#hope y'all like this part ^^

[plugnuts]

CYBER AU PART TWO: INDUCTION

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Panels under the cut:

[rogerdeakinsdp]

CINEMA'S BEST SWEATERS — Part 2 (Part 1)

Girl, Interrupted (1999) · Flashdance (1983) · Scooby-Doo (2002) · A Quiet Place: Day One (2024) · Black Christmas (1974) · A Single Man (2009) · About Time (2013) · Don't Look Up (2021) · Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again (2018) · The Passenger (2023) · Argylle (2024) · Passages (2023) · Sinister (2012) · Fargo (1996) · Halloween (1978) · The Light Between Oceans (2016) · Dunkirk (2017) · Men (2022) · Love & Other Drugs (2010) · Kimi (2022) · The Banshees of Inisherin (2022) · The Shining (1980) · Paris, Texas (1984) · Empire Records (1995) · Fatal Attraction (1987) · The Idea of You (2024) · Safe (1995) · The Way We Were (1973) · I Know What You Did Last Summer (1997) · The Other Woman (2014)

[honeypiehotchner]

Couldn't Make It Any Harder (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- one shot

Anxious girlies rise!!! I'm just fantasizing about someone staying and not being an asshole and in my mind Hotch would stay and wouldn't be an asshole, so this was born (also yes I listened to Sabrina Carpenter's song by the same title while I wrote this!)

Warnings: hurt/comfort, angst all over the place, very anxious reader, Hotch being the kindest and most understanding man alive, est. relationship, fluff!, maybe autistic!reader if you squint

WC: 3.2k

Dating Aaron Hotchner is never short of any surprises. 

With how hectic his work schedule can be, plans are often impromptu and random text messages before phone calls asking if you’re free for anything: dinner, a drink, a movie, a walk.

Dating him is also never short of innocent questions. 

These, you didn’t expect, but maybe you should’ve — or would’ve, if you truly understood what his job is. He explained it to you, but it’s hard for you to wrap your head around the fact that he’s part of a team of people so good at reading the behavior of other people that they can catch criminals based on it alone. 

His job almost seemed fake, too good to be true — and so did he. 

Especially when, after a month of dating, neither of you had stayed the night with one another, and he wasn’t pressing the subject when he’d suggest it and you’d politely tell him no.

You almost thought it meant he didn’t like you at all and was only being nice by going on dates with you, even though he didn’t seem like that kind of guy at all. Still, you can never be too careful. 

And when he made reservations for your six-month anniversary at a fancy restaurant downtown, and told you when he’d pick you up, and even showed up a few minutes early but told you to take your time, you thought you were going insane. There was no way it was true, that he was true. 

But he was. And is. 

Except, your relationships have a shelf life. Or rather, you have a shelf life. 

None of your previous relationships have made it this far, none of them too thrilled about the fact that you’re not well-experienced sexually, or the fact that you want to actually wait until you feel secure in a relationship before taking that step. Of course, none of them said that was the reason they were ending things, but you knew. You could tell. 

After having it happen to you multiple times, you can’t let yourself relax. Any time that you feel like you’re maybe going to get comfortable, some anxious thought rears its ugly head and sets you right back where you were.

You try your hardest to enjoy the relationship with Aaron, and you do. Knowing his work schedule varies allows you to keep your distance, making it easier to keep telling yourself that you’re keeping your guard up. You’re keeping yourself protected for when the inevitable other shoe drops to the ground like a bomb.

So, it’s no surprise that as your relationship approaches the eight-month mark, and Aaron asks if you’d like to come over to his place for dinner on a random weeknight after a couple weeks of not seeing each other, you think the worst. 

“How do I look?” you ask your best friend over FaceTime as you spin in a circle. “Hot enough to be broken up with?”

“You are not getting broken up with!” she cries over the phone. “And yes, hot, as always.”

“Thanks,” you sigh, strategically not commenting on her theory that you’ll still have a boyfriend by the end of tonight. 

“He’s not going to break up with you,” she says again, softer this time. “He’s different.”

“I always think they’re different, that’s the problem,” you mutter. “He just took a lot longer than I thought he would.” You don’t need to spell it out for your best friend to know that this one will hurt the worst out of them all.

Because this time, you love him.

“You don’t know that he’s going to break up with you.”

“You know that gut feeling I always had before the others?” you say, looking at her solemnly. “I have it right now.”

She frowns. You almost think she’s going to argue with you, but she doesn’t. Because she knows. You had the same gut feeling the last five times. Why would it be wrong on the sixth? 

“I’m sorry,” she finally says. 

“It’s okay,” you shrug, picking up your purse and lifting your phone. You glance at the clock. “I guess I should go.”

He offered to pick you up, but you said you’d drive yourself. You figure you’d rather do your future self a favor and save yourself from the awkward post-breakup drive home. 

“Call me after,” she says with another sad smile. “We can cry if you need to.”

“Thank you.”

“And hey, if he does break up with you, I can come up this weekend and key his car for you.”

“Babe. He works for the FBI.”

“So?”

You laugh as you roll your eyes. “Goodbye. I’ll call you later.”

You drive to Aaron’s in complete silence. You don’t even intend to, you’re just on autopilot.

You’re trying not to shut down emotionally, but you can already feel it happening. It’s inevitable when you feel like you’re about to be hurt. The shield goes up, the walls raise, and nothing gets past them.

With any luck, you won’t even cry when he breaks up with you. You don’t always, which gets you labeled as a cold hearted bitch, but that doesn’t bother you. 

You put your brave face on when you pull into his driveway, only it quickly morphs into shock when Aaron comes out the front door in dark jeans and a black button down. He opens your car door for you with an easy, genuine smile, looking as handsome and happy to see you as ever. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” you chuckle nervously, stepping out and letting him shut your car door.

