#tell me a fic title

[sugalaritae]

for fic title game, i have a few and im curious to know what you'd write (these come straight out of my bring me the horizon playlist, they're mostly lyrics):1. i apologise if you feel something; 2. the waves will pull us under, tides will bring me back to you; 3. so you can drag me through hell if it meant i could hold your hand.

anon!!! i love this very much. thank you!! sorry it took me a while, i got distracted and tried to write (it didn't work lol)

i apologise if you feel something yoongi x reader enemies to friends, friends to lovers after a one night stand with a friend of a friend he makes it clear that he's not interested in you aside from what he's gotten from you; and you would leave him behind if it weren't for life constantly bringing the two of you back together.

the waves will pull us under, tides will bring me back to you taehyung x reader he's tired, going through a divorce, and realizing that he's wasted several years of his life. when things get bad enough he realizes that he needs a little more help than he thought, which is where he meets you, but you're not allowed to start relationships with people who are also in the group.

so you can drag me through hell if it meant i could hold your hand. jungkook x reader i don't know something with witches???? is that too on the nose?!

thank you everyone who gave me titles!! it was fun!!! <3 <3

[hardly-an-escape]

Stormy Weather, or: Outside, the Wind (Inside, the Light) | Dream/Hob | 1600 words | Rated T

tags: I recently spent an evening without power therefore I must put the blorbos in a Situation, love confessions, first kiss, getting together, power outages, Hob Gadling throughout history, gratuitious use of mildly accurate Middle English

The wind tears around London like a living thing, a wild animal, a predator, intent on the hunt. It chases birds into their nests and people into their homes, moans around corners and rattles shutters, sending piles of leaves whirling into miniature hurricanes and whipping branches into a frenzy, sharpening its claws on roof tiles and telephone poles.

Except in Hob Gadling’s flat.

The New Inn, and the cozy home above it, is in one of those old buildings that’s actually been loved and maintained – thanks in no small part to Hob’s own care and attention. The walls are thick and strong, the roof is solid. The shutters may rattle, but the windows are double-pane; the curtains and carpets are warm and soft, and no drafts encroach on the sanctity of his living room, where Hob and Lord Morpheus, King of Dreams, are having a movie night.

It’s part of Hob’s concerted effort to introduce the Prince of Stories to the stories he’d missed during his imprisonment. Tonight it’s Blade Runner – the final cut, of course – which isn’t necessarily one of Hob’s personal favorites, but seemed to fit the stormy, rainy vibes of the weather. They’re installed on the couch, with hot chocolate and wine and snacks, which Dream has deigned to pick at. Harrison Ford is eating noodles and wandering through wet, moodily-lit streets. The wind is howling outside, but they’re safe and warm and surrounded by soft things and life is about as good, Hob thinks, as it ever gets these days.

And then his lights flicker. Once, twice; there is the impression of a sort of electrical last gasp, and the room is plunged into darkness.

The wind whips and the shutters rattle. A volley of rain spits itself against the windows.

“Bugger,” says Hob.

Dream says nothing, merely brings his wineglass – which had already been cradled in one elegant hand – to his lips.

“Hang on,” says Hob. “I’ve got some candles around here somewhere.”

He gropes his way to the kitchen. In one drawer he unearths some beeswax tapers and several tea lights, which he arranges on a plate. He rummages in one of the deeper cabinets and makes a triumphant noise as he discovers his prize behind disused mugs and a fondue set from the 1980s: a pair of old-fashioned brass candlesticks equipped with round reflectors, highly polished to catch the light and bounce it back out into the darkness.

“You are remarkably well-prepared for an event such as this,” says Dream, as Hob lights his various prizes and returns to the living room with his hands full of flickering flames.

