#so. i kind of associate jet with you

[ontheknifesedge]

next up in my revamped kj designs: jet star!! 💫

she is so important to me… the space puppy tattoo is partially because of @eggbagelz’ headcanon which i saw and thought “oh definitely jet would LOVE laika” and the design is (with permission) one of my lovely friend @andpierres’ tattoo flash designs and tattoo tickets are available on his kofi if YOU would like to have a space puppy tattoo on your own skin! :)

as with the last two posts, untextured version under the cut for cleaner details and accurate colors!

[bendover-productions]

Sorry if you've already been informed of this, but in case you haven't, I just want you to know that Sam still has the teal pom pom hat! He said on the podcast that he misplaced it almost immediately and thought he had lost it, but that he found it in his bag once he got back!

NO!!! no one told me!!! 😭😭 thank you so much, that teal hat is incredibly important to me and i am delighted he still has it

^^^sam in that hat. to me tbh <3

[sincerelybubbles]

hotch x shy!bau!reader <3 fem content: slight age gap implied. reader is new to the team and more on the introverted side! not proof read, as is my hubris.

Tired, nerves buzzing from a night spent up and chasing sleep that was not welcoming, you throw your bag down on your desk and go off in hunt of coffee. You usually try to curb your caffeine intake, especially with the travel associated with your new job, but this morning is a happy exception to your new rule.

"Here," Emily says, watching you scan the cabinets of the kitchen. You hadn't heard her walk in, but she's offering you a mug with a sympathetic smile. "Long night?"

"Yes," you say, tone thankful, and spin to figure out the coffee machine.

"Three weeks and i haven't seen you use that once," she comments, sipping from her own warm mug and watching you settle the filter in place.

"I've stayed away. it's harder to sleep when I get back because of the jet lag, anyway, don't need to add coffee at all odd hours to the list, too."

It's the most you've said in casual conversation like this. To say you've been shy with your new team would be an understatement. You're good at your job, you were pulled from the academy early to do this for a reason. You fit well into the team, generally. You like listening to Spencer ramble, especially on the longer flights. Rossi's dry humor reminds you of one of your old professors you grew up admiring. JJ is a constant breath of fresh air, Morgan's consistent strength has built up your own moral. Garcia took no getting used to, lifting you up and settling into your life easily. Hotch is intimidating but kind under the colder-tones, long glances sometimes distracting but oterhwise comforting. Emily is easily one of your favorites on the team, friendly and whip-smart. But, at the core of it, you're shy. Painfully so, even.

The team caught onto this quick, settling into the truth that your observational nature that makes you so adept at noticing the smaller details is bound to weep into your social life as well. So, despite your comfort levels rising with the team, you find these situations hard. Do you explain your nightmares to Emily? Share that you're a diagnosed insomniac who spent the night watching FRIENDS reruns after chasing sleep that pranced beyond reach?

"You're better than me, then," Emily says, smiling over her mug. Her eyes tell you she's pleased at the little crack into your life that you've let her see. They're all like that: insufferably kind and polite with your introverted nature but greedily sipping up everything they can learn about you.

"It's a new development," you admit, clicking start on the machine and settling back against the counter facing her. Something about your sleepiness makes it easier to talk, your tongue looser, your ache to let loose around the team more profound. "I'm sure most of us are insomniacs, though."

"Not me," Emily says, chuckling. "I get home and feel like I don't wake up until I get back here."

"Ah, well, I'm sure it can feel like a curse no matter what way you fall," you say with a shrug. Emily lifts her coffee in cheers to that.

"Morning," Morgan says, turning into the kitchen and giving you a surprised smile. "Hello, sunshine, you're looking bright eyed today."

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. "I know, I know."

Emily points with her chin at you, "She's making the coffee this morning."

"Ah-ah, remaking it because you and pretty boy always get here first and finish the first pot." Morgan teases her with a slight shake of his head, grinning and opening the fridge to pull out the creamer.

"Well, you snooze you loose. Or," she sends you a smile, complete with a little nose wrinkle and a tilt of her head, "you don't snooze and still loose."

"Clever," you say, voice dry with humor, hiding your laugh by turning around as the pot finished brewing. "I'll remember this later."

"Careful, she's got teeth," Morgan warns Emily, reaching around you to grab the coffee before you can and filling his cup.

"Hey!" You call in protest, voice raising louder than usual and a pout hitting your lips. Morgan laughs, white teeth on display, eyes crinkled at the corners.

"Here, here," he says, placating, tipping the pitcher to fill your cup as well. "Any sugar or cream to placate the beast?"

Before you can answer, a laugh on the tip o your tongue, Hotch walks in and settles his watchful eyes on you, interest sparking them. You shrink, not in fear but in self-awareness, and send him a closed lip smile. Stepping away from Morgan, you turn quickly to fix your own coffee.

"Good morning," Hotch says, nodding at Emily and Morgan, answering Emily's question about Jack's recent sickness (he's recovering well, thank you) and trying to catch your eye.

You duck away, cowardly and regressing back into your shell, deciding it's time to get to work and stop indulging. You catch Morgan tease Hotch as you leave, though, "Aw, you've scared her off."

You try not to think about it as you duck away, pushing all thoughts of your boss away.

You're unsuccessful.

The problem isn't that you're afraid of him because you think he's mean or unkind in any way. He's done his best to welcome you to the team, allowing you to take investigations in your own direction and listening to your insights since day one. There was a brief moment in your first week where you felt tested, like his questions weren't to gain your insight but to see if you were up to the task, but you slipped past that easily. you have the credentials to back yourself up. you're quiet, yeah, but you're always right on track to where you need to be. pulled early from academy to jump into investigating was hard but it made this easy. a few years of experience under your belt and the job feels natural and, even with the shift in teams to join the big guns in Quantico, you feel like you're exactly where you're meant to be.

No, embarrassingly, this has nothing to do with you not liking your boss or being afraid of him. Rather, he makes you too comfortable. He ducks his head to hear you speak as you walk and talk, settling deep eyes on your face. He's sturdy, dependable, and exactly everything you're all too interested in.

You hate it, harboring a school crush on your boss like you're a teen pining over your teacher. You know it's normal, you know it's perfectly reasonable and there's absolutely nothing wrong with being attracted to him, but you still slink away from him more than the others because of that attraction.

Because it's more than physical.

He listens when you talk. Granted, so do the rest of the team - they're profilers, of course they catalogue everything everyone is saying for future reference. But, beyond that, you catch him paying attention. He complimented your new blouse earlier in the week and it caused air to catch in your throat, suffocating you. It looked new, bright white and without wrinkles, but you knew he must have been looking, noticing, to remember you not wearing it before. He's kind, remembering details about you and the team and using them to aid in everyone's comfort. He knows Spencer can't handle dairy and you've heard him reminding an intern to stock the dairy-free alternatives for creamer in the jet. He brought you a neck pillow on your second flight because you didn't have one.

That gift you accepted with stuttering thank-you's and a flushed face. It hadn't flared this crush, but it definitely aided in your ability to accept it when you finally got around to no longer avoiding how he made you feel with every kind smile and gentle good morning.

You settle down at your desk, putting your steaming mug on a pile of paperwork you really need to sort through, and try to physically push the thoughts out of your head by ranking your hands through your hair, lifting it from your forehead and squeezing your eyes shut. Today isn't the day. You're too tired, sure that the team will be flying out today, and really need to be on your A-Game.

"Everything okay?" A calm voice asks from your elbow. When you look up, you decide the universe hates you. Hotch is leaning on the desk adjacent to yours, holding his own travel cup full of fresh coffee, chin tilted down to check on you. His gaze is kind, light on your face, and his eyebrows are lifted slightly. You get the feeling that he's doing everything in his power to present himself as less imposing.

"Yes, of course," you answer automatically, heart thudding in your throat.

"You know, you shouldn't lie to profilers," he says, tone teasing, voice still low. "If you're tired, it's okay to admit it to me, too."

You're about to brush him off when something in your brain freezes before clicking into place.

He's looking at you, pleading, expression open. He's usually guarded, professional. Caring, but with a guard up. Rare are these moments of genuine asking, especially rarer so are the moment of pleading hidden behind a mask of gentle humor. You think, briefly, about how it must seem to him. He heard you, Emily, and Morgan joking in the kitchen. You haven't been here long, you're shy, but slowly thawing to everyone but him. He doesn't know your reasons, he couldn't, you've made a genuine effort to hide them, and you force yourself to see it from his perspective.

"Sorry," you say, softly, slowly. "I didn't sleep well. First nightmares and then insomnia. Hence," you gesture toward your mug. You shrug, heart beating out of your chest, eyes searching his. Nice, be nice, be open and kind and yourself. "At least I have FRIENDS reruns to keep me company."

You see something relax in him at your gentle offering of the information. He sends you a not-quite-smile, nodding once and pushing himself off of the desk he was lightly leaning against.

"Take a few minutes, I'm sure JJ will call us in soon." He scans your face for a moment before looking down at your desk. He reaches forward, slowly but with purpose, and lifts a file that has been nagging you for days. The new computer system is hard to get used to and the paperwork load is heavier than you've experienced before. "I can help you with this to ease some of your load, too."

He's walking away before you can protest, tucking the file under his arm and ducking into his office. He moves swiftly, leaving no room for argument, and you're left at your desk, mouth agape and heart in your mouth.

"Wow," Spencer says, jolting you in your chair to spin around and face him. His desk is near yours, across a walkway, and you hadn't registered him sitting there. You think he was nose-deep in a book when you walked in but you hadn't been paying attention. "I don't think I've seen him warm up to someone that fast," Spencer admits, leaning back in his seat and giving you a confused look, eyebrows lowered. "Actually, he's never offered to help me do my paperwork. Ever."

"That's because you read far too fast for it to actually help you," you offer, mind racing, words hollow as your thoughts are elsewhere.

Eyes trained on the windows of Hotch's office, you take his advice and relax for the few minutes before JJ comes to gather you all in the conference room. Coffee on your lips, you let yourself smile behind the rim of your mug. You can't imagine how you could think of anything other than that, really.

[keirareidss]

making amends - s.r

♡ summary: you regret your time in high school so when you have the chance to make amends, you jump at it pairing: spencer reid x bully!fem!reader warnings: mentions of bullying wc: 2.5k based on this request

High school, for you, was... an experience. You like to think of it as just an earlier chapter of your life that has passed. You've grown and changed as a person, what happened in high school was in your past. You didn't like to think about it.

So when you got a job at the BAU as a profiler and found that you'd be on the same team as someone from your high school who you had a... difficult relationship with, you immediately got worried.

Spencer Reid was the smartest person you've ever known. He was twelve years old when he graduated high school, meanwhile you were eighteen and struggling to keep your grades up. You were jealous, that's why you did the things you did, or rather, didn't do.

You ran with a crowd of popular girls in high school, the kind that were popular for the wrong reasons. They were bullies and, looking back on it, you're ashamed to have been affiliated with them. Now, your name was associated with some people's worst memories in school. But you never actually did any of the bullying, you just stood by and watched, as if that made it any better.

You were always told by those anti-bullying campaigns that being a bystander was just as bad as doing the bullying and you'd roll your eyes. Your young self always thought that what you were doing wasn't wrong. You weren't actually hurting anyone, were you?

But then you met Spencer Reid. He was a child prodigy and, frankly, you were jealous. Maybe that's why you never said anything. When Spencer joined your high school, your 'friends' immediately set their sights on him. He was an easy target, a scrawny kid who didn't have any friends and couldn't defend himself.

They'd pick on him every day, calling him names, pushing him around, and you'd stand there, every time, laughing awkwardly. You always felt bad for the little dork, he never deserved any of it.

Seeing him now, successful, using his big brain for good, surrounded by friends he considered family, you were honestly quite proud of him.

