#nobody actually knows what they're doing when they're standing against you

[furiousgoldfish]

How triangulation works

Triangulation is a form of abuse, often associated with narcissistic abusers, which works in a way that gets the abuser what they want, by involving other people into the relationship. It will usually happen when you and the abuser are in some kind of conflict, and want different things; the abuser tells you what they want you to do, and you know you don't want this, so you say no, and stand your ground.

When the abuser realizes they can't persuade you, threaten you, force or pressure you into doing what they want, they go a roundabout way about it, by convincing other people to go and pressure you instead. Now how does that look like?

It can go multiple ways, they can come and cry to other people about how incredibly cruel, insensitive and selfish you are, not wanting to do this one thing to them, and how it's killing them, and ruining yours and everyone else's life. They'll often sprinkle in some lies about you, make you look cruel and twisted. They can come to your siblings, friends, relatives, family, and tell them something along the lines 'I know it's only right for them to do x, but they won't listen to me. However, they really value your opinion, and they might listen to you, please tell them to do x, it would be better for everyone.' This will make the person feel important and happy to be valued both by the abuser and you and to be given this important task of changing your mind, they'll become willing to do it. Or, if they go the crying and complaining route, the person will become annoyed that they're being vented on feel like it's your fault they're now having to deal with this. The abuser might also add imagined disasters and catastrophes that might happen, if you do as you want, and not follow their idea of how things should go.

This person, having been manipulated into thinking they're doing something good, will go and try to tell you that you're wrong for wanting to do what you want, sometimes they'll accuse you of being selfish, yell at you, defend the abuser's idea, pressure you, accuse you of being responsible for abuser's "upset" by acting this way, and will wholeheartedly try to convince you that following your own free will is a horrible, disastrous idea.

And for you, this now means you have to consider, and reconsider over and over again, if you have the right to make your own call, because now everyone in your life seems to be on the abuser's side, and insisting that what you want is stupid, selfish, inconsiderate, hurtful, wrong, potentially disastrous. This, of course, is not true, but the abusers want you in that spot, where everyone you know is against you and on their side, convincing you to just do as you're told, or else. This can sometimes create intense pressure and feeling like you're all alone in the world, like nobody cares about you, and that any decision you make will be beaten down by everyone involved. It can also make you pull down your own choices after having to consider over and over if it's possible that this choice could be selfish or in any way hurtful, and this is not how people normally make calls, it's something you do under intense pressure and scrutiny, which is there only because the abuser wanted it.

These choices can be anything from where you go to school, work, where you live, how you dress, who you date, what you buy, how to respond to others, what you do, how you act. Often they'll be about whether you give the abuser what they want from you, and whether you agree to talk to them or not. The biggest triangulations I've experienced in my life were done when I've refused to talk to the abusers, then they felt it was necessary to lie and manipulate every person I knew to pressure me into extending contact  - and all of those people have been lied to, and have been brought to a heavy emotional state in order to do a crazy thing like telling someone what to do. Normally people don't do such things, they understand it's not their place to dictate someone's personal decisions, not their call to make in somebody's life.

This is partly what makes the abusers so dangerous, not only they're willing  to cross that line themselves, but they're capable of making others cross it too, making their every whim seeming like a life emergency where all rules of freedom and privacy are null. This also puts you in a position where you're forced to doubt yourself, your every decision, and even your senses, to figure out if you could possibly be right, when everyone you know is telling you that you're wrong. They want you to be in that desperate mindset, doubting your own senses, memories, decisions. It's almost like a form of gaslighting, that everyone participates in.

Your choice is, of course, never wrong. You always have the freedom to make your own decisions, even if the entire world decides to attack you for it and to tell you that you're wrong. The entire shitshow is happening only because the abuser thinks what they want is more important than your free life and your quality of life, and they're willing to lie and push people into doing their bidding, just to bypass your free will. You don't have to doubt any of these decisions, because any choice you make is right, as long as you're the one who made it.

Being trapped in that space where it feels like everyone is against you, and on the abuser's side can be extremely isolating, painful and emotionally heavy. It can put you in a state where you feel abandoned and like you're wrong and evil for every decision you try to make. However, this isn't true, all of the people who are telling you that you're wrong, actually have no clue what's going on, and have been fed lies. Not that it hurts any less that they've betrayed you despite not even understanding the situation! It hurts badly. They've been naive enough to fall for a manipulation, and their moral standing weak enough to try and infringe on your freedom, and you didn't deserve that. They've aligned themselves with a person who has hurt you and is attempting to control you, and that feels terrible, like you're alone and helpless against a whole horde of people.

One thing you can do is point out how it's not their place to make this call, and ask them what they've been told in order to come and tell you something as inappropriate and hurtful like this. I can't claim it's going to work every time, but some people were taken aback when they were informed of some of the stuff the abuser just 'forgot to mention' when sending them into action. Sometimes even that won't make them back down, because it's embarrassing to accept that you've been manipulated into being someone's tool, and they'd rather insist they're completely in the right. It's a messed up game where you essentially can't win, the best you can do is stick to your decision and inform everyone who comes to pressure you, that you're not in fact, doing anything illegal and if they want to change your decision they'll have to bring out an army to force you.

Triangulation goes hand-in-hand with scapegoating, and will make you feel like a scapegoat. Even if a lot of people will fall for the abuser's manipulations, not all will, and this is not something that you'll need to endure all of your life, especially if you manage to cut contact with people who are easily manipulated – you don't owe them a presence in their life if they're aligned with an abuser. There are people out there who cannot be manipulated easily, and will stick to their morals and refuse to infringe on your freedom, even when told a bunch of lies.

[a-hazbin-reader]

I know Alastor craves Wifey’s attention, but does Wifey crave his attention in the same way?

🥴

Alastor X Reader Headcanons

✅️Romantic

❌️Platonic

TW: None?? I think???

Description: ☝️⬆️

Alastor loves having your attention but he loves it even more when you seek him out, he loves being needed by you

He tries to hide his giddiness though, he can't be caught grinning like a fool because his wife wants a hug from him

He has a reputation to uphold

He's in his radio tower and you suddenly sit yourself in his lap mid broadcast? He's wrapping an arm around you and kissing your head while you bury your face in his neck

He cuts out the broadcast for a moment to give you the proper attention, tilting your chin up so that you look at him

"Just a moment, folks! Hello darling, stressful day?"

His claws are scratching along the back of your neck, sending a pleasant tingle down your spine as you lean against him

"Mmn... just wanna be with you..."

Suddenly you're being squeezed tight, your face smashed into his neck so you don't see the heat rising to his face over how cute you are

Anyone who might've been listening would find the screams of the broadcast suddenly interrupted by sharp crackling radio static

He's trying to get out of bed and you whine that you want him to stay?? He's going to try his hardest and resist the urge to jump back in

That is until you wrap your arms around him and press your chest to his back, rubbing your cheek on his shoulder

"Just stay in bed...we could have a lazy day..."

Alastor has to rub a hand over his face to hide his blush, his smile tight from trying not to coo over you, giving you a small kiss

"You have to get up too, my dear~ Come on, I'll make breakfast."

He stands up only to feel you hanging off of him, legs wrapping around him with determination

"No. I stay with you."

"Fine then, I'm going to get started on our day."

"I'll be right here~"

A small bleat escapes him, actual steam coming out of his ears as he helps support your legs

"Darling please! What will everyone say?"

You just close your eyes and hum, resting your head against his back as he laughs at the absurdity of the situation

"Don't care. Going back to sleep..."

Nobody dares look at you two as Alastor walks about the hotel with you strapped to his back, they all do their best to pretend like it's not happening

Except Angel who laughs as soon as Alastor walks into the lobby with a mug of coffee in hand, ears down low as he tries to hide his embarrassment

"Ha! Whipped!"

There's been plenty of times where you've just come to him wanting his affection for a moment before scampering off

You've even interrupted overlord meetings because he left without giving you a goodbye kiss, you always found an excuse to get in

One time, you even showed up with trays of food, trailing behind Rosie and Zestial, who both helped you crash the meeting and carry food

Carmilla was visibly surprised at the sight of you, doing a double take and cautiously sniffing the air

"Y/N..? What is all this..?"

You don't miss the way your husband's cheeks light up as he tries to look as innocent as possible, realizing his mistake

"Alastor forgot his lunch and I just couldn't let all of you go hungry..! I hope you don't mind~"

You brought out the big guns with the food, and none of the overlords even make a fuss about you being there

You come around to your husband's chair, hearing him audibly gulp as you lean down to kiss his temple

"Hello again, my dear-"

"You forgot to kiss me goodbye, darling~ What's a girl supposed to think when her husband won't kiss her?"

You sound so pitiful and cute, he can't help but stand up to squeeze you into a proper hug before walking you out to try and preserve some of his image

"They're just so cute, aren't they? Young love and all that~"

"...they are."

"Aren't they both like-fucking old?"

"Eat your food."

It's already gone, Alastor

"Forgive me, my dear... I was in a hurry and didn't realize-"

He feels even worse when you wrap your arms around his neck and give him a sad face, resting against him

"You owe me...at least 12 kisses and not little ones!"

He's fumbling to find the words to say, using one hand to push away your kissy lips while he looks away from you

He knows he looks so whipped right now-he needs a moment to compose himself

Once he's able to look at you again, he knows it's all over, a soft blush on his face as you kiss his palm and stare at him

"Darling..."

"I just want some attention from my husband, is that so bad?"

He can't deny you anything, leaning in to give you a soft kiss and rubbing your cheek, you nearly kill him when he pulls away and sees your lovesick expression

"I'll be home soon, I promise. You'll get all of my time and attention after that, deal?"

You close your eyes and nuzzle against his hand, practically hugging his arm to keep him there

"Mm...making deals with a man like you is dangerous, what do you want in return?"

Alastor can't help but grin, pulling you in closer for another kiss and stopping just before your lips touch

"I've already got an adorable wife~ Buuuut~ If you're offering something then maybe we go out dancing later?"

He kisses you before you can answer, pressing his forehead to yours as he smiles at you

"It's a deal then~"

Reluctantly, he lets you walk away after giving you a few more kisses only to realize later that you got exactly what you wanted

When he walks back into the meeting, everyone's eyes are on him before they suddenly look down at their meals

"What?"

Carmilla coughs awkwardly and Rosie pushes a mirror towards Alastor, who discovers his face is covered in lipstick marks

He can't even bring himself to be mad, sighing fondly as he takes a napkin from Carmilla and wipes his face off

What is he going to do with you...

I hope you like this one!!

[tacticaldiary]

A Cracked And Fissured Door

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

"You just...you make me feel like you only want me when nobody's looking."

It stings, if she's being honest. Being kept at an arms length when in public. Most people know about them, so she's not sure why he's so...cold and distant when they're not alone.

Masterlist

"If he sends us out before next week I'm quitting." Soap groans, back cracking as he flops down forward on the bar. "Three ops in a week? What do I look like, a machine?"

Gaz snickers, raising his glass to that. "Bloody might well be at this point."

She hides a smile behind her own drink, leaning back into the bar. They had done three ops in a week, mission after mission after mission. It had been pretty rough, just as Soap said and she was more than ready to crash and burn and sleep for three days straight but abandoning their tradition of getting drinks at this specific bar everything Saturday was not something anyone on the 141 was willing to break.

"Just be glad we got the weekend off." Ghost says from beside her. She smiles warmly at him, is rewarded with a slightly blank look.

The flicker of her smile is hid behind another sip.

"Betcha your gonna take advantage of that, eh?" Soap nudges her, looking pointedly between her and Ghost. The latter rolls his eyes and says nothing.

"Only thing I'm looking forward to is an actual mattress." She knocks back the last of her drink and stands, shrugging Gaz's arm slung over her shoulder. "Speaking of which, I think it's about time we call it a night." Casting a glance at her boyfriend, who merely nods in confirmation and pushes the stool back himself, she nods at the others. "Don't cause too much trouble, boys. Text us when you're home safe, yeah?"

"We just got shot at for a week, don't think a car ride home is gonna be the end of us." Soap snorts.

"You never know." Is all she says before stepping out of the bar with Ghost, who offers her her coat to shrug on.

"Hell of a week." She comments, glancing at him gratefully as she shrugs on the warm fabric.

"Just glad it's over," Simon says simply.

Walking back to their car, she can't help but cast quiet glances at him as they walk. She knows Ghost notices them, chooses to keep looking ahead and keep the silence.

Truth be told, she aches to touch him.

Aches to feel his skin on hers, to feel the callouses of his hands brush against hers. His heat, ever all-encompassing makes her feel safe in a way no bulletproof vest ever could.

"Think I might ask Price to assign me desk duty for a while." She jokes, knocking their shoulders together gently.

To the untrained eye, to someone who might not have been tuned to what makes Simon Simon, it wouldn't have been noticeable, but he leans subtly away so they don't touch again.

She doesn't mention it, but it makes her heart heavy.

It's nothing new. She's not sure why she's even surprised anymore.

Trying again, her arm hangs beside her, purposefully brushing against his gloves. The frown on her face deepens when he shoves his hands into his pockets.

Maybe it's the exhausting week she's had, but it gets to her, infects her heart, mind, and soul with the insecurity she keeps locked behind a cracked and fissured door in her mind.

It stings, if she's being honest.

He's not the most...social person. Closed off and private, but baring her soul to someone she loves and getting so little in return...

Being kept at an arm's length when in public, even though their relationship is not a secret. Most people know, actually, so she's not sure why he's so...cold and distant when they're not alone.

The car ride home is silent, but not in a comfortable way their quiet is usually shared. Simon seems to pick up on it, because he grips the steering wheel a little too hard, the tension in his shoulders a little too foreign.

Gaz had no problem touching her. A friendly punch to the arm, an arm around her shoulder. Soap was a touchy person by nature, nudging her and ruffling her hair.

So why was it that Simon always pulled away?

The one person who should love her the most, who should be proud of loving her...why does he pull away and pretend this thing between them doesn't exist.

She doesn't get it, hasn't understood for the past two years they've been together. Pushing was not something she'd considered given his stubbornness and private nature, but there's no denying she's always felt a twinge of hurt whenever he disregards her in public.

Was he...ashamed? Of her? Did he not want to be seen with her?

The thought latches itself onto her, sucking away the usual confidence she carries and leaving her a nervous mess. It makes her sick. Before she knows it they're back home but she can't find herself to walk any farther than the front door that's shut behind her.

He doesn't comment on it, just casts her an inquisitive look before moving to the kitchen in view.

Simon always did like a cup of tea before bed.

"Simon?" The word comes out a little garbled, caught in her indecision, and morphed into something muffled. He hears it, because of course he does, and hums. Doesn't look up from where he's rifling through the cupboards for his kettle.

The air is cold in her lungs, freezes up with nerves, and this is all so ridiculous. It's stupid and she shouldn't be feeling this way but she does because she just does.

Trust was a precious jewel, a diamond only given to those who trusted enough to keep it unmarred. Necklaces and earrings and bracelets, she feels like she could make millions of intricate pieces with the bits of trust she had bared for Simon to take and keep as his own.

Simon knows what she loves, what she hates, how she feels about anything and everything. The rhyme and reasons, the way she ticks, and what throws her off kilter. He knows it all, it's been given willingly and eagerly to the man who took her heart with that rough demeanour on the tarmac two years ago.

