staff saw “multiverse“ trending with the rise of eeaao and spider-verse so they decided add a silly graph that will engage w your sensory needs

Hey I was wondering if you could do something cute with Spencer (earlier seasons) where reader (BAU) is really small and sweet in general but can outdrink anyone and he’s just like ‘how r u not dead???’ when the team all go out for drinks :))

hi angel! thank you for requesting this, i love the idea and you’ll see the result soon, but anyway yeah.. i might... gone a bit over with this one.. and i changed the story a bit i hope thats okay. Happy reading❤️

Sorry for grammatical errors!

SUPER FLUFF AND DRUNK-NESS!!

It was around 6 pm when the jet landed safely in Virginia, the team has just wrapped up a particularly gruesome complex case that left them exhausted but relieved nonetheless because they’ve caught the unsub. When they walked into the bullpen, they immediately saw Garcia sniffles as stepped out of her lair to hug each and every one of you— especially tighter around you, since you’re just so tiny and ‘hugable’ she said one time, in which you chuckled and return the hug as tight. “hey it’s alright, we’re okay. It’s over.” you whispered, knowing full well how much these cases could affect her, and she smiled warmly as she muttered a small “thank you (y/l/n)”

As everyone settled to write down some paperwork from the case files, Rossi abruptly stood before suggesting that you guys should celebrate the success you achieved today, Morgan was the first one to jump into the opportunity- hurriedly stacking his papers on his desk before dragging prentiss out of her chair “okay now c’mon, everyone— hey Reid! (Y/n)! Yes- you genius geeks will be there or you’re not scared are you einsteins?” the cheap threat causes a burst of laughter amongst the team including from Aaron, while you felt the warmth creeping up on your cheeks.

You see you rarely attended the ‘after celebration’ party they held, unless its in Rossi’s place, now that one you can’t pass up because Italian foods! but in all seriousness, it’s not that you don’t want to be with your teammates, it’s just that you’ve always been the life of the party ever since you were a teenager. Your friend Samantha used to called you out on your gift, of the ability to drink without a single trace of being drunk despite you being tiny, now that wouldn’t usually be a problem but things change when you have a major crush on your coworker, Dr. Reid.

If someone asked, what is it that draws you into Spencer? you could probably list more than 100 things. Ever since you joined, you and spencer immediately clicks, maybe because you both have a lot in common. From the way you love the same movies, types of books, and even have similar philosophical views- hence the nicknames that your teammates has given you both, Duo geek geniuses or Mr and Mrs. Einstein, lastly your favorite is Dr. and Mrs. Reid due to your similarities. You may never admit it, but every time Derek would use that one particular name, your heart feels like it may burst at any second. In conclusion, You’re whipped and you hesitated on him finding out just how wild you can be.

But before your better judgment can come to view, your smugness get the best of you. Standing straight, arms folded across your chest as you stare into derek’s eyes “We’ll see who passes out first, ‘chocolate thunder’” you replied, earning claps from your teammates including spencer whose smile is as wise as you can possibly imagine. what can you say? (Y/n) (Y/l/n) never backs out from a challenge.

Few hours later they arrived at a local bar near the building, (y/n) managed to yet again sit beside Spencer on a private booth, to her left is Prentiss, followed by Rossi, Morgan, JJ, then Penelope. Aaron needed to come home because Jack needs his father, (so that left the bau kids without their dad). As they chatter for a bit, your hand turned to look at Spencer, immediately noticing the slight uncomfortableness plastered on his face.

You ran your palm on his shirt covered arms, smiling gently “Hey, are you okay? do you wanna get out of here?” Spencer could tell that you’re being genuine, and caring which made his heart burst. “No, i’m okay (y/n) bars aren’t really my thing” He nervously giggles, scrunched up his nose and looked back at you. “Okay just let me know, spence” You patted his chest twice before returning to listen to the others.

Garcia had ordered shots for you to all drink, when it arrived your eyes widened at the sight of way too many shot glass filled with.. vodka you presumed, and 2 glass of coke and one glass of water. Everyone just stared back and forth between the drinks and garcia, which she replied with a “you guys said its a celebration” and before anyone can argue, morgan interrupts “Its okay babygirl, as i remembered that our sweet genius little miss (y/n) here have promised us she would drink tonight, and lots of it” his eyebrows are twitched as you lick your lips before leaning forward to take down the first shot.

“bring it on”

as it reached 12 AM all of the team has drown at least 3 shots, whilst you and Morgan’s count is higher than that. You heard a loud chuckle coming from your right as you gulped down a glass of water, turning to your side you can see spencer nursing his glass of coke that seemingly still full.

“Okay, who are you and what have you done to my sweet (Y/n)?” He said with a laugh, the straws that hang from his lips made your breath hitched and your fingers gripped the glass tightly at the sound of My sweet (Y/n). You composed yourself before mumbling,

“Hey thats not nicee! i’m right here still the same, what? you don’t love me when i’m drunk?” and if you think that doesn’t effect every neurons in his system then you’re dead wrong because Spencer would’ve done anything to just squeeze you tight in his arms and hold you close while listening to your slightly drunken rambles. “No, god no angel. What i meant is that, i was just not expecting this side of you, i mean look around, you outdrank everyone— how are you not dead yet?” his voice is borderline high pitched but also rugged, which made you instantly blush, looking down before glancing at your drunk coworkers, giggling at the sight of them.

