was worth it!!!! I wanted to [fudging] cry, it was so well done!! Andrew Russell and Kendell Byrd knocked it out of the park with their scenes!!! I freaking love Boothill and Rappa so much 😭😭😭 they're both life my dude!!!

This is just what I needed!!!

[oogaboogaspookyman]

@sm-baby

I COULD BE HAPPY WITH SOMEONE NEW BUT MY HEART ACHES

[JUST FOR YOU]

It's been a while, hasn't it?

The office door creaks open

"Heya Pom! Brought back the paper i asked you yesterday?" Jax sounded so cheery. So happy while you just sat there on the chair like a drunkard... Well he's not a romance guy, of course he would be happy on his own. Damn rabbit.

"Not a word? What, still miss Sir Dentures?" He chuckles. He doesn't stop chuckling. What a clown... Thinks the jester. Ironic.

"Hm..."

His smile fades into a sincere frown.

Sigh

"Look here, Pom... It was necessary. He's free, paid for restoring us, we're all good now. No more murder and i got my nice charming scarf back and my favorite brushes, i'm the cool art teacher again!"

"So turn the dumb frown upside down aaaand please give me the paper i asked you? Please and thank you?"

"You're not a romance guy, of course you're fine. [___]hole..."

...

Oh...

"Oh for the love of- the censor is still here?! God darn it, i wanna say the f word for once! I loved doing that!"

You grip onto the table until it began to crack at the memory of him. Him, him, him. That stupid fucking human.

"Pom you may wanna lay off the grip there, i paid a lot for tha-"

A chunk is crushed. Like paper.

...

"Ah..."

Pomni lets go, revealing the chokehold put on the table left a permanent mark.

"Did ya dissociate again? I spoke well 'n clear, i paid a lot for that one!"

"Suck me, rabbit, you can get your s[__]t yourself" Pomni gets up and storms off from the office with no more words.

"Eh... Christ she's not okay..." Jax sighs

"Wonder if things coulda been better?"

Nobody helps at all.

Gangle offered to distract her, have a play, but Pomni wasn't in the mood.

Zooble offered a smoke but she didn't wanna try that kind of stuff.

Bubble is too much of an agent of chaos to give a shit, offered to commit "one (1) arson".

Kinger is just too far gone in his dementia, lucid when it was fucking funny and nothing more...

Nobody helps.

He knew how to help...

Only he knew...

Him...

The door to Ragatha's room creaks open

"Oh hey Pomni! How's your day go... Oh..." Ragatha notices Pomni is not any form of happy, if anything she looks like she's empty inside and wants to die...

"Oh you're not alright... Would you like to talk over tea..?"

"Mm... Will you let me vent properly?" Pomni groaned, still doubting that she won't pull out the whole everything is fine bullshit

"Oh- u-uhm- yes of- of course! Of course, i- i apologize for my past behavior, i really wasn't in my... B- best moments, at the time..." Ragatha stuttered. Don't stutter, you pretentious... ... Anyhow.

"Okay... Do you remember... Caine?" Ragatha already caught wind of the situation...

"The human with the dentures head? Yes, i remember him just fine, he restored us..."

"Yeah..."

"He was a good man, although didn't have the best manners he was alright nonetheless, knew how to make some laugh..." Ragatha and Pomni chuckled at the memory of Caine's wacky way with words. Jumping jellybeans? Seriously? That's a man right there!

A good dude...

"..." Pomni's pupils turned into black scribbles at the thought of him. The chuckling had faded as soon as it started, replaced by...

"I loved that human, if i'm being honest... He knew how to cheer me up, how to make the situation seem less bigger than it actually is... He knew how to kiss, god did he know..." Ragatha let out an "oh my" after hearing Caine kissed her, what else did they do..?!

"He... He was... He's amazing. Just that, amazing..." Pomni sighed, sipping on the tea she's given... "I loved him..." She began to sniff, putting down her cup.

"Oh dearie, come here-" Ragatha put down her cup and welcomed Pomni with open arms, knowing full well she needed to let it out of her system.

And that she did. Pomni got up and hugged Ragatha as tight as she could, and began to sob her lonely heart away, "He loved you too, Pomni, that cannot be denied..." Ragatha spoke as she held Pomni close. The poor jester, so alone...

How ironic.

She has friends, and yet she's lonely.

Caine had filled up a hole nobody could fill, and now that he's gotten out of the game after restoring everyone to their better conditions... That hole is empty once more, a gaping void and nothing to fill it.

How lonely this jester must be...

But it was necessary. He's free now.

[revenantpoet]

I've done it

It's taken, like, six weeks to get them all made between covid and my life falling apart, so they need more polishing, trimming, etc. but I'm too excited not to share a terrible pic! Trigun pom pom squishmallows aka pommallows exist! What I love about these is that they're sturdier than the ones with more parts and dense. For example, it takes more than a skein of yarn to make the lorge creechur. By dense, I mean dense. And after seeing how the other pom pom plushies are, er... violently loved by cats in particular I wanted to design something that puts up with more abuse (within reason, they are still handmade).

So, yes! Creechur Trimax Vash (large and regular), Stampede Vash, Knives (all with the option to have mouths like the top one), '98/Trimax thoma, and Stampede thoma. I'm still very, very ill, it will take me like a week to make any of these dudes so I won't list them yet, but they're coming

Also, poor-quality pics (terrible colors) of the Kuroneko WIP! She needs more polishing and the pink in her ears, but she'll have options :3

[goldom]

We're told that the Blue Hour is where people go on dates.

When I heard that, I was imagining things like beautiful scenery and privacy.

From what people are saying, (leaks maybe) we're going there in 2.3. And they're also saying the 40-day event this time is themed around playing games.

If those are true and connected, I misunderstood. It's the Golden Saucer.

If they wanted to, they could totally complete the comparison. We have obvious options for beautiful mystery girl, childhood friend girl (though it's possible both could fit either description!), male, and living doll. (Though every guy is too hot to be a joke result like Barrett, and Pom can't leave the train...) Gotta say, if it were a choice, I'd be seriously tempted to bring poor Pommy, little dude needs a vacation. But uh sorry buddy, maybe next time cause yknow.

Hooowever if this were the case, the analogy between the two games' beautiful mystery girl category does not bode well.

[envelopesofbadluck]

What to get these guys

~Misfortune~

-Colored paper

-More clothes because man only owns like 2-3 sets of outfits

-Cat toys work lmao

-Stuff for his hair it's a mess

-Knitting supplies, he used up all of his

-A FLIPPING TRACKING COLLAR /j

-Hair blower

-Claw trimmer

-He'll take anything you think of probably

-Dude can also use a schedule planner

-He likely likes pieces made from crafts like woodwork, sculptings, etc

~Pom~

-Get this poor dude some cough syrup and such the winter's really been kicking his butt

-A cookbook with apple recipes as a way of tricking him into eating more than just apples

-Arson stuff (don't let misfortune know)

-A schedule planner (dude gets distracted a lot)

-Something to just keep him busy

-BOOKS ON HOW TO TAKE CARE OF CHILDREN PROPERLY

~Emperor~

-Baby toys

-Blocks

-Things to bite on...a lot of things to bite on

-New outfits

-Plushies

-A flipping baby monitor for his room for Misfortune's sake

~things to get the family as a whole~

-GET THEM TECHNOLOGY IN GENERAL THEIR WORLD LITERALLY HAS NONE (no tvs, no tablets, no laptops or computers, they don't need each of these just a tv and some sort of internet thingy, and a phone for misfortune would be helpful with tracking him as well)

~Stitches (Amalgam Wally)

-Appols

-Sewing kit

-Craft supplies

-Oil paint

-This man also needs something for his hair

-Chew toys

-Try to avoid giving plushies he will tear them apart

[waynes-multiverse]

I don't know what to say other than I loved this fucking part even more! 😭🥹🩵🩷

And dear God, teenage Dean surely needed his own goddamn warning! Here's the amount of times I wanted to spray him with water 😂👇

The whole situation bites. Sucks. He should be out there helping find whatever killed his mom, but they say they know better. That he needs an education. And if he doesn’t play house with Sam and Bobby? Then he loses the car, and he’s not losing the car.

Of course they got him with the threat of the car. For adult Dean this was already horror, but for a teenage boy? The horror! Extinction-level dread! 😆

The "Nobody puts Baby in a crusher" line also had me dead 🤣

The dweebs, Sammy’s crowd

God, his descriptions of the high school kids are glorious 😂 The judgment and disdain is unreal. But poor Dean, I feel bad he never got to fit in and be the high school jock with all the cheerleader arm candy he was truly born to be with that face and charm 😝 (But on the other hand, that surely made his heart a little bigger and kinder 💚)

Still, he can’t. John threw the last ‘64 he rented in the trash.

Whyyyyyy?????

Her name tag says her first name’s Beverly, but they just met and it’s too soon for a first-name basis, and a grin tugs at Dean’s mouth. “Whatever you want it to be, sweetheart,” he says. He can’t help himself. Not when a group of pretty cheerleaders stand right behind him, giggling and shaking their pom-poms. It’s a crime they’re allowed to wear such short skirts to school, but at least them being up close makes his day somewhat better. 

Yes, my point above exactly 😆

And just like you nailed kid!Dean's personality, you're also nailing the unashamed cockiness of teen!Dean's and the vulnerability underneath both. This whole story is so wonderful, Beth! 😭

His nose tingles under the weight of it, but it means little.

Hmmm, his nose tingled, you say? I wonder why... 🤓

It’s like she’s never seen a dude in a leather jacket before. Never seen a car as cool as his.

God, you're an idiot 😆🙈 Can Bobby smack him over the head, please?

And I can't believe this whole thing went on for a week lmao

He wants to roll his eyes, and he almost does, but he knows doing so will stop him from getting any further with this girl, and he’s worked so hard to get her here.

Seriously, someone smack this boy... I can't with him 😂 I hope reader blows some sense back into that horny brain lmfao

Not him. Nope. The music they all listen to is trash, and he is not going to surround himself with it on a Friday night just to get some action. His hand’ll do just fine with the memories of her tit.

DEAN!!! MY GOD 🤣🤣🤣

“Did John give ya a curfew I should know about?” his ‘uncle’ says across from him. Bottle of beer in his hand.

Oh, so we have graduated to the defiant air quotes around "uncle", huh? I love the development of this compared to kid!Dean. Such a nice and clever touch! 🤓

Algebra ain’t going to help him gank no ghost.

Bless him. At least he pretty lol

How the hell does he know that? Unless…Sammy. That’s the last time he picks him up from school. Kid can ride his bike, rain or shine.

I can't quote this whole goddamn fic, but his inner monologue has me just rolling and grinning throughout with these little things 😂🩵

And I love that he dug out the old bike again! It's nostalgia within the nostalgia 😍

Huh. It’s been a while. He wonders what happened to you? Did you skip town? Do you go to school with him now, and he just hasn’t run into you yet?  Maybe you’re at the party? One of Melinda’s friends, though you would’ve said something if he knew them, and none of their names match yours.

I don't know why, but I teared up a little. My heart keeps warning me of something, and it may be the feeling that reader got a little hurt when she watched him fool around with all these cheerleaders during the week. I bet she had a different vision of the sweet boy she once knew 🥲

You blink. Those eyes. Those brows.  “You’re—” “Hi Dean,” you say with a thin smile, and then, as if his recognition fuels you, that confident tone he’s just remembered, the one that once took his juice box, has you adding, “Took you long enough.”