She had given him all her gems, the shiniest and the dullest ones, but he's never even been bothered to spare her a piece of coal.

When she doesn't speak immediately, he pauses his movements and sets down the kettle on the counter with a 'clink'. "What's the matter, love?" He straightens up.

"Do you want to be with me?" She blurts out, unable to fathom leaving this conversation for another day. Not when she's so worked up and hurt and feeling.

His face stays blank, and when he responds it's almost as if he's doing it carefully. "What do you mean?"

"I mean what I asked." The sides of her coat are clutched with a knuckle-white grip, nausea making her an inch away from ruining the lovely carpet they'd picked out together when they'd first moved in.

Simon furrows his brows. "I'm here, aren't I?"

"That's not what I asked." Unease starts to curl up in her gut. "Do you like me, Simon?"

"Of course I fucking like you, what are you talking about?"

"You sure don't act like it."

There.

It's in the open now. Simon stares at her for a moment, shocked or stunned or whatever emotion that causes him to clam up for a moment.

He never really was good at this part of their relationship, but this...it was vital. It was important because she refuses to let this problem define what they have together.

"You don't touch me when we're not alone." She starts, "You act like I'm just no one when we're out together. You barely acknowledge me any more than anybody else, pull away when I try to touch you." It feels good to let this all off her chest. Months and months of trying to figure out what was going on. "Tell me why. I just want to know why."

"I'm a private person-"

"No Simon, that's not what this is." She shakes her head, emotion rising inside her. "You just...you make me feel like you only want me when nobody's looking. Like I'm...like you want to keep me a secret."

Her eyes are glassy because saying it hurts so fucking much, but it needs to be said. It needs to be voiced, he needs to listen and acknowledge-

"You know that's not true, so it shouldn't be a bloody problem-"

"Do I?" A laugh burst out of her, unexpected and short. It's enough to cut him off, cause him to narrow his eyes. "You've never told or indicated that to me. Not once. Not in two years."

"It's common sense. I wouldn't be with you if I didn't want you." She can tell he's trying to stay level, to meet her in the middle but all caution gets thrown to the wind because is he really trying to argue with her on this?

"No, it's not." She insists, trying not to raise her voice as anger bubbles up inside her. Was he not getting it? Not understanding that this was hurting her? That he was hurting her? "Sometimes I-..." She swallows, "Sometimes I'll be having a great time, like today. I'll be laughing and enjoying myself and then I'll glance at you, or try and do something as simple as brush shoulders, and I'll watch you push me away. Or pull away." Her voice waver but she fights to keep it steady. "And it makes me feel miserable because what is it about me that makes my own boyfriend not want to accidentally touch me?"

"Why didn't you tell me before?" He says, hackles raised at being put on the spot like this. Ghost doesn't mean to, but this is all so new to him and the only thing he knows how to do in these rapidly changing situations is to be sharp and jagged and tense. "If you're so miserable, why are you still here?"

"Because I love you!" She cries out. "And I can't help but think that I might never get the same back from you." Her grip on her coat tightens.

There's a beat of silence.

"I never asked you to. You knew what you were getting yourself into."

His words cut through the quiet, as sharp as the blades he keeps strapped to his thigh.

"Oh, fuck you." She whispers. "Don't give me that bullshit. That's not an excuse for not trying-"

"Not trying?" His voice gets slightly louder. "I try every day. I try to be someone you deserve but you're bloody well making it difficult when-"

"Just stop!" She yells over him. "Stop. I'm not asking for something you can't give. I'm just asking for an explanation."

"I can't-"

"You can!" To her dismay, her eyes burn with tears that are bound to fall in a few seconds, but she's too far into it to turn around now. "It's been two fucking years, Simon. Two years. I've never pushed or pressured you, I've listened and sat here and tried to be the one you can come to, but you never do." She sniffles, wiping her tears away roughly.

He stays silent, visibly frustrated but letting her talk.

"Do you know what they say back at base?" She spits out. "About me? They say I've forced you into being with me." A hollow laugh. "That I've got some dirt on you that keeps you quiet, or that I'm just someone you pass the time at night with because everyone thinks that you want nothing to do with me during the day. They talk about why we're still together, why you're still with me when you clearly have no interest." Her tears are long forgotten, left to trail down her cheeks in rivers of hurt. "They say...they say I'm only on the 141 because of our relationship."

And that was what hurt the most. Her own skills undermined like that.

That startles him enough to pull his brows in confusion "I didn't know..."

"Of course you don't, why would they say it in front of the man who looks like he could snap their spines in half?"

She waits for him to speak. To say something, anything, but all he does is stare at her with those half-blank eyes that she can never decipher and it infuriates her because did he not just listen to what she's told him.

"You know what, forget it." She chokes out. "I'm done. I'm fucking done with this." She gestures to them both, vaguely watching his eyes widen with muted panic. Getting shoved into a woodchipper would be less painful than the hurt that tears through her chest, hiccupping on swallowed sobs.

"Hold on-"

"I can't be the only one keeping us both afloat." She reaches behind her for the doorknob. "I don't want that. I love you, Simon. I really do, but it hurts so fucking much when you act like I'm disposable, like you're ashamed of being seen with me."

The door is pulled open by her, and then roughly shoved shut by Simon. He moves quicker than she could register, behind the counter one moment and right in front of her the next. His hand stays firmly on the door, keeping it shut as he leans down to catch her gaze.

"Ashamed is the last thing I am about you." He says quickly, clumsily. "I-...fucking hell that's not right at all, love."

Simon is...he's panicking.

The thought strikes her immediately with the way his chest rises and falls quickly, the lack of that cold clipped grace in his voice.

"I don't care." She chokes on a cry, hands planting themselves firmly on his chest to shove him away. It's like nudging a brick wall. The man is immovable, standing in place with their bodies so close it feels like they're sharing heat. "I'm tired, and you're making it worse so let me go." He grabs her wrists, presses them against himself to keep her in place. His hands are warm, rid of the gloves he usually dons.

She's met with every inch of that scarred face of his. She hadn't noticed but he'd discarded his mask as he'd been rushing around the counter to get to her.

"Listen to me." He breathes, trying to get his thoughts straight and keep her there with him. He can't lose her, can't let her walk out the door because he's afraid that she might never come back. "Please."

It's the last word that pauses her struggle. Simon...he was someone who operated on orders and demands so the frantic and silent plea pushed into the word is enough to make her still for a moment.

And a moment is all he needs.

"I've never..." He thinks for a moment. Never has she seen him look so frazzled. He tries again. "Everyone I've ever loved has been killed." Her eyes widen at the declaration. "My family. My friends...everyone." His breath fans over her face with how he's leaned down, hot so very him. "I think I'm afraid if I show the world I love you it might try and take you from me too." Simon's voice breaks at the end, as if he's voiced something from his nightmares and despite the pain she's feeling the sound slices through her. "And I can't...I can't live with losing you too."

With bated breath, he waits for her to respond. Part of him can't bear to look her in the eyes after the admission but he finds himself staring at her face anyway, drinking in any sign of hope.

Hope. How long has it been since he's felt the warm rays of such a feeling?

Slowly, so slowly it makes his breath hitch, she tugs her hand free on his. For a moment Simon thinks she might push him away again and his heart sinks like a stone, but then her fingertips graze his face, her hands cup his cheeks and suddenly they interlock behind his head, pulling him in.

Simon crushes her into him, tucking her head under his chin with a shuddering breath of relief. He's not lost her, not completely.

Hope.

There was still such a thing for a man like him after all.

"I'm not going anywhere." She mumbles into the crook of his neck, the feeling of his lips moving on his skin sending a shiver up his spine. "I'm so sorry, Simon. If you'd told me that before I would have tried to help-..."

Simon shakes his head immediately, arms tightening around her. "I chose not to tell you. The thought of coming home and seeing you on the ground...bloody...like them." He swallows past the lump in his throat. "Fuck, I'm sorry I hurt you, sweetheart."

Simon didn't apologise often, so when he did that means he knows he's fucked up.

She does not tell him it's alright, that she forgives him or that he's fine. Because he's not. His apology, his honesty doesn't make the months of hurt go away. It still aches at her like before, but this time the ache has a meaning behind it. It has a reason.

They hold each other for a moment, against the door, two people knee-deep in a problem that's been brewing for weeks and weeks, bubbled over the edge in the ugliest way possible.

"I need you to try." She whispers after a moment, the barest of smiles gracing her face when he nods slowly.

"I know." He says simply against her hair. Gently swaying in each other's hold, both are content to stay there for a while, to calm their racing hearts with the knowledge that the other is still there, is real and solid under their hands.

And it's enough.

                                  · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Change is a slow trek to an ever extending finish line.

Simon keeps his word. If there's anything it's good at, it's resilience. Though it makes him antsy and paranoid and dare he say slightly nervous to open such a part of him to somebody again, he tries.

He tried because he'd rather saw his own arm off than be the one who gives her a reason to leave. Not her. Not the best thing that's happened to him in years, the person who's managed to wake up Simon after years of being Ghost.

A subtle brush of hands as they walk.

An arm around her shoulder while they drink.

Thighs and sides pressed together as they take their seats on a heli.

The squeeze of her knee from under the table.

It builds and builds into something warm and new and fresh, a feeling that overshadows all the worry he had about the universe having a vendetta against him because if there was one good thing that Simon Riley wanted to keep, it was her.

Their weekend is filled with conversations, real conversations about things they've kept to themselves, worries and concerns, and moments of hesitance. He tries his best, though some words die on his tongue before he can get them out. She pushes him, but never more than he can take. Heart, body, and soul, she knows him like the back of her hand but he's the only one who can truly let her into his mind.

All that aside Simon also has another more personal task to work through once their weekend is over.

After paying some not-so-nice visits to more than a dozen people (to his absolute fury), she never once hears a peep of another disgusting rumour ever again.

Requests Are Open! Reblog, Like and Comment!

(26/07/2023)

[feyascorner]

at the end of the day

summary. you and astarion have your first genuine fight and the other companions try to patch things between the two of you.

warnings. comfort/fluff

pairing. Astarion x GN!Reader

a/n. have not written an actual one-shot in a while omg,...

Breakfast is eaten in silence. One that's been extending far past its welcome date now.

Shadowheart grips her fork, feeling the flitting glances exchanged amongst the others around the table while she maintains focus on the two individuals sitting on opposite sides of the table. Your eyes remain trained on the bread sitting on your plate and Astarion swirls his chalice aimlessly in his hand, neither of you even acknowledging the presence of the other. The cleric grimaces as you stand suddenly, your chair scraping against the floor as you do so.

"Thanks for the food, Gale," is all you mutter before leaving the room with your plate in hand. Astarion rises from his own chair in an instant, huffing.

"I must take my leave as well."

When both parties have left the room, all five other companions stare at one another in a knowing silence. Lae'zel is the only one who doesn't seem the slightest bothered. Wyll is the one to break the uncomfortable tension in the air, clearing his throat after Lae'zel nearly bites her fork off. "I see they're still amidst their lovers' quarrel."

"What are they even fighting about?" Karlach groans, slumping into her chair with an exasperated groan.

"It was nice the first few days to have a good night's sleep without their incessant noises," Shadowheart grumbles, shoving an egg into her mouth. "But now, this is arguable worse."

"Should we...aid them somehow?" Gale blinks.

Lae'zel snorts. "They're adults, we don't need to coddle them, wizard."

Despite her words, they do find themselves a few hours later in unanimous agreement to do something to ease the unfamiliar dryness of the camp dynamic. It comes in multiple attempts. And to say few---if not all--were unsuccessful, is an understatement.

First, when out in the woods, Gale makes an effort to spark a conversation that would prompt both you and Astarion to join in. You nod occasionally, though lost in thought, while Astarion promptly ignores whatever he's talking about. It's a pathetic attempt that has nobody but himself babbling away, which earns a grunt from Shadowheart. It's enough to shut him up, thankfully.

Second, Karlach uses her uncanny ability to lift someone's spirits. Jokes, dancing, all that jazz. Even booze. She urges you to let loose, but all you do in response is smile at her apologetically while Astarion just glares off into space. Another failed attempt. Lae'zel pats Karlach on the shoulder.

Wyll tells stories of his monster hunting days which you usually take an interest in. Astarion naturally listens to what a monster hunter does when he's not hunting monsters, but that's all it is. You and Astarion only listen. There are quips and lingering questions, but neither of you ever direct it at one another, or bother to add into the conversation either. The sheer amount of teasing questions has Wyll's head spinning by the end of it. Lae'zel rolls her eyes.

Just when things couldn't possibly get any worse, you're ambushed. It's a small horde of goblins---nothing beyond your capabilities, but your companions do take some small scratches here and there. Somehow, though he rarely does, as he prefers staying behind you or Karlach, Astarion does too. And despite his efforts to hide it behind his back, you also didn't miss the cut lining Astarion's arm to his elbow. It's not deep by any means, and if it were your own injury, you'd likely just brush it off.

But it's on his skin, and he'd gotten it when taking a hit from an arrow that should've cut your arm.

Blasted hells, you think, as he shrugs it off. Even when you can clearly see him clenching his jaw to bite away the pain.

If battle won't be the end of you, you're sure your idiot of a boyfriend might be instead.

"Come here, you fool," you mutter, holding out your hand. He doesn't even consider the fact that you're mad at one another and immediately extends his arm to you. Habits, you suppose.

You mumble out a weak scolding as he watches you wrap the wound through his lashes. He shivers as you lather a cool ointment on the cut, hoping it's enough to soothe the pain before Shadowheart's recovered enough to properly heal him. He lifts a pale hand to your face, and for a moment, you think he might pinch you. Instead, he runs a thumb across your cheek, spreading the ointment on a scratch you hadn't even realized was there in the first place.

You meet his eyes, your own softening as he cups his fingertips around your cheek. The way he looks at you is overwhelming sometimes---like you're the only thing he gives a damn about in this world---but it's a welcome feeling when he hasn't even looked you in the eye this way in days now. For a moment, you realize you don't even remember why the two of you were mad at one another in the first place.

A laugh threatens to escape your throat. How childish, truly.

And then he flicks your forehead, unable to help the grin etching onto his lips when you blink in surprise.

"That was for making me sleep by myself for three nights."

You swat at his arm while he dodges each of your lazy attempts to get back at him. And though the two of you continue bickering, unbeknownst to you, you have an audience a good bit away, watching you return to your old ways after making them worry for so long.

"What a sight it is--to see young people in love again," Wyll smiles.

Shadowheart deadpans. "Isn't Astarion nearing 240?"

"Who cares?" Karlach shrugs, slinging her arms on either side of her companions with a toothy beam. "What matters is that they made up...and we didn't even have to help them."