“Well, you know,” Hob demurs. “When it comes down to it, I’ve lived a lot more of my life without electricity than with it.” He arranges the tea lights on the coffee table and sets the brass candlesticks on a nearby bookshelf. “You never really get out of the habit of preparing for the worst. Although I will say, these beeswax ones beat the hell out of the old tallow jobbies we had when I was young. Got ‘em from a local bloke who keeps bees not half a mile away, isn’t that cool? A beekeeper in the middle of London. There, now,” he says, and having arranged the lights to his satisfaction he plops himself back down on the sofa.

Outside, the wind wails. The lack of lamps on the empty street below and the gentle candlelight within make the night seem even darker, and turn Hob’s living room into something even softer and cozier than it already is.

Dream’s face, in the flickering candles, seems even more otherworldly than usual; and Hob, for his part, truly looks as though he belongs in another century. The very shape of his face has changed, somehow, into something older; taking on a new appearance in the candlelight the way a man’s tongue might curl differently around the syllables of another language.

“I miss it, sometimes,” he says lowly. “This kind of world. Before the wires and the phones and the cars. It was… quieter.”

“You speak often of your delight in change and progress. Do you truly long for your past lives?” asks Dream.

“Yes and no,” answers Hob. “Some things are better now, no question. Antibiotics, wouldn’t want to live without those again. Vaccines and X-rays and chemotherapy and antidepressants – almost all the medical stuff. Mass transportation. Cars and planes have never been safer. Honestly, I’ve never understood the people who moan about the olden days and oh, life was simpler back then. Don’t they know how many people died? How many kids? Because they caught a cold or fell out of a tree or had a case of the runs that lasted a little too long?”

He leans forward to adjust one of the candles, which is dripping unevenly, and when he sags back into the couch there is just the hint of a frown between his strong brows.

“And yet…” he says, staring into the flames, voice quiet. “Nights like this. I do sometimes think…”

Hob trails off for a long moment.

“There was a rhythm to life, back then,” he says finally. “You counted hours by the church bells and days by the tasks that needed done. And there was so much that needed to be done… cows milked and fields planted and clothes knitted or mended. And it was all so important, so… necessary. Regimented. But in the in between time – Christ! your time wast thine.” As he speaks, his voice has slipped into an older register: his Rs grown rounder, his vowels longer, curling from his mouth to mingle with the candlesmoke hovering over his coffee table. “I remember fair hours as a lad, even into my manhood, of which I spent lyende in th’ fields, watching ants in th’ grass. And later, too, we’d hie us to bed with the sonne, the fire banked in the hearth. An’ it happen that if we awakened before dawn, ’twas a simple thing to pass the time in simple ways, be it in prayer or in pleasure…”

The innuendo in his words is clear, but Hob is not looking at Dream; his eyes are unfocused as he stares into the middle distance, revisiting the past via candlelight. Until one of the wicks lets out a small pop, and flares, and he shakes himself, coming back to the present.

“God, sorry,” he says, voice back in the 21st century. “Woolgathering. I’ll go on for an age, me. More wine?”

But Dream’s eyes have also gone unfocused, his lips parted slightly, chest rising and falling with unnecessary breaths as he stares – no, gazes – at Hob. He, too, must shake himself into the present moment at Hob’s offer of more wine. He silently holds out his glass.

“May I ask you a personal question?” Dream says.

“Anything. You know that.”

Dream pauses. Sips. Outside, the sound of the wind has not abated; has grown, if anything, even more dramatic. There is the muffled sound of branches scraping against the side of the building.

“Why,” asks Dream finally, “do you pretend to yourself that you do not want me?”

Hob chokes. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Why do you pretend thus to me?” Dream pursues. “Who has known you longer than any being on this planet or any other; who can know your innermost dreams?”

“What do you mean, other planets?” Hob demands. And then: “Have you been peeking at my dreams?”

“I need not peek, as you put it, to see the truth of the matter. It is writ plain on your face and in your every word and deed. I merely wonder why this truth has hovered before us for over six hundred years and you have yet to press your suit. Do you doubt, after all this time, my affection for you? Do you find me – unworthy?”

Dream sounds, impossibly, almost uncertain. Even vulnerable. Hob sighs heavily and leans forward, elbows on his knees and face in his hands.

