#whatever y’all get the gist

[skzcre]

sorry but like i am so in love with ur whole brain and account i’m scrolling through all the asks nd all ur responses rn and UR SO RIGHT IN ALL OF THEM LIKE IVE NEVER AGREED WITH A PERSON MORE

the brainrot uve given me is wild ilysm

not me passing the brainrot i’m so sorry bestie 😔😔 we in this together now

but thank u sm ily more mwah

[vamptizm]

iv. MISSION JEALOUSY — p. bueckers

pairing : paige bueckers x clover amar (oc)

synopsis : in which paige bueckers and clover amar, two uconn wbb stars, have an ongoing mission of making each other jealous and outdoing the other.

warnings : hannah hidalgo :/ homophobia. a slur being dropped. that’s all i think?

word count : 4.8k

note : was gonna add smut to this but honestly it’s taking me sooo long and it’d make the chapter too long for my taste so i got y’all next update fr. (on my subby/switch paige shit so.. yeah)

series masterlist

The air inside the Gampel Pavilion buzzed with anticipation. Less than thirty minutes remained before the Huskies tipped off against Notre Dame, and the team was deep into warm-ups. The rhythmic thud of basketballs echoed through the court as sneakers squeaked against polished hardwood. Paige moved through the motions, though her mind was far from the game. 

She stole a glance at Clover, who was stretching just a few feet away. Clover wasn't looking at her—of course she wasn't—but Paige found her gaze lingering for a moment too long. She wasn't jealous, not at all. What was there to be jealous about? Clover could do whatever—or whoever—she wanted. Paige certainly didn't care. Her jaw tightened as she shook the thought away, forcing her focus back to her shooting drills. 

‘It wasn't jealousy,’ Paige told herself for what felt like the hundredth time since last night. It's annoyance. Irritation. Frustration. The memory of Clover's smug grin from the night before burned in her mind, unshakable. Paige had spent the night tossing and turning, her thoughts spinning with images she refused to acknowledge. Clover and that waitress, the blanket slipping over bare shoulders, the tattoos curling over Clover's arms like whispers of secrets Paige didn't want to think about.

She dribbled the ball harder than necessary. It wasn't like she hadn't had someone in her bed just hours before the game. What bothered her was that Clover hadn't been there to see it. Not that it mattered. It didn't matter if Clover cared—or didn't. 

Paige released a long breath, sinking her next shot with a little more effort than usual. The team's warm-ups were nearly over, the energy building as the crowd filled the arena. Just as she began to head toward the tunnel with the rest of the Huskies, a familiar figure caught her attention near the student section. 

Clover was standing there, her back to the court, chatting with a group of girls. Their laughter rang out, light and teasing, as they leaned in closer to Clover's confident stance. Paige felt her teeth clench. Clover's charm was effortless, her natural charisma always drawing people in. The way the girls giggled at whatever she was saying only grated on Paige's nerves further, though she couldn't for the life of her understand why. 

The team was already halfway to the tunnel when Paige called out, loud enough for the entire court to hear.  "C'mon, Amar! You can chit-chat with your fans later!" 

The laughter from the student section died down as Clover turned her head, her smile fading into an annoyed scowl. She rolled her eyes, muttering something to the girls before giving them a quick parting smile and jogging back toward the team. 

As she passed Paige, Clover didn't even glance her way. Paige's irritation only deepened, her jaw tightening as Clover breezed past, all casual confidence and deliberate indifference. 

Once she reached Nika and Jana, Clover grumbled something in Arabic under her breath, her tone dripping with frustration. "I swear to god, she's lucky I don't like to make a scene in front of everyone."

Jana chuckled softly, clearly catching the gist of it, while Nika looked puzzled, though she didn't get the chance to ask for translations before the team was ushered into the tunnel for their entrance. 

Jogging out onto the court, Paige fell into the familiar rhythm of the pre-game show. She slapped hands with fans lining the sideline, her game face firmly in place, though her mind still wandered back to Clover. She sat on the bench as the starting lineup was called, her focus sharpening despite the lingering tension from earlier. It was Paige, Nika, Azzi, Aaliyah and lastly Clover as the starting five.

Clover was the last player introduced, wearing her number seven jersey like a badge of honor. She waved confidently to the roaring crowd, her makeup perfectly subtle and the bright lights illuminating the ink on her subtly toned arms. Paige felt her gaze drawn to Clover again, even as she tried to convince herself otherwise. Clover Amar was truly magnetic, and everyone in the pavilion seemed to agree. 

Clover made her way back to the bench, high-fiving and dapping up her teammates as she went. When she reached Paige, the usual cocky smirk was gone, replaced by a more subdued expression. Paige hesitated for a split second before returning the gesture. In that moment, the rivalry that consumed them off the court melted away, replaced by a shared determination to win. 

But as they settled into the game, Paige couldn't shake the flicker of jealousy that lingered, buried deep beneath her competitive exterior. 

And Clover? She could feel Paige's gaze, even if the blonde refused to admit it. A small, private smirk tugged at her lips as she refocused on the court. She always came out on top, after all.

The moment the buzzer echoed through the arena, Clover was in motion, laser-focused on the ball soaring through the air. She leapt, snagging it with ease before sprinting down the court. Her movements were fluid, practiced, and confident. A quick step to the left, a light jump, and she laid the ball into the basket, securing the first two points for UConn within the first ten seconds of the game.

Jogging back, she allowed herself a small grin, slapping hands with Azzi as they regrouped on defense. The crowd roared, the game already electric with intensity.

Six minutes in, the energy hadn't let up. UConn was clinging to a one-point lead, and every possession felt critical. Clover was open in the corner, her position perfect. She waved her arms at Paige, who was caught in the middle of Notre Dame's suffocating defense.

"Paige!" Clover shouted, her voice cutting through the noise. She was wide open, but Paige didn't even glance her way.

Instead, the blonde pivoted, determined to take the shot herself despite the two defenders closing in on her. Paige jumped, aiming for a mid-range shot, but Notre Dame's forward was quicker. The ball was swatted out of the air, stolen in an instant. The break was fast, the Notre Dame player sprinting down the court and sinking a clean three-pointer before UConn could react.

Clover froze for a moment, her frustration boiling to the surface. She wanted to throw her arms up, shout at Paige, demand to know what she was thinking. But she knew better than to cause a scene mid-game. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to jog back down the court, her hands clenched into fists.

By the time the buzzer signaled the end of the first quarter, UConn had fallen behind by three points. The team trudged toward the bench, sweat gleaming on their faces. Paige was visibly fuming, her jaw tight and her eyes narrowed. Nothing about her game was clicking tonight. She wasn't moving the way she usually did, wasn't landing her shots with her typical ease.

Clover, on the other hand, was trying to calm her own annoyance. She plopped down on the bench, grabbing her water bottle and downing it in a few gulps. Her chest rose and fell with deep breaths as she fought to shake off the frustration of being ignored on the court. She wouldn't let Paige's stubbornness ruin her focus.

Geno's voice boomed as the team gathered around, his sharp eyes scanning the group. He jabbed his marker against the whiteboard, drawing out a new play with quick, decisive strokes.

"Paige," he barked, his tone leaving no room for argument, "if you don't start passing that goddamn ball to Clover, you're running suicides after this game. Got it?"

The huddle was silent, the players exchanging wary glances. Clover bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing, but a small, amused grin still tugged at her lips. She didn't even try to hide it, leaning back slightly as she sipped from her water bottle.

Paige noticed immediately. Her blue eyes darted to Clover's face, catching the smirk before the brunette could wipe it away. Clover didn't say a word, but the message in her expression was clear: ‘Serves you right’

Paige rolled her eyes, but the faint pink rising in her cheeks betrayed her irritation. She looked away quickly, focusing on the whiteboard and ignoring the way her chest tightened every time she caught that smug grin from the corner of her eye.

The team clapped their hands in unison, signaling the end of the huddle as they prepared to head back out for the second quarter. Clover didn't say anything to Paige, didn't need to. She just jogged onto the court, her smirk still lingering as she lined up for the second quarter.

Paige had told herself she'd get it together. Play fair. Stick to the plan. She'd even taken a deep breath before stepping back onto the court, but her resolve shattered within moments. 

Her gaze wandered, drawn to the roar of the student section. The fans were on their feet, waving signs and shouting chants, but one particular poster stopped her dead in her tracks. 

‘Clover is our lucky charm!’ it read in bold letters, the name replaced with a carefully drawn four-leaf clover and a dark blue ‘#7’

Of course, it's her. The girl Clover had been hooking up with. 

Paige gritted her teeth, wondering how none of them had noticed her—or that sign—until now. The sight made her stomach twist, though she couldn't quite pinpoint why. 

Aubrey was the first to notice, nudging Clover sharply with her elbow. "Look, Clo. It's your girlfriend," she teased, her grin wicked as she nodded toward the shorter blonde in the stands. 

Clover turned her attention to the sign, her jaw tightening as a shiver ran down her spine. She wasn't exactly thrilled about the grand gesture. It was sweet, sure, but also unexpected and, frankly, off-putting. Her memory of the girl—whose name she seemed to forget every other hour—didn't include this level of commitment. 

"Shut up," Clover muttered under her breath. "I don't do girlfriends." But even as she dismissed the idea, she shot the girl her trademark charming smile, hoping to keep things light. 

The waitress beamed back, completely oblivious to Clover's internal cringe. 

Paige caught the exchange and, to her surprise, felt a faint flicker of relief at Clover's clarification. But the flirtatious smile Clover had thrown at the blonde? That sent a different kind of twist through her gut, undoing any momentary comfort. 

When the game resumed, Paige's frustration bubbled dangerously close to the surface. She wanted to play better, to prove she wasn't shaken by something as stupid as a sign. But her irritation spilled over into her play, and it didn't take long for Clover to notice. 

Whenever Paige had the ball, she either forced shots or passed it off to anyone except Clover. And every missed opportunity gnawed at Clover's patience. 

Paige attempted another contested jumper, and once again, the ball didn't even come close to sinking. Notre Dame snatched the rebound, and Clover's restraint snapped. As she jogged back, she passed Paige with a glare sharp enough to cut. 

"If you're gonna hog the fucking ball," Clover hissed venomously, "at least make sure it goes in." 

Paige barely had time to process the sting of Clover's words before the ball was back in play. Notre Dame's Hannah Hidalgo received the inbound pass, but Clover was already one step ahead. She lunged, intercepting the ball with a burst of speed that sent the crowd into a frenzy. 

Dribbling down the court, Clover moved like she was on fire, weaving past the slower defenders. She paused just outside the three-point line, her instincts sharp and her movements confident. The ball left her hands in a perfect arc, and the net barely moved as it swished through. 

