#and this sounds like it makes no sense at first but listen to me. Listen. It lines up. I'll make a separate post hold on

[luveline]

hii can you please write about Hotch adoring the reader at night as she's sleep talking sweet things please please?? love you!

The first thing he does when he gets home that night is pop his head into Jack’s room. He wants to go in and kiss his forehead, or maybe hold his hand, but he’s worried he’ll wake him and it’s nearing three in the morning, so he whispers, “Love you,” and heads to the master bedroom. 

You’re sleeping not dissimilar to Jack, on your back, the sheets pulled up to your turned head. Aaron moves away from you reluctantly to get undressed and change into soft sleep clothes. He cleans his face and brushes his teeth, and when he returns to you, you’ve curled your arm over where he should be as though you’d sensed his homecoming. 

He shuffles to you in the dark. Pulls back the sheets, and slides under your arm. He finds your hand to hold and brings it slowly to his lips, letting your hand rest over his mouth indulgently. 

He closes his eyes.

After a short case like this one, he isn’t tired enough to forget how much he misses you. If it had been a week away, Aaron would’ve come home and collapsed knowing he’s back with you, and that you’re going to look after him, but it’s only been two days. All he needs now is a kiss.

“Miss you.” 

He clasps his hand over yours, takes your hand to his chest to see you without obstacle. “I missed you, too,” he whispers, though he squints at you after. You aren’t facing him. “Honey?” 

“Aaron…” 

“Yeah, it’s me. You okay?” 

You rub your nose into your pillow and make a nonsense sound. 

Oh, he thinks to himself. Is she…

“D’you– did you have dinner?” 

“Are you awake or not?” he asks. 

No answer. You can’t be awake, then. You’re talking in your sleep, silly disjointed murmurings, your voice like velvet despite the late hour. 

Aaron hasn’t woken you with his questions, so he assumes you’re sleeping deeply. He shuffles further into the bed, onto his side, and wraps an arm around you. Careful in the dark, his nose comes to rest against your cheek.

“Well, we can try again tomorrow.”

“Shh,” he says softly, “shh, honey.” 

“‘Cos of the time,” you mumble.

He breathes in your skin. This is nice, he supposes, sitting and listening to your voice. You don’t even have to wake up. Aaron must spend half an hour listening to you talk yourself, or whoever it is that’s opposite you in the dream. It’s okay, we can fix it. I don’t know what colour that is. It’s Jack’s book. The book. And then your dog will come home. 

He’s nearly sleeping when it runs back to him. “My hubs,” you mumble, hand suddenly alive where it twists under his arm to return his hug. “Miss my hubs.” 

Aaron laughs in earnest. He’s never heard you call him such a thing. “Missed my wife,” he says, giving your cheek a quick kiss. “Love you.” 

“Miss him… want him to rub my back.” 

Your whining is adorable. Aaron pulls you bodily onto his chest and begins to rub your back, smiling, happy to indulge your sleepy nonsense with whatever it is you’re craving. “How’s that?” he murmurs. 

You don’t talk again for a while, but when you do, you say, “He needs to feed the fish,” and Aaron’s left wondering what exactly it is that you and Jack have been up to this weekend. 

[frudoo]

Bells Ring (2)

Title: Bells Ring

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Warnings: Mentions of self-harm (scratching), blood. One slap. Ewan is a warning of his own lmao.

MDNI

You’ve never succumbed to torture, but you can only imagine it hurts about as much as watching Ewan devour his overcooked steak without a care in the world, as if you haven’t just discovered that he has done the worst thing a spouse could do to you, his wife. It is pure agony being the only one to know of his affair. You’re not even sure if he’s noticed your lack of appetite or the pain in your expression. You’re not sure any of them have.

The prongs of your fork scrape against the fine china plate with a piercing screech, and three sets of curious eyes fall upon your flinching figure. You feel about as small as a junebug and just as inferior. The small grin you had seen on your husband’s face while he ate disappears when he looks at you, replaced by an annoyed downturn of his lips.

“Ye wuid be wise tae mind yer manners,” Ewan hisses, cold eyes narrowing at you before returning to the meal in front of him.

