#it's been a little hard to get back into Fun Mode

[chromotps]

Another CoraLaw and AceLu HC ask. And also, shenanigans and fluff.

- Law uses Takt on Cora whenever he's about to trip, knock something over, in the enemy's line of attack and more. But also, he uses them whenever people get too physically close and "friendly" to Cora. Switching Cora with a paper that says "fuck off" infront of the person lmao. Cora teleporting into Law's side/lap and shouting apologies about what Law did even tho he has no plan to get up and go back to the person (Yes I know Cora is too big to fit in Law's lap. No I don't care about that xD). He also uses Takt to keep Cora from escaping him. Especially in arguments.

Law: Either we fix this right now or you'll stay afloat for the next 8 hours.

Cora: You seriously can't wait that long. I was a marine, I can wait!

Law: I'm a doctor AND a surgeon. You wanna test my patience? Do it now.

After 20 minutes Cora relents bc Law stares at him pointedly the whole time.

- Luffy brings Ace with him when he's on the hunt for food. He'll look for a new kind of species and have Ace cook it (AKA set it on fire until it looks cooked). Then, when they're full, they'll sit under a tree and talk about anything. They also take a short nap there under the tree. It reminds them of their adventures when they were kids (Sabo is with them in spirit /j). I think this is more of an AU where Ace joins the Strawhats, and he's joined by the hip with Luffy.

- Everytime one or two (or all) of the Heart crew members does something that will piss Law off, they hide behind Cora (metaphorically). Cora will attempt to distract Law (he doesn't even have to try, the moment Cora is on Law's line of sight almost all of his attention is on him) and calm him down. It works, kinda. Cause his idea of "distracting" Law is cuddles and kisses, but instead of Law, HE'S the one who gets distracted LMAO. So after a bit of cuddling and putting Cora to sleep, Law goes back to the crew cause he knows how the crew acts when they've done something and kept it a secret from him xD. At least Cora brought them some time to clean up whatever they could from the mess they made before Law comes back.

- Ace and Luffy will switch hats, sometimes intentionally and sometimes unconsciously. Intentionally is when one of them is feeling down or under the weather. Unconsciously is when they wake up and don't bother to see if they wore the right hat or not.

- Whenever the other crew members of the Heart Pirates wants to do something for their entertainment, they ask Cora first. If he's interested enough and also wants to do it, then they have an additional 40% chance that Law will let them do what they want. They now have a 42% chance of doing whatever shenanigan they have in mind. If there's no danger to what they have in mind, then it's an automatic win! Bonus is when Law joins in (he does it for Cora).

I don't know how to end asks lmao. I hope you enjoyed!

-S

hooo so many cute hcs!! That last idea of the Heart crew trying to get Cora on their side in bargaining deals with their captain makes so much sense. 😂 Very strategic of them... They're masters of navigating Law's pride/strong instincts of preventing fun.

And I love acelu switching hats... i think i talked on twitter once about how it would mean a lot for luffy to trust Ace with his hat, and for Ace to trust Luffy with his necklace (since it was possibly a tribute to Dadan ;w;)... hhhh sharing accessories!!!

[biolums]

[lonepower]

hhhhuh. are they- doing this on purpose???

[harmonizewithechoes]

.

[pomefioredove]

may I request headcanons of the overblot boys + Adeuce reaction to a younger yuu that tells them that they’re like a big brother to them? Platonic obviously—

thank you!

awww ofc!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ brotherly (again!)

type of post: headcanons characters: riddle, ace, deuce, leona, azul, jamil, vil, idia, malleus additional info: platonic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, short

Having been torn from your home, separated from your family and friends, and spit back out in a new place with new people, isn't really as fun as it sounds.

After months at NRC, though, you've managed to make yourself a life here. A new home, new friends, even new family.

Now, sitting close to the person you've become fondest of, you let slip that you seem him as a brother.

His reaction?

I am of the (kind of depressing) opinion that Riddle's life would be much better if he had a sibling. he hasn't really thought about it, per se, but he's always had this feeling...

so, when you tell him as much, he just... 🥺🥺 you know?

he's in protective brother mode from this moment on (for better or worse, lol)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

the bond you have with Ace and Deuce has gone unspoken, but all of you know what it is. you saying it, though, makes it all the more real

as warm and tender of a moment as it is, Ace still feels the need to make a joke about how sappy you're being (affectionately, of course), and Deuce can only hum with excitement at the acceptance and warmth between the three of you

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

admittedly, Leona is a little... put off. at least, he is at first. he doesn't exactly have a great relationship with his own brother, and with no other examples to go off of, it feels kind of like an insult

he... gets what you mean, though

and, reluctant as he is to be so vulnerable, he'll say you're just as much of an annoying little sibling to him

lovingly, of course

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Azul had friends before you... kind of... but none as near and dear to him. he could never quite explain what this feeling was until you said it

ah... that's it. family. he almost feels embarrassed, being so vulnerable all of a sudden, and he can barely get out that he feels the same way

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Jamil has younger siblings already, and he could tell the two of you were forming a similar bond before you said as much. he'd caught himself treating you just how he treats his sister on multiple different occasions (for better or worse, lol), and...

he's glad that you're here with him. that's all he'll say... for now

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

many people would think you'd have to hit your head to say something like that to the Vil Schoenheit

he's untouchable! he's godlike! he's... lol. just kidding. he's quite fond of you, too, and hearing those words come from you is better than any amount of likes, any award or role. you're his favorite person, after all

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

dude, are you trying to make Idia cry??? because he will! and then he'll bubble-wrap you and Ortho so you can never go anywhere or get hurt ever

he... has some things to work through. obviously. but, really, he and Ortho have basically adopted you already, so hearing you say it... in a good way... call him cringe, but he could get a little emotional over that

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

you think of Malleus as your brother? then you must also think of Silver the same way. and Sebek... would you be interested in adoption, because Lilia-

yeah. you get it. welcome to the family, lol. Malleus has already decided you're his best friend forever and ever, and hearing you call him family... hohhh that overblot is going to hit hard when you guys get there

[mochinomnoms]

Noo but imagine Leech parents who see how their cruel big almost delinquent son(s) brings home a cute little s/o who can barely make a fist out of the hand. They are wondering how they are still alive, because in the sea they’d be dead already. Protection mode is doubled now.

Aaah I don't wanna go too much into detail cause spoilers for ptm, but this is too cute >_<

The Leech parents are…aware that their sons are not the nicest people, under or above the sea. They can be abrasive, cruel, manipulative, and generally as unpleasant as they can be charming, smooth, and sly. It what will make them good family heads in the future.

To be quite frank, their parents assumed that their preferred partner(s) would be the same, seeing as the twins would make fun of softer, shy and too sweet for their own good individuals growing up. So it's a surprise when their son(s) bring home a small human, all soft with no hard edges, sweet and easily frightened. They look like a quick meal ticket for even the weakest undersea predator. They even curl in on themselves like a shrimp!

Yet, their son(s) look at them with an indescribable amount of fondness, clawed hand wrapped around their own human one as they're shown around the home. Neither are one to complain though, Mama Leech is especially delighted as she swipes (literally, grabs them as she swims by) them away from her sons, seeing how they cling to each other. It's so cute how frightened they get, don't you know to watch your back in the sea?

Papa Leech is charmed, as he watches how they tend to the twins after a scuffle, internally cooing at how sweet they are to care for such scary merfolk. He's always been one to think about the future, and he's concerned about how they'll handle being under the sea, dealing with all sorts of unsavory folk just for their (future) husband(s).

At night before bed, the Leech parents get together and talk about them, and agree: “Morays protect their shrimp.” And as the newly designated symbiote shrimp of the Leech family, you now have four eels ready to smite someone for you, hope you're happy!

[vaaaaaiolet]

It's Christmas Eve and Leon can't quite wrap his head around his drop-dead-gorgeous girlfriend's need to be 4 inches off the ground, but maybe there's more to your fashion choices than what he considers a faux pas.

f / m, established relationship, tooth ROTTING fluff, the barest baby twinge of angst and surprise ending ehehehe. also, super short!

word count: 898 // read on ao3

a/n: christmas in july oh my lord. tmi i'm on my period and i've had lover by taylor swift on blast for 3 hours :( give your girl a break and pretend my dividers match

this fic belongs to sketches for my sweetheart the drunk, a collection of bite-sized fics to stretch out my writing muscles :) i hope you enjoy!

“No, sweetheart, the- no, the buckle comes off the other way.” 

If he were a lesser man, Leon would be laughing his head off at your flushed cheeks and bleary pout. You were going to do this right here, right now, plunked on the frozen stoop of your front door, mere steps from the warmth of your apartment. 

“I can take off my own shoes! I bought them my- hic! -self.”

“You did, sweetheart, “ Leon soothes as he gets down on one knee, “and I know you can take them off fine, but you weren’t drunk when you bought them, were you?”

“I’m not drunk. I’m just...” you sulk. You would have sold the act too if it wasn’t for a sleepy jerk of your head. You always get sleepy when you’re, “...tipsy.” 

