#“the ”O“ in University stands for ”Organization“

[doodlingwren]

Aughhghghh still busy <3 sorry for the late replies to comments and such lol bye <33333

[headkiss]

steady hand

pairing: aaron hotchner x bau!reader

summary: hotch catches you at the worst times, but you’re not mad about it. or: 4 times you need hotch’s help +1 time he needs yours.

word count: 6.1k

warnings: probably very inaccurate descriptions of r’s job (it’s for the plot, okay??), shy!reader, a very small injury description, yearning (?), first kiss, fluff !!!

a/n: hiiiii this is my very first hotch fic (gasp) so i hope i did okay!!! i’m excited to be writing for him and i have enjoyed it so far and i hope you will too!!! please please let me know what you think and if you’d want to see more of him from me <33

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People are usually impressed when you tell them you work at the BAU.

Which, you won’t lie, is something to be proud of, but their first thought is always that you’re doing something big and solving cases. They ask you if you were there when this case was solved or when that killer was caught.

Then there’s the nodding and dissipation of their excitement when you explain that you work a desk job there. Organize files, write reports, that sort of thing. That is a lot less impressive to most.

You’re no Agent Morgan, or Dr. Reid. Certainly no Agent Hotchner or Prentiss. Instead of being on the field, you spend your time fighting with a printer.

Getting the papers you needed should have been simple, a quick in and out that would have you back hiding behind your desk in minutes. Of course, the universe or something must be against you, because instead, you’ve spent at least twenty minutes trying to figure out what’s wrong.

It isn’t jammed (you’ve checked about five times to be sure) and you’re not educated in printers enough to know how to fix whatever’s going on. You’re just lucky nobody else has needed it yet.

“Come on,” you mutter, trying to pull it away from the wall to get a better look.

You’re sure there’s stress sweat building on your forehead. The last thing you want to do is ask someone for help, to make yourself too visible in this place full of important, intimidating people. You’d rather struggle on your own for now.

You make sure that the thing is plugged in (it is) and then check if it’s jammed. Again.

“Piece of shit,” you’re mumbling at the thing, leaning over it looking for anything out of place.

That’s when you hear someone clear their throat behind you. The sound has you jumping, your knuckles smacking against the wall where your hand had been wedged between it and the printer. You turn around to find Agent Hotchner.

He’d been walking by the printer room when he heard the grumbled curse words. Peeking inside, he’d been pleasantly surprised to find you fussing over the printer. He bit back a chuckle before making his presence known.

You tug your skirt down where it’d ridden up, fiddling with the hem as you try to push down your embarrassment. Of course he’d be the one to see you, in his crisp suit and all. He’s leaning a shoulder against the doorframe, his arms crossed loosely. You swallow and try not to look at his biceps.

“Sorry, sir. The printer doesn’t seem to be, um, printing.”

“I’m assuming that’s why you were fighting with it.”

You fight a wince, “you heard that?”

“Heard what?” He asks, though by the twitch of his lips, you know that he’s well aware of what you’re talking about. He then gestures at the cause of your issues behind you, “it’s not jammed, is it?”

“I don’t think so. It wasn’t when I checked, at least.”

You’re trying not to act as nervous as you are. You don’t think you’ve ever really spoken to Agent Hotchner, save for small ‘hello’s and that one time you apologized for bumping into him. He’s handsome—you’ve always thought so—and, more importantly, he’s basically your boss.

“Let me take a look,” he says, walking over. You step aside, staying out of the way.

“It’s alright,” you start as he looks over it, “I’m sure you have much more important things to do than fix a printer, sir.”

Hotch’s eyes flick over to where you stand, a hand still fiddling with the hem of your skirt, your hair a little messy, your eyes a little wide and worried. You look pretty, he thinks. And sure, he does have things he should be doing instead of trying to fix this printer, but he doesn’t really care.

“Don’t worry about that,” he tells you.

He looks back to the printer, and he seems pretty convinced about trying to help, so you drop it.

While he’s distracted, you take the opportunity to look at his profile. The slope of his nose, the cut of his jaw, the way his brows are pinched a little in focus. It’s unfair, you think, for him to be smart and brave, and be so good-looking on top of it all.

Like he’d heard your thoughts, felt your gaze, he looks over at you again. You turn your eyes toward the floor quickly.

It’s a couple of minutes before anyone speaks. You, staring at the carpet until your vision goes a little fuzzy. Hotch, pushing buttons and flicking switches trying to figure out whatever was going on with the damn printer.

Then, the sound of the ink swiping over the pages, the papers spitting from the printer. You look over at it, mouth slightly parted. What can’t he do?

The sound of your name has your eyes snapping up to his. It’s yet another surprise, him knowing your name. You’re not that important, in the grand scheme of things at the BAU, in the world, really. Someone meant to stay hidden in the background. And still, he knows your name.

“It should be fine now,” he says, grabbing your papers from the cartridge and handing them to you as he stands up straight. “Let me know if it gives you trouble again.”

You grab the pages from him slowly, still shocked at the whole exchange. Your fingers brush against his as you do. “I- Thank you, sir.”

He nods, moving towards the hall. He pauses in the doorway, turning back towards you. “Hotch is fine.”

“Sorry?”

“You keep calling me ‘sir.’ You don’t have to. Just Hotch is fine.”

“Right. Sorry, sir- I mean, Hotch,” you test it out. “Thank you again.”

Yes, Hotch thinks, he likes you saying his name a whole lot more. He sends you a kind smile, “no problem.”

Hotch walks away, probably towards his office where he has very important things to do. Stuff that was surely delayed because he paused to help you. You stare at the doorway for a minute, until you give yourself a papercut and look down at it.

Aaron Hotchner knows who you are.

-

You’re two shitty coffees deep so far, your report open on your desk, the typing bar blinking on the screen of your computer.

There’s pages to go, though you’re not sure how many. You’ve been doing the sort of mindless, robot typing you do when you’re tired. When you’re preoccupied with trying not to glance in the direction of Hotch’s office.

The team got back sometime last night, long after you’d already gone home. From somewhere in Indiana, you think. You’re not sure how they do it, flying about and still coming into the office. You’re tired and you can’t even remember the last time you’ve been on a plane. Add the crime fighting and you’d be a goner.

Blinking yourself from your thoughts, you look back at the blank pages spread out in front of you. It’s not unusual for you to be missing pieces that you need to complete things, it’s just inconvenient. You always end up having to ask someone for the files you need, and then you feel like a burden.

It’s stupid, but in a place full of important people, it’s easy to feel like you’re just in the way.

Anyway, it’s your job, so you push away from your desk and stand, tugging the sleeves of your sweater over your hands.

Your first thought is to go to Reid. As far as friendship goes, you’d consider yourself closest to that definition with him. He’s also the least intimidating of the bunch, probably because you see the most of yourself in him.

You find him in the kitchen with Agent Jareau, both holding their own mugs, probably filled with the same coffee as the one that sits on your desk. You knock gently on the door even though it’s open.

“Hi, sorry to bother you. I was just wondering if either of you have the files from that case you worked a couple weeks back. The one in Ohio,” you shuffle on your feet under their gaze. “I need them for this report.”

“Hey,” Reid speaks first, smiling kindly, “I don’t remember keeping them, but I can double check in my desk if you would like.”

“Oh, that’s okay. You don’t have to do that, I’m sure I’ll find them somewhere.”

You’re about to head out the door when Agent Jareau stops you, “wait, I’m pretty sure Hotch has them. I can go ask him for you.”

It’s silly to feel nervous talking to them, especially when nobody’s ever been anything but nice to you. A little bit of the twist in your gut comes undone.

“No, no. I’ll go ask him if he isn’t busy, thank you though.”

“You should be fine, the door’s open,” she tells you.

You nod, sending the both of them a smile you hope doesn’t look awkward. “Thanks again.”

Their voices picking up their conversation follow you out the door. You cross the space, saying small ‘hello’s to Agent Morgan and Agent Prentiss when they greet you. You try to ignore the prickle of eyes on you as you climb the steps and head to Hotch’s office.

His jacket is draped across the back of his chair, his sleeves rolled up on his forearms. It’s probably the most disheveled you’ve ever seen him, and he’s only missing a single layer. You look away from his arms when he says your name.

Hotch had his head bent, looking over a case when he’d heard footsteps, and he’d been glad to find you standing in his doorway. You work in the same place, yet he barely sees you. That’s probably why something lightens in his chest every time he does. The rarity, that’s all.

“Is this a bad time?” You ask.

“Not at all,” he leans back in his chair, “what can I do for you?”

“I’m really sorry to bother you, sir-”

“Hotch,” he reminds gently. His voice is easy, a hum that you think would sound good no matter what he was saying.

“Right, sorry. Hotch. I was just looking for some files that I need from a case you guys had for this report.”

“You’re gonna have to be more specific than that.”

Then, he smiles in that way that Aaron Hotchner so often does. A small twitch of his lips, a lift in the corners. One that you probably wouldn’t have caught if you weren’t paying so much attention. One that feels sort of like a gift.

You shake your head at yourself and elaborate, “the Ohio case. Three weeks ago, I think. I asked Agent Jareau, but she said you had them, so…”

Hotch wants to reassure you, but he’s not sure how to do it without standing up and letting himself grab your hand and squeeze it the way he’d like. And he can’t do that, not when you’re already nervous. Not when he’s not sure he could hold back after one touch.

“It’s no problem,” he opens one of his drawers, flips through folders until he finds what you’re looking for.

He stands up and walks around his desk until he’s in front of you, and he lets his gaze flick over your face while he has the chance. Your eyes find his easily, and you hope he can’t hear the catch in your breath.

Aaron isn’t usually so quiet with his affections, but that’s because he’s never found himself feeling this way at work. He wishes your desk was on his way to his office, just so he’d have an excuse to stop and talk to you. He makes sure never to use your favorite mug from the cupboard, just so you’ll be more likely to have it.

Hotch clears his throat, “here they are.”

He holds up the folder between you, his hand holding it loosely, the other hanging by his side. His fingers twitch.

You’re embarrassingly distracted by his exposed forearms, eyes trailing from his hand to the skin of his arm, to the way his shirt is tight where the sleeves are rolled. Then, it’s the color of his tie today, the bob of his Adam’s apple when he swallows.

His hand reaching for yours is enough to erase everything else. He lifts it and places the folder in your hold for you. Your skin burns even when he pulls away.

“You alright?” He asks. Probably because you’d been staring at him like a weirdo.

Get it together.

“Yeah. Yes, sorry. Just sort of spacey today, I guess.”

When you look back to his face, there’s nothing but a sort of softness in his eyes you can’t identify. He smiles at you, and for the second time, you feel like you’ve won something.

“Is that what you needed?” He asks.

You open the folder and peek inside. You find exactly what you’d been looking for, not that you’re surprised. Hotch knew what you’d meant and you didn’t doubt that.

“It is. Thank you, Hotch,” you grin lightly when you get that part right. “I’ll get out of your way.”

“You’re not in my way.”

Hotch says the words like he’d known you needed to hear them, like he’d known what runs through your mind so often, like he can read you. He probably can, you think. He is a profiler after all.

Still, the words make your heart do a stupid little jump.

“I’ll bring them back when I’m done,” you say.

“No rush. They’ll just be going back in the drawer anyway.”

“Well, thank you again.”

“It’s no problem, really.”

Hotch watches you walk back to your desk with your head down. Looking at the folder in your hand, he thinks, at least it’s an excuse for you to come see him again.

-

Hotch isn’t in his office when you return the files.

Since you can’t thank him in person—assuming he’s off with the team somewhere saving lives—you leave a sticky note on top of the folder. You drop it on his desk and leave before you second-guess yourself and rip the note off.

You can’t help but think that the office feels sort of empty without the team there. Without Hotch there. It’s how it is most days, so you’re not sure why the absence feels so present now. You shake it off.

The day passes by, then your drive home, and the rest of your night, too. Through it all, you can’t stop wondering what Hotch is doing, wherever he is. Hoping he’s safe.

You’re certainly not expecting to see him the next day, back so soon, but you can’t say you’re upset about it. It’s a brief glance, him walking into his office, the rest of the team and their chatter following, but it’s enough to make your work seem less tiring for some reason.

It was a quick case, and Aaron was glad to at least get a couple of hours of sleep in before coming into the office. When he sits at his desk, the first thing he notices is the folder you’ve left there. The small note in your handwriting.

‘Thank you :)’

He peels the note away and folds it up. Without thinking, it ends up tucked into the inside pocket of his jacket. It’s a simple piece of paper, but it’s heavy where it sits. He rubs a hand over the pocket where the note is and gets to work.

It’s not until a couple of hours later that Hotch ends up leaving his office. Conveniently, in the direction of your desk.

You’ve been burying yourself in your work, your leg bouncing nonstop, your nose inches away from the pages on your desk, your chair pushed in as close as it’ll go. You have to, because if you take a break, if you look away, your eyes will search for Hotch, and you don’t really want to think about what that means right now.

About the ache in your chest when he’s gone, the urge to go ask him a stupid question just to talk to him. It’s awful.

The pen you’re using suddenly runs out of ink, and it makes you pause long enough to feel a cramp in your hand. You sit up and huff, pulling your drawer open and digging around for another pen. Your name in Hotch’s voice has you shutting the drawer and spinning quickly.

It’s just your luck that your shirt gets caught, that the sound of the rip is too loud to play off or ignore.

“Oh gosh,” you whisper, looking down at the damage.

It’s a cheap shirt, you shouldn’t be surprised, but it’s worse than you’d expected. This is what you get for sitting so damn close. The side seam is split, and if you move too much, your bra would probably be visible.

“This is so embarrassing,” you say, holding the rip shut with one hand and holding the other on your forehead. Of course this would happen to you in front of him.

Aaron’s eyes hover where your skin had been exposed, even now that you hold your shirt shut, wondering if it’d feel as soft as it looks. He can’t even remember what he came over to do or say.

He swallows and looks at your face, “do you have another?”

You shake your head, still hiding behind your hand, “no. I really, really wish I did, though.”

“I have an extra one in my go bag. If you’d like?” He hears himself say the words, and he doesn’t regret them, necessarily, but it’s clear to him that you mess with his brain. He doesn’t think straight where you’re involved.

You peek up at him, dropping your hand to your side. “Are you sure? I could probably just use some paper clips, or something.”

“Nonsense. I’ll go get it, okay? I’ll bring it to the bathroom so you can change.”

“You don’t have to-”

Your name leaves his mouth again, gentle but firm. “I’ll grab it.”

“Okay.”

You speed-walk over to the washroom and walk in, closing the door only to block out the rest of the office, who surely noticed what just happened. You’re probably never gonna live this down.

Your overthinking doesn’t get very far, because after only a minute, Hotch is knocking on the door.

“It’s just me,” he says. ‘Just,’ like that word could ever be used to describe him. “You can just open the door a crack and I’ll pass the shirt through.”

You do as he says, tugging the door open until you can see a white dress shirt (of course) in his hand. You reach out and he hands it to you easily.

“Thank you, Hotch. I’ll wash it and give it back, I promise. Sorry for this.”

“Don’t worry about it.” You can’t see his face, but you can hear the sincerity in his voice. “I mean it.”

“Thanks,” you say quietly, closing the door.

His shirt is wrinkled from being packed in his bag, and the sleeves are long when you put it on, but it smells like him and isn’t ripped so you really can’t complain. You roll the sleeves and tuck the bottom into your pants, looking in the mirror to make sure you look at least a little bit put together.

Holy shit, you think. I’m wearing Aaron Hotchner’s shirt. What world have you been living in recently? To be interacting with him more often, to be feeling this sick skip in your heartbeat whenever you do.

You toss your ripped shirt in the garbage, look up, and huff out a breath before leaving the bathroom. You’re surprised to see Hotch still standing there.

“Oh,” you nearly bump into his chest when you walk out the door, but the warmth of his hand on your shoulder steadies you. “I didn’t know you were still there, sorry.”

“You don’t need to say sorry so much, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. You’re dreaming, surely. You pinch yourself on the inside of your arm, just in case. You don’t wake up.

“I- um,” you’re fumbling for words because he’s standing there, looking at you softly, calling you ‘sweetheart’ in that voice of his.

Aaron doesn’t know where that came from, but he’s said it and it’s happened. With the way he thinks about you, how often he does, he can’t really be surprised. Besides, seeing you get flustered because of him is absolutely worth it.

“I wanted to thank you for getting those files back to me so quickly.”

Your eyes flick over to his arm, and it’s then he realizes that his hand is still on your shoulder. He pulls it away and stuffs it in his pocket. He’s probably imagining it, but he swears his palm is tingling.

You wipe your hands over your thighs, “right. It was no problem, really. I was mostly done with my report, so… Thanks for giving them to me.”

“I’m glad to be able to help,” he says. Then he walks back to his office.

You’re standing in front of the bathroom for what’s surely an odd amount of time. Even back at your desk, you can’t shake the haze you feel, a pink tint to your vision, a flutter in your gut.

You spend the rest of your day with your nose buried in the collar of Hotch’s shirt, avoiding the gazes of your coworkers around you.

Aaron spends the rest of the day thinking about how you looked in his shirt. About how you’d look in it and nothing else. He drags a hand over his face when that pops into his head.

“You good, boss?” Morgan asks from the doorway.

“I’m fine.” He doesn’t miss the knowing smirk on Morgan’s face.

-

It’s very rare that Aaron leaves work at a reasonable time. So rare that he can’t remember the last time he wasn’t the last person there.

He’s used to the late nights, the empty spaces, deserted desks. Even so, it’s nice to finish up earlier than he’d expected. He looks forward to the extra sleep he’ll get, the longer time frame to decompress.

Leaving work early already felt like a small victory for the day, and he feels like he’s won something bigger when he sees you in your car, still in the parking lot.

You’d left maybe twenty minutes before Hotch, though you’d assumed he’d be leaving hours after you like he usually does. Everything was fine, normal as you bid your goodbyes to your desk neighbors, as you rode the elevator down.

The sun has started setting, and the air gets cooler as it sinks. You fish your car keys from your bag and unlock it, getting in quickly and tossing your bag onto the passenger seat.

You like your job, sometimes you love it, even, but you look forward to going home either way. You think about the warm shower you’ll take, the shitty dinner you’ll end up eating. Your lonely plans are ruined as you twist your car key in the ignition, it sputters and doesn’t start.

“No, no. Come on,” your head falls back, you huff and take the key out.

You try again, and still, no luck. And again, and once more until you’re fed up with it and drop the keys in your lap. Your head is dropped against the steering wheel, allowing yourself a moment of dramatics from your defeat.

A knock on your window startles you upright. Your heart races for reasons other than fear when you look at who it is.

Hotch stands outside, leaning towards your window with a scrunch in his brows. When he catches your eye, he steps back from your door and gives you room to open it and step out.

You shut your car door behind you and lean your back against it, “hi.”

“Hi. Sorry to scare you, but I wanted to check that you were alright?”

“It’s okay,” your arms are folded behind your back, your hands twisting. “Um, it’s nothing, just some car troubles.”

“That doesn’t sound like nothing.”

“I guess not. It won’t start for some reason. I don’t know.” If he wasn’t standing right there, you’d probably smack yourself for how unsure you sound. “You keep catching me at the worst times, Hotch.”

He disagrees. Aaron can’t think of a time where seeing you could ever be a bad thing.

