#I’m going down a very nostalgic path help

[kareenvorbarra]

there has got to be SOMEONE in this town who wants to sing early music with me and isn’t completely out of my league

#i want to join a choir that does mostly early music but there isn’t one in my city #and i don’t really have the training or the contacts to start one #the problem is I have a lot more formal musical training than the average person but a lot less than the average working classical musician #i have some very tenuous connections in the local scene but i’m garbage at networking and have not been keeping my hand in #didn’t help that all the choirs stopped rehearsing for a few years!!! but I also have not made any effort to get back into it #i just don’t want to sing contemporary choral music all the time…I want more than crumbs #sighs. every time I go to see a concert I get all nostalgic for the times I was performing #it’s so easy to regret not studying music more seriously in college but my initial attempts didn’t pan out #and I didn’t have my shit together enough to pursue it once I had started down a different path #sometimes I think maybe if I had wanted it more I would have tried harder? idk. i know I have the benefit of hindsight now #going back to school for something that impractical is not really an option at this point even if I wanted to go back to school #real life adventures

[steddio]

It’s four pm on a Friday and the damn bell on Steve’s desk is ringing over and over like someone is playing whack-a-mole. Normally this wouldn’t even faze him. Almost a decade in luxury hotel guest services and entitled rich people tend to blend together into a mildly obnoxious but bearable blur. But at the moment, he’s in the middle of coaxing his very nervous-bordering-on-hysterical daughter into just going downstairs to meet her (frankly, adorable) homecoming date. He gives the universal “one minute” gesture over his shoulder and tries to gently wrap up the call.

“Sweetheart, I’m sure you look great. Didn’t your mother help you with your hair? Then it looks fantastic. It’s just Lucas, you’ve known him since you were six! I’m sure he’ll agree that you look beautiful.” Steve pinches the bridge of his nose, feeling a migraine coming on. 

“If he kisses you, he kisses you, you’ll figure it out! It’s not that hard!” He hears a snort behind him and it takes every bit of willpower in his body to not turn around and glare. “Sweetie, I have to go, I’m at work. Take a deep breath and go downstairs. And please take pictures!” He can practically hear Max’s eye roll through the phone. “I love y-” he gets out, but she’s already hung up. He inhales, counts to four, exhales, and turns to the counter, customer service smile already in place.

“Hello, my apologies for the wait, how can I help you, Mr.-?” 

Standing in front of him is maybe the most gorgeous man Steve has ever seen. And living in Vegas he’s seen his share of attractive people. He’s tall, just enough that Steve has to look up slightly to meet his eyes, and wiry thin, wearing a band tee with the sleeves cut off down to his waist, which should look ridiculous on a man his age but doesn’t, instead showing a hodgepodge of well-aged tattoos. His hair is long and curly, nostalgic in a pseudo-mullet 80s way, with strands of gray at the temples. Long lashes frame wide, Bambi-like eyes that sharply contrast with pouty lips twisted in a condescending smirk.

“Munson,” he drawls, giving Steve an obvious once over.

Steve tries and fails not to blush. But only a little. He’s a professional, dammit.

“Mr. Munson, how can I help you?” He asks politely. The name sounds a bit familiar, but he can’t place it. And there are lots of famous and wannabe-famous guests at this casino anyway.

“My room needs more towels,” Mr. Munson states bluntly.

Steve opens his mouth to respond that this is the concierge and they do not handle housekeeping requests and has he tried the front desk, before he sees the look of challenge in the guest’s eyes and bites his tongue. Path of least resistance it is, principles be damned.

“Certainly, I’ll make a call to housekeeping,” he replies. “What’s your room number?”

“1403.” 

Steve expects the man to walk away while he picks up the phone and orders more towels for the room. But he just stands there, looking at Steve assessingly. 

“Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Munson?” Steve forces himself to ask. The migraine is in full force now, and he’s impatient to splash water on his face and take enough pain meds to make it to 10 pm when his shift ends. He’s distracted from his pain for a moment, though, when he notices an air of uncertainty interrupt the guest’s previously cocky demeanor. 

“Can you, uh-” Mr. Munson starts. Stops. Takes a deep breath. “Can you put together a list of AA meetings? Ones nearby, so I don’t have to go far. Ideally one that meets tonight, but also one that meets tomorrow. And maybe just a list of all of them, organized by day, if that’s not too much to ask for, just in case.” 

The words pour out in a nervous jumble that takes Steve aback. Not that this is his first request for AA meetings, but normally guests don’t come downstairs and ask for them in person. No, normally he sends them to agents and handlers and the occasional concerned partner. 

In that moment, Steve is deeply grateful for his hard-earned, unflappable professionalism and the fact that this is Vegas and there’s no shortage of addicts in or out of recovery, which allows him to calmly tell Mr. Munson that, “Certainly, we keep a list on hand. Let me print it out for you.” 

He turns to his computer and busies himself with pulling up the document and sending it to the printer, giving some space to the guest, who’s rocking on the balls of his feet slightly, one strand of hair pulled in front of his mouth. As he turns to grab the paper from the printer, Steve sees him shake his head slightly and square his shoulders. The sight of this obnoxious stranger giving himself a silent pep talk fills Steve with the sort of fondness for human nature that he thought he was too jaded to experience anymore.

He places the document on the counter and grabs a highlighter.

“This is the closest meeting tonight. It’s at 8 pm, and there’s another one at 10:30 in the same location,” he explains, highlighting a line on the page. “It’s about a 15-minute walk. Go right out the front door, walk to the end of the block, turn right, and four blocks down it will be on your left, in the City of Grace Church.”

Mr. Munson is looking seriously down at the paper, brow furrowed. He looks… cute, Steve has to admit. Vulnerable. Which is why he does something stupid.

“If you want, I can walk you there.” The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them, and he tries to backtrack as fast as possible. “Or, I can, you know. Print out a map. Or you probably have maps on your phone, the address is right there, it’s pretty hard to get lost in Vegas, although sometimes the buildings block cell service.” And oh fuck, Steve is rambling. He cuts himself off before can dig a deeper hole. 

“Would you?” the guest asks. And it’s not shy at all. No, it’s sultry, almost indecent, coupled with those big doe eyes looking down at Steve. “I’d be so grateful, if you wouldn’t mind.” And as much as Steve tries to tell himself it’s well within his job description to escort a guest to an AA meeting, he knows he’s stepping into dangerous territory. But he’s always been one to throw himself headlong into danger.

“Certainly, Mr. Munson. Just come to the desk when you’re ready to leave.” 

“It’s Eddie,” the guest replies. His eyes glance to Steve’s nametag. “Please, Steve. Call me Eddie,” he grins, eyes wicked. 

“Very well, Mr. Mun- Eddie,” Steve concedes, feeling a little out of his element. “Now, is there anything else I can help you with?” 

“Nope.” Eddie pops the p. His grin turns down on one side so that the cocky smirk is back. “See you tonight, Steve.” He turns and walks away, narrow hips and thighs moving in sinfully tight black jeans that make Steve’s mouth go dry. 

Steve lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and shakes himself a little, digging in the desk drawer for his headache meds. He goes to the restroom, swallows the pills, splashes his face with water.

“Get a grip, Harrington,” he mumbles to himself in the mirror. How many attractive hotel guests has he helped over the years? He can handle this one. Even if there’s something about Eddie (and a secret part of Steve thrills at the use of a first name), Steve can handle it. He can. 

He makes his way back to the concierge desk where a young couple is waiting. 

“Hello, my apologies for the wait, how can I help you?”

-

read part 2 here

read on ao3

#steddie #stranger things #steddie vegas au #is this anything? should I write more parts? #this au idea has been stuck in my head for MONTHS #lmk if you like it : ) #A writes

[googleitlol]

Posting a shorter bit since this is taking longer than I planned. This next week is gonna be pretty busy, so I wanted to try and put out something before I can't, heh

Anywho, hope you all enjoy!

Dove masterlist:

Warnings

The wind howls, a thunderous cry that bellows by your ears as you soar over treetops scattered along a mountain range. The sun shines bright overhead, only partially covered by the clouds spread sparsely across the sky. It seems as though there are no signs of civilization on this terrain, with how densely the trees pack together along the side of the mountain, aside from the narrow path you left the pilgrims on. With the beauty of the day, you find yourself thankful for the time apart from your companions.

Everyone seems to be on edge these days, the long hours trekking through wilderness taking its toll on everyone in the group. The others were getting to be more grumpy, snappy, overall just tired. You decided as a group you would rest at the next settlement on the way to the west, but there were still several days to go before you’d reach it. With such a long way to go, you offered to go scan the mountain side for something quick to snack on, hoping you could find something that would put everyone in a better mood. After all, empty stomach’s have never been known to help improve a person’s mood. It also served to give you some time to breathe. 

You land once you find an orchard of peaches, the fruit ripe and ready for the picking. Walking through the trees, you find a trunk to climb, its branches full with an ample amount of the stone fruit. You start to pick the fruit, careful of the ones too young to be tugged off. Resting on a thicker, lower branch, you reach up to grab at one dangling above your head. Just as you pull it down, you notice a hand reach for your bag of peaches from behind. Rolling your eyes, you use your free hand to slap it away, the monkey it belongs to shouting when you do. “Hey!”

Just when you thought you might get a chance to have some peace and quiet. “You’ve had enough stone fruit in your life, don’t you think?”

“Hah, you know me so well.” Wukong laughs, hanging off another branch just by his tail before twisting to land on his feet next to you. Despite the collective sour mood of your party, the tension between you and Sun Wukong has, for the lack of a better word, shifted. You couldn’t say whether it was a positive one or not, though things had definitely felt different since the ginseng incident. The demon still very much loves the sound of his own voice, but that voice was now less… antagonistic than before. Perhaps you could say he was a little more bearable, just barely. You had found yourself feeling almost awkward because of his behaviour. You didn’t exactly get along, but you weren’t outright annoying one another like before.

However, you can still find yourself feeling irritated if he ever pushes too much. You just can’t help but find his behaviour suspicious at times. “Then again, of course you do. You got to witness me taking on the heavenly army first-hand back then, huh?”

You look back at him after stuffing the peach back into your bag, a little put-off by his reminiscing. “…Yes. I did.” What, is he feeling nostalgic?

“When was it that your stay in the jade palace started again?” He asks, following you as you jump down from the tree and begin to climb another. “It had to be after I was incarcerated in that furnace, right? I’m sure we would have met if it was before. I met quite a few beings in my time there, made many friends and acquaintances.” That’s one way to put it.

You offer an awkward laugh to his rambling. “Yeah, it sounded like you were the life of the party back then.” You can’t help but roll your eyes a little before finding another stone fruit ripe enough for harvest, oblivious to the way the demon’s face lifts at your words.

“So you only heard about my time before the furnace.” He thinks aloud, making you pause. “Then, you were on Guan Yin’s mountain before?”

What is he getting at? “Yes.”

“I can only imagine some of the wild events that happened back then.” He sighs, and you hear shuffling from behind. You look back to face him only to find the monkey gone, and when you turn back for the fruit, you see him hanging by his tail, eating the peach himself. “It’s funny.”

Yeah, this is starting to get annoying. “What is?”

“That my brothers and I know so much about one another, but aside from your power and being Guan Yin’s little birdie, there’s not much we know about you.” You can’t help but roll your eyes, since when was he so interested in your old life?

It’s become a bit of a trend lately, his insistent buzzing around you, asking all sorts of bizarre questions. His sudden piqued interest just feels so random and out of character from what you’ve seen of him. Before you can ask him why he’s become so interested in your past as of late, you catch his hand going for your bag again. Wasn’t he just eating another peach?!

“Stop that, already.” You scold, pulling the bag away from his grasp, his other peach already gone. How fast can he eat those things?!

Wukong, still upside-down, crosses his arms “Master won’t eat all of these, why don’t you take one yourself? Maybe it’ll make you less uptight. I wanna see the Dove your master was talking about in the Abbey.”

A puff of air escapes through your nose in a pathetic laugh before you turn to pick one last stone fruit, inspecting it a bit before pulling it down. “I don’t eat peaches.” You admit while counting your haul. This should be plenty for now, and you’ll have some left over for the others to snack on in the evening.

A sudden burst of laughter disrupts your thoughts, the Monkey King clutches his stomach as though he had just heard the funniest joke in the world. You crouch on the branch, straight-faced as you wait for him to calm down. He only registers your expression after wiping away a stray tear, his brows furrowing slightly as his laughter slows to a stop. “Wait, was that not a joke?”

Instead of answering, you hop down from the tree and begin your walk back to the group. Footsteps from behind quickly overtake you, the monkey turning to face you, walking backwards as you continue towards where you left the rest of the party. “What do you have against peaches?” He asks, his expression one of outright disbelief.

You stop walking, your irritation growing from the question. “…Why are you here, Sun Wukong?” “Master was worried, he wanted someone to check on you and Pigsy volunteered me.” He shrugs. Of course he did.

You roll your eyes before walking past the demon. “How thoughtful of him.”

Wukong pauses for a moment before following your path, annoyance beginning to prick in his voice. “We’ve been travelling together for some time now, Dove, and honestly? I don’t care much for why you despise me so much. But I must ask, why not peaches?”

Why is this the most important thing to him right now? You look back at him, uncertain as Tripitaka’s words ring in your mind from the night you told him of your grievances. For so long, you believed Sun Wukong would find more amusement in what happened than anything, but after recent events, you feel unsure. You’ve seen now that he does in fact carry the capacity to care for others, his defence of his master in front of Zhenyuan showed that. 

But it felt all too sudden a change to trust. What if it was just a fleeting moment of compassion? After all, he’s known to be a trickster, a being who only acts to benefit himself, and this newfound curiosity in your history puts your mind at no ease. Sure, you don’t exactly ‘despise’ him as he puts it, but it doesn’t mean you’re willing to let him suddenly get to know you. All his pestering, it hardly even comes off as friendly. It feels like he wants something more than anything.

After a moment’s silence, you turn back to continue walking. “Why don’t you fly ahead and tell Tripitaka I’m on my way? Then he can stop worrying about me and you can leave me alone.”

The monkey takes a moment to respond, and you hear a scoff from behind. “You know, with a gift as tranquil as yours, one would think you’d turn out to be less miserable.” His words jab into your side, and you can’t help but laugh.

“Take the credit where you earn it, ape. I may have dealt with my share of misery through my years, but it was made all the worse the day you entered my life.” You look over your shoulder, just catching the demon’s eyes as they widen.

His look of surprise lasts only for a second before it's replaced with a more placid expression. He says nothing before leaping off into the skies, atop his cloud and towards his master and fellow disciples. You start to chew at the inside of your cheek, watching from where you saw his figure in the sky just moments prior. That wasn’t too harsh, was it? You expected some sort of witty comeback, not a silent departure.

You continue with your walk back to the others, taking your time to calm down and enjoy the quiet you don’t usually find in your current company. Though, the longer you’re left alone with your thoughts, the more you begin to question your words. Should you feel bad? …He’ll be fine. A few mean words have never stopped him before, with how much time you’ve spent with him, you know that better than anyone.

Your thoughts are immediately silenced as a scream pierces through the sky.

Now alert, your leisurely pace raises to a sprint to return to your allies. The path quickly becomes visible, and you follow it until your party appears. Wujing holds the reins of Ao Lie, behind the others with Bajie at his side, blocking your view. The demon winces before turning his face away, and it clicks in your mind who the screams are coming from. More specifically, why.

You push past the two demons to find Tripitaka muttering beneath his breath, with Sun Wukong writhing on the ground in front of him clutching his head. “Stop! What are you doing?!” You grab the monk by his arm and pull him back, the monkey demon slumping to his side once the spell stops.

The monk is quick to pull his arm back, anger inscribed over his features in a way you’ve never seen before. “I cannot do it anymore! The fire, the ginseng tree, and now this?! I can’t go any longer with this demon!”

“What happened…” You feel your words trail off as your eyes catch the limp body of a young woman some ways ahead of the path. You look between the Monkey King, the corpse, and the bloodied staff that he had dropped between them. Sun Wukong, what did you do?

Tripitaka is quick to answer your question. “He killed that poor girl! She was only offering us food when he hit her with his staff.” He explains, the offender moving to push himself up after catching his breath.

“Are you blind?! I was only trying to save you!” He huffs, still recovering from the pain of his crown. “Look at what she was serving you!” He moves to grab the rice bowl that lays by the woman’s hands, throwing down at his master’s feet. Maggots spill out, worming overtop one another as you and the monk step back in disgust.

You see the monk frown, his anger giving way to confusion. “What? But I was sure she offered us rice…”

“Oh, please.” Pigsy butts in, rolling his eyes. “How do we know this isn’t just one of Brother Pilgrim’s illusions? So he could justify killing that human girl.”

“Are you a moron?!” Wukong gets back up, he might as well have been glaring daggers into the pig, the emotion in his voice so palpable you can practically feel it.

“Enough!” The two stop once their master speaks, the monk letting out a sigh carrying the weight of his stress over the last few nights. “I can’t continue with a murderer as my disciple.” Wukong’s eyes widen at his words, and you find yourself mirroring his expression. “How long have we been on the road and still you have learnt nothing? If you cannot learn from your errors, there will be no room for you on our journey.”

You’re quick to step in before he can continue. “Tripitaka, I understand he upset you with his actions, but you should not rush a decision like this.” In all honesty, you aren’t sure if you believe Pigsy entirely, but you still feel conflicted on who to believe. Yes, Wukong can be impulsive, but never before has he outright killed a person for no prominent reason. No matter what the truth is, you can’t let Tripitaka send away his most powerful disciple, not when there is so much road left ahead of you.

Resting a hand on the monk’s shoulder, you use your gift to soothe him. He can’t make such decisions with his emotions out of sorts, not rationally. “Whether you like it or not, Sun Wukong was chosen to serve you on this journey. As troublesome as he can be, we would not be this far along the journey without him.”

You look back at the sage while you speak, his eyes not meeting your own before Tripitaka takes a deep breath. He still seems agitated, but now in a more reasonable headspace. “Very well. I will forgive you, this time.” He looks down at his disciple, you’ve never quite seen this shade of anger on the monk before. Wukong glares back up at him, his own irritation of his master’s reaction clear in his eyes.

The two of them remain there, unmoving, until Sandy clears his throat. “Alright, then! Little Soother, how about we have some of those peaches you’ve brought back? We can find a place to sit a little further ahead and eat before continuing the path.” He pats you on the back and you nod.

