#like after everything comes out when he's deliberately saying the worst things he could to aaron bc hes just trying to get him to punch him

[wqnwoos]

jeonghan thinks that having you as his roommate is possibly one of the best and worst things that’s happened to him.

you are, by far, the best roommate he’s ever had. you’re clean. not too loud. you don’t disturb him when he’s sleeping, you don’t take food from the fridge that’s clearly his and you never leave your dishes in the sink.

coming from sharing with soonyoung, seungkwan and seokmin, jeonghan doesn’t think his living situation could get any better.

or at least, he didn’t. now he’s starting to realise he has a problem, and that problem is his teensy tiny crush on you.

because not only are you clean and hygienic, you’re also nice. incredibly nice — and incredibly gorgeous, and jeonghan really doesn’t think it’s fair that you tick all three boxes so easily. and yeah, maybe it’s not the biggest crush, but it certainly doesn’t help when you go around doing stupidly endearing things, like tripping over the rug that’s been there since you moved in, or dancing when you’re cooking dinner.

or baking at odd hours of the evening — because when he gets home at nearing midnight after hanging out at joshua’s house, he can hear you clattering around the kitchen from the doorway. you don’t see him when he first enters the room, eyes fixated on the measuring scale in front of you, as you pour brown sugar into a bowl.

“what are you doing?”

you jump when you hear his voice, somehow knocking a wooden spoon to the ground with your elbow as you yelp. “when did you get here?”

“just now.” jeonghan leans against the doorway with narrowed eyes. “do you know what time it is?”

“i’m — i’m stress-baking,” you enunciate, with heavy, deliberate emphasis. “it’s relieving my stress.”

jeonghan directs a dubious glance around the kitchen. there’s a pile of flour on the counter that should definitely be in some sort of packet; chocolate chips are sprinkled across the surface; there are at least seven different dirty bowls in the sink. “is it?”

you let out a deflated sigh, rubbing at your nose and leaving an adorable smudge of flour on the top. sourly, you admit —“no.”

jeonghan pushes off the doorframe, helping himself to a handful of chocolate chips before you can bat away his hand with the wooden spoon. “so, darling roommate of mine,” he begins, lifting himself onto the few clean inches of the surface. “why are we stress baking at such an hour?”

your nose wrinkles, and you avoid his gaze with admirable intensity. “i don’t want to talk about it.”

jeonghan prides himself on knowing when to push and when not to push. he can tell, even after knowing you for only a matter of months, that you’re not ready to talk about it yet. this exact scenario, late-night, stress-fuelled baking, has happened a few times before. and, right on schedule —

“you should go to bed,” you say after a moment. but your voice wavers ever so slightly, and jeonghan knows that even though you’d never ask, you don’t want to be alone right now.

“what, so you can stress yourself out all alone?” he asks lightly. “not a chance.”

so he sits there and talks to you as you finish up your cookies, stealing chocolate chips and laughing when you scowl at him, and then offering them to you at the last second. he puts them in the oven for you because somehow, despite your nocturnal hobbies, you’re yet to invest in oven mitts, and he doesn’t want you to get burnt.

sometimes, jeonghan considers telling you how he feels. sometimes, like now, when it’s late at night and his logical thinking is dulled, and you’re laughing at all his jokes, even the stupid ones, and everything feels so indescribably right — jeonghan feels like he’s spilling over. he feels like sometimes there’s a light in your eyes when you look at him, smile with him, that makes him think that reciprocation is more than a possibility — it’s a probability.

but he won’t. he knows he won’t, not yet. maybe one day, maybe sooner than he thinks, but not yet. for now, he just slips off the counter to dry the dishes when you wash them. to flick soap at your eyes and blow bubbles with you and connect his phone to the bluetooth speaker and coax you into dancing with him in the middle of the kitchen until your brows are no longer furrowed and your smile feels fuller than it was when he walked in. until the cookies are done, golden-brown and warm and sweet, just how he feels on nights like this.

edit: if you’d like to read a sequel to this couple, in my head this drabble is about them getting together :)

an / i don’t have anything to say. hi guys

perm taglist: @n4mj00nvq @eoieopda @som1ig @wondering-out-loud @graybaeismytae @hannyoontify @sahazzy @dokyeomin @icyminghao @smilehui @nicholasluvbot @lvlystars @immabecreepin @hanniehaee @kokoiinuts @astrozuya @doublasting @yepimthatonequirkyteenager @qaramu @weird-bookworm @phenomenalgirl9 @lightnjng @strnsvt @onlyyjeonghan @athanasiasakura

[agoodroughandtumble]

Roronoa Zoro x Reader - I Didn't Need Saving Part 2

Status: Incomplete Summary: Reader is hurt after battling with the marines Warnings: 18+. Language, injury, implied violence (in keeping with the show)

It wasn’t Zoro’s proudest moment, walking away from you. Not when you were injured, not when you were looking at him so desperately. Not when the entire situation was a direct consequence of his actions. You had saved his life, thrown him away from a danger his arrogance hadn’t even registered. And now you were beaten and broken all because of the misguided assumption that somehow his life was more precious than your own.

Fuck he hated you. Hated that you could so casually throw away everything, hated that you were so stupid enough to think that it would be possible for him to carry on without you.

He didn’t know what love was but if it was self-loathing and guilt at your expense he had that in abundance. If it was the way your smile made his heart leap, the overwhelming urge to be close to you, to be good enough for you, to rip open his chest and let you make yourself a home there, well, then he was fucked beyond all reprieve.

Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe it was the worst thing. Either way, he wasn’t going to risk being alone with you again. At least he could be certain of that.

Two days later he was stood outside your door. Pacing. Nami had said you had been asking for him. That meant one of two things: Nami was tired of covering his shifts so was passing on the buck, or you actually wanted to see him. Which, after how he left you, was not something he was particularly looking forward to. Unfortunately, you were a request he was fundamentally unable to refuse – even if he had actually wanted to.

Hence his pacing.

The irony was not lost on Zoro. The Demon Pirate Hunter was scared of a girl with a hole in her side. But scared of what he wasn’t quite sure. Scared you would yell at him, or be disappointed, angry, spit venom at him again. But what if you didn’t. What if he allowed himself to consider the possibility that you felt a fraction of what he felt? What if you had saved his life because it was him and not because he was a crew member and you were clearly an idiot with a death wish.

Guilt prickled its way up his spine. He was, at least, going to have to acknowledge you at some point. He knocked on the door frame – the door being open in case of an emergency, but he had deliberately been pacing out of sight.

No answer.

Fine. Good. He could leave now – tell Nami he tried but you weren’t up for seeing anyone.

He made it two steps.

Fuck.

Zoro turned around and walked into the room with the determination that only someone who nearly lost it all could have. He’d come this far.

“Come to kill me then?” There was humour in your voice, albeit laced with sarcasm.

He let out a relieved sigh. Maybe you weren’t that pissed off with him. “Only if you pull a stunt like that again.”

You shuffled under the covers and he couldn’t help but be grateful at the ease with which you seemed to move. “I’m promising nothing.”

“Yes you are.”

His sudden serious tone caught you off guard and you hoisted yourself onto your elbows, and although Zoro would rather you didn’t exert yourself he was glad to see you moving without wincing.

You looked at him expectantly, “What am I promising?”

He slumped onto the chair Nami had placed at your bedside and rested his swords against the wall by the headboard next to you. “You’re promising not to leave me.”

You rolled your eyes. The nonchalance with which he spoke failing to convey his meaning until it was too late. “I didn’t leave y- … oh.”

Once again, Zoro felt the familiar rising of guilt starting at the base of his spine, slowly traversing upwards as he watched a thousand expressions cross your face, felt the weight of a thousand unspoken promises embedded in his shoulders. When he looked down at you it was nigh on impossible to say anything that wasn’t his hopeful heart trying to meet yours. He cast his gaze very firmly on anything, everything that was decidedly not you. Anything but you. “A swordsman is no swordsman if he can’t protect his friends.”

Your face dropped only a fraction of a second sooner than his heart. “Well I’m glad we’re friends.”

Zoro searched for some sarcasm only to be met with something else. It was a rare shade on you – embarrassment - and one he didn’t much care for. He sighed. Somehow he had already managed to make things worse. Not for the first time, he wished he could be someone else for you. Someone better. Someone like Luffy with his endless optimism to put a smile on your face, someone like Usopp to take you on an adventure with his fantastical tales. Hell, even someone like that shitty cook who never had any inhibitions when professing his undying love to whichever woman was the latest to catch his eye. But he was Zoro. And apparently that meant all he was good for was failing you.

Failure was not something he was accustomed to. His whole life was built around striving for perfection – whether that was through swordsmanship or being first mate. Failure seeped into his bones, became an obsession, clawing at him. And here you were, unbeknownst and unapologetic. Seeped into his bones. Carving your way into his soul as if it was the easiest thing in the world, as if you had belonged there all along. But you were friends. Because Zoro had failed. Again.

He really should have brought some sake with him. The look of uncertainty, the way you pulled the covers to try to hide as much as yourself as possible, make yourself smaller would be much easier to swallow washed down with alcohol.

He wanted to reach a hand out, rub a reassuring thumb across your cheek. To tell you he was being an arsehole – to somehow articulate that the feeling of hope of reciprocation your actions had arisen in him could in no way compare to the fear of losing you. He wanted to tell you he wasn’t worthy of such an act – and he was so, so angry that you would rather he lost his soul, his heart, his only chance at true happiness over his life. He could happily, willingly, die a thousand deaths if you lived. But if you died. If you left him devoid of all hope and salvation, he could certainly learn how to hate you then.

“I should go.” It was almost a question but one he couldn’t bring himself to ask. Zoro watched as you shuffled further into the covers – protecting yourself. He should be protecting you. He should be holding you in his arms. He should be doing everything and more. But he wasn’t. He was walking out of the door before you could respond. He was failing.

[ivanttakethis]

top 5 worst ivan mischaracterizations ( aka could you list five worst traits people give him that are just totally wrong) i love to hear people complain but if you don't want to you can ignore this ask have a good day

Anon I am SO glad that you asked!

Ivan is my favorite character in Alien Stage because he’s really complex.

I could talk about him and his characterization/mischaracterization all day and still have more to say after that. Now you’ve given me the perfect opportunity to write a bunch of my thoughts down.

These complaints are in no particular order and are ultimately subjective.

Also, I’m not a Patreon supporter, so I can’t comment on anything that might’ve been confirmed or debunked over there.

Top 5 Worst Ivan Mischaracterizations:

Ivan is an unfeeling and emotionless person

Ivan was trying to kill himself and Till during Round 6

Ivan hates Mizi

Ivan is arrogant

Ivan is violent

This is going to be a long one, so I’m putting everything under the cut. Let’s begin!

1. Ivan is an unfeeling and emotionless person.

I find this mischaracterization to be one of the most frustrating because there is so much evidence to the contrary.

As a child, Ivan is described as someone who struggles to express his emotions and connect with others (imo he’s neurodivergent-coded, but that’s a whole other discussion). But notably we’re not told that he doesn’t experience emotions.

This official art kills me every time I see it because it shows that Ivan knows he’s different from the other children and that it probably makes him stick out and he wants to fit in somehow so he tries to practice/fake it so maybe he won’t be so alone (the imitating behavior is also coded imo).

Beyond all of that, we see plenty of times throughout the series that he feels things, rather intensely even. He’s wistful about the stars and meteor showers and the thought of freedom. He has a curious nature, observing others, wanting to learn more about how they work; how he can emulate them.

And then there’s all of the feelings that well up when it comes to Till. The most obvious is that Ivan loves Till, in his own fucked up way. But there’s more to it.

He wanted attention from Till (maybe the first time he’s ever wanted something in that way). He did everything he could just to get Till to even so much as glance in his direction. All of the fighting, and the bickering, and the instigating was because Ivan craved reciprocation. He grew obsessed.

When Ivan managed to free both himself and Till, he was thrilled!

And when Till let go of Ivan’s hand to return for Mizi, he was very clearly heartbroken.

Ivan felt jealous of Mizi and Sua’s relationship, knowing that he would never have that chance with Till.

Ivan felt lonely because he thought Sua was just like him, only to realize that wasn’t true (because Mizi loved Sua back) and he had no one to relate to.

Also, the entirety of Black Sorrow?? Hello??? He was yearning for more than what he could get. He was resigned to his minuscule place in Till’s life. The song is full of mourning and sadness and grief.

In Round 6, I believe Ivan knew what he was going to do.

He was desperate for anything he could get from Till in his final moments. I think that’s part of why he kissed Till. If his only goal was to deliberately lose, why not skip the kissing and go straight to choking?

Ivan was a dying man overwhelmed with emotion and he desperately wanted Till to look at him, see him, make him feel content for the first (and last) time in his life.

Even if some of these emotions are not necessarily healthy, it shows that Ivan was capable of feeling something.

So… yeah. That’s why I really dislike the emotionless characterization of Ivan. There’s so much depth to his emotions and character, but some people just skim the surface and reduce him down to nothing more than a cold and stoic person.

2. Ivan was trying to kill himself and Till during Round 6.

This one is probably more often a misunderstanding than a mischaracterization of Ivan. I think some people may have seen IvanTill referred to as “toxic” or “obsessive” love when it came to how Ivan felt and behaved around Till and thought Ivan was on some “if I can’t have you, no one can” shit, but that completely ignores the wider context of his character. Ivan was devoted to Till to a fault.

To Ivan, Till was his reason for being. Till was his universe. His god. Till was something to be revered, protected, and worshipped. Ivan couldn’t live without Till. That’s why he sacrificed himself, so he wouldn’t have to continue on in a world without him in it. But he also wanted to protect Till, no matter the cost.

Pretty much everything Ivan did was to protect or care for Till: trying to escape Anakt Garden with him, watching over him after Till was attacked by the aliens in the club, freeing him from his collar over and over and over again, every chance Ivan got.