Ah, there it is.

Your toes are a half-frozen cherry red as Leon unclasps the buckle adorning your beloved heels. 

There’s not much Leon can do about your affinity for heels, even in the winter, so he grew a sixth sense for detecting falls around the time you almost tripped headfirst into the Christmas table at your parents’ house. You haven’t quite put together yet why he’s so on his toes when you wear stilettos, but Leon is okay with that. Batman never reveals his identity and if this is how he keeps Gotham’s urgent cares a little less occupied, so be it.

The fact of the matter is that Leon has perfected his method to three steps:

Watch for abnormal movement in your fingers. You start fluttering them like you’re Tinkerbell. Like you’re trying to take off from the ground and fly right back up to heaven without him, and he can’t have that just yet.

Assume position when you start laughing too hard at his jokes to distract from the fact that you’re about to fall. You never laugh at his one-liners (the best he’s ever gotten out of you is a giggle and that was on his birthday). 

Engage nearest mode of rescue the second your eyes start flitting around in search of a place to land. 

But above all, the one condition that puts him on red alert is when you’ve been drinking. His sweetheart is a complete lightweight. 

And tonight, you’d had too much fun at Claire’s Christmas dinner.

It takes a little longer than usual for Leon’s icy fingers to undo the buckle on your other shoe. “The mulled wine was that good, huh?” he asks, his lips curving into a smile as he looks up at you and your crossed arms.

He gets a hmph! in response.

“You look beautiful. You always do, it’s just…could we maybe save the ankle-breaking shoes for when the ground’s not frozen over?” 

The frown flies back on your face within seconds. His peace treaty’s gone south. “But Leon, they’re my Christmas heels! I always wear them on Christmas.”

Oh, he knows. 

“That’s why they’re Christmas heels,” you point out. 

Of course, you’re right. They’re the very same Christmas heels that so rudely interrupted his enjoyment of your mom’s to-die-for lamb roast. Leon’s also sure that they’re the ones that got repurposed on New Year’s Eve two years back. He had to kiss you under the table next to the girls chowing down grapes, and it’s a lot less romantic when half of them shoot you death glares while they’re wishing to not spend Valentine’s Day alone again. Come to think of it, Leon hasn’t had grapes in a while.

“It’s not Christmas if I don’t wear them,” you mumble. 

You don’t sound so sure of yourself. 

Leon’s plea deal might be back on the table.

His thumb rubs circles on your ankle as you swallow. His knee’s freezing over, almost attached to the sidewalk by now, but your mouse-quiet confession glues him to the spot.

“I lied.”

“These aren’t your Christmas heels?”

A snowdrop tear rolls down your cheek. 

“I didn’t buy them. You did, for me. I love them. Love you.”

You sniffle so sweetly, your cheeks still candy-apple red as he wraps your scarf tighter to keep you from catching a cold on his account. But it’s not enough to distract Leon from the fact that he bought you these shoes?

Oh no, no, no, you’re nodding as Leon’s face freezes into a horrified grimace. He’s responsible for the Heels from Hell?

“Sweetheart, I just don’t want you getting hurt.” He takes your hands in his as your lower lip wobbles. He feels just awful. “It’s Christmas because I get to spend it with you, okay? Heels or no heels.”

“You mean it?”

“Those damn things have nearly sent you to the hospital, of course I mean it.”

And finally, finally, you smile. Hark! The herald angels sing. 

“Let’s get you inside.” Leon smiles back, pressing a kiss to your forehead. He’d have gotten up too if he hadn’t suddenly come to a comical stop, his left knee still perpendicular to the ground.

You look down and stifle a giggle. “Leon, you’re frozen to the sidewalk.”

“So I am. Ow.” 

You lend him a helping hand as the two of you stumble inside the warm apartment, and Leon thinks he’ll go online shopping once you fall asleep. For less dangerous Christmas heels, sure.

But also something else. Something shiny. 

He really didn’t mind being on one knee for you.

click for my full drabble collection, and find more of my work here!

comments and reblogs are very much appreciated <3

[mingwrites]

Hi! Can you do a headcannon of "Ateez as different types of Doms" thank youuu ❤️

why of course! thanks for requesting!!! <3

ateez as doms

seonghwa is a gentle dom. he feels his role as your dominate is to take good care of you, giving you everything you need while being your rock, your safe space. as you came on his tongue for the second time that night, the overstimulation caused you to sob. he held still, letting you grind against his tongue while he let out some soothing moans. as soon as you settled down, you were in his arms and he gently spoke, "it's okay baby, shhh, shhh..." you buried your face in his chest and said, "it just feels so good, daddy." he stroked your hair. "i know, baby... just relax, and come back to me..."

hongjoong is a mean dom. when he gets going and gets deep into his role, he works his hardest to push you to your limits, making you scream, cry and beg for mercy. he wrapped a hand around your neck, pushing you deeper into the mattress as he pounded in and out of you. gripping around your airway just the right amount, he was able to make you see stars. it was thrilling and it caused a scream of a moan to slip from your lips. hongjoong was quick to correct this, pulling out of you and bringing a flat hand crashing down onto your swollen pussy. "quiet, you little slut. how can you enjoy this? so fucking filthy."

yunho is a playful dom. sex with him generally involves a lot of smiling and giggling, and there's no exception for when he's in dom-mode. he too enjoys pushing your limits, whether it be by choking, smacking, throat-fucking, you name it. but there's always a safe and fun element to his demeanor. he was punishing you for cumming without permission one night, sitting on the edge of your bed and patting his lap. "come on, your ass isn't gonna spank itself." you both smiled at what he said, blushing as you got into position, bent over his thighs with your ass exposed to him. smack! you squealed and giggled at the sting which yunho rubbed better with a gentle hand. "good girl, taking daddy's punishment."

yeosang is a shy dom. it took him a while to start getting into power play with you because he felt embarrassed to do it at first. but once he warmed up to the idea, his stoic demeanor and physical strength make him a wonderful dom. now that you and yeosang had been together for some time, he was able to fully immerse himself into his role as your dominate. he had you up against a wall, his thick girth pounding into you as your sweaty bodies melded into one. his strong arms held your thighs in place and his hips moved with a speed and fervor you seldom got to experience. "fuck, yeah..." his deep voice grunted, sending shivers down your spine. "you're gonna take all of daddy's cum, aren't you, dirty girl? let daddy make you all his?"

san is a teasing dom. he gets a little too excited to dominate you and pushes you to your absolute breaking point, but with hours of tantalizing build up. he had your wrists fastened securely to the headboard and your eyes covered with a blindfold. his fingers, hot as flames, danced across your abdomen, tickling your belly and causing you to flinch away. "shh," he cooed, "relax, baby. let daddy take care of you." he finally trailed up your thigh but skipped right over where you needed him the most. you would whine and fuss, tugging at your restraints as after hours of torture tears began to fill your eyes. this only pleased san, drawing him to tease you further. with san, you were always in for a long night.

mingi is a serious dom. he feels a great sense of responsibility while being dominate over you. it requires you to give up all your power to him and he takes that seriously. while he goes hard on you in the sheets, he's a caring gentleman at the same time. he wanted to try fucking your ass for the first time, but he was very nervous about hurting you. "are you sure, baby?" was something you heard a lot that night. when he finally entered you, your breathless whimpers almost made him panic. "does it hurt, baby? are you okay?" deep in subspace, all you could say was, "good, daddy."

wooyoung is also a teasing dom, but in a different way. unlike san, wooyoung will give you exactly what you want. however, you have to beg for it, and afterwards, he won't let you hear the end of it. "please, woo," you whined like a little baby, "i need you inside me, please~" he only continued to rub his dick against your clit, humming in response to your words. "you want daddy's dick?" he asked. "tell daddy how bad you need his dick." you started to cry out of animalistic need, your insides burning with arousal yet completely unfulfilled. "i need it so bad, daddy! please, i feel so empty without your dick..." wooyoung chuckled as he pushed his tip inside, "you filthy, naughty girl..."

jongho is a rough dom. not that he necessarily means to be, it's just that he isn't fully conscious of his own physical strength. you're more than likely to end up bruised and sore after a typical night with jongho. he held your thighs open as he pounded into the way you deserved, his grip tight and leaving purple marks on your skin. in between subby whimpers, you spoke meekly, "it h-hurts, daddy." at your words, he stilled inside you (not your intention, you only wanted more), and said, "sorry, pretty girl, daddy went a little too hard?" you shook your head no, your next sentence making him smile: "harder, please."

[piccolos-bigtoe]

I’m not really sure,,, how I feel about this to be honest,, but I’m trying new things and that’s what’s important. This isn’t explicitly my sniperscout wildwest thing I surpose but I drew it with that in mind. I have the draft for like the first part halfway thru, all I gotta do is finish it then edit it. I’ll probably post some of my notes here of it sometime.

I fr went so hard on the characterization notes,, I’m proud of myself. I’m gonna draw tomorrow probably and try and do their references and notes and stuffs maybe.