Rossi had left few moments ago if your memory is right, Will picked up JJ and a very drunk Penelope home, whilst Prentiss took a very very drunk half-passed-out-Morgan. After saying your mocking goodbyes, you and spencer stared at each other. Your gaze is drunk yet lovingly genuine, Spencer’s figure tower over you as he tucked some of your fallen hair behind your ears and smiles.

“How about i take you home?” He offered, which earned a small disappointment filled whined from you at the loss of his touch. Your eyes widen, hoping he didn’t hear that but of course he did and immediately wrapped his arms around your shoulder, keeping her warm by his side as he walked them both to her car.

“You’re awfully cuddly when you are drunk (y/n) this is the drunk you i thought i was going to see” he opened the passenger door for you, before slide into the driver seat and started driving. “well i’m sorry that you didn’t like this side of me i thought—“ before you continue to ramble your drunk thoughts out, Spencer reached to softly grip your hand in his and let out a breathy laugh,

“No! (Y/n) thats not what i meant, i mean- i always like you, i’ve always liked you since the beginning no matter how many sides you have on you, you’re smart, and funny, and you understand me- thats why i like you so don’t think for a second that i didn’t like you then, especially when you beat Morgan’s ass off” He rambles as you dreamily stare into him, half hearing what he said, before he freezes, and realized what he had said or basically confessed.

“hey uh-“

“uh huh, i like you too, Spencer reid”

“We’ll try again tomorrow when you’re sober”

“I’m pretty sure, my feelings will still be the same.”

“Mine too.”

————————

I KNOW THIS IS WAY TOO LONG TO BE CONSIDERED AS A BLURB IM SORRY SHJSKS ANYWAYS ENJOY AND SEND ME REQUESTS THANK YOU!!

26 + 70 please! I'm loving these!

Anonymous asked: 89 + 70 to ease ur boredom?

26. Massage Fic + 70. Locked in a Room + 89. First Time

from fanfiction trope mash-up prompts here

some VERY OLD prompt fills I never got around to finishing! im talking like 3 years old. better late than never? this fic has a similar conceit to this one I posted last year, but it’s not like newt and hermann aren’t probably quarantining themselves constantly after lab accidents LMAO. sexy/not SFW stuff under cut

—————————————————————————————

“Mandatory isolation,” Newton says. “This blows.”

Hermann says nothing, choosing instead to aggressively turn a page in his book. He’s already said plenty to Newton on the subject, and he doesn’t imagine anything he has to say now will provide any new insights, or indeed even be moderately politer. Newton has—really, really—royally screwed things up this time. More than anything he has before. Hermann finds his anger over it all to be quite righteous, really. “Hm,” he hums instead. He turns another page.

“One whole week,” Newton says. “Locked in, nothing to do…”

Hermann grits his teeth. Truthfully, the book is for show, and for the excuse to ignore Newton, but it’s very hard to pretend to concentrate on it when Newton won’t stop talking to him. It’s especially irritating considering Newton is saying absolutely nothing of value. Then again, when is he ever? “Is there something you’re trying to say to me?” Hermann says.

Newton shakes his head. He’s playing with one of the little stress toys he keeps in his desk (a large foam strawberry), squeezing it over and over. “Oh, nothing. Just trying to make small talk.”

One whole week, locked inside the laboratory after one stupid little mistake meant Newton’s scalpel slipped where it shouldn’t have on his kaiju sample. One whole week of bloody self-isolation to make sure they don’t…infect the Shatterdome with anything they might’ve picked up in the resulting explosion. Not even a day in and Newton is already acting up. Kaiju withdrawal, perhaps, having been explicitly forbidden from working on any new samples until their containment passes. Squeeze. Squeeze. Hermann flips another page in his book. Newton clears his throat. “I know you’re not actually reading that,” he says.

“Aren’t I?” Hermann says.

Newton tosses the foam strawberry in the air with one hand and catches it with the other. “Tell me one thing that’s happened so far in it. Actually—tell me the title.”

“The title,” Hermann says, “is—”

“And no peeking,” Newton says.

This stumps Hermann. He slams the cover shut and makes to chuck the whole thing at Newton’s head, but decides better of it. He could get written up for workplace violence or some rubbish of that sort. Plus, without access to medical until the end of the week, Hermann would be the one who had to tend to any resulting wounds. Not worth it. “Fine,” he says. “I’m not reading it. Are you pleased, now that you have my undivided attention?”

Squeeze. “I guess,” Newton says. He smiles at Hermann. “Want me to suck your dick?”

This the last thing Hermann expects to hear. He startles; he blushes; he stammers; he nearly falls off his chair. Surely he must’ve misheard Newton—or, if he didn’t, surely Newton is teasing him. Newton has never done anything of that sort to Hermann before. Nor has he ever offered. It’s simply not how their relationship works. “I,” he says. “What?”

“Do you want a blowjob?” Newton says. So Hermann didn’t imagine it. “I just thought, since we’re both stuck here and bored as shit, may as well have some fun. People tell me I’m pretty good at it.”

“Good at—what?” Hermann says.

“At sucking dick,” Newton says. “Obviously.”

Hermann wonders what the appropriate response here is. Certainly he would like nothing more than to take Newton up on the offer and forget all his annoyances for a few wonderful minutes, or rather, to take his annoyances out on Newton’s never-ceasing mouth. If Newton’s offer is serious, Hermann is sure such an acceptance would be welcome. If Newton is not serious—if he means it as a joke—it could only lead to humiliation for Hermann. Something for Newton to hold over his head for the rest of the week. Hermann really thought Newton would suck him off? But the temptation of getting Newton’s mouth on him is too much for Hermann to resist, and he really is quite bored: he nods, shyly, and legs his legs part open an inch.