“You’re fine,” he says, his voice suddenly softer, “trust me.”

Despite the bite of the wind outside, the way he speaks warms you. He’s so honest in the way he speaks, in the sense that he sounds sure, even if it isn’t necessarily vulnerable. You don’t know how he does it.

A small smile spreads on your face before you can stop it, “okay, good. And thank you for checking on me. I’ll just call a cab and figure this out tomorrow.”

There’s no way he can let you take a cab. It’s obvious that with what he does, the things he sees, he’d rather know for sure you’d be safe getting home. But then, there’s the sort of floating feeling he has when he’s around you, one he’d like to feel for a little longer if he could.

“Let me drive you.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that, really. I’ll be fine.”

He ducks his head a little, catches your eye and holds you with that soft gaze of his. “Please, it’s not a problem. For my peace of mind.”

It doesn’t take much convincing, really. You’d much rather sit in a car that probably smells like him than in the back of a cab that smells like sweat.

“For your peace of mind, then. That’d be great.”

You grab your bag from your car before following Aaron to his, where he opens the passenger door for you and makes sure your legs are tucked inside before shutting it. He jogs around the front of his car and gets in.

“Where am I taking you?” He asks, starting his car. The radio hums softly through the speakers, and Hotch reaches over to turn on the heating when he catches you shivering a little.

You tell him your address, “you don’t have to drive me if it’s out of your way, Hotch. I mean it.”

“It isn’t out of my way,” he assures you, and he could easily be lying, but you accept it anyway.

It’s quiet for a little bit, besides the odd question from Aaron for which way to turn. You take the chance to look at him as he drives, his hands on the wheel, the street lights hitting his face. Your head lulls against the seat.

“You’re finished earlier than usual today,” you say. “Not that I know your schedule, or anything, I just-”

“Sweetheart,” he stops you, a smile spreading. It’s wider than what you’ve seen at work, unguarded enough to show his teeth. It’s really pretty. “It’s alright. It’s work I can be doing at home.”

“That’s good. A change of scenery, at least.”

“Exactly.”

You’re not sure what it is that feels different now, in the car. Maybe it’s because it’s only you and him, no prying eyes in the office, no concerns about what this is, what’s allowed. It might only be you, that feels this sort of spark with him, fizzing i’m the air between you. Either way, you’ll soak it up for the duration of the ride to yours.

Maybe that’s why you’re saying, “you know, I always thought you didn’t even know who I was. Until the printer thing.”

Aaron peeks over at you, leaned in his passenger seat. You look like you belong there, like there’s always been a spot for you in his life. Even when you’d started at the BAU, when he first saw you, he felt like it was right that you were there.

Hell, he’d asked Garcia who you were and has had your name in the back of his head since.

“I’ve always liked you,” he admits. He doesn’t say he’s always known you. Liked.

“Really?” You can’t help but ask. Someone like him even noticing you seemed unfathomable. But liking you? He’s gotta be lying.

“Really. Even when you were bumping into me.”

“You remember that?”

“Yeah, I do. You were looking down at the ground, walking like you were being timed. And you had on this light pink sweater.”

Your eyes go wide, focused on his face. You had been wearing a light pink sweater that day. And he remembers all of that? You think, if you looked at yourself in the mirror right now, your eyes would be in the shape of hearts, pulsing in your pupils.

“I can’t believe you noticed all of that.”

“I notice a lot of things,” he says.

Aaron has always had his guard up around new people, has always made himself more serious at work than anywhere else. Then you came along and he had to fight to keep things that way. It makes sense that the minute he sees you outside of work his walls would crumble to dust.

It was inevitable, really.

“I’ve always liked you, too.” Then, before he can say anything, you point at your building, “it’s this one here.”

The car rolls to a stop slowly, his turn signal flashing as he pulls over by the entrance of your apartment building. He puts the car in park and turns to you fully.

“Thank you for driving me.”

“No problem, sweetheart.”

His hand reaches out before he can really think about it, fingertips featherlight over your cheekbone, sliding over to tuck your hair behind your ear. Then, like it was never there, he pulls back. There’s a glow in his fingers where they’d brushed your skin, golden.

It matches the one you feel on your cheek, sparkling.

“Get in safe, okay?”

“It’s a few feet from here to the front door, Hotch. I’ll be alright.”

He huffs softly, twin smiles on your faces. Lovesick and shy, nervous and pink-hazed all at once.

“For my peace of mind,” he says.

“Fine, then. Your peace of mind,” you reach for the door handle, tugging it and pushing the door open. You look at Hotch again, like you can’t get yourself to stop. “Thanks again.”

“See you, sweetheart.”

“Bye.”

You step out and head to your door, turning around before walking inside to give him a wave. Aaron grins and waves back, watching you walk inside.

He stays parked by the curb until he sees a light flick on a couple of floors up.

-

+1

There’s a reason that Hotch is Unit Chief. He thinks quickly, keeps his head straight even with what he deals with every day. There’s also a reason his leadership has been questioned before, but never revoked.

He can be reckless, throwing himself into situations when he knows he probably should’ve waited for backup. This time, it only got him a split eyebrow and a few stitches. It’s been worse; this is nothing.

It is, however, proving to be an inconvenience. He’d gotten stitched up in the ER of whatever hospital was closest to where the team had caught their unsub. It had to be quick, from the hospital straight to the jet.

They’d told him to clean it up again and put a new bandage on it when he got back, which is what he’s trying to do now, in his office, with his laptop’s grainy camera as a mirror. He has the supplies the hospital gave him on his desk, but he can’t really see what he’s doing, and the task is taking much longer than he’d like.

His hands are a little shaky from the adrenaline of his day, and every time his arm comes up to reach his stitches, it blocks his view.

Then, he sees you walking up to his office.

Usually, you’d already be home by now, but you’d been yourself and messed up some of your paperwork, so you had to stay late to re-do it. When you catch sight of Hotch in his office, you’re not so annoyed with yourself.

You notice the things on his desk, the blood on the front of his shirt. Your feet carry you to his doorway easily. Last time you’d really spoken to him was that night in his car, and ever since, there’s been something boiling, a noticeable shift.

You tap your knuckles on his open door twice, “you okay?”

He gives up on dealing with his cut and looks at you instead, the slightly rumpled state of your clothes from a long day, the smile you wear that doesn’t exactly hide the concern in your eyes, the light from the hallway a halo around you. You’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

“I’m alright. Just can't seem to do this right,” he says, gesturing to his eyebrow.

“Do you need help?”

Aaron has never been one to accept help easily, always one to do things on his own. But, when you’re offering so sweetly, when your help means your hands on his skin, how could he ever say no?

“That would be great.”

He pushes his chair back to give you room to stand in front of him. Your legs between his, leaning against the edge of his desk. His knees bump into the sides of your legs, little bursts of the kind of warmth sunlight emits on skin.

You reach for the wipes first, holding them in one hand and reaching up to his eyebrow, the other grasping his chin gently to keep his head steady.

His hand reaches up to hold your elbow. It could so easily be innocent, be almost nothing, but it feels like more. His thumb running back and forth, your face close enough to his to have your breaths mingling. It really feels like more.

“You’re here late,” he says, low and quiet.

“Spilled coffee all over my work. Had to start over. Can you believe it?” You speak just as quietly, eyes flicking from his cut down to his, just for a second.

“I can, actually. You’re sort of clumsy.”

“Hey!” He’s right, of course, but the warm chuckle he lets out is worth your dramatic gasp.

“It’s not a bad thing,” he assures you, squeezing your elbow. “I think it’s cute.”

“Well, thank you, then.”

You set the wipe aside and reach for the bandage next, placing it over his eyebrow and smoothing down the edges with a light touch. When you’re done, you pull back but don’t go far. Your hands fall from his face to grasp the edge of his desk instead.

“All done,” you say.

Aaron’s hands have shifted to your waist. His touch is so delicate, but you’d never ignore it. It might as well be bruising, the way his hands affect you.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Hotch.”

Now would be the time to walk out the door, to say ‘goodnight’ and head home, but you’re in no hurry. Not when his eyes are shining in the dimmed light of his office, soft and practically melting.

They seem to beckon you closer, and though you don’t have a reason this time, your face ends up near his, noses almost touching. It’s as far as you go, afraid you’re misreading things, afraid you’ll be wrong about this.

Hotch closes the space for you.

His chin tilts up, his mouth catching yours softly at first. His hands tighten on your waist, his lips slightly chapped and completely perfect against yours.

You think your knees might buckle, so you put your hands on his shoulders, thumbs digging into his skin, like you’re trying to make sure he’s real. You’re not sure how you manage to kiss him back but you do, and you hear the sharp intake of breath he takes when you push back.

The kiss doesn’t deepen, but it doesn’t have to. You can feel plenty in it already.

It’s not long before Hotch pulls away, leaning back in his chair and tilting his head to look up at you. He removes one of your hands from his shoulder and holds it in his.

“We shouldn’t do this here,” he says, his thumb running over your knuckles.

You look down at your feet, at his legs next to yours. The hand still on his shoulder falls to your side, suddenly feeling nervous.

“You’re right, I’m so-”

“But,” he stops your apology before you can say it. As if you’d ever need to apologize for kissing him. “I’d like to take you to dinner sometime. If you’d want that.”

You look back at his face, eyes searching. He smiles so softly at you, it’s the kind of smile you could only ever give someone you like in this way. Someone you like enough to kiss.

“I’d really like that, Hotch.”

“Good,” he stands, but his hands don’t leave you. “And sweetheart?”

“Hm?”

“Call me Aaron.”

When you test it out, he’s sure of it; his name on your lips is his absolute favorite sound.

༄

thank you so much for reading!!! please please consider reblogging if you enjoyed, it helps a whole bunch more than you’d think and would mean a lot!! <3

[sprout-fics]

Can I throw in a prompt for the Thursday Night Thots for a ghost/konig/soap x reader (either separate or all 3 together) in an A/B/O universe where they run into the reader who is a new rookie at the base and them slowly realizing that the reader is their mate? Thank youu ❤️

Warning: Alpha/Omega/Beta dynamics ahead. Please don't read if you don't like

You were used to this by now.

Staring up at some hulking, egotistical alpha, their arms crossed, eyes peering down at your smaller form in a way that you knew intimately. Their eyes narrowed with interest, disgust, shoulders tight and a growl ready in their throat as their nostrils flared and they drank in the muted scent of omega.

You’re prepared for your masked lieutenant to snarl at you, demand how you of all people made it onto his taskforce, strip you bare in spirit and leave you for the wolves as he destroys every ounce of courage you scraped and fought for to earn your place here. 

What you aren’t ready for, is for the lieutenant to breathe deeply, as if he’s scenting something dripping, heady, warm standing before him. The sound of it ripples through you as he makes no effort to hide it, and there’s no ounce of color in his eyes, pupils fully blown as he stares you down, doesn’t move. 

You meet his stare head-on, defiant, a live-wire on the obstacle course you just ran, sweat still dripping down your back, filling the air with your scent. You think maybe he’s getting a rush from it, from the raw dose of pheremones unhampered by the blockers in your system. Maybe he’s one of those sickos that likes omegas on his team with him, under him.

“Hit the showers.” He tells you instead with a jerk of his head, and you blink, furrow your brow, try to understand. Yet you don’t question him, offer a curt ‘Sir.’ and jog in the direction he’s sent you. 

You don’t see him breathe in the remainder of your presence, a growl grumbling in his chest as you vanish.

–

It’s…strange after that. You suddenly find yourself within the scopes of three of the officers within the taskforce. They pass you in the hallways, breathe in before you’re gone, rumble something that sounds vaguely like approval in their chests and leaving you lost in their wake. 

You come to know them. Ghost, the one who barks when the other recruits stand too close to you, snicker at your omega status. He’s no less soft on you than your comrades, a fact you appreciate, but his eyes watch you differently, tracing every step at a distance like he’s trying to imbue you into his orbit. 

There’s his massive friend- the Austrian on loan from some foreign organization. He’s nearby often, drawing close at the line in the mess hall, at the gym, near the firing range. Like he’s trying to rub his scent onto you without touching, trying to warn any others from coming too close. You find it helpful, his massive size warding off the other alphas who get too close, try and touch you until you bite back with snarling teeth and wild eyes. He brings you offerings, little snacks, extra meds, and it feels almost romantic, like he’s trying to court you. 

Then there’s Soap, the other omega, the one who does get close. He’s tactile, you learn, wedges himself in beside you and ruffles your hair like he would a pup, bumps his hip with yours, offering you little fist bumps and jeering grins at your laughter from his jokes. You’re looser, softer around him, don’t have your hackles up like the rest of them. You think it’s because he’s like you, but come to realize it’s just him, vibrant like the sun, would sear you with his eyes if you lingered too long. 

You don’t know that he brings your scent back with him to his mates, that they drink it in like the nectar of the gods in the absence of you. 

You don’t know what to make of it until your heat. You haven’t had one in years, the military standard suppressants enough to ward it off. Yet something has broken through, and you realize too late it’s them. Your chosens. Your mates.

The heat is vicious, tearing through your body, setting your skin ablaze, consuming your world in drunk fever. You don’t even have the mind or strength to try and find them on base, curling in your bunk in the scantly occupied omega quarters and trying to imagine them just by memory. 

It’s Konig that finds you, hushes beautiful, sweet German into your ear, gathers you in your blanket to muffle your scent and takes you with him. You curl into his chest with a whimper, a whine of “Alpha-” That has a protective growl echoing forth until it lulls you into stillness. 

It’s Soap who is allowed to touch you, who wipes the sweat from your brow and tucks his alphas’ clothes around you, murmuring encouragements to you but never truly touching you, refuses to allow himself no matter how you beg for him and the others. Instead he just holds you, rocks you to sleep as you’re swaddled in one of Simon’s jackets, drinking in the scent and letting the cool relief of him wash over your scorched senses.  Yet when you wake on the third day, it’s to three forms curled haphazardly around you, each of them finding some way to keep contact with you. You know you should try and wake them, try and understand how it’s not just one but all of them that fate has tied you to, but in the dewy morning light, with three bodies covering you from all sides, you fall further into sleep, surrendering to both fate, and to them.

[yuyuswrld]

O Captain, My Captain || 1

series intro here, or read chapter 2

characters: reiner x reader (this chapter), various aot boys x reader.

notes: this is an 18+ series, please don’t interact if you’re a minor! reader is referred to with she/they pronouns.

content warnings: explicit smut, fingering, reiner eating pussy like a god!!, alcohol consumption, degradation, mild slut shaming (?), mentions of marijuana at the end

“Has he always been a bitch?” You question Marco, inhaling bites of your ramen. He shrugs, “We’ve both been on the team since freshman year and I’ve never had a problem with him. Maybe you’re the problem?” He meets with dead silence as you stare up at him from your bowl.

“Funny, Bott. I’m just not looking forward to spending so much time with him, if he behaves like that, anyway.” Exasperation visible, you slump in your chair to think. “It’s not like he’s on the sidelines. He’s the damn captain, which means I have to talk to him a lot.”

Marco shrugs. “You’re being dramatic. He’s a pain sometimes, but he’s not that bad. Just try to be nice to him, please. Eren won’t get any nicer if you’re mean. Plus,” He stops to take a bite of his food, “we don’t have the time for fighting. We’re expected to go to nationals this year, and that’s not happening if you two scare each other off.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, Bott. I’ll see you at practice later.” Uncrossing your arms and brushing off your legs as you get up from your seat. Okay, sure, Eren has yet to be anything except slightly dismissive and maybe just a little shit. He hasn’t actually done anything to you. You toss your bag over your shoulder before thanking Marco for the meal and dismissing yourself.

As the time for practice draws closer, you collect your thoughts as you stand outside the cold metal doors of the university’s second largest gym. Sure, you went to a school notorious for its D-1 volleyball, but the gym’s size was excessive. The high rise bleachers felt as if they would swallow you alive and the walls would collapse in. They had before. You remember the bile pool in your throat as the sports cameras flashes ate at your failure and spat you back out. Like a gazelle running from its predator, your body craves to run away from the glorified arena ahead of you.

“The fuck are you standing in the doorway for? Are you going in, or what?” Is it wrong to want to choose violence? Couldn’t he just say excuse me or ask if something’s wrong like a normal person?

Ugh, you should choose peace and not mess up a good opportunity. Just think about the money and all the nice things you can buy.

“I’m obviously just trying to get in your way.” You push the door open and walk into the gymnasium, not bothering with holding it open for Eren. In fact– hopefully it hits him! 

You hear the door fly open again behind you and a bag hits the ground with a loud thud. Eyes landing on the congregation of men in jerseys surrounding a smaller man, you beeline over to them. As you near, the smaller man, who you assume to be Coach Levi, locks his gaze with you. Is he… angry? Concerned? It’s impossible to determine what he’s thinking as he continues to stare.

“You’re not pregnant, are you?”

Your jaw drops. You’ve met more people in your life than you can count and never did a single person start a conversation in such a way.

“Not as far as I’m aware of…?”

“Okay, if you do what Hanna did, I will rip that baby out of your-”

A blond kid speaks up, “Um, Coach, you probably shouldn’t be threatening them on the first day. I just don’t think it’s a good idea to do that when we really need someone to organize our itinerary and keep practice stats. We’re nothing if we don’t have those numbers.”

“Fine, Arlelt. You and Braun stay here, explain how game statistics work and start having her do one-on-ones after. Performance evaluations for all of you.” You watch as Coach Levi’s eyes hover over Eren, who looks less than pleased. You’re not sure what’s going on there, but also can’t bring yourself to care. “Rest of you can go practice.”

As you glance over at the two boys who stayed, it throws you off that you’ve seen both of them before. The little blond one, you’re pretty sure his name is Armin. You’ve seen him walking around with Eren before, but he always looked so out of place in how gentle he is. You’re pretty sure you watched him bump into a trash can and apologize.

The other, however, you don’t think you’ve ever seen a man with such a commanding presence. He’s well-built. You’re pretty sure even a Greek god couldn’t hold up in comparison. You scoff internally, ‘it’s always the fucking volleyball players.’ But there’s something that lingers on your tongue, a conversation revolving around him. Then it hits you, Petra’s gossipped about him before!

“There are some really cute guys on our volleyball team. Did you know that?”

“Not this again, Petra. We’re supposed to be doing our biology homework.”

“Bitch, please. Let me speak. Anyway, there’s this guy on the team, his name is Reiner and oh my god- that is one fine ass man. He’s built like a tank engine. Not only that,” she says, a little giggle follows. “I’ve only heard this from two girls. He says he doesn’t like to hook up a lot, but his head game is insane. Like cum in a minute insane.” 

You stare, “I’m pretty sure that’s impossible, Petra.”

“I don’t know! Hook up with him yourself and you can give me all the juicy details afterwards.” You can only sigh in response, disturbed by your best friend’s inability to study.

But, here he was in the flesh, all 6’2 farmers tan of him. You couldn’t possibly do something so scandalous on your first day, could you? You shake the thought out of your mind as Armin talks.

“Volleyball stats are relatively easy to get the hang of. You just need to watch pretty closely. Even if you do miss something, we record them and you’ll go back through with Eren to make sure everything is recorded properly. Then, you’ll want to convert the numbers of each hit, serve, and pass into percentages compared to how many times it occurred per set.”

