#Gopher Control

[guardianpestcontrol]

Guardian Pest Control delivers affordable, effective, and family-friendly pest solutions, ensuring unbeatable protection for homes and businesses across Utah. Established in 2004, we are a locally owned company with over two decades of experience serving the Wasatch Front. As a QualityPro Certified provider—an elite designation held by only 3% of pest control companies nationwide—we uphold the highest standards in the industry. Enjoy pest-free living with our expert team. Call today for a FREE quote and straightforward, affordable pricing!

Business Hours: Monday - Friday : 8am – 5:30pm

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Year Est.: 2004

Contact Info:

Guardian Pest Control

Address: 687 N 2000 West, Ste 4, Springville, UT 84663 USA

Phone: +1 801-225-6000

Mail: support@guardianpest.com

Website: https://guardianpest.com/

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[kyeterna]

Order's Chosen

[teeth--king]

A few days ago I had to move a little, possible juvenile(do not know enough about them to properly say), pocket gopher due to them somehow managing to find themself in an area they could not return from(concrete patio with step up to dirt). They were a bit confused after the matter so I managed to get some good pictures with my nice camera to commemorate, it's always fascinating to be able to witness and examine wildlife.

Don't worry, they were handled with gloves and as little as possible

[gophergal]

the solution to the "are you normal about X people who turn out to be Y" debate is stop fucking assuming things about people

You wanna know what pronouns to use for an individual? Ask them.

As a general rule, don't make jokes about the identity you perceive of someone. Know your audience

How is that hard? Why do we all think ourselves such experts on the lives of other people??????

[bumblebeeappletree]

In the face of extreme habitat loss, wildlife biologist Dr. Chris Jenkins puts an ambitious plan in motion to save two uniquely American reptiles, the eastern indigo snake and the gopher tortoise, and the forest they call home.

The two threatened species are as important to their ecosystems as they are interconnected themselves. The eastern indigo snake is a prolific hunter that manages predator populations in the southeastern United States. In the northern part of its range, the snakes – along with more than 350 other species – rely on the deep burrows that the gopher tortoise creates to survive freezing temperatures every winter.

Both the indigo snakes and gopher tortoises are in steep decline, as their native habitat has been deforested for centuries and then further fragmented by roads with fast-moving vehicles. Dr. Chris Jenkins is part of a massive conservation effort that takes the reptiles’ homes into account. The team surveys the most critical tortoise land, purchases it, and then restores the native forests. From there, Dr. James Bogan, who leads the only eastern indigo breeding program in the world, can reintroduce new snakes to areas where they have previously gone extinct – with plenty of tortoise burrows to protect them.

[earlybirdpestcontrol]

Peoria Pest Control | Peoria Exterminator

Arizona Creepy Crawlies Keeping you up at night in Peoria, Arizona? If they crawl… Give me a call! Early Bird Pest Control has been providing quality pest control services to Peoria residents and business owners for more than 24 years!

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Monthly and Bi-Monthly pest control maintenance plans available for residents and business owners in Peoria, AZ.

[executivepestcontrol]

Pigeon Control

Rodent Control

Bees and Wasps Removal

Gophers

Bat Exclusions

Scorpion Exclusions

Snake Exclusions

Pest Control Services

https://www.exechrmsd.com

[ryuucam]

MY SAVIOR, BEAUTIFUL SOUL

⋆｡𖦹°‧ the oak family head has always intrigued you, but your sworn loyalty to the nameless led you to raise your sword against him in battle. but now that it’s all over, and he’s repented his sins, will you let him get closer to your heart?

contains friends to lovers but it’s more like love at first sight, slight aventurine x reader, purity-corruption talk, slight yan!sunday, gopher wood and sunday backstory, religious imagery, character study?, very very slight gore but as a rhetorical device, pov changes (reader -> sunday), scent kink, virgin!reader (implied) and virgin!sunday, he’s an asshole about virginity, cunningulus, pussy referred to as “she”, dubcon-noncon creampie

notes this was supposed to be a drabble idk what went wrong, take this as a thank u for all the support <33 feel free to send in requests

sunday, dominicus, the oak family head. ever since you arrived in penacony, you’ve heard these names countless times - but you can’t blame the citizens, because, as the ipc gambler said, he is the most famous man in the whole planet of festivities (well, he said handsome, but thinking about how attractive he is will just make you even more distracted). you can’t deny that you feel intrigued by the halovian, but, with all that happened, it is very unlikely that you’d ever interact with him again. well, that’s the harsh reality of the trailblaze - as march told you in one of your “girl talks” in your room in the reverie. and as soon as you start coming to terms that your little crush on sunday is destined to be inconclusive, you suddenly receive a text from mr. yang: the man you’ve been infatuated with is joining the express.

you’re a bit ashamed of your lack of hesitation when it’s time to vote in favor of the new member of the astral express - at least caelus and the others agree with you in looking past all the ena chaos. well, it’s not like you went against your better judgment: it’s clear that sunday has had a change of heart, and all his actions are a product of years of grooming and abuse by another member of the family. as he came to terms with this knowledge, though, sunday changed. the meticulous oak family head is no more, and all that’s left behind is a bird with no wings, no freedom, nothing. but, despite being just a shadow of his former self, the halovian is not a stranger to humanity, to feelings. he saw your behavior on penacony (your courage, your strength, your desire for freedom), and he saw how you stood up for him for his addition to the nameless. and he admires you.

as weeks go by on the express, sunday slowly starts getting closer to you: first, it’s offering you some insight on books he’s read, that are most certainly in your interest, miss y/n, then, it’s joining you for breakfast. and when you two are close enough - closer than he is to any other member on the express - he starts being more physical. resting his knee against yours (unknowingly making your heart skip a beat, or two), lying his hand on your shoulder, and slowly inching his face closer and closer to yours. even if he’s long abandoned the manipulative powers of ena, you still feel trapped by his gaze. however, it’s not controlling - far from it - but the sheer sensibility and vulnerability that pool in his irises are enough to make you go weak in the knees.

one night, you’re both sprawled out on your bed, staring at the stars in the ceiling. while you’re seemingly relaxed, sunday feels like his brain is about to short circuit any second now: his nose is filled with your perfume, his fingers are less than an inch apart from yours, and his eyes are stuck on your face. have you always looked this good? yes, he’s sure of it: your hair frames your face so well, your complexion looks exceptionally dreamy, and the way your eyes melt into his is enough to make him feel lightheaded. and your body - god, your body. sunday has lived a life of chastity, of strict rules and limited, if not any, freedom. even so, he can’t help but feel guilty when he feels his cock inevitably strain against his pants when you unintentionally get closer to him. his breath hitches, and he hopes, prays even, that you don’t notice the twitching. sunday feels like the guilt could eat him alive: you’re so sweet, so willing to accept him for who he is - and he’s doing nothing but tainting the sweet image has of you.

who is he kidding? the second he met you, you were corrupted by him. since your first introduction in the reverie, when he wasn’t an outcast, a fugitive yet, but the most respectable man in penacony, he had his mind set on you. he was disgusted with himself when he felt his stomach churn at every interaction you had with the stoneheart. sunday knew he had no business involving himself with your affairs with aventurine, but he went against his better judgment and spent just a tiny bit more time torturing the avgin man. of course, he feels like a monster now. and he felt like one when you were on the battlefield, fighting against the harmonious choir, against him. but, sunday is now a new man. so, deep in his heart, he hopes that you’ll forgive him for lusting over you.

