#how am I supposed to hold a job in this field of work if even the tiniest thing takes so long

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Deuce Spade - Platinum Jacket Vignette

[Land of Dawning – National Museum of Art]

Deuce: This museum really has a ton of paintings. Not that I really know how to act in quiet places like this…

Deuce: Oh, but I can't use that as an excuse. I'll have to be a good supporter for the museum, just like any honor student would!

???: Is this dome… a teapot cover? Why would the Card Soldiers be carrying tea?

Deuce: Huh, you don't know, Sebek? Cool, then I'll tell you about it.

Deuce: This painting shows a scene of a trial from one of the Queen of Hearts' legends…

Deuce: And those Card Soldiers aren't actually carrying tea, but a witness for the case: a tiny mouse!

Sebek: Hmph, what's with that smug look? Well, fine, never thought there'd be a day that you'd have something to teach me, I suppose.

Deuce: Heheh. I'm a supporter for the museum, so it makes sense that I can explain something like that.

Deuce: Since I'm a student of Heartslabyul, I made sure to study extra hard all the tales related to the Queen of Hearts or her Card Soldiers.

Sebek: Is that so? Still, did it require two of them to transport a single small mouse?

Deuce: According to the story, it was a crucial witness, so they wanted to make sure it got to the Queen safely.

Deuce: Ah, that reminds me… We had something similar to this painting go down at Heartslabyul just the other day.

Deuce: Though, it wasn't a witness that was getting brought in…

Sebek: What, was there some lout breaking the Queen of Hearts' laws?

Deuce: Yeah. There was this one student who'd been breaking the rules over and over again, and he was finally being brought before Rosehearts-ryōchō for a stern reprimand…

Deuce: When the two guys tasked with hauling him in came to bring him to the Housewarden, that rule-breaker ran.

Sebek: Why do you even have people tasked with hauling others in…? You folk in Heartslabyul have far too many strange duties and rules!

Sebek: But that transgressor is also a coward, fearing reprimand and fleeing without taking responsibility for their actions.

Deuce: Right? He made his bed, he's gotta lie in it.

Sebek: Judging by your manner of speech there, am I right to assume that you helped to secure that transgressor?

Deuce: Yeah. I ran after the guy and caught him in a flash.

Deuce: Not like I've been training my legs or working on quick, explosive power in my sprints while in the Track and Field Club for nothing!

Sebek: Oho, so you captured them. And what were those two that were supposed to have brought him in doing?

Deuce: The guys on duty were apparently so shocked when the rule-breaker ran away that they couldn't move quick enough.

Deuce: But once I brought him back to them, they firmly took hold of him on both sides and brought him to the Housewarden, though.

Sebek: I see. So perhaps the reason why it isn't considered overkill to have two people on duty for such a thing is in case something unexpected occurs.

Deuce: Maybe…? I guess so.

Deuce: Ah, but listen to this. After he finished reprimanding the rule-breaker, Rosehearts-ryōchō praised me for a job well done.

Deuce: "Not only did you capture the transgressor without a moment's delay, but you showed good judgement in allowing the students on duty to do their job as assigned," he said!

Sebek: True, normally you'd do something brash like bringing that offending student directly to Riddle-senpai after capturing him.

Sebek: An unusually calm and mature judgement, coming from you.

Deuce: Hey, nothing "unusual" about it! It's not strange that I was able to think that through.

Deuce: Because, I'm on my way to becoming an honor student!

[Land of Dawning – National Museum of Art]

Sebek: Oh, this painting… It looks as though it's based on the legend that speaking a wish into a well would make it come true.

Deuce: Yeah, so if you make a wish into a well, it sends your voice back out. I remember that well, 'cause I always thought that was odd.

Sebek: It's merely an echo. What is so odd about that?

Deuce: Huh, an echo?

Sebek: You didn't even know that? I'm speaking of the phenomenon in which sound bounces off of water or walls and is reflected back.

Deuce: Huh… Oh, so is that the same sort of thing as when sounds reverberate in a tunnel?

Sebek: That's right, as tunnels are also primed for echoes.

Deuce: Oh, okay… That actually brings back memories.

Deuce: Whenever I'd be riding through long tunnels, I'd put the pedal to the metal and rev it up so loud.

Sebek: You'd rev what? Are you talking about some kind of music?

Deuce: No, no. I'm talking about a blastcycle, not any instruments or whatever.

Deuce: The engine can make different sounds based on the body of the blastcycle, or even from the way it's ridden.

Deuce: It can make heavy thumping sounds, or low, rolling sounds…

Deuce: And it can be really fun to change up my driving style just to hear those different sounds.

Deuce: Whenever I ended up alongside another driver who knew how to make their own engine sing,

Deuce: It was easy to just end up competing to see who could make their engine rev louder.

Sebek: And what is so fun about that? It just seems to be a cacophony of noise, based on what you're saying.

Deuce: YOU DON'T GET IT AT ALL! It's great because I can feel it to my core.

Deuce: And, it feels sooooo amazing to feel the vibration of the engine echoing off the tunnel walls!

Deuce: AND PICKING UP SPEED IS THE BEST PART!

Deuce: The faster I go, the higher the pitch of the engine…the more that sound echoes in the tunnels…

Deuce: By the end of it all, the only sound I can hear is the blastcycle engine… I just can't get enough of that feeling!

Sebek: Shh, Deuce. You're being too loud, lower your voice. You're going to bother everyone else trying to enjoy the silence.

Deuce: Ah, sorry… Actually, kinda feels weird to get told by you of all people to lower my voice.

Sebek: Why is that? I don’t raise my voice like that unnecessarily.

Deuce: Eh… You seriously saying that right now?

Sebek: Obviously. At any rate, I don't really understand what you were saying about those blastcycles, but…

Sebek: You shouldn't cause a ruckus while riding, unlike what you did just now.

Deuce: Well, obviously I try to ride so I don't bother others on the road… At least, now I do…

[Land of Dawning – National Museum of Art]

Deuce: Oh hey, it's the Lord of the Underworld. I like how brave he looks flying through the sky in this painting.

Deuce: And on top of it all… He's way too cool, rushing to the front lines like that to save his captured comrades!

Sebek: Right. The Lord of the Underworld must have been a truly capable fellow, able to take on even the most difficult missions by himself.

Sebek: One would require proper deliberation and competency to achieve positive results.

Deuce: Urgh… That hits a sore spot…

Sebek: A sore spot…? Ah, you are talking about what happened last week.

Sebek: I remember seeing you, Grim, [Yuu]… and Ace, if I recall. It was while I was heading back from flight class.

Sebek: All four of you were standing like idiots in the hallway, being scolded by Trein-sensei.

Deuce: URGH!!!! You saw that!?

Deuce: I-I didn't plan on it ending with us getting in trouble! It wasn't supposed to end like that…

Sebek: I'm sure it is a ridiculous story… But why not, I'll listen to whatever excuses you come up with.

Deuce: At the start of History of Magic class, Trein-sensei told [Yuu] to read out loud a passage from the textbook.

Deuce: But that page was completely ruined by drool, since Grim fell asleep on it the night before, so it was impossible to read.

Deuce: So, I raised my hand, offering to read it instead.

Sebek: So why did that end up with you all being sent out to the hallway?

Deuce: …I forg… …xtboo…

Sebek: I can't hear you, speak up.

Deuce: I… I'M SAYING I FORGOT THE NECESSARY TEXTBOOK!!!!

Sebek: So you tried to step up, even though you didn't have the textbook… You're a fool who has gone beyond help.

Deuce: Ace was saying something like that, too. Both him and Grim were laughing at me for that.

Deuce: Even though it was really Grim's fault in the first place!!

Deuce: [Yuu] even pointed that out to them, but they wouldn't stop, so…

Deuce: We ended up arguing… Which then got us sent out into the hallway before long to deal with the consequences of our actions.

Sebek: So that's why you were in the hallway. However, I don't understand. Why did you do such an unnecessary thing?

Sebek: Even if Grim or [Yuu] were to be reprimanded, that has nothing to do with you.

Deuce: Nothing to do with me? Come on, there's no way I can let my friends flounder like that.

Deuce: I mean, Grim aside… [Yuu]'s helped me out a ton before, so.

Sebek: Hmph. Then I guess at the very least, next time you should act after you've determined whether you have your textbook or not.

[Sebek walks off]

Deuce: YOU DON'T HAVE TO TELL ME TWICE!

Deuce: Geez, and he walks off after one last parting shot, huh… Ugh. Guess I'll try to shake off this funk by checking out some of the other exhibits.

Deuce: Oh, this is a painting of a girl singing with flowers. She looks like she's having fun, but according to the story…

Deuce: If I remember correctly, she was described as vulgar, rude, and weedy...

Deuce: Doesn't matter where you are, or who you are, everyone has to follow the rules. Not a shocker to me that those who can't follow 'em end up in sticky situations.

Requested by @farfalla049.

[deliciousangelfestival]

Tears In His Ferrari || Chp 2 - Bucky

Character: Bucky Barnes x Farmer!Reader

Words Count: 2,414

Series: Chap 1 , Chap 2 , Chap 3 , Chp 4 , Chp 5 , Chp 6 , Chp 7, Chp 8 , Chp 9 , Chp 10 , Chp 11 , Chp 12.

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more. 

Y/N led Bucky across the vast expanse of the empty land, gesturing to the possibilities it held for cultivating crops like potatoes, barley, and corn.

Bucky turned to Y/N, inquisitive about quick profits, "Which crops would bring in fast returns?"

Y/N replied with a smirk, "Barley. You could make beer."

A grin spread across Bucky's face, "Now that's more my style."

Y/N's smirk deepened, "It's not as easy as you think."

Little did Bucky know, he was about to learn the hard way. The first challenge came from a seemingly simple piece of machinery—the farm tractor. Y/N led him to the garage, revealing the aged tractor that awaited Bucky's command.

Inspecting the tractor skeptically, Bucky remarked, "Is it still working?"

Y/N chuckled, "Don't underestimate this machine. I bet it's stronger than your sports car."

Feeling a pang of offense, Bucky couldn't let his beloved Ferrari be belittled. "Hey, now, don't diss my Ferrari. It's a beast on the road."

Y/N raised an eyebrow, "Roads and fields are a whole different story, city boy. Time to see if you can handle the horsepower of a different kind."

With that, she gestured toward the tractor, silently challenging Bucky to prove himself in the unfamiliar realm of farming machinery.

Unfazed by Bucky's awestruck expression, Y/N rolled her eyes and led him toward the storage building. As the creaking wooden door swung open, Bucky marveled at the sheer size of the space.

Pointing towards a massive bag of seeds, Y/N explained, "Your father has provided you with various types of seeds – barley, potatoes, corn, tomatoes."

Bucky's eyes widened, his initial enthusiasm dampening as he took in the overwhelming array of possibilities. The enormity of the task ahead made him question the wisdom of his impulsive bet with his father.

Interning with a photocopier seemed like a more appealing option at that moment. "How am I supposed to plant all of this?"

Without missing a beat, Y/N tossed the tractor key in Bucky's direction, and he caught it reflexively.

"That's why you need to learn how to drive the tractor so you can plant the seeds," Y/N explained matter-of-factly.

Grumbling under his breath, Bucky muttered, "I'm a race car driver. This should be a piece of cake."

Y/N smirked, her eyes challenging, "Show me what you got."

His usual confidence wavered as Bucky settled into the tractor's driver's seat. The buttons and controls before him were a far cry from his sports car's sleek, modern interface, and his mind went momentarily blank.

He turned to Y/N, whose expression seemed to say, 'I told you so.' Y/N casually climbed into the tractor and closed the door, leaving Bucky trapped.

"What... what are you doing?" Bucky stammered, caught off guard by her sudden actions.

Y/N, seemingly unfazed, responded, "I'm going to teach you."

As Y/N took her place beside him, she explained the functions of the various levers and buttons. "This lever controls the speed, and these buttons engage different gears. It's not as fast as your sports car, but it gets the job done."