Aaaaah that ending!!! I need to know what happens next! Don't do this to me!

And God, my heart hurts for reader somehow, and I might be waaayyyy overshooting here and she's actually completely fine and amused about it. But I have a feeling Dean not recognizing her instantly like she recognized him and having his head up short skirts instead might have hurt a little 😭 As in "clearly you didn't find me attractive enough to notice" and I wanna hug her and tell her it's hormones and boys are fucking lame and stupid at this age. Oh the pain I will suffer till Part 3... *sighs dramatically with an eye roll like a teenager and drags her feet back to her room, slamming the door shut*

IF YOU LEAVE

Chapter 2: Left of Center

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Dean Winchester x Reader

In the spring of 1988, Dean meets the girl of his dreams. He just doesn't know it yet. 3.5k words

Tags: Dean as a teenager (he’s a bit of a dirtbag), Bobby trying to parent, language, flirting, 80s & 90s pop culture references

Mood-board by @chevroletdean for #chevroletdean’s 500 😘

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

March, 1997

Being back at Bobby’s is exactly as Dean remembers it. Either the Sioux Falls house is stuck in some time loop or the objects and dust littered throughout the rooms are stuck with glue or something else. Anything’s plausible.

Even the liquor bottles and trash don’t appear to have moved over the last nine years, though he knows that’s not true. He was here two weeks ago when John arranged all this. He saw both men drink from the bottle of Jack still on the kitchen table as they discussed his life and future.

The whole situation bites. Sucks. He should be out there helping find whatever killed his mom, but they say they know better. That he needs an education. And if he doesn’t play house with Sam and Bobby? Then he loses the car, and he’s not losing the car.

It’s extortion. The threat, insulting. Nobody puts Baby in a crusher. 

Besides, John already handed over the keys on his birthday. She’s been in his name ever since. That’s two whole months, give or take, and there’s just gotta be some hoodoo superstition against giving someone something, then taking it back, right?

He pulls her into the carpark, furthest as he can away from all the Civics and Bugs taking up the asphalt. Shifts her into P. Cuts the engine, and that’s when he first hears the trills, grunts and hoots from his soon-to-be peers. 

Just great. This place is a zoo. No wait, zoo animals are better behaved. Hell, he’d prefer a haunted, crazy-house 

There’s the jocks with their green and gold sports-team jackets. The cheerleaders, matching them, but with hot, perky tits, and gloss, not so bad. The dweebs, Sammy’s crowd, and the loner kids paving their own way at the back of the pack, heads down in books and Game Boys. They make the stoners look alive, and, no; you know what, they might actually be alright. He’d rather be playing a bit of Zelda right about now, too. 

Still, he can’t. John threw the last ‘64 he rented in the trash. Luckily, they skipped that town soon after and he didn’t have to pay for the late fees. Like he would’ve. 

With a heavy sigh, his fingers grip the lip of his backpack, dragging it out of the car with him, flinging the weight of his text-books over his shoulder, pulling the muscle.

“Dude, that your ride?” someone asks, but he ignores them, and elbows tucked in at his side, pushes through the horde or hormones and sweat to the office, well away from whoever that was.

It’s best to just get this over with.

“Name?” the admin assistant, Mrs Heady, asks down her rectangle glasses. 

Her name tag says her first name’s Beverly, but they just met and it’s too soon for a first-name basis, and a grin tugs at Dean’s mouth. “Whatever you want it to be, sweetheart,” he says.

He can’t help himself. Not when a group of pretty cheerleaders stand right behind him, giggling and shaking their pom-poms. It’s a crime they’re allowed to wear such short skirts to school, but at least them being up close makes his day somewhat better. 

Luckily, this time, he’s learned something from John. How to conceal his…gun, because the girls giggle louder and it goes straight there.

He turns around and winks at the blonde closest to him. 

She blushes. Turns in turn to her friends and shakes with laughter. Lips glossy and pursed and eyes fixed on him as she whispers something to the girl with the ringlets. He wags his brows at her.

“Hi,” he mouths, but the third girl pushes them to the corner next to some trophies covered in dust, and—

“Son. I need your name.” Mrs Heady snaps him out of his trance with a poke from something he only feels on instinct from his jacket, shifting ‘round his ribs. 

His reflexes are too sharp, though, and now more eyes are on him and the way he holds the ruler she had hidden behind her desk in his hands. Vice-like grip, looking like a prayer over the self defence it’s meant to be.

“Winchester,” he gives, and lets go of the damned thing to hold his arms by his sides. He shrinks into his jacket. Shoulders droop, chin dips. “Dean.” He clears his throat. 

More giggles in the background retrieve his smirk. 

“Dean,” she says, then repeats, again, and again as she flicks through her files only to find his name on top in the end, anyway. “Here we are. Mrs Truman’s homeroom. B - twelve. You’ve got music up first.”

She hands him a timetable. He glances over it. Math, biology, English. Just great. Two months of this. 

He scrunches the paper and shoves it into his backpack so he can round up the ladies. “So,” he takes a couple of steps closer and loops his arm over the girl with the ringlets’ shoulders. “Care to show a guy around the school?”

Dean’s cheek still rings where cheerleader two slapped him. He nurses it in his left hand as he opens the door with his right, stepping into his homeroom with a little more apprehension than he cares to admit. 

It’s musky here. As dusty as the trophies in the office, only full of more kids, all staring at him as he walks over to the teacher, also looking him up and down. 

Okay, it’s not so different. He definitely shrinks a few more inches, and gives himself a once over, checking he’s still wearing his clothes. 

He is. So is the same blonde cheerleader sitting in the front row. Her smile, much sweeter than it was before. Her lashes batting against freckle dusted cheeks as quick as she had to have been to beat him here.

“You must be Winchester,” Mrs Truman says, and Dean brings his attention back to her with a click of his jaw. 

“Yeah.” 

“Transferred from Colorado?”

“That’s what it says.” He wrote it yesterday morning after a sharp smack from Bobby’s hand to his shoulder.  

He knows he deserved it. Sammy was only asking about John, who pissed off the second he dropped them off, leaving him to deal with the paperwork. Both of theirs.

Just as Mrs Heady had done, Truman sees him through her glasses, only she’s looking further up on account of the height difference, even without a desk. Her greying curls shake as she points to the back of the class. “Take your seat Dean.”

He winks at blondie and proceeds down the canyon of desks and the backpacks at their owners’ feet to the sole remaining seat. It creaks as he slings his weight into it. Groans as he stretches his legs out. His sneaker taps the chair in front. Peachy. 

Most eyes revert to the blackboard at the front, but one girl’s gaze lingers longer than the rest. Her brows furrowed in concentration before he raises his at her. 

It’s not flirtatious. More of a ‘what’re you looking at,’ kind of vibe, and really, what is she looking at? He’s got nothing on his face, though he wipes it just to make sure. Palm covering the smirk from her attention, scratching over the stubble on his chin that’s already regrown. His nose tingles under the weight of it, but it means little. 

She would too if she had an audience, yet her stares continue throughout the day like she has none. Done when she thinks he’s not watching. 

He is. He’s just better at hiding it.

She does it during music. Third and fourth period, too. He’d say she’s following him, but of course, she has a schedule of her own. She has to. It’s just a small high school. Doesn’t make it any less constricting. 

His nose tingles constantly. The grape jelly at lunch lingers in his gut along with his gun from the cheerleaders, and still she stares every so often with that same crinkle of her brows. It’s like she’s never seen a dude in a leather jacket before. Never seen a car as cool as his. 

As the week rolls on, though, she blends into the crowd. At least, he doesn’t notice her stares any longer, too busy with his own on cheerleader two. 

Her name is Melinda. Her ringlets, natural. Rack is too. Dean cops a feel when she helps him catch up on his biology between fifth and sixth in the janitor’s closet on the second Wednesday. He pays her back with a hickey on her right shoulder. 

“Mark’s having a party Friday,” she whispers into his ear. Hand grips his arm when he swirls his tongue to soothe the reddened skin.

“Good for him.” His fingers squeeze her, storing away the feel of the muscle bouncing back for future use. 

She scoffs and nudges him off. Said something, too, but Dean’s fixed on the way her lip shines under what little light the bulb overhead is giving. He leans closer in and pulls the bottom one between his own to taste more cherry. Feels the warmth bubble in his gut.

“Dean.” She smacks him this time. It would pinch, but the leather of his jacket softens the blow.

“What?”

“I’m asking if you wanna go with me. It could be fun.”

He wants to roll his eyes, and he almost does, but he knows doing so will stop him from getting any further with this girl, and he’s worked so hard to get her here. Listening to her talk about Leo and some song about Barbies. He forced himself to tune in to the local radio station and all he learned was that some guy, with a voice that sounded like a chain smoker, wanted Barbie to party.

Not him. Nope. The music they all listen to is trash, and he is not going to surround himself with it on a Friday night just to get some action. His hand’ll do just fine with the memories of her tit.

“Or we could hang out. Just me and you.” His lips nip at her again. “Brady Point.”

“Braden,” she says with a whine. and that click girls do when they’re trying to be angry. It’s cute. 

“Yeah.” He swoops back in. 

“But my friends will be there.” 

And this is going nowhere.

Her eyes are as still as the rest of her, holding him as if she’d physically reached in and grabbed them. Neither blinks, but Dean tries to convince her he’s more interesting than a party at Marks. 

Turns out he’s not, and he’s left to his own devices Friday night, lounging ‘round Bobby’s, cleaning his colt.

“Did John give ya a curfew I should know about?” his ‘uncle’ says across from him. Bottle of beer in his hand. 

Just as he did in the janitor’s closet with Melinda, Dean doesn’t blink when he looks back at him. He places the barrel down, reaches for the oil and busies his hands once again. 

It’s not like he wants to be here. He’d still rather be out on the road with John, even though he threatened to take the car. At least he’d be doing something useful with his time. Algebra ain’t going to help him gank no ghost. Don’t get him started on music theory or the essay due Tuesday morning.

“What’s got your panties in a twist?” Bobby takes a swig and stands with a loud scrape of his chair over the floor. The floorboards continue to protest as he pads his way to the fridge for another. The creak of the door and the rattle of glass is obvious enough, but what Dean doesn’t expect is to be handed one, too, when he returns. 

“Even Sam’s out with the friends he made.” Bobby glares at him over the bottle, twists the cap and flings it on the table. 

Dean does the same. 

He’s mid sip when Bobby sits back down and asks, “Weren’t you seeing that cheerleader? Melissa?” 

The cold brew goes down the wrong pipe, and his fist whacks the top of his sternum. The thump drowned out by his splutter and wheeze. How the hell does he know that? Unless…Sammy. That’s the last time he picks him up from school. Kid can ride his bike, rain or shine.

He looks up at Bobby, still waiting for him to be done. His beady eyes under his cap and the specks of grey in his beard continue to point at him. 

“What do you want me to say?” Dean dares before another mouthful. Slower this time. Letting the bubbles slide down his throat, keeping his mouth and hands occupied. 

“Nothing. Not my place to give ya advice, either.” He sighs, and Dean just knows there’s a ‘but,’ coming. “You got the chance to have a normal life for a minute. Why not enjoy it?” Bobby leans into the table. There’s a split second of grouch as his face changes and his jaw tightens, humbling his pride. “I hear that Sutton kid’s throwing a party.”

And Dean chokes again. Fucking Sam. He scowls. “You want me to go get drunk with a bunch of other kids? That what you’re saying?” 