“sunday? are you okay?”

oh. your voice, your sweet, honey-like voice. it’s enough for him to be stripped away from his thoughts, a saint arriving at a land of sin and evil. he coughs - a lousy way to mask his thinking. “i…yes. don’t concern yourself, miss y/n”. your eyes soften. “sunday… you can tell me what’s wrong. you’re not alone anymore.”

right - he’s not alone. he has you, mr. yang, caelus… he is no longer trapped in a cage, and his newfound freedom is hard to process. the world sunday has known for years has collapsed, but rebuilding a new one is easy if you’re with him. and he knows you won’t leave. right? how could you leave? an angel like you is above all cruelty he’s known, and you’ll take care of him. so he smiles, and closes his eyes, denying himself to stare at you any further.

you just sigh: after all that’s happened, you can’t bring yourself to pry further in his mind. you don’t know what you’ll find. so, unconsciously, you reach out to him, hand sneaking over his face, caressing his cheek. you don’t miss the hitching of his breath, or how his eyebrows form a slight frown. sunday, on the other hand, is feeling everything all at once: he feels like he’s crash landing in a groundless void. the more he sits there, helpless, the more he feels disgusted with himself. how can he not do anything in this situation?

but he knows, deep down, that you won’t blame him for being weak: you’re worshipping him as much as he does you, and for just a second, sunday feels the robbed divinity rush in his veins again.

and with this newfound confidence, sunday open his eyes and almost closes the gap between you two. it’s bold, irrational, and so unlike him, but he sees no trace of malevolence in your eyes - just genuine surprise. he thinks you look so cute like this, so surprised. so he’ll keep going, so long as he gets to see you like this. he inches closer, and everything around him stops. his heart and mind are racing with questions, unresolved reasonings, but sunday thinks it’s time to let this all go. maybe he’s trying to cope with the lustful, sinful, but oh so addicting thoughts he has of you, but maybe, just maybe, he’s a tired man seeking solace.

and maybe he can be both, he concludes. his lips press against yours, clumsy and inexperienced, and his eyes flutter shut. sunday feels the oxygen flowing back into his lungs when you mimic his actions. the hand that was resting on his cheek now serves as a way to pull you both closer to each other, both unknowingly afraid to break the kiss. it’s fragile, raw, but so is sunday. you’re the first to pull away, reluctantly, but the halovian knocked all air out of your lungs. your hand doesn’t move, though, and a line of spit that connects your lips serves as a testimony to what just happened. you’re breathless, wordless, but sunday sees your dilated pupils and reddened cheeks - maybe you need him in the same way he needs you. that must be it.

“miss y/n…” sunday speaks first. your expression softens. he sees it, and suddenly every word that comes to his mind seems meaningless, unworthy of being uttered in your presence. you deserve more, much more, and sunday fears he’ll never be able to communicate with you - not even by ripping out his heart and handing it to you. you sense this (and sunday wonders how: surely you have not been blessed by xipe?), and rest your forehead against his. you smile, and he feels powerless. experimentally, you rest your lips on top of his. “is this okay?”, you murmur, lips not leaving his.

god, yes. sunday feels no hesitation as he crashes into the kiss, breaking the soft and gentle balance you tried to build. he knows he’s never done this before, but he doesn’t worry about self consciousness, insecurities or whatnot. he forgets about lust, maybe because he’s already been taken over by it, or maybe because what he’s feeling is love. either answer is foreign to sunday, who keeps following his instinct. he gently moves on top of you, one hand holding yours, while your other hand lowered itself on the nape of his neck. he kisses you again, and again, until you’re both panting, lips swollen and wet with spit. and the he feels it - how could he have forgotten it? the strain in his pants is more evident than ever, nudging at your soft thigh. he whimpers at the friction, feeling his clothed sensitive tip nudge against your skin. sunday feels his stomach churn: what now? he’s never done this before - he has never touched his cock, let alone have it done by someone else.

then, he hears it. and he feels like he could listen to that angelic sound for the rest of his life.

you whimpered - or is that a stifled moan? sunday does not know, but it doesn’t matter as he’s now painfully aware of your presence. he feels lightheaded, his mouth is inexplicably dry: he swallows, then closes his eyes. he gets closer to you, nose prodding at your cheek, taking in your scent - it’s sweet, just like you, but it’s just so human, so raw. is this what arousal smells like? sunday’s head is spinning, and he feels like all the blood his poor heart is pumping out is going straight to his pants. his free hands goes from your cheek, your neck, your collarbones. then, he hesitates: he needs to tell you something, he can’t just take you. “miss y/n… will you let me?” your eyes are watery, your face is burning. you can just nod, not being able to let out any word but a sweet, sweet whimper. sunday smiles: you’re just so cute. “you have to tell me… can’t do anything otherwise. can you do that for me, miss?”

embarrassment pools over you. when did he get so bold? but his erection feels so good on your skin, and you need more: so, you do as he commands. “please, sunday… t-touch me? please-ah!…” sunday rolls his hips into your crotch as you speak, tip hitting your poor cunt. he smiles, and kisses you again. he keeps on kissing you, trying his best to keep you quiet - and him. his hands sneak down to your chest, feeling the soft, supple flesh sink into his cold, trembling fingers: your breasts are even better than what he imagined (countless nights spent stifling his noises as he pumped his cock, thinking about you), and he feels his dick twitch when he feels your nipples hardening. as he unbuttons your shirt, he wonders how he could’ve lived without this, without you, for so long. you’re left in your bra - it’s nothing elaborated or fancy, just a white, lacy bra that cups your boobs so well. sunday breaks the kiss to press pecks all the way down to your neck, pressing his lips on your soft mounds and nose on your cleavy. aeons, you smell so good. “pl-please… help me take this off.” you don’t question his inexperience, and slowly unhook your bra. sunday’s the one that takes it off, and he swears his briefs are drenched in precum. he latches his mouth on your nipple, hand playing with the other, first sucking gently - and as you moan and cry louder, he gets harsher. he’s unaware of the hickeys tainting your smooth skin: even if he wasn’t, he’s too busy playing with your tits. his cock is subconsciously prodding at your crotch, and you can’t take it anymore: “sund-ah! sunday!… ngh, n-need you to-hm!… do m-more…”

oh. how can he deny you? he leaves a goodbye kiss on your nipple, so lewd but so him, and moves his hands to your waist, slowly tugging down your skirt. once it’s off, sunday focuses on your panties - oh, they’re matching with your bra. did you do this for him?, he wonders. you minx, you knew that he’s infatuated with you. well, now’s not the time to dwell on this, he concludes, and strips you of your panties. now he’s left stunned: your puffy cunny is staring right back at him. “y-y/n… you’re gonna let me touch this? this pretty pussy? please?…” you nod - the praise making your head spin and eyes roll back into your skull. sunday smiles, relieved: he didn’t know what he’d do if you denied him of your sweet hole any longer. his face hovers over your crotch, lips kissing your labia, your clit, your hole.

his nose is pressed against your clit, bumping on it as he makes out with your cunt - and you cry, thrashing desperately because this is so lewd, so perverted! how’s sunday supposed to know all this? your thoughts are interrupted when he sighs, and reluctantly leaves your pussy alone. you gulp as he raises his body, undoing his belt and letting his pants fall. he’s in his briefs, and you can clearly see the fat outline of his cock. it’s hard, thick, and there’s a wet spot right where the tip is: sunday lets out a deep breath, and tugs down his pants. your mouth is watering, and you feel your neglected cunt leak as his cock springs free, hard and angry, so different from its owner. sunday is delicate, pure, and his length is swollen, veins leading to the oh so delicious mushroom tip.

sunday’s embarrassed: why are you staring at him? is his cock so horrid? why- oh.