Bucky furrowed his brow, trying to absorb the information. "Wait, how do I steer this thing?"

Y/N couldn't help but be amused by Bucky's struggle. "Grip the wheel. It's not a race car, but it will go where you point it. Just don't expect it to handle like a Ferrari."

Bucky, feeling a bit challenged, took hold of the steering wheel. Y/N guided him through starting the tractor, adjusting the speed, and even how to handle turns. As the tractor chugged along the field, Bucky's initial frustration gave way to a sense of accomplishment.

Y/N, with a playful glint in her eye, remarked, "See, not so hard, is it? Now, let's tackle the next challenge: planting those seeds. Just follow my lead, and you might survive this farm life after all."

As the tractor rumbled across the empty plot of land, Bucky's initial confidence in driving the machine began to wane. Y/N, seated beside him, looked over and noted, "Now comes the real work, Bucky. We need to prepare the land before planting. First up, we're plowing the field."

Bucky, still grasping the basics of tractor operation, nodded hesitantly. "Plowing, got it."

But as the tractor started breaking up the soil, turning it over in preparation for planting, Bucky's initial sense of ease gave way to a growing realization.

Y/N continued her instructions, "After plowing, we'll need to disc over the field to break down any remaining clumps. Then comes harrowing to create a fine seedbed. It's all about setting the stage for a successful crop."

Bucky, now fully immersed in farming, couldn't help but feel the weight of the responsibilities. The tasks seemed to multiply in complexity as Y/N guided him through each step. "Checking soil moisture, adding amendments," Y/N listed the next steps.

Stress crept into Bucky's expression. The carefree city boy was now confronted with the intricacies of farming, and the reality of the challenge ahead began to dawn on him. The initial thrill of learning to drive the tractor now seemed like the calm before the storm of agricultural tasks.

As Bucky navigated the tractor through the various steps, the once-clear field transformed into a canvas of potential but also of hard work and uncertainty. Farming, it turned out, was not as straightforward as Bucky had initially assumed.

The complexities of each step weighed on him, and the realization that success required more than just driving a machine left Bucky feeling a bit overwhelmed in the vast expanse of the field.

Y/N, with a critical eye, examined the two rows Bucky had managed to plow. "Good start. Now, the most crucial part is marking the rows. Proper spacing is vital for each crop to have enough room to grow."

Bucky, feeling a renewed sense of determination, listened attentively. "Spacing, got it. I can do this."

With a pat on Bucky's shoulder, Y/N remarked, "I'll leave the rest to you. I'm heading to the storage to set up the planter. Just follow the markers and maintain that consistent spacing. You've got this."

Bucky nodded, a mix of confidence and a hint of nervous energy. He watched as Y/N walked away toward the storage building, disappearing from view. The vastness of the field lay before him, and the responsibility of marking rows and maintaining proper spacing now rested squarely on his shoulders.

As Bucky confidently guided the tractor with a touch of creativity, he failed to anticipate the storm brewing in Y/N's eyes. When she caught sight of the unconventional row, frustration and disbelief etched across her face, transforming the once tranquil farming lesson into a battlefield of precision.

Bucky, riding high on a renewed sense of confidence, guided the tractor with newfound ease. The once-daunting task of marking rows now felt like second nature. As he envisioned the thriving crops that would soon fill the marked rows, a touch of creativity struck him. With a confident smile, he decided to deviate from the straight path and add a unique twist to the rows.

However, when Y/N caught sight of the unconventional row, any expectations of praise were shattered. With a furrowed brow and an exasperated sigh, she approached Bucky.

"Are you an idiot?" she exclaimed, her voice mixed with frustration and disbelief.

Bucky, taken aback by the unexpected outburst, stammered, "I thought it added a bit of flair, you know? A touch of artistic expression."

Y/N, unamused, shot back, "This isn't an art project, Bucky. We need straight, evenly spaced rows for the crops to grow properly. Precision is key in farming, not whimsical curves."

The contrast between Bucky's expectation of admiration and the reality of Y/N's frustration added a comedic twist to the scene.

Bucky once again reminded of the challenges of farm life, begrudgingly adjusted the tractor's course to adhere to Y/N's insistence on precision in agricultural practices.

Y/N, initially poised for a straightforward mentoring session, found herself grappling with unexpected stress. The deviation from the meticulous plan heightened her frustration, but she pushed through, determined to teach Bucky the intricacies of farming.

In the heat of the moment, Y/N's instructions became more pointed, her tone reflecting her unexpected challenges. She corrected Bucky with a mix of exasperation and dedication, her initial ease replaced by the demanding reality of mentoring a city boy in the intricacies of agriculture.

For Bucky, who had never been lectured in such a manner throughout his privileged life, each correction felt like a blow to his ego. The vast gap between his accustomed world of opulence and the demanding simplicity of the farm became painfully apparent.

After tirelessly plowing the empty plot under Y/N's scrutinizing gaze, Bucky retreated to the solace of his Ferrari. The familiar sight of the sleek, modern interior provided a momentary respite from the challenges of the farm. However, as he looked around at the sophisticated simplicity of the car, a single tear escaped his eye.

In a moment of vulnerability, Bucky muttered, "It's not as easy as I thought." The weight of the unfamiliar reality sank in, and the contrast between the comfort of his luxury car and the toil of the farm highlighted the stark challenges he faced in adapting to this new, humble way of life.

As Bucky wiped away the unexpected tear on his first day, he couldn't shake the surreal feeling accompanying the shift from the farm to his new home. As he stepped inside, the scene awaiting him was anything but ordinary. A group of middle-aged women buzzed around his house, each engrossed in various tasks—cleaning, arranging, and transforming the space into a semblance of order.

Bucky, clearly taken aback, couldn't contain his shock. "Who are you people?" he exclaimed, his eyes darting between the industrious women.

The group paused their activities, turning to face Bucky with warm smiles. In their midst stood Y/N's mother, a matronly figure radiating hospitality. Their collective greeting washed over Bucky, and he found himself amid an impromptu welcome party.

This practice, a tradition among the locals, was their way of extending a warm welcome to the new neighbor. Unaccustomed to such communal gestures, Bucky appreciated their kindness, although hunger and fatigue urged him to seek some solitude.

Summoning a sweet smile, Bucky politely asked the woman to leave, expressing his need for rest. Understanding his request, the guests bid farewell, leaving Bucky alone in his newfound abode.

Just as he thought he could finally catch his breath, Y/N's voice cut through the silence with an unexpected remark. "They're here to butter you up," she deadpanned, her unfiltered words catching Bucky off guard.

His gasp was met with Y/N's nonchalant dismissal. "That mouth of yours," Bucky retorted, feeling a mix of surprise and amusement at her audacity.

Ignoring his comment, Y/N dropped a bag of groceries at his feet. "Your family sent this," she informed him, the gesture a mix of duty and detached concern.

Bucky, leaning down to inspect the contents, discovered essential supplies that betrayed a hint of paternal consideration. The realization that his father hadn't wholly forsaken him stirred conflicting emotions within Bucky. Gratitude mingled with the sting of newfound humility.

Curiosity getting the better of him, Bucky questioned Y/N about her earlier statement. "What did you mean with 'butter you up'?" he inquired, trying to decipher the cryptic remark.

Y/N responded with a disinterested glance, "Don't you know? Your family owns almost all the land around here."

Slowly shaking his head in disbelief, Bucky muttered, "Wow, really?" The weight of his family's extensive holdings began to sink in, and Y/N's nonchalant tone left him dumbfounded.

"Can't believe one day you'll be the head of the company," Y/N remarked casually, her tone a mixture of disbelief and detached observation.

Without waiting for Bucky's response, she turned on her heels and left his residence, leaving him grappling with her animosity's mysteries.

Left alone, Bucky found himself at a loss for words. "Why does she keep being angry with me?" he mused aloud, frustration building. He slammed the door shut in sheer exasperation, the resounding thud echoing his bewilderment.

As Y/N entered her home, exhaustion weighed heavily on her. Her mother, Samantha, observed her daughter's weary expression and couldn't help but smile. Y/N wasted no time in expressing her discontent, questioning the rationale behind the warm welcome extended to the new neighbor.

"Why did you and others welcome him?" Y/N's bitterness toward large companies like Barnes lingered, casting a shadow over her perspective.

Samantha, with a knowing glint in her eyes, let out a light giggle. "Oh, you, you have to welcome the new neighbor, besides, he's cute."

Y/N responded with an eye roll, unamused by her mother's seemingly lighthearted take on the situation.

Samantha sighed, aware of the pain Y/N still carried from letting go of the land they once owned. She took a moment to address her daughter's lingering resentment. "I know you don't like him because of what happened. But without them buying the land, all the farmers here would have ended up losing their source of living."

Y/N raised her head to meet her mother's gaze. Samantha continued, sharing a piece of history that shaped their community. "Back then, when your grandparents were still alive, there was a lean period where nothing could grow. Everyone was losing their source of income. Until the Barnes family stepped in because one of their own had grown up here."

"The Barnes allowed the farmers to live and work; they just needed to pay rent."

Y/N interjected, a hint of bitterness in her voice, "And the rent keeps getting higher."

Samantha shrugged her shoulders, acknowledging the harsh reality. "Well, that's how it is, but none of the farmers have complained, though."

She tenderly stroked her daughter's head, offering a comforting perspective. "Be kind to him. Just see him as a little kid learning how to walk."

Y/N nodded, absorbing her mother's words. She decided to take her mother's advice to heart, even if the road ahead seemed fraught with challenges.

Meanwhile, at Bucky's location, an unexpected sneeze escaped him. "Did someone talk about me?"

Unaware that he had just been likened to a learning child, Bucky continued navigating the unfamiliar farm life territory, oblivious to the nuanced dynamics at play.

Chapters: Chp 1, Chp 2, Chp 3 , Chp 4 , Chp 5 , Chp 6 , Chp 7

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[pukanavis]

Fuyume Hanamura Idol Story 2

ーA basic studio within the ES building, two years since the establishment of ES

Fuyume: …

Midori: …

(What am I supposed to do?)

(This new kid…Hanamura-san, was it? The staff told him that I'm going to be using my experience in the field to guide him through today’s job.)

(It’s already been a whole 20 minutes since then and neither of us have said a word to each other..)

Fuyume: …

Midori: (I-I have to do what they told me to and teach him what he needs to do. I know I suck at this stuff but between the two of us, I’m the one who’s more familiar with this type of work.)

(But there’s no way I can bring myself to do it. I really, really don’t want to.)

(This kid is radiating an aura that screams ‘don’t talk to me’...this whole time, he’s been doing something on his phone while occasionally whispering and muttering to himself.)

(I think…he’s even been taking selfies and posting them online…?)

(It feels like he’s in a world of his own making.)

(I’m scared~, I don’t like it~ , I don’t wanna talk to him~...)

(Now that I think about it, he was there listening when the staff put me in charge of coaching him so he must know what’s going on too.)

(He should be turning to me and saying something like ‘Please give me your guidance, Senpai!’. It’s the polite thing to do, really.)

Fuyume: …Um.

Midori: !? Y-Yes? What’s the matter…?

Fuyume: …They’re calling Yume.

Midori: (Huh, what does that mean? Is he one of those people that hear voices that aren’t there? Is he 'cuckoo', as people used to say?)

Fuyume: It looks like it’s time for Yume to go up now.

Midori: (Oh, right, the staff are calling for him. Seems like they’re ready to start the shoot.)

(What do I do? I didn’t teach him how to do a single thing.)

(From what I’ve heard, it sounds like this kid is a popular amateur model? I think they call it a cos…player?)

(There’s no need for me to come in acting high and mighty and tell him what to do, right?)

(I bet he’s already familiar with how these jobs work. He seems so confident for some reason…?)

Fuyume: Fufufu. Yume will do his best.

Today, you’re all invited to step into Yume’s world

Fuyume: Sniffle. Sniffle sniffle.