The scoreboard lit up, and the gap between the teams narrowed, but Clover didn't stop to celebrate. She jogged back down the court, her focus entirely on the next play. She wouldn't waste time with tacky antics like Hidalgo, who seemed to cheer herself on after every shot. 

Paige, however, lingered a second too long, watching Clover with a mix of frustration and something uncomfortably close to admiration. She clenched her fists, her chest tightening as she forced herself to refocus. This wasn't about Clover—or whatever storm of emotions that sign had kicked up. This was about the game. 

‘Get it together, Paige,’ she thought bitterly. But as her eyes drifted back to Clover, the determination she tried to muster kept slipping through her fingers.

The second quarter had been a disaster. Missed shots. Airballs. Awful foul calls. Notre Dame was practically being handed free throws, and the sheer frequency of it felt almost rigged. Every whistle sent another surge of frustration through the team, but none more so than Clover.

When the buzzer sounded for halftime, Clover's glare shot up to the scoreboard: 34-45. Her fists clenched at her sides, nails digging into her palms. She didn't care about the sting; the anger bubbling inside her made it impossible to focus on anything else. She wanted to scream, maybe even throw something, but instead, she swallowed the rage, holding it in her chest like a ticking bomb. She hated losing—more than anything.

The locker room was no refuge. As soon as the team entered, Clover dropped onto a bench, gripping her water bottle so tightly it looked like she might crush it. She didn't bother speaking, her body language screaming for everyone to keep their distance. The team, well aware of her temper, complied.

Clover Amar's temper was no secret. She'd heard it countless times: ‘You've got to rein it in,’ they'd say. ‘Control yourself.’ But right now? She didn't want to.

Geno's booming voice tore through the room like a thunderstorm. His words were relentless, ricocheting off the walls and into every player's ears. CD stood beside him, arms crossed and nodding in firm agreement.

"You're playing like a bunch of amateurs," Geno growled, his tone like gravel. "Is this how you want to be remembered? By playing like imbeciles?"

No one dared to respond, their silence only fueling his fury. He stalked across the room, barking instructions, correcting plays, and assigning positions for the next half.

"And you," he snapped suddenly, his eyes locking on Paige.

Paige straightened reflexively, her shoulders stiff as Geno marched closer.

"What do you think you're doing out there?" His tone was sharp enough to cut glass.

"I—" Paige started, but no words followed.

"Exactly. You're not thinking," Geno barked, his face hard with disappointment. "You're sitting out the first half of the third quarter. And if you don't start passing that ball when you're back on, you'll be benched for the rest of the game. Got it?"

Paige's cheeks flushed red, a mix of embarrassment and simmering anger coursing through her. She forced herself to nod, biting her tongue against the retort burning on her lips.

Her gaze flicked to Clover, who hadn't even spared her a glance. Instead, the fiery brunette sat with her head bowed, steam practically rising off her skin. Paige's jaw tightened, heat building behind her eyes as she sat in silent fury, as if Clover's frustration was somehow her fault.

Geno stormed out not long after, leaving the team to recover and regroup. The air was thick with tension, every breath heavy. As they trickled back toward the tunnel with a couple of minutes left before the third quarter, Clover hung back. She had other plans.

She grabbed Paige's arm without warning, her grip firm and unrelenting as she dragged the blonde a few feet away from prying eyes and ears. Paige's body stiffened immediately, her posture defensive, but she didn't pull away.

Clover spun her around, her expression livid. "I don't know what the fuck your issue is, but I swear to god, if you don't leave that shit off the court—"

Paige yanked her arm free, cutting Clover off. "Then what? What are you gonna do?" Her voice was sharp, defiant, but her breathing quickened.

Clover's jaw tightened, her teeth grinding together so hard it hurt. Before she could think, her hands shot up, gripping the collar of Paige's jersey with an intensity that made the blonde freeze.

"Stop fucking playing with me, Bueckers," Clover hissed, her voice low and venomous. Her fingers curled tighter into the fabric. "Before I smack that attitude out of you." She leaned closer, their faces just inches apart, her fiery gaze locking with Paige's. "If you're the reason this team loses to our biggest rivals, do you think you'll be able to look any of them in the eye again?"

Paige stared back, her usual sharpness dulled by the proximity, the heat of Clover's words, the anger radiating off her in waves. She hated it—the way her brain scrambled, the way her chest tightened, the way Clover's touch sent an unexpected rush through her.

"No," Paige muttered, her voice quiet and uncertain. She sounded more like a scolded child than a college athlete.

Clover's gaze swept over her, taking in the flushed cheeks and tense posture. With a slight scoff, she released her grip, letting Paige's jersey fall back into place.

"Good." Clover's voice was firm, unwavering. She tapped Paige's cheek twice, condescending but not without purpose. "Now, when you get back on that goddamn court, I better not see you play like an idiot again."

And with that, Clover turned on her heel, leaving Paige standing there, stunned and silent.

The frustration in Paige's chest was still there, but now it mingled with something else. The tall blonde was undeniably turned on.

The second half of the game began with Paige seated on the bench, a towel draped around her shoulders. She watched the court intently, arms crossed, biceps flexing, though the tension in her posture betrayed her frustration. Geno had decided to actually go through with benching her, at least for the time being, to reassess how the game would unfold without her. Paige wasn't thrilled, but she trusted Geno's instincts, even if they stung her pride.

Her gaze flickered toward Clover, who was already moving fluidly up and down the court. Paige could tell immediately—something had changed. Clover played like a spark had been lit inside her, ignited during halftime. The hesitation from the first half was gone; Paige wasn't there to hold her back anymore, she was unafraid to go for deep three-pointers whenever the opportunity presented itself. Her confidence radiated, and for once, Paige wasn't actively critiquing her every move in her head.

Clover wasn't just good—she was unstoppable. Notre Dame's defense couldn't seem to keep up with her. Even Paige, reluctant to admit when someone else stole the spotlight, felt the flicker of a grudging pride watching her teammate dominate. She always knew that Clover could carry the team in ways Paige hated to applaud, even if it was in her head.

Six minutes into the third quarter, UConn trailed by only two points, the score 49-51. The Huskies had clawed their way back, thanks in large part to Clover's determination. It was almost poetic, Paige thought, how much better Clover performed without her there to get in the way.

Then it happened.

Clover moved with precision, intercepting another pass meant for Hannah Hidalgo and knocking the ball cleanly out of her possession. Paige's focus sharpened as she watched Clover pivot and send the ball sailing toward Aaliyah, who sprinted for an easy layup. The crowd roared, and Paige allowed herself a small, satisfied nod. But the celebration was short-lived. 

Hannah caught the rebound as it fell into her hands and charged back down the court. Clover was already on her, sticking close, her defense tight. Paige knew how competitive Hidalgo was, knew she hated being shown up. And Clover, so naturally irritating just by existing, had clearly pushed her over the edge.

The words were quiet, barely audible beneath the buzz of the crowd and the squeak of sneakers on hardwood, but Clover heard them as clearly as the girl spitting them.

"Fucking dyke."

Hannah's voice dripped with venom, her expression smug as she threw a shoulder into Clover's path, causing her to lose balance, stumble and trip backwards. Clover hit the court, her palms slapping against the floor to catch herself.

Paige's stomach dropped, a small flame immediately igniting to life inside her chest. Clover pushed herself up quickly, but her face was a storm of fury. She stalked toward Hannah, her movements tense, her fists clenched at her sides.

"The fuck did you just say to me?" Clover spat, her voice sharp enough to cut through the noise in the arena. Her eyes blazed, her entire body practically vibrating with rage. 

Before Clover could get any closer, Aaliyah and Nika were there, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her back, their words a quiet blur of attempts to calm her down. Hannah just stood there, unfazed, watching Clover's reaction with a smug smirk.

The whistle blew, and to Paige's disgust, the refs didn't call a foul on Hannah. Instead, a technical foul was issued against Clover for the altercation. 

Paige was on her feet before she realized it, her towel falling from her shoulders as Geno called a timeout. The team gathered on the sidelines, and Geno immediately pulled Clover out of the game. She sat on the bench, still seething, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she struggled to calm down. Paige stood nearby, watching her with a mix of frustration and concern.

"Can you control your goddamn temper for once, Amar?" Paige snapped, her voice low and cutting as she looked down at the girl, shaking her head. She wasn't sure why she said it—it was instinct, the same dynamic they always had. But the words felt wrong the moment they left her mouth.

Clover's head shot up, her eyes burning with a fury that nearly matched what she'd shown on the court. "This isn't about temper," she hissed through gritted teeth. "That vertically challenged leprechaun just called me a fucking dyke." 

Paige froze. Her world seemed to tilt for a moment as the weight of Clover's words hit her. 

"Come again?" she said, her voice sharp but quieter now. Her fists clenched tightly at her sides, nails digging into her palms as she processed what had just been said. The rage she'd felt earlier was nothing compared to what surged inside her now. Any irritation she'd felt toward Clover, any lingering frustrations from the past few weeks, vanished instantly. 

No one had the right to speak to Clover like that. No one. 

Her jaw tightened, and she turned her head slightly, glaring toward the Notre Dame bench where Hannah now sat. Paige's blood boiled. She wasn't used to feeling protective, not like this—not in a way that consumed her so completely. But the idea of someone hurting Clover, of targeting her so cruelly, was enough to make her see red. 

For the first time in days, Paige didn't care about winning, losing, or whatever petty feud she and Clover had going on. The only thing she cared about now was making sure Hannah Hidalgo regretted ever stepping foot on the court. 

As Geno barked instructions to the team, preparing to send Paige back in, she locked eyes with Clover. Her voice was steady but low, almost a promise. 

"I'll handle her." 

Clover raised a brow at her, surprised by the shift in Paige's tone. There was no teasing smirk, no playful jab. Just a quiet, unyielding determination. Paige turned away, stepping onto the court with a newfound purpose. 

If she had to play 'dirty' to make her point, then so be it. No one messed with her team—not on Paige's watch.

The whistle blew, signaling the resumption of the game. Paige strode onto the court, her focus sharper than it had been all night. The noise of the crowd faded into the background as her gaze locked onto Hannah Hidalgo. The Notre Dame guard might have been fast and agile, but Paige had years of experience on her.

Every move Paige made was calculated, fueled by the fire burning in her chest. Her defense became suffocating, her presence impossible to ignore. Every time Hannah touched the ball, Paige was there, her hands in the way, forcing turnovers, drawing offensive fouls, and making Hidalgo visibly uncomfortable. 

The crowd erupted as Paige stole the ball from Hannah and passed it to Azzi, who sank a clean jumper. Paige didn't celebrate—her eyes were glued to Hannah, whose smugness was beginning to waver. 

"Not bad for a dyke, huh?" Paige muttered under her breath as they jogged back down the court. 

But Hannah wasn't one to back down. She shoved Paige slightly as they crossed paths, earning her a warning glance from the refs. Paige smirked, her satisfaction growing. She didn't need to escalate things further—not yet. 