[astrophileblogs07]

Astro Observations pt.21

Back with some very random Astro observations 😁

⚫ Saturn aspecting the 7th house actually can dislike 9 to 5 jobs or corporate office jobs. They are better with freelancing. Its coz they can't take orders. Sorry not sorry. 💀(Ig that's a Saturn 7H thing 😆)

⚫ An interesting thing I observed: Among two siblings, the elder one has Leo rising which means Scorpio 4H and the younger one has Scorpio moon. And their Mom is a Scorpio moon too. She's a nice lady though but is such a control freak. (I know I am one too, but like when I met her the second time that "controlling" vibe just hit me like a big yellow school bus 🚌😭😭). That was so funny lol😂. -All the more her birthdate is a single digit 1.(these people are the alpha type, always lead and never follow and hence are dominating, one to have the last say) which is cherry on top. -She is fiercely protective of her kids. Can't emphasize enough on "fierce" part. Very strict. Rules are to be followed very religiously. {She can't stand any one of them doing anything without her knowledge. She even monitors whom they interact with what they do on their mobiles etc.(from what I suspect)} (obv Scorpio moon mom traits) (sometimes Leo moon moms too){nothing unhealthy here, just Mom's way of showing they care 😂}

⚫Saturn and Workout: -Workout 🏋️‍♀️requires CONSISTENCY. Saturn LOVES consistency. -In fact the best remedy for Saturn is sweating. JUST SWEAT by hard work. No matter what it maybe: workout, walking, jobs, cardio, sports etc. 🤸‍♀️🚴‍♀️🏋️‍♀️

⚫ Whilst on the topic of Saturn, people who follow a time table for literally everything the planet doesn't harm them much during its Dasha (even if its your worst one). I mean obviously you played by the rules 🤷‍♀️

⚫ Magha is the only nakshatra for which you don't need in depth compatibility match. They get along with everyone.

⚫Scorpio Venuses/8H Venuses are paranoid. They notice and suspect everything (sometimes things which are not there/imaginary). (For eg, me, who thinks that someone is peeping thru my curtains even when nobody is there and all my curtains cover my windows properly. 🤣).

⚫Also as a basic Scorpio Venus behavior: while writing chats/texting, I always think- "what if someone else reads it?"..so I just don't give much details in texts. (Gosh, sometimes I think somethings wrong with me 😭😭)

⚫The proven way to hurt a Leo moon: compare them with any other person and tell them that the person is wayy better in a certain thing esp if it's a triat that the Leo is proud of. 🤣 (P.S don't do that, its mean and the Leo will hunt you, which you don't want 😀.)

⚫Why do Aries moon men have a bunch of good friends for life and Aries moon women struggle with having at least one good genuine female friend for life? (I'm jealous)

⚫ Maybe its becoz they get along more with guys than gals so the girls are jealous of them...so hence no good female friends. 😢🤡 Aries moons are the best-est people for friendships you'll ever get.

⚫ People born on a Saturday look melancholic.

⚫ You can NEVER mislead a Leo rising. They study litreally everything: what you say what you do, and why you do so. Similar to Scorpios

⚫If you see a person having graceful and "royal" way of walking or behaving, they're are sure shot to have a Magha Ascendant.

⚫Connecting the dots here: as I said in one of my previous posts that Maghas get framed even when they have done nothing, what I interpreted is that Maghas are actually the definition of royalty. They literally have that ✨grace✨, that kinda magnanimous personality and similar struggles to a monarch. Totally King/Queen typa energy here. So with that, the usual consequences in a Kingdom is conspiracy against the king, which the Maghas face. (Enough with Maghas ig, started observing them recently so..✌🏻💀)

That's it for today, until next time! (like,comment and reblog loveliesss❤❤😘)

[luveline]

𝐚 𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 | 𝐚𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫

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

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

༺༻

Reid was abducted, once. 

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

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

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

You wish the others would understand that. 

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

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

"You looked a little wobbly." 

"Long night?" Morgan asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sorry." 

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

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

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

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

"L/N?" 

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

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

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

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

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

"I know you won't be a burden." 

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

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

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

"Sorry?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

The jet is a really nice jet. 

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

"Missed this?" Morgan asks knowingly. 

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

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

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

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

You lick your lips.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You'd almost died of dehydration. 

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

“Is that specific?” Prentiss asks wryly.

"She's angry," you say. 

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

"Sir." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Thanks." 

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

You squeeze your hands together until your knuckles ache. 

"L/N?" 

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

"You okay?" 

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

Let's Scooby Doo this bitch. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

The political theory feels more plausible. 

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

"What is she hoping for?" 

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

"Where was Paul last seen?" you ask. 

"Good question." 

He takes his phone from his pocket to call Garcia. 

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

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

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

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

This boy had been cut from hip to hip. 

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

"Why?" 

"I've been talking to you."

"I've been listening." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I don't know." 

"I need a yes or no." 

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

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

Unless you can get some new memories. 

"I can do this." 

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

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

"I'm sorry," you say softly.

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

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

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

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

"I don't need to go home." 

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

"I won't." 

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

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

—

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

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

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

"Did you sleep?" you ask. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Go ahead." 

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

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

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

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

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

"You have it." 

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

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

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

"I'm benched," you murmur. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"L/N," Hotch says. 

You lift your face to his. 

He's really quite close. 

"Do you want to stay here?"

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

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

"Is that okay?" you ask. 

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

And then he leaves. 

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

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

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

You know all of this. 

It won't stick. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Are you there?" 

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

"What?" 

You cast your gaze around the room. 

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

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

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

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

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

"Agent L/N, is everything okay?" 

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

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

"Agent L/N?" 

"Please," you say quietly. 

"Agent L/N?" 

"Detective, would you excuse us?" 

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

"She's not here." 

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

"I think you're overwhelmed." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I didn't go." 

"No. You haven't been at your best." 

"I'm trying." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You're okay," he'd said. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

His hand falls to your trembling back. 

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

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

—

You agree to take some more time off. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah, still here." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You're well loved," Hotch adds. 

That, too. 

༺༻

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

[lev1hei1chou]

Why i believe Gojo could come back

This chapter left us in a devastated state and was absolutely uncalled for, but I personally believe this isnt the end of the strongest sorcerer. There are several reasons as to why (These are just opinions, I could be wrong in certain areas AND personal feelings might make an occassional appearance.)

LEAKS:

This whole panel was obviously made for a reason. And we dont see gojo making a decision. Considering the fact that this is literally THE Gojo Satoru, he's more likely to choose north since there's numerous things left as plot holes. We'll get to that.

Here in this page, he mentions that Toji should've cut his head off to actually kill him. In the leaks, whats cut off is his upper body but not the head! I still can't quite wrap my head around RCT but lets say he's not able to heal himself. You know who can and who would? Yuta and Shoko

Now moving on

"Gojo then bids farewell to everyone." If hes truly gone then why would he be bidding farewell to the fallen comrades? If he's dead then isn't he supposed to stay in the afterlife with them?

Pretty self explanatory

What if Kashimo is going in to distract Sukuna while Shoko and Yuta can heal Gojo?

Now think about this. Gojo is gone, Shoko doesnt fight and who are all left? A bunch of sorcerers who are literally under 20, need guidance and we havent really seen any panel where they actually plan how they're going to go about in the whole battle. Gojo isnt a want, hes a NEED, a NECESSITY.

Remember, Toji who was dead long ago pretty much appeared out of nowhere in Shibuya Arc LMAO so- yes

WHAT IS THIS EVEN SUPPOSED TO MEAN

Theres no way Gojo would be left sealed for 3 whole years, brought him back just to kill him off in the most disrespectful way possible.

Besides, things that Gojo wanted to do haven't happened yet.

He wanted to tell megumi about his father

He wanted to see his students surpass the strongest sorcerer, aka him

He wanted to get rid of the higher ups

He wanted to properly mourn suguru (for which kenjaku has to be defeated but oh well)

He wanted to save Megumi

How'd we know what Gojo said here.

On to the other aspects of why killing off Gojo was a bad idea. We barely ever saw what happened to him, and an off screen death to the so called strongest sorcerer is just senseless. Gojo is a fan favourite. People started watching the show for Gojo (myself included) and there's a high possibility of multiple people dropping the manga since he isn't even there anymore.

The ending could take a turn for the worse considering the fact that Sukuna is just overpowered and Kenjaku hasn't done anything as of now. Unless there's some heavy plot armor I dont think the students even stand a chance against Sukuna and Kenjaku. Both outcomes- the students and others emerging as victors or sukuna emerging as a victor could make the ending absolutely terrible and this might as well top AOT for being the manga with the most disliked ending.

Gojo Satoru is the mentor for multiple; for Yuji, Nobara, Megumi, Yuta, Maki, Panda, Toge and the third years and its necessary for them to have someone to teach them. It is one of Satoru's wishes to see his students surpass him, which can happen only when he's there since there's nobody else who is actually capable of teaching them and leading them into the world as actual graduated sorcerers.

So Gojo dying will make the manga take a turn for the worse. Killing him off in the middle makes absolutely no sense and is just plain bad writing. People are prolly gonna kill me for this but lets admit the truth. Hyping this battle, building up tension just to finish him off screen is NOT good writing.

Anyways. There is factual proof of Gojo potentially making a return. Maybe at a cost, like him losing his power, losing his "strongest" title or anything else. He may not even be the same anymore but honestly as long as he's back, I'm fine.

It happened previously, and could happen again.

Satoru Gojo may not be the strongest and the honoured one, but may be reborn as a newer version of himself after getting humbled. Lotuses, as mentioned above symbolise rebirth, which is why i believe this is not the end.

A small bit of advice for gojo fans: Go watch haikyuu or highschool babysitters as a form of self care <3

[iznsfw]

The Devil's Telephone

IVE's An Yujin x Male Reader Smut

6969 words

Categories | model!Yujin x photojournalist!you, rough sex

Barely edited. Who cares, I did great.

"Is it true? What they say about you?" 

You're nervous, fidgeting  in the king-sized bed with your arm leaning against the mattress. It feels odd to be in a rich and attractive girl's place without being naked. Not that it's something you've experienced before anyway, but it's like breaking an unspoken law everyone but you was oriented to. But you have your manners, and so does she. Supposedly.

She's still beside you, her expensive clothes hiding not her shapely form. And to think it looks beautiful without the need for oil painting all around it or nakedness. That pretty smile, that also intimidates you a little, is the cherry on top of the cake that is An Yujin.

Speaking of, there's one right now between her lips. She's toying with its strand of a twig, tracing the cherry she got from the bowl beside her bed along the pink hills of her luscious mouth.

"After everything I did," Yujin says, "what do you think?" 

"I don't really…" Struggle to find your words. "I, I don't really dwell on—"

"If I'm a slut or not?" Yujin finishes for you, smiling teasingly. 

This conversation's a mistake, now that she's using words about a subject you tried to tread on lightly. "Look, I'm not trying to be rude or anything, I'm sorry."

"No offense taken. I get it."

Yujin lifts herself off her comfortable lounge position on her bed and instead sits on the backsides of her legs. Her hands are on your lap rather than her own. Should've been a sign for you that this is going nowhere but in a downward spiral. 

"You want to know if the rumors are true? If nepo model An Yujin's really a slut, like they all say?"

"Uh… sure?" 

Yujin gestures her chin to your crotch. "Whip out your dick. Then you'll see."

-

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

"I'm not," says Gaeul. "Say that one more time and your career's over. No going back."

The small smile that's an everyday accessory to her features is gone. That tells you that what she says is what there is to her statement. What you hear is what you get. There's no underlying tone to it; she's completely serious, and besides, when has Gaeul ever lied?

Wring the looped lace of your camera over your head and place it and the device that can make or break your career on her desk. "Nope," you say. "I'm not doing it."

"You will," Gaeul says. "Nobody else will do it."

"Can't you get Jiwon to show up there?" It's worth a try, right?

"Like I said, no chance. Rei's with her on vacation. And Yunjin is out of the question."

"God fucking dammit." 

Looks like this day can actually get worse. First, you miss the taxi going to the studio, ending up being about an hour late to your meeting. And then the nervous intern almost spilled coffee all over your camera. Luckily, the scalding liquid only ended up mostly on your pressed shirt. It's like the day is toying with your feelings, trying to see how far you can get without breaking down.

Your eye twitches. The day might see your breaking point after all. 

"Gaeul," you say, "I'm a photojournalist, not a fucking Seattle professional."

"And so are a quarter of the people who go to the fashion week," she counters. Gaeul exhales through her nostrils, then leans forward on her desk, hands folded. "All you have to do is stand in for Chaewon and take the photos for each model. Don't worry about the caption."

"How'll I know what they're wearing?" 

"I can do that for you. I'm quite the fashion enthusiast, if I do say so myself."

You don't see the sense in it, like, at all. "Then why don't you go take the photos?"

"Because I don't want to, newbie," replies Gaeul simply. She swings her legs over the table and places her palms behind her neck. "You can sit here all day whining about I'm-a-photojourn-this and I-can't-do-it-that, but you're still going to go through." 

Gaeul's a rather straightforward girl, yet she can still make her blunt words sound frightening. You have to show that you can hold your own, too, and that you're not going to back up. Ever.

"And why do you think I'll give in so easily?" you challenge. 

She smiles. "Because An Yujin's going to be there, and unless you live under a fucking rock, you'd know she's the main attraction."

-

You aren't dumb. Of course you know her. It’s impossible not to know of her when the magazines all scream her name and the camera flashes crave her presence. It’s hard to navigate life without at least seeing a Yujin standee for one of the brands she sponsors or her face on soju labels. She’s become a household name that, even if you somehow wished it to be the other way, she's become an inescapable force in every Korean’s life. That’s just how it works. It’s been like that for as long as you remember.

She rose up in the industry at a young age. Being her age, you can remember the buzz she creates among your classmates, from head-over-heels, hopeless romantic boys and adoring girls (and a few girls who'd die to be able to touch her, too.) She's on their phone wallpapers, in another cutesie pose, and on the photocards in the back of clear cases. She's here, she's there, she's everything everywhere. 

You're familiar with her, but nothing about her except the usual: she's a model, she's an idol, she's a—

Ah, how should it go?

The girl beside you at the event, who's rather tall and if circumstances were different should be on the runway herself, tells you it goes like this: "She's an international free-use backstabbing slut."

Well, you didn't expect Kazuha to say that so easily (she told you her name earlier just so you had something to call her during the mandatory small talk),  but you know what she's talking about. However, you have no right to say Yujin's a slut when you're dressed… well, dressed like this. Your whole outfit is an embarrassing array of rainbow colors. Even your tie's pulled into passiveness by the colorful dress code. If this is what those high fashion enthusiasts call "fashion," you're glad you're not a part of them. You'll be glad to keep shopping at your local thrift store. 

Hence, "I wouldn't put it that way," you say.

Kazuha smirks. "How would you say it?" she asks. 

Why is she so interested in what you think about her? You suspect Kazuha's one of those girls who's rather jealous of the stick-figure models strutting the runway but would deny it with all her soul. Maybe that's it. She's jealous that she sits there in the audience while perfection after perfection makes themselves known to the public. 

"She's…" You snap a pic of another eighty-pound model walking down the runway. "Uh, promiscuous. That's all."

Kazuha grins. She purses her lips and writes down on her notepad, probably intending to use your statement as a headline pun. "Maybe we should switch jobs," she says. "You can be the devil's advocate journalist, and I can be the white knight photographer." 

Exhale loudly. For fuck's sake, you want to tell her, I'm only here to do the job I didn't want in the first place. Why has she chosen you to play with to fulfill her boredom? Whatever game she's set, you're not joining. 

"Look, what is it about Yujin that you hate?" you ask. 

"She fucked Jang Wonyoung, those MCs she used to partner up with, that actress from the period drama who was on Produce, too… everybody."

"Okay." You look at her pointedly. "Source?" 