Midori: (What am I supposed to do?)

(All that confidence he was giving off was just a front…)

(He doesn’t know the first thing about professional modelling and kept insisting on using methods from his amateur days.)

(I wonder what that one staff member did to have this kid going off at him the entire time? Just when I thought he’s behaving well, he suddenly started berating and denying that guy’s humanity.)

(Not to mention all the complaints he has about the lighting or the costume...)

(He started telling the staff to take pictures from his cutest angle and even asked to wear the outfit he had brought along himself.)

(After all the back and forth, it was agreed to put the shoot on hold for a while. When this guy realised the staff weren’t going to listen to his opinions, that's when the tears started...)

(The staff asked me to see if I could do something to motivate him or change his mindset but…is that even in the job description? Shouldn’t this be the responsibility of a manager or something?)

(Who am I kidding? We probably wouldn’t be in this mess if I had just done my job and shown him what to do from the start.)

(I’m at fault here too, so I feel like I should at least do something.)

Fuyume: Midori-sama.

Midori: Huh? Yes, what’s…wait, ‘Midori-sama’ ?

Fuyume: Yume has seen you in a magazine before and thought you were as dashing as a prince. Fufu.

So you’re Midori-sama. ‘Cause you’re a prince. Fufufu.

Needless to say, you don’t have what it takes to be called Yume’s prince, since that title is already taken by another.

There is no sin in beauty. Fufufufu.

Midori: (Huh…? What is he talking about…? I don’t understand a word that’s coming out of his mouth. Are all the kids like this these days…?)

(Hey, wait a second? He’s acting surprisingly unfazed for somebody that I thought was crying into his hands just a minute ago? Was he faking it…?)

Fuyume: Melon soda, plum and kelp tea, coffee.

Midori: ? What? Are you casting some kind of spell?

Fuyume: I’m trying to make the drink that Esu found during his adventure. What else was in it again…?

Midori: I-It’s going to taste awful if you mix so many random flavours together.

Fuyume: I’ll be able to drink it. I will drink it. I want to relive Esu’s story for myself.

Bottoms up. Glug glug…

……

Fuyume: …

Midori: Tastes awful, huh…? I warned you not to drink it. You can tell just from looking at it how bad of an idea that is.

Here, spit it into this cup.

Fuyume: Urgh, Yume has a long way to go.

His image of a perfect princess is still far out of reach.

—I’m sorry, Midori-sama.

Midori: Uh, for what? I can’t keep up with this conversation…

Fuyume: Yume messed up again…he couldn’t keep his ego in check and screwed up the job. He even made Midori-sama mad.

So…Yume is sorry.

Midori: Oh, uh, you did cause a lot of problems but…no, nevermind, that’s not true. I should be apologising too. I was trusted to be your mentor but I haven’t taught you a single thing.

I’ve failed as a senpai, huh?

Fuyume: It’s alright. Besides, even if you had given Yume some pointers, if he didn’t like what he heard, he'd probably just get annoyed and ignore you.

He’s always been like this—so egotistical. It’s the only princess quality he has.

Regardless, Yume is sorry. The staff member that Yume was blowing up at was someone he had met before. They'd shown up to one of Yume’s photo shoots in the past with a super bigheaded attitude.

They were giving out business cards and masquerading as a professional. It was seriously the worst, they started taking over and ruined the mood on set.

A photo shoot is supposed to be a part of Yume’s world.

Ever since that day, Yume hasn’t been able to forget all the hate and frustration that he felt. When he saw that they were here today, he couldn’t stop his emotions from bursting out.

Yume can’t stand being in their line of sight. He hates being treated like a toy and having that person making up their own ideas of him…so, uhm, he’s sorry.

Yume honestly never wanted to cause all this trouble for you.

Yume was hoping we could get along…he wanted to talk to you but he was too embarrassed and nervous to know how to.

You looked like you were in a bad mood today, Midori-sama. The vibe you were giving off made it seem like you didn’t want anyone to approach you.

Midori: (Oh…)

(So we both had the same impression of each other…I should’ve known that he’d be feeling nervous about his first professional job.)

(Even I was feeling anxious when I first arrived on set.)

(I know how it feels to be in his position…that’s exactly why they asked me to be his mentor today.)

(I’m terrible, aren’t I? I’m never going to make any growth.)

Hanamura-san.

Fuyume: Yes?

Midori: Let’s go and apologise to the staff once you’ve had a drink and taken a moment to calm down.

Fuyume: Yume doesn’t want to apologise.

Midori: Oh…okay, I understand. If you want, I can go and ask for the staff member that doesn't like you to be removed.

It’s within our right to request things like that. You can even step away from jobs you don’t want to do too.

Fuyume: …

Midori: That being said, if we don’t do our jobs properly, we’ll cause problems for even those that don’t have anything against you, Hanamura-san.

We'll end up being hated and labelled as 'someone I don't want to work with' by the people around us.

Fuyume: Yume hates being hated.

Midori: Then let’s go and give them a proper apology. Once we’ve done that, we can focus on finishing off the job.

It might be late, but I’ll teach you the correct methods to use. Since I’m your senpai, I’ll make sure I put you on the right path.

Admittedly, this’ll be tough for me…I’m not important enough to be bossing people around, and I suck at talking to people too.

Fuyume: Mm…Yume isn’t good at it either. People always seem to get confused when he tries to have a normal conversation with them. It’s weird.

Midori: That was meant to be a normal conversation earlier…? You really do live in a world of your own.

(Crap, I didn’t mean to say that out loud. He’s probably going to get mad at me now. Judging by the way he seems to hate being challenged, I’ll bet that he always had his way in the amateur world.)

Fuyume: Fufufu. Thank you, Midori-sama.

Midori: (Huh? He took it surprisingly well? This kid doesn't make any sense to me…)

Fuyume: Yume wants to put his world on display for everyone to see.

He's grateful that you noticed its existence.

You made Yume happy, so Yume must thank you.

Fufufufu, Yume just had a sudden burst of motivation. He’s going to turn over a new leaf and do the very best he can to make sure this job is a success. 

Midori: R-Right…I’m glad you’ve found some motivation.

I’ll do some reflecting of my own and give it my all too.

Let’s work together to finish this job, Hanamura-san.

Fuyume: Stop saying ‘Hanamura-san’, Yume wants you to call him ‘Yume’ instead. It’s been getting on his nerves all day. Yume doesn’t feel like working anymore.

Midori: Whaaat…?

[devilmademewriteit]

completely inspired by a gif set u reblogged. Javi helping you into a bullet proof/tactical vest. you’re scared and he just says a gentle “arms up” as he secures the velcro. he’s scared as well, doesn’t wanna lose you, doesn’t want you to get hurt. but it’s like the fear, the adrenaline, has your emotions haywire and you look into his eyes as he takes hold of your hand so gently and tells you that you’re gonna be okay, and you just want to kiss him, and he wants to kiss you too, but then it’s time to go, and he tells you “later”

IDK WHAT THIS IS LMFAO Javi brings the slut outta me

you’ve inspired me anon here is a TINY FIC/DRABBLE YEEEEEEEE

pairing: javier peña x fem!afab!reader

warnings: fem!afab!reader; use of pet name ‘sweetheart’; canon-typical allusions to violence; language; ANGSTY POO

omg I can’t believe there’s no smut. GUYS I WROTE SOMETHING WITHOUT SMUT. I loooove writing my javi tho so while im busting my ass working on Salvatore part 3 feel so free to leave me lil thingies like this.

-em<3

—

“Hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have, but—”

It was never supposed to be like this.

It was just a summer job — something safe, boring, admin and agendas and addendums. Should’ve known better, taking a government job in the world’s most dangerous city.

She should’ve known better, taking a government job in the world’s most dangerous city. Shit. My chest feels like it’s on fire, burnin’ through kerosene.

Is she gonna clock how unsteady I am?

Javi’s footsteps echo down the nearby hallway; you recognize them immediately, and their slanted, hard-right-drag-left rhythm. He comes lumbering through the door, cradling tactical gear between his big, bulging biceps. God, you’d had… thoughts about those biceps.

Even now, with the embassy under cartel-siege, it’s oh-so-hard to push away the x-rated daydreams swirling inside your stress-addled mind.

And he doesn’t look scared.

Fuck, she looks so scared.

“Here,” he says, extending the protective vest towards you. Gingerly peeling your hips off of the desk at your back, you extend your fingers to greet and grab at the rough, thick canvas. The sheer weight of it makes your heart lurch into your throat. Neither one of you lowers your hands.

The dark-green-death-sweater you’d seen him wear so many times, cursing yourself for registering, for caring about what it meant.

That it meant Peña — schmoozing, cocky, effortlessly crude Javier Peña — was going into the field.

So neither of you let go.

The stupid vest had always served as a kind of divining rod, leading you both to the real source of your constant bickering, your irritation and the look of mutual, unabashed worry you had shared as a soldier came bursting into the office, panting in tune with the sirens, carrying news of the currently unfolding attack.

Caring without meaning to.

Giving a shit without wanting to.

“I-“ you swallow, trailing off, cursing the swelling bubble forming at neck-breaking speed inside your throat, “I don’t know what to do with this.”

Of course she doesn’t. That one’s on me. ‘Thing like her should never have to wear one of these.

Shouldn’t even have to see one of these.

“S’okay,” he mutters, taking the burden of the gear into his hands, brow furrowing into a look of delicate responsibility. “Turn around.”

Under different circumstances, those words might’ve (embarrassingly enough) enticed a very different feeling from you.

Now, they were simply effective.

Acceding, you rotate, painfully slowly as every hair along your spine lifts, one after the other. Peña shuffles, adjusting both himself and the gear to stand close — too close — behind you.

“Arms up, sweetheart.”

You listen, dragging your arms up into the static air, trying to ignore the soft edge in his voice. It reminds you of something.

Something like resistance.

Stifled want.

Desire with a sock shoved down its bone-dry throat.

And it’s so level, so calm. How is he so calm?

Can she tell I’m totally freaking out?

Your shoulders sag under the weight of the vest. Jesus. It’s so much heavier than you’d imagined. Not quite as heavy as the feeling of doom settling over you, grief from the naive sense of safety you’d walked into work with.

Just this morning.

Javi busies himself with the Velcro, uncharacteristically silent. His knuckles brush the insides of your wrists, and you try to resist it — God, you really do — but all efforts to keep those prickling tears at bay are undertaken in vain.

You quiver slightly, face burning in shame.

Is she shaking?

Gentle, unusually gentle when his fingers wrap around your upper arm, spinning you around to face him once more.

“Look at me.”

You do. His shadowed eyes swim, dance, rage with experience, and you’re left envious, wishing that you’d hardened yourself to the world in the same way. How many times had this man woken up, driven to work, drunk his morning coffee and smoked his morning smoke, accepting that it could be his last?

Knowing Peña, he probably found ways not to think about it.

For sure, he didn’t think about it.

But you did.

Every time that vest came out.

“Everything’s gonna be fine, alright?”

It’s an almost whisper, a mere brush of air against your brow. His own creases in earnestness as he utters the pledge.

“How can you do this for a living?”

You don’t mean for it to come out so rough and jagged, hissing for help like a neglected kettle on the stove. Javi offers you a smile of understanding as though remembering his own first time.

Then, before either of you can stop it, he places the flat of his palm to your cheek.

And you can’t keep from noticing how easily the calloused pad of his thumb molds to your complying skin.

“You get used to it,” he returns, and every word is coated, soaked in the sad, tragic truth. “Though this part’s always hard.”

Nothing exists beyond the smell of tobacco on his breath and the total absorption in his eyes. You’re sure the latter is mirrored in your own, too.

Timid, uneasy, begging him to ease the discomfort for you. “What part is this?”

The part where I lie to you. The part where I bubble-wrap the only thing in this country worth protecting into a shitty, almost useless accessory of war.

The part where I remember—

Is it the part where we remember how easily we could lose each other?