“You telling me you’re straight-laced now? Only difference between them kids and me is they’ve got smaller prostates, and don’t need to whiz every—”

“Okay. Fine,” Dean says and gulps some more beer down. Thunks it on the table with finality and stands. He pulls his jacket on and steps over to pick up Baby’s keys from where he left them. 

But, “The hell you’re driving,” stops him in his tracks and he’s heading out the door, keyless and without another word, raising his collar up to protect his neck from the night air. The screen door slams behind him.

Now what? He doesn’t even know where the party is, let alone how he’s going to bust it to this guy’s house without his car. School’s a ten-minute drive from here, and chances are, Mark’s place is further still, and there’s no way he’s walking that far. 

He digs his boots in the dirt. Smushes the grass tufts, scattering the powder, blackened by the sky, and looks around. Cars, whole ones, shells of them, and stars as far as the eye can see surround him. But also under the shed, poking out behind the pole closest to him, the rim of a thin tire catches his eye. 

It’s the same place they used to keep their bike, not Sam’s new one - he stole that - but the one Bobby fixed up all those years ago. 

Of course, he’s grown, but the thing looks tiny. Creaks under his hands when he tugs it out. The bars are rusty and he can feel the coarse, flaky metal against his fingertips. Even the rubber handles have disintegrated. 

Out of its confines, he lifts his leg over and straddles the middle bar. Wheels it back and forth under him. He places his ass on the seat, and, yeah, there’s no way he can ride this thing like this, but if he stands, it’s possible. 

Shaky.

Rickety.

Yet before he knows it, he’s peddling down the path just the same. Gravel flicks up against his jeans, but it’s freeing. That wind in his hair. Breeze on his cheeks. The way his jacket swings behind him like a cape as he leans over the handlebars. The same ones Sammy used to ride on. 

Laughter. Fun. Bat signals. Ninja turtles. His mind goes back to a time when he shared it all with you that one spring. What was he, nine?

Huh. It’s been a while. He wonders what happened to you? Did you skip town? Do you go to school with him now, and he just hasn’t run into you yet? 

Maybe you’re at the party? One of Melinda’s friends, though you would’ve said something if he knew them, and none of their names match yours. Not even the middle name Mary, like your mom. You sure were long winded. Could blow the biggest bubbles in your shakes. 

God, he’s a dweeb. His nostalgia, pulling at his heart strings, buzzing his nose, and steering the bike to the old arcade ‘cause why not. 

Whirs. Dings. Whistles. Like Bobby’s, it hasn’t changed one bit. The jingles made by synthesisers are as familiar as Baby’s rumble. The soundtrack trying to overcome it all hasn’t let up its 80s tunes either, and Dean strides through the tinted doors to the riff of Kenny Loggins’ Danger Zone. He’s pumped.

Nope. Nothing’s changed, alright. 

There’s a musk to the place that he’s never been able to put his finger on, but one that’s popped up throughout his life. It’s a taste. A burn in his nostrils from dust and mould, sweaty palms, and old money that’s spent most of its life being jammed into the pockets of little boys.

Speaking of, he reaches deep into his and pulls out his leather wallet. Flips it open. Stops the just-in-case condom he keeps in there from falling out. He’s prepared, and he’s got plenty of dollar bills ready to change over.

He smooths one out, chuckles at the joke he’s made about rubbing that something else instead, and feeds the edge into the slot. Only has him grinning more. The thrill and rattle of money coming out is alright, too, and the closest to the feel of Vegas he’s gonna get without a fake ID and a broken razor.

Coin laden, he heads for Donkey Kong, the first thing he recognises - if only the sucker knew he wasn’t the main attraction any more. He bites his tongue with his newest coin-slot joke, is relieved for a moment that these things don’t spit out white tickets, and hits start.

It’s like riding the bicycle. All floods back. He even gets to the second level on the first go, but then Mario drops the hammer on himself and then is hit by a barrel. Totally not his fault. Totally, he tries again.

It mightn’t be as advanced as modern, 3D Mario or Zelda, but there’s an addiction for sure. He plays another, and a few more than he’s willing to admit before moving on to the next one. Has a go at all his favourites. Loses to some punk-ass junior on Time Crisis. 

“Real guns don’t work like that,” he spits over Bon Jovi’s ‘Shot Through the Heart’, and heads to the snack bar. Another piece of nostalgia, Red Vines, call his name.

By now it’s getting close to nine. Not late for a guy with no curfew, but late enough that the younger kids are calling it quits, and sweet, zero lines. 

He steps up to the counter, pulls out his wallet again and looks straight into the eyes of the girl with the goofy hat. She’s not wearing it now, though. Hair pulled up off her face and neck. He just recognises the furrowed brow, and his raise in unison. 

Great. “Hey,” he says. Mutters, more like. 

He avoids her stare and concentrates on the candy before him, picking up two packets of the red licorice and a box of Milk Duds. “Can I get a root beer, too?” He smiles out of politeness, but it’s reserved, and lacks its usual charm. He straightens when she continues to stare and startles as much as she does when she realises.

“Ah, sure.” She turns on the soundtrack’s newest changeover, a slow synthetic drumbeat that’s as almost familiar as the way her hairline pulls at her neck below her pink blouse. 

It can’t be. It’s too coincidental. He finds that bike only to think of the girl he once knew, and there she is, just like that? All this talk of hoodoo, but it is the same town, the same arcade?

Nah. Coincidence. That’s all this is. Pure coincidence. These thoughts and memories about the girl he once knew messing with his brain more and more…until she turns around again and he really looks at her. At you.

He looks at you. 

And if this all hasn’t wigged him out already, the guy, swooning over the stereo says something about always being friends someday.

His finger points in your direction and it’s not just for telling you what else he wants to buy. 

You blink. Those eyes. Those brows. 

“You’re—”

“Hi Dean,” you say with a thin smile, and then, as if his recognition fuels you, that confident tone he’s just remembered, the one that once took his juice box, has you adding, “Took you long enough.”

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

Am I running with that one random line Dean made about Zelda, somewhere in the show? You bet I am ✌️

I know I put five chapters down in the Masterlist, but I ended this chapter earlier than intended because it seemed like a better spot than I’d planned, so there might be another yet, time will tell.

Did you know a Dean in high school? Did you date someone like him? I had way too much fun writing him as a horny teenager 😂 let’s see how they get along now 😘

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If you’d like to be added, you can add yourself HERE, or if you’d like to be removed, please let me know ☺️

[crowithy]

Random oc fact

Pom Saltatrix has a fursona, it's a KodKod that's part fish

(Cod is a type of fish, so codkod Get it? No the fish isn't cod but i couldn't pass down adding more fishy puns to this guy. Poor dude hates fish and yet he has a fish motif)

[thatonepikminperson]

Yeah so Pom hates being called Leo so much that she tries to get the others to call her Pom instead. This doesn’t work, aside from the exception of Dingo

[calronhunt]

OC post July 11th 2023:

Thinking about Oisin's story more and man. This poor dude. His whole life is essentially being treated as worthless until he suddenly becomes useful to someone in which case hes the best guy on the planet.

Siobhan (his mother) loves him but wishes he had never been born because her life would be so much better. Only starts connecting with him when Roark dies so he has a shot at being the next king and returning status to her.

Pom (the stoat) wants to use Oisin to gain power in the court specifically to destroy the people that punished her. When Oisin loses his grace she treats him so much worse because he doesn't have that power anymore

His bf (who doesn't have a name yet) literally did not care about him until he had a shot at being the king in which case he became a lot more tolerant and encouraging of Oisin's advances. Hoping to grab status himself.

So what im saying is, Oisin's having a hashtag good time

[iliaclwrites]

hi! eddie x cheerleader during lunch where mike, lucas, and dustin are all like : "0-0 her????? you got her???? how?? this is fake right?? he paid you, right???" and she's just like "no? and they ask for proof and she rolls her eyes and shows them her tiny "e" [for eddie] tattoo and they're like "wow! but it could stand for anything. we need more" so eddie is like fuck it and stand on the table and just kisses her in front of everyone

wow i got carried away- ily <3

"What's his favourite colour?"

"Red," you said dully, looking at your nails. Shit, was your ring finger chipped? You chewed the nail, looking up at Dustin.

"What's his favourite food?" he demanded, and you sighed.

"Mashed potatoes and chilli," you responded, and then paused. "But he also really loves the monster shakes you can get at the deli," she added, furrowing her brows. "And raspberry white chocolate cookies. That boy's a bottomless pit."

"What's his favourite book?"

"The Return of the King," you said, scratching at your nose. "Especially the appendices. He loves the appendices."

"Who loves the appendices?" Eddie asked, swooping down to kiss your cheek and lounge across the bench. "Ooh, are these for me?" he asked, snatching some tater tots from your plate. "You're the best, pom poms."

"You love the appendices, Eddie," you said, and he nodded, shrugging. "This little menace," you said, tossing a tater tot at Dustin, "has been quizzing me on my Eddie general knowledge."

Eddie frowned, leaning over the table to Dustin. "Huh? Why?" he asked, resting his chin on his hands.

"There's no way you're actually dating," Mike said, spreading out his hands. "Like, she's a cheerleader. You're definitely paying her to go along with this."

"Like scam," Lucas said.

You blinked. "You could not pay anyone enough," you muttered, "to listen to this asshole snore all night."

"Hey!" Eddie elbowed you in the ribs, and you huffed, clutching his forearm to your chest as he pressed a kiss to the crown of your head. "What don't you buy? I'm stunningly handsome, charming, clever, and an all-around fun-time gal. Why shouldn't I date her?" He leaned over, raising his eyebrows at them as he whispered conspiratorially, "Is it because I'm a bit out of her league? I know, poor thing."

"Eddie!" you laughed, and shook your head at him fondly. "Look, is it really so hard to believe?"

"Yes."

"Yes."

"Yes."

"Yes."

"Et tu, Gareth?" Eddie asked, and the other boy shrugged. "Okay, look, how do we have to prove this to you? This is ridiculous."

You were rolling up your sleeve, presenting them with the looping letter 'e' you had on the inside of your elbow. "I got this done drunk," you said, and raised your eyebrows at them. "Convincing enough?"

Lucas' hand came over the table and started to rub at the tattoo. "Seems real," he reported back.

"That could stand for anything. Erebor."

"Eventide."

"Enemas."

You wrinkled your nose. "I'd tattoo 'e for enemas' on my body?" you asked, before throwing your hands into the air. "I give up. You kids are ridiculous."

Eddie pointed at all of them. "Okay. Watch this, and watch closely, because I'm only going to do this once." He twisted toward you, and cupped your chin in his palm, turning your face this way and that. And then, quietly, just loud enough for you to hear, "Open up, pom poms."

He kissed you.

You clutched at his jacket in surprise, but melted quickly into his kiss, sighing happily as he stroked the nape of your neck with his long fingers. He pulled away, and raised his eyebrows at the boys, your hands still entangled in his lapels.

"Got that?" he asked.

"Ew, dude," Dustin said. "I was eating."

[titularkilljoy]

sometimes and always

//a love story in five acts

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: It's hard to resist falling into bed with a cute neighbour, but it turns out it's even harder to resist falling for him. (alternatively- Spencer Reid and the reader struggle to resolve their feelings but make valiant attempts to do so while lying horizontally in each other's beds.)

