#Hello Counsel

[wintergrove]

Badass character + Wedding Dress + Bombs = Perfect

[coda-blue]

Update: Collab VNs

(This is a crosspost from my Patreon. To explore more, click here.)

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Belladonna's Flight — A demo is RELEASED! Belladonna’s Flight by Night Asobu is a poison-dealing fantasy romance, inspired by the historic case of an uncovered poisoner network in 17th century Paris, France. Made for both the Otome Jam and newly-formed sister jam, Josei Jam, Belladonna's Flight takes place in the fictional French city of Solroy, where you follow Catherine Auclair, a witch who makes her living selling lethal wares under the table. But once word lets out that the law is coming to execute every last one of her criminal ilk, Catherine has to call upon untrustworthy business rivals to try and work out a safe escape. Will her wit and wiles help her succeed, or will she get what's coming to her in a fateful betrayal?

I voice Marie Chaligault, a sharp-tongued fortune teller and potential love interest who keeps in the good graces of her noblesse clientele. I had a blast during the live sessions in bickering and boasting as Marie with my fellow voice talent, so I hope you enjoy it too! And hey: no matter who your favorite character is, Belladonna's Flight is continuing development! So be sure to keep up with Night Asobu, as you'll hear more from us moving forward! Until then, please play, rate, and share the demo!

Hello Counsel — Version 1 is RELEASED! Created by miseri accordion for Otome/Josei Jam, Hello Counsel is a short romcom visual novel that follows criminal sensation, Poise, who just got arrested! She's not talking to the cops unless her lawyer (and boyfriend) Salem is present, but when he swings by, can she keep herself from flirting too much and distracting him from giving good counsel?

I was the Character Artist for this visual novel! I was in love with the premise and the character refs presented in miseri's recruitment document, and I also I hadn't drawn character sprites for a published game in a good while. This ended up being a great opportunity for me to flex my ol' drawing muscles, in a more expressive and cartoonish style than my darker personal projects allow. I love the outrageous world and petty banter of this story, so this was honestly a breath of fresh air for me, style-wise. Please go play, rate, and share the game!

My Reflections

I push myself in my roles if it means in the end, I produce something that I am proud of. But as I don't constantly produce a specific style of product, I tend to overestimate how much work I can get done in, say, an hour. It's interesting to me because these are specialty skills that have taken years for me to train and cultivate, so what I personally can get done in an hour has all that history behind it, compared to someone else who may be much earlier in their own journey. Yet still I feel... slow. But I'm not sure if I'm "slow" so much as I'm underestimating my average output for a work I deliberately intend to look, read, or sound a certain level of polished. At the end of the day, I need to have more realistic—or perhaps, forgiving—expectations for myself. I also need to permit myself to be able to make certain executive decisions in the creative process that speed up the process because of my years of experience already informing my judgements. I trust myself to find that balance, and this latest jam experience has been a great help in reminding me of my strengths and points of which I ought to improve.

That's a Wrap

Thank you for reading! If you dig my stuff and where I'm headed, don't be afraid to show your support by sharing this post, interacting, or sending a tip my way.

[acekindaneat]

Von Karma Siblings try: Filipino Food !

[outlying-hyppocrate]

i do not want to wash this blood away; i have grown attached to it.

[phandomoftheowl]

I don't have kids but.

[halfawillowtree]

Who is a Better Therapist

president tanaka from persona 3

jet the hawk

yomi hellsmile

whoever this dood is

cat adems from crimminal minds

Debbiedowner

[nocanonhere]

MHA CH. 430 (SERIES FINALE SPOILER)

I really was trying to keep myself together this final chapter but got to the final page and I started crying. This is literally what I wanted, our faves are pros now. The fact that they all financially pitched in to develop these specialized hero support items for Midoriya to use…and the project was spearheaded by Bakugou????? HELLO!!!!!

Constructive criticism always has a place and this series received its share of it, but overall…y’all i fucking loved this story idc idc idc. ‘My Hero’ had a place in my heart for so long. When a series has this many characters, I tend to have a select few that i love:

This is one of those stories where I truly loved and appreciated everybody; protagonists, deuteragonists, antagonists, side/support characters.