Nothing about Ivan’s feelings or behaviors toward Till suggests that he would ever harm him, let alone kill him. There’s a reason why when Ivan was “choking” Till it didn’t look like he applied any pressure, there was no struggle for air on Till’s end (even if he had mentally given up, physically there will be some sort of reaction to having your airway compressed), and we don’t see any marks on Till’s neck afterwards.

It didn’t matter what happened to Ivan as a result. Till was the only person who mattered to him.

He would do anything for him. He would quite literally rather die than have anything happen to his god.

Ivan only ever knew how to give all of himself to Till, giving up his life was inevitable.

3. Ivan hates Mizi

I’ve seen this one more so in fan fiction, usually for angsty circumstances, but this just completely sidesteps their canon relationship, which is positive and, dare I say, friendly.

He gave her piggyback rides when they were kids! In the lead up to Alien Stage, we see them chatting and Ivan being pleasant towards her in a sort of “big brother” type way without hiding some sort of darker emotion behind it.

Now, is Ivan envious of the relationship Mizi has with Sua? Yes. Does he hate that he’ll never get to have the connect they have with Till? Yes. But Ivan hasn’t given any indication that he hates Mizi herself. And I think that’s an important element of his characterization.

Yes, he has negative feelings surrounding Mizi, but he never takes them out on her or lets himself feel negative towards her as a person.

Edit: I started writing this section BEFORE we got the official art of Ivan hanging out with Mizi, but holy fuck am I glad I took so long to finish this because now it’s canon that Ivan got along well with Mizi and they were even close as kids despite the fact that Ivan loved Till and Till loved Mizi.

In conclusion, Ivan and Mizi were reasonably close and (imo) would’ve been besties in slightly different circumstances. Ivan is NOT a Mizi hater!!

4. Ivan is arrogant

Yes and no. On the surface, Ivan comes across as mature, confident, and in some cases arrogant, but as we see more from his perspective it quickly becomes clear that the arrogance is just a mask he wears for others.

Deep down, Ivan is very insecure and his self-esteem is almost nonexistent. He views himself as insignificant, twisted, unworthy. He vilifies everything that he feels and does. (“Thank you for being a victim of my shallow emotions” anyone?) Ivan fully convinced himself that Till wouldn’t give a shit about him if he died to keep him alive. That’s not the behavior of an arrogant person. Far from it.

His arrogant mask acts as a shield to keep others from seeing the monster he thinks he is. He’s even kept parts of himself out.

I think that’s also where his tendency to be an asshole comes from. Keeping people away, not wanting or knowing how to drop the arrogant mask, internalizing everything, projecting onto others (like that whole talk with Sua about self sacrifice).

So basically:

Characterizing Ivan as an insecure person who hides behind false confidence/arrogance to keep people from seeing the real (and somewhat fucked up) him? Great. Fantastic. Love to see it.

Characterizing Ivan as an arrogant asshole “just because”? Terrible. Hate it. You burned my crops and killed my cow.

5. Ivan is violent

I don’t know how this one came about, but it rubs me the wrong way so I’ll touch on it here.

We know Ivan instigated physical fights with Till when they were kids because that was the only way to consistently get Till’s attention (not saying I condone that btw). But outside of that, I don’t think Ivan has been violent with anyone else? And would he even be violent with Till like, recently?? I would say no.

Now I do think Ivan would resort to violence to protect Till, but nothing beyond that. I don’t don’t even think he would use violence to protect himself.

He’d probably just revert back to being a “perfect” obedient pet to avoid or diffuse confrontation. That’s what he did as a child; while Till fought back every chance he got. Till’s fighting spirit is probably one of the things Ivan loved about him. Maybe in part because he couldn’t find it in himself.

————————————————————

Anyways, those are my Top 5 worst Ivan mischaracterizations! Thank you for coming to my TEDTalk 🖤💙

[poppadom0912]

Holding On Sequel

Warnings: Mentions of guns, injuries, hospitals, angst

Summary: Recovery from the worst night of the Halstead's lives seems impossible.

A/N: Wrote this randomly when I remembered receiving several comments wanting a part two and after much deliberation on the plot, this is what I came up with. I'm not a medical professional, everything mentioned is all from google. Please enjoy the ending of this as there won't be a third part to what was supposed to be a oneshot ;)

*****

Things were never the same following the night of the accident.

Jay and Will found themselves at your beside for however long they were permitted to. During his shifts, at his breaks and whenever he found time, Will found himself in your room watching your coma ridden self and Jay would always call and text for updates, every other minute out of work spent in the hospital.

The surgery had been a success, no one ever doubted it when Connor took charge, but it was the aftermath that had gone downhill.

Cerebral hypoxia caused from the severe blood loss and haemorrhaging, causing damage to your brain, the extent of damage which even Abrams struggled to determine as long as you remained unconscious.

The coma lasted for such a long period of time that Abrams was hesitant in keeping your life support machine on.

Jay had a tiny bit of a go at the man for suggesting such a thing, Will attempting to hold him back from doing anything brash.

So Abrams took a step back for another week and the next time, Charles approached the brothers instead. His ever so gentle and understanding voice with his soft eyes causing them to crumble.

It seemed that everyone had come to a collective conclusion, tonight when both their shifts were over, they'd say their last messages and goodbyes before Abrams would pull the plug.

That day, like clockwork, Will took his lunch break too eat his sandwich at your side, talking and telling you everything and anything like he always did. Eventually, someone would always join him for moral support or for some company, either or, today it being April who also was on her break.

As Will combed his fingers through your knotted and greasy hair, their was a sudden spike in your heart monitor causing his fingers to abruptly pull at a tough knot, his own heart thundering, head snapping up to look at the machine in question.

Both doctor and nurse sat in silence, staring at the machine with sharp eyes, ready for any other fluctuations.

A higher pitched beep went off two minutes later, Will choking out a breathy laugh at the moment he believed was never going to come.

Struggling to formulate any thoughts, he turned back to look at you, his eyes softening paired with watery smile.

"it's okay Y/N." He swallowed harshly, barely listening to April calling for Abrams as the heart monitor continued to go off.

"Take as much time as you need."

*****

"Hey, you all finished?

Jay appeared out of nowhere, walking towards you with his keys in hand very casually like he hadn't just scared the living hell out of you.

"Yeah, almost. I just have to mark these last few questions and then we can go home." You said, gesturing to the test papers in front of you on your desk.

Jay hummed, perching himself on the tables that you forbid your kids from sitting on where he sat whistling till you were done.

Around fifteen minutes later, you were done. All your things were now back in their shelves and drawers, your bag packed as your announced you could leave now.

Jumping off the table, Jay rounded the desk and took hold of the wheelchair handles, pushing you out of the classroom, pausing so you could lock the door behind you.

This was your new norm.

Two months post waking up from your coma and, you were thriving as much as you could adjusting to this new lifestyle.

Only two weeks ago were you able to get back to work, spending all your time in and out of rehab and physical therapy, the latter of which you still attended.

The Cerebral Hypoxia affected your ability to speak and walk, the former which was fixed within a month of rehab but the latter...

Well, you were in a wheelchair for a reason.

To cater to such a sudden change in lifestyle, both Will and Jay took their turns in helping, acting as carers of sorts especially in the beginning of your recovery.

Their shared efforts leading to your current living situation - the three of you living together in a completely new place that had wheelchair accessibility that you were able to afford combining three salaries.

Even now, there were still some things that you hadn't become accustomed to such as: wheeling yourself everywhere, relying on others for small tasks like laundry and the sympathy from the entire world.

You would never get used to the stares you continued to receive at school from the children.

"Will get's off in a hour, he's asking about takeout." Jay said, cutting you off from your train of thought as you reminisced on your current recovery.

"Our usual Chinese place is good for me." You said, watching as he typed something into his phone, most likely texting Will your words. "I'm really craving their duck."

"Perfect." He mumbled, turning his phone off as he started the car to drive home.

It took a very long time to work out how to get you and the wheelchair both in and out of the car but after much trial and error and eventually help from your physical therapist, it all worked out.

Will and Jay were changed men after you woke up from the coma. They were, if even possible, more protective of you than before to a point where the line between overprotective and overbearing was extremely thin.

But all three of you had to learn and adjust, making mistakes and sacrifices necessary in making this recovery and new lifestyle work.

You wished you could turn back time and change things, going back to that fateful night where you could change what you did.

Thinking back to it now, you would've been smarter, used some common sense and put your card some place sensible, maybe walk faster to the station instead of pausing in the middle of a dark street nowhere near the main road or civilisation.

But alas, no matter the regret, it was all in the past now, as your therapist said, dwelling on it won't change the present.

All you could do is what was in your control which currently consisted on focusing on your physio to try and get your legs to improve even somewhat, try to enjoy being coddled by your older brothers like you were all kids again and continue to teach the children who never failed to make you feel better.

While you were well into the recovery process, there was still much progress to be made and in an ideal world, by the end of it all, you'd be back to normal and stable on your own two feet. A life where everyone could go back to their lives, Will and Jay being allowed to live their lives independently without having to help you get into the shower or bed.

For now though, all you had to do was focus on yourself, taking small baby steps to try and get back to being you again.

"For fucks sake- Will forgot the prawn crackers!"

With these morons at your side, being you was easier than ever.

[sorchathered]

Sacred New Beginnings

Chapter 5

A/N- this is NOT a finale guys! After much deliberation I decided I have too much to say for only 3 chapters, so we are on this train until I’m ready to give it up! 😂

Summary- it’s the morning after Mav and Penny’s wedding, and there are revelations to unpack as new drama unfolds.

Song inspo- Sunday kind of love- Etta James, You send me- Sam Cooke, Ironic- Alanis Morissette, Karma- Taylor Swift

Pairing- Jake Seresin x reader (oc Stormy)

Warnings- language, drinking, smut (wrap it up kids) minors dni.

Bradley wakes up to one of the worst hangovers he’s had in his adult life. He made it home and proceeded to drain most of his liquor cabinet after the wedding, it had been a bad day all around and seeing you and Jake wrapped up in each others arms after years of worrying was the icing on the cake. He knew logically he had no room to be pissed off, you knew everything now and there would be no salvaging your love life. He had hoped to explain it himself, maybe find a way to convince you it was nothing but in reality he knew that wasn’t the case. He’d continued a relationship with Mirage after you left, whether or not it was just sex didn’t really matter, he’d slept with someone else. His therapist had told him weeks ago that he believed Bradley was in love with the idea of love and having a family, less in the people he was in relationships with and while it had hurt to hear he knew somewhere in him it was true.

He’d loved the attention and adoration from his partners, and some part of him had loved Stormy once; but the two of you disagreed fundamentally on so many things. You were career driven, he wanted you to retire in the next 5 years so you could start a family, he wanted to stay in California and you had always dreamed of settling down south near your grandmother’s old home. When he’d seen you becoming more successful than him it had set a fire in him and he used it to burn your relationship to the ground. He didn’t deserve you, and he certainly didn’t get to dictate who you chose to be with after him.

As he stumbled through the house to let out his dog he appraised the damage. His clothes were scattered everywhere, liquor cabinet raided and somehow he’d left the fridge open. He was a mess right now, if his mother could see him she’d be so disappointed. He finally finds his phone in the couch cushions, messages and missed calls from Nat and Rueben clogging his notifications. He couldn’t dig into all of that right now, so he just called Nat to let him know he was ok, yanking the phone from his ear as she screamed into the phone.

“WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN?!”

“Jesus dude I was asleep what the hell is wrong? You have a key you could’ve just come over if it’s that serious, who died?”

“Bradley. You haven’t been on instagram today have you?”

“No, but I already know about Jake and Stormy so if they went instagram official I’d rather not-“

“Wait what?! Never mind that’s not what this is about. You need to go to Mirage’s profile, right now.”

Bradley scrolls through the app and clicks on her profile, expecting to see she decided to stop waiting on him and find a boyfriend now or something stupid like that, only to be met with a carousel of photos. Pictures of the two of them, and at the end a picture of a pregnancy test, two pink lines confirming something he never dreamed of. Not only had she hard launched them, but she also told the world he was going to be a father…without confirming with him first. He was fucked.

——————————————————————

Meanwhile on the other side of North Island Jake is waking up to his version of heaven. His bed may be empty but he can hear the soft sound of you singing, and the smell of coffee and pancakes has him wandering down the hall. Your hair is in a messy knot, you’ve got one of his Texas longhorn t shirts on and you and Patsy Cline are crooning “Walking after midnight.” Flitting back and forth between chopping fruit and flipping pancakes, you sway to the song (your grandmother’s favorite) and he’s sure this is the best morning of his life. He sneaks up behind you to spin you and you shriek and giggle, swatting him with the spatula as he kisses your cheeks and forehead.

“Morning Tex, how’d you sleep?” You say with a big grin, running your free hand over his tanned torso and you catch him close his eyes and shiver into your touch.

“Mm, I’ll be honest darlin’ might have been the best night of sleep in my whole life, ‘cept I woke up alone and almost thought you were a dream.” He plucks the spatula from your hand and hip bumps you away from the stove, taking over your spot cooking and you make your way to the coffee pot to pour him a mug.

“I uh- I cancelled my flight for this afternoon” you’re trying to be nonchalant about it but you can tell by the way his head snaps up he is holding on to your every word.

“And I may have asked Uncle Beau for a favor and extended my leave for the rest of the week… I hope that’s ok, I’m not ready to leave you yet.”

You look a little nervous as he turns the stove off and looks at you, but he takes two big strides and yanks you into his arms, pulling at your (his) shirt and kissing you hard and you know you had nothing to worry about.

You both laugh into each other’s mouths, he’s hoisted you into his arms and delicately places you on the kitchen table, rucking your shirt above your breasts as he nips and sucks on the exposed skin.