Newton grins.

He tosses his stress toy to his desk and gets down on his knees in front of Hermann with an admirable speed. Not saying a word, he settles his hand on Hermann’s thigh, then creeps his fingers along Hermann’s right inseam. “I bet it’ll make you feel better,” he says. “It’s gonna make me feel better. When’s the last time someone blew you, Hermann?” He fixes his eyes on the vee of Hermann’s parted legs, where the fabric of his trousers is tightening none-too-subtly at the mere notion of what Newton is offering. Hermann makes a weak show of closing them. He swallows a few times.

“I don’t, ah—I don’t remember.” Newton’s wandering fingers stop just before where Hermann wants them most, then skip over to the left side. “A few months. Years. Newton, I must—must ask—why are you…?”

Newton shrugs, and begins rubbing circles across Hermann’s inner thigh. “I’ve been thinking about how to get you to stop being pissed at me all day, and honestly, this seemed like it would work. Pretend it’s an apology or something. Man, Hermann, you’re tense.”

“You have no one to thank for that but yourself,” Hermann says. He shuts his eyes with a groan when Newton squeezes his left thigh like it’s his bloody stress toy. “By Jove, Newton, that feels marvelous.”

“Tense,” Newton says. “I told you. You don’t need a blowjob, dude, you need a goddamn massage.” He braces a hand on each of Hermann’s thighs and begins to work them over—clumsily, since (for all his skills in human biology) Newton is hardly a masseuse, but far better than anything Hermann could do all the same. Hermann sinks lower in his seat and muffles another embarrassing noise behind his hand. “Luckily, though,” Newton says, “I’m gonna give you both, because I’m an awesome lab partner. Let me know if something starts to hurt.”

Newton begins to focus his efforts on Hermann’s left leg, avoiding his knee at first, and then tentatively working his fingers over it as well. Hermann wonders if Newton can feel the scar tissue beneath his fingertips, or if Hermann’s trousers are acting as buffer enough for it. Hermann begins to sag in his chair. He feels positively boneless. He also feels that if Newton does not move those fingers (or, better yet, and as promised, his mouth) to his rapidly-stiffening prick soon, he’ll positively burst. “You enjoying yourself?” Newton says.

“Mm,” Hermann says. “Though, Newton—I don’t mean to be impolite, as I’m awfully grateful for this, but…”

Newton laughs, and with a final parting squeeze to Hermann’s leg, moves those lovely fingers to Hermann’s belt buckle and fly instead. “I got you, man.”

Hermann opens his eyes (not fancying missing this) and watches with bated breath as Newton draws down his trousers to settle comfortably at Hermann’s knees. He nearly blushes at the sight of his white boxer briefs, not just for their plainness, but for how badly they hide how wet his prickhead is already. Newton must feel Hermann’s eyes on him; he shoots Hermann a wink, and, not breaking eye contact, leans forward to press a wet, open-mouthed kiss to Hermann through his briefs.

Immediately Hermann clamps a hand down over his mouth to keep from shouting. He feels Newton laugh again, a vibration that thrums in the pit of Hermann’s stomach, and he pushes his hips eagerly up towards Newton’s mouth. Newton darts his tongue out this time, dampening the fabric of Hermann’s briefs further. Then he tucks their elastic waistband down below Hermann’s prick. “I didn’t expect it to look like this,” he says, and grazes his thumb idly across the head. He pulls it away sticky, and Hermann whimpers.

He moves his hand from his mouth long enough to say, “Have—have you thought about it often, then?” He means it teasingly—to regain some ground from Newton, some sliver of self-respect—but his voice trembles, and Newton’s grin returns with a certain lasciviousness to it that it’d not held before, and Hermann knows he’s merely given Newton more ammunition. He licks Hermann’s precum off his thumb. Hermann shivers.

“Oh, sure,” Newton says. “I jerk off thinking about your dick all the time.” He flicks his tongue over Hermann and makes a satisfied little noise, his eyelashes fluttering. He leaves another sucking kiss further down Hermann’s prick. Then another back up at the top. His fingers (Hermann notices vaguely, as if through a heavy fog) have begun rubbing soothingly at Hermann’s left hip. Hermann can only take so much: when Newton finally gets his whole mouth on him, two pink lips circling just under his head, Hermann grips blindly at Newton’s hair and comes down Newton’s throat with a muffled grunt. He feels Newton choke, but swallow it all down.

“I’m sorry,” he gasps, when he finally finds himself able to speak. “I ought—ought to have warned you.”

But Newton merely wipes his smug little mouth on the cuff of his sleeve and waves Hermann off. “I’m just that awesome, huh?” he says. He gently tucks Hermann back into his briefs, then does up his trousers. “It’s cool. It was pretty hot, actually.” Once he finishes looping Hermann’s belt, he stands and stretches his arms above his head with a groan. “Hey, you want some coffee?”

“Coffee?” Hermann says, dizzily.

“Yeah, I was gonna brew a pot,” Newton says. “Get the taste out of my mouth and everything.”

Hermann blinks at him. Newton’s rather thrown him for a loop. Aren’t these sorts of things meant to be reciprocated? Hermann didn’t mean to assume—but he really was looking forward to the chance to, er, give Newton a similar favor. Very much looking forward to it. “That’s it, then?” he says.

“We have six days to go, dude,” Newton says. “No need to rush anything, right? We can work on your,” he smirks, “endurance after lunch.”

“Oh,” Hermann says. He considers it. “Coffee would be nice, then.”

first encounter | previous | next

(Note: this story takes place in April of 2020!)