Word Count: 7k

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, strong language, decidedly non-American spelling conventions

Author's Note: SO. This fic was originally part of a fic swap for the wickedly talented @imagining-in-the-margins, but it is now over six months too late. Thankfully, patience apparently springs eternal in her?? besides all the other amazing things?? Unfair, but good for me. So, Pom, this one is for you. Thanks for being the absolute best and putting up with my rants and not judging me for mocking everything and everyone all the time. Love, Perpetually Tardy.

(i)

This is how it happened the first time.

I was frowning at the pitiful stack of mail in my hands, wondering if the conspicuously missing letters and subscriptions would ever be returned to me. Ever since moving to my new apartment, I had been at the mercy of the Postal System and that was never a good situation to be in. I’d resigned myself to having to take an extra trip back to my old building and do some investigating, when the elevator dinged and I stepped in. Just as the doors slid closed, there was the frantic rumble of footsteps and a hand slipping into the narrowing gap.

The doors sprang apart to let in the harried owner of the appendage, who barely spared me a glance before turning to face the front, eyes briefly darting to the buttons. It took me a second to recognise him. It was the guy from the apartment opposite to mine, although so far that seemed to be only a nominal living arrangement; in my two weeks there, I’d seen him exactly once, merely in passing, and we had exchanged a sum total of zero words.

I followed his lead and stopped blatantly staring at him, though I continued studying him covertly through my peripheral vision. He looked—well, his jawline looked like it could cut glass effortlessly and he had the soft chestnut hair of a male model and I knew I was probably going to develop a very embarrassing crush on him at some point— but besides that, he looked browbeaten, his whole posture seeming to buckle under the invisible weight of the world.

There was an awkward moment when he realised we were both heading in the same direction, and I took it upon myself to break the ice.

“Hi,” I greeted, introducing myself, “I just moved in. I don’t think I’ve seen you around.” I gave him my warmest smile.

His swift assessing glance would have escaped my notice if I hadn’t been paying such close attention; his expression was still shuttered off, but he offered an endearing little quirk of his lips and an introduction. “Spencer Reid. I’ve-uh, I’ve been away on a work thing.”

“Oh? What do you do?” I asked, beginning a leisurely walk down the hallway and fishing my keys out of my bag. I immediately regretted the query when, impossibly, his eyes became even more guarded.

“I’m an FBI agent.”

Well, that clipped admission would have given anyone pause. “Oh, wow. That’s really impressive, dude.”

“Thanks.” He hesitated before adding, “I’m part of the Behavioural Analysis Unit.”

“So, you’re like a psychologist?”

“I catch serial killers.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

The silence wasn’t uncomfortable so much as it was brimming with my insecurities. The alcohol in my blood helped with that, though; the next words were out of my mouth before I even registered the thought.

“Do you want to come in?”

“Oh, uh—”

He was going to say no.

“It’s just that you look like you could use some company. And I think it’s absolutely criminal that we haven’t gotten to know each other yet.”

“It’s really late.”

But he was rocking forwards on his toes just the tiniest bit, leading me to believe that some part of him did want to take me up on my offer that night.

“So it is. Come on, Agent Reid. Be a good neighbour.”

“It’s Doctor, actually,” he corrected. “Doctor Reid. I have Ph.Ds. Three of them.”

My eyebrows had risen to my hairline and, sensing the change in the air, he hurried to put me at ease. “But you can just call me Spencer.”

“Huh. You don’t hear that every day.” I chuckled sheepishly. “Well, come on in, Doctor.”

There was a moment when his whole body leaned towards me and his face looked conflicted but slightly enthusiastic, and I was convinced I could turn the night into a very pleasant one for both of us. Then, with a loud clatter, my keys slipped from my hands, startling us. The moment was broken, and I sighed in resignation.

“Let me guess, you’ve decided I’m too drunk and we’re going to go our separate ways.”

At least he had the good grace to look apologetic. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea right now,” he told me slowly as he bent down to pick up my keys and pressed them securely into my outstretched hand, “It’s late and I’ve had a long day. I’ll...see you around?”

“Sure,” I managed to say with a regretful smile, “I’m holding you to that.”

*~*

That, however, turned out to be easier said than done, for a variety of reasons, not the least of which was the Herculean feat of unpacking and organising my new place with a mild hangover and a tinge of frustration over lost opportunities looming over me. Once that was dealt with, the bigger challenge turned out to be actually locating the man in question. I knocked on his door a few times, but when the responding silence continued to persist for over a week, I began to think he’d just been a drunken hallucination in the first place. And the longer I went without any follow-up interactions, the more intensely I started overthinking the slightly fuzzy memory of our brief conversation.

Of course I’d managed to make a fool of myself in front of a really cute guy. That was absolutely in character for me. Every time I passed by his door, I convinced myself a little more that I owed him a sincere apology for my poor, inconsiderate conduct.

Beyond the embarrassment, however, work didn’t leave me much time to think about it, and by the time I was trudging to my apartment the next Saturday, the whole encounter had been relegated firmly to the back burner. Naturally, that was when the faint glow of light under his door distracted me from the very passive-aggressive email I was composing. I hesitated.

The deep breaths I sucked in didn’t serve much more purpose than to make me somewhat lightheaded, but I forged on anyway. I knocked on the door, and waited.

There was silence, followed by the sound of reluctantly shuffling feet, and then, finally, I was face to face with Spencer Reid once again.

“Um,” I started, “hi.”

He stared at me wordlessly for a beat, during which I started to wonder if he’d actually forgotten me already.

“So, we met the other day, and I just want to apologise. I didn’t mean to come on to you so strongly, and I get that you weren’t int-”

“Do you want to come inside?”

“..What?”

“Do you want to come inside?” he repeated, enunciating clearly. That didn’t clear up my confusion, though.

“Um. Yes? Sure. I mean, no, shouldn’t we talk about this a bit?”

He let out a tired laugh. “I don’t want to talk right now.”

“Alright,” I said, biting my lip. I followed him inside, and pushed the door closed behind me; it emitted an innocuous little click as it fell shut.

There was something about the weariness behind his eyes and the careful set of his jaw that made me want to study him and understand what was going through his head, but all I could glean that night was that Spencer didn’t seem amenable to much time spent on documentation.

“So,” I began unsurely, shedding my jacket and scanning the contents of the room, the piles upon piles of books and the distinct lack of much else, “tell me about yourself.”

“Didn’t I already do that?”

“Hmm, that’s not the whole story,” I mumbled, running my fingers over a broken-spined, wrinkled copy of Paradise Lost laid open on a heavy wooden desk. A single smudge of blue ink stood out against the yellowing page, and beside it, the print read: This horror will grow mild, this darkness light. “You’re not just an FBI agent.”

“That’s all that’s important,” he asserted, taking a step towards me. He had one eye on my curiously wandering fingers and, sensing that it was making him more antsy than he needed to be, I tucked my hands into my back pockets, facing him with a grin of false bravado. I really wished I was drunk. That would have made things infinitely easier.

“Besides,” he continued, this time meeting my eyes directly, “I don’t know anything about you either.”

“Fair enough,” I conceded, stepping closer to him.

His eyes didn’t leave mine, until my own strayed to the bobbing curve of his throat and the tantalising motion of his tongue sweeping over his bottom lip. Not for the first time that week, I wondered how terrible of an idea it would be to try to kiss my attractive neighbour. I could see my own apprehensions mirrored in his stance, and I saw the exact moment when he identified the focus of my gaze.

I didn’t have to spend much time contemplating. He decided, just as I did, that any consequences of this impulsive decision could be dealt with later.. I lunged for him just as he closed the distance in one long stride, grasping my jaw in both his hands. Then we were firmly attached at the lips, and his arms wrapped around my waist and dragged me closer, seemingly intent on devouring my mouth. Gradually, our actions slowed a bit, the kiss turning softer and more exploratory, our tongues winding around each other gently, my lungs readily accepting his deep, nasal sigh.

His arms around my waist were a steadily spreading band of warmth, and I could feel the growing evidence of his arousal against my thigh. I found myself thinking I could be very happy with just kissing him like this, feeling his breaths tickle my face, letting my hands suffer minute pinpricks from the stubble littering his jaw. But then his grip shifted to my hips and tightened ever so slightly, and it was like I’d been doused with fuel and set alight. My fingers struggled to unbutton his shirt as he pressed distracting kisses along my neck, my soft whimpers breaking the relative silence of the room.

All of a sudden, the ground shifted and my stomach swooped, and it took a second or two before I realised I was now in his arms, being carried towards, presumably, his bedroom. Content, I got to work on undoing the last button and trying to slip the shirt down his arms entirely. He granted me a chuckle for my troubles before laying me down gently on our destination and taking it off himself.

He didn’t waste any time in sinking his knees into the soft mattress on either side of my legs, helping me out of my own clothes and methodically kissing every bit of newly exposed skin, until finally, I was clad only in flimsy cotton and he was nosing at my aching core. With two fingers, he deftly removed the last of my defences and pressed his mouth against me. I moaned, my hands flying to his hair and trying to keep from pulling too hard as he used his tongue to examine every inch of my arousal, evidently experimenting based on the sounds he managed to elicit from me.

“Oh, my God,” I babbled, hips bucking wildly under the iron grip holding them down.

“Tell me,” he demanded, pulling away slightly, “tell me how much you like it.”

“Spencer,” I breathed desperately, “Please. I need- I need more.”

He hummed leisurely against me, frustrating me to no end. My grip in his hair tightened at last, guiding him where I needed him most, and I swear I felt his lips stretch into a smile.

It went on for what felt like hours, but there was no earthly way I could have lasted that long. He took mercy on me eventually, plunging two long fingers deep inside me, closing his lips around the bundle of nerves that, predictably, sent me into a violent, shaking climax. He nursed me patiently through the aftershocks, waiting till my legs had stilled before rising to undo his belt and rid himself of his pants. I was already mourning the loss of his closeness, and I pulled him back on top of me the moment he was within reach.

“Come on, Doctor,” I taunted, “It’s time you made good on your promise and got to the main event.”

“I never promised anything,” he retorted, but the playful glint in his eyes excited me, and while he reached over beside us to the nightstand, I rose to the occasion.

“Oh? Well, if you don’t want to, I guess I’ll just head out, then,” I teased, going so far as to attempt to sit up from underneath him. I felt a low, threatening sound begin in his chest and make its way up his throat as his hands gripped my wrists and brought them down to my sides, pinning me in place.

It was my turn to chuckle at his eagerness, lifting my head to briefly peck him on his lips.

“Don’t worry, Spencer,” I cooed, “I’m not going anywhere. Now fuck me already.”

“With pleasure,” came the response, and while I wondered idly how a smirk could simultaneously be sinister and bashful, there was the sharp sound of crinkling foil, and then he cut off my thoughts by entering me in one fluid motion.

“Fuck!” I cried out, holding him around the shoulders, bringing him impossibly closer.

“That’s it,” he groaned in my ear, “let me hear you.”

He set a torturous rhythm, thrusting into me harshly before pulling out slowly, carefully, making me relish the sensation, anticipation building steadily in the pit of my stomach and spreading until it engulfed me. A ceaseless litany of moans and whimpers filled the air around us, the source of each barely discernible. At last, I could feel myself riding the very precipice, and his name began to fall from my lips like a prayer.

“Spencer,” I called, “Spenc-”

He swallowed the rest of my inconsequential cries, bringing his thumb to where we were joined to guide me over the edge, and as I convulsed around him soundlessly, he reached his own climax, blunt fingernails leaving crescent marks on my hips, his heavy panting breaths stuttering, once, against my clavicle, before calming and slowly evening out.