"Everyone, meet our new profiler." Aaron Hotchner introduces you to the team in the conference room and you can see Spencer's eyebrows furrowing as he tried to recall where he's heard your name before. He lifts his head, making eye contact with you, his face unreadable as he finally remembers.

"Nice to meet you all." You gave a small smile to the people sitting around the table. You had your first case with the team in California. When you got on the jet (you were still amazed that team had their own jet), you noticed Spencer sitting by himself.

"Is this seat taken?" You asked, stood next to the one across from him. He glanced up at you from the file in his lap, shifting uncomfortably.

"Uh..." You sighed, understanding what he was trying to express. You moved to sit on the other side, across from your boss. The rest of the team filed onto the jet and you were of to Sacramento.

"Alright, Rossi and Prentiss head to the last dump sites, Derek and I will go back to the house, JJ, talk to the family, and you two will go to the morgue, try to find a signature." Hotch orders, finishing by looking at you and Reid. Before anyone could leave, Spencer spoke up.

"Um- actually could I switch with Prentiss?" You looked at him, hurt. No, you didn't have a right to be upset. Of course he didn't want to work with you, why would he?

"Is something wrong?" Hotch asks, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

"I just think I'd help more at the dump site." Spencer lied.

"Fine. Reid go with Rossi, Prentiss, you head to the morgue." Everyone left for their individual tasks, Spencer avoiding your stare as he sped out of the conference room, his cheeks red.

"Alright, what was that?" Rossi asked him as they made their way to the dump site.

"What was what?" Spencer asked, his voice an octave higher than usual.

"Why didn't you want to work with her?"

"It's nothing." Rossi raised his eyebrows. It was clearly not nothing. Spencer rarely vocally disagreed with Hotch's orders. Something had to have happened to make him do so.

"If you say so." He shrugged. You and Emily were having a similar conversation in transit to the morgue.

"Did something happen with you two?" Prentiss asked, her tone soft but prying.

"You could say that." You muttered, looking over the file in your lap. Emily stayed silent, waiting for you to continue. "We knew each other in high school. I was... not the nicest person."

"Wait... did you, like... bully him?"

"Well, not exactly?" You sighed, frustrated with this conversation, yourself, your inability to put it into words, your past actions, you could go on. "I was friends with this group of girls and they liked to pick on him, well maybe 'pick on him' isn't the right choice of words. I don't want to go into specifics because it's really more of Spencer's story to tell but... I didn't do any of the bullying, I just never said anything." You finished, blushing in embarrassment.

"Oh, that's rough."

"I know. I feel so bad. I mean, I've grown and changed, and I'd like to be his friend but I don't know he'll be able to forgive me."

"Knowing Spencer, I bet he will."

"Really?"

"Yeah. If you're being genuine and you really have changed, he'll see that." You sighed, deep in thought. You did truly want to be his friend and you couldn't deny his attractiveness. But that would mean a big long talk and those always made you uncomfortable but for him, it was worth it.

You didn't know the little eleven year old prodigy that went to your high school. You knew your friends had talked to him a few times and the stories they told you of the nasty things they'd said to him made your heart hurt.

You were the type of kid to sit back and stay silent when something happened. You hated confrontation, terrified of it. So when you started seeing what your friends were doing to him, this bright eyed young boy, you felt even worse.

They'd push him in the hallways, taunt him with cruel words, vandalize his locker and his stuff, but there was one thing that was the worst of them all.

You had just sat back and watched as the girls you had called your friends laughed at him as the football team stripped him naked and tied him to a goalpost. You watched as tears streamed down his face, a pit in your stomach as your 'friends' pulled you away in a fit of giggles.

In that time, you had thought about how lucky you were that you were on the good side of those girls, that they hadn't chosen to pick on you instead but now, looking back, you wished you had said something.

You wished you could have spared that young, brilliant, optimistic boy from the horrible things he went through.

As the case progressed, Spencer avoided you like the plague. Understandable, but still a little painful. And once it ended, he had even more reason to evade you.

"Come on, Reid. One drink."

"Morgan, you know I don't drink." Spencer protested weakly. You stepped into the conference room where the team was packing up.

"So one water then. It doesn't matter what you have, just come celebrate with us." He caught your eye and you quickly looked down.

"Alright, fine. I'll come." Spencer sighed and Derek grinned at the success. He walked towards the door, stopping next to you on the way.

"You're coming too, right mama?" He nudges your shoulder.

"Uh..." You hesitated, glancing at Spencer. Maybe it'd be better for you to go back to the hotel and give Spencer the space he'd been wanting from you.

"Come on. Don't be a stick in the mud." You chuckled a bit, conceding.

"Fine."

The team headed to the bar where you got a large table for seven. Derek went up to get drinks for everyone. As the night went on and everyone got drunker, Spencer stood up to take a breather outside. No one at the table noticed, apart from you. You hesitated for a moment before following.

Opening the door forced a cool breeze over your skin. When you stepped out, you immediately spotted Spencer on the small porch area, leaning on the railing.

"Hey." You said softly, stepping closer. He glanced back at you before pulling his gaze back to the horizon.

"Hi." He responded as you stepped up to him. You leaned against the railing beside him, staying silent for a few moments, gathering your thoughts.

"Look, I-"

"I wanted to-" You both spoke at the same time. "Oh, sorry, you first." You said.

"No, no, go ahead."

"Okay, um... I just... I thought we should talk." When he didn't respond, you continued. "I don't know if you remember me-"

"I do." He said and you could hear the bitterness in his tone.

"Right, why wouldn't you." You agreed with a small awkward smile. "Uh, well, first I want to formally apologize and say that I'm sorry. For everything that happened to you in high school." He turned to look at you now, half not expecting that to come out of your mouth. "I was a stupid kid, and I know that doesn't excuse it, but, really, I didn't know what I was doing. My friends- those girls were horrible to you and I should have done something."

"It wasn't your problem."

"No but it was. I watched everything they did to you. I just stood by and watched." Your tone was harsh, but not against him. Towards yourself, feeling hatred for your past actions. "I'm so sorry for everything you had to go through. You didn't deserve any of it."

"Thank you for saying that." He said after a moment of quiet thought.

"Look, I've changed since high school, I like to think I'm a different person now, and I truly hope that you can forgive me and we can be friends. But if you don't want anything to do with me, I understand."

"I just... can I ask why?"

"Why what?"

"Why didn't you ever say anything?" You didn't expect this. For him to dig into the past like that but, you supposed he deserved to know.

"I guess I was scared. I mean, those girls basically ran the school, I was terrified that if I spoke up they'd come after me next but... I should have taken the risk. I doubt it'll make you feel better but, if I could go back and change what I did, I would."

"Thank you." He said plainly.

"Do you... have any other questions?" You asked, confused by his simple response.

"No, not really. I... I think I need some time to think."

"Y-yeah of course. I... I guess I'll leave you alone then." He turned back to the railing, looking down at the ground and you stepped away, heading back inside. You already felt like a weight had lifted from your shoulders just from speaking everything out loud. You just hoped he could forgive you.

You were getting ready for bed that night in the motel when there was a knock on your door. You shuffled over to the door in your pajamas, opening it to find Spencer on the other side.

"Hey."

"Hi. I, um, I was thinking and... I forgive you."

"Really?" Your eyebrows raised.

"Yeah. It actually seems like you've changed and I think we can be friends." Crossing your brain was the fact that you wanted to be more.

"Good, I- I'm glad." You sighed in relief. You really had wanted to be his friend, it seems like he really grew into himself and, to be honest, he wasn't all that bad looking.

"Do you maybe wanna get coffee tomorrow? After we land?"

"Yeah, definitely." You shut the door after he left excited and looking forward to getting coffee with your new friend.

~♡~

You sat in a cozy cafe, Spencer across from you, a coffee in his hand. This whole situation felt like a date, maybe a little hopeful on your part, but you didn't want to bring it up to him.

The current topic of conversation right now was a book Spencer was really into right now and trying to get you to read. You weren't big into reading but you'd buy every book he recommended to you if it got you closer to him.

"It's really interesting actually, I can lend you my copy if you want."

"Yeah, that sounds great."

"Really? Great, I'll bring it to the office tomorrow." You continued chatting but instead of parting ways at the end, you suggested you swing by his apartment to grab the book so you can read it tonight. He gave you directions as you drove to his place and you waited in his entryway while he ran and got the book.

"Do you wanna come in?" He asked a little awkwardly.

"Oh, no, I should get home." You got the sense that he was done with social interactions for the day and just wanted to wind down so you didn't want to impose. "Thank you for loaning me the book."

"Of course." You both lingered, wanting to continue the conversation.

"You know, you've really grown up since high school." You said, staring up into his entrancing brown eyes.

"Have I really?" He asked sarcastically, chuckling.

"Well, I meant- you've just- you're really.... you're kind of hot." Your face flushed immediately as Spencer's eyes widened.

"What?"

"I mean, you- you've grown into yourself."

"Thank you?" You let out an awkward laugh, staring at the floor, wishing a hole would open up and swallow you into it. "I'm glad you think so." He still sounded unsure.

"I'm being completely honest here. It's kinda one of my life goals after I got out of school."

"Oh yeah?"

"Uh huh. Honesty is key." You grinned, making him chuckle. The two of you fell into a comfortable silence. You slowly leaned closer to him and, surprisingly, he leaned in as well. You met in the middle, his lips soft on yours as his large hand cupped your jaw.

The kiss was soft and sweet, simple with no tongue, just gentle presses against each other's lips. When he pulled away, he stayed close, looking down into your eyes.

"I- I guess I'll see you tomorrow then?" You said and he chuckled a bit.

"Yeah. Let me know if you like the book." You said your goodbyes and you headed down the hall, feeling giddy about your new relationship, one that you didn't even know where it was going, and unbearably happy that Spencer had forgiven you.

Taglist: @superbeaglewitch, @perfectgoopfishuniversity-blog, totallynotabuckybarnessimp, @dramioneforevertilltheend. @cynbx, @diminombre, @tinythebunni

[unconventional-lawnchair]

Invisible: Hermione x Reader {Blurb}

WolfStar!Slytherin!werewolf!Reader x Hermione

Masterlist

Summary: Reader is a bit of a punk like Sirius, with Remus's insecurities. She doesn't believe she deserves a girl like Hermione. No real plot just Angst straight into fluff

Cw: Use of {Y/N}, reader is a bit of a mess, insults, Hermione hit the reader a few times (please reach out if I missed something}

Wc- 2199

{Y/N} Lupin had never been invisible. Even on days you tried to be, the whispers and eyes still followed you through the halls. See, you were a bit too much like your father, Sirius. You styled like him. Every weekend, his old leather jacket, hair dyed a deep jet black, nails to match. Minnie would say you had the attitude, more in for a thrill then the consequence. Snape would say your grades were like his as well, just enough to pass and just engaged enough to not be called out. Not that you didn't relish in the attention and laughs you got when a teacher tried to reprimand you, and a very Sirius-like comment or two later, the classroom was full of snickering juveniles and you had one more detention on your record. A record, your father, for the life of him, couldn't tell you what it was for. He got an amazing job as an Auror straight out of school despite it all. If that wouldn't usually keep people a good distance away from you, you had the mind of your dad. Methodical and exact, Remus gifted you a weapon no one could quite match. Well.. until you met her.

Hermione Granger.

You see, nothing good could come of a troublemaker, unless they were a Gryffindor. If your reputation wasn't enough, your rule of kiss and tell would be. You were quite popular with the girls and guys of your year. You knew what they wanted and you entertained it. You understood who you were, a Slytherin, a delinquent, someone so bad yet irresistible. No one stayed later than a week or two, you never blamed them. When they got to know you, when they knew you weren't some fantasy written heart throb, their interest was lost. 

You liked to pretend it didn't hurt. It was good fun now and again, but every time someone stopped coming around you were reminded just what it was. Just the perfect amount of hurt and vulnerability for the next one when they came round. Your coping mechanism was the same thing hurting you, and you became cruel about it. 