--

“About time you showed your ugly mug ‘round here again!”

Monroe fell into the chair opposite Delucius with a heavy sigh, his hat tipping down to hide his face from view. Castor thought he looked a little worse for wear, but decided it may be best to hold his tongue. Not wishing to turn their reunion into an impromptu bar brawl, he instead drank deeply from his mug.

“Good t’see ye in one piece,” he mumbled by way of greeting.

“Likewise,” Monroe responded gruffly, and flicked the brim of his hat up to glare at Delucius. “Now what’s this nancy doin’ at my waterin’ hole?”

Delucius feigned offense with a hand over his heart. “I heard you were back in town,” he replied, “so I made sure I would be as well. It’s been eons since we were all together like this. C’mon, cowboy, lighten up; drinks are on me.”

“Get fucked.”

“Fuck me yourself, coward.”

Monroe looked to Castor, who gave a helpless shrug. “Fuck ‘im yerself,” he said, “coward.”

Delucius’ grin widened until even Monroe, ornery as he was, couldn’t help an amused snort. The smarmy little git was right; it had been too long since the three of them had sat ‘round the table and had a proper chat. So, kicking back in his chair, Monroe lit up one of his noxious hand-rolled cigarillos.

“When’d ya get back, Cas?” he asked.

“Few weeks ago,” Castor replied. “I figured I’d just missed ye, but Delucius told me ye’ve been abroad since the clan woke.”

“Eeeeyup.”

“Well?” Delucius leaned forward, his eyes shining with mischief. “What’s the word? You’ve gotta have something juicy for me after a trip like that; preferably something Sinclair’ll pay top dollar for.”

Monroe scrambled to appear presentable as a glass of whiskey came down in front of him. “Welcome back, stranger,” Sitri cooed, and pressed a kiss to the Fae’s cheek before bustling off to see to his other customers. Delucius and Castor exchanged a knowing glance.

“Damn,” Monroe said dazedly, “he’s one helluva drake.”

“Ye’ll never get anythin' out of 'im now, Delucius.”

Delucius slammed his hand on the table. “Stop staring at Sitri’s ass and spill it!”

“I’ll stare at whoever’s ass I damn well please.” That being said, Monroe reluctantly returned his attention to his tablemates, and settled for sneaking glances at Sitri between sentences. “I’ve got yer juice all right,” he said, “but I ‘dunno if ya’ve earned it, pal.”

“I said drinks are on me, didn’t I?” Delucius countered.

“A single round’a drinks ain’t enough to get’cha so much as a hint,” Monroe retorted. Taking a particularly lengthy drag off of his cigarillo, the Fae leaned in to meet Delucius and blew a cloud of soupy smoke in his face. “Yer ten cycles too green fer this scoop, so take yer ‘generosity’ elsewhere. This’s fer Dreamweaver’s ears only, unless you can come up with an offer I can’t refuse.”

“Drinks and my ass aren’t good enough?!” Delucius cried through a fit of hacking coughs.

“Drinks ‘n Sitri’s arse maybe,” Castor muttered into his ale.

Before Monroe could think of a suitably witty comeback, the door to the tavern swung inward, and a pair of strangers sauntered up to the bar. With their arrival, all thoughts of lighthearted banter leaked out of Delucius’ brain like egg yolk. He clamped his mouth shut, so tight that his teeth ached, and did what he always did when he was scared dead to rights: tried to disappear in plain sight.

Now this, Monroe thought, might be worth more than a hint.

“What’s got ya pissin’ yerself, pardner?” he asked, examining the newcomers from beneath the wide shadow of his brim. “A couple’a yuppies like them ought not t’ bother ya none. I’ve seen ya go toe-to-toe with drinks scarier’n them two.”

“Would you shut the fuck up?” Delucius hissed.

“Talk t’ me like that again,” Monroe warned, “and I’ll invite ‘em over fer a round—on you, a’course.”

“Not more immigrants, eh?” Castor said. “Had our fair share of ‘em in recent months.”

“No,” Delucius replied, “no, I don’t think they’re immigrants, Cas.”

“Back again, Miss Cymbeline?” Sitri asked one of the newcomers, a pretty dam with hair the color of sea fog and eyes shrouded by cloth. “You ought to give Phoebus a break now and again, you know? If he spends too long hanging 'round with this lot, he might just—” Sitri gasped— “have fun!”

The dam laughed demurely behind a raised hand, much to her companion's displeasure. He shot her a look, but kept any harsh words he may have had for her to himself.

“Tavern Master,” the drake, presumably named Phoebus, began.

“Haven't I told you to call me Sitri?” Sitri cut in. “Oof, you're so awfully stiff, honey. Let me mix you up a little tonic.”

“As I have informed you on more than one occasion,” Phoebus went on, “neither myself nor Lady Cymbeline are permitted to drink. We have come for the atmosphere only.”

“Sure you didn’t come for me, Phoebus?” Sitri all but purred, eliciting another round of stifled giggling from the dam. 

Monroe had to admit, the color that rose in Phoebus’ cheeks then was certainly attractive. He and Sitri had been cut from a similar cloth. They liked their drakes one of two ways: suave and sultry, or pricklier than a porcupine. Phoebus looked the part of the first, his angular face clean shaven, his ensemble pressed to perfection, but acted the part of the second, all work and no play. For Sitri, he was a rare treat indeed.

So, of course, Monroe instantly despised him.

“Looks like ye’ve got competition,” Castor noted.

Monroe gave another snort, this one derisive. “I could run circles ‘round that greenhorn.”