“Jake- breakfast” you breathe out and he grins up at you between your thighs

“I want you for breakfast first baby, then we can have pancakes. Be a good girl and take it ok?”

He brings you to your release three times before he lets you up, grabbing the plates from the counter and sitting you in his lap. Between bites you reach into his shorts and pull him free lining yourself up with him and he hisses into your mouth.

“What’re you up to sweet thing?”

“Shhh, wanna be close baby, need you”

You take turns feeding each other while you slowly rock yourself on Jake, and it definitely is the best morning either of you have ever had.

——————————————————————

Neither of you had even touched your phones since you left the wedding the night before, it was nearing 5 pm and you had spent the day watching movies and letting Jake fuck you in every room of his house, finally deciding the two of you needed to eat you dragged yourself to his room to get your phone off the charger to order takeout. When you turned your phone on you were bombarded with notifications, nearly deciding to just turn it back off once you noticed you had a notification from Bradley. You ordered dinner and continued to ignore the overwhelming amount of messages, annoyance etched on your face when you came back to the living room, and Jake reached for your phone already knowing you wouldn’t want to pop the perfect bubble of the day.

“You don’t have to look at any of this shit today if you don’t want to y/n, we can worry about it tomorrow.”

You sighed and ran your hand over your face, it wasn’t that easy even if he tried to make it that way. “Will you just look for me? Tell Nat I’m not interested in hashing out the drama tonight and we can talk at lunch.”

He nodded and scrolled through, but as you watched his face you immediately knew something was wrong.

“Ok maybe you do need to tell me, what happened? Is someone hurt?”

He shook his head but looked almost nauseous, so you yanked the phone from his hands, he didn’t even bother to try and keep it from you.

On the screen was almost 30 messages from Phoenix, begging you not to check instagram. It had been hours since her last message but she seemed insistent that you call her first. She picked up on the first ring, screeching into the phone before you could say anything.

“Jesus! Where the fuck have you been Stormy? I had half a mind to come over to Hangman’s to beat the door down.”

“We decided to shut our phones off, sorry Tash. What is wrong? Please tell me everyone is ok.”

“Everyone’s safe, it’s not that kind of emergency. But it’s not good y/n. Bradley apparently saw the two of you last night, and then…”

“Then what? What Nat?”

“Y/n…Mirage is pregnant.”

——————————————————————

You knew it was the wrong way to respond, Jake had dropped his fork right out of his mouth at Nat’s declaration; that definitely seemed like more of a normal response. You on the other hand looked unhinged as doubled over in laughter, gasping for air as tears poured from your eyes.

“Seresin, what’s happening? Is- is she laughing?”

Jake looks at you like you have 3 heads but still manages to take your phone from your shaking form,

“Yeah Phoenix it looks like it”

“Do we need to be worried?”

“Too soon to tell, let me figure this shit out and we’ll call you later.”

He hangs up and takes your hand, you’re coming down from it now as you swipe the tears from your face, still trying to stifle giggles.

“Oh God,” you gasp out “I’m so sorry, but you seriously can’t make this shit up can you?” You erupt into another round of giggles and now Jake can’t help but join in, this really is a shitshow.

Finally you settle and he looks at you with concern, but you wave him off and move your take out boxes to the coffee table as you scoot into his lap. Running your hands through his hair you lean in to kiss him and as much as he doesn’t want to he pulls back to get you to look at him.

“I’ll let you bury yourself in me if you need baby but you still gotta talk to me ok? What’s going on in that pretty head?”

You shake your head at him and peck his lips, you knew he wouldn’t let you get away with pushing it aside.

“Is it strange that I almost feel bad for him? He’s burned his whole world down, knowing what I know now I would never want to be around him let alone with him again, and while I have thrived in his absence he just keeps ruining his life. I don’t miss him, but I pity him. Does that make sense?”

It’s definitely not the response he expected, he thought you’d be hurt and that it would rehash all the emotional damage you’d dealt with, he can’t help but be impressed.

“You’re taking this a whole lot better than I thought sugar, I gotta be honest.”

You pull him close as you straddle his hips, running your nose along his cheekbone and press kisses to his face.

“Like I told you, I don’t miss him. I don’t want him. I want you. This isn’t avoidance Jake, I moved on and I want to spend the rest of my life with you if that’s what you want too. So can we stop worrying about Rooster and his emotional bullshit and just go back to being us?”

He lets you take the lead, settling into the couch with you and switching the long forgotten movie back on, whatever his wingman’s problems are don’t include him after all. He’s got bigger things on his mind, like getting you back to San Diego or requesting a transfer to Pensacola. Maybe getting the two of you a bigger house with a yard, a dog or two and a backyard big enough to fill with your own kids. As he falls asleep trapped under your warm embrace visions of what could be dance behind his eyes, and he makes a mental note to ask his mother for Grandma Seresin’s engagement ring.

Jake Seresin Masterlist

Thanks so much to @sailor-aviator, @mamachasesmayhem, and @bobgasm for talking me through this chapter!!

Tagging- @mamamaystbr @mamachasesmayhem @bobgasm @attapullman @roosterforme @pinkdaisies9285 @djs8891 @jessicab1991 @the-aspiring-fanfic-writer @mygyn @angelbabyyy99 @86laura11 @shanimallina87 @floydsglasses @jostan456 @kmc1989 @dempy @its-the-pilot @mrsevans90 @purelyfiction @nouis-bum

Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

[samcarpentersgirlfriend]

Hi!!!! could you please do some headcanons on what fake dating mickey altieri would be like?

hi sorry for disappearing for like two months, I got super busy but I’m back!!

MICKEY ALTIERI AS YOUR FAKE BOYFRIEND 𖤐₊˚.

warnings: just swearing i think

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹

- you’re prepared to give mickey a whole speech about all the reasons he should take this seriously and fake date you, and you’re half expecting him to shut you down in the first thirty seconds

- what you don’t anticipate is him barely letting you finish your question before responding with a simple “sure thing” with absolutely no questions asked before he fully launches back into whatever it was he was saying before

- you ask him about this later one and he eventually says “you asked ‘cause you wanted my help, right? none of my damn business why.”

- none of his friend group even batted an eyelid when you announced you were “dating” - which may or may not have made you question things

- most of them just wondering what took the pair of you so damn long

- mickey’s such a flirt anyway that not much changes between the two of you - apart from more physical touch

- and trust me, there’s a lot of that

- even though mickey’s already someone who’s comfortable with physical contact, it’s like he dials it up to 11: if his arm isn’t constantly fixed to your waist or shoulders, then it’s in your pocket, resting on your back or your thigh, ect.

- speaking of flirting, he’ll tone down the flirting with other people and just crank it up with you instead

- he delivers the worst lines you’ve heard but does it with that boyish grin and all around charm that somehow makes them work in a way they have no right to

- goes absolutely crazy with the pet names, 50% just to be a little shit and be purposely obnoxious, and 50% to see what sticks and what you actually like

- you walk on him watching corny romcom movies in what you assume is preparation and although mickey futilely tries to play it off, you’re not fooled

- eventually you just have to promise to never mention in front of anyone - it would apparently totally destroy his credibility when it comes to “real cinema”

- semi-related, but he’d be the kind for a big “grand” gesture - think showcasing a film all about you to grab people’s attention and really sell everything - its a quintessential college movie trope

- drags you to parties that he wants to go to, and convinces you to dance with him - purely for the sake of realism, of course

- enjoys scaring off other guys that try and hit on you at said parties - he doesn’t even say any anything overtly threatening, he’ll either just make passive aggressive comments or just stare until they get the hint

- you honestly just think he’s having way too much fun with it but you’re willing to let it slide - his intentions are mostly good

- if you go out to an actual bar, mickey absolutely doesn’t let you spend a dime (which you think is strange, since it doesn’t make a difference to your fake relationship. still, you appreciate the gesture).

- a few of your friends think he’s at least a little bit of a dick but he treats you so well that they can’t complain

- which again, mickey loves - he is nothing if not a petty little bitch

- when your hanging out with somebody who genuinely thinks the two of you are dating, mickey will often call you to “check up” on you and make sure you’re okay

- has no problem with saying that he loves you, and makes sure to say it before he says goodbye (but he says it so easily and it sounds so genuine and it makes you wonder…)

- will casually be talking to you in the hallway before class, but when he sees one of your friends coming he’ll slowly and deliberately pull you into a kiss

- you can’t help but be disappointed when he pulls back with a wink and a grin

- brings you lunch after class, which everybody finds sickeningly sweet and makes mickey look like the perfect boyfriend - which is pretty accurate, without, you know, it being a “real” relationship and all

- derek, randy and hallie tease him for how you’ve “softened” him - and if you see swear you see mickey blush, well, that’s either here nor there

[toughguymatt]

Night Drive

Part 2/3

Pairing: AU!Nick x Male OC (Adrian Rivers) Summary: Curiosity getting the better of him, Nick takes up an offer to go on a late night drive. Warnings/Content: Language. Oral sex. Third Person POV. Posted in three parts, so it's an easier read. Smut is in the final part. A/N: When we say AU, we mean it. Nick bartends, is into cars, and knows how to drive? Crazy. Buckle up, get strapped in. Also, the FC for Adrian is Vinnie Hacker, but feel free to picture whoever you like.

Part One

Nick's fingers hesitated on the phone screen as a few of his coworkers dapped him on the shoulder, saying goodnight as they left for their cars. Tara had asked him if he needed a ride before she left earlier, and his dumbass told her no, so he hoped to fuck he didn't come to regret this. The last thing he needed was getting stood up or some shit which was honestly a huge possibility considering the fact this Adrian fucker was so hot the retinas of his eyes burned just scrolling his Instagram. Which, he may have scrolled just a little further than he had let on. After a moment of deliberation, he sent his text, the night's wind whipping against his reddened cheeks. 

Nick: Hey, Michael Myers. Still up for that drive?

As if on cue, Adrian's car purred triumphantly towards Nick's position. He beeped the horn twice with a smile. "Hey, handsome," he shouted out of his open window. "Ready to get murdered?" There was a breath of laughter, visible in the dark, as he unbuckled his seatbelt. 

God, that was so extra. A huff of laughter puffed from Nick's own lips. He couldn't fucking believe... "Oh yeah, thrilled." He called out, just as his feet carried him forward before he could talk himself out of it and hightail it in the other direction. 

"Did you have anywhere in mind?" Adrian held the car door open to let Nick in the driver's seat. "Because, if not... I have a dark alley we can go to," Adrian joked.

Nick tucked his phone into his pocket as he passed close to him to duck into the car, eyes cutting to his as he did so. Nick's stomach fluttered like he was 12 or some shit. He swore he could smell that hint of vanilla he remembered from before, but maybe it was the car again. 

"You're actually crazy." Nick’s lips lifted into a half-smile despite his words, hands lifting to the wheel as the buzz of the engine still thrummed from under them. "You want to just skip right to the alley? Fuck, you're fast, don't you pay attention to true crime? Premeditate that shit a little bit at least," he continued on, not wasting time to adjust the seat. Nick didn't care - he was invited to drive. He was going to make the most of it while he had it. Besides, Nick did want to be safe. He didn't want his first accident to be in some hot guy's car. That'd be embarrassing as hell. He slid the seatbelt over himself, making sure Adrian was putting his on with the corner of his eye. "I was thinking I'd take you around here then hit the highway for a bit. Didn't realize you wanted this to end so soon."

Adrian buckled in, amused at how naturally Nick adjusted everything to his liking. He drug his teeth against his bottom lip in a smile before answering. "Absolutely not. I'm ready for wherever the night takes us." Adrian tapped the LED screen between them. "You're gonna have to deal with my tunes though. It's hell to re-sync my phone." 

"Oh, God, that feels like a warning somehow. Don't tell me you're a soundtracks only guy. That's the worst. Well, maybe not the worst. I know a guy who only listens to his own rap music. That's the worst."

Adrian reached inside his jacket for his phone and typed a quick response to the text he missed. "What do you normally drive by the way? Porsche? Corvette? A cute little VW bug?" 

Nick peeled away from the corner as Adrian began to ask him just entirely too much. A laugh, or maybe it was a scoff, punctuated his words. "Be so for real. A bug?" Like his big ass head would be able to fit through the door. 

"What kind of guys are you into?"

Nick was blindsided before he could fully answer. His face warmed with embarrassment as he focused his attention on the road ahead. "Maybe I like guys that don't ask me a thousand questions." Nick tried his best to not look right at him, somehow knowing his exact expression, and that was incredibly fucking distracting.

“Hey, if you have the wheel, I think it’s only fair.” Adrian leaned back in his seat and pressed play on his Late Night Driving playlist. “Plus, why not get right to it? I mean, you might die tonight.” In all seriousness, they could both bite the dust and crash into oncoming traffic headfirst. Letting a stranger drive his car? What idiot does that? But Adrian liked to think the best in people. Especially ones that he gravitated to. Nick was like a magnet, or an all-consuming black hole in space. Adrian couldn’t help but be intrigued.

“Alright, Jigsaw,” Nick rolled his eyes, “you got me there. I’m still not convinced this won’t end without me all over TikTok as a cautionary tale.” He was relieved for the music that started to play, so maybe his hesitance between questions wasn’t as painfully obvious. 

Adrian wasted no time in asking another question. “When was your last relationship?”

It’s not like Nick could say his only real relationships had only ever been in his head. He let out a huff of laughter that could’ve been a snort, switching lanes and glancing over his shoulder. “I don’t really do those.” They arrived at a red light, and his eyes flicked over to Adrian. The lights from the intersection only served to cast a glow on his skin. It was statistically impossible for someone to look this sexy just hanging out in a car. There was definitely something wrong with him. “Why are you this awake this early?”