You spent most of your days with Theodore Nott, a boy with much the same reputation. Complaining to each other just to fill the silence. If your parents knew you associated with the boy, there would be a riot. A Death Eater’s son, someone you trusted more with the secrets of your heart than your own father.

“So Snape says I have to stay in this Hogsmeade trip to study. Roped some poor third year into helping me.” You groaned and Theodore snickered at this. “Has the toad even seen your grades?”

“Bloody doubt it.” You huffed and took a drag of your cigarette. “Just hope it's not some brat, you know? Odd I have to study with someone younger.” You mumbled and handed the stick over to Nott, but it was intercepted by a pale delicate hand. 

Some girl, maybe only 14 years old, snatched the bud from your hand and dropped it on the cobbled floor. Stepping on it with a huff. She turned to you with a vicious smile. “How very kind of you for being early. Names Granger. Hermione Granger.” She held her hand out and you looked her up and down in annoyance. 

“Don't tell me you're the person who is supposed to assist me.” You scoffed and she smiled brightly. Clearly there was some hidden malice there. You were shocked a Gryffindor of all houses had chosen to throw away her weekend to 'help’ you. 

You huffed and took her hand, shaking it firm before she walked past you. You apologized to Theodore and began to follow her. 

That's how the unlikely dynamic began. That day you did everything in your power to get under her skin, and she yours. You would flirt with her, make crude jokes, ignore the work at any cost. She would badger you with questions you were sure the little lion didn't even know herself.

Your goal was to get her to leave you alone. But she refused.

Every time you were forced to detention study, there she was. It was like torture. You wanted to curse Snape’s very existence, but also thank him on your hands and knees for the opportunity. In normal circumstances, you would never have been able to even talk to Granger. She was so wrapped up in Harry -the chosen one- Potter and Ron -just stop whining- Weasley, you didn't even think about her much. 

That was your downfall, of course. You don't think of yourself as someone to fall, especially for an underclassman, but Merlin she was magnetic. Just enough sass and spunk, a bit of a smart ass but it left you wanting more. You tested the water a few times, but when Summer came around and you were sent home to your dads, you didn't send a letter, neither did she.

You and Hermione’s relationship was purely for studying. You knew there were people in your life that were made for certain times, and Hermione was made for quiet library rendezvous. For whispered flirts and cheeky comments between paragraphs. For daunting questions and electric praise. You just wished you could spend all year between those book pages, knee to knee, pretending nothing outside the library mattered. That you both weren’t helplessly over your heads.

That summer was hell, it felt like you were going through withdrawals. It's likely what it was, considering you wouldn't dream of bringing a smoke into your home. Sirius had a nose for that sort of thing. Though it seemed in your current state all you could think of was the fluffy haired girl. Even when you met some muggles to party with over the summer, even when you met up with some of your wix friends, you had fun but kept thinking about her beautiful eyes. It didn't help that you spent almost every weekend and full moon at the Potter’s, and your aunt Lily behaved so much like Hermione it terrified you. Especially since you were no James Potter.

It was pathetic, you decided. When the next school year came around, you did everything in your power to avoid her. Even getting good grades. Then, like some sick twisted joke, the Yule ball came. Everyone was pairing up and you didn't have the heart to stomach being around Hermione. You knew she wasn't someone to gloat or ramble on about the more feminine things in life, but even if it was just a passing comment you knew you wouldn't be able to take it. Knowing who was going to be whisking her off her feet all night, staring into her playful eyes, getting to see the caged bird fly, when you refused to beg for the key. You knew you weren't worth such a luxury. Hermione Granger was made for people like Krum, a famous Quidditch star, or a boy like Harry Potter, the boy who lived. Even Ron Weasley, a pureblood with a huge family with no real baggage. One that would allow her wings to spread and give her the freedom in her life. 

You caught yourself, thinking with such longing for her was vexing. You never found yourself thinking about forever. Not with anyone, until you met her. What good could you do for her? All you could truly offer was your father’s family’s blood money, your horrid reputation, and your werewolf blood. You knew how the world saw you, considering your father just quit last year because he was one.

When the night came, you and Theodore decided to go together. Most of the night was spent dancing with people who came alone, or each other, even drinking spiked juice when the weird sisters started up. Your eyes locked with Hermione’s, on complete accident. Your breath hitched when you saw her blissful smile turn to a look of hurt and disconnection. Your face fell, whatever joke Nott was on about with the girls you were with went silent on your ears. 

“Hey, man, I need some air.” You muttered to him, still holding Hermione’s eyes. Nott waved you off and you finally broke eye contact and hurried out of the hall.

You grabbed your suit’s coat on the way out. You were wearing a muggle suit, just a white button up, a green vest, black tie, and of course the black coat. You rushed to fix the coat around your sides as you began to turn down the hall. Getting as far away from them as possible.

“Don't you dare!” You heard a shout from behind you. You turned sharply on your heel at the familiar voice. You had never heard it so painful. You locked eyes with Hermione and she stalked toward you. You took a sharp breath and got ready for the first conversation you would have with her from the entire year. “What is your problem!?” She yelled at you.

“Hm? What's wrong, otter?” You played coy and pushed your hair back. You gave her your best smile, but from the look in her eyes you could tell it wasn't working. She scoffed at you and threw her gloves at your chest.

“You,,, You selfish git! I knew I should have listened to everyone! You're nothing but a scoundrel!” She shouted at you, in between shoves to your chest that got weaker as tears filled her eyes. You were stunned, jaw slack and trying to figure out just what to say in this moment.

You eventually grabbed her wrists and cooed at her to take a breath. It broke your heart to see her like this. “Come on now, you know I hate seeing pretty girls cry.” You mused and she huffed. “Don't call me that.”

“What? Otter or Pretty girl?” You asked and she huffed. 

“Both! You don't get to after what you've done!” Her shouts filled the empty hall. You grimaced and sighed. 

“Listen-”

“No! You listen to me!” She shouted over you and you quickly nodded. “I have spent my time at Hogwarts thinking I was invisible. I did my best, I got top grades, and the second people began to notice they acted like I was some kind of disease! Like I was just some arrogant cocky Muggle born who didn't deserve to be here.”

“You do-”

“It’s my turn Lupin!” She cut you off again and you nodded, putting her gloves in your pocket and leaning forward to try and dry her eyes. She leaned into your hands and it calmed her instantly. “I felt so out of place. I felt like I was just waiting for the other shoe to drop. Then I met you,” She whispered and stepped forward. Her arms wrapped around your middle and she hid her face in your suit. “When I talked, you listened. When I asked you answered. You sought me out.. You made me feel like you wanted me around. Like I was special.”

You looked down at her in surprise.

“You were the first person to show me what that felt like. Everyone warned me that you were just a cruel flirt. And I guess they were right. I don't know what I thought, I see the girls you've had before, All pretty and done up, so bold and confident. I didn't even get the luxury to say I lost you like they have. Because I never had you. You never wanted me. You're cruel, {Y/N} Lupin.” She sniffled.

Your eyes were wide and you quickly wrapped your arms around her. Pulling her close into your chest you allowed yourself to press your nose to her hair. You let her cry in frustration in your arms. Not stopping her when she would occasionally hit your side with her closed fist. 

“Say something.” She begged pathetically, sniffling into your chest.

“... I have been torturing myself for months, thinking I wasn't worth your time, Hermione.” You admitted, voice dripping in shame. She scoffed and you pulled some of her hair behind her ear.

“Rubbish.”

“It's true.” You cooed in a playful tone. Pressing your chin to her head. “I was so wrapped up in the idea that you didn't want me back, Otter.”

Her sniffles slowly died out, she pulled back and looked you in the eye. You grabbed her cheeks again and leaned in closer. Your lips were a few inches from each other. You could feel her breath brush your lips. “You wanted me?”

“I want you.” You corrected and leaned in closer. She closed her eyes and her breath hitched. You stared at her, admiring her in the moonlight. You usually hated the moon and what it did to your family, but right now, you couldn't think of a better color for her. Your thumb traced her cupid’s bow and she huffed. “I am still mad at you, Lupin. So I’ll give you a choice.” She whined up at you and you smirked.

“Yes, pretty girl?”

“Kiss me or walk me back.”

You laughed and moved closer, your eyes lidding. “That’s a big gamble you're making there.” You breathe and she only smirks. “I like my odds.”

[wanderingnork]

with the news of NaNoWriMo shutting down for good, I want to make sure to preserve Lemony Snicket's 2010 pep talk. every time I feel down about my writing, for the last 15 years, I've returned to this talk as a reminder of why I write. it's easy, especially now, to wonder why we bother doing what we do. here's a reminder for us all.

-

Dear Cohort,

Struggling with your novel? Paralyzed by the fear that it’s nowhere near good enough? Feeling caught in a trap of your own devising? You should probably give up.

For one thing, writing is a dying form. One reads of this every day. Every magazine and newspaper, every hardcover and paperback, every website and most walls near the freeway trumpet the news that nobody reads anymore, and everyone has read these statements and felt their powerful effects. The authors of all those articles and editorials, all those manifestos and essays, all those exclamations and eulogies—what would they say if they knew you were writing something? They would urge you, in bold-faced print, to stop.

Clearly, the future is moving us proudly and zippily away from the written word, so writing a novel is actually interfering with the natural progress of modern society. It is old-fashioned and fuddy-duddy, a relic of a time when people took artistic expression seriously and found solace in a good story told well. We are in the process of disentangling ourselves from that kind of peace of mind, so it is rude for you to hinder the world by insisting on adhering to the beloved paradigms of the past. It is like sitting in a gondola, listening to the water carry you across the water, while everyone else is zooming over you in jetpacks, belching smoke into the sky. Stop it, is what the jet-packers would say to you. Stop it this instant, you in that beautiful craft of intricately-carved wood that is giving you such a pleasant journey.

Besides, there are already plenty of novels. There is no need for a new one. One could devote one’s entire life to reading the work of Henry James, for instance, and never touch another novel by any other author, and never be hungry for anything else, the way one could live on nothing but multivitamin tablets and pureed root vegetables and never find oneself craving wild mushroom soup or linguini with clam sauce or a plain roasted chicken with lemon-zested dandelion greens or strong black coffee or a perfectly ripe peach or chips and salsa or caramel ice cream on top of poppyseed cake or smoked salmon with capers or aged goat cheese or a gin gimlet or some other startling item sprung from the imagination of some unknown cook. In fact, think of the world of literature as an enormous meal, and your novel as some small piddling ingredient – the drawn butter, for example, served next to a large, boiled lobster. Who wants that? If it were brought to the table, surely most people would ask that it be removed post-haste.

Even if you insisted on finishing your novel, what for? Novels sit unpublished, or published but unsold, or sold but unread, or read but unreread, lonely on shelves and in drawers and under the legs of wobbly tables. They are like seashells on the beach. Not enough people marvel over them. They pick them up and put them down. Even your friends and associates will never appreciate your novel the way you want them to. In fact, there are likely just a handful of readers out in the world who are perfect for your book, who will take it to heart and feel its mighty ripples throughout their lives, and you will likely never meet them, at least under the proper circumstances. So who cares? Think of that secret favorite book of yours – not the one you tell people you like best, but that book so good that you refuse to share it with people because they’d never understand it. Perhaps it’s not even a whole book, just a tiny portion that you’ll never forget as long as you live. Nobody knows you feel this way about that tiny portion of literature, so what does it matter? The author of that small bright thing, that treasured whisper deep in your heart, never should have bothered.