We stayed that way for a few minutes, my hand combing lightly through his hair, his closed-mouth kisses pressing against my neck like a balm. Eventually, though, we had to move, and it was he who did first. He pulled out and walked away from the bed without looking at me, tossing the tied-up condom in the trash. I sat up, cross-legged, watching him for a bit, pursing my lips when I noticed he was actively avoiding my gaze.

I cleared my throat. “Where’s your bathroom?”

He pointed in a general direction and mumbled something incoherent; sighing in disappointment, I stood up gingerly and went to clean myself up. When I returned, the room still smelled like sex, and Spencer was still evasive, but he was sitting on the edge of the bed now. He looked up when I entered, watching me pick up my clothes.

“Are you alright?” he asked quietly.

I glanced over at him. “Yeah, I’m good. You?”

Nodding, he watched me get dressed, then followed me into the living room and watched me drape my jacket over my arm. Then he watched me walk to the door, all the while not saying a word.

The cool steel of the doorknob in my hand, I looked over my shoulder one more time.

“Well, Spencer. You know where to find me, I guess,” I muttered, shaking my head slightly. Then I left his apartment, and despite the enormity of what had transpired during my visit, the click of the door closing sounded exactly the same.

.

(ii)

Of course, after that, I resolved it would never happen again. The man next door clearly had some issues with what we had done, and I couldn’t be bothered to solve them. It was, frankly, idiotic to jeopardise the prospect of good neighbours in favour of sex, however great it might have been.

It was embarrassing how quickly my resolution packed its bags and jumped out of my third-storey window.

I was awoken the next morning by three firm raps on my door. I think I knew, somehow, who was trying to get my attention, so I took my time, but the reveal of Spencer’s regretful face didn’t surprise me any less. I was wary as I stared at him wordlessly, cycling through all the possible reasons for his visit, and his eyes dropped to the way my arms tightly hugged my midsection. He winced then, meeting my eyes.

“I’m sorry for the way I acted,” he blurted, and it sounded so rehearsed that I had to stifle a guffaw. There was a flicker of something in his eyes that could have been frustration, but he powered through. “I’ve had a pretty terrible week at work and I think I was trying to get something out of my head. But I was awful to you, and it was completely my fault. I’m sorry if I offended you. I had...a great time.”

I’d been watching him carefully throughout his speech, and if he was faking the earnestness in those last couple of lines, he was an extraordinary actor. I concluded, as I studied the apologetic slump of his shoulders and the dark bags into which his eyes had sunken, that I didn’t need to worry about the veracity of his words.

“It’s okay,” I said hesitantly. “I mean, no, it’s not okay, it felt really awful, but thanks for explaining. I get it now.”

“Oh,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck and looking off to the side, “that’s great. Thank you.” He shoved his hands deep into his pockets.

“Problem?” I was bemused.

“No!” He was looking back at me, now. “I- well, to be honest, I wasn’t expecting it to be this easy. I thought I’d have to convince you.”

“Huh. Well, you can still convince me, Doctor. Give me a second to get ready. You’re buying me breakfast.”

I quite liked the shy smile that graced his face in response.

*~*

It kept happening. There was no way I could have stopped it, and there was no reason I would have wanted to.

We quickly grew into a familiar rhythm. Each time, it started with one of us having a particularly stressful day. Each time, it started with a knock on the door and some perfunctory shuffling around. Before wasn’t the time for talking. Each time, we’d stumble into whichever surface was closest, and every time it wasn’t the bed, Spencer would make some halfhearted protests about germs and hygiene, before I shut him up very effectively with a manicured hand on his dick. Each time, in the During, I marvelled at how well we fit together, how quickly we’d learned each other’s bodies, and each time, I saw more of him than I had the last.

And I loved every bit of it.

Spencer no longer retreated into his shell in the After. He’d try sometimes, but I knew how to coax him out, now. I’d slip my hand into his, ever so gently, and wait. Or I’d sling one arm around his waist until he returned the embrace. I was getting scarily good at reading him. It was like working on an intricate puzzle, and every new achievement was rewarded with a deeper, longer look into his mind.

I carefully stored away every casual anecdote about someone from work or his godson or his mother, and I loved to watch the life burn bright in his eyes. Of course, they were all happy stories. I could sense the bittersweet aftertaste they left in his mouth, but he never let me inspect it too closely. In turn, I regaled him with tales of my own, of my sister and my parents, of my cat that was perpetually falling asleep on top of me. I told him all the easy, palatable things, holding back just as much as he did, always careful to maintain the wall of superficiality.

But things did slip through the cracks every once in a while, from both of us-- they were bound to, what with the sheer amount of time we spent together in various states of undress. Things that made me burn with curiosity that couldn’t be sated without jeopardising the very foundation of our arrangement. So I turned a blind eye to the jagged scars on his thigh and neck when he failed to maneuver to hide them; in return, he kept mum when I walked into his apartment, on the day of my worst professional disaster, with runny makeup and bloodshot eyes, shivering all over.

If he noticed that I kissed the skin over his scars a little more tenderly, lavishing attention on him the first time I saw them, he didn’t show it. If he liked the way I always nuzzled my face into the one on his neck when we were done, he didn’t show it.

For my part, I tried very hard not to read into the slow, shallow thrusts or the almost reverent way he handled me when my tears still hadn’t dried. I definitely did not read into the arm over my shoulder or the slightly baffled crease in his brow while we sat on his couch with a random episode of The Office.

And if, maybe, the frequency of his visits increased as the months went by, who could blame him? He was an FBI agent. He probably had a lot of bad days.

Sometimes, though, I’d go over when I’d had a good day and I felt like celebrating. Sometimes, I’d knock on his door just because I was bored and I wanted to see him. It wasn’t as if he would know the difference. Our bodies knew how to be around each other, and that was all that mattered.

This was just stress relief, after all.

(“Have you ever been in love?” I asked him once, abruptly, my heart still pounding as the sweat cooled on our skins.

He glanced at me warily, but he must have detected only honest curiosity on my face, not lovesickness or anything else that would have had him running for the hills.

He chewed on his lip for a moment. “Once.”

“What happened?” My finger traced an aimless pattern on his chest.

“She loves me,” he said, “but she isn’t in love with me.”)

We never articulated any feelings we may or may not have about each other or our situation. We dodged sincere conversation like it would kill us. So all the pieces we owned of each other were ones that we had been remiss in guarding diligently. That only made them all the more precious.

But on the heels of every stolen glance, there was a moment where he looked right through me, where I felt blank and insubstantial, like I was a placeholder for something or someone, and that would be enough for the wall to be between us again, rigid and unrelenting.

It was a shame that I was stupid enough to hold on to the scraps that fell through anyway.

.

(iii)

I was an immensely stupid person.

That was the only explanation for why I was leaning against the outer wall of our apartment building at three in the morning, desperately shoving my hands into my coat pockets to brace against the cold.

“You don’t have to be here.”

Can he read minds now? I wondered sullenly. Spencer was sitting on the front steps, with his head in his hands. His hair was dishevelled, and his eyes were the picture of torment. I would have loved to console him, but every attempt so far had been firmly rebuffed.

He had knocked on my door an hour ago and silenced my greeting with a bruising kiss. Of course, I knew how to do that dance, but Spencer had been off his rhythm tonight. When I’d reached for his shirt, he’d pushed my arms away. When I had kissed his jaw, he'd flinched. When I’d finally retreated in concern to ask him what was wrong, he had huffed out that he was perfectly fine, before trying to lift my shirt over my head.

I’d pushed him onto the bed and tried to distract him, and he had responded by clenching the sheets in his fists instead of grabbing my hips. I’d whispered his name in his ear the way he usually loved, and he’d climbed out from under me, sitting up on the bed with his chest heaving. At that point, I’d given up. What had followed was an exercise in patience.

(“Spencer, what’s wrong?” I’d asked again, to no avail.

“It’s nothing. I don’t want to talk about it,” he’d gritted out, glaring at me.

I’d sighed. “Okay, which is it? Nothing, or that you don’t want to talk about it?”

Silence.

“Well something is clearly bothering you. Am I just supposed to ignore that?”

“We don’t need to talk about anything.” He’d tried to kiss me again. That time, I was the one who pushed him away.

“No, Spencer, this isn’t working. I don’t think we should do this tonight.”

The glare had intensified. “Fine.” He’d gotten up and tried to put his shirt back on, but his hands were shaking.

Cursing my investment in this man, I’d helped him while he stared daggers at me. When he’d hunted down his shoes and made his way out of my apartment, I’d pulled on my coat and followed, petting my cat briefly when he tried to follow us.)

So now we were outside, experiencing the most awkward silence ever known to man. Every time I attempted to put a hand on his shoulder or sit beside him, he would tense up yet again.

“Yes, Spencer,” I replied at length, “I do. You look like you might accidentally walk into traffic. I’m not leaving.”

“It’s not your problem.” The petulance was beginning to get on my nerves. I hadn’t signed up for sleepless weeknights.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” I told him, shrugging.

I pulled out my phone to distract myself with the cute animals in my game. Spencer was still worryingly silent. But if he didn’t want to talk to me and he wouldn’t let me near him, there was little I could do but stand there.

Every now and then, his breathing would hitch, and I would study him out of the corner of my eye. Whether he fully registered my presence or not, I was unsure, but he seemed to be calming down. He looked less on edge, his eyes less wild, and I was about to approach him and try again, when a black car pulled up just ahead of us.

Both our heads jerked to attention, but the petite blonde who exited the car only had eyes for Spencer.

“Spence!” She rushed to him, pulling him into a hug that he slowly reciprocated. “Your phone is off. After what happened, I was so worried,” she murmured into his hair, her eyes shut in relief.

And Spencer-- Spencer’s face was something to behold. His eyes were tightly closed, his lips turned down unhappily, and his face was so naked and open that I almost looked away. Almost. The pain that shone there riveted me. I felt as if I could see every wound he had ever suffered, in that instant. He’d never shown me that before. And he still hadn’t-- this wasn’t for me. The embrace broke, but his face stayed the same while the woman fussed over him.

Something came back to me, a fragment of a memory. She loves me but she isn’t in love with me. Unbidden, a sound of realisation escaped my throat, drawing two pairs of eyes to the dark corner in which I had been so far obscured.

Spencer schooled his face back to some semblance of normalcy, and ran a hand through his hair.

“Uh, JJ, this is--”

“Leaving,” I blurted out, then cleared my throat. “I was just leaving. Work in the morning. Nice to meet you.” I tried to smile at her, but it felt more like a pained grimace.

I brushed past both of them, but hesitated on the top step. “Spencer…”

His gaze was inscrutable, and I was too tired to try to decipher it.

“Feel better,” I mumbled, and then I left them there.

*~*

I was not sulking.

I told myself this as I lounged on the couch in my most comfortable pyjamas, stuffing my face with junk food and watching Michael Scott lament his foot injury.

So what if Spencer was in love with a beautiful blonde while getting him to talk to me was like pulling teeth? It wasn’t like I’d been carrying a torch for him. We were just extremely compatible sexually. And in very close proximity to each other. That put us in the ideal position to hook up whenever we needed it. That was the extent of our relationship. For all I knew, he’d been sleeping with other people this whole time. I hardly had the right to protest it if he had. We hadn’t set up rules. We just fell into bed together as and when we liked.

It was a good, uncomplicated thing.

So I needed to make sense of whatever needless jealousy I was feeling, before I ruined it. I couldn’t sit around being pathetic. I had a life.

There was a knock on the door.