And we don’t even have each other, for God’s sake. Lookin’ up at me as if she can trust me, and the only thing I’ve been able to trust for years is that the moment will come, that moment where it all just gets to be too much and fuck—is this it? Maybe—

This is the part where we—

Kiss her, God, I just wanna fuckin’ kiss her—

Kiss?

“Peña! Time to move!”

Murphy’s voice slices — easily — through the tentative moment of uncertainty. It erodes the softness of Javi’s features into that familiar, hardened stone.

His hand drops from your face, but the tracings linger.

If you couldn’t trust the world outside, maybe you could trust Javi inside. Maybe he’d learned to live without something to lean on, but you weren’t yet prepared to go on—

She doesn’t know how much I fuckin’ need her. Or how many times I’ve tried to say it—and in so many ways—but every time I open my goddamn mouth it just comes out… wrong. Like it’s not enough. Like it’s not true that I can finally fuckin’ breathe when she’s… just… existing around me. Like losing her wouldn’t mean goin’ on—

Faithlessly. Radically accepting the confusing, overwhelming uncertainty of the world.

He clears his throat.

“I’ll see you after.”

Your gaze tumbles down, averting the twinge of dishonesty in his own at his promise.

“Yeah—yeah, see you after.”

He backs away without turning. For a moment, you think he’s gearing up to say something. Something like he always says, like, don’t be a fuckin’ idiot, or use your head or maybe even a smile, sweetheart.

But he doesn’t. He just shakes his head, his dark hair tumbling around and exaggerating his hesitation. Although it hurts, you force yourself to watch as he walks away. How he bows his crown, brings a hand up to anxiously rub at the side of his jaw, the roundness of his shoulder responding and near-bulging under the blue cotton.

Admittedly, a kiss from Javier Peña would’ve been nice.

But to be cradled between those arms, wrapped up in him instead of the goddamn tactical gear squeezing, robbing the air from your lungs…

That would’ve been it.

When this is all over, you think to yourself.

And as Javi greets Steve, apologizing for the delay, the hand squeezing his gun feels strangely empty, haunted by the novelty of touching your burning skin.

When this is all over, he thinks to himself.

Anyways, isn’t that what faith is? Making plans for later, as if anyone’s ‘later’ is promised, a guarantee? As if either of you could count on tomorrow?

Yeah, that’s gotta be it.

Joining the gaggle of scared, hopeless government employees, desperate for reassurance, for the realization blooming inside the depths of your knowing; you pause, letting it hit you, translating it into words…

“—I have it.”

—

[ghosts-bandwagon]

did i hear konig... can you do an unrequited love with konig. maybe the reader already has a partner (ghost? soapy? someone else?) and konig wishing it was him getting to be with the reader instead... i love watching my faves suffer.

I love your mind anon 🤩 (for maximum effect, I recommend listening to this song- it’s the one I was using to write this 😭)

It’s not often that KorTac and the 141 work together, but the handful of times that it happened were always a treat. Despite everyone else’s complaints. You always managed to make it an enjoyable experience, you’d wind up acting as a mediator between the two teams, even though no one asked you to. You’d always be the first one to step in between König and Ghost when they’d start to let their differences get the better of them. It was amazing watching you stand in between the two mountains, gently shoving both of them away from one another. Despite being a lower rank than him, your presence commanded as much respect as Ghost’s.

It’s part of what made König gravitate towards you, so whenever your teams would work together he’d start to interact with you only. Even though your jobs were demanding, taxing, and draining on the best days, you still found a way to laugh it off. And god your laugh was the most beautiful thing he’d ever heard, like wind chimes on a soft breezy summer day, it brought him so much peace to hear you. You were so kind and openly loving of your team. When Soap and Ghost came back from a rough mission, you took them both in your arms. Soap returned the embrace with eyes shut and full of emotion, Ghost patted your back and pulled away. You didn’t care, you were just grateful to have them back.

And then you turned to König after Soap shuffled off to his room, you walked up to him and rubbed his arm, hesitant to embrace him, unsure of his comfort levels. He leaned into your touch and you took it as permission, so you got on your toes and wrapped your arms around him. He leaned down and snaked his own around your smaller form, committing to memory the way you fit against him.

“Forget it. Keep pressing on.” You murmured in his ear, he squeezed you a little tighter and took a deep breath, the scent of your shampoo embedding deep in his mind. He straightened up, and wondered how someone who saw the same carnage as he did could still be so good.

“Thank you, schatz.” His voice felt like wind blowing through a crack, he was winded but in the best ways. You smiled softly at him and rubbed his arm one more time before pulling away and walking in the direction of your lieutenant. Every time he’s seen you and interacted with you, he falls deeper and deeper down the hole, he’s in the palm of your hand and he wonders if you’re even aware.

It’s when he’s on his way to the showers that he heard it. Soft voices filtering through a crack in the door, and one that sounded an awful lot like yours. He loved everything about you and anything to do with you, so naturally he looked through the crack and sure enough he saw you and Ghost.

“I can’t have you out there.” He argued,

“It’s not up to you, Simon, how the hell am I supposed to do my job if you’re going to be freaking out anytime we’re on the field together?” You were sat at his desk, legs swinging as you watched him pace back and forth,

Simon?

“Fuck. I know.” His head dropped, his hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. König watched as you walked towards him, your hands coming up to his chest, slowly sliding under the fabric of his balaclava,

“I need you to trust me, Si.” Your voice was low, your fingers gently moving the fabric up and over his mouth, resting it at the bridge of his nose. König couldn’t see the exposed skin on account of you blocking his view,

Wait.

“It’s not you I don’t trust, you know that.” He sighed, his hands rested on your hips, holding you against him, “I can’t promise I’ll keep you safe.”

Hold on.

“Well I trust you. Besides, I’ll be with König. I trust him.” You reasoned, Ghost rested his forehead against yours,

“Just be careful, love, please. For me.” He begged, his voice desperate and sad.

“Always.” You were so gentle, just as you always were.

And you did the unthinkable. You leaned up on your toes, just like you had when you hugged König not too long ago, and pressed your lips against his. König felt sick. He wanted to scream but he knew better. He quietly stepped away, feeling like he was stuck in place, struck by lightning and frozen with ice. His blood ran impossibly cold. He tasted iron in his mouth before he realized he bit a hole through his lower lip.

He never stood a chance, did he? He walked numbly towards the showers, the scene playing in his mind over and over again. And as he stood under the spray of cold water, he could only imagine the softness of your touch, the tips of your fingers gliding along Ghost’s cheek as you moved his mask away from his face, the warmth of you as you pressed yourself against him.

And then it all made sense. When you’d stand in between them, you’d always lean against Ghost just a little more. Your eyes always found his as soon as he entered the vicinity, and they always held a certain glimmer in them when Ghost would return your stare. It would probably explain why you so especially attuned to him, always aware of him and his quiet presence.

As his head hung in the shower, cold water suddenly not feeling cold enough, his heart broke in his chest. He felt bile rising up to his throat, he wanted to punch and kick and scream and beat the ever loving fuck out of Ghost. But then he’d lose you forever if he did. He’d just have to settle for your friendly embrace and the fact that you trusted him enough to look out for you. It would have to be enough, even if it never could.

[cellarspider]

The Prometheus rant, Part 0/30

⛬ | (Index) | (Next)

I have promised a dissection of the movie Prometheus. It begins.

So, to summarize, and give you a taste of what we're in for. 

I am a geneticist with a background in history, including some undergraduate archaeological field work. I'm deeply interested in linguistics as a hobby. Prometheus manages to be stupid in every one of these fields.

But I absolutely love H.R. Giger aesthetic, the cinematography is beautiful, and whoever did the editing was absolutely solid because the movie consistently cuts slow scenes at moments when the cuts feel just slightly jarring. It’s a very subtle way to maintain tension.

The soundtrack holds the intended tone well, the practical effects are numerous and impressive, and even though their story completely undermines it, they got an actual academic linguist to work with them on the language stuff: the guy actually has a speaking role in the film, as a virtual tutor of a reconstructed language he taught to one of the actors.

And on top of all that, there's at least one scene in the movie which is just unbelievably tense and well-executed body horror. It’s the scene everybody mentions as a highlight when they talk about the movie. So, it's a successful movie in so many ways.

But.

The writing does not back this up. There are stretches that are fine, even elevated by some of the performances. But you can feel the movie shift any time a scene has plot relevance, or a character is supposed to do their job. 

Unlike Alien, where the main cast making dumb decisions is believable because they're a bunch of space cargo haulers and maintenance people who are not supposed to have any relevant expertise for the situation they find themselves in, Prometheus' characters are supposed to be scientists, doctors, and the best a trillionaire could buy for a mission that he expected would

make first contact between technologically modern humans and a race of aliens that had visited Earth thousands of years ago

convince said aliens to give him the secret to eternal youth, because he's an old rich asshole

so when things start going wrong, I felt less like "oh no these poor bastards don't know what the fuck they're getting into" and more like "THAT'S WHAT YOU GET FOR CONTAMINATING AN ALIEN ARCHAEOLOGICAL SITE YOU BASTARDS"

this approximately culminates in a scene where the last surviving alien on the planet is woken from two thousand years of emergency stasis, gets talked at in something very much like Proto-Indo-European by Michael Fassbender at the behest of the old rich asshole, while a woman screams in English in the background. The alien proceeds to rip Fassbender's head off and beats the old man to death with it, which is just the funniest goddamn thing

That’s the TL;DR. Yes, really.

The actual rant will start next time.  Well. Part One of the rant. This is going to be a multi-parter, because I want anyone who follows me on this journey to understand how the movie builds up into such a mess, and get some actual science out of this.

⛬ | (Index) | (Next)

[nexo-cuffs88]

Northwestern University Part 1

A story for @wishmaster

It's another boring day for you at your office job. You had once attended and graduated from Northwestern University, you had always been the type to focus on studying rather than sports. Why not, everyone has different talents, some are more intelligent and some are more athletic. You were given intelligence and what did it do for you? A boring office job.

While you're working, you overhear a new colleague at the company talking to someone about Northwestern University, your school. He says:

?: "Hey, have you heard that the university is going to be demolished, my father graduated there and he said it was still relatively new when he left and that was over 20 years ago. It was also recently modernized."

You pick it up and think about the time again yourself, it's been 23 years since then, you're now 45 and it seems strange to you too. The university had really been in great shape when you left. You don't know how she had changed in the years after you graduated. You realize that in all your years you have never gone to school and looked at it. You actually didn't notice anything about the renovation work, either.

?: "My father would like to go there one last time in the near future before it is finally torn down, for the sake of old times and all. Unfortunately, he doesn't have much time left for that, the demolition work is supposed to start next month."

This gives you an idea, you could actually visit the university one last time after work this evening. It was an important part of your life and now you can't leave it without a degree.

Your working day is over, it's already late and it's getting dark outside, but you still decide to go to university. You get in your car and drive to university. Once there, the sun has quickly set and the university can hardly be seen anymore. But what you notice is that a huge fence has been built around the site.

There are signs hanging there that say: “No entry allowed. Buildings in danger of collapsing.” You think to yourself that you can’t just ignore the warnings about what if someone catches you. However, you also think about the fact that nothing happening in your life and it could be something exciting. Finally you decide to enter the area. You look around and make sure no one is around. You go to the gate and push it open. The gate isn't locked but you don't care. You walk across the grounds and see the courtyard, the school team's football field and also some of the buildings that used to be classrooms, living rooms and cafeterias. Some memories come flooding back about how much you loved watching sports teams, even if you never had the chance to play. You walk across the area and at some point you see a door to a building with a light on, it seems strange to you since the electricity should actually be turned off. Out of curiosity, you approach and finally open the door. When you did that, you just heard a crack above you and you just saw a piece of wall falling on you. Your eyes go black.

?: "Hey, are you okay?"

You open your eyes and look around frantically. You are in the hallway of a school, you see lockers, students and a person standing in front of you. It's a young handsome wrestler, he stands in front of you in full gear, with his tight singlet, his headhear and wrestling shoes. He holds out his hand to you.

