#I tried to find concepts for pictures that make sense on the walls of the hotel

[creamecream]

“How may we be of service, dear patron?”

Roselie, Fenir, and Lucious belong to @abyssnighthawk

[that1fangirrl]

Dating a Ballet Dancer...

Cw: some 18+,food mentions

A/N: This was honestly so adorable to me. I think I might write so more for it later on. If you have any ideas for this or other concepts, my inbox is always open. Enjoy!

He does not understand why ballerinas wear so many layers to practice. Especially because they are mostly thin and mesh garments, but with leg warmers

Yoga and stretch “dates”

Forcing her to eat more food so she can build up strength… or at least him sneaking a few snacks in her bag before she leaves for practice

Helping her stay in shape and healthy always

Something tells me he’d be curious to try a move… maybe stick to plié or tendu. Just like small footwork. Nothing extreme

He probably helps her with choreography. His enhanced senses pick up on slight changes so i definitely see him being like “oh that pirouette wasn’t as strong” or “your elbows aren’t tucked in right”

He doesn’t seem like a nervous person, but knowing with any sport you can get hurt has him on edge all the time. “What if you don’t land right and break an ankle?”

But he’s fairly confident in his babygirl… she's a professional after all

He's a huge stickler when it comes to her health. I know I said it before, but he's constantly watching what she eats, how much sleep and rest she gets. Cause he knows what the body needs to feel good and function better

Maybe it even motivates him to be better about his own health

It doesn’t help that they’re in college which always somehow means snacks over real food

If practice goes longer into the night, he’ll wait in the building or in the studio, so they can walk back to his or her dorm

Classical music is a must for them both. Just picture it. Him sitting on the bed studying with the music softly in the background while his adorable lover mimics the movements in her head along to the music. He would have the cutest little soft smile on his face(y'know the one)

When it’s tech/rehearsal week and he's not allowed to be around, it’s the worst. He’s only allowed to sit on one of the benches outside of the theater/auditorium. He can hear her jagged breathing, the nerves bounces off the walls, the constant frustration running through her veins. It makes him super antsy that he can’t barge in and console his sweet angel. 

But after each night of rehearsing, he makes sure Foggy isn’t at their dorm, so he can give her a well deserved night of comfort. Whether that be a nice massage, cuddling with an audiobook or some music, or everyone’s favorite… sex!!

Speaking of sex… he’s 100% her first. He’s so sweet and gentle. Constantly asking if she’s okay, if she wants to try something else, etc. It’s always a good time. Vanilla, but who cares? They're only in college.

Back to our charmer, he might’ve flirted with the dance instructor a little so he could be allowed into the dance studio after hours or during sessions. She’s an older lady, so of course she’s gonna love that little catholic boy who’s “too much”.

Now when the tickets for each show goes on sale, he is the first and i repeat THE FIRST to get a ticket. He’s up bright and early waiting for the doors to open so he can get one and be prepared for the night. 

During the day, he tries his best to keep her head up. Makes her stand in front of a mirror and say only positive things to herself. Even texts in the middle of his day, that she's gonna kill it. 

He even has Foggy tag along. Has him help pick out flowers and a cute card. Maybe even some cute jewelry, like a little dainty bracelet that has a ballet charm on it. Foggy doesn’t mind though, he’s their number 1 supporter. 

At the end of the show, he finds her backstage crying. Something about how she messed up on her turns and everyone noticed. To which he assures her with the biggest and tightest hug. “The crowd loved you Angel. They were absolutely breathless and amazed. If you did mess up, they didn’t even notice because your beauty hypnotized them too much.” Ending it with a billion kisses all over the face and on her forehead. 

She kept those flowers by the way. Dried them out and has them in a special area of their apartment. Probably in some cute little keepsake box. 

 After all these years, they’re still together. Graduated from school. Successful lawyer and Ballet Dancer of Hell’s Kitchen.

He still goes to all of her shows. Brings Foggy and Karen. Has a cute new bouquet of flowers each time. 

One night, he brings a ring. And after the show, they go for a small walk in the park nearby and he gets on one knee and proposes to her. The rest from there is history.

[othcrwxrdly]

if you’re hearing SUMMER NIGHTS by SIAMES playing, you have to know MONIQUE LEE (SHE/HER; CIS FEMALE) is near by! the 51 year old WEDDNG PLANNER has been in denver for, like, 51 YEARS. they’re known to be quite SELFISH, but being RESOURCEFUL  seems to balance that out. or maybe it’s the fact that they resemble THANDIE NEWTON. personally, i’d love to know more about them seeing as how they’ve got those DARK RED LIPSTICK, CONFIDENCE THAT COULD KILL, FLOWERS GROWING BACK AS THORNS  vibes. and maybe i’ll get my chance if i hang out around the CHERRY CREEK  long enough!

Love, what a concept. Monique has long since forgotten what love felt like,  the comfort of having someone to lean on through thick and thin, to trust in every aspect of life. Instead, she relies solely on herself to carry on forward. She doesn’t mind it anymore; what could a companion give her that she could not find elsewhere? 

 It wasn’t always like this. 

On a sunny Summer day, she was ready to get married to the man she thought was the love of her life. Her mother was ecstatic, whereas her father had seemed less inclined. The wedding planner had made sure every detail of this day would be perfect: food, flowers, music, everything  carefully selected to make this day as beautiful as possible. However, the groom was nowhere to be seen. 

Monique waited for hours, wearing her beautiful A-line wedding dress, make-up ruined by tears still staining her cheeks. He ignored her calls, and the coward instead settled for throwing six years of her life away through a text message:

 I’m sorry, I didn’t want it to be like this, but I can’t do this. I can’t pretend anymore. 

That was the last she heard of him. Now left to pick up the pieces of her life, Monique promised herself she’d never allow anyone that power over her. She spent months figuring out where they went wrong, what she did to push him to that decision, and how she could have been better.  The truth came in the form of a picture sent by a coworker. It was never her. She was not the one he loved. In the photo, he sat with her best friend, holding hands over a cafe table. That was the real reason he ran away. All the while letting her plan the wedding and pretending everything was fine. 

Her place of employment requires her to work with people as naive as she was that fateful day. Though she no longer believes it is possible to find love for herself, she’s happy to help those on the journey to join their lives… most of the time. Where she was once excited, lively, and empathetic, she feels those qualities have long since vanished from her repertoire. 

A few years later, Monique sat across from a couple, their excited chatter about wedding details filling the room. She nodded along, her professional demeanor unwavering as she discussed flower arrangements and seating plans. The couple's joy was infectious, but somewhere deep within, a flicker of something stirred—a memory she'd buried long ago.

As the couple shared their love story, laughter bubbling between them, Monique's facade faltered. She excused herself briefly, stepping into the quiet hallway. Leaning against the wall, she closed her eyes, trying to push away the flood of memories threatening to overwhelm her.

The words from her ill-fated wedding day echoed in her mind. I’m sorry, I can’t pretend anymore.

For a fleeting moment, Monique allowed herself to feel the pain she'd locked away. The betrayal, the heartache, and the sense of loss surged back with an intensity that caught her off guard. She blinked back tears, silently berating herself for letting her guard down.

Taking a deep breath, she straightened up, steeling herself to return. The couple's happiness was what mattered now. She plastered on a smile, reentering the room with a renewed professional demeanor. But the ghosts of her past lingered, a silent reminder of a heart that had once believed in love.

Nowadays, Mona tries her best to make it through life by enjoying solitude. Long gone are the questions from family members about when she’ll find someone to spend life with, along with her hopes for building a family. That betrayal no longer haunts her, though the wasted years of her life slowly make her regret the lonely path she chose for herself.

[impossiblefangirl0632]

Religious Symbolism in Encanto

Most of these thoughts spawned from reading, a hair on the head of john the baptist by @icarusinthesand which I highly, highly, recommend you go read if you are at all interested in the more religious aspects of Encanto.

We ended up talking about the religious symbolism in the comments and with their permission I’ve compiled the main points we talked about here. 

Tl;dr Encanto is chuck full of religious symbolism whether it was intentional or not.

Bruno’s Room

Religious parallels: 

John the Baptist (And other prophets, thinking namely of Elijah) spent a significant amount of time living and preaching in the desert

The Temptation of Christ is when Satan tried to tempt Jesus to turn against God for 40 days in the desert

Moses and the Children of Israel in the desert for 40 years

A note about the number 40: In the Bible, numbers are rarely literal and have underlying significance. Forty shows up a lot because it is often used for time periods (40 days/years) that separate two distinct epochs. Bruno’s life can clearly be divided by the point he went into the walls, when he was 40. Plus, like I said the Hebrews were wandering in the desert for 40 years (To me this part of Bruno’s life can easily be described as ‘lost in the desert’)  which represents the time it takes for a new generation to arise.

Staying on Moses for a second, this wasn’t in the movie but a lot of us seem to share the same headcanon that Bruno’s sand waterfall parts for him, kind of like the Red Sea for Moses.

The concept art for Bruno’s room shows a lot of different options they considered but I would like to bring these two to your attention.

The first is a concept that I cannot for the life of my find again but I vaguely remember it being in a youtube video. Imagine a dimly lit, slightly crumbling, cathedral interior with sand dunes instead of a floor and that should give you a pretty good mental picture.

The second concept (above) instantly reminded me of Petra (below) (World Heritage Site, very cool, has ties to a bunch of different cultures and religions including Christianity and Islam) 

Fun fact I learned today is that according to Arab tradition Petra is where Moses struck a rock with his staff and water came forth. A lot of what remains of Petra is tombs which I think is an interesting tie in with the metas other people have written about the design influences from the Tierradentro tombs that did make it into the final design of Bruno’s vision cave.

Bruno’s role as the Prophet

Icarus did an amazing job at summing this up so I’m just going to drop in what was said in the comments here. For context, we were talking about how in the fic it’s alluded to that the Priest wanted Bruno to eventually become a priest himself.

“it seems logical (to Padre Acevedo) for Bruno to become a priest. I also think he has something more expansive in mind that just being the town priest -- when he says "lead" he does mean it. Because I really think that to a devout man of faith, Bruno would be... I mean, you have a prophet, he's the son of the man who made the miracle and the woman who turned it to bear fruit for the town, it feels fated, right? It feels like that man should be Something. Nobody's talking about living saints or the kind of leadership that reshapes the world but people are definitely thinking it, before they learn to be afraid of him.”

This reminds me a lot of this post (that was meant to be funny, and it is) that in my opinion correctly points out that Bruno’s two male role models are his father, who sacrificed himself for his family, and Christ, who sacrificed himself for humanity. To me it makes Bruno’s decisions make a whole lot of sense.

The Triplet's Gifts 

The thing that I've thought about a lot before reading Icarus’ fic is how the original three gifts in a way symbolize aspects of Christ/God. Because essentially, the gifts break down into healing (this is self-explanatory), prophecy/a (potential) sort of omnipotence, and controlling the weather to me falls under the umbrella of having dominion over the earth.

Breaking that down further: 

Bruno’s gift is obvious. He’s literally a prophet.

Julieta literally heals people with food (including bread, which has so many biblical tie-ins: the loaves and fishes, I am the bread of life, etc) 

Pepa is a bit more of a stretch but consider first off, the flood that destroyed the earth, and numerous times in the Bible where there’s a drought and the miracle sent by God is rain. 

Icarus made a good point about how Pepa seems to be more drawn to precipitation even when she’s happy since rainbows need moisture.

We know that when they were younger Bruno was the golden child but it wouldn’t surprise me if at least all three were considered saints at least at the beginning. (There’s a great oneshot that explores something very similar)

There are just too many connections for this all to be a coincidence in my opinion. At the very least someone on the design team thought about it at some point given the cathedral concept art. I mean come on, they literally call it a miracle.

[beetoo]

WENCLAIR :: catch me, if you can

links :: WATTPAD :: AO3 :: [CHAPTER 1 - '00:00']

a/n: i wrote on AO3 that i said this would be a stand alone chapter, but i take backsies. this is the sequel to the first part!

Chapter 2 - 23:59

If there was anything an Addams could get away with, it was murder. But ethical murder? Why even their own family members would hound them for even caring about ethics. Politics was never something they concerned themselves with. Death was a sweet release every living thing was destined for, no matter what good their life lived had been. But for Wednesday Addam, she treated this case as if it were her own monstrosity (daresay Wednesday Addams would ever have a child) and nurtured it in due time with utmost care and attention all out of of obsession. Spending countless nights ravaging the internet, scouring every crevice–both regular and dark web–to find any clue as to what exactly was her next step.

She knew that Ajax Petropolus was somehow tied to the murders. With documented proof that Petropolus was indeed within the area at every crime was enough to out him as the maniac behind all of this. 

But Wednesday knows who it is. She won’t stop until she’s won her little game with Sinclair.

The raven haired woman was in her own bedroom back home at the Addams’ residence for the holidays, specifically for her family’s yearly winter ball since it’s held at their home this year. Out of obligation, Wednesday tried to put her work off until tomorrow but brought it with her to no avail. Her coworkers call her a workaholic, but anyone who knows an Addams knows it’s pure infatuation—wish what exactly, not even Wednesday knows.

Between the nostalgic decor of the child-sized guillotine and electric chairs that she and Pugsley played with to the still sharp knives garnishing the walls of her room, Wednesday hates (loves) being in her old room again. She reminisces on the old times when murder was an abstract concept to her young and immature mind. But now it’s much deeper than that. But Wednesday’s thoughts couldn’t stay streamlined due to the workers upstairs making quite the noise. But a miserable scream here and there from the ghosts of the home spooking a worker made it all the while more tolerable for Wednesday’s ears. 

Laid out on the wall was a similar diagram in her office but much more compacted. With pictures stuck on the walls via knives and sticky notes stuck on them with a brief description, Wednesday found herself thinking deeply at the sea of photos in front of her, trying to finding the answer to the biggest question looming on everyone’s mind: “What is Lone Wolf going to do next?”

The biggest joke about it all is that Enid Sinclair is completely undocumented. No physical ticket to th Rav’n. Her Lone Wolf blog is completely anonymous, written on Tumblr—on a VPN. It’s like she’s teasing me. Tumblr, all places. 

The night of the Rav’n, Wednesday found herself stalking Enid Sinclair’s Tumblr, the one Bianca mentioned. Under the pseudonym ‘lonewolfluvr’ the page was painted pink and filled with reblogs of fan edits and blurry photos of Enid’s figure at multiple sites of murder. Fans all over the country flocked to this page for their murder fills—Wednesday couldn’t understand how anyone would find this entertaining. “Half the writing isn’t even proof-read, none of this makes any sense. ‘Lone Wolf slays the annoying Orange!’ What hellish title is that?” The bigger headache was the tacky rendition of a UFC matchup edit of a poor photo of the homicidal maniac and a horribly edited orange with Donald Trump’s face on it. “Why are they all commenting ‘slayyyyy yasss’?”

Wednesday still finds it hard to believe she had nothing on this woman despite how childish she portrays herself as. With all her leads being dead ends, it was quite embarrassing to Wednesday finding defeat to a narc that probably bled in hot pink. I hate that it’s her job to track herself down. She has access to private planes due to the nature of her job so there’s no way I can confirm her presence in the area of murder. Alibi would simply be ‘we got a tip’. To hell with that. What a setup. I’m seething in jealousy. 

But Enid Sinclair went quiet since the Rav’n last year. Not a murder done in her name since then. There were many who tried to replicate her works—All being rounded up by Wednesday Addams herself, dissatisfied with the ripoffs.

In a recent interview, Wednesday wound up almost fired for replying to a reporter’s question: “How do you know this suspect isn’t the real Lone Wolf?” with a blunt, “Have you lost your braincells? This man committed attempted murder, not actual murder. Do you think the person wanted for 49 counts of murder would fail to kill a scrawny gas station cashier?”

With the disappearance of her foe, Wednesday herself is slowly going mad. With nothing to keep her preoccupied besides the facts she already knows, the anxiety of getting her case cut is looming over her.

Wednesday shuffles to a squat, putting her face in her hands and groaning. Not only that, but she also has a documented wolf-out, disproving that she’s a lone wolf. Fucking insane, Sinclair. She’s got her alibis straight. This is turning out into a bigger headache than Wednesday anticipated. With two suspects, one with no documented evidence against and another with multiple leads but no solid evidence, Wednesday was stuck in a bind. 

The day after the death of Tyler Galpin, her former partner, Wednesday received the DNA tests. There were no traces of Sinclair’s DNA on Tyler. In Wednesday’s mind, the only other way Tyler could have died was if he was killed by Ajax. But getting a look at him at the Rav’n, Wednesday found it hard to believe that man for bones could even break a twig—Imagine all four limbs of Tyler Galpin. What a joke. None of this makes any sense. But the chain of inconveniences doesn't end there. Wednesday had a hard time getting a warrant for the statues. By the time they did, the event Xavier and Ajax promised the public had already passed. The remains of the stoned victims were blown into the winds.

To keep her mind occupied, Wednesday reached out to her intel to see if anything was on their radar. Looking down on her phone, she scrolls through her call list, and stops at the name ‘Eugene Ottinger’. She presses on it, waits for the sound of ringing before holding the phone close to her ear. Within just a ring, the younger man quickly answered the phone.

“Hello Wednesday! What do I owe the pleasure of speaking to you?” He beams.

“Eugene. Any movement on our suspects?”

“Aw, on Christmas eve? Can’t it wait until the day after tomorrow? I’m sure even the Lone Wolf and her stupid ugly lover celebrate Christmas with their family, Wednesday.” His voice suddenly dejects, making Wednesday smile at his disappointment.

“The Lone Wolf doesn’t have a family, Eugene. Why else would they be called Lone Wolf?”

“Well they’d be hella fucked up if they killed somebody today, y’know.”

“That’s kind of what they’re known for doing, don’t you think so Eugene?”

“Okay fine, but only if Pugsley is joining. I already miss my little—.”

“I’m ending this conversation now, don’t ever say things like that ever again or I will send a horde of yellow jackets to your home, Ottinger.”