Reiner laughs, just a small one, but lord it’s like music to your ears. “Armin, you’re dumping too much info on them at once. It’d probably just be best to just show them the ropes visually and they can go from there. C’mon, let’s have coach set up the camera and record the three-on-three’s that they’re doing now.  We’ll watch the game, I’ll have you watch me record it, and then we’ll go back over it while watching the tape later.”

You nod, feeling just a hint of warmth across your face. Is this even possible, to have a school-girl crush in university? Those days were supposed to be behind you, but you can’t help but have the smallest bit of a smile as you follow him and Armin to speak with Coach Levi.

As you watch Reiner and Armin record the stats, your mind spins with utter confusion. You’re beyond lost, unsure how they’re even keeping up with the sheer amount of movement the players are doing. Dig? Write it down. Set? Write it down. You want to groan, or maybe even just go get dinner as you feel your stomach rumble.

As practice wraps up, your stomach rumbles in pain once again as it craves its next coddling. Reiner glances over from where you two stand, finishing up showing Coach Levi the statistics and getting a dismissive, “make sure it’s right,” instead of an appreciative response. He smiles at you, looking down.

“Gettin’ hungry?” He asks.

“Beyond hungry,” you say, shoulders dropping in defeat. “I’m being tortured. I haven’t eaten since noon. It’s 7 now! It’s criminal that you guys would starve me for so long.” You tease Reiner. He only responds by glancing at the gym door where most of the boys say their goodbyes before tapping out for the night.

“Y’know, I’ve heard I make a mean rice bowl.” 

It didn’t take much convincing for you to follow him back to his dorm room as practice winds down. Upon sitting across from each other at his make-shift dinner table, you learn Reiner is one of the middle blockers, coming at no surprise to you when taking in consideration to his stature. Although, you also learn he was from the countryside and this scholarship was his way out.

“Y’know, I always kinda dreamt of moving to the big city and being able to do what I love. But it’s crazy, man, I still can’t believe I’m here sometimes playing for the top university on the island.” 

Hearing the passion in his voice, you question if it’s right for you to intrude as a manager. Is it okay for you to be in charge of the livelihood of the men who’ve come so far and done so much for their passion? The men who could very well play on Paradis’ Olympic Team in the future? The concern is quickly shoved into your mental locker to be returned to as Reiner asks about watching a movie over some post-dinner snacks and beer. A much needed chance to relax after endless studying, you agree chipperly and move over to his plush couch.

As you two get halfway through Inglourious Basterds, you feel his arm wrap around you and his head turn in your direction. The alcohol running through your system has you heating up just from the skin contact. You blush as Petra’s words return to the forefront of your mind. You turn your head to face him, eyes interlocking with each other. His eyes signal a look of need, not want. You’re not sure if anyone’s ever looked at you like that before. Like a hunter who’ll starve without the meat of the deer he’s trailing.

“You’re so fucking hot” He mutters, you’re surprised a man of his stature can be so quiet. “I don’t think I’ll last with you as our manager.” Reiner closes the gap between the two of you. There’s a slight metallic tinge on his lips, but it’s addicting in the worst of ways and only deepens the experience. You two continue, allowing yourselves to sink into the couch, your body hitting the arm rest. His kiss moves from your lips to your neck, hands beginning to roam until they find purchase underneath your shirt. First, he plays with your bra before making his way under. Reiner moves his lips from your neck gently, almost like he’s scared of making a mistake. He helps you pull your shirt over your head and follows by removing your bra, his delicate touch unhooking the backing.

“You don’t have to be gentle,” you coo to him, lust-filled gazes connecting. “Please, I like it a bit rough, I swear.” He groans into the valley of your breasts.

“Don’t say that shit, I might break you.”

You can only laugh at his words, unfazed by the prospect, if not even more turned on by it. 

“Holy shit, please do,”

“In that case,” He says, voice lower as if weighing his options internally. “Don’t blame me if you limp to practice tomorrow.” Reiner helps you remove your pants before his fingers begin to dance over your body again. The touches are soft as they ghost the outline of your skin, your heart beating as you wait for him to soothe the ache between your legs. You attempt to rub them together for a semblance of friction but his arms find their way to keep them split. His gaze shifts up to you, eyes narrow as if disapproving of your behavior. Reiner’s face then begins to move lower, tongue licking a stripe up the inside of your thigh as his fingers begin to dance over your clit. He moves his face over to meet his fingers, tongue flattening against your clit, which draws a moan of approval from you. It seems evident that it spurs him on further as he begins to speed up his tongue, then switching to sucking your bud and having his fingers delve lower to your hole. Reiner holds eye contact with you as he begins to press one of his monstrous fingers inside of you. 

You can only make a noise of approval as he pushes it further in, approving of how well even one of them feels inside. It heightens your pleasure as he thrusts it forward, keeping his tongue dancing and sucking against your clit in a flurry of movements that have you questioning if Reiner is really a man and not a god in disguise. As he pushes a second large finger in, you cry out much louder than you should be in the dorms. You bite down on your lip to withhold any further noises, but Reiner puts a complete pause on what he’s doing.

“Keep moaning, baby. Let them hear how well you’re getting finger-fucked right now. This is what Armin wanted to be doing to you right now, did you know that?” He lets out a deep laugh, lips and face glistening in the dim lighting of his tv. “Bet you’d like that, though, huh?” His fingers move again and you gasp. “Yeah, you’d fucking love it if I bent you over and fingered you from behind to show off the entire team what a good little pocket pussy you are.”

That’s what tipped you over the edge. In fact, it’s probably disrespectful to feminism that you allow yourself to be finger-fucked while getting off to the disgusting words spewing out of the blond’s mouth. But social constructs be damned if this man didn’t stick his dick in you soon. You clench around his fingers as they continue to move, despite your cum gushing over his fingers.

“You’re fuckin’ nasty. But you’re still not ready for me.”

His face returns to its original spot, blowing hot air on it first as you wriggle at the stimulation. Reiner only adds another finger in response, allowing the three large digits to stretch you out before moving them once again. It feels as if you’re melting around his fingers as your back arches to the stretch. Despite slight discomfort, it’s overwhelmingly pleasurable to feel the expertise in his ways.

It’s not long after he adds another finger that you feel the coil in your stomach once again. As his tongue laps at your clit with a technique unknown to you, you’re about to unravel against his touch once again.

“‘M gonna cum,” you pant out desperately.

“Do it, cum on my fuckin’ tongue.” He replies approvingly, allowing you to take the time you need to ride out the rush to your body. For a second, you feel as if you’re floating in the way your back arches off the couch and your head spins in pure ecstasy. You glance over at Reiner, eyes fixated, as he removes his pants and reveals the thing you’ve been so curious to see. It matches his stature in almost every way, which makes you cringe at the thought of him fitting it in.

“You said you like it rough?” It’s a trap, that much you’re sure of. You glance back down to examine how large he is before you reconfirm, but before you know it, the condom has slipped on and he’s making his way back to you. He asserts his way on top, arms on either side of your head as he leans in to give you a quick kiss. It catches you a bit off guard, the earlier metallic taste has changed into the taste of your own cum and there’s a slight wince as you taste it. You can’t tell if this man is slightly depraved or hot as hell.

“I asked you a question. It’s not nice to ignore me.” 

A loud smack to your clit resounds as you let out a sharp, pleasure-filled gasp. 

“Yes, please,” you whine. It’s slightly pathetic, how you’re behaving for this man, but god be damned if anything were to impede your moment. 

He only grunts in response, lining himself up with your entrance. As he sinks in, you bite your lip to fight the stretch. You attempt to lie back and relax in his touch to allow him in, but he’s just so large. Reiner bottoms out, tip just ghosting against your cervix. He only grants you a few moments to adjust to his size before he’s pounding into you, your cries of pleasure nothing but music to his ears. The tip kissing your cervix is making your brain fuzz beyond anything you’ve felt before, and your walls hug him in intoxicating ways. Reiner grips both of your legs, bringing them onto his shoulders to push in further which earns you a grunt of approval from the larger man. 

He fucks you like he hates you. Every so often, his head falls back, and he lets out grunts of pleasure. His body moves like an artist painting their long-lost lover from only a distant memory, hips ferocious in their assault of your cunt. Reiner flips you over onto your hands and knees after an indiscernible amount of time, your sweat-covered body cringing at the chilly breeze it causes. His pace is still unrelenting from the back, cock feeling as if it’s touching every inch it can inside of you.

“Holy shit,” He cries out. “I’m gonna cum. I wish I could cum inside this pretty little pussy of yours.”

Without another word, except for your moan of approval, Reiner finishes and delicately slides out of you, removing the condom and disposing of it. He arrives back a couple minutes later, towel in one hand and a glass of water in the other.

“So, round two?”

“I’m pretty sure you started my period just now.”

[lgg5989]

One beer universe request the dagger squad gets invited to bob n readers hometown for a holiday and they meet the rest of bobs family and get to know the shy WSO more from stories and pictures from his childhood and teenage years.

OMG dear, I am sorry this took so long! I think I finally got it to a place I like it though. :D

I hope you enjoy and to everyone in the US have a great and safe Thanksgiving!!

Bob was nervous to say the least. The team hadn’t been approved leave over Thanksgiving, and many of their families couldn’t travel to San Diego because of other commitments or a lack of funds to get there. So, being the small town boy he was, Bob invited them all over for a meal. 

You had been running around the house like crazy, picking up clothes, organizing the bookshelves, and cooking the meal. He had been tasked with keeping Eddie and Katie occupied so that they couldn’t destroy the clean home you had created.

While the other families couldn’t join their aviator for the holiday, Bob’s dad had booked his ticket in advance, having made the plans to join them for Thanksgiving a few months prior. While you put the finishing touches on the house and meal, he took the kids to the airport to pick up one Arthur Floyd. 

Bob stood with Katie on his shoulders and Eddie’s hand in his at the baggage claim. His head swiveled to watch for his father, a man who was tall and thin like himself, the same gold framed glasses he had kept from the seventies, and his usual tan jacket a staple for the aging Floyd.

At the same time he heard someone call out, “Bobby,” Eddie’s hand was pulled from Bob’s and there was a cry of, “Pops!” 

Bob watched on with a smile on his face as Eddie raced towards his dad, the older man picked him up in a tight hug. 

“Edward-o, my boy, how are you?” he asked, one arm holding Eddie against his side and the other pulling a suitcase along behind him. With Eddie now occupied with another adult, Bob reached up and took Katie down from his shoulders, she was missing her nap and promptly tucked her face into his neck, her little eyes fluttering closed. 

“We’ll be in the car soon baby girl,” Bob whispered to her, rubbing her back with the hand not holding her to him. 

When his dad made it to him, he pulled Bob into a hug, “Hey pops,” Bob greeted, trying to keep from jostling Katie too much. 

“Hey Bobby,” his dad answered, “How’s Y/n?” 

“Good, she’s at the house. We invited the team over tonight, since they couldn’t go home,” he explained as he took the handle of his dad’s suitcase, rolling it towards the loading zone where he parked the car. 

The ride home was uneventful, the two men talked quietly, catching up while Eddie and Katie slept. When they got to the house, Bob was surprised to find that there were already a few cars parked on one side of his driveway. 

When they came inside, they found Phoenix, Payback, Fanboy, Coyote, and Hangman, some seated and some standing in the kitchen, talking with you as you finished cooking a few dishes. As they entered the living room, stripping off their jackets, the group turned to see the newcomers. 

“Hey guys, this is my dad, Arthur or Arty for short,” Bob introduced, “Dad, this is Coyote, Phoenix, Payback, Fanboy, and Hangman.” 

“Good to meet you all,” Arty said, rubbing his hands together, “I’m going to bet that those aren’t your Christian names.” 

Everyone let out a laugh, “No definitely not,” Phoenix said, extending her hand to the older man, she smiled, “I’m Natasha.” 

“Ah you’re Bobby’s pilot then!” he said, “So good to finally meet you dear.” 

“Thank you sir,” she said, a wide smile coming over her face. 

“Oh don’t bother with the sirs, I believe all of you outrank me, if anything I should be calling you ma’am,” Arty said before making his way into the kitchen and pulling you into a tight hug. 

“Hi Arty, I’m so glad that you could make it,” You greeted him, sinking into the warm embrace of your father-in-law. 

“You look good dear. I’m just sorry your momma still hasn’t come around,” he said quietly into your ear.

You gave him a sad smile, “That’s alright, just as long as you promise to come for Christmas.” 

“Like you could keep me from my grandbabies!” he said playfully as Eddie appeared at his side. 

You let out a laugh, “I would never even dream of it!” 

From your spot in the kitchen, you listened as the pilots talked to Arty. The man was a Navy veteran, which they had all picked up on. He had been drafted into Vietnam at only twenty-one. They might all outrank him, but they listened aptly to his stories. Eddie was content to sit on his pop’s lap, a toy jet in his hand.

As Arty started to delve into more personal stories, you felt Bob come up behind you, “Need any help honey?” 

“No, I’m all good,” you said, smiling as Arty began to regale the group with stories of Bob’s childhood. He told them about the time Bob had defended a little girl from bullies when he was eight, how he had won the science fair when he was ten, and how at fifteen, he had been made kicker of the varsity football team. You knew without a doubt that Bob was his father’s pride and joy. With the pair of them losing his mother so early in his life, all they had was each other. 

“I swear, I had never been more proud than to see him out on that field,” Arty said, “Until he joined the Navy of course.” 

At that moment, the timer you had set on your phone went off. You turned the blaring sound off before pulling open the oven and checking the temperature of the turkey. It was just at 165°F, perfectly cooked. Slipping on your oven mitts, you pulled it out of the hot oven and set it on top of the stove. 

Surveying your kitchen, you ensured that every dish was accounted for, before turning back to the living room, which was now alive with more chatter. 

“Alright y’all, dinner’s ready!” you called, moving aside as the group of aviators got quiet and began to file into the small kitchen. Everyone stopped, turning to look at you. 

“What?” you asked, confused as to why they were all looking at you, “Do I have something on my face?” 

Phoenix shook her head, “No, you just cooked us this delicious meal, you deserve to go through the line first.” 

You stood still, watching as she offered the plate she held in her hand out to you, “Oh, that’s not necessary. You all are guests here, I can wait. Besides I need to get the kids’ plates and-”

Suddenly, there were a pair of hands wrapping around your waist, “I’ll get it honey,” Bob said, his voice low in your ear, “Get a plate, enjoy our company.” With that, he placed a kiss just below your ear. 

You shuffled forwards, grabbing a plate and filling it, watching as the rest of the pilots, followed up by Bob and Arty did the same. The dining table you had was not large enough for everyone, so you all found seats through the house, some positioned themselves at the kitchen table, coffee table, while others were just eating with the plate on their lap. 

Eddie climbed up into the empty seat next to you, Arty setting a plate down in front of him, “Be good for your momma buddy, I’m going to go get some food too,” he said before giving you a pat on the shoulder and making his way back to the kitchen. 

Once dinner had been eaten, and the pilots had insisted on cleaning up, you were changing Katie into some clean clothes when you heard Arty say, “Oh, I love this one!” 

Glancing over, you noticed that he was pulling a thick, leather bound book off the shelf, opening it to the first page. You recognized it immediately, and smiled widely at the book. 

Arty cracked it open while he took a seat on the couch. The rest of the aviators slowly joined him once their duty in the kitchen was done. He began telling more stories of Bob, showing them all of his baby pictures, the sports he played, the last photo they had as a family, the first prom Bob took you to, the photo of him walking across the stage at his high school graduation, one of Eddie’s first ultrasound print out, and one from the day you eloped. 

Everyone’s faces changed with each story, but it made your heart warm that Bob’s coworkers were getting a better understanding of him little by little.You knew that your husband wasn’t the loudest person anywhere you went, and he often kept his personal life to himself. 

By the time you were ready to serve dessert, Bob’s ears were pink from the attention being on him, deciding it was time to step in before Arty talked about Bob all night, you stepped back into the living room. 

“Dessert’s in the kitchen when y’all want it!” you said, a smile on your face, “Does anyone want me to turn on the game?” 

“Could you turn on the Cowboys game?” Jake asked, causing the rest of the group to let out a collective groan, Rooster’s louder than the rest. 

You rolled your eyes at their antics before picking up the TV remote and putting the game on. This spawned more stories from Arty about Bob’s high school position and how he had been, sadly, cut from the Navy team during his time at the Academy. 

With that comment, Javy turned to Bob, “I didn’t know you played for the Navy football team.” 

Bob nodded, sipping his beer, “Yeah, just for a bit, I had to commit to my family,” he said, a smile on his face, “It’s hard to do that when you’re on the road all the time.” 

It was at that moment that the Cowboys scored a touchdown, and Jake, having been half listening to the conversation, launched himself off the couch and cheered loudly. Payback, who had nodded off in the corner of the sectional, jerked awake at the other man’s yelling and shot him a glare, you and Phoenix shared a look before both bursting out into laughter at the interaction. 

As the squadron started to trickle out of your house, you sent them all off with leftover plates in hand. Once everyone left for the night, save Arty, who was staying in the guest room, you made your way into the bedroom. 

You were rubbing in your face lotion, leaning close to see yourself in the mirror. Bob let out a laugh when he stuck his head into the bathroom and you jumped when he appeared in the mirror. 

“Hey,” he said quietly. 

You gave him a wide smile, “Hello love.”

Bob came up behind you, his hands wrapping around your waist to hold you to him, “You don’t think the guys will see me differently do you?”

“What do you mean?” you asked, confused as to what they would see different about your Bobby. 

He snuggled his face into the crook of your neck before speaking quietly, “Just about the pictures Dad showed them.” 

“No honey, I think if anything, they understand why you are the quiet wallflower I love,” you reassured him, pressing a kiss to the side of his head. 

You felt more than saw him smile into your neck, “Are you ready for bed?” he asked. 

“I think so, my feet are killing me,” you answered in an overexaggerated voice, slouching your shoulders to really get the point across. 

Bob laughed, his face still pressed tightly against you, “You are so dramatic.” 

You hummed, “But that’s why you love me.”

As you both climbed into bed, settling beneath the covers, you laid your head on Bob’s chest, listening to his deep breathing. Just as sleep started to take you, you heard him whisper, “Thank you, for everything you do.” 

The last thing you remembered as the world faded into peaceful dreams was mumbling out a quiet, “I love you.” 