he lets out a moan when your hand engulfs his dick, soft skin wrapped around his aching flesh, and sunday thinks lust has really taken over him. “please, let me-ah, lemme put this inside. need y-you!” and how can you say no?

you lean back, and sunday’s on you like a starved man - he knows he should lick your hole a bit more, maybe stick a finger or two in it, but he has long forgotten all the knowledge he got from some blooodhounds years ago. his tip prods at your small hole, and he worries about breaking you. can you take it? his sweet angel, you’re so perfect for him and he’s about to defile you - oh, he feels like he could cum just like this. tip pressed against your clit, both of your juices mixing together in a candied mix. he lowers his cock a bit, enough to be face to face with your entrance. the world stops when he slips it in: your pained moans, your walls fluttering shut around him, your tears staining your white sheets. sunday has ruined you, corrupted you with his lust, but now that he’s known how your cunt feels, he can’t get enough.

he moves, and his thrusts are messy, sloppy, inexperienced, his balls slapping and bruising your soft skin. sunday feels like he’s reached heaven, and he won’t stop. he can’t - you’re sucking him in so hard, so desperate to be fucked by your halovian companion. oh, you must be a pervert too, sunday realizes, letting a defiled angel like him taint you. but now you’re his, forever robbed of your purity and pride, and you’re not going anywhere.

“‘m gonna c-cum, ‘kay a-ah, angel? let me cu-uhm! in you, please? y’re g-gonna be ngh! a sweetheart, yeah? lemme claim your cunny, ‘kay?” sunday’s voice is slurred, words flowing out of his lips without his control. you nod, maybe even say something back, but sunday can’t hear you - you’re pussy’s the one he’s listening to right now. and she’s pleading so sweetly for sunday to cum in her. so, maybe you’re telling him no, that it’s risky, it’s wrong - but he’s not listening.

sunday empties his load deep in your pussy, kissing your cervix and womb with it, and he’s happy. he kisses you, poor you who’s all fucked out on your bed. don’t worry though, sunday will take care of you. it’s only natural - you’re bound together now, and maybe this realization is the reason you creamed so sweetly around his cock. he kisses you again, and you succumb yourself to him.

he’s happy, and he feels his cock twitch at the thought of doing this again. then, he’ll take his time tasting and ruining you again, and again, until he’s sure you won’t leave him: not for the avgin, not for the trailblazer, not for dan heng. you’re his, and he’s yours. forever.

[yandere-romanticaa]

"Sunday has a God complex!" No, the man has a martyr complex and those are two very different things.

I've seen the argument that people think that he has a God complex because he wanted to become the Harmonious Choir in order to control other people's dreams, which would absolutely fit into the idea of a God complex but there's just one other thing about Sunday that cannot be ignored - his desire for control does not stem from the fact that he's on a big power trip because he sees himself as better than others, but rather he wished to become the Harmonious Choir because of his deep rooted desire of not wanting to see other people suffer anymore.

We've seen that even when he was a child, Sunday never really had any of his own initiative or goals as he only wished to be helpful to others, making him a prime target for the Bastard™ Gopher Wood.

I think it's also important to note that he was never really exposed to any other outside influences other than his sister. Robin was always on tour, always surrounded by different people with different perspectives and this allowed her to mature and blossom into a wonderful and fully functioning adult. Meanwhile, Sunday was basically stuck listening to other people's woes all day, his sole duty being to listen and comfort people who had lost everything and had nothing to live for, their one source of happiness being that they could just stay in Penacony, the land of dreams.

He had become so rigid as an adult that I'm pretty sure that the word itself has his picture in a random dictionary in some library in Penacony.

Anyway, I adore this man and thank you for coming to my TED talk.

[sir-tuitsum]

Sunday hated you.

An irritation, a grain of sand lodged somewhere in his skull, scratching at the edges of his thoughts. You were the kind of person he should have been able to ignore, an unrestrained thing that moved through the world without care or consequence.

You were loud. Thoughtless. You talked too much, laughed too hard, threw yourself into life without hesitation. You said things that should have been embarrassing, acted on impulse, lived like you didn’t carry a single ounce of shame in your body.

And people loved you for it.

He saw it in the way their eyes lit up when you spoke, in the way they leaned in closer, in the way your presence filled a room like sunlight spilling through open windows.

“It’s amazing,” they’d say.

“you’re just so free.”

That word made his stomach knot.

He had spent his whole life learning to hold back. To control himself, to measure his words, to weigh every action before he took it. He was good. He was disciplined. He did everything right.

And yet,

He told himself it was just frustration.

But then it got worse.

Because suddenly, he was watching for you before he even realized he was doing it. His eyes found you in crowded rooms, tracked the sound of your laughter through the halls, sought out the places you lingered.

He hated you. 

Hated you.

(So why couldn’t he look away?)

The first time you really saw him, you were at a party.

He was there as a representative for Gopher. He didn’t like parties, too much noise, too many people, too much chaos. But you were there, so he was there.

You were in the center of it all, as always, laughing too loudly, leaning in too close, spinning the room around you like you were the axis it all revolved around.

And then,

your gaze flickered.

Landed on him.

You tilted your head, studying him like he was something out of place.

“Do you even like being here?” you asked.

He should have said no. Should have walked away.

But instead, his mouth moved on its own.

“Do you?”

For the first time, you hesitated. It was small, barely there but he saw it.

Then you grinned.

“Touché.”

And just like that, you turned away, the moment slipping between his fingers like sand.

But he stood there, frozen, breath caught in his chest.

Because for the first time,

You had seen him.

And now, he needed you to do it again.

After that, it became unbearable.

You were in his head all the time, your voice curling around his thoughts, your presence a ghost in his lungs.

And the more he thought about you, the angrier he got.

Because you didn’t deserve to be happy.

You were selfish. Reckless. Wrong.

And yet, you had everything he had to get by being everything he was not.

That wasn’t fair.

That wasn’t right.

So he started testing the limits of your awareness. Standing closer. Speaking up when you were near. Watching for the moment your gaze landed on him, the flicker of recognition in your eyes when you realized he was always there.

You didn’t push him away.

And that was your mistake.

The second time you spoke, you were alone.

A rare thing. 

A precious thing.

You were sitting outside, legs stretched out, staring up at the sky.

He didn’t think.

He didn't plan. 

Just moved.

“You look bored,” he said.

You turned your head, blinking up at him. Then, you smiled.

“Didn’t think you were the kind to talk to people like me.”

His pulse was a slow, steady drum in his ears.

“What kind is that?”

You shrugged. “The kind you don’t like.”

The words hit deeper than they should have.

You knew.

You knew.

And you still weren’t afraid.

Instead, you scooted over, patting the space beside you.

An invitation,

He sat down.

And something inside him unraveled.

It should have ended there.

But it didn’t.

Because now you spoke to him first. Now you noticed him. Now you threw him into your world like he belonged there.

And that was the moment he realized,

You weren’t untouchable.

You weren’t above him.

You weren’t a god, weren’t an idol, weren’t something to admire from a distance.

You were flesh and blood.

A person.

A thing.

And things could be taken apart.

Bit by bit.

Piece by piece.

You thought you were free. Thought you were untamed, untouchable, unstoppable.

But you weren’t.

You were just something that hadn’t been caged yet.

And if he couldn’t be you,

Then he would break you,

Take everything that was you.

Until there was nothing left but him.

[shojizbae]

Yeehaw!