Unfortunately, it was at that precise moment that the tavern’s characteristic clamor fell into a lull, and Monroe’s distinctive voice cut through the resulting murmur like a hot knife through butter. Delucius sunk lower in his chair, but it was too late. He could feel eyes on the back of his neck, burning and stinging with what he could only describe as malicious glee. It wasn’t much consolation, but at least Monroe appeared suitably remorseful. He was chewing hard on the butt of his cigarillo, his grip tight on his glass.

The sound of approaching footsteps sent a chill racing up Delucius’ spine. His tablemates remained seated, but he saw each of them reach below the table—Monroe for his six shooter, Castor for his dagger. Neither of them bothered to play nice when Phoebus eventually came to a halt behind Delucius’ chair.

“Somethin’ we can help ya with, holy man?” Monroe inquired.

“No,” Phoebus replied, “I am merely here to deliver a message to Mr. Shadowheart.”

A hand alighted on Delucius’ shoulder, and all at once, he was there again, in that accursed church. Warmth seeped into him from the place where two bodies met, causing an uncomfortable sheen of sweat to blossom across his forehead. He could hear choral laughter ringing in his ears, smell rich, heady incense burning nearby, taste blood from a bitten lip on his tongue, sweeter somehow in his memory. It tasted of the tea he’d been offered upon his arrival.

“The Archbishop sends his regards.”

Then Phoebus stepped back, and the present rushed in to fill his absence. Delucius blinked to clear his vision. There was blood in his mouth again, but it was bitter. He washed it down with the rest of his drink.

“Tell him I said to go fuck himself,” he spat.

“Such language,” Phoebus tutted, but said nothing more to the trio. “Cymbeline, come along.”

“We only just got here,” Cymbeline protested. Something in the tone of Phoebus’ voice must have unsettled her, however, as the next moment, Delucius sensed her eyes on him as well, staring from beneath her shroud. “I’m sorry,” she added once she had joined her partner at their table, “for Phoebus, detective. He doesn’t mean any harm.”

“Cymbeline!”

“Former,” was all the response Delucius could muster, “I’m a former detective.”

Cymbeline hesitated at his back, but presently began to drift after Phoebus. He almost felt bad for giving her the cold shoulder; unlike her peers, her kindness seemed genuine. Whichever one of the Archbishop’s mad schemes she’d gotten tangled up in, he was certain she was unaware of her part in it, another lamb to the slaughter. Still, as long as she stuck by that drake she’d come in with, Delucius intended to keep his distance. The bastard smelled too much like the Archbishop to be anything but one of his most trusted acolytes.

“So—” Across from him, Monroe relaxed, once again kicking back in his seat with the crumbling remains of his cig between his lips— “ya gonna tell us what that was all about, prettyboy?”

Delucius ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah,” he said, “but it’s gonna cost ya.”

@nurotoxin​​​ sent;

scraTCH THAT [ everything ( minus appeal ) ] + glados

Thoughts & Feelings

Send [ word ] + a character name for my muse to talk about that character.

"Unfortunate that I ended up running into her." beat. "Or rather, that she ended up approaching me. Because, clearly, the first thing you think of when seeing a stranger sitting alone trying to get some peace and quiet is how great of a test subject they'd be. Absolutely normal."

"Also, I'm quite annoyed by how persistent she is — clearly there are more cooperative people she can irritate with her tests, yet she still sees it necessary to bother me despite how I've opposed to it since the get-go."

"Frankly, I don't get it, how she can loathe me to bits yet still be the one initiating an interaction. Sounds rather self-sabotaging, if you ask me. I'd think both of us would profit from it if we'd avoid each other."

Send [ oops ] + a character name for my muse to blurt something about that character.

"If you think about it," he spoke, while not thinking much about it, let alone how offensive it might be. "to claim she's taller than me is ridiculous."

"Her, er, vessel had been assigned by the Stars upon her arrival, right? It's not ... bound with her, so to say. Meaning, should one put her into a tinier vessel similar to the ones you find in Craft-Punk, then she'd have a new, much smaller height than she initially did, while still being the same person. Therefore, her vessel being taller could be compared to someone wearing high heels, no? It's not her, physically, being taller." he’s just salty.

"— Should she argue about this, then just put her in a 2ft tall vessel and see if she still believes it's fair to judge height per the vessel she's in. I bet she'd hate that."

Send [ think ] + a character name to know my muse’s thoughts on that character.

You squint as she took her leave. Despite having her back turned, you're rather certain she's aware of the stare piercing her, though really it'd only be all the better if she is.

All she had said is for you to wait with no further explanation. Likely bringing something, you reckon. You did scoff that you'd leave immediately just to spite her, but both of you know that it won't come to such — it's difficult to find a quiet spot as is with all these celebrations, and you genuinely don't have the energy to bother today. So here you are, grumbling; What the hell is her problem?

If you'd only go by the 'tests' she offers, you'd think of her as a joke. You still do, but — aside from amusement, what's there for her to accomplish? Granted, she does gain some info here and there about Spirale, but apart from that? If that's it, she sure picked quite the horribly inconvenient way to approach the matter. Someone who'd seek actual results wouldn't do that. What's worse; that isn't it. If it'd be just a puzzle enthusiastic scientist wanna-be would be one thing, but only a glance on her attitude and you'd argue her to be worse than the imbecile Dimitri, for obvious reasons. So why? Is she studying people and their way of thinking solely to understand them? That'd barely make sense, considering how she gives no damn about humans to be this interested. Hell, you'd not be surprised if she'd replace her test subjects with these stupid turrets if she could, considering how she reacted when you tossed it the other day. So, what is it then? You can't fathom a potential goal she might be seeking that isn't ridiculously outlandish.