“I wanted to,” he shrugs, leaning in for a kiss. 

You accept it, trying not to seem so stiff, but the slight furrow of his eyebrows tells you that he felt it. He doesn’t say anything about it though. 

“Come on,” he murmurs, one hand on the small of your back as he walks you inside. “I’ve never made this for dinner before, so we might end up with pizza.”

“All good,” you laugh, setting your purse in its usual spot on the table by the door. 

The conversation is fine, if a little awkward, as you sit in his kitchen so he can keep an eye on dinner in the oven. He offers wine and you decline, just taking some water. He keeps furrowing his eyebrows just a little, his tell for when he’s reading your behavior but doesn’t quite know what to make of it yet.

You sip your water and avoid eye contact while he shuffles around the kitchen, finishing up dinner. 

He washes his hands, leaning back against the sink as he dries his hands with a towel. He watches you with a soft expression.

“Is everything okay?” he finally asks.

You hate when they do this. Because if you say you’ve had a rough day, they won’t break up with you because they don’t want to “make it worse”. But if you say you’ve had a good day, they will go through with the breakup, because they’d rather ruin your good mood instead of make the bad mood worse. 

“Yep,” you say with a tiny smile. “Just watching you.”

He returns the smile, but it’s not at all easy like before. 

Fuck. Should you just rip the band-aid off and ask? 

You nearly do, but then he says dinner should be ready, and you can’t. You almost expect to be eating right here at the stools on his counter, or for him to break the news and you leave without eating, but he waves you through to the dining room. 

You follow after him, a little confused, stopping dead in your tracks in the doorway when you see the sight before you. 

A white table cloth over his little square table, candles in the middle, a small bouquet of your favorite flowers set aside to make room for the dish he made, plates and cutlery and a wine glass already laid out on either side. 

“What is this?” you ask, your heart hammering in your chest and threatening to escape up your throat. 

“Our favorite restaurant was fully booked,” he explains with an awkward laugh. “So I tried to recreate one we always order, and thought I’d try to recreate the table too. It’s a little…wonky, but it’s close enough I think.”

You blink. “Why?”

The deep concern returns to his face. “Because I want to.”

“But why?” you ask again, staring at him with wide eyes, like you’re trying to catch him in something.

He comes closer, the worry on his face only growing. “We haven’t been able to have dinner together in a couple weeks because the cases have been packed, so I wanted it to be special.”

“Okay,” you swallow, nodding slowly. He just wanted it to be special. Right. “Okay.”

“Come sit,” he says softly, hands reaching out for you as if he needs to steady you. You kind of need him to. 

After he safely has you tucked into your seat, and he’s brought your water over for you to drink, he sits in the chair beside you. 

“Dinner’s gonna get cold,” you murmur, not wanting to be the subject of his profiling right now. You stare down at the empty plate. 

“I can warm it back up,” he says, taking one of your hands. “Can I ask you a question?”

Skeptical, you nod.

“Why do you always seem so shocked when I do something nice for you?”

Your eyes close as you grimace. Great. Now he thinks you’re ungrateful on top of it all. 

“I don’t mean it in a rude way,” he clarifies, his thumb rubbing back and forth on your hand, soothing you. “I just mean…when you ask why I do these things, like dinner and bring you flowers and open your car door, and I say I’m doing it because I want to… You almost look like you don’t believe me, and today you really look like you don’t believe me.”

“I do believe you,” you rush to say, but now he looks like he doesn’t believe you. “Or maybe I don’t,” you add quietly, looking back down at where your fingers are tangled. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize, honey,” he says, and he sounds so desperate that it makes your heart ache. “I just want to understand you better.”

Your face crumples at that, the emotion too much to keep at bay when he’s being this kind to you and you were thinking he was going to break up with you — and he still could.

“Sorry,” you sniffle, your free hand coming up to cover your mouth as you shake your head. “It’s stupid.”

“It’s not, it’s not stupid,” he says, using both hands to hold yours. “Is it something I did? Or said?”

“No, it’s just—” you cut yourself off, letting out a shaky breath. “I thought you were breaking up with me tonight.”

He stills. And it makes your heart freeze. You caught him. Here it is. You brace for impact. 

“Honey, I— That’s not at all what I was planning on doing tonight. What made you think that I was going to break up with you?”

“You invited me to dinner at your place,” you cry, and when you say it out loud like that, it really doesn’t make any sense. 

“Why would I do that if I was going to break up with you?” 

“You wouldn’t believe the ways I’ve been broken up with,” you let out a laugh, trying to make light of this now very emotional and awkward situation. “I’m sorry, I’m ruining what was supposed to be a very normal, romantic dinner—”

“Listen to me, you are not ruining anything,” he says firmly, still looking up at you with those kind brown eyes. “I just want to understand what’s going on in that brain of yours.”

“Trust me, you don’t want to know.”

“Trust me, I do.”

You stare at him for a moment, wondering when the twist is coming. The moment he says it was all a ruse and he is ending things. The moment you can call his bluff. 

But it never comes. His gaze doesn’t waver, and neither does the care in his eyes. 

“Okay,” you murmur. “But can we talk over dinner or after? It smells really good.”

He laughs at that, the sound warming you from the inside out. His smile is infectious as he nods and says, “Of course we can. We should probably taste this and see if we need to put in a pizza order.”

He moves his plate so he stays sitting right beside you, where he can keep his hand tucked in yours. It feels safe. 

One bite in and you’re amazed at how well he recreated the dish and how good it tastes. You’re too busy devouring the food to even think about explaining your thought process behind tonight anymore.