Kazuha gestures a rude index to the runway. "Look at her. Look at her and tell me she isn't a slut. I dare you."

You look up from the lens of your camera for once, and as much as you'd like to come to Yujin’s defense, seeing as there’s no evidence to all those allegations and being a public figure with all the criticism must be the deepest ring of hell, you see what Kazuha means. 

You hate to say it, and you’d love to pass no judgment, but the prodding journalist is right. Yujin isn't skin and bones like the other models, nor does she wear light makeup. However, her confident gaze that not once settles on the floor immediately makes you think, wow, now that is a model. She only looks forward, stepping onto the smooth floor in heels that make her much taller than she already is. Her eyes are lined with this sharp, blaring dark that makes her brown contacts stand out and makes her look like a black cat. So much for Jiwon’s nickname.

But that isn’t all. It’s far from done, because it’s not Yujin’s arrogant smile that drips of sultriness that confirms Kazuha's allegations for you, nor is it her makeup. It’s what she’s wearing. Her chest nearly spills out of the oddly-cut neckline of her blouse, and it’s see-through, meaning that even if her busty figure is in some way contained by the clothing, you can still see everything. For example, her tummy lined with her abs and a small tattoo (barely noticeable, but enough to cause a few tabloids to freak out); her wide hips, and of course; the bare flesh of her breasts. The fabric tape does nothing to hide them when her brown nipples beg to be seen through the fabric. Each bounce coerced by her confident strut is out there for all to see, and so are the jiggles of her full thighs. 

Which part of everything do you have to immortalize in a photograph? You don’t know. You just keep taking pictures. There’s plenty enough to create a video of her walk without actually having to record one. 

Seeing your dropped jaw, Kazuha grins satisfactorily. “Told you,” she says.

You aren’t done looking, though. As the press and audience scream her name, (they all know her name—she’s bagged so many brand deals, shot more than enough magazine covers, and performed songs you couldn’t count on two hands just so that any type of audience can recognize her), Yujin steps up to the end of the catwalk. She smiles at all the attention, setting a hand on her waist before blowing several kisses to the audience. 

And, of course, she finishes off her umpteenth walk with another scandal:

Shredding her blouse into pieces. Yujin rips it clean from the seams, letting the lost dangle of fabric finally reveal the whole of her chest. Her skimpy shorts are the only thing remaining complete on herself. 

The viewers gasp, and you do, too. But you're hypocrites, the lot of you, for you remain interested in scanning every bit of her enviable body. Secretly, you all know that some part of you were looking there even before her blouse ripped.

You haven’t seen a model do that before, but then again, she’s not just a model. She’s plenty of things: a singer, an idol, an ambassador—

A slut. A full-on, shameless, lives-up-to-her-name slut.

-

“So.”

“So,” you say, resentfully. Your camera’s in your bag, and Gaeul is on the phone with you. You’re proceeding out of the vicinity like everybody else. It's eight p.m.; someone’s bound to be hungry at this hour, and that someone is you.

You can hear the giggle in her voice as she asks you, “What do you think?”

“What do I think?” you say, flabbergasted. Zip up your satchel bag and walk through the rain. “Gaeul, the girl just ripped her shirt off in front of everyone! This isn’t what I signed up for!”

What should you get tonight? Minute Burger? Maybe McDonald’s or some sushi? You’d take anything—you’re pretty hungry after the long show. If this is how hunger hits after shows, you’re glad you don’t have to go through the whole fashion week. By Saturday, you’d be as dead as everyone was after the stunt Yujin pulled.

“I thought you knew about her, newbie,” replies Gaeul. She’s clearly poking fun at your reaction. What’s also clear is the obvious fact that she picked you out for this job just to see how you’d handle it. Would you go crazy? Treat Yujin as a Victorian man who’d just seen a lady’s ankles would? Oh, she’d love to find out.

“I didn’t know she was…"

"Yeah?"

"B-bold.”

“Oh, please be normal about it. You’re a photojournalist. You handled the dead guy who was stabbed alright, but a woman showing her tits is where you cross the line?”

“It’s not that,” you say tiredly. Your stomach is really growling now. “I guess… I think…”

"Hey."

Your phone drops to the wet cement road. Like a haunting phantom, Yujin appears out of nowhere. It's like she suddenly materialized from the fog of the storm.

You don't know where to look. Yujin's still dressed, (somewhat), in her ruined blouse. The thing is even more transparent as the rain beats down on it. Still, she looks perfect. She is perfect. You know that without having to be a fan of her. 

The light from a camera hidden in a beaten bush makes you flinch. If the crouched man in black taking photos of Yujin isn't there, you'd have accepted your fate to get struck by lightning. Yujin raises her eyebrows questioningly, and you're forced to compose yourself once more.

"Uh, hi," you stammer. Bend down to pick your sodden phone up. Darn it, it's dead. How will you contact Gaeul now?

"You're one of the photographers, right?" asks Yujin. Unlike you, she doesn't care that your phone has met its end, or mind that her boobs are out in the open. 

You mutter something of agreement, but you're still tinkering with your phone. The battery's probably broken, which's a pity when your late mother gifted it to you on the last birthday you had together.

"Damn, must be nice to snap photos of a half-naked chick, huh? You liked seeing me up there?" 

That makes you stop fiddling with your destroyed gadget. "I," you say, cornered into confession but still trying to gather a burst of energy to escape, "I'm not—"

"An Yujin," she says, as if the whole world doesn't scream her name. As if she were just another girl out there who's a little too friendly. She doesn't offer her hand; she grasps yours and shakes it firmly. 

You have no other choice but to be acquainted with her there and then. You tell her your name, albeit nervously, as you slip your phone into your pocket. What is she planning? Why is she out here with you? 

Yujin grins. "Nice to meet you. Want to come to a party at my house? Starts when we get there."

Now you understand what she's planning. What else would you expect from her?

First things first, though: where should you look? Her chest is a dangerous option. To look or not to look? That is the question—you choose the second option. Note the dim stars in the foggy sky. Look down at the road blotted with raindrops. Remark inwardly about the state of your shoes and how they're too expensive to be dragged through a weather like this.

Second, should you go? Gaeul would be looking for you. She'd want the pics immediately so she could put them in the magazine and on your company blog site. But you haven't had fun in years, and for a girl with the wealth and status of Yujin, it might be a new beginning.

Work, however, comes first.

"I'm sorry," you tell her. You really are. Yujin seems like a fun girl outside of her wildness. "I don't think I—"

"Great! Come on, I'll drive you!" 

That's how you end up in a limousine for the first time in your life and learn that An Yujin doesn't take no for an answer. 

The seats are dark and soft, and there's two long aisles of it for thirty pax max to occupy. However, despite the spaciousness, Yujin still chooses to sit snugly beside you. Should you feel flattered? Intimidated? You struggle to choose for this question.

You wonder where you're headed. The infamous Jang Hills where celebrities like singer Son Seungwan and model and humanitarian Jang Wonyoung, who owns the place, reside? The rain is too strong for you to be able to see where the vehicle's headed, but you suspect that's the destination. There's no other. 

"So," says Yujin. She's still sitting comfortably beside you. Her smile dimples her cheeks, and it just doesn't match the boldness of her ripped blouse. When she wears that smile, she looks like a girl who's too cheerful and innocent to be… the way she is. "Would I have to pay you to see my photos?"

"For god's sake, Miss An, put on some clothes before you scare the guy," chuckles the driver, shaking his head. He's a tall, dark man with the typical shades and a rosary on his rearview mirror. You wonder if he prays for Yujin sometimes. 

"But that's no fun," she says, the pout on her face growing wider when her driver tosses her a black fur coat (that still reminds you of her when you note how the chest part is gone) and sleeveless innerwear. Seems like he keeps clothes in his car for situations like these. "Clothes are so big and boring, you know. Totally outdated.

"Anyway, about the photos…?" 

"Oh, you don't have to pay," you tell her. But you know that money isn't a problem with Yujin—she can buy you and your whole life if she chose to. 

"Gimme then." She makes grabby hands, and your camera eventually ends up in them. Her eyes sparkle with narcissistic adoration. "Oh damn, I look hot. Delete this, though. Bad angle."

"I– okay." 

"My tits look amazing, don't you think? Come on, say my tits look fantastic."

"Ms. An," says the driver firmly, albeit his tone holds some of the amusement in it still. "Put on some clothes."

Yujin rolls her eyes, but she does. And you watch as she strips, painfully slow. She pulls the soaked blouse above her wet body, showing her bare, beautiful arms and pits. Even her soft midriff is perfect. And, try as you may (must),  you can't stop looking. Several snaps and pinches would be too weak to pull you back into reality, because there's the goddess that she is to look at. You figure out now why your former classmates were and still are obsessed with her. She may be a wild little thing, but she's got an amazing body, an amazing fashion sense. Everything about her, even her boldness, is enviable. Desirable. Unreachable.

The clothes mold to her beautiful shape. The damp, slightly messy hair only adds to her beauty. You can feel yourself getting warm. 

"We're here," says Yujin cheerfully, oblivious to the way your eyes are raking down her perfect body. "Here's your camera. Wouldn't want it to break like your phone. Pity."

Getting up to open the car door isn't part of a wealthy girl's everyday life. Yujin isn’t an exception—she has her driver to do that plus assist her out of the limo, and when he does, you're welcomed into a whole new world.

The rain has halted. Signs of its earlier presence, however, can be seen on the drops on the maze of bushes. There's statues of Eros, gray and mighty with his strong arms and arrows, perched on pedestals to the entrance of the mansion. Through the gate, you catch sight of a large pool, where heiresses and friends of Yujin laugh and swim. It's no land for lowlives. You are the exception, somehow. 

"This… this is your house?" 

"Yep!” She nods positively. “Daddy gave it to me after he died from a heart attack."

"My condolences," you say. As the guards open the gate to Yujin's mansion, you admire the place. It looks like a temple for cupids. Perhaps it’s Yujin they’re worshiping.  "Did he have heart conditions before that?"

"No." She shakes her head then waves happily to one of her friends at the pool. "He just saw me wearing a bra over my crop top, and he dropped dead."

You snort. Yujin looks at you weirdly. That's how you realize she isn't kidding. 

"You're serious?"

She opens her mouth to say something, but forgets it. It's a long story that doesn't need more sequels. 

-

Just the second drink of the night and you’ve met more celebrities than an average person would see personally in their whole life. As the dazzling disco ball shimmers rainbow colors all over the place, you catch sight of more than plenty of pretty and handsome faces. Over there is Jang Wonyoung, one of the models who walked earlier, and Miyawaki Sakura, a famous CEO of more beauty lines than you can count on ten fingers. Whether their beauties are handcrafted or God-given, they all have something in common: they’re all A-listers—they’re relevant, popular, used to this wild lifestyle. Camera flashes have trained them not to flinch at the gliding lights. This is an everyday routine in their book.

However, you’re used to being behind the camera, not in front of it. You’re overstimulated by the sea of laughing, moving bodies and the loud music. While Yujin happily screams and downs several shots, you stand idly beside her, dizzy and tired. 

“I don’t think I can handle more.”

“Past your bedtime?” asks Yujin, grinning. She waves at Wonyoung and points at you, mouthing something to her, to which the model winks in response. You wonder what kind of exchange the two models had that granted an unusually smug look on Wonyoung’s face. You’re certain it’s about you, but you don’t know what it’s about. You’re not even sure if you want to discover it.

“It’s not that,” you say embarrassedly. “I’m… I’m not a party person. I get lightheaded easily.”

“Wanna take a break? Go to my room?”

Now that’s a red flag. It doesn't even try to hide its true color; it waves proudly in front of you. You’re the bull who went straight for it. 

Yujin’s bedroom is the size of your living room, with a large bed to match. Curtained pillars stand on each end while posters hang off the walls. You suppose that the people on them are the ones Yujin looks up to: IU, known as Lee Jieun whenever she ventures out of singing and into acting; Marilyn Monroe (no explanation needed), and a few other nameless models and actresses. A lot are old posters of seventies’ pornographic films. Lights frame the mirror on the dresser table. 

“You’re a privileged girl, miss An,” you say. It’s the only way you can respectfully say that she’s kind of a spoiled brat. But maybe that’s your jealousy talking.

“I know, right?” replies Yujin, twirling around. “And please, call me Yujin. You can sit on the bed if you want to.”

Your mind toys with the idea of the posters on her wall debating if you’re the hundredth person to have come over or the thousandth. Nevertheless, you want to stay neutral; it’s none of your business anyway. So you take a seat on the edge of the softest mattress you’ve ever felt while Yujin does so, too. She kicks her boots off on the carpeted floor. 

“Hey,” says Yujin, “want to play a game before you doze off?”

Just how many red flags does this girl have? “Er, sure.” You shrug. Maybe it’s just a game, nothing more, like she said. 

“Since we barely know each other, let’s take turns asking each other questions. Dibs on the first question.

“I haven’t seen you in shows before. How did you end up there?”

A safe start. “One of my coworkers was sick,” you explain. “I had to fill in for her. My turn.”

“Hit me.”

“Did you take modeling classes?”

Yujin laughs as if it was the funniest thing she’s ever heard. “God, no,” she says. “Classes and workshops are scams. All I had to do was ask my daddy to ask for a spot for me.”

“Must be nice.”

“Right? Did you take classes for photography?”

“I took one of the scams, yeah,” you say, earning a giggle from Yujin. “I’m a journalist first. It’s all I know.”

Meaningful silence fills the air. You remain hooked on your sentence, realizing how true it is. Photojournalism is the only thing you’re good at. It’s sheltered you and brought you so many opportunities at the same time. You don’t know how to find other hobbies to make your forte when you’re stuck in its bubble, and its bubble only. Without your camera, you’re nothing. Without people like Yujin to take photos of, you’re nothing, too. 

You suppose you should break the heavy silence. But you’re unsure if your question should be asked; it might trigger a violent response from her, although she’s been nothing but laid-back with you. And you don’t particularly want a rich girl to ruin your career. You’ve gone so far that the only direction to look at is forward.

But you must learn to take risks.

"Is it true? What they say about you?" 

You're nervous, fidgeting  in the king-sized bed with your arm leaning against the mattress. It feels odd to be in a rich and attractive girl's place without being naked. Not that it's something you've experienced before anyway, but it's like breaking an unspoken law everyone but you was oriented to. But you have your manners, and so does she. Supposedly.

She's still beside you, her expensive clothes hiding not her shapely form. And to think it looks beautiful without the need for oil painting all around it or nakedness. That pretty smile, that also intimidates you a little, is the cherry on top of the cake that is An Yujin.

Speaking of, there's one right now between her lips. She's toying with its strand of a twig, tracing the cherry she got from the bowl beside her bed along the pink hills of her luscious mouth.

"After everything I did," Yujin says, "what do you think?" 

"I don't really…" Struggle to find your words. "I, I don't really dwell on—"

"If I'm a slut or not?" Yujin finishes for you, smiling teasingly. 

This conversation's a mistake, now that she's using words about a subject you tried to tread on lightly. "Look, I'm not trying to be rude or anything, I'm sorry."

"No offense taken. I get it."

Yujin lifts herself off her comfortable lounge position on her bed and instead sits on the backsides of her legs. Her hands are on your lap rather than her own. Should've been a sign for you that this is going nowhere but in a downward spiral. 

