#Enjoy :)

[veryfruitywriting]

even more headcanons of mac !

—from date everything—

it is currently 4:18 in the morning and i cannot fall asleep. i saw some cute fanart of mac and decided to write more content about them <3

this will probably be queued later in the morning hehe please ignore any mistakes as i’m just doing this as i go!

keep in mind this will be loosely based on their more “humanoid” forms that we see in the polaroids!

— it can be a bit tiring sitting in a chair all day, especially when it’s mostly forced upon you. you can’t afford those unique table that can change its height so being hunched over your desk will have to do for now.

— you can tell Mac gets tired of it as well. They have a comfortable chair and all—as it’s their only mobility—but the sound of just laying down and allowing their body to be one straight line sounds wonderful.

— you both look at each other and decided it’s time to take a break from the computer and its demanding duties.

— “after you,” you open the door swiftly, allowing them to wheel through and follow them to the living room.

— it was a daily routine now between the two of you. after hours of being glued to the screen, you both decide to wind down on the couch and take a breather. basking in each others presences during this downtime.

— you firmly lift them up from their chair and hold them close to your chest, planting a quick kiss on their jawline before falling onto the couch. a quick ‘oof’ and sigh was heard from you as you sunk into the couch.

— mac crossed their leg over the other as they adjusted themselves on your lap. their shoulders pressed at your chest and their head at the crook of your neck, they found themselves in a very comfortable position.

— you both talk softly. whether its about how tiring work is or plans for dinner, it didn’t matter. just hearing their voice was just enough for you.

— your eyes are closed while you two chatted. you were trying to heal your eyes from your bad habit of not blinking when it came to any large screen. you could feel air hit your now exposed neck as you felt mac lean back slightly. they were simply admiring your resting expression now. your slightly frowned eyebrows and your faint eye bags were the little things they loved to witness.

— you continued to hold them. your hand on their outer thigh and the other one at their waist. you know mac has a strong core and won’t allow them to slip off that easy, but you couldn’t help but be so physical with them.

— they are the same way with you. at this moment, they are currently brushing the strands of hair behind your ears, keeping them away from hiding any wrinkle or freckle that you were blessed with.

— and when they’re done with that, they tug at the fabric of your shirt. or possibly trace imaginary lines on your exposed arms. or might even mess with any wrist bands you may have. it doesn’t matter. they cannot keep their hands off of you.

— and neither can you.

it’s now 5am RAAAHHHHH. future me, was it worth it 💔

also i’m fixing the photos, themes, and possibly titles for my other hcs/posts so don’t fear!!! they’re just getting a little makeover! all of them are linked on my pinned <3

[captaincanonly]

on season 2…. Ohhhgguhghhhh what a show

[nb-n0v4]

Decided to clean up and color this for no reason in particular. Anyway, don't forget to walk your TV!

[verycoolgaming]

think this is the most i’ll do with this piece :p

definitely could’ve done more but i don’t want to burn myself out to the point where i just trash it entirely

[riricitaa]

In the Margins | Part 10

[Part 1 ] [Part 2 ] [ Part 3 ] [ Part 4 ] [ Part 5 ] [ Part 6 ][ Part 7 ][ Part 8 ] [ Part 9 ]

Steve’s Cabin – Late Evening

The cabin is quiet. Steve sits on the edge of the narrow bed, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped loosely in front of him. He hasn’t turned on the lights. He hasn’t moved in twenty minutes.

He keeps hearing the same words.

“Different people. Different… types.”

And then that question , casual on the surface, but it hadn’t landed like a casual question.

“You ever try something different?”

At the time, Steve hadn’t answered. He couldn’t. Not because he didn’t have one, but because he didn’t know if Bucky wanted the truth, or if he was just tossing a line into the water to see what Steve would do.

He’d replayed the moment a hundred times since then.

Bucky hadn’t said it outright. He never used the word men. Never spelled anything out. But something in the way he looked at Steve, like he was already bracing for something, like he’d already done the math, had made Steve’s heart stutter in a way he didn’t know it still could.