Except, Aaron does return to the subject, not wanting to let it go just yet, because clearly you have him spooked after saying you thought you were going to be broken up with. 

So, you explain. There was the guy who broke up with you on your birthday. And one who did it a day before Valentine’s Day. And another who decided that mid-six-month-anniversary date was prime time to end things. And then a couple others with bad timing but not the worst. But all had one thing in common. 

“I know we haven’t had sex yet and I guess I’ve just grown to realize I have a shelf life.”

Aaron looks alarmed. “Shelf life?”

“Yeah, like, I tell people I want to wait before I take the step to do anything sexually, and I only have so much time before me being desirable…expires, I guess.”

He blinks. You watch what looks like a thousand emotions cross his face at once and you’re unable to read any of them. “Did someone…say that to you?”

You shake your head. “Not really. Not exactly those words. But I kind of came to the conclusion after the third time it happened. I guess I just expect it now.”

Aaron is quiet for a moment, thumbs rubbing gentle circles on the back of your hand. You’re not sure at all of what he’s going to say. “The last time we had dinner before my work schedule got so crazy these last two weeks…did we move too fast?”

You try to think back to that night. It was dinner and then the two of you came back to Aaron’s for a drink. Nothing crazy because you needed to drive home still. But the two of you did get pretty hot and heavy on the couch.

Come to think of it, you didn’t drink much at all that night, because there was hardly a moment to spare when Aaron’s lips weren’t on yours, or on your neck, or your collarbones.

It didn’t escalate. He offered, you declined, said you wanted to just continue what you were doing, and that was that.

Then, you didn’t see Aaron for two weeks because of his work schedule, which meant phone calls were short and rare and text messages were as good as you could get. And so your mind put pieces together and created a scenario that wasn’t true.

“We didn’t,” you say, genuinely meaning it. “But I guess my brain freaked out because it thought you had finally had enough of hearing me turn you down and that I had finally…expired, I guess.”

He squeezes your hand. “Please don’t ever talk about yourself that way. You don’t have an expiration date. And I don’t care that we haven’t taken that step yet. I am willing to wait as long as you need to—”

“That’s what they always say,” you murmur through a watery smile. “But thanks.”

He frowns. “How can I make you believe me?” he whispers.

“I don’t know,” you reply truthfully, your face crumpling again. Your hand slips from his so you can cover your face, sniffling hard into your palms. “I’m sorry. I know I don’t make it easy.”

“Honey…don’t make what easy?”

“Dating me,” you sob, not knowing if he can even understand you through the tears. “I get it if you— If this is your limit, I get it. I'd understand.” You sniffle again, wiping your face and nose and trying to regain any sort of composure that you can find. 

Aaron looks up at you, and after a moment too long of silence, you almost think he’s actually going to do it, but he doesn’t. He does the opposite.

“I love you,” he says. 

You inhale sharply, wiping under your nose again. “You do?”

He doesn’t move to grab your hands after you’ve taken them away, but he reaches toward you, nodding. “I wanted to say it at our favorite restaurant, but that fell through, so I thought I’d make it special and tell you here instead, but…I had no idea you were feeling like this.”

“I didn’t wanna tell you in case I was right,” you murmur. “I didn’t want to scare you away by being too needy, I guess.”

He smiles gently. “Nothing is going to scare me away,” he assures you, taking your hand again. “Can I ask a favor, though?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you tell me the next time you’re feeling like this?” he asks softly. “I want to be able to help, but I can’t if I don’t know what’s going on. And I hate the thought of you silently suffering with this when I’m right here and I can give you the reassurance you need.”

You nod more now. “I can. I can do that.” You pause. “Hey Aaron?”

“Yes, honey?”

“I love you too,” you reply, feeling a wave of relief come over you after you let it out, knowing he feels the same. It makes fresh tears spring into your eyes all over again. “I’ve felt it for so long and I think it was scaring me because I can’t ever let myself relax into a relationship without worrying that something is going to go wrong—”

He hauls you into his arms without another moment’s hesitation, letting you cry into his shoulder. It’s all the months of worry building up and finally boiling over, and he lets you get it all out.

“I’m so sorry,” you say into his neck, taking in shaky breaths.

“Please don’t apologize, honey,” he replies, rubbing circles on your back. “Thank you for telling me.”

“Thank you for listening,” you say, barely able to get the words out through the emotion in your voice. You take a deep breath, relaxing further into his arms while simultaneously gripping his shirt as hard as you can. This has exhausted you.

“Do you want to move to the couch?” he asks. “We can put on that show we were watching together. I can pour us some wine if that might help you calm down?”

You nod into his neck, not quite wanting to leave this spot just yet. “I’d like that,” you sigh. “Can we stay like this for a minute?”

“Of course,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your temple. “We can stay as long as you need.”

[crabsnpersimmons]

"Time to make paper pals! Paper pals will be your friends forever and ever and ever!"

okay, they're technically not paper pals (alas i could not find paper plates small enough), but they're DCA paper dolls! you can find the image files in the Google Drive below and you can download em, print em out, cut and glue em together, and enjoy!

"All the necessary materials are here on the craft shelf!"

Please do not repost, alter and post, or sell these templates. I made them freely available so everyone can have fun making silly paper dolls!

each DCA has their own printout with all the parts of the dolls. there's also a page of optional silly upgrades, with different styles of faceplates. Each printout comes in a coloured version and a black & white version for friends who want to colour their own DCA paper pal, or for those of us (like me) who lack a colour printer 😂

if you need some help constructing them, i've written up step-by-step instructions with pictures included here (also included the drive linked above!):

i've also temporarily opened up my ask box for questions about the dolls. i will try to get to them as soon as i can!

happy crafting!