"Or do you mean why am I awake this late?" Adrian stretched his fingers against his thighs, contemplating how much of himself to reveal. "Well... I just didn't see the point in going to sleep. I have a flight in a couple hours."

Nick’s eyebrows raised as he spared a quick glance at him, before looking back to the road. “A flight? You going on vacation or something? Flying out to see your boyfriend?” God, he really hoped it wasn’t because he had to flee the country after his murder.

"I have a business meeting," Adrian stated simply. "And I don’t have a boyfriend. Haven’t for, like, a year now." He took a moment before speaking again. "So you don't do relationships. Why?"

“Why?” Nick started, a little flustered. His eyes cut over to Adrian again. “I have Daddy issues,” he said dryly, bluntly. “I don’t know.” Nick honestly wasn’t really sure why. “No boyfriend. Gotcha. So you’re married, then.”

Adrian ran a hand through his hair with a sad choke of laughter. "Have you been hit on by not-single guys before?" 

Nick frowned. "Well, yeah, I mean. I work at a club. I like it there, but, you know. A lot of people trying to get away from their regular lives." He picked up speed, and with his left hand, rolled down the driver's window just an inch to let in some cold wind from outside. He liked the way the sound filled the car. He'd roll it back up in a second. 

Adrian skipped to the next track. "I mean, I get it, you're super attractive, but I couldn't do something like that. If I'm with someone... I'm with someone. I don't see anyone else." 

"What happened with your ex?" If Adrian could ask questions, so would Nick. 

"Just didn't work out. We wanted different things." Adrian cleared his throat. "And he wanted someone else." Adrian didn't regret his past relationships and he didn't dwell on  them either. He didn't see the point in looking in the rearview when you had places to be. 

Nick couldn't really fathom someone looking at this man and going, “pass.” If fucking God's elite were out here with sad ex stories, there was truly no hope for the rest of them. 

Adrian watched as the streetlight turned from red to green. "What's your favorite food?"

Once they were on the highway, Nick moved to the fast lane, and rolled the window back up. "Oh, wow. Sushi. Donuts. Chicken sandwiches. Garlic bread. Those little crispy noodles you get at Chinese places. Can't really pick just one thing."

Adrian grinned at Nick's food choices, mentally jotting them down for later. "I personally love a good lasagna."

"I think it'd be weird if you didn't. You can't really…” Nick was distracted by a slow-ass truck ahead “...go wrong with noodles and cheese." His hand automatically reached over to the back of Adrian's seat, glancing behind him to switch lanes. "Don’t worry, I've never gotten a ticket. I'm not going to start now." He picked up just enough speed to switch lanes again, in front of the truck. "Does me driving make you nervous? Do you feel more comfortable going to your dark alley?"

"Actually?" Adrian ran a tongue beneath his front teeth. "I've never felt more comfortable with someone else in the driver seat. You drive like I would. Besides, I think giving up the reins every so often is good for me. I mean, with the bakery and all my business shit, I do everything myself. Super hands on. I can't give up complete control," he skipped to the next song as proof, "but I don't mind easing up if I can trust the other person not to fuck it up." 

“So what you’re saying is you’re bossy.” Nick kept a steady pace, at the speed limit but not over. There weren’t any cops around but he wasn’t about to take any chances. “Do you work for your parents or something?” He said he had some kind of business trip earlier. Again, how old was this guy? 

Adrian laughed. "I will never deny that. I'm very bossy when I want to be. No, I work for myself. I know. Crazy. A 21-year-old with a bakery. Soon-to-be franchise, if this meeting goes well." His phone buzzed with another text. "Uh, that's how I know Tara actually. She did a photoshoot for me. Some promo shots for the website. The menu." He turned his attention back to Nick. "Have you been to Sweet Dreams?"

“You’re lying.” How the fuck? “That place is yours? I haven’t, in person. But Matt, my brother, he’s been.” He paused a beat, trying to soak in the information. It caught him more than a little off guard. “That’s a lot of shit for a 21-year-old. I’m twenty…one.” He added with a clearing of his throat. “And I’d probably die if I had any more responsibility than I do now.” The idea of deadlines practically gave him hives. 

"I like staying busy. I like having goals, deadlines. It's just easier for me." Adrian would never admit he overextended himself most days. He'd crash into bed with yesterday's clothes way too often to be considered normal. "You should give it a shot. There's new items every season. I'm working on some pumpkin spice stuff for fall already." 

“Was that you who did those— strawberry cinnamon rolls with the actual strawberries? Like, in the layers?” He motioned with his hand. He and Chris had almost murdered each other over that one for real.

Adrian grinned at Nick's description of the pastry. "Surprised you managed to snag some. Those go super fast. If you like those, you should try the strawberry-rhubarb cake. There's fresh strawberries in the frosting."

“That does sound delicious.” Nick could feel Adrian’s eyes on him; his skin felt hot. It was a good thing he was the one driving. It always was a good distraction.

The scenery blurred past the window as Adrian focused on the curve of Nick's hands against the steering wheel. "What's your favorite movie?"

"I'm trying to figure out if I want to give you the real answer or the cool answer." Nick paused and risked another glance over at Adrian. "Let's start with yours."

"Why not both?” Adrian shrugged. “Okay, my cool answer would be… The Dark Knight, and my real answer would be Edward Scissorhands."

Nick’s lips were still lifted into a smile, until he had to go and say that. Nick’s cheeks reddened. Dear god now he was going to look like a loser what are the fucking chances… “Shut the fuck up.” He glanced at him quickly. Was he just saying that to fuck with him somehow? No. That’s stupid. How would he even know that? “I don’t know if it’s cool, but my trendy one is Star Wars.” 

Adrian smiled with his teeth at Nick's trendy movie answer. "You have no idea how many times I've had people come up to me and say I look like Anakin." 

“Really?” Nick briefly took his attention off the road, his gaze drifting over him - up from down. “I don’t see it.” More like a spitting fucking image but he didn’t need to know that Nick had already acknowledged the resemblance in his head an embarrassing amount of times already. Nick hesitated before giving him the second part of his answer. “And your real one is also my real one. Which, by the way, is cool actually.”

"Maybe we should re-watch Edward Scissorhands together sometime."

“Hold on buddy, let’s see if we both actually make it out of this drive alive first.” It sure as fuck wouldn’t be at his apartment, where he’d never hear the end of it from Chris and Matt. Plus, Nick wasn’t totally out on this guy not being a secret psychopath. “Then I’ll maybe consider it. I’m still trying to figure you out.”

"We're stuck in a car together." Adrian’s words tumbled slowly from his mouth. "What else do you want to figure out?" He wasn't subtle about the way he looked at Nick's mouth or the skin beneath his Adam's apple. "Unless you've already made up your mind. We can switch seats, I'll drive you back." Which Adrian didn't want to do in the slightest. He still had hours to kill until his flight, and he'd rather be with Nick than alone with his thoughts. "We can park at any time, handsome."

“Maybe I need to see how you drive before making up my mind.” Nick already got in the car with him. He had a point. He wasn’t dead yet. His gaze flicked over to him before drifting back onto the road. “I’ll let you drive me home later.” 

"I can do that." Adrian tried to hide his smile as he turned his phone over. 

Nick’s hands flexed tighter on the wheel. It was God knows how early and yet Nick was spending his valuable sleep hours on a man. “Any suggestions on where to park?”

"You know how to get to Ranger Trail?"

“This exit, right?” He asked with a nod of his head toward the long stretch of highway ahead. He was already shifting lanes, prepared to get off on the nearest one. “I might need you to navigate a little bit.” He lifted a hand to adjust the center mirror only slightly. 

“Do you go hiking there or is that just where you hide the bodies?”

Part Three

[hotchs-bitch]

Fluffy Feb Day 27- Snow

Warnings: getting together, only one bed trope except I as the author provided 2 beds and they do it to themselves, Canada (which was supposed to be realistic but comes across as satire. No judging me unless you are also Canadian), some 18+ implications but nothing happens

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

Word Count: 4.1k (i went crazy :/)

A/N: Honestly I've either made up or researched everything I've put in a fic about America so it was a nice change to just Know Things (although I am not from the province where this takes place). Also in my mind this is a continuation to Day 9- Pine

Once again, bonus points if you can figure out which Taylor Swift song I was listening to when writing this

Cases have taken you all over the country, face to face with some of the worst serial killers that America has ever seen. Much less often, they take you to Canada.

Specifically, in the case of a psychopath who skipped borders after killing in two states almost a decade ago and resumed his killing spree further north now, they occasionally take you to the middle of Nowheresville, Saskatchewan, Canada. In the dead of winter.

“Hey, folks.” The chief of police greets you all- well, most of you, since Rossi and Prentiss are already out on the field- with a friendly wave, shaking Hotch’s hand. “Chief McCartney. Sorry to make y’all take a trip up here, but we sure can use the help.”

“The FBI has been searching for the unsub for some time,” Hotch answers as their hands part. “The case has been assumed cold for several years by the Bureau, so we’re grateful you reached out. Two of my agents are at the latest crime scene already.”

“Where should we set up?” JJ asks, and the chief leads you to a conference room. “And, er, speaking of cold…”

You’re all very cold, just from the drive from the airstrip to the station. You’d seen people snowmobiling past the road, and JJ had marvelled aloud wondering how they could bear to be out in this weather. It’s not surprising that she’s the first one to bring up the chilly air in the precinct with her parka still zipped up to her chin.

McCartney snaps his fingers like he’s remembered something important. “Y’all must be freezing, eh? Let me rustle up a space heater, get you nice and toasty.”

The fact that he’s wearing a button-down shirt and a light jacket isn’t lost on any of the experienced profilers in the room. “You’re not cold?” Derek asks, half in disbelief. “Man, I grew up in Chicago and I can’t feel my toes right now.”

“We hit minus 30’s a few weeks back,” McCartney says, wincing. “Sorry, I didn’t even think of it. Guess we’re all used to it around here by now.”

“Minus…” You glance at Spencer, who’s locked and loaded with an answer.

“Negative 30 degrees Celsius is about negative 22, Fahrenheit,” he reports. “I’d estimate we’re closer to negative 31 degrees Farenheit, though.”

“He’s smart. Windchill’s pushing us a little under,” McCartney confirms. “I’ll go get that space heater. Y’all settle in, and I’ll have one of my officers bring over the files ASAP.”

You ‘settle in’ as best you can, poring over the case with your team while wrapped in thick sweaters and cradling to-go cups of coffee. They’re branded with the Tim Hortons logo from the traveller case that one of the officers brings for you along with the files and a box of donut holes labelled ‘Timbits’. The space heater sits in the corner of the room, slowly bringing the space to a temperature that you’re all used to.

Hotch takes the first sip of his coffee without adding anything into it, his face screwing up at the taste. “It’s not too good when it’s black,” the officer tells him. “Sorry, should’ve warned you. Try a double double, it’s way better.”

“Here, I’ve got it.” You take Hotch’s coffee from him, adding in two little packets of sugar and two creamer cups while he watches you. “Better?” He stirs it and takes a sip, deliberating.

The second sip must be miles better than the first. “It’s not as bitter. I think that’s all I can ask for,” he murmurs while he takes a seat next to you, and you smirk.

He’s wearing the same quarter-zip that made an appearance when you went to Alaska, and he seems relatively warm. Lucky him. The less-built members of your team, particularly JJ and Spencer, have rosy cheeks and keep sticking their hands in their pockets to warm them. Poor Spencer goes through several cups of coffee in mere hours, a weak attempt to warm himself from the inside out.

Nearing the end of the day, you all pack up your things. There haven’t been any more murders today, but the information gleaned from the crime scenes helps you add to the profile. The unsub has a pattern of striking each week, probably to gauge how close the investigation is to catching him during the cooldown period, and he hasn’t strayed from the pattern since resurfacing.

You trudge to the hotel across the street from the police station- this town is so tiny that you don’t think it’s made up of anything other than a main street and rows of suburbia housing- in the pitch-black, wind whistling by your ears and freezing them. The sun went down several hours ago even though it’s only nearing seven PM, and the dark doesn’t lift anyone’s spirits.

“Get some rest,” Hotch says while he hands out room keys in the hotel lobby, speaking over the sound of chattering teeth. It’s more of an order than a request. “We’re at the station bright and early tomorrow, and I want you all rested and ready to work.”

The room key in your hands leads you down a hallway to a door that you unlock right as Hotch turns the corner. “119, right?” He clarifies, and you nod. “Alright. You’re with me.”

“Sounds good.” Your voice sounds cool and even, and you’re sort of proud of yourself for keeping it together after finding out that you’re sharing a hotel room with your very kind, very attractive boss. You’ve shared a room with him before, but it’s a battle of willpower to appear normal every time.

The hotel room is decently nice, and it’s warmer than you expected. Two queen-sized beds share a nightstand, and there’s a desk with a coffeemaker on it pressed up to the wall next to the TV. It’s a standard hotel room, a setup you’re familiar with. The heater under the window is whirring, filling the room with blissfully warm air- almost too warm- that has you shedding your jacket as Hotch sets his go bag on one bed and his briefcase on the desk.

“No working,” you remind him, your tone as scolding as it is light-hearted. “Bright and early, remember?”

Hotch snorts at that, then takes off his quarter-zip sweater. “We’ll be six bitter coffees deep before the sun comes up,” he says, but you struggle to hear a single word out of his mouth when you see his biceps through the thin white material of his shirt. He’s been covered up all day, and you haven’t hit your daily quota of staring at his arms.

It’s been a hard day, particularly for that reason.

“I’m going to shower,” Hotch says after a moment, discarding his fleece on the desk chair. He picks up his go bag, and the bathroom door closes behind him a moment later.

By the time he re-enters, wearing flannel pajamas pants and a white shirt, you’re fiddling with the heater. It seems to be broken, and when you turn the dial to blow cold air in the room it only seems to come out a few degrees cooler.