"You want to know if the rumors are true? If nepo model An Yujin's really a slut, like they all say?"

"Uh… sure?" 

Yujin gestures her chin to your crotch. "Whip out your dick. Then you'll see."

You’re flustered. Did Yujin—this tall, alluring model that’s got her whole life ahead of her yet nothing to lose, this irritatingly attractive Yujin—really say that to you? Or was it something lost in the swarms of shouts and music from outside of the room? Maybe you’ve misheard. Maybe you’ll keep playing safe tonight. 

But those are just mere maybes with no connection at all to what’s about to happen.

“Can’t do it yourself, pretty boy? Let me help you.”

Yujin lifts your satchel bag from your shoulders. You find yourself raising your arms to help her. It’s like the what and tension in the air have infected you and made you into this heated, lustful character far from the real you, because if this were truly your own self, you’d say you had a career. You’d say this shouldn’t be happening. You’d leave the room instead of helping her unbuckle your belt. You’d do anything but this.

Perhaps she’s changed you.

Yujin slips a tongue along the path of her luscious lips at the sight of your bare thighs and cock. “Our friend here,” she says, “needs a little help from me, no?”

“Yujin…” you moan, and it’s humiliating, especially when barely anything sexual has happened yet. At least, anything sexually physical. 

Luckily for you, she curls her fist around your dick and gives justification to your breathy sounds. Maybe the rumors about how she likes to get around are true; Yujin knows how to work her way with a cock. Her warm fingers jerk your flesh at just the right timing, letting the hardness build up before doing that too with the pace. She’s looking at you with this wild desire in her eyes that grows bigger when your erection does, too. Oh, and that smile—if looks could kill, An Yujin would already be arrested for your murder.

“Now that’s not so bad, is it?” she remarks. She spits on your cock. Her wet saliva coats your length with just enough to let her smooth palm slide along itself pleasurably. “You like this? Just wait until you feel my pussy. Or maybe my lips would do first? The higher ones, I mean.” 

Yujin’s lips descend onto your shaft, welcoming it into an impossibly soft and wet heaven. Yujin’s little tongue flicks at your base gently, even daring to lick at a little part of your balls before working their way up. It deliciously slides upwards at your veins.

“Fuck, Yujin. Your mouth—fuck, it feels so good.”

“Mmm.” Yujin engages in an open-mouthed, sloppy kiss with your tip. “I know. I’d fuck me, too, if I could, but I have you to do that.”

“Right,” you say breathily, because she is. If she’s sucking your cock this well and her cheek’s painfully stimulating as your cockhead brushes it, how much better would her pussy be? You’re definitely fucking her, even if your experience in this is zero. Yes, that’s also right: you’re a virgin. Zero experience, no bitches.

But, if it means anything, it’s the other way around. It’s Yujin making you her bitch. She may be serving you with the lips and kisses of a good girl, but her eyes tell you that there’s more to it than you think. You’re hers, see, for this night, and that’s all you ever will be. You’re no photojournalist anymore—you’re Yujin’s one night stand, and that’s the only achievement people will ever remember to your name.

“These’re so fucking full,” murmurs Yujin as she admires your heavy balls. Sucking on them lightly before smiling up at you, she adds, “Make sure to blow all of it in my face, ‘kay? Promise me.”

“Think you can handle it, Yujin?” you ask, and it’s another embarrassing moment you’ll relive forever, for your cockiness will never get on the level she has. Your voice shakes too hard and your cock drips too much—it’s clear who owns who at this point.

“I’m a big girl.” Unfazed, she smiles. “I can handle myself.”

“Y-you sure?”

“Oh, don’t play hard to get it, baby,” Yujin coos. She pleases you with one hand and glides her fingers on your thigh with the other. It’s deadly. She’s deadly. “Let your guard down. It’s just me.”

“And you’ve said that to how many people?” you shoot back.

“More than you’re worth,” she quips. She winks at you. “Now cum for me.”

Ouch, but it doesn’t matter when her lips provide a great suction to cool the burn. It’s making your cock feel the heat instead, forming the tightness in your stomach more. Her hands massaging your thighs causes your sensitivity to reach an all-time high. Yujin’s covered your shaft in such an amountful that just one lick sends your toes curling. She licks, she sucks, she laps at your weak spots and delights in the upward push of your hips, but her hands keep your legs down. Can’t have her meal escaping. She wants all of your cum, and when Yujin wants (no, needs) something, she gets it. It’s how she’s navigated life, having everything her heart could ever want brought to her by whim. But if she has to work for your cum, then so be it. Either-which-way, she’s not giving up until she gets it.

She kisses your cock deeply, almost making your lips jealous. She sucks on each sensitive side and your dripping tip. What takes the cake, though, is how she downs the whole thing so suddenly, slipping itself inside her tight throat and letting you fuck it. Gasps can’t be contained by your pursed lips, and their cycle of repetition continues because of her. Because of Yujin, Yujin and her stupidly desirable mouth.

“Fuck,” you whine. When she hears that, she pulls away. Like rain, drops of semen make slick landings on her face. You keep expelling several shots of the thing she so desperately wants, and you realize that, even with your own pleasure being fulfilled, you’re still serving Yujin. You’re still giving her what she wants: your cum on her face. The fact that she’s playing with you remains stoic.

“Ah, this is the best.” Yujin licks her cumstained lips. “I could have swallowed it all like I did with these cherries here, but I can’t let it spoil the main course.”

“W-which is?” you inquire, still panting. Can you handle more? 

You find out through Yujin taking off her black vest. Then, she slips out of her jean skirt. It hugs her lower figure so nicely that it nearly makes you mourn their departure, but you find a better thing to gawk at, and it’s Yujin’s ass and thighs. She may have dressed earlier, but the panties were off. She cares not for modesty, even outside of the modeling industry.  It’s just not who she is. 

For that, you’re glad. If Yujin were modest, you wouldn’t have had the chance to see her fat ass and shaven pussy up close. You wouldn’t get to see her sway her hips side to side, letting you see from behind how her ass ripples and bounces, or let you peer at her dripping thighs. 

"You're weaker than all the others," Yujin notes. "I like it."

Should you be offended? Probably, but you aren't, because there's her approval. There's her saying that she likes how easily you break. There's her on the bed with her pussy spread by her fingers, revealing her tiny hole and needy clit.

There's a lot to look at is what you're saying, and a lot to take in consideration. For example—

"Ohhhh, fuck," moans Yujin. She rubs her core and gets a feel of how wet she is. "I'm so wet, see? I'm so, fuck, wet from blowing you."

Yujin leans against one of the pillars of her bed. What makes the sight of her masturbating hotter is that she's still covered in the face with cum that soon drips down her neck and onto her collarbone. She looks like she's been used incessantly, to the point where no amount of cock or finger can help her reach a good enough high. Although you're still sensitive, you begin to jack yourself off to her.

"Shit. Ohhh." Her head tosses backwards and she shuts her eyes. "This feels so good. Make me feel even better. Use your mouth."

It's all about what she wants, but you find out that you also want to put your mouth on her. Stop jerking off to kneel on the floor and place your hands on her thick thighs. You have no idea how to do this except from porn, but she moans loudly when you flick your tongue upwards, so you must be doing well.

Yujin's so wet that she dribbles on her expensive sheets. The feminine scent of her drives you crazy. Due to that, you pick up the pace of eating Yujin out. She's delicious. Better than any expensive meal you got going out. 

"Oh, fuck," mewls Yujin. She grinds her clit down on the flat of your tongue. "That's it. Eat me out like that."

Next, guide your tongue to her slit, catching the juices she has. Push it inside, make her thighs suddenly clamp around your head. Painful, but worth it, because as useful as her makeshift earmuffs are, you can still make out her heavy moans.

“G-good, god, so good. Don’t you stop, don’t you fucking stop.” 

“I won’t.”

The force of your mouth holds nothing back as it holds Yujin’s nub captive. She pulses in your mouth, and you can sense that she’s close because she’s screaming. She's squirming, she's writhing, she's—

“Stop.”

“But I, I thought you said—” You were having such a good time, too. Why did she have to ruin it?

Yujin giggles. “I wanted to cum on your cock,” she confesses. Sweat rolls down the sides of her face. “Let me?”

She’s subtly assertive like that, asking you first before making you do it anyway. She’s so used to getting her way, so used to letting people bend reality into the form she wants. And you’re becoming one of those people, as you lie down on the bed and let her mount you. You don’t suppose anyone would refuse either—her splayed lips rubbing your tip seems like a good thing to have in exchange for being under her ownership.

“Fuck,” you curse. Maybe this is better, in hindsight. Her hole grasps for you, but she teases it by only letting her clit glide along your cock. “Miss An, ah, Yujin, you’re so—”

“Pretty? Successful? Tight?” She sinks down on your dick with a smirk that differs from your weakened look of bliss. “Yeah, I’ve heard that before.”

They’re all perfect adjectives to describe her, but you weigh in the most on the last. Her soaked slit swallows you without time to properly take it in. She just keeps bouncing on you, a millisecond going unspared, as if she’d die if your cock weren’t ramming in her all times of the day. By her desperate moans, you think you’re right. They’re heavy, hanging onto your mind for too long that it just makes you throb harder inside. 

You reach up to grab her tits. The bra-like innerwear she dons blocks you from experiencing the whole of it, and Yujin takes that into consideration, through which she pulls it up her arms and off herself. Her bust now moves up and down freely, looped in your mind like a constant reminder of how lucky you are to have Yujin fuck you. She may get around a lot, but whoever she fucks is like her: a hell of a catch.

 You lift yourself up to suck on their brown nipples. She moans ferally. Her pushing your head deeper into her tits is how you realize you’ve wanted to do this, to suck and play and slap her chest, ever since you saw them be set free on the runway. It’s funny how two mounds of flesh can hypnotize you just like that. You’re trying to defeat the impulse actions they convince you to do, as if they were spiritual entities on your shoulder each to twist your decisions. But both are devils—even from their source, it’s clear that An Yujin is no angel.

“Yes, so good!” she screams. Her eyes are shut as she rides you with an impulse and speed that surely can’t be human. The pleasure she unleashes onto your cock as her pussy clings and gropes it must be the embodiment of the deadly sin of lust itself. It was written before in holy books, preached as a warning in churches. There’s no explanation for how angrily she impales herself with your cock. “Your cock’s too fucking big, I’m going to cum all over it!”

You spank her ass, and the plentiful skin wiggles right back into your hand. Seeing her face twist up into this pained yet blissful reaction inspires you to continue. That and your cock entering and exiting her hole, plus your kisses following the path of her neck makes Yujin go crazy. 

“Fuck me!” She’s fully unhinged when she cums. Her short yet sharp, alliterate downward thrusts of her core leaves red on your thighs. She’s kissing you with this hunger that’s been fulfilled, in a way, but with which comes gluttony. She can’t have enough. She can’t have enough of your dick. It starts to scare you how she’s like the girls your pastor warned you about in Sunday school—she’s a gluttonous nymphomaniac greedy for things that aren’t good for her. Aren’t good for you.

Having sex with An Yujin makes you debate if you should go back to your religious roots and pray again. You’ve heard about the devil hiding behind human faces, and she completely fits the criteria: charming, deceiving, gorgeous beyond human comprehension. However, her divine body also can be something holy. It’s something that’s more than worth worshiping.

Which is which: evil or good? Angel or demon? A goddess who descended to earth or something far, far more dangerous? 

Whichever, you just busted a load inside exactly that. 

-

“So.”

“Hm?”

“Come on, tell me,” you say. Yujin’s teasing banter piques your curiosity to higher levels. “Did you really fuck all those people, or is it just,” shrug, as if you couldn’t care less when you do, “you know, hearsay?”

Yujin strokes your chest thoughtfully. The aftermath of the rough sex has left her almost invalid, but after a shower, she’s good to go. You followed suit after.

“The devil’s telephone,” she whispers.

“Huh?”

“Here. You know where to call me.”

[libraryofgage]

A Hop, a Skip, and a TARDIS Jump

Part of: Steve Deserves Good Parents, Actually Debbie and Fester Addams One | Two Rick and Evelyn O'Connell One | Two (on the way!) Harley Quinn One 10th Doctor and Rose One (you're here!) Scooby Gang (there are plans for this one lmao, so plz be patient with me orz)

I know it says 10Rose up there, but this series starts with 9Rose, because 9 is also special blorbo in my heart hfjdks Christopher Eccleston didn't have to put his whole chest into the role but he did and I love that for him

Anyway, have fun with this one! We're getting time travel shenanigans coming up (and angst, def some angst, but it'll end sweet I promise), and a little meme at the end

As always, if you see any typos, no you didn't :)

Satellite Five 200,000

Running into the woman was an accident created by the chaos of something changing on Satellite Five. Steve doesn't know what that is, exactly, but he can feel it in the air, in the way the humans around him have started rushing, in how the food stands have suddenly ground to a halt. And he comes to a halt with them, his hearts speeding up in his chest as the frenzy reminds him of another time, another planet, another chaotic scene that ended with him being launched across time and space while his home died.

When he finally gathers his wits enough to move, he turns right into a woman's leg, bumping his nose hard against her and falling to the ground with a startled cry. He holds his nose, the bridge smarting and causing his eyes to water as he looks up at a pretty young blonde woman who immediately crouches in front of him.

"Sorry about that. You all right?" she asks, her hands hovering in the air like she wants to check him for injuries but doesn't want to make him uncomfortable.

The funny thing is, Steve has seen this woman before. He saw her earlier in the day, getting into the elevator with a journalist and a man, and he assumed he'd never see her again. Nobody who got in the elevator came back. He's so overwhelmed by the shock of seeing her again that he almost misses the familiar aura around her, the lingering traces of golden space dust and passing time.

Almost.

He stares at her with wide eyes, his tears actually falling now, and then throws himself into her arms. "What took so long?!" he cries, clinging to her shirt like he'll be thrown across time and space one more time if he lets go.

"Woah, hey now, no need for crying," she says, utterly confused but gently smoothing down his hair anyway. "What's wrong?"

After taking a few moments to calm down, Steve starts to answer when he realizes something. The woman only has one heart. He can only hear one set of beats in her chest. He jerks away, his hands trembling as he stares at her. She's still covered in that familiar aura, practically swimming in it, but she's not like him.

It hurts. Steve can feel the bitter cold of disappointment replacing the hope that had started to grow between his hearts. He thought...he thought he'd get to be with someone like him again. Maybe not his original family---they're dead, long gone, and Steve is never getting them back---but a new one that wouldn't let him feel quite so alone anymore.

Maybe she was just injured. That would explain it well enough.

"Where....where's your second heart?" he asks, his voice small as he grips the hem of his shirt to steady himself. "Y-you...why do you--"

Before Steve can get the rest of the question, a man in a leather jacket, looking slightly annoyed as he checks his pockets, appears next to the woman. "Right then. C'mon, Rose, we got dead weight to drop off," he says, his tone hard.

The woman, Rose, looks up at him. "Hold on a minute, Doctor," she says, "we've got to help him find his parents first."

Steve opens his mouth, wanting to say that won't be possible, as he looks up at the man. Their eyes meet, and the words get stuck in his throat. If Rose carried lingering space dust and passing time, this man is made of it. Steve can see the gold around him, swirling and calling, singing in a way he'd forgotten about. Even the name is familiar---not that Steve knows this particular Time Lord, of course, but he knows the conventions and traditions.