“Yeah yeah, got it boss. I just can’t help it when I’m so–” Wednesday hung up before the other one could continue to gloat about his boyfriend, her miserable little brother. To think her father’s genes skipped her and all went straight to Pugsley. Eugene was already a little romancer before getting to know Pugsley and now working with the two of them was Wednesday’s worst nightmare. They were her parents part two. Some missions, they would take over comms with putrid comments and remarks, or take over the work group chat with horrific (nothing nasty, Wednesday just thinks love is gross) pictures. Wednesday found herself wishing she were Tyler. Since their winter break off the case, Pugsley and Eugene have been sending Minecraft valentines to each other in the work group chat with Tyler still in it.

I can’t imagine Donovan grieving Tyler’s death while his son’s phone is endlessly pinging due to Eugene and Pugsley’s irresponsible flirting. 

He did eventually grow tired of it and unadded himself from the work group chat 2 days prior from today, spooking the two idiots.

Tyler Has Left The Chat

Eugene HOLY SHIT TYLER IS ALIVE? Pugsley BRO WHO WAS THE KILLER!?

Wednesday Are you both fucking idiots?

Wednesday tried emailing in a team change form to Donovan the same day but was ultimately denied. After a good two hour session of talking shit about her own team on the phone, Donovan concluded there was no one else in the force with the same mental fortitude as Wednesday Addams herself to handle the tech genius and pyromaniac.

But, back to reality. Wednesday stood up from the floor of her bedroom and moved to a place with better scenery. Dusting off her black work pants and putting on a fleece zip up jacket, she made her way to her mother’s greenhouse. Walking into the hallway, Thing was there running along, seemingly with an agenda. I guess he’s busy with tonight’s event. 

Trailing down the stairs that split into two when they reached the main entrance hall, Wednesday was greeted by some arriving family members, along with her father who gave her a big smooth on the forehead. “My beautiful oleander, what are you up to my dear? Have you eaten today? Oh, you’ve gotten so skinny since I last saw you, now work is important–” He trails.

“Papa, I can take care of myself. Thank you. I will be in mother's garden if you need me.” Wednesday replies, letting her father give her another hug before heading to the back of the home and into the greenhouse.

Opening the door, a warm wind brushes against Wednesday’s loose hair. Unbraided and unkept, she really felt like she was going crazy. Sitting on a nearby chair she found herself thinking even more. Why did that interaction make me feel something? I’ve meddled with countless people for missions, laid bed simply to prove a point. What is it about her that makes her different?

Wednesday shudders at the thought of Enid, feeling her heart pick up in pace and her cheeks heat up. Wednesday hid her face in her hands, groaning loudly in frustration and rested her arms on her thighs. It’s definitely not because she’s killed people—Not everyone I’ve kissed had clean hands. I don’t even remember them. But even after a year, I still remember her eyes. How warm her hands felt against mine. The timbre of her voice. The feeling of her breath against my ears. God if you exist and know mercy, you would smite me in this moment. I do not deserve to linger any longer in this world thinking about a blonde anomaly that seems to have conquered my mind.

Wednesday was so lost in thought she didn’t realize her mother crept up on her, living for her daughter suffering before her eyes.

“Wednesday? My dear, what are you doing here?”

“Mother.” She says, slightly shocked to see her there. I expected her to be coordinating the event above since we’re so close to starting but knowing my father he probably sent her to me. Wednesday moves over on the bench to make space, watching her mother sit beside her gracefully, as Morticia Addams does.

“What is weighing on your soul, my love?”

Wednesday averted her eyes to the fields behind her home near her neighbor’s before starting. I’d rather die ten times over than look my mother in the eyes right now. “The killer… I’ve been chasing. I don’t understand why I feel nervous at the thought of her.” Wednesday mutters, honestly, while still preoccupied with thoughts about that night again.

“Do you know her personally? Does she?” Morticia asks, genuinely curious at the sudden character development in her usually monotonous black princess.

“Mother I’m a detective, I can’t necessarily befriend the people I’m supposed to catch.”

“Sorry baby, you know I’m used to the whole detective thing. No one in our family has ever worked with normies before, let alone work.”

“I know, Ma.”

“But you know, Wednesday, maybe you’ve become attached to the idea of this person.”

“The idea of?”

“Well you have spent a whole year figuring this person out incessantly, perhaps it’s possible you’ve created a figment of what you want to see in a killer and feel enthralled when she meets those expectations.” Morticia explains. She’s just like her uncle. “Plus you’ve only met her once.” 

Wednesday fell into silence. Perhaps her obsession with the idea of an ethical murder threw all her logic out the window. It wasn’t like Wednesday to put feelings or emotions into a job, let alone dangerous ones like devotion and commitment. The past year, Wednesday felt wedded to her work, because the bounds of this case threw all types of laws in morality into shambles–and Wednesday loved that. Proving old philosophers wrong or defining a new moral ground became the essence of why Wednesday grew ill with infatuation with this case so much. (Or maybe, she’s making excuses? You’re in love my friend.)

It was something revolutionary that could redefine what it meant to be an Addams. If this case is publicly on good moral ground, would murder finally be okay? If people who died, deserved the torture and pain dealt to them, would her family not be ostrichized and hunted? But then again, an Addams wouldn’t care about the law or the people. But for Wednesday, this created a new reign against the normies they couldn’t fathom. 

That’s why the girl in black was obsessed with this case. 

Somewhere deep in her heart, she’d want to replicate it. And be better at it. 

Before Wednesday could share her thoughts with her mother, a familiar blonde figure found it’s way into Wednesday’s sights, making the raven-haired girl smile from ear to ear.

Morticia felt like her daughter had come to the conclusion that she wanted when the girl rose to her feet suddenly, and rushed back to her room. The older woman chucked, and mumbled, “Young love. How I miss it.” Then finding her way towards her bushes of roses, hand picking the most miserable bouquet and chopping off the flowers and leaving the thorns for her husband.

Wednesday was running straight to her room, calling Eugene on her phone. “Eugene, call for backup. Lone Wolf is here.”  On the way, she was stopped by her father asking what was going on. “Father, my killer is at Judge Womack’s house. I need to catch her and torture her. Please call Pugsley to my room. We need to make our move.” Wednesday replies as she climbs up the grand stairs, out of Gomez’s sight, but hears her father yell out to the family in the building, “The yearly hunt starts early!” Referencing the Addams’ traditional Winter Hunt, followed by a crowd of praise.

At a nearby home, specifically the Judge’s home, Enid Sinclair and Ajax Petropolus arrived at the doorstep. In due timing, just before the Addams family ball was about to start. Just an hour prior, Lone Wolf and her accomplice planned a gag for shits and giggles, simply to tease the detective. Taking a taxi there, the two plotted the murder of this man and to laugh at Wednesday for being so close but still unable to to catch them. Nothing spiff or fancy—rather the complete opposite of what Wednesday believed to be was their killer’s intent.

The murders of Enid Sinclair were far less dignified than Addams defined them to be. There was no planning, plotting, or thought given to the girl’s wrath. Rather it was purely done out of cynicism and whims.

Ringing the doorbell, the couple pretended they were the new neighbors on the other side of the Addams home and complained about the Addams ball. It doesn’t take much effort to know about judge Womack’s disdain for the family. Prior to this target, Enid came to simply murder the first person she saw. But stopping at a gas station, they overheard a conversation within the locals.

“Did you hear the Addams are throwing their family ball at their house this year?” One said. “I can already hear Womack whining about them at the bar tonight.” 

“That poor man lost everything to the Addams, I’m suprised he hasn’t pulled a Lone Wolf and tried to kill one of em’.” The shorter man replies. “Then again, those Addams are fuck ups. He’d have a better shot getting a job next town over with his history than leaving that house alive.” The two laugh and jumped into their respective cars, driving off, leaving Enid with a playful idea.

Woman opens the door, the two offer their story. Of course, the judge being their neighbor’s biggest cynic, the judge obliged all his opinions on the Addams’, all the way from when he first moved there, ushering them inside for a cup of tea and complaints. After Enid grew tired of listening to the same objections over and over again, she looked to Ajax to conceive the second part of their plan.

“Judge Womack, is it just you on this wonderful Christmas eve? Where is your family?” The judge looked down at his hot tea and rubbed the mug with a finger. “They all left me, because of the wretched Addams. They keep hitting golf balls into my home and inconveniencing my kids with their stupid shenanigans, they’ve all had it. I’m only stuck in this stupid town because of my job, but I swear—”

Enid slashed his throat with her claws. 

“Ugh, finally. I felt like my ears were bleeding with how annoying your voice was.” The blonde sassed, putting her bloodied hand on her hip. Judge Womack was gasping for air, unable to scream while clutching his throat. “Ajax? Do your thing.” Enid said, lifting a finger ushering her boyfriend towards the dying man.

Ajax quickly followed orders with a sour face, stoning the other guy permanently. The two watched as his skin crumbled into a cold stone starting from his eyes and ending at his feet and hands, petrified into position, the man was stuck begging for his life, hands on his throat, and face screaming for mercy. Enid smirked at the sight, turning to Ajax cupping his face and giving him a kiss on the lips. Parting ways, Enid whispered a compliment to the man. “Good boy, Ajax. My partner in crime. My beloved accomplice.” Ajax pulls away from Enid dramatically, acting disgusted at the werewolf’s touch.

As the judge finally solidifies, Ajax walks out in a rushed manner and turns to yell back at Enid. “I’m not your accomplice, Enid. Not by choice. This is the last time I’m doing this for you. I’m over this.”

Enid groans and picks up the statue, following Ajax out of the home into the cold winter night. “Ajax can we do this else where I’m not holding a petrified man in my arms?”

“No Enid, fuck you. You dragged me into this fucked up mess and now you’re wanted for a shit ton of murders and I’m basically fucked for helping you get rid of the bodies! Fuck you Enid! If I knew asking you out would get me a quick ticket to hell I would have never even breathed the same fucking air as you!”

Enid growls and smashes the statue into the cement road, then walking up grabbing Ajax by the collar. “Ajax you’re mine, and mine only. You’re not allowed to end this, you signed up for this the moment you told me you loved me.” The two shared an intense glance, while silence crept into their argument for a moment and Enid could smell the fear seeping from Ajax’s scent and another’s. She loosens her grasp on his collar, letting her hands fall down his chest and to her sides. 

Enid steps back, pulling away from Ajax by two steps and putting her hands up above her head and turning to the bushes behind her. 

“You made this a little too easy, Sinclair.” A familiar voice bellows from the thicket, followed by a rustling of leaves before the source of the sound reveals herself. 

Without a stutter, cars wailed at a distance not too far and Ajax’s face turned into an ugly panic. The boy pleaded for mercy, crumbling to the ground the way his petrified victims did. Enid looks at Wednesday who is now holding a gun aimed for her head with victory imminent in her eyes. The two shared a moment, a conversation written in silence. Wednesday was giddy with pride, almost too excited to hold the gun straight. She was helpless against the smile that was growing on her face—One the amused the enemy in front of her.

“You haven’t won yet, Addams. I’m still alive, free, and definitely not behind bars.” The blonde mocked, clearly irritated by her own carelessness. “You still haven’t caught me.”

“Whatever prides itself but in the deed, devours the deed in its praise.” Wednesday states, quoting Shakespeare. “You have no way out but death, Sinclair. But don’t worry. I’ll feature you in my next séance. Not even in death will you escape my clutches.”

The blonde was too focused to realize her lover was already held down by another person, Pugsley Addams who was holding a grenade in his hand. “HAHA! Dumbass, try anything funny and we both go down!” He screams into Ajax’s ear, feeling the man’s squirm die down to a defeated stillness. “Much better my friend!” The pyromaniac hollered.

The blonde witnesses this and feels pressure. Her hard work all crumbled down in this moment, ending abruptly by the thing she swore would never catch her. The person she vowed herself she would eat and take in as her last prey. She lost the game she created and started herself. All due to her careless and childish tactic to get under Wednesday Addams’ skin. She felt herself growl, her blood rushing to her extremities and her senses heightening. Letting out her claws, she lunges towards the raven-haired girl—Who dodged her drunken swing and raises her sights on the target’s head once more.

The two continue an exchange until Wednesday rolls closer to Pugsley and Ajax. The girl gives her brother a glance, plotting a combined move together. But the blonde’s boyfriend had other plans.

“No!” He screams out of Pugsley’s grasp as Enid lunges again towards all of them. Pulling out his beanie, the man petrified Enid. Watching her mutter her last words before her existence dwindled into a cold nothingness, a stone statue.

“Catch me, if you can.”

- 

“Ajax Petropolus final verdict, life in prison without parole. Court is currently deciding if Mr. Perropolus will be facing the death sentence. This is, News channel 10—“ The television hums in static, as it powered down. Wednesday Addams, holding the controller, throws her spoon into her bowl causing a loud clamor to echo within her home’s black painted walls. “Suddenly I lost my appetite.” She mutters, as she stands up from her dining table, with the chair screeching under her. Walking to the sink, she left her food beside it on the countertop and washed her hands while being preoccupied in thought. The news finally has the ending they hoped for. 

After washing her hands, the raven-haired woman headed down a hallway, lifting a trapdoor to her basement, while uttering, “She’s still out there. I swear on it, Sinclair. I will find you. I will find you. I..”

Flicking on the lights, Wednesday smiles to herself at the thing in front of her, welcoming her to her workspace. It was none other than Enid Sinclair’s petrified body, in the middle of Wednesday’s evidence room, located in her basement. Walls painted black and lined with pictures and red yarn, connecting dots and clues—still following traces left behind by the homicidal maniac frozen in time in front of her.

Wednesday walked up to the statue, lifting her palm and placing it on Enid’s cheek, pulling her own forehead towards the statues. Closing her eyes Wednesday smiles and whispers to Hell below her: “I will catch you, la mia vita.”

[daysofourlivesrecaps]

Tuesday, 16 May 2023

We got some real good blorbo action today, friends.

John and Marlena begin to engage in their long-established foreplay ritual of eating strawberries and cream. (This is, admittedly, barely a blip on the Kink Radar but I legit love that these two septuagenarians are still so into each other.)  John even whipped the cream himself! Also he brought 5001 strawberries, which is a completely arbitrary number that you really shouldn't try to read anything into.

Then Brady (John's son, Marlena's stepson; easily in his 40s and still living with these two) comes home and completely interruptuses their coitus. He whines about how he and Boring Chloe broke up and will there ever be a woman as good and pure as Boring Chloe and can you believe Boring Chloe got an apartment with Hot Xander? What does she even see in that guy, anyway?

John, meanwhile, tries to be as subtle as he can as he checks his watch and tries to remember just how long that blue pill he took is supposed to last.

(If you ever wondered if I thought I was too good to make a Viagra joke, I guess you know better now.)

Speaking of BC and HX, they are indeed still cohabitating. Chloe is lecturing Xander on the proper way to hang a picture frame (since they're all falling off the walls now) and Xander is convinced that it's not his shoddy workmanship but an actual ghost.

And sure, you may mock this notion. I did for a minute, until I remembered that the character who got *by far* the most screentime on this show in 2022 was Satan. Yes, that Satan. From school. I mean, Hell.

As he talks this out, we realize that it's *kind* of a ghost in the Scottish play sense of the concept. He's still feeling guilty about his role in the death of Susan Banks (our cat's namesake). Which is valid. We did kinda gloss over that when it happened and it's not a bad thing to circle back to.

But I immediately jumped to *we never saw her body! She could be the Mystery Hostage aboard the USS Lobsterfest!! That's gotta be why the show is reminding us about her, right?!*

Wrong. It's not Susan *or* my dark horse theory, Jan Spears. Why did I even bother hiding that in a spoiler tag yesterday?!

Von Leuschner, who is getting hotter to me with each passing day, reveals that his hostage is, in fact, Andrew. A character we've only recently met and who I'm only a little interested in because he's part of a gay couple and the show is running dangerously low on boys who kiss each other right now.

But I don't particularly care that he's being held hostage . Not when I thought of two much better possibilities right off the top of my damn head.

We also spend some time with Megan and Kristen in prison. Being, as they are, ostensibly sisters (albeit sisters who only recently met and weren't even aware of one another's existence before this year), they do what adult siblings do and pretend to show interest in each other's personal lives.

Kristen reads a letter from her daughter, Rachel, who gloats about finally breaking up her dad and That Bitch Chloe. (These are essentially eight year old Rachel's words. I would never.)

And Megan reveals that she's connected to Von Leuschner who, *btw, is actually your nephew, Kristen*. I then spent 5-10 minutes going through all the DiMeras we know and trying to work out whose kid he is. And then we find out *Megan* is his mother and I feel like a real stupid.

Having gotten the Salem Resurrection Phone Tree started to inform her massive network of relatives that she's still alive, Kate now settles in to enjoy some alone time with Roman.

"I want something," she says, and waits patiently as Roman cycles through food ("I had lobster on the boat"), a shower ("I showered on the boat, before I got into this fancy dress to eat lobster") and sleep ("not tired.")

Roman. Buddy.  She hasn't seen you in *months*. She made exactly one call before turning her phone off and putting the DO NOT DISTURB sign on the hotel room door. *She wants. To. Fuck.* What in god's name is wrong with you, man?!

[existentialmagazine]

Review: TASH’s debut pop-metal release ‘When The Lights Cut Out’ makes a groundbreaking impact with storming instrumentals and deep lyrical wit

Debuting as a solo artist after her time in a band for the previous few years, the new hard-hitting up-comer TASH is here to unleash every ounce of her masterful talents now she’s riding solo with no limits or opinions other than her own. Sharing her first ever pop-metal single of this new endeavour, ‘When The Lights Cut Out’, TASH already seems to be making a groundbreaking impact with such a unapologetically bold release and we just can’t wait to see where it takes her.

Sending you into a false sense of security right from pressing play, ‘When The Lights Cut Out’ tries to lull you in with subdued guitar and static-y sounds but swiftly cuts it short, taking the power to the max as aggressive guitar strums and drum beats show you the track’s true untamed nature. Electric beats and pounding bass carry a depth in the first verses’ introduction, more stripped-back but clearly just leading the moody way for things to break back out, and it really isn’t long before they do. Absolutely smashing into a fierce chorus, explosive drums, shredding guitar and bass all coincide while TASH loudly sings atop it, powering through an utter wall of noise that you seriously won’t be able to get enough of. Constantly teetering between unnerving lows that seem to err the edge of a tense build or sudden switch-up, TASH knows how to hook you on every single second of ‘When The Lights Cut Out’ , leaving your adrenaline out of control and your feet firmly on the ground as you dance and head-bang along. TASH’s savage vocals really tie it all together though, from sulky lows that add a little bit of a creepy edge, to the more forward, angry half-spat chorus lines, ‘When The Lights Cut Out’ is a song with some serious multifaceted edges and it makes for a listening experience you’ll never be able to predict - or want to get off repeat.