Of course, it may well be that you are writing not for some perfect reader someplace, but for yourself, and that is the biggest folly of them all, because it will not work. You will not be happy all of the time. Unlike most things that most people make, your novel will not be perfect. It may well be considerably less than one-fourth perfect, and this will frustrate you and sadden you. This is why you should stop. Most people are not writing novels which is why there is so little frustration and sadness in the world, particularly as we zoom on past the novel in our smoky jet packs soon to be equipped with pureed food. The next time you find yourself in a group of people, stop and think to yourself, probably no one here is writing a novel. This is why everyone is so content, here at this bus stop or in line at the supermarket or standing around this baggage carousel or sitting around in this doctor’s waiting room or in seventh grade or in Johannesburg. Give up your novel, and join the crowd. Think of all the things you could do with your time instead of participating in a noble and storied art form. There are things in your cupboards that likely need to be moved around.

In short, quit. Writing a novel is a tiny candle in a dark, swirling world. It brings light and warmth and hope to the lucky few who, against insufferable odds and despite a juggernaut of irritations, find themselves in the right place to hold it. Blow it out, so our eyes will not be drawn to its power. Extinguish it so we can get some sleep. I plan to quit writing novels myself, sometime in the next hundred years.

Lemony Snicket

[ninimagearchive]

ABOUT TRENT - Off an old website; 2005?

Full Name: Michael Trent Reznor Jr. Nickname: Stimpy Birthday: 17.5.65 at 7:30 Hometown: Mercer, Pennsylvania

Father: Mike Reznor – Commercial Artist, Interior Designer, Amateur Bluegrass Musician Mother: Nancy Clark One Sister: Tera, born in 1971. Lived with mother after divorce

Childhood Allergies: Cats, dust, grass and ragweed Enjoyed as Child: Fishing, skateboarding, building model airplanes and music Address: New Orleans, Louisiana, USA Height: About 5'7" Eyes: Hazel Hair: Dark brown, dyed jet black every 6 weeks Status: Single

Previous Bands: Option Thirty, The Urge, The Innocent, Slam Bam Boo, Lucky Pierre (with Kevin McMahon of Prick), and Exotic Birds (with Chris Vrenna) Pets: Cat "Fuckchop", dog "Daisy May" Religion: Brought up Protestant Favorite Color: Green Favorite Candy: Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, creamy High School: Graduated from Mercer High in 1983 College: 1 year at Allegheny College Majors: Computer Engineering and Music Instruments: Keyboard / Piano, Guitar, Saxophone, and Trumpet Tattoos: None ("I don't like shit on me") Piercing: Ears and, for about a year and a half, septum Smoke: N/A (his father gave him his first joint) Drink: Yes Drugs: Coke... maybe more Sexual Preference: Who knows... does it really matter? Present Car: $100,000 silver Porsche (his "fun-car") Best Kiss: "From my dog" Trent’s first kiss was when he was ten, and he lost his virginity when he was fifteen.

Childhood:

Michael Trent Reznor's parents both grew up in the same small Pennsylvania town, Mercer, where he would spend his childhood. They got married when they were still teenagers because they had to.

His father was named Michael, so they always called their son Trent. Michael Sr. was a commercial artist; his wife was a homemaker. But they were too young for all of this.

Trent's parents divorced in the early 1970s. When Trent was five, after his sister Tera was born, his father had a talk with him. "I'm leaving." "When are you coming back?" "I'm not coming back."

Trent just didn't understand what that meant. All he could think about was their Saturday trips down to the drugstore, where they'd sit at the soda fountain. A cherry Coke for Trent, a chocolate Coke for Dad. Afterward, though his parents were nearby, he lived with his grandparents, who raised him, and Tera stayed with her mother.

As a child, Trent was in the Boy Scouts, skateboarded, built model planes, and played the piano (according to his grandfather). Trent's piano teacher (Rita Beglin) compared Trent's piano playing to Harry Connick Jr.

In high school, Trent was clean-cut, handsome and popular. He played the tenor sax and keyboards in his high school jazz and marching bands, and he appeared in a couple of musicals: Jesus Christ Superstar and The Music Man. He was Judas and the Music Man. He was also voted best in drama by classmates and performed in local rock bands.

Interview with Trent About Sex:

Q: Tell me five words you associate with sex. Trent: (very long pause) The first things that pop into my head would be: taste, sweat, lick, come, bite.

Q: In your songs, sex always seems very carnal and violent. And watching your videos, one might guess that you have a personal interest in masochism. Trent: I do, to a degree. I'm not a hardcore practitioner.

Q: So do you like pain during sex? Trent: Sometimes. Just the psychology behind it. I'm somewhat uncomfortable talking about this too much...

Q: Have you ever kissed a man? Trent: Yes, I've kissed a man.

Q: In the fullest sense? Trent: Almost. A veil of drunkenness. It was kind of a mutual thing. It was weird. It was half joking around. It was bristly. And later—in the old Nine Inch Nails—if we wanted to get rid of people, the guitarist and I would start making out. It was a trick. I mean, I really love women. I don't dislike men, and there are many times I've thought about it. You get into certain scenes, and I realize I should experiment down that path, and I just haven't done it yet. I've been in situations where there are men involved, but not directly interacting.

Q: So are there a lot of orgies around the Reznor household? Trent: No, no, it's not a common situation. When I'm in a relationship, that overpowers the desire to... these usually arise from casual situations, usually intoxicated situations. You wake up and think, "Okay, we just stepped through another portal..." (pause) I think about giving head, though. I don't know why I'm saying this, but I think about that. I'd be good at giving head, because I know what... (laughs)... I mean, no one knows how to jack yourself off better than yourself, you know?

Q: Which kiss will you remember forever? Trent: (extremely long pause) I don't know.

Q: Are no kisses coming to mind, or various kisses? Trent: A variety of ones that are pretty high up there. It's the combination of the right environment and the right set of lips.

Q: So it's a ranking problem rather than a memory problem? Trent: Yeah. (a lengthy pause) From my dog, Maise, licking me in the mouth, after I had passed out drinking. I was sleeping with my mouth open and Maise never does that normally. (he nearly always speaks of her in the present tense)

Q: Did you kiss back? Trent: A little kiss back. I prefer to kiss her on the side of the mouth rather than getting right in. It's kind of incestuous, you understand, because she's part of the family.

Q: What should a woman never do on a date with you? Trent: It's all good. (pause) But usually fart lighting is not one of my favorites.

[sweatervest-obsessed]

Second Chances Are For Winners

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid

WC: 2.7k

TW: Swearing, teasings, blood, abduction, breaking and entering, Criminal Minds General list of triggers apply here.

A/N: Hiya gang! so actually I have been so unmotivated to write and I just got back from vacation so I promise I will finish up VDVE soon. But please enjoy this mouth vomit that Just came out of my mind. It's a part one since the rest of it is mapped out, just not written! (also why is like every other gif his mouth moving. This man really just doesn't stfu and it's only hot on him)

Spencer Reid being overwhelmed was an understatement. He needed to get out of that police station as soon as physically possible. JJ confronting him about his hostility towards her had not gone the way she had hoped it would, and Spencer was once again, fuming. 

The Oklahoma heat was not kind to someone who only wore sweater vests, a fact in which he would later start to reconsider when planning his outfits to places where the heat had personal vendettas against the living. As soon as he stepped outside, it was like he was met with a brick wall of temperatures well over what they should be. As the sweat dripped down his forehead, so did the tension. He took a couple of breaths before picking up the phone and dialing a number he knew all too well. 

“Speak and be heard, Wonder Boy” 

“Hey Garcia,” A small smile formed from hearing the familiar voice. “I need you to look up someone, and find their cell number for me, if that’s okay.”

He could hear Garcia roll across her ‘batcave’, “Hit me.”

“Her name is Y/N Y/L/N…” 

“Give me two seconds…..Isn’t she—” 

“Garcia, please.” 

He could hear the smirk forming across her face as her fingers flew across the keys. 

“You’re looking up more than her number…”

“One point for Boy Genius everybody. Yes, I’m looking up more than just her phone number. She’s the gorgeous mystery woman who kissed your cheek in front of the whole team—of course I’m going to look her up now that I have her name.”

Spencer pinched the bridge of his nose, starting to regret the decision to call Penelope in the first place. “Can you just send me her number and snoop around later Garcia?” 

“Fine Genius.” His phone beeped. “Just sent it to you.” 

“Thank you Penelope.” 

“Anytime Boy Wonder.” Reid hung up the call before looking at the screen, opening the text Garcia had sent him. He smiled at the number, and almost dialed before thinking better of it. Maybe after the case, he’ll call you and take you out for lunch to catch up. But it’s nothing more, Spencer decided. You probably didn’t feel the same way, but at least he knew that there was someone who wasn’t a part of the team in which he could finally vent his frustrations to. Now he’ll finally be able to get an objective view on the whole Emily situation. 

Spencer looked at the file in his hand and sighed, opening it up. As he was reading through it for the umpteenth time, something occurred to him, and he quickly made his way back into the station, and towards his team. 

_____________________________________________________________________________

Once the jet touched down in DC, Spencer was the first one off the plane. He walked through the hanger, and towards his car. He could feel the others watching him, especially Emily, but his mind was elsewhere. 

He reached into his pocket and pulled his phone out, dialing the number Garcia had sent. 

“Y/L/N and Associates, how may I help you today?” 

Spencer didn’t even try to bite back the smile before he cleared his throat, reaching into his back pocket to grab his keys. 

“Hi, yes, I was wondering if I could speak with Y/N Y/L/N?”

“Sure, let me make sure she’s available. Her meeting should be ending soon. Can I ask what this is for?” 

Spencer pursed his lips before answering. “She, uh, just told me to call this number.” 

He heard the person on the other end shuffle something around before answering, “Good enough for me.” They hummed. “Can I just get a name?”

“Yeah–uh, Spencer–Spencer Reid.” 

“Give me one moment Mr. Reid” was all he heard before he was put on hold. He sighed and entered his car, chucking his go-bag into the passenger seat. As Spencer turned on the car, he heard your voice.

“Spencer?”

His face lit up, and a smile graced his features. 

“Hey! Yeah. Um” He cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair. “Hi.” 

She laughed. “I knew you’d find me eventually, Doctor, but a whole week? I feel that maybe your profiling skills need a bit of sharpening.” 

“Well–I was, I was working on cases. I-I didn’t forget—”

You cut him off, voice softer than he remembered. “I’m just teasing Spencer. So what do I owe the absolute pleasure of having Doctor Spencer Reid grace my line.” 

“Well, I was hoping you’d give me your cell number so I don’t have to annoy your secretary…”

You were silent for a moment. “Well my number is going to cost you something.” 

“Y-Yeah absolutely.” Answered a bit too quickly, almost out of breath. 

“I expect a meal sometime soon, and maybe throw in coffee one of these mornings as well.” 

Spencer smiled so brightly he almost couldn’t see the road as he was driving. 

“I-I, um, think that’s something I can do.” 

He heard you hum in agreement.

“What about tomorrow night?” 

Spencer paused. 

“I–...I actually can’t do tomorrow night, I have a team meeting, but what about breakfast the next morning?” 

He heard you shuffling papers around and a bit of typing on the keyboard before you answered him. “Seems like I’m all yours Doctor.” 

Reid smiled and parked his car outside of his apartment. 

“Then you’ll have to give me your cell phone’s number and it’s a sealed deal.”

“Are you usually this good at negotiations? Should I start prepping my list of demands for breakfast…” You joked, letting out a small laugh. 

Spencer shook his head before he realized you couldn’t see him. “N-No, well yes actually. It’s a part of the whole FBI thing.” 

You laughed at his joke before giving him your cell number. “I’ll see you soon Spencer. Bye.” 

As you hung up the phone, Spencer sent a quick “hey!” text before getting out of the car and heading up to his apartment. Maybe this wouldn’t be such a tense week after all. 

______________________________________________________________________________

The Team isn’t stupid. They’ve noticed that Spencer was somehow in a better mood when he arrived at the office the next morning, despite the way he basically ran away from the jet. They also noticed he was spending a lot more time on his phone than before, especially since Spencer was not the one to text. 