“My apologies, Your Highness,” you whisper, biting your lip to hold back the tears that threaten to spill from your red-tinged eyes.

“Wha’s gotten intae ye anywey?” Your husband questions, and you stiffen, the room suddenly suffocating, making you gasp for precious breath as your silverware drops onto the table with a clang.

“A-apologies, may I… I should like to cool down in my chambers,” you ramble, quickly standing from your chair and nearly tripping yourself in the process.

Ewan’s booming, irritated voice follows behind you as you rush through the halls, but you ignore him, desiring nothing more than to curl up beneath your duvet and cry your shriveled little heart out. Unfortunately you were not quick enough. Your husband slams his hand down on your shoulder and spins you so that you’re facing him, his dark eyebrows pinched together and pupils so shrunken you’d think he was about to berate a naughty dog. Perhaps that is how he sees you and precisely what he plans to do.

“Ye listen t’me,” you can feel the hot puffs of air escaping his nose like an irate dragon breathing fire, and fleetingly you wonder if the princesses locked up in those towers far, far away were not quite so miserable.

Despite his crystal clear demands, your mind does not process a single word your husband is saying, even as he presses your back against the wall and traps you in—funny, that very gesture used to make giddy heat blossom in your lower belly, and now it just makes your head pound with irritation and despair. You see his stubbled mouth moving and distantly recognize them as words you’re familiar with, but it’s as if no sound makes it to your ears.

“I read your letter,” you blurt out, causing Ewan to stop in the middle of his lecture.

A kaleidoscope of emotions twist in his oceanic eyes before settling on a devastating display of fear and rapidly heightening anger. Your husband scoffs, stepping back to cross his arms like a petulant child told they cannot open their Christmas present early. He’s utterly speechless, and perhaps you shouldn’t say anything more, but slippery words spill from your mouth before you can gather the sense to stop them on your tongue.

“I know it was not my place-”

“Ye’re reit, it wasnae yers tae-”

“Your Highness, please, just allow me to explain,” your bottom lip puckers as you reach out to place your hands on his chest, but he jerks away from your touch with a grimace. “I know it was not my place to read something of yours, but the fragrance on it was one I did not recognize. At first, I believed it may have been a relative of yours I was not made aware of, but that is not true, is it?”

Ewan’s gaze falls to the floor beneath his feet, but no effort to speak is made. His silence tugs at your heartstrings, and for once, it is not grief you feel but anger. Betrayal.

“Who is Coralie?” You question, pushing your foot between his to startle him into meeting your eyes once again. “As your wife, you owe me that.”

Still, no sound makes itself known from his traitorous lips, and it is enough to prove your suspicions as though the evidence had not already revealed itself to you. When you turn on your heels to continue the journey to your chambers, he does not dare follow you. There is no need to glance over your shoulder to know that he is still stood in place with that same dreadful expression on his face.

Your hands are shaking when you sit at the edge of your bed. Your nerves feel like they have been set ablaze, sharp pinpricks dancing across your skin viciously. Your senses are overwhelmed, your head is pounding, and the tremors swimming through you are the breaking point. A raspy scream rises from your throat, ricocheting off of the walls and startling the maids as well as yourself. You try to claw the pain away, digging your nails into your skin and scraping as hard as you can until blood cakes beneath the keratin.

An infinite amount of hands come rushing toward you from all over the palace, holding you down or giving you something to drink so that you can relax. The taste of honey and tart cherries runs down your aching throat before your body finally exhausts itself and you cannot fight them off any longer. In your chambers remain the nurse and a couple of laundresses who could not bear to leave you in this state.

The elixir you’d been given must have finally worked its way into your body, as sleep comes easy for you while the nurse cleans your wounds and bandages you up. She ties off the last tourniquet expertly, patting your hand fondly before pulling away to look you over. You are at peace in your sleep, no thoughts of your husband’s adultery making their way into your dreams, no fits stirring you from your slumber. It is the best sleep you have had in months.