Clover sat on the bench, her leg bouncing with restless energy. She hated not being on the court, hated feeling sidelined. But as she watched Paige systematically dismantle their game, something inside her shifted. 

Paige was relentless. There was no pettiness, no grandstanding—just a raw, focused determination. It was a side of Paige Clover had rarely seen, one that made it impossible to look away. One that made her unconsciously press her thighs together.

For the first time in a while, Clover felt something other than irritation toward the blonde. Maybe it was gratitude, or maybe it was something deeper, something Clover wasn't ready to name. Either way, the sight of Paige defending her honor—however indirectly—sent a warmth through her chest and core, she hadn't expected. 

By the time the fourth quarter began, UConn had pulled ahead, leading 65-60. Geno subbed Clover back in, and the energy on the court shifted once again. 

Clover and Paige fell into an unspoken rhythm, their usual animosity replaced by a surprising cohesion. Paige started passing the ball to Clover without hesitation, setting her up for open shots and helping her navigate Notre Dame's aggressive defense. 

It wasn't perfect—they still bickered during timeouts, their competitive streaks clashing over strategy. But on the court, they were unstoppable. Clover's sharpshooting combined with Paige's vision and defensive tenacity turned the game on its head. 

With less than a minute on the clock, UConn led by three points. Notre Dame had possession, and Hannah had the ball. Paige didn't hesitate, closing in on her with suffocating pressure. 

Hannah tried to fake left, but Paige anticipated the move, her hand darting out to tip the ball away. Clover was there in an instant, scooping up the loose ball and sprinting down the court. She didn't stop, weaving through defenders before leaping for a layup that sealed the game. 

The buzzer sounded, and the arena erupted. UConn had won, 78-73. 

Clover and Paige didn't immediately celebrate together—they weren't there yet. But as the team gathered at center court, Paige caught Clover's eye. There was no teasing smirk, no sharp comment—just a small nod of acknowledgment. 

Clover returned it, her lips curving into the faintest of smiles. 

In the locker room, the team celebrated their hard-fought victory, their earlier frustrations replaced by relief and camaraderie. Geno offered his usual gruff praise, and the players began to unwind. 

Clover was at her locker, peeling off her jersey, when Paige approached. 

"You played well," Paige said, her voice quieter than usual. 

Clover looked up, surprised. Paige rarely gave compliments, and even when she did, they were usually laced with sarcasm. But this felt genuine. 

"So did you," Clover replied, her tone softer than usual. She hesitated, then added, "Uhm... thanks. For earlier." 

Paige shrugged, but her cheeks flushed slightly. "Nobody talks to you like that, except me." she said simply. 

Clover scoffed with a faint smile. "How sweet. Guess there's hope for you yet, Bueckers." 

Paige rolled her eyes, but there was no bite behind it. "Don't get used to it." 

As she walked away, Clover couldn't help but watch her go, a small, curious smile playing on her lips. 

Something had shifted between them. It wasn't forgiveness, and it certainly wasn't friendship—not yet. But it was something they supposed.

[pattisl0ver]

Joan Ramsey x Fem! Reader~

~Enchanted~ Pt.1

A/N- Y’all this is my first fic in a looong time, so apologies if it isn’t the best, but I am trying to get back into the gist of things. Please message me if you have any recommendations or requests!! This will be a multi-chapter fic. 🫶🏼

Enjoy~

Miss Robichaux’s academy for Exceptional Young Ladies had only recently welcomed you within its ranks, well, welcomed being a loose term, you were sent away there by your father, so there wasn’t much choice in it. He had been forgiving of your witchcraft for a while, putting you to use in the garden in order to keep the flowers in bloom. However as soon as he found out lesbianism had become a feature within you, despite it having nothing to do with your craft, his religious convictions led him to believe your witchcraft to be a devils curse thrust upon you.

The garden outside of the academy was withered and sorrowful, the few plants that remained barely holding on. Cordelia, the headmistress of the academy had assigned you to cater for the garden, she had said that you were a “green witch,” whatever that meant, and so here you were, standing in the blistering heat, overlooking a mound of dirt the academy claimed to be a “garden.”

After around an hour of tilling the dirt and picking the weeds, you head inside for some lemonade. The other girls are there, chattering away, most likely arguing, paying no mind to you. They hardly acknowledged you, not that you wanted them to. The lemonade was cool, sweet, and you hummed softly as you sipped it. Glancing out the window, you spotted new neighbours moving in… a teen boy a little younger than the girls at the academy, accompanied by a woman who must’ve been his mother, shifting furniture inside the Victorian home next door. The others quickly caught on to what you were looking at, and they began to ogle at the teen boy, practically drooling as he took off his shirt in the heat. You however, were more focused on the woman; who seemed to direct the movers, holding a sense of authority over them as she told them where to place the furniture. She was short, only around 5”2, at most, and her chestnut coloured hair was pinned up elegantly, keeping it away from her eyes. She seemed as though she kept herself seperate from the rest of the world, at a safe distance so as to not reveal her true colours.

A few moons later, after gathering some seedlings, you returned to the garden, sowing the seeds tenderly, hand hovering over the mulch whilst you whisper soft enchantments. The teen boy who had just moved in next door smiled softly at you from the window… polite waves were exchanged before his mother pulled him away from the window. You frown softly, confused. The woman shoots you a scowl through her curtains, as if wary of you. Despite this, you give her a soft smile and a wave. Something within you told you she was divined to be close to you, and so you were determined to make it happen. You spent the night baking, another hobby of yours, though this one not made better by your witchcraft, or was it? Who knows.. However, you prepared some raspberry jam tarts, moulding them into shapes of flowers. The real challenge was not in making the tarts, but rather the self restraint of not eating them yourself.

The next morning, you reheated the tarts to perfection, displaying them on a wooden plate, adorned with powdered sugar, before bracing yourself to walk next door. After several more minutes of procrastination you gave in, picking up the plate, and making your way over to the house beside the academy. The garden was already almost pristine, hedges trimmed, not a weed in sight. You hummed in appreciation and stepped up onto the porch before ringing the doorbell, and studying the stained glass windows framing the door. Without much of a wait, the woman you had been examining from afar for around a week opened the door to greet you.

“Hello ma’am. I- uh, my name is Y/N. I live next door.” You spoke softly, your confidence wavering as her eyes met yours.

“Y/N. You’re.. at the academy you say?” She eyes you up and down, taking in your cream coloured lace dress, and your long hair, cascading around your shoulders. Opposing her dark blue, almost conservative dress, and her usual elegant hairstyle, pinned up, fringe straightened. “What can I do for you?” Her voice was smooth, clear, it made you unsure of yourself.

“I- well I just wanted to give you these tarts, they’re raspberry jam, and freshly made, just to… welcome you to the neighbourhood.” You hold out the plate of tarts on display, she examines them and hums in surprise.

“Thats awfully kind of you.” She nods, accepting the tarts and taking the plate. However she eyes you condescendingly. “These weren’t really meant for me were they? They’re for my son are they not?”

You frown slightly and chuckle, thinking she is joking, though this seems more awkward than funny. “Uh- no ma’am, they are for both of you.”

She rolls her eyes. “There is no point in lying to me, I’ve seen how you girls eye my boy. I will not let you seduce him or corrupt his mind.” Her voice is stern, so sure of herself, and yet she couldn’t be more wrong.

You however, didn’t have the courage to challenge her accusation, and so you stammered away. “I- I apologise Ma’am. I didn’t mean to-“

She waves a hand dismissively. “Look Y/N, I’ve dealt with this before, and I’ll likely have to do it again. Just stay away from my boy.”

Confused immensely, yet afraid to disagree, you nod softly. “Yes ma’am.” She nodded in approval and then closed the door behind her, taking the tarts inside, leaving you stranded out on her porch. That was not how this was supposed to go. You needed to prove to her that you weren’t after her son, but how?…

[jojissalsa]

The Perfect View

leon always notices the little things about you, especially when you hint at wanting something. and if you want a better view, he’ll give it to you.

Warnings: established relationship, dom!Leon x sub!reader, fem reader/gendered language (girl, pretty girl, you get the gist), choking, breeding kink if you squint, praise, filming during sex, a little bit of condescension, basically Leon being a sweetheart and a smug little shit. So just normal Leon.

WC: 2.6k (proofread as well)

hey y’all!!! this is my first leon fanfic/smut i’ve written/posted soooo i’m a lil nervous but hope you guys will like it!! critique, reposts and requests are always welcome <3 (also minors do not interact, go touch grass.)

Leon always loved the little heart to hearts you two would have, or the late night confessions, even if they got a lil horny. It was like talking to your girl-friends, TMI didn’t exist between you guys. The reason was simple, really. He just loved talking to you, loved hearing every thought that swam in that gorgeous head of yours. Tonight was no different, sitting in bed finishing the brownies you baked because he finally came home after a long mission. And because you’re bored without him. “Hold on, elaborate-” His muffled voice came through as he finally swallowed the bite he took, giving you that look. Like he knew you were about to divulge some info he would never let you get away with. Always loved to tease you about everything, remembering little things you tell him because you just have no shame and can never keep a thing from him, just so he can see the blush on your face as you giggle and get all shy. He can’t help it, it’s too cute. “What do you mean I get the best view? Am I not pretty enough for you?” He watched as you rolled your eyes at his dramatic tone, setting down your brownie folded into a napkin in your lap. “No, that’s not what I’m saying, I’d have to be blind to not think you’re gorgeous~” You say it in that lovey dovey voice that makes him wave his hand in an ‘Aww, you~’ kind of way, making you laugh every time, cause he picked it up from you. Typical Leon. “I’m just saying you have the best angles, there’s a difference. Like, when I’m bent over, I have to crane my neck just to look at you, and plus, I can’t even look at the action. I get lucky if we’re in front of a mirror, but usually I just get the view of the floor or the bed.” You chuckle at his intrigued expression, always so eager to learn how you think.”I dunno, I just think it’s hot, watching you move inside me..” You look down at the brownie in your lap with a sheepish smile, a pink hue on your cheeks accompanying it as you look back up to Leon’s raised eyebrows. “What? Too much?” Raising your own eyebrows, hoping you didn’t say something too down bad. “No, no, I get it. I mean, obviously I’m biased, but I do have the perfect view.” He teased, throwing his hands up nonchalantly which makes you playfully swat his arm before going back to whatever you were talking about before.

