#scrubs-and-cigs

[writersdrug]

omg you mind holy wow i love your brain i would never come to lobotomize you omgomg by god i need more bartender!simon you recently mention, maybe abt how they interact and develop? idk i really dont care what exactly you write, i js need any words from you abt bartender!simon

Hmmmmmm I have some headcannons!

You show up for work thirty minutes early because you're NOT risking losing this job.

Simon sometimes lets you bang on the back door for a few minutes, yelling for someone to let you in, until Soap gets tired of hearing it and opens the door. Simon finds it funny.

You think Simon is the owner of the pub until Price comes in one day with cash for your tip payout. You screamed as soon as you saw him walk in through the backdoor, thinking you were being robbed.

Simon barely managed to swing into the kitchen and grab you around the waist before you pummeled Price with an empty beer keg.

Price later told Simon he thought you were a perfect addition to the team.

You do your tips at the end of the bar every night as Simon polishes the glasses across from you. Lets you have one drink on the house.

First floor is the restaraunt/pub, second floor is the pantry/walk-in fridge/office where Price does money work, third floor is the studio apartment where Simon lives (Price discounted it for him).

When it's slow, you and Simon and Johnny all take a smoke break in the alley out back - you don't smoke, but you talk to them while they share a cig, complaining about customers together.

You bring it up to Simon that you've noticed how Johnny always comes to the front of house when Kyle brings the new kegs in, "Simon, need ya to check somethin' - ah, hey, Garrick!"

Simon scoffs at your revelation. "Jus' now seein' that?"

You live ten blocks away from the pub and ride your bike to work. Simon let's you stuff it in the alley for safekeeping.

If you're feeling especially sporty, you pop in your earbuds and take your skateboard. Simon nearly had the breath sucked from his soul when he saw you zipping by the window the first time.

You mop front of house because Simon hates it. Simon restocks the to go boxes because you can't reach the top shelf where the overflow sits.

You tried to pour a lager once when Simon was busier than usual. After watching you attempt it, he banned you from doing it ever again.

You enter Pino grigio in the POS as "peeno greeshio" and Simon hates it, but you love the way Soap cackles from the kitchen when he sees it.

Kyle sometimes sticks around to help you drag the new beer kegs up the stairs, and he shows you how to connect them to the taps.

You're constantly begging Price to set up a Karaoke machine in the corner of the bar. He says when you can afford it, you can buy it.

You broke the soda gun once; you and Soap were frantically filling container after container with tonic water while Simon was on his back under the bar, cursing and trying to turn the water off.

Monday mornings are deep-clean days, and everyone has to participate. You're all wearing sweats and bleach-stained shirts, pulling out the stove, sweeping behind the kegs, dragging the mats into the alley to clean them, emptying the fridge and scrubbing the entire thing.

Simon doesn't like to think too much about how hot you look in your sweatpants, ratty t shirt, and sweaty, flushed skin when you're exerting yourself.

You're constantly thinking about how those sweatpants hug his hips, those muscles in his arms flexing, and the grunts he makes when he's shoving the stove back into its place.

Simon gives you full permission to return any nasty attitude the customers dish at you.

After you go home for the night, Simon often finds himself lying on his bed, one arm behind his head and the other hand on his chest, staring at the ceiling, replaying the events of the day - and they're all centered around you

[jiyongsangel]

YESS i love ur writing and i would love to see you write for thanos! could you do thanos bf headcannons? :)

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ Choi Su Bong (Thanos) boyfriend headcannons

Summary: Thanos as your bf

Warnings: smoking, suggestive content (maybe), abit of harm to reader (putting out a cig on u) that’s it tho rest is fluff

A/n: can I just say I’m fan girling SO hard rn, i love your writing boo. I hope these r good, tysm for requesting

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

♡ for sure has a tattoo of your name somewhere on his body

♡ carrying on with body modifications you guys probably have a matching tattoo or a piercing with matching jewellry.

♡ his lockscreen is a 0.5 silly photo of you and he shows it to everyone just to piss you off how ever he also smiles everytime he pics his phone up to check notifications.

♡ he has a hidden folder in his photo gallery full of dirty photos of you.

♡ he always gets you to paint his nails fun colours for him

♡ he also always gets you to dye his hair for him, he’ll be sitting on the floor while you’ll be perched on the bathtub scrubbing dye into his hair. He’ll occasionally pass you the blunt he’s been smoking for you to have some too.

♡ very very vocal about how much he likes you for sure, you’ll be at club pentagon and he’ll just randomly blurt out to whoever he’s talking to how attracted to you he is.

♡ he was super nervous to meet your parents constantly anxious about making a good impression.

♡ he’s obsessed with kissing you. Even when your parents or yalls friends are around he just starts making out with you, tongue and all.

♡ one of his favourite things to do with you is genuinely nothing. He just love love loves having you around. If you guys hang out you will cuddle together while either talking, watching a movie or just scrolling on your phones and that’s okay with you guys.

♡ he’s definitely the type to put his cigarette out on your skin (obviously if you don’t mind).

♡ loves neck kissing, he’s always giving you hickeys all over your neck and says it’s to “claim you” but you know he really just wants to be close to you and show you affection.

♡ he took awhile to say i love you because of worries of abandonment but when he first said it, he definitely meant it.

♡ he’s definitely dom in bed but sometimes you guys will switch when he’s feeling specifically needy (usually when high)

♡ weirdly good cook, he learnt how to make your favourite meals just so he could impress you

♡ lets you wear his rings for sure, if they’re too big he’ll put them on a chain for you to wear around your neck

♡ definitely lets you wear his oversized shirts all of the time.

♡ you guys have so many silly photos together

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

Comments and reblogs are always appreciated ♡

Master list

[imagine-darksiders]

Absolute Anarchy - chapter 2

The Bull.

A Darksiders/Scp au.

Cw: Animal death, threat, guns, shooting, references to goring, livestock, abuse, blood.

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Two days.

By your count, it’s been two days since you were pulled from the SCP’s cell and tossed unceremoniously back into your own with Mullins’s gloat echoing in your ear.

“Enjoy solitary, Scuzz.”

A slammed door, a buzzing overhead light, and nothing but your peeling wallpaper and creaky bed springs to keep you company…

Two days is beginning to feel like an eternity.

You have to remind yourself that it’s not.

They’ve only given you four meals, after all.

Taking a mental account of the trays that are shoved through the slat in your door is just about the only way you can measure the passage of time in here. Two meals a day, morning and evening. That’s the facility’s standard. And they’re all ‘served’ to you with the decorum of throwing slop to a pig.

Apparently, you revoked your rights to eat in the mess hall with the other D-Class after you refused to follow orders to shoot at the new SCP, or so you assume.

The first day was embarrassing, to say the least. You spent it in a state of near-complete hysteria, wailing and pitching a fit at the locked door, out of your mind with fear that at any moment, they’d come through it and drag you off to a fate worse than death. When you were hoarse in the throat, and your eyes red-raw from trying to scrub them dry, you hunched over in the corner like an animal, shivering violently in sporadic bursts.

Then the first meal arrived.

You ignored it, and it sat there unappealingly on the shelf attached to the slat on your side of the door until, hours later, that slat scraped open again and the second tray was shoved through, neatly sending its predecessor clattering to the floor.

It sounded so much like the gun you dropped in that thing’s cell.

It takes another few hours to muster the courage to unfold yourself from the corner and stumble towards the food, stepping absentmindedly around the grey porridge going hard on the floor.

The second day is spent on your back, staring bleakly up at a grey ceiling and trying to occupy your mind. Inevitably, your thoughts turn to the SCP. Moreso, the colossal gun fused with its biological arm, and the chambers that had been pointing straight at you, so much like Mullins’s Beretta…

But it hadn’t fired a single round…

Why…?

Well, you suppose you have an indeterminate amount of time to muse on its reasoning. You have no idea how long they plan to keep you in solitary, after all.

However, as punishments go, you think this one has so far been remarkably tame.

Nearly two whole days without being thrown to the wolves! Marvellous, in the grand scheme of things.

You suppose if anything, you ought to just settle in and enjoy the relative peace and quiet where you aren’t being tested against the nightmares of this facility.  Why, this isolation is practically bliss!

Of course, no sooner have you thrown that semi-optimistic spin on your situation…

“Oi!”

Somehow, not even complete and total separation from your fellow humans could make you miss the sound of Mullins’s strident shout.

When your door is roughly hauled open for the first time in days, you feel no joy or elation, and certainly not gratitude. All you know is the unshiftable ball of dread rolling around in your guts.

Mullins looms in the doorway once more, his lips moulded around a cigarette that hangs loosely between his teeth.

“Get movin’,” he growls, the dog end of his cig flaring like a red-hot poker, “Dinner time.”

-----

Is it comedic or tragic to find yourself once again standing rigidly in SCP-8103’s loading dock? Because you sure as Hell don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

When you arrived, you half expected the scientists to shove another rifle in your hands and order you to finish what you never even started. Instead, much to your astonishment and trepidation, they hadn’t given you so much as a by-your-leave before they forced you through the doors at gun point.

No instructions. No way to defend yourself. Just your jumpsuit, and your wits – which seem few and far between these days.

Chewing ravenously on your lip, you wait for the secondary door to start ascending; just another yawning beast opening up to welcome you into an entirely different maw.

You really, really don’t like what Mullins had alluded to when he said, ‘dinner time.’

Are you finally being thrown to the very deadly wolf?

The SCP did have teeth, you recall in uncomfortable detail. Very big, very sharp teeth, suggesting to you that it must have to use them at some point. Though for what, you hardly dare imagine.

You’d convinced yourself you got lucky the first time you were pulled from the cell without being riddled by giant bullets. Now you wonder if your luck wasn’t just biding its time, waiting for you to let your guard down before it suddenly pulls the rug out from under you and abandons you to your fate.

The secondary door of the loading dock whooshes open to admit you, and you have to release a shaky breath when no body flops through the gap. Then it occurs to you that the bodies might not have been removed by human hands, and suddenly you feel like being sick all over again. The blood is still there, of course, dark and dry and crusting over the tiniest cracks in the floor. But at least most of the truly gory viscera is… absent.

With an audible gulp, you tread carefully around the dark patch near your feet and tiptoe to the corner of the dock, bracing your spine to the wall.

Once again, you can’t hear anything inside. But it must have heard the door open. It must know you’re here.

“D-Class,” a scientist’s voice crackles over the speakers.

Almost instantly, a familiar growl thunders to life, spilling across the airwaves and rolling around the corner towards you.

Ah. There it is.

“Stop hiding by the door this instant and step into the containment unit.”

Well… If it didn’t know where you were before, it certainly does now. At least it’s stopped growling.

Biting down on the inside of your cheek, you lean cautiously out past the threshold, twisting your neck about to try and catch a glimpse of the entity before it can spot you.

Of course, that was wishful thinking.

A pair of golden eyes leer down at you from the other side of the room, sending you ducking back behind the wall with a gasp, clutching at the front of your jumpsuit. Whatever courage you’d scraped off the sides of your empty reserves had been entirely spent on throwing your weapon down the other day, defying orders and expecting, genuinely, to be gunned down.

You can’t do this again, not when your heart is on the verge of breaking out through your ribcage. Perhaps you can linger here in the doorway for the duration of the-

“-Now!”

You flinch, smacking the back of your skull against the wall.

“Ah! Shit.”

Right… Foolish of you to forget that in this place, choice is a badly concealed illusion.

You’ve already pushed your luck once, and just because it didn’t result in your becoming a lure subject for the Old Man or some other horrific fate, doesn’t mean that won’t happen if you continue to refuse orders.

You wonder how pathetic you must look to the Lab Coats now, sniffling in miserable resignation as you force yourself to edge around the corner, hugging the wall, with your eyes cast to the floor, falling back into that old childhood mindset that if you can’t see the monster, then the monster can’t see you.

The door you’d crept beneath falls shut with a deafening ‘wham,’ and there’s the familiar whirring of the locks as they pivot back into place.

You’re immediately greeted by a low, throaty rumble from the SCP.

Quaking, you drag your gaze off the floor and venture a glance up at the other end of the cell.

And there it is.

Stooped in a crouch against the furthest wall of its cell, SCP-8103 is lurking, that streamlined tail lifting and slumping to the ground like an agitated feline’s, and its great, silver head turned in your direction, poised to watch you through raptorial eyes.

A lipless mouth peels apart and issues a steady hiss between its blackened fangs, eyelids narrowing to thin slits that bleed golden light.

“Hssss…!”

“…Yeah,” you murmur under your breath, bracing each palm on the wall and pushing yourself away from the security of having a solid surface pressed to your fragile spine, “I’m not exactly thrilled to see you again either.”

The entity’s hiss peters off at the sound of your voice, and for an uncomfortably long moment, the pair of you merely regard each other; it with apparent aloofness and you with the trepidation of a mouse trying to step through a trap unscathed.

There is one imminently glaring thing that you can’t help but notice; the entity has made no move to aim its gun arm at you, which you suppose is a good thing. Evidently, it appears content for the time being to simply glare down at you from the opposite side of the room.