[tarotofzhivamoon]

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Pile 1

“I want to go above and beyond for you, on any level there is, physical intimacy, emotional intimacy, just give you the best of the best that there is on this earth and in the heavens, on this whole wide Universe, I would truly do anything to see you happy, to see you fulfilled and secure with me because that’s one of my priorities. I want to give you the best I have because I also know that you are so willing to show and give me the same love, appreciation, affection that I want to give you. You are everything to me, the moon to my stars, the perfect partner that just completes me so effortlessly, so organically, so magically, it all just feels like a fairytale when I am with you and there’s nothing else that I would want more than to be loved by you. I don’t want you to ever change because you are just perfect the way that you are right now, I love you with every cell in my being and I am so delighted that you have chosen me to be the one you love as well. We did have our fair share of setbacks, we didn’t always know what we know now about each other because we came from different backgrounds, there’s no relationship that doesn’t have it’s own little plot twists that could make or break it, but I am so glad that ours just got us closer together to one another, closer to actually realizing what we need to compromise on and we’ve managed to actually reassess our expectations to simply find that beautiful balance that was going to result in a really mesmerizing happiness within, for both of us. I actually know that if you were to look around yourself, you might find better options than me, you might see someone that just gets you faster than I did, but you don’t understand how grateful I am that you actually never cared for those other options, that you actually chose me and you are now standing in your decision every single day and I just hope that —

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Pile 2

“From the moment I saw you I wanted to give you the world, I knew that you were a blessing that the Universe has sent me and I was so appreciative to have even met someone like you because it was like I was handed the perfect gift at the perfect time and you were that perfect gift for me. I know that materialistic things do not really interest you, I really admired about you the fact that I can’t “buy” your love and that I had to actually work hard, to put in the effort to have someone like you in my life instead of just you being so easily obtained and honestly this opportunity to have you in my life has absolutely made me feel as though I finally received everything that I have always wanted, you are the one thing that I have prayed and wished for night after night, day after day and it’s just so amazing to have you here, to have your attention, to see how much thought, affection and care you put in your gestures towards me, everything that you’re giving me is just from your heart. I have learned so much about myself next to you, it’s like you have perfectly mirrored back to me everything that I needed to see about myself that I wasn’t really aware of before and I know you understand that two people can’t simply be in proximity to one another all the time, be a pretty big part of each other’s lives everyday and now experience some bit of friction because even though i feel that our connection is somewhat ethereal, we’re still human beings at the end of the day and we are going to disagree with one another at times. What I loved the most about this and about you is that when this tension between us arises, you have been able to make me feel as though I could share my feelings and thoughts with you, without being afraid of anything because there was such safety between us and I know that in the end we usually resolve any conflict that arises with such an elegance because we just work together, somehow. You always had it in you to —

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Dividers by Kawaii-Lau on Tumblr🦋

[phiralovesloki]

So, like, I'd be reblogging everything about why you shouldn't be playing the wizarding game anyway, even if it was otherwise completely unobjectionable, because 1) JKR believes that people agree with her bc they still buy HP stuff, and 2) the money she makes off of HP stuff goes towards right-wing transphobic organizations. So it's bad anyway.

But the game is, without exaggeration, Blood Libel the Game. It's blatantly anti-Semitic. It's not subtly so, and you don't have to really look closely to see it. It's really like someone was like, "Well, we know the goblins are Jewish stereotype stand-ins within the HP universe, so let's make a whole game where they're the bad guys. After all, look at this list of anti-Semitic stereotypes I found on Wikipedia, it's practically a roadmap. Maybe we can even stuff an important religious object with something treyf as a joke!"

I know most of my followers and friends are on the same page as I am, and I'm grateful and appreciative. But the rest of y'all, who are either on the fence or feel like maybe we're being ~* t o o s e n s i t i v e *~ or whatever--

No. You can either be a conscientious ally or you can play a game that's so offensively anti-Jew it should be removed from stores. Pick one, but you can't have both.

"I'm not gonna play it, but I think you're overreacting--" NOPE try again. They stuffed a shofar with cheese as a joke. What the fuck am I supposed to feel about that besides incandescent rage?

[novantinuum]

Fandom: Steven Universe Rating: Teen Audiences Words: 3.8K~ Summary: A young human-Gem hybrid- a soul yet unknown to the rest of the Crystal Gems- takes their first brave steps towards greeting their heritage firsthand.

W o e, more OC content be upon ye

In this one, Jean meets Greg and the Crystal Gems. (There's a bit of Greg POV at the beginning, just to mix things up.) I had so much indulgent fun writing it, and hope anyone who checks it out enjoys.

Enjoy! <3

__

Absentmindedly humming a few bars of a commercial jingle he must’ve overheard on TV the other day, Greg finishes stirring up some instant oatmeal he just took out of the microwave. It’s a bit of a late breakfast for his tastes given the clock is nearing 10:45, but hey- anything’s better than nothing. Better to eat now than to find oneself running on low energy by lunchtime.

He licks his lips in anticipation, and carries the bowl over to the beach house’s living room couch.

Stars, what’s on his docket today beyond breakfast, anyways?

Groceries, for one. He’s running low on milk, butter, parmesan cheese, spaghetti sauce, and a number of vegetables. If he really wants to think ahead, now would also be a great time to stock up on bagels to toss in the freezer for later. No matter how many of those he buys, he always seems to be running out of ‘em. It’s also one of Steven’s days off from work, thus a good opportunity to try a video call. His son doesn’t always answer immediately, but that’s okay. He’s a grown adult now, a soul yearning to forge his own identity separate from the people and place he called home back in childhood. He needs his own space, and sometimes that just means ignoring your clingy ol’ man until you feel ready to chat.

And then, of course there’s his ongoing music project he can work on— a concept album of sorts, chronicling the tale of an optimistic, yet lonely young musician and his lover from beyond the stars. For nearly two decades her death silenced his work, but… seeing her framed face on the nightstand next to him every morning when he wakes up… living so close to the crystalline stage he knelt on when he sung his first romantic ballad to her… it must’ve stirred some aching desire that he hasn’t entertained in a very long while. He’s written about half of this album in the span of the last two months, and hopes to complete it by the end of the year. Beyond that he’s not sure where this project will take him… whether he’ll keep these songs close to his chest or email his old industry contact Sunshine Justice and see if she can hook him up with a decent recording studio for ‘em. Only time will tell, in the end. He’s got options.

But before he can get more than a few spoonfuls of oatmeal under his belt and reliably plan out his day, his musings are interrupted by a timid knock rapping against the front door.

Greg sighs, setting the bowl aside on the coffee table as he gets up to check who’s here.

If he had to guess, it’s most likely a recently arrived Gem— spellbound and confused— desperately trying to locate Little Homeschool after seeing one his son’s many adverts about it. That’s the most common visitor they see at the house entrance these days, beyond the rare training visit from Connie to refresh her sword fighting skills with Pearl. He’s not sure who else would go to all the trouble of hiking across the beach to reach this place. And anyways, if he’s visiting human friends in town, he always walks to their houses.

Which is why he’s surprised to open the door and see just… what seems to be a human stranger standing there, hands stuffed in pockets and expression filled with palpable apprehension.

The stranger is young— easily Steven’s age or younger— with a shock of short, wavy brown hair and teal tinted glasses, clad in overalls and a pair of ratty old tennis shoes.

He waves a quick greeting, a potent dose of curiosity painting his tone.

“Hi, uh… can I help you…?”

__

“Should I even be doing this?” Jean mutters to themself as they trudge down the far side of the beach, following the directions the cute pizza shop girl gave them last night.

But the closer they creep towards their destination, the sillier this whole stupid trip starts to feel. So they expect to… what? Simply drop in uninvited to the home of four of the most influential beings in the whole galaxy, and say “hey, guess what, you never knew I existed but I’m actually a half-Gem too?” Ughh. Oh, geeze. This was such a bad idea. Why did Dad even agree to bring them here? And what do they even want from this? To train? To harness whatever hypothetical powers they might have resting dormant within their gemstone? To… to just go on one of those zany, magical adventures they always dreamed about as a kid? To be freely invited into their little school for Gems? (Even though they’re not a Gem… not in all the ways that matter, at least.) Are they hoping to uproot their entire life and outright live here one day? Or are they literally only here because they’re craving closure to the questions they’ve been asking their entire life— who was Mother? Who am I? Is there any place in this vast universe for people like me?

What do I actually want to do with my life?

Heaving a long, exhausted sigh, they trek onwards anyways. After such a long road trip to reach this place, it’d be unthinkable to back down now.

A set of crumbled but monolithic stone arms come into view a few dozen paces further, a mere taster of the majestic vista awaiting them on the furthest point of the peninsula. Jean’s seen plenty of pictures of Beach City’s infamous temple statue online, sure— images of a regal, curly haired figure boasting enough limbs to rival a goddess— but nothing can prepare them for the sheer level of spellbinding awe that courses through their soul as they break around the edge of the cliff and finally gape upon it with their own two eyes. As melodramatic as the sentiment may sound, seeing this temple for themself is like tasting air for the first time, like waking up from a decade long fantasy to a world more vivid and colorful than they could’ve ever dreamed. Surely not a single photographer alive could capture the true scale of this ancient carving. A watery smile stretches across their cheeks while they drink in the sight. The cliffside is mossier than they expected. The earthy greens make for such lovely contrast against the colder browns and grays. Then, their gaze drops towards the statue’s navel… to the humble beach house nestled there within a set of stone arms.

Here it is. This is the place. There’s no turning back now, not unless they want to return to their motel room a coward.

Their hands fidget restlessly at their side as they climb up the sandy stairs leading to the porch. When they reach the top, they cross towards the front door and— heart pounding— rap their knuckles against the frame as politely as they can muster.

Beat.

Jean can hear the shuffling of feet from inside. They shove their hands in their pockets as the footfalls grow closer and closer, before—

The door swings open. Their expression narrows in bemusement. The person they’re greeted by isn’t one of the famed Crystal Gems, but rather… a human. A somewhat plain looking human, if they’re frank. (Which— in this situation— is a good thing, because it finally disarms the sheer spine tingling anxiety that was racing up and down through their veins prior.) The portly individual looks to be somewhere around their father’s age, with greying shoulder-length hair and a full beard. He’s sporting shorts and what looks to be a band t-shirt.

The man flashes a quick wave, and then speaks.

“Hi, uh… can I help you…?”

Jean scrunches their nose— a nervous twitch they’re unfortunately hyper-conscious of in high pressure situations like these— before working to piece together a halfway coherent sentence.

“I, um— y-you don’t know me, but my name is Jean. Jean Maverick, and I’m… well, I’m kinda hoping to—”

Before they can even reveal the crux of their mission, they feel this person’s full attention fixate upon the upper facets of their pale gemstone, just visible over the neckline of their shirt. His eyes widen.

“O-oh, yes,” they interrupt their own introduction, cheeks reddening. “That. Y’see, I may not look it, but I’m actually part Gem, like all the Gems who live here in town, a-and—”

He shakes his head, giving a laugh tinged with a bit of what they can only describe as sheer disbelief. “No, no, trust me— I more than understand this kinda stuff. I’m Greg Universe,” he says, extending his hand in greeting. “My, uh… my son’s like you.”

It’s Jean’s turn for their eyes to blow wide open with shock.

“You- you’re Steven’s dad,” they breathe, reaching out for his offered shake.

“Yup, guilty as charged. Now, what can I do for ‘ya? You looking for Steven? The Gems?”

“Well, I was hoping to talk with the Crystal Gems, b-but…” They pause, their brow wrinkling inwards as the ticking cogs of their mind consider the possible implications of their fellow hybrid’s father being present. “Steven’s not here now, is he? I heard he left town a while back…”

“Nah, he did. He’s out living on the west coast right now. The Gems, however… now that I can help you with.”

Introductory small-talk concluded, Mr. Universe invites them inside to wait for the Gems, grabbing his phone from his pocket to— they can only assume— shoot a quick text to one of ‘em.

Jean glances around the interior of the house with ample curiosity, admiring the dense collection of old CDs and cassette tapes that fills much of the shelf space behind the couch. It looks like mostly classic rock and a bit of R&B, many of them artists they don’t recognize. (Though the name Kerry Moonbeam leaps out at them— they remember jamming to a few of his top hits while on the road with Dad, like “Midnight Spectacle” and “Life on Venus.”) On the top shelf there’s an intricately detailed pink sword on display, shattered just beyond the hilt. And on the far wall midway up the stairs they spot a colorful canvas portrait, featuring what looks like a grinning, teenaged Steven sitting at the front and Garnet, Amethyst, and Pearl poised behind.

All in all, it’s a very cozy, lived-in space… enough so to almost distract them from the crystalline cavern connected directly to the living area. Their interest immediately piqued, they give a sharp exhale and advance a few steps closer. Is that…? Why, yes it is! It’s a warp pad, just like the ones they’ve seen pictures of online. (And one in person, thanks to a tip from a local.) From all their research it seems that there’s a whole network of these low, crystal platforms stretching across the surface of the Earth. And as rumors go, Gems can use them to travel from one point to another near instantaneously. Jean has no idea if this ability is one that translates to half-Gems, though. They had no luck with the one they visited years back.

Their mouth scrunches into a little frown upon that musing. There’s still so, so much about Gems they don’t know, isn’t there?

“So, Jean,” Mr. Universe says, finishing up with his phone. “Where’d you say you were from, again?”

“Prudence, Calizona?” And when his expression merely wrinkles in unawareness, they add: “It’s, um… a small university town out in the middle of the desert, so I’m not surprised you aven’t heard of it way out here.”

“And you traveled all the way to Beach City just to meet with the Gems? Wow, that’s… a pretty big journey for someone your age. This must be real important to you.”

“Well, there’s no Gems out there,” they explain with a shrug. “I’ve always known I was different, but— I never got to learn anything about that part of my heritage, y’know? So that’s why I’m here, I guess. For answers.”

“Well, I really hope you can find what you’re looking for.”

Jean’s gaze drifts down towards the gem inlaid in their chest. “Yeah,” they say, resting their palm over the central facet. “So do I.”

A tiny frown blooms across the man’s face as he observes them further. They rock back and forth upon their heels as they attempt to dodge his frustratingly intuitive gaze, unsure of what else to say or ask. Such lingering attention makes them feel twitchy.

“Here, why don’t you have a seat,” he offers then, gesturing towards the flat cushioned sofa against the far wall of the living area. “They should be inbound any minute now. Can’t imagine them dawdling on news like this, heh. And hey, uh… while you wait, d’ya want anything to drink, or snack on, or—?”

“I’m fine, thanks,” they say, sitting themself down on the far edge of the couch and noting the soggy bowl of oatmeal left half uneaten on the coffee table right in front. It’s bad enough that they’re crashing this man’s morning routine, the last thing they want to do is completely put him out. Not to mention, he probably doesn't have much they could safely digest, anyways.

True to his word though, the famed Crystal Gems arrive on the warp pad with not a second to waste, ringed in by a beam of dazzling cyan light and the platform’s resonant chime. Heart pounding a coward’s thrall, Jean averts their gaze low to keep from downright staring at the trio.

Holy fucking shit.

“We came as soon as we could,” the pale, lithe one— Pearl— says to Mr. Universe, crossing straight into the living room like a soul on a mission with the other two hot on her heels.

It’s them. It’s actually them. The Gems they’ve dreamt of meeting ever since they were just a starry-eyed preteen researching a small town mystery in the vicious trenches of obscure conspiracy theory message boards. Their jaw falls entirely ajar in the shock of it all. Oh stars, be cool, be cool, be cool—!

“—is our mystery visitor?” Pearl continues with a quick gesture towards them, the first half of her sentence consigned to auditory oblivion with how damn rapid fire Jean’s thoughts are blasting around their head.

Mr. Universe nods.

“Yeah, I was grabbin’ some breakfast, and she—” (they don’t bother to suppress that instinctive cringe. Hoo boy, they really need to step in and complete their introduction ASAP, huh)— “just showed up at the door, askin’ after you.”

“They,” Jean blurts out, mouth entirely dry with anxiety at this point.

“Huh?”

“It’s… they, actually. They/them. Sorry, I- I kinda forgot to mention.”

His brows shoot up in understanding. “Ahh, gotcha. My apologies for not asking. Anyways, these are the Gems! Garnet, Amethyst, and Pearl… though I get the sense you’ve already done your research, huh?”

They nod, still working to shake that hazy, star-stricken sensation out of their system.

“So then, mysterious stranger,” the shorter, purple Gem— Amethyst— says, sliding right across the living room towards them. “What’s your whole deal? Gimme all those good deets!”

“I, uh… well, I’m Jean,” they stammer, clasping their hands together behind their back. “Jean Maverick. I’m eighteen, I use they/them pronouns as I just mentioned, and… my mother… was a Gem.”

They tug down the scooped neckline of their shirt ever so slight, revealing the full cut of their pale lavender gemstone to the room. Pearl lets out an audible gasp. The other two simply gape in stunned silence, not uttering a single word at all.

“And now you probably understand why I called you over,” Mr. Universe comments, gesturing towards them.

“Another hybrid?” Amethyst says, her brow furrowing as she glances up at Garnet, the tallest of the bunch. “Like Steven? Is that even possible?”

“It is now,” Garnet replies with an almost mystified tone, crossing her arms as she leans back against the counter.

“But for a Gem to shapeshift human reproductive organs for that long,” Pearl muses, hand balled at her chin as she paces back and forth across the wooden slats. “Stars, for anyone but a diamond, that should be unachievable!”

The purple quartz simply waves the notion away. “Pshh, nah, that part’s easy, P- you just poof, and then reform with those organs! I do it with a stomach like, all the time. Mainly, I’m just surprised that another Gem would come up with the idea to have a baby in the first place.”

“Or that another Gem was living on Earth uncorrupted all this time, and we never knew,” Garnet comments, expression uncertain.

They swallow hard. Normally they consider themself pretty skilled at overanalyzing people’s emotions— an unexpected perk of living with generalized anxiety— but Garnet in particular is dauntingly hard for them to read right now. Pearl’s an easy one… she’s invested in the mystery of their arrival here today, too busy sorting the potential puzzle pieces in her mind to give anything else surrounding her much notice. Amethyst seems equally as puzzled by their presence, although out of the three of them it’s her who’s been the most accommodating of their awkwardness, so far. (Jean thinks back to how Amethyst leapt in amidst that weird conversational lull to give them a chance to officially introduce themself, and finds it rather perceptive of her.) Garnet, though—? Is her tense yet closed-off body language signaling confusion? (At how they could exist?) Vexation? (That they exist?) Distrust, even?? (That they’re here, now?) Or is she chewing over something else entirely, something they couldn’t ever hope to guess with their extremely limited outsider’s context?

And why do they care so much about how the three of them feel in the first place? Chill, Jean. Geeze.

“Well, if it helps,” they shrug, “my dad said he met my mother out in the wilderness of Calizona, while on a backpacking trip.”

“Calizona, eh…” Amethyst says, squinting as she thinks. “Hey, wait— the Beta Kindergarten’s out that way, yeah?”

“What exactly are you suggesting?” Pearl asks, her eyes lighting up with clear intrigue.

“I’m saying… isn’t it possible that Jean’s mom just emerged late… like me? It would explain how she avoided the corruption. And their gem does look pretty quartz-like.”

“Sounds like a more sound theory than I could ever come up with,” Mr. Universe pipes up all of a sudden with a broad shrug.

“In any case, all our broad theorizations can wait,” Garnet waves them all off. Inhaling deep, her gaze levels straight on them. “I know you came here with a purpose,” she says.

A blunt observation, not a question.

Jean shuffles upon their feet, feeling as exposed as a budding nerve under the sheer magnitude of their scrutiny. The half of them that’s merely a tangled ball of anxiety masquerading as a person craves nothing more than to spin on their heels and bolt away— too scared of potential rejection, too scared of all the unknowns bleeding through at the very edges of their future’s canvas— but then… this is what they drove hundreds of miles for, yes? Plus, they don’t want to disappoint Dad— he knows how much they’ve dreamed of this moment, and they’re sure it’d break his heart if they backed down right at the cusp of achieving said dream.

It’s now or never.

Deep breath. Hold your spine straight. Brave heart, Jean.

What do you really want?