“The blanket’s really heavy,” you warn as he gets into his own bed. You can’t believe you’re overheating at negative-a-million degrees, but the combined weight of the duvet and warm air blowing steadily into the room is reminiscent of falling asleep in Arizona rather than the snowy north. “Something’s wrong with the heater.”

“I’ll try to manage,” he responds with a dry smile before pulling the blanket over himself. It lands on him with a solid sound, thick duvet against chest, and a soft ‘oof’, and you count to three in your head before he says, “Okay, you were right.’

“Aren’t I always?” You pull your own duvet down when you get into bed, leaving yourself covered with the top sheet of the bedspread. He stays underneath his blankets, not shifting them while you reach out and turn the lamp off.

Falling asleep has never been so difficult. Without the thick duvet, you’re curled into a ball within five minutes when the slightly colder air fills the room. With it, you’re sweating so much that it’s a wonder you aren’t sliding right off the bed. One leg pokes out from under the heavy covers, but it feels like the only part of your body that’s at a closer-to-normal temperature while the rest of you overheats. You toss and turn, falling asleep briefly every once in a while for maybe ten minutes at a time.

It’s a little embarrassing, actually. Your blanket and sheet are lifted and shifted so many times that you have to hope you aren’t waking Hotch up, even when you move as quietly as possible. The only sound in the air is the wind whistling and fabric shifting, louder than you thought possible.

Around 1 AM, hours after trying to fall asleep, you’ve all but given up. You’re considering getting to work on the file by lamplight, or just stripping down naked under the thick blankets. What other option do you have?

That’s when you hear a grunt from the other bed, and Hotch’s outline shifts in bed. You can see him move around, lifting up like he’s flipping over his pillow. In the barely-there lighting from a streetlamp, you notice that his duvet is ruffled and partially folded over itself. It looks like he’s been tossing and turning, just like you.

“Aaron,” you whisper once he’s still. It’s quiet; he can pretend not to hear you if he’s close to falling asleep, and you won’t be offended. 

When he responds, his voice is gruff and just as loud as it was in the precinct today. “Yeah?”

“Can’t sleep?” It’s a stupid question, you realize as soon as it leaves your mouth. He isn’t sleeptalking, after all.

He doesn’t call you out on it, but just sighs instead. “No. It’s not working too well for me. I’m really hot.”

Yeah, you are, you want to say, but the logical side of your brain beats the sentence back with a stick before you can say it out loud. “Me too. How do you think everyone else is doing?

“Better than us, I hope.” He sits up in bed slightly; you can tell from the rustling and the dim outline. “I’m sure Dave has some kind of temperature-controllable blanket with him.”

“Spencer probably researched the best kind of pajamas to bring,” you joke back, and Aaron chuckles at that.

“Morgan probably worked out before bed and didn’t need any blankets,” he murmurs, and you snicker.

“JJ and Emily are probably cuddling for warmth.”

Why did you say that? The high altitude- the provincial average is roughly 1700 feet above sea-level, Spencer would tell you- combined with the restlessness is probably getting to you.

Aaron clears his throat, and you cough. Neither of you seems to know what to say, so he speaks first. “As long as they don’t tell me anything. It’s a lot of paperwork, for that sort of… fraternization.”

“Well, I mean. If they’re just doing it to keep warm, that’s got to be an exception,” you point out.

“I.. suppose so, yes. As long as nothing further were to happen, two agents just trying to keep each other warm isn’t inappropriate. They… we all need to be professional.”

He sounds hesitant now, speaking carefully like he doesn’t want to say the wrong thing. You wonder if he’s dancing around the same thought as you. If he is, is he trying to avoid it? Or does he not want to say it first?

“So, by that logic…” you trail off, waiting for Aaron to say something. He can say anything now. He can cut you off, bid you goodnight again, or even ask you to go bunk with Rossi, but he doesn’t.

The fact that he also isn’t exactly not encouraging you doesn’t disembolden you at all. “Yes?”

“Well. You know,” you murmur. “I’m just saying that if it’s completely professional… and if it’s helping them sleep, and therefore be more well-rested to catch a serial killer tomorrow…”

“What are you saying?” He isn’t really asking. You can hear his smirk as clearly as wind whistling through the trees outside your window. “I think you need to clarify for me.”

Your huff of annoyance is more forced than it sounds. “I’m saying that if we sleep in the same bed we might be able to actually sleep. Body heat, and all that.”

Aaron’s voice is softer now, less sure than when he teased you just a minute ago. “Are you comfortable with that?”

“If it’s okay with you, then it’s okay with me,” you promise. The only sound in the room for a moment is both of you breathing, and you wonder if he can hear your heart thumping against your ribcage. What are you doing?

“Alright,” Aaron agrees after a long moment, pushing the duvet down to the foot of his bed. “Does it matter what side you sleep on?”

You get out of your own bed, and murmur, “No,” as he rolls over to make room for you. He lifts the top sheet up and you slide in under it, curling up. There’s still some distance between you, and you try to maintain it; he’s the one who’s concerned about things being ‘inappropriate’, after all. There’s no need for him to know that your heart is beating so fast that it feels like it’s about to jackhammer out of your chest.

“Goodnight,” you mumble as soon as your head hits the pillow. His body heat is like a furnace, warming you up perfectly from a foot away, and the thin sheet is warm like it’s been waiting for you to climb in. He says something under his breath- ‘goodnight’, maybe- but it’s been such a long day that you fall asleep in what feels like seconds without responding.

When you wake up to the sound of Aaron’s phone alarm, you’re much less than a foot away from each other in the warmest bed you’ve ever known. He’s curled up against your back, one of his arms slung around your waist to hold you to his chest. Previous experience with room-sharing tells you that he doesn’t wake up at the first alarm- he usually sets two or three, a few minutes apart- and you’ve got a couple of minutes to just be.

The sound of the alarm grates on you, but it must be on a timer because it stops ringing after a minute or so, and you relax back into Aaron. His cheek is resting against the back of your head, and you can hear his steady breaths in time with the rise and fall of his chest against you. It feels good, it feels right to wake up like this. You don’t want it to end, but you know that it has to.

When the second alarm goes off, he rouses with a little startle, like he doesn’t remember where he is. The arm around your waist tightens, just for a moment, as his body relaxes into yours. Soft as a whisper, you could swear that you feel warm lips brush the shell of your ear before he pulls his arm away and sits up.

The room is just as dark now as it was a few hours ago, and Aaron manages to fumble for his phone and quiet the alarm before he speaks. His voice is raspier than it was in the middle of the night when he checks the time and then says, “It’s almost a quarter to seven. Er, did you sleep well?”

“Very.” You yawn as you sit up, stretching both arms above your head. “I wouldn’t complain about a couple more hours, though. That whole same-bed thing works wonders.”

Aaron yawns too, turning away to grab his go-bag as he stands up. “I’m glad to hear it. You can go shower. I’ll change out here.”

“Deal.” You gather your own things when you get to your feet, disappearing into the bathroom to get ready for the day. Your mind is already on the case, pushing aside all thoughts of sleep arrangements and large arms holding you close in favour of your job. When you exit the bathroom, Aaron is already gone.

When you meet with the team in the lobby, you find out that he headed to the station right away to get ahead on the case. Everyone bundles up before walking back to the precinct; the walk is no warmer than it was last night, and fresh snow begins to fall just as you get to the doors of the precinct.

Once you find your way to the same room as yesterday, you find Hotch already there, dressed in yesterday’s fleece. He’s got a Tim Horton’s cup in one hand, and he sips it while staring, perplexed, at the geographic profile. “Good morning,” he greets everyone at once. “Reid, I was thinking. If we intersect his old hideout parameters from Minnesota and Georgia with his murders here, then…” their chatter fades into white noise as you turn your attention to the files lining the tables.

The first hour passes in a blur, the conference room lit only by harsh overhead fluorescents as you trade theories and examine new evidence provided by the local officers. The clock is just announcing the arrival of 9 AM, the sky beginning to brighten slightly, when you realize that you need coffee.

You’ve got the same setup as yesterday in that regard, too. One of the officers must have picked up a fresh traveller for you, evidenced by the steam rolling off of the coffee that Hotch is pouring for himself. “How’s it going?” He asks, stirring two creams and two sugars into his coffee.

“No big break yet, but I’m sure we’re close. We’re going to get this guy soon,” you promise, and Hotch nods at that. “I wanted to thank you again. For, you know. Helping me sleep last night.”

“It was no trouble,” he assures you, fiddling with the stir stick in his hand. “It was helpful for me, too.”

“And, hey.” You lower your voice a bit, and Hotch leans in to hear you better. “Maybe we can do it again tonight. You know, if that’s okay with you.”

He gives you a smile, that tight-lipped one you’re used to seeing around the office. “It’s alright with me. I just don’t want to… well, I’m your boss. I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with. It has no impact on my views of your professionalism.”

There’s that word again. You wish he could be a little less professional, for once. But he’s right, he’s your boss, and there are certain things he can’t say first. Your profiling skills tell you that he still wants to say them though. “Well, what happens in Canada can stay in Canada,” you half-jest.

“It can, if you want it to,” he murmurs. He still hasn’t taken a sip of his coffee, and he hands the cup to you while he pours a second one. “The sun will be coming up, soon.”

He’s right. Pale orange is streaking the sky through the large conference room window, tracing pink lines around the edge of the sun that’s just starting to peek up into the prairie sky. The snow is still falling, painting a picturesque image in the sky “It’s gorgeous,” you comment, taking a sip of your coffee. Without taking your eyes off the sky, you step a little closer to Hotch.

“Yes,” he agrees, holding his coffee in his right hand. His left rests on the table that your back is against, and it might be wishful thinking, but you think that he would wrap that arm around you again if there were no one else around. “It certainly is.”

----

“Longest week of my life,” Emily complains as soon as you’re airborne, a mere three days later. The unsub has been apprehended and is in federal custody of the country you’re returning home to. “But those beds were insanely comfortable. I haven’t slept that well in months.”

You and Aaron exchange a glance, a double-layered inside joke about why Emily slept so well and why exactly you both slept so well for several nights in a row. 

The last four nights have brought with them some of the best rest of your life. You’ve grown familiar with the feeling of Aaron’s arms around you in the morning, and by day three he stopped jerking them away as soon as he woke up.

That was the same day he asked you out, his gaze averted while he fiddled with a gold-coloured coin that he had received as change when he went out to buy a coffee. You had agreed, of course, and had assured him more than once that it didn’t matter that he’s your boss. You want him, and you have for ages.

On the fourth day, just this morning, he had held you a little tighter when he woke up and rumbled, “Morning, baby,” against your ear. If he hadn’t felt your heart beating around in your chest before, he had certainly felt it then.

Despite the fact that you’ve got a date planned with the man you’ve been cuddling for the better part of a week, you’re ready to tease Emily for cuddling JJ, before Spencer chimes in.

“I thought that the beds were quite comfortable, also. According to Sheriff McCartney, they’re primarily a transit town, which runs on a completely different economic structure than a transit village. The economy depends on truckers and people on road trips or similar travel to sleep in their hotels and eat at their restaurants,” he explains. “It’s fascinating, actually; transit towns pour the majority of their resources into making sure travellers making one-night stays enjoy themselves enough that they take the same route on the way home, thus giving the town more business.”

“The only business I want from that town is the name of whoever supplies those blankets,” Derek says, grinning. “That thing was so heavy, it was like getting crushed to sleep. Exactly what I needed with all that cool air blowing in.”

“Your room wasn’t too hot?” You ask, your nose scrunching up. “I think the heat was broken in mine. It was just hot air the whole time, every night. Way too hot to sleep.”

“Ours was like that on the first night,” JJ recalls, and Emily nods in agreement. “It was awful.”

“Right?” You complain, sinking further down into your seat. Hotch is sitting to your right, his face an impassive mask while he watches the exchange. “Let me guess, you guys shared a… uh…” 

Your teasing falters when the look on both JJ's and Emily’s faces tells you that, no, they did not share a bed, and you’ve just implied your solution to the heater problem. “We used the other blankets,” Emily says slowly, her eyes narrowing. “Didn’t you?”

“Oh! Oh, the other blankets. Yeah, the ones in the nightstand.” You nod along, your mortification growing in time with JJ’s smirk.

“They were in the closet,” she corrects you, obviously trying not to laugh. “I guess we know how you and Hotch stayed warm.”

You don’t need to look at your boss’- boss? Friend? Lover? You aren’t too sure right now- face to know that his cheeks are dusted rosy pink. “It wasn’t like that,” you protest to deaf ears as Derek whoops and high-fives Emily.

“About time,” he snickers at the look on your face. “So, when’s the first date?”

“It’s not-” you start to say, but Hotch speaks before you can.

“Friday.”

Your eyes widen and you turn to him. He raises one shoulder and smiles, like What was I supposed to say? “Friday,” you relent a moment later.

Derek is still grinning ear to ear like a maniac, and even Spencer cracks a smile when Aaron snakes one arm slowly around your waist. The sun is rising on one side of the jet, and the orange glow illuminates his face.

For one suspended moment, everything is perfect. You’ve got a date for this Friday, you’re more well-rested than you’ve felt in ages, and your team doesn’t seem to care that you and your boss are much closer than you were a couple of weeks ago. It’s a blissful moment to you, and it’s only broken by Emily’s gleeful not-quite-a whisper to JJ. “Penelope is going to be pissed that she missed this.”

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[ranchthoughts]

thinking about Pran's "Pat, you've got to stop doing this to me"

The way that's so... blatant. So explicit. Pran is admitting "this is how you interactions are reading to me" (romantic, sexual) and "this is making me feel things". He's not directly stating these things, to be fair, but it sure is honest and revealing in a way Pran generally isn't.