Does it even remember you? It must, if it isn’t aiming a weapon at you, you muse. Implying that it doesn’t see you as much of a threat.

Fine by you.

Hands clasping and unclasping, you somehow find the strength to tear your gaze away from its relentless stare and turn instead to the observation window, noting the several figures muddling about in the dimly lit room, some motionless, some scribbling away on their clipboards, and one hunched over a bank of monitors, no doubt keeping watch over everything that happens in this cell.

Swallowing past a lump in your throat, you flick a hurried glance over to the SCP again, only to go stiff when it turns its head parallel to the wall behind it, regarding you from the corner of one eye. At least it doesn’t otherwise seem inclined to move any more than that.

“Um…” Breathing a near silent sigh, shuddering at the thought of accidentally provoking a reaction, you peel your tongue from the roof of your mouth and shout-whisper at the window, “I… I never got a debrief?”

The inferred question goes unanswered, and you’re just beginning to muse on whether or not they can even hear you when the speakers crackle to life once more.

“D-One-nine-three-five…” comes a female voice this time, clipped and staccato. And cold. Cold like an icy road in winter, dangerous on all fronts for those unprepared to face it.

“Approach SCP and commence interrogation.”

Interrogation?

As if it understood the word just as well as you do, the entity’s tail flicks up to curl over its helm in one, smooth motion, pivoting slowly towards the window as a quiet hum starts to build at the base of its throat.

“So, that’s their game,” you huff, watching the SCP snap its jaws at the scientists, privately pleased that the focus has shifted away from you for the time being.

For as much as they like to try and impress upon you all that this place is a research facility, not a prison, the Lab Coats aren’t very good at keeping a lid on the jailhouse jargon.

You can still remember your own awful interrogation, back before you learned what this place really was. Two men in grey suits, each carrying themselves with the highest level of self-importance…

‘Do you have any family?’ they’d asked you in that too-bright room, a fluorescent light buzzing noisily overhead, ‘Close friends? Are you employed?’

You often kick yourself for not hearing their real question woven between the lines.

‘Is there anyone who would notice your absence?’

You’d been blinded by confusion, panicking from the sudden threat of having your future ripped away from you, bleak as it was. It might have been bleak, but it was still yours.

You answered ‘no.’

It probably wouldn’t have made a difference even if you’d told them ‘yes.’ They’d have soon found you out to be a liar when they inevitably sent agents to administer amnestics to your supposed friends.

And now those same people want you to interrogate an unclassified, highly volatile SCP?

The deliberate echoing of their method sparks an uncomfortable comparison in your mind, and you find yourself suddenly unnerved by the idea that you D-Class aren’t truly so different from the entities in this place, are you?

Both subjected to tests you want no part in. Both locked up against your wills. Both at the mercy of people who believe your suffering will lead to the greater good…

You catch yourself before such thoughts can develop. Dangerous territory to be delving into.

Stupid.

But still, the irony of your paralleled circumstances doesn’t escape you.

Just how on Earth are you even supposed to begin interrogating a gigantic, unknowable entity anyway?

Say ‘How do you do,’ and offer a handshake?

Blowing a slow and unsteady breath through your lips, you elect to ignore the first order to move closer, and instead hope the scientists will be appeased when you open your mouth to speak.

Its attention has already returned to you, its horns jutting forwards like prongs ready to skewer.

You shove aside the visceral thought of your body dangling from one of those horns, and instead clear your throat, resolving to say whatever comes to mind. Even if it’s nonsense, even if it’s ineffectual, even if it’s…

“Er…. Mm. H-hello.”

Smooth as a country road…

The entity just stares down at you blankly for a second before two slitted nostrils open up just above its mouth, flaring widely as it gives the air an audible sniff.

It doesn’t raise its gun though, which is encouraging.

Giving another hard cough to re-clear your throat, you stammer out, “I-I… I like your gun?”

‘Smack.’

Someone must have slapped a palm to their face and left the microphone on for you to hear it. Still, that saves you from doing the same, at least. If you aren’t careful, this will quickly turn into less of an interrogation and more of a social blunder.

Even the SCP looks bewildered. You’re sure that’s the first time you’ve seen it blink – just a quick flicker of golden light as it recoils its head slightly and spares a glance down at the aforementioned weapon fused to its arm, helm cocked in the opposite direction.

“It… it is a gun, isn’t it?” you ramble on, clenching your hands into the overhanging sleeves of your jumpsuit, “I mean, I never actually saw you fire it but… I – I can only assume that’s what… happened to the people before me…” Your sentence tapers off into silence when the entity looks down at you once more, opening its mouth.

You brace yourself, all the breath caught in your lungs whilst you wait for it to let out another snarl… Or worse…

Instead, what travels up its throat and slips between its crooked fangs is less aggression and more… well, you don’t know what. But it’s a far less vehement sound than you’ve heard prior. A hum, you suppose, still deep and hollow, but the intention behind it doesn’t strike with the same chord as a growl.

“I suppose I should thank you for that,” you add with a stilted laugh that doesn’t even touch genuine. When the beast blinks again, you hastily add, “For not killing me, I mean. Not for… Well, y’know.”

A vague gesture at the blood staining the walls and floor says more than enough, though it is odd that the SCP’s gaze follows your hands and glances at each of the dark patches in turn, warbling another strange note from its chest.

“Sooo…~ Yeah.” Drumming your fingertips against the front of your thighs, you click your tongue and reach for anything constructive to say. “Thank you.”

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“Did you see that?”

The scientist’s painted lips crook up, intrigued. The expression is quick to falter as she glances about at her peers, all of whom are shooting her looks of varying uncertainty.

With a sharp tut, she stabs her chin at the SCP. “It reacted to the mention of its gun. Looked right at it when the D-Class referred to it. Which tells us…”

When all she received are several, blank faces, she heaves an enormous sigh and lifts a hand to pinch the bridge of her nose, eyes screwing shut in exasperation. “If it looked to the gun when the D-Class mentioned its gun….?”

“Oh!” It’s her intern who eventually pipes up. “It speaks English!”

Frankly, she thinks her fellow researchers ought to be embarrassed that a greenhorn is the one who makes the connection.

“Or understands it, at least,” she adds, flicking the microphone on once more.

"D-One-nine-three-five. Tailor your inquiries to matters of the SCP’s origins.”

With the instruction dished out, she removes her finger from the switch and steps closer to the observation window, taking a mental note of each expression flitting across the D-Class’s face.

Surprise, then horror, then settling on a grim acceptance, illustrated by the hard line your lips draw themselves into.

At the very least, she plans to get some information about the SCP before the next, real test can begin.

Tossing a look over her shoulder at Mullins, she asks, “Is the specimen ready?”

The guard, who had previously been leering at the scientists from his spot by the door, snaps to attention with a click of his boot before he whips out his walkie-talkie and mutters something into it.

After a static-laden response from the other side, he gives her a nod. “It’s in the crush,” he says, “Prepped and ready to be deployed.”

“Good,” she returns, straightening her back with a satisfied hum, “We’ll give the D-Class a few more minutes to get what little information out of this thing is to be had…. Activate the crush at…” Trailing off, she checks her watch, “- Fourteen hundred hours.”

Bringing everything right up to schedule.

Perfect.

------------------------------

You wonder if you’ll go down in the Foundation’s history as being the first D-Class who ever thanked an SCP for not killing them.

What you said - that hesitant, ‘Thank you.' - you said with the intent to appease the armoured titan somehow, a feeble attempt at appealing to whatever intelligence might lay behind its silver helm.

Because you’re only too aware that in this cell, placating the enemy is the sole weapon you have in your arsenal. For when the enemy is this much larger, stronger, and deadlier than you are, you’ll never beat it in a confrontation.

You had not, however, expected that this kind of SCP was the type to be assuaged.

And yet…

By some miracle, you’re still alive, and the fact that its thunderous growls have petered out entirely suggests you’ve done something right, at least. Even if that something was just letting your mouth talk while your brain was busy frantically trying to make sense of the SCP’s bizarre behaviour.

Is it the sound of your voice that’s caused it to fall silent and take a single, heavy step towards you – one that you match with a rapid retreat of your own – or is it the words themselves that seem to have piqued its curiosity.

And if the latter rings true, would that imply that this entity is capable of understanding English?

Now there’s a question that befits a proper interrogation.

You have to admit, you’re about willing to ask it anything that’ll stop the beast from backing you into the far wall, something it’s been doing with its slow, measured steps for the past few moments, the pale pupils of its eyes large and round as it angles its head from side to side and peers down at you like it means to take you in from every perspective.

“Hey, um-“ you begin, swallowing your spit when the tail sprouting from its back twitches with apparent interest, “Can you… understand me?”

You almost feel the scientists holding their collective breaths. From the corner of an eye, you see several of them lean closer to the window.

Even you’re waiting on tenterhooks as it pauses, one of those terrible, clawed feet thumping back down in the spot it had just lifted from. You give the SCP a moment, but soon enough, as it raises its snout to the air and gives a few audible sniffs with those slanted nostrils, you realise you’re not going to get a discernible response.

“I’ll take that as a ‘no,’ then,” you finally add, neither pleased nor put out by the revelation. All you want is to leave this cell. Once is lucky, twice is coincidence. You don’t want to find out if you’ll survive your third visit…

It doesn’t offer a response beyond lowering its head and staring straight down at you again, an upsetting display that leaves you feeling as though you’re being pinned by the gaze of a hunter.

“So, can I come out now, or...?” you ask the people on the other side of the window without taking your eyes off the towering brute. There’s only half a containment cell separating you from it.

You don’t realise at first why nobody responds to you.

Their silence is quick to make sense however, when there’s a sudden sound to your right.

At the disturbance, you nearly trip over your own feet in your haste to face the noise, and as you do, the SCP follows suit, its tail hurtling up into position above its head, aimed with rigid precision at a large panel of the otherwise featureless wall that’s suddenly sprung open.

A door, you realise belatedly.

And your stomach drops the moment you remember exactly what kind of door it is.

You’ve only seen it in operation once, in a much different cell with a much different SCP.

D-Class call them ‘feeding tubes.’

The Lab Coats call them ‘crushes;’ close-fitting cages hidden behind the walls of a cell where drugged up livestock are held until the scientists release them into an SCP’s unit for consumption….

‘Dinner time.’

“Oh, fuck,” you hiss through your teeth.

You can’t see around the corner into the crush, but goddamn, you can hear the very recognisable bellow of an animal that’s just come around from sedation, its hooves stamping in confused fury against the metal floor beneath it.

A stomach-lurching snarl punches through the air and draws a cry of fright from your lungs. The SCP’s hackles are raised, bulging and bristling as it snaps at something you can’t yet see, its black fangs protruding from dark gums, and the pupils in its golden stare shrinking down to pinpricks.

And worst of all, bad enough to put the fear of death back into your quibbling heart, is the arm it raises slowly into the air, the all-too familiar whirring of machinery filling your ears as the cylinders near its elbow start to rotate - a gatling gun gearing up to fire.

The animal in the crush snorts madly, and with an abrupt rattling of metal followed by a clang and a thud, it charges from its confines and hurtles through the gap into the cell, a blur of black hair and dark, rolling eyes and a pair of horns lancing forwards from the top of its head.

It’s a bull.

Massive, terrified, furious.

You let out an embarrassing bleat when he bursts into the cell.

Almost at once, he catches sight of the titan in front of him, and he throws his head back with a snort, cloven hooves scrabbling to find purchase on the smooth concrete floor as he skids to a halt just several yards shy of the looming SCP.

You can only reason that he’s burned through the sedative quicker than anticipated. Usually, the livestock are so drowsy, they’ll stand stock still and do absolutely nothing to stop themselves from being killed or eaten alive by the SCPs.

Even months down the line, you still shudder to recall the time you painted the floor of SCP-5031’s cell with the contents of your stomach after witnessing it slice mercilessly into an unfortunate sheep.

You’re really not eager to have a repeated incident here.

Flanks quivering with adrenaline, the bull’s bulging eyes stare up at the colossus in front of him. And then, as bulls are often wont to do, he begins to size up his opponent.

Your heart flips upside down in your chest as you wedge yourself firmly into the corner, blood-shot eyes darting up to the SCP’s gun arm.

Why hasn’t it fired yet?

The gun is still humming, aimed squarely at the poor animal, but all its wielder does is snap its fangs together a few times, not unlike a bird clacking its beak to warn others off its territory.

In response, the bull huffs a breath through wide nostrils, sweat clinging to his glossy shoulders. Then, tossing his horns and turning to the side, he begins a back-and-forth trot from left to right in front of the SCP, who tracks the agitated creature’s movements steadily with its weapon.

But still, it doesn’t shoot.

Your knocking knees can’t hold you up any longer, and they give out quite promptly, forcing you to hunker down instead. The position in your corner is too open, too vulnerable. If bullets do start flying, you need to be as tiny a target as possible.

Breathing fast and hard, your vision starts to swim as you shoot a desperate, pleading glance at the window, praying to a god you no longer believe in that one of the Lab Coats will take pity on you and open the door.