At Wujing’s suggestion, you all go on through the mountains before finding a spot to eat. Tripitaka turns away to eat while you pass out the collected fruit to the others, offering a peach to Monkey King. He scoffs when you do, shouldering you as he walks past. “I don’t need you defending me to my master.”

“And I don’t need you getting on the Tang monk’s last nerve.” You glance at the monkey from the side of your eye, putting down the bag of peaches to rest by Ao Lie. “I’m not stupid, Tripitaka needs you to get to the west. I’m looking out for his best interest.” You explain before transforming to rest in a nearby tree while the others eat. Wukong follows you with his gaze for a moment before turning his back.

You watch your companions from your vantage point. When the journey had only started, everyone would take a moment like this to talk and share stories with one another. There’d be laughter and playful jesting, but the weight of travel has taken its toll on everyone. All of you are tired, it’s clear enough to anyone who might stumble upon your party. You just hope everyone will be able to get through the rest of the day without any more incidents.

#when you're on the world's longest road trip everyone's gonna get irritable #sorry wukong ur gonna suffer for a bit #jttw sun wukong #jttw tripitaka #little dove #sun wukong x reader

[justonemorewallflower]

COFFEE MEMORIES - wednesday x tyler

COFFEE MEMORIES - WEDNESDAY & TYLER

A little something I wrote the other day. I might use it as a start to a Wyler fic as I feel it has that potential.

WORDCOUNT: 1177

As soon as Wednesday walked through the door into the small cafe she was smacked in the face with the familiar scent of coffee and it reminded her of a boy she didn’t want to be reminded of. She noticed more things than she would like reminded her of him and she didn’t know how to stop it. She felt it was the world torturing her more but she knew if she asked her mom about it she’d say how it was the world’s way of letting Wednesday know she and Tyler weren’t done yet. That their paths would cross again, as much as Wednesday told herself she didn’t want them to.

That didn’t stop her from fantasizing about the idea though. She always liked to think to herself and wonder what she would do if they met again. She’d love to torture him and get him to feel how he had made her feel. Maybe she would give him a good slap across the face like he deserved or maybe she wouldn’t turn to violence at all. That idea was the scariest one to her but it was the one she feared would be most likely to come true. She wouldn’t know how she would feel if she saw his face again but she knew it would do something to her that she wouldn’t like. She hated him, or at least she tried to convince herself she did.

She didn’t know she would find out the answer to that as soon as she looked up - there was Tyler, ironically looking as normal as ever, standing behind the counter, messing with the espresso machine. Wednesday was heavily reminded of the first day they met and she tried to push that memory away, right now wasn’t a time to feel nostalgic. Especially about him.

She decided she was going to leave a moment too late, when his eyes had caught hers across the room and his gaze made her freeze for a second. Contemplate whether or not she should leave. She ultimately decided she would, lowering her gaze from his before turning around and heading towards the door.

She just got outside when a hand caught one of her wrists and she wasn’t surprised to turn back and find it was him. He realized he crossed a boundary when she glared down at his hand and he let go. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him, not while this close. She looked past his shoulder as she waited for him to speak.

When no words came she asked, annoyed, “what do you want?”

“I-I’m sorry Wednesday. I never wanted to hurt you.”

She stared hard at the ground, letting out a breath as she asked again, “what do you want?” She knew he was going to apologize. That was easily predictable. She wanted to know what he wanted. If he wanted her to trust him again or for them to be on good terms or whatever it was he actually wanted.

“First, I’d like it if you’d look at me,” he said with a softness that surprised her. He’d been that way before but after everything that happened she knew it had all probably been just an act. But she couldn’t help to think he sounded genuine and she wondered if his goal hadn’t been to kill her from the very start, if he did ever actually like her.

She reluctantly listened, looking up to meet his eyes that were filled with obvious sadness and pain. Surely that’s not what they would look like if he had enjoyed being the Hyde and Thornhill’s plan. If he was angry to see her. Instead, he seemed saddened and conflicted and Wednesday almost wanted to pity him.

Once she met his eyes he smiled a little, though it was weary.

“Talk before I leave,” she said simply, her way of letting him know to just get to the point and she was getting impatient.

“I understand you probably hate me now but I hope I can try to prove to you that I’m not a bad person and that I actually care for you Wednesday, I always have. My Hyde is a curse I didn’t ask for and hate,” he said, his voice strained. It was obvious he hadn’t been sleeping well lately.

She did notice though that his breath smelled of coffee, like it usually always did. She was trying to stay in the moment but all the little reminders of what they used to be were more evident than ever and almost drowning the dark haired girl who claimed she had no heart.

She tilted her chin upwards a little, “Are you asking for a second chance?”

“Yeah, if you’re willing to give me one, I’d understand if not. I just want you to understand and learn that the Hyde isn’t me,” he replied. He wasn’t trying to seem forceful or desperate but there was a hint of pleading in his voice.

Wednesday contemplated for a moment. If the Hyde was different than Tyler, maybe he wasn’t so bad. After all, she didn’t know everything about Hydes yet and how they affect the person they’re apart of.

“On one condition,” she stated, if she was going to give him another chance she wanted him to at least be useful to her in some way.

He raised a curious eyebrow at her, “yeah?”

“Let me study you so I can gather more information about Hydes.”

He smiled again slightly, “deal.” He held his hand out for a handshake and Wednesday looked at it for a moment before shaking it, holding on for a moment longer than she needed to.

Immediately after she walked back inside the cafe, telling Tyler, “I’d like my quad like normal.”

“And it’ll be on the house, like normal,” he replied as he got back behind the counter and started working on her drink, smiling lightly to himself. His day had just gotten a little bit better and though Wednesday wouldn’t admit it, so had hers.

A couple moments later he handed her her drink and she said, having thought while waiting, “I should have tortured you before I agreed to give you another chance.”

Tyler let out a small laugh, though it was a nervous one as he knew she wasn’t joking, “well, I’m glad you didn’t.”

He only got a glare from the girl before she turned around and left the cafe. He shook his head at her antics, unable to stop himself from smiling even though he had just gotten threatened by a girl who would gladly follow through with her threats.

She didn’t scare him though. He knew she was mad but he also knew she wouldn’t be able to bring herself to hurt him, not now at least. A while ago was a different story. He had hope things would change for the better and that he hadn’t lost Wednesday. That was what was important to him.

He just hoped this new start wouldn’t get ruined again by his Hyde.

#wyler #wedler #weyler #oneshot #oneshots #tyler x wednesday #wednesday x tyler #wednesday and tyler #tyler and wednesday #wednesday addams #tyler galpin #wednesday netflix #love #enemies to lovers #romance #writing #writings #netflix #ship #ships #wednesday

[fueledbysano]

HEY YOUUUUUUUUUUUUU 🥹

BESIDES ME JUST FINISHING YOHR PROLOGUE IN YOUR IF/THEN SERIES

i wanted to ask...... since you're a tokyo revenger enthusiast, i wanted to know deeply about your analysis on draken, mikey, toman, just the whole series in general

since tr has irl japan content, i'm quite hesitant to tackle it when it comes to writing, so here's me asking mikey's wife 🤭

i also.... really need a deep char analysis on draken when it comes to him, i was hoping that you knew more about him as well

like from the surfaces, to the depths of his character

just like you, i am so utterly smitten by him, there's just this wave of- maturity? around him that i cannot describe nnghgg

but anyways, i'm just stopping by again 🥹🩷 (and will continue to do so in the future)

your if/then prologue impacted me as always 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹 fucking hell like i forgot toman literally goes ghost mode 😭 i love and adore your writing so damn much

with tears of admiration,

- hiraeth

Let me just start this off by saying that this is my personal view on the series and the characters, based on their canon personalities and everything that happened throughout the series. There will be some spoilers for arcs that haven't aired in the anime yet but I will be putting a warning for a heads up!

We all know that the series circles around the themes of friendship, loyalty, growth, and the importance of second chances.

For those who don’t know, Ken Wakui himself was a gang member in the 2000s called “Black Emperor” which actually heavily influenced the series. He said in an interview that he has lots of regrets in his past and often wished to go back in time, so instead, he made a story out of it! (You can look this up yourself, I found out about this in 2020 through a Japanese forum whom I had my sister translate for me)

… Which is why I think the series feels very authentic and nostalgic! The mangaka himself experienced the gang life and made a whole story and characters around it. (Could it be that Takemichi was a self-insert and your other favorite characters are driven out of real people too?)

Draken

The #1 on the list as best boyfriend! I personally love the DrakEmma ship. They’ve always showed how they cared and love each other, but both are so stubborn :’)

*spoilers*

That’s why the Tenjiku arc and the beginning of the three deities arc really hurt like a bitch. I'm such a sucker for bittersweet tropes. But I’m very happy how Wakui gave them the ending they deserved. I don’t care that people say he had a Disney ahh ending but I truly think that it’s the right path to take here. These people deserve to be peaceful once and for all and they have it!

*end*

But here’s my relationship headcanons for him!

We see that this guy is practically Mikey’s father. He depended on Draken as a teen and Mikey even got him to be his motorcycle mechanic. This just shows how reliable he is. However, I feel like he may struggle with letting others in emotionally. He may be someone who values his independence and autonomy, and may be hesitant to open up and trust others. It takes time to fully know his heart. And once you do, he is deeply loyal and committed. He may value stability and consistency in his relationships and may dislike drama or unnecessary conflict.

Draken is an ESTP personality type and is known for his outgoing and spontaneous nature. He may be the type of person who enjoys adventures and new experiences, and may be spontaneous and impulsive. He may be someone who values excitement and variety in his relationships, and may struggle with staying still or with routine. On the other hand, he may also appreciate a partner who can help him slow down and appreciate the quieter moments.

Draken's love for muscle training and physical fitness may make him attracted to someone who also prioritizes physical health, well-being, and how they present themselves. He appreciates a partner who can be workout buddy or partner in his fitness journey. If he gets you to the gym with him, he is more than willing to be your very own personal trainer!

Draken's love language is acts of service and gift giving! He may show his affection by performing tasks or favors, and he may enjoy taking care of his loved ones in practical ways, like he does with Emma and Mikey. Like if you're a person who has dyed hair, he dyes your hair on your blind spots for you.

One thing I can also envision is him lending his iconic black and white patterned cardigans to you. the iconic style is recognizable at first glance and would send any delinquent out of your was from a mile.

And finally, Draken's love for motorcycles and his passion for riding them extends into the relationship too. He always has a helmet ready for you, in your favorite color. He loves having his partner holding him close throughout a joyride. Even when tinkling with motorcycle parts, he would find himself asking his partner to reach for certain parts and tools. They grow familiar with what certain parts are called and surprise Draken when they start to actually help him with the hands-on work. Kenchin appreciates someone who is adventurous and up for a challenge, as well as someone who can match his energy and intensity.

Mikey

Okay I put him last on purpose, and I’ll explain the best I can :’) Okay… He is a deeply complex character, who has a strong sense of honor and loyalty to his friends, but who also struggles with his own sense of self.

In this house, we love every Mikey version. Not only there is more to write about but also there’s just also a lot of him to love… thank you Ken Wakui <3

Now, being in a relationship with someone who has trauma is… not for the weak. Of course, everybody deserves to be loved. But never get into the relationship with the intent of “fixing”. It would be unhealthy to rely one’s happiness on another person. When you're in a relationship with someone who has trauma, it's natural to want to support and comfort them. However, it's important to be mindful of creating a healthy balance and avoid becoming your partner's sole source of happiness or support.

Mikey is often shown to be struggling with complex emotions. He just needs someone who can provide a safe and supportive space for him to open up and share his feelings in his comfort. We all know that he enjoys being taken care of and pampered by those around him. I believe that to be in a relationship with Mikey, you have to get on Draken’s level of dedication and trust. He loves the feeling of being taken care of and protected. Someone who is patient and understanding of his emotions may be a perfect match for Mikey.

In the relationship, this extends to having bath times with Mikey, making him bento boxes during lunch, doing his hair, or even the simple yet sweet snuggles. Just overall lots of acts of service and quality time. He is very lazy but for yo, he will never run out of ideas for dates and adventures.

Mikey is known to have a sweet tooth, he will always ask you to get him treats, but he prefers everything that you hand-made. And hey, look at that— he’d share his sweets with you too! Indulging his sweet tooth and his love for food in general truly is the way to this man’s heart.

This is something I came up with at the very last minute but since he is canonically a great singer, I feel like he loves singing you to sleep and learning your favorite songs. :')

Lastly, Mikey's childish side makes him a fun and loving person to be around. Matching his sense of humor and being able to bring out his playful side is a must. He enjoys spending time for spontaneous adventures and bringing you along to trips and hang outs with Toman captains.

But as much as he loves being babied, Mikey values someone who can give him the freedom to express his emotions. Someone who allows him to be himself and express his emotions without judgment. He appreciates someone who can understand his need for downtime and space, and who can encourage him to take self time breaks when he needs it.

That’s pretty much what I have to say for these two and Tokyo Revengers in overview. I’m pretty pleased with how everything played out in the story. I love the way that… a lot about these characters and their stories are open for us fans to interpret and imagine around. What do you mean “where’s the Haitani brothers’ backstory?” make your own! What was Hanma going to tell about his past? Come up with yours!

But what I really loved the most about TR… every depth of every single type of relationship was shown. friendships, romance, family, enemies, brotherhood, etc… There are many ways to experience relationships… there’s no one way.

I know this is long overdue but take my insights 🤲 this gave me a sense of inspiration and nostalgia from when I first discovered and fell in love with the series 🤍 I hope I answered what you were looking for 🤍

#💌 answered #tokyo revengers #character analysis #ken ryuguji #draken #mikey #manjiro sano #mikey sano

[colibritas]

syzygy

pairing: bobby marks x f!detective (camilla reyes) (past) (listen. i know.)

word count: 1,738 words | rating: T, brief mentions of alcohol ig?

summary: The detective goes on a walk and stumbles upon a memory. (post book 3 Bobby route - vague spoilers ahead!)

author’s note: i have no words and no excuses but i think it would be neat if they get some closure B) i literally can’t believe my first fic for this fandom heavily focuses on bobby marks, don’t look at me

read on ao3!

There’s a weathered old wooden bench near the cliffs at the lighthouse, where the stars shine brightly on clear nights, and the breeze coasting in from the ocean is cold but smells like salt and memory.

Camilla doesn’t pass it often, these days. The nostalgic ache it stirs in her tastes like cheap rum and cheap promises, makes her feel a little too hollow.

She’s not totally sure what brings her there tonight. She knows she shouldn’t be wandering the shaded paths of Wayhaven alone at night, with her blood calling like a siren song to every Trapper and toothed creature in a hundred miles.

But there’s always been an itch in her soul, compels her to wander to ease the stirring. Walking a beat used to help, particularly at night when she had Tina’s laughter to keep her company.

Now, the shadows are no longer friends to shelter her, but the promise of some new horror to steal her away. There is no laughter to keep her company, just the whisper of the wind and the way her skin prickles at the groaning of the trees.

The waves lapping along the shore still her mind with a static fuzz, and the night is quiet and velvet. It’s late summer, the perfect time for a near-midnight walk, and the dying embers of the season are pleasant to warm herself to even though clouds cover the blanket of stars. A soft summer storm had swept through earlier that day, and the air is fresh and verdant with the ghost of it, grass and earth damp beneath her shoes. As she approaches the bend where the bench looks out over the waterline she slows, seeing a worried figure seated there, hunched over.

The smart thing would be to turn and walk away before they notice her, and she nearly does before she catches a glimpse of caramel-coloured hair dripping with silver in the faint moonlight. It would still be the smart thing to turn and walk away; now more than ever, maybe.

“Bobby?”

He spins to face her, coiled like a spring as he leaps to his feet. Tense, anticipatory. She raises both hands like a white flag. “Just me. Didn’t want to sneak up on you. Is that pepper spray in your pocket, or are you happy to see me?”

Camilla nods at where his hand hovers not too far from his belt.

He settles back into a more Bobby-like cadence and forcibly relaxes. “I’m always happy to see you, angel,” he drawls. It’s not very convincing. Even through the dim light she can see the shimmer of tension in his fingers. “You just caught me by surprise, is all.”

Slowly, she steps toward him, still keeping her hands raised at first, but lowering them as he eases his own arms down at his sides, looking a little less like he’s going to snap and blast pepper spray in her eyes. His gaze is unfocused in a way she’s not used to, no longer liquid and confident. She approaches like she might a wounded animal before settling down on one edge of the bench. He sits at the other, and a thick, heavy quiet settles on its haunches between them.

And, eventually, once the blanketing silence grows too oppressive in the warm night:

“I don’t think I’ve seen you here since we broke up,” he says, voice a little too loud, a little too strained against the darkness.

“Because I haven’t been,” Camilla mumbles. “Figured you’d probably not want me skulking around if you decided to bring a new partner here.”

He goes a bit quiet, at that. “C’mon, Camilla,” he mutters. “This was our spot.”

The tide rolls in. It smells like summer. Reminds her of warm, sloppy kisses at the tail end of summer break, the wooden slats of this weathered old bench uncomfortable under the heels of her palms, and the first time he said he loved her. She’d believed him, then.

The ache gnaws at her.

“You still come out here often?” She asks, instead of saying the thing she really wants to say. She’s not sure if she wants the answer to this question, either, now that she thinks about it, but it’s already out of her mouth and she can’t take it back. Maybe she’ll get lucky and he’ll deflect it with some sort of flirtation or angle, anyway, like he always does.

“Yeah. When I need to think,” he says instead, the moonlight softening him, fuzzing his edges.

She bites back the short reply at the tip of her tongue. He doesn’t deserve her scorn, not when he says something genuine for once. Something in her, the ungenerous part that’s still a little raw, reminds her that he’s often used his own vulnerability as the scalpel to cut her open in the past. It’s long past the time when she should have stopped falling for it, but she still does every time. Hook, line, sinker.

“What were you thinking about?”

“How fucked up it’s all gotten,” he says with a strained laugh. “I mean, Jesus. You ever see all of this coming?”

“Shit, Bobby. If I saw half of this coming I’d’ve bought several lottery tickets by now. I’d be relaxing on a beach somewhere, with a margarita in each hand and not a care in the world.”

“I hope one of the margaritas would be for me?”

“Not a chance, get your own damn margaritas.”

They both chuckle a little, soft and quiet. It’s easy, until it hurts. Their laughter trails off into silence.

The waves against the beach. Kisses that tasted like cheap rum and empty promises. The ache gnaws her hollow, licks the meat off her bones.