Ewan is not quite so lucky, nervously shifting on both feet in the presence of his father. King MacTavish looks ready to have his head served up on a silver platter, his knuckles white from how tightly they grip his chair. Before your husband gets the chance to speak, his father inhales deeply, gruff voice rumbling lowly.

“Ah’ve tolerated this… quarrel ‘tween ye and yer wife fer long enough, now, but the state she is in—the state ye put ‘er in—is shameful,” John frowns, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Wha’ were yer vows tae yer wife?”

“Da, ah dinnae understand-” John interrupts the baffled younger man, raising his large hand with a flick of his wrist.

“Mus’ ah repeat such a simple question? Answer me, no’ as yer father, bu’ as yer king.”

“Tae have an’ tae hold, fer better fer worse, fer richer fer poorer, in sickness an’ in health, tae love and tae cherish, till death do us part,” Ewan sighs, head lifted slightly to look at his father for approval.

“Continue,” John raises an eyebrow, displeased with the pathetic look on the prince’s face.

Ewan sucks in a deep breath through his nose, biting the side of his tongue to avoid raising his voice to the older man the way he so desperately desires to. Even upset, he knows better.

“Wit’ this ring ah thee wed, wit’ mah body ah thee worship, an’ wit’ all mah worldly goods ah thee endow, in the name of the Father, an’ of the Son, an’ of the Holy Ghost.”

“Ye made those vows ‘fore God, aye?” The king questions, fingertips tapping along the armrests of his seat.

“Aye, sir,” your husband nods, eyes darting all around the room nervously.

“Then why is yer wife bed-bound wit’ only the nurse tae keep ‘er company?” The king frowns. “Did she no’ make the same vows? Was she no’ there fer ye when ye fell ill some time ago?”

“Aye, she was, bu’... Father, we are no’...” Ewan hesitates, pulling at the hangnails adorning his fingertips.

“Speak, boy. Ah ken there is somethin’ ye’re keepin’ from me.”

“Ah’ve fallen fer another,” Ewan mutters, and the room falls silent—if someone were to drop a quill, the sound would resonate throughout the entire area.

“Pardon?” John speaks after an uncomfortable amount of quiet, his ordinarily blue eyes nearly black with emotion.

“When ah wen’ tae Paris, ah met a lass, an’... we fell in love.”

The king shuts his eyes and nods shortly, rising to his feet and slowly approaching his son. The prince flinches when John gets close, and rightfully so—he does not hesitate to slap the younger man’s cheek with the back of his hand, hard enough to leave red marks on both of them. Shocked, Ewan grabs his affected cheek and looks at his father with perched eyebrows and a hurt pout on his lips.

“Father-”

“Ye are nae son o’mine,” John spits, jaw clenched so tightly that his teeth grind, the dull ache overlooked in the midst of his rage. “Return tae yer chambers. Ah dinnae wish tae see ye a moment longer.”

Now playing the part of the kicked dog, Ewan follows orders and sits at the edge of his bed, seething.

[mydream-synopsis]

one thing i really adore about togame is his word choice and how unexpectedly soft his way of phrasing sentences are. it's almost impossible to translate into english because there's no equivalent verb ending, but you can kind of tell the difference in his tone use. when you listen to sakura talk, for example, the ends of his sentences sound a little harsh and abrupt since he uses a typically informal tone; whereas togame's a lot softer (even if we account for his slower speed), and he uses a verb ending that's rather unusually rounded and unexpected of someone with a physical appearance like him. the elongated ends of his sentences exaggerate this, especially during his pre-bofurin fight when he uses that tone as a way to annoy his opponents.

[oceandiagonale]

Actually, Guzman is his spanish name.

OH YEAH some other folks pointed that out too, makes sense since it's an irl Spanish name (probably why I see it around a lot!) 😳

(normally it's a surname, I've only seen it used as a first name once in a blue moon -- but also in the pokemon world it's pretty clear that naming conventions aren't the same lol)

[kavehater]

Chappel Roan saying she’s sad she’s demisexual and then there’s me being aroace as a whole like don’t you think I’m even more sad 😭

[aromanticasterisms]

downloaded the pocket mirror soundtrack AUUUGH. who was going to tell me that the same theme that plays in the beginning over elise giving her the pocket mirror is the same that plays throughout the emotional scenes.