"I'm afraid that'll be impossible, Rose," the Doctor says, his voice softer and full of disbelief as he crouches next to her on the ground.

"What? How do you know?"

The Doctor doesn't answer her. He just holds a hand out to Steve, waiting patiently. When Steve takes it, the world finally rights itself. He can feel the blood pumping through the Doctor's veins, fast and powerful in a way only two hearts can manage. He can practically taste time and space coating his tongue as he steps closer. When Steve places his hand on the left side of the man's chest, feeling the beating of one heart before sliding his hand over to feel the other, he cries even harder than before.

And the Doctor cries, too.

It's not a loud crying, but he pulls Steve into his arms and holds him with the same desperation and fear that he'll disappear if he loosens his grip that Steve felt when he hugged Rose. "I thought...I thought I was the only one left," the Doctor says, moving his hand to cradle the back of Steve's head.

"Doctor, what's going on here?" Rose asks.

Steve peeks out at her, and then he's lifted into the air, still held in the Doctor's arms. His jacket smells like the past and future, a soothing scent that gets Steve to relax like he hasn't in a long time. "Long story short," the Doctor says, his voice still rough from crying but recovering, "you somehow bumped into the only Time Lord child in existence." A few moments pass before he speaks again, the smile and awe clear in his voice as he says, "You're just fantastic, Rose. Fantastic."

Despite his best efforts, Steve can't keep his eyes open long enough to see how she reacts or what the Doctor does next. The exhaustion of fending for himself and pushing away the despair of losing everything sweeps over him. This could all be a dream, and the Doctor might be a figment of his imagination that disappears when he wakes up, but Steve lets himself dream for now.

--------

Hawkins, Indiana, 1971

"Okay, Steve, go ahead."

Steve glances up at his father, shifts his gaze to his mother, and then approaches the console. He reaches up and starts turning a dial, ignoring his mother's excited noise and his father's interested hum. Once he's turned it enough, he walks around the console and pulls a lever, flips a switch, and yanks another dial two notches to the right. Then, when he's sure his parents can't hear him, he leans in close and whispers, "Take me wherever you'd like me to be, TARDIS."

He feels something warm and happy surge under his fingers where he's holding the console. Not a second later, the familiar whooshing sound of the TARDIS fills the room, and Steve hang on for dear life as his father shouts, "Fantastic! Where do you think we'll land, Rose?"

"Somewhere child-friendly, hopefully," his mother replies, grabbing his father's arm and holding on for dear life.

Steve grins, his hearts beating fast and hard behind his ribs as the TARDIS slowly comes to a stop, its engine quieting to a gentle whirring as it parks. "Go on then," his father says, appearing behind Steve and nudging him to the doors. "See where you've brought us."

With his breath stuck in his throat, Steve slowly pulls the left door open. Sunlight streams into the TARDIS along with the delighted shrieks of other children and a warm wind that can only mean summer. Steve blinks, staring at the playground a few feet away.

"Oh," his father says, his tone duller than before, "seems boring."

This statement is followed by both the TARDIS making an offended noise and Steve's mother smacking his father in the chest. "Don't be rude! Boring is safe, which is good for Steve's first drive."

"Can...can I go play?" Steve asks, his voice soft as he feels a sudden longing sweeping through him. He hasn't played with people his age after leaving Gallifrey. In fact, he hasn't been around them. On Satellite Five, Steve didn't see other children. They were cared for on a different floor, and he never risked getting into the elevator.

Since leaving Satellite Five (since finding another Time Lord and basking in the TARDIS and crying together when Steve accidentally called the Doctor "Dad" and Rose "Mom"), Steve has been surrounded by Daleks and nanogenes and older humans and every alien under the sun, but he's never been around children.

The thought is exhilarating and terrifying and alluring all at once.

"Of course, Steve," his mother says, placing her hand on his head and brushing a few stray hairs from his face. "You go play, and we'll call you back in a few hours for some ice cream, yeah?"

Steve grins and nods eagerly, throwing a quick goodbye to his parents before running out of the TARDIS. He dashes across the street, coming to the edge of the playground before stopping. The grass turns into tiny rocks and pebbles beneath slides and swings and monkey bars and a merry-go-round. And kids. More kids than Steve really knows what to do with, which gives him an unfamiliar feeling of anxiety that makes him wipe his palms on his shirt.

"Hey, why are you just standing there?"

The question is asked by another boy Steve's age. His hair is a little frizzy and curls around his ears, and he's got band-aids covering his arms and stretching across the bridge of his nose. He's standing to Steve's left, holding a red rubber ball and ignoring the other kids around them.

"I've...never been here before," Steve says, meaning that he's never been in this situation.

The boy doesn't understand that, though. But when he says, "Oh, so you're new around here," Steve doesn't disagree. "Well, nice to meetcha. I'm Eddie."

He shifts to hold the ball against his chest with one arm and holds out his other hand. Taking it and shaking once, Steve introduces himself and asks, "Can we be friends?"

Eddie's eyes brighten, and he nods. "Yeah! Let's be bestest friends. Can I call you Stevie? Mom says you can give nicknames to friends."

"Sure! So, uh, what do we do now?"

Eddie pauses, looking at the playground with a slight frown. "We could play games," he says slowly.

"Oh! How about Weeping Angel?"

"What's that?"

Steve thinks for a moment. "Weeping Angels are these statues that move when you don't look at them. In the game, someone will face away, and the other person will start sneaking up on them. If the first person turns, the second has to freeze in place. If the first person sees them move, they lose. If the second person reaches the first and touches them, they win."

"It sounds like Rad Light, Green Light," Eddie says, tilting his head slightly. "But, sure! Let's play it."

Steve smiles brightly and follows Eddie to a clear patch of playground. "I'll be the Angel in this round," he offers, waiting for Eddie to agree before walking a few feet away. "Let me know when you're ready!"

Eddie turns around, still holding the rubber ball, and glances over his shoulder. He stares at Steve for a few seconds before looking away and saying, "Ready!"

As lightly as he can, Steve takes a few steps forward, doing his best to make no sounds like the Weeping Angels he's seen before. When he notices Eddie moving, he freezes, quickly placing his hands over his eyes but leaving enough room to peek between his fingers.

When Eddie turns, he's frozen in a classic Weeping Angel pose. Eddie studies him for a few seconds, eyes narrowed before slowly turning around again. Steve exhales softly, and the game continues.

Steve wins exactly three times, Eddie wins twice, and there's one round in which they both dissolve into laughter because of the position Steve freezes in, so they don't count it. When Eddie gets bored of playing, he introduces Steve to foursquare, which is why he has the rubber ball. When he gets bored of that he drags Steve around the playground, introducing him to each piece of equipment with pride.

By the time the sun has started to dip low on the horizon, Steve is sweaty and dirty and happier than he's ever felt as he hides under the slide with Eddie. They're pressed close together, sharing a popsicle Eddie's mother had given them, purple juice making their hands sticky.

"You're really cool, Stevie," Eddie suddenly says, his lips and tongue purple as he offers the last bit of popsicle to Steve.

After taking it and letting the cold ice melt on his tongue, Steve asks, "Hey, do bestest friends keep secrets that only they know?"

"Of course! Nothing is stronger than a bestest friend secret."

"But you gotta promise not to tell anyone. Not even your mom."

Eddie seems to realize this is serious now, and he straightens up a bit. "I won't," he promises, "cross my heart, hope to die, stick a needle in my eye."

That seems a bit extreme to Steve, but what does he know of human customs? He leans in close, his mouth almost pressing against Eddie's ear, and whispers, "I'm an alien."

He pulls away in time to see Eddie's disbelieving look. "What? You look human. No way you're an alien."

"I am!" Steve says. "How many hearts have you got?"

"One. Duh."

"I've got two."

Eddie snorts. "Yeah. Right. Nobody has two hearts."

"Here, you can feel them," Steve says before grabbing Eddie's hand and placing it over the left side of his chest. He waits a few seconds, making sure Eddie can feel that heart, before sliding his hand to the right side. He watches Eddie's face turn bright red, and Steve figures it's from excitement or shock at realizing Steve is, in fact, an alien.

Before Eddie can say anything, Steve hears his mother calling, "Steve! It's time to go!"

He pouts, letting go of Eddie's hand. "Aw, man," he mumbles, crawling out from beneath the slide. Eddie scrambles after him, his cheeks still flushed and his eyes wide. "I gotta go now, but I'll see you again soon, Eddie."

"Yeah, soon," Eddie mumbles, seeming dazed until he shakes his head. "Your, um, secret is safe with me, Stevie."

Steve blinks and flashes a blinding smile. "Of course it is," he says, "You're my bestest friend."

With that, he hugs Eddie and then runs to his mother, brimming with excitement at getting to tell her all about the park and Eddie.

------

If you'd like to be tagged for this series, let me know!

And, finally, a meme for your viewing pleasure:

[starberry-cupcake]

Alrighty, here we are again

previously, in harrowcita the ninth:

this happened

currently, after ch. 2 (once again, I wanted to read more but realized these notes were too long):

first off, I need to point out something very important

reading the first part of gideon, this was how the dynamic of her and harrow felt like, from gideon's pv in the first chapter or two

this is what it actually was like, now that I have harrow's pv

so, now that we've cleared that up, let me tell you about the emperor

I don't know about this guy

something's not adding up for me

I feel like he's either lying, telling half-truths that benefit him or he doesn't know what he's doing

and none of those options are very god-tier

he's also constantly going like "harrow, I'm gonna let you choose" and five minutes later he's "oh, actually, you never had a choice to begin with, I'm so sorry about that"

I don't think you're sorry if you've done it like 3 times since we've met you

maybe say what you actually mean, unless you're full of lies

he takes harrow on a walk through the clown death star ship he's got going on

and takes her to his coffin hangar

shows her coffins of the people he made to send to the ninth

the new ninth people

aiglamene is gonna have to work overtime

(I can't believe I've never forgotten her name)

and then there's coffins for all the little friends we made in canaan house

:) ♥

except there are a bunch missing people

let me just note the info we got

the second says "no human remains inside"

last we saw them, martita was KO and judith was bleeding to death

nobody from the third as well, and we already have suspicions about wtf is happening with these parsley and cilantro twins

from the sixth, one is empty because CAMILLA ISN'T DEAD GODDAMMIT

the other one has little pieces of palmolive in it

me picking up the pieces of palmolive from the decor of canaan house

there is one coffin for not!dulcinea

the emperor guy says he's taking her with the other lyctors

as long as he flushes afterwards, it's fine

we are, by the way, trying very hard to not mention gideon ever, apparently

just wanna point out real quick that THERE'S A LOT OF PEOPLE UNACCOUNTED FOR and this guy is GOD so he's doing a terrible job

or he's not saying all he knows

or both

all this time, ice cube barbie is tagging along

ice cube barbie is harrow's babadook, which I stan tbh

since she's here to stay, let me show you another pic of that doll because it's my favorite from the haunted beauty collection

so, the emperor starts telling harrow what they're fighting against (or escaping from) and where they came from

this man explains what he wants and leaves out what he wants

at one point, when harrow asks something like "how will you explain all the dead people?" he goes like

he asks harrow about death and the process of it and she says, at one point:

"In cases of apopneumatic shock, where death is sudden and violent, the energy burst can be sufficient to countermand osmotic pressure and leave the soul temporarily isolated. Whence we gain the ghost, and the revenant."

this is important for the later conversation about revenant beasts, which are the things that the emperor is having trouble with

but I highlighted it because I am adding it to my notes of "reasons why gideon could be not dead forever"

I am holding on to all the hope I can get

because if sudden violent death can leave the soul temporarily isolated and not do the due process of transitioning to the river or whatnot

and gideon isn't within harrow or whatever

maybe

maybe she's somewhere else

I don't know, let me have this, don't tell me anything, just

LET ME HAVE THIS

so yeah, basically the story is that the emperor is running away from nine revenant beasts, which were created during the resurrection, when a planet was blasted off

nine beasts like nine houses

there's three left now

I don't know about all of this, you guys

I don't have enough context and I don't trust this guy here

how do I know where we stand in all this?

what if he's not the good guy and what he did was some planetary bullshit to begin with?

what if the other side is the good guys?

what if he's killed by one of our heroes? like harrow or gideon or camilla?

because he's actually a false god jerk?

what if I kill him????

and then we have two last important things

first, barbie ice cube speaks now

love that for her

then, very crucial

the non-gideon mentioning seems to be a Thing

I don't know if I'm understanding correctly but

the emperor mentions ortus

ortus, the one we knew, our old pal from the ninth

and I got the feeling, idk if I got it, that he just assumed ortus was the cavalier she had with her

because 1) he didn't go down there and 2) no body was recovered

and then harrow also mentions ortus, but she says he "died thinking it was the only gift he was capable of giving" and that she "wasted it" and idk if she did that because she's blocking sad memories, she's confused because she's Not Doing Great Mentally Right Now, she doesn't wanna tell the emperor what actually happened, or all three

there's stuff about ortus I don't know, but that sounds to me more like what gideon said than what ortus "Got Blown To Bits With Mom In Ship" did

and then the emperor says his name again with suspicion and I'm like

I think this clown doesn't know

I think he doesn't know about gideon

I think he doesn't know about gideon or who gideon actually is

which we don't know yet either but it's probably important

because she's hercules, as previously established

I think maybe gideon is an outlier

an important planetary outlier

I have hopes

also, another day without camilla

god (not this one) I hope I can make shorter recaps but there's so much happening, I'm so sorry

[clavissionary-position]

(Translation) Gilbert's Beast Manual Case 3: The Correct Way to Love Gilbert

Part 3 of Gilbert's current party event, wherein Emma learns something new about Gilbert.

Spoilers. Yeah this one's just a straight-up translation. Also I read using a translator so expect le errors. Case 1 | Case 2 | His POV

Gilbert was a fiendishly jealous man—something both he and others attested to.

Not only the men I spoke to, but women and animals as well; they all become the target of his jealousy. The same jealousy across the board.

But lately that hasn't been all.

Gilbert: This tie keeping your hair up, it gets to be with you 24/7, doesn't it?

Gilbert: ...You're so mean for setting me aside. Actually, wouldn't it be better to just wear your hair down?

Gilbert: Your chair here, doesn't it basically get to feel your warmth the entire time you're on it?

Gilbert: I'm going to hold you on my lap because it's kind of pissing me off. Sharing your body heat with a chair is more than it deserves.

Gilbert: This hallway you tread on every day—

Emma: Okay, can you please not be jealous of the literal hallway!?

The more time we spent together, the more the potential targets for his jealousy went up.

I didn't get how he could be so jealous of every little thing.

Because even though I loved Gilbert, jealousy was something I didn't really feel much of.

(Oh...)

Gilbert: —I see. So they've already completed their draft. Excellent, excellent.

Roderic: It seems experiencing your wrath this morning made them respond accordingly.

(...Roderic's here)

Having just finished my bath, I quickly hid myself in the shadows.

If I stepped out in the open wearing only my bathrobe over the black negligee Gilbert had made for me, not only would Roderic's life be in danger but mine as well.

(Still... I've never really had a chance to see Gilbert when he speaks to Roderich when I'm not around)

(...I wonder what that vibe is like)

As my curiosity got the better of me and I covertly took a peek...