"Let's see some hustle-and-a-bustle!"

[fox-guardian]

[ID: Three sets of digital drawings of Alice Dyer from The Magnus Protocol in different outfits on a brown background. She is a thin white trans woman with freckles, shaggy brown hair with faded pink tips, crooked teeth, and pink painted nails, and she is always wearing pink cat-eye glasses, two pairs of silver earrings and silver snakebites, with a varying third ear piercing as well.

The first image features three pajama outfits.

The first is a baby pink cami, dusty pink shorts, and burgundy slippers, in which she also has her hair tied in a bun with a burgundy colored scrunchie. She is standing hunched and yawning.

The second is a dusty pink cami, gray PJ bottoms with pink stars and moons, a dark blue robe, and burgundy slippers. In that one, her hair is down and extra shaggy, and she is scratching her side, lifting her shirt a bit.

The third has her with nicely curled hair, wearing a baby pink satin robe, a black cami, and burgundy stockings, slippers, and matching makeup. She is standing coyly lifting her robe slightly with one leg lifted and a hand to her mouth.

The second image features three work outfits.

The first is of her in a pink and gray flannel shirt, dark blue hoodie, patchwork flannel maxi skirt, and dusty pink converse. She is also wearing a gold and red braided bracelet and a pink one. She is standing in profile, smiling with her hands behind her back.

The second outfit is a blue, pink, and brown flannel shirt over a grey undershirt, a pair of ripped blue jeans, a brown and pink flannel tied around her waist, brown socks, dusty pink converse, pink bracelet, and a dark blue hoodie draped over her shoulder. She is standing with one hand on her hip, the other holding her hoodie, and she is smiling as thought talking.

The third outfit is a burgundy blouse, long navy skirt, brown belt, and burgundy shoes. Her hair is also done in nice curls and she is wearing soft burgundy makeup. She is smiling awkwardly and shrugging.

The third image features casual outfits.

The first is a soft pink tank top with a navy bra peeking underneath, a frilly brown maxi skirt, pink slip-ons, and a grey and brown flannel purse. She is also wearing the three bracelets previously shown with, and pink donut earrings. She is smiling with her hands behind her.

The second outfit is a burgundy bra, baggy brown and grey flannel hanging off her shoulder, a pink and brown flannel tied around her waist, a navy knee-length skirt, white crew socks, and dusty pink converse. She is also wearing a grey bracelet, a pink beaded bracelet, tooth earrings, and navy eyeshadow and burgundy lipstick. She is standing leaning to the side with one hand on her knee, smiling and holding up a peace-sign with her other hand near her face.

The last outfit is a dusty pink crop-top with a boat on it, dark blue hoodie, a short burgundy-plaid skirt, shredded navy tights, gray knee-high socks with burgundy stripes at the top, and dusty pink converse. She also has her usual bracelets as well as shark earrings and smeared burgundy lipstick. She is jumping up, smiling and shouting, with one hand punching into the air.