It’s wishful thinking at its finest.

The bull’s moos only seem to grow increasingly frantic with each second that ticks by, shrill and broken as though he too is calling for help the only way he knows how. He paces like a caged rat, looking for an escape even as he continues throwing his head down and tilting his horns in the SCP’s direction. A meagre threat to be sure, but the bull isn’t to know that.

And as for the entity, while its arm continues to follow the bull's path across the room, its only outward acknowledgement of the animal in its cell is to utter a slow, continuous growl that seems to build towards an inevitable crescendo.

“Come on,” you breathe, teeth chattering between the words, “Open the fucking door!”

You shouldn’t have opened your mouth. You shouldn’t have made a sound. If only you’d just shut up and hunkered down in your corner, perhaps you wouldn’t have drawn any attention to yourself.

One of the bull’s ears flicks backwards, and all of a sudden, he wrenches himself away from the SCP and spins around on his hooves to face you, head held high and the whites of his eyes shining clear as day against his jet-black hair.

You meet that gaze; and understand. You’re both cattle here. Just a pair of frightened animals trapped against their wills with a common enemy who outmatches you in every conceivable aspect.

But the bull, of course, doesn’t think like you do. He doesn’t know you’re just as afraid as he is. He’s been brought here by creatures who look and sound and smell like you, and now here’s one of them: standing in front of him like a target, stark against his grey-walled cage with hard floors and no familiar sky over his head.

A bull doesn’t consider the fairness in a fight. A threat is a threat, no matter the size.

Tail whipping madly through the air, the bull leans back on his hindquarters, and before you can blink, he abruptly surges forwards into a head-long charge, nose tucked into his chest, horns aimed with deadly precision at your abdomen.

You don’t even notice when the SCP’s growls cut out. You’re too busy throwing your hands up in front of you and wrenching your head away from the charging missile, letting your jaw hang open around a silent scream. If you had the time, you’d pause to reflect on the irony of being killed by the least likely suspect.

As it is, the bull is only a few strides from you, hooves flying, thick neck rippling with muscle that’s about to thrust forwards and impale you on an entirely new set of horns. He bellows, the haunting din deafening to your ringing ears, and then he –

‘-BLAM!’

There’s an almighty thud, and something wet splatters across your shaking palms.

At last, your scream catches on a vocal cord, and the sound rips out of you like a wailing siren.

Someone in the observation room must have left the microphone on because you can suddenly hear an exclamation of ‘Jesus Christ!’

Your eyes are screwed shut so tightly, it’ll take a crowbar to pry them open again.

Even as the mechanical whir of machinery dies down, even as something with titanic lungs heaves deep, grunting breaths, even as the ground beneath your plimsoles vibrates with the fall of enormous feet, you don’t look.

You can’t.

You can’t… until out of nowhere, in a suddenly deafening quiet, your right hand is promptly and unexpectedly nudged.

Another piercing shriek fills the room as you wrench your eyes open and come face to face with a wall of silver and grey.

“FUCK!” you yelp, collapsing onto your backside but finding there’s nowhere to retreat to with your spine squashed up against the wall.

The SCP’s head is hovering before you, mere feet away, its yellow eyes almost crossing over one another to peer down at you, utterly still and disconcertingly silent.

‘Oh god. Oh god. Oh god….’ The words repeat in your head like a mantra, rapid-fire and frenetic.

But you don’t make a sound out loud.

Your mouth dangles open, not a breath nor a wheeze slipping in through your teeth as you wait, blood pounding in your ears. Somehow, even your body knows to be still. You’ve stopped shaking, too afraid for the adrenaline to control your muscles.

The instinct to play dead has taken over.

Through tear blurred eyes, you can see the SCP up close for the first time, the blank, white pupils floating in pools of gold, the charcoal skin sitting beneath the sockets of its visor, each nick and scrape zigzagging across the surface of its silver helm….

You let out a squeak when it pries its jaws apart and chuffs a hot breath over your face, catching the finer hairs at the side of your head and blowing them off your scalp. The air from its lungs smells acrid, and it burns your nose when you accidentally inhale.

It takes everything in you not to choke.

You wait for the bite. For the agony of those giant teeth sinking into your body and crushing you between them with a flex of its jaws. You wait, and wait, and wait, unheeding of the commotion occurring in the observation room. You only have eyes for the entity now, as though even taking the tiniest of glances away and breaking eye contact might spur it to attack.

Its horns, much like the bulls, jut forwards, each one a massive spear that hems you in on both sides, their tips nearly pressed to the wall to your left and right so that there’s truly nowhere to go.

"Please," you whisper, though it comes out wobbling, "Please, don't..."

A single blink is your only reply.

Then, as suddenly as it had crouched in front of you, the SCP - apparently satisfied with its impromptu inspection - lifts its great, silver head and stands up, moving away from you once more. Its leg stretches backwards, stepping deftly over the dark shape of -…

Oh…

Oh dear.

The bull lays dead on his front, hooves tucked up underneath his stomach. He had died collapsing forwards. And the only tell of what had killed him comes from a still smoking hole in the back of his skull. Murky eyes stare out at nothing and blood trickles in a steady stream from his nose, tongue lolling.

At first, your eyes dart over his entire body in search of wounds similar to those you saw on the D-Classes who died in here, but even with the fluorescent overheads lighting up every angle, you can’t pick out any other damage to his otherwise pristine pelt.

There’s only one wound.

One shot to the back of the head. Quick… Merciful.

Your eyes raise to the SCP’s gun arm and see that from one of the barrels, a dainty wisp of smoke is drifting steadily up towards the ceiling.

SCPs aren’t merciful.

What the Hell is this thing?

Peeling your bone-dry tongue off the roof of your mouth, you tilt your head back and gape up at the face of the entity towering above you. Its arm is reaching out for the bull, and you can do nothing but watch aghast as its clawed hand curls around the animal’s back legs and drags him back towards the opposite wall on the other end of the cell.

Slowly, methodically, it bends down onto its haunches and squares its stance over the bull, hissing at the Lab Coats behind their window like a lion guarding its kill. And like a lion, it doesn’t seem intent on letting the meat go to waste.

By the time the secondary door has begun to rise, you’ve scrunched your eyes shut again and slapped both hands over your ears to try and block out the sickening cacophony of snapping bones and the squeak of flesh being torn from muscle.

Staggering into the loading dock, you barely make it three steps inside before you collapse onto your knees, then your side, a wide-eyed, shivering mess of a human being.

Two guards have to haul you up by the arms, and without prompt, they drag you, crying hysterically, back to your cell.

[sugardollcurse]

Could you write something where is reader has OCD? preferably with john?<3

𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒔𝒂𝒇𝒆

꒰ pairing ꒱ john lennon x reader

꒰ contains ꒱ obsessive-compulsive disorder, intrusive thoughts, compulsions, self-stigma

꒰ summary ꒱ john doesn’t understand why you do the things you do... until he finally listens

꒰ note ꒱ angel this one means a lot ♡ i tried to approach it with the care it deserves, so i really hope it resonates with you ☁︎︎ also got my sister to help out with this cuz she's actually got ocd too :b

The first time John says something, it’s not cruel.

It’s just careless.

You’re in a dressing room in Manchester, one of those tiny white-tiled hellholes that stinks of hair oil and nerves. John’s flopped back on the couch like he owns the place, legs open, one foot on the table. You’ve just gone to the sink again... for what must be the third time in ten minutes, and are scrubbing your hands so hard it squeaks.

He watches you over his sunglasses.

“You worried they’ll fall off, or what?”

You blink. “What?”

“Your hands,” he says, gesturing vaguely with a half-smoked cig. “Keep washin’ ’em like a surgeon, don’t you?”

You glance down at your fingers. Red, cracked at the knuckles. You can still feel the ghost of the doorknob you touched five minutes ago. Still don’t know if it was clean enough.

You dry them with a paper towel. Too rough. Start again with another.

John makes a little laugh. Not mean. But it lands hard anyway. “Careful, you’ll wear ’em down to the bone.”

Paul looks up. “Leave off, John.”

“Just sayin’.” He shrugs. “They’re practically smokin’.”

You go back to the sink.

John stops talking after that. But you can feel him watching.

━━

It’s not new. Not really.

The need to check, to repeat, to tap the side of a lamp three times or else something terrible will happen. It’s been with you as long as you can remember. Most people didn’t notice, or at least, they didn’t say anything. You were quiet, polite, efficient. Easy to dismiss. Easy to smile at, and then ignore.

But with John, it’s different.

He’s not like anyone you’ve met. Not kind, exactly, not at first. Not gentle. But he sees things. Picks up on shit no one else does. And that’s the problem.

Because once he notices a thing, he doesn’t let it go.

━━

You’re on the tour bus, three nights later.

He’s sitting across from you, knees knocking the table. You’ve got a book open, but haven’t turned the page in ten minutes. You’re watching the trees go by, counting them in fours. Always fours. Has to be fours. Otherwise-

“You do that all the time?”

You flinch. Look up. “What?”

“Countin’,” John says, nodding at your fingers. You hadn’t realized you were tapping... index, middle, ring, pinky. Four beats, soft on the page edge. Over and over.

You pull your hand away.

He leans in, narrowing his eyes. “Y’think you’ll die if you don’t, or somethin’?”

You say nothing.

“Jesus,” he mutters, grinning to himself. “Bloody weird, that.”

“Okay, John,” you say quietly.

He doesn’t grin at that.

━━

You try to hide it better.

But the stress is getting worse.

Every room, every handshake, every doorknob, contaminated. You start to recheck your bag six, seven, eight times a day. You wipe your shoes. You refuse to touch shared water bottles. George asks once, politely, if you want a bite of something. You tell him no, even though your stomach’s been empty since childhood.

And John, John just watches.

Like he’s trying to figure it out. Like you’re a puzzle someone forgot to give him the box lid for.

Then one night, it’s too much.

It’s late. You’ve been left behind at the hotel while the boys go to a press dinner “Didn’t think you’d want to come,” Paul had said gently, and you knew he meant well, and you’re standing in the bathroom again, raw-skinned, washing, washing, washing. You’ve got your palm under scalding water.

Someone knocks.

You freeze.

“Oi,” comes John’s voice, muffled through the door. “You in there?”

You don’t answer.

“Look, I know you are. You left your room open. That’s dangerous, you know. Might get germs.”

You squeeze your eyes shut.

“Go away,” you whisper.

He doesn’t.

Instead: “You alright?”

You blink. Water still running. The question is too soft. It throws you off.

“No,” you admit, barely audible.

There’s a pause.

Then the knob turns, and he opens the door.

“Jesus,” he mutters when he sees you.

You’re still by the sink. Water running red from your chapped hands. Shirt sleeves wet to the elbow.

He steps in. Shuts the door behind him. Looks around like he expects to see blood.

“You been cryin’?”

You shake your head, then nod.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “Alright. Right.”

He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. Tries to put one in his pocket, fails, runs it through his hair instead.

“You… do this a lot?”

“Only when I don’t want to die,” you say.

The silence sharpens.

He looks at you for a long time.

Then: “It’s really like that?”

You nod. “I don’t want it to be. But it is.”

“Thought you were just…” He trails off. Waves a hand vaguely. “You know. Bit fidgety.”

“John.”

“What?”

You meet his eyes. “It’s not funny.”

And for the first time, he doesn’t smile.

“I didn’t think it was,” he says, quietly.

You stare at him.

“You laughed,” you remind him.

He breathes in. Doesn’t look away.

“Didn’t get it,” he says. “Still don’t. Not really. But I can see it’s not… you’re not takin’ the piss. It’s real.”

You don’t say anything. Just stare at the sink.

He scratches his jaw. “C’mon. Sit down.”

You hesitate.

“I’m not gonna bite,” he says, then sighs. “Unless you’re into that, which, hey, bit of fun, but maybe not now.”

You snort despite yourself.

“There’s the smile,” he says, pulling you gently away from the basin.

You collapse onto the closed toilet lid. Arms around your knees.

John crouches in front of you. Not touching. Just looking.

“D’you want me to leave?”

You shake your head.

“Alright,” he says. “Then I’ll stay.”

And he does.

For nearly an hour.

━━

You’re in Paris when he asks.

“What’s it like? In your head.”

You pause. You’re sitting on the floor in the hotel hallway, late at night. Everyone else asleep. John’s got a drink in his hand, but it’s mostly melted ice now.

You consider.

“Loud,” you say finally.

“Loud how?”

“Like… there’s always a siren. And if I don’t do exactly what the siren wants, something will explode. I don’t know what. Just... everything.”

He watches you.

“Sounds like a fuckin’ nightmare.”

You nod. “Yeah.”

“Can’t just ignore it?”

“Would you ignore a bomb ticking?”

He huffs. “Suppose not.”

You look over at him.

“Most people think it’s weird,” you say.

“I think it’s mad,” he says, “but not in a bad way. More like, fuck, if I had a brain like yours, I’d have jumped in the Thames by now. You’re tough.”