Spencer Reid x reader

Warnings: This is spicy! Use of alcohol, behind drunk/drunk sex, Oral fem! receiving, cowgirl position

Everyone could tell with just one look at you that you were Southern. That being said, anytime there was a case in the South, everyone knew to take a step back and let you lead. This time, there was a string of murders in Aiken, South Carolina, and the team knew that you were all over it.

"Weren't you from a Carolina?" Derek chuckles as we board the jet.

"Yeah, I spent most of my time on Camp Lejeune with my daddy, then I went south for college in Charleston."

"So that means Hotch has been demoted for this." Emily snickers

"No, I just know the South, and I'll get a little gun-happy when I'm back home. It wouldn't be no different had we gone to Chicago, Derek."

"Wow, mama's go home heat today." We settle on the jet, and Hotch and Rossi debrief us. I take a nap as we head south, and unfortunately, the power of the state takes me over. I march up to the sheriff and flash my credentials.

"So, how's it happen?" The sheriff speaks in an accent so thick it makes grits look like juice. I glance at the team, and they seem to sigh in relief when they realize I can understand him. Tirelessly, we worked the case for 73 hours. We met at a fresh crime scene every morning. The unsub seemed to be in a frenzy. He was dangerous and mixed with a high concentration of amphetamine addiction in this area. It was likely he had no clue he was killing.

But, due to the trace amounts of meth, we knew that he was unstable and would trip up eventually. We got some sleep after the fourth body, and there was a trip up in the morning. A fifth, but he had left some of his powdered sugar at the crime scene.

I put a glove on and lifted the little baggie, showing it off to Reid.

"Hey, Spencer, check this out."

"Hey, I've been clean for years," He mopes

"Aw, I'm sorry, sugar," A detective approaches me with an evidence bag. "Here, swab it and run this through CODIS." Spencer and I kept sweeping the crime scene for any molecule of evidence. Nothing all that exciting. The killer left the knife in her this time. Indicative of the fact that they were out of control. I squat next to the body and ghost my fingers over the entrance wound.

"Hey Spencer," He perks up like a gopher, "If you were going to kill someone and you were going to stab them to death, how'd you do it?"

"Are you sure that's an appropriate question?"

"I'm just curious."

"I'd probably use something with a curved blade. It would do the most damage and be the hardest to remove." His eyes go kind of dead, as he explains. An awkward air hangs between the two of us as we survey the wound.

"Damn, Spence, that's messed up."

"You asked." He sasses

Not later that evening, a woman called to suspect a strange man was in her house. We move in immediately and find a man pacing in circles in the bathroom. He's violent and angry, and his nose is bleeding. He tried to swing a knife at Morgan, but I grabbed him by the wrist and slammed his head into the wall. I use my hips to push him forward and cuff him while Emily helps the woman safely out of her house.

I march him to the car while he screams that I'm a bastard whore. Finally, I shoved him into the police car and muttered a good riddance. I even patted my hands like a baker getting flour off.

"I need a drink." I put my hands on my hips

"I could use something to cool off, too. This southern heat can be beat." Derek wipes his brow

"Hotch you think we have the leeway to spend the night here?" Emily asks

"That's all up to JJ, anything pressing enough that we need to get back to Quantico?"

"Well, nothing too scary that we couldn't cut loose after working for six days straight." She smiles at the team

Hours later, we showered, ate a full meal at a steakhouse, and put on the nicest clothes in our go-bags. The team was shocked to discover I had a cowboy hat in my bag. We moseyed our way to the bar, a small dive bar with a pool table. A mechanical bull is in the center of the room, and my eyes light up at the memories. Rossie buys us a pitcher of beer, and we all unwind from the stressful week.

As we knock 'em back slowly and let college stories fly, the team starts to forget what we had seen. Rossi tells us some funny stories about going to college during the summer of love, and Reid accidentally brags about going to Cal Tech.

"Well, what about you? Didn't you go to school nearby?" Emily says as she refills her glass.

"Uh yeah, in Charleston, South Carolina." I clarify

"So you must have spent most of your nights like this." Derek motions around the bar, playing honky-tonk music. Pool balls clack around us, and there's a thin layer of dirt around the edge of the bar.

"Well, most nights I spent in my dorm or the library. Every other Saturday, my roommate and neighbors would go to a dive named Fat Daddy's. We would make bets with the alcoholic dads about being able to ride the bull, and if we stayed on longer than they said so, they'd buy us all a drink. I didn't pay for my own liquor for three semesters." The team stood in shock. Hotch's jaw was agape and Rossi just nodded his chin in acknowledgement.

"Well, now, baby girl, I have to see you in action." Derek almost commands

"No, I ain't dressed right. And ain't nobody betted me."

"I bet you won't last seven seconds on the mechanical bull," Spencer interjects "If you do, I'll buy you that coconut margarita that you've been eyeing."

"Alrght, there's my bet." I march up to the bartender "I'm'onna ride that bull." I point at it and he looks me hat to boot.

"Alright," The bartender seems disinterested. He hits a button, and lights around the bull flash like a carnival. I draw the attention of the whole bar as a pre-recorded announcer calls me a brave challenger.

Big men with fat beer bellies gather around, and I readjust my top. If I play my cards right, I might get more than a coconut margarita out of this. I'm not wearing anything too special—just one of my combat scoop-neck tees and low-rise daisy dukes. The bartender offers his hand, and I use it to mount the big plastic bull.

"You ready, little girl?" He asks

"Yes sir." I grip onto the handle at the 'bull's nape and a bell rings. Slowly the bull starts lurching forward and back while exciting music bounces around the bar.

one Mississippi

The bull speeds up

'ride it, cowgirl!" Derek yells from the edge of the bull enclosure

two Mississippi

It starts going sideways

three Mississippi

I fake with my appearance that I'm struggling and readjust my grip

four Mississippi

I use my hips to grind with the rhythm of the bull as men whoop and cheer

five Mississippi, six Mississippi

My heart starts to thump against my ribs

Seven Mississippi, I win.

The team cheers for me. I keep going, getting bold enough to grind more dramatically. I hear more whoops and hollers as I lift my arms and squee. Someone yells, and another man whistles. I hold onto my hat as the bull speeds up, and I feel my shirt lift.

'Yeehaw!' I hear, and the bar just erupts. I feel so full of life, and I jump up on the bull, riding it like a surfboard. I drop down and sit backward on the bull. I twist around and ride the bull until the bartender slows it down.

"You done broke our record. 39 seconds on the highest speed." The bar screams in glee, and the team closes in on me, handing out high fives. Reid hangs behind the group, and I see him ask Derek a question

"Did you know that (Y/n) has a stomach tattoo?"

"Wow (Y/n), that was incredible." Emily looks starstruck

"I told you I didn't pay for a drink for 18 months." I give JJ a hug, and Reid emerges from the crowd

"I guess I owe you a drink." He smiles, and I fidget with the hem of my shirt

"One coconut margarita, please, sir." He leads me to the bar, where the bartender makes one for me. I hold the glass up to his face, and Reid takes the first sip.

"No, that's fine," He pushes the glass from his cheek

"C'mon, you paid for it."

"Listen, you know that coercion isn't a great thing to do. Most serial killers are more coercive than a skeezy lawyer."

"Aw, you're using my metaphors." I coo and step closer to his chest

"When did you become so flirty?" he braces me on the hip

"All that shaking around must have got the beer movin' in me." I giggle and sip on my glass. "I saw you askin' Derek 'bout my tattoo. y' wanna see it?" I start to roll up my shirt

"No, no, that's fine," He holds my wrist to stop me. "Why don't we get you some water."

"No, this is yummy." I smile and down the cup. He grimaces at the action and tries to walk me over to our table

"Hey, Spencer, you wanna know why I'm so good at riding that thing?" I halt to play with the button of his shirt, and he stops, too.