Mystical and a little bit otherworldly, ‘When The Lights Cut Out’ thrives in a universe of its own, painting a picture of a planet that exists only in the dark. As this pitch-black setting blossoms in a sense of unease, TASH sings of this place where only ones true colours shine brightly in an existence otherwise devoid of light, no longer shielding those who have done wrong and instead placing the spotlight right on them at all times. Justifiably petty as we’d put it, TASH delivers lines like ‘no one’s gonna save you when the lights cut out’ that make it clear she means business, no longer afraid or ready to back down from someone who’s clearly done her wrong behind closed doors. Asking ‘are you afraid of the dark? you put on such a front, I don’t believe you’, TASH almost seems to elicit a sense of fear from those she targets her words towards as she re-finds her strength and stands her ground, seemingly mocking them and their false-confidence. Her lines are all harsh and hard-hitting, determined to empower those who find themselves listening and afraid to open up about someone unworthy of their continued silence, as well as sharing her own experiences and her healing through it to allow others to find their light at the end of the tunnel: ‘when it happened I did not understand the implication of what you’d planned.’ As TASH delivers upon a narrative rooted in more than just reality, ‘When The Lights Cut Out’ really shines in its more whimsical concepts, building upon her already powerful words and making them just that extra dose of original but always relatable.

Check out ‘When The Lights Cut Out’ for yourself here to not just get pumped up on adrenaline, but also find your motivation to not be afraid of speaking out and finding your peace.

Written by: Tatiana Whybrow

Photo Credits: Unknown

// This coverage was created via Musosoup, #SustainableCurator.

[mishasminions]

Here’s why the Supernatural Series Finale Sucked

(AND IT REALLY ISN’T JUST BECAUSE CAS/MISHA WASN’T IN IT)

First of all, I’d like to state, that this perspective is coming from someone who has watched, invested in, and dissected this show for 15 years. I’ve tried to rationalize and justify every single decision each of the main characters made throughout the years, and I’ve always tried to make sense of each of their story arcs from a “bigger picture” standpoint as each season progressed.

Anyway, before I can properly explain why the finale sucked, let me quickly take you through 15 seasons by segregating them into 3 eras, because you can’t really comprehend what Supernatural is about and what it’s become without going through how it tried to expand its universe.

SEASONS 1-5: THE KRIPKE ERA

Now, we all know that Kripke was always set in wrapping up Sam and Dean’s story in 5 seasons, and he did just that.

So, in this era, Supernatural is about two brothers who set out on a journey to fulfill “the family business”. They hunt mythical monsters that terrorize the world, while battling the monsters within themselves. Their ultimate “big bad” is an apocalypse.

Towards the end of this era, we find out that Sam and Dean are actually a parallel to Biblical characters who are brothers turned rivals. And that Sam and Dean’s destiny is to go up against each other.

However, as a dynamic, they have always been about making their own choices, choosing free will, and having a brotherly bond that can power through against any obstacle at any given day.

So, this era is neatly wrapped up with its finale. The characters grow, and get justified endings.

Dean, a man who thinks of himself as two things: 1. Sam’s older brother and protector; and 2. Daddy’s blunt little instrument.

He’s spent his whole life believing that that was his only purpose, and he knew that the only ending he’ll get would either be a bloody death fulfilling his duty to the family business; or laying his life on the line to save his brother.

Dean gets the ending he thought was never possible for him, something he thought he could never deserve. After years of living and dying for his family, he gets a shot at having an apple pie life--to settle down with a nice girl, raise a kid in a house with a white picket fence. With Sam gone, Dean’s responsibility now is to himself.

Sam, on the other hand, never wanted any part of it, because he wasn’t groomed the way Dean was, and because thanks to Dean, Sam wasn’t traumatized or forced into growing up too quickly the way Dean was.

So Sam aspires for a normal life, and works the cases with Dean so he can maybe get some semblance of it, when everything they set out to kill are laid to rest.

Ultimately, Sam performs a selfless act for his brother, who has given up everything for him, and for their cause--to save the world.

The journey is this: Dean sacrifices everything to save Sam, and Sam sacrifices himself so Dean could live.

Apart from being Dean’s “savior” and guardian angel, Castiel’s role in this era is to serve as a mirror to Dean’s journey. Castiel goes from being heaven’s foot soldier, following “God’s orders”; to an angel who learns to choose and feel for the first time in his existence.

After they realize that they’re both daddy’s blunt instruments, Dean starts choosing his own path for himself, and convinces Castiel to join him. Castiel stops following heaven, and starts following Dean.

In the end, with his newfound understanding of the world thanks to Dean, Castiel goes back to heaven to reform it.

We’ve resolved the biblical arc, and the character journeys.

SEASONS 6-10: THE SPIN-OFF ERA

So this is where the show realizes how vast its universe can be, so it tries to expand it by tapping into uncharted lands and experimenting with it.

They take on heaven, reform hell, explore purgatory, have the angels fall, turn Dean into a demon, and kill Death.

Dean and Sam recognize their codependency, and try to rise above it.

They go back and forth between which brother will risk it all for the greater good every other season.

Dean and Cas strengthen their relationship by recognizing the impact they have on each other’s lives.

Cas structures his life and decisions around Dean (Seasons 6-7), and Dean learns to trust and fight for Cas (Seasons 8-9).

Sam and Cas bond (mostly over Dean) because of their shared rationales in decision-making.

Dean, Sam, and even Cas also forge relationships with the people they work with. The concept of “found family” is introduced here.

This era was heavy on the plot while establishing, reinforcing, and solidifying relationships and dynamics.

At this point, it wasn’t just about the brothers anymore.

If Supernatural had ended in Season 10, the logical finale would’ve been Team Free Will, along with the family that they’ve found, going up against the latest big bad (Death or whoever). Maybe they lose them along the way, maybe they all make it out alive, or maybe they go down swinging, but at least the show recognizes and supports the message they keep saying, “Family don’t end with blood”

SEASONS 11-15: THE REWRITE ERA

This is where the show runs out of ideas and decides to invalidate the seasons that came before it.

From bringing Mary back (basically rendering their whole journey pointless because they’ve literally started hunting because of her death), to changing the stipulations in being Michael and Lucifer’s vessels (another character struggle rendered useless), to God himself breaking the fourth wall by saying that the Winchesters get away with everything because “they’re the main characters in his story and everything they’ve been through was just part of a badly written narrative”.

But what we’re getting from this era is that Sam and Dean, along with Cas (who has also deviated from the story) ARE trying to escape a badly written narrative.

That’s the “big bad” in this era. The writer.

At this point, the characters have picked up so many strays (including those from alternate universes), and have settled into their roles in their “found family”. Dean, Sam, and Cas all become surrogate dads and uncles.

They’ve also graduated from the whole “we’re on different sides” and “going behind each other’s backs” drama. And they just want the whole family together.

They’ve all resigned themselves to the cause, but they’re also tired. Dean allows himself to contemplate about wanting more out of life or at least getting a vacation. Sam, on the other hand, realizes his capabilities as an effective leader. Castiel learns to love another being that isn’t Dean (spoiler: it’s Jack).

However, they also realize that they’ve just been puppets on a string all this time.

So what they want now, is to write their own story, and make their own choices knowing that God/the writer isn’t the one fueling their narrative.

So here’s why the finale sucks:

Andrew Dabb, the current showrunner, said that there would be two finales.

15x19 - The finale to wrap up Season 15, and 15x20 - The finale to wrap up the series by “resolving the characters’ journey”

In 15x19 the boys find a way to de-power God/the writer. For the first time in their whole lives, they are free from the story. Their lives are completely theirs now. They can make their own decisions. There are no more “big bads” to fight

And here’s what happens in 15x20:

Immediately after being freed from their story arc, Dean and Sam go back to hunting the monster of the week.

Dean eats pie, gets nailed (literally), makes a 10-minute speech to Sam because he knows he’s dying, then he goes to heaven.

Dean is greeted by Bobby, his surrogate Dad who he hasn’t seen (fully alive) since Season 7. Bobby’s expository dialogue comprises of him explaining that he got out of heaven’s jail, that John and Mary are next door, and that Jack and Cas fixed the dynamics of heaven off-screen.

The first thing Dean decides to do is go for a long drive in his Impala (as if he hasn’t done enough of that already).

Meanwhile, Sam decides to stop hunting after Dean dies, he gets the apple pie life he hadn’t wanted since Season 8 (while Dean was in Purgatory), and names his kid “Dean” for effect. He grows old and dies.

Dean drove around in heaven for so long that Sam catches up to him.

They hug. The end.

Great, right?

After 15 years of struggling to battle their own respective destinies, going up against big bads and even bigger bads, then finally being able to take charge of their own stories, Dean and Sam regress to hunting the monster of the week, and get killed off by a nail and old age. Okay.

Sam gets to retire and have a family, sure, but they still focus on him and the kid he named after his dead brother. Still just “Sam and Dean” through and through. Nothing to do with found family. Just lineage. Just blood. And it ends there.

See, the problem here is that this ending would’ve been passable in The Kripke Era. But we’re 10 years down the road since, and while Sam and Dean are the original main characters, the show isn’t just about them and their codependent relationship anymore.

So you see, even if you take out the whole “Castiel deserves to be in the finale because he’s also a main character with an unfinished story arc” argument, the finale still does no justice to the series it tried to “wrap up”.

But anyway, now I’ll make the case for the problem with Castiel not being in the finale:

In 15x18, we get a 5-minute rushed confession from Castiel to Dean. The context of which are as follows:

1. Earlier in the episode, Dean had wounded Death with her scythe. We later find out that this wound is fatal.

2. Their friends start to “blip out” in a Thanos-like snap, and Dean thinks that Death is causing it, so Dean seeks her out, and Cas goes with him.

3. Dean and Cas anger Death, apparently for no reason because she didn’t even do the thing they thought she did. She chases them to try to kill them

4. Dean and Cas lock themselves in a room. Dean starts a pity party.

5. As Dean goes through hating himself out loud, Cas decides to inform Dean of the deal he made with The Empty. He then proceeds to explain the stipulation of the deal (that he would get taken once he experiences a moment of true happiness), then discusses his newfound happiness philosophy. Dean is getting whiplash.

6. Cas goes on to imply that the one thing that he wanted that he knew he couldn’t have is Dean Winchester reciprocating his romantic feelings for him. (Don’t even try to fight me on this because Cas already has Dean’s platonic love, and he knows that Dean thinks of him as a brother, so if he really meant this in a “familial” way, then why would he think that he couldn’t have the thing that would make him happy?) So Cas’ realization is that telling Dean about his feelings is enough to make him happy.

7. Cas tells Dean all the reasons why he loves him (thereby combating Dean’s self-deprecation tirade), and all the reasons why he’s worthy of his love. Meanwhile, Dean is still winded from the fact that Cas is about to sacrifice himself for him again.

8. Dean never gets to process anything, because Cas is shoving him out of the way, as he and Death (who busts through the door) get taken by The Empty.

After this episode, Dean never speaks of it. Misha Collins supposes that Dean doesn’t reciprocate. Jensen Ackles says that Dean didn’t really get to process it because it was too much, too fast, and that Dean, still dense as ever, thinks that Cas, a celestial being, doesn’t interpret human feelings the same way.

So what was the point of this confession?

Politics and sensitivities of a 2005 network television aside, what does this do for the story?

Cas proclaims his romantic feelings to Dean, but Dean never acknowledges it, doesn’t even give it a passing thought afterwards. So Cas’ big declaration goes unheard.

Cas cashes in on his Empty deal to kill Death (who was dying anyway), in order to save Dean who dies two episodes after.

Dean makes no effort to save Cas (despite being really broken up about his previous deaths, or even spending a whole year in Purgatory looking for him), even after they’ve beaten God, not even asking Jack (who has all the power in the universe) to bring him back (when Jack has already done it before, with less mojo).

Dean moves on to fight the monster of the week. Somewhere off-screen, Jack rescues Cas from The Empty, but Cas uncharacteristically doesn’t even bother to go to Dean? (Every single time he comes back, Dean’s always the first person he goes to)

And Cas, who apparently helped craft and reform the new heaven, isn’t the one who welcomes Dean and explains the new dynamics of it?

Sure, Jan.

Supernatural, you’ve created a finale that only your casual viewers and people who dipped out after Season 5 can appreciate.

Just goes to show how much you actually valued the people who actually invested in your story and characters, and consistently helped keep your show on the air.

[RT this on Twitter]

[lavenders-fandom-elixirs]

The Devil Tastes Like Scotch

Villain!Yagi Toshinori x F!Reader

Summary: You had a career primarily as an ethical hacker but there were times that just occasionally you would be hired by elected officials or people of the justice system for some “legal” vigilante work. Your quirk was supposed to make this go smoother, but you were in way over your head.

Rating: M (No smut)

Word Count: 4.8k

Warnings: Dubcon Kiss, Coercion, Kidnapping, Manipulation

Notes: Banner was edited by me on Canva. In a panic because I just barely made it by the skin of my teeth for The Underground Collab deadline. Photo is from unsplashed by this photographer. I also definitely have to say that @/stormcallart is probably single handedly responsible for never letting me forget how much I love the concept of a villain Toshinori. I’ll be doing great and then bOOM I see another badass art from her for him. 

Tagging: @boosyboo9206 @king-bito @cherrycolabomb , @galair​

Minors DNI

Everyone in the city knew who Toshinori Yagi was. One of the richest and most powerful men in the country, no one could really escape at least seeing his face splayed on some sort of magazine or news article. At first glance at any of these pictures or videos, few would suspect that he was a dangerous man with any sort of hand in unsavory circles. Tall and sturdy in stature with strong muscle twisting around his frame, he looked attractive but none of the pictures ever really showed him in an intimidating light. 

But as Toshinori’s brilliant azure eyes swept over you from across his desk, you realized just how much of his presence that a camera couldn’t capture. Maybe it was how he looked you over, searching for any possible weakness and strengths you could be hiding beneath your button down blouse and pencil skirt. Maybe it was the fact that the door was closed and there was the lingering sense of being trapped in close quarters with a predator. Or maybe it was because being in the same room as him felt like you were standing in a spot where lightning would strike in a few moments, the air chokingly thick with the coming charged bolt.

Maybe this was a mistake.

You cleared your throat and smoothed your skirt in a weak attempt to ease the gnawing of anxiety in your gut. This was just temporary. You wouldn’t have to work here long, just enough to get the information you had been hired to obtain. After that was done you could quit and with the fee you were charging, you could relocate and start a life elsewhere. When the cut of his eyes changed from assessing to appraising of your figure, you cleared your throat and hastily set the folder of assorted documents that he had requested. 

Yagi noticed your discomfort and smirked. The folder was carefully flicked open with two long fingers, revealing the crisp sheets of paper freshly printed with financial projections, goals and expenditures, all documents you had taken the chance to upload copies of onto a jump drive you kept with you. Analyzing the data would be time consuming and definitely not something you could manage without raising suspicion.

“Relax. I know you only just started but I don’t bite.”

Tundra blue eyes swept over you again paired with an almost flirty smirk on his lips. The lie caught between his teeth, like the smears of blood you could still see in the mouth of a wolf that was still consuming it’s fresh kill. Toshinori had a reputation in the city and pretty much everyone knew that he could do far more than bite. He sifted through each sheet of paper, drinking in the wall of numbers that lay before him but even with his attention directed to those documents, he was still watching you and your reactions out of the corner of his eye. 

While you were standing stiff and choking on an awkward silence, he was relaxed, lounging in his office chair and finding himself increasingly curious about you. Most of his personal assistants would be all but fawning over him, trying to gain his favor. But you had kept yourself strictly professional and tried to maintain a distance from him. Keen eyes watched as you dropped your shoulders at his command but the tension lingered.

“Sorry.” You cleared your throat and glanced down at a notepad you had also been carrying, “You’ve had at least four different calls this morning to get an interview. Each one said that they just wanted to do a normal interview and insisted that it had nothing to do with the latest scandal. You probably should turn them down.”

“I have nothing to hide.” He said easily and confidently, “Make an appointment with whoever is easier to fit into my schedule.”

You blinked in bemusement for a moment before raising your brows in shock, “You sure? All of these journalists are pretty much your biggest critics. They’ll be out for blood.”

“Are you worried about me, gorgeous?” Toshinori chuckled, his voice a smooth baritone that flowed from his throat with ease, “That’s precious.” The laughter only swelled when you scrunched your face in a pout at him, “You shouldn’t look at me that way. You might get more than you bargained for if you do.”

Hastily you look away, dropping the frown almost immediately, “I just don’t think it’s a good idea to meet with them. Last time you interviewed with any one of them they grilled you.”

Yagi extended his arm and gestured to the empty chair that was seated across the desk from him, indicating for you to sit, “It may have looked that way to you but their questions were nothing. I couldn’t even make toast with that kind of heat.”

You settled down in the chair like he had instructed, “But an ex employee was making all kinds of accusations against you and now he’s vanished without a word. That’s going to look bad no matter what….”

“It looks worse to avoid all interviews on the subject. Refuse to answer any questions and it makes you look even more guilty.” Seated across from him, your boss looked even more intimidating, a powerful figure of equally powerful muscle and then the money and connections to stand on that made him a nearly impossible target for anyone to take down, “And speaking of questions…Why did you want this job?”

His glacier gaze pinned onto you, frost blooming to life along your veins, “What’d you mean?”

“No one applies for this position without wanting something.” An amused smile curled on his lips, “My last personal assistant had already tried to tease me with her ass at least four times by this point in her shift. That doesn’t seem to be your goal...”

Toshinori allowed his voice to trail off, leaving the question hanging in the air between the two of you. The chime of your soft laughter chased away the impending wave of silence that had been close to cresting over the office. Even the gingko trees swaying outside the window had started to fall still beneath the weight of his curiosity. That was how most people seemed to move around him. People waited with held breath, anticipating his next question or command, frozen into place by eyes so savage blue. With so many strings of the city wrapped around his fingers, it was only natural that the puppets on the other end would dance for him if he even twitched his fingers. And that dance from you came in the form of the gears of your own thoughts turning behind the glaze of your eyes.