Pat and Pran don't say a lot explicitly - there's something about their communication style, born from how long they've known each other, that doesn't really use words? Pat can show up to fulfill a part in the play and give a speech ostensibly in that character's voice, and Pran knows the meaning of the gesture; Pran can feed Pat and wipe food from his mouth and Pat knows what he means. Heck even the whole bet was them saying "I like you" over and over, both of them knowing it, but neither using words directly.

So while "Pat, you've got to stop doing this to me" isn't an explicit declaration of "I like you, and you flirting with me without meaning it hurts me," it's as close as it needs to be for these two.

They both know where they stand now. Pran might not have thought Pat realized what he was doing before, how his gestures and utterances were coming off, but Pran knows something has shifted recently. It was in Pat's behaviour when he came to Pran's dorm and asked pointed questions about Wai. It was in Pat's behaviour in the fight with Wai at the entrance to the dorm, the way Pat seemed like he had something important to say. Pran may not know exactly what or why something is different, but he knows there is something new at play.

And then on the rooftop, Pat is so... deliberate with his words. It's almost like a prepared speech, the way he outlines their history and goes into what Pran means for him. Pran listens to this, puts two and two together, and realizes that Pat does know how his actions have read; even if he's just realized it, he knows it now.

So Pran can be more explicit in his words too: "Pat, you've got to stop doing this to me". So close to an actual confession, so close to saying outright "the way you act plays with my heart". It's such an open, desperate plea - Pran is so tired at this point of Pat saying and doing the sweetest things without even realizing the effect it was having, or that now Pat seems to be aware of the effect it is having and leaning into it though they both should know any relationship would be impossible. Pran's reached the end of his rope, this is the final confrontation they've been building to for a while but especially in the aftermath of the fight scene just prior: Pran has got to nip this in the bud.

Despite Pran saying that, pleading for Pat to stop, Pat keeps being soft. It seems like... he might mean it? He might want to stand by his words? And so Pran has to try and offer an out ("Do you want to be friends?"), hoping Pat will take it, however flimsy and transparent an excuse it is, so Pran doesn't have to reckon with the new information that Pat knows he's being flirty and wants to be, because he loves Pran back. Which would be the worst, because now Pran has to live with the confirmation that this could happen, if everything in their lives was different (if he wasn't Pran, if Pat wasn't Pat, if their parents weren't their parents). Happiness and love are so painfully within reach, but Pran knows that reaching for them will only end in pain (they are in a tragedy after all).

and then we see desperate Pran again, going "screw it" and diving in for a second kiss because at this point, he might as well go all in (just this once)

[toomanyfandoms158]

Helluva Boss rant bc I am not ok after that episode.

Okay so just a silly little rant about the new Helluva Boss episode. So first off Vivienne Medrano if you don't let Stolitz have their happy little ending I will find your address in a very friendly way. ANYWAYS after that trainwreck of an ending and wanting to nicely bitchslap Blitz in a non abusive way after all of that I was thinking of what might happen in the future with the two of them. Hopefully in the end they will get together and everything will be okay but, what if that doesn't happen. I have multiple ideas of possible things that might happen for the future of Stolitz that aren't good so these better not happen

In the trailer for season two we saw that red avian looking dude who seems to be affiliated with the Goetia family and from what I've heard him and Stolas become friends or allies. Multiple outcomes can come from this. What if Stolas starts to move on from Blitz thinking that he does not reciprocate his feelings for him and starts developing feelings for this red avian guy who I don't know who his name is and don't feel like looking up.

Much like the first outcome, Blitz may start to develop feelings for someone else and start to drift apart from Stolas even more than before.

Going back to number one, Stolas can develop feelings for that red avian dude and they may get together. During this time, Blitz stops being a little bitch (sorry Blitz ily

Technically this goes with number three but still. If Stolas and that red avian dude get together, that guy might betray him. If he is working for say Striker or Stella or Andrealphus, he could be deliberately messing with Stolas's feelings and possibly have him assassinated.

Five and six are the worst for me since I could see the outcome of these happening. Something happens and Striker has Stolas pinned and captured and is ready to assassinate him. This time instead of Millie and Moxxie saving him, it's Blitz. Blitz takes down Striker and thinks that he's dead but once he's untying Stolas and confessing that he's sorry and loves him, Striker stabs/shoots him and he dies in Stolas's arms but not before Striker somehow magically dies.

And finally number six. This one is similar to number five. As an attempt to lure Stolas into getting himself assassinated/killed. Striker kidnaps Blitz and tortures him as a way for Stolas to sacrifice himself. Stolas goes to rescue Blitz and everything is going well. He thinks that he's eliminated everyone there, including Striker. He rescues Blitz and when they are walking out of this cave or whatever the fuck this will be in, Striker pops up from somewhere and shoots at Blitz. Sacrificing himself, Stolas jumps in front of Blitz and takes the bullet. He tells Blitz that it wasn't his fault and that he still loves him before dying in his arms. Blitz is now upset and depressed and pissed off all at the same time and kills Striker bc I want that bitch dead.

Gonna add one last one. I'm not going to type out number six all again so instead of Stolas dying he is taken to a hospital and recovers and him and Blitz get back together and live happily ever after.

Anyways there's my little rant of (bad) things that could happen in the future of the show with Stolitz.

[loversj0y]

for the Wilbur Drabble Taylor swift thing can you PLEASE DO DELICATE

delicate

event masterlist

pairing: wilbur soot x gn! streamer! reader

tw: slight agoraphobia, bars, drinking, insecurities

notes: sorry abt the delays and stuff! love this song so fuucking much i <3333 this was my most listened to song last year

word count: 1.9k

taglist: @l0veb0mb1ng / @core-queen / @zooone / @lillylvjy / @melunnek

It was almost a sick kind of amusing how easily words could be twisted. Within a week, you felt like you’d gone from the top of the world to the bottom of the barrel, when a stream clip of you talking about a fellow streamer got twisted into what felt like the whole world turning against you. It was stupid. You hated him for valid reasons, but you didn’t actually say anything, people just took things too far and now, even when you tried to clarify things, it only got worse. You watched with horrified eyes as friends turned their back on you, saying the worst fucking things about how you were a liar and a snake, over a stream clip taken out of context.

You wanted to hide. Entirely. Even knowing that you were only a Twitch Streamer, not some big time celebrity, it felt like every time you left the house you could feel people’s glares and angry stares (despite the fact that it was mostly in your head). Leaving your house became a stressful ordeal.

So you did hide. You stopped streaming and making content, except for all the ideas you wrote down because your brain was so wired for it at this point. But your dark bedroom became a sacred place, the only place you truly felt safe. 

It was pretty late, nearing midnight when your phone buzzed on your nightstand, the screen lighting up the room. 

‘hey, where are you?’ was all the text read. It was from Wilbur. You honestly barely even knew him a few months ago, but he somehow became your best friend. He stuck by you even despite what everyone said about you online, and you honestly questioned if he knew what happened. 

‘Hiding again :(‘ You texted back simply.

He sent you his location, and you looked to check what it was. It was a shady dive bar on the outer part of town, away from most people. 

‘I will literally pay for your uber. You need to leave your house and this place is really cool.’

You debated it for a long moment. You didn’t look perfect right now, but if you tossed on a better pair of pants and a jacket, you could fix up everything else easily. And it would be nice to get out of your house for at least a bit, even if the thought gave you anxiety.

‘Be there soon.’ You texted him after a few minutes of deliberation, standing slowly. You got dressed quickly and called an Uber, waiting for it to be outside before you actually left out your front door. The entire drive over mostly consisted of your fingers nervously drumming on your leg as anxiety filled you more and more. 

By the time you arrived, you had half a mind to just ask the Uber to turn back around. But you already told Wilbur you’d be here, so you got out of the car and headed inside. It was a nice place, you did have to hand it to Wilbur. The front was primarily open, a patio with people chatting freely among themselves. None of them spared you a glance as you headed towards the main entrance, and you felt grateful for it. When you did walk in, a few heads turned, and your anxiety grew. After a moment of searching the slight crowd, you spotted Wilbur in the back, sitting at a two top alone. You smiled softly and waved as you started walking towards him. 

He stood, coming up and giving you a hug, “You made it! I was getting a little worried you’d ditch.”

“I almost did,” you admitted softly, hugging him back, “But I think my Uber driver was getting pissed at my finger tapping, honestly.”

He laughed, sitting back down. You sat down across from him, smiling at him. He looked really nice, a blue vintage Nike jumper matched with a pair of dark jeans. The thing about Wilbur having stuck by you when no one else really did, was it lead to a fast development. The feelings you had for him went from friendly to romantic at some point, and although you couldn’t pinpoint when, it happened almost all at once and quickly. But you found yourself oddly content with it, the anxiety in your brain focused too much on your online life to focus on how you felt about a crush. It didn’t mean you weren’t nervous, but it was much more subdued when your mind was preoccupied with so much else.

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t,” he smiled, “has it been bad today?” “Eh,” you shrugged, “Not any worse than the rest of the days, I guess.”

He nodded, “Every day it isn’t worse is progress, I’d say.”

You nodded, quietly taking a moment to look around the room. It had gotten busier, but it wasn’t overwhelming yet, especially with no one looking in your direction. You turned back to him, fiddling with the chipping paint at the edge of the table. 

“Are you not worried?” You asked him, avoiding eye contact, “To be seen with me?”

He gave you a funny look, shrugging, “Honestly? I don’t give a shit. Isn’t it enough for me to know you and like you?”

You peered up at him, a soft flush covering your cheeks, “Yeah, I just mean like… I don’t want you to get into hot water for being seen with me.”

“Let them say what they want about me. I don’t do enough on the internet these days to even cause much talk anyways.” He smiled.

His smile brought a smile out of you, “If you’re sure.”

“Oh, trust me,” he chuckled, “I’m very sure.”

The majority of the night was fine, a few drinks keeping the conversation light. Wilbur did a fantastic job of keeping your paranoia at bay, for the most part. As the bar got a bit more full, it was inevitable for people to look at you both, and it became all too much when a couple gave you both several glances. Wilbur caught onto your growing paranoia, and he reached over, gently touching your arm. 

“Hey, let’s get out of here. We can head to mind, if you want?”

You nodded, and in your slight panic, you took his hand into yours, holding onto him for support. He led you outside, hailing a cab. 

He moved his hand to your back, rubbing it gently. “It’s alright,” he murmured, “You’re okay, alright?” You nodded, leaning into his touch, “Yeah, sorry, there were just a lot of people, and I just… yeah.” 

“I know, it’s alright,” he smiled, pulling you in closer to him. He was warm, and you felt yourself leaning in to his side. He moved his arm, and you almost moved away from him, but instead he wrapped his arm around your shoulder, pulling you in closer while you waited for the cab. He gave you a gentle smile, and you found yourself flushing under his attention. When the cab pulled up, he opened the door for you and ushered you in first, a hand gently staying on your back to remind you that you were safe, and that he was there. He got in, keeping you close, and he told the driver his address. 

The drive was quiet and nice, staring at the city as it passed quietly. Your hand rested on the middle seat, and after a moment, you felt Wilbur’s hand gently rest on top of yours. Without turning your head, you turned your hand slowly, lacing your fingers together. He gently squeezed your hand, and you returned the gesture, a soft smile brushing onto your face. 

Once the cab pulled up to Wilbur’s apartment building, Wilbur carefully got out of the car, never releasing your hand the entire process, even as you both walked upstairs. You were almost scared to speak, the entire environment felt delicate, like if you spoke, he’d pull his hand away and be added to the long list of betrayers in your life. You wanted to say something, to admit how he’s occupied a permanent home in your mind, but the cold air of the apartment lobby didn’t seem like the home for that conversation.

You took the elevator to the third floor, getting a bit closer to Wilbur and leaning your head against his shoulder. He kissed the top of your head ever so gently before the elevator arrived, and he walked you to his apartment. When you walked in, neither of you wanted to pull your hands away, so he gently moved you both to sit on the couch.

You looked up at him, and he met your gaze. You got lost in his eyes immediately, pretending you were actually his. Fuck, you liked him much more than you thought.

You didn’t want to speak up. You had to, because for once, it felt like maybe there was someone who liked you for you, and you couldn’t bear to get your hopes up only for it to fall through. But there was something your brain seemed more inclined to do first.

“Wilbur,” you started softly. Your faces were incredibly close now, and you could feel his breath against your face, “Can I kiss you?”

He nodded quickly, hand gently moving to rest on your cheek. He leaned in, and you met his lips, kissing him gently. Your hands went to rest on his shoulders, and his hand gently cupped the back of your head, not forcefully, just lightly threading his fingers into your hair. The kiss was gentle, yet full of passion and longing.

When you pulled away, your foreheads rested together for a few moments as you sat there quietly, processing how to speak up.

“I like you,” you spoke softly, “I- I know that’s probably obvious, but… even despite everything, you’ve stuck by me even though my reputation has literally never been worse, and I’ve been trying hard to seem composed and put together around you,” you started rambling as you continued, pulling away slightly so you were actually facing each other now, “but you’re on my mind a lot more than I should probably admit, and our friendship is already pretty delicate, so I’m honestly a bit terrified to have even brought this up, but I just really-”

“Hey,” Wilbur interrupted, chuckling softly, “take a breath. Relax. This is going better than your mind is probably telling you right now.”

You nodded softly, taking a breath slowly. “I just- I really like you. Is it cool that I said all that?”

He smiled softly, bringing a hand forward and brushing a strand behind your ear, “Yeah, it is. Because I really like you too. I don’t give a fuck what people say about you, honestly. I like you for you. You’re gorgeous, and smart, and you’re way funnier than you give yourself credit for.” 

You flushed softly, taking his hand in yours once again as you thought for a moment, “Life is crazy, so, I know we can’t make any promises now or anything but… you know what you can make?”

He grinned, chuckled softly, “What is that?”