"Uh sure," He swallows

"Ever the curious doctor," I slur. I'm good with the bull because I love riding," I whisper drunkenly in his ear. He swallows hard and tries to shimmy us back to our table. His hands shake as he grips my tricep.

"Why're you so nervous?" I ask the side of his jaw. My voice swings up an octave, but I snort as I survey the team.

"The liquor got to her quick. I'm gonna get her back to the hotel."

"Oooh, why don't you take me someplace fancy," I tease

"Well, make sure you use protection." Derek snorts as he lifts a brown bottle to his lips

"Aw, you ain't gotta worry. I've got an IUD." Spencer soothes my sentence with a pat on my shoulder, and I slide a hand down his back

"That won't be a problem. I'm just going to ensure she has water, Advil, and comfortable clothes." He jumps away as I make an attempt to grab his butt.

"You sure you don't want either of us to take her?" JJ offers and points between Emily and herself. I rest my head on his chest. I can feel his heart pounding against my temple.

"You gonna take good care of me, Doctor?" I smile up at his concerned face

"I'm not that kind of doctor." He scolds. He helps seatbelt me into one of two FBI SUVs. Slowly and carefully, he drives me to the highway motel we were placed in, and he marches me into my room.

"Alright, are you sober enough to shower?" He sits me on the bed, and the mattress shrieks beneath me

"Yeah, so long as you help me get my shirt off."

"No, I won't be doing that," He finds a glass and fills it with water. He digs in my go-bag and finds the bottle of Advil. He drops two in his hand and gives them to me as well as the cup. "Drink this," he tucks some hair behind his ears.

"My feet hurt," I whine and put the pills in my mouth.

"Well, you're wearing those ridiculous boots," He stressfully tucks some hair behind his ears

"They ain't ridiculous." Stick out a foot and twist it to see the whole design, "Maybe a little flashy." I tuck my foot in and look up at him. "Will you calm down if you held me out of these sugar?"

"Yeah, sure." He kneels down and tugs each of my boots off, and lines them up with the rest of my shoes.

"Aww, you're so caring. C'mere sugar." Reluctantly, he finds me on the mattress, and I pat it next to me. He's hesitant, but he sits, and I lean against him. "Hey, Spencer?"

"Yes, (Y/n)?"

"You wanna ask about my tattoo?"

"No,"

"Really, because you keep glancing down at my stomach. I may be a drunk one, but I am a profiler. What about it? Gets you going so much?"

"What?" He scoffs in shock "It doesn't 'get me going'." I hold onto his arm

"Really? Because I'm pushin' my tits against you, and you're still lookin' at my stomach."

"I uh I'm not." He's distracted enough that I can swing my legs across his lap "(Y/n), this is really inappropriate conduct for coworkers."

"I ain't on the clock," I slowly drag my shirt up to reveal the design. Two big blossoms of overlapping lavender and olive flowers. Any protests he tries to make are halted as he studies the image.

"These ones, "I guide his apprehensive hand as hi pointer finger traces my stomach "Are olive blossoms, they stand for peace. and these are lavenders."

"They mean feminity and grace." He clears his throat

"I've got more," I whisper playfully

"C-can I see them?" He swallows. I cross my arms at the hem of my shirt and pull it off, lifting the hem of my bralette.

"There's some text under my boobs."

"te amo para siempre." He reads without an accent, so it sounds stilted. "Did you get that for a boyfriend?"

"No, it's something my grandpa used to tell me." he runs his thumb over the cursive, "And on my collarbones." I guide his wrist to my right clavicle.

"'An eye for an eye,' I guided him across my chest, and he traced like he was reading braille.' leaves the whole world blind.' He connected his eyes with mine. His pupils were real big.

"Aw gee, I just realized I'm a little underdressed."

"Of course," he shifts around to encourage me to get off

"Uh uh, it could be you're just overdressed," I hold onto the knot in his tie

"No (Y/n),"

"You know, darling, your mouth is saying no, but your body is saying yes." I slide my hips forward and feel him suppress a shudder. I direct his head to look at me with blown-wide puppy dog eyes. "Maybe we should tell your mouth to let your body take over." I sink my lips against him, and he melts into me. Our lips smack as he pulls away

"(y/n), no, this isn't professional," he tries to disable my arms as I slide his tie knot apart

"Well, that's good. If I were professional, you get a hotel in a local jail for soliciting a prostitute." I get the knot loose and free his neck, making headway on the buttons. He shiftsbutI kiss his complaints away. Soon, sounds of complaint turn to moans as he succumbs to his body.

"Hey, Spencer," I pull away briefly and chew on my lip at the view. His hair is fluffed, and the top half of his shirt is flipped open. "I've got one more tattoo, and I think you'd really like it."

"I would?" he pushes his hair back "Why." I give him a peck as I reach for the button on my shorts. He grabs my hand and undoes the button himself. I guide his hand to the zipper, and he tugs it down. Instead of shimmying out of the shorts, I hook his finger in the elastic of my underwear. He pulls it down just enough to read the black text that slowly faded to show green.

"C6H12O6?"

"Yeah, you remember what that means?"

"It's the chemical formula for sugar." He snaps the underwear back into place, and I jump at the sensation, "Why?"

"Because I'm so sweet." I dive back in and kiss him. Heated aggressively like he's got the last cup of water on his tongue. He reaches into my hair to steady me, and with his second hand, he grabs my hip. I continue to unbutton his shirt until he shores it off into the distance.

"Well, look how handsome you are," I watch him blush, but I run my hands up his chest and over his collarbones. He blushes but guides my hand to his belt buckle. I love the sound a belt buckle makes. Before I can get his pants off him, Spencer surprises me. He picks us up and twists us, so my back slaps against the squeaky mattress.

He slithers down my body, kissing down the various tattoos. Gently, he slides his fingers into the waistband of my jeans. He slides them down and separates each of my knees. Almost entranced he licks up the gray cotton panties I wore.

"Spencer!' I moan in shock

"Please, this is my favorite part." He pulls the underwear off and tosses it to the side. I don't protest any further. It's rare to find a guy willing to go down on me, much less one that initiates. He wraps his arms around my thighs and places my knees at his shoulders. He wastes no time diving in.

With every man I've slept with, I've never felt someone go down on me with such fervor and skill. I'm taken down. He clings onto my clit with desperation. He drops my right leg so that he can trace gentle circles around my pussy.

"Spenc- Uh"

"Sh-sh -shh, just relax." He soothes me and rubs my inner thigh. I try to look down at him, but as he continues his ministrations, I lose my strength and flop my head back. Slowly, he sinks his pointer finger in, and I take a sharp inhale.

"Spe-EUUh!" His skill is shocking as he slowly moves his finger in and out. Once I was acclimated, he pulled out and put both his pointer and middle in. I do my best to suppress it for the comfort of the surrounding guests.

"Don't hide from me." He comes up and looks my face over

"There's other people around, Spencer."

"Then let them hear." He places a kiss on my forehead and sinks down to continue devouring me. I don't hold back as much as I'm embarrassed. He starts a 'come hither' motion and I roll my hips up into his face. He braces a hand on my hip.

"Sit still." He commands

Steadily, I felt a climax rising in me. I felt the muscles in my stomach clenching and tensing. I feel like yellow waves of pleasure ripple through my body.

"SPE—Spencerr, I'm gonna!" I desperately reached around and threaded my fingers into his hair. With my other hand, I felt around for the disheveled comforter. I balled my hands into a fist around what I held: his hair and the blanket. I climaxed faster than I had expected. Accidentally, I locked Spencer in with my legs. Desperate to keep the pleasure close to me.