As per usual, Leon had a hard time forgetting what you said. Well, it’s not like the information was anything new or groundbreaking. He already knew what you liked, you would always look down while he towered over you, watching with bated breath as he stroked his cock, his other hand spreading you open before sliding him over your slit, gathering slick on his cock before slowly stretching you out. So needy, he’d think to himself as you finally inhale and moan as he bottoms out, tilting your head back in bliss. Again, this was nothing new. So when he had you writhing beneath him, lips parted with each sigh and hum, plump and glossy with saliva, he pulled the final piece of clothing off you and smirked at how you spread your legs instinctively. Such a well behaved girl, he praises you in his head, especially when you listen to him as he asks you to flip over, kicking his jeans off as you arch your back and push your ass up and towards him. Now that makes Leon say it out loud, tugging his boxers down and letting them fall down his ankles and onto the floor before getting on his knees behind you. He always takes a second to admire you, how pretty you look as you gasp when he presses his hard cock against your slick cunt, whimpering as you grind against him. But this time he takes another second to look at the nightstand, praying to god he remembered to keep his phone there. He can never think straight when he’s like this, and you’re always to blame, not that he’s complaining. The moan you let out as he slowly pushed himself inside you nearly made his mind go blank, though, that didn’t stop the soft whimper he lets out from the feeling of your wet walls, keeping his cock so damn warm- Focus, Leon. During the small window of letting you adjust to his size he grabs his phone, your closed eyes and blissed out expression telling him he doesn't have to worry about you noticing him slightly leaning to pick it up or why both of his hands aren't on you. Leon, who’s always the perfectionist, making sure the angle is perfect while fucking into you unbearably slow before going at that unrelenting pace you both love, feeling his strong hand move from your hip to your hair as you start to scream into the pillows. "Aww, don't hide, baby, you sound so pretty like that.. Mhm, there you go, let it all out..” And you do, and he swears it’s the most beautiful thing his ears could be blessed with. "Shit, so fucking tight, always make it so damn hard not to cum." It's his favorite thing to do, tilting your head to the side so he can hear how good he makes you feel. "Loosen up a little, that's it, I'm right here.." He just loves to make you go into that syrupy, fuzzy space in your brain where you have no shame or worries, just him, and him alone. Cause that's really all he wants, for that pretty little head of yours to be empty and happy with thoughts of him.

That's when he finally starts recording, letting out a low chuckle as the sinful sound of your whines and gasps mix with his heavy grunts, skin slapping against skin filling their shared bedroom, making the room feel hot and smell of pure sex, continuing to overpower your senses. Everything about Leon overpowers you, he just makes you weak, and it feels so safe. Like a lovesick puppy, always nuzzling against him to smell his musk when he comes home from a long day at work, or wearing his shirts to get a whiff of that cologne that definitely costs more than 2 years worth of your salary. It smells even better when he’s so fucking deep inside you, the scent of his sweat and cologne mixing with the hot air as your ears take in the sound of his downright dirty moans, and the little whimpers he lets out that get louder when he slows down, the tip of his cock kissing your womb so perfectly.

And while you’re under him, babbling about how deep he’s fucking you, completely cockdrunk in a matter of mere minutes, he can't stop thinking about your reaction to his cute little gesture. How tight you'll clench around him when he finally shows you the incredible view you wanted to see. You weren't wrong when you said he gets the best view- sorry, angle, as you so delicately put it. The way your hips instinctively move to meet his, how the fat of your ass jiggles every time it meets his pelvis. Always such a good girl for taking him so deep, and the best part, of course. Your cute cunt milking him dry, he can see how perfectly your pussy molds around his cock, even if he's the biggest you've ever had (and will have) it's still the best sight in the world. It looks even better when you cum around him, your body shaking as you scream his name loud enough for the whole block to hear, pussy gushing on his cock and practically swallowing him whole with how tight you're milking him, like he might leave if you don't hold him tight in your pussy.

So when he feels you getting close, instead of the usual hand between your legs to rub circles on your clit, pushing you over the edge, he just stops recording and grabs a handful of your hair, pulling it from your roots to make into a makeshift ponytail in his fist as he raises your head and moves his phone in front of your face, the sight of his cock slamming into you over and over again playing like it was on loop. Holy shit, was all you think, and say for that matter as you watched the scene play out in front of you, your wide eyes staring straight at where you two connected, watching as you coated his cock with every stroke of your walls. It didn’t take long for you to feel that familiar burn in your stomach, and it showed in how pathetic you looked, and sounded.

Honestly, the thought of him listening to that little thing could've made you cum on its own. The conscious side of your brain saying “Aww, he cares that much to do this for me? I'm the luckiest girl in the world” but what’s really gonna make you cum is the way he's showing you. "Look at that, doll, watch that sweet pussy suck me in, so fucking greedy you just needed to see it while you feel it, hmm?" His growling and whispering in that smug fucking tone that drives you crazy and makes you so wet it’s almost uncomfortable, just envisioning his stupid, signature, cocky grin widening as you clench tighter around him makes your head spin. His hips are still slamming into your cunt, but instead of that sound of skin slapping skin it's somehow even more erotic. That wet, squelching sound just reminding you of how good everything feels, even as your eyes fixate on Leon's phone you can start to feel him hit that sweet spot deep in your velvety walls and it makes you so goddamn weak that all you can muster to do or say is groan and cry out as your eyes roll back momentarily, before you looked at his phone again. “Hear that? Oh, yeah you do. Got that needy cunt so goddamn wet. I did a good job, huh, babe? Yeah I did..” The way he coos at you makes you whimper his name as you get closer with each thrust, coupled with the fact that he went out of his way to time his thrusts with the video sent you right over the edge, not daring to squeeze your eyes shut the way you usually do before cumming hard, screaming and growling until your throat goes hoarse and dry, not even having the energy to thrash and squirm. Just sit there and take it.

Oh, and Leon noticed how much you loved his little gift, he took in everything about your reaction. The way your eyes went wide, your pupils blown out with lust, and the delicious feeling of you tightening on his dick. He twitched as he watched you groan and practically sob about how good it feels, yet no thank you? He wouldn't have that. "Did you just cum? Feels that good, huh? Can't even babble fucking nonsense in my ear, you like it that much? Thank me." He throws his phone somewhere on the bed, leaning down to whisper closer to your ear, his grip leaving your hair to wrap his bicep around your neck. He’s really pulling out all the stops tonight, hmm? "Thank me, 's all I wanna hear from that dirty mouth. You spout all that nasty shit, the least you could do is thank me." And you do, chanting it like a mantra, like he's God himself saving you. "Thank you, fuck, thank you Leon, thank you, oh god-" your voice is just as broken as your sobs and nearly pathetic whimpering and you're rewarded greatly, his arm tightening around your neck, cutting off your air for a few seconds. "Good girl, so sweet, aren't you? Always so grateful, that's why I treat you like the princess you are. So damn pretty, show me how pretty you are, baby.” He makes sure he can see your face as you cum again, a deep groan from his chest rumbling against your back. “There you go, there's that pretty face I love." A pretty face indeed, that cock-drunk expression as you smile and bite your lip until it bleeds, groaning before the knot in your stomach comes undone again, the gasp and moan coming from your lips pornographic. "Le-Leon I'm cumming, fuck, fuck, cumming-" cutting yourself off as you sob and squirm under him, brows frowned as you pout and whimper while he fucks you through your orgasm.

The sounds that leave you makes it impossible for him not to cum, cooing and shushing you as his arm leaves your neck so you can lay that pretty empty head on the soft pillows, stroking your waist in the most tender way, his thrusts becoming sloppy. "I know baby, shhh, it's okay, you can take it, I'm close.. fuck-" you feel his cock kick inside you, the warm feeling of his cum coating your walls. "Fuck, you take it so good, your pussy was made to take my cum.." His filthy words and heavy panting keeps your brain in that hazy state as he slowly pulls out of you, sliding both hands down your waist and to your ass, thumbs sinking into the meat of your pussy as he spreads you open. You try to catch your breath as his cum makes its way out of you, but the air in your throat is swiftly taken from you as you feel his thick fingers push his cum back inside you. “God, I’ll never get tired of seeing that. Seeing my cum leak out of this pretty pussy. My pretty pussy.” His possessive words never fail to make you blush and smile like a madman, because it makes you too happy. You could die happy knowing you’re his.

You finally come down to reality, finding comfort in his arms as they wrap around your waist and gently lay you on your side, keeping you close to his chest. You get that warm, lovely feeling as you hear his string of praises. "Such a good girl, took me so well.. love my sweet girl so much, you deserve the world, don't you, princess?" His soft kisses on your shoulder make your heart flutter, taking a quick look at his smile over your shoulder. The warm feeling in your heart at his loving embrace doesn't last long when you hear him chuckle softly. "Y'know, you're terrible at asking for things.." you shoot him an annoyed glance, rolling your eyes. "Maybe I wasn't asking for anything." You huffed, tilting your head away from his smug look and crossing your arms. You’re also terrible at lying. "Sure, like you don't do that thing where you're just mentioning something in passing, totally not hinting at wanting it." That one gets you, because no one has really noticed that but him. Maybe you were always being subtle, or maybe people didn't care enough. It could be that Leon just sees every little thing you say or do, because he's just so observant. You like to think it's because he's just sooooo infatuated with you. "Fine. I'll give you that one, if you help me to the bathroom." You could barely hide the smirk creeping on your face, clearly happy at the prospect of him caring that much. "Deal." He says sweetly, kissing your cheek before getting up and walking over to your side of the bed to help you into the shower. Count that deep seeded want crossed off the mental bucket list.

[midnighthybrid1]

@pikavani posted the template for OCs to be added into the Amazing Digital Office AU and I went crazy. Meet my TADC OC, Skye Blu!

I need to post more about this dude- his concept was a joke but I’ve grown to actually quite like his character. I don’t wanna give too much away about his lore in an unrelated post, but the basic gist is that bro is a middle aged guy who’s Digital Circus Avatar is a femboy V-Tuber looking character. He’s not a fan.

But in the digital Office AU! He’s kinda used to it. I’m not sureee if they’re also trapped in the digital world in this version too, or if they just look like that, so I tried to be semi-vague about that in his side lore (minus the part about his wife and kids, I’ll adjust that based on whatever the lore ends up being 🤔). I imagine him and Jax have a Jim and Dwight sort of dynamic, where Jax constantly make practical jokes on him just to get on his nerves (and he occasionally retaliates Oop-)

Hope you guys like him! One day I’ll post about his normal self here, I promise-

Blank version under the cut! Credit for the base goes entirely to @pikavani , y’all better go her and the actual AU some love, her art (TADC and non-TADC) is so heckin good.

Likes and Reblogs are appreciated! Pls do not Repost my artwork!

[b2trilla]

intro post

hi y’all im Eve, 18, poc[hispanic], they/she, butch, Salvadorian.

some more ab this sexy masc: my favs 2 watch include: criminal minds, house m.d, scandal, more but yall get the gist. im very masculine/ butch presenting, but no labels preferred very wlw though. i enjoy writing, concerts, music[ALL KINDS], photography, pintresting, summer, shows/ movies, all that jazz. 🤗

i am married to @babyqhoul , bye.

anons are on, ask whatever or dont

looking for moots: ].

my blog is not for: minors, a🕳️’s, men, etc.