[hauntedtotem]

I think the biggest red flag for me regarding the hopelesspeaches and lio convoy stuff, their entire group (especially lio) has near identical speech patterns and dynamics as my mom's online friend group. Which is less of a red flag and more of a raging wildfire tbh

[stevengrantshubby]

so im like 2 volumes behind but ive seen ppl say that ruby rose should have been a faunus, a wolf faunus specifically, but really i think oscar should have been like a dog faunus too.

along with more skin tone variation i think there should have been more "main" faunus characters so blake isnt mostly by herself. if i just look at the 1st three volumes, id pick nora also being a faunus (a goat faunus specifically cause thor had some goats pull his chariot) thatd be cute.

so really...ruby, blake, nora, and later oscar. if i had to pick without changing too much.

[luckyfiona]

“ you can’t or you won’t? ”

                  ❝ ——  Oh. Hm. ❞

                                          ( Uh-oh. )

Lawless Lucky talked a big game around the bonfire last night. She wasn't too oblivious to pick up on the fact that her being scandalized and upset by the boys' violent sides was beginning to grate on them. So, when all of the boys were talking about the gruesome things they'd like to do to the people who made their lives hard in The Other Place, she forced herself to laugh along, and even took the opening to spin a tale about how she was planning to poison her old employer's food. And, oh, those rotten pirates? Well, she would do the same to them if she had a chance.

So busy seizing on the moment, she didn't consider that she would actually have to put her money where her mouth was.

It would shatter the illusion of Neverland as her luxurious, peaceful, happily-ever-after paradise if she had to see any real carnage with her own two eyes, much less deal any of it herself. But here was dear Peter, ever the altruist, granter of all her wishes, suggesting she come along to their next raid of the Jolly Roger. Lucky's pretty sure he knows this is out of her comfort zone, if he's paid any attention to her — and he does, of course he does. Why else would he go through the trouble of bringing all of these troubled souls to the island if he didn't empathize and care about all of them, right? She can't imagine any motive but love and sympathy. — It's funny, considering how anxiously, meticulously sensitive she tries to be to his boundaries. There was something maybe endearingly boyish about his disregard for hers.

She reasons that she should be grateful for his investment in keeping things fresh and interesting. This is what a sensible, healthy relationship looked like, right? Balancing energies was a major tenet of Celtic magic— it was the key to harmony and prosperity. A passive, supportive person worked best with a person who was a little more... challenging. It would be too stagnant or too chaotic any other way. She gives a fond half-smile to her love, her true love, convinced he's only looking out for her best interests. She would find a way to explain to him that this doesn't really interest her... another time.

               ❝ Well, I suppose I would... ❞ 

Lucky? Morally opposed to it? No sir, you've got the wrong lassie. You must be thinking of that prude from Chicago, Fiona Comisky, who used to dote and cry and sermonize Nate Larsen any time he got injured in a fight with some low-class brute he should've run away from. She had no qualms with clodhopping bullies who started barbaric fights. Didn't find it tasteless in the slightest.

She was opposed to tagging along for much more modest, supportive, team-playering reasons, to be certain. The same reasons why she declined Nate's offer to teach her how to use a bow and arrow: why would the Princess of Neverland get her dainty, dignified, not-at-all-labor-calloused hands dirty learning how to hunt when her boys got such a thrill out of slaying those innocent animals?

                ❝ But why bring a girl along to steal all of the attention?                        I'm not as strong or as sneaky as you. I may ruin the... Element of surprise. Or... distract everyone when they have to keep me out of harm's way. And there’s really— there's so much I could do back here. I thought I should make some sort of victory banquet for the boys to come back to. ......Besides... ❞

Lucky's fingers sidled over to his, tips brushing over his knuckles, as if timidly asking permission to show tenderness before making any sudden moves. Peter was a bit strange about physical touch. She could never tell if he was enjoying it, or if she maybe wasn't doing it right. When he didn't immediately swat her away, she gingerly placed her palms in his, intuitively careful not to scare him away like a baby deer too shy for human touch, or startle him like a scorpion ready to plunge a stinger into her at any moment. She has experience with his type. She has nothing if not patience and willpower to break through to them. She has hope that one day she'll be able to fully embrace him. If she's really as lucky as everybody says, maybe she'd be able to fully-fully "embrace" him.