Because Steve had tried. Years ago. Quiet, discreet moments of confusion and shame and late-night realizations he never quite knew how to voice. It had never gone anywhere. It had never felt like enough to claim, not in the world he came from. Not in the body he wore. Not with the expectations that had followed him like shadows.

But now… Bucky.

Bucky, who he’d spent a decade arguing with. Bucky, who knew the exact placement of the tattoos he thought were private. Bucky, who remembered a woman in a red dress from ten years ago and who asked if Steve had ever wanted someone unexpected, someone he wasn't sure he was allowed to want.

Steve leans back on the bed, pressing his palms flat against the mattress, staring at the ceiling. The silence feels thick.

Was that what Bucky meant?

Or was Steve just hoping that’s what he meant?

There had been something tentative in Bucky’s tone. Not baiting. Not even flirty, not exactly. Just… vulnerable. Like he was reaching for something and leaving Steve to decide if he’d reach back.

Steve shuts his eyes.

He can still feel the look they shared right after. The stillness. The question that never really ended.

He doesn’t have an answer yet.

But for the first time in years, he wants to find one.

Bucky’s Cabin – Same Night

The bed’s too firm, the blanket too scratchy, and the silence too loud.

Bucky lies flat on his back, staring at the ceiling like it might give him answers. His arms are folded behind his head, elbows wide, fingers drumming restlessly against his skull. He hasn’t moved in over an hour. Can’t.

His words keep playing back in his head.

“Different people. Different… types.” “You ever try something different?”

It was subtle. He’d made sure of that. He didn’t say men. Didn’t say I’ve liked you for ten years and I’m pretty sure you’ve never even looked at me like that, because he didn’t want to ruin it, whatever “it” even was.

Still, the silence Steve gave him after… it wasn’t empty. It was something.

Bucky had felt it. The way Steve looked at him. The way his hand tightened slightly on the fishing rod. The way he didn’t answer,  not in a way that said no. Not in a way that shut the door.

And that scared the hell out of him.

Because what if Steve was just too polite to tell him he crossed a line?

What if that was Bucky reaching too far, again, and he just made it awkward between them?

He shuts his eyes and exhales through his nose.

He shouldn’t have brought up the woman in the red dress. He doesn’t even know why he remembered her so clearly. Except he does.

It was the first time he saw Steve,  really saw him, and realized that charm and confidence and warmth could look like that. That a man could be all steel and softness in one package, smiling like he didn’t even know what it did to people.

To Bucky.

That was when everything started.

And it only got worse when they became… whatever they are now. Colleagues. Friends. Close, in a way that dug under Bucky’s skin and stayed there. Close enough to hurt. Close enough to hope.

He rolls over and presses his face into the pillow, groaning quietly. He feels like an idiot. Like a high schooler circling a crush with cryptic mixtapes and meaningful glances.

He should’ve just kept his mouth shut.

Or , if he were braver, he should’ve just asked.

"Steve, have you ever wanted a man?" "Steve, have you ever wanted me?"

But no. Bucky Barnes doesn’t do brave when it comes to things like this.

Now all he can do is lie here and wonder if Steve caught it. If Steve’s still thinking about it. If he’ll bring it up again, or if Bucky just buried it in silence like everything else he’s ever been afraid to say.

He turns onto his back again and stares at the ceiling, thoughts swirling too loud in the silence, so he got up, dragged himself to the chair, let out a heavy sigh, and buried his face in his hand, elbow resting on his knee.

Please, he thinks. Just let him understand what I meant.

And maybe, just maybe, let him feel the same way.

[sugarrushdragon]

Finally got enough energy to do some digital art.

So here's some quick Noelle Snowgrave for your eyeballs :)

Some extra doods for your Delta pleasure :)

[scribbledswans]

dream demon and a city that never sleeps

[ann0ingg3mila]

I should admit

I’m a huge 007n7 fan

(My moots will agree with that!!)