This drawing kind of looks a little sad, I think, but don’t worry scouts not actually sad. The way thag I imagine scout is that he is like, very loud and opinionated on everything, even things he knows nothing about, and is usually pretty ‘honest’ about what he thinks (sometimes the annoying “brutally honest” way where it’s not so much honesty ws it is being an asshole), unless it comes to himself. Like when it comes to himself he’d sort of be a liar, whether it’s how he feels or stuff he’s done because even if he wouldn’t ever admit it he REALLY cares about what people think about him… unconventional emotions get hidden with either smugness or anger, and he boosts his ego with stupid lies about feats he’s pulled. He’s like the kind of guy that talks and jokes a lot as an attempt to hide his feelings woah emo…. 🖤

In contrast Sniper to me would be the type of guy that doesn’t really have a lot to say, but he is truly an honest person about himself and what he feels when he does speak, he’s never been one for socializing so he learned to not really care about how others perceive him to a huge extent. He wears his heart on his sleeve almost but like in a more quiet sort of way. Okay,,, I’m ending my rambling I’m getting really sleepy

I’ve never been a huge opposites attract fan to be honest, but I think the way I set up sniper and scout in my mind works for me.

I’ve been in an art rut lately but I think I am coming out of it, I hope, I took a few days break to like, play video games and read and i think it helped,, I finished my first run of Fallout New Vegas a bit ago (NCR ending), and started a new one. I got a multiple companions mod (the JIP one that adds like, a different interface) and it’s pretty cool. I’m rocking with Boone and Veronica and Arcade and Cass and EDE. I’m debating on who to send to stay back at the lucky 38 cause I feel like I have too many people in my group.. Urgh I like them all though…. Boone is my ride or die fr though.. he stays for sure. Same with EDE.

I played it on very hard + hardcore mode expecting some new game + stuff but all I got was this stupid achievement.. boooo. Whagever it’s okau. I had fun.

[housecow]

Who says you have to be one or the other? I think you could have lots of fun transitioning between a housebound cow on oxygen and the fattest soccer mom possible. Maybe it’s all in the timing, maybe start out as a housebound cow and shift into soccer mom mode later.

okay, this is hot as fuck. getting to experience the limits of what my body can handle and then losing a portion of the weight—not too much, just enough to be easily mobile again, managing my health as well. but i’m still, what, 350-400lbs?

the whispers i’d hear from the other parents… “she’s such a fucking cow,” “how much do you think she weighs?” “there’s just so much… flab!”

and little do they know this is my lightest from the last few years. that i’d been 600lbs at some point, needing help up from bed and from anywhere i’d plopped down to feast. that my husband had plumped me up to obscene numbers, reveling in the fact i was dependent on him for almost everything.

my present soft, full, wobbling figure is the result of hard work. not only to get active, but in denying both myself and my spouse. we know what we want, but it’s for the kids now! they need a mom that can keep up with them. sure, i get winded easily, can’t see my feet or even past my tits, but this is an improvement!!

others just see my huffing and puffing as a failure, when it’s the opposite. it takes dedication. the extra wide folding chair i pull out at every soccer game was bought with pride, and the way my husband squeezes that back roll he gifted me is comforting.

sure, it still takes a lot of food to keep up with being 400lbs… i still eat like a pig. sonic shakes at every game and countless fast food runs before 3:30pm school pickup. i RSVP to neighborhood/school bbqs and they have to spend double the amount on food (we chip in!) but it’s all a labor of love!

plus, when it’s just my feeder and i, he gets to tease me about it all. talks about how hot it was when i needed the walker. how much of a shut in i was compared to now—“remember when you couldn’t even drive because your belly was in the way?”

he’d lay a hand on my still-formidabile tummy, stretched out from the hundreds of lbs and a few of his kids. i know he wants so badly to get me back there, i can tell what he’s thinking. and if he started that process—funneling every night, telling me what to eat and when—i wouldn’t be able to stop him. but we’re responsible :3

[54625]

You wake up from a very long and exhausting dream. It's late November, 2023. QSMP is alive and well, it seems. The server is full of life every single day, at least 15 separate people logging in per week. Mariana, Rubius, Felps, Lenay, German, Carre and Kameto all play often if not full time. Wilbur and Forever were never even part of the server, and Lullah was only added because the admins thought it would be funny to make Phil take care of two children instead of one. Cellbit's murdering fed workers arc is in full swing, perfectly incorporating the storylines of so many people like Bagi, Roier, Pac, and Foolish, tying them all together. Slimecicle's code corruption arc is building too, and it looks like the story will be having its climax soon. There are cultural events all the time still, and so many more that are planned for the future have already been announced. Fit and Pac are still in slow burn mode, and really hard selling it.

"What?" You say, lost. "What happened to purgatory, wasn't that in November?" You ask.

"What are you talking about? Do you mean the competitive QSMP adjacent series that happens every couple of months, involving tons of international creators, completely unrelated to QSMP lore, that QSMP creators can choose to take part in if they want to?" Says the community.

Well that's strange. Not quite how I remember it, you think. "What about the workers? Their mistreatment?" You worry.

"Mistreatment? Of workers?" The QSMP fans laugh, "most of the QSMP admins have come out on their public social media accounts that they're allowed to have about how fun it is to work for Quackity Studios; how easy the workload is, how reasonable the pay is, and how appreciated they feel! Communication between all admins, CCs, and management is apparently really streamlined, and they address all problems so efficiently! Did you know that recently they realised that they didn't have enough French speaking admins, and so immediately went and sought more to hire?"

"Okay..." You're more than a little confused, "what about the eggs?"

"The eggs? You mean the dragons?" You get a figurative nudge and a wink. "Did you really never see? It was big news and happened a couple of months back; the eggs all went missing for a short while - about a fortnight - but it was then revealed that they went away to find somewhere to hide so they could hatch! The players all went to find them and they had all hatched into little dragons (unique models and all) and it was quite emotional. Now there are no tasks and they can't die, and they aren't around all of the time, but they visit often!"

Huh, you think. Maybe it was all just a bad dream.

[yumeka-sxf]

It's been a few months since my last merch haul post, so time for another one! As usual, acrylic stands are my main purchases, with the below set being one of the rarest I've found 💖

The reason these are so rare is because I couldn't get them from my usual places on Amiami and Mercari JP. They're from a company called Ultrizon and are currently only sold in China. I saw them advertised on Twitter from a shop in Thailand and decided to reach out on the off chance that the shop would ship to the US. And much to my pleasant surprise, the shop, Chibishiba, replied and said that they would ship to me 😃 I was a bit concerned because they seemed to be just a small "mom and pop" shop, with only Twitter DMs as their form of communication and they kept track of everyone's orders in a google sheet. But I looked around on their social media and they seemed legit, so I placed an order (a few other fanatics I know on Discord did as well!) And thankfully, they were totally legit! They ordered the items from China, then once they shipped to Thailand, they then shipped to me in the US! Only took a few weeks 😁

Here's some more photos because they're so lovely~ For some reason the two Twiyor sets make me think of a scenario where they're going to a dance or other fancy event together (the left ones), but then something happens and they have to switch to "action mode" to stop a villain, save Anya, etc (the right ones).

Bond looks so adorable in his suit~ Also the one of Anya on the left is her totally thinking "Papa and Mama are so cool 🤩"

Even though I typically only buy merch with the Forgers, Yuri, Damian, and Franky were also part of this set. Lol, when I made the below photo of the three of them, I laughed because it looks like they're posing for a photo, with only Damian having fun…Yuri's like "whatever" and Franky's like "how long will this take, I have a date!" 😂

Besides the Ultrizon acrylics, the other ones I was most looking forward to getting were these chibi ones from the cruise arc (two different sets)

Between all of these, I now have acrylics of the Forgers' full wardrobe from the cruise arc 😅 My favorites are suit Yor, "I won't stop fighting" Yor, and Fun Dad Loid!

I really liked these Twiyor acrylics from the recent Tsukuba collab. It's like they're going on a hiking date ❤️

I also got these chibi "famous scene" acrylics from the Waku Waku Park event.

I've been trying so hard to get the complete set of these big acrylics for a few months now...I managed to find Loid and Anya, but no one is selling Yor 😭 (or Bond). I won't stop looking though!

As for non-acrylic figures, I've been looking forward to getting this Yor & Anya figure for over a year! It was actually one of the first SxF items I preordered, way back in November of 2022! Considering they had the colored prototype available way back then, I'm surprised it wasn't officially released until March of 2024. But worth the wait ❤️

For Code White's release, I got the set of Luminasta figures (all three for a good price on eBay).

Also chibi Loid & Yor~ I know there's a ton of chibi Loid and Yor figures out there, but I really liked these for some reason.

Last month I went back to Kura Sushi for the last merch from their recent collab: this nice shirt~ You were able to get it if your bill was at least $70, which isn't hard to do if you bring a friend with you and you both eat a bunch of sushi! (well, he did most of the eating, lol). I'm planning to wear it for the first time at Anime Expo in July 😁

They also had this little Anya dessert.