?: "Come on, take it, I want to help you, bro!"

It's not easy for you not to look at the bulge in his singlet, but you do your best and take his hand. He pulls you up. You ask:

Jon: "What happened, where am I?"

He looks at you confused:

?: "You just tripped, you're in Northwestern University. Are you okay? Normally you don't forget your school after you trip."

Jon: "Yes, it's okay, I just need to compose myself for a moment. Why are you wearing that?"

?: "Okay, is everything really okay? Funny that someone like you ask that. I just came from training and didn't have time to change since, I was just helping you, buddy. Good so you don't forget. Hi, I'm Cameron, but everyone calls me Nexo, I'm the captain of the wrestling team, I wanted to recruit you for the team but you did something different. I don't share your decision, but I don't have anything against it either. Whatever it is. I gotta go, a captain should be with his team."

He turns around and leaves, you look at his ass, which is highlighted by his singlet, he looks so hot. But you immediately organize your thoughts again. If you aren't injured, at least a stone fell on you. And Northwestern? Your old school? You're at university even though you were standing at the construction site just a few seconds ago. Are you somehow lost in time or are you in a coma? Questions you can't answer and what did he mean by your decision and "someone like you"? You decide to go to the bathroom first, some water will definitely help you. You go into the bathroom, open the tap and wash your face. You look in the mirror and you're shocked at what you see.

You look into a face you don't know. It is the face of a young man with brown hair and beautiful eyes. You notice that you have headphones on and are wearing jogging clothes. You take your shirt off and now look at a muscular body, you have a muscular chest, great arms and a tattoo on your chest. You also notice your big ass and that you have a boner in your pants, you're not sure if it's from Nexo's ass or the sight of you.

The doorbell rang and you quickly take your shirt again. You look at your phone and want to find out where you have class now. You realize that it's history now. You also realize that it can never be time travel. You didn't have cell phones like this before and it feels too real, diffrent them a coma. But now you don't have time to think about it, you have to go to class. You quickly walk to the room that was on your phone. When you get there, you sit down and a person comes to you.

Alex: "Hey, Jon. I thought you weren't coming today, I didn't find you this morning. What was wrong?"

Jon: "Sorry, I'm off track right now, why am I so important?"

Alex: "Are you kidding? Today is training, we have to be ready for our game."

Jon: "What game?"

Alex: "Really? The football game against the Hawks. Have you forgotten that?"

Jon: "Of course not, sorry."

The bell rings and everyone goes to their places. Alex also leaves, you only see his ass which looks great in his football pants and you feel something moving in your pants again. Apparently the athletes here like to wear their sports uniforms to class.

Jon: *So football? But how can it be? It's all so real and now I'm a young jock doing the sport I've always wanted to do. What happened?*

Class begins and you continue to think about everything. Maybe you'll learn something during training.

Sequel follows...

PS: It's a little longer than expected, the second part is coming soon.

[yourgentlegirlfriend]

Soul tied

Hi my babies! New series i am writing and i hope you guys like it i’m super excited to see what you guys think!!

DISCLAIMER!! this is 18+ ONLY, please do not interact with my blog if you are underaged or don’t have age indicator in your bio!! thank you!!

Word count: 1,760

————————————————————————

New assignments were constantly draining. Your job was just draining.

Working for the government was never easy and being as young as you are in your field, your work was always downplayed.

Though you always stayed up late doing paperwork, your messy apartment constantly smelled of coffee. You were always waiting for a new assignment but they never gave you anything. You worked your ass off to prove you’re not just some rookie, years and years of training and physical torture but they refuse to send you anywhere.

You were called to Raccoon City during the aftermath, the mask clinging to your face as you glanced across the literal ash that used to be a big corporate ran city. Having to sign off and confirm death reports put you in the biggest depression of your life but you couldn’t argue, it was your job.

The so called victims of it all worked for separate agencies, having to sign off on their paperwork and confirm they were alive wasn’t easy. Jill Valentine went missing for a while, not by choice but she definitely was ridden by trauma and you couldn’t blame the woman. The second day you came by to check on her she had a note posted on the door

“Alive and well, thanks. -J.V”

And that was enough for you. The one person you couldn’t get a hold of.. Leon Kennedy. Calling everybody you could nobody knew where the boy was. You put the phone back down onto your desk, sighing as you looked at his paperwork, he looked young, with puppy dog eyes and scrapes all over. Where could he have run off to? When it was time to turn in everybody’s paperwork, you had put a bunch of them in separate files but of course, Leons was empty and your boss was not happy but what were you supposed to do? Your boss clicked at his pen a few times before he nodded and sighed

“Right.. he’s training”

He mumbled as he scribbled out Leon’s name on his paper, your eyebrows frowned as you laid the papers down. You may have been nosy but oh well, you cleared your throat, his eyes fixating up to you.

“Training for what?”

Your training took you almost four years. Directly out of high school and even getting into the program alone was another year. It made you feel like you were in the wrong profession. Your dad was a cop, your mom a teacher. So by birth you were set up for two jobs, either working for the police department under your fathers legacy or teaching and you were never the smartest in the family and your mom knew that.

When your parents found out you got a job in the government they were more than happy, how could they not be? They didn't know exact details such as you being employed for the DSO, or how you have seen bodies of things you can’t even describe. You were under oath, and you worked your ass off for them.

“Mission training.”

“What?”

You’re kidding.

“He’s new to the agency and he was already assigned a mission that’s not fair-“

“Are we done here? You don’t get to ask questions for now, you're just an assistant.”

The words that shouldn’t have hurt you as badly as they did. It didn’t matter though, maybe he was right.

All the paperwork you stayed up doing for Raccoon City, when you should’ve been sleeping. The heavy bags under your eyes, the tears, the stress and you thought it would never end, and it didn’t.

—————————————————————-

To many years later.

The sound of your air conditioner turning on made your head rise from your pillow. You don’t even remember falling asleep. Your apartment was a mess as it usually was, paperwork scattered all over your desk and your bed barely made.

A yawn leaves your lips as you stretch, rubbing your eyes. Your feet come up off the floor when your skin realizes just how cold the wood tiles are. The rain hits your window making your eyes fixated on the dark window. What time was it?

Your finger presses at your answering machine, 25 missed calls?

“Call me back, where are you?”

“Call me when you can”

“Fuck..”

You mumbled, grabbing your phone off your desk, quickly dialing your work office number. Being immediately transferred made your heart race faster, your boss’ sigh making you bite at your nails.

“You want an assignment so bad? I got one for you, but you can’t bitch to me about it in five months.”

Your eyebrows frowned as a slight smile tugged at your lips, an assignment for you? The line was silent for a few seconds before your voice filled the void.

“Anything.”

—————————————————————

Anything.

You wish you could go back in time and just go back to sleep.

Instead you stood in the doorway of your boss’ office, arms crossing as you stared at the back of the head of some dirty blonde man in a black long sleeve.

A scoff left your lips as you pulled out the chair beside him, sitting down next to the man. Who you have never met in person but god, did he have a reputation.

Leon Scott Kennedy.

The president's lap dog, who has gotten many more assignments than you have even if you’ve been here much longer than him.

Having to sign his reports from his mission in Spain. How the press praised him and his capability to save Ashley Graham. What a joke, as if he did it by himself. Ada Wong's mystery file always lays so perfectly on your desk. Though you did feel for Kennedy, the virus he contracted and what it did to him and his body. Ashley’s testimony made your heart ache because somebody as innocent as her didn’t need to see such things. She said Leon somehow fought his way through it, and so did she.

You didn’t even notice Leon’s gaze, his head tilted down slightly so he could look at your unamused expression. Seeming bitchy was the least of your intentions genuinely, your lips in a thin line as you blinked at your boss who of course had the biggest smile on his face.

“You wanted an assignment? I gave you one.”

His fingers pressed against the paper in front of you and Leon, sliding it closer to the two of you as you glanced down at the picture of Leon shortly after he came back from Spain.. Though healed, the thick black veins ran up his chest and neck.

Leon shifted uncomfortably, his neck cranking to the side. You know so much about the man and you’ve never heard him speak.

“What does this have to do with anything”

His voice was.. gravely almost. Guilt dipping in your chest due to the fact that you had judged him so deeply.

“A group knows information regarding the virus. A group in New York. Kennedy and you will be escorted. We want information.”

Thankfully Leon was as confused as you were, your eyes finally meeting. He looked exhausted, the bags under his eyes barely hiding the fact that his hair was messy. He was probably so done with all of this.. your head started to fill with thoughts of his Raccoon City file. Your boss words we’re being blurred by your thoughts, your vision coming back into focus.

“Husband and wife”

“What?”

The words leave your lips in a laugh almost, your eyes darting back up to your boss as you scoffed.

“Sorry, I didn’t go through years of training to play house.”

Maybe this was your sign that you weren’t ready for a mission, a commitment so big, your eyes looking down into your lap as he went over the details. A ringing in your ears as you swallowed the lump in your throat, maybe Leon was just more capable. He was stronger, smarter, he obviously had more experience.

The door slamming behind you made you flinch, your attention back to the paperwork in front of you. The sound of Leon scribbling away on the paper filling the room as your shaking hand reached for a pen on the desk.

—————————————————————-

“Here.”

Your head was turned away from the man, staring out the plane window as he sat across from you. The two of you barely spoke, the car ride here and everything. Your eyes ran over his frame before you saw the ring in his hand. The whole situation made you uncomfortable, you’ve never met Leon and now you had to pretend to be his wife. You leaned forward grabbing the ring before slipping it in your finger, your legs crossing again as your eyes shot down to his left hand to see the silver band on his finger as well.

So you were really doing this? Your mission was simple. Get the sample. The facility you’re being transferred to was under the impression that you and Leon were ex umbrella scientists. The two of you have been married since you were twenty. The plan has to be flawed, you had no chemistry.

It would be a lie to say he wasn’t handsome though. It honestly left you shocked that he had grown so much from Raccoon city, it’s like he had a second puberty almost. He must’ve seen you staring, his head turning to you causing you to look down at the ring on your finger, nervously fiddling with it as Leon cleared his throat.

“Don’t be nervous, people can tell when another person is scared.”

Leon spoke as you let your shoulders loosen, cracking your knuckles as the soft chiming of the plane getting ready to land rang through your ears. You two did look expensive, Leon dressed in a black suit, his hands pushing forward a bit so he can adjust the cuffs on his wrist as he stood up from his seat. His hand extends out to you, his jaw tightening as the sigh leaves your lips and you stand holding at his arm. You both made sure your rings were on display, your fingers carefully holding at his upper arm as the two of you stood in front of the opening door.

This was going to be more than difficult. Especially with Kennedy.

[agent-calivide]

Time for more John Juniper analysis because I am so normal about this man.

Edit: this was posted on April Fools, below the cut is an analysis of Commander Solaris, not JJ

Commander Solaris fascinates me as a character and I wish she was treated as more than just "fabricator's girlfriend" in the fandom sometimes. I love the ship, let's go sciency lesbians, but Solaris is just. Such chaotic neutral with a fascinating dynamic with Zoraxis and even Zor themselves and I love it.

Firstly, we see that above everything else, she prioritizes a love of science and discovery over all, I'd venture to say that Solaris is actually the most dedicated to specifically her field. While the others have the desire for art or revenge or loyalty to Zoraxis as motivators to their passions, Solaris is just all lasers all the time. That's not to say she won't work on other things, it's implied that she invented the Death Engine all on her own which means she has to know how to create or at least implement the gravity controls and life support systems, but at the end of the day it was all in the name of having a giant fuck off space laser.