ANYWHO HERE IS SILLY DOODLES OF 07 I MADE ON MY PHONE

(These aren’t the best as I’m in camp with limited time for my phone so like I will draw better at home ^_^)

[anything-pov]

I just saw TikTok of this and now I kinda wanna read a fic of it

Emily X reader please and thank you

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZP8ryLjKV/

you could change up this scenario/where they are but I feel like this would be so cute

Enjoy! (Quick disclaimer: I do not have POTS, nor do I know enough about it as I should, but I hope my depictions are accurate, and if they are not, please, let me know and I can change them to portray accurate representation!)

Out of Fuel ⛽️

The lights were dimmed low in the BAU conference room, the air still heavy with the weight of the case they’d just wrapped.

A local abduction case, resolved quickly, but brutal. They’d saved the kid, but no one was walking away untouched.

Emily sat at the head of the table, her usual authority settled in the way her arms crossed over the manila file on the tabletop.

But beside her, just slightly angled toward the board, was Y/N. Young, brilliant and quietly sharp in the way Emily adored, her girlfriend and one of the Bureau’s rising stars.

She rarely spoke in these meetings unless directly asked, but her notes were always pristine, her insights laser precise.

Y/N was focused, but something shifted. Emily caught it. It started in her shoulders, a slow slouch that wasn’t casual.

Then her hand, which had been wrapped neatly around a pen, twitched. Not a normal twitch. A POTS twitch. Emily’s eyes snapped down to her.

Y/N blinked slower than she should’ve. Her skin, usually flushed with the faintest nervous pink when under pressure, drained to a too pale shade.

Emily uncrossed her arms. “Em?” Spencer asked, confused as Emily suddenly pushed back her chair. “Y/N,” Emily said gently, already reaching for her, “you with me?”

Y/N’s head tipped toward her just slightly, eyes dazed. “Mmhm,” she tried to say, but it came out paper thin. The spinning office chair wasn’t safe now.

Emily moved fast, one arm under Y/N’s back, the other gently under her knees as she guided her down. “Okay, love. Floor. Let’s go to the floor. C’mon.”

The whole team stood in a split second. “She okay?” Morgan asked, already halfway around the table. “POTS episode,” Emily said quickly, her voice calm but tight, “She’s about to faint.”

As Y/N’s body gave out, Emily caught her fully, lowering her to the floor with practiced ease. She'd done this before. Too many times. "JJ-"

"I've got her legs," JJ said, already crouched, gently lifting Y/N's feet to rest on her own thighs, elevating them, "I've got you, Y/N/N." Y/N's body trembled once, then again.

A few muscle spasms, her body doing that desperate, silent fight Emily had learned to hate. The spasms never lasted long, but they were a cruel flash of just how little control Y/N had over her own blood flow.

Her chest rose with shallow, inconsistent breaths. Emily kept one hand under Y/N's head, cushioning it from the hard floor. The other hovered over her pulse point, fingers finding the thready beat.

"C'mon, honey... ride it out, slow... love." The team gave space but stayed close. "She had one earlier this morning," Emily said, her voice low but honest, "I was hoping she'd rest up enough after, but..."

"Second one's always worse," JJ murmured, hand still gently supporting Y/N's calves. And then... Y/N stirred. Her eyes opened slowly, heavy, almost like it hurt.

She blinked once, then again. Her lips parted, breath raspy, but she didn't speak. Emily leaned down, brushing sweaty hair from her forehead, voice barely above a whisper now.

"I know," she said, soft as a secret, "Second one's the worst. You're out of fuel, huh?" Emily kissed her girlfriend's forehead. Y/N's eyes filled slightly, not quite with tears, but exhaustion, the ache of her own body betraying her in front of a room of people she admired.

Emily pressed her forehead to Y/N's, just for a second. "Hey. No shame. You're safe. We've got you, love." Y/N couldn't speak. But she blinked slow and grateful, her fingers barely twitching against Emily's arm.

"She needs sugar," Garcia said, already rustling in her purse, "I've got juice... juice and granola bars. Always do." She rambles, her hands scrambling to her pockets and purse.

"Garcia, you're a saint," Emily said. Spencer nodded, "And once she can sit upright, she should stay reclined for at least fifteen more minutes."

"I'll take her home after this," Emily said, voice already moving into resolution, "She's done for the day." The team stayed in quiet formation, not a single person moving to resume the debrief.