end ID]

~~~~

ALICE OUTFITS <3 these were soooo fun to do omg. i have my own favorites out of these, please tell me yours!! i'm really happy with how they all turned out <3

[sketchupnfries]

A Hunting We Will Go Part05

The following morning isn't looking too great for everyone involved.

[picnokinesis]

LET YOU CUT ME OPEN JUST TO WATCH ME BLEED GAVE UP WHO I AM FOR WHO YOU WANTED ME TO BE

[hime-bee]

Not in the greatest mental headspace today, so I did some Leu sketches to keep myself occupied 💙

[monicaeidolith]

it's been 8 years and she's still down bad for her neighbor (who wouldn't)

and so there she is: Step 3 Athena! 🌙✨

Step 1 & Step 2 here

(Infos about Athena in every steps except 4 below if you're interested)

(watch out it's long.)

Step 1 -

At 10, Athena is a very curious girl, somewhat nosey and a bit clumsy (main reason why she often has bandages). She likes puzzles, creepy stuff and drawing (but nothing that serious about that hobby yet). While she isn't very shy, she's still uneasy around people she doesn't know and moving to a new town isn't helping. She has trouble accepting changes, and this whole situation is a way too big change.

Athena is very close to her mom during step 1. Unfortunately for her, she doesn't really look like her that much and she's kind of bothered by that, especially because the person she obviously looks like, her "dad", isn't there. Not having a dad isn't really a huge problem for her, but Athena fears a little bit people's opinion on that subject: "Is it weird that I don't have a dad...?".

She's feeling sad and scared about moving out, as she has to get used to a completely different world (in her eyes). "At least I have my mom", she thinks. But if moving in Golden Grove was scary at first, meeting Qiu and Tamarack was a huge help for Athena to feel included.

She thinks Qiu, aka "Autumn", is funny but also a huge show-off, haha. She LOVES to tease Qiu. But Athena's also genuinely worried about Qiu sometimes, because that kid is a huge people-pleaser.

When it comes to Tamarack, man... Athena totally puts this girl on a pedestal. She thinks Tamarack is amazing and pretty. And should Tamarack say anything positive about Athena, you can be certain the latter will go crazy internally. At 10, Athena doesn't realize she actually has a huge crush on Tamarack yet, though.

Step 2 -

At 14, Athena became a sort of troublemaker, she barely cares about rules. She's not mean but she grew to be more blunt and direct than she was as a 10-year-old, this and her current appearance make her seem unapproachable. However she kept her soft side, a side that she ironically doesn't even keep that much hidden but that you still have to deserve. If at 10 she would often have bandages because of her clumsiness, at 14, it's mostly because she's reckless. Some things that remained are her love for puzzles, creepy stuff and drawing, in fact, she started to get interested in visual arts.

In fact, the tough side of her personality grew when her first group friends with Qiu and Tamarack slowly fell apart. She couldn't do anything to prevent that from happening, so she felt like she had to toughen up. But to be honest, she's becoming tired of being the sole link between them, she's barely trying to now. Maybe Qiu and Tamarack won't become friends again. She has to accept it... but maybe Athena still has troubles accepting changes, no matter how old she is, after all.

Despite all that, Athena still treats both of them nicely. She still teases Qiu whenever she can (watch out Athena, the teasing could backfire on you). Her worries about them are still present too, but for different reasons than in step 1. Even 4 years later, Athena still retrieve Qiu's lost papers because they would NOT do it themselves. No matter what, Autumn remains her dear friend and the feeling is mutual.

Tamarack, aka "Tam", is her best friend! ... and the girl she has a crush on, Athena realized it now. Athena doesn't know if Tam feels the same way or not, though. Athena still thinks Tamarack is the most amazing and most talented person out there, she wishes Tam could see it too. She's highly worried about Tamarack potentially leaving Golden Grove at any moment but she tries to hide it from Tamarack. "Tam probably has enough of people walking on eggshells with her", she thinks. Athena dislikes Tamarack's parents for not only never being there for their daughter but also for making her situation so uncertain, only for their own interests (in her eyes).

Another feeling started to grow: jealousy. Athena will feel jealous of anyone who seems a bit too close to Tamarack. Does she think she's no match for Tamarack? Yes. Does that stop her from being jealous? No. She knows she has no right to be, Tamarack is a wonderful girl, it's impossible not to like her, but she can't help it.

Athena grew to be even more bothered by her lack of resemblance with her mother. Some times before turning 14, she started to dye her hair cranberry, just like her mom's hair color (let's say Opal didn't really like to see that her daughter started dyeing her hair at her young age, reaction Athena didn't appreciate, all she wanted was to look like her mom, what's the problem?). Ironically, while Athena wishes so hard to look like her mom, her relationship with her became somewhat strained. As if resembling a completely unknown guy wasn't enough. Living his best life nowhere to be found, uh? Resentment is the word here. Never towards her mom, even if their relationship is not that good at this point, but towards this guy who gave her his physical traits she never wanted and started to despise.

At least she became used to live in Golden Grove.

Step 3 -

At 18, Athena is not the rough troublemaker that she was at 14 anymore. Now she's more like a silly prankster, seemingly always up to something more stupid than before, although she remains reckless and blunt (but less on purpose and more out of habit). Of course, her interest in visual arts remained intact. Her liking for creepy stuff turned into a huge love for horror and its aesthetic.

Her relationship with her mom is getting better than it was 4 years ago. Athena grew out of the resentment she had for her "dad" during step 2 and learned to accept she may not look that much like her mom, but that it doesn't cancel the fact she's Opal's daughter no matter how she looks. Plus "some bits of [Opal] did end up in [her]" after all, right?

Athena's relationship with Autumn is what you could describe as "siblings by hearts", Athena does consider them as the sibling she never had.

Athena and Tamarack are still officially "besties for life", but little do they know that they both ended up falling in love with each other, plain and simple.

Her jealousy and resentment did tone down, but when she thinks back to her 14-year-old self, she feels bad, so bad. For being jealous of Tamarack's friends, for being resentful of a random donor and basically making many things about herself. "Man, I was such a prick. And for what?".

If when she was 14, Athena felt like she was no match for Tamarack because she put Tam on a pedestal, at 18, she now thinks she's simply not good enough as a person for Tamarack. She kind of "accepted" that if Tamarack only wants to be friends, then it's fine, she cannot force Tam to love her back. It's silly to think someone like her could be extra-special in Tam's heart anyway (girl if you knew.), it's nice enough to be her best friend.