She also hates it when things expedite the process in regards to her science. On the Death Engine, before the agent is revealed, you can hear her say "Automatic computer?! Who wouldn't want to do their own computing??" I think Prism and Solaris would actually bump heads about this a lot if they were ever set up to work together, despite the fact that they're both scientists, Solaris really has an almost old-fashioned approach when it comes to her scientific advancements. She shows a disdain for computers doing the heavy lifting and doesn't trust them in regards to cybersecurity, which is shown when the agent opens the crate that holds the station's manual override of the armature outside the shuttle. "Ugh, I knew people wouldn't take z-mail security seriously..."

It's clearly stated on her file that she is not with Zoraxis due to a loyalty to them or some power grab, she is simply with them because they are a means to an end. So long as Zoraxis provides what she needs, she will give them her inventions and help make pieces for death traps in the name of furthering her studies and working without restrictions. Her file says she believes in the "life altering" properties of lasers- though I do wonder if that means changing life while one is living or if it's just able to alter a life to... not alive-

We also see that unlike the others, she doesn't respect Zor as anything more than her employer. When Zor calls her, she's surprised and irritated.

"Doctor Zor... what a- uh... unexpected surprise..."

While she's initially confused, as the conversation goes on she gets angrier.

"That's hardly my problem, is it?.... I'll take care of it I suppose. Understood. I said I understand!"

While she respects that Zor is her employer and she does have to do what they say, she doesn't respect them as an authority to fear. She's short with them, straight up snapping at the doctor by the end of the phone call, which shows that she does not fear Zor in the same way others would. Many people would not lash out at someone known for their ability to get people killed, especially when its shown Zor doesn't give a damn if you're a low level miner or a high ranking doctor.

Solaris just straight up doesn't give a fuck until Zor says something, which could range from "it's your job" to "I'll cut your funding" to "I have a button down here that will kill you with poisoned gas" knowing them. Either way Solaris needed a slight push to try and actually kill the agent.

She's also just all around got this funny, spunky side to her that I wish we saw more of. She has a disdain for orange juice because it's all they can drink on the space station, she approves of the agent doing risky but efficient science with the meat can, when you grab the screw drill thing she is so excited because she initially thinks it's a blaster that she's been trying to get the design approved for, only to be so disappointed when it's not. She’s got a dry as hell sense of humor that relies mostly on sarcasm and will make fun of you if you start to accidentally kill yourself.

Then when we cut to IEYTD 2, while there’s not any dialogue directly from Solaris, we do hear Fabricator’s side of a call between them.

In it, we hear that Solaris is not mad at the agent for nearly killing her, she’s mad that they ruined her work. It also seems Zor’s likely not letting her pursue her passion, as Fabricator mockingly calls out how something isn’t fair, and then pushes Solaris into looking into new projects. That Death Engine was likely a five year labor of love that Phoenix destroyed in ten minutes, and Solaris is pissed. Rightfully so, frankly.

We also see that Solaris and Fabricator disagree to some extent on the purpose of their inventions, Fabricator having a note that calls out how “inelegant” Solaris is. This shows that while Solaris and Fabricator are both heavy hitters for Zor, they have very different motivations for why they make the things they do, Fabricator makes her death traps as a form of art that has to be presentable, Solaris makes them as a means to an end for her laser projects, which are likely crude and functional more than artistically inclined.

This does go to show that while Solaris and Fabricator are willing to confide in one another, they also don’t agree on likely many things. Be it the purpose, the portrayal, or the motivation to their work, they have fundamentally different stances on what they do and why they do it.

I don’t believe Solaris left Zoraxis in some big declaration or out of a sudden spur of empathy, I think Zoraxis just can’t provide what she wants anymore. She did not leave Zoraxis because she hates Zor or feels remorse for killing, Zoraxis just had to go underground so she couldn’t do things like make giant orbital space lasers. It’s very clear her position in Zoraxis is conditional on the terms that she can unabashedly pursue her laser research, and with Zoraxis having to go underground, Zor likely cut her resources.

She wiped her hands just clean enough to ditch someone who wasn’t providing any benefits for her before retiring and trying to drop off the face of the earth and dream on what could have been in the country side.

And if you read this far and are still wondering what the hell this has to do with John Juniper, happy April Fool's :)

[psychelis-new]

pick a pile: "Which career would suit you best?"

take a breath and choose the photo/number that calls you the most to read about guidance on your situation, your talents and what career may be the one in which you'd shine the most.

don’t take the reading too seriously. only take what resonates with you and leave the rest. if you're not called by any pile, let this reading slid as it may not hold messages for you. if you're called by more than one, there may be messages in each of those piles. remember that is a general reading and some things may not resonate with you. energies can change and readings are based on present ones (as you read); you're always in charge of your life.

(photos found on unsplash)

- ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ -

1 2 3 4

- ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ -

pile 1

You may be good at putting together things and make something beautiful, like you find pieces of random materials (or even informations) and you put them all together to make a piece of art (or to talk about something). You are good also at entering inside people's minds. You find breaks/wounds, or try to heal their wounds too, thanks to your ability of putting together things (broken or not). It reminds me of the kintsugi art. You may be wounded as well, but you kinda use your wounds to help others too, you show them, you're not afraid to show how you grew into the person you are nowadays. You know scars are a due part (and a reminder) of the most meaningful lessons we learn in our life. You may feel called to keep working on yourself so to be more accepting of what is going on (sometimes you may still not know why things happen to you and have a hard time accepting them), and do the same for others as well. You may be a conselour, a therapist, a psichologist, a writer, a speech doctor or you have to speak a lot about something related to the mind. You may even be an artist (any type but a little more painting/drawing-related) or a tarot reader/spiritual figure. A mystery/puzzles solver, for a few (so maybe even a detective/police officer). You can help others finding their true worth and appreciate themselves more also through the hardship they may be going through. You give another point of view to life's situations. You are accepting and not judging of others: no matter what you or them have been through, you know everyone has their own path and things to learn, you just try to be of help in putting a light on their path also thanks to your self knowledge and ability to put together things. You may be a teacher as well, maybe a particular one, that uses a different approach.

songs: burst into flames | cavale; blood tree | billy crabtree

- ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ -

pile 2

High self made vibes. Business person, self employed. You may want to build your empire. I am hearing "finances", it could be your field, or you may be wanting to become particularly rich. It doesn't have to be for everyone though. Some of you may just be ending into a field and grow abundant by chance. I think also doctors (and pharmacists, people working with herbs too) may be in this pile. You want to leave a name, possibly become famous in your field. Some of you could be writers or researchers. You want to make a change into the world. But in order to do so, you need to have a clearer mind about the how (I get some confusion too, maybe not for everyone). Follow your intuition and what is telling you to do. Follow your call. Some of you may be in a field you don't like, the cards are saying don't block the change, what is supposed to be. Find ways to get there (just ofc be mindful to make a change with a thought: do not simply get out of a job out so suddenly because this reading is suggesting it may be good for you; see if/how/when you can afford it. And if you really need to. Take a breath and plan it out: if you're only studying about a subject you can make a change, but you need to be sure about what your heart's calling. Try to be happy and have no regrets). And again, make an actual plan: it's your life you have to take control on. For some it may also be a job in the law-field. But for most of you, the message is to keep attracting what it is that you have inside of you. You just need to meditate and find it out. Or, wait for the moment in which the realization will arrive (some may not yet be aware of what their call is, just don't stress over it. You'll know it at the right time). I think the biggest blockage to your dream career is yourself: your mind, your situation, your fears. Try to have a talk with them and see if you can change anything (be objective though, find compromises, and don't hide your true self for anyone else: live your life).

if you're called by pile 3, there may be a short message for you too

songs: my body is a cage | peter gabriel; pharoah dunes | emancipator, 9 theory* (*second song is instrumental: could be a sign for archaeologists/historians or just another way to suggest you to meditate)

- ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ -

pile 3

I feel a stress on the word "your". Some of you may be called by others' people jobs (famous or not). Not just inspired but in a way that you just want to be better than them at what they do or you want to be like them for any reason (fame, money, just competition, self worth... maybe someone you love keep praysing them for what they do and you need to show that you can do the same even better -tw: this is a trauma you need to work on). This is to remind you that you don't need to be anyone else: you're you. You have your life, your path, your plan. Your reason to be here. And it's okay if you haven't found it yet. You will find it soon, when yo'll be ready to know about it, and maybe when you'll stop trying to be someone you're not and heal your traumas. Nobody is born without a reason. Keep this in mind. You have a purpose too. Be confident about it. Be sure about it. Stand your ground, talk your words. You don't need to people please, you don't need to be a yes-man, you don't need to do what others do if that's not what makes you happy inside, and willing to wake up even on sundays or christmas' day and willing to just work on your thing. You're kinda blocking your own intuition by not listening to your guts but only to your wounded ego. Don't do this to you. Don't be afraid of not being someone. You will be someone one day, but you need to be your own someone. So have a talk with your mind, find your way out of this painful rut you're putting yourself into, balance your emotional side (and take care of your wounds). Answers will come at you sooner than you think. Also, if by any chance your parents want you to do a job you don't like or follow their path, you are free to say no. And you're allowed to change your mind after studying and go for a different path. Some of you will need to work in companies, or maybe create a business with a friend/partner or someone you'll meet somewhere by chance. Just don't rush things. Keep your ear ready to receive inputs (maybe the words of someone will help you get out of this place). Music may be for some of you, maybe dancing too. Some may need to relocate somewhere else too. All in all, believe that you'll find your career or it will find you: don't force it onto you.

if you're called by pile 2, there may be a short message for you too

songs: american girl | tom petty and the heartbreakers; teasing to please (left side, strong side) | cute is what we aim for

- ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ -

pile 4

It's a job of compromises and balancing out. You may even be balancing two completely different jobs. At least to start with. But it may feel scary to you: is it really right to do this? Don't stop yourself. You can do this. You are smart and intelligent to do anything you desire, why are you stopping your abilities? change your mind and clarity will come to you faster. I feel like you only need to believe more in yourself to take the final step, cause you already know your call. You may be aware of the fact that you can find a middle ground, your own way to do things, to balance opposites. Maybe some of you already know that they need to balance their own mind with the one of their colleague/s: find compromise again. Don't shut your mouth. Learn from your past experience and teach others too. You may have had a passion or a hobby when you were a child or a teen (according on your age), and you kinda forgot about or had to give it up to study another thing or focus more on another job. Come back to it. You may find that that was your real call. Or you may mix it with your new passion/hooby and see what type of career or job you can create by mixing the two. E.g. Maybe you liked cooking when you were a child and then you studied/are studying psychology: but you can find how to help people with food-related psychological trauma by preparing a diet for them or molding specific food into a different form. You name it, it could be anything really. There's just a need to balancing opposites in your reading, and it could be even what your mind and heart are saying (are they pointing in two different ways?). Yes, it's this: your mind may be playing with you, not really wanting you to focus on your passion but opting for something safer, but you can actually find a compromise. Think about it, you can. So yes, cooking, drawing, painting, dancing, sports (if you have studied management and liked sport, you can try to work for a sport team, e.g.)... reading? Watching movies? I think you can start a blog about something particular too, maybe just your child-days/memories for people of your age or around it. Reconnect with your inner child, let them help you. Some of you may be feeling like you're suddenly running out of time but that's not true. Give yourself time to take a break and see things from a different perspective. Sometimes all wee need it's just to let ourself have a time out.

if you're called by any other pile, there may be a short message for you too

songs: nowhere fast (instrumental)* | ateller; only you | yazoo (*instrumental song may be an encouragement for you to meditate and take some time for yourself)

[baileys-3]

The Secret Datin Era - NEW Chapter (#32) now online on AO3

First thing first. Thanks to you @himynameiscookies for beta-reading again ... until the middle the night. No definitly after the middle of the night. You are crazy :)

Thanks for alle the comments and kudos. And wow ... over 40.000 klicks on the story. I am blown away. And something other is crazy too. I am nearing the 200.000 word mark. Actually I am at 198.000 words. Never imagined this story will be soooo huge. And we are not even near the end. Puh.

So I hope you enjoy this chapter. I think you will ... perhaps. I hope so. Feel free to let me know in your comments.