And miscellaneous items I recently got were these pretty picture cards that I plan to make scans of.

The McDonald's collab booklet, the season 2 complete set box, and the Loid & Anya cloth poster that came with the box. I also plan to make scans of these!

A mug from the Tobu Zoo collab.

And lastly, some new decals for my car! I found this set at Walmart of all places, lol. Found room for them among my other decals.

Since I bought so many new acrylics and figures lately, I had to do a major reorganization of my display shelves. But I'll save those photos for another post~

[luveline]

𝐚 𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 | 𝐚𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫

You're not sure you're ready to come back. Hotch has total faith in you. Or, your transition back into the team after your abduction doesn't go as smoothly as you'd hoped. 

6k words, fem!reader, bau!reader, some mutual pining, reader is suffering from effects of ptsd, allusions to kidnapping + torture, hurt/comfort, hotch has a soft spot for you (as do most of the team)

༺༻

Reid was abducted, once. 

You can remember the anxiety of it like a hand around your throat. It feels cruel to say that his abduction and torture had effected you more than if it had been a stranger, but you meet so many people, so many victims of cruelty, that the fear starts to blunt. 

Though it doesn't blur. You find it impossible to forget the people that you've failed, and failing a team mate? That had been excruciating. 

Only when you'd been taken yourself had you realised it wasn't a failure at all. 

You wish the others would understand that. 

"Are you feeling okay?" Prentiss asks as you sit down. 

You suppose you had gone down a bit hard. "Mm?" you hum in question, pulling a copy of the initial case file toward you. 

"You looked a little wobbly." 

"Long night?" Morgan asks.

There's both sympathy and mirth in his voice. If you did have a long night, it wouldn’t be from anything fun. He knows that. Everybody knows that. That's why they're treating you like glass. 

"I actually slept really well," you say softly, returning his smile with one that's entirely genuine. 

"That's good, considering," he says, bracing his forearm against the conference table. 

He's been your number one supporter since you came back. Probably because he feels very guilty about what happened. You'd been paired up at the time. 

"Actually, it's common for people who've been abducted to sleep incredibly well for a long period afterward. It's similar to the leisure sickness phenomena- Your body would have been in defence mode, and-" 

"Reid," Hotch says firmly, stepping into the room with his usual lowbrow. 

"Sorry." 

And the spiel begins. JJ lays out the details of the case she's triaged and the team gives their first input. The barest beginnings of a working theory. You try to contribute and find your tongue a leaden weight in your mouth. Ever since you got back, you've been useless. 

You can't do your job, but thank god you can sleep at night, right? 

You miss the start of his sentence, your focus latching onto Hotch's conclusive, "Wheels up in thirty." 

Your team are standing in seconds, trained in the art of quick departures. You used to be good at this part. You're a good agent, even when you're a mediocre profiler. 

"L/N?" 

You blink. "Mm?" you hum, meeting your unit chief's concerned look with a perfected blasé. 

You've come to a stand in front of the table, and everyone else has left. It's you and Hotch alone. 

"If you're not ready to go back into the field, that's okay." 

If you were Reid, or Prentiss, or especially Morgan, you'd get defensive here, and you would lie well, but you’re a bad liar and Hotch is a great detector for them, so you tell the truth. 

"I'm not sure that I'm ready, but I'd like to go. I won't be a burden. I can work effectively." 

"I know you won't be a burden." 

You tilt your head to one side and feel your hair shift over your thick sweater. You haven't felt like showing much skin, lately. Everybody has noticed, because they notice everything, and nobody has made you feel bad about it. In fact, your fellow agents have made numerous comments about the chilly weather. It's July. 

Hotch's eyes fall to your long sleeves for a split-second. 

"Do you think he's alive?" you ask.

"Sorry?" 

You nod your head toward the board, where the portrait of your kidnapping victim hangs in full colour. "Do you think he's alive?" 

"Unless there's evidence that would suggest otherwise, we shouldn't assume. You know that." 

"I know that that's the answer you're used to giving." 

His voice goes too soft, like he's talking to somebody in grief. "I think he is." 

You honestly can't stand it when he talks to you like this. You tilt your head a little further and see him the way he'd been that morning, his tenderness, his fear. He'd opened the door and suddenly you'd known you were safe. 

He hasn't looked at you right since he found you.

"I have all my best clothes in my go-bag," you offer. 

"Well, go get it. This might be a long one." 

—

The jet is a really nice jet. 

It's hard not to feel impressed by it. It's a vehicle that can take you from one crime scene to another, and it's a necessary expense, but it feels lavish. The clean smells, the comfort, the kitchenette. It has a full-sized toilet. 

"Missed this?" Morgan asks knowingly. 

You wheedle your way into one of the four seats surrounding the main table and smile when he drops down next to you. "Missed using you as my personal pillow, maybe," you tease. 

"Table hogs," Prentiss complains, sitting on the armrest of the couch in defeat. 

You laugh under your breath. Morgan pulls out his laptop and turns the screen so everyone can see Garcia, and as soon as the jet's taken off the second round of speculation begins. 

You regret sitting where you had quickly. You can feel Hotch's analysing gaze where he sits opposite. He doesn't believe you're ready to come back. 

You lick your lips.

"Why would she cut him open just to kill him straight afterward?" JJ asks. "I mean, if she didn't assault him?" 

"It's unlikely that she's a sadist," Reid infers. 

"Disembowelment is a pretty painful, horrific way to die. Maybe she realised that and killed him," Morgan suggests. 

"Remorse?" you murmur. "Could mean she's… younger. And revenge killers don't always see it through." 

"Why take another one if you can't commit to the first?" Prentiss asks. 

"Maybe that's why she took him. She wants time to work herself up," you mutter. 

You hide your hands under the table. It's hard to ignore the similarities with the current case and the one you're investigating. The unsub who'd taken you had been narcissistic and self-righteous, punishing the BAU for stopping her second murder — you'd predicted her next victim and moved him before she could take him. 

So her victimology had changed, and she'd stolen you. 

She couldn't commit to her first session of torture: hesitant cuts, loose ligatures. By your turn she'd improved, but her tentative resolve had remained and she'd run after three days. It's the worst thing she could've done, buying herself less than a week on the run and leaving you with no outside communication. 

You'd almost died of dehydration. 

"She's choosing from a specific group," Reid says. He holds up a photograph of the first victim. He'd been murdered in his bedroom, and the walls are plastered in playboy. Kill all men has been written across his forehead in red lipstick. "Our abductee, he was wearing a t-shirt featuring popular bikini model Miss Olympia. In a state of undress." 

“Is that specific?” Prentiss asks wryly.

"She's angry," you say. 

Hotch leans forward and clicks Garcia's call button. "Garcia?"  

"Sir." 

"Are there any prolific feminist groups in the area? Radicals?" 

They fall into conversation, a pulling and pushing of information. Something about online forums, flame wars, political arguments. 

It's not the strongest theory in the world but they can make it work. You should be making it work with them. 

The flight is an early morning longhaul to Idaho and you work the case the entire time you're in the air. There's an abundance of coffee that you reject because you're worried it'll rehash your on-again off-again migraine, and while your teammates are offering theories, intertwining details with bright eyes and bushy tails, you struggle to keep up. 

There's a lull before landing where everybody parts ways. JJ moves to sit with Prentiss where they talk in hushed but conspicuous giggles. You hear the words Will and dishes and back rub and decide to stop listening for your own sake. 

Morgan laughs, having heard what you just heard and liking it a far deal more, and stands. "Coffee?" he asks as you yawn.

You shake your head sluggishly. "Be quick, we'll be landing soon." 

"I know, sweetheart, I heard the same announcement as you." He takes your empty water glass with a supportive squint. "Let me get you another." 

"Thanks." 

You'd regretted your seat as soon as you'd taken it, the feeling of being boxed in having grown and grown over the course of the journey, and Morgan’s brief departure gives you some much needed space.

You squeeze your hands together until your knuckles ache. 

"L/N?" 

Hotch is looking at you. You know exactly what he sees. Someone who isn't ready to be back in the field. Someone who isn't being effective, as you'd promised. 

"You okay?" 

"Just warm,” you lie, pushing your hair away from your neck. 

You're a bad liar. He gets up to turn on the air conditioning anyway. 

You slouch down in your chair and pretend to nap for the rest of the flight. 

—

Crime scenes where people died smell bad. It's a fact. They smell like pee, the sharp stick of ammonia, and the metallic aftertaste of blood. You're trying hard not to fall into your own memories of the two. 

You need to move past what happened. The only way you're gonna be able to do that is to re-desensitise yourself, and that includes volunteering for the nasty stuff when Hotch tries to relegate you to questioning witnesses. 

"I'm not good at interviews," you'd said plainly. 

And he'd taken it for what it was and let you do what you usually do: you look for clues. If anybody could hear you think that you'd be ridiculed, but they can't. You enjoy yourself. 

Let's Scooby Doo this bitch. 