“You can make me a drink.”

He laughed, head falling back, before looking back at you with the most adoring eyes, “See. Funnier than you give yourself credit for.” He smiled and stood, kissing your forehead, “I’ll go get you that drink.”

You grinned back at him, and as you heard echoes of his footsteps, you relaxed and let out a breath, knowing that as delicate as everything is, you at least didn’t have to pretend he was yours anymore. 

[carmylasso]

out of the woods (jason sudeikis x reader)

summary: after your boss sets you up on a date with your longest celebrity crush, you were pretty sure that was as wild as your friday was gonna get...turns out you shouldn't be tempting fate.

warnings: anxious thoughts, smutty inclinations, olivia.

a/n: so....i wrote the nanny thing? this is mostly fluffy and a lot self indulgent. obviously the kids are mentioned and will be making appearances in later parts, so if you feel uncomfortable with that, skip this one. 

hope you like it! (you can totally curse me for that ending. i know)

tagging some friends without who this would never see the light of the day @calzone-d @thisismysecondrodeo @tedssweaters

statistically speaking, you shouldn't be nervous: it's not like that's the first time you step into the house – by now you could probably say where everything is stored in that kitchen, or slid a joke over the fact that he's obviously organized the living room a bit before you came over tonight – or as if the man at the stove is a stranger by any means.

however, statistically speaking, the chances of you being here tonight, just you and jason, in a date, were never that great to begin with, so...

no, scratch that. up to 6 months ago, there was simply no starting scenario that ended up here, even if alexi never missed a chance to tease you about him whenever the man was brought up. one downside of being friends your boss, you figure. as the years passed, you gave up "hiding" your stupid, incurable celebrity crush on jason sudeikis, even around her and seth. it was harmless, after all. made your face warm with embarrassment when you overheard plans that included him being made? without a fault, but it usually granted you a night off if the man was coming to the house.

til they sat you down one morning to ask if you'd be interested in meeting his kids, seth's eyes gleaming with mischief as he held his hands together in a plea for you to not forget you loved their boys, who would miss you terribly if you sacked them for a hot, newly single comedian.

the three of you were laughing when you told him to kindly fuck the hell off.

except now jason's here, close enough to touch. he's here, and this feels like a whole lot more than flirty jokes late at night, more than stolen glances after a big award ceremony, his hair a mess, clothes askew. certainly more than the almost kiss that got you here in the first place, the feeling of his hand on the side of your neck as he said if he was gonna kiss you he'd do it properly still burning your skin days later. this is real, it's deliberate.

so fuck statistics, you're a mess.

"i need to tell you something" the voice brings you back to the moment, watching as he sets down a plate full of gooey cookies right by the glass of wine he poured you earlier "i'm a fraude. i actually can't bake to save my life" his face is full of guilt as he drops down on the fluffy carpet, the fabric of his trousers raising goosebumps on the exposed skin of your thighs. "if you said you wanted dinner, that i could work with. dessert...brought out the worst in me, i'm afraid" you're trying not to laugh at the man's proneness to the dramatics when he breaks one of the warm sweets in half, practically moaning around the first bite "worth it. so fucking worth it, yn"

"what did you do? these look amazing" it's chocolate ones, big and melting, your favorite kind.

"asked otis to take a pic of the box last time you got 'em from your favorite place"

"really?"

"i'm a terrible father, i know. in my defense, i did try making a batch before i resorted to cheating with help from my child, i promise you"

"jason! you didn't need to do that. we could have gone for ice-cream or something, that'd be just fine" the thought of him trying and failing to make you your favorite food was all too endearing, sweet and amusing to the same degree.

"you're picturing it right now, aren't you? it wasn't pretty, yn. smoke detectors went off, yet the things were still raw on the inside? i mean, how?" his body turned to you, knees bumping while your eyes trailed the way his long fingers broke bits and pieces of chocolate to bring it to his mouth. "these on the other hand..." you felt caught by the grin spreading over the man's face, so you took a bite too.

"fuck me!" the words rang in your ears a second too late to be taken back. if this wasn't the only thing that made it better somedays– you foresaw a long trip to john's in the near future, always one to drown your sorrows in sweets rather than the often sour taste of alcohol – you'd be cursing the place with more fervor right now.

"see, i had a feeling ice-cream wasn't gonna get me that" you felt yourself warm up when the guy winked at you, voice dropping an octave.

"i hate you" from the way he was still staring, he didn't believe your words for a second: sometimes it was good being a terrible liar, after all. "i'll have you know that the right ice-cream could get you this"

"really? where can i find it? for future reference, i mean"

"you'll be the first to know when i have it locked in. jury's still out" you snook in a little taste from different shops every time you had his babies, but he didn't need the details. if anyone was aware of how hard some days could be, it was him. the media frenzy seemed to get worse every week, not that you were keeping track (you definitely were. it was hard not to, harder once you got to know them)

"i'll be waiting"

was it possible to go through the whole spectrum of emotions in just a few hours? it had always been a silly type of question for you. you felt everything so deeply that switching up was never that easy, but, with some comedy playing on the tv, the nerves cursing through you were far different from the ones earlier: now, sprawled out on his carpet, the knowledge that jase was pressed up close didn't freak you out, it made you relaxed, even if were painfully aware of every little touch, every accidental nudge when laughter made his body shake, head resting on a Frozen themed pillow. you were surrounded by the man: the heat from his body, his scent, the way he pulled you back every time you started to drift away a few inches

you were almost drowning in him, yet all it seemed to do was make matters worse. you should've guessed it: if not for anything else, for the way your stupid heart picked up it's pace whenever you managed to make him laugh over the time you'd known him, the way every weird little thing you learned by being around seemed important. it would never be enough, not when it came to this man, would it?

"i...think i should go" before you got sucked in any deeper.

"wha' happened?" he sat up when you did, back pressed to the couch, eyebrows scrunching together as his mind played back the last couple hours. what had he done wrong? "yn. hey, what's it? was it me? did i do something?"

"no! jason, no. it's fine. you were wonderful" this felt all too easy, was the thing. nothing happened, you hadn't even kissed yet, but here you were, all in your head, getting carried away to some point in the future where this was some sort of routine to your days. stupid. it might feel easy, but it wasn't. it wouldn't be, not out of your naive fantasies, anyway. your phone was on top of the centerpiece, your purse hanging from the coat hack down the hall. good.

"you're running off like the house's on fire, sweetheart. i can't be that good" his laugh was humorless, his eyes earnest as he moved slowly, intertwining your fingers. "i'm sorry"

that did it. the way he was so quick to apologize for something that he didn't even know what was broke you.

"is it okay if i kiss you?" it wasn't much more than a whisper, all the bravado you had melting away when he didn't look away, nodding his head.

"only if you want to" this whole exchange was just short of giving you both whiplash, yet it was better do something insane than it was to just leave. if you kissed him, you would have that. even when he inevitably decided not to see you again. you would know what it felt like. "do you?" it felt like deja vu but it wasn't, his fingers caressing your cheek, the hold steady but gentle, like he knew you needed that point of contact as you brought yourself closer.

he tasted sweet, warm, the kiss tentative, each drag of your mouths together making a shiver run down your spine. for a moment it didn't go any further, then his lips parted a bit and you pushed yourself more into his space, tongue darting out as strong hands rumpled the material of your dress while yours pulled at the hair on the back of his head

one second you were awkwardly kneeling on the floor, trying to breathe and kiss and commit every second of this to memory, the next he was pulling you into him. onto him. like he wanted this as much you did, the scruff from a couple days without shaving causing you to moan into his ear whenever jason drew back to let you breathe, his mouth never leaving you, just diving down to your neck, your collarbone, any patch of skin he could reach without having to let you go before he came back up for more.

"off!" you're sure there's an ebb to be made about all those freaking layers but the one word is all you manage as you pull on the green hoodie he chose for the night, grinning when its out of your way, his sly smile morphing into something darker as you grind yourself into the man's lap, just a bit, seeking friction. he's hard under you, tense, like's he's trying to figure out how far he can take this tonight, how far you want him to. "jas..." whatever was about to follow that whisper of his name gets cut off by the harsh sound of his doorbell.

"fuck's sake" it's a deep groan, head flexing back to look at the ceiling, nervous laugh bubbling in your throat when his hold goes stronger for a second "a fucker, whoever that is. can you please get that?"

"gotta let me up first, sir" seems like a conscious effort to ease his grip, your legs a bit wobbly when you stand up, trying to reorient yourself with arousal burning deep in your veins.

if your knees were unsteady as you walked to the door, he didn't need to know.

"is jason home?" that voice is a like a bucket of icy water over your head, eyes blinking fast at the porch light glow illuminating harsh green eyes raking through you.

olivia. olivia is here. shit.

"yeah, he's..." she pushes you out of the way then, carrying a sleeping daisy in her arms through the hall, otis holding onto the back of her coat til he spots you.

"YN!" his voice is loud and excited, body crashing into yours in a tight grasp "did you know we were coming home?"

if only it was that simple, little guy.

[distort-opia]

by the way, that line Bruce says in REMS that anon mentioned [arent you tired of trying to prove I love you more than anyone else, isnt it obvious] runs in my brain on repeat, I'd like you to know

I know you've talked before about how Bruce isnt the kind of character to ever say 'I love you' aloud, and I think that's one of the things that makes that line so damn good: all the factors internal and external building to a point of feeling in which he just has to exasperatedly and indirectly say to joker, 'I love you, you know that, and I've finally acknowledged it to myself, so why do we keep doing this over and over'

its excellent character analysis and such a great part of the climax of the story <3

You're all too damn kind, thank you so much! I'm especially happy that the line comes across as a culmination of multiple factors, because that's what I wanted it to be... It took so much to bring a character like Bruce to that point, and it's very gratifying to see the moment resonate with so many readers.

Also, I'll add-- you've unlocked a bonus! I actually had more than one way for REMS to get to the ending it has. The other alternate plot I still have bits written for was one in which, after delivering himself to Arkham, Joker would've been involved in a break-out. It wouldn't have been led by Joker, but at some point he'd indirectly be responsible for the death of an Arkham guard... and that'd break their truce, and Bruce's no killing request. Originally, that dialogue was part of a confrontation in Joker's Arkham cell, from Joker's perspective. He would've been sure that Bruce wouldn't allow him to explain (the guard who Joker allowed to be killed was abusive and dangerous to the patients), so his plan would've been to just play the villain role, and be the worst he could be until any trust between him and Bruce broke. Basically just destroying everything himself before Bruce had a chance to. And Bruce would've been incredibly angry, because he'd interpret it as a deliberate attempt of Joker's to end things and the coward's way out... so angry and exasperated that he might've said a version of that line.

The whole thing is too long, but here's some of the lead up:

But well, in the end I went with the current ending of REMS because I ultimately felt that this -- Bruce reacting to Joker eventually killing someone or allowing someone to die -- was something too complex, and which should've been dealt with in the context of the relationship itself. Aka, this is something they would've had to contend with a in sequel. And there's many other reasons; it's much more impactful when combined with Bruce unmasking himself, all while asking Joker to choose not to love him by hurting him for once. But anyway, hope it's a fun tidbit to read about!

[terramous]

scared to live, scared to die

pairing: tk strand/carlos reyes title: noah kahan - northern attitude word count: 2.2k bad things happen bingo: therapy session AO3

Carlos fidgets in his seat, crossing and uncrossing his legs, wiping the sweat from his palms on the denim of his jeans. He feels like he’s on trial. 

“So, Carlos, how have you been since our last appointment?” 

“Good,” he says, a little too quickly. He presses his palms together as if he were praying and sandwiches them between his thighs. His therapist is nice enough but he’s never sure of what to say when it comes to the questions Candice asks. It’s as if there’s a right answer to everything and as Carlos throws a dart–aiming for right–and it falls into the trash can underneath the dart board. 

“Tell me more about ‘good’.”

Fuck. That was not the correct answer. Once again, the dart hits home in a scrunched up ball of paper. 

“There’s nothing really to say,” he says. “It’s been okay, not good or bad.” 

“And your sleep? Are you still having nightmares?”

Carlos shakes his head, prepared to lie, before changing his mind and nodding. “Yeah.” 

Last night was one of the worst. It was the same sensation of drowning but the water was thick like molasses and every movement he made to bring himself closer to the surface, closer to finally being able to take a breath, served only to sink him even further. He’d woken up breathing hard and TK woke up not long after, running a hand in circles between his shoulder blades until he could finally breathe again. 

He doesn’t know what he would do without TK. These horrors that seem unbearable were made less so by the presence of his fiancé, he always had someone to lean on and that made all the difference. He couldn’t have faced this alone, couldn’t have spent the sleepless nights with only the shadows for company, couldn’t have done it without someone stronger than him by his side. 

“You previously mentioned the theme of drowning. Is it much the same?” 

Again, he nods. 

“And how many hours do you think you’re getting per night?” 

He does the math in his head. He went to bed at 10:30pm but he lay awake listening to TK’s soft snoring until the alarm clock at his side of the bed read 12:07am and again, when he woke up from his nightmare it was 5:24am. He couldn’t get back to sleep after that, so he read the news on his phone (as if he needed more things to be depressed about) and got an early start to his day. He made pancakes for breakfast which TK accepted gratefully with a kiss on the cheek. 

TK had stopped asking how much sleep Carlos was getting, they both knew that it was too little but he had gently urged Carlos to try and nap after his therapy appointment. It was easier for Carlos to sleep when it was daytime, sunlight filtering through the loft and casting glow to the dust particles that hung in the air. 

“About five and a half hours,” Carlos answers after careful deliberation. 

Candice sucks her teeth and scribbles something down on her notepad. “That’s not ideal. Do you want to work on some strategies we can take to help you get more sleep?” 