“I didn’t realize…Did you want me to start swooning for you on command? Would that help?”

The question was delivered with humor but he’d dealt with enough people with ulterior motives to know when the first drops of blood spilled in the water. But he wouldn’t go in for the kill yet. This was a hunt he wanted to savor. So many fools would line up to try and gain advantages on him and he relished in crushing them beneath his heel. Slowly those eyes raked over your figure again, lapping up every curve, bend and inch that begged to be explored. Toshinori couldn’t help but think about how beautiful you would look broken for him. A hungry smile swept across his mouth as he leaned forward, bracing himself on his elbows so he was able to see your chest hitch with a breath you forgot to release for a moment. The aroma of your perfume was tantalizing, a sensuous mix of musky and sweet, but floating in a teasing cloud around you.

“I wouldn’t mind that. But not on command. Make it a surprise for me, princess.”

You gave him a sly smile, “I’ll get you when you least expect it.”

A faint chuckle quaked in his chest at your playful turn in attitude. It was adorable, the sight only magnified by the embrace of your soft lips parting to frame the line of your teeth, eyes almost twinkling in mischief. But there was still a little flicker of doubt, of nervousness, of fear in your eyes. This was a type of story he’d read on people’s faces time and time again, the chapters may vary some but the overall tone is the same and the message remains. 

He could see the pages of your trepidation in the tight lines of your shoulders, the way you were subtly picking at your clothes unraveled a thread of hesitation for him to follow and it led him to your beautiful eyes that seemed to look anywhere but his own. If you had more experience with infiltration, then you might have stood a chance going unnoticed. But you were clearly too fresh in this kind of task and you never stood a chance. Sunlight pooled on the right side of his lean but muscled frame, swathing him in a warm glow. The CEO allowed his eyes to relax, a lazy half lidded gaze as he dismissed you from the office.

There was a flash of relief and you wasted no time in fleeing the room. Between the nervousness, the tempting column of your throat, delicious legs and the quiet way your breath hitched in your chest, Toshinori had to restrain himself from pursuing you. A good hunt always got his blood racing. Most had never seen him using his Quirk but he didn’t have to to still have an intimidating presence. 

No, the form that got him the name ‘All Smite’ in the criminal underworld was one for smearing blood across his knuckles and breaking the ones who refused to submit. As he was, his size was still enough to keep him intimidating, his height alone still enough to rise enough that you would have to crane your neck to look up at him. His other persona was a behemoth of a man but even leaving it behind still couldn’t shake the lines of powerful muscle that he still worked to maintain. Muscles that could easily guide you to how he wanted you if he desired.

His long and deft fingers produced his cellphone from his pocket, thumbing through his contacts until he could open up the name he wanted. Toshinori found himself hoping that his theory that you were after something was right. He couldn’t deny that the thought of backing you into a corner, quaking as he decided just what he would do with you didn’t excite him. And such a pretty little thing, he was very tempted to have a taste of you. A wolf could devour many things but he could never pass up on the opportunity to sink his teeth into a poor little lamb that had walked into his den willingly. A smirk spread on his face as his fingers danced across the screen of his phone.

I need you to look into someone for me.

✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦

The journalist that Toshinori had ended up meshing his schedule with the easiest was also one of his most vocal critics. But he didn't seem concerned at all and he made sure to keep every inch of his posture and expression showing that same relaxed confidence. The blonde was seated in the chair like he owned it, long legs crossed and his shoulders tipped back to further emphasize his own presence. Any room you had seen him in, his energy seemed to dominate every corner. Wherever he sat or lingered became his temporary kingdom and all people present his subjects under his kingly rule.

But Aizawa Shouta did not fold beneath that weight and sat across from your boss, cool black eyes boring into his face, and standing his own ground. This was his territory and it was very clear that he had no intentions of letting Toshinori take control or intimidate him. Your fingers flexed around the iphone clutched in your hands, your task being to sit and answer any calls or texts that came through for Toshinori. You had been handed the opportunity to obtain what you needed on a silver platter and yet you couldn’t look away from the two titans who were staring each other down.

Aizawa lifted up the recorder, “Anything to say before we start?”

A lazy smile curled on his mouth, “You’ve done quite well for yourself, Aizawa. I remember when you first broke into the business. Odd for a journalist since you don’t really like dealing with people. Guess it really helps to have such a close...friend who runs his own talk show to help you get attention.”

There was a viper curled beneath those words, a looming threat waiting to reveal itself at Yagi’s command and the dark-haired journalist picked right up on that. Raven black eyes narrowed into a glare before flicked his thumb over the record button, setting it down on the table between the two of them.

“Please say your name for the start of this interview.” was Aizawa’s rough command.

“Yagi Toshinori.”

“I’ll get to the point: You’ve had some serious allegations against you in the past but now an ex employee of yours has been talking about criminal rings working in your businesses. Drug distribution, arms deals, human trafficking and many others. What do you have to say about these accusations?”

A closed fist helped prop up his golden head, burning blue flicking over the man across from him, “They’re very serious accusations and unfounded. There is an investigation underway to discover the source of these rumors and to ensure that it’s not a disgruntled worker who was let go and now wants to take out their anger and frustrations.”

Smooth. Not even a twitch of his eyebrow appeared while he answered. But the journalist was not deterred by the answer.

“That’s an extreme measure to take against you and your businesses. What stops others from assuming that there’s some truth to those accusations?”

“I don’t blame the public for having doubts. But I’d like to remind the public that I have had an ex employee try to sabotage our reputation and has been convicted for defamation of my character. As of now, my people are looking into a possible connection between the two previous employees.”

A lump had formed in your throat. Human trafficking. The rumors surrounding “All Smite” and his criminal activities had been many but none went quite that far. A buzz of the phone you clutched startled you out of your thoughts. The display screen revealed a new text message had come in. It came as a welcome distraction from the very distressing thoughts your mind had flooded with.

“I did as you asked and you were right. Looks like your favorite DA has made his move to get the information he needs. My sources say he just reached out to someone, probably for a job. Don’t know who they are yet but I will soon.”

The blood drained from your face.

If you didn’t act fast, then you’d be caught. No one knows how the nickname slipped out into public knowledge but the criminal rings called him “All Smite” for a reason. No one went up against him and came away whole. You cast a furtive glance at Toshinori still seated in his chair for the interview, his visage one amicable and confident. But there was something dangerous beneath that persona and you’d be seeing it first hand if you didn’t get moving. 

While the interview continued you discreetly pretended to answer a phone call, as was expected of you and you slipped out of the room. You’ll get a good look at some of your bosses habits and passwords with a little help from secret screen sharing you were establishing. After you got that information, finding what you needed would be right within reach. All you had to do was finish this job, get paid and then you could dip out of the city. Maybe get a beach house or something. Just a little bit longer…

✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦

No matter how many times he tasted it, Toshinori could never get tired of the flavor of victory. It was never the same, each opponent bringing a new blend of flavor to his tongue. To see you seated in a chair across from his desk, wrists and ankles both zip tied to the legs and armrests of the chair was decadent. Your eyes were open but glazed over, your consciousness absent from your body. The sun had already slipped from the world, drawing away the melting fire and embers that saturated the evening sky. In its place was a pearlescent moon, a single silver coin against velvety black. The city lights had washed out the stars so there were only faint twinkles flecked across the night.

Toshinori poured himself a cup of amber brown scotch, oak aged to maximize the robust flavor but still a beverage that glided down his throat smoothly. Haunting azure dragged over your bound form, drinking in the slashes of pale moonlight that collected along the column of your neck. His office was dimly lit, only a few lamps to push back against the darkness, a warm gold to caress the ethereal silver that brushed you. A pleased hum caught in the back of his throat after he sipped at his expensive scotch. There were many things he wanted to do aside from look but he could be patient for a little longer.

“Welcome back, Gorgeous.” he purred with a smirk as your eyes flickered back into focus, “Did you have a good trip?”

Confusion was the first emotion that crossed your face, eyes darting wildly around to figure out where you were. It was immediately chased away by shock and horror when you realized you were tied down, your breath hitching in your chest when you locked eyes with him. Fine trembles erupted across your body, leaving you to quake helplessly in your bonds, a frightened rabbit quivering before the wolf that had cornered it.

“Wh-what’s going on? Why am I here?”

The quiver of your voice was delectable, a sweet sample that slid down with the next sip of scotch. Some victories were more substantial, like a proper meal that’s meant to power him forward but others-they were meant to be like this, one that wasn’t wholly necessary to maintain his position but was so sweet going down. Toshinori nearly groaned when you started squirming in your seat, fighting weakly against your bonds. He could see you trembling too, eyes darting everywhere as if you would find some avenue of escape.

“Hmmm, I think you already know the answer to that.” The office chair gave a faint creak as he leaned back, swirling the liquor slowly in his hand, “I did have bait left out for you and you took it almost immediately. I almost wish I had dragged things out a little more, you didn’t give me a good hunt.”

Your eyes rounded, “P-please I don’t know what you mean! Just let me-”

Toshinori clicked his tongue in disappointment, rising from his seat with the glass of scotch still in hand. Long legs carried him easily to settle right in front of you, the hard wood of his desk at his back. When you shrank back into your chair he felt a pang of delight resound in his chest. Hungry for more of your fear, he bent forward and took the curve of your jaw in his hand, tilting your face up to stare at him.

“I thought we had a better relationship than that, precious. Lying? I’m disappointed in you.” a thumb swept over your full lower lip, easily parting your mouth beneath his direction, “Now, I’m going to give you one more chance…lie again and I’ll have to stop being so nice. I don’t want to mark up your pretty skin so soon.”

The resulting whimper you gave was like a drug, surging bursts of pleasure and satisfaction in him. Toshinori felt hungry, starved for more little whimpers, cries and even moans. You could give him the most delightful terror if he wanted it from you. All Smite let his fingers trail down to your neck, skin rasping against yours until he could easily settle the large expanse of his hand around your throat. You gave another faint whimper when he gave you a warning squeeze.

“Go on now. Tell me all about what you were going to do with my information once you got it.” a wicked smirk spread on his mouth, “I know who hired you and I know all about your Quirk but I still don’t know just what you were going to do once you got what you were looking for.”

Your throat bobbed beneath his palm as you swallowed thickly. He could see the gears in your wide eyes turning as you contemplated your options. It didn’t take long for you to bite your lip and surrender to him. There was a familiar flicker of defeat in your eyes that he had seen on many other opponents he’s crushed. Poor thing. He’d done enough digging on you to know that this was a kind of job that was way out of your normal jobs.

“...I was paid to find incriminating evidence against you.” came your voice in a hoarse murmur.

“I figured as much, gorgeous but there’s got to be more. I could get that thrown out in court because it was acquired through illegal means. It would make it inadmissible. Don’t stop talking now.” Toshinori straightened, letting his fingers slide up your neck and to part from your chin, “What else?”

A shaky breath rattled its way down into your lungs, the only thing that helped give you any kind of resolve, “After I got what I needed…I was supposed to leak all information for the general public to see.”

“That way, it would just be a breach and considered the fault of my own company and security. And since it would be in the public access, it could be used against me. Smart.”

He had to admit had you succeeded with that job it would have put him in a very vulnerable position. Even if he had dodged any legal ramifications, the leak likely would have resulted in a PR disaster. Fortunately, you weren’t much of an infiltrator. But that didn’t mean you wouldn’t be plenty useful to him. Toshinori tilted his head to the side, staring down at you in thought.

“What are you going to do with me?”

Your voice was trembling, fear having sunk its fingers deep into your chest. Toshinori gave you an indulgent smile from over the rim of his glass. Smokey smooth scotch was guided past his lips, occupying the space where you had wanted answers to your fate. All Smite took his time savoring that mouthful and tense silence, taking in every note of oak and unspoken anxiety. The longer the silence stretched, the tighter your heart would squeeze in your chest.

“That IS the question, hm? There are a few possibilities…” Your captive let his words trail off, fingers curling beneath your chin to tilt your face up, “I’m sure I can come up with a few things…”

You shuddered, “Am I going to die?”

“Everyone does at some point, precious. The question you should be asking is if I’m going to be the one who makes it happen.”

“P-please...just let me go, I’ll quit the job, I won’t say anything…”

The pad of his thumb stroked gently along your jawline, almost tenderly, “Oh I can’t do that. Someone with your Quirk? Digital Conscious Projection and WITH data manipulation? I can’t just have you running around free. It was your choice to work with the DA this time but how long until some of my more dangerous enemies find out about you?” Toshinori smirked, “And killing you would be such a waste...No, you’ll stay working for me but I’ll be putting that gift of yours to use.”

Your mouth quivered as you stared up at him with horrified eyes, “But-”

“Of course you can say no.” he cut you off easily, withdrawing his hand, “I’d be very disappointed though and I’d have to try and make a repeat offer with different conditions.”

An icy cold spread like winter frost in your blood, your gut giving a wrench of fear.

“With this offer, you’ll still get paid. Much better than you could doing “legal” vigilante work. I would have to keep you under surveillance until you can be trusted but it won’t be so bad.” Toshinori brushed his fingertips across the bare skin of your arm, slipping the thin strap of your tank top back up onto your shoulder, “You’ll have much more space and luxury here.”

A shaky breath caught in the back of your throat, “I’d have to stay here?!”

“Mmm? If you don’t like this option I’m sure I can think of something else. There’s probably a warehouse and some guys I can hire to keep an eye on you though….” A long finger traced along the zip tie secured around your right wrist, “You might find yourself in a familiar position. Now, be a good girl and keep quiet. I still have more to explain and I may have to gag that pretty mouth if you can’t keep it shut.”

You clamped your mouth closed, nodding quickly and wide eyed up at him.

“That’s better. Now if you make it so I have to repeat my offer, the experience will be very different.” The smile Toshinori gave was cruel and predatory, “I’d have to check in on your friends and family. Sometimes it’s shocking how many bad things can happen within the same group of people, all because someone they knew just didn’t know what she was getting into. Poor thing would end up bound and helpless, and at whatever mercy her guard gave that day until she was needed.”

Tears collected at the corners of your eyes, catching in dewy drops on your lashes. Your heartbeat was the sound of war drums shaking in your chest but instead of it being your own march to battle, it was the coming pound of an invading enemy. All avenues for escape had been severed and you could only let the current of events carry you forward. Reality crashed down around your ears, leaving you to bow your head in defeat.

“You’ve made your point…” you murmured, choking back the grieved sob that threatened to rise in your throat, ‘I’ll...I’ll accept those conditions.”

“Good.” he purred, “We should drink on our new partnership.”

It hardly felt real when Toshinori took another long drink from his glass, etched ridges catching the dim light of the room. He drank his scotch neat. It was an odd detail to notice but once it had caught your attention you couldn’t wrench your gaze away. Rich and amber brown, it flowed into his wicked mouth, the pillar of his throat bobbing to work it down to his belly. That wasn’t just a liquor he had swallowed, it was also your freedom and it was long gone from your grasp.

“Oh...how insensitive of me...You don’t have a drink and you can’t have a sip of anything with your hands tied like that.”

Mockingly he soothed a hand over the side of your face in a fake comforting gesture before slipping his hand behind your head. A soft chuckle bubbled to the surface when he felt you tense beneath his touch. Toshinori pulled another mouthful of scotch past his lips before bending down while his hand fisted into your hair. A rough pull wrenched your head back where he took advantage of the shocked yelp you gave. Your lips were captured in a searing kiss that left you uttering little muffled whimpers  for him.

The scotch was the most expensive you had ever tasted, still possessing a delightfully warm flavor and yet did not have the same burning intensity that it normally came with each mouthful. It was impossibly smooth though it still left a trail of heat all the way to your stomach. Even after you had choked down every drop, panting through your nose, he still didn’t pull away. A devious tongue plundered whatever sweetness was hiding inside of your mouth, his fingers tightening in your hair. You tried to focus your attention on the sting along your scalp but it wasn’t enough to help you. Toshinori was a really good kisser and he took his time with you until all resistance melted away.

“Good fucking girl.” he growled softly at your submission to him, “Behave like that and things will go well for you.”

‘Hope is the thing with feathers’ Emily Dickenson once wrote. But sometimes someone will show up just to clip its wings.

[scuttling]

Happy Accidents

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 6,300 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Art, Neighbor Hotch, Shy and Oblivious Hotch, Flirting, It's soo sappy I'm sorry, Oral sex, Unprotected sex Summary: Aaron's new neighbor is out of his league for so many reasons: she's young, beautiful, artistic, unique, free-spirited, the kind of person who turns heads when she walks down the street. It's no wonder he ends up falling in love with her. *Requested by anon Link to A03 or read below! Against all of his better judgement, Aaron is kind of creeping on his new next door neighbor.

He is absolutely the type of man, any other time, to approach a woman he’s interested in and introduce himself, look for a way to connect, some common ground, but this is no ordinary woman.

She is out of his league in so many ways: young, beautiful, unique, free-spirited, the type of person who turns heads when she walks down the street. There’s not a chance in hell she would look twice at an old, stuffy, monotone suit with a seven year old son and perpetual bags under his eyes. That’s not him feeling bad about himself, it’s just the way the world works.

The first time he saw her, she was getting on the elevator while he was getting off of it, and they’d bumped into each other; she was wearing a short, flowy dress, and she’d smiled at him, apologized, eyes sparkling, smelling like she’d spent all day in the sunshine. It was the only time since Haley he’d ever entertained the idea of love at first sight.

She keeps to herself most of the time, gives off the air of being really cool and mysterious; their paths have crossed a few times since then—at the bank of mailboxes downstairs, in the hallway they share, once during a false alarm fire alarm—but he enjoys watching her paint more than anything.

They have balconies next to each other, and one night when he was tending to his herb garden—Jack enjoys watching the plants grow, and picking the herbs, Aaron likes to eat them—he spotted her standing on hers, facing away from him, in cut off jean shorts and a baggy t-shirt, barefoot. She’d been painting the city, the sky, with the sunset glowing behind her like she was the work of art, and he actually felt an ache in his chest, the feeling of missing someone he’s never really met.