You blink.

He shrugs. “Don’t look at me like that. I mean it.”

You smile. Just a little.

He sips his watered-down drink. Then glances at you.

“You’re not mad at me? For bein’ a right prick about it at first?”

You tilt your head. “You were. But you’re not now.”

“Yeah. Guess I needed a slap.”

You grin. “Next time, I won’t hold back.”

He laughs, really laughs, and leans his head against your shoulder.

You sit like that until the sun rises.

taglist: @sharksausages, @wavvytin, @wimpyvamps, @finallyforgotten, @lennongirlieee, @silly-lil-lee

[liillyliilly]

A Prevailing Love

ukai keishin x reader words; 1614 synopsis; a memory from childhood- getting locked in the bathroom. the life he's living now still carries themes from his teenagerhood.

If there were at least two things that Ukai Keishin knew, it was that he was in love with her, and that he was a reasonable volleyball coach.

The second thing was due to all the time he spent working with the volleyball team, and ensuring that they were doing their best to perform at maximum capability. The first thing however, was much more of a challenge to understand. His love for her was blurry and confusing, like the way when he rubbed his eyes too hard and that static darkness that covered his eyelids, that was his adoration for her.

He wished that he could have been high school sweethearts with her, the girl who came to all of his games just so she could be the first person to congratulate him on a win, or be there to comfort him after a loss.

He only realized he liked her when she started dating some other guy from school, a green jealousy coating his senses as he kept being her friend.

There was always a thousand excuses for why he never said anything to her. The timing was never right, there were other people (for her, he never liked to date around), there was volleyball to focus on, a team to manage, shops to maintain up to standard.

She owns the small tea shop directly across from the Sakanoshita Store. If he times it just right, he can go for a smoke break when she goes outside to water the flowers in the pots splayed into the windowsill. Talking easily, and words flowed like the exhale of burnt smelling smoke from his lips.

She hated when he smoked, always citing studies about cigarettes. But he was a chainsmoker at this point.

She was the one who caught him more than once behind the school gym, smoking cigs and trying to burn leaves without starting an actual fire.

"Ukai, you can't be serious." She hit her hand to her forehead. He quickly threw his smoke to the ground and stamped on it with his shoes.

"I don't know what you're talking about." An eye roll later, and she dragged him to the non-gendered bathroom, locking the door behind her.

"Geez, if you wanted me alone, just say that." She filled a cup up with water and dumped it on his head. She tilted her head, as if to say: care to argue with me now?

He apologized, and took the piece of gum she offered. Chewing slowly, he climbed up and sat on the counter, the sink was running as she scrubbed his jacket and tried to massage enough hand soap on it to get rid of the scent of smoke. He had caused her more than enough trouble this time.

They had a science examination coming up, and their teacher had subtly, not subtly, mentioned that if anyone smelt like any kind of drug, then he would void their test and give an automatic fail. She was just trying to save his ass once again. Saving him from burning up his whole life.

When she was satisfied with the clean jacket, she held the clothing under the hand dryer, as Ukai repeatedly hit the button to start the air flow. The jacket got moderately dry, and the scent of the smoke was faded enough and replaced with the green apple hand soap. He slid his jacket back on.

The bigger problem, aside from the wet clothing, and her being mad at him yet again, was her rapidly twisting and jerking the door handle.

"It's stuck."

"It's not stuck, you just have a weak grip." Ukai motioned her aside, turning the handle with more force than he guessed was needed.

She folded her arms and began tapping her foot.

"I wasn't the one who got both of us stuck." He raise his hands in the air, claiming innocence.

She started hitting the door, banging and calling for someone to save them. He finally looked at his watch after he traded spots with her calling for help, 30 after the last bell. Their exam had come and gone, and the cleaners for the non-gendered bathroom only came around 7 pm. If no one came within the next fifteen minutes, then they would definitely be stuck for at least four hours.

They sat on the floor, digging through her bag to see if there was anything to unlock the door from the inside. She hadn't carried any bobby pins, no cards, no knives (which she said he shouldn't be carrying at school anyways), and no secret master key to the school.

"Let's play seven minutes in heaven." He shrugged and offered a solution to pass the time.

She smiled and shook her head, "Now I'm starting to think that you're the one who wanted me alone."

"I always want you alone." Muttered, under his breath.

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

In true studious fashion, she pulled out her notebook and pens and began doing her assigned practice problems. Ukai didn't like sitting across from her, so he scooched around until he was sitting side by side with her. Watching as she carried the two, divided the 14, and added the variables.

He glanced at his watch again, only 5 o'clock. Two more hours to go. He dug through her bag to find anything to pass the time.

Lip gloss, more stationary, notes, oh.. a note.

"What's this?" He waved the pink paper in front of her face, shifting it from face forward and face backward between his pointer and middle finger. She reached to grab it, but he pulled it back to him.

"Who's it from?"

She grimaced, "That third year, the one who stops by my grandma's shop." Her face was fully flushed now, she kept trying to grab the note back, but Ukai shoved it in his front pant pocket.

"No! The same one who totally tripped on the stairs when he had to give a speech at the beginning of the year?" Ukai left out the third year's better qualities, one of the top ten students at Karasuno, played on the baseball team, was captain of said baseball team, had a job lined up with his dad's automobile company right after graduation, had an actual future, stability, guarantees.

He pulled the note back out, she didn't attempt to take it. He read the note. It was genuine. He listed out the reasons he liked, nay, loved her. The same reasons Ukai loved her too.

That blinding smile.

Her big brain (baseball boy said her intellect, but Ukai knew that it could be summed up as her big brain).

Her heart, especially the fact that she was super respectful to the elders in town. The way she held her grandma's arm so they could sit on the porch sipping lavender tea together.

The way she looked in a swimsuit (utterly true, although Ukai wondered under what context this idiot saw her in a swimsuit).

Ukai shoved the note back to her, refusing to read any more than he had to.

"He's nice." She whispers.

"Nicer than me?" He joked.

"Not quite." It was an honest reply.

She never ended up dating the golden boy. But she didn't date Ukai either, so he considered it a break even circumstance.

The principal's office the day after they had gotten found by the custodian was brutal. She even had to take a 'just in case' pregnancy test, and she was mortified. Ukai had to do several hours of community service. The non-gendered bathroom was therefore and forever closed down. But they always fondly recalled the bathroom incident.

“Remember the time, when that one dude from that opposing high school called me Heracles?” Ukai finished wiping off the counter, and turning the sign on the store from open to closed.

She laughs a bit, wiping her hands on her apron. She leaned against the counter as Ukai opened the freezer to get out some ice cream. The crickets outside chirping from the simple temperature drop as day slid into night. They were older now. He said his back hurt more than once a month. She complained that her mom wanted her to get married and have babies as soon as possible.

“And then, I said something along the lines of, ‘He’s more like Hunk-acles rather than Heracles’ I do remember that.” Ukai smiles as he hands her favorite ice cream to her. Opening his own ice cream sandwich as she lets out a content sound from the taste of the refreshing treat. She looks over to him and she bumps his shoulder with her own.

“I had the biggest crush on you when we were in high school. Looking back on it, I’m sure it was obvious.” She scrunched her face up, her nose wrinkling and her cheeks lightly dimpled from her grin. Ukai decides to toy with her a little, just like when they were teenagers.

“And now? Still have a little crush on me?” Ukai throws away the paper wrapper of his frozen delicacy and pulls out a cigarette, lighting it before taking a slow drag from it.

She shrugs, leaning over and wiping away something from the corner of his mouth. The cigarette almost falling out of his mouth from the sudden touch from her. “Maybe I do.”

Ukai smirks, scratching the back of his head before rolling up his long sleeves and folding his arms. “What if I told you I also have a crush on you?” She laughs and she tugs on his arm, adjusting it so that she was holding his hand.

“Then I’d say, let's go on a date.”

[twst-drabbles]

I love sanctuary au, so maybe if this request is okay something sweet with riddle trying to comfort caretaker after their hands and body shakes from lack of nicotine

Riddle 19

Summary: While experiencing the worst of your nicotine withdrawals, you attend a tea party Riddle's having.

(Tis slow, but I thiiiink I'm starting to shed off the rust off my writing. It's been pretty bad. Hate how stiff my writing's been lately. I need to read more. Also I'll probably be just putting the drabbles in the ask directly just so I don't flood my tumblr blog with more posts. I want it clean-ish.)

You knew this would be a bitch of a habit to break. Throwing away the pack was just about the easiest thing you could do, especially when you had a promise to keep to just about everyone here, but that's about the end of it. Two days have passed, and you wanted nothing more than to dig your nails into your skin just to cast off this growing irritation.

However, as much as you wanted to wallow in bed surrounded by snacks, you did agree to have tea with Riddle.

And now here you are, suffering under the light of the afternoon sun. The little rosebush hedgehogs Riddle made are cute at least, but man are they sharp.

Your tea cup shakily clinked and no matter how you concentrated, no matter how hard you clenched your jaw and stiffened your shoulders, your body craved for another drag. What was once a simple itch became a full body craving, and now you can't stop yourself from shaking, your nerves screaming in frustrated impatience. You can't even keep your legs still.

Tea. You're supposed to be having a nice spot of tea, relaxing and enjoying yourself. Just get your hands still and drink from the cup before you make a fool of yourself and spill it everywhere.

"--and although the painting was subpar, Ace and Deuce did manage to paint all of the white roses red… Caretaker, are you listening?"

You didn't mean to slam down your cup, but that's what ended up happening anyway. Tea sloshed out of the cup and overflowed your saucer. Great, just great, a stain on this nice tablecloth.

"Sorry, I'm just… just hungry." Hungry, plagued by cravings and stalked by a headache just waiting to bite down on your gray matter. Among other things, like your shitty sleep schedule.

You let go and snatched a clean napkin. Furiously, you wiped your hands. Maybe if you scrubbed hard enough, irritate your skin enough, your mind can finally focus and stop wandering back to the store for your next pack of cigs.

Before you could rub your stinging hands raw, a thin root snatched the napkin right out of your hand, and snuggled a delicate rose bud between your fingers, free of thorns.

Riddle didn't turn to you, his sight off to the distance, as if to give you privacy. "Here."

"Huh." The small little thing blossomed into a rose with sparkling pop. Your nose itched but managed to stop yourself from sneezing.

"It's indestructible, no matter how you handle it, it won't rip or tear. As much as I want to, seeing as I'm also suffering from a similar ailment, I can't make anything you can consume. So, this is the most I can do." Riddle sighed, the slightest bit of frustration leaking out, but not enough to be concerning for you.

Right, right. Well, at least the vibrancy of his red petal body has returned. He looked more graceful than ever, but the fragile and brittle edges of his fingers don't escape your notice. And neither do the dull coloring within the joints of his body.

But you don't point them out, especially not when you're worse for wear. Time will pass and this will, hopefully, resolve itself. You just have to endure it.

"…thanks." The petals were rubbery. You squeezed as tightly as you could, popping the dewy beads within. The scent they released was nice. Helped with your head a little.

"You're welcome." Riddle closed his eyes, "Can you finish your tea? Otherwise I'll have to punish you according to the rules."

"Have you taken your nutrition drink yet, Riddle? Otherwise, I'll have to force you to take it."

"…I suppose I can't punish you if I don't see your crime."

"Good Roseling."

[broareweabouttoviberightnow]

I just saw you were taking requests! :D Lately, I've been obsessing over Buck's and Dally's relationship. Do you think you could write something about them? Preferably a sickfic/whump, but no worries if not.

@fefe-the-cat I HOPE THIS DOES YOU JUSTICE!!! This is where I kinda admit I've never thought much about Dally 'n Buck but this was fun to explore!! TYSM for the ask!!! fic below the cut!!

CW: mentions of vomit and throwing up!! nothing graphic!!

Dallas rolls over, grabs the bucket he'd stolen from the shed 'n brings up the only thing left in his stomach: bile. Waves of nausea roll over him, causin' his shoulders to buck 'n his elbows to buckle from where he's tryin' to hold his weight. He lets himself collapse face down on the bed, buryin' his face in his sheets.

Shit.

He doesn't know why he thought he'd be over this by now. Glory, kill him now. He'd felt like shit yesterday mornin' when he'd woken up thrown unceremoniously into the back bedroom at Buck's. He hadn't been surprised, per say. Wakin' up at Buck's almost certainly meant he'd gotten piss drunk the previous night without one of the gang to drag his sorry ass back to Darry. He'd chalked the sickness in his stomach and heaviness in his limbs to forgettin' to stop before the tequila shooters.

That had become a harder beleif to hold as he crawled into bed last night feelin' worse then when he'd started. By the time he woke up this mornin' heavin' dinner he'd accepted it.

He finally stops chokin' on nothin' 'n sits up and against the wall. He was beginnin' to really regret not just draggin' his ass to the Curtis' place. But he didn't want to do that to Darry. He wasn't that selfish. If he wound up on their porch with the bug he'd pass it to Pony who would give it to Soda, would pass it over to Steve who'd hot potato it to Johnny and it would swiftly wind up with Two and finish out strong with Darry. Sickness made the ranks of the gang like clockwork.