... Maybe she doesn't have a goal, you think. Perhaps she truly is driven by the concept of 'doing science' alone, like she had been programmed to do — and that's all she does, despite the fact that she isn't even where the task was given to her. Gathering information just for the sake of gathering information, with no slight interest on who it aids, or who it expenses. A pointless routine, pretty much. "Despicable," you find yourself muttering, seeing her return again from a distance. You can't imagine anyone living content and happy without having an aim they're striving for in life.

You'd know.

Send [ heart ] + a character name to know my muse’s true feelings for that character.

As much as I'd love to say he's holding a front or whatever, unfortunately, beneath the disrespect is just the same thing but bass-boosted. True, he did act on prejudices at first, but his assumptions had been more than confirmed to him by now, so really he'd call it horseshit if you were to speak to him about how he's got to be open-minded and etc.

However!! While he does have more respects for a snail than for GLaDOS, it might come to a surprise to you when I say he finds her much more tolerable than Dimitri! So hey, at least she got that going for her! Even if he'd never admit that. There are several reasons that go into this — for instance, the fact that she isn't love-struck & her actions (cough, life) not entirely centered around such do make talking to her less annoying. You could claim that she's love-stuck by science, I guess, but she doesnt whine about it. GLaDOS is also far less gullible, much more observant; while it was fortunate for Clive that Dimitri wasn't alike to her in that aspect, conversing with a fool that has only one thing in mind is hardly interesting, and at some point forward even the thrill of deceiving them was gone, more alike to a ludicrously boring routine. It hurts me to insult Allen like this but, yeah — speaking to someone who's less naive is, ultimately, less tedious.

Also uh, this is sad to say but, yknow, Clive keeping up an act around Dimitri at all times was draining — smiling while wanting to strangle someone is!! not a fun thing. Neither is acting like you're a fan of a work that had your parents killed. But, with GLaDOS, he doesn't have to pretend shit. To put it bluntly, it's a relief he can be the asshole he wants to be without repressing it. And, relief makes stuff more tolerable! For him.

There's definitely the comfort of 'im having a bad day and im about to make that everyones problem' that he was unable to do all these years but, hey, you didn't hear that from me.

Regarding testing, they're not always horribly annoying to him unlike he'd claim — especially the ones you could (almost) compare to puzzles; they do catch his interest, and there's always the satisfaction you get when you got it right. However, he'll always be awfully reluctant to do the tests despite how intriguing they might be, and should he end up doing it anyway — never express that delight. Maybe a smirk might slip, but should she point that out he'd make sure in one way or another for her to take that back, or reason said smirk to be something insulting against her — yknow, the usual. Clive wants to be as inconvenient as possible as a 'test subject', and, is doing a good job at that. While yeah, the tests can low-key be temporarily nice, you won't find him miss these should she finally leave him alone. There are a lot of things he's missing, but GLaDOS and her Tests will never be on the list, really.

Send [ body ] + a character name to know my muse’s body language around that character.

So, uh. we both know he's emotionally unstable, right. Talking about his Body Language when he's acting like that is,, difficult, since it depends highly on his mood swings and I'm not about to count them all,, we'll be here forever if I do that. All I can say is that he's surely tense & sensitive whilst it.

However!! I'll ramble a bit about his usual demeanour w/ GLaDOS when things are "fine", whatever that means when talking about Clive

If he's just 'kinda there', as in low-spirited yet still well enough to talk shit (which is the 'usual' in their interactions IG) you can absolutely expect him to intentionally sit 'wrong' yet comfortably — just, y'know, to express disdain even further. Usually, it'd mean he's rather comfortable around you, but in this case, it's frankly just a lack of care of what GLaDOS thinks of him. She already knows he's got issues smh why bother giving a good impression,, Guard isn't really up either, slacking far too much to be so — just this state of "meh." where he very well can complain about the situation at hand without leaving despite it. Uhh, what else — ah and he got his hat off, likely just cast aside somewhere. shrugs

If Clive is ACTUALLY spacing out, be it to the extent where he trails off and loses his line of thoughts like all 30 seconds, or even as far to where he doesn't respond at all — if he's standing, sitting, henceforth, one thing for sure his posture would be slumped, although seeing how it's usually a thing that happens gradually, he'd stop sitting so improper (aside from the slumped posture, of course) so there's that, at least. Guard is obviously thrown out of the roof in such things. Whilst sitting there's also this habit where he'd tip with his fingers on the palm of the other hand (imagine like playing on a piano) or instead have a fist resting in it (as if you're counting for rock paper scissors) while he's spacing out— I can imagine GLaDOS would have already picked up on that to tell when he's getting lost in thought again.

Obviously, he got better days than that, where he'd care to keep up the manners you'd expect from him — but rest assured if he has the energy to act normal, he'll also have the energy to leave should GLaDOS show up. So, the next best thing is where he's irked, which. Well, that's not all too fun either, but. He'd sit upright, arms crossed, perchance even legs crossed, rather tense, you get the idea—much less cooperative too, but what else is new.