Since that night, he’s started taking his work outside in the evenings after Jack goes to bed, and sitting in near silence while she paints, hums—sometimes songs he knows, sometimes songs he doesn’t. The first time he goes out before she does, she says hello when she drags her easel out, so he starts to say hello to her when she beats him there, too, but that’s pretty much the extent of their interaction. One evening when Aaron and Jack are getting home from dinner, she is lugging a canvas bigger than she is through the hallway and Jack almost runs headfirst into it; when he looks up, he exclaims about how big it is, and pretty—it’s covered with colors, something abstract and cheerful, and even if he’d seen it on the side of the road, he would have just known that she painted it. (That may be a good indicator that he’s getting in a little too deep.)

“Wow, that’s the biggest painting I’ve ever seen! And so many colors,” Jack says, awed. Aaron puts his hands on his shoulders to keep him out of her way; they’re already bothering her enough, when she’s clearly trying to get that giant thing home.

“It’s pretty cool, isn’t it? I carry bigger pieces around at my studio, believe it or not,” she says to him, poking her head around the side to look at him.

“You have a studio?” His eyes are wide with interest; his favorite subject has always been art, as evidenced by their refrigerator, which is covered in drawings. She offers him an even brighter smile.

“I do! It’s not far from here; it’s called Live in Color. There’s a big rainbow painted on the side.”

“That’s so cool; it must be awesome to have your own studio.” Aaron loves that Jack seems to be so passionate about this, but the way they are obviously holding her up has him feeling awkward; he tugs gently on Jack’s backpack.

“That is really cool, bud, but we should let her go. I’m sure that’s heavy.” She smiles, shrugs.

“It’s no trouble. Hey, actually, we have some children’s art classes at the studio, and you look like you’d fit right in with the Green group—ages 7-9?” She looks up at Aaron, who nods. “Maybe we can talk dad into bringing you down sometime. We do painting, drawing, and crafts, it’s really fun.” She’s still looking right at Aaron, gives him a little wink, and he swears to god he gets butterflies in his stomach.

He’s a grown man. A federal agent. With butterflies. It’s insane.

“Oh man, dad, please? Can I take classes at her studio pleeease?” Jack tugs on the sleeve of his suit, and he nods, smiles down at him.

“Yeah, absolutely, Jack. We’ll go down and get more information tomorrow?” he offers, to both placate him and finally free the poor girl from the conversation; he nods excitedly, and she smiles, looks sweet, genuinely happy Jack is so excited to take the class.

“Cool, I look forward to seeing you guys there. Actually, if you give me one sec, I can grab my card for you.” She passes them, carrying the canvas and looking effortless while she does it; she props it up against the wall to get her keys out, unlocks her door and heads in, pops back out with a business card in a vivid watercolor yellow. “It has the address and phone number for the studio on the front, and I put my cell on the back; I figured it couldn’t hurt, considering we live next door to each other. Now you know who to call if you ever have an art emergency.”

He takes the card from her fingers, flips it over just to see the handwritten name and number; he knew her script would be lovely, and it is, easy and flowing and natural. It suits her. He tries not to grin, or flush, or otherwise be awkward about the fact that she just gave him her phone number, however innocently.

“Thank you. We’ll see you tomorrow.” They turn to head for their apartment, and she clears her throat; he smiles a little, turns back, and she’s leaning casually up against the canvas with her arms crossed.

“You know my name now. What’s yours?” She’s just being polite, but he gets the goddamn butterflies again.

“Aaron.” She smiles, something beautiful and a little wild.

“Okay, Aaron. See you outside.” From then on, most of their free time, be it evenings or weekends, is spent at the studio. Aaron isn’t the only parent who sticks around—it’s an art class, not a daycare, he doesn’t feel right just dropping Jack off and leaving him there—and he’s also not the only parent, it seems, who is aware of his beautiful young neighbor.

“She’s incredible, right?” another dad says to him one evening, over by the coffee. Aaron looks him over briefly—it’s a job hazard, he sizes up everyone, but he already has a weird feeling about this guy. “I’ve been bringing my kid here for a month just to look at that little ass running around. My wife just thinks our daughter is just really into art.” He says it with a laugh, like that’s a ridiculous concept. Aaron feels himself start to boil.

“You shouldn’t be disrespectful. She’s doing a great thing here, for the children; she’s not doing it for you to ogle her.” He feels a little hypocritical, because he is also looking, but not like this guy. He knows guys like this. He puts away guys like this.

He glances over at Aaron, looking a little taken aback that someone actually commented on his behavior, then rolls his eyes.

“She doesn’t need you to defend her honor, buddy. She wouldn’t run around here in those overalls if she didn’t want us looking. It’s job security.” She’s wearing the overalls tonight, denim shorts with one of the straps unhooked, a t-shirt underneath, but it’s not as if she’s performing a striptease. She just looks like an artist, covered in drips of paint, smiling as she looks at the kids’ pictures over their shoulders. Aaron really, really hates this guy.

“In my experience, women usually dress for themselves; they probably have pockets, easier to keep things at hand that she may need, and it’s warm in here, so she’s likely dressing for comfort. She’s certainly not dressing for you.”

As if she can sense the tension, she looks over at them, flicks her eyes over Aaron, then the other guy, and walks over with a soft smile on her face.

“Hey, Aaron, Jack really wanted you to see what he’s working on.” She reaches out a hand, wraps it around his wrist and guides him over to Jack’s table. “I figured I’d save you,” she says when they’re out of earshot. “That guy sucks. He’s always saying creepy things to me and Alaina.”

“You should ask him to leave if he makes you uncomfortable,” he says, looking down at her with worry. “I can do it.” She shrugs.

“I would, but his daughter really does enjoy the class, and it’s not fair to her that her dad’s disgusting. It’s nothing we can’t handle.” She squeezes his wrist lightly. “Thanks, though. Hey Jack, show dad your project.” He peers over his shoulder, and it’s a pink and orange skyline, much like the one he saw her painting that first time on the balcony. “I asked the kids to paint my favorite thing today, and that’s sunset.”

“I saw you painting this one night,” he says, and then he feels abruptly like an idiot. She just smiles at him though, nods.

“Yeah, I’m a sucker for a beautiful sunset. It makes you feel like, just because the day ends, it doesn’t have to mean things are over; it’s just one of life’s beautiful natural transitions. And the colors are to die for: peach, coral, jasmine, rose, tiger’s eye.” He finds himself unexpectedly touched by her description, smiles softly to shake himself of the emotions.

“The way you see the world is extraordinary. To me it’s just kind of… orange.” She returns his expression, but softer, and squeezes his wrist again; he didn’t even realize she was still holding it.

“Sounds like you need some art in your heart. I give lessons for adults, too; you could even come over and paint with me on my balcony, some time. Special neighbor privileges.”

The thought of being with her on her balcony while she paints is almost overwhelming, which he finds funny, considering he currently sits no more than twenty feet away. There is an intimacy about it, while they both do their work in the cool, quiet breeze, but standing like this, close enough to touch, with the late day sun on her face while she talks about colors… he’s not sure he could handle it without falling in love.

She pats him on the back, moves on to another child, and he tells Jack what a great job he’s doing; his face is lit up, so happy, and regardless of the neighbor, he’s glad they stumbled upon this hobby.

When they pack up to leave, the jerk from earlier comes up to him, leans in to speak in a hushed voice. “You should have just told me you were fucking her. I would have backed off.” He blinks, but the guy and his daughter are walking out the door before he finds himself able to do more than that. About a week later, he goes over for that lesson almost by accident. Jack is at Jessica’s for the night at his request, and Aaron was planning to order takeout and have a paperwork cramming session, but when goes out onto the balcony, phone in hand to place an order, his neighbor is standing on hers like she’s waiting for him.

“Hey. I saw you don’t have Jack; I made some pasta with vodka sauce, if you’re hungry. I always prepare too much.” He sets his phone on the table, walks over to the railing to get a little closer.

“Uh. Sure. I have fresh basil growing here; trade?” She smiles, nods.

“Yeah, sounds delicious. I’ll be right back.” She ducks inside, returns a few moments later with two dishes of steaming, saucy pasta, sets one down on her table and gets right up against her railing, hands the other over to him across his. “That one’s for you,” she says, handing him an orange plate, and he sets it down, picks a few good looking leaves from his basil plant and tears them up, drops them on top. “And this one’s for me.” She reaches, holds a green plate over the gap between their porches, and he adds some basil to it before she pulls it back, takes a deep sniff. “God, it smells so good and fresh. Thank you, Aaron.”

“Thank you, it looks great.” He goes to sit at his table with it, but she scoots her chair closer to the railing, closer to his balcony, so he does the same. They make easy small talk while they eat, mostly about Jack, a little about her studio and his work.

“FBI, huh? I can definitely see that, with your suits, and your… neutrals.” She cringes when she says it, and it makes him laugh.

“I’m sorry I can’t wear paint covered overalls to the office,” he teases, and she shoots him a playfully affronted look, grins.

“You love my paint covered overalls—and for the record, you’d look great in them. You should find a pair. Preferably not black.” He flushes a little at that, but she doesn’t notice, just finishes up her pasta with a sigh of contentment. “That was so good, thanks again for the basil.”

“You’re welcome; thanks for feeding me something other than the takeout I planned to have.” He stands up, gestures to his apartment. “I’ll wash the plate and then hand it back over.”

“Why don’t you just bring it over and come paint with me for a little while? If you want,” she tacks on, and for the first time she seems a little nervous. “I’m not trying to be pushy, I just think it would be fun.”

It’s not that he doesn’t want to; it would be amazing to watch her paint up close and personal. He’s just also afraid he’ll pass the point of no return if he does it, and he can’t handle any more heartache. He only very recently got to a place where just waking up in the morning no longer causes him agony.

It’s the look on her face, though, soft and sweet and open, that makes his decision for him.

“Yeah, okay. I’d like that.” She grins.

“I’ll unlock the door.”

She’s dragging out her easel when he walks through the door; her apartment is stark white walls with vibrant furniture, artwork, canvases propped up against every bare spot along the wall, paints and brushes and charcoal and pencils on every surface. It’s exactly what he would have expected, warm and lived-in and comforting, very unlike the mostly black and gray interior of his own apartment. She smiles when she sees him.

“Hey! Can you grab that tray of paint on your way out?” she asks, and he picks up what looks kind of like an ice cube tray filled with many different colors, carries it out to the balcony with him. She has a canvas propped up, a little larger than a computer monitor, and she’s gotten started, but he can’t tell what it’s going to be just yet. When he hands her the paint she looks down at it, peers around the edge of the canvas like she’s comparing something. He’s so intrigued, curious about the way her mind works, what she’s thinking.

“What are you painting?” he asks when she picks up a brush, sets it down, picks up another. She smiles at him.

“Well, we’re painting that.” She points to the street, where there’s a rusty, pale blue antique car parked—he says that loosely, because it looks broken down—in the alley. Aaron chuckles softly.

“We’re going to paint that? It’s a little… grim.”

“Yes. It’s part of a series I just decided to create: ‘Beauty in the Ordinary.’” She sighs, and he’s surprised to see that her eyes are a little wet. She wipes the back of her hand over her eyes. “You know Bob Ross, right? Everyone knows Bob Ross.” He nods.

“Yes; the guy who paints the happy trees on PBS.”

“Right. I used to watch him growing up, and I vividly remember something he said once, about needing both darkness and light in life and in painting. ‘You have to have a little sadness once in a while to know when the good times come. I’m waiting on the good times now.’” She sniffles, exhales softly. “I’m waiting on the good times too. Sometimes looking at things like this car, and forcing myself to find something beautiful in it, is the easiest way to get through the day. Does that make sense?” He swallows hard when she looks up at him, because aside from Jack, she has been the lightest part of his life since the first time they passed each other on the elevator.

“Yeah, it really does.” She shoots him a soft, slightly sadder smile, and then explains about the paints a little, shows him the difference in the brushes, lets him feel the weight of them, the textures of the bristles.

She starts painting the car—the background is mostly finished—and he’s more than happy to watch, to hear her talk about her process. She asks if she can use his forearm to mix paints, and he turns it over, wrist up, tries not to smile too hard when she puts some dark blue on him, then white, mixing them and then comparing them to the car on the street. He looks down at her, the concentration on her face, the softness in her eyes, and is met with the sudden desire to brush a line of paint over her nose and make her laugh and kiss her breathless.

“Okay, your turn,” she says when she’s about halfway done with the car. She puts her hands on the backs of his arms, pulls him in front of the canvas so she’s between him and the railing. “You’ve been watching me, so you know what to do.” He has been watching her, but not necessarily for her technique, so he’s a little nervous; he dips the brush in the blue paint but hesitates to make a stroke. “I have faith in you, Aaron. Here.”

She wraps her fingers around his hand, guides him toward the canvas, and together they make a wide, curved line, rounding out the bumper. It doesn’t look half bad.

“It gets easier once you understand the relationship between specific paint, specific brushes, and your hands,” she says softly, and she helps him paint another line. “Are you having fun? You look stressed,” she teases, and he makes it a point to relax his face.

“I’m having a lot of fun,” he says, looking down at her; they make eye contact for a long moment, and she leans a little closer, and he leans a little closer, and then he accidentally dabs a blob of blue onto the canvas. He pulls back, grimaces, deflates. “I made a mistake. You can’t erase paint, right?” She laughs softly, takes the brush from his hand.

“No, you can’t erase paint, but as Mr. Ross would say, ‘There are no mistakes, only happy accidents.’” She gets her fingers close to the tip of the brush, makes a few quick movements, then grabs another brush, dips it in green. When she pulls back, there is a little blue flower growing out of a patch of grass where his blob used to be. He exhales, a little amazed.

“If only the mistakes we make in life were that easy to fix,” he says, and she nods.

“Yeah, that would be nice, but a lot of the time we find a way to turn them into beautiful things eventually. Are you willing to give it another shot?” He says yes, and she guides his hand for a while, then just hovers near it, then just instructs him on what to do. It’s dark before their painting is finished, and she carries it inside to dry, then takes him to the kitchen sink to scrub the paint off of his arm.

“Thanks for having me over; I had a really good time,” he murmurs as she dries his clean skin. She looks up, smiles softly, nods her head.

“I had a really good time too. I’m glad you came over; you’re welcome to join me any time.”

He says goodbye, heads home, looks at his stack of work with a groan, and brews a pot of coffee. He’s in for a long night, but he wouldn’t change his evening for anything. Life is much the same for the next few weeks: school and work, Jack’s art class at the studio a couple times a week, painting on the balcony on the weekend, with and without Jack. When Jack joins them for the first time, she pulls out a big box of markers and thick sheets of paper and he draws elaborate scenes while they talk and paint together. When Aaron makes mistakes, she’s never upset, just turns them into perfect little details that end up being his favorite parts of the paintings.

“What ever happened with your ‘Beauty in the Ordinary’ series?” he asks one evening while they’re painting some ocean waves. “Did I cause you enough trouble with the car to give up?” She looks down at the ground, looks a little shy, then shakes her head and smiles.

“No, you didn’t make me want to give up. I’ve been working on it at the studio. You’ll see it when it’s all done, I plan to hang them there.”

“Looking forward to it,” he tells her, and then Jack tugs on her shorts, shows them the picture he drew of the ocean, too.

Later that week, the team takes a case, and on the day he’s set to come home, Jessica drops Jack off at the studio with the plan that Aaron will pick him up when his flight lands. Due to some weather between where the team is and home, they get a little delayed; he doesn’t want to make Jessica head back out that way almost immediately after dropping him off, but he’s not sure who else he could ask to pick Jack up. It’s almost a stupid length of time before it dawns on him to call the studio.

“Life in Color, this is Alaina.”

“Alaina, hi, this is Jack’s dad—” He has his whole spiel prepared, but she cuts him off.

“Oh, sure, hang on a sec, she’s right here. It’s Jack’s dad,” she says, but it sounds further away, like she’s trying to cover the receiver. After a moment, his neighbor picks up.

“Aaron, hi. Jack said you were working.”

“Yeah, I was, and I’m supposed to pick him up after class, but our flight was delayed.” He doesn’t know how to ask for help with Jack; even with all the time they’ve been spending together, she still makes him a little nervous. Luckily, he doesn’t have to figure that part out on his own.

“Hey, that’s no problem. If it’s okay with you, I’ll just take him home with me. I’ll order pizza, we’ll draw, and you can just stop by when you’re home and pick him up.” He breathes a sigh of relief, runs a hand over the back of his head.

“That would be perfect. Thank you—I’ll owe you one.”

“You don’t owe me anything. Hanging out with your mini me is reward enough; he’s painting something special for you today, won’t let me see it.” That makes him smile, and he feels so warm at the prospect of picking him up from her bright apartment, seeing his artwork, her smile. After a long, draining day like this one, it’s exactly what he needs.

“I’ll have to remain in suspense until tonight, I guess. Can you let him know I said hi? And thank you, I’ll see you later tonight.”

“Of course. We’ll see you then.”

It’s late, after nine, by the time he makes it home. He doesn’t even take his bags inside, just drops them outside his door and knocks softly on hers. She answers with a smile, ushers him in, asks him if he’d like a drink and gets them each a beer.

Jack is in her room, asleep, so they have a little time to chat; she asks about his flight, his case, and he asks about the studio, and she gets a little shy when it comes to that topic, clears her throat.

“Um. I have Jack’s secret project, if you want to see it. He said I could show you.” He’s not sure why that would make her nervous—at least, until he sees it.

The background is all watercolors, a gradient of rainbow colors starting with pink at the top and ending with a soft purple at the bottom. Over that, in black marker, he’s drawn the three of them, with a big heart around them.

“Tonight’s theme was the thing that makes you the happiest, and he said he’s the happiest when the three of us are on the balcony together. It was… really, really sweet.” She looks up at him, brushes a hand over the crown of her head. “If I’m being honest, that’s when I’m the happiest, too.” He takes the picture from her hands, runs his fingers over it, and smiles, feeling a warm ache in his chest—not like before, not like losing someone he’s never really met, but like finding something he never really planned on.