Gilbert: I'd like for them to submit the draft before it ever gets to that point next time.

Roderic: It's only because nobody can come up with out-of-the-box ideas like you.

Gilbert: They're all conclusions one can arrive at rationally. It's not like I'm making unreasonable demands of anyone.

Gilbert sat at his desk, a serious expression on his face as he moved his quill.

He definitely wasn't smiling like he usually did, but at the same time he didn't seem angry either.

It was an expression I didn't recognize.

Gilbert: ...Also, the draft was poorly-constructed. With this there's too gaps for us to drive that old man into a corner.

Roderic: Then I'll have it returned to you in such a way that we can.

Gilbert: I only appreciate haste. You help them too, Roderic. I'd like to have the contents finalized before our next regular meeting.

Gilbert: If we leave that old man unchecked, he may soon start a losing battle against neighboring countries.

Roderic: ...Understood, sir.

Gilbert: What's the next document?

Roderic: It's here, sir.

Gilbert: ...I know I keep asking, but is there more still?

Roderic: There's a mountain of things I'd like you to look over.

Gilbert: I thought I'd delegated my authority out.

Roderic: This just means that Obsidian needs you.

Gilbert: That's certainly a problem.

Roderic: No, sir, it's not.

Gilbert: ...*sigh* Unless we can get everyone past the idea that failure is some sort of capital crime, won't it be difficult for you and I to manage all this work on our own?

Gilbert: Seems like my presence is a hindrance after all.

Roderic: Please don't say that!

Gilbert: Fine, fine. If you don't like it, then go give out this PSA.

Gilbert: "As long as there's no fraud or corruption at work, I won't kill you over a simple failure. So please rely on your own judgement more."

Roderic: ...Very well, sir.

(So that's the kind of vibe Gilbert has doing official duties when I'm absent)

The atmosphere about him was so serious and earnest that it naturally made me want to stand at attention, and I found myself captivated.

(If he's not smiling, then maybe that's his real expression)

(Gilbert's known Roderic for a long time, so he's able to drop his guard around him)

(...Okay, what's this gloomy feeling I'm having...)

Roderic: ...Sir, let's deal with the rest of this tomorrow.

Gilbert: Hey. You definitely didn't see anything, right?

Roderic: I saw nothing and I noticed nothing.

Gilbert: Is that so? That's fine, then. Thank you for your hard work.

Roderic quickly gathered up his documents and took his leave.

An air of nervousness seemed to cling to him as he made a beeline for the exit, not once looking astray.

The door closed behind him and Gilbert stretched out his arms as if trying to relax.

Gilbert: Now, then, little rabbit.

Emma: ...So you'd noticed me after all.

Gilbert: Well that's a given.

(I'm sorry about the position I put you in, Roderic)

Once he'd beckoned me closer, he prompted me to climb onto his lap.

Emma: Pardon me.

Knowing that my only two choices were to either sit on his lap or be made to sit, I obediently sat down of my own accord.

And Gilbert wrapped his arms around my waist to support me.

Gilbert: You were throwing Roderic such a passionate look.

Emma: I was looking at you!?

Gilbert: He was positioned in the same line of sight.

Gilbert: As you know, you have a very troublesome man on your hands. So you're aware of what you should do at a time like this, right...?

Emma: ......

I placed my hands against Gilbert's cheeks and started kissing him.

I kissed him so much that I began to feel a faint warmth from his cold lips. But when I tried to pull away, Gilbert bit my lip, leaving behind a faint stinging.

(You're still jealous, aren't you?)

Emma: ...Did I interfere with your official duties?

Gilbert: *pouts* Roderic's the one who interfered. Showing up at this hour with documents for review.

Emma: That's probably because you were busy during the day.

Gilbert: *grins* Hehe... I showed you a lot of things I don't like about Obsidian today.

Emma: ...And I want to know about even more of them from now on.

Emma: Because I also want to be able to assist you.

Gilbert: Ahaha, that's reassuring.

(...There are still so many things I don't know about Gilbert and Obsidian...)

(I'm sure some of those things are intentionally being kept hidden from me)

(Things you can talk to Roderic about, but not to me...)

Once again I felt something in my heart falter.

But before I could convince myself that I was just imagining things, Gilbert's cold fingers caressed my cheek.

Gilbert: You're pulling such a long face even though your words are so reassuring,

Emma: ...I wasn't lying.

Gilbert: I know that. So what's eating at you?

(...What's eating at me?)

Emma: ...I can't really put it to words.

Emma: It's just... I'm envious of Roderic.

Emma: He's able to assist you more than me, and knows everything...

(......)

(Oh, this is...)

The moment I realized the true nature of my anxiety, Gilbert broke into a broad smile.

Gilbert: Wow... I'll have to give Roderic a bonus.

Emma: ...I see now. So this what you've been feeling all this time.

(Well no, compared to Gilbert, my 'jealousy' is to a much lesser degree...)

Emma: Hehe... What should I do? I'm really jealous here.

(We match now.)

I wrapped my arms around Gilbert's neck and brought our foreheads together.

Even though it should have been a negative feeling, I felt laughter build up inside me, perhaps because I was one step closer in understanding Gilbert.

Gilbert: Serious jealousy is nothing like that though, you know?

Emma: Are you saying there's more to come?

Gilbert: Yeah. Your jealousy's in the early chapters.

Gilbert: The more and more you come to love me, the less you'll be able to contain that kind of adorable jealousy.

Gilbert seemed truly pleased with my jealousy.

And it was precisely because I could sense that feeling that the anxiety in my heart turned into something endearing.

Emma: I'll work diligently then.

(Because I think being jealous is the most correct way to love Gilbert)

Gilbert: Hehe... I can't believe you've cheered up this much just from turning into a jealousy fiend.

Gilbert: Taming the conquering beast is difficult, isn't it? But it might be easy for you.

Gilbert: Because I'm so madly in love with you.

------ a/n: I'm sorry for any errors! I mostly just clean up whatever the online translators spit out. Sometimes I get really lazy. Also, I haven't really done a full translation post like this in a while, so I just wanted to mention that I took the formatting and translation style from @/hotaru987 sensei!

[snootlestheangel]

Shadow Company: Moose

Everyone blame @cod-dump for this (affectionately ofc) and this post specifically for this mess I'm in over Moose.

A short drabble about everyone's new favorite Shadow; Moose

Sometimes the Shadows get bored and start throwing or kicking a kickball at each other. The number of times they've gotten it stuck in the rafters is about to piss Graves off and make him ban it. The only reason he hasn't being it's hilarious to watch Moose lift the Shadow that got it stuck so they can get it down. It's great hearing a small "whee!" From the Shadow being lifted and even more funny to hear them curse when Moose inevitably just drops them.

They got him one of those hats with the moose antlers for Christmas one year and he wears it when it's cold. His excuse is that he doesn't own any other hats.

Also was given a pair of sweatpants and an ugly sweater designed to make him look like a Christmas tree. They referred to him solely as the Christmas Moose when he wore them the day he got them. No one has seen them since.

Is the base's resident Tall Person. Something stuck up high? "MOOSE!" Someone struggling to see over a tall fence? "Moose, I need help!"

Almost always has a Shadow on his back like a koala. Everyone is too afraid to ask Moose if he actually hates it. They don't want to make him angry after all. He secretly enjoys it cause it's a unique form of strength and endurance training, and because it helps him know he can easily carry any of his teammates should the worst happen.

His office space for doing his tech work is actually a lounge area because he got sick of the Shadows cramming themselves into the old space and then complaining about it not being cozy. They're especially awful when he's in one of the shops, either for the trucks or weaponry and working. They're messing with stuff and laying in his way all the damn time.

Yes he always tried telling them to leave if they weren't comfy but no they don't listen. They'd rather lay on the floor or stand awkwardly against him while he works. So he got sick of it and took over a lounge area so the Shadows can comfortably bother him while he works.

He'd rather die than admit he enjoys the company/attention.

Some of the Shadows have witnessed him snap his cool only a couple of times. Usually it's after a really long, grueling mission and then another week of him having to fix a bunch of stuff but unable to workout because he has an injury that's benched him for a couple of weeks. And by snapping it's more like he just suddenly starts yelling at all of them to piss off. They're always quick to give him some space after that and eventually he returns to normal and acts like nothing ever happened.

Graves has only witnessed this once. It was during a mission and several of the Shadows were trapped in a sticky situation with the risk of not making it out alive. Graves and Moose were really their only help. Sometimes Graves gets distracted when watching the boys train cause he thinks back to that night where Moose turned into a one man army and obliterated the enemy.

Of course, he did this just to get to the Shadows trapped and give a gruff "you dumbasses" as he carries two of them. Graves will never forget what he witnessed and sometimes when Moose makes eye contact with him, they both just know.

Graves never once again underestimated how dedicated Moose is to the company despite how much he might complain about his fellow Shadows.

Literally vanished the first day the 141 boys were on their base because they had to work together over something. Nobody could find Moose and some started to panic. They didn't know why or what caused him to vanish but he did and he clearly didn't want to be found.

They get their answer like 2 days later when he and Ghost, as the biggest guys around, had to transport something big and heavy. Moose was so pale and shaking the entire time. Everyone was concerned that he wasn't well enough to help but he shot them down every time. They get the thing moved with ease and Ghost gives a polite nod and a "good work, Moose"

Moose darted away after muttering something about work he has to do. Then it made sense: their big Moose was totally terrified of Ghost.

Its not that they didn't know he's such a coward. They do actually. So much in fact that's part of why they started calling him Moose. The animal itself isn't a coward, in fact they're known for being confrontational when threatened (or sometimes just because) and so for a big guy like him to be the opposite, what better name than Moose?

Once had to carry Graves to safety. That was an experience for the commander, to say the least.

Another reason they all love cuddling against him: he's a human furnace. Like runs so hot he's actually typically wearing shorts and tank tops rather than full pants or shirts. He's got a fan club dedicated to watching him workout. They're just really obsessed with their big ole Moose.

The other reason they love cuddling Moose: he might be tall, yeah but he's also a thick boy. He's got ass, arms, thighs, belly, you name it. There was a meme posted to the announcements board for like a week which was a picture of the animal moose with its back to the camera and the Shadow Moose's ass next to each other. You know the meme, "they're the same picture"

It was replaced with a picture of it on the board and a cryptic hand written message of "I will find the one that made this and you will pay. To the one who took the picture, give it back. -Moose". No one knows who took the picture, but the Shadow that made the meme itself got thrown under the bus so fast. The picture of Moose's ass just appeared in a Shadow group chat one day and no one knows who sent it. (It was Graves actually and Moose knows he took it. The "give it back" part is actually in reference to something completely unrelated)

Secretly was a scene kid in his teen years. This information will go to his grave with him.

[sepublic]

Alright hear me out. Pythor x Overlord yaoi. Think about it. The only people the Overlord has really interacted with are yes-men he created to serve him, such as Kozu and Cryptor, or people he's manipulated after rescuing at a low point in their lives, so Garmadon and Harumi.

Pythor is different; He's someone wholly independent of the Overlord, who went out of his way to find and rescue him, totally of his own volition. The Overlord might not have even known Pythor existed up until they met. Others, the Overlord has had to control and take advantage of, but him and Pythor are always on the same track, there's no moral hesitation on his end. They have an evil laugh together, the Overlord outright tells Pythor that he likes him.

Of course Kozu and Cryptor do everything for the Overlord, they were made for that. Pythor CHOSE to be unconditionally loyal. He says he wants the Overlord as a means of revenge against the ninja, but he still took a bullet for the Overlord, which necessitated Zane's sacrifice. Maybe Pythor was more assured of the Overlord's ability to destroy the ninja than his own, and was willing to die for vengeance because what else does he have left?

He's an outcast by Serpentine standards; In the canon Pythor's Revenge book, part of his motives for stealing the BorgWatch ahead of its release was to impress his fellow Serpentine into letting him back in, but they don't. Everyone blames Pythor for nearly getting them killed, he's hated by his own kind now, and was evidently somewhat of a black sheep even amongst his own Anacondrai, who eventually did recognize him at the end of S4.

Does Pythor even know what he's doing with his life anymore, or is he just angry and bitter and looking for an outlet? Has he been driven twice mad, first by surviving the starvation and Donner Party cannibalism of his kind, and then burning inside of the Great Devourer? He was all alone after the Great Devourer, vulnerable and having to take care of himself.

Maybe he sees himself in the Overlord, someone considered an absolute monster with nobody else on his side, who just wants to lash out at the world. Maybe there's a kinship between the two, where Pythor gives him the helper he himself needed. Multiple times, he is the Overlord's savior, when usually it is the other way around between the Overlord and his found champion; There are times where HE is guiding the Overlord with advice, having a grounded, mortal perspective that he needs. The Overlord has had minions and pawns, but him and Pythor genuinely feel like an equal standing.

Don't you think it's kinda sus that the Overlord trusts Pythor more with his damaged condition, than the Nindroid he literally programmed to serve him? He knew Cryptor longer. But Pythor's willing, unconditional loyalty really is something else; I think the Overlord's never had a mortal choose to be on his side without coercion of some kind, so he's like his first real friend. The only person he actually respects enough to listen to; Someone the Overlord trusts to intimately hide in the body of, over any other mechanical means up until this point. Maybe he was just sick of robotic confines and wanted to feel flesh. But maybe…!

Cryptor is wary of Pythor and learning the Overlord really did trust this Serpentine more than his own creation is frustrating to him. He thinks they're both vying for paternal affection from the Overlord. On Cryptor's end, that is the case. But for Pythor, he, um. Fucked that old man.

In Crystalized, I kinda see the Overlord as replacing the twisted paternal role that Harumi tried to place Garmadon into. So in addition to any possibly objections over the mastermind of her parents' demise being on C.O.C.K., not only is the Overlord justifying it by explaining that Pythor is loyal, but also. Also he's his husband. Evil purple couple. By extension that makes Pythor her dad, her fourth dad. Harumi has to explain to Mr. F that Pythor fucked her dad.

[decolonize-the-left]

Real talk

You know it's funny, the way liberals sound saying "if you don't vote blue then you're allowing project2025 and fascism" sounds just like an abuser saying "it's not My fault I'm hurting you, you're the one who didn't wanna talk to me"

Like actually you could just vote 3rd party. That's an option. Like 63% of Americans would. Most. The majority would.

In fact!

Source

You know what this means?

It means now is the time if you've wanted a 3rd party president. Those are good polls for this early in the campaigns. 20% is a lot of votes.

For perspective: 33% would be the even divide between 3 parties.

Which means the only people in the way...are in fact Democrats. The singular people unwilling to sway from their shitty party.

The rest of us are fed up and are just waiting for an actually good candidate

"if it had votes" they say, holding the votes hostage. Not even all Democrats would have to vote 3rd party if RFK is gonna split republican votes too 👀 just the progressive Dems probably

Like nobody even WANTS Joe. People say it, social media says it, polls say it.

Why are y'all arguing if you meant it when you said "if third parties had more support, I would"

Now is objectively the best time to try risking it.

And before y'all something: Bernie started out by having events in peoples backyards.

You know who made him big? Fill stadiums?

Progressives. Leftists. Socialists.

So don't tell me that we can't do it or there's no chance of it's unrealistic when it's already been done before.