It took me a moment to catch my breath. When I came to, I released my legs, and he resurfaced, wiping his mouth as he checked on me.

"How are you doing? Was that any good?"

"Good?" I gaped, and I saw him crumble a little in insecurity. Spencer, that was the best head I've ever had." He chuckled boyishly as I held his pants so he lay on top of me.

"Spencer?" I ask slowly

"Yeah," He kisses me on the side of the mouth

"I'm gonna fuck you now,"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," I sit him up and unzip his pants and pull them down. His legs are ridiculously long, and it feels like an eternity to get him naked. I geek at his boxers. His cock is jumping against the fabric, and there is a small precum stain. I rub over the fabric, and he keens into my touch.

"Aww, so you're all talk," I tease

"S-shut up, you were just writhing under me." He leans back on his arms. The veins in his forearms are bulging, and I can see his stomach shift as he shifts under my pawing.

"Yeah, and now you will be."

I slide my fingers under the elastic, and he lifts his hips to help me free him. Gently, I stroke him, and he gulps back and moans. I mount him, letting Spencer guide himself into me. I sigh as I feel him slide in, and his hands gravitate to my hips.

"Woah," he grunts. It's probably the strangest reaction I've gotten, but I appreciate being such a stunner.

"How are you doing, Reid?"

"I-I'm sublime. How are you?" I shift my hips in contemplation, feeling my eyes pool in the back of my head.

"Oh, I'm doing-g just-" My sentence cuts itself off as the head of his dick kisses a sweet spot inside me. "Can you just give me a little boost?" He holds each of my hips and drags me across my lap.

"Oh fuck," I sigh, and I pick my hips up. We fall into a sensual rhythm as the world disappears around us. "Spencer, that feels so..." My forehead collapses against his collarbone. There's something about his dick that itches a scratch I didn't know I was feeling. Similarly, he mews below me.

"(Y/n)," he groans out below me "Don't stop." and I don't. Instead, I pick up the pace. I brace myself on his shoulders and slam my hips back and forth until my thighs burn. And when the sensation becomes overwhelming I keep fighting.

"Oh my- uh," He groans beneath me "(Y/n), (Y/n), I'm gonna cum." He sounds desperate. "(Y/n) you have to get off." He whimpers

"No, I'm gonna cum too. I won't-" I keep my hips galloping against his thighs, "PLEase- fuck, I'm gonna." I feel his cock twitch inside me, and warmth spreads through my thighs.

"Uh, nice and deep." I halt myself for a second," Spencer I gotta keep going."

"M'kay." I ride with such speed that I'm scared the legs on the bed will snap. Finally, I feel the point of no return—like watching a slow vase fall over, knowing you're too far away to stop it. I came. My knees buckled, and I fell chest-first onto Reid.

"Are you okay?" He holds my back steady and gently rubs my spine, and I catch my breath.

"Yeah, I'm okay." I sit myself up, and Spencer tucks some frizzy hair behind my ear. "Probably some of the sex I've had in... ever." His face lights up. I use his shoulder to stand up, and I feel it slide down my thigh.

"I'm gonna need a shower, but there's always room for two." I smile and trot off to the ensuite. It's not long before Spencer is chasing me behind the vinyl curtain to wet his hair and press a kiss to the back of my shoulder.

[joy-haver]

Life is getting harder, and so, we must get better at it.

Climate change and species extinction and ecosystem collapse are happening quickly. They are spiraling out of control. Even many Ecosystems that are supposed to be the most stable in their regions are facing decline. There are runaway effects, each thing that gets worse makes the next thing get worse faster, more disastrously. Each of these systems becomes less resilient the more of its redundancies are stripped away.

And yet, we can also have cascading effects. I am seeing controlled burns turn the plantation pines into savannas again, for the first time in 200 years, they are burning now, right now, where they would never have imagined to burn a year ago. I am seeing people talk about planting native plants. The nurseries here are selling out of them faster than they can restock. If you ask, they will say “This did not happen last year”. The foundations that have been being built by ecologists over the past half century, and maintained against brutal colonialism by indigenous peoples, are seeping out into the community. I see people talking about river cane, and pitcher plant, and planting paw paw and persimmon and sassafras and spice bush. These things are returning. Even now, in the worst drought in known history of my area, I see more butterflies than last year, because we have put in more of their host plants, their overwinters. We are learning. We are beginning. We are being born into a world of ecology; we are breaking the green wall of blur that defines our settler nonrelationship with nature. The irises are returning to Louisiana, the black bear too. The oysters are returning to Mobile Bay. I hear talk of gopher apples and river oats from the mouths of children. I see the return of the chinquapin, and her larger sister chestnut. It is slow but it is also so fast. It is growing at new trajectories, new rises. Each of these becomes it’s own advocate when planted in space and put in relationship.

We are not doomed. We must claw back from the brink. We must find each other and we must exchange seeds. We must learn to pull invasive species. We must win others over through earnestness and full bellies, through kindling the spark of ecological joy, and then we must show them the way. We must be learning the way ourselves in the meantime. We must teach the children the names we were not told, that were forgotten; how to recognize these friends.

When things are spiraling towards despair and death we must be that spiral towards life and utter utopia. We must build ourselves into full participants in our ecological systems.

As life gets harder, we must get better at it.

[starcurtain]

What do you think about Sunday and Aventurine? and their interaction in 2.1, I know Sunday did what he had to do but I just have a strong dislike for him ever since. He is an interesting character though.

I mentioned on a previous ask that I wanted to talk about narrative foils/character parallels, and that ask mentioned Aventurine being similar to Robin and a little to Sunday. But I thought I'd combine that character foils idea with this post about Sunday because...

Aventurine and Sunday are Near Perfect Character Parallels

(Also sorry to Youtuber Fayato who I screencapped this image from; I literally couldn't find a single other good image of Aventurine and Sunday in the same frame!)

In media, the concept of the narrative foil refers to a character who contrasts another character; by setting the two characters and their plots side by side, the audience is better able to understand the traits of the central character.

And by setting two surprisingly similar characters in opposition to each other, it becomes very clear how even those facing similar circumstances can take diametrically opposed paths in life.

First, let's start with the basics:

Aventurine and Sunday are both characters whose real fathers were never in the picture, and who lost their mothers right in front of their eyes to traumatizing events.

They both experienced the violent deaths ("death" in Sunday's case) of their sisters.

They both were "rescued" by people who intended to use them by growing them ("grooming them" in Sunday's case) into a figure of authority.

They were both told they were "chosen ones" growing up. And yet ultimately this status as the chosen one is in doubt: Aventurine isn't sure if his family's faith is real, while Gopher Wood tells Sunday that Penacony's chosen should have been Robin all along.

They both became self-sacrificial, Aventurine through his obvious willingness to throw his life away, and Sunday through his plan to remain outside the sweet dream to be its keeper while everyone else got to live in "paradise."

They both are trapped by their situations, Sunday by his inability to leave the cage, Aventurine by his inability to accept the life he isn't able to throw away.

They both became the "villain" of their respective patches and both faced "death."

Personality-wise, they both strongly favor being in control, to the point that their scene together is an aggressive power struggle over each other.

This is how the "future" Aventurine describes himself:

Does it sound familiar? It should, since that's exactly how people describe Sunday.

But they also both prioritize their families, and they are equally altruistic at the core while seemingly self-centered on the exterior.

They both, of course, have the blessing of an aeon.

And here's where I'm going to take a massive tangent, but it's important: I do tend to be among those who think there is at least some connection between Ena, the Order, and Gaiathra.