[jalluzas-ferney]

WAIWAEAITIWIAA CAN I TOUCH ON THE SUBJECT OF SOME PPL THINKING KAI IS SOME KIND OF BULLY TOWARDS JAY OR SMTH AND HOW STUPID THAT IS

like tbh lately I haven’t seen really any of that LATELY - but I remember some time ago someone had posted a gif of like the fight between Kai and Jay in Crystallized and like I think specifically the part where Jay starts the fight by fucking kicking Kai across the room (for accidentally dropping a glass of water and who btw gen apologized for immediately 😁)

Okok so some, if not a lot of ppl, in the comments/reblogs were like “ouh yeah way to go jay 🤗🥳” “It doesn’t surprised me that he’s finally standing up for himself after all that bullying from Kai after so many years 🥺” “oh Kai deserves it for always teasing-“ yeah yeah BLAH BLAH BLAH you get the GIST

and OOHHH that RREAAALLY pushed some buttons for me cuz WHAT💀💀💀💀💀BAHAH BE SO FUCKING FR IM SORRY BUT WHAT😭😭😭

Y’all the ninja have always made fun of each other like- the whole series. And if it looks like Kai goes especially after jay or whatever- yeah- it doesn’t surprise me that he would be poking even more fun at the man dating his sister 😭😭ESPECIALLY knowing him? Like hello 💀

But he’s even SUPPORTIVE of their relationship - are y’all forgetting how he literally helped Jay practice to propose Nya to be his Yang 😭😭😭😭

And OHH - have we perhaps forgotten ab how when jay was fucking DROWNING while he was trying to get out of the situation- he LITERALLY thought to himself “what would kai do?” LIKE BRO HE LOOKS UP TO HIM 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 BEFORE THINKING- “oh what would master Wu do or Zane do” -he was like- “no- what would Kai do?”

And YAALLLL wanna erase this bond they have 😨😨 NUH UH NONE OF THAT - y’all are not about to pretended Kai is some kind of huge bully towards your “little baby boy jay “or whatever as if they don’t love each other at all (as brothers/bsfs)

(I’m kinda scared of posting this cuz I don’t wanna come off as aggressive but this legit makes me laugh so damn hard cuz of how STUPID it is 😭😭)

[quibbs126]

If you can, could you draw a daughter for rockstar cookie and my oc, cherry limeade cookie? I feel like her name would be cherries jubilee cookie or something.

This one was finished surprisingly fast (I’ll get to your other request eventually, sorry about that), this is Cherry Ice Cookie

“If you hear the chords of an electric guitar strumming in the distance, you might just be hearing the practice session of Cherry Ice Cookie. Being the daughter of a rock legend, it’s only natural that she was baked for the electric guitar. However unlike her singer parents, she doesn’t have much of a voice for the job, so she lets her guitar be her voice. Though one could even argue that her guitar skills make up for far more than any voice could hope to achieve! Any Cookie who’s met her in person will tell you that she’s one of the most relaxed Cookies they’ve met, wondering if she’s even capable of being mad. Perhaps it’s all the shaved ice in her dough that makes her this way. And perhaps because of this nature, she’s content to not be the star of any band, only their guitarist. Of course, that doesn’t stop her from getting a number of guitar solos in the songs!”

“She frequently practices with her keyboard playing sister in the garage.”

Okay I’m gonna be honest, that probably wasn’t one of my best descriptions, mostly because I know very little about how music works. But you got the gist of it, yeah?

Also, said sister is a character @amythecat2001 named Key Lime Cookie, made after I sent her the design, it’s on her account here

Anyways, let’s move on to design notes

So her name comes from shaved ice, though specifically shaved ice with cherry flavoring. Originally I was trying to go for something non-edible or more chemical, since I like to headcanon Rockstar as being made of shaving cream, but I couldn’t think of anything, so I just went with shaved ice

Cherry flavored shaved ice:

So okay, I feel like she’s way more cherry than either of her parents, but I just wanted to keep the theme of her flavor as the main feature, so she’s a lot of pinks and reds. The gradients in her hair are supposed to be reminiscent of the syrup fading into the ice, hence why the top is pink (and also it looks better that way to me)

Her jacket I kind of just ripped straight from Rockstar’s Tower of Adventures sprite. The dress was inspired by a design for some costumes I found somewhere on Google, and I thought it’d work well with the jacket. I made the dress white specifically because you tend to get shaved ice white paper cups or cones. In practice it probably seems unrelated but that’s what I was going for

I was going to give her a cherry necklace originally, but I didn’t think that’d work, so I instead gave her the dots on her dress, which were supposed to look like cherries. Probably could have also put them as pins on her jacket, but whatever, it fills a blank space where it is now

Overall I do quite like her design, and I hope y’all like her as well

[undertakcn]

I’ll have y’all know this little fuck is already reaching deity status, or whatever the hell nightmare and dream are, in my head.

Particularly of Love and all its positive and negative traits. a deity or being that can impart its own intense emotions on you through will (blue Diamond style) or physical touch like kisses. Can also sense emotions similarly to dream and nightmare, though is more in tune with things relating to any kind of love. Admiration, infatuation, obsession, jealousy, adoration, desire, you get the gist.

[planetpissed]

Howdy Fellas!

It’s me, Facebones!

OOPSIES for being MIA, I hope my little bro Dethkoney helped y’all out alright.

Hooo! When a giant brick of a man sits down by you at a bar and says “You mind If I push in your stool?” It can mean more than one thing!

 GOLLY! 

So. Content Warnin’, Shitbirds! I feel like y’all get the gist of these by now, so they’ll be little buffers when there’s nothing new to say, m’kay, fuckos? 

This chapter will have some distorted gifs at moments that might cause eye strain. A big chunk of this chapter is in the dim backstage area of the stage, resulting in it being literally dark.

Reading it in a dark room is ideal.

Reader discretion is always advised. 

A Special Thanks;

And that should do it! On with the… whatever the fuck this shit is!…what the fuck is that smell?  !!!   Oh NO! The cookies I made for DethKoney for helpin’ out! FUCK THEY’RE BURNIN’! OH MY GOD

>>>

“I’m sorry, what? ”

Toki shifted on the couch to look at Pickles. Abigail was doing his makeup, trying to adjust with his shifting as she applied the grease paint.

“I don’t thinks we shoulds have a pubslic parties. I thinks we shoulds cancels, and  have a movie night with snacks and whatnot!”

“Stay still, Bee.”

“Oopsie,” Toki corrected his posture and stayed as still as possible through his continued chatter.

“No fans needs to come. They can haves their owns thing.”

"...Egh..."

Pickles sighed within a pathetic whimper. 

“…But what about getting sloppy ? What about drugs and bad music at shitty clubs ? Don’t we need that?”

“We can do that at Mordhaus, I don’t see the issue,” Nathan pointed out, nearly done applying his own makeup. “Plus. If we did it at home… Murderface would be included.”

“I porsonally aggrees with dis,” Skwisgaar supported. “Tomorris such a bigs day. It would be wisor for us to hangs as brothers. Plus, it wouldn’t’s be good on Morderface’s… skyke.”

“Uh. Skyke?”

“ Psyche ,” Abigail clarified for her partner, turning away from Toki to give Nathan a warm smile. He grunted, returning a smile back to her.

“Poor Moidaface,” Toki pouted.

“I bet he’s beatins himself up about not beins here. Has he texteds any ones of you?”

“Sorry, Toki… he left me on read, dood,” Pickles tsked, fixing the facepaint on his lip.

“I bet he ams sleepins, Toki,” Skwisgaar reassured. 

“I bet he’s beating himself off… as that’s how his wrist got fucked up in the first place . Huh? That’s all I get, ‘HUUUUGH?’” 

The drummer was quoting something, being a ham with whatever the material was. Once Skwigelf understood the reference, he scowled like an aunt who had just found a stray hair in her chapstick.

Skwisgaar turned to smack Pickles on his arm, shaming him. 

“You gots that from those stupid Piss Boys . Sos stupids.”

The drummer mischievously snickered in response, getting up to grab some snyacks from the refreshment table.

“I love those little garbage pail kids, alright? Especially Bobby. We should adopt him. We’ll call him Fatty 2.”

Skwisgaar brushed Pickles’ words away, rolling his eyes. He took his hair tie off and began to fluff his hair out.

“…Jokes aside, Pickle,” He started. “You’ds agree; William has improveds his bass-playing?”

“Sure? Speaking of Bass…” Pickles spoke with a mouthful of grapes, looking around to see if the Klokateer stand-in was present in the dressing room. “Huh. Where’s that gear bassist?”

“Warmings up, I’d imagines.”

“Ah. Gotcha…” Pickles chewed, wiping inebriated drool and fruit juice off the side of his goatee. 

>>>

The Klokateer used a spare amp speaker as a makeshift chair, sitting as backstage crew and tech did last minute checks with lights and microphones.  When the backstage shuffling died down, she closed her eyes and focused on her breath, shaking her wrists out as a ritual before playing her biggest show yet. It was awesome, so far. The band was surprisingly cool with her. They even passed a bottle of booze around to shake any nerves off before makeup. Now, all she had to do was focus on how to play like Murderface.What would Will do, before performing? She wondered, trying to get into the mindset of a biased pissant. 

Tchk-kok.

The stand-in opened her eyes. The sound above was the backstage lights shutting off. It was dark as shit . The sun had set an hour prior, so the light provided from the doomstar would have to illuminate her way around. Her eyes would adjust before places were called, she wasn’t too worried. In fact - she was more worried about doing Murderface justice with her bass playing. She was trying to get into his headspace so passionately, the klokateer could have sworn she saw him right in front of her, nearly materializing from the mist.

“…?”

He was there, feet away. The klokateer yelped in surprise, gripping onto the Gibson Thunderbird on her lap.

It was his bass.

“…They give you that?” He asked, pointing with a gnarled finger. 

The gear laughed the jitters off. “Keepin’ it warm for your next tour, you could say!”

“Hm. That’sch real cute,” Murderface sneered, quickly getting in her space.

“Lischten up. Give me your clothesch. We’re schwitchin’.”

“…Excuse me?”

Murderface yanked the gear up from the speaker box, nearly spitting in her face with his words as he tore her hood off.

“Do I really need to repeat myschelf?”

Her eyes answered clear enough.