No, he was determined to figure this one out himself. He'd be fine.

Dallas dragged his head off the mattress, instantly heavin' again. Fuck, how Darry could take care of all six of them without losin' his mind was beyond Dallas.

A knock pounds on the door and Dallas runs a hand over his mouth to wipe away the bile, scrubs over his face, pushes back his hair. "I'm not runnin' the fuckin' ponies today, Buck, piss off."

He's not necessarily surprised when, instead of retreatin', the door flies open. Not shocked but still irate. Buck stands in the doorway lookin' pissed as all get out before he gets a good look at Dallas. He softens instantly, cockin' one eyebrow.

"You look like shit." Dallas rolls flat onto his back, stares at the celin'.

"Gee, thanks." He pushes himself to sit when Buck doesn't leave. "Fuck off, I'm fine." Buck rolls his eyes. Well, that was new. Usually, when Dallas told him to get lost he'd mutter about some fuckin' kid who thought he could order his grown ass around 'n then promptly get lost.

"Move over." Buck crosses the room in three strides, not that it was impressive, the room was practically a renovated closet. Dallas was more amused with the fact it took him that many.

"Buck, leave me alone. I feel like shit, I'm not runnin' those fuckin' horses." Dallas squeezes his eyes shut 'n bites down hard to keep his teeth from chatterin'.

"Yeah, no shit." He nearly jumps out of his skin when Buck's hand comes down on his forehead. He snaps his eyes open again, bats his hand away.

"Buck, get the hell out of here, would ya?" He tries again. Buck pulls the cig that's burnin' down to nothin' from his mouth, stamps it out on the bottom of his boot, and tosses it out the open window. He reaches over 'n wiggles it shut. "I wanted that open." Dallas shoots him a glare even though he was gonna close it himself the second he got the man out of his room.

"That's probably why you got sick to start with. Close the fuckin' windows in winter, why doncha?" He rolls his eyes and sounds too much like Darry for comfort. Dallas kicks him in the thigh.

"I'm not sick." Buck actually laughs in his face.

"Sure. Do you vomit on the weekends for fun now?" He kicks the bucket Dallas dropped to the floor. Dallas glares at him. "Look, I'll go get that Darry guy, he can come scrape you off the ground." Buck goes to walk out 'n Dallas snags a hand around his wrist quick as quick.

"Leave Darry out of this." Buck stops, fixes him with a stare. "I don't want him to worry or nothin'."

Well. That wasn't the answer Buck had expected.

"Fine." He shakes Dallas' hand off 'n Dally lets it drop to the bed. "But I'm not gonna let you die in my back room. Bad for business." Dallas rolls his eyes but doesn't argue. Buck disappears into the hall, returns with a thermometer.

"I don't need that shit. I'm fine." Buck shoots him an incredulous look Dallas pointedly ignores.

"I don't really care if you think you don't need it. Either you're openin' up for it to I'll get Darry down here to open your mouth for you." Dallas scowls as Buck plays the only card in his hand. He wasn't sure what Darry Curtis had on the rabid dog that was Dallas Winston but whatever it is, does the trick. Dallas leans over 'n snatches the thermometer, shovin' it into his mouth. "Now keep it there. God knows it'll be hard since you can't ever seem to keep your mouth shut." Dallas shoots him a glare 'n he doesn't need words to convey how close he is to kickin' Buck's ass. Buck just grins.

After a long minute, Buck plucks the glass from Dallas' mouth 'n checks the readin'. He lets out a long, low whistle. "Holy shit, kid."

Dallas momentarily stops scowlin' 'n Buck swears he hasn't seen the vulnerable look on his face since Dallas was fourteen 'n rollin' into Tusla with an accent so strong you couldn't understand a damn thing he said and the hunted look of someone much, much older.

"I think you're out for the count, kid." Dallas is still so focused on the red line he forgets to be agitated with Buck for callin' him a kid. Buck puts one hand on his chest 'n pushes him back down to the pillows.

"What does it say?" Dallas puts up a decent, three-second fight before he goes white 'n grabs for the bucket. Buck worries his lip, runs a hand up the kid's back.

"Says you're sick, dumbass." Buck sighs, stands up once Dallas shoulders stop shakin'.

"Don't go." Dallas' hand snakes out again, this time fingers diggin' deep into Buck's wrist. He freezes, takes in Dallas' gaunt face, his sudden desperation.

"I'm not goin'. I'm gettin' you a glass of water since you've been yackin' nothin' since yesterday." Dallas hesitates a moment 'n Buck doesn't try to pry his fingers off.

"Fine. But don't you dare come back here with medicine. I won't take none of that nasty shit." Buck rolls his eyes and crosses back to the door.

"You'll take whatever I want you to so I don't have to have the cops carry your skinny ass out of here in a body bag." Buck pretends he doesn't see the middle finger Dallas throws as he leaves the room.

When he comes back the kid is suddenly much more subdued than he was when Buck left. Buck deposits the shot glass of cold syrup and water on the nightstand.

"What is it, kid?" Dallas leans back against the wall, pulls his knees up to his chest.

"Buck, am I gonna die?" And the question jars Buck so hard he chokes on whatever he was gonna say.

"Are you gonna what?" Dallas turns the full force of his cold, ice eyes to Buck.

"Die." He deadpans.

"What the hell made you think some little cold is gonna knock off the unkillable Dallas Winston?" Buck smooths a strand of white blonde hair from his forehead. He knows he must really be feelin' whatever bug he's caught when he doesn't fight it at all.

"I dunno. I don't get sick. Last time was... New York." He trails off, buries his head down in his knees. He doesn't need to clarify what he means.

"Yeah, well." Buck picks up the glass, forces it into Dally's hands. "This time you got people lookin' out for you. Ain't no stupid bug gonna kill you, kid."

Dallas takes the cup, swallows a tentative sip. "I guess."

"Look. You're tired. You're half delirious if the nonsense you're spittin' says anythin'. Just try to go to sleep. You'll wake up feelin' better." Buck takes the water, swaps it for the shot glass of medicine. Dallas knocks it back like he shoots vodka- makin' a face 'n then pretendin' he enjoyed it.

He eases Dallas back onto the bed, decides fuck it, the kid was as much Darry's problem as he'd once been Buck's. A million years ago. He'd call him once he got the kid down.

Dallas' eyes flicker shut, blonde lashes fannin' across his cheeks. Buck smooths his hair back one final time, pulls the blanket up 'n over him.

He's nearly out of the room when he hears Dalla's hoarse mutter. "What is it, kid?"

"Thanks, Buck. For everythin'." Buck isn't sappy or nothin' 'n if you asked he'd swear he had no idea what you were dreamin' up. But if he wipes a tear off his cheek as he pulls the door closed, well, it was deserved. He had a soft spot in his heart for that stupid kid. Sue him.

[inoreuct]

oh oh oh oh sanji with red lipstick and her long ponytail curling over her collarbones, slightly messy after a long shift as she drops her purse on the floor. her keys clink into the dish on top of the foyer table and she kicks her heels off to collapse on the couch and light a cig because the world is so cruel to pretty girls. her bangs catch on her mascara she exhales and she rolls her head, pulling at her neck, tsking half-heartedly at a run in her stockings and yanking at her tie with one hand. cue zoro; sleepy, bleary, shuffling out of their bedroom in boxers and a crumpled, unbuttoned dress shirt that's too tight around the shoulders.

sanji sighs the smoke away as her girlfriend folds down next to her in an ungainly pile of muscle and limbs. "evening, chou."

"think you mean morning," zoro grumbles, putting whatever she’d been holding down on the table. "s'fuckin' three a.m., blondie."

"i know." she feels callused hands gently pulling the tie out of her hair, and she sinks back into the cushions as relief prickles across her scalp. "thought you'd be asleep."

her girlfriend scoffs. "oh, i was."

sanji doesn't even have time to ask then why're you awake? before something wet is being pressed to her eye, and she sputters. "mari—

"it's your micellar shit." zoro shifts closer as she wraps the soaked cotton pad around the edge of her thumb and works it into sanji's lashline. "you're dead on your damn feet. don't wanna hear you bitching about not taking your makeup off tomorrow."

sanji opens her mouth and closes it again because yeah, zoro's right; she wouldn't have bothered. she's too fucking tired. but the clogged pores and missing lashes and crusty lips the next morning would have put her in a horrid mood for the rest of the day— so she shuts up and blows out a mouthful of smoke as zoro wipes at her face.

"tough day?"

she sighs again, shoulders drooping with it. "nowhere near the toughest. but we had a guy who was an absolute bitch in charge of that event. what's the point of outsourcing a caterer if you're gonna tell their chefs how to cook?"

zoro huffs a laugh. "did you kick his ass?"

"duh. asshole made himself scarce after i nearly took his eye out with my heel."

"that's my girl."

the shudder that ripples down her spine when zoro's free hand comes up to steady her head feels like warm water, and she smiles a little at the look of concentration she knows is on her girlfriend's face. she also knows what her makeup looks like after long days, and it's hard work to get off; her eyeliner's probably gone or nearly there, lipstick smudged around the edges until it looks more like a rash (ew), eyebags showing through her concealer and mascara smeared. she doesn't bother opening her eyes when zoro grabs a fresh cotton pad to work on her other eye, strong fingertips digging into the side of her skull, and the pressure makes something tense along her nape release.

zoro's hands are rough, as always, nails filed down rudimentarily and calluses built up thick at the bases of her fingers. but when she presses the heel of her palm into sanji's jaw, it's careful— the cotton pad that drags over the corner of her mouth is precise, rubbing across her lower lip to scrub away the patchy remnants of colour. zoro's breath ghosts warm across her cheek, turning cool in the wake of gentle swathes of makeup remover, and sanji knows she's done when zoro massages the last dregs of tension from her scalp.

she brings her knees to her chest and listens to zoro's slippers shuffling away as her girlfriend throws the trash, and back again. her's cig's burned down to a stub; she smokes it until embers glow against her polished nails and then pulls herself up to grind it out in the coffee table ashtray. the couch's headrest is scratchy against her cheek as she blows the last lungful of smoke away and curls up on her side, watching zoro turn off the lights and shut the window in their kitchen before going over to pick her heels up and set them neatly by the door, hanging her purse up with their jackets on the rack.

sanji's ragdoll-limp as she's lifted, arms beneath her back and knees, head lolling onto zoro's shoulder— it's that liminal space between sleep and wakefulness, and she's slipping quickly over to one side. she doesn't fight it. why would she? even as she's set down over the cool covers, even as her slacks are peeled off and chucked over the vanity chair, she's far too comfortable. zoro undoes a few buttons, pops the clasps on her bra and pulls it off without much difficulty; sanji giggles weakly as a fleeting joke about experience flashes across her mind before it flits away.

it's dark. the blanket's pulled up over her shoulders, and she inches closer when zoro wraps an arm over her back. "i'm running out of shirts, y'know," she mumbles, thumbing at the sharp point of the pinstriped collar against her girlfriend's warm skin.

zoro fights a yawn. "sunday tomorrow. s'laundry day."

she takes a breath to reply and forgets what she had been about to say. a kiss is pressed to her forehead, and she falls asleep between one blink and the next.

(sanji wakes just past two in the afternoon, sleep crusted in her eyes and throat, hair all over the place, and hearing the dryer going. her shirt is falling off one shoulder when zoro comes in and tackles her back onto the mattress, and she settles under the covers as strong legs tangle with hers and zoro squeezes her waist with a yawn.

maybe she'll just sleep till dinner, she decides, burying her nose into soft green hair that smells of her own shampoo. instant ramen every once in a while can't hurt, anyway.)

[orangeinecstasy]

cherry cola, pt. two ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟcalum hood

paring: calum hood x clifford sister reader (fem implication)

summary: it's once again time for the yearly clifford beach house stay, but things are different. working on their new album the rest of the guys join, hoping the change in scenery will spark some inspiration. will the work get done? or will a forbidden romance blossom?

an: hello beautiful people! i'm so sorry the second part too so long for me to get to you. i hope you enjoy!

cw: smoking, drinking, cursing, age gap, smut

wc: 877

taglist: @riya-kaur @percysaidnever

tuesday

“Y/N got help, Calum, with the dishes.” Your mom nods toward the kitchen as she cleans off the dining table. You hum a response, grabbing your plate before you make your way into the kitchen. 

“I’ve come to the rescue.” Calum chuckles at your words, glancing in your direction with a smile. “My savior” 

You smile, setting your dishes in the sink. “You can go ahead and start drying them, love.” you nod, taking a dish cloth and drying the clean culturally, the metal cool in your hands. 

You stand in silence for a moment. It’s not uncomfortable, but something indescribable builds in the air between you two. He can sense that you’re thinking about something. His hip nudges yours as his hands scrub pasta sauce off of a plate, his arms flexing as the veins in his hand become more propionate. “What are you thinking about? I can partly hear the wheels in your head turn.” 

It’s a simple question, but you can feel your skin heat up and your core throb as you press your legs together. 