The only reason he lost is because Democrats scared voters with threats of fascism to settle for a conservative democrat. Cuz they said she had the "best" shot of fighting trump.

And you know what happened? She lost. And she wasn't even commiting an active genocide.

But you think that people will stay loyal to the party of the guy currently being referred to as Genocide Joe and Genocidin' Biden?

And Democrats (before at least) agreed on Hilary- progressives wanted Bernie but Dems wanted Hilary, you know? But even those people are now swearing they're never voting for Joe specifically, that they don't know Who to vote for but it ain't blue.

....and I see y'all still trying to push the same tactics and rhetorics expecting it to work the way it has before and no. Y'all can learn right alongside Israel that you're gonna have to step your propaganda game up for that. Cuz we aren't buying it. I'm even making this post half out of posterity to say someone called y'all out.

Wake the fuck up.

Anyone further right than Bernie Sanders does not stand a fucking chance; has no business running. This is me telling you, telling any dem listening.

Just like we meant it when we said we'd rather Not Vote than vote Hillary, I mean I'd rather not vote than vote Biden.

Please don't take this as an invitation to harass me or change my mind. You won't. You wont gaslight me into consenting to genocide. You aren't going to change a LOT of minds. People have watched that genocide play out on our phones for a month. Some of us have fundamentally changed as people and renewed our values and humanity.

And humanity is more important than comfort. Than Democrats.

And this year that won't be something we compromise.

Listen to yourselves ask us otherwise, do you hear yourself? And each time you ask, understand our resolve is stronger because it shows how little you care for human lives.

Understand that's why you'll lose the vote and election. Not because anyone split the vote by exercising their right to vote in a democracy, but because your party is undeniably supporting genocide and it disgusts us to even think about supporting that same party.

For those undecided:

Learn about Claudia de La Cruz. She supports Palestine and her party has organized events for BLM, for Palestine, against ICE, etc. They're politically active, aware, engaged, and on the ground. Most importantly, they have not ever funded or committed genocide. As far as I know they also actively challenge bigotry of all kinds meaning they also fight for women's rights, queer rights, and civil rights.

I think if we rallied behind her like we did with Bernie this would be a piece of cake for her to win. She just needs the voices of support online to get the ball rolling.

[kilibaggins]

ONE MORE ONE MORE THIS ONE I JUST HAD TO

can i get ''I could keep you safe. They're all afraid of me.'' with Bucky too please?

My Knight | Bucky Barnes

Summary: Reader has some issues with her coworkers not doing their job how they should, and Bucky has a perfect plan that Reader... Doesn't agree with.

A/N: EEE thank you again fro the requests and again feel free to send as many as you'd like ! love writing these AHHH. anyway, i know i might have stretched the prompt a little bit since reader actually isn't in danger so bucky won't be "keeping them safe" but i used it loosely and imagines bucky is trying to exaggerate a little.

Words: 356

"You know," Bucky says conversationally after just witnessing you barge through the front door and into the apartment. You slam your stuff down onto the couch and look at him, calming down instantly in his presence. "I could keep you safe. They're all afraid of me."

"I don't need rescuing from my coworkers." You argue, opening your bag and pulling out your notebook and throwing it on the table in front of the couch. You sit down and stare at the empty page. You have to write a report for your boss and since your computer broke this is what you have to work with.

"I'm just saying, they're all scared. I could just… Waltz in there," Bucky starts, sitting next to you and wrapping his arm around your shoulder, "And show them that nobody messes with my doll."

"Your doll, huh?" You ask, smirking. "I belong to you now, is that right?"

"Hmm.. Maybe a little," He jokes, lenaing forward and kisses him gently. He pulls back and looks at you seriously. "Actually, though. If you need me, I'm here. I can get them to stop screwing around and actually do their job so your boss stops throwing it all at you."

"I love you." You say. Bucky huffs and kisses the corner of your mouth.

"You gonna let me?"

"No." You say gently. He groans and leans back against the back of the couch.

"I hate seeing you upset." He admits. You frown and sigh.

"They're gonna be off the job soon, anyway. I promise, it's fine." You say, smiling gently. Bucky thinks for a minute his tongue slightly poking out of his lips and you smile at the sight.

"Fine. The offer is always up for grabs though. All I gotta do is pull this baby out," He says, patting his left arm, "And we're all set."

"My knight." You joke. He laughs and leans forward, kissing you again. "I gotta get this done."

"I'll make dinner." Bucky says, standing up. "But when it's done you have to stop working and eat with me!"

"Got it." You say, laughing. "Thank you."

"'Course, doll."

[angelsnkisses]

Birthday Wishes ♡ - Charlie x fem!reader

‼️ NSFW - MDNI ‼️

warnings: sub!charlie, dom!fem!reader, alcohol, intoxication, semi-public sex, creampie

The party was busy, bass thumping through your body and the stench of liquor in the air. Dozens of drunk bodies stumbled around, mingling and enjoying themselves. Charlie's birthday party had a bigger turnout than you expected, and now you couldn't even find him through all the other people.

You had wanted to make his birthday memorable, and your parents were conveniently out of town. What better reason to throw a party? You'd only invited maybe 30 people, but people must have told their friends, because it was packed. You wouldn't be surprised if half the school had shown up.

You located your group of friends, half of them with their boyfriends. 'Jackpot, they probably know where Charlie is,' you thought to yourself, making your way over to them.

"Hey, great party! Didn't know you could pull it off," one of them said, reaching out to pat your shoulder. You scoffed, taking a swig from your drink. "Of course I pulled it off, I'm the shit," you boasted, before looking at Robbie, the only person not holding any booze.

"Have you seen Charlie?" you asked, and he nodded, pointing to the kitchen. "Yeah man, he was just looking for you, actually. He went that way, I think."

You said thanks before heading towards the direction he pointed, finishing off your drink before setting the cup on a random surface. You entered the kitchen, a couple people lingering around. Sure enough, Charlie was in there, leaning against the counter and talking to someone, beer in hand.

"Finally, I've been looking for you," you said, walking up to him and standing at his side. He turned, a grin on his face as he snaked his arm around your waist, pulling you in. "Hey, gorgeous," he beamed, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. You giggled, eyes flickering to his lips.

Whoever he was talking to gave him a quick 'happy birthday' before leaving you guys be, probably not interested in viewing your little lovefest. Charlie was definitely tipsy, but he seemed sober enough to know what he was doing.

You pulled back, taking his hand in yours and standing close to him. You guys started to walk out of the kitchen, no designated destination in mind.

"Thanks for doing this, by the way. Definitely better than my last birthday," he smiled, bringing his drink up to his lips. Upon discovering it was empty, he tossed the can on the already littered floor. You let it slide, considering he had to help you clean up the next day anyways. You smiled, too, partly because you were proud of yourself, but mostly because he was happy. Which of course, made you happy.

"Anytime. Come on, our friends are waiting," you encouraged, pulling on his hand. To your surprise, he kept his grip on you, not moving. You looked at him with a confused smile, gesturing behind you. "They're over there.. what are we waiting for?"

He pulled you closer, leaning down so only you could hear him.

"I have a better idea.." he mumbled, a hand resting on your lower back. You snorted, pulling your hand from his and gently pushing his chest.

"Charlie, people are watching," you whined, your face turning red. You heard him tut before pulling back, his own face a little pink, too. He had almost forgotten it wasn't just the two of you, you had a way of affecting him like that.

"Well, let's go upstairs, then," he said, taking your hand again when you started to protest. "Come on, please? No one will know. I need you right now," he admitted breathlessly, trying to speak lowly in case anyone was eavesdropping.

You thought about it for a moment, weighing the pros and cons. He didn't seem that drunk, and he was definitely sober enough to be making conscious decisions, but your door didn't have a lock.

"What if someone comes in?" you stressed quietly, and he shook his head, trying to reassure you.

"Nobody's gonna come in, you told everyone to stay downstairs, right? It'll be fine, I promise," he said sincerely. "It is my birthday.." he half joked, making you roll your eyes. Of course he pulled the birthday card.

You were silent for a moment before sighing, finally convinced. "Okay, okay! Fine, but we gotta be quick," you agreed. He grinned wolfishly, smiling like a kid on Christmas.

"Hell yeah, let's go."

**

He held your hand the whole way up the stairs, and he didn't let you go until you were both in the bedroom. He turned to face you, immediately leaning down and pressing his lips to yours feverishly.

He pulled back, stumbling a little as he kicked off his shoes, and you smiled, slipping yours off easily. Nobody else was upstairs, and you were grateful people actually listened to your request to stay on the first floor.

As soon as he got the shoes off he was kissing you again, his hands slipping down to sides of your neck. You laughed quietly at his urgency before kissing him back, your hands grabbing at his shirt.

He helped you unbutton it and push it off his shoulders, breaking the kiss so he could pull your top over your head. You were wearing his shirt, a horror film you hadn't seen displayed on the fabric. It was tossed to the floor, next to your feet.

He released a heavy sigh when he saw your chest, leaning down and lazily kissing you again. "So pretty," he said almost inaudibly against your lips.

He was getting impatient, already working on your jeans while he kissed you. He tugged down the restricting denim, pulling back yet again to look at what he was doing. "Are these new? I love them.." he murmured, a hand reaching down to feel the fabric on your hip.

You hummed, your hand pushing his away. "Yeah, they're new. I had to get a few new pairs, since someone keeps taking mine," you teased. He paused, his face heating up as he looked away, embarrassment filling him. Of course you knew it was him, he was the only other person who was ever in your room.

"Aw, don't be embarrassed, baby.. it's cute," you muttered, reaching a hand up to brush his hair out of his face. He leaned into your hand, eyes on yours as you spoke. "It's your birthday, so tell me what you want," you cooed, watching him try to hide his face again. He got embarrassed so easily, and it never failed to amuse you.

"Y/N.." he whined, not wanting to say it out loud. You tilted your head to the side, an encouraging smile twitching at your lips. "Come on, tell me, Charlie," you whispered.

"I- I want you to ride me," he admitted, his voice quiet. You moved, beginning to push him back towards the bed. "Yeah? Want me to make you feel good?" you purred, tugging him down to sit on the edge of the bed. He nodded frantically, his bottom lip between his teeth as you straddled him.

"Yes, I do. Please," he begged softly, his hands resting on your hips. Usually, you'd make him plead for it a little more, but you were in a time crunch. Plus, you didn't wanna keep him waiting. It was his special day.

You glanced at the alarm clock on your bed, cursing when you realized what time it was. People would be wondering where you were pretty soon, and you didn't wanna risk someone coming to look for you.

"Alright, we have to be quick.." you muttered anxiously, a little bummed that you didn't have much time for foreplay. You would make up for it later. You reached down, beginning to unbuckle his jeans hurriedly.

You pulled him out of his boxers, a shaky breath leaving his swollen lips while he watched. You pumped him in your hand a few times, looking down at him with hooded eyes. A broken moan escaped the back of his throat, his tip already leaking precum.

"Oh, fuck.. I've been thinking about this all day," he confessed, his head falling back. He looked at you with need, his cock twitching in your hand. You squeezed him gently, relishing his whiny moan.

You lifted yourself up to hover over his lap, pulling your underwear to the side. You brushed his tip over your wet cunt, listening to him shudder breathlessly.

A flash of panic filled you when you heard faint voices, sounding like they were coming up the stairs. You covered Charlie's mouth with a shaky hand, squeezing your eyes shut and pushing yourself down on him. He groaned into your hand, his hips jerking at the sudden movement.

You blinked back tears, knowing you didn't have time to really let yourself adjust. You ignored the stinging sensation spreading between your legs, leaning down to speak quietly in your boyfriend's ear.

"You gotta be quiet, baby.." you whispered, beginning to bounce up and down in his lap. He whimpered in response, giving you a tortured gaze as he tried to choke back his moans.

You were struggling a bit with your own noises, but you managed. You could hear quiet footsteps down the upstairs hall, making your curse under your breath. Of course somebody had to go and interrupt you.

You made your movements harsher, chasing your own orgasm while simultaneously trying to push Charlie to his. He gasped when you pulled your hand away, burying his face in your neck to muffle himself instead.

"Oh, fuck. You feel so good, please," he moaned desperately, just loud enough for you to hear. Your walls clenched around him when he said that, his words only tightening the knot in your abdomen.

You continued, trying to speed things up. You jerked to a stop when you heard a soft knock on the door, your heart pounding as you turned to face it.

"F-fuck, busy!" you stammered, started to move very, very slow. Charlie breathed a shaky sigh, his cock twitching inside you as he tried to stop himself from bucking his hips up.

"Y/N? Everyone's looking for you and Charlie!" the voice called, and you recognized it as Robbie's. You felt him bite down on your neck, wrapping his arms around your waist as he started to thrust up into you, unable to stop himself.

"N-no.. fuck," you whispered, feeling his tip brush against a certain spot that had your legs shaking. You tried to halt his movements, pleasure rippling through you.

"Just a mm- ah~ just a minute!" you called back, your nails digging into his shoulders. He started sucking on your neck, the slow, silent pace driving you both nuts.

"Jill is asking for you, and we all-" Robbie started again, before Charlie finally pulled back, looking over your shoulder at the door.

"Robbie, come on man," he called in annoyance, his voice strained. There was a long pause, presumably of realization, behind the door before the footsteps started again, getting fainter as he left.

That was gonna be embarrassing later. You didn't dwell on it, picking up your pace again. Pretty soon you were at the same speed as before, your orgasm rapidly approaching.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum," Charlie whimpered, his chest heaving and his arms tightening around you. You were just as close, hands cupping his face as you leaned down.

"Good boy, cum for me," you panted, smashing your lips into his. Your teeth clashed a bit as he kissed you back, beginning to moan more consistently. He pulled away when it washed over him, his head falling back and his legs trembling.

"Oh, fuck! Y/N- fuck," he groaned, not caring about being quiet anymore. He pushed his hips up to bury himself as deep as he could, filling you up with ragged, whiny breaths. The feeling triggered your own release, your walls spasming around him and your mind going blank.

When you regained your senses, you breathed a heavy sigh, laying your head on his shoulder. You both just sat there in silence for a minute before he started kissing at your neck, his arms dropping from around you and resting on your hips.

"Jesus.. you think anyone heard us?" he asked quietly, and you shook your head. The music was still loud downstairs. Unless Robbie decided to run his mouth, nobody would even really suspect anything. You could just say you went upstairs to talk or something if anyone asked.

"It's fine, we just gotta hurry back before anyone else decides to poke around," you giggle, slowly lifting yourself off him. He looked down to watch his cum drip out of you, grinning. "That's so hot.. we gotta do that again.. you know, later," he said, looking up at you. You laughed, messing up his hair before climbing off him.

"Trust me, we definitely will."

You guys cleaned up as best as you could before getting dressed and returning to the party. Just like you said, nobody even batted an eye when you came back downstairs. He kept close to you the whole night, though, and made sure to make the most of your alone time when everyone finally went home.

**

A/N: holy shit this got long.. i was gonna write about rory himself, considering it's his birthday, but it just felt wrong, idkidk. so here's charlie for you! also, i just watched welcome to willits! the movie itself was kinda not amazing, but possum was so silly 😭. he had me laughing my ass off the whole time, i can't wait to write about him. hope you enjoyed <3!