And the amazing accounts I’ve followed during this series, I kinda feel like I’ve made friends lol

There’s so many great panels in this chapter but i posted this one because you see who tf is toward the front and is this a safe place to say I’m still on my bakudekuchako wave and I’m never leaving

[ahollowgrave]

(from sealrock)

15. What places hold significant meaning or memories for your OC? Do they have a positive or negative association with those places?

In a remort part of the southern shroud, there is a little temple; more than half reclaimed by the forest around it. Little buildings intermingled among the trees and crumbling ruins of a once-great place of worship. Moving along the well-worn paths are -- nuns. Most of them are older Miqo'te women, some of them use canes as they meander between their cells and the bits of the temple still accessible to them.

In the center of that holy place is a pond. A break in the canopy above ensures that their Lady Menphina’s visage reflects upon the waters there, during her journey through the night sky.

Sometimes their singing and worship reach beyond the confines of their home.

Sometimes locals come, seeking aid or trade.

Sometimes mourners come, needing the cool embrace of Menphina to soothe their aches, to carry their love to their departed.

Rarely, the Sisters raise a stray.

Even rarer, the stray stays to become a Sister.

Our Lady of Abundant Affection is Odette’s home among homes. It is the place she feels childlike at, still. She knows every fallen stone and shattered window, she has named each bud and each leaf of each flower, she has watered each root of each mighty tree, she has listened to the secrets of its critters.

She has caused more mayhem and mischief there than anywhere else. There, she was able to stop being girl and creature and just be Odette.

It is her favorite and her most sacred of places. Only those nearest to the center of her heart are brought here and are given charms blessed with moon-touched waters.

Thank you for the ask @sealrock !! > Get to know my OC <

[gemsgamegems]

me and WHO!?!?! 😭🙏🏾

[crowncursed]

He's talking out loud as he writes a letter.

"Even if you aren't the same woman I fell in love with, I'll love you all the same."

[alinathinkstoomuch]

A HELLO AND A KISS

pairing: aaron hotchner x lawyer!reader summary: aaron hotchner survives serial killers and endless paperwork—but apparently not you breezing past him without a hello, based on this request. (im so sorry, i got carried away and did not include the part of r meeting the team!!! pls dont hate me) warnings | an: jealous hotch, protective hotch, simp hotch, hotch is just down bad for his girl, one bj joke word count: 2.4k

✧ masterlist

You hadn’t come home last night.

Aaron had simply received a brief text: Don’t wait up. A case fell into my lap last minute. It wasn’t unusual—not in your line of work, and certainly not in his. You’d both sent that message before, more times than either of you could count. It came with the territory.

You and Aaron had always kept your professional lives separate. A clean, white, necessary line in the sand. It helped keep the bloodstained parts from crossing over and kept your dinner conversations from becoming post-mortems or courtroom recaps. After all, it was easier not to talk about the men Aaron arrested when you were the one prosecuting them.

He didn’t put it together right away.

But all five of his senses were attuned to you. Honestly? his sixth sense was you. He didn’t need to see you to know you were there—he could feel you, hear you, even smell you before he ever caught a glimpse.  It didn’t take much. Sometimes, it was just the sound of heels—your heels—that gave you away.

It was that click-clack rhythm that he had grown accustomed to over the months, filtering through early mornings when you forgot your keys, then your case notes, then your coffee. It trailed after you in the hallway, embedded in every corner where you’d left pieces of yourself scattered around his home.

And now, that same sound echoed from behind him, followed by the heavy thud of the courtroom door swinging shut.

“Can’t believe he’s actually trying to weasel out of this,” Prentiss muttered under her breath, just as you swept past their row.

The unsub’s public defender had filed a not-guilty plea days earlier—citing supposed evidence mishandling, mistaken identity, even floating some half-baked theory about a setup. It was desperate. Flimsy. But just credible enough to stall the trial, to buy time he didn’t deserve.

You didn’t look Aaron’s way. Didn’t slow your pace. You gave no reaction at all, just glided by, slipping into the prosecution’s chair like it was your usual seat at the office.

“New face,” Prentiss noted, leaning toward Hotch. “She wasn’t at the prelims was she?”

Hotch finally cleared his throat. “No.”