She tucks her knees up to her chest and leans back. The wooden planks dig into her spine, but it feels real and not like the haze of memory.

“If I asked you something right now, would you tell me the truth?” She whispers into the breeze. Almost hoping the wind will catch her voice and toss it high above their heads where no-one will hear it.

Bobby hesitates. “At this point, angel, I don’t think you’d believe me if I lied.”

“Did you love me?”

“Camilla,” he says, sounding strangled. He forces a laugh. “I don’t think anyone could’ve grown up with you and not fallen in love with you.”

She squeezes her eyes shut. The truth from him hurts more than the lies, sometimes.

And, quieter, he says: “Of course I love you. —Loved.”

“Then why—”

“I don’t know,” he lies.

They quiet, that silence sitting hunched between them still.

He bridges it first. Stretches a hand across the ten inches of eternity between them; she sees the movement from the corner of her eye. He’d never been one for romantic gestures, when they were together. It was all— pageantry, ego-stroking. And she (fatherless, motherless) had devoured every morsel of attention like oxygen to a flame even if she knew deep down it didn’t mean to him what it did to her.

Hook, line, sinker. She closes the space, brushes her knuckles against his, and he interlaces their fingers. The summer air is warm, but his hand is cold. There’s a tremble to the pulse she can feel thrumming in his wrist, like a hummingbird heart.

“It’s too late for us, isn’t it?” He mumbles.

Camilla gives his hand a squeeze. Years ago, she might have felt a spark of hope at their interlocked fingers, the way his hand warms at her touch.

“I think that ship has sailed.” She turns to give him a small smile. There’s no spark of hope there anymore, just a used-to-be. A sigh runs ragged over his lips. He looks… tired, actually. A little worn. Not quite as coiffed and shining as he usually is, though he still strikes a handsome silhouette with the faded moonlight casting him in soft, luminescent edges.

“Yeah, I thought so.” He hesitates. “Are you… happy?”

Camilla thinks of warm brown eyes, honey-sweet, filling her mouth with poetry.

“Yeah,” she says.

“Even with the world going crazy and knowing there are monsters out there that want to kill you? With the danger?”

“The world was already crazy, and I was already in danger. Have you seen my car?”

He grimaces. “I try not to. You can hear it before you see it, anyway, so you can just scrunch your eyes closed and—”

“Okay, okay, I get it.” She can’t help the grin that spreads across her face. “Some part of me honestly still feels like… like I’m going to wake up tomorrow and none of it will be real. But yeah. I’m happy. I don’t have to do it alone, you know?”

When he falls silent, she nudges herself across the gap, until their knees touch, their shoulders bump together. “And you don’t, either.”

He sighs, releases her hand so he can stretch an arm around her shoulder. It’s a move he’s made before, sitting here on this bench, but it doesn’t feel the same. None of the fire, like whiskey burning a trail down your throat. None of the heavy-lidded gazes. She’s surprised to find that it doesn’t hurt. It almost feels… comfortable, this time. She’ll always love him, too, a part of her recognizes—but not the way she used to.

“I don’t, huh? You think you can get me the number of any of those sexy agents, then?”

“Ugh, you suck.” Camilla swats at his knee playfully, no real bite to her words. He laughs in response.

His arm pulls a little closer around her shoulders, and he points up at the sky. “Hey, look.”

The clouds have parted, and above them the sky glitters like a gown studded with so many diamonds. When she hastens a careful glance up at him, he’s smiling. A small smile, relaxed, not the usual suggestive smirk she’s grown used to. She feels her face light with a smile, too, and it feels a bit like forgiveness.

The stars shine down on them and the waves crash, but the air tastes like rain and summer, like damp grass and fragrant earth. It’s not the same as it was because they’re not the same as they were, and it’s… good. At least in this moment, the ache she’d grown used to feels like the dull twinge of a broken bone healing.

#the wayhaven chronicles #twc fic #twc fanfic #bobby marks #bobby marks x detective #yikes!!!!!! #oc: camilla reyes #dropkicks this and RUNS #no editing we die like men!!!!! #oh also i guess there’s some nate/detective if you squint

[fire-emblem-drabbles]

What Kind of Man, Indeed

Pairing: Lucas (@needleanddead oc) x reader

Prompt: I had the weirdest idea but it totally worked out

Description: In the woods, people hope to find a few things: freedom from modern life and the stress that came with it, time to relax and spend with family, what have you… You, however, find a chicken. Confused and a little concerned, you decide its up to you to protect her.

Rating: sfw

Content Warning: Explicit mentions of blood, and murder; does not go into detail. Lucas is referred to as a murderer and killer (because he is), and reader is patronized by Lucas p much their entire interactions.

Word Count: 2830

Notes: Hiiii nat remember when I told you I wrote a Lucas fic <3333 found this finished but unedited in my stuff and whoo boy it needed some work (concept was done very poorly but we figured it out boys) and I'm SO excited to bring this to you guys now!!! I really like how it came out!!!

You lived away from your family, and it wasn’t often you could get the time off work to come home and see them. You had a week off from work to come up and spend some time with them. That, of course, had to start with a little family camping trip. You hadn’t gone in so many years, but the promise of cold lake water and sweet pine trees had you agreeing.

You actually hadn’t been to this particular site before. This was a smaller trip with only four of you (you, your parents, and your aunt-- the only people who could get 3 days off in a row to go) so the four of you set off with just your parents camper and your mothers car to enjoy yourself.

So much had changed since the last time you went camping, yet you couldn’t help but feel nostalgic as you sat around the fire with everyone. This time around, you were even old enough to be drinking with your parents if you so chose. You decide against it on this particular night, instead watch your family with crinkled eyes and full heart as they chatted and drank and ate all in high spirits.

“I think I’m gonna walk for a bit, anyone want to join me?” You couldn’t help but stand and stretch, wanting some time away from the sting of the campfire smoke. Your dad turns to speak to you.

“We’re all good, don’t go far though it’s getting late.” He warns you, taking another swig of his beer after he speaks.

“I won’t dad.” You smile at him, and make sure to grab the flashlight. “I got the flashlight, and my phone, and you guys are making enough noise to scare away anything that might hurt me.” You joke. “I’m only going down to the lake after all.” He nods in satisfaction, leaving you to it as he turns back to your mother and aunt.

You leave with no issue, taking the barely seen path that would lead to the lake. During the day the walk didn’t long at all, hardly 15 minutes. When that passes and you don’t have any sign of water, you know you’ve made a mistake somewhere. You pause, taking a look of your surrounds.

You can’t see the light of your families fire anymore, but their laughing and cheering can still be heard fine. Your other directions just show more woodland, with tall pines and short brush and no sign of water.

“Oh geez…” You can’t help but let out a sigh, scanning your surroundings with your flashlight once more. Even the sounds of the night were beginning to blur together-- the loons in the distance, the cicadas in the trees, the clucking of chickens….

“Wait.” You scanned over the area you just passed over, one that had signifigantly less brush in it. As you pass over the area slowly this time you can’t help but stare at the creature caught in your brights. “There’s no way that’s a chicken.” You say aloud. Still, you move in closer to the bird. It’s not at all bothered by your presence, instead mulling around your feet as if it weren’t in any danger out here at all.

“Who dumps a chicken this deep into the woods…?” You look down at the bird by your feet, unsure what to do about it or your own situation.“Ma’am, are you aware how late it is? What on earth are you doing out?” You squat down beside the hen, not knowing what else to do.

She clucks once, and merely turns her head. You admire her a moment, seeing that she looked well fed and taken care of, which makes it even weirder than she was out here alone. Still, she’s smart enough to realize that you’re big, and you could scare away predators-- another trait that tells you this was someones pet or livestock.

“Can I pick you up?” You ask, as if she could answer. Even though you’re also lost, you would feel bad if you just left this chicken to fend for herself.

You give her a hesitant pet, which she doesn’t seem to mind. You pick her up with careful hands, having never really held a chicken before, but she settles rather nicely in your arms. In fact, your cat struggles more than this when you hold him.

“Well, okay.” Chicken tucked under your left arm, and flashlight held in your right, you rise to your feet once more, deciding to just turn back the way you came and go to the lake when it was light out.

No sooner then you do does a piercing scream run through the forest. It makes your blood run cold; it sounded just like your mother. You turn to that direction, aimlessly charging in the direction you heard it. Your heartbeat only picks up more as you hear more screams-- surely your aunt and your father.

You don’t know whats happening. You haven’t been this scared in your life Was their a large animal back at your camp? A bear, a cougar? And was everyone okay?

You apparently hadn’t wandered off too far because within minutes, you can see the color of your fire. You pick up the pace, heart jumping into your throat as you hear signs of a struggle. You turn off your light as you approach, and try to figure out whats happening. You can’t help but feel you need to remain quiet.

When you can finally see whats happening, tears spring to your eyes. Close by, you see your mother laying on the ground. She’s covered in blood from a wound you can’t immediately see. It doesn’t look like shes breathing. Beside her, your aunt; she’s bloodied as well, slumped over as if trying to help her before being struck down herself. Behind their forms, you can see two men. Your dad was the only one one this trip though-- your brothers and cousins couldn’t make it.

Maybe that was for the better.

Your dad is hurt you realize with horror. He’s got a large cut on his left arm. But still, he’s fighting off whoever it was that invaded your sanctuary. He’s struggling for the ax in the mans hand. You can’t move, can’t take your eyes off the fight in front of you. When it seems your dad gets a grip on the weapon, it slips out of his fist-- the blood that ran off his arms making his hand slick.

He falls to the ground, splayed back on his back by the fallen forms of your mother and aunt. You wince and hold the chicken close to you as your fathers scream is silenced by the sickening sound of an ax cuts through his chest.

Again and again and again and again. Until, with one eye daring to peak open, he doesn’t move, doesn’t scream. Silence fills your campsite, where even the crackle of the fire seems to die down in the horror that just took place.

The mystery man—your families murderer—stands up straight after the job is done, pushing back graying hair. If he notices the blood on his face, in his hair, he doesn’t care. He doesn’t notice you, you think.

That is, until the chicken, the dumb chicken you randomly found in the woods, makes a noise of discomfort at how hard you hold her. You gasp and hurriedly lessen your grip but the damage has already been done.

Crazed eyes turn to you. You’ve never seen blood lust in someones eyes like this before. Even from several feet away, across the fire, it has you shivering. As he watches you now, your feet are still stuck to the ground. You speak before you can think not too.

“You… you killed my dad. My mama… my auntie…” Your tears make it hard to see but you swear, the look of rage is immediately swept off his face. “W-why?”

Suddenly, your knees can’t support you. You fall down in a heap. To your horror, the man is approaching you. He doesn’t have his weapon raised, but it doesn’t make you feel any better. He’s speaking to you, you realize. He didn’t make hardly a sound while butchering your family, but now that he sees you, he speaks.

“You found my girl…” He crosses over to where you are easily. You didn’t notice how tall he was until he’s upon you, squatting down until his towering form in right in front of yours. He reeks of blood, of sweat and fatigue.

“Where did you get to, Dolly?” He ignores you a moment in favor of the chicken you held. She wiggles out of your now limp grip, eagerly running to the man. He sets aside his weapon and pets the chicken affectionately. The sight of him coddling a chicken while covered in your families blood has to be the picture of irony.

It fills you with a hatred so vile, so sickening, all you want to do is attack him—tackle him to the ground and demand he answer for the lives he’s taken. But you can’t even move from the spot your frozen to. Even your throat, seized with your grief, can barely let pass your sobs. You’ve never felt so powerless, so weak in the face of true evil.

“Why did you do this?” You’re unsure how you manage to speak the words, twisted by pure emotions going through you. You don’t know why you’re not dead, too. “My parents… my…” Instead, you weep into your open hands. What else was there to do?

“Oh darlin…” His voice is so, so gentle. He reaches out, places a bloodied hand on your shoulder. You can’t help but shudder in disgust as you feel the blood of your family touch your skin.

“P-please don’t t.. touch me…” You don’t know why you bother begging or bartering with a killer, but your words don’t stop as you pull your face up. “J-just kill me. I-I… I can’t…!” You again cry out, uncaring if he saw you. This man, this killer, makes a soft, sweet coo at your words. He moves even closer to you, until he’s pulled you into his arms. You don’t how the strength or will to push him away.

“Now why would I hurt something as sweet as you?” His words make you want to cry even more. You try to even your breathing, to fight him, to hurt him, to do anything. But you just stay limp in his arms, crying and gasping and trying to get your breathing back to normal. All you can do is cry, cry into the arms of your families killer.

It takes several minutes for you to stop openly bawling. You’re so embarrassed, so upset, so angry. In that time, this man, this killer, has pulled you into an awkward hug, holding you tightly in his embrace. He tries to console you, using gentle words and sweet tones to tell you that you’ll be okay, that you’re okay, that he won’t hurt you. When you finally feel well enough to speak, you pull away from him. He keeps you in his grip, but allows you the freedom to look up at his face and speak.

“Why won’t you kill me?” Your voice is the clearest it’s been since you’ve come back to camp. You surprised you can talk with him, look at him without crying. Without screaming or yelling. “Why am I different?” Tears still glisten in your eyes, still streak down your cheeks.

“Don’t worry about that.” His tone is so dismissive. As if he’s had to answer this question so many times before. “You’re…” He pauses but shakes his head. “It doesn’t really matter. I should get you home.”

“Home?” The word feels hollow in your throat. You didn’t have a home anymore-- not with your family dead.

“With me.” He smiles at you, as if he has any right. Like he’s doing you a favor. You don’t think you could hate someone as much as you do him.

“P-please don’t do this.” All you can think to do is beg. You feel pathetic.

You think he likes that.

“You don’t have to worry about anything darlin. I’ll take care of you.” It’s as if he doesn’t hear you. Maybe he hasn’t this whole time-- maybe he saw you as helpless and pathetic as the chicken milling around the two of you. Maybe to him, your just the same as a helpless chicken lost in the woods. Out of place, and needing someone bigger and stronger to protect and guide them...

He helps you to your feet. Your legs are still unsteady—none of you really feels solid. Still, before you can crumble to the ground once again he catches you against himself. You think you might hate yourself more than you do him, for having to rely on him like this. As you lean into him, and look into green eyes, you can’t help but ask.

“...What’s your name?” It shouldn’t matter, but it does right now. You needed something to ground you—a name you could connect all these emotions with. He seems pleased that you’ve become interested in him. Or at least, disinterested in what happened here.

“Call me Lucas.” His name shouldn’t be so simple. So mundane.

“Lucas…” He perks up at hearing his name come from your lips. You want to ask more, but your questions have all been ignored. Redirected. Still, your lips move to speak. “Why are you doing this?” You’ve never felt so small as you do with him guiding you into the woods, supporting you with one gentle hand and carrying his lost chicken with another just as slight touch.

“...You looked liked you needed some protectin, is all. What kind of man would I be if I left you alone like this?”

What kind of man indeed.

You don’t speak any more as he leads you away from the camp you and your family had made. Lucas is all too happy to fill the silence, navigating the woods with no need of any light. You’re not surprised when he takes you to a small cabin in the woods. You don’t know how long the walk was, but it couldn’t be too far from where your family had set up for camp. It makes you wonder.

Were you even the first group of people Lucas had come across in the woods? ...Would you be the last?

“I don’t think I ever got your name, sugar.” You don’t know how you found yourself in the small cabin. It feels like your grandmothers house. Cluttered but comfortable. The anxiety you feel here is far different, though. When you don’t answer, he just sighs.

“You must be tired… I’ll let you take the bed.” Along the way, you’re able to find your feet. Lucas leads you to a room that is rather bare bones-- a dresser, a bed and not much else you can see in the dim light. Still, it looks lived in. He a stands beside you a moment as you take in the room.

“Ah, you can’t sleep in that. I’ll fetch you something—just stay here.” You watch wordless as he goes. You can hear him shuffle around a moment, opening a closet or a drawer. As he said, he’s back before you know it. Holding a large shirt and another blanket.

“It gets cold here at night, but you probably already knew that.” He hands you the two items with a little smile. He acts as if he’s done this all before. “I’ll leave you to it then… I’ll be out on the couch. Just holler if you need me.” He gives you a final once over before leaving the room. The door locks with a deafening click behind him.

You don’t change into the shirt. The blanket he gave you sits folded on the edge of the bed. Even as you sit gently on the bed, and take a deep breath, it doesn’t feel real.

This place smells like him. Like iron and sweat, of campfires and something sinister. You don’t know how he expects you to sleep. When you close your eyes, all you can see is the piled bodies of your loved ones. Carelessly left to rot in a place where all they wanted was to relax. Left in this room alone, you can’t find it in you to be scared any more. You want to scream and yell and throw a fit, you want to go back to your families corpses and beg them to come to life.

You want Lucas to hurt like you do.

But, you’re not that kind of person. You’re someone who needs protecting. And Lucas was gonna do that for you, whether you liked it or not. Precious thing like you can’t do much about it, anyways.

#oc x reader #murderoc x reader #yandere x reader #he's not really in this but just wait #lucas x reader #needleanddead #hiiii nat I love you!!! #and your old man!!! #murder canibal pepaw can get it! #oh reader don't even know #gotta ask to borrow other peoples ocs more often I love this

[tortranslates]

UNDEAD Climax Event: Split Paths - The Admired Figure and Flashbacks: Hakaze Kaoru Mini-talks

Pre-TL Note: I'm so sorry this took so long to post! I had it done back in November and just...kept forgetting to post it orz. Since it's been so long, I also no longer have my screenshots of the mini-talks, and I don't feel like going back and getting new screenshots, so there aren't any in this post. Adonist and Koga will have screenshots in theirs (sorry, Kaoru). With that out of the way, enjoy the mini-talks! They're very sweet.

Mini-talk 1 (The Privilege of Being Good at Conversation):

Kaoru: Fufu, what a coincidence that we met here. The job I had this morning was harder than I thought it would be, so I was in the mood for relaxing. It was just a talk show, but the host had me talk more than I expected. I was pretty much just rambling…

→That’s what I’d expect from you.

Kaoru: Well, I think they had me do the talking since they like what I have to say. The audience enjoyed it too, so I’m probably going to get more offers for talk show appearances…

→Have a cough drop.

Kaoru: A honey cough drop, huh? Thanks. …Fufu, it’s tasty. This bittersweetness is perfect for when you wanna take a load off after work.

→Are you alright?

Kaoru: Fufu, I’m okay. I’m just a little tired. I don’t mind talking, plus it makes me happy when people get excited from what I say.