Sneak Peak:

Lucy has a date night on Saturday. Which wouldn’t really be a problem, but it’s not with him, it’s with Angela and Nyla. At a SINGLES NIGHT party. Holy shit Angela. Holy shit Lucy. He doesn't know what to do with this information right now. He's absolutely certain that Lucy somehow got roped into this thing. If you know Angela, you know that sometimes you have absolutely no chance against her. And he also knows that he has absolutely no reason to be jealous or anything else. But that doesn't mean he has to like the fact that Lucy is taken on singles night by Angela. Together with Nyla. Holy shit.

All of this is going through his mind as he stands on the Grizzlies' practice field, where he's supposed to be coaching his baseball team. He sees Lucy eyeing him. For about the fifth time. But she hasn't said anything yet. He gives her a few more minutes. He knows his girl.

It doesn't take long for them to set up the boys with an exercise that keeps them all in motion and requires minimal correction. Standing next to him, they exchange a look, and he simply says, "Singles night? What the fuck Lucy."

He didn't want to bring up the topic so bluntly, but that's just the way it is. He had intended to be more composed and cooler, without turning it into some kind of accusation. He rolls his eyes at himself mentally, while Lucy actually rolls her eyes at him.

"I swear I couldn't help it. You know Angela... Well, she was being Angela. And there was no way to escape it. Believe me, I tried."

Tim notices that one of the boys believes he can ease up a bit just because his two coaches are engaged in conversation. He almost has to commend him for his keen observation. But before he can address it, he hears Lucy's shout.

"Hey Simon, again, half speed doesn't count."

Tim's face lights up with a wide grin. Lucy can be tough, and it's amusing how their roles seem to reverse when they're on the baseball field. Typically, he's the tough one - on the job anyways - but in baseball, she holds a higher standard. Lucy has a competitive drive; she wants to win and slacking on training will not led to win.

But back to Lucy. Who is going on a date at a singles night event.

"So, I'm not going to see you on Saturday because you're going on a date … nice." He emphasizes date like it's a contagious disease.

"I'm not going on a date. I'm going out for a drink with Angela and Nyla. In a bar where there happens to be singles night."

"Sure. And Angela and Nyla won't spend the whole time trying to set you up with someone. What was it Angela said? Trying to find Mr. Right for you? "

In response, Lucy shifts her gaze toward him, arching her eyebrows. "Really Tim? Don’t be such a drama queen!"

[hotchs-bitch]

Fluffy Feb Day 5- Words of Affirmation

Warnings: platonic relationship, BAU reader, brief mentions of case involving kids (no details)

Pairing: Hotch x blank slate Fem!Reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 902

Your performance review couldn’t come at a worse time, in your opinion. You’re fresh off of a hard case; those involving children are always the worst. Everyone is exhausted, not helped by the late hour that you land back in Quantico, but reports need to be written and files need to be filed, so you end up back at the office right from the airstrip.

Halfway through your second cup of coffee and squinting at the folder in your hands, you look up to see Hotch standing near your desk. He shoots you an apologetic smile, then lifts the folder he’s holding. Your name is written on the tab, and you groan when you realize what it is.

“Performance reviews. I hope you don’t mind, but they’re due by 9 AM,” he explains, and you get to your feet. “We can do it in the morning if you prefer.”

That’s almost laughable because it’s nearing 1 AM already, so you just shake your head and start in the direction of his office. “Let’s get it over with.”

Your attitude isn’t exactly stellar, but you know that after the week you’ve had, he’ll understand. Hotch follows you up the steps to his office, seating himself behind the large mahogany desk before he sets the file down.

“Are you okay?” He asks, his voice gentle, and you know that this isn’t part of the review. “I know this case wasn’t an easy one.”

‘I’m fine’ is on the tip of your tongue, ready to be said so you can get on with the review, but instead, you sigh out a tired, “I’ve been better. How are you doing?”

“I’m alright. Thank you.” Hotch opens the folder and removes a few papers, but you narrow your eyes at him. 

He’s got a shield up, as he so often does. Especially now, on those days that he feels the need to appear strong for the sake of the team. It makes something in your chest ache for him; the rest of the team can bitch and moan and whine all they want about the workload and long hours, but Hotch’s shield never falters. Who can he talk to, about the things you’ve seen and the lives you live out in the field?

“I’m serious,” you insist. “That was probably the worst week of my life since I’ve started here, and I don’t even have a kid. Hotch, talk to me.”

The smile he gives you is half-placating, half-grateful. It gets on your exhausted nerves more than it should. “I am. I’m trying to do your review, remember?”

His light tone doesn’t lend itself to your good graces. “The sheriff was a dick,” you tell him, and his smile becomes a little more genuine at that.

“We’re supposed to call that ‘unreasonable’.” His correction comes quickly, as you knew it would, but there’s no mistaking the amusement in his eyes.

“Fine. He was an unreasonable unreasonable-head, and you dealt with him more than anyone else did, and I don’t know how you didn’t rip his head off.”

Hotch’s head ducks slightly, as though he’s unused to the recognition, and it makes you frown. Case after case, he commends your efforts and those of the rest of the team with little comments made here and there. You’re no stranger to hearing that you’ve done well in an interrogation, and you’ve heard Morgan complimented for his takedown of an unsub more than once.

So, who’s saying that stuff to Hotch?

He clears his throat and looks down at his paper, but you’re not done talking. “You did really well handling the victim’s family, too,” you add, if only to see his lips press together into what has become a repressed smile. “I could see that they felt safer after you spoke to them.”

“Yes. Well,” he clears his throat, “Thank you. The family is one of our top priorities.”

“I know that. I’m just saying; you’re good at your job, Hotch.” You shrug one shoulder, trying to play off your words with nonchalance for his comfort. It works, and you can see the moment he relaxes slightly and some tension drains from his shoulders and their stiff posture.

“That’s kind of you to say,” he says, and you can tell that you’ve flustered him. It’s almost time to back off, you can tell, but you’re not quite done yet.

“Honest.” Your correction comes as swiftly as his earlier one did. “You’re in charge for a reason. We wouldn’t be half the team we are without you.”

This time, when Hotch clears his throat and looks down at the paper, you don’t interrupt. His cheeks are tinted with the lightest pink, and he seems intent on not looking back at you.

“Okay, Agent.” When he speaks after a minute, his tone is final but it’s also more casual. Relaxed. “We should get on with the review; it’s getting late.”

“Of course.” You relax into your chair in turn as he leafs through a couple of pages, and the moment gives you time to profile him despite your silent agreement that you never would. 

His head is ducked, but not enough to hide the upturned corners of his mouth, and you make a mental note to compliment him in the field more often. He deserves it more than anyone, and you’re happy to be the one to give it to him.

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Fluffy Feb tags: @doctorsteths-fluffyfeb @iammirrorball @hausofwhores @allthefandomstogether @myweepingangel @hotched @spacecowboyhotch @chibsytelford @honeybrowne @formulapierre (send me a dm or ask to be tagged!)

[americanivoryblog]

Election 2024 - The American Dream Is Being Lost; Even Among Our Own Citizens

I'm an independent. I've thought about my vote this year and I don't know if I will.

Trump:

-Good for economics/money (Whether you like him or not, he knows how money works)

-He's good for peace among nations and international affairs….he understands America's value/brand.

-Trump is Pro-Life. But, under the circumstances, if the woman is raped or the mother or the child is going to have complications; I do believe the woman has a choice.

But, I'm for legal immigration and I'm against not allowing honest human beings across the world to use America as a refuge away from danger; a safe haven.

I also disagree with the dissolution of Social Security. America's population is stagnant. The population isn't increasing enough equal to the money made by individuals to say people don't need it. And the population isn't decreasing enough to not afford it.

The States in America have enough tax money and profits from gambling alone to afford it. And If people need help with finances until they get themselves on their feet, they should get it. If they need a break from life while dealing with mental health issues, they should get financial help.

If people go through the process for financial help legally and honestly without abusing the system they should get it.

The American Dream ironically due to the direction of penalizing Capitalism and a decline in societal values, morals and selection of who should be rich and who doesn't deserve it is putting the American Dream at risk....which leads me to Biden.

Biden:

-I don't like the path he is setting for people, their futures, their families, education and peace - both within American Communities and Internationally.

-I'm completely against his new proposal of increasing the Capital Gains Tax. If people find a way to financial freedom. Allow it. The Capital Gain Tax is fine the way it is. He's determining who doesn't deserve the American Dream and if they get it, penalize them.

-I'm against his social-class warfare he's creating; in a way which determines who does deserve the American Dream vs. if they get the American Dream, penalize them.

-I'm against him not holding colleges accountable and liable for not helping ALL students of race, religion and politics to get a job in the field they studied.

-I'm against him not holding colleges accountable and allowing college's to allow students and people not of the campus or enrolled at the college to protest on matters that they are completely not only un-educated about; but matters that are encouraging division and enticing violence. This breaks the law of peaceful protests, especially if it is intentional to get or encourage a violent reaction. In the end, taking the luxury of our Freedoms for granted.

It should not be wrong to support your country with an American Flag or frowned upon. The Freedoms this country was founded on, has not been at risk of invasion in over 100 years, the closest anyone has come is Pearl Harbor and 9/11. 2 events on 2 days....there hasn't been years of risk of invasion like most countries in the world.

-He's terrible with foreign affairs.

-He refuses to take a strong position on anything. He can't take a stand and call what is yellow is yellow and what is purple is purple.

On both sides, there is too much allowance for generalizations among people, race, religion, populations, social classes, politics, governance and nations. For example, just because I'm white, doesn't mean I like every white person; if I'm treated poorly by someone, am I supposed to like them? So the thinking and reasoning of just because I'm white, I like every white person is a generalization. And a historical example, yet an extreme example - just because Germany was ran by Nazi's doesn't mean there were no German citizens who were against the Nazi's. There were Germans who wanted out; and if they went against the Nazi party they were murdered.

It's an extreme example, but my point is - You can't generalize people, race, religion, populations, social classes, politics, governance and nations.

(Note: What astonishes me with these college kids who claim to be Hamas supporters; if they showed support for Hamas in Hamas controlled territories/sanctions, but Hamas found out they're American. There's a high chance they'd be murdered or held hostage - for just being an American.

There is some dis-connect with these "Pro-Palestinian" supporters at these college campus' not understanding, that they are representing Hamas in these protests.

And I'm certain that these protestors don't recognize, that there are most likely Palestinians who do not want to be associated with Hamas.

This is the misunderstood pro-active movement being a vehicle for a generalization.)

Generalizations are dangerous; the entire point of disagreement is to come to a sound conclusion and decision. And this country, we have lacked that for decades. The constitution and amendments were based on disagreement to come to a sound conclusion. Laws in which we still live by, that were made based off the Mayflower Compact; the first governance order in America to allow peace is still supposed to be upheld.

There are different factions among people, race, religion, populations, social classes, politics, governance and nations.….and if people aren't educated to understand factions and operations to have disagreements with the goal of a sound conclusion….You will NEVER get a unified nation….It will always be division….even to its form into government as saying well they're Republican or they're Democrat…..no, you can't generalize like that….there are Far Right, Far Lefts, Right, Lefts and Moderates in each and believe it or not there are Rights, Lefts and Moderates who do agree on things and want to make sound decisions; but what does the media cover and promote?

The generalization of division simply made as Republican vs. Democrat.

It's absolutely ridiculous and completely uneducated.

America is the place of refuge, the melting pot. An idea and dream to not only be safe, but a land of opportunity. That is being lost. The American dream, even among our own nation and home grown citizens is being lost. The sense of ownership especially with land and homes; the ownership to be part of the American dream is disappearing. Especially when people can't afford homes and land anymore.

And the media, whether left, right or moderate outlets refuse to educate the people about anything and continually allow generalizations to encourage decision making.

It is all re-active reporting with an agenda "that appears" to encourage pro-active decision making for the future, thus making people feel they are making a difference while it is simply re-active reporting with an agenda to create the upcoming future.