Sighing, I turned off the TV and put the snacks away. Spencer was quiet as I let him in. His eyes roamed the small living room as if he didn’t know his way around my place as well as he did his own. I perched on the arm of the couch and stared at him, hoping my face didn’t betray the rollercoaster of emotions I’d experienced over the last forty-eight hours.

“So,” I started, “you okay?”

He looked a bit startled, as if he hadn’t expected me to address it at all. I tried not to roll my eyes.

“Yeah. I’m alright.”

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” I prompted, “It was pretty intense.”

“It-uh, it was a work thing. JJ helped me out.”

Of course she did. “Great,” I said aloud.

We looked at each other for a beat. “She’s the one, isn’t she?” I blurted before I could stop myself.

“What?”

“The one you’re in love with?”

There was a telltale spot of red high on his cheeks, even as he sputtered. “That’s not-- I mean, yes, but that was--”

“It’s fine,” I said cheerily. “I was just curious.”

He frowned at me. “She’s my best friend, it’s not--”

“No, I get it.” My stomach was somewhere near my feet. “So, do you wanna fuck?”

Again, he seemed taken aback. “What?”

“Isn’t that why you’re here?” I directed my gaze at his meticulously polished shoes.

“No.” A pause. “I just wanted to say-- would you look at me for a second?”

I forced myself to comply.

“I, uh, I wanted to thank you. For staying with me the other night.” The sincerity in his eyes was a bit too much to bear at the moment.

I hadn’t done anything, and I told him as much.

“You didn’t have to. Just being there was more than enough.”

“Right,” I said hollowly. “So is that it?”

“Yeah.” He seemed very lost. “Um, are you okay?”

“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’re acting kind of strange.”

“That’s because there isn’t usually this much talking,” I snapped.

I longed to smooth out the lines on his face and make him feel at ease again. This was supposed to be the good, uncomplicated thing. He was apparently making an effort. I could return the favour.

“I’m sorry,” I said, letting out a deep breath and rubbing a hand over my face. “Can I get you something to drink? We can talk about it if you want. Or just hang out.” I tried to squash down the hope that bloomed in my chest.

“Oh. Sure, if that’s okay.” He was chewing on his lip again, and it was unfairly appealing.

And so he stayed. I got two mugs of coffee, and when I came back, he was on my couch reading a well-worn paperback, as if he belonged there. I had to agree with the thought. When he heard me enter the room, he looked up with a smile.

When he left three hours later, I couldn’t remember what we’d talked about or the name of the book he’d abandoned within minutes, but I remembered the way he’d leaned close to me while gesturing wildly with his hands, and I remembered that we hadn’t touched beyond accidental brushes of our fingers the entire time.

He still hadn’t revealed the source of his despair, and I knew there was someone he loved. I knew whatever this was, it would be temporary.

But the smile on my face as I closed the door was real.

.

(v)

Spencer kept coming over. I was never given the chance to initiate contact because it seemed like he was always at my place. Whenever he was in the city, he would be with me. I started to worry about his apartment gathering cobwebs from the disuse. But I couldn’t honestly complain about this new development.

Sometimes we had sex, and sometimes we didn’t. Sometimes he came in sore and tired, other times he was brimming with excitement with a playful grin. Sometimes he was angry at the world and I was allowed to coax him down from his rage. Those nights were in turn infuriating and thrilling.

(“What happened?”

“Work.”

“That’s really helpful, Spencer, care to elucidate?”

“No.”

“Okay, caveman.”

“Shut up and take off your clothes.”

I’d rolled my eyes and complied.)

I enjoyed every bit of him. I wanted to observe and chart every one of his moods and his little quirks. I loved the small pile of his books that had found their way onto the coffee table. I loved introducing him to pop culture that he approached with the same diligence as he would a textbook of quantum physics. He was an eager student, and I attempted to return the favour whenever he launched into his obscure tirades.

Some nights I would drowsily let him in and he would crawl into bed with me, fully clothed. The following mornings, I would wake up with a silly grin on my face, seeing him utterly relaxed and at peace. We’d have breakfast in my kitchen and slowly come awake together over our steaming mugs of coffee.

It was fun, learning him.

In the dead of night, as I was drifting off to sleep, he would tell me bits and pieces of horrible things he’d had to see. All I could offer him then was a tight, protective embrace and a steady gaze as the words clawed their way out of his reluctant throat. It felt like he was giving me some sort of twisted boon, these revelations of his pain. I collected them just as carefully as I did everything else. If it was a part of him that was freely given, I knew I wanted it.

At intervals, I would have to remind myself that he wasn’t truly emotionally available. It wasn’t hard. I only had to picture JJ’s relieved smile and the raw uncloaked expression on his face that I had never seen again. He mentioned her every now and then, and I’d discovered that his godson was her child. He never seemed upset, talking about her family, but he wasn’t the kind of man who would resent another’s happiness, even if it was at the expense of his own. I knew that now. I still remembered the way he would pull away from me and flinch at my touch, and I knew I was playing a losing game. There was no way out of this where I didn’t get hurt. All I could do was try to control it.

Three months after that night outside our building, I knew I’d fallen for him.

I was in trouble and I needed to do something about it, quickly. So I stopped preemptively cancelling plans with my friends and coworkers. I joined a book club. I called in a guy to loudly fix my bathroom sink the day I knew Spencer would be getting home. I even got a gym membership. I tried to be away from home as much as I could.

Whenever Spencer texted me, I would let him know I was unavailable. His texts got progressively more frustrated. Watching the excitement on his face dim when I turned him away at my door was painful. But it was necessary. I convinced myself that when Spencer and I stopped existing in this vacuum without other people, my feelings would weaken and I would be able to get him out of my head.

It didn’t work, of course, and I spent every day missing him. I tried to distract myself with work and my suddenly-full schedule, but the feelings were still there. Try as I might, I couldn’t stop thinking of him every morning and every night, and every time I passed his door and every time I walked by a bookstore.

So when Neil from work asked me out a week later, I said yes.

I wore a nice dress and heels, and he picked me up. We went to a midscale restaurant and talked about boring first-date things, and I knew within the first fifteen minutes that I didn’t want to see him again. I went through the motions, smiled pleasantly at him, and told him I would take a cab home. When I walked dejectedly up to my apartment, it took me a second to realise what I was looking at. My heart leapt and I dropped my keys.

Spencer was sitting on the floor outside my door, and he looked tireder and older than I’d ever seen him. He had looked up at my approach. I froze.

“Spencer.” I hadn’t seen him in a month.

He looked me up and down, and there was an unhappy tilt to his mouth. I wanted to kiss it away. He reached for the keys and rose to his feet.

“Hi.” He held them out to me, and I wanted to laugh and the eerie reflection of our first meeting.

“Hi,” I echoed.

“Were you on a date?”

There was no point in lying to him. “Yes.”

He looked away, his jaw clenching.

Silently, I unlocked the door and held it open. After a moment’s hesitation, he walked in.

He paced the floor of my living room. I took off my shoes and put my keys on the table, waiting for him to speak. I felt out of sorts and unprepared for what was to come. Even when I heard him come to a halt, I didn’t lift my gaze to meet his.

“Why would you-- I thought we had something.” His tone was heavy with accusation.

I stared back at him in challenge. “Sure. We had something. But I didn’t want to fool myself into thinking it was more than it was.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Us! You. You send me all these mixed signals, and I know you’re still hung up on someone else but I let myself get in too deep anyway. I had to protect myself.”

“I’m not hung up on someone else,” he shouted, raising his hands in frustration.

“Of course you are!” I matched his volume. “You told me so yourself.”

“When did I do that?” He sounded honestly bewildered.

“A few months ago. You said you were in love with someone but she didn’t love you back. And then I saw you with JJ that day. I know it’s her. It’s okay. You didn’t promise me anything.”

Feeling drained, I wrapped my hands around my middle. The tears were threatening to fall, but I tried to hold them at bay. This would be over soon. It all would.

“JJ--” he barked out a laugh, surprising me.

“What about this situation is funny to you?” I demanded.

“No, listen--”

“You’re hot and you’re cold. You kick me out right after our first time and then you’re sweet the next day. How do you want me to feel about that?”

“I’m sorry about-”

“Trying to talk to you is impossible! I want to help you. But you clearly don’t want to talk to me!”

“That’s not--”

“And then you’re over here all the time, and I get that it’s because you want to distract yourself, but you have to know how it would con--”

“God, would you just shut up and listen to me for once?”

I glared up at him. He was undeterred, a strange glint in his eyes.

“I love you,” he informed me, striking me dumb. “It took me a while to realise it, but it’s true. I love you.”

All I could do was gape at him as he walked closer to me and took my tightly clenched fists in his hands. “I’m sorry if I made you feel like I was holding back. I’m trying to be better. And I don’t know what you thought you saw between me and JJ,” he said very slowly, stroking his thumbs gently over my palms, “but all that’s there is a lot of trauma and shared experiences. Yes, I thought I loved her once, but that was a long time ago. We’ve never-- she’s not you.”

Traitorously, that tendril of hope began to coil around my heart again as I searched his face, looking for a trace of a lie.

I found none.

I surged forward, crashing my lips to his with no finesse and too much force, but he was ready for me, releasing my hands and cradling my waist instead. I gripped his hair, letting the tears spill at last, an overjoyed laugh bubbling out of my throat and into his mouth. I let my hands roam the hard plane of his body, the delicious ripple of wiry muscle beneath his shirt, the hidden softness that only I could feel.

“I love you,” I told him when we broke apart for air. “I’m glad I can tell you, I love you, I fucking love you.” Spencer grinned down at me, and the look was so fond I had to kiss him again.

The rest was a blur of hastily discarded clothes and the steadfastly ignored pain of knocking into furniture before we finally found my bed and tumbled into it.

(“All this time, I could have had you,” I groaned into his ear while he thrust his fingers into me, mouthing along my jaw.

“You have me,” he promised into my skin an eternity later, when he was inside me and my nails were scrambling for purchase along his back, my vision going white.)

That night, there were no painful confessions or taunting insecurities. There were just the two of us, blissfully entwined together, and the deepest of dreamless sleeps. Somewhere in the middle of falling out and falling back together, we had found our new rhythm.

.fin.

[simpurnatural]

When I say “Winner’s!” You say “POV!”

“This is my first DSMP Football AU (SBI VS FB) FF ever posted! I hope you guys enjoy it and let me know if you want more. - Nat <3“ This is also loosely based on @/teefumz’s art on IG and Twitter! Go check her out!

Wide Awake (SBI)

Warning ⚠️: Cussing, 

Any writing errors? Point them out! Love some helpful feedback! <3

REQUESTS ARE OPEN LUVS <3

“Touchdown by FB’s finest, Clay D! Feral High is ahead by three points!“ the commentator announces.

“Oh shit!” Cara says, watching the boys headbutt each other with glee.

“Give me an F! Give me an E!” Hannah shouts into the crowd, all of the cheer team shaking their pom poms.

“Give me an R! Give me an A! Give me an L!“ Alyssa yells as the people in the stands started shouting back.

“What does that spell?!” you holler, getting everyone in the stands riled up.

“FERAL! FERAL! FERAL!“

During the short intermission, Clay and Nick swap, and Ranboo and Tommy swap. You and Drista make your way over to her brother for a quick chat.

“You guys are doing really well out there,” you comment, the three of you watching everyone get into position.

“Oh come on now, it’s your guys’ cheering that’s getting us through it,“ Clay replied before taking a swig from his bottle.