Mini-talk 2 (The Privilege of Being Good at Conversation):

Kaoru: Hm? “After talking so much, isn’t it troublesome to talk to me?” Ahaha, chatting with you is never a burden. If anything, it’s cheering me up.

→Is that okay?

Kaoru: Ahaha. What sort of question is that? I’m not lying to you, you know? Isn’t it fun and energizing for you too when you talk with a friend or someone you can let your guard down around? That’s how I feel…

→It’s cheering me up too.

Kaoru: Ahaha, thanks. I’m happy to hear that. Until just recently, I often felt charmed by things like that [1]..I wonder what sort of change of heart this is?

→I-is that so…

Kaoru: Going by that response…Don’t tell me you think I’m just flattering you? Come on, I wouldn’t lie to you. Can’t you trust me?

Mini-talk 3 (The Privilege of Being Good at Conversation):

Kaoru: …Oh, our glasses are empty. Since I still have some time until my next job, I think I’ll order another drink. What about you, Producer-chan? Are you going to have seconds? I’ll treat you as thanks for helping me relax with a nice chat.

→I’ll take you up on that…

Kaoru: Yep yep, it’s fine for you to rely on me as much as you want. Of course, I don’t just mean for today; when work is troubling you or something, you can always come to me.

→I should get going…

Kaoru: Really? That sucks, but it is what it is, I guess. Let me show you my gratitude in a different way next time. Good luck on your next job, okay?

→I still have some left over, so I’m alright.

Kaoru: Ahaha, really? I didn’t take a close enough look at your glass. Sorry about that. There’s no rush, so take your time, alright?

Mini-talk 4 (Nostalgic Photos):

Kaoru: Ah, Producer-chan. Take a look at this picture! I was just with Moricchi and he gave me this old photo. …Uh-huh, it’s from the Year End Party UNDEAD did with Ryuseitai [2].

→It was a lot of fun, huh.

Kaoru: Yeah, it was. It was a rare opportunity for our two units to eat at a restaurant like that, but it was nice. It would be nice if we could have another opportunity like that; maybe I should ask Rei-kun about it?

→You filmed a music video too, right?

Kaoru: Yep. I remember I was in super high spirits since you were watching. You gave me a perfect score. I’m supposed to have grown up since then, but I still have to do my best from now on so that you’ll praise me.

→That takes me back.

Kaoru: Then, do you remember us talking outside the restaurant? Ahaha. For better or worse, you can’t forget it…huh. For me, it’s a memory I just can’t forget.

Mini-talk 5 (Nostalgic Photos):

Kaoru: Now that I’m looking back on it, I did a ton of things at Yumenosaki, huh. I can’t believe I wasn’t taking my idol work seriously in the beginning. I never would’ve thought I’d be able to make memories like this with everyone.

→It’s a good thing, huh.

Kaoru: A good thing…yeah, you’re right. I think that if I’d never joined UNDEAD, I’d be leading a completely different life right now. It’s thanks to meeting everyone that I’m able to live like this.

→You never know what’s going to happen, huh.

Kaoru: That’s true. People really can’t predict things like that. I never would’ve thought I’d be able to talk with you like this one day either.

→You meet a lot of good people, huh [3].

Kaoru: There are people you mesh well with and people you don’t…that sort of thing, huh? Even now it feels a little weird to think things like this but…I think I’m glad that I joined UNDEAD.

Mini-talk 6 (Nostalgic Photos):

Kaoru: Fufu, I talked a little too much. I wonder if being around you makes me wanna be honest…You really are a strange girl. I don’t know if this is the right time, but I’ll say it again. Look after UNDEAD from now on too, okay? I’ll do my best to make you fall even harder for me.

→I’m looking forward to it!

Kaoru: Yep yep, I’ll be sure to properly meet your expectations. I’ll be on a night-time variety show with Koga, so first on the list will be succeeding at that job.

→I’ll be cheering you on.

Kaoru: I was right that you saying things like that really turns up the tension. I’m really pumped up now, so I think I’ll go to the break room and practice my dance moves.

→I’ll be watching.

Kaoru: Ahaha. Just from those words alone, I feel like I can do my best. It’s probably the same for everyone in UNDEAD, so I’ll let them know that you said you’ll be watching us.

TL Notes:

[1]: I translated this and compared it to numerous sites which kept giving me conflicting things, so I’m not 100% sure this is correct.

[2]: referring to the Radiant Hot Holiday Party event (https://ensemble-stars.fandom.com/wiki/Radiant%E2%98%86Hot_Holiday_Party)

[3]: lit. "there are a lot of good encounters"

#hakaze kaoru #minitalk #enstars translation

[masiclatraffaela]

What is it like to be an English major?

If you want to become an English major, this blog is perfectly suited for you.

I still remember the day when I finally decided to pursue this career. It was the hardest decision that I needed to make, considering that the path that I will chose would be my lifetime job. Terrifying, right? To tell you the truth, I was anxious about myself at that time because I really didn’t know what I wanted in life. In addition, I envy those people who already have a vision for their careers in the future.

But the real question is: Why did I choose to be an English major considering that I did not know what I wanted in life?

I was asked by this question multiple times, and do you know what response I always give? “I took this course because I know that there are a lot of opportunities in this field, knowing that the English language is used by many people all over the world." And those are exactly the same words that I use to say whenever they ask me. However, these thoughts and perspectives of mine all changed when I reached second-year English major. I contemplated and reflected on whether this path really was for me. One day, my friends invited me to visit our adviser when we were in high school. When I saw our alma mater, a nostalgic feeling came to my mind. Moreover, when I entered the classroom, I was a bit emotional because, for the first time in my life, I had imagined myself sharing my knowledge with these children, and as I stood in front of them with a smile on their faces, it was fulfilling. Isn't it fascinating to be called an educator? What a simple word, but the responsibility is huge, for I will be shaping and changing a person’s life. The classroom will become my stage, where I will be standing in front of these children, full of hope and dreams in their eyes. Finally, I’ve found my purpose to continue and finish this course.

Of course, there are ups and downs in the process of learning and taking this course. What is it like to be an English major?

When I was in my first year, I had to accept the fact that the treatment in college was very different in high school. I had to adjust because it was all new for me; a new school, new classmates, and a new environment. It was a bit hard in the meantime, but eventually I’ve learned to adapt and meet new friends. Then, when I reached my second year, the challenge that I needed to overcome leveled up two times. This is the stage where I want to give up, for there are so many things to do at that time. I started to question my capability because I think I’m not giving much of my effort and think it is not enough. You know the feeling that you have so much more to give, but you’re just too tired to give your hundred percent. Despite that, I still continued to fight because I knew that it would all be worth it. Now that I am in my third year, of course this year will become more challenging than the previous years, for I am one step closer to achieving my dreams, and I am looking forward to learn more.

Nonetheless, if you’re into reading and writing and love to meet new people, this course is for you. In addition, this will help you to become confident in all ways, it will enhance your speaking and writing skills because, as an English major, you have to be eloquent in speaking and creative in writing. But it doesn’t mean that you need to start well quickly. Remember that you’re still in the process of learning, and by all means, it’s okay to fail and try again because failure is part of improving yourself. Thus, if you’re an aspiring English major, go for it. If your heart and mind say that you belong to be an English major, don’t hesitate to grab the opportunity. As long as you feel that this is your calling and if this is your purpose in life, then you don’t have to worry. And just a reminder, don’t lose yourself in the process; balance everything and create an environment where you can enjoy and study at the same time. Hence, be confident and don’t be afraid to show your skills. I am rooting for your success. May we all succeed in life.

#english #english major #educators #student

[thegardenoflights]

Hi Jemma, hope you’re having a lovely August so far! I would like to please participate in the free tarot reading. My initials are JK, Sun sign is Cancer, & 1 fun fact is I’m very short, hence my username. lol ☺︎ I’m hoping you can shed some light..been pretty lost lately. Trying to find my path in life. Is an actual move the answer; career &/or home? Thank you for your time. ♡

Hello there i’m sorry that this reading has been a little later than usual.

I got a reading for how you can get your life on track.

I got The Hanged Man as your first pull. this card is just reaffirming the fact that you are in a stuck place at the moment. It has some very wise advice for you that perfectly fits your energy and situation.

The Hanged Man is stuck in his position, but it is by being in this stuck position can he see things he wouldn’t normally see from this perspective, right now you are feeling this way because it seems like your higher self, or part of yourself wants to figure out where exactly you want to go in life.

So even though this time is frustrating, it’s a divine time for you.

Right now I don’t see a physical moving being the answer, the answer I have for you involved two things. Emotional fulfilment and Workable goals.

You seem to be drawn to things that excite you, and i feel like you might spend a lot of money on these things because they make your feel something that’s outside the perceived norm. but the thing is that these experiences get tiring easily for you. You want to do something but you don’t know where to start because you do have this frantic energy not being able to start anything because you loose interest or cannot see the long term value of something if you stick to it.

I see problems with money, even though you seem to be fine financial standing, you spend money to purely make yourself feel good.

But the thing is, this isn’t making you feel good because you don’t have emotional attachment to these things. I have pulled the Ace of Cups for you. A card about deep emotional fulfilment. This rules the emotions, love, kindness and creativity. This is a message of that you should pursue the things you feel emotionally attached to. Things that truely make you whole rather than exciting things that distract you.

This could be a hobby that you feel emotionally attached to, a job you’ve always known deep down you wanted to study for something alongs these lines. something nostalgic and makes you feel warm and fuzzy on the inside. I also see talking to some loved ones or friends can help you gain some perspective.

I see here that you also need some goals to work towards, these can be anything and don’t necessarily have to be career wise. But if there is something you can really see yourself achieving, you should continue to work on this but i’m getting that you need to take yourself some slow easy steps.

If it’s fitness for example, maybe it’s a 5 min jog to 6 mins the next time. Small, easy, achievable steps will really really help you.

If you follow these things, The Hanged Man will allow you to find what it is you are searching for.

[duckmumbo]

can we get wells AND hels? a 2-for-1??

Anon you are speaking my language right now

Wels

First impression - Wels is the only other hermit who's single-player series i watched before watching their hermitcraft videos, in fact I didn't even know hermitcraft existed when I was watching wels. His Nature's Beauty series is, no joke, the series that got me into modded minecraft in the first place and what really kickstarted me rediscovering how much I love and adore minecraft, so I really have a special place for his content in my heart khgdjfb. also fun fact he is the first streamer I ever watched on twitch, i watched one of his streams when he was working on his base path in s7 (i have just realized how long ago that was girl help im becoming nostalgic)

Impression now - insane. Ok listen I’ve had this in my drafts for a while and that was the only word under this category thing and honestly? Valid. He is a little insane you don’t come up with his s7 plot line if you’re not at least the tiniest bit insane. I want to study him under a microscope I want to put him in a closed ecosystem jar and see how he fares I want to shake him around and see if he’d make a wobble sound or a rattling sound. I think he’d be crunchy. You think he’s in hiding he’s just biding his time putting pen to paper coming up with rhymes we’re the star studded group got together just to crush you-

Favorite moment - when he went to Beef’s cloning machine and when it didn’t seem to work he’s like “aw that’s a bummer. Oh well!” like my dude. You just went in a cloning machine that got struck by lightning and your reaction is just “lol oh well” ???? Iconic

Idea for a story - ok listen. mdbb server gives me intense brainrot over anything and one of the things it gave me brainrot over is the entity being Patrick’s rock from Grian’s s6 starter base and wanting to follow him to s9 since it didn’t get enough screen time and it somehow became friends with Wels when he got left behind in s6. Idk how I’d write it, but I’m obsessed with this au

Random opinion - I wish he had been able to finish Welsmart. It was a great concept and I loved the building it looked amazing, I wish he had had time to actually open it and make diamonds.

Favorite relationship - him and jevin are just. So good

Favorite headcanon - I haven’t seen much of this but bird wels is just so good. I may be very biased though

Hels

First impression - what. why did the cloning machine make evil wels. why did he put wels in a hole. why are they rapping. what’s going on

Impression now - he’s my poor little meow meow but like. in the opposite direction from Evil Xisuma. I’m a helsknight apologist. I can’t believe he lost a rap battle where he said he was gonna kill everyone wels loved I’m never gonna let him live it down what an idiot (affectionate). He’s a force of chaos and he is unstoppable your puny words mean nothing for defeat is impossible

Favorite moment - I just went back and rewatched the episode where Helsknight first appeared and. He stopped in the middle of building the trap and just. Slept the night away. Sir you’re in the middle of leaving a trap for someone you want to kill what are you doing stop sleeping he’s coming back soon

Idea for a story - this literally just came to me but. Wels came back when hels just woke up and he’s like…. “what” and hels is like “GO AWAY IM BUILDING A TRAP FOR YOU” and wels is just like “…..ok I guess” and then they somehow speedrun an enemies to family arc I wanna write this now help

Random opinion - I want more helsknight. I just think he deserves to be utilized in fics just as much as Evil Xisuma. Give me helsknight redemption arcs give me helsknight tragic backstories give me more helsknight

Favorite relationship - does this man ever talk to anyone other than wels. He’s not even friends with wels. Anyways I like to think they end up being like brothers who rarely speak and when they do they usually end up bickering but the second someone insults the other they’re ready to throw hands

Favorite headcanon - ok I’m still watching the helsknight episode as I’m typing this up and why is helsknight just like standing there and occasionally bobbing his head or punching the air during his verse. Like he doesn’t move as much as wels does so headcanon this man has no sense of rhythm. Oh my god he dances like he’s in the Sims.

#this took so long I’m so sorry anon #I just didn’t have any thoughts in my brain ever #but it’s ok I did it :) #wait did we do it #is this all the hermits #did I ever do iskall #I don’t remember lol #anyways tag time #roy talks #ask game #answered #character asks #hermitcraft #welsknight #wels #helsknight #yeah

[artseducation2024]

Bianca Estrella

Hi all, my name is Bianca Estrella. To whomever is reading, I hope all is well. I am a 23-year-old student majoring in childhood education. As my art education course comes to an end, I am already feeling nostalgic about it. Up until this course, I have never taken a class that I thoroughly enjoyed as much as I did this one. Unfortunately, I’ve had a few bumps in the road and wasn’t able to make it to as many classes as I would’ve liked to, but I’m glad that I was still a part of this amazing learning opportunity. As I got to my last few assignments, which were the Kehinde Wiley assignment and the art educator interview assignment, I realized how impactful art and art in education can be. I felt a strong, emotional connection while creating those last two assignments. The Kehinde Wiley assignment had a deep meaning to me. It brought me to think about the people closest to me, and how I could incorporate them into an art piece that I can keep forever, and when I look at it I will be proud of who I came from and who I chose to keep around me. The best part is, that I can incorporate the people who mean most to me into an endless amount of art. When I first started this class, I thought I wouldn’t prosper due to my “lack of creativity” or the negative connotation that I “suck” at drawing art. Now that we’re at the last day of this course, I know that art does not have to be described like the beautiful masterpieces that you see in museums, stores, malls, galleries, etc. I know now that art cannot be judged because each piece of art has its own meaning, its own substance, and its own artist. It is not about how beautiful an art piece can be, but the real meaning behind it. I am glad that this course has instilled a new-found confidence in me and what piece of art forms I create from now on.

Another assignment that really stood out to me was the art educator interview assignment. I have had the privilege of being able to interview someone who has inspired and motivated me to bring forth passion in everything I do. My interviewee described how her desire and passion to continue being involved in the arts helped her navigate students down the same path. Being involved in the arts is a very free and rewarding career. This particular assignment has motivated me to be that kind of educator, one who can inspire others to go for what they believe in. One who can say she loves what she does, even if the paycheck doesn’t add up to what it should be.

I will forever be grateful for being able to take this class and I cannot wait to incorporate the things I have learned throughout this semester into my classrooms one day. Good luck to the future students!

[moon1ee]

highlights from jimmy’s recent empires stream asdfhjhdgf it was absolutely hilarious to watch. featuring: flower husbands crumbs and wither rose alliance shenanigans, as well as minor explosions. 

warning for many, many suggestive jokes, because it’s scott.

we start the steam and… 

it’s a great start. just. wonderful. (why are they like this my god)

jimmy proudly declares that he has killed 1000 salmon, fwhip in the stream chat asks if it’s really 1000 salmon, jimmy shows off his statistics, then asks fwhip to log on and tell him how many cod he’s killed

fwhip shows up, and says he’s not really into the killing thing, and he’s only killed 130 salmon and 80 cod. he then proceeds to call jimmy a “bad guy”, and also adds that lizzie makes a profit by killing fish and selling their scales, when she rules over the ocean.

jimmy protests, saying that they have done good things. fwhips asks what things those were. jimmy stops and has a mental breakdown. “am i the bad guy?” he asks the chat, which i think is a dsmp reference? maybe? 

basically, we were all rooting for a jimmy villain arc when it was really there all along lmao

also, scott adds this in the chat: “what good things? you don’t even answer my calls. plus, you have a questionable sword. really trying to demonetize us all.” 

to which jimmy asks, “what do you mean?” he throws his sword down on the ground, stares at it for a moment (jimmy i love you but your sword is just…) and then hurriedly picks it back up and moves on

joel shows up, and fwhip, and they are bullying jimmy. then scott appears, heroically defending jimmy from his terrible foes, stating that jimmy is a “poor defenseless fish man, leave him alone,”. also jimmy was really transfixed by scott’s new skin for some reason.

scott and joel get into a fight because scott called joel a short man. he says he and fwhip have the short king vibes. scott also says joel is self-conscious and over-compensating. the entire interaction is gold. 

they get into a fight, joel flies away. jimmy asks scott if he wants to worship in the church of cod with him. scott says after he kills joel, and flies away.

fwhip and jimmy start arguing again, gem shows up to stop the fight, scott dies. jimmy collects his head. scott comes back and says “no head, jimmy. i want it back.” asdajfhjkhfl

they start arguing about their irl and canon heights

jimmy is shorter than scott in canon, now, so rip the headcanon of magical transformation growth spurts. 

the theory of jimmy being the villain is debunked because he’s killed 5 players, most of which were probably the whole alliance drowning thing, and has been killed by players 12 times. meanwhile, fwhip has killed 49 players.

sausage, hearing about death, shows up with a blood sheep for the cod church, which fwhip instantly kills.

they all go worship in the church of cod. scott has stolen joel’s diamond blocks from his throne. there is more chaos.

jimmy asks (demands) that the others all help him build a path from his church to the main streets and stuff, and gem starts helping.

note that i only said gem. fwhip is building floating circles and scott is building dicks everywhere because he is Mature. he insists he is building jimmy’s sword. you know. the one he commented on earlier.

there are just dicks everywhere my god. 

scott comments on the salmon fwhip put in jimmy’s fish tank, which jimmy hadn’t noticed until now. he goes to kill them and lags out and dies.

he comes back at spawn because he never sets his spawnpoint. sausage eventually comes and gives jimmy his stuff on the way there. jimmy asks where his sword is. sausage says that scott has it. he says that “he’s playing with your sword.” i— i wanted flower husbands but Not Like This. never like this. why.

also sausage had the Greatest Song In The World, but he gave it to jimmy. they both joked about flashbacks while i’m sitting here feeling very nostalgic.

jimmy comes back to his empire and kills the salmon in the tank. things are being blown up. there are explosions everywhere. scott is constantly freezing jimmy’s fish tank to mess with him, end crystals are being placed, there are holes everywhere in the ground. the stream title was “CLEANING UP THE COD EMPIRE.”

gem calls her shovel a big spoon. scott says “spooning leads to forking gem, be careful”. i. hm.

scott asks when the last time jimmy watched any of the other’s empires videos. jimmy says he’d just watched scott’s video. there is a collective aww. 

katherine joins the mayhem. everyone makes fun of her for having a diamond helmet. jimmy looks at all his diamond armor and says nothing. 

jimmy leaves to gather materials. he comes back. there is snow everywhere. amethyst blocks. “why is there a snow golem.” 

they welcome him, excitedly talking about their decorations. it’s christmas. fwhip is building something in the background.

jimmy leaves to stand far away from them for a moment. “chat,” he says. “help.”

he comes back to hear scott saying, “he’s not building a penis,” about fwhip’s weird building, with sausage adding “it’s very large.” katherine says he’ll get demonetized, scott says it’s fine because jimmy wasn’t in earshot. jimmy says he definitely was.