People don't realize, that the media is simply pre-programmed. Do not think for one second that the media (whether left, right or moderate) hasn't planned the programming for future reporting ahead of time for that week or even, maybe that month. Literally in the guide of your cable television; you can see each outlet now labeling their shows as Episode 1, 2 and so on.

And all the while the journalism is absolutely terrible; simply just keywords to keep a viewer watching while reporting limited information for a controlled perspective without giving the audience truth among both sides to allow the viewer the free will to make their own decision and come to their own conclusion.

This is not journalism. This is not un-biased reporting. Honestly, it should be illegal.

And I truly believe, if the media took the initiative to recognize this. People would be empowered to attempt to be unified, rather than being empowered by differences.

Media outlets focusing on Trump's trial as a priority while ignoring real conversation American's should be having and being aware of true issues that effect the future without an un-biased opinion should be a priority. America is going to enter a fragile state.

There is no pro-active reporting without agendas. The Daily Show worked in the early 2000's to make jokes of political ridiculousness; it was popular and worked then....And tension in America is so tight, the jokes are out.

I just read an article on Jerry Seinfeld and within so many words, due to the current state - it is hard to be a comedian...people need comedy. But, tensions are too high and everything is offensive.

So, whether its the media or the politicians. You just can't generalize everything. Life is complicated, but you have to call the color what it is.

I'm not defending anyone who comes to your yard sees the dandelions there yellow, believes that your dandelions are purple while they're in your yard trying to convince you the dandelions are purple....when they're yellow.

I can't get behind that.

[laineystein]

(Prompted by your post about leaving for work.) Do you enjoy your work as a physician? I've been a nurse for 10 years but am desperately trying to change careers to something outside of healthcare. (Oh, how I'd love to have one of those jobs people were able to do from home on their couch in PJs during Covid. I think they just read spreadsheets all day or something.) I'm burned out. I'm exhausted. I'm tired of taking care of other people. But it makes me feel inferior to my healthcare colleagues because they're ~passionate~ about ~caring for people~ and I don't hold that same passion 😅

First I’ll say that even the people that love their jobs have bad days and doubts. That’s life. But this is a tough question.

Do I enjoy my work as a physician? Yes, mostly. I love emergency medicine and working in an ED. I am absolutely passionate about being able to help people during some of the worst moments of their lives. I’m proud of how hard I’ve worked to be where I am in my career. I love my unit and my hospital and my team. I’m phenomenal at my job and I couldn’t picture myself doing anything else. However, COVID completely changed my life. Something that I loved became something I hated. Things have definitely gotten better the more time passes but the pandemic gifted me with moderate PTSD and it can flare depending on various factors, which can make working in a hospital nearly unbearable sometimes. I think the great part of emergency medicine is that when things need to happen, you just do it. Anxiety and flashbacks and pain go out the window when you’re helping someone else. But sometimes after a code or after hours in the trauma bay, when everything is stable again, the situation hits me and it can be very triggering. I understand this isn’t everyone’s experience but for those of us who worked in healthcare during COVID, we are forever changed.

So yes, I’m also burned out and forever exhausted. And I know so many of my friends in healthcare feel the exact same way. I was supposed to be on a bit of a sabbatical then October 7th happened and now I’m back in the hospital for 24 hours/wk. But I am passionate about what I do even though it’s different now. I’m so passionate about what I do that my favorite part of my week is the remaining 20+ hours where I get to teach emergency medicine to students/soldiers that haven’t been disillusioned by a pandemic and the overall state of healthcare.

Please know that so many in the healthcare field are burned out and exhausted like us. It seems to be the norm. But it sounds like your malaise may be more than that, and that’s okay! I’m proud of you for recognizing that nursing may not be a great fit and I hope you find something that more aligns with what you’re looking for and ideally makes you happy. I know “starting over” can be tough so it might be advantageous to look into more clerical nursing jobs - case management, insurance review (in the US), recruiter. The change of pace/scenery might spark the passion that initially got you into nursing (it can be difficult to think clearly when you’re knee deep in the problem) or it might show that you need a complete change and I have faith that you’ll find it. All the love and best of luck! 🫶🏼

[bluiex]

So I'm a slut for vampires and LIVING (ha!) for your vampire!scarian tag! I love the tragic ending 🕊🐈 anon wrote, and I especially enjoy the idea of Grian's vampire hunter teammates betraying him. But what if things were flipped?What if they used Grian as bait for a stronger monster?

They couldn't convince him to cut ties with Scar and they can't fire him after all he's seen in the field. Why not plan a convenient accident?

They split up to cover ground and tell Grian to stay behind alone and rig a trap.

"By myself?! How am I supposed to work if I'm busy watching my own back?"

"Last time we checked, you liked having a monster up against you~"

Mocking laughter burns pink across his face. Grian kneels next to a toolbox and rummages through it for an excuse to change topics.

"Fine." He spits, "I'll set your stupid trap... But stay close. I don't want to be completely defenseless if something were to happen."

"Ooooh! Afraid you can't handle two vampires at once? Don't want wanna get fucked by another-"

"I said I'd do it! Now go!"

Blood boiled through his ears as his teammates gloated and vanished into the darkness. Grian yanked out wires and cables, tossing them over his shoulders into a tangled mess. Those assholes better do their job properly tonight. He's half a mind to leave a few tripwires unconnected and their holy water flasks empty.

But Scar would yell at him for undercutting his own teammates, even if they were the sort of people to try and kill him on sight. Grian sighed, properly wiring the trap and gathering the components for the next one. If anything did happen, Scar wouldn't be too far away. He had arranged to pick Grian up after the hunt was over at 11:00.

Just a thirty more minutes and he'd be back to someone who actually cared about him...

---------------------------

At 10:34, the hunters silently looped back around.

At 10:42, Grian was halfway through setting his traps.

At 10:45, one of his teammates returned for a spare torch (conveniently the last one Grian was carrying.)

At 10:46, Scar heard a scream that belonged to his hunter. Instantly, he sprinted foward, locked on the growing scent of blood filling the cold night air.

In 20 seconds, his fangs were bared. Claws replaced his fingertips as he gouged out eyes and literally tore the feral monster off of Grian.

In 7 seconds it was dead.

And the moment he looked over his shoulder, Grian looked all too familiar:

Broken. Sputtering. Gasping.

Dying.

Scar knelt over him, darting uselessly over wounds he couldn't fix. A bloodied hand reached up from remains of Grian's neck. Trembling, it brushed against Scar's fingertips and the vampire gripped it tightly, panic filling his green eyes.

Grian tried to anchor his consciousness just a little bit longer. Tears wet his paling cheeks, but he couldn't tell who they belonged to. Scar babbled incoherently above him. His fangs glistened like stars as he sobbed and begged Grian to hang on and don't go and look at me and please, I'm sorry, Grian, Grian...

And perhaps, in a drifting state of judgement between two impassable worlds, Grian stared up at Scar as firmly as he could and rasped:

"Turn me."

-🩸

HnnNFNGNNFJHD

Scar's amplified hearing had to be playing tricks on him. Grian wouldn't whisper those words, right?

As uncontrollable tears fell from Scar's eyes, grief gripping his dead heart like a vice; he grabbed hold of Grian's wrist bringing it up to his mouth. He looked at Grian's face once more for confirmation, but was met with dull lifeless eyes.

Panicked now, Scar cried out Grian's name, biting down into his wrist using every ounce of his venom to bring his hunter back, his sun, the love of his life.

[themonopolyhat]

shoulder the sky au: helix whump

[ETA: this one-shot has become a round robin fic via the reblogs, but mind the tags folks!]

i have been dared by @shootingstarpilot to contribute to the helix whump “what-if” for his fantastic shoulder the sky series on ao3, so here we go.

pilot, you and i had the exact same idea on how to make helix’s life even worse than it already is -- namely, we both envisioned him on iwanaga along with obi-wan during dooku’s science project / torture spree.  this brainshare is hilarious all by itself.

(i should probably CONTENT WARN for torture, misery, and major character death right now haha)

my thoughts:

+ not sure whether dooku grabs helix on purpose or if it’s an accidental acquisition -- but since helix is along for the ride, and dooku is a bastard, dooku decides to make use of him.

+ therefore it is helix’s job to monitor vitals, update certain chart fields, and administer the antibiotics and pain meds while dooku’s minions or droids or whatever perform the experiments.

+ also because dooku is a bastard, helix has been outfitted with an explosive slave tracker right inside his skull. no escaping or even going where you’re not supposed to be on the base, pumpkin

+ so helix is in the fucking room with obi-wan when dooku questions him, and when dooku threatens him, and when the experiments begin. dooku threatens helix, too -- like shut up and do what you’re told or something real bad will happen.  obi-wan all but orders helix to comply because of course he doesn’t want anyone else to suffer on his behalf.  so helix shuts up and complies.

+ obi-wan is as quiet as he can be, quiet and straining at the restraints. it’s just another tuesday for helix, watching somebody he cares about fucking suffer while he’s unable to save them

+ helix loses his cool probably around the time that dooku proposes to drain obi-wan’s blood completely? or some other horrible thing, idk.  anyway helix responds as any horrified medic with his temperament might, and dooku has him knocked the fuck out.

+ helix wakes up in time to hear obi-wan screaming, and he gets to listen to the screams for a while before dooku wanders in like “oh yeah, if you’re not around to monitor obi-wan’s pain meds, i’m certainly not going to pick up the slack -- he’ll just suffer through the knives au naturel lol”

+ so helix goes back to work.  he gets obi-wan’s pain back under control, but of course he can’t do anything about the other sensations, or the sounds, or the smells, or the existential horror of being vivisected alive by your grandmaster who gave you tea

+ helix holds his hand, strokes his hair, tells him again and again: “look at me, look at me, don’t look down, obi-wan, you look at me”

+ they both quickly give up on apologizing for their mutual wracking sobs because they’re in this together, sweetheart

+ one night helix asks obi-wan how he can pray to the force and obi-wan (ever the teacher) haltingly talks about other force religions, the difference between praying and chanting for mindfulness, etc etc etc.  he quotes the guardians’ mantra: “i am one with the force, and the force is with me -- and i fear nothing, for all is as the force wills it.”  obi-wan seems to find it a little comforting (or maybe dissociative) to say it and hear it said, so helix bends over him and murmurs it over and over and over and over and over, even when obi-wan can’t speak the words himself. he can’t save his general but he can do this thing until his throat rips if need be

+ i don’t actually know whether sidious shows up, but if he does, he gives an Order via holo ahead of time and helix Goes Away for a little while. when he comes back to himself, obi-wan is blinded and deafened.

+ no help is coming. they can’t get out. dooku strips the skin from obi-wan’s hand and helix can only keep the meds at max, repeat the guardians’ mantra to his deaf ears, card a hand through his sweaty, grimy hair, hold his elbow, try so hard to be gentle so obi-wan knows it’s him

+ helix has had a particular intrusive thought since like day three, and he’s been shoving it aside because it’s unthinkable, but y’know, the unthinkable is becoming thinkable the longer he stays on as an accessory to the gruesome torture-murder of his general.  helix is a smart guy and figures out how to activate his explosive tracker at the time of his choosing.  useful information, under the right circumstances

+ around the time that dooku mentions breaking obi-wan’s spine for lols, helix decides he’s about had enough

+ no idea how he manages to get obi-wan alone in the lab, without dooku or droids or anybody else around, but:

+ the door is locked, the clock is ticking, they don’t have a lot of time before the window of opportunity will be lost.  helix undoes obi-wan’s restraints and climbs up on the table with him so he can prop him up in his arms and hold him close. he tucks obi-wan’s nose into his neck and rocks him for a few moments, whispering to him even though his general won’t hear, because he thinks obi-wan knows it’s him and he wants him to feel safe and loved

+ “see you soon, general,” he murmurs through his tears, and fuck, has he stopped crying even once in the past three weeks?

+ he activates the tracker

+ he saves his general