He meant to say more—something neutral, something about new counsel, something properly professional, something more him—but the words got stuck somewhere behind his ribs. Especially when the most him thing in the world was sitting right there, only meters away from a man he’d gladly kill with his bare hands if he so much as looked at you the wrong way.

Though, truthfully, he knew you’d get to him quicker with words, with strategy, with that cool, calculated tone that could cut deeper than any punch Hotch could throw.

You still hadn’t looked at him. Fully locked into that little world of yours, where the second you stepped into a courtroom, you grew fins and dermal denticles, transforming into a shark in couture and four-inch heels.

It stung. Just a little. But he knew why you were doing it. He just couldn’t begin to imagine what it must feel like to sit in a room and watch you give someone like that—worst of the worst—your full, undivided attention.

He’d only had the pleasure (and slight terror) of watching you in court twice before—neither case connected to the BAU and already, he was starting to sweat. Just a little. Maybe.

Aaron clamped his jaw tight, trying to keep his expression neutral, but the effort must’ve been visible because he caught Rossi huffing a laugh under his breath.

Of course Rossi knew. Rossi was the only one who’d actually met you off-duty. And the last thing Hotch needed was Rossi even hinting at the tiny, minuscule, barely-worth-mentioning fact that you wore Aaron’s old college t-shirt to bed, or that just a few hours ago, he’d been ogling your bare legs as you stumbled out of the shower, mumbling at him to go back to sleep.

Because as soon as Prentiss or Morgan—who already looked half-asleep in his seat—caught wind of it, it wouldn’t be a murder trial they were interested in anymore. No, it would turn into entertainment, something far more exciting than sitting at their desks, pretending to work through paperwork they never submitted on time anyway.

He shifted in his seat. No engagement was the best engagement, he figured.

Instead, he forced his eyes off you and onto the defendant, who was fiddling with his tie like that would suddenly make him more credible. Like anyone in the room would forget what he’d done just because he shaved and tucked in his damn shirt.

But the second you stood, rising slowly from your chair, Aaron’s gaze snapped right back to you, so fast it nearly gave him whiplash. Still, you didn’t look his way. Of course you didn’t. You were here to do a job. And right now, that job was dismantling a man with nothing but your voice.

He swallowed hard.

Yeah. He was definitely sweating now.

By the time the trial hit the halfway mark, he could tell your energy had changed—or was about to—with the unsub being called to the stand.

Hotch sat stiffly, watching you shuffle your notes with little effort. Morgan had finally roused enough to start paying attention, and Prentiss was scribbling away in the margins of her legal pad—none of which, Hotch would bet good money, had anything to do with the actual trial.

You stood once more, brushing that stubborn piece of hair away from your face—the one that always seemed to fall whenever you were reading something from above. He wished he could push it away for you, wished he could pull you out of this courtroom entirely, shield you from every ugly, broken thing the world could throw at you.

But then your voice cut through the room, reminding him that this was your job.

"Alright," you began, voice crisp but bored, like you were already three steps ahead. That’s what anyone else might think. But Aaron knew you were ahead five.

"Let’s go back to March 5th," you said, pausing just for a second. "You said you didn’t know Jessica Harlan."

"I didn’t," Tanner snapped back, so fast it almost made Hotch smile.

That kind of panic was never a good sign—and he knew it was one of your favourite tells. The second someone cracked like that, it was like flipping a switch, like flashing a green light across the battlefield. Go get him.

"Right," you hummed, nodding like you were humouring a stubborn child throwing a tantrum. "Right."

Another pause.

You were good at that—giving the poor soul on the receiving end (victim, really) of your arguing capabilities enough time to think. To second-guess themselves. Hotch had picked up on it early on, and when he’d once asked you about it, you gave him a dry, matter-of-fact answer: it gave people enough time to realise how stupid they sounded.

"And yet, a witness places your car parked across the street from her apartment two nights in a row. Same make, same model, same license plate."

Tanner shifted in the witness chair, but you didn’t rush him. You stood there, cool and composed, giving him just enough rope to hang himself.

“I –”

"Parked there?" you cut in, tilting your head like you were offering him an easy out. The trap was already set.

You reached for the remote, clicking the TV monitor on.