“That’s when I’m the happiest, too,” he agrees, and when he looks up, she looks determined, like she does when trying to find just the right shade of paint. She takes Jack’s picture out of his hand, sets it on the counter, and then pulls him down by the lapels of his suit, kisses him long and slow. His hands move to her waist, keeping her close, and eventually she pauses for breath, looks at him again, and then wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him some more.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you since the first time I saw you—tall and dark and serious, striding out of the elevator. So intriguing, mysterious,” she breathes when they separate again. “I wanted to know everything about you.”

“Are you kidding?” he asks, huffing a laugh. “I’m boring, but you are so vibrant, so full of life; I felt like you were everything I wasn’t, and I wanted to know you so badly.”

“You know me now; would you like to keep getting to know me?” It’s one of the easiest questions he’s ever been asked; he nods, and she beams, and he lifts her into his arms and carries her to the couch, drapes himself over her while she leans back against the cushions, pulling him closer.

They make out like neither of them have a care in the world—god, how long has it been since he’s made out with someone?—her fingers scraping through his hair, his hands on her bare waist when her shirt rides up, and she’s in the process of pushing his jacket off his shoulders when they hear a sound from the other room that startles them apart. Jack.

“I’ll go check on him,” Aaron says, and when he goes into her room Jack is still snuggled up on her bed sound asleep. It looks like some canvases fell over, though, and he stoops to pick them up, then spots the car they painted together. He turns and she’s right behind him, skids to a stop. “I thought you said these were at the studio?”

“They were,” she says, and she looks nervous again. “But I changed my mind about hanging them there. They felt too personal.” He runs his hand over the car and sees where she’s coming from; this one feels personal to him, too.

“Can I see the rest?” he asks. “Only if you want to show me them.”

“You’re the only one I want to show them to,” she says with a soft smile, and she grabs a few more canvases, carries them into the light of the living room. “Beauty in the ordinary, remember.” He remembers, could never forget.

She turns one over, and it’s a kitchen sink, and in the kitchen sink is an orange plate with a fork resting on it—like the plate she’d given him with the pasta on it. She turns one over and it’s a man’s hand, holding a paintbrush, with pale blue paint on his forearm. The next one is a little herb garden on a balcony; the next one is a view from above, of a sandy haired boy with markers all around him. The last one is an open elevator—ripe with possibilities.

When he looks up at her, she’s got tears in her eyes, and one slips down her cheek.

“So, I think I’ve found my good times.” She smiles through her tears, and he takes her face in his hands and kisses the salt from her lips. “I love you,” she says when he pulls back to wipe her face with his sleeve, and he kisses her softly, again and again, and tells her he loves her, too. The next weekend, Jack is at Jessica’s for a sleepover, and Aaron has been enlisted to help with an art project. He walks next door, knocks lightly, and enters the living room; he is met with a very deep, passionate kiss and a smile, and instructions to help move the furniture out of the way.

“I’m really curious what kind of art requires this much floor space,” he says, shoving her couch back against the wall, and she sinks her teeth into her bottom lip, a move he has been unable to resist since she did it the first time they had sex. She knows it’s a weakness, exploits it, and he loves every minute of it.

“You’ll see, but I promise you’re going to like it.” When they clear the floor, she grabs a large, rolled-up fabric canvas and lays it out in the middle of the room, then drops three bottles of paint—one is yellow (jasmine), one is orange (peach), and one is kind of pink (coral? He’s still not sure.)—onto it. “You can obviously say no if you want, but I wanted something over my bed with the sunset colors, and I found this…” She steps closer to him, runs her hands down his chest, guides him down for a kiss so delicious he loses his train of thought. “It’s sex art; we put the paint on the canvas, and on ourselves, and… you know, go at it. What do you think?”

He thinks he really, really loves art now, even more than he thought possible.

“So we have paint-covered sex and then you just hang it on the wall? Like regular art?”

“Yep, I got the supplies I’ll need to hang it; letting it dry will probably take the longest. I figured we could shower while it’s drying, maybe go for round two, if you’re up for it.” She moves her hand to his waist, slips it inside his shorts, and he pulls her closer to his body. “Are you up for it, Aaron?”

That is an understatement.

Undressing happens extremely fast, because this is really sexy and they’re kind of in a phase where they can’t keep their hands off of each other anyway. She pulls her hair up onto the top of her head to try to minimize the amount of paint in it, and then she pours paint on the canvas, turns around and drizzles some on his back and tells him to lay down.

“I think we should probably change positions often so we get a lot of motion on the canvas; I apologize to your old knees in advance,” she teases, but she soothes the sting of her words by pouring paint on herself and then laying between his legs and licking at his dick. “Do some stuff with your hands; I want to see those big handprints on my wall,” she murmurs, and he groans, puts his palms down in the paint and drags them through it.

She leans up a little, sliding her knees through some yellow paint, sucks him fully, deeply into her mouth for couple of minutes, and then stretches forward and puts an orange hand right in the middle of his chest; the look in her eyes is playful, and he reaches out with one finger, hooks it under her chin, and guides her off and up so they can kiss.

“Your turn,” he says with a smirk, and then he gets her onto her back and ducks between her legs, hopes she doesn’t grab for his hair like she usually does. He rubs his pointed tongue over her clit, waits for the mmm it always elicits, and looks up at her, covers each of her breasts with a paint-covered palm and squeezes. “Leave handprints for me,” he leans up and reminds her, kissing her stomach, and she plants her hands, then presses up and grabs his shoulder, smearing pink down his back. “Oh, you wanted more of that?”

“Don’t tease me, the paint will dry,” she whines, and he spreads her thighs wider with his elbows and licks her pussy quickly, until she’s squirming against the canvas and panting for more. “Come here, come here.”

He’s not ready for that, though, paint or not, wants her to come from this; he takes his hands off of her, dips them in the paint again and presses down, then puts his hands under her ass and brings her closer so he can fuck her with his tongue, quick and deep and slick.

“Aaron, Aaron, god.” She slides her hands down his arms, over his neck, digs her nails in when she comes moaning like music.

While she catches her breath, so gorgeous, she sticks her arms out like she’s making a snow angel, and he catches her while she’s off guard and turns her onto her stomach, puts his hands on the smears of paint he’s already left on her ass, and slides inside.

“Oh my god; I was trying to impress you with this sexy art project, but you’re rocking my world.” She’s breathless, pressing back into his thrusts and painting with her entire body. God, he loves her mind.

“You know I always take your projects very seriously,” he says, leaning forward to whisper in her ear, and she groans, laughs.

“Yes you do. From the side? Let’s lay diagonally.” They shift, and he hooks his chin over her shoulder, kisses her neck and huffs hot against her hair. “Hmm, love it like this,” she sighs, and she reaches back to press her hand to his hip, holding him while he moves inside her. “I love you.”

“Love you. I want you to finish on top of me,” he instructs with a wet kiss to her throat, and she nods against his lips.

“Yeah, next; I’m getting close.” A few more strokes and she gets up onto her knees, lets him lay back, propped up on his arms, and climbs on top of him; she kisses him slow and dirty and then runs her hands over him, sits back on his dick and glides up and down. “You wanna come like this too? I owe you a little world rocking,” she says with a flick of her tongue over his bottom lip, and he nods, squeezes her thigh.

“It’s the least you can do after making me move all the heavy furniture.” She rolls her eyes but kisses his chin, down his throat, and bounces harder on him, all delicious eye contact and moans. “Mmm. Just like that, baby, come for me.”

“Fuck. I will, I will.” She wraps a hand around the back of his neck, kisses him kind of rough and with lots of tongue, and then tips her head back and climaxes, clenches, wrings his orgasm out of him so quickly it’s almost jarring. “Oh, yes Aaron. So good,” she mumbles, and then he lays back, out of breath, and she slides out of his lap and lays beside him, out of breath too.

After a moment, she looks over at him, smiles, and swipes a pink fingertip over his cheek.

“This is the hottest thing I’ve ever done with anyone. I’m glad I got to do it with you.” He rolls on top of her, presses a kiss to her nose, and nods.

“Me too. You know,” he adds after a moment, “my bedroom could use some artwork, too.” She grins, wraps her arms around him and squeezes tight.

“You’re right; I think we should do yours in blue: liberty, that’s dark blue; periwinkle, that’s light blue; maybe steel gray, too.”

“You’re the expert. I’m just your paintbrush.” Her hands smooth up his back, and contentment washes over him like a warm breeze.

“Hmm. I like the sound of that. Want to get cleaned up?”

Cleaning up is almost as fun as making the mess, because they’re well and truly covered, and when the canvas dries, the sunset colors are almost as beautiful as the ones she used the first time he ever saw her paint. Taglist ❤️: @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc

[cynettic]

Hey so I just read the Laser Tag AU and maaaan, now I really want to play Splatoon smh aksksjjdjs

Anywayyy my point is: may I request more hcs but with the other boyos (Childe, Albedo, Bennett, Razor, Chongyun, Xingqiu and maybe Aether if you do him too xD)

Laser Tag ( genshin x reader )

Summary - Genshin characters playing laser tag with you their s/o.

Pairings - Reader x Childe/Bennett/Razor/Chongyun/Albedo/Scaramouche

Warnings - Mention of guns and shooting.

A/N - Added in Scaramouche- But I couldn’t think of anything for Xingqiu. I can surprisingly see the majority of the Genshin boys being good at wielding guns, even though they’d probably suck lol

Laser Tag

Childe

Childe is a beast.

Whether it’s in the terrain of his battlefield, or the streets of Liyue playing laser tag, Childe plays to win. He’s always been the competitive type, enjoying the thrill of battle, or in this case, laser tag.

He loves the game.

And of course, you just have to end up on the opposite team as him.

This game is the perfect setup for an enemies to lovers kind of vibe btw. With him shooting at your comrades and eliminating them from left to right, and you doing the same for his team. Very few people stand against him in this game, and his accuracy and sense of battle.

The two of you will spend the entirety of the game playing cat and mouse. Childe chasing after you while you simply escape his sights every time, taking down his teammates while you’re at it.

Childe isn’t as interested in winning, and once you prove to be worthy of a decent laser tag battle, he tries his best to force you to confront him.

Of course you on the other hand take his reckless behaviour to your advantage to turn the game in your favour and strike down his team. You know it’ll piss him off later when you win.

However, it Childe does manage to catch you…

The two of you will fight, that much is obvious. Dodging and attacking him, he will get very into it. Maybe a little too much, but you don’t give in, not until the very end.

Not until he’s on top of you, the two of you toppled over a bunch of hay that cushions your fall when he crashes into you. Not until he’s holding the plastic revolver against your temple, staring straight into your eyes with his signature smirk.

He might sneak a little kiss in there just to throw you off.

But in the end he will make sure he wins, or rather, he eliminates you. He doesn’t care if he doesn’t win the entirety of the game, taking you down was satisfactory enough, and he feels well accomplished and content after.

Would definitely rub it in your face.

If you brush it off as something you didn’t really try in, be prepared to be pinned against the wall and kissed until you admit that you were in fact, doing your best. And yes, he won fair and square.

Bennett

Omg this precious boy-

Bennett will try his hardest, stick by your side and shoot at any approaching target. Considering that the two of you are on the same team, he will promise to protect you.

With one problem.

No matter how well he aims, whether it is going to hit his target or not, the lazer disagrees. Rather, his terrible luck absolutely ruins it and somehow his lazer point ends up somewhere completely else.

“It changed its direction completely!”

Well… you never know, maybe it’s the gun that sends the lazers ray so far off, but considering it’s Bennett, you know it’s no coincidence.

So you end up protecting him.

Dragging him from place to place and shooting down your opponents, the two of you spend your time tripping over random large ass rocks ( with only Bennett’s terrible luck to blame ) and attacking opponents.

You make sure that Bennett is not shot, no matter what. And you give everyone else a terrible glare that basically screams that if they shoot him, they’ll face your wrath.

Nobody shoots Bennett.

By the end of the game, he’ll be grinning ear to ear. And even if he didn’t manage to eliminate anyone, he’ll boast about how his amazing dodging skills pulled him through the game. You’ll agree, lacing an arm around his shoulders and pulling him to the good Hunter to get a good meal.

Just to buy one though, the poor boy can’t cook for his life.

Razor

“Razor… very confused.”

The wolf boy has difficulty with the rules of the game, but the concept of pointing the gun at an opponent and shooting them with a lazer isn’t too hard to grasp.

You find out very quickly that Razor is actually pretty good with aim.

His hands don’t shake for one, and he is so adept to his surroundings that people struggle finding the source of their depleting health. Despite being overall confused at how to play, Razor easily becomes one of the main players taking opponents down.

As someone on his team, he makes sure to keep you by his side the entire time. He understands the elimination part, and he doesn’t want his lupical to get taken out, even if it’s a game.

He can be oddly affectionate at certain times, pushing your face against his chest as he takes out the remaining players in the field you both are in. He will carry you, and take no hesitation when pulling you out of the way, even if it’s a little too rough.

When the game ends, it might take a while to explain to the poor boy that your team won. And that it was a good thing.

Razor will begin to smile when he notices how content you are with it.

Chongyun

This man has the audacity to wield a gun while licking his ‘popsicle.’

Like goddamnit Chongyun, being good at shooting is already a flex, you don’t have to nibble at your popsicle while you’re at it.

You can’t really blame him though, it’s hot outside, and with the sun beaming down on the poor boy's head you know he can’t stand it. Especially with all the adrenaline and yells from opposing teams.

As someone on the same team as him, you take on the job of Chongyun’s personal popsicle restocker, and shooting anyone down once he gets tired. As good as the boy is at shooting, he sucks at keeping himself unknown to the other players.

So you take on the job to make sure they don’t shoot him down.

The two of you are a good team, and if it gets too hot, Chongyun might even let you have one of his popsicles. Of course you don’t have his talent of being able to shoot while having a popsicle in your mouth-

Your team will end up losing though, and even though Chongyun isn’t bothered, he will be slightly worried if you care. The two of you were obviously trying your best, and as long as you both had fun that’s all that matters to him.

But if it really bothers you that much…

He knows you feel comforted by physical contact, so he’ll hold your hand and offer a comforting smile. Tell you that you played well, and that he had fun.

That cheers you up right away.

Kiss him on the cheek please, even though he will flinch at the contact, his cheeks are flushed red and he won’t admit it. But he likes it.

Albedo

Why is it so easy to picture Albedo as a hot sexy stoic mafioso wielding a gun?

Anyways, Albedo is terribly good at wielding a gun. So good at that he only holds the plastic revolver with one hand, never missing a shot as he walks down the streets of Monstadt.

He knows the area well, so good luck trying to sneak up on him. The way his eyes so carelessly sweep the buildings, it hardly looks like he’s trying. Eliminating players with his lasers as he mindlessly strides past the fountain.

Of course, you’re against him.

Albedo isn’t really motivated to play, he’d rather be in his lab experimenting or recording down his discoveries. But he was dragged into this mess, he might as well play his part and support his team.

Albedo won’t hesitate to shoot at you and take you down.

As much as you may be important to you, he plays this game fair and square. He will take you down, or rather, he will try, because you get creative :)

He knows Monstadt well, but he can’t possibly keep his eye on all angles around him. So you’ll aim for his blind spots, throw yourself at him and tackle him to the ground. Simply eliminating him isnt satisfying enough, you need more.

So you turn this into a little game to fluster him.

Tackle him and pin him down, watch him scramble for the gun and then give him a peck on the lips. Watch as his grip loosens, and one of his hands instinctively come to nestle against your hair to pull you closer, and then you pull away.

Watching his idle confusement turn into a light blush on his cheeks is just too good, and how he grows even redder when you start laughing is even better.

Of course his team wins, not that he cares.

The minute the game ends he’s back in his office, conducting experiments. You can go interrupt him though, sneak into his office and press a kiss against his neck. He doesn’t often react or do much to it, but after your linger kiss at the game, he will pull you close and sit you on his lap. Have a proper make out session after you left him hanging with that peck earlier ;)

Scaramouche

This little man is ‘terrifying’.

It’s scary enough that whether you’re against him or on the same team as him, you keep your distance.

“Are you avoiding me Y/n?”

You play on the same team, and even if he’s your boyfriend, you know better than to stay too close when it comes to battle. He shows his cruelty, and you really weren’t looking forward to be put in the middle of that.

‘Unfortunately you didn’t have a choice-‘

Scaramouche will literally drag you, a hand looped around your waist to tug you to his side and take you along with him as he takes down opponents after opponents. He doesn’t ask for your praise, but you still give him it knowing he appreciates it. Mentally.

When he’s tired or bored, he will lean his head on your shoulder, wait there for a bit before jumping back up and shooting a random straggler on the sides. Heavens knows how the boy knows he was there, it’s like he has some sixth sense.

We don’t even want to get into his accuracy and precision, Scaramouche is born a mafioso.

At the end when your team wins, no surprise, give him a hug. Tell him he did well and even if he tries to push away, hold him tight. Even though he could easily pull your arms away if he wanted to, he’ll just pretend to give a little struggle and then give in to your warmth.