Between step 2 and 3, Athena managed to put a label on herself: she's lesbian.

[julesnichols]

The reason I'm not very sold on divorce theory (yet) is that it makes sense for Mark to feel guilty as is? In the sense that based on the last of the flashbacks we saw and the way he told Reghabi "you think about all the things you'd do to get them back" it's clear that he and Gemma weren't in a good place and like with most things related to Gemma, Mark Scout's flashbacks in 2.07 were idealizing the memory of their relationship rather than truly remembering how it actually was and who she actually was. If that makes sense. And that glimpse in the kitchen when they decided to stop trying and the scene where Mark tore apart the crib, along with stuff that's been said/implied along the way show how their relationship ACTUALLY was by the end of it.

And so I don't know if it's necessary for him to have been getting ready to file for divorce to feel guilty, because he was already emotionally checking out. Mark avoids his emotions and his problems. Recognizing that he's checked out and filing for divorce just feels, to me, like more self awareness than I think he honestly might've had?

So I think it's likely that maybe he and Gemma were on a path to being done but I'm just not totally sold that divorce papers were imminent tbh because our boy avoids his problems until he smacks into them like a brick wall

[the-terror-rarepair-month]

Did you miss Rarepair Week last year? Well, I @p0rchc0ll4ps3 and @theremustbeabear bring you Rarepair Month 2025, which is basically the same as a weeklong fest but monthlong instead! Hoping to encourage more fics, longer fics, more art, etc!

This is an all-fanworks-invited month to celebrate Terror ships with under 50 tagged fics on Ao3 as of February the 1st, 2025! This year's theme is "The Way It Goes, Goes Differently with Each Cycle of the Sun."

This is an 18+ event! All participants must be 18+ to participate. No exceptions!

Starting on February 1st, 2025 you can post your fics to the Ao3 Collection HERE or your fanworks to Tumblr or Twitter or whatever Social Media with the tag #trpm25 (but I'll only be able to reblog the Tumblr ones). (also idgaf if you make anything beforehand so long as it's posted after February 1st).

Join our general Terror Discord HERE! We have a channel for the event.

Additionally, feel free to request pairings through this Google Forms link HERE (one request per submission; please don't request the same pair more than once per person. everyone can see you. we'll shame you). This form sends responses to a Google Sheets HERE. Feel free to check the out the stats for the requested pairings (there's a chart on the far right, scroll right)! Please ignore the animals (you'll know when you see them on the sheet), they're load-bearing and I'm afraid things will break if I remove them.

FAQ:

Are you affiliated with Terror Rarepair Week of Years past? --Nope! Just excited to take on the mantle. (And I did check if I was allowed to take it up before starting this!)

What counts as a rarepair? --The pair (or more) must have less than 50 tagged works under the Terror (2018) tag on Ao3 as of February 1, 2025. The pairing MUST BE the main part of the fanwork.

What counts as a ship? --Two or more characters get together. Throuples and beyond count!

Can the ship be platonic? --Absolutely! Both Romantic (/) and Platonic (&) ship pairings are allowed.

Is there a word limit? --Nope! However little or much as you like. We do challenge you to write 1k or more, however!

Can I do art? --Absolutely, MOST welcome. Any type of fanwork is acceptable!!

Must I follow the prompts? --Nope! Prompts are just there to inspire you. Any part of the prompt [Location (sub-location); 3 different options provided] is allowed to be used!

Does it have to be during canon? --Nope! Post-canon, during-canon, AU, anything goes!

Can I mix this with other events? --Absolutely! You can mix this with any other event co-occurring during the month of February so long as that event allows mixing as well.

Can I do OC x Canon; or Crossover x Canon? --Preferably not! I'd like to keep the fanworks to within the general Terror pool.

Can I do RPF of the actors? Or RPF of the real people the show was based off? --Sure, why not. Go for it. It's within the general Terror pool!

Can I submit throuples (3 in a ship) to the request form? --Absolutely! Anything from 2 or more counts. Poly is totally cool!

Is the form required to be filled out? --Nope! You can do whatever you want forever; the form just gives everyone an idea of what's going on.

Can I submit NSFW to the request form? --Yep! But remember, all the prompts will be in one place; there's no separation of SFW and NSFW, and there's no content warnings. Your prompts will be public!

My ship is already on the request form! --Submit whatever your heart desires. The form and its subsequent chart helps track how popular a desired rarepair may be!!

I can only submit one ship to the request form! --You can fill the form out multiple times; but only 1 pairing per submission per person! PLEASE don't submit a ship more than once per person, that's cheating, and we'll hunt you down for it.

Must I follow / pick only from the requests form? --Nope! The requests form is just there for fun to give you an idea of what ships people have been thinking of / a fun challenge if you want to try something different! You're not assigned anything.

Okay that's all, enjoy!

Prompt transcription below the cut.

Week 1 (Jan. 31–Feb. 6): KING WILLIAM ISLAND (On the Shale) Won't Be Coming Home — Wish You Were Here — It All Goes Dark

Week 2 (Feb. 7–Feb. 13): HMS TERROR & EREBUS (In the Water) Shared Interests — Stolen Glances — Fate

Week 3 (Feb. 14–Feb. 20): CARNIVALE (On the Ice) Rescue — Finding You Again — Home

Week 4 (Feb. 21–Feb. 28) LONDON (In Our Dreams) Can't Sleep — Seeking Warmth — The Sky Alight

[booabug]

i just adore how in love marinette is, and how flustered she gets for a specific side of adrien which is NOT when he's trying to impress people as funny and charming chat noir (friend zoned) or as his public persona of cool and self-assured (she's fine with it but remember her natural reaction was eat the rich) no, she's gaga for him when he's basically just… there. just existing.

when he's like, "idk what im doing but im just happy to be included!"

that's when marinette is like ohhhhh i can't not marry him 💦

as cat walker, he was closer to that than his "yeah ik im cool ty" public persona, the point was to be as toned down as possible, no theatrics, so he was basically just who he is when he thinks of himself as Just Some Guy, which is supportive and gentlemanly cause those are his most immutable traits.

she literally could not function to save her life.

something i thought of while having gender feelings. so much of masculinity is performative, it's so tiring. most male leads reflect that, their main thing is physical prowess or leadership or stoicism. adrien is not about any of that. i can't tell yall how much i love that.

in my OTP, the female lead thinks the male lead is at his hottest when he's just like ":)?"

[morethanmemory]