“it’s FiNe.” scott says. “it’s the AnAtOmICaLly correct term”

sausage is dying in the background. is he okay.

scott is STILL GOING. “we shouldn’t feel uncomfortable or embarrassed for using the correct terms for those parts of the human body. there’s nothing wrong with that.”

why is the entire stream like this. i come back from watching a traumatizing wilbur soot vid, hoping to find a chill stream that’s full of wholesomeness, and i get whatever this is. i can’t. 

“i feel broken right now.” me too, jimmy. me too.

more innuendos oh boy. i feel like i’m in a middle school classroom right now. 

“scott, you need serious help.” asjdhskjdhfjh he’s not wrong. 

he went afk and now they’re all trying to mess with him oh god. they’re trying to move him with water. they’re digging a hole. he’s drowning. HE’S BACK THANK GOD. 

scott is trying to get gem to swear. jimmy leaves to sit in the church and talk to the chat. 

they’re all trying to kill him lol. 

kkjwhefjkwehf they’re all in his salmon sacrifice pit. they’re ruining the pit he’s offended i’m— 

his empire is a mess istg. 

sausage is giving jimmy mini log blocks and saying “have some of my wood.” i— 

more tnt and explosions. lovely.

the entire stream was absolute CHAOS but hilarious to watch asdfgjkhl. these were just some of the parts i found funny, there were a bunch of things i left out, you should check out the stream by yourself too!

#what am i if not a jimmy solidarity propaganda blog #i got physiological damage from watching that asdfghjkl #flower husbands #jimmy solidarity #smajor #scott smajor #dangthatsalongname #fwhip #geminitay #mythicalsausage #katherine elizabeth #wither rose siblings #wither rose alliance #empires smp #empiresblr #joel smallishbeans #og post

[witch-hazels-musings]

I WOKE UP JUST IN TIME AAAAA

Can I request the tall boys (Childe, Zhongli, Diluc, Kaeya + anyone else you think you wanna add or change (except maybe Childe because I love him)) reacting to you having animal-like features (like ears and tail)

Or

What they would do if by some accident they themselves end up getting animal features (like fox ears and tail for Childe, cat ears and tail for Kaeya or Diluc, dragon features for Zhongli, etc) do they become clingy and display cat behavior of rubbing themselves on you? Something like that aaaa I'm so sorry if this doesn't make sense it's my first time requesting

experiments gone wrong

(eehe these men *cough* zhongli *cough* will be the death of me) 

Warning -> sfw, fluff (kissing, character suddenly acquiring animal like features) 

Character X GN Reader | anthology 

Includes: Childe, Kaeya, Zhongli 

As an alchemist, you really should have remembered the most important rule -> don’t leave unmarked bottles out where people can drink them …

So you couldn’t be too surprised by the turn of events that followed

Childe 

He went to bed earlier than normal, but you didn’t think anything of it. Perhaps he had a terrible day and just wanted to sleep it off, there wasn’t any reason to pester him about it anyway. 

The next morning, you felt him slip out of bed, a yawn falling from his mouth as he made his way toward the bathroom. Turning, you claimed more of the bed and attempted to sleep just a little bit longer. That was until you heard a wild cry and shot up in an instant. You were already partially out of the bed when Childe burst into the room. 

He looked at you, you looked at him, and as your eyes drifted from his ears to his tail, you understood his reaction. 

“WHAT?” He shouted into the bedroom. 

Oh archons, to see him like this … you wished it was easier for you not to think about how adorable he was, but it was impossible. The soft ears that peeked from underneath his hair, the fluffy tail that didn’t know how to stop moving, and the frantic face he gave you were all just perfect 

“What happened??” He asked, running back to the mirror before returning his attention to you. Quickly, you made your way to his aid and did your best to calm him.

“I’m not sure, did you do anything strange yesterday?” You pulled his face toward you, cupping your hands against his cheek and running your fingers through his hair. 

“Not that I know of … uh, oh! I found this …” He reached for a small bottle on the bathroom counter and handed it to you. Shit.

“Did you drink this??”

“ … yes.” 

“CHILDE!” You burst into laughter, knowing it wasn’t the right time but also unable to control yourself. His expression was distressed and worried and, as best as you could, you tried to bring yourself back to calm. “This wasn’t supposed to be consumed …” 

“A-am I going to die?” 

“No, you’re just going to be, well, this it seems.�� 

“How long??” 

“I don’t know, a few days maybe.” He dropped his head into his hands, his ears drooped and his active tail dropped toward the ground. Wrapping him in your arms, you offered him reassurance while trying not to laugh. “You’re very cute though.” 

You caught sight of his tail moving slowly back and forth and added more pressure to your hug. 

He found that it wasn’t as bad as he thought, in addition to the extra features, he also was able to gain other advantages - his eyesight was much better in the dark, his sense of smell more keen, his agility top notch 

You were sure he had grown attached to them in the short time he had them - so when the option came for him to revert, you were sure it would be a tough decision 

Still - to keep him trapped like this, with features that weren’t his own - you didn’t want to be cruel 

“Here,” You put the bottle down in front of him. His ears perking up at the item and his fingers reaching to grab it. “All you have to do is drink that and everything should go back to normal.” You said with a slightly wistful tone to your voice. It was somehow sad to think these adorable additions leave would be gone soon. 

“What if it doesn’t work?” 

“I’m not sure. We will just try again if it doesn’t though.” Quickly, he took the cork from the lid and moved the vial to his lips. His ear twitched as he smelled the concoction. “I’ll miss this.” Resting your head in your hands you watched as he downed the liquid in one go. 

“It’s hard for people to take me seriously like this …”

“Did people take you seriously before?” You joked, winking at him. 

The next morning, he stirred in bed next to you, his hair brushing against your face and making you wake up before you wanted to. As your eyes adjusted, you instantly recognized what you thought was hair was actually ears and the giddiness of your heart jump-started you awake. It didn’t work -- oh no, guess you’d have to keep trying. 

Kaeya 

Waking up next to Kaeya was your favorite thing. It was an opportunity for you to be close to him, to witness his relaxed expression, and know that in these moments he trusted you over anyone else. 

So, when you woke and found him pressed against you, your hands absentmindedly began to run through his hair, over his shoulders, as you meandered your way into the waking world. There was something soft that flicked against your hand, but you pushed it away. It happened again, confused, mouth turning into a scowl and eyes rudely being pried open, you looked down to see what was making you irritated. 

You were wide awake when you saw the cat ears sticking out from Kaeya’s blue hair. They were richly shaded, deep blues with tips of white and perfectly placed on his head. Shifting, you tried to get a better view and the action made him stir. 

“Mmm, stop moving.” He mumbled, wrapping his arms around you and holding you steady. Tapping his arm, you tried to get his attention. 

“K-Kaeya …” 

“What is it?” 

“Do you feel okay?” You asked, your voice shaking and hands hovering over his ears. 

“I feel perfectly fine, why do you ask?” He kissed your chest before nuzzling back into his place. 

“You … you’ve got cat ears.”

He laughed and pushed your comment away. His legs moved under the sheets and you swore you saw something poke out from the bed. “You’re pulling my leg, I didn’t know you could be this funny so early in the morning.” 

“I’m not, see.” Stealing his hand you placed it on his head and watched as his fingers ran over the ears which were sticking straight up. When his eyes shot open and his hand began to move faster, pulling, tugging, examining the feature, you tried not to laugh as his confused expression turned into a slight panic. He shot up, his legs moving so he could sit on the bed but winced when he did so. That’s when the both of you saw the tail. 

“Hold on, let me get ready, just … don’t freak out.” 

You rushed around the room to gather up your items, your gaze continuously falling on the incredibly still, unmoving frame that was Kaeya. 

After calling on Albedo to come and offer assistance, only to find that the features would be around for a few days … Kaeya started to get more accustomed to them 

He was for sure rattled but bounced back rather quickly - in fact, the features seemed to get him even more attention than he had before and he found that the added bonuses were helpful when he needed them for his knightly tasks 

Not to mention it seemed he was more affectionate than normal, and not in the way he normally was, it was more in a … cuddly, interested, curious manner 

One evening, you found yourself reading over several books that Albedo had recommended and became rudely distracted when Kaeya pushed his way under your arms and nestled into your lap

“Hey there.” You called down to him, hand dropping to his shoulder as he nuzzled against you. 

“Give me attention.” 

You laughed at his pouting expression, his lips turned downward and ears twisting to show he could be trusted. “I’m currently trying to figure out how to fix this, I can’t do that if I’m giving you all my attention.” His eye squinted for just a moment before he moved more into your lap and nearly pushed the book in your hands onto the floor. “Kaeya!” The playful laughter that filled his ears was as tantalizing as the drinks he let touch his lips. 

“You can figure that out later. How can you possibly resist me right now anyway?” He asked, pushing against you until your back pressed into the couch and his hands weaved their way around your body. His hair tickled your face as he nuzzled into your chest and, even though his hips dug into yours, you didn’t seem to mind the closeness he was trying to find. 

“Okay. Fine, I’ll look into it more later.” 

“What excellent news.” He practically purred as he slid his way to your neck and let his body rest against you.

 Zhongli 

It’s been so long since he saw himself with such features - and, to be honest, he didn’t notice them for some time. It wasn’t until you returned and the items in your hands fell to the floor upon seeing him that his attention was captured

“Zh - Zhongli!?” You babbled, making your way to him and not knowing what to rest your eyes on first. Was it the pair of elegantly shaped horns that sprouted between his brown locks of hair? Was it the golden slits in his eyes that reminded you of the reptiles roaming around the rocky paths of Liyue? Or did you look at the scales that decorated his face in such perfect placement? 

“Has something transpired?” His expression was one of concern, but also one of disillusionment. Did - did he not notice? 

“Are you feeling nostalgic today?” 

“Not particularly, what makes you ask?” 

“Well … you look kinda like … I mean hold on.” You quickly disappeared down the hallway before returning with a small handheld mirror, one that Zhongli had purchased for you some time ago. Handing it to him, you waited until it started to register on his face the changes to his appearance, and that’s when you noticed the long claws which jutted out from his nail beds.  

“Huh, this is peculiar …” 

Sitting down across from him, you placed your hands on the table and watched as he examined the reflection of his face. “So you didn’t do this?”

“I must say that I did not, though It is rather pleasant to see …” His voice trailed off and you watched as he fussed with his hair, touched the horns on his head, and opened his mouth to check and see if - yup, he had canines much like a dragon too. That’s when it hit you. 

“Did you … drink anything strange?” 

The mirror found its place upside down on the table, his glowing eyes shifted to you as he took in your question. You let him think and finally, he gave you his answer. “I do recall there was a strange vial on the counter when I awoke. Ah - my dear, are you unwell?” He asked as your head dropped onto the table. 

The strangest thing about Zhongli holding these features was that he seemed … perfect for them and it was becoming quite the problem to hide

You were much too cautious that someone may discover who he really was with these pretty telling additions to his wardrobe, so you asked him to stay home for a while until you could get some answers

He didn’t seem to mind, and when you were finally able to gather up all the items needed to prepare an antidote for his condition, you were finding it very distracting to make the concoction at home 

The bubbling liquid warned you it was much too hot and so, with adept fingers, you turned the nobs and burners down so as to not overheat or scald the liquid inside. The aroma that filled your nose was … unpleasant to say the least, and so you finally succumbed to the need to wrap your nose in a clean cloth. 

Turning your back to the equipment, you made your way toward the drawer where the rags were kept but when your eyes caught sight of Zhongli standing by the window, you nearly fainted. 

He was wearing a robe, the material had slid down one of his arms and rested in the crook of his elbow. It gave you pause and allowed you to see the toned torso which was normally hidden by the layers of clothing he wore on a regular day. 

Since he found no need to properly get dressed, he had reserved himself to lounge about in clothes that felt ‘more suitable’ to him, as he explained. 

The light from the sun flashed across his chest, laid softly against his face, and illuminated the golden speckles in his hair - you wondered if it was because of the horns, perhaps they were reflecting the light and making him look ethereal in the warmth of the sun. He crossed his arms and shifted his weight as he looked beyond the window, almost as if he was yearning for something far beyond his reach. 

“I think I’m nearly done.” You explain, tying the towel around your face and returning, reluctantly, to the concoction behind you. 

As you began to spoon out the unnecessary ingredients until you were only left with the pure grade potion, you didn’t notice how he had moved to your side until the small vial was filled. 

“Here you -- oh!.” He stood right in front of you. His eyes were dangerous, burning, focused. “I didn’t see … you …” He reached around to the back of your head and skillfully undid the makeshift mask you had created moments ago. When it was off, he took the vial in his hands and placed it onto the counter before returning his attention to you. “Are you … okay?” You asked, tracking the movements of his face as he leaned down toward you. 

His lips hovered barely over yours and the closeness of him made your heart flutter. “You are mine, are you not?” His voice rattled your bones from the intensity, it was oppressive and supportive all at the same time. 

“Y-yes?” 

His lips pressed against the corner of your mouth, “You belong to no one else?” 

“No …”

“Good.” 

It’s a good thing the instructions never said anything about, ‘consume immediately’ because you were very distracted for some time. 

-- 

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#genshin impact #genshin impact X reader #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact musings #genshin impact fiction #childe X reader #childe #genshin childe #kayea x reader #kayea #genshin Kayea #Zhongli X reader #zhongli #genshin zhongli

[scuttling]

Lavender

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 9,244 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Dad's Best Friend Friend From Work Hotch, Me turning a naughty, smutty story into something way more aka my specialty, Fingering, Unprotected sex, Oral sex, Semi-public sex, Office sex Summary: You absolutely dread going home for vacation, to your sickeningly cheery childhood bedroom and opinionated parents, but meeting your dad's friend from work at a stuffy cocktail party has the potential to make this a vacation you'll never forget.*Requested by anon, severely altered by me 😅 Link to A03 or read below! Most people would jump at the chance for an unexpected two week vacation, but you are not most people. When your boss emailed you to inform you that there had been some kind of glitch in HR’s system and you actually had two weeks of paid vacation that were set to expire, your anxiety had kicked into high gear. There isn’t enough time to coordinate travel with any of your friends, too short notice, and you’re kind of afraid to travel alone, though you’d never admit it, so that’s out.

There’s always the prospect of hanging out at home, catching up on all the shows you started but never had time to finish, doing things you’re always too busy for, like cooking and cleaning out your closet and going to the animal shelter to pet the dogs and cats.

Unfortunately, those dreams are crushed when you accidentally let slip during a call to your parents that you have the time off, and they literally insist you come home, will not let you get off the phone without confirming your plans.

You only live about an hour away from them, but for one reason or another, you rarely visit.

The minute you step into your childhood home, you’re reminded of why you rarely visit.

“There’s my little do-gooder!” Your dad is all but waiting at the door when you arrive, pulls you into a hug despite the fact that your hands are full of luggage. “Let me look at you.” He pulls back, hands on your shoulders, acting like it's possible something has changed about you since you had lunch together a month ago in DC. “Oh, you’ve got that serious lawyer hairstyle now,” he remarks with a chuckle, even though your hair is styled the same way it was at that lunch. He might not mean it to come out this way, but it sounds condescending.

“That would be appropriate, considering I am a lawyer,” you remark, trying to keep the snark out of your tone. You know he always means well. “You look good.” He takes his hands off of you and puts them on his stomach.

“Your mom has me on some kind of greens and beans diet, says it will help me live longer.” You smile, a little awkward, not sure what to say about that—your dad is typically the meat and potatoes type, so you figure some variety can’t hurt, but if you say that you’ll never hear the end of it, and you’ve already got a headache.

“Where is mom, anyway?” You shift your bag on your shoulder, and your dad clues in, takes it from you and starts walking up the staircase.

“Oh, she’s at the gym, then taking care of some last minute things for the party.” You pause at the base of the stairs, sigh softly.

“Party?” You weren’t told about any party. Your dad keeps walking, and you’re forced to follow.

“Yeah, nothing major, just some people from the office and their spouses coming over for drinks tonight. Maybe some of their kids,” he adds innocently, and you can’t help rolling your eyes.

By kids, he means sons: eligible sons to try to set you up with. You wouldn’t mind being in a room full of hot, single men vying for your attention any other time—in fact, it’s been a little while, and your most recent hookup was lackluster, so you’re a bit more tightly wound than usual—but the kinds of men your parents bring around aren’t your type at all. You’re career driven yourself, but all they want to talk about is how they plan to be the youngest partner at their firm, or the clubs they can get into, or worst of all, money. Your potentially somewhat relaxing vacation just went to shit in no time at all.

“I didn’t bring anything to wear to a cocktail party.”