"Careful," Hotch says, holding a hand near your hip. You'd almost stepped into the largest puddle of blood still wet in the very middle. 

Right. He'd let you take the gross job but now you're being babysat. 

What did she do in this room? Why did she kill him here but abduct the second man? 

"If it weren't for the photos, I'd never link this victimology," you confess. 

The photos. The unsub had sent pictures of her abductee with Kill all men written across his forehead. In lipstick. 

What changed the MO? Why kill the first at home and steal the second? 

The political theory feels more plausible. 

"I think you would've." Hotch casts his gaze over the desk. "This is a messy one. Opportunistic but personal. Our unsub, she…" His voice turns to a mutter, as it tends to do when he hits a roadblock. "She wants attention, because the first murder didn't do what she'd hoped." 

"What is she hoping for?" 

He picks up a piece of coloured paper and holds it up to his chest so you can see it. It's a flyer for speed dating at a Café Martini, every Friday at 6PM. 

"Where was Paul last seen?" you ask. 

"Good question." 

He takes his phone from his pocket to call Garcia. 

You listen to their conversation for a while, his serious questions and her flirtatious answers. 

You look back to the floor and push the white toe of your tennis shoe into the rug until the rubber's red with blood. It's not good practice. You're now a walking biohazard. Why is the blood still wet? It should've sunk into the carpeting hours ago. How much did he bleed? 

When you'd been abducted your unsub hadn't been keen on torture. She'd made small, quick cuts over your upper arms, more to punish you than because she truly enjoyed it, and she'd hit something important by accident. 

The blood had pooled in the crook of your elbow. It had stayed wet for a long time. You remember trying to clean yourself up with your t-shirt, too drugged up to move right, and eventually the drugs had worn off and it had really, really hurt. 

This boy had been cut from hip to hip. 

"Maybe you should go sit in the car," Hotch says. 

"Why?" 

"I've been talking to you."

"I've been listening." 

"Don't lie." Hotch takes a step forward, black shoe close to your white. "Look at me." 

You look up, eyebrows raised as you try to blink yourself awake. His eye contact is something you've always struggled to hold, knowing he's learning a lot more from your expression than you are from his. You press the backs of your hands to your cheeks and find them hot with embarrassment. 

"I'm really sorry," you apologise, eyes aching. Not burning, just aching. Like a bruise. 

Hotch nods, expression impassive. "It's okay. Go sit in the car." 

He outranks you as an SSA, he's your boss for every intent and purpose. He's your friend, sometimes, and you've yet to see him make a bad call. You listen and go back out and down to the car. You've already broken your promise not to be a burden. 

Best to play along and play well. You don't want a desk job. You don't want to lose the team. 

In the car, things feel better. It smells like new and you take some time to breathe it in with slow, deep breaths. The pine tree air freshener hanging from the rear view mirror is still soft and wet to touch. You rub it between two fingers, pensive, until Hotch appears from the house. He looks severe and solemn as usual when he opens the car door and climbs inside. 

"Tell me if you can't do this," he says. He never beats around the bush. You wish that he would. 

"I don't know." 

"I need a yes or no." 

You're screaming at yourself to say yes. Hotch stalls with his hand poised at the ignition, waiting for your answer before he turns the key. If you say no, I can't do this, he'll take you back to the room. You know he won't hold it against you because he'd tried to persuade you to take more time off, as much as you needed. 

Being alone reminds you too much of your abduction. You hate how you can't stop thinking about it. At work, at home. What if this is it? This is the only thing you're going to think of for the rest of your life. 

Unless you can get some new memories. 

"I can do this." 

"I know that. Do you know that?" he asks firmly. 

You lean your head back against the headrest and turn your face to look at him fully. You hadn't been expecting any praise, any softness. You're fucking up on a time-sensitive case — he should be reprimanding you. He should send you packing to Virginia. 

"I'm sorry," you say softly.

"For what?" he asks. His eyebrows pinch up at the starts, his lips curve into a frown. 

It's startling to see so much emotion on his face on the job; Aaron Hotchner has a switch. He comes to work and he turns off everything that doesn't help the case. Only on rare occasions do you get to see him as a friend — his laughter over group dinner dates, his gentle smiles when he'd kept you company in the hospital. 

"For being- For being disorganised," you explain choppily. It is not the right word. 

He turns the key and reverses out of the parking space before speaking. "You are an asset to this team. If you can't be an asset right now, that's fine. If you need to go home-" 

"I don't need to go home." 

He doesn't seem offended at being interrupted. "Your wellbeing is more important than your effectiveness as a profiler. But you can't get in the way." 

"I won't." 

"I know you won't. Just…" He pulls his phone out of his pocket, dials a number. He's not looking at you when he finishes, "Calm down. Stay present. We need you with us." 

You turn your face to the window so he can't see your smile. He hasn't been this nice to you since your birthday. 

—

The thirty six hour mark comes to pass quickly and you find yourselves no closer to a positive ID on the unsub or their location. Any leads you follow dry up, witnesses won't cooperate, nobody has slept properly (besides yourself), and the boy's parents are hysterical. Hysterical and an irritant. 

You can hear them arguing with Hotch and the police chief in the other room. 

"You look amazing," JJ says tiredly. You can't tell if her annoyance is genuine or not. 

"Did you sleep?" you ask. 

JJ looks amazing herself despite what she might say, all perfect skin and lovely blonde hair like a moving sheet of silver-gold. You revere her pretty thin sweater with poorly hidden envy as she yawns and stretches against her straight-backed chair. 

"I slept. Bed was about as comfy as this chair," she says ruefully. 

"Ninety percent of all abduction victims are killed within the first thirty-six hours," Hotch says as he enters the room, in what Morgan would call his drill sergeant's drawl. "Every hour past that point, the percentage increases." 

Everybody in the room knows that statistic. His passive aggressive reminder serves to electrify a dozing Reid and a slumped Prentiss, both of which sit up in their chairs and pretend to be busier than they are as he makes his way into the room.

"Actually," Reid whispers to you, voice rough with fatigue, "the math isn't that simple." 

"Do you want to explain it to me?" you whisper back. 

You can't admit to really truly listening to Reid's explanation. You want him to feel heard even when you don't have the capacity for it, so you nod and hum as he explains, heads bent together as the rest of the team trade new theories. He talks surprisingly quickly for all his fatigue, and before you've realised it he's talking about something new. 

"Reid," you intrerupt gently, "can I ask you a question?" 

"Go ahead." 

You look up. Everyone seems too busy to be listening to you. You take what semblance of privacy you can and push your chair an inch closer. 

"Do you think I've been an efficient agent these last two days?" 

He juts his head forward. "You've been distracted. Tired, unfocused. But your insight on the unsub's age and what you said about her propensity for regret are both incomparable parts of the profile." 

"But easily something someone else would've suggested?" 

"Not necessarily." He smiles at you, a mirthful quirk. "Psychologically, the effect that working a case so close to your own trauma," — you bite your tongue in surprise — "would render the average person prone with memory. It also gives you a thought pattern that not everybody else would have." 

"You have it." 

"Let's focus on the behaviour pattern," Hotch says. 

You'd agreed to run point today. Or rather, Hotch had said, "L/N, you'll run point," and you hadn't argued. After all, yesterday had been telling on how much you can handle. Crime scenes are a no go. 

Not that there's any crime scene left to analyse. Your team have spent hours and hours trying to draw blood from stone. The case hadn't felt so impossible on the jet, and now… 

"I'm benched," you murmur. 

"You're not benched," Morgan says, which is irksome because you'd been talking to Reid. "If you were benched you'd be back in Virginia typing up my paperwork." 

"She doesn't care about the crime scene, she doesn't care about the crime itself. There's nothing in it for her besides making a statement. So why take a hostage with no ransom, no instruction? Why tell us you have a hostage and cut communication?" 

You rub your eyes at Reid's questions and find you have no theories to offer. You have nothing. 

"Work the problem," you mumble to yourself. "Work the problem. Where would she go?" 

She cut that boy from hip to hip. She killed him quickly after rather than leave him in pain, but she disembowelled him for the statement it would make. For the… mess? 

You feel off-kilter enough to stand. You weave through people and hesitate in front of Hotch where he's reading over the timeline, waiting for his face to turn before you talk. 

"Hotch," you say tentatively, "what if she's like… an arsonist? Disemboweling is messy. The blood was still wet when we got here two days later, and it ruined the floor." 

He thinks for a second. "Her escalation from a private mess to a public one would make sense."

"We thought the pathway from murder to taking a hostage was a step backwards, but what if it's not about the murder at all, it's about the blood?"

"It's common for arsonists to suffer paternal violence," Reid chimes in. "Could explain the unsub targeting men with outward misogynistic attitudes." 

You turn to find the whole team looking at you, a familiar drive on each of their faces. 

They rebuild the profile. Reid fiddles with what you've said, they specify, they redirect. 

Your moment of clarity dissolves quickly but you try to help as they move on to possible locations. If the unsub wants to make a scene, light a metaphorical fire, there are plenty of places she can do it this weekend. 