"Okay, that’s completely understandable," you considered with a polite nod toward the jury. "Though I’m not quite sure what your explanation is for getting out of the vehicle on the second night and standing in front of Jessica Harlan’s apartment for—" you glanced down at your watch, "—thirty-seven minutes."

You glanced back up, eyebrows raised just enough to look curious but not confrontational. Just a lawyer looking for answers.

Tanner opened his mouth, closed it, then looked down at his hands like maybe they’d have a better explanation than he did.

Aaron recognised the footage immediately, thanks to Garcia’s handiwork. The screen showed Tanner stepping out of his car, glancing around, and then just…standing there. Across the street from Jessica’s apartment building.

Doing absolutely nothing.

For thirty-seven minutes.

The same number of stab wounds Jessica and every other victim had endured.

You didn’t even glance at the screen. Your focus stayed fixed on Tanner like a blade against his throat.

“Maybe you were just out getting some fresh air. Though I’m not sure stalking is generally recommended for cardio.”

"Objection, Your Honour—" the defence attorney barked, already on his feet.

You raised a hand, before the judge even had time to respond. “Withdrawn.”

"I wasn’t watching her,” Tanner argued, drawing the attention back to himself.

"No?” you echoed, cocking your head to the side. “Then what were you doing, Mr Tanner? Practicing your standing endurance?"

He huffed out a weak laugh with no real humour behind it. It was the kind that people made when they realised they were cornered and didn’t have the tools to dig their way out.

“I just... needed some air,” he repeated, but even he didn’t sound convinced.

"I get it, I do," you agreed in faux sweetness. "We all need fresh air. Though it’s odd, don’t you think?"

“I’m sorry?”

“Jessica Harlan was stabbed thirty-seven times…" You took a step closer to Tanner, and Aaron had to physically stop himself from moving. Remind himself that you knew exactly what you were doing. That this was all part of the strategy. Even if, deep down, he wanted nothing more than to stand between you and every monster you faced.

"Which," you continued, "happens to be the exact number of minutes you spent outside her apartment."

Tanner swallowed, but that didn’t seem to faze you.

"Just like you spent thirty-seven minutes outside Eliza Horne’s place of work," you listed off, each word tightening the noose around Tanner’s neck. "Thirty-seven minutes outside the gym where Marissa Cole trained. Thirty-seven minutes at the café Danielle Ruiz visited every Thursday—”

Aaron felt Prentiss lean in beside him. “She’s good.”

He didn’t look away from you long enough to answer.

Good didn’t even begin to cover it.

You were extraordinary. And somehow—somehow—you were his.

He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve you, what twist of fate had put you in his path, but he would be grateful for it for the rest of his life.

Grateful that you had let him in.

Grateful that he got to see you whole.

Whether it was in a courtroom, where you left your smile and affection at the door to tear the truth out of some of the worst people, or in the way your eyes crinkled when you laughed—the way you teased him for how he pronounced pecan—he had seen it all. And he wouldn’t trade a second of it.

A nudge from Rossi pulled Aaron out of what felt like a permanent trance—the one you had managed to put him in with no effort whatsoever.

“Everything okay?”

He nodded, absently rubbing a hand over his jaw.

"Got you reminiscing about your prosecutor days?"

Aaron let out a breath that almost passed for a laugh. "I think if I’d stayed," he said, glancing back toward you, "she would’ve put me to shame."

"Would’ve been one hell of a show,” Rossi murmured. “Don’t let her get away.”

Aaron’s mouth tipped into the barest hint of a smile. He wasn’t planning on it. Hell would have to freeze over before he let even the smallest possibility of that happen.

His eyes found you again—right where they belonged—just as you finished with Tanner.

The day wound down eventually, and Aaron doubted the trial would drag on much longer, not after what you’d done to Tanner and his defence team. There wasn’t much left of them by the time you were finished.

He lingered just outside the courtroom, waiting. He’d managed to come up with a half-convincing excuse to stay behind, though neither Morgan nor Prentiss seemed to question it. They were too busy arguing over whether they could convince Penelope to hack into your trial schedule just so they could sit in on another one.

Not that Aaron could blame them.

The courthouse entrance doors swung open again, and you finally stepped through, files tucked under your arm, eyes fixed on your phone as you breezed past.

You didn’t even glance his way.

Again.

Aaron blinked. Really?