“I think mom got you a dress, honey. Check your closet after you get unpacked.” He pushes the door to your former bedroom open, and you’re assaulted by the color lavender; somehow you’d actually forgotten how purple it is. “You’ll look beautiful no matter what you wear.” He sets your bag on the bed—oh god, the frilly purple comforter, you may have actually repressed that memory—and you drop your other luggage there too. “I’ll give you some time to get settled in, maybe order some lunch for us? Vesuvios?”

As irritated as you are about the party, it’s sweet that he remembers your favorite restaurant. You went there for dinner after you graduated from high school, college, and law school, so there are lots of great memories associated with the place.

“Do they adhere to the greens and beans diet?” you ask with a grin, and he puts his finger up to his lips to silence you.

“What mom doesn’t know won’t hurt her, right?” You shake your head fondly, and he slips out of your room and leaves you to it.

You start unloading your clothes into the empty dresser, hanging them in the closet that holds things like your prom dresses, graduation gowns, old cheerleading and volleyball uniforms. Every touch of silky fabric is a memory, and at this point in your life most of them are good, even if they weren’t at the time. It’s kind of nice to remember where you came from, when where you are now can be so hectic, so fast-paced you don’t see the forest for the trees.

Feeling nostalgic, you walk over to your desk, where you spent so much time with your face crammed into textbooks it’s not even funny, and flip through your old stationary set—what teenager had her own stationery? You were a total nerd—and photos you’d taken off the mirror but left sitting in a pile to be packed away eventually.

You snap out of the past after that, finish putting your toiletries away, setting up your laptop and chargers where you want them, then shove your empty suitcases in the closet and grab your phone to head downstairs.

You meet up with your dad in the kitchen, where he is opening steaming takeout containers full of Italian food. You grab some plates from the overhead cabinet and lean against the counter, look over the offerings to decide what you’ll have.

“So how are things at the ACLU?” he asks with a bit of a teasing tone. You’re well aware of the fact that he thinks you could be doing more—translation: making more—in private practice, or working for the government like he does, but neither of those things interest you and he is well aware of that.

“They’re really good, actually. We’re working on a disability rights case now that will probably make national news if we win.” It’s been forever since you had penne arrabbiata, since it’s not very easy to eat at your desk without running the risk of staining your blouse with spicy red sauce, so you load up your plate with it, add wilted spinach for color, a piece of garlic bread because it’s garlic bread. You lick your thumb, and your dad points a finger in your direction in that way that means he’s about to give you life advice.

“When you win; if you’re not confident about your capabilities, no one else will be.” You roll your eyes good-naturedly, nod, because that’s a pro tip you’ve heard time and time again. “If you came to work at the bureau, you’d win more of your cases; Constitutional law isn’t easy.” He says that like you don’t already know, like you haven’t been working in your current department for more than a year. You sigh.

“I’m not really the bureau type, dad.” You take your plate over to the breakfast table, sit down and start to pick at your food. Arguing about your chosen career path is enough to make you lose your appetite, even for your favorite dish. Your dad follows, sits across from you.

“You’re so smart, honey, you could be if you wanted to.” He takes a bite of fettuccine alfredo, points his fork at you. “Hey, maybe you could talk to Jim from the Office of General Counsel tonight—or maybe Aaron. You’d be really interested in the work his team does.”

“Who’s Aaron again?” You don’t recognize the name, so he’s probably not one of the attorneys on your dad’s team, but he works closely with so many departments you might have heard it before and missed it.

“Friend from work. He’s the unit chief at the Behavioral Analysis Unit. They’re criminal psychologists or something. Profilers,” he says, snapping his fingers. “That’s what they call them. They get into criminals’ heads, analyze them and interrogate them. I know you minored in psychology, I bet he could get you an internship.” You laugh at that, because he always gives you advice about furthering your career, but that’s a step backward for you and he can't be so dense not to realize it.

“An internship? I’m a little old for that, don't you think? Not to mention I have a job that I love.” You stab at your food, more than a little agitated by the current conversation.

“Never too late to get your foot in the door, sweetie. It’d be great to see you more, that’s all I’m saying,” he adds, ending on a gentler note, and you sigh. Your mom does it too, but your dad is an expert into guilting you into doing what he thinks is best. Unfortunately, you’ve never handled guilt very well.

“Okay. I’ll talk to him, if it means that much to you,” you promise, and you both smile and make easy small talk for the rest of the meal. The dress your mom bought for you for the party is a black, sleeveless, designer cocktail dress, something more form fitting than you would normally wear—she is evidently trying very hard to find you an eligible bachelor tonight. You pair it with your favorite jewelry, simple heels, and when you head downstairs your mom acts like it’s prom night all over again.

“Oh sweetie, you look so beautiful!” She puts her hands on your arms, spins you around. “You’re looking too thin—must be eating a lot of salads on that paralegal salary,” she throws over her shoulder to your dad, and they both laugh. You wish life were a documentary so there was a camera you could look into with an unimpressed expression.

“I’m a staff attorney actually. Fully accredited,” you add, but it’s no use. If you don’t follow in your dad’s footsteps, you will always be seen as living beneath your potential, and therefore always the butt of these types of jokes.

You love them, really, and you know they love you, but they are not the most supportive pair by a long shot. They made sure you got into a great college, let you follow your law school dreams—and you’re grateful, won’t deny their money is a privilege so many other people in your position do not possess—but that was only because those were their dreams as well. As soon as you told them about taking the position at the ACLU, it was like the tables were turned, and instead of your accomplishments, all they saw was wasted potential.

It’s enough to keep you away most of the time, which sucks, but it is what it is. It’s easier to love them from afar, so that’s what you do.

At the party, you shake hands, talk about the weather, introduce yourself to so many middle aged white guys and their sons that their faces all start to blur together. After half an hour you excuse yourself, head to the bar for a drink, and come to stand next to a middle aged white guy you have not introduced yourself to—this one, you’d have remembered, because he is tall, broad, serious looking, and very handsome.

If you were a dog, he’d have your ears perking up, no doubt about that. Instead, your heart just races a little.

“I have to say, these FBI parties are even less fun than I thought they’d be,” you comment as you wait for your drink. The man lifts the corner of his mouth in a slight smile.

“Get a bunch of men who are past their prime in one room, and all you hear about are the glory days. Can’t get a word in edgewise.” The bartender hands you your glass, and you turn to fully face the stranger.

“Why aren’t you talking about your glory days?” You immediately kind of want to slap yourself. Your social skills have been exhausted tonight, apparently. “I’m sorry, that was rude; I didn’t mean to insinuate that you’re… past your prime.” You give him a brief once over, because he deserves it, is even more gorgeous up close than you’d initially assessed; he chuckles softly, sips on his own drink.

“It wasn’t rude, it was… shrewd.” His own gaze lingers on your face, maybe the neckline of your dress, just a little. “Your father’s really happy you’re here, wouldn’t stop talking about it.”

“Yeah, he's one of the most ambitious people I know; he gets an idea in his head and won’t rest until he’s seen it through.” It’s a quality that sounds good on paper, but when it’s constantly being applied to your life, it’s more tiring than anything. “Right now he’s trying to get me to bully one of these poor guys into giving me an internship, as if I’m not twenty-nine years old with a career of my own.” He wets his lips, laughs again.

“I think I’m the poor guy—Aaron Hotchner. I’m the unit chief overseeing the BAU.” Wow, 0 for 2. This guy’s got to think you’re a complete idiot. He extends a hand and you shake it firmly, melt a little because his palm is so broad, his fingers so thick.

“Right, I’m so sorry. Feel free to tell me right now that I’m not the right fit, and I’ll slink off and hide in a corner somewhere for the rest of the night.”

“No need for that. You strike me as someone who would be a great fit for my team, if that was something you actually wanted.”

You aren’t looking for a career change in the slightest, but you can’t deny it would be tempting to report to this man every day.

“It’s not that I’m not curious about what you do; my dad told me a little, and it sounds really intriguing. I just have a lot on my plate right now. If the offer had come up before I started my current job, I would be all over it.” You smile, shrug. “Unless you could have me intern for the next two weeks I’ll be on vacation, I’ll have to politely decline the offer you haven't actually made me.” You smile, and so does he.

“Now who’s ambitious?” he asks with a raised eyebrow; the way he says it, like he finds it charming, makes your face heat a little. You’ve never connected like this at one of your dad’s FBI events, and even though there’s no way it ends well—if anything even starts—you feel the need to see how far you can go. Even if it’s just a little flirting. Even if it’s just tonight.

“Have you ever been here before tonight?” you ask after a beat. You take a sip of your drink, and he mirrors you. You lean in a little closer.

“Once, briefly. I didn’t get a grand tour, or anything.” You smile—bingo—and reach out to place a hand on his arm.

“Oh, I’d be happy to give you one, if you like. Usually my dad is all about it, but he looks occupied.” You both glance across the room at where he is in the middle of a group of men—still discussing their glory days, no doubt—and Aaron looks at you again, nods.

“Sure, I’d love one.” You show him around downstairs, the backyard, the garage—he doesn’t seem to care about the cars at all—and then go upstairs, show him guest rooms, the master bath your mother recently remodeled; he gets a little closer as you go, and you smile more, flirt a bit. You stop outside the door to your room, block it with your body while you talk about the art hanging in the hall; he’s very good at reading your body language, apparently, because he leans closer to you, puts his hand on the doorknob next to your hip.

“What’s this room?” he asks, feigning innocence, and you put your arm over his.

“Oh, no, we’re not going in there. That’s my old bedroom.” He smiles, and you grimace.

“You mean the room I most want to see now? Come on.” He turns the knob, hears it click, and you cover your face with your hand, sigh.

“This is going to be really embarrassing. It’s exactly the way it looked when I went to college, and that was over ten years ago.” You push the door open with your hand, walk in and flick on the light. Aaron follows, chuckles.

“It’s... purple. Cute.” He makes toward the bed, touches one of the frills on the comforter with his big, broad hand. The juxtaposition of your innocent lavender bedding being stroked by the fingers you can’t stop staring at is a very interesting one.

“No, it’s not cute, it’s horrifying,” you say, and when he walks toward the open closet, you begin to regret this little tour. He pulls out your prom dress, your cheerleading uniform.

“Cheerleader, huh? You don’t seem the type.” He looks over at you, and you push it back into the closet, lead him away from it with your hands on his arms.

“I’m not. It was important to my mom.” The two of you are by your dresser now, and he leans in to look in the mirror, at you standing behind him and not his own reflection.

“I see. Do you always put other people's needs before your own?” You sidle up next to him, and he turns to face you.

“This is what you do, right? You… deduce for a living? Like Sherlock?” That makes him laugh, which in turn makes you smile.

“It’s called profiling, but that’s accurate enough.” You feel a challenge brewing inside you, take a step closer to him.

“Okay… What can you tell me about myself by looking around the room? Remember, this stuff is from ten years ago; a lot could have changed.” He crosses his arms, nods.

“You’re right, but your core values wouldn’t have.”

Slowly, he walks around the room, taking things in, touching things, looking back at you briefly and then rifling through parts of your past. It’s a few minutes before he speaks again.

“I think your father wants you to work at the bureau, and you don’t want to because you’ve always felt like you’d live in his shadow if you followed the same career path. You want to blaze your own trail, do what fulfills you, not let his last name be what moves you up the ladder.”

That’s all scarily true, so you nod, cross your arms, lean your butt against your desk.

“I think you’re afraid of commitment because you don’t think any relationship you’re in will ever measure up to what your parents have.” That stings a little, but he’s not wrong. He points to a flyer stuck to a cork board, something about a charity project you’d worked on that revolved around recycling. “Environmentally conscious: I bet you drive a hybrid, and if your dad bought it for you, it’s a... BMW.”

He glances back, and you encourage him to go on. He points to a copy of your Georgetown diploma hanging on the wall, then picks up a cheerleading trophy on your dresser.

“You were a cheerleader to please your mom, went to Georgetown to please your dad, excelled at both; you’re an only child, so you felt you couldn’t let them down. My question is,” he says, looking up at you curiously, “what pleases you?” The words make your heart beat fast; you lick your lips, tilt your head.

“Not much.” He comes closer, arms crossed again.

“Why?” God, that’s a loaded question for a Friday night, for the first day of your vacation. You absently wonder if he’s going to bill you for this impromptu therapy session.

“I find it difficult to ask for what I want,” you ultimately say, and he moves even closer. His stare is probing, and you speculate that he may have been a lawyer before the FBI. The look on his face is the same one you’ve seen in many courtrooms over your short career.

“Of course you do. You’ve never done it before. You've spent your whole life asking other people what they want from you.”

You feel very seen, and you kind of hate it, but you also kind of like it—that he’s able to dissect you like this is a huge turn on. What that says about you, you’re not entirely sure; maybe that you enjoy being seen for who you are—for all that you are—instead of who you know, or who you could have been, for a change.

“I think you didn’t lose your virginity until college—your second year.” It feels like bringing that up is a bold move for him; he doesn’t meet your eyes when he says it. “I would guess you got drunk for the first time around then, too. Your first year you were trying to navigate the feeling of not being under anyone’s thumb anymore; your second year, you finally felt like your own woman, you wanted to try new things, but it made you feel out of control and you don’t like that. Even now you only drink socially, never to get drunk.” He is directly in front of you now, and he reaches out a hand, brushes it over your cheek. “I also think you gravitate toward men you find inappropriate and unattainable so you don’t have to worry about being the reason your relationships fail.”

He looks into your eyes with a questioning gaze. It’s a painfully accurate take, but he softens the blow with the gentle touch.

“Wow, you’re kind of an asshole,” you breathe, but you smile, and he laughs low.

“Maybe. But am I wrong?” You nod your head, and his face falls a little, so you narrow your eyes to mess with him a bit.

“Only about one thing: I actually drive a Kia hybrid. And I bought it myself, for your information.” He smiles, and you press your hands against his chest; it’s crazy how quickly he drops back into the serious expression you first saw him wearing by the bar. “Are you unattainable and inappropriate?”

“I work with your father; we’re the same age. We play golf together sometimes.” He doesn’t seem uncomfortable, doesn’t back away or remove your hands. You slide them down his body, over his stomach, stop at his belt, and he looks the way you feel: tightly wound, aroused, a little breathless.

“That doesn’t really answer my question, Aaron. May I do some profiling of my own?” You look up at him, curious, and he nods.

“Be my guest,” he murmurs, and you lean back. You rake your eyes over his body slowly—there’s no mistaking your appraisal for what it is. “No ring on your finger, but there’s no way you haven’t been married before. My guess is you’re divorced, and it wasn’t your idea.” You look up at his face, smile softly. “Sorry. You weren’t exactly pulling punches either.” He huffs a laugh.

“You’re right: I wasn’t pulling punches. You’re right about the divorce, too. Go on.” You nod, hum.

“Okay. You have a strong moral compass; you always do what’s right, even when it’s difficult. It’s what makes you such a great leader for your team. You like to go by the book, you’re a Fed through and through—but when it comes down to the bureau or the people you care about, you’ll fight the establishment with all you have. You aren’t a blind believer in the government; you have your criticisms, and you aren’t shy about voicing them.”

“Unlike your father,” he says, and you sigh. “You don’t have an appreciation for his work.”

“No, I really don’t.” Your dad specializes in Freedom of Information Act litigation—he does his best to keep the FBI from actually living up to its commitment to be transparent with the American people, and it doesn’t sit right with you, never has. You may both be attorneys, but you could not be more different if you tried. “But I’m profiling you, remember?”

“Right. Please continue.”

“This might be going out on a limb, but I think you went to law school. The way you speak, and the way you looked at me earlier? It was a little like cross-examination. Am I right about that?” His answering smile actually looks pleased.

“You are. I was a prosecutor for a number of years before joining the FBI. I think it’s something you don’t ever really lose.”

“For better or worse,” you say with a smile of your own. Happy with your assessment, you move a little closer again. “One more thing. I don’t think you’re the kind of man who would normally let a woman take you into her bedroom after less than an hour of knowing her. Childhood or otherwise.” You smooth your hands down either side of his tie, over his firm chest and solid midsection. “Maybe you saw something in me you liked?”

“I was... dreading coming here tonight.” He brings his hands up to cover yours, but doesn’t pull them away, just holds them. “If you’ve been to one of these parties, you’ve been to them all—no offense to your father—and I was contemplating a good excuse to leave early, if I’m being honest. Then you showed up at my side—my friend’s mysterious daughter that I’ve heard so much about—and you’re funny, and charming. Insightful. Vulnerable.” He squeezes your hands, presses them closer to his chest. “Beautiful. It’s been a long time since I’ve looked at someone and felt an instant connection. Do you feel it?” His voice is just above a whisper, and you nod lightly.

You aren’t the type of woman to take a man into her bedroom after less than an hour of knowing him, childhood or otherwise, but he makes you want so badly you’re almost ravenous—you’ve felt this way before, maybe twice in your life, but neither of those experiences ended with you getting what you wanted. You really hope this time might be different.

“Kiss me?” He takes a breath and then presses his lips together.

“I shouldn’t.”

“I know. But will you?” After a beat, he does, leaning in and pressing his lips to yours, moving his hands to your face as he deepens it.

It’s not a hard kiss, but rough around the edges, your noses pressed together, mouths seeking contact even as you pull apart for breath. He kisses like he needs it, tastes like bourbon, feels like heaven; it’s steamy, wet, makes your chest heave and your pussy throb. When he walks you backward, gently presses your body against your desk, you hop up onto it easily and pull him closer, between your spread knees.

“Aaron,” you sigh over his lips, and his hands move to your thighs, pushing up your dress so he can get closer to you. You glide your fingers through his hair, plant a hand on the desk, then feel something tip over, hear the soft sound of paper sliding over the edge.

Aaron looks down, picks up a lavender envelope; he holds it up with a question in his eye and an enamored look on his face.

“‘From the desk of…’ You had personalized stationery at eighteen?” His mouth is a little red from the kiss still, and he’s teasing you, perfect; you smile, can’t believe this is happening.

“I liked to write to my congressman… and Ruth Bader Ginsburg,” you pant. He chuckles, kisses you a little softer than before, then moves down your throat, sweeps his tongue over your pulse. “Mmm. Right there.”

He pauses to look up at you, hair mussed from your fingers, and you push his jacket off his shoulders; he shifts to full height, helps you take it off, and you drape it over your desk chair, work the knot of his tie loose.

“Are you sure you want this?” he asks as your fingers slip down the front of his shirt, freeing his buttons. You unclasp his belt, open his pants, and stretch up for a kiss, touching his face; you nod when you pull back.