Third Way Jealousy

The sweet smell of roses and food filled the air as the giant dining room fell silent except for the clicking of silverware and the voices happily chatting through the air....Well happy for two of the people there. Not for a third sitting off to the side. He felt one or two of his eyes twitching in irritation at the insanity dancing around his head that was his emotions. His brain couldn't fathom why she even bothered to invite this staticclinged, edgelord looking moron. He wasn't even that fun to have by and he couldn't see what use he could have to either of them.  "So then I drove the same weapon he threatened to behead me with through his chest." The dapper man dabbed the napkin to his mouth and gave the pink haired lady across from him a giant Cheshire grin. "It was the highlight of my week thus far." The pink hair beauty giggled at his retelling of his earlier week's events and he could feel half his eyes twitch and the grip of his hands tightened around whatever they were gripping at the moment. No! Nonono. He wouldn't be doing this right now. He promised to stay calm this time. He couldn't just throw a bottle or pull a gun on him like any other male. It was just a friend-....A friend who was male and making her giggle like there was no tomorrow! Her beautiful dark pink eyes blinked at him. "That sounds rather exciting. Was this before or after your hotel business?" He hummed. "Im pretty sure before. I'm afraid Charlie's not too fond of my reputation already as it is. The Princess is picky, picky when it comes to...bad habits.~" OH MY GOD- His voice was so d*mmed annoying! It sounded like someone had shoved a tv up his a$$ and as a result his voice was always off frequency. Why did he ever agree to this again? He hated this almost as much as he hated spending time with that idiot brother of his. Only he could make this even worse- She giggled again. "How that sounds like quite the job to uphold." "It is," he said in an assuring tone, "But not to worry. To make sure the hotel gets no bad news I always do 'other business' elsewhere from the hotel's premisis! Charlie will have nothing to worry about if nothing threatening is found about strung about." She giggled again and placed her head in her hand. "Well that sounds very generous of you. But I have to ask, is it true that there was some kind of fight on tv about it?" Her soft pink features turned down into a confused frown. "I think it almost fell apart because one of the residents started a terf war?" At this he hummed and his eyes narrowed, shifting over to the black spider demon who was currently stabbing his steak probably pretending it was his face, as per the norm whenever he paid a call to his little rose's domain. Oh the anger bursting from the seams of this particular little bug made for quite an amusing show,..similar to another spider-ish demon he knew. The both may have differed greatly but if their was one thing the two shared it was their temper...Granted Angel was a little more harder to get fully mad. Luckily he knew just what buttons to press in order to push one over the edge, and by the way this fellow was acting- It shouldn't take much.~ So with a smile he turned back to the beautiful siren in front of him. Honestly for the life or afterlife of him, he'll never know what she saw in this little sorry excuse for a man. But to each their own he supposed. "Yes as a matter of fact!" His cheery tone easily hid any other motives for what he was about to say next. Even when he glanced to the demon still sitting between them. "A feminine fellow by the name of Angel Dust I believe." SCREEE- Both turned their heads at the sudden sound of claws digging into the table and making a deep scratch mark down the side of said table. While she slightly jumped he was expecting something like this to happen. But to the lad's credit, he held it all rather well in besides the obvious scratch marks by his plate, and had resulted to death glaring his food now. As if his anger would catch the thing on fire. He hummed and leaned his head into his hand. Not far enough, "But if I would have to be honest," he said getting her attention back onto him. He smiled and pointed a claw to the fuming demon, "He looks an awfully lot like this fellow here! They share many features! Why, they even act in a similar fashion-" A fork was sudden shot past his head and embedded itself into the opposite wall with a metal 'SHINK' noise before wiggling and finally not moving. His red eyes stared at it for a few seconds before over to the spider demon who was growling and baring his fangs at him. AH! There was that famous family resemblance he was looking so forward to seeing. He let out a couple chuckles despite himself which only seemed to anger him more. He pointed at him and in a threatening tone growled out, "I am nothing like that disgrace." "John!'' She scowled at him and he paused. "That is NOT how you treat our guest. You promised me." He growled again in the direction of the grinning deer...before gazing back to her scowl and, with great reluctance, slowly lowered himself back into his seat. Though his frown and glare still remained clear as day on his face. Red eyes flashed amuzed at how easily she could order around such a miniture little angry pest such as him.... A small little series of dings sounded out from him pocket, with a wave of his hand a small pocket watch came forth and popped open to reveal a strange combination of symbals and a single hand. "Oh goodness gracious. tch, tch, rch. This simply will not do at all." With another wave it disappeared and he slowly stood up from his chair. "Im sorry to have to cut our visit to a close, my dear. But Im afraid I must leave straight away, being tardy for Charlie's staff meeting wouldn't be very professional for her business partner. Now would it?" "Oh. Well it was nice to see you again." She slowly stood up and held out her hand presumably to shake his. Being a gentlemen, he reached across to take her hand...but as a last second descion decided to take it one step forwards and gently place a kiss to the back of her hand while looking right at the demon-...THAT DID IT!! With a growl of fury the black mass swifty made a grabbing motion towards the deer, red eyes filled with fury! But the deer man was too quick and managed to jolt back fast enough and so onto the table the spider slammed. Luckily it didn't break under his weight, but it might as well with his own breaking point. "Johnathan!!" The woman yelled glaring daggers at the spider pathetically laid across the table. Her pink eyes flashed, narrowed in disappointment. He could only lay there and stare up at her quietly. Making her sigh and reached a hand to her forehead. "Oh, John. Why must you do this?" The red man chuckled. "Oh, the woes of a jealous lover is a amusing one. I'd love to stay and chat but I must really be on my way. Wouldn't want to be late now." With a final wave, the staff in his hands was slammed to the ground and strange symbols appeared before encircaling the demon in their path. With a final staic sound he was gone. In his place silence......Well except for the sound of cruel irony when his lady huffed and gave his possibly the most deadliest glare he's ever seen. "I believe we have something to discuss." 