As Spencer dumped his sugar into his coffee mug, Derek came up next to him and started to prepare his own coffee. 

“Wanna tell me why you’re in such a good mood Pretty Boy?” 

Spencer pondered the offer for a moment before putting the sugar back on the counter, next to the coffee pot. “Nope.” and he walked back towards his desk. 

Derek was taken back a little bit, but finished his coffee. He made eye contact with Emily and shrugged. 

Emily was next, since her desk was next to Spencer’s. 

“Morning Spence…” 

“Morning Emily.” He quickly replied, and even flashed her a quick smile before his phone lit up and his attention was taken away from her. He sent a quick text, before placing his phone face down and started looking through his files to find the right paperwork to finish the consultation he had started before they left for Oklahoma. 

“Wanna tell me what’s going on with you?”

“Nope.” Spencer replied yet again, and now that Derek was back, he watched the same look pass through Emily’s face before she looked at Derek. 

Derek decided he was going to try a different tactic this time. “Hey Reid, wanna tell me who you're texting there man?” 

Derek’s face lit up like a Christmas Tree not even a moment later when Spencer ignored his question. 

“Is it…oh what was her name…”

“Ohhhh,” Emily joined in, “It’s the lawyer from last week…” 

Spencer just shrugged and tried to stay focused on the paper in front of him, yet all he had been doing for the past minute was rereading the same line over and over because all he could think about was when you were going to answer his text. 

“The lawyer, right right…” Derek smirked and looked at Emily, both knowing they hit the jackpot. “Wasn’t her name…Y/N?” 

At the mention of your name, Spencer made the mistake of sitting up a bit straighter, which both profilers noticed instantly.

“Oh so Y/N has been texting you all morning huh. Is that why you raced off of the jet last night? Couldn’t wait to go see he–”

“No.” Spencer cut off Derek, looking up at the pair. “I haven’t seen her since last week’s case. Now if the two of you wouldn’t mind leaving me alone I have a lot of paperwork I need to make it through before I head home tonight.” He turned back to the file in front of him and tried to read it again. And again. And again. Eventually, Spencer was able to continue his work once Derek and Emily let him be. 

But anytime his phone buzzed, he could feel the smirks from his friends, he just didn’t care. 

__________________________________________________________________________

You were so over your entire day. Every single one of your active clients decided that they had an issue that needed to be resolved in the second they called you. 

So when you woke up, face leaving a print against the wood of your desk, you let out a groan. 

The little clock in the corner of your laptop's screen flashed the time, causing you to let out a string of curses. 

“I cant fucking believe it’s 2 am. Fuck.” You grumbled, standing up and stretching your arms over your head. 

Your phone screen lit up with a notification, which also showed that you had missed a few text messages from your favorite profilers. The last one was a, correct, guess that you had fallen asleep at your desk. You smiled and responded with: 

Do you ever get tired of being right all the time Doctor Reid?

As you packed up your things, your phone buzzed. 

Not really. It’s just in my nature. 

You laughed out loud a bit, shaking your head. 

And why are you still awake? 

That’s when your phone rang. You held it in your hand, staring at it for a moment, before remembering to answer it. 

“Hello?”

“Did you even check caller ID or are you trying to encourage stalkers?” Spencer’s voice rang through your body as you let out another laugh, placing the phone between your shoulder and your ear, packing up the rest of your things. 

“Well Spencer, I seriously can’t think of another person to call me at this hour besides you…; and maybe this Baby Daddy who won’t leave me alone.” You grumbled, shoving your laptop into your bag with a little extra force than normal. 

“Baby daddy?” 

“Yeah, one of my clients, he’s a sweet guy—great dad. But because he’s so worried about his daughter having any sort of parenting time, he’s been calling me nonstop, freaking out about supervised visits. Like, I get it, but it’s fucking 2 am and I stop working at 5, maybe 6 the latest. 

You heard Spencer hum in response, but no words. “Spencer?”

“Yeah?”

“You okay?” 

“Ye-yeah, I uh–”

“Did…Did you think I was talking about someone I had a kid with?” 

Spencer sputtered out a “n-no, why–why would…”

You let out another laugh, that was like music to his ears. “Spencer, I feel like you should have figured that out from the way that you clearly used the FBI to look up my office number to get my cell number. You would’ve found out if I had kids.” 

“Y-Yeah I guess…” 

“Give me one second Spencer.” and before he could respond, you put your phone down, and pulled out your airpods, letting them connect to your phone so you could go hands free. 

“Can you hear me?” You placed your phone in your skirt pocket, adjusting your airpods so that they would be comfortable. 

“Yeah? Is everything okay?” 

“I just had to put my headphones on, I need my hands.” You slid on your heels, and walked out of your office locking the door. “Tell me about your day Spencer, I have to walk around and lock up.” 

Spencer hummed again and looked up at his ceiling. He had been sitting in his apartment, trying to read, waiting for you to answer his text–partially because he thought the worst, but mostly because he couldn't stop thinking about you. 

“Well. Not much happened. I was at work, and was trying to finish a report for this case I’m consulting on by sending them a preliminary profile, and then Derek was up my ass all day.” 

“What about?” You asked, placing your bag on the floor near the office, going to check the rest of the offices to make sure no one was still there. 

“Oh, um, well…”

You laughed again, causing his chest to swell again. “So it was me.” You teased me. “Excited to talk to me?”

You could feel Spencer turning redder and redder as the moments went on.

After a brief pause, Spencer responded to you. “And what if I am?”

It was your turn to blush, but it only made you feel a bit bolder. 

“Getting a bit flirtatious, Spence. This is not the Reid I once knew from all those years ago.”

You could hear Spencer laugh. 

“You sound tired. Why don’t you get some rest Spencer.” 

Spencer sat up straighter. “No. I’ll stay on the phone with you—” He interrupted himself with a yawn. “Until you get home. What kind of agent would I be letting you walk home alone at this hour.” 

“I’m not going to stop you, but if you fall asleep….I’m hanging up.” 

“Fine—Just text me when you get home?” 

You hummed and nodded. “Can do sweetheart. Night Spencer.” 

“Night Y/n” 

You hung up the phone and turned on your spotify, listening to some music that would make this fifteen minute walk bearable. You usually drive into work, but it had been such a nice day, and you usually don’t mind getting in the extra walk since you sit behind a desk all day. 

You paused before you exited the first set of doors—part of you felt like you should just go back upstairs and sleep in your office. It wouldn’t be the first time, and it would provide a certain agent with a lot more comfort knowing you’re somewhere safe. 

But then you thought about your bed, and the new sheets you put on the night before, and the weighted blanket spread out across the bed spread, and you realized you’d much rather sleep under that than on a stale couch without even a pillow. 

You managed to make a fifteen minute walk into a ten one. Speeding home at 2 am was not exactly what you wanted to do, but you’d rather that then the couch. You quickly unlocked the front door and made it up the stairs and into your apartment. 

You sent Spencer a quick text saying that you had arrived home, and immediately moved into your bedroom. 

The apartment was a small one bed, one bath. It would have been considered a studio if not for the door between your bedroom and the kitchen/living room/entrance/dining room. Your bedroom was quite small, with a skinny closet, a dresser, and your bed. You had gotten lucky enough to shove your bed against one wall, and create a reading nook in the turret window on the other side of the room, which was only about ten feet away, but still. 

You kicked off your shoes, and made your way into the bathroom, brushing your teeth and listening to whatever music spotify had decided to play for you. 

You took off your outfit for the day and pulled on your pajamas, which felt so good against your skin as you slid into your bed, and shut the lights off. 

You wished you took the first option when two minutes later, you heard your bedroom door creak open, and a voice tell you not to scream. 

To Be Continued...

________________________________________________________

[movingthisblogcelestialtarot11]

Hi! What hair color would you associate with each zodiac signs? 💜

Anon omg this is fun! But I would like to say not every aries or gemini will have these hair types as listed. There’s so many different textures. I suppose this is more so my imagination:) Again this is just my visuals and opinion! You can add if you’d like.

Aries—Strikingly dark, jet black hair. Or curly afro, defined and juicy, voluminous!

Leo—Golden vivacious waves, soft and silky like melting honey. Or long coily hair, tightly formed like ringlets! Messy and brushed through.

Sagittarius—Tight slicked back hairstyles. Exposing their unique features. High buns, claw clips with a marble style for that chic look.

Libra—Goddess waves. Silky long and smooth. Or beautiful mermaid waves in their hair with beads and shimmery glitter.

Aquarius—Beautifully dyed hair, always changing their style! Beautiful tight coils, voluminous. Messy, brushed through. Bedhead kind of style.

Gemini—Light brown hair, soft and silky. Feels like water when you try and run your hands through it. Boho braids in their hair, wispy strands left out.

Pisces—I just see pisces with a short little bob lol. It’s sleek, defined, and moves with grace. Shows their facial features a lot. Silvery beautiful hair. Add some curly texture and it looks as though they went dipping into the water

Scorpio—Bombshell blowout, hair either very light or dark. Platinum blonde or the blackest black. Plays with extremes :)

Cancer—Layered haircuts. May prefer to keep their natural hair color. If they have black hair they will dye it black. Just for the effect. Long, wispy and defined ends :)

Taurus—Dark chocolate brown. Looks silky and thick. Glides heavenly. Or short layered cut to frame their face, curls are defined and juicy.

Capricorn—Sleek and bone straight. Dark, raven like hair. Their hair may be tied back in buns often, keeping it out the way. Leaves some strands of their curls out, no more.

Virgo—Long hair. So much they don’t know what to do with it. Strawberry blonde hair :) they love to experiment with leaving it down and blown out, or natural.

[saturnville]

…stays in madrid [2/2]

pairing: jude bellingham x black oc (naomi sinclair) summary: what happens in madrid… warnings: small small reference to sex. tags: @emjayewrites @cocobutterqwueen @neeville @neewrites @blueaetherr @vile-harlot + anyone else who likes football fics? let me know if you want to be added! an: love naomi and jude down bad.

fc: renee downer

part one: what happens in madrid

1 year later.

She received an offer. To start a career in a new city—Madrid. To network with the most experienced and knowledgeable fashion. icons, to hone in on her craft of designing, to get one step closer to creating her own brand. She received an offer to be an Associate Director of Development and Design and she took it.

At the first opportunity, she packed her degree, all her belongings, sold her home, and jetted to Madrid on the first available flight. There, she was greeted with a bouquet of flowers and a bottle of wine on her kitchen island in the center of her new condo.

Congratulations, it read. I’m so proud of you and all you’ve done. I hope you enjoy Madrid as your home. Can’t wait to see you. Xx Jude.

Naomi smiled softly. Still as sweet as he was a year ago when he desired her attention. She brought the bouquet to her nose and inhaled softly. The scent of tulips would never get old. She made a mental note to keep flowers in the kitchen as frequently as she could.

Naomi spent the next few hours unpacking and organizing her home. By the time she’d come to a reasonable stopping point, her bedroom and bathroom had been unpacked and organized. Her kitchen and living room required some work, but they would be priority for later.

She huffed and prepared to sit on the edge of the bed but was halted in action by a loud knock on her door. Naomi whined loudly and clenched her teeth. With her feet planted firmly, she rolled her shoulders bag and trudged toward the door. 9:42pm. Who could…?

“Fix your face,” she heard once she opened the door. Her features immediately softened, her shoulders relaxed, and her eyes lit up. On the other side of the door was Jude, leaned up against the doorframe, another bouquet of flowers in one hand while a large backpack occupied the other. “Can’t be that upset to see me, can you?”

Naomi smiled softly and ushered him in. Jude nodded as he glanced around her apartment in approval. Proud was an understatement. She’d done the damn thing and he couldn’t have been happier for her. “Looks good, babe. You need help with anything?” Jude hardly emptied his hands before Naomi’s chest was pressed against his and her lips claimed his. His large hands circled around her waist and snuck downward to caress her bottom. She smiled against his lips. Three months was too long without him, and now, she’d see him almost everyday.