Surprise surprise, Garcia confirms a 'men's rights' rally happening in around two hours, and suddenly everybody's in motion. Hotch lists instructions and the team disperses. You've done it all a hundred times before, Hotch quadruple that, Rossi octuple.

"L/N," Hotch says. 

You lift your face to his. 

He's really quite close. 

"Do you want to stay here?"

You take note of his wording. Do you want to stay here? 

His phone is already in his hand. You don't wanna waste anymore of his time. You're pretty useless during movements anyways. 

"Is that okay?" you ask. 

He doesn't say yes or no, his head doesn't give the slightest nod or shake. His eyebrows remain in their usual pushed down position. "Expand the profile. Make sure we haven't missed anything." In case the unsub isn't where you think. 

And then he leaves. 

You take your seat at a now hastily vacated table and spend an hour on the laptop with Garcia. She's mostly at the beck and call of the rest of the team, but it's nice to listen to her clicking away. 

She hangs up when the team are about to storm the rally venue and things get difficult. 

You'd passed all your psych evaluations to return. You can be an effective agent. You can work. 

You know all of this. 

It won't stick. 

You don't have a clue how long you spend staring at the table when your phone starts to ring. "Morgan?" you ask, pressing the screen to your cheek. 

"Hey, sweetheart, we got her. And Paul, safe and sound. You ready to go home?" 

"Uh," you say, trying to understand what he's said. "I'm not sure." Your migraine is coming back. 

When a person gets dehydrated your head starts to pound. It's like a heartbeat, a pulsing ache at the base of your skull and your temples. 

You know that it's all in your head, but ever since you got back you've been victim to what feels like a hundred headaches. 

Your head hurts, and you look at the floor and suddenly the floor isn't the dull blue carpeting of the police station, but the plywood of your unsub's warehouse. 

"Are you there?" 

"Morgan, I don't feel well," you say. Your mouth is full of cotton. 

"What?" 

You cast your gaze around the room. 

You leave your phone on the table, unsure if you've hung up, and make your way out of the conference room they've delegated to the BAU. You're in two minds. You know where you are, and who you are, but you feel like you're back there. The walls look like the police station walls but the floor looks like the base plywood of the warehouse. 

I'm just thirsty, you think. When you'd been kidnapped you'd become dehydrated somewhere between the fourth and fifth day, and that had come with some minor auditory and visual hallucinations. Dark spots in your peripherals shaped mildly like people, murmurings that could've been the cicadas. Right now, there's a low pitched ringing in your ears. I'm dehydrated. I'm fine. I need a drink, and I'll be okay. 

You don't have the facilities to smile at the people you pass, easing your way through officers and into an empty break room. There's nobody here. 

You round the table in the middle of the room and move to the cabinets and the sink basin. You take a mug into shaking hands and turn the faucet on. 

The water is frigid and soon your fingers are like ice. You part them in the stream, watching the water worm down your palms and wet the cuffs of your sleeves. 

"Agent L/N, is everything okay?" 

You turn with a smile, ready to assuage any fears, but it's her. 

It's obviously not her. It's not her, but she looks like her. Same face, same hair. You turn back to sink and fill your mug. 

"Agent L/N?" 

"Please," you say quietly. 

"Agent L/N?" 

"Detective, would you excuse us?" 

His voice. Your shoulders relax just enough to ease the ache in your neck. You hear the woman depart, but you're disorientated enough to ask, "Is she still here?" 

"She's not here." 

“She looked-“ like her. You press your wet hands to the bottom of the sink. It's silver and covered in scratches, a thousand scratches that glow white with the fluorescents. "I don't think I should be here," you mumble. 

"I think you're overwhelmed." 

"I am." You cringe at the numbness spreading up your arms. "I don't know how to make it go away." 

Hotch isn't just your boss. He's a father. He was a husband. He knows how to comfort somebody and he's proven that to you already, but you're still surprised when he pulls your hands out of the sink. He holds both in one palm while he turns off the faucet, and then he tears off a wad of paper towels and starts to dry your fingers. 

"You're not in any danger here," he says, turning your hands palm up. "There are a wall of people out there who would stand in front of you. Nothing is going to happen to you." 

Despite his careful reassurances you're curling in on yourself, trying to hide. You don't want to be here. You're not sure where you want to be. You have the self-awareness to know you're being awful, that this is embarrassing, and you've put Hotch in a position he likely doesn't want to be in, too.  

You blink at his chest. "Where's your suit jacket?" you ask. Your voice sounds far away in one ear and too loud in the other. 

"I left it in the car," he says lightly. "We just got back from the rally. You were waiting for us here." 

"I didn't go." 

"No. You haven't been at your best." 

"I'm trying." 

"I know," he says softly, thumbs rubbing over your warming fingers. "I know you are. You're doing really well. Why don't we sit down?" 

You let him lead you backward into a hard-backed chair. He doesn't sit with you, but he doesn't let go of your hands. They're limp in his and smaller, colder. 

You think he might be the only thing keeping you here. 

"I've never been that scared before. I've had a… gun to my head and… it wasn't even her-" You choke on it. "Her. She hurt me and it wasn't even the worst part." 

He frowns down at you. "What was the worst part?" 

You let your fingers unfurl across his open palm. He pulls your hands to his chest, sandwiches them between his own hands and his crisp white shirt. His tie feels silky soft. 

"I didn't want to be alone. I," — you close your eyes and press your chin to your chest, hiding, always hiding — "knew I wasn't going to last long by myself. I could see that bottle of water on the table and I couldn't reach it and I just kept waiting for somebody to open the door and pass it to me, and I was so scared that nobody was ever going to do that.

"I close my eyes and- and I see it. I see the wood flooring, and I see the table. I can't remember anything that she said to me anymore, but I remember thinking you weren't ever coming to get me." 

You can see the way the light from a crack in the corrugated roof had lit the water bottle up like a lamp. You barely have to think about it and the image of it is there. Your mouth had ached.

You can see him if you try a little harder. The door flying open. Hotch in his vest with his hair falling onto his forehead, a gun in one hand and a flashlight held high in the other. His broad, quick sweep, and then the way he'd leapt for you. His voice, shouting, screaming instructions. You can feel his hand behind your head, his fingers pushed roughly into your hair. 

"You're okay," he'd said. 

You trust him with your life. You've never had cause to doubt him. But you hadn't believed him then, and you're not sure you do now. 

His expression changes slowly. He moves both of your hands into one of his own and squeezes them reassuringly as he cups your cheek. It's a quick touch, a half-second of contact. 

"You made a mistake, in that case," he says, hand moving from your cheek to the hill of your shoulder. 

You tamp down a wince. "Yeah." He's being generous. You'd made hundreds of mistakes. Every opportunity to save yourself wasted. 

"Your mistake," he says, holding your eye, his voice gritty with severity, "was thinking I wouldn't find you.”

He turns to a blur the longer you stare at him, panicked tears welling up with nowhere to go. You tip your head forward so he can't see them, and he steps closer in turn, ushering your face into his abdomen. 

His hand falls to your trembling back. 

"That was your only error. You did everything else right." 

Your tears come thick and fast. Hotch doesn't baulk. 

—

You agree to take some more time off. 

Realistically, you can't be an effective agent or a reliable member of the team whilst smothered in memories as you are. You don't take it personally when Hotch insists, as he takes great care to explain to you what's happening. 

This isn't a punishment. You need more time. 

You're a safety risk. Not that your consultation isn't valuable, it is, you're still a good profiler — an amazing profiler, if your team are to be believed — but you're in the aftershocks of a traumatic event. 

A wound can't heal if it's being picked at. 

"He said that?" you ask quietly, bed sheets upto your chin. 

Hotch's voice rings scratchy with tiredness down the line, "He said you can have all of the blue ones." 

"He's generous. He gets that from his dad." 

"He's much kinder than I am." You hear a small voice on the other end, and then a muffled, "Yeah, g-man, I'll tell her. I'll tell her right now. Okay. Y/N?" 

"Yeah, still here." 

"Jack says," he recounts, parent tone in play that tells you his son is nearby, "that you can have all the blue and all of the green band-aids, if you need them." 

You stare up at the white plaster ceiling of your apartment, a tiny smile playing on your lips. 

"Tell him I said thank you. I'm sure they'll make me all better in no time." 

He tells Jack what you've said. You hear his lovely voice saying something too quiet. "What was that?" Hotch asks him. 

"I said," Jack says, voice close to the receiver, "she just needs a kiss because they always make me feel better." 

"I've been getting lots of kisses!" you promise him, turning to look at your nightstand. 

Propped up proudly is a picture of you and your team in that restaurant in Las Vegas, where Reid hadn't been able to use his chopsticks, and where Hotch had laughed so loudly you'd felt your heart skip twice. It's surrounded by a sea of 'Get Well Soon' cards, and backdropped by a small bouquet of sweetpeas. 

Tell me when they wilt, Reid had said. And I'll get you another bunch. It's been proven that flowers have a long term positive effect on moods. People who received flowers regularly reported less agitation, less depression, and an overall sense of satisfaction. 