Request for @ynkaliko Arackniss and Alastor belongs to @vivzportfolio

a brief sketch of a headcanon set in an alternative universe

please, do not reblog if you’re not my writing partner over @tartareus

time and time again i find myself musing over hannibal and mischa's relationship, and how peculiarly complicated it was/is for both sides. in his book, harris denotes the mixed feelings hannibal has for mischa ( love vs sibbling jeaously, frustration vs protectiveness and so on ) subtly and for a fleeting moment, of course far too occupied with the plot of the book itself to linger on small details like that, however ------ as a mischa roleplayer, what is left for me to mull over are, in fact, these small moments, considering how awfully small is our perception of mischa.

we know, because this side of their relationship is touched by both books, movies and series, that he felt protective over her and that, despite the lingering feeling of sibling rivalry from him towards her ( if i am not mistaken, early in the hannibal rising book "[hannbibal] thought mischa looked like a wrinkled red squirrel" and felt sorry for her not having their mother's looks ) hannibal truly shows affection to mischa, perhaps more than he did to his own parents i'd dare to say. even when a fleeting thought of getting rid of her arises briefly, not getting rid per se but the idea of the abscence of her in general through his child-mind ( and how he "thought how convenient it would be if the eagle that sometimes soared over the castle should gather his little sister up and gently transport her to some happy peasant home in a country far away, where the residents all looked like squirrels and she would fit right in", craving his previous position of only child but already showing signs of affection, here presented by the subtle words: gently, happy and fit. we know at this point hannibal does not wish any harm to reach his sister, even though he doesn't love her yet, and wants her to be happy and, eventually, fit in. this makes me ponder that, perhaps, hannibal's own inner feelings of inequality drive him to wish something better to mischa ), it does not last long.

soon as mischa grows enough to start wondering and, more importantly, discovering the world, she is, all of sudden, of his interest. this, i think, is the root of their affection ------ he's no longer the older sibling that lost his privileges as only child as soon as his sister was born, no, hannibal assumes the role of protector, guiding mischa && leading her way so she discovers the world not just on her own but with similar eyes and outlook than he did; what hannibal does to mischa is to try and shape her into something that pleases his mind and she, in blind adoration and devotion for her older sibling, accepts with gusto.

( and at writing this, i cannot help but feel how awfully familiar his stance towards clarice was ------ she starts boring to him, than suddenly becomes a puzzle and he tries to mold her into a new version of his sister, later on, but the latter does  not happen because, contrary to mischa herself, clarice's iron will guides her, not hannibal's words. putting it like that, we can see a pattern on how hannibal shows his affections )

despite the natural divergences between their personas ( and that is caused by harris himself on purpose, to illustrate how mischa was "pure, the light" and how hannibal was, from birth, "dark and different from everyone else" ) they do not serve as a barrier between them; quite contrary, it becomes a bridge, between human emotions ( here represented by msicha) and the young hannibal that is in process of becoming the one we already know. more than anything else, mischa grounds hannibal to humanity ( the only time we ever see him smile or play is when he's with her ).

perhaps, and now i'm just wondering out loud ( i have no way to prove the conclusions i'm coming to as of now for we lack evidence of them in all media types of the hannibal canon ), hannibal liked the company, enjoyed having someone depending on him and that relayed and trusted him blindly. i do believe he doted on mischa more than everyone else, despite the resentful, lingering, feelings of jealously at times.

now, i wish to raise questions ( after all, i have answered all i could so far, if anyone else knows anything that could help with thickening this headcanon, pls send me an im or smth, i'd love to hear your ideas ), lets say... what if they hadn't been torn appart at such young age ? i do not doubt that hannibal would still be the same kind of character he is now, what happened to him is not explained by mischa, he was born like that as he explains ( "nothing happened to me, i happened").

so what if mischa was never killed ? what if they had grown together, as the family they should have been ? what implications her, as his anchor, would result ? what mischa’s life would be like ?

of course i dont have the answers for these questions ( let's be honest, perhaps not even harris himself would have them ), but i cannot help but wonder. sure, their relationships is complex, but also simple if you put it in the basic drives that lead them. it is a relationship of control, protection and need ------ yes, need. hannibal needs mischa as much as she needs him. looking at their relationship this way makes me ponder wheather or not if their dynamics would even be healthy; probably not. i do think she would not be allowed to leave him ( i still pretty much think hannibal is afraid of losing people, even though he tries not to show his affections to others ), thus this would result into them still living together as they grow older ( at least until 50, i doubt he'd let her leave before that and i do not think she would want to, given the chance ), fostering and feeding a disturbing a mutual codependency between them.

it would get to a point that neighbours and other people mistake her as mrs lecter or even call her the countness often enough for her to not even bother correcting them.

their dysfunctional boundaries ( or lack thereof ) could result into neither of them developing long term relationships/connections with others out of their orbit, alligned with dynamics of top dog/under dog nature, they would not only care for their flaws but enable them, denying each other ( perhaps without even realising) basic human interactions necessary for a healthy relationship.

sure, mischa would still work and have friends, but actual meaningful relationships with other people? not likely. however, it is worth noting that, although being dependant of hannibal, she too feeds these behaviours by manipulating him ( by extension, his emotions ) just as much as he manipulates to (try to) control her. their blurred lines and quasi inexistent boundaries become a vicious cycle mutually harmful for them and, curiously, at the same time beneficial in some ways, almost similar to a form of comensalism ------ but more fucked up.