“Not right now,” she said once she pulled away. Her thumb caressed his face in endearment. She wiped away the remnants of her lip gloss and giggled. “Thank you for coming. I wasn’t expecting you until later this week.”

Jude shook his head. “My girl’s in Madrid and you thought I wasn’t coming today?” He blew a raspberry and waved her off. Naomi held her hands up in faux defense, “Alright now, Mr. Bellingham.”

“You eat?” he asked, sauntering to the counter top. Naomi shook her head. He began to dig into the backpack and pulled out containers of food—a variety to choose from. And of course, her favorite wine along with chocolate and packs of popcorn. “Jude…”

He was just so him. So considerate and kind. So generous and lovely. Her eyes began to water. Who would’ve known that the man who approached her a year ago at a dinner would be in her new home wining and dining her. Blessed couldn’t even describe how she felt.

“You’re amazing. Thank you,” Naomi said, wrapping her arms around his waist. Jude pressed his lips against her forehead, his heart fluttering at her touch. “Gonna take a shower. Did you bring clothes?”

Jude nodded, his stomach clenching. “Yeah, why, what’s up?”

Naomi pulled away and raised her eyebrow suggestively. Jude smiled softly and tapped her bottom as he followed her to her bedroom. “Yes ma’am.”

-

“Right there, baby?” His warm breath tickled her ear and scratched at her insides. Speechless. How had she never known the beauty of making love? It was so rich and warm. Maybe it was because of his gentleness and patience.

The way he caressed her so softly, encouraged her so boldly, and expressed his adoration so freely, had her mind going in circles. How had she gotten so lucky?

Her words were gargled as she tried to make out a simple statement. He found amusement in her struggle. She swallowed thickly. “Yeah, right there…”

-

Liked by judebellingham, adyajalyn, alexandraaaaa, and 789 others.

naomisinclair from madrid, with love.

View 167 comments.

jobebellingham get a room. jk love u

— naomisinclair love u dork

adyajalyn miss you already

— naomisinclair i miss u more. come visit soon

justineskye so happy for you!

— naomisinclair i’m gagged. thank you!!!

judebellingham i love you

— naomisinclair i love you more

judebellingham liked your comment!

-

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Jude whispered. “I know you’re not here for me, but you being here means everything to me.”

Naomi smiled. She placed her food on the bedside table and threw her arms over his body. “I’m glad I’m here too. I love you.”

Jude seared his lips against hers. To be close to her was everything. To know her was a privilege. One that he’d never take for granted. Ever. “I love you.”

[m4lexxx67]

I did it, I'm done!!! I finished what is probably one the coolest projects I have ever done and it turned out SO COOL, I'm so excited!!! Everyone come look at it cause I made a fucking killjoys shirt collection!!!

Everyone of the Fab Four got their own type of shirt that I think fits them and they're all the same concept (logo on the back, name in the front, most of the design in their color plus some smaller detail in another color that's kind of in their pallet (taken from their ray guns), words associated with the character) but the font and placement of the writing changes and all that and I really love that they obviously belong together but still look so different!

Also fun fact it took fucking FOREVER to paint Ghoul cause it's sooo many lines and painting lines takes so much time cause you can't just carefully draw a sharp edge and then quickly fill in the rest (like for example Jet's logo) because basically everything is edge! And the design for Kobra's name? Such a pain in the ass, there's so many sketches that were all scrapped. Like in total it took me maybe one and a half to two hours to come up with all of the designs, except for Kobra's stupid fucking name, I kept going back to it for literal weeks!! But honestly so worth it, it turned out exactly as I wanted and just all in all feels very Kobra to me

(As for the different shades of blue/green on Jet's and Ghoul's shirts... The shirts have been done for a while and were lying around my room without being folded or anything, so that's just folds and light reflections, the colors are actually very even)

[numbersareimaginary]

>"every engineer is a fascist"

>is engineer

modus ponens is a hell of a drug. try it sometime.

Engineering as a discipline within the United States has a really interesting relationship to capital. It wants so desperately to be a Professional Practice, like doctors and lawyers, but in reality its a job like any other (and indeed, so are doctoring and lawyering, but they've managed to achieve cultural status that engineering has not). Engineers are technical workers, but they see themselves always as temporarily embarrassed entrepreneurs, as just one break away from being their own boss, from being the capitalist themselves. So they have Professional Associations (not unions, never unions) and they talk a big talk about leadership and business management and blah blah blah blah and it's like, c'mon you're a fucking number cruncher. And as you should know by now if you've been paying attention, capitalism and fascism are deeply intertwined.

Engineering education is deeply flawed and produces a lot of really worrying biases in students. "Engineering ethics" is a joke and education on it even more so. Almost every engineering student I've talked to is deeply illiterate on history, on politics, on social issues, etc etc, no matter how good they may be at 3D dynamics or fluids or robotics or whatever. Engineering curricula also breed that sort of "I know how to solve one kind of problem so every problem must be solvable by the same methods"-type thinking that creates the sort of people who will happily drop into discussing eugenics at the lunch table.

This ties into the field's massive demographic problem. Engineering fields lag behind all others in terms of gender and racial equality, queer involvement, etc etc. An overwhelmingly white, male, conservative discipline with a mindset of being the best at solving everything is uh... dangerous. Also, just as a personal anecdotal sidenote. Almost every engineer and engineering student I have met is the sort of person who would build gas chambers for $70,000 a year and not even question themselves. People I know and care about and love have gone off to build bombs and fighter jets and missiles and not once thought their own morality. The people I interact with daily scare me for their complete lack of ethical or moral core, for their joking about cushy jobs at Lockheed Martin or Raytheon, for their casual dismissal of anything that isn't capital E Engineering. I stand by my original statement, asshole.

[fantasyforbeginners]

I find it really interesting how you seem to kind of separate foils as its own thing, and I’m curious about how that works. For example, I know that Katara and Azula are definitely foils - both girls are prodigy benders, associated with blue, lost a mother, etc, but Katara’s compassionate, and Azula’s cruel. I like that contrast, but I never understood that’s contrast’s doing from a standpoint for the narrative as a whole, separate from say, plot or characterization.

So foils are built off two things: the similarities, like you listed, and the differences (Katara being the one to save Aang and Zuko whereas Azula inflicts violence; the compassion and cruelty, as mentioned). We also get into how Katara gives and believes in agency (i.e. her disagreements with Aang in the Avatar State) and disagreeing in a thoughtful manner (much like Aang: "no, Katara, you do have a choice") that contrasts with bloodbending — invasive control, fear and threats, etc — and which is Azula's mainstay: "All your life you've used fear to control people..." "Well what choice do I have?" Azula says that 'fear is the only reliable way' but that doubles as 'control is the only reliable way,' poor girl.

This all ties back into ATLA's thing of "is it your own destiny? Or is it a destiny someone else has tried to force on you?" vs "Aang's following his destiny his way / you have always followed your own path"

Katara's compassion reinforces as well in bringing down the divides between nations. She frees and befriends an Air Nomad; she reaches out to Earth Kingdom kids with understanding and aid (Haru, Jet); Katara symbolically unites the North and South Water Tribes; she and Aang reach out to Zuko&Iroh + the Fire Nation kids (the Headband, the Painted Lady), even though they're Fire Nation and their enemy. In Azula's worldview, there should be no connection or distinction: everything is either Fire (superior in every way) or not-Fire and an obstacle to remove or ignore.

A lot of the 1st and 3rd paragraphs though is implicit narrative subtext. ATLA never has a character say "balance can only be restored through all the Nations working together" even though the show Hinges on the very concept and reinforces it over and over again, with the White Lotus just being an older all-male version of the Gaang (at least one bender of each type sans air but Iroh honestly takes Aang's role; a sword master, etc).

So the contrast between the two girls helps create their characterization; their characterization contributes to their foil relationship; and that foils dynamic helps build ATLA's narrative and thematic messaging. It is plausible, after all, to have two characters who have parallels but don't quite achieve foil status (Mai and Yue, or Mai and Toph for example), and a show can have a strong narrative / characterization without really having any foils (Jurassic World: Camp Cretaceous is a good example).

Honestly my favourite foil dynamic of all time has to be Viren and Callum from The Dragon Prince because they are an immaculate villain-antihero-hero foils dynamic built throughout 7 seasons. The Dragon Prince uses foils so well it's kind of incredible, and I do think uses them in a more complex way than ATLA — Viren and Callum have narrative, thematic, and heavy characterization similarities, while also still maintaining contrasts — so if you want to learn more about them and how to do them well, I'd rec the show just for that (and its worldbuilding, and ethical dilemmas, and queer rep).

For a quick overview of what I mean while avoiding not too many spoilers:

Callum is Dragon Prince's core protagonist; Viren is its main antagonist (S1-S3) and then he has an atonement arc (S4-S6). They are both mages: Callum becomes a primal mage (neutral to positive magic system), and Viren is the High Mage of Katolis and practices primarily dark magic (a malevolent magic system). They both have kings who are also their brothers, and mysterious elves who directly encourage their magical paths and journeys—Callum's has his best interests in heart, Viren's very much does not.

While the main difference between them is that Viren primarily seeks magic and power for a sense of self-importance — eventually forsaking and damaging his family unit — Callum seeks magic and power to protect his loved ones; he'd never forsake them. What the show then displays, then, is that like Viren once upon a time, Callum's road to hell is paved with good intentions (Viren did and does love his family) even if he never falls prey to the same political ambitions, there's still heavy Consequences for the magical choices he's making. Viren, meanwhile, moves towards where Callum stands, loving his family again and learning to make selfless choices even if he's never forgiven. Callum even becomes High Mage, just like Viren, and uses Viren's staff / takes it as his.

They both say shit like:

VIREN: If it's love, then nothing else matters. Do what you must. (6x06) VERSION OF CALLUM: It's not about you, is it? If you love her, you'll be the you that can save her. You'll do what you must.

And like, everyone in TDP kind of has foil bonds like this. Viren and Callum's is definitely the most developed central foil relationship, but Claudia and Rayla — whose foil dynamic reminds me of a messier Azula and Katara, respectively, are Also like this to an absurd degree. Whereas in ATLA Katara doesn't really have any personality similarities to Azula except perhaps like, determination and maybe a temper, TDP is out here letting the antagonists make good choices and the protagonists make crappy ones because they are so painfully similar it hurts.

[five-flavor-soup]

This is technically in response/as an addition to a post on the supposed ‘double standard’ in the fandom between Zuko and Jet as Katara’s love interests, but it’s been so long since it was posted and I figured the OP would be entirely uninterested in my word vomit, especially after like one and half years—so, separate post. I added a link for those interested. There's a cut because this got quite long lmao.

In short, the post supposes the argument that though Jet would’ve made Katara kill people (something Zuko very much Did Not Do, no matter what you think about The Southern Raiders), he cleaned up his act after this. Zuko, on the other hand, did lots of Really Bad Things to Katara & Co. with far more frequency than Jet did and got redeemed after a multitude of episodes doing Various Things Moste Evile. To then slap Jet with The Toxic Ex-label and see Zuko as the ‘healthier’ and ‘better’ option creates a Double Standard(™) within the fandom, which is supposedly bad and not an arguably incorrect reading. 

But the differences in fandom perception between Jet and Zuko as Love Interests for Katara (one of which canonically, and the other potentially and apparently talked about in the writer’s room) are easily explained, as can the Supposed Double Standard—just by thinking about it from Katara’s viewpoint, or even the audience’s. Because, well, the worst things Jet ‘almost’ ended up doing didn’t happen because of outside interference only. 