I've heard all sorts of reasons that they can't be two different concepts for the same being, from the whole "Gaiathra is a goddess of trickery and that's not related to order" to the whole "the Order's followers worship with song while Gaiathra's followers specifically don't," but I think something that has been missing from the discussion of Ena and Gaiathra's possible connection is that "Order" as a concept has entirely different definitions depending on which cultural context you approach it from.

The most mainstream modern concept of "Order" is something that is imposed: A power from on high descends to quell the chaos of the mortal world, to "bring order" through guidance to humanity. This is very Abrahamic, very modern Christian, and that is reflected in the imagery surrounding Sunday. Sunday, as a manifestation of the Order's power, believes he will be able to uplift Penacony from the mire, free people from their unfulfilled desires and confusion, and bring about perpetual peace by enforcing his understanding of harmony on the populace trapped in the dream.

Sunday's Order is not the natural state of the world but something that must be carefully cultivated and maintained, a constant battle against the chaotic forces of life and its temptations. This type of "Order" promises an idyllic future, but at the cost of the present freedom of everyone who submits to the law, who must surrender their original fate for a structured sweet dream.

We understand this concept of "Order" because at its core, it's the one that modern societies largely embrace--ruling authorities establish laws that must be followed at all costs, even when they risk the freedoms of individuals, because they ultimately (supposedly) support a greater good. A majority of society adheres to the laws handed down from on-high, and life functions relatively stably.

Yet this conception of "Order" is predicated on the idea that the course of people's lives is decided first and foremost by the people themselves--which is why they can make mistakes, go astray, and need to be shepherded in the first place.

Without imposing structure through authoritarian power, this type of "Order" will crumble away in an instant, because this view assumes that rightness can only created by humanity, and that chaos--not order--is the natural state of existence.

Ena, who holds worlds tidily contained in her hands, who is tangled in puppet strings, who wears a hood like a nun or the Virgin Mary, and who is haloed like a Christian angel, clearly represents this definition of "Order" to a T.

But... this is not how humanity has always defined "Order."

It was not always taken for granted that people had the power of self-determination, and in fact, for many centuries and across many cultures, the concept of "the order of the world" was tied directly to the concept of destiny. Whether a volcano would explode and destroy your entire civilization, whether floods would swallow your city, whether the crops would grow or fail all depended on the pre-made decisions of supernatural powers, who were in turn often personified concepts of the natural world itself. What happened to any given individual, what twists and turns their life would take, whether they would achieve their dreams or not--all these aspects were also predetermined, decided not by the actions of the individual but by fate itself.

Thus, the world and everything in it has a natural order. Things may seem chaotic, they may even seem unbelievably horrible, but all events in existence unfold as they should. We may not understand why, but everything occurs in due course, woven into an endlessly repeating pattern on the fates' loom--spring becomes summer, life becomes death, disasters happen and are healed from, children are born and grow old. If it is your fate to die, you will. If it is your fate to fight and live, you will. To reject this natural order would be as futile as telling the sun not to rise.

The words "order" and "ordained" have the same origin.

Enter Gaiathra. First of all, she is the Star Rail equivalent of a pagan goddess--her worship exists separate of the confirmed existence of aeons, by an uncontacted and non-space-faring race. Even her description, being triple-eyed, evokes other "triple goddess" figures across history, both in modern interpretations (the triple goddess of Neopaganism) and in ancient mythologies (the three fates of Greece, the Tridevi of Hindu culture, etc.).

She is strongly associated with the natural world: The planet of Sigonia is said to be a manifestation of her very body, the rain is her blessing and acknowledgment, and she goes through a yearly cycle of death and rebirth (calling the cycle of the seasons to mind). She is said to be a goddess of both fertility and travel (likely in the sense of nomadic wandering by the time Aventurine was born). Avgin worship of the goddess manifests in the form of sacrificial cyclic knots.

Which might call to mind another pagan culture well-known for their cyclic knots: the Celts, whose famous Celtic knots represent cycles of eternity, unity, and the interconnected nature of life itself.

The Avgin prayer to Gaiathra focuses on elements of a person's life that all might be determined by "fate"--will your blood keep flowing, will your journey be peaceful, will your schemes stay hidden? It hopes that things will be as they should, that the future ahead of you is predetermined to be a good one, and that the cycle of life decided by the goddess will be in one's favor.

But while the Avgin hope for good things, they also strongly espouse embracing the reality of one's life, with suffering and hardships seen as manifestations of fate that should be accepted as facts of life. It is said that any society blessed by the Order ultimately falls--is it not the natural fate of all societies to one day fall? For mankind to return to the dust and be reborn anew?

Whatever will be, will be.

There is a reason--a logic--an order--to everything that happens.

I hope you can see where I'm going with this: While Sunday and Ena represent the concept of "Order" as a result of self-determination, a power "the strong" can wield to overcome the inherent chaos of reality, Aventurine and Gaiathra represent a different, older concept of "Order" (I can't help but see the entirely separate eye lurking behind Ena?): existence is not inherently chaotic but instead is foreordained, following endless orderly cycles life and death, weal and woe, rise and fall.

PHEW! Okay, so all of that to say Aventurine and Sunday make perfect parallels through a mirror darkly, even when it comes to the blessings they've been granted: One imposes order from on high; one continually rolls the dice despite knowing the inevitable outcome.

Both of their stories are entirely intertwined with the concept of fate, whether by opposing it...

Or accepting it.

And even at the end of Penacony, we leave both Sunday and Aventurine in precarious positions. Aventurine, while ostensibly "victorious," faces another roll of the dice immediately after Penacony, when his future as a Stoneheart is called into question. Yet "fate" comes through for him again--his bet, as always, comes true. His future isn't in question--it is the question itself. What's next? He finally wants to live to find out.

Sunday, meanwhile, ends Penacony's arc in a truly difficult place. He's virtually exiled from the only home he's ever known, a flightless bird tossed out of his cage into cold hard reality. He has to find an entirely new way forward and may even be forced to reckon with an entirely new definition of "Order" itself.

The parallels between these two characters are entirely intentional and very, very blatant, and I am exceedingly interested in seeing whether their paths diverge or continue to reflect similar fates moving forward.

So uhhh... that's what I think of Sunday? 😂

[yogorlhilanne]

I like the fact Sunday canonically has OCD but unfortunately, most people have probably forgotten that trait about him.

While OCD and being a perfectionist are really two different things, I think both of those traits fit Sunday.

Listen.

(OCD) Sunday does EVERYTHING in his power to keep things in HIS control and I think the obsessive mindset to having everything in his control triggers his compulsiveness to do what he thinks is "right" to meet that certain obsession or else some bad will happen (EX: Penacony being destroyed or Robin will die)

(Perfectionist) If Sunday doesn't meet his goals or fuel his obsessions, then he thinks he's failing the legacy of the Oak Family/Penacony. And if he fails, he is wasting what Gopher Wood had told him that will bring joy to the Family and Penacony. Which then TRIGGERS his obsession more and then causes his impulsive actions more until he is officially satisfied with the result.

And it's just a repeating cycle of doing his best, not being enough to reach or fuel that obsession/goal, and doing more until he is actually satisfied.

And with the fanfics on ao3 that have that tag that says "Sunday has OCD" but don't even put actual effort on show he has OCD is so saddening.

I really recommend finding videos on YT about OCD, they're really helpful and give quite a big picture on what OCD actually is and how it affects people IRL.

Also condone your own research about OCD too!