“I… heard about your school,” they begin, weathering that treacherous unknown to make direct eye contact with each and every one of them in turn. “And I know the technical purpose of it is to teach Gems about humanity, but… I was wondering if maybe… you’d also be willing to teach a half-human how to be a Gem.”

“Hmm,” Pearl hums, leaning back against the counter at Garnet’s side. “Well, I suppose we already have a sort of human exchange program at Little Homeschool. Anyone who’s curious about the work we do there is allowed to spend a day on campus and attend whatever classes they wish, provided they give our students a quick informal lecture on a topic that interests them. Perhaps we could discuss developing a program like this that’s more long-term in nature, and customized to your needs as a half-Gem.”

Their mind reels in giddy circles at the very notion. Them? An official student of Little Homeschool?? It’s an alluring prospect, to be sure.

“Hey, y’all?” Amethyst cuts in before they can move to respond, upper lip curling into a half-grimace. “Not to like, totally derail, but I just checked the time and we’re gonna be late for the fusion seminar if we don’t start heading on back now.”

The tall, ivory Gem winces. “Oh stars, you’re right.” Then, glancing across the living space towards Mr. Universe with a somewhat apologetic expression: “Sorry, Greg— you caught us at a bit of a busy time. Do you mind entertaining our guest a little while longer as we finish up today’s classes?”

“Why don’t you just take them with you?” he suggests. “Seems they’re interested in what goes on there anyways.”

“Bismuth or Peridot may have time to give a tour,” Garnet voices, breaking her little understood silence. (Oh, a penny for her thoughts right now…)

Jean beams at the idea, a joyous little burst of energy soaring through their system upon realizing they’re one step closer to realizing that shining desire they set their eyes on the day the ocean’s disappearance kickstarted their research into their Gem heritage in the first place— to actually nurture and embrace this part of themself. “I’d love a chance to look around, if it’s not too much trouble.”

The three Crystal Gems ultimately approve, beckoning for them to join them on the warp pad. It takes every single scrap of self restraint within their soul to not do the cringiest little happy jig as they scuttle across the floorboards and step up onto the crystalline platform. Getting to experience a trip on one of these suckers is honestly a dream come true all on its own. They’ve seen one in person before— back during their forum-surfing research days, they managed to convince Dad to drive them all the way out to a lone warp pad a local enthusiast posted the coordinates of— but couldn’t manage to activate it on their own. Now, though? With the possibility of joining Little Homeschool officially on the table, there’s no telling what they may one day learn to achieve.  

Jean waves farewell to Mr. Universe as the warp activates, whisking the four of them away. It was super kind of him to take time out of his morning routine to help them contact the Gems— they’ll have to think of some meaningful gesture to thank him with later.

Pushing themself out of their comfort zone just to reach this point proved to be a bit of a challenge, but beyond the thorny confines of all their social anxieties, their future suddenly feels very bright.

[wangxianficfinder]

Mafia / Cop / Detective / Thief

~*~

Cop/Detective

When a Bird Flies, It Leaves Feathers by Bem_Kofi (Not Rated, 75k, WangXian, Modern AU, XuanLi, Police, Police Officer LWJ, Medical Examiner WWX, Minor Character Death)

Keep Track of Losing Days by giraffeter (T, 74k, WangXian, NieLan, Modern AU, Case Fic, Police, Missing Persons, Getting Together, Flashbacks, Detective LWJ, antifa WWX, Angst with a Happy Ending, Sharing a Bed, First Meetings, Seattle, Mutual Pining, nonfatal car accident, mafia wens, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers)

🧡 CSI: Gusu Edition Series by Stratisphyre (M, 39k, WangXian, WWX & LQR, Modern with Magic AU, College AU, Golden Core Reveal, Single parent WWX, Good Uncle LQR, Hospitalization, Allusions to violence and murder)

medium blues by darkterrible (E, 193k, WangXian, Modern AU, Horror, Spooky, Opposites Attract, Fluff and Angst, Gore, Ghosts, Necromancy, Mojo’s post)

Detective, please. by Pitycup_hearts (T, 124k, WangXian, XueXiao, Modern AU, Paranormal, Detectives, paranormal unit, csi, Crime Fighting, Ghosts, Fluff, Angst and Humor, Thriller, WY doesn't die this time, OOC, plot heavy)

🧡 Where's Your Emergency? by trippednfell (M, 64k, WangXian, 911 Dispatcher WWX, Single dad LWJ, Kid fic, Modern AU, D&D Games, Angst with a happy ending)

Torch Song at Nightless City by ArcadianMaggie (M, 11k, WangXian, Film Noir, Detective LWJ, Singer WWX, 1940s, Chinatown, San Francisco, Murder Mystery, Noir, Modern with Magic)

hey now by mellowflicker (E, 8k, WangXian, Modern AU, Detective LWJ, Mutual Pining, Hurt WWX, Hurt/Comfort, a sprinkle of, Gloves, Major Character Injury)

Good For Betting by ana_cp (E, 16k, WangXian, Modern AU, Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV) Fusion, fake date, Police, Getting Together, Fluff and Smut, Humor, Oblivious WWX, Mutual Pining, Idiots in Love, Co-workers, Police Officer WWX, Police Officer LWJ, POV Alternating, Blow Jobs, Top WWX, Bottom LWJ, Horny WWX)

critical path analysis by chinxe (T, 14k, WangXian, Modern AU, Police, Brooklyn Nine-Nine AU, Pining, Misunderstandings, wwx and lwj are simultaneously the smartest and densest detectives)

Everything’s glacial shine by letterando (T, 3k, WangXian, JC & WWX, WWX & WQ, Modern AU, Bar Room Brawl, Alcohol, Comfort, Fluff, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Pre-Relationship) - modern mundane AU, featuring the Yunmeng Jiang as gentrified river hicks given to daredevil stunts and barroom brawling. Detective LWJ keeps having to drag WWX off in handcuffs, a ritual both enjoy altogether too much. (The author hints at such a rich backstory, with traumatic military service standing in for the Sunshot Campaign, that I hope they someday continue this universe.)

Mafia

LAOZU (1989) by Machinebender (E, 33k, WangXian, Andrey/Goncharov, Modern AU, Fix-It, Post-Canon Fix-It, Organized Crime, 1980s Shanghai Triads AU, Angst, Oblivious WWX, Goncharov fusion)

Loyalty and Betrayal by VkShinkarenko (E, 100k, WIP, WangXian, Modern AU, Detectives, Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe mafia, Fluff and Smut, Slow Build, Developing Relationship, Spies & Secret Agents, Falling In Love, Domestic Fluff, POV Multiple, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Blood and Gore, Heavy Angst, graphic description of violence, Angst with a Happy Ending, First Time, Love Confessions, Explicit Sexual Content, also on Wattpad, Lealdade e Traição by VkShinkarenko)

🧡 Rule Number One: Never get attached. by KizuKatana (E, 130k, WangXian, Modern AU, A/B/O, Criminal underworld AU, Fluff and angst, Crime boss LWJ, Rouge criminal genius WWX, Explicit Sex)

Miscalculated Misreckoning by LadyVamp (E, 5k, WangXian, Modern AU, Organized Crime, Attempted Kidnapping, Murder Husbands, Blood and Violence, Violent Sex, Married WangXian, BAMF LWJ, BAMF WWX, YLLZ WWX, Hair-pulling, Office Sex, Desk Sex, Dark LWJ, Protective LWJ, Dark WWX, Partners in Crime, Gun Violence, Gun Kink, Crime Syndicate Qíshān Wēn Sect, Arranged Marriage, Crime Lord LWJ, Crime Lord WWX)

Say What's In This Drink? by Pancho (E, 2k, WangXian, Established Relationship, Gun Violence, Violence, Mild Blood, Dark LWJ, Organized Crime, Murder, Crime Boss LWJ)

herd 'em like cattle by mdzsed (E, 3k, WangXian, Modern AU, Blood and Violence, Torture, Murder, Mutilation, Blood and Gore, Age Difference, dark LWJ, Older LWJ, Mafia Boss LWJ, Kidnapped WWX, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Attempted Sexual Assault, Guns, Sexual Assault, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat)

Due Process by Kytrin, Mslead (E, 279k, WangXian, XiChengSang, Poly Junior Quartet, Modern AU, Foxxian, dragonji, Genderfluid WWX, WWX identifies as male, Organized Crime, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, mentions of child abuse, Angst with a Happy Ending, Found Family, Reincarnation)

Take Some Advice Paesano by FeelsForBreakfast (M, 8k, wangxian, modern, mob au, mafia the 🤡 version, humor, mistaken identity, getting together)

You & Me Baby, We'll Eclipse The Sun Series by 2501987 (M/E, 130k, WangXian, XiCheng, MIND THE TAGS, Modern AU, Mafia, Murder husbands, Torture, Possessive Behavior, Blood and Violence, Older JC, Younger WWX, Hurt/Comfort, Dark)

of demons and the good they bring by mimi123meg (M, 1k, WangXian, Modern AU, Mob, Crime Boss LWJ, BAMF WWX, BAMF LWJ, BAMF JC, Slight Violence, not too graphic, but definitely there, Established Relationship)

You Only Die Twice by Mikkeneko (T, 11k, WangXian, Modern AU, Assassins/Spies, Assassins & Hitmen, Mafia AU, Action, Moderate Violence, a lot of people die but no named characters, not exactly lan sect friendly, not exactly lan sect critical either, Assassin LWJ, Kindergarten Teacher WWX, coffee shop meet cute, Let LWJ Say Fucks, lightly cracky, Non-Linear Narrative)

Thief

disappear like smoke by jade token (jianghu) (T, 10k, ZhuiYi, Modern AU, Detectives, Thieves, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Meitantei Conan | Detective Conan References, Secret Identity, Pre-Relationship, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Crossdressing, First Meetings)

The Weight Of A Badge by Pancho (M, 19k, wangxian, 1920s au, femme fatale, genderfluid WWX, cat burglar WWX, detective LWJ, mob au, death, guns, violence, implied/referenced incest, QS lives, pining, YLLZ WWX, angst w happy ending)

(i've got) trouble in mind by seularen (E, 76k, wangxian, JGY/LXC, modern w magic, heist au, thief WWX, forger LWJ, consigliere JGY, epistolary, long-distance relationship, d/d elements, Canon wangxian kinks, happy ending)

Crime & Chaos by NebulusCharlie (Not Rated, 24k, WangXian, Crime AU, Modern AU)

~*~

[elialys]

JACKSONVILLE ANGST TIIIIIIME 😈😇 Maybe I enjoyed writing this chapter a little too much 😌

Story summary: An early season 2 P/O AU in which Peter and Olivia cross ‘that line’ a bit sooner than they do on the show. Goes (slightly) off canon after 2x05 Dream Logic. This is a slow burn, but with smooches. Follows most of season 2's storyline, although it starts deviating as their relationship changes.

There is something…off about that building. Olivia knows it the moment she finds herself staring at its mismatched façade, soon confirmed by the horrific sight inside, most people within the structure having fused together. It goes beyond that, though. The very air feels wrong. She can’t quite explain it at first, only sense it, every hair on her body standing straight while her palms become clammy with cold sweat, instinctively on edge; triggered. And then, Walter puts it into words. “We are standing in two buildings. One of which comes from the alternate universe.” This is a glimpse of what is to come, if Newton carries on with his plans. Universes colliding, the laws of physics breaking, people dying, their entire world collapsing. A familiar claw tightens around Olivia’s chest at this realization, fueling the dread and guilt she’s been living with ever since she remembered her encounter with William Bell—too late, always too late. She was pulled to that other universe for it, nearly died as a result. And yet, months later, she’s still playing catch up, unable to put an end to Newton’s scheme, their enemy always two steps ahead, forcing her to be purely reactive, all the while knowing this is just the beginning of the atrocities. She’s queasy at the thought of how she spent her evening, so utterly oblivious to the disaster about to unfold in this place, too distracted by her personal life to think about the universal conflict going on—one she failed to prevent. While she was busy letting herself be consumed by Peter, Newton was here, in New York, wreaking havoc. Rationally, she knows there’s nothing she could have done to prevent it. Except that she could have, should have. She should have stopped him weeks ago, when she’d already chosen Peter over the war, the man’s smirk haunting her, as do his words. Now I know how weak you are.

READ MORE ON AO3

[mthofferings]

geekymoviemom

See geekymoviemom’s existing works here.

Preferred contact methods: Tumblr: geekymoviemom Discord: geekymoviemom

Preferred organizations: - Médecins San Frontières (Doctors Without Borders) - Rape, Abuse, and Incest National Network (RAINN) - RIP Medical Debt - Waterkeeper Alliance - World Central Kitchen (See the list of approved organizations here)

Will create works that contain: Fluff, hurt/comfort, happy ending, getting together, established relationship, kidfics, domestic Avengers, canon-divergent, alternate universe..

Will not create works that contain: A/B/O, non-human characters, unhappy endings, major character death, hurt/no comfort, uneven power dynamics, dark characters, rom-com-type AUs. I will not write IronDad without Superfamily. I will only write sex scenes if the characters are in a loving, committed relationship. No one-night stands, hate sex, or friends-with-benefits.

  -- Fic or Other Writing --

Auction ID: 1056

Will create works for the following relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark - MCU Peter Parker & Steve Rogers & Tony Stark - MCU Bucky Barnes/Natasha Romanov - MCU Peter Parker/Gwen Stacy - TASM Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier - X-Men movieverse Avengers fandom any gen - MCU

Work Description: Maximum rating for a Peter/Gwen fic is T. Please contact me with possible plot ideas before bidding if you’re unsure about anything. I tend to get quite wordy in my fics, so the more general the plot concept, the longer the fic will likely end up being. Any 10k+ word fic will be a minimum bid of $15. Any fic written for Charles/Erik will be based on the characters’ portrayal by James McEvoy and Michael Fassbender.

Ratings: Gen, Teen, Mature

Can pods bid on this auction? Yes - Podbids welcome!

CLICK HERE TO BID ON THIS WORK

The auction runs from October 22 (12 AM ET) to October 28 (11:59:59 PM ET). Visit marveltrumpshate.com during Auction Week to view all of our auctions and to place your bids!

[eretzyisrael]

by Troy O. Fritzhand

York University in Ontario, Canada. Photo: Andrei Sedoff via Wikimedia Commons.

Union members at York University, the country’s third largest, have been instructed to condemn Israel, according to a training booklet distributed by the university’s employee union.

The union, CUPE 3093, says Israel, the world’s only Jewish state, is operating in the war with “unrestrained confidence to carry out genocidal violence… through the discursive levitation and material support of Western imperialist nations.”

The 15-page booklet, titled “A Toolkit on Teaching Palestine,” also calls Israel a “murderous colonial project,” and calls organizations such as Hillel a “Zionist cultural institution.” The booklet also seeks to educate professors how to approach anti-Israel discourse in class, giving an example: “Today, I open up our classroom to bring our attention on Gaza, to speak up and stand in solidarity with the Palestinian liberation movement, and contribute in ending Canada’s and York’s complicity with genocide and the settler-colonial occupation of Palestinian land and life.” It also gives the tells professors they will be supported by the organization if attacked for such discourse.

CUPE 3093 tells professors “We all have a moral, professional, and collective human imperative to speak, teach, and be in solidarity with Palestine.” More so, they offer resources in how to dispel “Israel’s pink/rainbow-washing, as well as other resources on identifying and combating the myths of Zionism.”

As if to conflate their entire existence with the Palestinian cause, the employee union even added the Palestinian flag into their logo. The university itself condemned the union, saying “York’s commitment to support and uphold academic freedom, and freedom of expression within the limits of the law, remains the same.

[alwaysjustmina]

Geōl

Stand alone story in the Something in the Orange universe - Happy Holidays everyone!

Takes place during Something in the Orange

Read below the cut or on Ao3

Rain was dazzled by the lights, when he entered the shopping mall, he didn’t anticipate all the revelers and shopping. Was there a holiday? It was only the beginning of September, wasn’t Halloween coming? He knew about that holiday but didn’t think they traditionally put up trees and lights, and all this red. They especially didn’t put up giant reindeers.

Dew watched Rain’s eyes light up looking at the VERY premature Christmas decorations. Had he never seen them? Wasn’t September a little early for the holiday prep? Humans never ceased to amaze him, Christmas wasn’t even when their supposed son of God was born. Anything to manipulate the true holiday of Solstice.

Rain gripped Dew’s hand in excitement, tripping over his feet as he turned around to look back and forth between the towering tree and Dew. Dew’s eyes glittered in the lights as he looked at Rain.

“What is this?” he whispered in awe, amazed by all the decorations.

Dew chuckled quietly at him, “Humans. They keep getting earlier and earlier with their Christmas decorations.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“You are beautiful.”

Rain wrapped his arms around Dew, his whole body vibrating with happiness. They were finally telling all their friends tomorrow about their feelings, he couldn’t wait. He wanted to shout from the rooftops how much he loved him. That Dew was his, and he was Dew’s.

Dew placed his hands on Rain’s hips, squeezing lightly. The fingerprints below his clothes throbbing at Dew’s touch. He chittered in happiness. He couldn’t wait to celebrate Yule with Dew. They would be back at the ministry, could they decorate their room with lights? Maybe put a small version of a tree like this up. He couldn’t wait to put presents under it, to turn off all the lights in the room except for the lights from the tree and the fireplace. To hold Dew tight to him, dance around the room and plan for their future. The future they had discussed earlier that day.

After they had gotten back from the park earlier in the morning and had been able to finally check into another hotel before the last night of the tour they couldn’t keep their hands off of each other in the room.

As soon as they stumbled through the door, Rain started pulling at Dew’s top. Pushing the neck down while trying to lift it over his head. His lips attached to his favorite places on Dew, his neck. Dew emitted the most perfect little mews and moans when he sucked there, especially when he would flick his tongue against the rapidly bruising skin. He finally got frustrated and broke his lips from his prize pulling hard on Dew’s shirt, ripping the hem to get it off of him as he tore it over his horns and tossed it across the room.

“Finally,” he muttered before devouring his neck again.

Dew was lost in the feeling of Rain’s tongue on his skin. He had tried to take Rain’s shirt off at the same time Rain moved, but he was too fast. He couldn’t keep up with the feverish pace Rain was racing at. As Rain dropped to his knees in front of Dew, he found his mind short circuiting. Rain ran his tongue down across his nipples, flicking fast across the right one, before taking the left one in his mouth. His hands worked on Dew’s pants, ripping the belt off from the loops, growling when it took too long for it to unbuckle. Throwing it somewhere across the room as well.

“Rain, fu…Rain, fuck me, your mouth.” He didn’t even have his hand on his rigid cock yet, and he was already falling apart. And fuck, his mouth, he didn’t think he was going to be able to stop himself from collapsing on the floor.

Rain grunted at him, nodding his head as he sucked on Dew’s nipple, harder and harder. Why were Dew’s clothes being such a pain? Didn’t they know they needed to be off of his body? The button on his pants at least popped open fast and the zipper didn’t give him trouble.

“Off, need them off,” he moaned as he tried to push them down, why did he always wear such tight pants?

Dew tried to assist, but Rain just swatted his hands away, he was just interfering with the pace he had set. He needed to have him spurting down his throat, now. “You are not allowed to wear jeans again, take to long.”

Dew trilled at him, he had never seen Rain so insistent on what he wanted. He would do whatever Rain said, sweatpants, check, yes.