I’m thinking of you. You bending me over the countertop as your wet hands kneed my skin. Calloused fingertips pushing past the hem of my panties with ease. The feeling of your five-o’clock shadow against my inner thigh. Fucking into me, hot and slow. 

You shake your head, shrugging, and bite back a smile, “Nothing.” 

The house is quiet as you move through it. Cold hardwood pressing to the balls of your feet, soon met with concrete as you walk outside. The moon cast a bright glow on your skin, filling you with calm and energy as you walked towards the pool. 

Tossing your towel onto one of the pool chairs, you strip the clothes from your body. Nipples pebble, goosebumps spreading along your skin as you step into the water. You hummed, letting the warm water consume you as you lazily swam through it. 

You heard the deck door open and shut up with a loud click. You quickly swam to the pool’s edge, trying to hide your bare body as you blinked the water from your eyes, the figure still blurry in the distance. 

“What are you doing out here? It’s one in the morning.” Cal’s voice settles familiar in your ears, causing a wave of embarrassment mixed with euphoria down your spine. 

“Just a late night swim,” You rest your chin against the edge of the pool, concert rough against the skin. 

He cocks his brow, sitting on the edge of one of the pool chairs. “You always were a weirdo.” He shakes his head, tapping his pack of cigarettes against his thigh before pulling one out and placing it between his lips. “But you love me.” You smile, pushing yourself off the edge of the pool. 

“Could you throw me the towel?” He tosses it to you before cupping his hand to cover the cig as he lights it, the small flame casting a warm glow onto his skin. 

You say a small thank you, grabbing the towel as you make your way to the steps of the pool, wrapping it around you as you make your way out of the water. You wrap the towel tighter around your bare body, fully realizing the situation that you’re in. Naked. In front of the guy, you’ve been in love with your whole life. 

He takes a long drag off his cigarette, dark eyes landing on yours. You clear your throat, skin prickling with heat under his gaze. “Can I have one?” 

“You?” he chuckles, smoke slipping between his lips. “Have you ever even smoked before?” 

You shift in your seat, the cold plastic sticking slightly to your wet thighs. “No, but what does that matter? God, stop acting like my brother.” You shove his arm gently, biting back a smile.

He laughs gently. “Sorry, sorry.” taking another drag. “Why don’t you shotgun it first?”

“Okay.” your words are quite as Calum moves next to you, warmth radiating off his body as he takes another long pull off the cig, letting it settle in his chest for a moment before he cups your face. Calloused hands on your skin, making your hair stand on edge. Your lips part as smoke slips past Calum’s, the queue for you to slowly inhale. 

The warmth of his body, mixed with the unfamiliar menthol feeling, makes you feel light-headed. Your arms wrap around Calum’s neck, closing the gap between your bodies. “Y/N..” he breathes out before you connect your lips. It’s soft and hesitant until he slowly melts into you. Strong arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you even closer. 

He tastes like smoke and mint, consuming all your senses as your hand slips up his shirt. He quickly pulls away, breath hitched and lips slightly plump from friction. “Y/N, I, we… We can’t do this. I’m sorry.” 

He stands quickly, shaky hands stubbing out the cig. His mouth opens, trying to find the right thing to say, but nothing comes out. He briefly looks at you, eyes dark, before walking back into the house. 

The familiar click of the deck door settled the reality of it all. You’re an idiot, and he doesn’t feel the same. 

[laswells-ashtray]

Whoever said that their idea would be the last idea of the Sergeant Price and Mac shenanigans told a horrid lie😭

Macmillan finds out John’s real age and almost throws a fit because- how the fuck was he able to join so young, and how had he never noticed?

I don’t really know how the military works, but I know(I think, I second guess a lot) that you can enlist at 18. But John- the arsehole- enlists at the ripe age of 17 one day after his father had come home more plastered than he’s ever been and started to verbally(and physically) hurt him.

Earlier that day they’d had military recruiters come to his school to talk to the students about the different pathways they could take in service, and John took a pamphlet just for the hell of it(as well as did 40+ pull ups just to show off).

As soon as his father passed out on the couch, John packed a bag and took his most expensive car as a ‘fuck you’ before heading off to get signed up and registered.

Also on that note, I like to imagine that Johnathan Price was filthy rich before he left home. And when I say filthy rich, I mean fancy parties, expensive uncomfortable suits, room the size of my house rich.

He never liked any of it though. The most he liked from being that loaded was the fact that he could go out and get a fat burger and a pack of cigs anytime he wanted(not that his dad knew).

When MacMillan finds out John's true age he does approximately three things: turn his head so quickly that something in his neck makes a weird cracking sound, gasp so heavily that for a split second, he feels asthmatic and smack John over the back of the head with enough force that his hand fucking hurts.

"Ye dirty, lyin' wee shitebag. Fuck me, A've been handin' a gun tae a wain. A've been geein' weapons to bairns, a'm goan tae Hell."

"OW- Mac, what the fuck? I'm a year younger than you thought, I'm not some wee boy."

Truly, deep in the back corners of his mind, he knows that. John isn't a toddler, he's just a dirty, stinkin', lying wee cunt. But he suddenly feels the weight of every time he ripped into John for looking baby-faced.

"Ye right wee dickhole. Dae ye realise that if emdy else finds this oot yer fucked, as am I by extension?"

"Don't be like that, it's fine. Just don't go roaring about it."

Is it child abuse if MacMillan smacks him again? Sure, John might be of legal age now. Hell, he's a fucking sergeant. But he was a wain.

"Wan ae these days somedy's gonnae show up here to batter ye for some reason or ither. And a'm gonnae watch them beat fuck oot ye fir ma ain amusement."

"You're dropping syllables, how long am I going to be running laps?"

"Until yer grey in the fuckin' heed."

"Prick."

"Fanny."

MacMillan isn't an animal, he allows himself a good two minutes of silence as he scrubs at his face with his hands and asks God which crime he committed to receive John Price as punishment. Eventually, however, he can't help but ask.

"And yer da's worth how much?"

"Don't start."

[nylacouldntmakeit]

bridal carry ; Dally winston x y/n

it was a typical Sunday, you always make dally come and keep you company while you did a little house cleaning.

Mopping the floors, dusting the nooks, scrubbing the counters. tiring yes, but it needed to be done.

Dally occupied himself, half watching the television, occasionally twisting his rings and popping his knuckles. He’d make petty comments every once in a while, “hey you missed a spot there” or “hey you gonna clean that or just walk by it” as if you were cleaning HIS home.

Though as much as he’d scoff or seemed uninterested in spending time with you while you cleaned, he actually liked it alot. It made him feel so domestic. As if you two lived together as a family.

especially when you’d play a few tunes in the back as you guys conversed and cleaned he felt so warm inside.

this time he decided to make his own little scenario feel more real.

He patiently sat seemingly uninterested waiting for you to finish putting a fresh trash bag into your garbage can, before hoisting you up in his arms.

you gasped out of shock but cant stop yourself from giggling. dally can feel his chest getting warm, and he decides to walk to your room, your house shoe-covered feet dangling all the while.

dally gently sets you down on the bed, before pressing a kiss to your forehead. he murmurs a few words regarding how adorable you look (careful for you not to hear him) before popping a cig in his mouth and lighting it. Basically letting you know he wants all your attention and that sunday cleaning is now over. <3

[mikalame]

Heyyy i loved “fixing up” can u pleaseee write some hcs of little tom and bill x reader😘🙏 (PLUS YOUR PROFILE IS SO CUTE I LOVE THE PINK)

-Kat💗

Just some cute lil head canons of being besties with the kaulitz gald you like the pick kat 😝

Taglist: @oppopotamus @violentnewmarley @saumspam

After band practice you 3 would go to there house and play with their dads cards and play snap and go fish while eating snacks or talking about the being famous.

Playing around with the kaulitz mums makeup and bill copying what you do and doing it on himself but yk messy cuz yall are 8.

Helping tom with his dreads up keep or just raking your nails through his dreads aswell as bill or brushing out the hair spray in bills hair after a concert.

After bill went to star church and he only comes 2nd you comfort him by you and tom doing silly things like falling over or making funny faces and only stopping when bill cant breath cause hes laughing to hard

When its yours or theirs birthday you always do a cake smash where you 3 just make a total mess of the dining table and just trash it.

When your having a sleepover you 3 go to the park with like a cig each and smoke it while hiding in one of those plastic tubes that you hide in and when ever you heard something you would snuff it out and peek out of the holes in the tube.

When tom had told both of you he had lost his virginity you and bill made a cake with like a lil card and candles with icing congratulating him about it

When you got your first boyfriend and they saw you and that person holding hands then doing a cute lil peck on the lips they would scrub your hand till RED same with your face it would look like you had red lipstick smudge

If you were neighbours with them you 3 would have friday nights bbqs your parents would still and drink while you 3 would be running out of each house causing a muck and would end up sleeping on the trampoline

Your parents would also do like a carpool rotation so they would take turns taking you 3 into school and out of it

In school you and bill would hide under the bleachers during lunch and would gossip about what was happening in school or just people you didn't like

You three doing dress up and being all cute and stuff like tom being dressed as a dragon, you as a knight and bill as a lil princess being stuck in the tree house and tom pretending to kill him while you come in a save him

You sneaking over climbing through their window with your parents wine but spitting it out on the ground cause of the taste and putting it back like nothing happened

If you guys went on school exhibitions you would always try and be together and try and complete they scavenger hunts before the other groups you would always be super competitive

You three would do drawing comps and get your parents to judge but because they don't wanna be rude they say you 3 tied but being competitive little 9 year olds you start yelling at them to pick a winner and that you wont be sad if one of the other win (bill cry's when he don't win then tom calls him a sore loser (only when he wins tho)

Being the only girl you have some ups and downs they might be a little bit softer on you but not a lot you would also get teased a lot if it was windy and your hair was getting messed up.

Trying to bake and you 3 just end up throwing flour at each other and you and tom ending up on the floor brawling over who was going to mix but bill just ends up doing rolling his eyes.

At carnivals you 3 would get matching stick on tattoos like tom would get a lion bill would get a tiger and you would get a leopard all on your arm like a sleeve and would look in the mirror flexing and posing.

Every now and again you get beg tom enough to put makeup over him give him a make up tom usually ruins it by drawing a fake mustach on himself with eyeliner when you and bill rent looking

Hope you like Kat 😘

[smoothestkriminal]

It’s just a party.

Hii everybody!!!

I’m so happy to share this fic with you guys :D

It’s based on the “10 things I hate about you” party scene.

I did a poll on who you’d rather have as a male lead and you guys chose: GOJO•*.

I tried my best on this so enjoy!!!

I'm not going satoru.

Famous last words of mine being taken back at this very moment. Here I am; out on a Friday night at some football wide receiver's house in a fancy neighborhood who's parents are out of town. Probably at boca or something too, get away.

Typically, this means a party till the neighbours call the cops and it gets shut down. I'm not one to go out at all. Not even often. I'’d rather stay home with latest novel and Friday night special of my favourite show. But nooo~ Mr. "My Friends Place will be fun" decided to drag me along since his latest fling decided to leave him for some artist since he's more in "depth" and "considerate." Trust me when I had to listen to his hour long rant about how it was, "wack" she left him, a quaterback, 6’4, phat, who was da bomb." For a "lowlife, artist wannabe, scrub." That's about it I presume.

Quit buggin. You never go out, you know girls who don't come out and party get cheated on?

His tone hinted teasing, he knows no man can live up to my standards.

Well luckily I don't have a boyfriend.

| shoot him a quick cheeky grin and immediately drop it. As we pull up to the house in his, can you believe, Honda. Satoru knew his car was better, and expensive, so he made sure to flaunt whenever he could. I step out the car and walk up the steps to hear big boom blasting a song which I partially recall from somewhere. My eye catches the residence sign; "Geto residence. 411." Of course it's suguru geto. He's not notorious for throwing ragers, although he has quite a reputation for getting the cops and neighborhood watch called on his house...

Screaming and loud yelling coming from the beginning of the hallways as we step into the house. Immediately suguru joins us with shoko beside him smoking a cig. Sator dabs up suguru back and greets him. My hand is pulled out my jeans pocket and motioned a wave to suguru, he just smiles back warmly and takes gojo with him somewhere while shoko links her arms with me and sits me down between some stoners and heavy drinkers while she mingles along them lighting a blunt in her hand simultaneously. I just stare into the abyss as I don't have a clue what to do nor say. l've never been to these parties. The only party l've been to recently is my uncle's 40th birthday party with him going on and on about his new landline and how it's "wireless.” But that's a story for another time.

Do I know you?

Some random guy sits next to me with a giant bottle of booze in his hand, clearly reeks of alcohol which I can tell he's wasted. He takes another sip of the bottle before he says to me:

Hey aren't you the chick in my math class? The like, super smart one? Dude your like such a ner-.

The music takes over my train of thought and whatever he said trailed off. The next thing I know is he shoves a shot of some type of liquid in my face and ushers me to drink it.

No thanks, I don't drink.