That’s the important bit here. He 100% would’ve drowned an entire village just to get rid of a handful of Fire Nation soldiers, had Sokka not managed to evacuate everybody. He 100% would’ve grievously injured two people who, as far as Jet and everybody else were aware, were refugees who might not even be firebenders — considering nobody else saw Iroh heat up his tea, he could’ve been wrong — in an attempt to prove his own hunch. Had the guards not been there, had Zuko not been able to fight back with swords, Jet would’ve genuinely attempted to wound them for as much as a puff of smoke. And Jet consistently involves bystanders (innocent or not) in his desperate quest to harm and defeat the Fire Nation: the Gaang (and particularly Katara, through explicitly manipulative means) and the villagers in Jet; Zuko, Iroh, and the people in the teashop in City of Walls and Secrets. Additionally, we don’t see more violence from him because he’s not a main character like Zuko is—though it’s implied that Jet beats up villagers who are supposedly in cahoots with the Fire Nation often, only agreeing to turn over a new leaf when he, Smellerbee, and Longshot decide to move to Ba Sing Se. 

Zuko explicitly and frequently doesn’t harm people: that, or it isn’t important to the plot. He doesn’t burn down the village on Kyoshi, he literally only manages to lightly singe it. He threatens people with violence frequently but never actually goes in for the kill. I’d argue that the most explicitly violent thing he does in Book 1 is breaking Aang out of the Pouhai Stronghold—for his own ends obviously, but if it’s spelled like treason and sounds like treason, it’s probably treason. When he thinks of robbing the pregnant couple while he’s on the run, he stops himself of his own volition; when he considers using Appa to catch Aang (this was a point made against Zuko in the post), he’s unaware of what Appa’s been through prior to that point and sees him as no more than an animal used for travel, much like the ostrich horse he stole earlier in the season. 

Zuko’s schtick throughout Book 1 and 2 is that he doesn’t want to think of the consequences of his actions. His plans are never fully complete. He doesn’t think of how he’s going to get a chained, notoriously slippery little eel of an Avatar to the Fire Nation, and he doesn’t think about what would happen to twelve-year-old Aang after they got there—which is horrible of him, but it also shows an odd, ignorant kind of innocence that you’d associate with a kid who’s got a hard time telling right from wrong. Like, I love Zuko dearly, adore him even, but kiddo doesn’t think ahead until the Book 2 finale and even that’s debatable. He’ll eventually start thinking ahead a little bit but for the most part, he doesn’t. Not saying that takes away responsibility, because it absolutely doesn’t, but it is telling of Zuko’s character: he’s an ‘act first, think later’-kind of guy, all ‘fuck around; find out; maybe success’. His sole goal throughout Book 1 and 2 is going home, without even thinking on how to get there beyond like, Avatar in my custody => back in Fire Nation with Avatar => dad loves me again. And he says that his only intention is to go home too, in Ep 2 of Book 1:

Aang: If I go with you, [He holds his staff in front of him as an offer, making sure Zuko understands that he does not wish to continue fighting.] will you promise to leave everyone alone? [The camera cuts to a side-view of the area, Zuko's men still surrounding him, spears poised. After a brief moment of hesitation, Zuko erects himself and nods in agreement. Aang is apprehended by Zuko's men, who take his staff . . . ] Zuko: [Boarding the ship up the walkway. Determined.] Head a course for the Fire Nation. I'm going home.

(Added emphasis for my point)

Zuko is not the Big Bad. He’s not The Largest Threat. He never is. In Book 1 it’s Zhao, in Book 2 it’s Azula, and in Book 3 it’s Ozai. Zuko is a consistent threat, yes, but not a particularly large one no matter how good of a fighter he is. Because he’s presented to us as a disastrously hurt and traumatised little brat who we, the audience, are supposed to feel sorry for, and slowly grow fond of. Because we learn in The Storm that the notion of “caring for others is weak” has literally been branded into him. Because he keeps getting back up to fight, but consistently holds back. We are shown that he knows, on some level, that what he’s doing is wrong: the text suggests that Zuko is actively suppressing his morals. And by the time Zuko hires an assassin to ensure the Avatar is dead, we know that Zuko is incredibly unhappy with his choice(s) and is desperate to be safe; that he’s uncomfortable but wants to be comfortable; that he’s incorrect about the source of his fear while he’s back in the palace. The audience is shown this explicitly. 

By contrast, we’re shown that Jet is fully aware that those villagers will die. He’s fully aware that, if he manages to prove the two refugees are firebenders, they’ll be arrested and probably mutilated (if the hand-crushing is any indication). I love Jet and his character, but he’s supposed to be the example of poisoning yourself with your hatred, anger, and hurt. He’s revenge that goes too far, because he doesn’t allow himself closure. He knows the consequences and isn’t shown to care for them, as long as his goal is furthered.

And there is the small, but significant, difference between the two characters: Zuko initially just wants to capture the Avatar, is purposefully remaining unaware of what will happen when he does so, and is clearly shown to change, while Jet just wants to punish firebenders and is very aware of what will be necessary for him to do so, with a handful of lines of how he ‘stopped being like that’. And honestly, Jet is far more mature than Zuko is for quite some time, regarding the violence of war—basically as mature as Zuko eventually becomes at the tail-end of his redemption arc. But Zuko’s maturity is at that point healthier, because he doesn’t want to genuinely do harm. 

In regards to their separate relationships with Katara, there’s these fantastic points that @sokkastyles made in reply to the post:

The fact that Zuko actually did change and Katara actually forgave him makes ALL the difference. [ . . . ] The thing about Jet is how manipulative he was with Katara. He not only almost made her kill innocents, but he lied to her about the man he attacked having a knife when he was called out, so that Katara would see her as righteous. Someone who is willing to lie in order to make themselves seem good and someone who says they are going to change but then does the same things doesn’t have a good track record, and that’s a more troubling relationship dynamic than someone who acts as an upfront enemy but then sincerely changes.

And: 

I do think it makes sense to focus on manipulation being worse than being a cartoon villain when we're talking about personal relationships. I think many people can relate to having someone like Jet in their lives who seems nice but who lies and manipulates to justify their own bad behavior despite repeatedly claiming that they will change. Not that many people will experience being tied to a tree by someone who wants you to tell them where the Avatar is, and it is completely reasonable for people to be more forgivable of things Zuko did as a villain than things Jet did to Katara when he claimed to be a friend.

I actually don’t have anything to add to this, lol. It’s succinct and well-worded.

Lastly, in addition the relatability and the relationships being different (the manipulative, emotionally hurt, and self-proclaimed anti-hero versus the initially childish, explicitly confused and desperate cartoon villain, plus the girl they hurt horribly), there’s also the problem of Jet not being a main character. Jet is a relatively well-written side character, whilst Zuko is very quickly established as a main-ish character with his own POV (as the writers decided during the conceptualisation that he’d be joining Team Avatar eventually). Zuko’s troubling, self-destructive nature that has been forced upon him and his Tragic Childhood is shown in high definition. The audience is supposed to eventually be okay with Zuko and hopefully like him, slowly adding puzzle pieces to complete the picture of a horrific earlier youth and treatment by nearly everybody he knows except Iroh. Something like this isn’t necessary with Jet, not just because he was already incredibly likeable and understandable from his introduction and onwards, but also because he’s neither a villain nor a main character. 

There’s multiple reasons as to why Zuko is often seen as the ‘better’ option, just like there are multiple reasons why Jet and Zuko are compared so frequently—they’re both traumatised teenage boys who ‘rebel’ to get some semblance of control back, but we see Zuko change into a kid anyone would be a little bit proud and fond of and that doesn’t happen with Jet. Double standard or not, Zuko and Jet are different characters who the writers also treated very differently, on purpose. It makes sense to me that the audience would think Zutara is the ‘less bad’ or far better option. We know far more about Zuko than we know about Jet; and Jet’s redemption arc, if we can even call it that, halts permanently when Zuko’s is reaching the height it for him to go into a freefall, ultimately culminating in a genuine redemption. We, the audience, know this. So does Katara.

[ficandkaboodle]

Square Hamburgers: 𝕲𝖍𝖔𝖚𝖑 𝕰𝖉𝖎𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓

Guess what’s baaaack!!!! My dumb ass with my silly hyperfixation on creating abominations for a restaurant that will never exist!

(Disclaimer: I focused on ghouls from Impera because that’s the era I’m most familiar with and have seen the most characterization for. If I get a better grasp of previous ghouls and get so inspired, I might do more but for now? Just Copia’s ghouls.)

(Sorry, Haze ghoulette fans, there’s been no real read on this chick for me to go off of so she may have to come later. Please don’t filet me, I wouldn’t make a good burger.)

Right-o, let’s go!

Mountain

The easiest ghoul. Good ole reliable Mountain. Never causes any trouble. And oh, look, he’s a vegetarian option — how thoughtful of you, Mounty!

Mushroom-based veggie burger seasoned with oregano and garlic

Beat crisps

Goat cheese

Arugula

Honey mustard

Served on rye or whole wheat bun

Option of cauliflower fries or regular fries with a garlic-ginger dipping sauce

Swiss

Capturing what a multighoul even is was probably the biggest issue with figuring out Swiss. Oddly enough, it didn’t last as long as it did for certain…other ghouls. Ahem. I figured that the best thing to do was to simply focus on Swiss’s zesty playfulness. I also wanted him to have a salsa going on because salsa is a dance and he’s a dancey boy.

Beef patty with onion, garlic, and curry

Pepper-avocado salsa

Gruyère (it’s a Swiss cheese, cool your jets)

Mango habanero aioli drizzle

Side of smiley fries seasoned with a cayenne, garlic, and curry spice blend with a simple ketchup or mayo to temper out all the flavor going on

Cumulus

Air gave me Such a Time to figure out. Mainly because unlike elements like water, earth, or fire, there is no real, I guess, “airy” flavor or food association. Googling foods that symbolize air or wind just gives you air pop foods or gaseous foods, and I wasn’t really fond of just resorting to pungent flavors because that just did seem to fit Cumulus or Cirrus. Finally, I just decided to lean into a different kind of symbolism, focusing on foods and flavors that are reminiscent of a cumulus cloud or that fit with Cumulus’s generalized personality as sweet but sharp. I can only say that I tried.

Lamb patty seasoned with mint, basil, and chives

Black Cherry mostarda

Creme fraiche

Spinach

Option of herb-roasted fingerling potatoes or halloumi fries with hot honey yogurt dip

Cirrus

General gist as mentioned in Cumulus’s bit: I kinda had to lean more into vibes. There aren’t really a whole lot of things I could think of that reminded me of cirrus clouds, and I wanted to have more vegetarian options so I wound up getting a bit experimental. It’s still a burger, dammit!

Grilled halloumi

Sweet chili honey sauce

Zucchini ribbons

Arugula

Served on baguette

Side of Greek feta fries or fries with an herby creme fraiche

Rain

Oddly enough, another difficult fucker! But in a different way from the ghoulettes. I don’t even remember what the bulk of the problem was besides figuring out herbs and spices associated with water because it all seems so simple now. (That, and I think I had a monstrous craving for fried squid tentacles.)

Seared ahi tuna steak seasoned with marjoram, garlic, and sesame

Avocado slices

Sriracha mayo

Ginger-pickled cucumber

Served on ciabatta

Side options include a small bowl of miso soup with tofu, or fried squid tentacles and a sweet chili crunch dipping sauce

Dewdrop

Literally the only issue Dew posed was figuring out whether I wanted to pay homage to his water ghoul roots, or just focus on the fire ghoul he is now. Then I remembered that surf-n-turf was a thing. In hindsight, this seems like a pretty monstrous burger for such a little man.

Ribeye patty with smoked tea rub

Choice between hot honey fried shrimp or fried soft shell crab seasoned with cayenne and sweet chili

Optional smoked Gouda

Iceberg lettuce

Habanero sauce

Option of potato wedges or popcorn shrimp with either tartar sauce or cocktail sauce

Phantom

Thank you, @library-ghoulette for breaking the three-way tie on the poll I had! That being said. Fuck this guy 😘 Phantom gave me. So much trouble. Mainly because I couldn’t figure out if a quint burger should represent all the elements or zero in on the ghoul itself, or if a representation of all the elements was even feasible. Ultimately, the decided burger wound up being a probably too sweet concoction that Phantom would probably put together because he was left unsupervised in the kitchen.