<<<PREV - NEXT>>>

[nimbus713]

GOOD OMENS SEASON 2 SPOILERS!!!

the most devastating part of the ending is that aziraphales choice wasn’t what crowley thought it was. from his perspective aziraphale chose heaven and a position of power over him, but really aziraphale was choosing whether to say fuck it and go be happy with crowley and let the angels do whatever the fuck they want with armageddon or to take the position of archangel and prevent it, thus saving earth and all the human connections they have on it. he chose to do the much harder task in the hope of a future with crowley on earth. but crowley doesn’t know that, he thinks his best friend and the love of his life just gave up everything they had for forgiveness from heaven. and this probably articulated horribly since i’m still in a state of shock from the ending but i hope y’all get the gist. i’m devastated.

[hexihertzgameart]

Finger slipped. Also láveles 10 as nine so now there’s 3 nines. Yay :D To continue:

9. GPS, why is there a fucking rant about GPS and what does this have to do with art. Did he just forget the topic?

11. Canon stuff as mentioned in above posts. Also feels half remembered from Jordan Peterson with his weird “all good art must tell one story over and over and to do otherwise is a sin” theory of art, which is lifted from Josh Cambells Monomyth

12. Values, can’t argue more then what’s said. I wonder what values they’re specifically talking about. Is it Christian and or White Values perchance or are we talking more “Western Values” or “Judeo-Christian” Values? The difference is only in semantics but still.

13. Aww looks like someone’s got a thesaurus out. Also good sign of a reasonable person when someone believes something they find bad “enfeebles (weakens) life

14. Again more old lines about modern art with a hint of Cultural Marxism in there. Additionally beauty can mean absolutely fucking anything, though I think he just means traditionalist somewhat fascistic imagery or something. Maybe the odd pretty white statue or something generically artsy.

To use a modern art example because when he says bad he’s almost always referring to modern art, Weiwei’s Subflower seeds are a genuinely beautiful work of art across all aspects of its design. I can go more into it if y’all want but in short every aspect of the titular ceramic seeds is deliberately done for the theme to the point where the history of the town the ceramic seeds were made in is a key element of the work. The amount of care and dedication that goes into it alongside its how it benefits the place show a belief a in and desire to produce beauty”

15. As said by basically everyone, “Man’s Divine Right and Terrible Duty” is obviously some major red flags (with a white circle and a manji in the middle), which is in contrast to (ironically) more whining about modern art/ woke media or whatever he’s on about.

As such, I will instead pose my conclusion here. Is it just me or does this guy make no sense? Like you can get the gist that he’s a fascist just because of the aesthetic moralism (I think that’s what it’s called) of the good art bad art chart but does he even know what he’s saying. Half the shit is either so above reasonable thought, vaguely parroting talking points about art and/or cultural Marxism esque shit or specific about something unrelated (like bulletproof coffee or GPSs) that when read individually many of the points end absolutely incoherent.

I would like to however point out a hidden peice of genius beyond what he is describing:

Makes you feel weird: ☑️ (see all reactions here)

Saps Energy: ☑️ (the energy wasted writing this€

Downward Spiral: ☑️ (again, writing this)

Confuses the Mind: ☑️ (see above)

Causes Stagnation: ☑️ (it’s literally about preserving the old concept of art and not progressing. If that isn’t stagnantion idk what is)

Weed: ☑️ (Sounds like One doesn’t he?)

Unstructured and Obsessively Anti Rythm: ☑️ (see the random GPS rant)

Recognised as a Scam: ☑️ (recognised as something for sure)

A Malevolently Bad Map: ☑️ (in a sense that’s what this is, it’s, a badly written map for finding good and bad art )

Obfuscation, Lies, Resentment: ☑️ (I can see this guy believing this shot unironically so technically the later two aren’t as prominent, but you don’t make this without resentment)

Wishes to destroy the canon: ☑️ ( he is trying to destroy the parts he doesn’t like through an objective labelling of bad art€

Mocks the concept of Values: ☑️(other then his own, yes, though this one’s debatable)

Enfeebles life: ☑️

Spits on Beauty and Actively Celebrates Uglyness: ☑️ (definitely in its labelling of huge concepts as actively bad, and I’m sure many of the works that he considers good have elements which falls into these concepts, therefore actively celebrating uglyness)

And thus bad art is

“Whining” ✅

“Coping” ✅

“Seething” ✅

“Waste of time” ✅

HE DID IT. HE DID A BAD ART ABOUT BAD ART. BY HIS OWN FUCKING DEFINITION. Even if I wasn’t being funny that would be like 12/15.

Also as a Christmas gift here’s 3 of my favourite artworks I referenced in the piece.

Andy Warhol - Hammer and Sickle Portraits

Deliberately Invoking communist symbology of the hammer and sickle without the meaning. Warhol makes one question their own instinctual meanings towards objects. As he states, they’re just a friends garden tools, but because of the symbolism surrounding these items we picture them as so much more. As such, it is mocking the symbol as both a symbol of the ideology and as a symbol of fear. Warhol’s work in a lot of ways is ultimately about questioning our associations with celebrity and symbols of consumerism and violence, presenting them in often garish colours as a way of altering them.

This is fortunately the only one I have an original photo of. I was at the Warhol exhibit in Dublin recently. This one iirc was presented alongside his pictures of an electric chair in the gallery. That visit is also something I could go into more

Ai Weiwei - Sunflower Seeds

Originally presented as a massive room with a floor of ceramic seeds in the state Art Gallery. The seeds themselves were made in a town called Jingdezhen, whose economy historically was reliant on making porcelain for the Chinese imperial family. Since the end of the empire, the town has been in decline for roughly a century. In that regard, the piece brings their communities legacy as artists back, and provided income and a renewed community spirit to the town. The seeds themselves, all individually hand crafted, represent mainly the depersonalisation of Chinese authoritarianism, though it also represents our collective power to overthrow such authorities through numbers (as sunflowers, to Weiwei personally, represent a tasty treat, alongside hope) (also of note Sunflower imagery was big in Maoist propaganda, with Mao being the Sun, which is also part of the peice’s multi layered metaphor)

Francisco Goya The 3rd of May, 1808.

Seen as the dawn of modern art, the 3rd of May depicts the execution of suspected Spanish Rebells at the hands of French Soldiers. Colour and posing is used to invoke Christ in the presentation of the man currently being shot, presenting him as a beacon of light being executed by an imperialist force. This image of it is from Wikipedia. Also in looking for his name I realised he’s also the one behind Saturn Devouring his only son

Tag yourself as this list of “bad art” features, according to a twitter fascist

[babygoatnathaniel]

Alr so I’m bored so I’m taking requests! On books or one shots. So I write Miraculous and Pokémon books and one shots. Tell me what you want and I’ll attempt it! Btw as I am trying to find somewhere to watch it I haven’t seen whatever Pokémon series May is in (is she in Johto?) so none of whoever is in that series and only seen a handful of DP and a handful of XY, despite the DP thing I have a good image of Dawn so I think I could write her. I’m Alola, one of my favs so gimme any ship or story line and I can make it happen. Journeys is my top so it’s the same story as Alola.

there’s not much else to put on that notice so uh yea. Gimme story ideas or ships you wanna see happen (exp: ClemontXGoh, Ik it’s kinda popular and I half wanna see it myself lol. Or Satogoh, my personal fav. Lana and whoever the frick you want her with. DawnXChloe. MallowXLillie, I love that ship tbh. I even do straight ships believe it or not. Like AshXLana, I think they would eat. KiaweXLana, actually I don’t ship it but if you want it I can write it. Uh MistyXAsh, I love this ship. IrisXMisty, they would be a power couple tbh and somehow I went back to gay couples. LillieXAsh, cute but not my style but still I can write it. MallowXAsh, really cute and works. More Kukui and Brunette.. wait is that how u spell her name???? GaryXMisty, is that even a ship? I don’t think so. Ik garyXgoh is a ship and GaryXAsh and I can write those as well. I’m not gonna list every ship tho.)

okay somehow this circulated around Pokémon???? Also I can write miraculous books/one shots. Want some Marcaniel? Bro I got you. Jularose? No worries. Adrienette- I guess ai can write that. LukaXAlix? I got you. AlyaXNino, no worries. AlyaXZoe for some spice, lemme serve you. Chloenette? One of my personal favorites. I GUESS I can do Lilanette if y’all want but I won’t enjoy writing it. Marigami? I highly recommend. But for the love of God don’t make me go and ship Nathaniel with a girl- do not make me relive memories from when I was homophobic. Because I hate myself back then cause I basically said “Marc doesn’t exist to me.” And now I’m trying to figure out what I was on back then cause damn I got a crush on Marc. Ladynoir? I’m yo person. Marichat, most likely won’t be pg but hey. I REFUSE TO WRITE LADRIEN UNLESS ITS DEMANDED. Ivan and Mylène? Cute little babies, ofc I can write them. Ninonette? I love it. Feligami? I’m there. Lukagami? So cute. You get the gist. plot: whatever u want. I can do sleepover one shots, slow burn books (not gonna be too good tho). Enemies to lovers? Excellent choice. You wanna do a reverse au? Oh based on Marc and Nathaniel? I am all ears lemme get this written. Something based on Alix and her travel? I mean no promises but I can try. Christmas? Lemme go write. Possibilities are endless just give me an idea. I’ll be waiting.

[anyasportfolio]

I found Weird Stuff in the Woods (creative writing assignment)

Anya Altieri

POSTED TO R/LEGALADVICE ON APRIL 24TH, 2015

TITLED: I FOUND SOMETHING IN THE WOODS, CAN I POST IT ON THE INTERNET?

So I recently found these old journals in the middle of the Appalachian mountains. They were in a box, half-buried under a bush and seem to belong to some dude who killed himself back in the 70’s. I really want to post them here  because they’re honestly weird as fuck, but I also don’t want to get thrown in jail for whatever reason.

EDIT: the overwhelming majority of people said that “while posting it is a shitty thing to do, if the case is ruled a suicide it probably won’t come with any legal repercussions” which is good enough for me. I’ll be posting it on r/interesting if any of you want to check it out.

POSTED TO R/INTERESTING ON 4/26/2015

TITLED: I FOUND THESE WEIRD JOURNALS IN THE WOODS AND THEY’RE CREEPY  AS SHIT

Okay, so I found these old journals in the middle of nowhere in the Appalachian Mountains. I’m not going to reveal anything about my identity because I’ve been told this is a morally shitty and possibly legally dubious thing to do and y’all know how the internet gets. Anyways, these journals belong to some guy who killed himself back in the 70’s. From what I gather, he was a professor at Syracuse University and specialized in woodland biology (specifically bats, specifically Eastern Pipistrelles).