“Absolutely. Are you?” He nods too, all serious eyebrows you want to kiss, mouth you want back on yours, on your throat, anywhere.

“Absolutely.” You step down off the desk, run your hands over his arms, then kick off your shoes and walk over to the door, close and lock it; when you pass him again, you guide him to the bed and sit in his lap, clutch at his shoulders and kiss him with as much desperation as he showed you before. There’s a lot of heavy breathing, sighing, moans from you both, and if just kissing is this good, you can’t imagine what he’ll be like inside of you.

When you can find it in yourself to stop kissing him, you pull back and climb out of his lap, present the back of your dress so he can ease down the zipper. He pushes it off, large, warm hands gliding over your body until it hits the floor in a heap unbecoming of the designer label. Your mother would lose her mind.

“You are incredibly beautiful,” Aaron says as he moves his hands to your hips, sliding your panties down and leaning in to press his lips to your stomach. You sigh, press a hand to the back of his head while his mouth explores you where you’re soft and sensitive. You’d like it lower, but there may not be time for that tonight. “What do you want with an old man like me?”

“None of that.” You sweep your hands over his shoulders, sink down onto his lap again, and his hands fall to your bare hips, squeezing you softly; you close your eyes for a moment, so overwhelmed by just the simplest touch. “Like you said: I feel a connection.” Your fingers move to push his shirt open, to lift his undershirt so you can get your hands on bare skin and soft body and hair. He groans, and you kiss him, deep and slow, hands moving to take off both shirts and add them to his jacket on your chair. You take a deep breath, reach out to touch his cheek. “Connect with me.”

He takes your hand, brings your palm to his mouth and kisses it, then drags it down so your fingers slide over his lips; you swallow hard, can feel wetness pooling between your legs, so you slide off of him and onto the bed—however sexy it may be to leave your mark on him, you do both have to return to the party at some point.

Sitting up beside him, you touch his body, ease his pants and boxers down; he takes them off along with his shoes, and you pull the comforter out from under you, push it to the side, let yourself lay back and bask in the look and feel of him as he settles between your knees, leans in for a kiss.

It’s even more intense than before, somehow, his thighs against yours, strong arms supporting him, and you drag your nails lightly up his body, tip your head back and sigh when his lips trail from the base of your throat to your jaw.

He moves a hand low, rubs his fingers between your lips and presses one finger inside you, slowly glides it in and out so you’re moaning, sighing his name.

“That feels so good,” you breathe, and he moves his mouth to yours again, soft and wet, the slide of his tongue sinfully delicious. He adds a second finger, earns more gasping moans, then a third; with the help of a capable thumb stroking over your clit, you come, and he kisses the praise right out of your mouth and then pushes inside you.

His mouth doesn’t leave yours, keeps you close as he thrusts inside, gradually lowering his weight onto you until you feel him everywhere: chest soft against yours, stomachs pressing together as you both work your hips, as your hands grasp his back to keep him close, heavy. Connected.

“You’re perfect. You feel incredible, baby,” he speaks against your lips in a rare moment apart, and you hitch your knees up higher, press the heels of your feet against his ass.

You thought he looked turned on before, but now he looks like he’s being consumed by it, like he wants to thrust deeper into you, make a home in your body and never leave; you would be more than okay with that, to spend the next two weeks beneath him, holding him close, sharing breath and sweat and pleasure so complete it changes you profoundly.

He moves a hand behind your head, cradles it, and sucks wet kisses against your throat—nothing so deep as to leave a mark, but that doesn’t mean you’re not panting, whimpering, begging for more.

“Aaron. Hmm, oh. You’re so gorgeous, I—everything about you.” He pulls away from your neck, peers down at you, and you’re sure you’re a sight to behold in your desperation; your palms smooth down his back, to his sides, and you hug him close, squeeze him hard when he comes, panting your name against your throat and pumping roughly inside.

You meet his every thrust, dig your nails into his hips, and he leans forward, covers your mouth with his and grinds against you until your second blissful orgasm shudders through your limbs. You clench tight around him, moan, then slowly sag back against the mattress, more thoroughly satisfied than you’ve ever been in your life.

He shifts, half on top of you and half off, his kisses gradually slowing, his hands sweeping over your shoulders, your face, your arms. When you’re calm, content, you sigh, kiss his hands and cheeks and lips; you’re warm, and you curl around him, overheated skin on skin, and never want to leave.

“Mmm,” he rumbles against your shoulder, mouthing at it, and you sigh, scrape your nails through his hair.

“Mm hmm. Think I can die happy now,” you murmur, and he shifts up to look at you, a smile curving softly from the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t die on me, now.” You smile too, scoot closer for slow kisses. You’re both happy to lay there, quietly kissing, but eventually it’s clear you need to return to the party in order to avoid suspicion—not that you think anyone would ever guess what just occurred.

You dress side by side, turning to have him fix your zipper, reaching up to help him with his tie. When you’re both technically decent enough to head downstairs, you plan to give him a head start, but the two of you get caught up in one more deeply sensual kiss that almost makes you want to just say screw it and take his clothes off again. He can tell, has the barest hint of a smirk on his face when the kiss breaks, and he punctuates it with a soft press of lips before walking out the door.

With your spare few minutes, you look around the room—and at your rumpled, frilly, lavender bed, on which you just had super hot sex with one of your dad’s friends, it’s still kind of sinking in—and wonder what the rest of your vacation could possibly bring that could top this night. At breakfast the next morning, you find out.

You and your parents are discussing the party, who got too drunk to function, who left with the wrong wife, which of your dad’s friend’s sons you got along with most, and then he drops the bomb on you.

“And see, honey, I told you talking to Aaron would be beneficial.” You choke on a bite of scrambled eggs, try to wash it down with a sip of juice; your mom pats you on the back until the moment passes.

“What?” you ask, voice barely a squeak. You clear your throat and try again. “What about Aaron, dad?” He flips the newspaper he’s holding to the next page and peers over it at you.

“I told you talking to Aaron would be beneficial. Before he left last night, he told me all about the internship—it’s nice of him to set it up for the two weeks you’re here, so you can get some experience under your belt.” You briefly think about your experience under Aaron’s belt, but it’s really not the time.

He really set you up with an internship—one he knows you aren’t interested in—based on the offhand comment you’d made about squeezing it into your two week vacation. You’d be kind of irritated at him for making the plans on your behalf, but if it means the next two weeks are anything like last night, he’s going to make it well worth your while.

The internship excites both of your parents, and your mom declares it a girls day, takes you out for some new clothes, since you didn’t bring any workwear, for a manicure and pedicure and then drinks. She talks about what a great opportunity this will be for you, and you don’t have the heart—or maybe you just don’t care anymore—to argue about what great opportunities you’ve already made possible for yourself.

Sunday is for relaxing, and not internally panicking about seeing Aaron again. Friday night was incredible, but you didn’t think it would turn into anything, considering he is your dad’s friend, and you’re only here for a couple weeks.

You have to hand it to him, though: if he enjoyed himself as much as you did, and this internship is his way of getting to spend more time with you, he has managed to do what you haven’t been able for twenty-nine years—find a way to please your parents while finally pleasing yourself. Monday morning, you show up at the BAU office to receive a photo ID badge and fill out some paperwork. You don’t actually get to meet anyone from the BAU until after lunch, and when you do, Aaron is nowhere to be seen.

“Hi, I’m looking for Unit Chief Hotchner?” you say to a fair-skinned woman with long blonde hair and a kind smile. “I’m interning for the next couple weeks.” There is a man with her, Black, tall, bald, with very expressive eyebrows; the eyebrows don’t look like they think very highly of you.

“You’re an intern? A little old, aren’t you?” After a beat, his face breaks into a smile, and you roll your eyes, huff a laugh.

“Charmer. Yes, I’m definitely too old to be an intern; do you have overbearing parents by chance?” He raises his hands, palms up, and takes a step back.

“No, but enough said.” The blonde woman laughs, and he nods in your direction. “I’m Derek Morgan, this is JJ Jareau. Come with me, I’ll take you to Hotch.”

You thank him, follow as he leads you across the room and up some stairs.

“So what’s he like, Agent Hotchner?” you ask, wanting someone else’s opinion of Aaron as a boss, a coworker—anything other than the one night stand that wasn’t. You really know so little about him.

“He’s a good guy; smart, fair, great at what he does. A little tightly wound; could stand to live a little.” He looks back at you with a grin. “He’ll probably remind you a little of your dad.”

God. It almost makes you throw up in your mouth a little.

“You know, I doubt it, but thanks for the warning.” He knocks on a closed door at the end of the hall, and a moment later, Aaron answers it. His expression doesn’t change as Derek introduces you, and when he walks away with a friendly pat on your shoulder, Aaron gestures you in. He closes the door behind you and looks carefully over your face.

“Hi,” he says, and you see that hint of a smirk on his face again. You take a moment to appraise the room—there’s a window with blinds that are closed, a desk and chairs, bookcases, a printer, more windows on the far side, a loveseat. You look back at Aaron with a raised brow.

“Hi. What am I doing here?” His expression gets serious, like he can’t tell if you’re pleased or upset with him for the surprise. You sit down on the loveseat, set your bag down, and he sits down next to you.

“I know you wanted to get your father off your back, and you did say if I could squeeze an internship into two weeks that you’d be interested.” You smile a little, because you did say that. “I thought it might be nice to see you a little more, too. You’re under no obligation to stay,” he assures you, briefly looking down, and then he takes your hand. “But surely there are worse ways to spend your vacation?”

You give him an uncertain look, like you’re really trying to decide what you’d like to do, and then you push up your skirt and swiftly straddle his thighs, press your hands against his shoulders. His mouth falls open a little, and you lean in to catch it with yours.

“I have been thinking about you all weekend,” he mutters into the kiss, wraps his arms around your back. “Have you thought about me?”

“Only every night.” He groans at your words, lets his head fall back a little, and you press your lips to the column of his throat, nip softly with your teeth. “Every morning. Every minute.” You bite at the shell of his ear, kiss it, card your fingers through his hair. “Do I have an actual job to do here?” You pull back, and he raises his eyebrows; you can’t help the grin that takes over your expression. “Because if not, I’m going to focus on making this the best two weeks of your life.”

He pulls you in for another kiss, a little rougher than before, deeper, and you tug on his hair, pant against his cheek when you separate.

“In that case, no. You don’t have a job to do here.” You tilt your head, and he smiles a little. “I'm the boss, I make the rules.” That kind of thing has never done it for you before, but you have to admit it’s making you feel some type of way right now. You sweep your hands inside his jacket, squeeze his sides.

“Mmm, yes you do. Hey, do you think there’s enough room for me to fit under your desk?” He wets his lips, and you climb off of him, walk around to check it out for yourself, bending over his desk in your tight black skirt to peek beneath it. You look up to see Aaron is not shy about taking in the view, and you grin. “Spacious.”

He walks toward you, and when he’s closer, his eyes look dark with need; his hands look like they ache to reach out and touch. You step forward, let yourself be caged in against the desk by his arms, and you arch your back a little, open his belt slowly.

“I didn’t set this up so you would feel obligated to do this.” You sigh, lean up to catch his lips in a soft kiss.

“I know you didn’t. But if I want to?” You tug down his zipper, slip your hand inside his underwear, feel him hot and stiff in your palm. “And you want to?” He nods tightly and you kiss him again, squeeze him softly, sweep your tongue between his lips. “Then let’s.”

You take a step back, push his chair far enough out of the way that you can crawl under the desk, come up on your knees; he exhales deeply, then sinks down into his chair, stretches his long legs so they rest on either side of your body, holds his pants open for you. You look up at him, hope he sees how ridiculously eager you are to do this, and you take his dick out, stroke it a couple times, and cover it with your mouth.

“My god,” he sighs, head resting back against his seat. You hold him with both hands, suck deep and wet, moan a little when he spreads his legs further apart. “Your mouth feels so good, baby. Does this make you wet?” You pull off, move one hand to slide up his stomach, clutch his shirt there.

“Very, but I’m patient. Want to make you come.” He wets his lips, sighs, and you dip your head, lick up the length of him before sucking him back down.

He is all perfect, desperate noises, soft grunts and moans, gently palming your head as he gets closer, and you’re pretty sure he’s about to get off when there’s a knock at the door. He mutters a curse, and you squeeze his stomach, determined to make him come in the next five seconds. He looks like he’s going to lose his mind.

“Just a minute,” he manages, his voice strained, and he puts his hands on your arms, but you stroke and suck him quickly, actually sigh in relief when he spills in your mouth; your only regret is that he couldn’t be louder.

As soon as he’s through coming, you duck under the desk to wipe your mouth, and he hurries to fix his fly, to close his belt. There’s another knock, and he exhales, calls for whoever is on the other side to come in.

He accidentally bangs his knee off the desk, winces, and you lean back against it, panting, your heart racing.

“Aaron!”

Your eyes snap closed. What are the actual chances of this? You don’t know enough about karma to have an opinion on it, but you come to the sudden realization that you must have done something wrong in a past life.

“Hey, what are you doing in our neck of the woods?” Aaron asks, managing to sound like he is in fact not talking to the father of the woman who just swallowed his come.

“Looking for my little girl, of course. Had to see what she was getting up to on her first day at the FBI.”

“She’s actually… downstairs. In the mailroom. Interns start at the bottom and work their way up.” You stifle a laugh, because despite your compromising position, that’s kind of funny.

“Oh, okay. Agent Morgan thought she was up here, but I guess she must have snuck by him. Would you tell her I stopped by?”

“Absolutely. She’ll be happy to hear it,” he says, and you think you might be out of the woods, but you hear your dad’s voice again.

“Hey I almost forgot to mention: Monday Night Football tonight, got a bunch of guys coming over to watch the game. You interested?”

“You know, that would be great. You can text me the details. Thanks for the invitation.”

“Sure, of course. I really appreciate you taking care of my girl.” You have to bite your lip this time, and Aaron taps his foot against your hip.

“It’s my pleasure. She’s really wonderful. You should be proud.”

“I am. I’ll text you the details,” he says, and then the door closes and Aaron pulls back, looks down at you beneath the desk. You kind of just stare at each other for a minute.

“Close call?” you say with a shrug, and he helps you to your feet, then lifts you up and sets your ass on the edge of his desk. He grabs your face for a messy kiss, and you cling to him, breathless when he pulls back.

“What does it say about me that I’m turned on again?” he asks, and you shake your head, pull him close for another kiss.

“I don’t know, but I’m really turned on, too. Can you—” That’s as far as you get before he strides over to the door, flips the lock, and comes back to push your skirt up, tug your panties down to your knees so quickly it makes you gasp. He gets on his knees slowly, looks up at your face, and puts his hands on your hips, takes a few deep, thorough licks of your pussy. “Oh, my god.” You put your hand on the back of his head, drop your ass harder against the desk and press your other palm against it for support.

He is as enthusiastic as you were for him, slipping his tongue between your lips, gliding rhythmically over your opening but not pressing in, the tease. It feels insanely good, so much but not quite enough.

“Aaron. Oh, mmm—please. Please.” You sigh, dig your fingers into his hair, and he puts his hands under your ass and tilts you back on the desk, dives lower to start thrusting inside you with his tongue. “Yes, yeah, right there,” you murmur, and you rock your hips a little; your hand slips, sending you further back on the desk so that you’re almost laying back on it, and it makes you feel so deliciously dirty that you groan, grab at the collar of his jacket at the back of his neck.

“You okay?” he asks, pulling back to look up at you, and you nod, frantic; he licks his lips, lifts your legs and puts them over his shoulders, then dips down to stroke his tongue inside you, to press a finger inside alongside it.

“Holy—oh, yes.” You toss your head back, whine, and come around his finger while his tongue flicks in and out until you’re left breathless, spent.

You press yourself up to sitting, and Aaron stands, kisses you deeply, hands on your face while you’re still slick on his tongue. After a couple of minutes, he helps you get cleaned and straightened up, his kisses soft presses of lips this time.

“I should try to get some work done,” he says, but he doesn’t sound like he wants to; after that, you can’t really blame him.

��That’s okay; I brought my laptop, so I can work on some stuff too, if you don’t mind.” He doesn’t of course, and you get set up at the other end of his desk. You’re both plugging away at your work when you’re reminded of something from earlier; you close the lid of your computer and look over at Aaron, head tilted. “I didn’t take you for someone who likes football.” He smiles, taps his pen against his chin.

“I don’t. But I figured you’ll be there.” You smile back.

“Yeah, I’ll be there. Maybe I’ll see if my old cheerleading uniform still fits—you know, just to go with the theme.” You open your computer back up, but the look on Aaron’s face out of the corner of your eye is very, very promising. “Mmh, that feels good,” you murmur, one hand on Aaron’s shoulder and the other on his thigh; he is propped up against your pillows, massaging your bare breast and your clit while you roll your hips in his lap. Your cheerleading skirt fits, mostly, but you couldn’t zip it all the way; still, it’s the only thing you’re wearing, and you can’t deny the whole situation is so hot it hurts.

“You feel so incredible. Taking me so well.” He can’t kiss you in this position, and you can tell he wants to—you really want him to—so you feel a little like a tease as you work your ass and thighs atop him. “You know you’re beautiful, but I can’t stop saying it. You’re perfect, baby—in this little skirt?” He moves the hand from your breast to your hip under the skirt, squeezes you there. “So sexy. Do you remember any cheers for me?”

You groan, roll your eyes.

“Not worth the orgasm to embarrass myself,” you say, and he lifts his hips, slams up into you hard. “Mmh. Okay, almost worth the orgasm, but not going to do it.” He lifts an eyebrow, pumps his hips up again.

“Really? Not even if I…” He lunges forward, lifting you out of his lap and making you laugh, then maneuvers you onto your stomach, gets on his knees behind you, flips up the skirt.

“God, Aaron,” you sigh, and he presses his thighs right up against your ass, slides inside, pumps slow and steady while squeezing your cheeks, pulling you back toward him. Your fingers dig into the stupid, frilly bedspread, which will probably turn you on for the rest of your life, now, and you move back against his thrusts, moan.

“Worth it now?” he asks, filling you so completely, and you pant, hum.

“Wouldn’t you rather I just moan your name?” He leans forward at that, hands planted up under your arms, and leans in to speak into your ear; the way he’s pressed against you, the angle is perfect, and you’re right on the edge when his lips brush your throat.