“I didn’t walk over here for you guys to flirt,” Drista reminds, patting her brother’s shoulder, “Just make sure you win, I wanna keep my money.“.

“You took a bet?” You ask as the play begins “With who?” you question.

“Tommy. He thinks they’re gonna win,” she explains, pointing to the young blond out on the field.

“I mean Tech’s back in for the rest of the season since his wrist healed so they have a chance,” Clay hums with a bit of playful sarcasm in his voice.

Luke passes the ball to Nick who bolts his ass towards the end point. Tommy, however, catches up and pounces on him. Both sides of the stands oohed at the thought how much that might’ve hurt.

“Aah!“ Nick yelps, noticeably thrashing about “Get off me!“ he says as Clay stands up and runs onto the field.

Him and Techno trying to pull Tommy and Nick apart. That task seeming fairly hard since both captains almost almost gave up for a second.

“Is Tommy biting him?“ a voice asks, that voice belonging to Alex, who had somehow been quietly sitting on the bench this entire time. “What?” he says, noticing you looking at him up and down.

“Are you benched the whole game?“ you ask, realizing he hadn’t played yet.

“It’s fricken’ Bad dude. Called me a muffin-head for missing practice and said that I couldn’t play,“ he grumbles, nodding to the six-foot coach on the field.

“That’s okay,” Drista shrugs, “You kinda suck.“

“Quackity, you’re in!” Bad shouts a second later, Nick using George and Karl as a human crutch.

“Fuck yeah!“ Alex cheers, putting on his helmet and jogging towards the team.

“Do you think I’ll need to get checked for rabies, George?“ asked Nick.

“You only get rabies from wild dogs or something,“ George chuckles as the younger teen roles his eyes.

“Did you not see the teeth on that thing?” He asks in an disbelief, face painted with sweat.

“Oh we did.” Karl nods, helping him take a seat on the bench. “Very vicious,” he exaggerates.

“You doin’ okay SP?” you ask, looking at the half-ass wrapped bandage around his calf.

“Yeah,” he huffs with a pout like a sad dog, watching the rest of the team play without him.

...

At the end, after the game went into overtime because of a tie in points, Callahan helped bring home the trophy. Who silently basked in the praise and cheers as his friends tossed him into the air.

“That was a good game,” you say to Minx, a cheerleader from SBI High.

“It would’ve been good if we won,” she counters with a tired smile. “I’m pretty sure my right ear ‘s been blown out,” she adds.

“Oh. The crowd was a bit much?” you ask her, she let’s out an annoyance filled groan in response.

“No, Toby’s dad just kept yelling at our coach the entire time,” Niki explains, pointing to the six-footer with side burns and a ball cap.

“Poor Phil,” you chuckle as both teams go to shake each other’s hands.

As Tommy was going through the line, he let out an exaggerated sob with each shake. Wil and Jack right behind him, patting his back and shaking hands with the others. 

“It was his first game,” Lani mentions as you catch a glimpse of Drista running in the distance with a fistful of cash in her hand. “He’s taken it pretty hard,” she sighs.

...

As the stands started to clear and everyone began to leave, Clay and the rest of the team approached you and the cheer squad. 

“Hey fellas,” you grin, “Nice work out there,” you compliment with a wink.

“Really kicked ass,” Cara adds, slinging an arm around your shoulder.

“Thanks. You ladies coming to the party later or...?” Luke asks.

“Hmm,” Alyssa says, stroking her imaginary beard, “Maybe,” you all shrug. 

“Basically all of student body is gonna be there!” George says.

“You guys have gotta go,“ Karl whines.

“Why?” Drista blinked “Not much of a party person,” she sighs.

“Party is gonna be legendary, end of discussion.” Alex says briefly before they all turn to walk away.

“Hope to see you ladies there,” Nick hollers over his shoulder.

[hopusthebrainlessfloof]

(Tanks for da @ btw)

(Tagging some mutuals who might wanna do this platonically)

@nrcy-d0 @larry-koops @maggie4thwwin @thekoopalingsandstuffs

I'm not good with ships so uhhhhhhhh, yeah

All Mario ships, some platonic some romantic

Ready, sego

Roy: Okay, but what if we went to dinner not as friends this time?

Rango: AS ENEMIES?!

Roy: ...

[ ☆ ]--------------[ ♡ ]--------------[ ☆ ]

Peasley: How do I tell Topper that I want them to yell at me like they're Gordon Ramsay and I'm a poor little chef who just ruined a crème brûlée?

[ ☆ ]--------------[ ♡ ]--------------[ ☆ ]

Spewart: Okay, but if your not gay then why are you always holding my hand and kissing me and telling me I’m your boyfriend?

Boom Boom: Dude- Its satire!

Spewart: THAT'S NOT WHAT SATIRE MEANS!

[ ☆ ]--------------[ ♡ ]--------------[ ☆ ]

Hariet: We have a problem.

Pom Pom: No, YOU have a problem. I have an idiot who keeps making them.

[ ☆ ]--------------[ ♡ ]--------------[ ☆ ]

Ludwig: Come on, Roy. Nobody actually believes that Olly is in love with me.

Roy, to The Squad: Raise your hand if you think that Olly is helplessly in love with Ludwig.

(Everyone raises their hand)

Ludwig: Olly, put your hand down.

[ ☆ ]--------------[ ♡ ]--------------[ ☆ ]

Spewart: That's ridiculous, Boom Boom doesn't have a crush on me.

Topper: Yes he does.

Hariet: Yes he does.

Boom Boom: Yes I do.

[ ☆ ]--------------[ ♡ ]--------------[ ☆ ]

Topper: Ah, yes. Here we have a beautiful couple...

Rango: I really care about your feelings!

Roy: I really care about YOUR feelings!

Topper (turning their head): ...and then there's the disaster couple...

Hariet: YOU NEED TO PAY MORE ATTENTION TO ME INSTEAD OF BEING AT THE HOSPITAL!

Pom Pom: I WOULDN'T HAVE TO SPEND SO MUCH TIME AT THE HOSPITAL IF YOU STOPPED INSISTING ON FIGHTING EVERYONE WHO COMES WITHIN A FIVE FOOT RADIUS OF YOU!

[ ☆ ]--------------[ ♡ ]--------------[ ☆ ]

Topper: I'm cold.

Peasley: Here, take my hoodie.

*meanwhile*

Spewart: I'm cold.

Boom Boom: I can't control the weather, Spewart.

[ ☆ ]--------------[ ♧ ]--------------[ ☆ ]

Roy: Which one of you was going to tell me that tea tastes different if you put it in hot water??

Bully: Y- you were putting it in cold water??

Ludwig: Roy. Answer the question, Roy.

Roy: Yeah??? I thought people just put it in hot water to speed up the tea-ification process. Didn't realize there was an actual reason. Plus, you think I have the patience to boil water?

Bully: You don't have the patience to microwave water for 3 minutes??

Ludwig: Why are you putting it in the microwave to boil it?

Bully: Do you think I have the patience to boil water on the stove?

Ludwig: It takes less than a minute.

Bully: Is your stovetop powered by the fucking sun???

Ludwig: How long does it take you to boil a cup of water on the stove?

Bully: Like seven minutes??

Rango: Just stick the mug on top of the stove on medium heat and it boils in like 2 minutes... less than that if you use a saucepan!

Ludwig: Why are you putting the whole mug on the stove?? On medium heat?? Rango? Your stove is enchanted!

Roy: Every single person here is a fucking lunatic.

Olly: Do none of you own a fucking kettle?!

[ ☆ ]--------------[ ♧ ]--------------[ ☆ ]

Rango: Why do you act like we’re three year olds?

Hariet, exasperated: WHY?!?

Hariet points at Topper: YOU TRIED TO HYJACK A CAR!

Hariet points at Spewart: YOU NEARLY JUMPED 20 FEET OFF A CARPARK!

Hariet points at Rango: AND YOU ATE MULTIPLE DRIED LEAVES AND ROCKS OFF THE GROUND!

Hariet: AND YOU ASK ME WHY????

SOOOOOO

i was tagged by @rickie-the-storyteller over heeeereeee and it didnt let me reblog so new post!

LAFGSLKRGHLSKGH THIS IS SO FUN HELP WHY DIDNT I KNWO THIS EXISTED-

ANYWAYSSSSS

i gto very little ships (sadly) so im gonna go with both platonic and romantic ehehehe

Annexander (is it how were calling it?? idk) (@holdmyteaplease ur the expert on this give me a feedback)

Alexander: Think you can answer some questions without the usual level of sarcasm? Anne: If you can ask the questions without the usual level of stupid.

Alexander: *shatters a window and climbs through it* Alexander: *turns around and helps Anne through it* Breaking and entering is wrong Anne. Anne: Okay. Anne: Shut it Alexander, I only shook your hand because I had to. We will NEVER be friends. Alexander: Lets survive this together! Anne: I HOPE YOU DIE. Anne: Fellas, I gotta know for science. Is the opposite of red green or blue? Alexander: Technically a mix of green and blue? Anne: So blurple. Alexander: That's implying you're mixing blue and purple. Anne: Would you rather have fucking bleen? MOTHERFUCKING GRUE? Alexander: You were confusing before but now I'm scared Anne, holding a scooter: Alexander! Can I go outside and play with this? Alexander: Sure, whatever. I'm not your parent, okay? Anne, running outside: Thanks Alexander! Alexander, running out after them and screaming: NOT ON THE STREET! STAY AWAY! Alexander: It’s quick, it’s easy, and it’s free: pouring river water in your socks! Anne: Why would I do that? Alexander: It’s quick, it’s easy, and it’s free!

HELP CAUSE WHY IS THIS SO THEMMMM AKFGASKJGF

Anne and Indigo (the absolute besties)

Anne: So... what would you do if you were in bed with me? Indigo: Depends. Is your bed comfortable? Anne: Yes. Indigo: I'd sleep.

*Anne sends more than 5 messages in a row* Indigo: I ain’t reading all that. Indigo: I’m happy for you tho. Indigo: Or sorry that happened. Anne: I have a plan. Indigo: Good! As long as we aren’t breaking the law again, I’m open to hearing it. Anne: … Indigo: … Anne: I no longer have a plan.

Anne: Oh, so when crows remember people who wronged them and hold grudges, its “intelligent” and “really cool”. Anne: But when I do it, I’m “petty” and “need to let it go”.

ok... this is scarily accurate...

Alexis and Claire (friends to lovers complete dumbasses edition)(they have exactly 1 brain cell and they take turns being the responsible one. most times i gets forgotten at home)

Alexis: My hands are cold. Claire: Here, let me hold them. Alexis: My lips are cold too. Claire: *covers Alexis's mouth with their hand* Alexis: You’d be stupid to lay a hand on me. Claire: Oh, you’d be surprised how much stupid shit I do. Claire: You either buckle down and do your work or you’ll end up at McDonalds. Alexis: We're going to McDonalds if I don't do my work? Claire: NO- Alexis: What do you do for a living? Claire: I exist against my will. Alexis: Claire, I have a question. Claire: What is it, Alexis? Alexis: What color is an orange? Claire: Alexis, you bonehead! Its color is the same as its name. Just like a lemon. Alexis: I hope no one lowkey hates me. Alexis: Highkey hate me. Hate me with every fiber of your being. Alexis: Go big or go home.

THIS IS FUN. VERY FUN.