“I – God. Dream,” he stammers. “Yes, Christ, I am full of doubts. You stormed away from me when I implied you might be lonely, I… I have never, once, thought I had a suit to press at all. What on earth has brought this on? Now, of all times?”

“I do not know,” Dream murmurs. “Perhaps… this darkness is working on me, as well. Perhaps I am as susceptible to candlelight and nostalgia as the next anthropomorphic personification.”

He smiles, a little quirk of the mouth that contains worlds, and Hob leans over, listing helplessly into Dream’s space as the tapers flicker.

“Fuck,” he whispers, pressing their foreheads together, turning his head to butt his cheekbone against the sharp line of Dream’s nose. “Art thou rēal? Speak you treue?”

“Aye, my Hob,” answers Dream. “Min herte is treue and bilongeth to you.”

A sob catches in the back of Hob’s throat at the words. “Fuck,” he whispers again, “Dream, I’m yours. I am. I always have been. My Dream, min sweven, my leof. Alwei, allesweis…”

Their mouths find each other, then, finally, lip against lip and breath against breath. They kiss for a long, long moment, desperate and hungry and soft all at once, as outside the wind howls coldly around the corners of the New Inn, and inside the light cast by Hob’s candles bathes their whole little world in a cozy glow.

“Take me to bed,” murmurs Dream against Hob’s mouth. “Make me your lover. Show me how you pass the time by candlelight, and in darkness.”

“Oh, darling. Dearheart,” Hob answers. “Nothing in this world or any world past could make me happier.”

And he suits his actions to his words.

[alchemistc]

tastes like (he) might be the one

an: So this post made me feel some things and the drabble I started out underneath got wordy enough that I decided not to fully hijack the post.

Tommy is just now realizing has no idea how to prepare a meal.

Evan had told him where the spare key was and Tommy had wanted to do something nice for him but he is a forty year old man with NO concept of how to make a meal.

What do you put in a salad? Kale goes into the bowl and he finds Evan's cheese grater and a Romano wedge, but there's no bread around and Tommy eyes the bag of premade croutons in his pantry with unease before he calls it good.

The caprese is easy, he's made it a million times, a quick snack that reminds him of afternoons on his grandmother's back porch, drinking the thimble of espresso she'd allowed him while she spoke in her heavily accented voice.

He doesn't actually know how to tell Evan he's avoiding gluten without disappointing him, yet, (God he's down bad, the thought of Evan's bright smile faltering a bit like he's disappointed he hadn't thought to ask makes Tommy want to launch himself into the stratosphere) so he throws the pan of lasagne back in the oven on low and just... takes a deep breath.

Evan won't be back for at least another hour, though, and Tommy is fighting the itch to snoop, so he takes a quick glance at the supplies on hand and ends up whipping up the stracciatella recipe his mom had used to make him when he was sick. He's halfway through prepping it when he realizes he's fucking insane, but it's too late now.

The text hits his screen before he can contemplate hiding the evidence of the soup.

Be there in twenty.

So Tommy stirs, and rubs his suddenly sweaty hands on his thighs, and then he stares at the disaster he's made of the kitchen and starts sweeping things into the sink.

Evan, Eddie, everyone always thinks he's so cool, but the reality is that behind closed doors he's a fucking disaster and his head is a jumble of nerves. This is too much. Cohesively, it might make some semblance of sense in the range of 'this is all vaguely italian' but a minestrone would have been better, he just hadn't had the time. This is too much -- too much food, too much effort, too much like ripping open his chest and guiding Evan's hand to wrap around his pumping heart and squeeze.

The locks on the doors tumble open just as Tommy is drying the cutting board, and Evan presses in with a tired smile.

The smile goes wider at the sight of his table, laid out in some semblance of order Tommy doesn't remember, but it had made sense at the time.