As soon as Rain was able to get all the offending garments off of Dew’s body, he dropped his head to take him into his mouth. He gave Dew no time to adjust, he was down the back of his throat, taking all of him in and swallowing around him, he wanted the whole thing. When he tasted the first drop of pre his knees wobbled in ecstasy. His taste was everything.

Rain grasped at Dew’s ass, squeezing it between his hands, not letting Dew move an inch away from him, holding his body close, his nose jammed into his soft hair, inhaling his scent. His tongue wrapped around the cock in his mouth. He knew Dew was close, he needed it now. He pushed his fingers past his entrance knowing that would push Dew past the point of no return. It did exactly what he thought it would do, as Dew rutted against his mouth, begging for Rain. He didn’t need to beg, Rain would grant him anything. As he emptied down Rain’s throat, all the feeling he had in his body left him, he was pretty sure he saw the dark lord in that moment. Thankfully the bed was right behind him as he collapsed backwards, his head hitting the soft comforter.

Rain slowly let Dew slide from his mouth, licking every drop he could get. He rose from his position on the floor making sure Dew was ok, with his glassy eyes and vacant stare. He’d be back shortly, Rain giggled, as he kicked off his clothes, he needed his naked body against Dew’s. He pulled Dew to the top of the bed against the pillows, grabbed water and laid down beside him, pulling his body next to him, nuzzling his neck, waiting for him to come back.

Dew was only out of it for a few moments, but was pleasantly surprised when he felt Rain’s naked body next to his, snuggled close to him.

“Love you,” he mumbled, his voice raspy from the moaning he had emitted, wrapping his arm around Rain.

Rain placed light kisses all across his neck, his face, his chest as he trilled, “My mate.”

As they nuzzled one another, Dew, still trying to come back from the pleasure he just experienced, in and out of almost sleep, he tried to move to give the pleasure Rain just gave him, but he was beyond feeling in any part of his body. Rain giggling at his feeble attempts.

“Dew,” Rain started shyly, not looking Dew in the eyes, instead focusing on his hand as he wound his fingers around Dew. “What do you think our future looks like, what do you want after we tell them?”

Dew opened his eyes to look at Rain peering back at him. His vibrant orbs glowing with love, biting at his lips. He was nervous, Dew realized.

“I want you, that's what I want. I want to hold your hand where everyone can see. I want to push people from the room with our kisses, they will be so sick of us, they couldn’t stand the thought of being alone with us. I want to not have to make excuses for us to get the same room. And I want to be able to hold you at night, without the fear someone will see us.”

Tears gathered in Rain’s eyes, he never realized how hard this secret was on Dew, why did they insist on keeping it between themselves? “What do you want for the future, after all that, do you want to share a room, do you want to get a house together eventually, do you - do you,” He stuttered.

“Do I what, baby?”

“Do you want, want babies, kits, with…with me?”

Dew couldn’t stop the shock on his face, he wanted everything with Rain, everything. He didn’t think Rain had thought that far ahead though. Dew had daydreamed about their future, a cottage, next to a pond, Rain swollen with their kit, another waddling around between their feet as they held hands. He didn’t realize Rain had the same vision.

He took Rain’s face between his hands, softly kissing his lips, rubbing his thumbs across his cheeks wicking away the tears that had fallen down his face. “I want it all with you, baby. All of it, if you want kits, I want kits, I want babies of you, baby. I want to share our room, have a house eventually, and watch as you feed our babies. Run my finger along their tiny faces as they suckle you, or me, whichever way makes you happy, I want to take you to meet my moms. Show them you and how happy I am, happiness I never thought I would attain. They've never met anyone I was with, they will know from the way I look at you that you are the one. I want all of it, all of it, Rain, with you.”

Rain collapsed his body into Dew’s holding him tight as he sobbed. They wanted the same thing. He couldn’t wait. He wondered what his parents would think of Dew. He knew they would love him, cause Rain loved him. He couldn’t wait to show his father that he had found someone, someone strong, but someone who could also show love, like his father had been able to show him, with his other dad and mother. When could they go home to tell them, could they bring them here for Beltane? He would need to find out.

“Rain, baby, you are perfect. I love you, with everything inside of me.” Dew whispered in his ear.

“My love,” Rain sobbed back.

They held each as they cried, as they laughed. Looking forward to their perfect future. Perfect because it held their other half.

[x-infernhoes-x]

•☽─────⋅☾⋆⋅ ﾟ⛆˖°˖🌪˖°˖ ﾟ⛆ ⋅⋆☽⋅─────☾•

˖°˖🌪˖°˖

𝕁𝕁𝔹𝔸𝕤𝕠𝕟𝕒 ℙ𝕣𝕠𝕗𝕚𝕝𝕖- 𝕍𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕠 𝔸𝕦𝕣𝕖𝕠˖°˖🌪˖°˖ •☽─────⋅☾⋆⋅ ﾟ⛆˖°˖🌪˖°˖ ﾟ⛆ ⋅⋆☽⋅─────☾•

Updated as of 12/15/2023

Created on 12/13/2023

Hi! so this is just an update of sorts for my old JJBAsona bio that has something to do with my self shipping considering that I've been dragged into the Jojo fandom again HVFSHJABF HJ

•☽─────⋅☾⋆⋅ ﾟ⛆˖°˖🌪˖°˖ ﾟ⛆ ⋅⋆☽⋅─────☾•

˖°˖🌪˖°˖𝔾𝕖𝕟𝕖𝕣𝕒𝕝 ℙ𝕣𝕠𝕗𝕚𝕝𝕖˖°˖🌪˖°˖

•☽─────⋅☾⋆⋅ ﾟ⛆˖°˖🌪˖°˖ ﾟ⛆ ⋅⋆☽⋅─────☾•

❝𝕆𝕙, 𝕨𝕙𝕠 𝕚𝕤 𝕤𝕙𝕖?❞ - I Monster, Who is She?

˖°˖🌪˖°˖

Codename: Paella Visconti

↳ Namesake: Paella: A Spanish rice dish from the Valencian Community.

Luchino Visconti: Italian filmmaker, theatre and opera director, and screenwriter

Birthname: Eunice Flores

Nickname(s): Elvis (by Mista and Formaggio), En, tigrotta mia (by Risotto Nero, Abbacchio, and Bucciarati)

Age: Depending on the verse but the main verse has her as 24 years old

Birthday: February 8th, 19██

Zodiac Sign: Aquarius

Chinese Zodiac: Tiger

Gender: Female

Pronouns: She/Her

Height: 5 ft 3 in / 160 cm

Weight: 100 lbs / 45 kg

Blood Type: O

Birthplace: ████ ██ ██████,Metro Manila, Philippines

Eye Color: Dark Brown/Black

Occupation: Assassin (current), University Student (formerly), Personal Bodyguard of Italy's pop sensation, Trish Una (Formerly), Bruno Bucciarati's personal assistant (formerly)

Ethnicity: Filipino

Nationality: Filipino-Italian (through marriage of connivence)

Organization: Passione

Backstory: Born and raised in somewhere in Metro Manila, Philippines, En or more commonly known by the undercover name she had once she had joined Passione as Paella Visconti (often shortened to Ella or Elvis as Mista and Formaggio would call her), she had a relatively normal and quiet life in her hometown where she was raised by her father’s parents inside the walls of the very same home her father and his siblings had grown up on. But En knew she was destined for a life that was just more than normal. A natural born stand user, En was initially unaware of her abilities as a stand user and has been subconsciously using its abilities from the start, En’s stand managed to manifest itself physically at the age of 16, triggered by her intense emotions during her days as a junior high student. She also happens to be a close friend and ally of Josuke Higashikata whom she met online at age 14.

She first appears after the events of Golden Wind and Purple Haze Feedback, she subsequently crosses paths with the one and only Bruno Bucciarati himself at the age of 21 during a trip to Singapore and ends up working for him as the Capo’s personal assistant before getting assigned as the personal bodyguard for Italy’s pop-sensation singer, Trish Una along side with Narancia Ghirga, Guido Mista, and Shiela E.

Now a bonafide member of Passione, En is assigned by Don Giorno himself to the newly reinstated La Squadra Esecuzioni, En currently lives in Naples, Italy, with her boyfriend of 3 years, Pannacotta Fugo along with their cats and their roommate, Guido Mista.

(Relationship lore of Fugo and En can be found here!)

•☽─────⋅☾⋆⋅ ﾟ⛆˖°˖🌪˖°˖ ﾟ⛆ ⋅⋆☽⋅─────☾•

˖°˖🌪˖°˖𝕃𝕚𝕜𝕖𝕤, 𝔻𝕚𝕤𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖𝕤, 𝔽𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕤, 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝔽𝕝𝕒𝕨𝕤

𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕖𝕥𝕔.˖°˖🌪˖°˖

•☽─────⋅☾⋆⋅ ﾟ⛆˖°˖🌪˖°˖ ﾟ⛆ ⋅⋆☽⋅─────☾•

❝𝕀 𝕨𝕒𝕟𝕟𝕒 𝕓𝕖 𝕕𝕖𝕗𝕚𝕟𝕖𝕕 𝕓𝕪 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕀 𝕝𝕠𝕧𝕖. ℕ𝕠𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤 𝕀 𝕙𝕒𝕥𝕖, 𝕟𝕠𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕀'𝕞 𝕒𝕗𝕣𝕒𝕚𝕕 𝕠𝕗. ℕ𝕠𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕙𝕒𝕦𝕟𝕥 𝕞𝕖 𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕞𝕚𝕕𝕕𝕝𝕖 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕟𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥, 𝕀 𝕛𝕦𝕤𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕜 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕒𝕣𝕖 𝕨𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕝𝕠𝕧𝕖.❞

- Taylor Swift, Daylight

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Favorite Color(s): Dark colours and certain pastels, anything that doesn't look like an eye sore or gross

Favorite Flower(s): peonies, lavender, garden roses, forget-me-not, and blue hydrangeas

Favorite Movie(s): Stay Alive (2006), Moulin Rouge (2001), Mamma Mia! (2008), Mulan (1998), Les Miserables (2012)

TV Show(s): Revolutionary Girl Utena, Digimon, again too many to count

Favorite Food(s): Kare-Kare, Tteok-Bokki, Pizza, Cheeseburgers, Fries, Pasta, usually depends on what she hyperfixates on

Hobbies: Reading novels that fall under young adult, greek mythology related, fantasy, or even classics, cooking, singing, dancing as a form of leisure exercise (though not very good at freestyle), video gaming, art, doing runs, listening to music, reading and learning.

Musician(s): Too many to count or list but is found mostly listening to her top five artists: Hozier, Florence and the Machine, Mitski, Taylor Swift, and Fleetwood Mac, occasionally listens to David Bowie and Kate Bush.

Likes: Cats, books, memes, video games, puzzles, her family, coffee, pickles, trail mix, astronomy and astrology, anything witchcraft related, visiting historical sites, learning, swimming, the beach, stormy weather, learning about flower languages and plants, listening to podcasts that are mainly true crime or character/media analyses, psychology related stuff, cinnamon, people who ask nicely and talk without malice or anger.

Dislikes: Fried Chicken that has too much oil in it or repeatedly being served, being seen as her being like parents/her father, the weather being way too hot, creeps, misplacing or losing her items, people who chew loudly, sewer rats, stepping on things with her bare feet, basically anything gross, certain conspiracy theories, people lying and those who deceive her, any type of abuse, harassment or violations against someone’s consent, animal abuse, cucumbers, going to the sea/beach without slippers, sand getting into places that shouldn't be in, physical touch from people who she aren't close with without warning, people who don't ask nicely or yell, patriarchy, weird textures.

Fears: Being seen as someone who is a burden to people, being seen less as a person and discriminated due to her learning disability which is ADHD, failing or becoming a disappointment, being seen as a terrible person, being betrayed, losing her loved ones, becoming like her father, the apocalypse, certain carnivorous reptiles such as snakes, heights, and certain images of saints aka 'Santo'.

Flaws: En, while highly self-aware that she can overthink, has this certain tendency to keep her thoughts to herself and bottling it up due to her upbringing and her fear of being a burden to people. Though while this is mainly solved and is making progress of keeping in touch with people she cares and trusts enough, the habit is still there. She also has the habit of apologizing when there's no need to and also thinking that she's invincible but not to the point of tomfoolery especially when it comes to dangerous or high-risk situations but rather, this manifests as mostly in completely mundane things such as her sleeping and eating habits. She also has this internalized vindictiveness to her that sometimes shows itself from time to time but this is regulated.

She also has this habit of offering sage advice to people but never follows her own advice, thus calling herself as a 'walking contradiction' due to this, she also developed this habit of taking care of others, making sure their needs are well met and forgets about her own, sometimes her 'mother hen' like habits can be smothering but manages to keep it on the low. Despite of her flaws, she is currently working through these issues to the best of her abilities.

•☽─────⋅☾⋆⋅ ﾟ⛆˖°˖🌪˖°˖ ﾟ⛆ ⋅⋆☽⋅─────☾•

˖°˖🌪˖°˖𝔽𝕒𝕞𝕚𝕝𝕪 𝕀𝕟𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕞𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟˖°˖🌪˖°˖

•☽─────⋅☾⋆⋅ ﾟ⛆˖°˖🌪˖°˖ ﾟ⛆ ⋅⋆☽⋅─────☾•

❝ℍ𝕠𝕞𝕖 𝕚𝕤 𝕨𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕀'𝕞 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕪𝕠𝕦.❞ -Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros, Home

˖°˖🌪˖°˖

While it is common knowledge amongst her peers that En comes from a big middle class family back in the Philippines, she doesn't really mention any of them by name, considering her position as a hitman and a member of Passione. The info below is taken directly from her file from Passione as per requested by the Speedwagon Foundation to add to their database and associates. It seems that most of it is blacked out as it follows:

ＫＮＯＷＮ ＲＥＬＡＴＩＶＥＳ: Father: █████ ███████ Flores Age: [REDACTED] Status: Alive Stand User: No Mother: ███████ ████████ Age: [REDACTED] Status: Alive Stand User: No Grandmother: ████ Flores Age: [REDACTED] Status: Alive Stand User: No Notes from the Researchers: has been suspected as a Ripple User as is the rest of the subject's family from the 'Flores' side. This is also suspected with Subject 13 herself considering that one of her stand's abilities happens to be healing through the means of breathing. -Subject 13, aka Eunice ███████ Flores, first born daughter of █████ ███████ Flores (second son of ████ Flores and the late ███████ Flores) and ███████ ████████, has been raised by the matriarch and former patriarch of the Flores family since she was born. Medical records state that the Subject was born prematurely and was raised by the new grandparents. Our researchers have also noted that Subject 13 happens to be the only known natural born stand user amongst her family members, and by extension, her 12 cousins. Subject 13 happens to have at least four known siblings, but the whereabouts or status of the fourth sibling happen to be unknown.

•☽─────⋅☾⋆⋅ ﾟ⛆˖°˖🌪˖°˖ ﾟ⛆ ⋅⋆☽⋅─────☾•

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𝕊𝕥𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕀𝕟𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕞𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟

˖°˖🌪˖°˖

•☽─────⋅☾⋆⋅ ﾟ⛆˖°˖🌪˖°˖ ﾟ⛆ ⋅⋆☽⋅─────☾•

❝𝕄𝕪 𝕝𝕚𝕗𝕖 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕒 𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕞, 𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕔𝕖 𝕀 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕓𝕠𝕣𝕟, 𝕙𝕠𝕨 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕀 𝕗𝕖𝕒𝕣 𝕒𝕟𝕪 𝕙𝕦𝕣𝕣𝕚𝕔𝕒𝕟𝕖?❞ - Hozier, Francesca

˖°˖🌪˖°˖

Stand Name: Heroes

Stand Namesake: Heroes (David Bowie Album & Song)

Ability Types: Close-Range/Long-Range, Semi-Sentient

Form Type: Natural Humanoid Stand

Stats:

History: Heroes is a close-range/long-range natural humanoid stand of En Flores who possesses a range of abilities focused on air/weather related abilities. Though she’s been with the user from the beginning, Heroes makes her first physical appearance to a young En at the age of 16 after the latter had experience a bout of strong emotions, most particularly emotional distress over something that happened during En’s time as a Junior High student (which, funnily enough, happens to be En stressing over her History test) and has been with her ever since.

Personality: Noted by some of En's friends and enemies alike, Heroes, while seemingly looking like as if she has no innate personality due to her stoic disposition, has shown bouts of intense protectiveness over her user, En and by extension, those who En holds dear to her heart, mirroring the user's mother bear habits. While it's not very obvious to some, Heroes seems to sometimes have a separate consciousness from her user and has been noted to have mannerisms similar to that of a curious owl or a playful and mischievous feline at times.

In battle, she remains as composed as she is in general, barely showing any emotion unless En herself feels a strong bout of them, which Heroes would mirror. Another thing that not most people know much about is that Heroes can speak for herself but instead of a normal voice, those who aren't close with En get to hear the sound of every storm, howling winds, and blizzards and a banshee's* *combined but En understands her perfectly. However when a connection is formed, Heroes' voice becomes crystal clear, speaking in a voice that's similar to her user's but much more ethereal, airy and echoey with the hints of the previous sounds and her way of speaking is mentioned to be very polite and smart.

Physical Description: Heroes is a humanoid Stand of a feminine figure, resembling its user in some of its proportions. Often characterized by its free flowing golden locks tipped with silver, blue winged helmet-like mask with the Christian cross in the middle, obscuring its eyes and the upper half of its face, and pale silver skin and the motif that its sporting being a notable mix of a valkyrie, a ballerina, and Elizibethan fashion judging from its collar and overskirt.

The lower part of its face has these distinctive markings of two vertical lines across its eyes and a half circle under its lower lip which are painted gold.

Heroes wears a body suit of gold and blue with two elongated hexagonal shapes at the sides of its hips, a tear drop shape opening right over where its belly button should be, and multiple lines sewn onto it finished by the feathered blue Medici styled collar and overskirt detailed with thin, golden tendrils of pure lightning; it also wears knee-high boots where the kneepads baring some sort of resemblance to the frangipani flower, african violets, strawberry blossoms, and marsh marigolds with the stem pointed out as a blade in the middle of a ribbon spiral finished off with two-tiered pauldrons resting on its shoulders.

Abilities: Heroes is a highly versatile stand possessing the ability to control the weather. Though Heroes’ ability may be near similar to Weather Report’s, it’s not the same. Unlike Weather Report, Heroes can manipulate certain elements such as thunder and lighting and be able to create weapons out from the elements that they can control. One of Heroes’ featured abilities are giving its user the ability to fly and glide in the air, breath healing, controlling the atmosphere and the weather, aerokinetic invisibility, air attacks, and weather weaponry. It can also have control over any form of precipitation and storms and grant the user a banshee-like physiology.

Its range when creating large-scale storms is based on the location where the user is currently situated. The most notable example is that if Heroes and En found themselves in a city such as Venice, Italy, that would mean the entirety of Venice would be affected, and where both the stand and user are will serve as the main landfall zone where the storms are particularly worse than the rest of the location.

•☽─────⋅☾⋆⋅ ﾟ⛆˖°˖🌪˖°˖ ﾟ⛆ ⋅⋆☽⋅─────☾•

Okay so hi! First off the pic came from here and that I just edited it on my computer considering I haven't been able to draw anything as of late :"DD which would also explain why the picture I have for my sona lacks glasses ;u;

As for the timelines, there are at least two known variations of it! The main verse, which I will be calling as strawberries and cigarettes, and a secondary verse called which will be called as fulmine dorato [eng. golden lightning]!