HOW TO CREATE CHARACTERS 101: NAME, BASIC VIBES AND THROW THEM AROUND IN THE INCORRECT QUOTES GENERATOR✨

tagging literally everyone i know on this one cause the world deserves to do this

@olivescales3 @albatris @bloody-neon @bassguitarinablackt-shirt @briannaswords @cabbojage @daisywords @desastreus @did-i-do-this-write @deanwax @digital-chance @enchanted-lightning-aes @ember-writer @eli-is-an-idiot @firesmokeandashes @fioreshere @guessillcallitart @gwenthekween @harleyacoincidence @holdmyteaplease @iannicellis @jaxypaxyhaxy @j3st3rfun3r4l @kooperation1101 @koala2all @lycaens @liv-is @lyonette-does-things @mayakern @nocturnalmohawk @quinnharperwrites @roisinivy @raspberrykraken @spicymochi @scifimagpie @the-mindless @unmellowyellowfellow @whynotcherries @writingmargo @writing-with-sophia @writeblr-of-my-own @wrenofthewords @yeahthatswhatimtolkienabout @yesireadbooks @your-absent-father @zihus @zillanovikov sorry if i tagged any

[dont-be-so-shy]

ok so,,, i think imma try a longfic abt the batkids getting stuck in the yj universe. except batman don't exist so they're not heroes (expect cissie and simon)

so imma introduce you to my lesser-known characters below the cut:

babs, dick, jason, tim, cass, steph, duke, and damian are people most people already know, but we also got luke, simon, wendy, helena, harper, cullen, bette, cissie, isabella, kitrina, charlie, olivia, tristan, riko, colin, and carrie

luke: aka lucas fox, aka one of the two sons and four children of lucius fox, aka a vigilante named batwing and ceo of his own company foxtech

simon: simon dark is a really small-time character. so basically, he was created with a mix of mad science, magic, and twenty dead teenage boy's bodies. yes, i know it's creepy. he has enhanced healing and the ability to use each one of the faces of the twenty boys he's made of. he can also do magic, mostly clairvoyance, which for him means being able to tell the secrets someone's keeping from him and see farther than the horizon. he also has enhanced strength, telekinesis, the ability to psychically link people (like miss martian), and the ability to dimension-travel. in canon, he looks a mess of different skin tones and frankenstein stitching but in my fic, he's gonna be looking like a normal(ish) boy.

wendy: wendy white, sometimes called wendy harris, graduated mit alongside her twin brother, marvin, at sixteen and became a caretaker of titans tower. she and her brother were attacked by wonderdog and she fell into a coma while marvin died. her father is a gotham villain named the calculator, who wanted the anti-life formula (i don’t what it is but apparently it’s really powerful) to wake her up. he was defeated but she woke up on her own. she's paralyzed from the waist down and she became babs' apprentice, codename proxy

helena: helena bertinelli, was supposedly the daughter of a mafia guy and his wife, but it turns out she's actually the daughter of the wife and some other mafia dude. well mafia dude (the bio dad) hates the mafia family mafia guy (the other dad) is a part of, so he ordered to have mafia guy and his family killed (helena had older and younger siblings, i think). he told the killer to spare the lady he had helena with and kill the rest of them but the killer done messed and killed the mom instead of helena. helena hates mafia and crime so when she becomes huntress, she has nothing against killing. she's actually still young tho, she left boarding school in switzerland to come back to gotham and be a vigilante. she's also part of the birds of prey and has been both batgirl and batman

harper and cullen: the row twins/siblings. cullen was attacked by his classmates for being gay but the second time he was attacked, batman and robin (i think it was tim) stopped the bullies. harper, who's insanely good with engineering, became bluebird with a few handmade weapons and cullen stayed home. in my fic, he's gonna be catlad, trained by selina, in the field and coeus, fitting the greek myth theme, when on comms 

bette: bette kane is somehow related to kate kane, who's bruce's cousin and also batwoman. bette was the first batgirl but when dc rebooted she was made flamebird then hawkfire instead. in my fic, she's batgirl in the field and medusa behind the screen

cissie: cissie has no origin story which means i can still make her arrowette in a batman-less world. cissie king-jones is arrowette. and her mom wanted her to be a hero. that's quite literally all i know. she's part of the batfam instead of the arrowfam for some reason tho 

isabella: isabella ortiz was part of we are robin under the name robina, and is canonically dating duke. in my fic, she's dating harper instead 'cause duke is dating cullen. anyway, she's poor and also, her dad doesn't know she was part of we are robin 

kitrina: kitrina falcone is the youngest falcone who didn't wanna be mafia so she idolized catwoman instead. she was accused of betraying the family so she ran, becoming kittyhawk and helping catwoman and penguin. in my fic, she's known as stray instead 

charlie: charlie gage-radcliffe aka misfit is a metahuman with the ability to teleport (she calls it 'bouncing'). she didn't wanna be a hero and she couldn't teleport with people without killing them, so when her apartment building burned down with her mom and newborn sibling inside, she ran according to her mom's wishes. she resurfaced as batgirl, but when babs finally cornered her, she gave it up and became misfit instead, tagging along with the birds of prey 

olivia: olivia carr was kidnapped by the dollmaker and brainwashed into becoming part of his 'family'. when jim gordon was also kidnapped, he helped her escape and told her to give a note to batman on the gcpd's roof. she was later handed over to a gcpd cop while batman went to save the commissioner but it turned out the cop was crooked and wanted to sell her to some kidnappers so she slit his throat and ran away. she goes by mannequin 

tristan: tristan grey goes to damian's school along with maps, olive, and pom and a few others. he's a metahuman with enhanced vision, strength, and the ability to "transform" somehow 

riko: riko sheridan was also part of we are robin under the name r-iko. she was actually expelled from damian and tristan's school (damian was too actually). she idolizes batgirl, which is why, in the fic, i gave her the name black bat while cass is orphan 

colin: colin wilkes aka abuse is basically a ten-year-old hulk with control over his hulkiness. he's damian's friend and an orphan who got his powers thanks to kobra venom when he was trafficked 

last but not least, carrie!: she's technically from an alternate universe and was robin after jason instead of tim, then catgirl, then batwoman. in this fic, she's catgirl. she uses a slingshot 

[thewriterinthebatcave]

So, I read The Phantom Of Manthattan

In its entirety. @baepsyche had tried to dissuade me, she did her best, but I wanted to wade through the sewage that book is by myself and form my own opinion on it. I mean, I had a very clear image of how bad it would be when I heard @lindsayetumbls give the rundown in the Musicalsplaining episode of Love Never Dies, but I had no idea how bad it could actually be!

TL:DR The book is a mess that makes no sense as a sequel to whatever, nor it makes sense on its own because of how it’s structured and written. It sucks, it’s poorly written and isn’t worth the paper it’s printed on. Love Never Dies is a fucking masterpiece worth of all the awards for musical theater out there in comparison.

I mean... I’ve read bad books in my life. Once upon another time I handled a blog dedicated to poor literature - both printed and online - I’ve read my big fat share of bad literature, I binged on the Fifty Shades trilogy but Sweet Jesus Christ POM makes 50 Shades look like high art! 

Let’s start from the beginning, shall we?

1. Too many POV characters. There’s like... the Phantom, three different journalists two of which are there for one chapter alone and never return, there’s the priest, and a couple more I forgot. But... WHY? Why so many different POV characters in a book so short I literally finished it in a couple half hour long sessions? WHY? It makes no sense from a narration standpoint, it’s crowded and confusing and voyeuristic! Also, never including Christine’s POV you diminish her character to a paper thin token. Also, where’s Raoul?

2. Speaking of which, Raoul. Poor guy, the book shits on him from chapter 1 (the only barely readable chapter of the book), and by doing so right in the beginning the “big reveal” of Pierre/Gustave true parentage feels more of a “captain obvious” joke rather than a “I would have never guessed!”. Not that it is such a grand plot twist in Love Never Dies I mean, but Jesus, not like this! 

3. Yeah, speaking of that. People shit on Love Never Dies for “Beneath A Moonless Sky” and the sex scene that never was, but this is way worse! At least the song gives you a context, a moment you can at least imagine what the hell happened and maybe even why, but here? Nothing! They don’t even TALK about that, let alone explain to the reader that those two had sex! What the fuck! Pierre just happened to be born and Raoul never even questioned his parentage! Or maybe he does, he just doesn’t care since he fullfills the nobility’s expectations of a male heir, who knows. HE DOESN’T SAY ANYTHING RELEVANT IN THE WHOLE BOOK! No wonder in LND they turned him in the abusive alcoholic, they had no material to build on in this... thing. 

4. The Phantom and the backstory. I appreciate the fact that they tried to give him a past, and I really liked the fact that Forsythe took his time to even give at least a fraction of time/place context to the original book that hasn’t one by figuring out Leroux had a post-electricity Palais Garnier in mind, but the backstory for the Phantom... I’ve read more interesting fanfics. I haven’t read Kay’s Phantom, I have it but I haven’t started it yet so I can’t make comparisons, but seriously, I’ve really read fanfics retellings of Erik’s past more imaginative and fleshed out that this book.

Which leads me to...

5. Satanism? Really? Satanism? Of all the shock cards Forsythe could have dropped on the table, Satanism? Listen guys, I’m a metalhead, I listen to stuff that people have called “the music of the devil” (classic rock, blues and jazz included) for the past fifty years on daily basis, one of my favourite songs of all time is Emperor’s “Inno A Satana” which literally means “Hymn to Satan” in Italian. My parents were scared to death when I started dabbling in heavy metal because of the whole “satanism” thing, I know my shit about satanism (I actually have done my research), and let me tell you that shit is old. Like, dusty and moldy old, not just not fashionable, it’s such an old story no one finds it so shocking anymore. So... WHY? It makes no sense, drives no point in the story, it’s a damn McGuffin that isn’t even relevant anymore! It wasn’t at the time the book was published (the whole trial to Judas Priest, Black Sabbath and Ozzy Osbourne had happened like... 10 years prior the book was written so... meh) and I really hope it will never be again because... seriously... nope, it’s stupid and pointless, why on Earth it was used as a plot device I have no fuckin’ idea. 

6. Darius. Dude has no backstory, no descriptor except his greed and “devotion” to money and wealth. Oh and he smokes hashish. That’s it. We’ve got no other data on him. Jesus Christ, for the antagonist of the story he surely is kind of... bland? I mean, he’s non existent! Such a cop out, like really... WHY! At least Meg falling for the Phantom and getting all jealous crazy makes a teeny tiny bit of sense, but this guy? Bland, children’s book cutout satanism aside, which is a terrible choice of moving force for reasons above, the dude himself is so terribly fleshed out (ID, he isn’t) that his motivations are unclear at best and laughable at worst. You are the Phantom’s face in the world, he has so much money that if you start putting a side a grand here and a grand there he wouldn’t notice, you have power to make deals in his behalf, why don’t you just get the money and go? Have you learned nothing by working with the Phantom? Can’t you make your own money and become filthy rich yourself so you can honor your damn god  on your fucking own? Don’t you think your god would appreciate more you making your own wealth instead of pigging on the Phantom’s back and take only morsels of his own wealth? Fuck this book is a mess. 

7. Christine. I mean, she’s rarely there, for the time she is she’s either a hysterical mess or a an angel on stage, and she is supposed to be the reason everything happens. In reality, it looks like everything happens in spite of her. She has no power on her own, she’s like a piece of wood floating in the sea during a storm. 

8... No, I’m not going further with this. I could shit on this book for the whole day, but I have other things to do, better things to do. 

I’m going to wash my eyes with bleach now.