Be cool, Kinard, Tommy thinks to himself, but he can't help but melt a little when Evan tosses his keys carelessly to the side board and then slides across the room, no unease in his face as he sidles up, hands curling around Tommy's hips, head tilted in the way Tommy absolutely knows is a flirt, now.

"Hey."

Tommy blinks. He's disarming, unreal, Tommy has known him for barely any time at all but he'd bend over backwards to make that smile stay on Evan's face forever.

"Hi."

Evan's thumbs are playing with his belt loops, and his grin dimples his cheeks, and suddenly he's slightly less alarmed that he'd cobbled together a disaster of a three (four?) course meal like a crazy person.

Tommy wants to hand him his spare key back. He also wants to grab his key ring and add the spare to it, full eye contact going while he tucks it in between the truck key and his own house key. He wants to bite Evan's neck, and tug him into his chest and never let go, he wants -

"Smells good in here. Did you make something? You didn't have to make anything, I would have -."

"I wanted to," he manages, around the blinding flare of Evan's smile.

Tommy is cool as a fucking cucumber. Evan presses his lips to the junction of Tommy's jaw, darts around him before Tommy can reciprocate. Grabs two wine glasses from a cabinet and when Tommy turns to look at the broad expanse of his back, Evan has his head ducked bashfully, and Tommy can see the edges of his grin, the swell of his cheek in profile.

At least he's not alone in this, Jesus.

Evan pours them wine, fingers curling around Tommy's. He stares at the meager offerings on display, and Tommy can see him ticking off serving utensils in his mind. He doesn't say a word about the monstrosity that is a kale and Romano salad (???), just dances around Tommy again, wine glass balanced in his hand, to grab some dressing from the fridge.

"Hey, there are oven mitts in that top drawer, there, can you grab the lasagne? It's gluten free, Chin mentioned something about you avoiding it?"

Tommy contemplates sinking to his knees right there in front of his sad sack salad. Why hadn't he looked for ingredients for the caprese first?

Instead he pulls the lasagne out, lays it out across the wicker hot pads he'd set out earlier. The moment it's securely on the table, Evan presses fully against his back, and Tommy wonders if he should have stopped to get flowers. Or condoms.

Both, probably.

"Did you make me soup?" he asks, lips pressed to the knob of Tommy's spine.

"From what I hear you've had a rough day. Soup always makes a rough day better." He wishes his wine glass was still in his hand, and not next to the oven where he'd left it. He twists to face Evan and Evan gives up zero ground, toe to toe and a delighted little gleam in his eye Tommy knows is going to get him in trouble one day.

"Hi," Evan says, again, and Tommy curls a hand around his hip and drags him half an inch closer.

[rottenpumpkin13]

Feeding off the last Genesis tumblr ask: how does he feel about the fanfiction if he gets to it? Sephgen and otherwise- how does he feel about the way people interpret his character and his relationships?

Genesis either detests anything that misrepresents who he is as a person and puts him in situations he would never place himself in, OR he's lounging after a long day with a glass of wine in one hand (and the E-reader no one can know he owns because he vocally despises them), amused by the fan works people write about him—after all, what's a greater display of adoration than dedicating entire stories to him?

• The funnest reads are reader inserts where he can place himself in the mind of someone else who's in love with him.

• Sephgen fics are tied as a close second, because there's so many of them and he enjoys reading the dirty situations their fans place them in. + he can get a glimpse of what it would be like. Doing the deed with Sephiroth, as if his overactive imagination hasn't created that scene more than once.

• He and Angeal have drunkenly read Gengeal fics together before and they die laughing each time.

• ASGZC fics are his guilty pleasure. What's more entertaining than reading a fanfiction where you and your best friends are one big polycule? Although he has been known to get too into a story and get fiction and reality confused.

Sephiroth: Good morning.

Genesis: Good morning? That's it? No kiss, no loving embrace? Are we in the midst of a lover's quarrel?

Sephiroth: When have I ever kissed you good morning?

Genesis: You did so in chapter 4 of Eternal Embrace.

Sephiroth: Chapter 4 of what?