[favoniuscodex]

modern!au headcanons [ diluc, kaeya ]

prompt: domestic modern!au headcanons for diluc and kaeya, as requested by anon pairing: diluc x gn!reader, kaeya x gn!reader warnings: none, sfw word count: ~1.3k words

a/n: hhhh love this concept,,, headcanons are super easy for me to grind out too <333 thank u for the request, nonnie! these are just a random assortment, i hope that’s okay! why was i struggling not to make these nsfw

diluc

probably pretty busy and lives in the city. you’re more than welcome to stay at his place if you want, but he realizes that his luxurious apartment can get pretty lonely if he’s not there

is very apologetic on the nights he comes home late (which is most of them). but, you get to lay in bed and watch him take off his shirt and tie as he changes into his pajamas, so you’re never frustrated for too long.

just wants to cuddle and watch movies whenever he has downtime with you after work. he works a lot :( just take it easy with him

probably has a chef that will cook for the two of you, but also doesn’t really like people crawling around his apartment when he’s there (aside from you, of course)

he’s rich. that’s what i’m trying to say.

definitely dresses in suits every day for work, but has a pretty decent fashion sense outside of work. he works the expensive-looking, all black outfits. likes to match with you, but won’t outright say so unless if you ask.

likely adores the concept of those heartbeat bracelets? it just seems something he would be super into.

also has flowers delivered to your workplace if you’re comfortable with him doing such a thing.

he tries to make time once a week to have lunch with you, but you’ll likely have to come to his office if you want to do so. he always pays for the meal in return!

he likely worked seven days a week until the two of you got super serious. if you have a specific day of the week off, guess what? so does he now.

very much a cuddlebug. his favorite way to spend a lazy saturday morning, when he’s able to, is to stay in bed with you until 1pm.

he’s pretty introverted, but you’re one of the few people that doesn’t tire him out, so diluc’s absolutely enamored with you.

he’s not overprotective per se, but he knows how nasty people can be and he worries. if you’re working late, even if he’s not home, he appreciates a text whenever you get home for peace of mind. he’ll always text you when he’s working late, too!

speaking of texting, he’s probably very formal in texts. you could be like “ilysm, you’re so cute aaaaaaaa” and he would be like “Thank you. I love you too. I will be home later.”

uses emojis on rare occasions. it’s always just a smiley face or something simple. doesn’t really understand memes if you send them to him, but he’ll laugh anyways if it makes you happy. doesn’t really understand text slang or acronyms either.

diluc secretly likes if you send cute animal pictures or videos to him while he’s at work. if the two of you have a pet together, sending pictures of that pet would make him absolutely melt.

he also enjoys receiving selfies of you! he’ll often time text compliments that are often too brazen to say irl. things like Your eyes catch the sunlight and glow like gemstones. in that picture or You look adorable. I hope you are having fun! if you text him a picture of you out at lunch with friends.

he might suck at texting, but messages from you give him a brief reprieve from work ;;;

likes to cook with you. if you don’t know how, he’ll make time to take cooking classes with you. he finds it romantic.

also likes to drive when the two of you are in the car together. sure, it’s partially because he’s the owner of a nice car, but he primarily does it for one reason: to see your flustered face when he puts his arm behind your headrest when he turns to check that it’s okay to back the car up. who cares if his car has a backup camera? he’s going to do it anyways.

kaeya

kaeya is less busy than diluc when it comes to work schedule. he more or less has the 40-50 hour work week and can relax on the weekends. much more of a stable schedule than his brother!

which means, of course, more kaeya time.

if you’re working late, he WILL make you dinner. he’s big on doing little things for his s/o and he LOVES the way your eyes light up when you see cooking, especially his cooking, waiting for you when you get home.

he prefers to go on dates outside of the house! the two of you take turns planning dates and he likes to get creative with his. there’s an old retro arcade in the city? he’s taking you there. a cute little speakeasy nestled into a newer part of town? kaeya will surprise you with it.

kaeya 100% gives me art museum vibes. surprisingly, he gets flustered when you say that he’s prettier than the paintings that line the walls.

SUPER big on fashion. have you seen how he makes his knight uniform look good? yeah. 100% is a fashionista and rocks it. will also help you with your wardrobe if you’re not confident in it!

seems like a guy who would actually like to go shopping. if you don’t go shopping with him, expect a bunch of selfies of him in the dressing room mirror asking if outfits look good.

wayyyy less of a formal texter than diluc but definitely is probably bad at responding to texts. he’ll see your texts, register them in his head, and be like “i will respond to that in a second!” then immediately gets distracted and forgets

so yeah, he leaves you on read a lot :( not intentionally !!! he’s apologetic when he does for too long.

prefers if you drive because he’s too busy trying to show off that he knows all of the lyrics to your joint playlist on spotify. yes, he’s even memorized the songs you added, if only to flex.

when the two of you go out drinking, a lot of times it’s not together. you go with your friends and he goes with his, but the two of you text each other throughout the night to ensure the other’s safety. it’s one of the few times he ensures that he doesn’t leave you on read.

when the two of you first move in with each other, he gets excited to buy new furniture with you and eagerly looks forward to all of the simple little tasks the two of you will have to complete in order to move in with each other.

plasters you all over his social media. probably loses a lot of followers because of it (after all, he’s a hot guy who is no longer single) but still posts you incessantly, as long as you’re comfortable with it. he doesn’t really care about anyone else.

will start talking about how awesome you are to girls/guys who try to slide into his dms. it scares them off.

he adores your cooking, even if you’re godawful at it. to him, anything you cook is a five star meal! he’s very supportive of everything you do, even if you’re objectively bad at it

surprisingly likes to play board games? i feel like he would be a chess guy, but monopoly and the likes are fun to him. he’s not the best at video games, but he’ll be effortlessly good at mariokart. it’s almost infuriating the way he stays completely calm throughout every game, win or lose.

very much an impromptu kind of guy when it comes to romance while diluc is more of a planner. kaeya figures the best moments to sweep you off your feet are when you aren’t expecting it!

[accioxreparo]

entranced | f.w.

synopsis: Fred finds himself taking a different approach to get your attention. Little does he know he already has it. 

pairing: Fred Weasley x reader

warnings: none!

a/n: This idea is straight from the discord chat earlier with my babes! This concept is honestly so amazing and completely inspired by @levylovegood​ and also this picture so hopefully I did it justice 😭💖

The Gryffindor table was uncharacteristically silent as Fred Weasley approached late for breakfast. That was typical though. More often than not he was rushing in right before classes started and just as quickly rushing back out.

What was unusual though, and the source of everybody’s shock, was the pair of glasses framing his face. Glasses he didn’t need. Glasses nobody was sure even belonged to him.

“What?” Fred barely acknowledged them as he started putting food on his plate. “What’s with the staring?”

“What’s with -” Ginny let out a heavy sigh as she shared a glance with her siblings, every one of which was just as confused as she was. “What are you wearing those for?”

“Wearing what for?”

“Those obviously!” George reached across the table and flicked the frame of the glasses, skewing them sideways on Fred’s face. He ducked out of the way before he could retaliate. “Didn’t even know you owned any glasses.”

“Well I do,” Fred answered easily. Now that he was looking up he couldn’t help himself. His eyes scanned the Great Hall until he found you hunched over a book and scribbling something on some parchment.

“Well yeah but what for?” Ron frowned through a mouthful of food.

“To see, Ronniekins,” Fred looked away from you quickly when you glanced up abruptly, almost immediately looking right at him. “That’s what most people use them for.”

“Yeah but that’s not what you need them for,” Ron was oblivious to the fact that Fred wasn’t paying him any attention. His gaze had gone back to you the second you went back to your reading. “Think one of us would’ve noticed if you really needed them.”

“Spill it,” Ginny leaned forward while narrowing her eyes. “I can almost guarantee you didn’t own those before last night. Now why do you need them?”

“Need what?”

A groan resounded between the three siblings, each of them coming to the realization that Fred was paying absolutely zero attention to their conversation.

“Okay new question,” George kicked Fred underneath the table, forcing him to look their way again. “What’s got you so -”

But before he could get the question all the way out Fred threw back his goblet of pumpkin juice and practically tripped over himself getting up from the table. “I’ll see you guys later.”

“Well that was something.” Ron shook his head, staring at the empty spot his brother had just left.

Ginny nodded towards the entrance of the Great Hall where Fred had stopped, apparently finding one of the suits of armor very interesting. “Look at that.”

“Makes sense now,” George only shook his head as the three of them watched Fred wait a few seconds after you had left the Great Hall to follow you. “McGonagall changed our seats in Transfiguration the other day and since then our dear Freddie’s been infatuated with none other than Y/N Y/L/N. Has a perfect view of her from where he sits now.”

“You’re kidding,” Ron couldn’t help but scoff at the revelation. “She’s top of her class, always in the library. There’s no way she’d even give Fred the time of day.”

“Maybe that’s why he likes her,” Ginny shrugged, going back to her own breakfast. “Or why he’s intrigued at the very least.”

George hummed before a smirk flashed on his face, leaning in towards his younger siblings a little more. “Place your bets, kids. Do we think Fred’s little glasses plan is going to work or not?”

*

You tried your hardest not to stare, you really did.

Of course you’d noticed Fred Weasley of all people hanging around you for the past week or so, who wouldn’t? The fact that he happened to go out of his way a little to talk to you meant absolutely nothing at all though, you’d convinced yourself of that. Especially not when you knew you’d stuttered through practically every conversation you’d had with him so far.

Finally you thought maybe, just maybe, you were getting somewhere. Maybe you could work up the courage to say more than a few words to him next time you spoke. But then you caught sight of the glasses sitting comfortably on the bridge of Fred’s nose. They framed his face perfectly and it really wasn’t fair how they somehow made his eyes shine more than they usually did.

Any kind of coherent thought you were able to form left your brain when you laid eyes on him from across the classroom.

This really wasn’t you. You were smart, you knew that for a fact. Sure you mostly kept to yourself but there wasn’t a single time you hadn’t been able to think of a quick comeback, even if it was only muttered to yourself underneath your breath. That was how all of this had started after all.

He’d overheard a particularly hilarious quip during Potions one day and his burst of laughter had earned him a detention. He had promised you he didn’t mind when you fumbled your way through a quick apology the next day.

Now, though, you were speechless at the mere sight of him because how was it possible for one human to look that good? It didn’t help that you quite literally had the perfect view of him from across the transfiguration room. You weren’t sure how you hadn’t noticed him in his glasses before. Had he even worn them before?

Just as you were about to search your memories for any kind of recollection of Fred and his glasses you were interrupted. It was then you realized that you were openly staring at him, and apparently not very subtly.

“Would you like to tell the class what it is you find so interesting, Miss Y/L/N?”

You weren’t sure how long Professor McGonagall had been standing there or what answer she expected of you. Before you could say anything she turned around and took a few steps, effectively blocking your site of the very person you’d been distracted by.

“What about you, Mr. Weasley? You seem to be just as distracted.”

Fred, for once, seemed to also be at a loss for words. He’d barely managed to blink owlishly and start with the beginning of an excuse before he was shushed again. McGonagall looked between the two of you for a moment before pursing her lips. “Detention tonight, both of you.”

Frankly, you were too scared to argue. So instead you turned back towards the very thing that had been the cause of your distraction only to find him already looking at you. You could feel the heat rush to your face when Fred offered you a smile as he pushed the glasses up his face a little and mouthed, this should be fun.

*

Much to your surprise, you were in fact not the first one to reach the transfiguration room at exactly seven o’clock that night. Fred pushed himself off the wall immediately upon seeing you walking his way, a look on his face you couldn’t quite read.

“And here I was thinking you were going to ditch me.”

“I think,” You gulped as you looked anywhere but at him. He was still wearing his glasses and you were positive you’d get distracted again if you looked at him for too long. “I think I’d just get another detention if I did that.”

Fred, on the other hand, was looking right at you with a small smile playing on his lips. This detention was more than worth it in his eyes, especially if it meant getting to spend an hour alone with you. Well almost alone anyway. You were fidgeting a little too much though, something he noticed rather easily. “Is this your first one?”

“First what?”

“Detention.”

You frowned then, stopping your nervous movements and looking up at his towering figure. “Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know really,” Fred shrugged and couldn’t but smile at the sight of you looking at him curiously, head tipped to the side and arms crossed in front of you. “Maybe it’s just cause you’re always so quiet.” The memory of you cursing at Snape under your breath a couple weeks ago made him laugh suddenly. “You do have a mouth on you, though, don’t you?”

You knew what he was referring to immediately and a flush spread across your face once more. “I’m sorry about that, again”

“Don’t worry about it,” Fred leaned against the wall again and slid down until he was sitting on the floor. “So is it?”

“No,” With a sigh you followed his movements and sat down cross legged next to him. “Though I guarantee my reasons probably aren’t as fun as yours.”

“Try me,” Fred turned then so he was facing you, a cheeky smile playing on his lips. “You first.”

Slowly your nerves started fading away. Your gaze however stayed focused on the wall in front of you. “Fine, One was for ditching History of Magic to read in one of the broom cupboards.”

“Well aren’t you a little rebel.”

“Oh always,” That comment made you laugh. You could hear the grin in his voice and finally worked up the nerve to look at him, trying your hardest to focus on the conversation and not on the way his school robes had been abandoned and the sleeves of his button up shirt rolled up his arms. “Now your turn.”

Talking to Fred came easier than you thought it would. A couple well timed jokes had you relaxing completely and soon enough the two of you were laughing together right there, sitting on the floor in a random hallway.

The reason behind you being there had slipped your mind completely. That is until you noticed Professor McGonagall walking down the hallway. Both of you scrambled up from the floor, simultaneously recalling the fact that you had detention.

“Professor,” You nodded and quickly straightened out your clothes.

Fred, meanwhile, gave a smirk as he leaned against the wall once more. “You know I think we ought to give you detention for keeping us waiting, Professor.”  

“Did neither of you get my owl?” McGonagall ignored the comment as she moved to unlock the door to her office.

You turned to look at Fred, both of you sharing a confused look. “Owl?”

“Your detention was cancelled,” Once the door was unlocked she stood in the doorway and glanced between the two of you. You didn’t miss the ghost of a smile that flashed on her face. “Though I suppose it’s just as well. The two of you two certainly got to know each other better. Perhaps you can now find it in yourselves to keep the staring to a minimum in my class.”

Then without another word she walked into the room and shut the door behind her.

Your stare was blank as you glanced quickly between the office, Fred, and the spot Professor McGonagall once stood. “Did she -”

Fred chuckled again and followed as you started walking down the hallway towards your common room. “Did she what? Trick us into going on a first date? I think so.”

You weren’t able to keep the grin off your face as you shook your head a little. “It was not a first date. It was talking.”

“Is that so?”

“It is.”

“Well in that case how about this weekend? We can try not to get ourselves another detention while sneaking out to Hogsmeade.” Fred stopped when you did and couldn’t help but notice the surprised look on your face, one that faded quickly. “How about it?”

“I’ll agree if you tell me one thing, first.” You challenged, eyes narrowing and arms crossing as you stared directly at him for the first time.

“Anything.” Fred’s answer was just as confident.

Your eyes flickered across his face, taking in the sight of him wearing those glasses just as you had earlier. “You’ve never worn those before have you?”

A beat passed and Fred knew he’d been caught. You could see right through him. “Yes I have.”

“No you haven’t,” Your arms fell to your sides, being able to see his hesitation clearly. “I’d remember.”

“And why is that?”

“Because you look good in them.”

“Do I?” Fred chuckled when your eyes widened at your own comment. One you evidently you hadn’t meant to actually tell him. “Since we’re confessing I suppose I should tell you that you’re right.”

“I knew it!” You were quick to respond and nod in satisfaction. “What are you wearing those for then?”

For a moment Fred only looked at you. This wasn’t where he’d seen his day going. Maybe some more pining, wondering if you’d noticed him at all. Now that he was here beside you, both of you apparently smitten enough with each other for one of your professors to meddle, he was ecstatic. “I’ll tell you but you’re not allowed to laugh at me.”

“I promise I won’t.”

“Fine,” Fred started walking down the hall again but stayed focused on you to see what your reaction would be. “I thought they’d make you notice me more since you always seemed to be avoiding me.”

You tried not to smile, you really did. But the corners of your mouth started turning upwards and Fred stopped again, not being able to resist grinning along with you. “You said you wouldn’t laugh!”

“I’m not!” A laugh really did escape you then and you quickly put a hand over your mouth to muffle the sound. You looked up at him then, a little more serious. “I swear I’m not laughing at you. I just think it’s cute.”

“Well I’m glad you think so cause I quite like these. Think I look rather dashing.” Fred pushed the glasses up a little bit from where they’d slipped and smirked. “And apparently you agree since the whole reason we’re here is your staring.”

“Hey, both of us were staring, thank you very much.”

“Well I couldn’t help myself, darling. You’re entrancing, you know.”

“Entrancing,” You repeated the word and your grin softened, looking away as butterflies formed in your stomach. “Is that right?”

“It is,” Fred gave a firm nod, giving you no room to argue. “You’re beautiful, love, you must know that.”

When you dared to look at him he was smiling at you, a completely genuine sparkle in his eyes as he looked only at you. You weren’t sure yet what the warm feeling that erupted in your chest and fluttered through your body at the sight of his gaze trained on you was. He was looking at you like you were the world and it overwhelmed you with emotions you couldn’t quite pinpoint.

Fred on the other hand? You were positive he was definitely somebody you could get used to. Him and his smile that never faded. Him and his laugh that was practically infectious. Him and his eyes that were full of life, showed you entire worlds, and sat behind a pair of glasses he didn’t need.

“Thank you,” You couldn’t help but beam back at him, a flash of confidence suddenly coursing through your veins. “So are you.”

[tomatograter]

Do you think Dirk saying that he doesn't like to label himself as gay means he has internalized homophobia? Or does he really just don't like to put labels on himself? I've seen ppl saying it's homophobia but there's ppl in real life that don't feel comfortable with labels so I'm a bit confused honestly, cus we are talking about Dirk and he's... Dirk after all

Easy answer: Dirk is Gay.

Prolonged answer: I think it's kinda weird how some fandom discussion around "Dirk dodging the label in One pesterlog" has largely spiraled way outside of its original context to be talked about in a vacuum, especially when that context is crucial to understanding what is actually being said, AKA — it belongs to a deeply awkward conversation between Dirk and Roxy. One of Many they are implied to have had about the subject of Roxy's sustained, unwelcome, and oft drunken advances towards Dirk (& his splinters).

I'm going to reproduce it plus another bit of text down below, for the sake of comparison.

(To prevent the trickster text from looking like absolute shit, I have altered the background. Read the original here, if you're nasty: https://www.homestuck.com/story/5754 )

Now that we've been reacquainted with how and where that sentiment is expressed, let's try to break down what Dirk is doing here.

He is not receptive to Roxy's early advances, and spends most of the 'intro' for this conversation (not pictured) ignoring when Roxy flirts with him, until she gets upset at how 'boring' he is being right now.

Dirk is the one compelled to apologize.

He proceeds to shut the scenario down as an unwanted probability, eliciting further guilt-babbling from Roxy over how Dirk never wants to play along with the perfect traditional family fantasy, until she finally blows up and says it's because he's gay.

"I mean, yeah, that's what I thought."

Dirk, rather than saying I Am Not Gay, since he looooooves changing a conversational subject, claims that "Gay" is not entirely historically appropriate for this situation, given the non-negligible passage of time and the wildly dystopic circumstances* they find themselves in.

Dirk reassures Roxy he does still care about her.

Dirk is absolutely terrified of a similarly inclined (and intoxicated) Roxy up close. This is the most exclamations he's ever used.