Smash burger seasoned with brown sugar, garlic, onion, and paprika

American cheese

Fried dill pickles

Cherry chipotle drizzle

Optional pop rocks because if he can’t represent all the elements, he’s at least going to represent the loss of mental stability with this thing

Side of curly fries with a remoulade dipping sauce

(Honestly, this is probably the sort of thing you order just to tell people you got it. If you eat it all and genuinely enjoy it, I mean, I guess we can get your picture on the wall or something. Or provide you with an antacid. But you can only choose one.)

Aurora

Thank you, @angellayercake and @circle--of--confusion for your input!! Aurora’s portrayal as a perky pastel goth always translated as a sweet flavoring to me, which means jams and jellies. I like that stuff on my burgers when the option is presented, but I know it might throw some people off. But in hindsight…there was a whole SpongeBob episode about putting jelly on Krabby patties so never mind, this shit (probably) rocks!

Mixed berry jam

Bibb lettuce

Patty seasoned with rosemary, garlic, and black pepper. Maybe a bit of citrus zest.

Brie cheese

White onion

Side of waffle fries and a strawberry sriracha

Sunshine

I honestly never got the best reading on Sunshine enough to know her deal. But I felt kind of bad at the thought of leaving her out since Aether was getting a sandwich. I know it’s cheating, but I wound up leaning more towards a sort of breakfast-y Monte Cristo because haha, sunshine. But actually, I’m pretty proud of this and confident it might actually taste good.

Orange marmalade spread, lightly spiced wotk with either cardamom, clove, or chili

Black Forest ham

Gruyère

Sourdough dusted with a cinnamon powdered sugar

Raspberry dipping sauce because it’s a Monte Cristo, you need that shit

Side of lightly salted home-cut fries you can either dip into the aforementioned raspberry sauce or request a tangy raspberry Dijon dip

Aether

A hefty boy. A big boy. The type of burger that makes the table wobble a bit when the server puts it down. ….Okay, probably not that, but I did picture what I imagined a hungry man would hork down. I tried to do a bit better on the quint aspect by referencing the others’ spices and herbs but ultimately the star is the blueberry, meant to represent his playful nature. I have nothing more to say other than: Big boy. Big boy beef beef boy big beef boy beeeeeeefy boy.

Two (2) (✌🏽) brisket chuck patties seasoned with marjoram, chili, celery seed, and oregano

Thick-cut applewood bacon

Fried egg

Blueberry bbq sauce or chutney

Mixed greens

Goat cheese

Served on a Kaiser roll

Option of baked potato with choice of toppings or loaded fries

And, uh. Yeah. That’s what I’ve been obsessing over for the past month and some change.

[sissyhopes]

The Trophy

Imagine a gilded cage. Like, really picture one in your head. What do you see?

Me, of course - but what else?

Anything? Some cushions, a little blanket? Entertainment? No? Just a little golden cage, and me?

It's not that different, then, from a regular cage, is it? Just some metal bars, and me - trapped inside.

When I first started working for Harrington & Co, I was eager, hungry for success, and completely unaware of the path life would take me down. I had always known my boss, Max Harrington, by reputation - he was a titan in the finance world, a man whose mere presence commanded respect. I turned down higher-paying jobs for the name recognition alone, hoping his renowned ferocity and charisma would rub off on me.

So, when Max took a special interest in me, I saw it as the break he had been waiting for. Exactly what I deserved.

At first, it was subtle. Appropriate, even. I was a kind of protégé, some middle-ranking grunt he'd seen something extraordinary in. Nobody really questioned it.

Max invited me to dinners with important clients, praising my quick thinking, my easy charm, and how I could hold my own in conversations that usually left junior associates gasping for breath. I felt like I was being groomed for leadership, rather than groomed for submission to him.

I was intoxicated by the attention, the warmth of Max's approval. He had grown up in a modest family. He was just like me: always striving for more. He knew as well as I did that Max Harrington represented the “more” I'd craved my entire life.

I suppose you don't get where he has in life without being able to turn opportunities to maximum advantage. Soon, the invitations became more frequent. Dinners at high-end restaurants turned into weekend getaways to exclusive resorts. He spared no expense, ensuring I experienced the luxury that came with being in his orbit. It was exhilarating at first - flights on private jets, tailored suits, five-star accommodations. I assumed this was part of grooming him for a bigger role in the company. After all, the closer you got to power, the more you absorbed it.

But something shifted. He went distant. Suddenly, I was back at my desk, with everyone else, working hard, with no attention from the big man upstairs. My middling salary couldn't stretch to the luxuries I'd tasted, and I felt the dull thud back to reality daily. Every bland, cheap meal. Every bus journey home from the office. I hungered for a return to the life I had savoured, if only for a brief moment.

I poured over everything I'd said, every action and decision, wondering what I did to lose his favour. I resisted the urge to try to contact him, making myself look needy, powerless - to make him think I'd done something wrong.

One night, after a few too many glasses of wine, and weeks of misery in my boring life, I felt the bravery I'd been lacking. "He'll appreciate me being direct," I told myself. "Just like he is." I texted his personal number, asking if I'd done anything wrong, and imploring him for the chance to prove I was worthy of my place under his wing.

He never responded. It was a bitter defeat, a rejection that undermined my self-confidence totally. I tried to maintain my work, but I was distracted, ashamed and disappointed. My supervisors noticed, and my appraisals reflected that. I knew Mr Harrington read every staff members' appraisals religiously, and knew I had once again let him down. It was a total humiliation - I knew exactly where I belonged.

One evening, after a particularly lavish dinner held to congratulate the management teams for a good year, Max avoided looking at me all evening. Knowing I was the lowest-performing in the team, I felt so unwanted I tried to sneak away earlier. And there he was, at the door, as if he'd anticipated my movements before I'd even decided on them.

He offered me a gift: a custom-made Rolex. “To show my appreciation,” Max said, his smile dripping with an affection that felt almost too personal, too intimate.

I accepted - what choice did I have? - though unease simmered under my gratitude. I brushed it off as some kind of imposter syndrome.

Surely, this was normal. If I wanted to rise to the top, I needed to embrace these perks, right? In any case, it reflected the faintest creaking of the door of opportunity. I knew I had to run through that door while it was still open. I might never get another chance.

The watch was embossed with pink stones around the face, and the band was engraved 'Pretty Baby'. I suppose it was originally a gift for someone else - it wasn't quite my style, and yes: it was a little embarrassing to wear it. But wear it I did: every single day. I wanted everyone else to know that the boss was looking out for me.

Then came the more personal requests. Max asked me to accompany him to exclusive events - not as a colleague, but as his plus-one. I found himself standing at Max's side during charity galas, private art showings, and high-society functions. At first, I convinced himself it was still part of the job, that these were networking opportunities, moments to rub shoulders with the elite.

But over time, I realised something. Max never introduced me as an employee. There was no mention of my work or my potential career progression. Not even my name. My presence became decorative, my role as silent as it was visible. The compliments Max lavished on me became more personal, less professional.

“You look just stunning in that suit,” Max would say, his eyes lingering just a little too long. “You're the perfect companion for these sort of things. I think we can assume - if you're willing, of course - that you'll be accompanying me for the forseeable. I'll have my assistant arrange for some wardrobe support for you. Maybe a stylist. Let's make sure you always look your very best.”

I blushed. It was the first thing he'd said directly to me all evening - the first thing anyone had, in fact. I felt cared for, but not respected. The words flashed across my mind, for the first time in panic. Pretty Baby.

Before I knew it, he was spending more time with Max outside the office than within it. The boundaries had totally blurred without my realising it.

My friends noticed the change. “Man, you've really hit the jackpot, huh?” one had commented, eyeing my expensive, feminine watch, the designer clothes Max had picked out for me as a "reward for all the hard work.”

But inside, I felt a growing discomfort, a sense that something had gone terribly wrong. I guess it was from the discomfort, actually. My suits were increasingly tailored away from my personal style - cinched waists, skinnier trousers with high waists and raised ankles - in pastel colours like baby blue, mauve, and a dusty pink. They felt feminine to me, and the discomfort pulsed through my body. At least nobody expected me to say anything. Just stand next to Max, smiling.

I had entered into this personal relationship with Max - because by now, that’s what it had become - thinking it would propel me forward in my career. But now, two years later, I wasn't any closer to that promotion he had been promised. If I asked, he would just wave away my concerns, like they didn't matter.

"No, no." he'd say, without looking at me. "I don't want you working more. You have an important role to play here."

My 'role' was clear: I was Max's accessory. Some kind of power symbol for him to show off.

The realisation hit him hard one night when they attended a high-profile charity auction. I had spent hours getting ready, picking out the right suit, ensuring my hair - now growing longer, as Mr Harrington instructed - was perfect. As they entered the grand ballroom, heads turned, and Max soaked up the attention as usual. But when people approached them, it was me they noticed.

“You two make such a handsome couple,” one wealthy and highly generous woman said with a wink.

I forced a smile, my stomach knotting as Max wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me closer. It was a gesture too intimate, too possessive.

I wanted to pull away, but the weight of everything Max had given him, the lifestyle I had become so accustomed to, pinned me in place. I realised that somewhere along the line, I'd forgotten how to say no to him.

Now, he knew that too.

In the quiet moments, I wondered when it had all changed. Had there been a moment when I could have stopped this? Should I have walked away before Max’s gifts became chains that bound me to this life? Or had I been a willing participant all along, seduced by the promise of wealth, power, and status?

The trousers were replaced with demure, knee-length pencil skirts. My shirts finally crossed the line into blouses. I wore court shoes, with two inch heels, into the office. My stylist taught me to apply makeup in two styles - office and formal.

Maybe that sounds like the moment I should have jumped off this runaway train, even if it hurt. The thing is: I was so far gone, I already knew my moment had passed. I didn't even know who he was anymore. So I kept letting him tell everyone else who I was, and contorting myself to fit the image.

The eager, ambitious man who had walked into Harrington & Co. two years ago had vanished, replaced by someone who wore expensive gowns, lived alone in a penthouse Max had insisted he move into, and played the role of the doting, adoring partner - though they never acknowledged the term aloud.

My career had become a shadow, something I barely thought about now. I wasn't obliged to come to the office anymore. My days were filled with social obligations, dinners, and luxurious trips with Max. On the outside, it looked perfect - he had everything he had ever wanted. But the cost had been higher than he realised. I had no independence. I had no status of my own. I just hung on his arm, silently, as an object of his power.

Somewhere along the way, I had become a trophy. I could see it in everyone's eyes. Elite circles are small, and so they'd all watched me closely over the years - from a confident, ambitious man, to a demure and silent pet. I knew what they thought of me.

It wasn’t just my professional ambitions that had died. It was my sense of self. The reluctance, the embarrassment that now consumed me was kept buried deep inside, masked behind the practiced, doll-like smile he wore in public. Max never asked if I was happy; he never questioned if I wanted this life. That didn't matter to him, so long as I knew my place and played along.

Now, every morning I wake up in the sprawling penthouse, looking out at the city skyline, and wonder how to pass the time. No work, no real friends, nothing to achieve. No hopes or dreams. Money helps, but the truth would nibble at my flesh constantly - I had traded the man I could have been for the guarantee of luxury, for comfort, for the hollow promise of a womanhood I never wanted, and that depended entirely on his whims.

And in the silence of our opulent life together, in those intimate nights when Mr Harrington accompanies me to my penthouse, in the deafening shadow of the whispers about me from the edges of ballrooms and galas each night, I had come to accept my role: Max’s trophy. Nothing more.

---

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