                ❝ I love when you tell me all about your thrilling adventures. You get such this 𝓅𝓊𝒸𝓀𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝓉𝓌𝒾𝓃𝓀𝓁𝑒 in your eye... It's the same one you had when you first found me— the one that I saw and thought, 'Oh, there it is: my 𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫. At last, I can see it!' ❞ 

She boldly ventures to show a little more affection while she pleads, but not enough to push him too far, just enough to remind him that he can touch her back any time he's ready. (If he's rallying her to come out of her comfort zone, maybe this is a good time to encourage him to be a little more adventurous, too.) Her fingers, ever-so-lightly cupped over his hands, gently lace themselves into the spaces between his. She's not naïve enough to believe she's going to get out of raids forever. She just wants to experience feeling truly loved and close to him, just one time, before she has to see him at his absolute nastiest.

           ❝ Oh, Peter, won't you please let me see my 𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 again when you fill me in later? ❞ 

( Won't you please let her be so lucky as to skip out on this? )

╳ — 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 ! // ACCEPTING.

[perilegs]

if someone has a crush on you how would you react? just as a hypothetical situation ha ha

[quarterprioritymidnight]

what do you think of the two new Ampersand songs?

i think leonard & marianne is nice. i really like the lyrics and its a cute song, but kind of forgettable?

i cannot lie to u, anon, i really don't like blue sky & the painter and i do not understand why everyone seems to like it so much. i didn't really like it for the greenpeace thing and i think the production choices for full recording are really bad. i have listened to it like 10 times and 9 of those were to try and see what i was missing, but i haven't got there yet lol

[comradecowplant]

hm i started getting youtube recommendations for Castle Rat precisely around the same time i first heard of Chappell Roan and it has just come to my attention that she is not in fact the lead singer of Castle Rat 😬

[lacebird]

i'm gonna need everyone to pls take a second and listen to this specific part of this song

[groblinboy]

hey whats??? Whats wrong with my casio???? Why is it like. making experimental horror noises at me?????

[kentopedia]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ LOOK, MOM! — nanami kento

yuuji accidentally calls you mom

contents: nanami x fem!reader, husband nanami hehe, this is very silly and random and stupid, fluff, nanami & reader are yuuji's adoptive parents fr, words: 1059

“nanamin!” yuuji waves at the figure approaching from behind you, a flashy grin appearing on his face as he glances at the blonde man over your shoulder. “i didn’t know you were coming by today!”

kento's hair sweeps over his forehead in the wind, a few strands coming free as he heads towards you. it's a brisk day, and he has two hot coffees in his hands that he'd picked up after his mission.

a bead of sweat drips down yuuji's temple, and he wipes it with his sleeve, still breathing heavily. you'd spent the last hour training together, pushing his physical capabilities. gojo had been busy recently, between all the missions and his conversations with the higher ups.

so, of course, you'd volunteered to teach the newest student when he couldn't. quickly, he became your favorite of the three first years.

“i’m in between assignments.” kento hands you the coffee, places a gentle hand on your lower back with a smile that is hardly there. “mind if i steal my wife away for a bit?”

yuuji shrugs, his face still bright as he glances between the two of you. ever since he’d found out two of his favorite sorcerers were together, he’d hardly shut up about it.

“no problem. i’m going to meet up with fushiguro anyway.” he brushes the dirt off his pants, waving to the two of you.