C’mon, don’t be a buzz kli. You want everyone to think you are one? Just take it-

Honestly I'm good-

I don't have a clue whether it was the loud blasted music speaker in the right corner of my ear telling me or the urge to, but I took that shot out his hand and smacked it down. The hard liquor going down my throat felt hot and strong. The taste was bitter with a hint of caramel. Judging by the feel of it, it was a hard and heavy concentration of alcohol. Maybe I'm a flyweight or just can't hold my liquor, but everything was a flash from there on out.

I'm walking down a dimmed hallways between screaming teens and bottles surround the floor, limping sort of mindlessly going, somewhere? Music changes from hard loud rap to something groovy and mellow. And I find, eventually, satoru surrounded by girls and suguru on his side with a drink in his hand.

Satoru notices me coming towards him and focuses on me moving to him like a zombie with me rubbing my head from spinning.

Hey sweet thing, where've you been?

Hmm?

All I could get out is a grunt and lean against his side as he puts his arm around me continuously talking to his friends. He notices how I'm sort of out of it and ask me if I'm okay?

Am-goothhss (I'm good.)

You sure? You drank something weird? Maybe I shouldn't have left you with shoko.

What you mean? Quit buggin-

I'm buggin? You know what lets dip I can't let anything bad happen to you, your dad'll freak if he sees me dropping his daughter off wasted at this late. Suguru I’m gonna bounce-

Nooo~. Im gonna dance!

He can tell my words are slurring and realizes my full drunk. Wondering how in the world that happened, dancing music starts to boom through speakers and I leave satorus side and head towards the dance circle formed in the middle of the house.

Wait- y/n! Don't go there- c'mon man! I gotta take you home..

This shirts too hot and I feel so suffocated. I take my Full sleeve tee off and luckily I'm wearing a tank underneath it so l'm not completely naked. I throw the shirt on the floor and satoru picks it up still coming after me, he grabs me by the wrist and jerks me back to come with him. I jut my arm down for him to let go and suddenly l'm dancing with some randos moving to the beat. Sator just stands there in disbelief with my top in his hand, his eyes staring at my arms flail up and side to side as my hips do the same. Suddenly I'm pulled up by my arms and onto a table in the middle of the corridor. All eyes are on me and I get sort of shy thinking for a moment what am I doing? I make an impulse and grab a shot out some guys hand who doesn't seem to mind and gulp it down. I put that shot glass down and Continue moving to the beat as others around me as well. The party's going on as more people join the dance circle and start to move as well.

Satorus eyes widen with shock as suguru comes up to him and smirks while whispering to him:

That's your lady right there entertaining other guys, you gonna do something?

As he's told that he looks around to see almost every guy staring at you dancing with a perverted look in their eyes, some trying to skim through the crowd and approach you- he feels a sort of rage and jealousy brush over him and leaves suguru side who's still smirking as he watches. Satoru forcefully pushing others aside, grabs you by the waist and puts you over his shoulder while heading towards the door. You too drunk to even register what was happening look up and realise your being taken. You don't worry although as you understand it's satoru.

What are you doing satoruuu~ I wanteh to danceuh...

You’re drunk y/n. We're leaving right now.

Who are you, my father? Stop worrying and let's partayuh-!

My words keep on slurring which cause gojo to smirk and sigh with exasperation.

Maybe I shouldn't have urged you to come out tonight. Especially since all those guys have the nerve to stare at you like what, imagine what they were thinking...

Whut???

Nothing. Just next time, don't be putting on a show for guys.

He opens the car door and places you in it. As he gets in he makes sure your all right- to only see you passed out slouching against the window. He brushes back your hair that's in your mouth as you snore away. He thinks to himself why he's seething with jealousy right now? He's never looked at you in this type of light before. You?! His best friend. You weren't the type of girls he wasn't into at all. You stayed home all day unless it was school or the library. You rarely wore dresses unless it was a special occasion, you had more pairs of jeans that the average person and read for fun. Fun! He's seen you as if you were a Brother.

So why was he so tempted to kiss you right now?.

I regain my consciousness to see it's still dark out and I'm pulling up in front of my house.

Satoru what time is it?

W-what?

What's the time???

That was weird..

Uhh- it's about.. 2:00 in the morning.

What?! No way my dad'll kill me!

Wait- y/n

He stops my hand from opening the door and I look back at him. His blue eyes lock on mine as he stutters to say something.

I-I. do gosh why am I stuttering?! Do you remember tonight?!

No, not really. Gosh my heads pounding.

Satoru looks conflicted on whether or not he should say what he feels like or let you peacefully go to bed. Heavy breaths, eye contact locked on with raw emotion piercing through them, just wanting to tell you something- anything!

Nevermind, Sleep tight.

..Tonight was fun, bye.

He watched her open the cars door and slump out walking to the door. Glancing at him for a second before unlocking the door and stepping in closing the door behind her.

Maybe next time..

Tch- dammit satoru.

[wildmayhemz]

I’m in need of a cig, but I told myself I wouldn’t smoke if I was in scrubs.

So I need someone to rip my scrubs off and then light me up. Asap

[arcanemoody]

Woodstein snippet

@arokel This might not qualify for silly, but I hope the amount of levity is sufficient.

--

Hoge's in town for election night. Which, Carl remembers far too late to catch the buzzer when his old friend presses it just a little too long, sending him running for the door in three long strides.

"Do not wake him, Hoge, I swear to fucking god."

His old friend makes a good show of mirroring Carl's cautious steps from the front door to the kitchenette, bypassing the sleeping figure curled up on the sofa.

"Nice to see you too," he whispers, eyes still on the couch. "...I didn't know single men could adopt in D.C."

"We worked late," he stage whispers, lighting the range under the kettle and throwing two spoonfuls of instant coffee into a clean cup. "What time did you get in?"

"Two hours ago. Sorry, I didn't mean to intrude. My check-in time's not until eight and I didn't think I'd need to worry about you being asleep."

Carl responds by motioning with his fingers, first for a cigarette then a match. Hoge has the temerity to smirk as he strikes the latter on the sink, drawing a deep breath as he lights the former. Camel. No menthol. Beggars can't be choosers. He finishes the cig and Hoge drinks the whole cup without complaint, both of them standing in the kitchen, making near silent conversation about the flight, the non-Washington press crew storming the city.

"I'll try to call ahead next time. 'Make sure you're not busy." His smile is almost dirty.

"Yeah, yeah. Lux et veritas, asshole," he murmurs, waving Hoge out the door and sliding the deadbolt shut. The silence in the apartment behind him is just a little too perfect... "Tell me you're not awake."

"Okay, I won't," Woodward says, not bothering to whisper. "You never said your best friend went to Yale."

"He didn't." Carl shoots back, swallows the lump in his throat before turning around. "Lance went to Harvard."

Woodward's own smile is boyish, bereft of irony. And not helped by the slow way he scrubs at his half-lidded eyes.

"Just 'veritas' then."

"Go back to sleep."

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

s4 episode 21 "zero sum" thoughts

this episode had me entirely TRANSFIXED. at no moment did i know what was going to happen next, and i badly wanted to learn!! rejoice: a skinner episode!!! where he is driven to desperation by how much he loves his agents! i truly do not think i could have asked for more!!

(okay, scully wasn't there, which is usually my number one priority... but hear me out: the episode was still SO good despite her absence, which is a testament to some HIGH QUALITY WRITING)

so!! back to my live report from approximately 24 hours ago, when i began my journey into this rollercoaster of an ep. take it away, past juni:

after last episode, i have gone through all of the emotions known to humankind. i am interested to see where we will go next, having ventured into those uncharted waters. perhaps these waters will be more… charted.

A SKINNER EPISODE!!! he’s framed for murder AGAIN??? he can’t keep being put in these circumstances bro 😭

why would skinner cover up a death caused by bees??? that seems pretty cut and dry. bees did it. nobody’s fault. unless they’re secret FBI bees the world isn’t supposed to know about…? obviously the doctor is going to say “yup, bees did it, not humans”, right?? i mean if someone dies of bee stings i assume it’s very obvious??? and that no murder charges would be filed?? because?? bees did it??

(author's note: lmao. what a fool i was)

skinner. i am ready to learn more about you. 

we open at a place that ships packages. this woman (jane) needs a cigarette. her friend (later revealed to be named misty) is telling her to quit smoking. i’m not sure that is an effective strategy.

jane runs to the bathroom and is going to smoke in there??? not even outside??? what was going ON in the 90's!!!

but oh no! some bees emerge from the bathroom sink. MANY MANY MANY BEES. someone please call that lady on tiktok that scoops hives out with her hands while whispering into the camera “another great day of saving the beeeeeeees” (god i hope she’s doing well)

bee swarm of intense proportions is going on rn. can you buy bees at the store? is that what they did for filming this? order a bunch of bees at the bee store?? huh. 

anyway, they’re approaching jane the cigarette lady very very quickly. they’re in the stall!!! she’s smacking at them!! 

but cig lady’s friend misty is getting concerned. she goes to the bathroom to fetch her friend where she finds… an empty bathroom?? free of bees. with only a smoking cigarette on the floor and DEAD JANE COVERED IN BEE STINGS!!!!!!!

WHERE DID THE BEES GO MAN!!!

dang. those bee stings are gnarly. shoutout makeup team.

skinner is looking at jane's files. why does this interest you, skinner?? why is he deleting them?? probably because he does not consider insect related cases FBI matters

WAIT! HE WASN’T ON HIS COMPUTER…. HE WAS ON MULDER’S!!!

WHAT!!! (we need to give this reveal some space to sink in)

... he knows mulder's passwords……?

skinner. WHAT are you hiding!!! i used to hate him and then i sort of liked him and then i hated him and now i am affectionate towards him. we must not begin the cycle again!!!

well, now i’m invested. 

intro time. and i'm still laughing about that tweet of scully serving three quarters profile in her badge pic

after so many shortened intros, this one felt long!!!

skinner is… leaving his house? he has a bookend that looks like an elephant. now what does that say about him… and a what looks like a buddha in the corner. IS this his house??? buddhist skinner confirmed?

he’s taking off a “do not enter” sign and going into the bathroom where the bee incident went down, armed with just a flashlight. and he finds the cigarette, which he flushes. he’s cleaning the bathroom floor with a portable vacuum!! WHAT DOES HE KNOW!!!!!!!

i’m literally soooo invested, i’m not even joking. his ass is on his hands and knees SCRUBBING. what has brought assistant director skinner to this forbidden janitorial work!?!

this is very dark though, screen wise. had to up the brightness. 

he finds something oozing from the ceiling. and he sniffs it before wiping it away. gross. is it honey? weird neon honey?

now he’s picking the lock of the MORGUE!!!!!!! is he gonna steal jane’s body??!!!!!! bro what the HELL!!!!

someone in the coroner’s office hears a distant thud and almost finds him TAKING HER BODY!!!!!!!!! it seems he narrowly escaped!!! he hid around the corner and took jane with him…. to a very weird place. he’s climbing up a ladder. is it an incinerator? 

bro, he must be strong as hell. anyway, he takes her body and places it in a fire. 

my guess is that somehow she was contaminated with secret bee poison and he needs to make sure no one else gets sick from it????? by incinerating the body?? but that doesn’t do anything about the bees themselves??

he’s at the police station now, asking about jane. HE GIVES HIS NAME AS MULDER????? he has a fake badge and everything… omg do NOT get my boy in trouble!!

the policeman shows him a vial of blood from jane, which he replaces with a vial from his own pocket, and wipes the pen he took. ohhhh what is going on!!!!!!

so now he’s going back to his car with the blood. but someone runs out to see him!!! calling “agent mulder”!

it’s the detective who emailed the pictures to the REAL mulder!!! he somehow knows that mulder is part of the x files (which i feel shouldn't be information random people should know) but skinner is trying to say that nothing here warrants his involvement. 

he is deeply suspicious. but someone is watching him!!!!!!!! who is this mystery fellow watching this go down????

skinner is get undressed at 3:55 AM. and it IS his house with the elephant and the buddha!!!

SKINNER FOLLOWS THE FOUR NOBLE TRUTHS AND THE EIGHTFOLD PATH, LET'S GOOOO 🔥🔥🔥

(that is a more interesting interpretation than him keeping a buddha around as decor, but hey, pick your headcanon as you please)

and who shows up but REAL MULDER!!!! AT 4 AM??? BRO WHAT IS HE DOING?? he should be on his couch!!!! sleeping!!

he has been trying to reach skinner…. OHHHH HE CLOCKED RIGHT AWAY THAT THERE IS A COVERUP!!!

and the detective was SHOT AND KILLED!!!! 

(my friend called me at this point to tell me that liam payne died. this has absolutely no relevance on the episode, but it did lead to me pausing for a half hour to share this news with others. and it would feel inappropriate to not include it in the write up)

mulder knows someone forged his name at the lab and he just wants skinner’s help!!