So basically, in the strawberries and cigarettes verse, the events of Golden Wind + Purple Haze Feedback take place in the year 2015 as opposed to 2001. It also means that the events of DIU happened at less than a year before the events of Golden Wind basically making Josuke, En, and Fugo be the same age. Also this is a verse which basically reverses the deaths of Leone, Narancia, Bruno, and La Squadra but they all carry some form of scarring from the nature of their deaths and whatnot. I got inspired by theclockworkkid on ig and this one fic I read way back in 2020 something and it just stuck on me.

For the fulmine dorato verse, its basically the canon version of golden wind/purple haze feedback (no one dies in La Squadra and Bucci Gang bc I am a sucker and I want them to have happy endings HBVFHJASFB) and that En has been around Passione since she was 15 and was originally a part of La Squadra before being put under the custody of Bruno Bucciarati's team due to 'mysterious circumstances as of late' (basically, La Squadra protecting their youngest bc they're about to betray the boss after Sorbet and Gelato's deaths, only to find out that En would go down the same path as they did aka betraying the boss insert spiderman pointing meme here)

so yeah! Which leads into the tag of 🍓🌦children of the revolution//fugoen children🌦🍓that can be seen on my blog and the family's introduction which can be read here!

[bigdvmnhero]

summary:

"They say you'll save us all," the yokai continued. "A lofty fate. Wouldn't you say, ronin?" I don't want it, Mikey thought, surprised by the fierceness of it. Take it from me.

chapter two | prev | ao3

It had been a good few paralyzing months since Leo last answered to anyone, but April would be damned if she let him walk away now. "C'mon, Leo," she called after him. "Calm down."

"I'm calm?" came the bewildered laugh.

But the brisk footfalls ahead slowed, and Leo pulled his sword arm back to slice a platter-sized portal open. Then he shoved his head inside it.

Distantly, April thought she heard a muffled pterodactyl screech of pure, unbridled fury.

A passing soldier broke into a panicked half-jog.

"See?" Leo stepped back, and his eyes were unfazed when he fastened them on her. "I'm great. Just—fantastic." The portal twinkled behind him; in another universe, April would have cannonballed right in, straight into a life sweet as neon punch. "Wanna try?" he offered brightly.

April didn't trust that grin; it had secret blades hidden all over it. Leo's weapon of choice.

Silence, it appeared, was April's. Something Leo had very little experience with it. For all his expertise, he tended to buckle under it in seconds. Starting now.

"You could toss stuff into it too," Leo added, conspiratory. "Just don't ask me where it goes."

April crossed her arms.

"Don't wooooorry about it—it's a Donnie problem, m'kay? Just find something fun to break."

Ten seconds. In the meantime, April mastered her best impression of a rock. Flat and unimpressed.

"Maybe not anything useful though. I kinda love having chairs. Donnie's bunsen burners, though..."

She pitched an eyebrow up—the final blow. Leo sagged like a puppet.

"Fine." He twirled his sword and the portal sewed itself shut. "But don't come looking for me when you're feeling cranky..."

The abandoned subterranean warehouse they called their base offered near-complete protection from the elements, courtesy of Donnie most of all. A tradeoff was the lack of private enclosures to talk shit about little brothers, or even to enjoy a brief mental breakdown under the impossible weight of the apocalypse.

This, April reasoned, was the only reason Leo remained standing, hip-cocked, seemingly unbowed by the promise of her verbal fire. "Listen, alright?" she began—biting back the you dumb little shit her own trigger-happy tongue threatened to fire—she could be zen; remember your training, O'Neil? "All I'm saying is, you can't run your men ragged like that."

"Oh, my fault? I'm running them ragged?" And god, Leo could be such a drama kid when he wanted to be. "Who keeps pulling them out of the field last minute? Who's stuffing them in airships to play babysitter for billionaires doing fuck all to help us, because their butler Miguel just got Kraangified cleaning the fucking—infinity pool, or whatever? Not me. I'm not their leader."

"Well, you sure are actin' like it," she answered, and they stood there looking cross at each other as another soldier squirreled past them. The boy had waved seeing April from the end of the hallway, only to skip past as if dodging hot coals after realizing Leo was standing there too, like a vengeful apparition of god.

Under the dull warehouse fluorescents, Leo was less god, more patron saint of jaded-eyed misery. Some missionary for the church of Stick Up My Ass. And anyway, April's faith was deteriorating, and fast.

Away from the blitz of the battlefield, the civilians' adoring eyes, this version of Leo was a blunted edge. She missed his sharp jokes. She'd never say it, but it was one of the things she envied most about him. Clever-quipped, facetious, all-seeing Leo. Come back, idiot, she thought.

Alone again, she rounded on him. "Didn't we talk about this? Like it or not, these men aren't trained like us. We gotta set our expectations straight. Those guys? They are our fair-weather rag-tag volunteer team. At least, for now. And most of 'em think we're just dumb kids, Lee. They're not gonna fall in line all because we know a ninja trick or two!"

Leo lifted his chin. "Well, if their men are so important to them, why aren't the EPF here? Why are we the ones training them? Even Donnie's supplying most of our arms at this rate. Hell—we're feeding them! Three meals a day, April; like we're some kind of roadside hotel—"

"Rats and sci-fi food cubes are hardly—"

"What am I supposed to do then?" The question was sudden, gummed with emotion, and that was how April knew Leo was cracking. Finally—something real. "Raph's out there, risking his shell each day so no alien overlords breach our border. Donnie's straight up killing himself just trying to keep our base functional, and Mikey—" Leo's throat swallowed the rest. April looked away. Easier to finish the sentence for him in her own mind: Mikey, who phased through the days, seemingly unchanged. Mikey, who never cried since.

Leo dragged a hand down his face. "Meal planning should be the least of our concerns. These guys are eating through our rations—rations civilians are happy to give up, by the way, if it means we can protect them. And I can overlook them being sloppy and untrained—I'll take a little mutant racism, too, sure, why not!" April winced. "But complaining about the food? Come on," and the laugh was wrong all over, barbed with something dark.

April couldn't blame him; it had bothered her too, the way they took hesitant bites of the tough white bread they'd served, half-emptied the cans of beans and dried meat, pushing their plates away, the stuff unfinished, and sure it had been the old same fare they'd been having for the past four months—going on five now—the taste long indistinguishable from dusty cinder blocks, but it was all they had. It was that, or Donnie's nutrient cubes. Or the rats. At least they had options.

People died for those options.

Killed, too.

"I get it," April said, but Leo was shaking his head.

"Do you? 'Cause I'm sick of this publicity stunt the EPF's doing. Calling me and my brothers heroes, then leaving us with what? Psh." He sent a bitter smile skyward that could've melted through the beams. "I'm done."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I'm not about this puppet leader gig, April. Or the lies, or the sappy radio speeches I gotta do every week to convince the world everything's sunny and great and nice. It's clear none of them care about protecting the little guys." His voice dropped into a hardened stone, the resoluteness in it barely restrained. He stepped close. "Me? I'm ready to do something real, April. Something big. And I need real soldiers out there. In the dirt, with me. With us."

Later, she would regret not telling him of the deep pride she felt for him, at that moment. But in her chest was its twin star—grief, white-hot and insistent. It demanded all of her. "I hear ya, Leo. I promise." She reached for his bristling shoulder. "But you need... you need to give them time. They've lost stuff too, you know."

"Not this," Leo groaned, then turned to resume his march down the hallway. April gave chase. In the past month alone Leo had shot up like an oak tree; it was taking her twice as many steps just to keep up.

"C'mon, Lee. Wait."

He kept walking.

"Really? Just like that?"

"Just like that." He threw finger guns in the air.

Well, damn, April thought, nobody told me today was Little Shit Sunday, and pulled him by his mask tails.

Leo yelped something undignified.

He was so used to people walking on eggshells around him he'd forgotten how rotten April's big sister play could be, and honestly? That was on him. Six feet tall, and it was still on him.

Leo whirled on her, face twisted in exaggerated affront. Gleefully, April wished she had a camera; Raph would eat this up, like the day Leo's own blade snapped in his face. Never heard the end of it. "I wasn't finished. So! Ready to listen now?"

"Yeah," Leo said. He didn't look happy about it.

"Good. Thought so. 'Cause I was just about to say that yesterday, these guys weren't soldiers. They were just people. Know what I mean? Just dumb, silly people, silly kids, with jobs and hobbies and stuff to look forward to. And now they're soldiers. Y'know what that's like?"

Leo glued his eyes stubbornly on the bare cement wall behind her, but he let his jaw be turned. There was a new notch in his shoulder, healing nicely; April had stitched it herself. Leo didn't cry, but he'd clutched at April's knee the whole time, his grip clammy and white-knuckled. Said, what's a turtle gotta do to get some entertainment 'round here? And, wait, don't use up the thread, Cass's gonna need to change hers out sooner or later.

"Maybe," Leo answered.

"Nah, I know you do," April said—their best friend April now, not war advisor April or whatever role she played to keep them all sane. "Bet you know it better than any of us. Oi—eyes on me. Whatcha thinking about in that head of yours anyway?"

"Well, for one—" he pushed her hand away, but there was something shifting aside in his face, "how the only reason any of those guys listen to me is because of you." When April snorted, he continued. "I'm not trying to flatter you. If you hadn't spoken for us back then, I'm pretty sure the EPF would've gotten rid of us. Bet they're just itching to finish the job."

April didn't like to think about that. "Well, that's 'cause none of you know when to keep your mouths shut. Someone's gotta keep your asses in line. Maybe I will be commander one day, just for that." When Leo didn't seem to toss the idea aside like she wanted him to, she shook his shoulders before the conspiring glint in his eye could manifest into something. "All I'm saying is, y'all stuck with me. And I see you, Leo."

She cupped his cheek again. A long time ago, Leo would've leaned into her hand, basked in her easy affection. Now he turned rigid under any touch.

"I know things are all sorts of fucked right now, but I'm your friend first. Always am. We're on your side. 'Kay?"

Leo's eyes went back to the wall; April turned his face again, patient.

"And your brothers are war machines, sure. But they're your brothers, too." She couldn't help it—she pinched both his cheeks hard. Leo yelped then glowered. April stood her ground; the guy had to be put in his place regularly, or there was just no living with him. "And you're not just their leader. Not to them. Got it?"

"—seriously manhandling—"

"Got it?"

"—yes ma'am, okay, sheesh!"

"And you," April called out, lifting her gaze skyward, "you're not slick. I can literally hear you breathing."

Twenty feet up, hanging upside down from the high ceiling by spidershell-arms, Donnie and Mikey stared back with wide eyes.

In Mikey's arms was a hefty black vinyl bag, nearly twice his size. In Donnie's arms was Mikey. They shared a brief look that belonged to two doomed men and seemed to swallow their tongues.

An eternity passed in stilted silence.

For the first time in his life, Leo didn't get the first word in.

"Oh, mama, and would you look at the time, Dee—we are crazy late for brunch service!" Mikey kicked Donnie into action, and they crawled and skittered and fumbled through the final stretch to the hatch in the ceiling, which Donnie's robo-arms began to dismantle with frenetic speed. "Gotta run! I've got an army to feed, like literally! Talk later, 'kay?"

With a crash, they disappeared in a blur of robo-arms. The hatch fell shut. The echo traveled boldly through the wide enclosure, and, horrified, April turned to watch the way Leo's face changed, realizing it mattered little if she'd given him an earful that day or not; not when Mikey would figure out how to soften up the resistance members in ways Leo couldn't even fathom—all with a bowl of leftover rice fluffed with heat, scallions, eggs—"Eggs?!" Leo repeated—a dash of patience, and good ol' MSG, sweetening the dank underground base with the ambrosial smell of homemade cooking, all made in Splints' trusty rice cooker—and boy did they love that rice cooker. Hadn't that been exactly one of Splinter's lessons to her?

She shook her head with a smile, watching the miracle unfold. That's right, she thought. The fight you win is the fight you don't need to have.

Oh, Splints. She missed him something fierce. Later, she would crack open her old martial arts book to study her own sixteen-year-old writing on the margins, lessons from a lifetime ago trying to save the last great Lou Jitsu dojo. Splinter taught her everything she knew.

Maybe there had been things she'd dropped along the way. But now she picked up that old snakeskin, and remembered.

:::

They'd started off on the wrong foot—but even that was probably an understatement, wasn't it? Before they were violently forced underground, they were garment workers, porters, fishermen, who knew very little of New York and its supposed mutant saviors. To them, Mikey and his brothers were science fiction: green, scaly abominations from botched Frankensteinian experiments.

I'll take it, Raph had said. Way better than "demons." Remember the cult who tried trapping us in salt circles? Yeesh.

Donnie had shrugged it off. Mikey forgave it. Leo called it "a tactical advantage" and nurtured their fear until it grew into something else, something closer to awe.

For months, they shared no language. Nothing but the desire to survive. When Leo first showed the scrappy crowd how it was done—slaughtering a Kraang with nothing but rust-eaten gardening tools, stealth, and a whole lot of attitude—the spell was complete.

Almost.

Leo was used to leading three unruly brothers. But thirty? Mikey watched his brother's patience fray at the edges. Older survivors pointed at Leo's youth, but still Leo pushed, and he pushed hard.

Until they pushed back. Until the EPF started shuttling out their men, and their men let them, in exchange for one night of excess. Until they grew sick of the training, it was thankless work, sick of the drab, featureless cinderblock walls, of the bone-deep hunger, of the congealing loss of home far from the sun and Leo's uncanny asshole motherfucker era—ahem.

Mikey knew what he had to do. One spoonful of that fluffy, perfectly salted rice—and it had to be rice, didn't any of Mikey's brothers know these guys were kin? White bread for breakfast was just never gonna cut it—and the change was near palpable. Homesickness fled from their faces like horseflies. They filed into position, ready for the day's mission. Didn't even roll their eyes during Leo's attack demo of the day.

It had been just like this, once. Communal breakfasts every weekend. The lair smelling blessedly of butter. Mikey stacking each of his brothers' plates sky-high with pancakes, the thanks for the meal, Mikester, the head pats, the way Mikey loved life most when surrounded by all of them.

"By Galileo’s—is that a sugary drink." Donnie sat back on the bench at record speed when Mikey pulled out a Dr. Pepper he'd especially saved for this occasion. "I haven't had sugar in... I can't even say it. It’s too tragic.”

Mikey popped the lid and poured it delicately into his brother’s cup. Then, tongue poking out his mouth, he decided to tip the can over completely, letting it slosh around the sides. "Wouldst thou like to live deliciously?"

Donnie received his offering with wide eyes. "My cupeth."

Mikey clinked their cups together. "Shall runneth over, brother."

Donnie pulled one, long, hard gulp and considered the ceiling, dazed. He seemed to have arrived at some miraculous realization Mikey wasn’t privy to, like the secrets of nuclear fission, or the flight pattern of small, brown birds. "Huh. Wow." He blinked owlishly at Mikey, like he did at the end of a meditation, then put his cup down. He tapped his chest. "I suppose you may have one." He jabbed a finger in the air. "One!"

Mikey rose from his seat. "Dee…"

"One minute max," Donnie corrected firmly. But he unfurled his arms and smiled.

"One minute!" Mikey lost it. He threw himself into Donnie's embrace, and the bench almost tipped them over; this day was the best. Fluffy eggs on rice, Donnie hugs (twice! in one day!), and a happy resistance, at least for now.

His organic stash would need sorting. The leafy veggies had to be pickled, in jars of brine before winter arrived and frosted the base. Planting the beans would be easy, and easier still—the potatoes. Junior would love potatoes. Cloud-soft and heavenly once boiled. It would be months until their dumpster baby grew out his baby teeth; maybe they all could use something gentle.

And then Donnie stiffened in Mikey's arms, and Mikey knew his time was up.

Leo was walking towards their table.

"Alas, while this was delightful—" Donnie shot upright, "I must bid you farewell, beloved brother, for I have to.... dismantle a gun. Or several."

Mikey mirrored him. "M-me too!"

"You don't possess firearms."

"Well, I could!" Leo was drawing closer, his expression unreadable. "You don't know that!"

Donnie's eyebrows beetled quizzically. "Well, why haven't you shown me then? Do you need an upgrade?"

"An upgra—no! I got my own! Cool fire chain, remember!"

"Angelo, while your fundo is a highly impressive hand-held melee weapon, I would hardly place it in the same category as my own—"

"Donnie!" Mikey panicked. "I think we both agree we have very important things to do! Not here!"

"Right." Donnie nodded hastily. "Goodbye." They moved to part ways.

Something fast and made of steel flashed through the air. It thudded into the table between them, a perfect equidistance.

Leo's katana. The hilt convulsed like an arrow's feather.

Miraculously, Donnie lost his slouch, and Mikey let out an honest-to-god squeak, which could've been dignified if he wasn't seventeen and a half.

In the next second, Leo had apparated on the table across them, his grip loose on the hilt. He made no motion of pulling his weapon out. Instead, he reached over to peer curiously into Donnie's bowl.

"Leftovers? Come on, guys. We're better than this." Leo clucked. "Oh, lookity! These are prime stuff, Mike. Rice and eggs, too?" A long whistle. "Didn't know our desert hideout had a farm now. Why're you two standing there? Have somewhere to be? Sit."

They sat.

"Hi, Leo," Mikey managed.

"Hi, Mikey.” Leo rested his cheek on his palm. "Had fun today?"

"I did! I mean—" Donnie kicked his shin, and Mikey swallowed his story. There it was. Not a lot of people could tell the difference, but Mikey could. There was the resistance's Hamato Leonardo, and there was Leo, who normally had an airy head tone, was receptive to Mikey's puppy dog eyes, and did not fling sharp, damning sentences disguised as innocent open-ended questions, like so.

Donnie stepped in. “Alright Leo, I know our tardiness might've caused a bit of a surprise—“

“Oh, I knew,” Leo answered. “Raph said it’d be a quick detour. Probably super important, though, right?”

“Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh,” Mikey said, at the same time Donnie mumbled a vindictive, that snitch, under his breath.

The bowl was poked, prodded, and sniffed in Leo's hand. “I mean, it must be. Important enough to miss morning drills.” Leo pulled his sword free. Donnie winced at the grating schwing. “But hey—at least breakfast is bomb, am I right?”

“The most important meal of the day?” Mikey tried weakly.

Officially, this was the worst; Donnie couldn’t lie to save his life, and Mikey’s resolve was slowly chipping away like paint under Leo’s magnifying-glass eyes.

Leo dipped his finger in the bowl and lifted a grain of rice to the light. It was short grain, firm and glutinous, grown only in the lush countryside. Or perfectly-engineered geodesic domes.

Leo made a low whistle. "Now, would you take a look at this beauty.”

Donnie seemed to understand they were damned. “I assure you, Nardo, it was a careful operation, everything was sourced ethically and responsibly.” To this, Leo snorted. “Alright. So the ethical part is... dubious. But the keyword is alive. Mikey’s safe, our hideout's uncompromised, and we’ve done the honors of feeding your soldiers a meal they probably haven’t had since the world went kaput. I don't see why you’re making such a fuss.”