Beside the sweetpeas, in pride of place, is a handmade card from none other than Jack himself, though the message inside was penned by an older hand. 

"I'm well looked after," you say, smiling softly. 

"You're well loved," Hotch adds. 

That, too. 

༺༻

again, im not that used to writing hotch so despite my character study he may feel a little ooc that's my bad, hard to show him pining bc he's such a professional at work. thanks so much for reading!! if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging i promise it means so much to me ♡

[goosita]

no no billy taking you out on his horse and showing you the reigns but it’s a bit hard to concentrate with him and his wandering hands pushed up behind you

oh my god you don't understand this is peak romantic fantasy for me on GOD

riding around out in the fields with billy because he has a day to himself, and he wants to spend it with you.

and we all know billy loves his horse, and he's so good at riding the animal and taming it. he asks if you wanna go out with him for a ride and you're reluctant at first. of course, this is the wild west. lots of people know how to ride horses, it's a huge mode of transportation. but...you had never spent that much time around them. you lived in town and didn't tend to stray from there, and your interactions with the animals were mostly limited to carriage rides where someone else was in control.

"c'mon angel, it'll be fun. promise," he says, giving you those imploring blue eyes all round and wide. you agreed, knowing that billy would never let anything happen to you. not that you were scared. just a little uneasy, is all.

but then the afternoon comes and he's got you sat comfortably right in front of him in the saddle. his chest is warm and solid against your back, your bum is settled nicely in the cradle of his hips and his thighs, keeping you right there against him. your hands rest on the saddle horn while his arms are resting around your waist, holding the reins.

lady, his horse, wanders around where he guides her. she's a pretty horse, white with speckles and she's very calm. you can tell that her and billy have a quiet kind of trust between them.

"see?" he grins, leaning his head down to peck your cheek. "not so bad, is it?"

and it's not. it's not bad at all, really. you can tell your thighs might be a little sore later from the unconscious way you're clenching them to feel balanced, but this is actually kinda nice. the sun is perched in the middle of the sky, warming the fields and your skin. bugs and wildlife are buzzing around you as you ride, and billy seems so relaxed and content behind you.

"you wanna take the reins for a bit?" he asks, patting your thigh and giving it an affectionate squeeze. he likes to do that, give you these little pets and caresses sometimes. just because he can.

"oh...um....i don't really know-"

"nonsense, it's easy. here." he cuts you off gently, placing the leather reins in your hands. he explains to you what actions the horse will take as cues, and you don't dare do anything but encourage the animal to keep on moseying forward like she had been. billy chuckles softly at your hesitance, but he doesn't make fun. he lets you do what you're comfortable with.

you try to focus on directing lady where you want her to go, but it starts to get harder when billy's hands slide up and down your outer thighs slowly. you know he's probably not trying to distract you or rile you up, but you can't help the way your body and mind react to his touch.

billy rests his chin on your shoulder and hums, some silly little folk tune he must have stuck in his head. you can feel the vibrations of his voice against your back and it makes your tummy flutter with butterflies. no matter how long you and billy have been together, even little things like this make your heart stutter like a lovesick teen with a crush.

"you're doin' great, honey," he murmurs, and you can feel his smile against your cheek where he still rests over your shoulder. it makes you feel better, the praise. you like it when he praises you, even for little things like this.

his hands begin to wander, though, and you're not sure you can stay focused on controlling lady. billy brings his hands up to your hips, his fingers dipping into the waistband of the pants he'd loaned you to ride in. it's not inherently sexual, the way he's touching you. a little intimate to be touched out in the open like this, a little against decorum, but you're alone out here anyway. he strokes your skin softly, adoringly, like he just wants to feel you under his fingertips. as much as you like it, it's too distracting.

"here," you blurt, handing him the reins back. "can't think straight with you around." it comes out more playful than scolding, though, and billy chuckles.

"alright. whatever you want, angel," he tells you, pressing another kiss to your cheek before taking over again.

let's talk about billy, baby!

[ethereallyjade]

Pick a Card: Where is Your F/S?

Choose a photo that calls to you and the cards will tell you a message. As always, this is just for fun. Do not take anything seriously or above legal or medical advice. If your interested in personal tarot readings and want to support me, check out my Paid Readings! Masterlist

1 - 3

Images are not mine

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Pile 1

Channeled Messages: "Fly high , little one. Fly high," empty, ducks in a row, distracted, just can't get it right

Okay, this is good energy here. Where are they? They are partying. Some sort of gathering or celebration. Something that's giving them a lot of inspiration. I'm almost feeling like this celebration isn't necessarily for them, but it's kick starting them to fulfill something on their own. It's kind of opening their eyes to something they haven't seen before and it's making them feel free from something they were struggling with in the past. This idea could lead them to make a hell of a lot more money, or maybe this celebration is due to them making more money and now they feel more comfortable and stable to pursue something they've been thinking about for a while. Wherever they're at, they're feeling a sense of joy, success, and youthfulness that they haven't felt in a while.

Pile 2

Channeled Messages: indented, stopping to think, CONTEMPLATIVE, mirror image, butterfly, spoon, shiver/cold

I had to stop and brainstorm a few times before doing this reading, so your person might be very in their head right now, for better or worse. Okay, we got all cards in reverse, so it's probably for worse. They are stuck somewhere. Hopefully not literally. I keep seeing a picture of a room. Maybe they're in 'hermit mode' right now, which is funny since I didn't actually pull that card. However, instead of working on themselves and healing like the hermit typically intends, maybe they're just hiding away in fear; spiraling with thought after thought about something. It's healthy to allow yourself to feel or to need time away every now and then, but I'm seeing they have definitely overextended their stay. The cards are saying 'its time to go now'. I'm seeing a shaded, quiet room with empty bottles and candy wrappers. I'm hearing they may have spent the past few months in a constant state of alertness which caused them a ton of stress which explains why they've been hiding away, just to get a break. Sorry, to end on a sad note, but they're having a really hard time getting their energy back right now.

Note: It took me a while to shake off the energy of this pile, and immediately upon starting pile 3 I felt this huge weight lift off my head. Pile 2, your f/s is likely in a really dark place rn, I'm sorry.

Pile 3

Channeled Messages: Easy by The Commodores, sweet, light & giddy

I'm not feeling an overall negative energy here right off the bat, however the cards are suggesting that your f/s may feel very insecure right now. I think they're in a place that is blocking their creativity or feminine energy. They might be surrounded by people that are pushing them around, unbeknownst to them, and this is subconsciously making them feel insecure and unsure about themselves. I'm picking up a lot of feminine energy from this pile, which doesn't mean your f/s is necessarily a woman or anything. Maybe they're surrounded by a lot of women, but I don't think in a romantic way. I'm feeling that a woman close to them is really getting in their head and influencing them in a negative way. All in all your f/s has very good energy, I think they're a very kind and sweet person, but at the moment they aren't surrounded by those that have the best intentions.

[everythingne]

marketing ploy — LN4 / ch. 1

Everyone can see the growing tensions between Red Bull and McLaren as Lando gears up to be the next best driver under Max. The publicity of it all causes a slight issue… the people want more drama. They need more drama.

So, McLaren and Red Bull make a deal—a plan to get them both the publicity (and some extra cash).

The plan?

Olivia Piastri (yes, Piastri), the head analyst of Red Bull, has to pretend to date her brother’s teammate. And she can’t tell anyone—not even Oscar, it’s not a real relationship.

piastri!oc x lando norris

warnings/notes: sort of financial abuse, manipulation from higher authorities, fake dating AND brothers best friend trope (guys let me cook!!)

prev | next

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05 MARCH 2023 -- INSTAGRAM.

OLIVIAPIASTRI MADE A NEW POST ↴

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri, redbullracing, and 689k more…

oliviapiastri: never a dull day here in RB. so glad to have gotten to celebrate three podiums!! shout out to max, nori, and ossi here in bahrain!! 🧡❤️

bakerpiastri: the siblings ever 🧡

papayababy: so are we gonna talk ab her calling lando NORI??

⤷ rb.fancams: NO FR??

verstaphin: ok but since when has olivia posted so much mclaren??

oscarpiastri: oh so i can't see the film photos but u can post them?

⤷ oliviapiastri: this is what u get for biting me while drunk.

landonorris: thanks oli 🧡

lando.wc: olivia posting the prettiest photo of lando ever is so...

⤷ piastrycounter: NO FR??? what if. like.

⤷ lando.wc: @.piastrycountry our brainwaves are connected.

addiees: LANDOS COMMENT?

22 FEBRUARY 2023 - SAKHIR, BAHRAIN.

“Piastri incoming!”

Stepping into Christian’s office in my tall white heels, I give him a fist bump at his soft shake of the head and his laugh. It’s extremely weird to have been called to his office at this time, but the man had been serious when we’d spoken about it earlier. I'm still wearing the dress I'd worn to dinner with Oscar and our parents, a little orange sundress my mother had bought me when Oscar first signed with McLaren, paired with a little white sweater and my heels. A loose gold dangle earring catches on a curl, and my bracelets and rings clink as I raise my hand to slip the perfectly done curl off the earring before it ruins it.