Imagine being his right hand while he's still a mob boss and he helps you put on the skeleton paint <3

They'd probably get to choose the colors of the paint, too, as he'd want his right hand to be easily distinguishable from the rest of the goons

Pairing: Doctor Phosphorus/Reader

Warnings: None; Some suggestive touching heheh ;)

Notes: anon this is lowkey so cute !! i'm a lil obsessed so a short blurb about it for you >:3c dragon reader makes a comeback in this au!

---

"You're kidding, right? I'll look like a walking Halloween decoration," you deadpan, fiddling with the lid of the neon green face paint as a frown tugs at your lips.

He scoffs as he takes the jar of glow-in-the dark paint from your fingers and unscrews the top.

"You already look like a Renaissance fair prop, so what's the big deal?" he retorts, tittering as he gestures at the sturdy horns atop your head. Your eyes narrow as you fix him with an unamused glower, but undeterred, he strides forward. As he takes another step closer, Phosphorus dips his fingers into the paint jar before waggling them at your face. The luminescent paint glitters on his fingertips under the dim lights of his office, sizzling against his fiery skin as the sparkling rivulets roll down his palm. Another step and he's leaning over you, pressing you up against the cool glass of the floor-to-ceiling windows behind his desk.

"C'mon," he urges gently. The simple plea rumbles in the back of his throat, deep and warm, and briefly, you're tempted to give in to his stupid, gaudy idea and let him paint you his. The soft purr of his voice makes your knees weak, and the sharp scent of radiation has your head spinning with its own stupid idea. The thought's crossed your mind more than once. Fleeting moments of curiosity when you've wondered what it'd be like to taste him. You could do it now if you wanted to. It'd be easy. Get on the tips of your toes, close the little space left between the two of you. But it's a bad idea—Phosphorus and you. He's as brash as he is flashy; you're hotheaded and stubborn to a fault. You'd both be playing with fire, and when neither of you can burn beneath the flames, you'll be stuck in hell forever.

In a poor attempt to bury the nagging desire to yank him down by his tie and kiss him stupid, you bat his hand away, but he's faster. With a swift swipe of his thumb, Phosphorus smudges the tip of your nose with a dab of paint, snickering as you scrunch up your face.

For a split second, he feels whatever is left of his heart stutter in his chest as you splutter and scowl. The twitch of your nose, the pinch of your brow, the pout of your lips, the shimmer of your scales—you're surprisingly adorable for a beast with hellfire in your veins. Despite himself, Phosphorus reaches up to brush his knuckles along your cheek, smearing green paint along the sharp scutes. In the silence of his office, with you silhouetted by Gotham's skyline and the stars above as his only witness, Phosphorus lets himself pretend—even if just for a moment—that this is something else, something more.

But your fingers wrap around his wrist, tugging his hand away, and he's dragged back into the world of endless, empty parties and drugs that never really numb the pain. Shallow and vapid is the life he leads now, but, at least, there's you at the end of every day.

And that means more to him than he'd like to admit.

His hand drops to his side, and Phosphorus chuckles quietly, praying his nerves don't bleed into his words. "What, not a fan of the brand?"

You shrug as your hands slide up to his chest with the crumbling intent to push him away. Your touch lingers a little longer than it should just to feel the warmth of his radiation seep into your palms through the fine wools of his dark suit.

"Sorry, boss," you apologize, half-hearted at most. Gently, you pat his chest. "Neon green's not really my color."

You haven't pulled away; he hasn't stepped back.

"Then," he begins coyly, grinning even if (or, perhaps, because) you can't see it, "what is?"

You don't expect him to take your answer seriously, to take you seriously—not for something as frivolous as this anyway. Sure, as his right hand, there are matters he takes your word for in a heartbeat. Phosphorus doesn't forget the faces of the rats you've sniffed out in his ranks. Still, you didn't think he'd ever actually remember your favorite color.

But, the next night, there it is, just sitting in his hand—a small jar of phosphorescent paint in the shade you love most.

"Do I have to?" you whine, arms crossed as you slouch against the back of the leather couch. The frown tugging your lips downward belies the fluttering butterflies in your stomach. He remembered your favorite color. The logical part of your mind (the part that's hopelessly in denial) says it means nothing, but your heart knows otherwise—and it's screaming in protest.

He reaches toward you, and you turn your head, sticking up your nose. You don't trust yourself to look at him when the lines between the two of you start blurring. It happens more often than not these days.

"Uh, yeah," he smirks, shuffling closer. "I didn't break into an arts and crafts store for no reason."

The cushions sag under the sudden shift of his weight, and you can feel his soft breaths tickle the back of your neck, making your scales rustle. You laugh under your breath, eyes trained on the intricate wooden molding trimming the ceiling of his office, and you try desperately to snuff out the simmering warmth in the pit of your belly.

"Oh, so that was you?" You spare him a quick glance over your shoulder. "The Carol's Crafts arson on the Upper East Side?"

"Actually, it was Gary."

You can't stop the bright laughter that bubbles up past your lips. Trust Gary, of all of Phosphorus's dim-witted lackeys, to be the one to set a store ablaze all for a few cans of glow-in-the-dark paint.

"Well, then, send him my thanks," you tell Phosphorus as a small smile curls your lips. You're turning back to face him before you can stop yourself, and you don't say a word when he moves close enough for your knees to touch.

"I'll make sure to get him a gift basket."

Phosphorus inches nearer, his thigh pressing against yours, and he holds up the jar between the two of you.

"Now, I don't know about you," he drawls, low and larky, "but—me, personally—I wouldn't want all of Gary's hard work to be in vain."

With a roll of your eyes, you reluctantly take the paint from his hand and unscrew the cap.

"Just so you know," you scoff, smiling despite the hint of annoyance lacing your words, "I'm only doing this for Gary."

A whispery laugh leaves him as he dips his fingers into the paint.

"Whatever you say."

The embers of something you'd long forgotten smolder to life in your chest, and you don't even realize you're holding your breath until it escapes you in a sharp gasp as cold paint and warm fingertips touch your cheek.

He chuckles, leaning in and crowding you against the couch. "Relax."

Phosphorus is walking death, but when he cups your jaw in his hand and strokes your silver scales with his thumb, you think you'd welcome the end with open arms. Your eyes flutter shut. You don't see how his hand trembles.