Now, *These circumstances? The loss of 99% of the human race, including their society, customs, culture, and prejudices. (ALLEGEDLY.) It's important to remember that from Dirk and Roxy's side of the timetable, troll culture has been pushed as "the norm" for actual fucking centuries. HIC tried to recreate the caste system by artificially coloring human blood, leading to the death of billions. Faygo came out of the water tap, not water. Troll slang was incorporated into the English language. Humans ceased to organically reproduce. They were actively Discouraged from reproducing, since that's not something HIC could have total genetic control over; rendering traditional marriage and the concept of the nuclear family pointless.

You could also argue that same-gender relationships are not uncommon in Alternia, making "gay" altogether unnecessary by proxy, and that's true! But my point is this one: any union (or at least our society's holy concept of it) between straightie humans would be by definition undesirable under HIC's rule, too. She is the church, the president and the governing body. The population is only as good as they are assets for her to do whatever she wants with, including mass murder.

But wait! While that tracks… Roxy clearly still holds onto very 'conservative' definitions of romance for most of Homestuck. We see this multiple times. Dirk, as proved in conversations with Jake, uses 'gay' as an ironic pejorative. Suddenly it's not Historically Inaccurate anymore, Jake's interests are just gay.

Does this mean the context above is basically worthless, since they don't seem to have internalized it? No.

What must be kept in mind is this: Dirk and Roxy's only "active" link to de facto humanity is our society as it was in the early 2010's. Those glimpses they get by talking with jane and jake. They have all that dystopic context, yes, but the reality that seems the most "unfucked" to them for a grand majority of their lives are the halcyon years before the Condesce's rise to power: back when weed was illegal, BlogSpot was popular, movies sucked, MTV was still a hip channel, and gay generally meant something real bad. The wave of homophobia as a punchline or fear mongering tactic was at THE HEIGHTS. Marriage equality was a hot debate topic. Those were the dayz.

Dirk is keenly aware of the taboo implication the word "Gay" as a self-denomination carries. He's no dummy. But he's rarely direct with his intentions either. He's slippery as a bar of soap. (He's never "straight about his feelings", if you prefer.) And for a guy that cares so much about his reputation and maintaining a curated sense of utter coolness, he wants to avoid outing himself as any sort of weirdo no matter the cost.

But that's not all. I think the gravity of just how much Dirk believes he *owes* Roxy simply for existing as the last human in the same timeframe as her is a severely underplayed aspect of Dirk's core character, together with how much he tries to avoid her sexual advances only to end up feeling like absolute shit over it, because — if they truly are the last people on god's blighted earth, isn't he being "selfish" and "irrational" about not feeling shit for Roxy, in the grand scale of things? Is Roxy not his only friend in tangible reality, even if he avoids the mere suggestion of visiting her? Even if she gets black-out drunk and tries to push him into indulging her, regardless of how many times he's already said no?

(Spend enough time here and you realize how it directly mirrors the jane/jake experience.)

Dirk cares a lot about each and every one of his friends.

He pointedly adapts his speech based on whichever one of them he's talking to in an effort to express that investment. May it be reassuring Jane, fooling around with Jake, or trying to prevent Roxy from falling into a total catatonic doom-spiral; he avoids telling them anything that would be too crushing to hear. That's not what he's trying to do here. Not to say that he isn't bitchy sometimes, but that’s far from the central thing he does. The Epilogues have retroactively led people to believe that Dirk abhors and despises every single person he's ever been close to before (god forbid) LIKING them, and I think buying too much into that assumption ignores the foundations of his canon text, as well as the central motivation behind 99% of his actions in the story. This is the guy that grew up on Friendship Is Magic, has a picture of rainbow dash shamefully glued to one wall and a rainbow poster of Jake's symbol stapled to another, and everything he does is a little cringe attempt to demonstrate his worth by showing how much he cares about people, even when he's punching his actual feelings down instead of up and saying them.

Which brings us back to the load-bearing part of this question: Admitting to Roxy that there is absolutely no fucking way he will ever agree to having her babbys because he is gay is precisely the opposite of what Dirk wants to say, if his intention isn't pulverizing her. So he doesn't. And his worry on this regard is such that it prevents Dirk from even telling Roxy that he does love her, in the platonic sense, as a friend and hell-earth survivor, because he knows that specificity is what that would disappoint her greatly. (He only ever confesses this to Jane, on the death slabs.)

But also I think this is a really funny visual of Dirk's relationship with the word gay, to put statements into perspective:

[holden-caulfield]

For a Draco x reader, I don’t know if this plot is good or not. But it is just an idea that I have and if you feel like writing it I would be very happy because I really do like your work. So maybe something like Draco and reader started to slowly become friends and then hang out more and more. Draco feels happy with her and fall for her. He writes a letter to his mother telling all about a girl he met and how happy she makes him. Then Narcissa writes a letter to the reader and thanking her for making her son happy and she really hope to meet her soon. Reader is just confused and then go and look for Draco. He later then just confess his feeling for her and she feels the same. Would love to if you also wrote when the reader actually met Draco’s family and they all liked her a lot.

I'm honored to know you like my work, thank you sweetheart! Hope you'll like this one too!! I'm not sure this is what you wanted but i liked the concept of the flashbacks so i went with that :)

Perfect For Each Other

↪︎ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

SUMMARY: reader is about to meet draco's parents while recalling how she ended up there in the first place.

WARNINGS: i'm pretty sure there's none, flashbacks are in cursive. also, i'm actually quite proud of this one?? yeah.

WORD COUNT: 1378

//

How it all started. You would have never expected it honestly, to find yourself in front of Malfoy Manor, wearing your best dress to make a good impression, waiting to finally meet the mysterious parents of your boyfriend.

Draco had talked about them countless times, but you hadn't met them yet. Perhaps it was the lack of time, perhaps it was the fear that made you decline invite after invite, but Draco wanted you to be sure and waited. For you.

He always did, he always waited for you. That's one of the things you loved about him.

He always waited for you after class, when everyone else had already run towards the great hall to eat. He stood near the entrance, lazily leaning on the wall outside with his bag hanging over his shoulder. A small grin always spreading on his face whenever you would join him to go to lunch together.

He hadn't always been like this however, it took sometime, but oh boy was it worth it. He slowly opened up to you until you knew more about him than himself. You started hanging out together after class and during, which wasn't very appreciated by all the professors who constantly reprimanded the both of you.

But you couldn't care less, not when you loved him so much. Love, how weird. Were you really in love with your friend? Or was it just friendship, a really strong and fierce friendship?

You knocked on the door of the great mansion, Draco beside you hugging your side gently, squeezing lightly to relieve your nerves. You appreciated the gesture, but it wasn't enough sadly.

The door revealed a beautiful woman, her eyes matching Draco's perfectly, displaying a certain affection you would have never expected from a stranger.

Draco wasn't known to be very open with anyone; he only spoke with you, but only when he deemed it utterly necessary. Only with you and that made you feel special, or so you thought.

You slackly woke up and took your sweet time getting ready, it was saturday after all and that meant only one thing: relax.

You descended the stairs to the common room, finding it unsurprisingly empty. Even if you slept in, you were one of the first to wake up. You made your way to the great hall and made yourself comfortable at your usual seat.

The morning post arrived and, even though you hadn't expected anything, you saw a big elegant owl approaching you with a white envelope in its beak.

You took it carefully and let the owl take some of your breakfast from your plate before taking off again. As you opened it, you noticed the refined lining and the faint smell of vanilla it emanated.

Dear y/n,

my dear Draco has told me a lot about you, my name is Narcissa Malfoy, Draco's mother. I'm so glad to know there is someone there so close to him, that can guide him and be there whenever he needs.

I want to formerly thank you and wish you two the best, hopefully Draco won't annoy you too much. I know how he can be at times, but from what i've heard, i know you two will be perfect for each other.

Please take care and take care of him for me,

Narcissa Malfoy

You read the tiny sophisticated handwriting with an ever-growing smile on your lips, until a thought dawned on you: 'perfect for each other'.

What did she mean by that? What had Draco told her that he hadn't told you? Too many thoughts were running freely in your head to notice the hall slowly filling up.

"Hey, good morning. What do you have there?" a voice suddenly brought you out of your trance and, almost instinctively, you folded the letter in your hands.

"Nothing, just mail." you said innocently. You weren't sure whether you should have told him or not. If he really did feel something for you other than friendly affection, he should have told you. When he was ready.

Maybe you had just misinterpreted it, or maybe Narcissa did, nevertheless you wouldn't certainly have told him anything about it.

He eyed the letter, unconvinced, but sat down next to you nevertheless. As he did that, you immediately sprang up, startling him and everyone else at the table.

"I'd better go, many things to do!" you excused yourself and walked, rather quickly, out of the hall, trying to block out all of the confused gazes on you.

Your feet kept a steady pace as you reached the grounds, looking for a silent spot where to really think about the letter you had just received.

You re-read the letter, your eyes always freezing on the same spot: 'perfect for each other'. You started pacing back and forth until you got interrupted, once more.

"Has something happened, y/n?"

Narcissa greeted you cheerily, a polite smile imprinted on her face as she hugged Draco and then you, with such warmth you felt instantly at home.

"It's such a pleasure to finally meet you, y/n. Last time I had heard of you was so long ago, although Draco still tells me everything about you." Draco smiled bashfully as Narcissa led the two of you in the living room, "Maybe i should have just written you, but after last time, I wasn't sure..."

You shook your head quickly as you gazed into his grey eyes, worry etched into them.

"What is that?" Draco pointed to the letter again and you hid it behind your back, keeping your eyes on him. "You can tell me, y/n, you know you can."

You weighed your choices and decided it was better to tell him the truth, whatever the consequences.

"It's... it's your mother, she has sent me a letter..." Draco's usually light eyes darkened as something you couldn't quite place took over in his face.

"What did she say? Did she threaten you? That doesn't sound like mother but-"

"What?! No! No, nothing of that sort!" you quickly reassured him, "It's... she said you told her about... me."

Draco relaxed immediately only to tense up again a second after.

"And what did she say?"

"I need to ask you something, Draco." Draco gulped but didn't stop looking at you, nodding for you to go on, "What are we?"

Draco furrowed his brows at the question, letting a small nervous chuckle escape his lips, "Friends, aren't we?"

"And what would you like us to be?"

He stiffened even more, not sure what his answer should have been, truthful and potentially fatal or a lie.

"I think- I know I love you, y/n. Possibly more than a friend." you tried to stifle a smile but it was impossible and ran into his arms, startling him for the second time that day.

He hugged you back almost instantly, happiness flooding his senses at your unexpected reaction.

"Thank merlin, because i think i do too, you know?"

That was the start of it all, everything thanks to Narcissa, the woman you were now following through the huge halls of the manor.

You now knew Draco loved you, but meeting his parents, knowing they could have disapproved, still made your heart beat faster than usual and your hands clench around Draco's.

You reached an enormous room, with an expensive-looking couch in the middle and a few armchairs surrounding it. One of them was occupied by a blond man, uncannily similar to the man whose hand you were currently holding onto for dear life.

"Good morning, you must be y/n." he greeted, standing up from the chair and taking a few steps forward, extending the hand that wasn't holding his cane.

"Good morning, it's a pleasure meeting you mr Malfoy!" you shook his hand, trying to hide your excitement and, most of all, your fear.

"Draco told us about you, i must say you are quite different from how he pictured you." Draco squeezed your hand and you felt slightly better despite the horrible first impression you had just made with his father, "You are certainly prettier than what he told us."

You giggled lightly as Narcissa offered to take the conversation to the dining room. Draco hugged your shoulders while making your way towards the table and one of the nicest evening you ever had.

Narcissa was indeed right, you were perfect for each other.

//

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[arrowflier]

i wish you would write them househunting 😏 🍅 🐕

"Don't see why we gotta move anyway, man," Mickey complains again as they hop off the L near their destination. He shoulders past a woman staring at her phone who doesn't move fast enough, flipping her off when she shouts after him. It's hard enough keeping up with Ian's long damn legs without people getting in his way.

"You're the one that doesn't like our place, Mick," Ian reminds him, and Mickey scowls. There's no way Ian can see it, still being a step ahead, but somehow he knows.

"And don't scowl about it, you big baby, you know it's true," Ian adds. They're separated again before Mickey can respond, a gaggle of teenagers wandering obliviously between them.

When the space clears again, Ian is there waiting for him, hand outstretched with an expectant look in his eyes. Mickey sighs.

"I'm not a fuckin' toddler, man," he grumbles, but he takes his husband's hand all the same. "And I like our place just fine."

Ian snorts as he starts walking again, pulling Mickey along at a pace more friendly to his shorter stride.

"Sure," he agrees, "You love it. And I definitely didn't catch you throwing pebbles off the balcony at our neighbors the other day."

"Ey, that was one time!" Mickey protests. "And that douche moved out, so we're cool now."

"Uh huh," Ian says knowingly. "Totally cool, Mick. But hey, I think you'll like this place a little more."

"Why's that?" Mickey asks suspiciously. He looks around, notes some familiar houses. He hadn't been paying attention to where they were going, too preoccupied with trying to convince Ian that they didn't need to move; really, he was just getting used to the Westside, he didn't want to end up somewhere he didn't know the streets again already.

But it didn't look like that was going to be much of a problem.

"Whoa, wait," he voices, coming to a halt. Ian stops just ahead of him, still connected by their clasped hands, and watches him realize what's happening.

"You're bringin' us back Southside?" Mickey asks. He knows he sounds a bit awed, but he can't help it. "Thought you wanted out, man. Wasn't that the whole point?"

But when he looks at Ian, all he sees is his smile.

"The point was us being happy, dipshit," Ian says, and okay. Mickey can give him that one.

--

The first place they see isn't quite what either of them expected. It's a new development on an old plot, and apparently the pictures Ian had seen online weren't quite so...trendy?...as it came off in person.

"The yard is nice," Ian offers as they stand in the middle of the wide open space that serves as kitchen, living room, office, and guest space. Strangers milled around them, other couples and even a few students that showed up for the free food advertised in the open house flyers, all raving about the 'open concept' style.

"You mean that tiny patch of astroturf out there?" Mickey replies to Ian's attempt at optimism. He laughs. "Yeah, good luck transplanting your fucking tomatoes in that, moron."

"Wait, that's not grass?" Ian asks, peering harder out the floor-to-ceiling windows that were letting in way too much heat.

"You ever seen grass that green around here?" Mickey asks back, and Ian grimaces.

"Come on, man," Mickey prompts him, walking back toward the front door. He grabs a doughnut from the kitchen counter on the way, taking a bite and calling back to Ian with his mouth full.

"Not enough walls in here anyway, nothin' for you to hold me against while we fuck."

He ignores the shocked gasp of the realtor and a few muffled snickers from the younger members of the crowd, but Ian turns bright red and rushes over to usher him out.

--

The second place they see has the opposite problem. It's in decent shape for as old as it is, probably one of the last original houses in the area, but it's...a lot.

"How many fucking rooms are there in this place?" Mickey wonders as they wander through. They're the only ones there this time, having let themselves in with the key from the lock box on the front door, and Mickey can see why. The house is like a labyrinth, doors everywhere, and none of it makes any fucking sense.

"Thought you wanted lots of rooms to fuck in, remember?" Ian says from behind him. A second later, Mickey finds himself shoved up against the wall of the tiny third bedroom, Ian's hands on his sides and mouth nipping just behind his ear.

He groans and tries to push back into it, but then Ian is cursing and pulling back. Mickey turns to see him rubbing his elbow where he obviously hit it on the edge of the door, which sticks way too far into the room.

"Lots of room, yeah," Mickey snickers as Ian glares at him for the lack of sympathy. "This place just feels like lots of closets, and I've had enough of those."

--

The third place is better. It's something in between, a spruced up two-story with decent yard space and, if not grass, at least some real dirt to work with.

"Hey Mickey, come up here!" Ian calls from the second floor, and Mickey stops poking through the kitchen cabinets to search him out.

He finds him in what must be the master bedroom, laying on a huge pillowtop bed.

"Hey, check this out," Ian says when he sees him enter, and Mickey rolls his eyes.

"The bed doesn't come with the place, Ian," he points out. "Or did you forget what we learned last time?"

Ian laughs. "Nah, not the bed Mick. Just come here."

Mickey gives in to his beckoning and sits next to him on the high mattress, and Ian abruptly pulled him down to lay beside him.

"Up there," Ian says softly, pointing to the ceiling with one pale hand.

Mickey looks. Then he looks harder, because painted on the ceiling above the bed is a mural of silver stars against the dark blue of a night sky, weaving between faint white clouds and a bright crescent moon.

"It's nice, isn't it?" Ian remarks, rolling over to watch Mickey's reaction. He strokes Mickey's arm where it lies on the silky duvet.

"Yeah," Mickey manages. "Real pretty. A little gay though."

Ian laughs. "Think we're that gay yet?" he questions. It sounds like a joke, but Mickey is pretty sure there's nothing joking about it.

That assumption is confirmed when Ian continues.

"I like this place, Mickey," he whispers. "It's got good bones, a nice yard for Basil--"

"We can't pick a fucking house for the dog, Ian," Mickey interjects, but Ian ignores him.

"And I think it would be a big step, for us." He sounds so earnest, and something in Mickey's heart twinges.

"Yeah? You sign the lease already?" Mickey asks, just to be a little shit.

"Fuck off," Ian answers immediately, but without heat.

"I'm serious, Mickey," he says after a moment. "I think we'd be good here." He reaches over to place a hand on Mickey's face, turning it toward himself. "But I want you to agree with me this time. No more doing things on my own. If we're gonna do this, we decide together."

Mickey isn't sure what's brighter--the stars on the ceiling or the love in Ian's eyes.

"Yeah, okay, you soft fucker," he murmurs, relishing the grin that lifts Ian's lips and stretches across his whole face. "Let's do this."

"Yeah?" Ian breathes, leaning in closer.

"Yeah," Mickey confirms. Ian goes in for a kiss, and Mickey let him get in a soft peck before pulling back and swinging his legs off the bed.

"But you get to mow our new yard and pick up all the dog shit, Gallagher, nobody's gonna do it for ya here!"

Mickey grins as he takes off to finish exploring the rest of the house, Ian shouting "Hey, not fair!" from behind him.