"Thank you again, Miss Piastri, for coming on such a short notice." Christian says as I look into the room and my head tilts up slightly as I take in the room in front of me. Three men in different stages of formal dress with their backs to me, a man I don't know sits on one side of the desk with Alice, Red Bull's Chief Communications Officer. And a third woman sits on the other side of the desk with my brothers manager. As I speak, they all turn around, and I notice its both Zak and Andrea from McLaren, and...

"Sorry, am I interrupting something?" I ask, staring down none other than Oscar's current best friend, Lando Norris.

Now, I didn't quite... like Lando Norris. It wasn't that he was an asshole or anything, in fact, he was quite polite. And I didn't not like him either. I just didn't really know him. When you only really see a guy in work mode, asleep, hungover when your brother lets him spend the night after they party, or drunk off his ass at a club. Well. It's kinda hard to genuinely like spending time with him. But, he and Oscar got on better than a house of fire, so ultimately I had learned overtime to just deal with his antics. It was usually fun to watch, and I was usually too busy with Red Bull work to even be paying attention.

"Not at all, actually we were waiting for you to get started." Christian places a hand on my shoulder and smiles, motioning for the chair next to Lando that--conveniently, had been left open. I pop down next to him and offer him a soft smile which he returns. Ah yes, civility. I can work with the bare minimum, it's the usual amount of respect I get here.

"My Mom had to get a picture of Oscar and I in the new paddocks here, thats what took so long." I laugh, settling down in the seat and looking over at the women I dont know, offering them soft smiles as I turn back to Christian, "Sorry if I was a bit late."

"Right on time, actually," Christian nods, "As punctual as usual."

"Lets get right to business, we need Lando to be in top shape for tomorrows race. Can't keep him out too late." Zak easily jokes, bringing the attention of the room to him. Christian laughs softly, taking a seat at his desk and flicking open his laptop. The confusion radiating off of me slowly melts into curiosity, leaning back in my chair as well as I plop my little orange Coach purse on my lap.

"Ah, it's all too much for little Lando Norris, right?" I ask, kicking Lando's chair and he crosses his arms as he looks over at me--eyes meeting mine with a bit of playful anger.

"Little Lando Norris?" He pouts and I kick his chair again with a shrug, making him start laughing as he leans back and swats at my foot. His nails scratch along my ankle and I shiver from the feeling, pulling my ankle to the side of my leg.

"Well, this might work better than expected." Andrea comments with a soft grin on his lips, "they already get along well, and have some sort of chemistry."

"Huh?"

"What?"

Lando and I both turn to look at Andrea, then we both turn our attention to Zak and then Christian in order. The three men laugh along to Andrea, nodding in agreement as the two women jot down some notes, the third woman by Lando huffing with a soft smile on her lips. I point to Ada Luanne, my brothers manager and speak softly.

"Wait, so why are we here?" I finally ask and Christian looks to Zak, holding a hand out for the man to explain. He does, standing as he motions around the room, introducing everyone to each other, thankfully.

There's me and Lando settled in two leather chairs that uncomfortably stuck to my thighs. Christian sat his desk with Zak and Andrea standing between him and Lando and my chairs. Alice, Red Bull's Chief Communications Officer sits next to Steve Atkins, who is McLarens Chief Communications Officer. Then, on the other side of the desk is a woman named Astrid Marina, who is Lando's manager, and then my brothers manager Ada Luanne who is here to represent me.

"And, we are all here for the two of you." Zak nods, and Lando sends me a sharp look that says nothing but 'what the hell did you do?' which I counter with my best 'I didn't do shit, what did you do?' look.

"You see, tensions between Red Bull and McLaren's racing teams are at an all time high due to how close Lando has been racing with Max." Zak continues after a moment, "and the fans have been eating up the rivalry. It's truly been one of the most intense spikes in merch sales and social media trends we've seen in years on both sides. And, Miss Piastri, that is where you come into the picture."

"Okay? What does this have to do with me, if you don't mind my asking?" I lean forward slightly, eyes glancing up at Zak, then to Andrea, then Christian, then back to Zak's smug smile.

"We need to keep the rivalry alive between us and Red Bull, yeah? And, over the past few weeks when you've been on radio with Max, the fans have noticed the two of you seem to be quite close. And considering you are Oscar's sister..." Zak waves a hand as he comes to take one of mine, squeezing it as he leans down to be my eye level, "we have quite an opportunity."

"I'm not following." I glance to Lando, who sends me a helpless shrug of confusion.

"Well, Miss Piastri." Christian taps his desk and Zak moves to sit down again. I watch as both Alice and Steven whisper to each other as the Astrid and Ada nod to Christian, and he speaks words I never thought I'd hear.

"To keep up with publicity, we would like for you and Lando to pretend to date. Just for a season or two."

I can't even bring words to my mouth. The room feels so crowded, multiple sets of eyes watching me as I sputter to try and come up with some sort of answer. Luckily, Lando does that for me.

"I'm sorry?" He spits, a sort of anger in his tone, "what are you on about?"

"Olivia, you will start to spend more time with McLaren." Alice starts to explain, and everyone looks to her, "post more McLaren, wear more McLaren, start to cause a stir. Once we see that stir, we will take photos of you wearing Lando's number and post those. This should start a dating rumor through Australia to Miami."

My jaw is open, completely catching flies at the moment.

"Once the rumor really starts, you will both do a 'soft launch' of the other--basically, faceless photos. You'll be caught by paparazzi on a date, you'll be seen together in the paddocks, and such. We'll bring this rumor up and up until about midway through the season when, during a pole position celebration, Lando will go to you for a celebratory kiss--which will cement your relationship." Alice continues, and then Steven takes over,

"We'll run the relationship probably through next season, maybe a little longer, and then you'll both have a peaceful split off and remain friends. No harm done."

I stare blankly, finally closing my jaw to take a slow breath to calm my racing heart. I look to Lando, who looks equally as shocked if not more shocked than I am about this.

"You're reading me a film script, not the next twenty months of my life." I snap, standing up, and Lando follows my lead as I point to Christian, "I'm an engineer, not some--actress you can throw around for publicity points!"

"Olivia, please." Christian stands, holding a hand out like you would to a scared dog, "it's something temporary, and it's no strings attached! There's a pretty big... financial bonus as well."

"You both will get twenty-five percent of all revenue make off this stunt. Depending on how well you sell this... that could triple or even times both of your salaries by ten." Alice crosses her arms, "and, the deal will be kept to people in this office. Only we will know why this is being done. To everyone else, even Oscar and Max, this relationship is genuine."

There's a long pause, and part of me feels trapped. The amount of money I could make for putting up with a guy I already put up with his obviously extremely appealing. I make a good chunk of change already, but just doubling that would make me set for a while. I could finally start spending my money the way I wanted to.

Hell, I could pay off all my student loans at once with that absolute chunk of change.

"Fuck it." Lando says under his breath, so low only I hear the slight scratch of his voice as he sighs and then looks up at Christian, "where do I sign?"

"Norris?!" I shout as my disbelief hits an alltime high, He had made that decision easily. Lando's right hands takes a pen from Christian's left one as he turns back to me, running a hand through his frizzy curls.

"We fake date for a year, and then we go off and do whatever we want after with a large paycheck for something no one knows is fake. How is this a bad deal, Olivia? I already spend almost every weekend with you and Oscar anyway, it'll hardly be different." He says, and a paper is pushed his way, he looks back at me once more in that loose, half buttoned white tee and black dress shorts. His necklaces dangle off his neck as he scribbles down his name without any hesitance, clicking the pen shut and holding it out to me.

"Plus, if we're pretending to be a real couple, you'll be losing out on nothing because I will be buying you pretty much everything for the next twelve months."

Fuck. That's a good point. I could kinda manipulate this to benefit me if all goes to shit. The black pen taunts me, and the way he grins and wiggles it in the air towards my hesitantly lifting hand is no different.

Yeah, so much for being shy, Lando.

"Is there a way out of this after I sign?" I ask and Christian nods. Relief I didn't know I needed floods my body immediately after and I feel like a man in a confessional being absolved of his sins. Complete and utter relief.

"If you want to leave, talk with me, and I'll sort it out." He says, "it's really no strings attached."

So, there was a way to back out. Easily too. Christian had taken me under his wing with Red Bull when I was quite young. The man was basically my second father by now, so I could tell him anything, and knowing that all I had to do was ask him if I wanted to leave?

It felt a lot less heavy to look at the pen now. But I find my gaze drifts upwards and I look at Lando. That tiny gap in his front teeth, the freckle that rests on his cheek right by his nose, the way his eyes crinkle as his smile widens.

Oh, I'm so fucked when Oscar finds out I'm 'dating' Lando.

I groan, snatching the pen from his hand and leaning down to also sign the contract as I mutter.

"You're lucky I'm a money hungry bitch."

And, we begin.