"So I don't even get a hello?" he asked, stepping lightly into your path with a raised brow. “Twice in one day. Must be losing my edge.”

You looked up, startled for half a second before your entire face lit up at the sight of him.

"I’m so sorry!" you blurted, already smiling. "You know how much I hate it when things fall into my lap last minute. I've been running around all day just trying to catch up—”

"No, no," he interjected, keeping his face painfully neutral, though the corners of his mouth twitched, just a little. "It’s fine. I’m obviously not that memorable."

"And I thought I was the needy one." You shook your head, still laughing under your breath as you tucked your phone away and shifted your files into one arm.

“Come here,” you cooed, hooking two fingers into the front of Aaron’s jacket, tugging him down.

He went willingly—no surprise there.

You pressed a kiss to his cheek first, soft and easy, before leaning in for a slower one on his lips. The kind that made him forget you were still technically in public.

"Better?" you asked, pulling back just enough to see the answer written all over his face.

"Only a little," he murmured, and before you could so much as blink, he reached out and took the files and your briefcase from your arms like it was second nature, like he’d been carrying your things for years.

“You carrying my stuff now, too?”

“Maybe I’m just trying to earn my next hello.”

You laughed, the sound unwinding every knot in Aaron’s chest, loosening him in ways only you ever could.

“Keep this up and you’ll have my mouth doing a lot more than just saying hello.”

Yeah.

He was completely gone.

tags - @fandomscombine @pastelpinkflowerlife @hazzyking @bernelflo @risenqueen1521 @jazzimac1967 @camihotchner @abschaffer2 @ill-be-okay-soon-enough @pacmillo-blog-blog @stilestotherescue @kiwriteswords @anvdala @supersanelyromantic @yourallaround-simp @percysley

[jemgirl86]

Hmm. OP watched Civil War, Infinity War, TFATWS, and BNW with their eyes closed and their hands covering their ears.

Or maybe they’re just another weirdo troll, going out of their way to clog up Sam’s tag with nonsensical bullshit.

Either way, they’re an idiot.

My Two Cents: Bucky and the Thunderbolts should get the title Avengers. Sam would be better doing his Captain America thing solo.

Or he should join Bucky and they all be Avengers. But I haven't really seen Sam be a part... of a team. He's a good leader but can he be a good moderator/coordinator? Can he be the glue to keep a team together?

[roboticchibitan]

Today I had the spoons to hunt down my neighborhood council's email and send them an email that basically said "I would like to be able to leave my house but my neighborhood is not wheelchair accessible. Who do I talk to in order to get this fixed?" And I am planning on hunting down whoever is in charge of sidewalks in my neighborhood and getting real annoying about it.

My plan is to email them every time I want to go somewhere but can't.

Email 1: hello, please fix sidewalks so I can ride the bus places I am very passionate about public transportation and also being able to leave my house.

Email 200: This morning I woke up and wanted some delicious coffee to start my day, but upon getting out of bed I discovered we were out of coffee. I would've liked to take advantage of the city's public transportation system in order to support a local business like [examples of local coffee shops] but alas I cannot because I am a wheelchair user and my neighborhood is not wheelchair accessible. [Insert rest of arguement RE accessibility]. In conclusion I don't work I can keep these emails coming until I die please just fix my sidewalks.

This is going to be my new spite hobby. I was already mad about the abuse and general shit hand the disabled get dealt in our culture but then I started using a wheelchair and places like doctor's offices have been inaccessible to me so now I am filled with rage. So I am going to take that rage and do something with it. Like emailing my city counsel representatives at 2 am like "I crave a moonlight walk fix my sidewalks please."

[thebibliosphere]

I'm fully willing to admit that a lot of my distaste for the new polyamory flag stems from beef I have with some of the most vocal tiktok/insta polyam advocates (who offer 'counseling' sessions on being polyamorous without having any qualifications??!? hello???) who were pushing for it, but I also just can't get over how much the yellow heart on the white looks like a fried egg.

[thelizardperson]

my psychiatrist is very nice but it sometimes bothers me how he ends every session with like oh it seems like you're doing ok though because like in the big picture, yes i am, but also it can make me feel like he's brushing off how i spent the entire session going yeah im really stressed actually and idk how to deal with everything going on in my life