Y/N, pale and boneless in Emily's arms, finally managed a small exhale, like she could rest now, safely tethered to the one person who never let go.

And Emily just kept whispering, "I've got you, Y/N. I always will, love."

[mooniewritess]

part 2 of this

The following morning, you woke up with the worst headache possible, and your throat was as dry as the desert.

You groaned as you turned in your bed, and gasped when you came face to face with the most disgruntled face possible.

"About time you woke up, woman." He scoffed, rolling his eye. "I have never seen someone sleep for so long."

"Oh, God." You close your eyes and rub your temples, trying to soothe the throbbing ache at least partially. "I can't deal with you right now."

"Can't- how dare you?!" For a shapeless, one-eyed blob, he surely knows how to perfectly express offense and utter outrage.

"You disturbed me in the middle of the night, treated me like some kind of toy, and you can't deal with me? Back in my- where do you think you're going?!"

"Away from you."

"Don't you dare leave me here!"

You groan, but give in and take him with you to the bathroom. After all, you have to fetch some painkillers and clean the lipstick marks off of him, so bringing him along was the logical thing to do.

"You look cute with lipstick." You chuckle after downing the pills, making him throw another fit about disrespect and insolence.

You just pick him up and observe him. "Should I use makeup remover or bathe you directly?" You wonder, following it up with a "Should I even bathe you?"

"Just take this damn thing off of me, mortal!"

Bath it is. Maybe he'll drown.

"You're getting scented bubbles." You inform him as the bath slowly fills up.

"This is ridiculous."

"Do you want to keep the lipstick marks?"

"..."

"Just as I thought." You grin victoriously.

Once the bath is ready, you put him in the water and start washing him, gentle but firm enough to get rid of the marks.

Everything seems fine, at least until you get back to the drawers under the sink to look for some other make up pads.

A quick thing, really.

But when you turn back to Sukuna, you barely hold back a scream.

Because in front of you sits a seven-foot tall creature, covered in tattoos, with four arms and four, red eyes — all fixed on you.

"Oh, I missed this." He grins, stretching his arms out. "It's good to be back."

His voice is much deeper, gruffer, huskier.

You keep your eyes on him, scared and confused about what the fuck has just happened. You take a hesitant step back, cotton pads long forgotten on the floor, but he's quick to grab your wrist and pull you closer, making you almost scream — if it wasn't for the clawed hand covering your mouth.

"Shut up, woman. You're not done." He scoffs, annoyed. "But I will dispose of you if you scream. Do you understand?"

You slowly nod behind his hand and, after a silent moment, he lets go of you.

You take a deep breath, retrieving the cotton pads. "You're... you're Sukuna?" You ask in a whisper as you hesitantly go back to wiping the marks off of him.

"Yes. The real Sukuna, not that hideous thing I was before." He answers, observing you.

You clear your throat and nod, trying to wrap your head around the fact that your adorable little blob is now... this.

"Okay. Sure. Of course." You mumble to yourself, stepping away again once you're done cleaning him. "You're Sukuna. How... did you end up... like you were when I took you in?"

He groans at the question, getting out of the tub. "Fucking sorcerers. They will pay for that."

You simply nod again. You have no idea what he's talking about, but there are other matters at hand right now.

Like the fact that he's naked. Completely. Right there in front of you.

You scramble to get a towel for him, face flushed as all kinds of unholy thoughts fill your mind.

You don't even dare look at him as he dries himself off. "I... I will see if... there's anything you can wear."

He looks at you with an amused grin and a raised eyebrow, entertained by your sudden embarrassment. "You really think you own something I could wear?"

"Well, I still have the kimono I was supposed to gift to my brother. It might be a little, uh... tight around the shoulders. And probably a little short, too." You consider, managing to look back at him and gathering all your willpower to keep your eyes on his upper body. "But it's still better than nothing, at least until I, uh... I get you clothes you can wear."

He shrugs, not even bothered by the idea of not wearing clothes. "Whatever. I'm hungry." He changes the topic, water still dripping from his pink hair as he gets out of the bathroom.