“good job today, yuuji!” grateful for something to warm you up in the chilly air, you take a sip of the coffee. it’s perfect, as always, just what you needed. “you’re improving a lot!”

he grins, proud of his accomplishments. “thanks, mom! see you later!”

there's an elongated moment of silence.

you choke on your coffee as kento stiffens beside you, watching while yuuji comes to a skittering halt.

all three of you freeze. you cough, clearing your throat, and kento's hand, steady on your back, has stilled. “yuuji—“

“oh,” the teenager says, his face turning bright red as he realizes what he’s called you. he glances between the two of you, embarrassment evident. “i’m so sorry. i didn’t mean to—“

though, you don’t give yuuji enough time to protest. within seconds, you’ve gathered him up in your arms, squeezing the younger boy to your chest. “kento, we have a son!”

you feel yuuji tense, before he relaxes, and throws his arms around you in an even tighter hug. there’s some sort of thanks resting there. he laughs, carefree, a sound you never want to be taken away from the boy who manages to shine so brightly in such a dark world.

kento stares at you, folds his glasses up in his pocket, as if to show you both how unimpressed he is. “do we?” he asks, lips flat, though, you see through the facade to the amusement hidden in his irises. “i'm certain i would’ve remembered something like that.”

you make a face at him, covering yuuji’s ears dramatically. “oh, don’t listen to your dad, yuuji. he’s old, he doesn’t know what he’s saying.”

kento blinks, and then sighs, wrinkling his nose. though, when he sees yuuji’s wide grin, his eager expression, he decides to play along.

“well, then... there must be a lapse in my memory." kento crosses his arms over his chest as he regards the two of your extensively, searching for something. "that would certainly explain the striking resemblance between us.” he says drily.

yuuji laughs, a loud snort. he looks nothing like either of you, but you’re not sure he’s ever gotten to witness kento's sarcastic sense of humor, the one that not everyone really gets.

“exactly!” yuuji quips back to kento’s blank expression. "everyone tells me i have the same smile as my dad!

kento’s trying hard not to let yuuji win that one, but you can see the slight wrinkle around his eye, the tiny quirk of his lips. beside the pink haired boy, you choke out a few giggles, covering your mouth.

“yes," kento nods, solemn. "i’ve heard that as well.”

"so you do know how to make jokes, nanamin!" yuuji shouts, nearly jumping in the air as he cheers. "i can't wait to tell fushiguro this."

kento rolls his eyes, but yuuji’s so pleased, and he releases you, his eyes soft and bright as he pulls away.

though he doesn’t say it, doesn't thank you for anything, you can tell he’s grateful. itadori yuuji may be happy with his life as it is now, may have found a home within the friends he’s made at the high school, but you know he misses his grandfather. sometimes, perhaps, he even longs for the conventional family he never really got to have.

you ruffle his hair, the pink strands catching between the cracks of your fingers. “tell him i said hello too.”

yuuji nods, stuffing his hands in his pocket as he steps away. “i will!” his cheerful gaze is pinned on your husband, a secretive smile making a home on his lips. “bye, dad.”

kento shakes his head, and sighs again, though you can tell, a part of him is touched to have won so much of yuuji's admiration. “have a good evening, itadori.”

you watch the young boy scurry away, hands in his pockets as he braces himself against the cold.

"you should be nicer to your son, kento."

kento snorts, throwing an arm over your shoulder as he brings you closer to him. "i am nice to him," he says, kissing your temple softly. "a little hard on him, maybe, but i just don't want anything bad to happen to him."

you soften, look up at him with warm eyes, and you squeeze the hand that is resting on your shoulder. "i know," you say, your heart clenching. you've thought about it before, thought of kento with a tiny child that looks just like him, cradled against his chest. thought of him with a little girl whose hair he can braid, a little boy he can raise to be a gentleman.

but you hadn't talked about it; you'd always thought your life was too busy, too dangerous for children.

"you'd make a good dad, ken," you say, your cheeks flushed as you grin at him.

kento's eyes flash. "really?" an array of emotions scurries across his features before he leans down, kissing you softly. "is this your way of telling me you want a baby, sweetheart?" his voice deepens as he whispers against your lips, smiling. "because i'm more than happy to give you one."

[lesbiangiratina]

“道化の同僚”? . Did they call johnny a clown. Or is it 道化の頭領. I think its that. Touryo not douryo. Thats not the important part though Did they call him a fucking clown.