I’m going to post these in chunks, because there’s kind of a lot to read here, and I don’t have the time, patience, or bandwidth to upload everything all at once. I’m also going to be cutting a lot of stuff out either because it’s boring or irrelevant, or it’s just scientific shit I can’t understand. I’ll do my best to make sure you get the gist of what’s going on

CHUNK ONE (4/27/2015)

SEPTEMBER 7th, 1974          

            Tim and I woke up early this morning and had breakfast at Denny’s. Lovely little joint, Denny’s. I had the most wonderful omelet! It had just the right amount of cheese (I was able to identify at least three different types, mozzarella, american, and cheddar). The ham was also cooked perfectly, crisp enough to provide a variance in texture, but not so crunchy it took away from the entire meal. [RN: I cut some of this part out because the guy spends way too long talking about his fucking omelet] I had such a pleasant breakfast experience, I had to get up and thank the chef directly, a young man who quite honestly looked like he’d rather jump in the fryer himself than spend another minute in that kitchen. I hope my compliment made his day a little more bearable! Tim seemed rather exasperated once we finally left, but I suppose he simply isn’t as enthusiastic about food as I am.

            We arrived at [RN: the name of the cave was scribbled over so much it ripped the page. Fucking creepy] just as the sun was peaking out. Though, we were in a valley, so the warmth was not shared with us, much to my disappointment. Tim didn’t seem to mind though, a true caver at heart. We chatted intermittently whilst getting ready to make our perilous descent into darkness. In all honesty I hate caves, I personally find the darkness suffocating, or, maybe that’s just the dankness. Oh the things I do for my research. Funny, how out of all the bat species that exist in the United States, I have to pick the ones that live in the darkest, most mildew-prevalent hellholes Mother Earth has to offer.

            Note: we decided to switch up the plan a bit, so while this is technicallyEX I, we’ll be using the EX II route, then go back for EX I tomorrow.

It took about an hour and a half to get down the first “dead drop” (DDI., or as I like to call it, “DD-Prime”) as Tim calls it. It’s an absolute behemoth of a completely vertical hole about 10ft wide, an easy fit. It took a bit to actually get to it, given the fact we had to cross some rather wide holes (apparently the entrance to DDII.). The rappel down was pretty standard at first, but about halfway down, the hole opened up into an absolutely massive cavern (Tim calls it “the stomach,” a rather fitting name in my opinion). Reaching the ground required an utterly terrifying amount of time suspended in mid-air. In the offshoot, we looked for bats and found none (drat). The climb back up was a little tricky, but we made it. It became trickier when I was instructed to swing myself in order to miss the small lake residing in the belly of…well…the stomach! I asked Tim if it was safe, and he said not to worry if I fall in, as the water is actually quite warm. Apparently the cave sits on some sort of geothermal heat source. I was dubious, but swung with all I had, landing on the VERY precarious ledge that separates the water from DDI.II. I overshot quite a bit and if it weren’t for the wooden platform Tim and his friends must have built, I surely would have fallen to my death! These dead drops are very adequately named! Tim then made his own way down, landing next to me with ease. We scanned the walls of The Stomach on the way down as well as from the ground, and despite the fact this area of the cave was very warm and humid, there were no bats to be found. Strange, as this would be another perfect roost! Alas, this is a big cave, and according to Tim, there are a few more places the little buggers could be hiding. Hopefully we’ll have better luck tomorrow. We’re going to eat and rest for a bit then head back up. I have no idea how that’s going to work, given the gold-medal-worthy gymnastics routine we had to perform to get down here in the first place! But Tim’s an expert, so I’ll reserve the escape route planning to him!

It took us a lot longer to get back out of The Stomach than it did getting in; though, I imagine it would have been a lot harder if we didn’t have the scaffolding-like construction Tim has down there. We monkeyed our way up before attacking the slippery stone wall. My heart was racing throughout the ascension. Even though Tim was leading the way, clipping our shared rope to the metal he had forced into the rock face, said rock face was inconceivably slippery. I noticed these deep, cup-like grooves carved into the wall. They somewhat resembled those handholds at a rock-climbing gym; though, they were carved in, instead of attached to the wall, and too far spaced apart for them to be deliberate. Besides, Tim says it’s a virgin cave, and hasn’t found much of any life at all aside from maybe your typical cave molds and fungi. Not much else happened, Tim’s wife made a wonderful beef stroganoff! [RN: cut this out because no one needs to know that much about his beef fucking stroganoff]

**UPDATE (4/30/2015)**

Hey everyone, sorry for the wait for part 2. I have a life, and that’s all I’ll say. He drew a map with plans for different days, but he scribbled all over it. I’m gonna have a friend try and restore it through photoshop, I’ll let you know how that goes. If anyone here is good at photoshop, let me know and I’ll send you a higher res picture.

Also, I feel like I should specify everything I’m posting is in journal 2 (it starts around page 10, everything before that is just boring shit about bats, planning for this “expedition” and stuff like that. Anyways, here’s part 2

CHUNK 2

SEPTEMBER 8TH, 1974

            The morning kicked off uneventfully. Today we’re going to explore the route for EXI. which will take us down through DD II and into the wetter parts of the cave system. Hopefully we’ll find some bats!

            We forwent Denny’s this morning. A shame, I was looking forward to trying their pancakes! They should be nothing short of divine if the eggs/bacon/potatoes are anything to go by. Oh well, perhaps I’ll have to make a trip on my own after dinner! My sister’s comparing me to a hobbit is becoming more and more evident each day. 

            DDII Is far more perilous than DDI! Though the drop itself isn’t nearly as vertical, there are so many little nooks and crannies one can mistakenly squeeze themselves into. Thank God for Tim, without him I’d surely be stuck in a hole somewhere down here! It took forever, but we finally reached as far as we can go, everything past here is completely submerged. No bats so far, but we have found something! Tim says it most likely comes from the flood-prone pond caves*. Now, I’m no botanist, but I do know what typical cave-florae look like. This plant is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. It’s black and somewhat flakey? Like shredded seaweed. It smells horrid, worse than bat guano! The smell doesn’t travel, one has to put the specimen quite close to the face and deliberately sniff it for the scent to be noticeable, but once you smell it, WOOOF. It’s odd though, usually, something so putrid can be noticed long before actually seeing it. Regardless, I have decided to take a sample and pray my equipment doesn’t end up smelling like death. Hopefully Grevin can analyze it for me upon my return to Syracuse.

                        *Tim says the whole cave system is prone to flooding should it rain enough, however, this would mean the water in The Stomach should be similar to that of the rest of the caverns. It isn’t. The water in The Stomach is very blue, and much clearer. In DDII the water is murky. I’ve taken a sample of the murky water and will take another sample of the clear water to compare in the lab. Also, according to Tim’s map, there are no fish in the pond. None. Perhaps minerals from the cave have made the water inhabitable? Yet another question for Grevin.

            Nothing else found today. It’s strange, there isn’t a trace of any Pipistrelle activity (or any activity of life in general besides some molds, fungus, and that strange plant). We found something though, so at least there’s that. I’ll see what Grevin has to say about the samples. It’s going to be hard waiting for the 21st. I feel like I’m leaving a puzzle only partially completed .

**UPDATE (5/2/2015)**

Hey everyone. I have good news, my buddy really came through on that map. Creepy shit. Here’s the link.

This is where things get crazy, so I’ll add some notes along the way.

CHUNK 3

SEPTEMBER 21ST, 1974

            The day is finally here! I left Syracuse yesterday and drove as fast as I could! I think the police noticed my enthusiasm because I got speeding ticket. Oh well. Tim’s wife made an excellent breakfast! She made the most wonderful pancakes (better than Denny’s) [RN: cut out the section of him yapping about pancakes] Today we’re going all the way down to ground zero (well, sub-ground zero). EXIII is going to be the most intense caving expedition I’ve ever been on. According to Tim, he has a little campsite down near DDIII’s midway point. We won’t have to bring anything down with us, because he said his buddy (who went down last Friday) left some stuff down there. The search for bats continues!

            It took less time than last to get to the pit of The Stomach. I made sure to grab a sample of the water as well. Right now, we’re taking a break and eating some beef jerky (made by Tim’s amazing wife). I never noticed just how deep the Stomach Pool is. There are stalagmites all throughout, but I can’t actually see the very bottom. Perhaps there’s another tunnel? There’s no gap in the stalagmites that would indicate such a thing, and Tim says it’s unlikely, but no one has actually checked. Apparently, it’s quite dangerous to try, so I suppose I can’t blame them.

            We finally made it to the campsite. On the final edge’s lip (the one right before the last slope before the campsite), our rope became ensnared on a particularly stubborn piece of rock. Both Tim and I were utterly exhausted, so it took far longer than it should have to free ourselves. I’ve never camped in a cave before. In fact, I actively avoid it. I love my bats, but caves are…creepy, to put it plainly. Regardless, we all but collapsed upon the sleeping mats. Both of us were covered in sweat and dirt. I was thankful for the breeze, until I realized we were in a cave where there had been no breeze moments prior. I asked Tim about it and he said it’s probably from “The Squeeze,” a small hole he and his friends had recently opened. Having never heard of this, I inquired further, but Tim said he would tell me more in the “morning.” I can’t blame him; I can barely hold the pencil I’m so wiped!

SEPTEMBER 22ND, 1974

            It turns out it is, in fact, morning. 5:45am to be exact. I’m surprisingly well-rested considering there was only a thin layer of foam between me and the cave floor. The uneven cave floor. Exhaustion will do that to you I suppose! Tim says this is the trickiest part of the route, as it’s very steep. Vertical, according to the map. The breeze hasn’t changed in intensity. Hopefully that will make our descent easier.

            DDIII.II was a lot easier than I anticipated. It turns out the breeze does help! We made it down the shaft in about two hours. At the bottom Tim went to inspect “The Squeeze,” and I went to inspect for bats. I found none, but I did find something even more interesting. On a slight slope, I saw some oddly colored rock peaking out from underneath the face. I took out my knife, and tried to pry away the outer layer. To my surprise, after a rather lackluster push, the whole thing crumbled. Thank God I was wearing a helmet, as more than a few pieces landed (and then crumbled) off my head. Tim was, understandably, just as shocked as I was. Though, the real surprise came when we saw what caught my eye in the first place. It was a painting, circular in design with what appeared to be a sun in the middle, and figures holding various weapons standing around it. Between the figures there were figures I assume to be birds of some kind, each with a varying number of feathers? It was the figure at the top of the circle that really had me intrigued. It stood a whole head taller than the others, but also sported a very large rack of antlers with three of those feather-like shapes between them. It was also holding something (a flare?) in each hand. The figure at the very bottom of the circle was also interesting, as it too had three feathers (no antlers) only they were blue, instead of black. It’s arms were also positioned above its head unlike the others. Each figure depicted had some sort of “aura” all red save the horned figure (who had a blue aura), and the bottom figure (who’s aura was outlined by a thin blue line). I immediately began to take pictures, but because of the questionable light sources, I decided to draw it as well just incase the photos didn’t turn out.

Tim was, for lack of a better term, in a frenzy. To be quite honest, so was I. It’s not every day one just happens upon potentially ancient cave art. I cannot wait to show this to Aveline, she’ll most likely die of excitement!