"Oh, so we're going there? Okay." Leo leaned forward with a grin that didn't reach his eyes. "Why shouldn’t I worry. Starting with you, Dontron. Shall I count the ways?"

"I am detecting a rhetorical question—"

"One." Leo held a finger up. “You’ve had several heart palpitations during training this week—” Two fingers, “—April found you in the lab two days ago, because you had a cardiac episode from your blood pressure deciding to go skydiving—"

“What!” Betrayed, Mikey whipped his head back at Donnie, whose face seemed to have all the green frightened out of it. "Donnie!"

Leo continued, all three fingers up now, “Not to mention that time you went fucking blind in one eye because of a migraine, which—who knew, right? I sure as hell didn't."

“Ugh, yeah, I know." The Ceo and owner of Genius Tech groaned into his multiple spider-shell arms. "Embarrassing. LOL."

“LOL?” Leo's voice pitched strangely; Mikey couldn't look. "LOL?"

“Laugh out—look, it happened one time—“

"It should be ZERO times," Leo boomed, and the bowls shook as a fist pounded the table. For once Mikey agreed, feeling the first stirrings of understanding with this strange new bristling version of his brother, like the phony amalgamation of every parental figure in their sorry lives. This lasted for about two seconds. And then Leo whirled on him. "And you, Mikey darling, my baby brother."

"And me, your baby brother." The affection in Mikey's gut soured into dread. "And me..."

“Was it fun, doing some last-minute shopping at The Gardens?"

And darn, Leo was good. Too good. But Mikey’s prized hoard was still under the table, hidden behind the shadows and Mikey’s busted knees, undiscovered. Things were still salvageable.

While Mikey kicked the bag further into obscurity, Leo geared up for a Talk. “Honestly, joyrides in the middle of work aren’t for me, but I get it. Really, I do. This apocalypse sitch gets old, doesn't it? Food stinks, too. But it’s way too early in the game to be slacking off. If you wanna fuck off god knows where because you need a vacation? Be my guest. But you better be in the best shape of your lives. Better than ever. Better than me.”

Leo pushed himself off the bench and honest-to-god paced. Meanwhile, Donnie rolled his eyes so far back into his head Mikey was afraid it’d be permanent.

“We can't rely on our mystic powers anymore. I need you guys to hone your hard skills like they're the only tools you've got left. Because they are. People are counting on it." Leo paused to shoot a look over his shoulder. "Donnie-dear, if you don't start taking care of yourself and die a sad pathetic death in your lab, I promise, as your leader I am and will release all your tech to the EPF. Including all your trademark rights."

Donnie looked like he'd faint. "You wouldn't."

"Try me. And Mikey—we need to double down on your drills, and no more skipping out on training with Draxum. You can't razzmatazz out of this one. We need to figure out how to harness all that mystic potential of yours, and your basics are terrible as it is. What did we say about practicing?"

Mikey mumbled.

Leo tapped his ear. "Sorry, what was that?"

“Practice is your friend,” Mikey recited in a flat line. "For we are what we repeatedly do."

That seemed to perk Leo up. "Exactly! So I’ll see you for drills bright and early tomorrow morning.” Leo turned to go. “See? Knew you'd come around. And alright, I don't think your form is terrible, Mike—but you don't have to be doing all things all the time. I appreciate a little creativity in battle, but sometimes a good offense is a good defense."

“Sometimes a good offense is a good defense,” Mikey mimicked under his breath.

Leo froze mid-stride.

Mikey clapped a hand over his mouth with a resounding slap. Donnie, who had a semi-clear view of Leo’s face, turned his gaze to Mikey and gave a brief shake of his head. His flat, dead-eyed smile seemed to say, seeyanara, little brother.

“Leo,” Mikey tried, as Leo's back turned. “I mean—sensei. I mean—my big brother whom I love very very much, you know that, don't you? C’mon. I was just having a laugh, just having a little jokey-joke—”

“Changed my mind! We’ll do drills now, actually,” Leo said brightly. He clapped his hands once. “Twenty one-arm push-ups.”

Mikey collapsed like a Jenga pile onto the table. "Nooooo, not the push-ups! They get so old.”

“Fifty, then." Leo smiled, serene. "Where you going, Dee? You're up too. We’re sparring—and no battleshell tricks.”

“Please, god, why," Donnie moaned, at the same time Mikey begged, "Can I do some backflips instead?”

“A hundred then, lucky you!" Leo walked towards Mikey's end of the table, and Mikey didn't think he was going to do what he thought he was about to, but Leo had a penchant for surprising him. "Whatever that thing is under the table must be so worth it.”

Mikey's brain whited out. “Wait, wait! Don’t touch Donnie’s stuff!” and Leo paused, mid-reach. “He was scared we were running low on coffee rations, s-so we went to get a refill!”

A flicker of betrayal passed through Donnie's face. But he plastered on an unnatural smile. "Aha—whaaaat. Mikey.”

Leo’s calculating gaze hovered between them. But he’d stopped walking—small victories. “Thought we had a month of coffee left," he said, frowning.

"Apologies if I can't keep track of every single thing in this household!" Donnie shot back.

Leo crossed his arms. To Mikey, he barked, “Still no push-ups happening, camarada. You're not getting out of this one. And no magic gateways—"

Without warning, Donnie threw his weight carelessly onto Leo and dragged his bandana sideways so it blinded him. “Sparring!" he screeched. To Mikey: "Gateway, now! I’ll hold him back!”

Mikey needed no further instruction. He dived under the table, snatched his hoard while he pulled the portal open from beyond the verge—that was two mystic incidents today, Draxum was going to strangle him—and dove headfirst into the safe haven on the other side. “Bless you Dee, I will remember your sacrifice!” Baby brother privileges, babey.

:::

Donnie's sole makeshift hospital bed was permanently creaky now, no thanks to Cassandra's frequent visits.

She was in it every two weeks—grinning toothily through a broken bone or twenty. More recently, she enjoyed mounting full productions for her audience of one (1) wrinkly human baby. Donnie was not freaked out by this baby. If he was, it was not because the kid had way too much hair and eyes that absorbed all light or gurgled the way babies gurgled which made Donnie's chest go all funny and turn sideways-weird.

Imagine if I named the kid after another one of those renaissance dudes too, Cassandra cawed, doing jumping jacks on the bed with the kid giggling in her elbow until the final CRACK. They both looked down at the mattress. Now that was extra crunchy, Cassandra said.

Donnie kicked her out shortly.

Not, of course, before fixing the slipshod work she dared call a splint. And stay out! he'd yelled. I don't want to see your face here for at least two weeks, you hear me?

Gleefully, she flipped him off. In front of the kid, too.

Now the bed made a despondent creak as it accommodated Raph's weight. The heft of his new prosthetic confounded him, made him bump into corners, and accidentally crush people's fingers with his brand-new strength.

"Alright, bossman," Donnie sighed. Only 2:30 PM and he felt like he'd lived through a week. "You're up."

Raph managed to lie down. He took one look up at Donnie's world-weary face and smirked. "Chewed you out, didn't he."

"Yeah, well someone had to go and gab."

Donnie got his face squished like a grape for that. "Someone keeps forgetting I'm still the oldest. I may not be your leader, but you guys are still my pain in the ass. Knew you were up to something foolish. So fess up." Donnie made an indignant, muffled sound under Raph's bear hand. "What?"

Donnie gasped as Raph released him. "I was saying, Mikey needs his cooking essentials, and I need mine. We have a mutually beneficial partnership going on. That's all." He pulled his goggles down. "He's also my favorite brother, so." Meant: what Mikey wants, Mikey gets.

"Well, Mikey's going to be the death of you, at this rate." Raph narrowed his eyes. "But it looks like Leo took care of it, whatever that was. If I hear about you mutating any more leafy freaks though—"

Donnie's robo-arms, which had branched off from his shell to get to work on the prosthetic, paused mid-air as Donnie choked. "You dare speak ill of my daughter! Cristina, my beautiful venus fly trap, gone too soon—you will never understand! She was nature's most remarkable survivor, evolved to persist in nutrient-poor environments to fancy a pound of flesh." Donnie's gaze turned wistful. "I was so close, Raphael. Only a few experiments left before I rewired her wetware to develop a taste for vile Kraang meat."

"Nothing about that sentence terrifies me at all," Raph said.

"That is why you are my favorite patient. How was your week?"

Raph's head flopped back on the bed. "Shit. Where to begin?" He talked as Donnie tuned up his arm, telling him about the kid from the dumpster, the only miracle in the last few crappy, mind-numbing weeks; the Tamagotchi he and Cassandra found, still-slumbering in its million light year sleep; new Kraang-free patrol routes, and more secret pathways he'd negotiated with the help of the alliance; a dusty Walkman, a Foo Fighters cassette left in, for keeps.

In exchange, Donnie rambled on about their food supply, his EPF meeting notes, a hoverboard for Mikey, but under wraps for now, the new stealth gear prototypes he'd hoped would pass beta-testing soon, if only he'd more time to collect materials—

"Dee," Raph laughed up at him. “This isn’t one of your roundtable meetings, okay? It’s just me."

Donnie tightened a loose screw under Raph's armpit. "Oh, uh, of course. Lift your arm?"

Raph lifted it. "Oh yeah. Way better."

"Excellent. Your gait isn't as natural as I hoped, but I'll replace the hardware with lighter materials soon."

"Appreciate it, Dee. How'd you find time to get all this stuff?"

"I multitask. Wiggle your thumb?"

Raph wiggled it. "You getting enough sleep, though?"

Donnie laughed, too loud. "Squeeze your fist?"

"Seriously. How're things holding up?"

Donnie peered into a magnifying glass one of his shell-arms slid under his nose and poked around Raph's inner elbow, then fibula. "Truth be told? I'm surprised Earth Protection let us off easy today; then again, I am the brains behind this entire operation. It'd be amiss to threaten their very own arms provider. I should've known Mikey would pull something like this, but I'm just glad to see him—"

“I mean—how are you doing, Donnie?"

“Me?" Donnie blinked slow, like he'd never heard that sentence in that order before. "I'm fine. Can we try some wrist rotations?"

Unimpressed, Raph did as told. The motion was stilted; it couldn't do a full 360. The magnifying glass was swapped for a fine-toothed wrench.

"I'll fix that," Donnie said, then faltered when he realized Raph was still waiting on him, the weight in his eyes undeniable. "What? It's true."

And it was; confessions around Raph were easy somehow. Like how last night, Donnie had admitted thinking he'd definitely hit his rebellious edgy teenage phase under Splinter—heck, even Raph himself—but Leo? Now there was a surprise. And how the cookies Mikey baked Donnie made him break out. Some kind of delayed turtle allergy, and he'd kept eating the stuff anyway. How he both hated and secretly loved listening to Leo's radio speeches, in the secret early hours of dawn when the base and his own brain was still, in need of nothing.

Raph asked him again, but this was one confession Donnie couldn't give up. It was half-formed, bloody, still stuck in the wreck. Donnie couldn't look at it yet.

"Seriously, brother, you should see Mikey—" Donnie began, but the bed creaked like a warning, and Raph was pushing himself up on his elbows.

"I'm worried about Mike, too. But we'll get to him in a bit. You idiots are two sides of the same coin, really. I mean, I haven't seen the kid cry since—"

Donnie dropped his wrench. He stared at it for a moment, then bent to pick it up. When he moved back to his seat Raph's gaze settled on him, kind and all-knowing, with a quiet sort of power that could disassemble any man.

"Sooner or later we gotta talk about this, Dee." Raph touched his head. "'S'not your fault. If Pops was here—"

"Don't," Donnie said. "Please."

Somewhere, Unnamed Baby burst into a fit of giggly baby gibberish; Cassandra needed to hurry it up with a name soon, and it had to be good, or they were all going to have a fifth Renaissance man running around the base. The exoskeleton on Raph's arm exuded no blood-warmth. But it curled around Donnie's wrist like a bolstering force all the same.

Donnie's hands began to shake.

"Donnie," Raph said. "Hey. It's alright now."

Donnie hunched his shoulders in, determined to finish the wiring on the inner elbow. "I'll get better materials soon."

"Don't matter right now—"

"This part right here—the socket hurts when it gets cold, doesn't it? I'll find something more durable before winter rolls in. I'll fix it. I promise."

Raph's flesh arm gripped his shoulder. "I know you will."

Donnie shook his head like Raph didn’t understand. His face felt hot, his own hands numb and not his, like the day he dragged Raph out from under the burning wreck of their lair, around them a bloodshot sky that fishbowled from its own weight. A red blistering eye in the sky, and how he ran. He ran like hell. “And I’m gonna make you the best.”

Raph stared at him. “The coolest fucking arm in the world,” he agreed.

“Damn right," Donnie rasped.

This was a hug; Donnie was sure that what was happening. But the awkward way Raph half-sat up and curled around his slouched shell was still disputable. "But," Raph said, "just for the record? I think this one's awesome, too."

Donnie scrubbed his eyes, feeling miserable. "You haven't even seen the best part," he mumbled, then showed him the secret button where a fourth, extra finger could be triggered.

Raph stared and stared at what had only been a life's dream, until now. Now, the possibilities were opening up. "Shit, Dee. I'll do you proud," Raph promised, lifting his middle finger in the air, and Donnie didn't doubt it. Never could. It was Raph.

:::

Mikey crashed face-first with a muffled screech into a patch of soft, loamy earth, and that was how he knew he was a long way from home. A quiet valley greeted him on the other side of the mystic gateway. Gone were the sparse desert plains, the arid, sun-choked skies. No angry Leo either.

He was lost, but there was that.

And he still had his stash with him.

Victory dance it was. After he grew tired of shaking his shell, he looked around at the landscape properly and nearly collapsed.

"Cabbages?" he cried. The farm was the size of a small swimming pool, with only eight rows of intersecting crops and one house with a thatched roof at the center. Nothing like the mind-blowing stretch of sand at home, or the imposing domes of The Gardens. But it had cabbages. Mikey needed cabbages. These looked a little small, but their puckered faces opened up to him like rosebuds; Mikey knew a miracle when he saw one.

"Excuse me!" he called out. "You have a lovely farm! Would you be able to spare some of your bee-you-ti-ful cabbages? I need it for a dish!"

For my annoying no-fun older brother, Mikey didn't add. He threw the bag down from his shoulder and reached his arm to snag its contents. "I'll trade ya for it? I got the goods!"

A windchime blew. A breeze, barely there, carded through the crops. Mikey could count on two hands the places still untouched by the invasion; the Kraang must have business elsewhere.

"Anyone?" Mikey approached the house. A toy car was on the ground, wheels still spinning. Someone had been here. "Oh, I get it! I'm not with the Kraang, don't worry! Name's Mikey! Just your friendly neighborhood mutant turtle, at your service."

He thought he saw the curtains behind the window rustle. The word on the doorjamb was strange; Mikey swore he recognized that alphabet system somewhere.

"Erm, you've probably heard of us. Or my brother? Leonardo?" Mikey was at the window now. Wild grass crunched beneath his feet. "Bright blue bandana, cool sword, used to be smiley but not really anymore—saved New York? No? Oh, okay. Well, rescuing people's kind of our thing. You could join us! It's not safe out here."

"We can take care of our own." Came the sudden voice, gruff and dark behind the door. The curtains at the window parted. Two small heads poked out, inquisitive eyes studying him. And on their faces: beaks.

Yokai.

Mikey swallowed; there hadn't been a lot to meet, not after the Hidden City invasion. As far as Draxum told him, they had scattered themselves like leaves.

"Please, I insist," Mikey said. "My brothers—we have a safehouse, you'll be protected—"

"Just take what you need and go, kappa," the voice said. We don't consort with humans. We've always taken care of ourselves."

"Well, if you change your mind..." Mikey kicked at a pebble. "I'll come back! I'd draw you a map, but... safety-wise, that's probably not a good idea. So, uh. I'll help myself then?"

Nothing. Silence means yes, Mikey thought, and took his fill. He shook the soil from his hands and called out his thanks before starting down the path; Donnie's trackers would find him eventually, followed by his getaway ride, a speck of purple in the clouds. Donnie always found him.

Twenty steps. Then he paused, considering the sky. He didn't mean to turn back, but the soil there felt acidic and coarse, tell-tale signals that the farm would be barren soon; and if it wasn't from climate change, it would be the Kraang themselves, then what would be left? 

Blowing out a breath, Mikey dropped his hoard by the stranger's doorstep.

"We would've made magic together. I just know it," he whispered regrettably, patting its side like an old friend. Empty-handed, he turned to go.

He could always get more stuff; Donnie had negotiated for him, after all. Before he could get far, a creaky hinge groaned, and the yokai was there, leaning on the door jamb.

"Michelangelo, wasn't it? We know who you are." The stranger towered over him. A tough crocodile snout belied an intelligent voice. "Your brothers, as well. But you... well. They say you're special. Is it true you can summon the sun itself?"

Mikey half-laughed, half-wheezed. "Wh—me?"

The stranger considered him. "They say you're growing to be the greatest warriors the world has ever known. Granted with extraordinary power."

I don't want it, Mikey thought, surprised by the fierceness of it. I never asked for it.

The children were still watching him from the window. "They say you'll save us all," the yokai continued. "A lofty fate. Wouldn't you say, ronin?"

I don't want it, Mikey thought, reaching into the depths of him for a shaky smile. Take it from me. Give me my father back.

He shrugged, then turned down the path, watching the clouds for the telltale signs of his brother. "Just Mikey's fine," he insisted, waving goodbye, and this time did not look back.

[rawmeknockout]

Macaroons, human s/o and Sunstreaker with a breeding kink~

It's dumb. You're dumb. He shouldn't even be humoring you right now. It's totally unlike him to want to mingle with humans: their gross oily hands on his finely polished armor, their inane chatter, the way their cells get on everything. Sunstreaker can't hardly stand organics, especially not one's so squishy and chatty.

He pokes out his glossa to let the itty bitty organic treat touch his taste sensors, being careful not to let it slip out of his broad digits. Sunstreaker hates feeling clumsy, but just the slightest twitch and that gross organic treat could actually end up in his system. Gunking things up. But you light up when he lets his glossa poke at the confection, so Sunstreaker doesn't recoil immediately. The taste of something organic and greasy melts onto his glossa.

You're chattering about how you made these cookies, all the 'special little touches' you added to make it your own. A macaroon. It sounds like something Mirage, that pompous Towers' mech, would name a pet. Sunstreaker just grunts and watches you with sour face.

You would make a great carrier. Ugh, if Sideswipe ever knew he was thinking that he would never hear the end of it. Sunstreaker tries to shove that thought waaay deep down, but all it does is stir his array's interest. Would you like that? Being a carrier for his sparklings? Your kind coos and coddles newbuilds, an almost planet-wide appreciation for pudgy cheeks and wide eyes. No wonder Bumblebee is so popular.

It would be nice to be a youngling on Earth, it would certainly be nicer than Sunstreaker's own upbringing, and if he were to bring any little hellspawn into the Universe... Well, he would want it to be here. With someone like you. Who chatters and purrs about your mundane baked goods, and chases after Sideswipe when his pranks are too mean, and carefully guides Sunstreaker's broad servos over your bare skin when you're finally, blissfully alone.

The sour grimace on Sunstreaker's face lightens up just the slightest bit as he listens to you, the heat of affection making his face soften.