[illubean]

Omg the zoldyck!reader hcs were so cute!! If there aren't too many requests rn can you do something where reader went to the hunter exam to keep illumi from fucking w/ Killua too much? i.e reader knows pin guy is illumi but won't tell Killua because they don't wanna get murked and is also secretly communicating w/ illumi.

Killua's Defense

Characters: Killua Zoldyck, Illumi Zoldyck Type: Oneshot, Gn!reader, Zoldyck!reader

HAHA SORRY THIS ONE TOOK SO LONG IT TOOK A LOT OF THOUGHT

Warnings: Illumi being a poopie head

Being a descendant of a well known family of assassins meant a lot of things. It meant you were destined to continue the family business, get payed by random people without questioning their motifs but also a lot of times it required you to travel. Your family got requests and offers from all over, meaning easy access to round trips is very beneficial.

Which is why you along with your twin brother decided to take the exam. He was much more serious about the whole assassin thing than you though. To him, the family and his job was what made up his entire life and in his mind there was no room for anything else. You, however, thought there was more to life and fully supported the idea of having hobbies and making friends.

Since he was so serious, Illumi decided to alter his appearance for the duration of the exam. You honestly didn't see much of a point in this, especially considering there were very few if not zero people who knew the faces and identities of the Zoldyck family. But whatever, it's his life.

Illumi's little disguised proved somewhat useful though, because your baby brother Killua happened to be there. You loved all your siblings dearly, but Killua always had a closer bond with you than anyone else. You were the only one who ever bothered playing with him while he was growing up, which naturally caused him to favor you over the rest of the family. You couldn't have been more proud of him when you found out he had run away from home. You fully supported him in taking control of his own life, hoping he'll end up finding something that really would make him happy.

Eventually, you parted ways with Illumi because his weird clown friend showed up. You kept in contact with him via cellphone, but knew you probably wouldn't use it very often.

When Killua first spotted you, he had no idea how to feel. You were his favorite sibling and he trusted that you wouldn't force him to do anything, but he still had his suspicions.

"What are you doing here? You're not here to take me back are you!?"

"No, Killua, I'm not. I just need a hunter license for a job."

He let out a sigh of relief before looking around and asking you another question.

"Illumi isn't here, is he?"

You felt bad for lying to him but at the same time it was probably best for him not to know. If he did, he would just be under unnecessary stress and it would cause an argument between you and your twin that you rather not have.

The next time you met up with Illumi was on Zevil Island. The two of you had allready collected the badges you needed and he was talking to freaky clown dude. You payed him no mind because you rather not interact with that guy.

"I take it you've seen Killua around," you stated.

"Yes, I have. And I intend to bring him back home after the exam is over."

"Stop meddling in his life Illumi. He's old enough to think for himself and if he decides he doesn't want to be at home then-"

"That's not how father raised us, Y/n. It is our job to serve our family and carry on it's legacy," he says, cutting you off while beginning to dig.

"I'm going to sleep until the deadline," he then turns to his friend. "Best of luck."

And with that, he buried himself underground. You huffed in annoyance and clenched your fist before yelling at the pile of dirt before you.

"Dad didn't raise us to be control freak manipulators either!! You- you...you gopher!!"

Your brother's jester friend chuckled at you, causing you to shoot him a glare before storming off.

As the final phase of the exam rolled around, things weren't looking too good. Killua's next opponent just had to be Illumi. didn't it? You watched with an unsettling feeling at the bottom of your stomach. Your poor baby brother stood there trembling as Illumi spoke.

"You're not cut out to be a hunter. You were born for one purpose; to be an assassin."

At this you took a step foreword.

"That's enough Illumi. Mom only wanted you to check on him, this is too far."

He ignored you as he continued his speech.

"You're a puppet of darkness, devoid of passion. There is nothing you desire, nor is there anything you wish for. As one who lives in the shadows the only pleasure you're capable of is derived from causing death. Because that's how dad and I raised you."

You grit your teeth at this before taking another step towards the ring, getting stopped by a man and reminded of the rules. If you stepped on to the ring you would be disqualified.

Before you could start screaming your head off at your deranged twin, Killua began to stand up for himself. You couldn't be prouder of him for finding out what he wanted from life.

Then Illumi starts to tear Killua down again. Some tall guy with glasses begins to yell words of encouragement at Killua. After Illumi's threat to kill Gon, you stood protectively in front of the door along with 3 of the other contestants.

"Oh what a pain. I need to acquire a hunters license right now so I can do my job. But if I kill them, I'll fail, and Kil will pass automatically. Oh no, the same thing will happen if I kill gon! Hm.....wait! I'll pass the exam then kill Gon!"

"You know you could've kept that monologue to yourself, right?" You sassed. "Even if you do pass and go after Gon, I won't let you."

"Poor, little Y/n. You've always been so soft. Your emotions is what makes you weak."

"Shut up! You're supposed to have our family's best interest in mind, right? Then let Killua go out and make friends! It's his job to decide what he wants."

The black haired man simply chooses to ignore you and continues to threaten Gon's life. And to antagonize Killua. Everything you and glasses guy were yelling from the sidelines went in one ear and out through the other as Killua gave in to the pressure of Illumi's aura and forfeit the match.

"Haha, I lied Kil. I was never going to kill Gon. That was only a test to see what your made of, and now I know for certain. You are simply not qualified to make friends. Not that you need any."

As both of them left the ring you could tell something was off with your younger brother. You glared at Illumi, your face saying 'I'll deal with you later' but he payed no mind. Right when the next match was about to begin, Killua walked up and killed the old man without uttering a single word and left the facility.

He was now disqualified.

Imagine your surprise when you saw Gon march in and demand that Illumi apologize to Killua. And how you were even more surprised that he not only managed to flip a grown man, but also break his arm.

As you watched the little green boy confront your brother and listened to the blonde one along with the glasses guy try to reason with Netero, you were happy he was able to find such good friends. Gon was a good kid with pure intentions, and the other two were willing to publicly defend him.

After the whole orientation thing, Gon and Co. approached Illumi to ask about where Killua might be as you stood off to the side. As they left you followed them, waiting until Illumi was out of earshot to call for Gon's attention.

"Huh?"

"If you want to get to Kukuroo mountain there's a tour bus that takes you to the outside of our property. You'll need to pass through our testing gates to reach the estate or else our 900 pound guard dog will kill you."

"Oh, thanks a lot! But why are you helping us?"

"Because Killua could really use friends like you guys. You're a good kid and I trust that you'll make him happy. I would lead you there myself but I have my other brother to deal with, good luck."

You stormed back towards Illumi and slapped him in the back of the head. He let it happen of course, considering he could hear your angry footsteps from a mile away. No matter how angry you were at him, there wasn't much you could do. Fighting him would be useless, considering you're both at about the same strength and skill level and verbally berating him doesn't have any affect. But you chose to do the 2nd one anyways.

"What the hell is wrong with you? You know, this is why you're Killua's least favorite. All you do is try to boss him around and control his life. Seriously, do you have anything better to do?"

"Kil is the next in line to be the head of our family, I'm just making sure that he will be able to do so without any distractions."

"Newsflash Illumi: he's 12. You're 24. If anything, you should be next so why don't you go find a wife or something. And how come you're allowed to have your fruity party clown friend but Killua can't have any? Seriously, I much prefer the boy over that creep."

Illumi stopped walking and turned towards you.

"Hisoka is an acquaintance. Not a friend."

"Yeah, yeah whatever. Defend your jester boyfriend," you say, rolling your eyes. You stepped closer to the man before you and looked him in the eyes as you spoke once more.

"Let Killua have this. If you decide to go after him, trust me you will be dealt with."