He's never told you this—and he probably never will—but every single time he touches you just a little too long, he's terrified. The ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner of his office echoes through the room in a taunting, torturous melody as his fingers slowly glide over the planes of your face. Tick. The radiation should have seared your skin. Tock. By now, it should have ripped through your flesh. The clock strikes the quarter-hour with crystalline chimes; every single cell in your body should have been incinerated. He waits for the horrified shrieks of unimaginable pain each time. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. They never come.

Instead, your soft sighs and quiet giggles tinkle through the air as you squirm away from his ticklish touch.

"Stay still," he grunts, dragging his finger down the bridge of your nose.

But you can't stop laughing, shoulders shaking, as the contrasting sensations of cool paint and scorching skin make your scales tingle. "This paint smells like shit."

The pad of his index finger swirls over the button of your nose, and he bites back a smile when you wrinkle it. If he squints just right, Phosphorus thinks he can see something real through all the cheap thrills of this hollow life, and it's there in the twinkle of your eyes.

ACHOO!

Dragon fire skitters down his hand when you sneeze, and he flinches away, streaking the colorful paint across your face and up one scaly ear.

"Seriously?!" he cries shrilly, but there's no real bite to his words. "Did you just sneeze all over me?"

"S-Sorry, sorry!" you stammer between wheezing laughs, handing him a tissue. "I c-couldn't help it!"

You can't make out much of his indignant muttering as he wipes his hand clean before flinging the soiled tissue into the waste bin behind him, but you're certain he's not singing your praises. You're about to apologize again, but the words die on the tip of your tongue when his fingers gently grab your jaw, tilting your head back until your eyes meet his hollow sockets.

You wait for his usual scathing sarcasm, but he stays silent. Without a word, Phosphorus takes another tissue from the box and gently dabs at the paint in your hair. His tender affection is unexpected, unfamiliar, and yet, you lean into his touch anyway. "I can do this myself, y'know," you murmur in poor protest. It's not very convincing when you do nothing to stop him.

"I know." He brushes away the flecks of paint that litter the shell of your ear. "But..."

Whatever he's about to say catches in his throat.

You peer up at him through your lashes. "But?"

You can't see it, but you swear he's smiling. Really smiling.

"Nothing," he mutters. "Just don't want you fucking up my handiwork again."

"Oh, I'm so sorry," you apologize dramatically. "I had no idea Picasso had blessed me with his presence."

He groans, cringing. "Don't compare me to him."

"Why not? You hate Cubism or something?"

"The whack job was an asshole," Phosphorus bristles. For a moment, you think you catch a glimpse of the old him. Alexander Sartorius isn't a man you know very well, but he's always there just beneath the radiation. Sometimes, he breaks through the deadly flames, humming along to Bach or quoting Dante's Inferno (usually at your expense). You tuck away the tidbit that Alexander hates Picasso in the back of your mind.

"And you're not?" you shoot back with an impish smirk. He pinches your cheek.

"You are aware that I can always fire you, right?" he threatens lightly, wiping up the last stray splotches of paint from your temple.

"Doesn't mean you will," you reply with a simple shrug—stubborn and smug as always. He shouldn't like it as much as he does. Phosphorus brushes off your little, uppity remark with a click of his tongue before reaching for the paint once more.

This time, Phosphorus works with precision. Yet, despite his newfound determination, his touches remain oddly tender. He evens out the curves of the skeletal face, superimposed on your own, with the smallest scratch of his fingertips around the apples of your cheeks. His digits slide gently down your jaw to fill in the missing pieces of the mandible. He traces the Cupid's bow of your lips with his thumb in a stroke so slow that a shiver runs down your spine. He prays you can't hear the thundering of his old heart.

Phosphorus mumbles a flimsy excuse that you—too lost in the feeling of his free hand running down the arch of your back—don't really hear. You're too far away. You're moving too much. He needs you to come closer.

You let him pull you into his lap, fighting down a soft sigh. He lets your thighs straddle his hips, biting back a quiet moan. So, this is what it's like to hold a fallen star.

He drags his paint-tipped fingers down and over your lips. The finishing touch.

And yet.

He tucks a finger under your chin.

Your name falls from his lips in a wisp of a breath, and you know, without a doubt, that the battle your mind wages against your heart is a losing one with every tick of the grandfather clock.

His lips brush against yours in a ghost of a touch.

The heavy wooden doors to his office slam open, followed by a cacophony of hollering cronies, and your quiet world of stolen touches and words unspoken shatters like glass. A sea of bright green skeletal faces flood into the room just as the two of you jump apart. Their words all blend together as you try to orient yourself, but as the haze in your head clears, you manage to make out enough. Ice Lounge. A big party, an important party. Phosphorus is late.

So, you let them usher both of you out and into the elevator. Phosphorus berates the idiots for not knocking. Gary compliments you on the hue of the skull painted over your scales (you thank him for the arson).

The few centimeters between Phosphorus and you might as well be a chasm. Still, your eyes meet across the distance. Neon green, you think, is growing on you.

[katsigian]

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Cover models are Taz, Keysuspect, and myself. Thank you to everybody who modeled this shirt for me, I appreciate it immensely 🩷

[beautyinsteadofashes]

i'd like to take a moment to appreciate the fact that JJ finally got to kidnap Rafe:

living his dream life

[nachobsns]

anyway i have to give a presentation for my ap gov final tomorrow which originally was just going to be about the effect of conspiracy theories on political activity (think qanon, jan 6 etc) but i ended up putting it off until tonight, predictable because i'm 17 with roblox on my phone and haven't taken my adhd meds for a long time, but it means i have much more liberty to change the premise last-minute and considering the horrifying news out of colorado today i think i am going to adapt it to cover the overlap of conspiracy theories with antisemitism and the pipeline to like. radical extremism. it probably won't go over especially well with my classmates because Room Full Of Sheltered White Upper Middle Class Teenagers From An Overwhelmingly Liberal Small Town Has Exactly The Opinions On Israel/Palestine That You Might Expect, but the teacher at least worked in israel for several years as a part of her thesis so i know worst comes to worst she will back me up and also? we are literally 5 days from the end of the year i'm scared but so is like every jewish person in the world right now so i am choosing not to give a shit about what my classmates think. wish me luck