With a sigh, Carlos pulls himself up by the bootstraps and makes eye contact with Candice for the first time in this whole session. Her eyes are glacial. “Actually, I was wondering if there was any medication I could try for it?” 

“Certainly. There’s a few different options and different medications will do different things. Whether you need something to help you get to sleep or something to help you stay asleep. I’ll email your care coordinator after our session and get her to reach out to you about scheduling a psychiatrist appointment.”

Psychiatrist. What a scary word. 

Carlos has been to see a few psychiatrists in his life. He remembers a nice psychiatrist from when he was young. He was eight and her name was Nicole. She worked with him and his parents to diagnose him with autism. She was nice. 

He’d seen two psychiatrists in the past couple of weeks since the kidnapping. The first was the one involved with the crisis team which TK had dragged him to go and see. And after five hours sitting in the hospital waiting room, he finally got to see them and tell them everything that had been going on. The sleepless nights and terrors and the lingering fear that followed him wherever he went. Dr Cooper was his name, he wasn’t very helpful in the grand scheme of things but he did prescribe Carlos antidepressants to hopefully alleviate some of his symptoms, for now it was still too early to tell. 

Dr Reese was the other psychiatrist, the one that he saw two weeks ago to check in and see how the meds were going for him. She increased his antidepressants and gave him helpful pamphlets about PTSD and a bunch of cards with different hotlines he could call, including one he could text. 1737. He would have to remember that. 

If it were up to him, he would like to go back and see Dr Reese but he knew that likely wasn’t going to be the case. The demand for psychiatrists far outweighed the amount available so it would be a few weeks wait at the least before he got in to see anyone. 

“That would be great, thank you,” Carlos said, flashing her a careful smile. 

Candice adjusts her position, crossing her left ankle over her right and clicking her pen. The sound grated on Carlos’ nerves like he was a christmas tree strung up with lights. The constant hum of something overwhelming him. God, this hour could not go fast enough. 

Eventually the hour does go by fast, when Candice starts unpacking his trauma with him and he feels like he’s going to start dramatically weeping but holds it together so much that the only indication that he feels anything is that his hands won’t stop shaking. But he maintains his composure despite the fact that even he can tell that his voice is flat and lifeless as he just gives his therapist the most basic answers to her questions. 

“Today’s session has been kind of full-on, make sure to take it easy on yourself and do something you enjoy to emotionally regulate,” Candice says as she hands him a card with his next appointment time on it. Next Monday, 1pm. 

Carlos takes the card and tucks it in his wallet, in front of his debit card that he will need to pay for hospital parking. $2 for an hour, you have got to be joking. 

His next stop is the pharmacy. He stands in line with his hands in the pockets of TK’s borrowed hoodie and listens to the terrible radio as it is the only sound in the entire building aside from the squeaking of shoes on linoleum and the scratch of pens on paper. The current song playing is something he knows is Taylor Swift but he tries to think of anything else to distract himself. 

In his mind he runs over the process of getting his prescription. He will take one of the cards off the counter when the man in front of him moves up in the line and he will write down his name, phone number, and address, and then he will hand it to the pharmacist and she will give him his antidepressants. Paroxetine, 20mg. Hopefully increasing it means that it will start to help because Carlos is at his wit’s end. 

He has to go to the pharmacy twenty minutes away from the loft because the closest one was the one that Darryl used to work at and he refused to ever step foot in that place. He didn’t understand how he could have gotten away with stealing morphine for so long to kill vulnerable women. It’s a hassle but he does it anyway, it makes him feel better. 

The man in front of him steps further up the line. 

Carlos grabs the card he’s had his eyes glued to for the past three minutes and starts filling out his details. He’s completely zoned out from his surroundings until he hears it. Her voice. 

The same voice that talked to him sweetly and crooned over his love for TK as she force-fed him cookies and hit him over the head with a shovel and injected him with a lethal amount of morphine. The woman who feigned empathy for him while keeping him zip tied up in her kitchen. 

He can still feel the cool blade of the knife up against his throat. 

He snaps to attention, pen and card forgotten. 

“Have a nice day, lovely,” she says. 

It’s as if all the oxygen in the building has ceased to exist, Carlos tries to breathe it in but his lungs just get heavier and heavier. He needs to get out of here, preferably without her seeing him. 

Carefully, Carlos sets down the pen, trying not to make a sound. There’s a slight rattle as the chain on the pen shifts but the card is silent as he slides it into his pocket. 

He presses a hand over his heart and he can feel it hammering away.

Out. 

He needs to get out. 

Ignoring everyone else in the line, Carlos turns and stalks out, mission abandoned. His senses are going haywire, brain on the fritz as he tries to escape. He feels like a caged animal clawing at the bars and lunging at caretakers. 

Carlos just keeps pressing on his chest, as if the pressure would make it easier to breathe.

The cold air stings his face as he steps outside sans his prescription. He pulls his phone from his pocket and quickly presses on TK’s contact info, holding the phone up to his ear. 

Pick up. Please, pick up. 

TK picks up on the third ring with a breathless “hey.”

Carlos’ breath hitches as tears burn in his eyes, distorting his vision. He can’t get any words out. 

“What’s up?” TK asks, his voice softer. 

“TK.” His voice is strained, sharp and wrought with emotion. 

“What’s going on, are you okay?” 

“I saw her.” 

He can hear some shuffling on the other end, maybe TK doing dishes or playing foosball, either way he was interrupting something with his call and that fact alone just made him feel so guilty.  

“Saw who, babe?” TK sounds confused but worried. It’s a tone Carlos had seen often in the past few weeks, he’d taken the kidnapping really rough and TK was his rock through all of it. When he was struggling all he needed was his fiancé. 

“Trudy.” 

“Where are you? I thought you had therapy.” 

“I did,” Carlos says. “I’m at the pharmacy.” 

“You didn’t see her, babe. She’s in jail, where she belongs.”

“I can still feel her.” 

“I know, baby. Do you need me to come?” 

“No.” The tears start falling. Carlos wanders down the side of the building, hastily wiping at his eyes with his free hand. They’re hot on his cheeks, a stark contrast to the bitter chill in the air. But Carlos just feels too hot, like he’s burning up a fever. “No, you have to work.” 

“I can skive off, no worries.” 

“No, don’t worry about it. I feel better already, I think I’m just going to sit in my car for a bit and try again.” 

“Okay, if you say so. Do you want me to stay on the phone with you?” 

“Yes please,” Carlos says, his voice breaking. He turns on his heel and marches back up towards the front doors but passess them, his eyes locked on his blue camaro. 

He doesn’t mind if people stare at him, crying outside the pharmacy on a monday afternoon, honestly he doesn’t even care if anyone sees him right now. He has a mission: get to his car and then he’s safe. 

When he opens the door, he all but flings himself into the driver’s seat. It still smells like incense from TK’s attempt at cleansing the bad vibes left by his car being dumped while he was kidnapped. Carlos worried that the leather would always smell of the inside of a crystal store. 

“How are you doing?” TK asks. 

“Better. I’m in the car.” 

Over the phone, Carlos can almost see TK’s shoulders lose their tense posture. “That’s good.” 

“Thank you.” Carlos wipes the remnants of his tears off of his face with the sleeve of the hoodie he was wearing. It is TK’s. Purple with orange bleach marks everywhere, the wet patch left by his tears looks like it is an intentional part of the design. 

“I’ll always be here if you need me. Always.”

“How did I get so lucky?” 

“Hey, you’ve dealt with me being a disaster on more than one occasion. I think you’re allowed a moment in the pharmacy.”

“It’s not my best moment.” 

“That doesn’t matter,” TK says. “‘Til death do us part.”

Carlos barks out a harsh half-laugh that kind of sounds like he’s being strangled. “We’re not even married yet.” 

“But we will be, I’m counting down the days.” 

“I’m going to go get my meds now,” Carlos says. “Thank you for staying on the phone with me.” 

“Anything you need, I’m here.” 

Carlos pulled the latch on the inside of his car and pushed the door open, allowing the cold air to rush into the warmer atmosphere of the car. “I love you.” 

“I love you too.”

[doodleempireofsticks]

In defense of Victim: a character analysis

OK before I start

Yeah, I know. I'm a hypocrite lol but, hear me out here.

After really analysing everything Victim has done...I can't say they're actually that bad anymore. Their actions seem extreme but they're actually kind of justified.

First of all, let's look at what most the fandom hates them for. The fight with The Chosen One in The Box. It's hard to watch and they certainly went all out, but it's not like Chosen isn't a dangerous character. He was a villian himself after all.

Chosen and Dark's actions likely led to many sticks losing their homes on websites and getting hurt in the crossfire, even if he was trying to free them. At worst, these actions were deliberate, at least on Dark's part. And how would Victim know if Chosen actually wanted to do this?

And I wouldn't be surprised if Victim knows.

In episode 30 of avm, King sees the first Animation vs Minecraft on a rocket corp TV

And Second sees the first Animator vs Animation during Animation vs YouTube (maybe that's why he recognises them? Theory for another day)

So is it that much of a stretch to say that Victim is somewhat aware of Chosen's past? Especially since they have some kind of access to YouTube.

Obviously this is a bit of a stretch, if Victim had seen Animator Vs Animation V they wouldn't have needed to use the memory reader on Chosen. But they must have known something about him to know that he has a connection with Alan, so it's possible.

On a similar note, they treat Second very differently. Sure, he's a less powerful stick in their eyes so they don't pay much attention to him, but he's still treated with respect.

First of all, he's left unpaused in his cell, despite the fact they already had him paused, they chose to let him at least some freedom by undoing it.

Also, when he was put in a box, it was a lot less violent.

Even when they were testing his powers the employees just...asked him. It was not forceful in any way and no one laid a finger on him.

Even when he was captured they were being easy on him

Agent Smith had second selected,he could have done anything, but all he did was spin then kick him and pause him immediately after. He was hitting him as little as possible, just trying to end the fight.

Then there's the last scene if The Box, probably the most unjustified part. But, here's the thing, Victim only has bad memories of Alan. He hurt and then tried to kill them. I think they believe Yellow is some kind of conspirator with Alan, maybe a lackey of sorts? Whatever they think, I wouldn't be surprised if this is some kind of misunderstanding. They may even be sympathetic towards Dark after seeing him be attacked by the cursor too.

Obviously this doesn't mean they're in the right. They're really not. But their actions have some kind of justice about them, and I don't think they're trying to be evil, so they actually have a good chance of being redeemed. And I can understand them now, so I at least don't hate them anymore.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk. I'll go back to fanart now (this was super out of my comfort zone and not the best explanation but I just wanted to say it).

[sketching-shark]

For the character ask game. Part of me wants to say Wukong but.... let's throw a curveball and say Predaking :3

All right @ladyzerodark! World's best robot dragon :D

Okay, so keep in mind that this is coming from someone who never watched Transformers Prime all the way through and knows about this guy a lot through osmosis.

That said, I do think that there's something so interesting and compelling about the basics of Predaking's background that could act as a catalyst to have all sorts of contemplations on everything from the nature of mass extinction to the destructive and self-destructive consequences of warfare, capitalism, and imperialism.

Like, just the fact that Predaking's a clone from the species of cybertronians that went extinct long before TFP's timeline and who was created to be a weapon of war already means that this guy's existence is ripe with all kinds of horrors. And of course all of that is exacerbated by the other cybertronians mostly treating him like a dumb dangerous animal at best or as someone to kill off once he presents a potential threat at worst. Plus there's some really juicy glimpses into how he really wants a family and was really looking forward to more predacons being brought into existence up until both Autobots and Decepticons decided should all be blown up instead. With all of this going on, and with basically everyone else treating him so horribly no matter how intelligent he is and no matter how much he expresses his loyalty to Megatron in both words and deeds (until he realizes how completely he was betrayed) you can understand why he's so angry and such a violent bastard for a good chunk of the series. And he's a big guy, but he's also so young! And from the moment he emerged from a tube you had the closest beings he had to guardians telling him to go kill other guys and not caring about him beyond that! He literally had to teach himself how to read!

Not to mention that in addition to these things about Predaking as an individual, the thing about the extinction of the predacons, like that of our own dinosaurs, is that it was brought on by a completely indifferent cosmic event. I know the main focus of Transformers as a series is on how the Autobot-Decepticon war messed up Cybertron, but tbh I really like the addition of reminders that the universe itself can and will kill you too. Definitely adds another layer to the fucked up nature of warfare; like when you have so much working against you on the cosmic and natural scale, it does show warfare to be incredibly stupid.

I know it's nowhere near canon, but that is one of the reasons why it's my headcanon that Shockwave decided that it would be a logical step to try his hand at bringing back the predacons partially to be weapons of war but mainly because he concluded that restoring their species would be an important step in helping Cybertron recover. I mean, as carnivorous as the predacons were at least THEY never destroyed the biosphere lol.

(tbh I do also like the idea that Predaking comes to develop something of a superiority complex over other cybertronians, at least for awhile, not because of his strength but because of the fact that it was the transformers and not the predacons who deliberately destroyed their home planet).

So yeah, I know that in the show Preaking and the other predacons get all kinds of shit from both Autobots and Decepticons for being violent and savage, but when such statements are coming from bots who quite literally decimated their entire biosphere there's a LOT you could do with pointing out how hollow such accusations ring. It's a very poor predator that destroys the basis of its diet, after all, and I do think there's a really interesting and timely critique you could make on our own globalized civilization as it currently stands by simply noting that for as much as there's been and still is a constant sneering at animals and even many groups of humans for being "dumb" and "uncivilized," the true horror and stupidity lies in having made a civilization and waging never-ending warfare that is literally destroying the basic elements of survival. As such, to me Predaking seems like an great character through to which to both explore a lot of different horrors, but also to offer an alternative ideology to the whole Autobot-Decepticon thing in terms of being like "frag you and your omnicidal drama I want a planet that can give me and mine a good meal every day forever."