“Yeah, why don’t you do that instead.” It takes about two seconds for you to come, and you aren’t shy about it, let his name fall from your lips in an endless string of praise. He hammers against your ass, the roughest he’s been—and god, does it feel good—then comes inside you murmuring your name.

He pulls out, rolls you over, and you finally kiss, make it count; it’s like the first night, how you can’t get enough of each other, messy, desperate, curling tongues and soft, eager lips, but you know you can’t keep it up forever, because his presence downstairs will be missed much sooner than Friday’s party.

You help him get dressed—in jeans and a blue polo, maybe the only time in your life a polo has made you wet—and then throw on a t-shirt and jeans of your own, head downstairs. You detour for the kitchen to grab a couple beers while he heads into the living room, and then you plop down next to him on the couch and hand him one like you weren’t just defiling your childhood bedroom yet again.

“There you are,” your dad says when he registers your presence—it’s impossible to get him to look away from the tv when a good game is on. “So how was your first day at the office? Think you’re going to like it there?”

“Yeah, I don’t know why I was resistant for so long.” You shift, put your leg under your butt, and take a sip of your beer. “It’s not going to be a career for me, but I have a really good feeling about the next two weeks.”

Taglist ❤️: @thaddeusly @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc @wishuhadstayed @averyhotchner @hotforhotchner11 @itsmytimetoodream

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #hotch x female reader #hotch x reader #ask answered #anon #prompt

[doctenwho]

Theta Sigma Who?

Hello! Apologies for this taking so long, and the requests coming out so slow, my attention span is that of a goldfish, and unfortunately I’m writing for a few other fandoms all at once (I’m equally as bad at keeping up with them all). Anyways, thanks for the prompt! 

It was a lot of fun to write! Hopefully this is as melt worthy as you hoped it would be! Please, enjoy :)

Warning: None.

Word Count: 3,544

Summary: Check out the prompt above :3

(Gif doesn’t belong to me, so credit to the creator of that!)

You knew the Doctor had a real name—a given name, from his parents when he was a child. He’d chosen to go by the Doctor after Gallifrey was destroyed, you knew, but there was most certainly a first name hidden away somewhere behind the walls he constructed to protect himself.  

To be honest, you hadn’t really thought of it before.  

The thought that the man who was a Saviour of sorts to so many beings and planets had a name beyond the Doctor. You’d only known him as the Doctor, as did everyone else he met in his path.

He spoke little of Gallifrey. Of his life, and what it was like there before the war. You knew very little of Time-Lords in general, and what you did know was more from observing one than actually learning from the Doctor. He was secretive about his home, and his people. A sad, nostalgic tilt to his head whenever his past was mentioned.  

You couldn’t help but be curious.  

That first spark of curiosity stemmed from helping the Doctor search for something in one of the backrooms in the TARDIS. The room was dark, a flickering light above your heads that didn’t quite provide the light you needed—but it would do.  

The Doctor had his head buried in a box, haphazardly tossing things behind him as he searched. You still weren’t entirely sure what it was the two of you were looking for—something not of earth, that was for sure, so you were more or less just observing.  

You looked cautiously through boxes, searching for the vague description of the item the two of you were on the hunt for.  

Coming up blank in your current box, you stood, stretched your back and carried onto the next; but before you could drop to a kneel beside a new, unopened tote box, something else caught your attention.  

A bassinet.  

It was old and worn. At one-point, bold colourings of blue and yellow, or perhaps even grey and yellow, but the colour had long since faded away, the paint flaking off in spots. It was tucked away, nestled behind other boxes.  

You chanced a glance back at the Doctor, who was still head deep in a box on the other side of the room, before stepping towards the cot. You crouched beside it, drawing your fingers over the odd markings on the side of the cot before carefully pushing the stack of boxes blocking it in to the side.  

With the whole thing in view now, you couldn’t help but smile at the little cot. It was like nothing you’d seen on earth, or any other planet you’d seen thus far.  

You settled your hand on the edge of it, and it rocked faintly under the light pressure. The mobile on hanging down was probably your favorite part; stars and spheres that looked to be made out of metal that you assumed resembled planets or something along the lines.  

You weren’t really sure why the Doctor had such a thing. There was a lot you didn’t know about him.  

You let your fingers trail over the markings again, trying to see anything other than circles.  

“Aha,” the Doctor’s voice dragged you from your thoughts, “I’ve found it.”

You turned slightly to look, still crouched beside the cot.  

The Doctor hadn’t looked up yet, instead polishing the item in his hands with the edge of his coat as he spoke, “pesky little thing, always in the last place you look--” the man’s attention finally raised to you, where his words faded off as he caught sight of the bassinet to your side.  

You tilted your head, watching him closely before looking back at the bassinet, and then back at the Doctor once again. He was frozen in place, eyebrows furrowed as if see something he never thought he’d see again.  

You cleared your throat gently, “I found this while I was looking,” you explain, “sorry.”

“No,” the Doctor frowned, taking a few steps towards you, before settling to stand at your side, observing the cot over his nose, “no need to be sorry, (Y/N).”

He’s quiet for a moment, just studying the cot. His eyes travel the length of it, lingering on the mobile before his eyes fall to your hand still flattened over the symbols on the side. He smiles the faintest bit.

“It’s beautiful,” you manage to breath out, curious about it now that you know the Doctor’s not upset, and isn’t angry you were kinda snooping around. “Whose was it?”

“Mine,” the Doctor lets out a light laugh, hand falling onto the hood of the bassinet, thumb stroking a line, “it was one of the few things I managed to save before... Couldn’t let it go, I suppose.”

His voice is uncharacteristically soft as he speaks. You don’t see the Doctor overcome with nostalgia often, but it’s always a sight to see. He doesn’t look quite as sad as he studies the cot, but there’s the lingering glaze to his eyes.  

You watch the Doctor for just a moment before letting your eyes settle back on the cot. You trail your fingers over the symbols softly before looking up at the Doctor, only to see him looking down at you fondly, “what does this mean?”

“It’s my name,” he explains softly, crouching beside you now after tucking whatever it was the two of you were searching for into his pocket. “My first one, I mean. Not... not the Doctor, that’s my chosen name.” His own fingers flutter over the circles, the smile on his face a little sadder now.  

His fingers brush over yours, overlapping on the engravings before he’s laughing lightly. He withdraws his hand from the cot, fingers curling around your own briefly before he’s pulling back from you as well. “I haven’t seen this in ages; forgot it was here to be honest.”

He stands back to his height casually, brushing off the wrinkles in his clothing from kneeling before he grins, the softness from moments ago masked behind his usual charming smile. “Anyways, enough about this old thing, we’ve got work to do—universes to save and all that.”

His hand is held out for you to grab, and you hesitate for just a second before slipping your hand into his and being whisked away on another adventure.

----

For days you find yourself distracted by the cot hidden away in one of the back rooms of the TARDIS. Possibly one of the last remaining things from the planet Gallifrey—from the Doctor’s world.  

And his name--

His real, parent given name engraved on the side in Gallifreyan.  

It looked beautiful engraved delicately across the side of the bassinet. You couldn’t read it—but you could appreciate the beauty. You wish you could read it. 

You spend some time in the library in the TARDIS. It's big—the Doctor has been travelling for years and years, hundreds of years. He’s collected from here, and there, books from all over.  

You can’t read a lot of them; most are in other languages, a few even in the circle-y kinda writing you now know is Gallifreyan. You’re still curious though. You want to know. The cot only raised more questions, that desire to learn only burning brighter now that there’s something to figure out.  

The cot proof enough that he did have a given name somewhere that her buried away after losing his home. After losing everyone who would know that name.  

You could tell he still thought fondly of it, just by how he’d looked at the cot, had trailed his fingers over the engraving with the fondest, featherlike touch.  

You weren’t sure how you’d stumbled upon the book. Where the book had come from. It wasn’t easy to understand in the slightest and you spent many hours staring down at it. It was almost a... well, a decryption code of sorts.  

The thing was, it decrypted through other languages. Languages you did not know. Languages you hadn’t even known existed.  

It took a while to locate all the books you’d need. You didn’t know the Doctor would have all these books; that he’d taken the time to learn the languages even when the TARDIS would just translate everything for him easily. The thought made you smile, he cared so much.  

There were six additional books you’d need to decipher the Gallifreyan text. None of which you understood in the slightest. You had your work cut out for you.  

You spend days hunched over books. Learning language after language, scribbling down alphabets that looked almost like yours, but were so vastly different. You suddenly had an appreciation for the ones who’d dedicated so much time to decrypting the Egyptian hieroglyphics.  

It was the most intense code breaker game you’d ever played.  

Finally, after weeks of trying, you had a key of Gallifreyan alphabet to your own English alphabet.  

You were giddy about it. Weeks worth of work, and you could finally decipher the Gallifreyan written on the side of the cot. You’d finally know the Doctor’s true name.  

But you hesitated.  

You stood before the room that housed the baby cot for days. Wanting to push the door open and finally get the answer you were seeking, but you couldn’t find it in you to do so. It felt like you were intruding. Like this was something you weren’t supposed to know.  

“Is your name a secret?” you’d asked slowly as you watched the Doctor fly the TARDIS. It was late—you'd spent the past twenty minutes glaring at the door to the storage room. After that, you hadn’t been able to sleep, so you found yourself seeking the Doctor out.  

The Doctor turned to you, raising a confused eyebrow.

“Your real name,” you added to ease the confusion. “The one on your cot, is it a secret?”

He’d thoughtful for a second, turning to lean against the console. He looks up in thought, arms crossing across his chest, “no,” he decides softly, “’suppose not.”

It’s your turn to be quiet.  

“Why don’t you tell people it?”

He lets out a sigh, but it’s not annoyed, instead, it’s almost sad, “I dunno, (Y/N). It was a long time ago. It’s been ages since I went by it. My name died along with my planet... with my people, and my native tongue.” He’s quiet again, voice soft when he adds, “but it’s alright, I like going by the Doctor, it suits me, don’t’ya think?”

You nod distractedly, playing with your fingers. “Do you miss it?”

He looks surprised. Shocked by the question.  

It wasn’t that the Doctor decided against his name—it was almost that it was stolen from him. Taken away like his home, his family and his planet. “Sometimes,” he gave a subtle nod, arms dropping to his sides as he stares across from him at the wall, “perhaps not the name in general, but... well, people knowing it? That went away with Gallifrey. It’s a hard language to learn and comprehend when you’re not a native. It too died with the war. The Doctor’s just easier anyways.”

You give another nod, this one not quite as distracted.  

The Doctor studies you briefly before he clears his throat, “what’s all this talk of my name anyways?”

His voice is light again, and just like that, the switch has flipped from the soft Doctor, to the Doctor with his walls in place and a grin on his face.

“No reason,” you send him a smile, “curious is all.”

He furrows his eyebrows at you, like he doesn’t quite believe you, but shrugs it off nonetheless. He turns back to the console with one last lingering look over his shoulder.

“I’m going to bed,” you tell him with a yawn.

“Sure,” he smiles fondly, his reply mirroring the fond smile, “goodnight then. Sleep well, (Y/N).”

“Night,” you reply with your own smile, leaving the console room feeling like a weight was lifted off your chest.

It’s the following morning, very early, that you make your way to the storage room, the papers of converted alphabets in your arms. Like every other time, you hesitate outside the door before finally pushing the door open, the Doctor’s words from last night giving you that final push.  

You spend a while sitting cross legged on the floor beside the cot. It hadn’t been moved from the last time you were there, which meant the Doctor hadn’t tried to hide it away again, or push it back to where he had been buried behind boxes. You smiled at the cot; it was just as adorable as before.  

Your fingertips ghost over the Gallifreyan symbols you process through multiple different conversion lists. It takes ages, but there’s also something so gratifying about getting this far. About being able to do what you are—taking something in Gallifreyan and converting it to something you understand in your language.  

Finally, after a couple hours of slowly deciphering the Gallifreyan symbols, as well as translating each and every one through the lists of conversions, you’re left with English letters.  

English words.  

A name.

You have the Doctor’s name—maybe not in Gallifreyan, but in English. And that’s as good as you’ll be able to get, because being able to directly read or, speak Gallifreyan is virtually impossible.

You stared down at the name you’d written out, the corner of your lips curling up into the slightest of smiles. It suited him.

----

You sat on the fact you knew the Doctor’s Gallifreyan name for a few more days. 

You weren’t sure how to bring it up. How to tell him that you knew it. There was still that lingering thought that he might be upset that you knew it. That you’d gone behind his back and learned it.  

You repeated his words back to yourself, that his name wasn’t a secret, just forgotten. You didn’t think he’d be angry or upset that you’d figured it out, but you were still a bit nervous.  

You were in the console room with the Doctor again when you finally worked up the courage to come clean.

The two of you were sitting in the doorway, just orbiting space. He’d been sitting there when you’d come to find him, so you’d just settled beside him. The Doctor had done nothing more than lull his head in your direction before shooting you a light smile and settling his hand on top of yours softly.  

You stared out at the stars, watching them flicker with faraway flames.  

“Lovely, isn’t it?” the Doctor’s voice breaks you from your thoughts. He’s not looking at you, instead out at the stars as well. You nod, scooching closer to let your head fall against his arm. “I’ve been a bit nostalgic lately,” he informs softly, “this is about as close to Gallifrey as we can get. Neighboring galaxy, since Gallifrey and its galaxy was wiped out of existence.”

You’re silent at his side, but the Doctor doesn’t seem to mind, “seeing that cot again, it made me miss home, I suppose.”

You’re a bit surprised that the Doctor led you into this—gave you an opening.  

It seemed perfect too—as close to Gallifrey as you could get to call him by his Gallifreyan name.  

“It’s beautiful,” you hum out softly, biting your lip before continuing, “Theta Sigma.”

The silence is surprising loud. Ringing uncomfortable to your years because this is territory you’d never dreamed of trekking before. It wasn’t often you managed to catch the Doctor off guard, but you certainly had this time.  

Beside you, the Doctor whips to look at you, but for a moment, you refuse to meet his gaze. You can see the shock bleeding into his features in your peripherals. His eyes are wide, mouth agape as he stares at you.  

“Where... where did you hear that?” the Doctor finally asks after a few minutes of dragging silence. You’d not said anything to allow him to process it—it had probably been hundreds of years since anyone had called him by his given name.  

“I-I didn’t hear it anywhere,” you tell him after two nervous, involuntary swallows to wet your throat, “I, uh, I learned it.”

“You learned it?” he repeated, like he couldn’t understand it. “Where?”

“From your cot,” you explain softly. “It’s your name—your real name, isn’t it?”

“How?” the word comes out almost frantic, his eyes still wide with surprise, but he doesn’t sound angry or upset like you’d feared. It’s genuine shock. “The text on my cot is in Gallifreyan, and unless you’re actually a Time-Lord and you haven’t told me, there’s no way you could read it.”

“I didn’t read it, well, uh, not really, I guess?” you blink, hiding a small frown behind your shoulder as you looked towards the Doctor, “I translated it.”

“You whot?” he furrows his brows in confusion, “how on earth did you do that?”

You shuffle anxiously where you’re sitting before you shift in order to pull the translation keys you’d made from your back pocket. You had a suspicion he might’ve needed some proof of what you’d done.  

You slap the papers against your palm nervously before finally passing them over.  

The Doctor takes them with an unsure look before he unfolds them and skims through your work. It’s all there. Every translation you’d done to come up with your final results of Theta Sigma. Each alphabet you’d deciphered from another. Each letter translated over and over through multiple alphabets.  

His eyes were still stuck on the papers, so you cleared your throat a third time and spoke to fill the silence, “I found a book in Gallifreyan in the library, and it had, well, another language in it. So, I uh, I found the language that was in that book and so on, until I stumbled upon a book with English too.”

“You converted my name through each of these languages?” his surprise shines brightly, as well as an emotion you can’t quite place.  

You nod hesitantly, “from there I just... well, I kept translating. I built alphabet keys to understand the words and after a while I had the Gallifreyan key. I... I don’t understand it, if that’s what you’re concerned about. It took hours even with the keys to decrypt your name, but I was curious...”

You suck in a breath, shifting away from the Doctor slightly, “-I’m sorry...”

When you look at him again, here’s a tiny smile on his lips. He stared down at the papers in his hand, flicking through them as he reads. Finally looking into your work. He’s reading through it now, understanding, “you did all this?”

“Yeah,” you nod softly, “I just thought... well, no one knows your name, but you said it’s not a secret. People just don’t... know it? So... I thought maybe you’d like someone to know it. To hear it again... I can forget I know it if... if that’s what you want,” you offer carefully.  

You know you won’t be able to forget it, it’s an important part of the Doctor after all—who he was before he was the Doctor. But you don’t have to mention it again if the Doctor doesn’t want you too.  

“How long did all this take?” his voice is misty like he can’t believe what he’d reading. His eyes snap towards you, and away from the papers as he waits for an answer.

You furrow your own eyebrows as you glance towards him again with a one shouldered shrug, “a few weeks, give or take. After I found the English book it was a lot easier. Playing matching with alien languages is super hard.”

The Doctor lets out a surprised laugh, still cradling the papers in his hands. “I’d bet,” he agrees with a lopsided smile. Then he’s quiet again, staring thoughtfully at the papers, “I just... I can’t believe you learned it. No one’s ever... taken the time, I suppose. Many know Doctor isn’t my given name, but... no one was interested in finding out my real name. My name’s just always been lost with Gallifrey.”

“No one?” you questioned softly, a frown tugging at your lips.

“Well,” he huffed, glancing towards you with a crooked smile, “they’d ask, occasionally, but I never gave it. No point really, not when The Doctor works just as well and is easier to use. Besides, it’s been, well, centennials since I went by Theta Sigma. So, yeah, no one.” His grin widens, “well, no one except you.”

When you catch the Doctor’s eyes, they’re wide with fondness, shining brightly as he studies you.

“I was just curious,” you tell him with another light shrug, “I think Theta Sigma suits you, Doctor.”

“Does it?” He replies, tone teasing. “You now, my dear, you’re completely one of a kind.”

You let out a laugh, slipping back towards the Doctor. You let yourself settle against his side again, cheek pressing against his arm. His hand settled on your knee, and you dropped your hand on top of his, patting the top of his hand.  

“Guess we’re both one of a kind, aren’t we, Theta Sigma?”

<><><><>

Hello again! I hope you liked this, and it was what you were looking for :D But, if not, feel free to prompt me again! 

Thank you for taking the time to read this, and thank you once again for the prompt! I’m glad people like what I write enough to send me their requests!

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