"Sure. You know where the kitchen is. The meat is in the fridge." You remind him, going into the opposite direction to fetch the mentioned kimono.

He stops in his tracks, and when you come back, you find him frowning at you. "You're supposed to feed me."

You frown back, confused. "... What?"

"You have always fed me. Why stop now?"

"... Because you have functioning arms, now?"

He looks at you like you've just spoken an alien language, and rips the kimono off your arms to angrily put it on. "Unbelievable. I'm your king, and as such, you will feed me." He drags you to the kitchen, retrieves the meat, and sits down.

He makes you sit on his lap and hands you the food. "Feed me."

You stare at the meat in your hands, trying to understand if it was real, or you have just gone completely insane and are now hallucinating.

Well, the way his claws are digging into the flash of your side doesn't really feel fake, that's for sure.

Deciding not to test him any further, you simply obey. After all, it is what you've been doing since you brought him in, might as well continue, especially if it means not angering someone that looks like he could break your back with one hand.

He seems calmer after.

He comes with you to buy his clothes. Mostly because, if he didn't want you to go out without him before, now he actually has the means to physically stop you from doing so. So you bring him along.

He doesn't seem to be a big fan of modern casual clothes. He just gets more kimonos.

When night time comes, you stare at the couch, and then look at him, arms crossed.

"Well, I, uh... I don't have a guest room. The kennel is obviously off the table, so, you could take the couch? Although it does seem a little small for you."

He tilts his head, looking at you with genuine confusion. "Why the hell would I sleep on the couch?"

"... Because there's no other bed?"

"There's your bed." He points out in the most obvious tone.

"You want to sleep in my bed?!" You ask, your voice coming out higher than intended.

"It wouldn't be the first time, woman." He reminds you, making you blush at the memories of your drunk self.

"With how grumpy you were when you woke up, I thought you didn't like it."

"I was mad at the gross marks you left on me. I didn't... dislike sleeping in the same bed."

You barely manage to hide a grin at how pained that confession seemed, and just nod in response.

"Okay then. Sure. You can... sleep in my bed again." You agree, clearing your throat.

Just as you're about to turn to go to your room, he yanks you up and throws you over his shoulder, carrying you like a sack of potatoes.

"Sukuna, what- are you doing- hey!" You protest when he throws out on the bed without much regard.

"Shut up. I'm tired."

Can he even actually get tired? Does he need to sleep? Does he ever sleep at all?

You don't question him.

You just let him wrap his four arms around you, holding you close to his chest in the same way you held him last night.

Much to your surprise, he's very comfortable. As big and muscular as he is, he... almost feels safe.

You don't take long to fall asleep, like that. And he watches you. He studies your relaxed features, listens to your steady breathing, and he thinks.

Yeah. Maybe revenge can wait a little longer.

[degradingnostalgia]

bear with me -

thinking about anakin, i think it is almost glossed over that he is part of an ancient, monastic, ideological and spiritual institution? i know that may sound silly, it is emphasised that yes he is a powerful jedi, trained in the ways of the force, especially combat, and eventually is a very skilled and intuitive military general, part of a 'peace keeping' organisation that work in tandem with the republic.

but stepping back, there is just something insane about the fact that before the galaxy-shattering events of the clone wars, anakin grew up in a theological ORDER, where he took a vow to embody the code of a powerful and isolated practice. the temple is built upon training and indoctrinating force sensitive children from a young age to mould them to fit within their ideals of the order. anakin has no possessions, no clothes that are not his traditional jedi robes, his piloting outfit and his military uniform, his haircut is representative of his status within the order, his education includes the art of mediation, spiritual mindfulness, history, politics and various martial arts, he lives in a temple, and he has promised himself, his body and his life to upholding a very specific set of philosophical principles.

i cant work out why this is absolutely blowing my mind, he is presented very clearly as a jedi warrior and war hero, but his life is also very firmly framed around a insular and strict set of principles dictated by masters and a council which adheres to their own set of rules and regulations.

[pwrsage]

Romeo stamps

[angelofdumpsterfires]

presented without comment

[hansoeii]

butch wolverine, anyone?

[isolabellz]