[RN: There was no camera in the box I found this stuff in so don’t ask for pictures.]

We debated whether or not we should take what we have and come back later or push through The Squeeze in search of an alternative exit. Tim argued that due to the proximity of the painting and The Squeeze, the two were probably connected. While this makes sense, it only makes sense if one doesn’t think about it with too much depth. The rational side of me wanted to leave the way we came, but the scientist in me couldn’t help but get riled up at the thought of discovering something new. Needless to say, the scientist won.

We tied our packs together and slid them single file through the opening. Once they were through, I tried my hand at “making the squeeze” as Tim puts it. It took me a lot longer than Tim and the equipment, but I made it (well, minus a fair bit of skin). The smell hit me before anything else. It was earthy, kind of like dead leaves. The breeze was also stronger here. The cavern wasn’t wide, but it was long. In the middle was yet another fantastically off-putting exhibit. Statues, man-sized statues. They were standing in a circle around a stone. A perfectly square stone, and I don’t use the word “perfectly” lightly. It truly was immaculate. There were eight “man statues” also of unimaginably flawless. Each man was so incredibly detailed, yet somehow generic at the same time. No two were the same, but they were all similar in the exact same way, almost akin to varying styles of mannequins in a clothing store. They were more like templates than actual people. I took pictures and made only a quick drawing, as only a camera could capture just what I was seeing.  

It just occurred to me that Tim and I haven’t spoken since The Squeeze. I’m not sure if it’s wonder, or unease causing the silence. Though, putting rationality aside, I think both of us are a little concerned of someone hearing us. Ever since we saw the statues, it’s like something has suddenly become aware of our trespassing. Despite the obvious tension, we pushed forward. It was like reading a really good book, you keep turning the page despite knowing you should probably stop and get on with your day. Your mind keeps saying “put it down” but your body just keeps turning the pages. We’ve made it beyond the chamber with the statues and are now sitting in another squeeze-like passage (though this one isn’t quite as tight as the original Squeeze).

Those seaweed-like plants. We resumed our trek through the passage but were stopped by the discovery of the plants. They smell just as bad as I remember.

            I thought the statues were amazing, but THIS takes the cake. We emerged from the second squeeze, into yet another chamber. Unlike the last, this one was very big and very well-lit. The room itself was perfectly square and made of what seems to be obsidian. It was warm. The stone itself was warm with a slight vibration to it? A hum? In the center of the room was an altar, carved out of the same substance. Half of the alter looked like a naturally formed stone, merged perfectly with the rest of the structure. It looked almost like a roman column with a sphere in the middle. There were no curves on the carved part of the alter. Every inch of the surface was made of completely straight edges, like a cut diamond. Directly above the alter was a perfectly square skylight? I don’t know where the light was coming from because it certainly wasn’t the sky. According to Tim’s map, we were underneath the always-flooded portions of the cave system. “Pondland” as Tim calls it. He also says Dave, the man responsible for charting the underwater portion of the map, has mentioned the water gets warmer the further down you go. Perhaps this strange rock this chamber is made of is responsible. On the wall behind the alter was another painting. It was far bigger than the last (floor to ceiling). I followed the same procedure. Photograph, draw, move forward. The smell was stronger, as was the breeze, alongside both Tim and my desire to leave.

            After making our way through another narrow passage, we entered the third chamber. It was bigger and natural in shape, also sporting a “skylight” and made of the same black stone. There was another pedestal towards the back, fashioned in the same way as the last. Behind the pedestal was another passage. As Tim turned to face the altar, and I was about to investigate what seemed to be another painting, that smell came back and in full. I hadn’t even realized it was gone, but now that I think about it, the breeze had also completely stopped while we were in the last passage. Only the smell returned, and it no longer smelled like fallen leaves, it smelled like decay. It was almost tangible, it invaded my nose, my eyes, making them water, I could taste it. It became hard to breathe. I was about to vomit, but Tim grabbed my arm. His hand was cold as ice, I looked towards him and his face was pale, lips tight, eyes locked on whatever he was facing.  I slowly turned to face what Tim was transfixed by, and to my horror, as I squinted through the faint light, I saw hands. Impossibly large hands with horrifically long, spindly fingers gripping the sides of the hole we had come from, arms disappearing behind the curtain-like darkness. We stood unmoving for only a moment longer before bolting for the passage behind the pedestal. The passage was narrow to begin with, but it became even more so the further along we stumbled. Whatever pursued us never made a sound, but every time I chanced a look back, I could see its hands, its arms, the smell never lessening in intensity. Our only saving grace was the fact this passage was relatively straight, with no sudden dips or inclines, but it was such a tight squeeze. My shirt was in tatters, my skin was ripped to shreds, and yet we kept running. Eventually we saw a sliver of daylight. Tim dropped his pack, before throwing himself towards the opening, his broad frame quickly becoming stuck, but that didn’t slow him down. He writhed between the rock, eventually forcing himself the rest of the way through, leaving a trail of skin and blood behind him. I didn’t even hesitate before following his lead. I had a far easier time wedging myself through, and thank God, because no sooner had I stumbled free, a spindly, disfigured hand landed where I had just been. Before I could even think about screaming, Tim grabbed my arm and yanked it hard, jarring me to action. He took off running once again and I followed.

[RN: This is pretty much the end of it. The rest of the journal is just kind of depressing if I’m being honest so I’m gonna leave it here. I have a buddy of mine looking into what happened so maybe there will be more to this but idk.]

[dishtothedeath]

The After-Party [CH 4 Trial Start]

“Your time for investigating is over. Please gather at the Studio.” 

Skull-kun notifies you all in person, before his entourage of chaperone bots begin to herd you away from what remained of the party. 

You all arrive at the Studio to see a bandaged Yukari waiting, having been escorted by her own little robot. Now that you know the truth behind the brain-chips, there’s no need to keep up pretenses—the familiar door that leads to the trial room simply manifests before you, much like your ghostly friends would have. Skull waves a hand and the door opens, heading down to the white expanse of the trial room. Once you all enter, BB closes the door and stands there forebodingly. 

Approaching the table, you get a look at everyone’s placards once more. Bonbon’s has the name scribbled out with Inigo written above it - with a toothpick skewed right through the middle of it. Castella’s card now has a needle plunged into it, and Alfie’s seems to have been stained with droplets of dark purple. 

Even Haruki’s placard is slightly damaged, with a tire tread seen in one corner. A reminder that the few of you who remain are lucky to be alive.

Drinks are offered to you all as Skull-kun takes his place at the head of the table. 

“Alfred Webb has been murdered. You must determine who murdered him. You know the gist of this by now, right?” 

Skull sighs, sounding awfully bored of these proceedings. Strange, since he’s usually so excited by all things murder and mystery. 

“You have only one hour to determine who the culprit is. There is a list of evidence on your tablet devices, and you may also use any photos you have taken during your investigation to present your findings.”

He rattles off from a pre-programmed script. And then Biscuit Beastie speaks up from the back, its ominous stare analyzing Skull closely for a moment.

“...Reminder t’ not spend too much time yappin’ ‘bout who done what in the week, yeah? Keep on topic, talk ‘bout the clues first, then theories ‘bout whodunnit after.”

A very thin, wide smile spreads across BB’s face. 

“I’ll be interferin’ if y’all get rowdy again, ya hear me?” 

He then proceeds to nod back to Skull-kun.

“Well, you heard BB! Stay focused, and you’ll probably find the killer! Probably… Anyway, get on with it. Good luck, whatever.” 

CHAPTER FOUR TRIAL START

[unpopularly-opinionated]

I don’t want to get into the bulk of this since I actually follow and like Mitch (we might even be mutuals, I can’t recall), but I saw the bit about you being a “walking, talking paradox” which irks me because it’s not only an accusation I’ve received but a sort of internal conflict I’ve been dealing with for the past eternity.

I consider myself to be Liberal, same as you, but I am very…for lack of a better term, anti-bullshit. There is a near-endless deluge of actual bullshit that comes from other Liberals and Liberal publications that I have disagreed with endlessly over the years, and to many of them they see anything but 100% objective agreement as “proof” that I’m actually some Right-wing conspiracy nut. Hell, I remember a time when people were making it out that this was like an active thing the Right-wing was doing, going around pretending to be Liberal only to slowly convert all their new Liberal friends to be Conservative over time or something. As if it was a major plot to make everyone Nazis or something.

But a lot of that bullshit stems mainly from social issues, and how a lot of Liberals think extreme censorship, pandering and borderline force are necessary to rid the world of bigotry when that just simply isn’t effective, nor true. All of the race swapping in media, or how such-and-such demographic aren’t winning enough trophies, or some extremely disliked word is still being used online, etc. it’s all utter nonsense. None of this shit matters, and all the whining in the world isn’t going to “fix” any of it. And I really don’t understand how having this stance makes me “a walking, talking paradox”. I still believe in most of the same issues y’all believe in. From an end-goal perspective, we’re still on “the same side”.

I won’t go into specifics because they don’t ultimately matter here, but the gist of my understanding of my position as a Liberal when compared to most other Liberals is that I agree with most, if not all of their end goals, I just disagree with their proposed methods of getting there. That’s about it. But despite wanting the same thing, I’m pseudo-ostracized or “a walking, talking paradox” because I disagree with anything at all, which is utter nonsense.

Anyone who is incapable of disagreeing with a fellow Liberal, on whatever subject it may be, you’ve already lost the argument because you refused to have it in the first place. At the end of the day, they shouldn’t be your enemy because at the end of the day, you both want the same thing. They’re not less of a liberal just because they don’t agree with you 100%.

Remember, this is over me objecting to someone who is not a Scandinavian, and cannot pass as a Scandinavian playing a Scandinavian character.

I will say, his predictions are correct, there is no contradiction, I can be colour blind and oppose race swapping a character, to the sane this is a normal stance.

However, he is incorrect in how I would word it.

Colour blindness refers to the belief that race and ethnicity should not influence the legal or social treatment of individuals in society, on a personal level, it means I do not treat others differently due to their race, but due to their behavior.

It is amusing how you created a little strawman of me to fight in your head though, totally proves you aren't obsessed with me~

Holding to one's own beliefs, principles and ideals is so baffling to these people that they think I'm a political paradox.

Elaborating on your position is frowned upon, lest you agree with them, then you can type 14 paragraphs of spergery and insults, but only then.

Yes, I care what others think, however, this only applies to certain individuals, family, friends, coworkers, my pet, you two don't fall under that umbrella, you're a pair of nobodies who invade my posts every so often and tag me to get my attention.

So, aside from when you tag me, or directly interact with me, I don't care, or even think about you two.

Honestly, I'd take you more seriously if you made the effort to take yourselves far less seriously, like, you guys are sad, ranting about me for days on end, and tagging me hoping I pay attention...