NO!!! SCULLY IS IN THE HOSPITAL SO SHE CAN’T HELP…. HER DOCTOR SAYS HER TUMOR MIGHT BE METASTASIZING… NO NO NO not my poor sweet scully...

no scully this episode…. this is sad :(

skinner is doubly gagged…… maybe even triply gagged between the revelation of the detective being killed, mulder being onto him, and scully being in the hospital. he is flabbergasted, one might even say. 

he’s going somewhere in very tight pants. someone tries to hit him with a car?!?

IT’S CSM!!!! and the guy from before who was watching the exchange with the detective go down!!!!!! 

ohhhh skinner has GRABBED him by the collar and is yelling that he MURDERED him!!! but CSM says to keep his voice down

“i wouldn’t get too comfortable on your moral high ground, mr. skinner. this only happened because you left your job unfinished” <- hey WHAT DOES THAT MEAN??

(i’ve said it before and i’ll say it again… CSM’s voice is so soothing. tell me a story, scary man)

skinner says that he has followed CSM’s instructions…. and when skinner points out that the detective didn’t have to die, he says that he is “in no position to question the terms of our arrangement”

is this the deal he negotiated with to try and save scully???? and is it even working if she’s in the hospital right now??

he tries to say they have no arrangement and walk away, but CSM basically says well, i’ll have my bestie here kill you. and so skinner saunters off in his very tight pants, defeated. 

he wakes up on the couch to a phone ringing. and it’s mulder saying that jane's body was stolen, and all the evidence has been cleaned. “slow down” “i’m sorry sir, but i can’t” <- his brain was in overdrive!!

mulder figured out the replacement blood wasn’t jane's because she has a different folate serum level and skinner seems to be cursing himself for such a mistake. a good catch on mulder's part.

he has one lead, and it’s the make of the gun. but skinner realizes something… his gun isn’t in his desk!!! WHAT!! NO NO NOOOOOO

he calls CSM and growls that “you can’t do this”…….  he says that the man died so skinner could have what he wanted… what does that mean…

A CURE FOR AGENT SCULLY??????

WHAT!!!!

what does that have to do with the bees!!!

“if anything happens to her, i will expose you” <- OHHHH HE IS NOT MESSING AROUND!!! he said i'll get us both thrown in prison if you fuck with my agents!!!!

“i don’t care what happens to me” <- OHHHH MY GOD I’M RIPPING OFF MY SHIRT IN BIBLICAL LEVELS OF GRIEF. he loves her.

“agent scully stands to live a full and healthy life. i would hope the same for you, mr. skinner” <- no no no no no. please don’t kill him. please? for me?

(this made me picture a world without skinner and it was very sad. do not make me imagine this ever again. i won't stand for it)

this episode has me HOOKED!!!!!

back at the shipping warehouse, skinner is being led to the restroom. the bee incident only went down yesterday!!!! he finds more of the yellow goop… and says he needs a hammer

he’s beating the hell out of that wall and finds it filled with honeycomb!! but this is probably EVIL honeycomb, right?

why yes, of course. he brings some of the evil honey to someone in maryland with a very cool in-house lab. oh, to be a maryland scientist with an incredible laboratory in the home that i own, because homes were plentiful in those days.

would it help to know that this bee can kill people? “any kind of bee can be lethal” <- well that is not super helpful in this particular case. nor is this fact comforting.

when it seems all hope is lost, bee scientist man finds some royal jelly and a larvae!! so hopefully soon they will have some answers. and now i know what royal jelly is.

oh, turns out 6 months ago mulder called the same guy asking about killer bees… well, he is always up to such activity. he was probably also calling a marine biologist about the loch ness monster. he keeps those DMV area professors BUSY

(author's note: now knowing what this is referring to, i think it is so fascinating to place s4 within a timeline of 6 months!!!!)

skinner is going through the x files folders down in mulder's office. and why the hell does one say “foo fighters” in the background!!! has the FBI finally found what the foo that they are fighting is???

OH!!! he finds the pictures of the child clones working in the honey farm!!! from earlier!! i was wondering if we were ever going to revisit that!!

he sees covarrubias' number on there so he starts to call her… omg…

(i have never seen one of those big rolly things of contact lists before)

but just as he is about to call, mulder walks in!!! he has pictures of the parking lot from the night of the Event… pictures that show a very blurry skinner that he cannot recognize AS skinner, but he’s going to take them over to special photo department, and oh no. oh no.

mulder asks what skinner wanted to tell him and he scrambles to just say he wanted to check on his progress… and i cannot tell if mulder believes him or not

skinner calls covarrubias about the bees. and she has to tell him that there was no bee evidence at all. so skinner counters with: well what if *i* have the bees??? well, then that would change things.

covarrubias is really pretty. while i may not like that she basically became deep throat 3.0, she is very pretty

bee scientist comes home to find all the lights out!!!!! his lights are covered in bees!!! it seems they broke through!!! no no no no!!! they cover his windows!! and he is being swarmed….. 

a terrible (or perhaps fitting) end for a man of bee science

mulder calls skinner down to show him the body of the bee scientist. and he had symptoms of SMALLPOX???? they put the smallpox in the BEES???? oh my god. new worst nightmare just dropped.

skinner wants to know how he contracted a disease that no longer exists, and yes, it did in fact come from the bees.

mulder thinks that someone is trying to revive the world’s deadliest disease!! oh my god!! how does this relate to the aliens???? i thought i knew at one point but now i don’t!! 

skinner asks mulder to tell him what he finds when he goes over to the photo department…

back at the shipping warehouse, skinner is talking to misty, jane’s friend. she clearly knows something but isn’t saying it. jane was misty’s best friend. and they were trying to go on vacation together. </3

OH. THE MEN WHO CAME THERE SAID IF THEY TALKED TO ANYONE SHE WOULD LOSE HER JOB….. they wanted a package!!!!! a damaged package!!

and it was stored right next to the bathroom where jane was found?!!

shipping bees… package gets damaged… bees get loose… smallpox bees everywhere… very bad very bad…

luckily, she can look up the tracking number!!!

back at the photo lab, someone who is not pendrell but looks like him is working on the photo. and mulder says that it is very important to him.

oh, his sad sad face as he realizes who it is…. like somebody punched a baby in front of him.

back at the alien groupchat meeting!! (again i think they’re called the syndicate?? i googled something once and that came up)

CSM is showing them the last remaining bee, saying all others were destroyed. and the body has been sanitized. CSM tries to say it has been taken care of. but the others want answers on what went down. 

“should we presume that the trial run is proceeding as planned?” “it’s already begun” <- HEY WHAT DOES THAT MEAN…… and why is the next shot KIDS ON A PLAYGROUND………… with a BEE BUZZING……….

kid gets stung by a bee…… as a ton of other kids ALSO get stung by bees!!!!!!! no!! not the kids!!!!

one kid trips and falls, and when the teacher tries to save him, she is swarmed!!!!!!! and the little kid has horrible marks all over him!!!! as do the other kids!!!!

skinner is here at this hospital to see what is going on… and he tells the doctor that the kids need to be treated for smallpox. this does not go over well with the doctor!!! he says that not only is smallpox no longer around, but it has an 8 day incubation period. well okay. i guess. things have changed.

covarrubias is here!! hold up is her name MARITA and i’ve been getting it wrong this whole time?! editing this post to refer to her by last name instead. i cannot tell if that is a subtitle error or the Truth. i’m sorry miss covarrubias. coh-vah-roo-bee-us.

she called asking about the contents of 7 packages sent to south carolina!!

“you’re a little late to do anything about it” “so are you, apparently” <- ohhh get his ass

she asks wtf is going on, and that she needs to tell the UN so don’t mess around. he hypothesizes that it’s an experiment using bees as carriers for disease. and when skinner says he hasn’t told mulder, she straight up asks if he’s involved OHHHH!! but he denies it. 

she says he has to come forward…..

back home. he starts to dial a number but stops, pulling his gun (which is now back in his desk!) out

AND OHHHHH MY GOD MULDER IS HERE AT SKINNER'S PLACE. “PUT THE GUN DOWN AND MOVE AWAY FROM THE DESK” <-OHHHH NO. IT’S GOING DOWN. 

ugh this is gonna be a two parter, isn’t it… i had a sneaking suspicion 

(it actually wasn't. but you can't blame me there. it was looking pretty close)

OHHHHHHH MULDER WENT THERE…. “you’ve been working with the smoking man all along. you knew when they had my father killed, and you knew when they took scully” <- OHHH MY GOD. his rage is barely contained and he looks like a damn animal.

skinner points out that the lock in his desk was forced open, why would he force his own lock open? and that the police are probably on their way right now. 

oh my gosh… i’m holding my breath… is mulder going to believe him? will skinner tell the truth?

“i advised you against a certain course of action some time ago concerning agent scully. i didn’t follow my own advice” <- oh my god........... the confession.............

he was willing to admit to making a deal with the devil for scully... does she know how loved she is...?

mulder gets quiet and says “give me the gun” <- WHAT IS HE THINKING? 

someone is firing it into some water? i guess that is how you figure out what the murder weapon is. and the guy says he is absolutely certain this is it.

mulder says they find it in a sewer grate around the corner (but for a moment i fully believed he was going to say it was his). the expert guy breaks the news that unless forensics pulled a print, it’s untraceable because the serial number was cleared off.

skinner leaves at this news. he almost smiles, and i wondered if the expert was going to call him out on such odd behavior. and from there, he goes to meet CSM. 

ohhhhh he has the gun to CSM's head!!! “agent scully is dying and you haven’t done a damn thing about it” <- HOLY SHIT!!! CSM’s smirking…. the right bastard

he claims that if skinner kills him, he’ll also kill scully… and that he had saved her life before when he had her returned to mulder.

“but you’ll never know if you pull the trigger, will you?” <- OHHHHHH MY GOD. is he bluffing or not!!!!! how would he have a way to cure her beyond letting one of the aliens he keeps on hold touch her???

SKINNER FIRES THREE SHOTS??????? DID HE SAY FUCK IT AND KILL HIM. IS THIS THE END OF CSM?????

NO. they were JUST behind his head. oh the tension was THICK.

message received. i hope. whoever is on the phone is asking about skinner, saying mulder will be contacting them soon.

it's covarrubias????? she says she’ll tell him what CSM wants her to tell him. WHAT!!!!!

“tell him what he wants to hear” <- HEY WHAT. IS HE GOING TO LIE AND SAY SCULLY IS OKAY????

thus concludes the episode.

I HAVE A LOT OF THOUGHTS.

okay, first of all, covarrubias works for CSM. i feel silly for not picking up on that because we KNEW she works for the UN, famously the host of the alien groupchat parties, but i didn't even put it together at all. but just because she works for him doesn't really mean anything, because deep throat and x also nominally worked for him. to what extent is still unclear- maybe they did everything on his orders, stringing mulder along to keep him distracted from learning the truth- or maybe there were aspects of corruption they felt were "safe" to be exposed and lead him along the path for this deeper trap that CSM is laying for him. so we cannot make a covarrubias moral judgement just yet- but we also know we cannot trust her.

next. skinner loves his agents so much, dude. willing to kill AND die for scully to be okay... please think on this for a moment. and then think about it some more. how he told mulder to never make a deal with the devil, then did it himself even though he has so much to lose as the assistant director. and for the rest of his life he'll have to live with knowing he assisted in his murky and horrific plans, including infecting children with the world's deadliest diseases, because he could not stand to lose scully.

there are many kinds of love, some of which are complex and indescribable and cannot be inserted into conventional roles, and i think that is exactly what is going on here. the incalculable love for skinner and his agents.

okay. and mulder trusting skinner SO ABSOLUTELY. showing up at his apartment at 4 AM to ask for help. offering to take out the trash, and the constant updates he provided him on the case. the way his face FELL when he realized it was skinner in the photo. and how he came to believe that skinner knew about or was perhaps even behind the calls to kill his father and kidnap scully. how betrayed and horrified he was. how he must have recalled his mantra of "trust nobody", how he must have been kicking himself for falling into a false sense of security for a man who risked so much for them, but must have, in his mind, been luring him deeper and deeper into a trap. imagine all of that grief about scully being abducted and then getting sick and the loss of his father being placed at skinner's feet. mulder, who never for a second doubted that skinner was innocent in his earlier brush with the law. imagine how incredibly painful that "realization" would have been. and then how he wanted so badly to believe him, but after so many betrayals, it would take more than just a scratched desk for him to do so. but he does. god.

there is an addictive substance placed between the relationships of skinner to mulder and scully. something almost familiar. something almost entirely unspoken except for in a foundational and silent trust.

this episode was really, really good. probably my favorite of the season! i was trying to figure out what exactly was going on and why. it really raised the stakes for skinner, mulder, AND scully in a bunch of different directions: skinner being in CSM's pocket, covarrubias being in CSM's pocket, mulder believing her as she feeds him lies, scully's illness getting worse... whew!

more than anything i love to see the trust between characters tested and pulled, and their bonds put to the limits. so i am very pleased. i will likely be thinking of mulder's animalistic rage as he held the gun to skinner's face for a long, long time. and how skinner quietly admitted to doing what he told mulder not to. by jove. an excellent piece of television.