*Genesis pulls out his phone and shows him the fic*

Sephiroth:

Genesis:

Sephiroth:

Genesis: Are you curious to know more about it?

Sephiroth: I'm curious to know what you're reading that has Breeding, Electrocution and Marriage as the first three tags.

[promptthebear]

I love your writing so much - can I request 🐰 Arron Hotchner for number 13? I hope you are having a good day :)

Aaron Hotchner x Reader- Special kind of honey

Prompt: This is stupid...and kind of fun

Summary: Hotch just got back from a tough case. You've got a nice little homecoming surprise for him. Unfortunately things don't go as planned.

CW: A little bit spicy but not explicit. Some mild swearing. Established relationship between reader and Hotch. Reader has low self esteem. I can't think of anything else that needs to be tagged but please let me know if it does.

A/N: I am so very sorry this took so long and also that it kind of stinks. I really struggled with this prompt but what the hey, I tried.

Aaron wasn’t sure what he’d expected to find, coming home from a case well past midnight but it certainly hadn’t been this. Standing in the doorway of your shared bedroom, gun holster still attached to his belt and briefcase still in hand, it was all he could do to keep his mouth from dropping open as he stared at the display in front of him.

“Babe? What do you think?”

You were spread out on the bed, waiting for Hotch like an all you could eat buffet. The lingerie ensemble you’d chosen was one of his personal favourites, a royal blue chemise and thong set made almost completely out of lace that showed off the very best of your assets while still leaving something to the imagination.

This alone would’ve been a treat, but it was the swirls of golden pigment that decorated your arms, legs and collarbones that caught his attention. You’d seemed to have paid special attention to your inner thighs and breasts, with those two areas sporting the highest concentrations of gold. Each time you moved, the light from the bedside lamp made your skin glitter with an almost magical lustre. You looked inhumanly beautiful, like a piece of living art.

“Babe?”

Hotch opened his mouth to answer you, only to close it again seconds after. The sound of his heart pounding in his ears was making it difficult to think, let alone speak, and the fact that all the blood in his brain was now rushing straight to his cock wasn’t helping matters.

“Sorry, this was a bad idea. Let me get cleaned up and then we can just forget about the whole thing”

Not waiting for a response, you started gathering up pillows and blankets off the bed in a frantic attempt to cover yourself up. It was only when Hotch’s line of sight to your bare skin was interrupted that his few remaining neurons sparked to life.

Cursing softly under his breath, he dropped his briefcase and rushed over, hoping to catch you before you could flee into the bathroom. His fingers missed your wrist by inches, closing around thin air as you scrambled across the bed and slid off on the other side.

“Honey, wait!”

The sound of Hotch’s voice made you pause long enough to allow him time to catch up with you. As soon as you were within reach, he anchored one hand on either side of your hips and pulled your body flush against his. You offered no resistance, coming willingly into Hotch’s familiar embrace even though you kept your gaze trained firmly on the floor.

For a moment, the two of you stood there in silence, save for the sound of your laboured breaths and fluttering hearts. Hotch wondered if you were waiting for him to speak, to offer some kind of explanation for the reaction you’d misread as a rebuff.

Though you worked for the FBI, you weren’t a profiler. You wouldn’t have been looking for micro-expressions or subtle shifts in body language the way he did almost on instinct. At best you’d probably assumed he was too tired after his case for sex and just wanted to go to bed. At worst, you were now thinking he was a complete asshole who no longer found you attractive. Either way he’d dug him self a pretty deep hole and the only way to get out of it was to explain himself , but once again Aaron Hotchner was at a loss for words.

It wasn’t that he didn’t care that you were upset, he cared so much it almost hurt, but that didn’t change the fact that pulling you up against him like this had been a mistake. Because now, instead of coming up with an apology, his brain had become entirely too focused on the subtle brush of your hips against his to think about much else.

“Are you going to let me go, Aaron?” you asked, finally breaking the silence

“That depends,” he replied, his voice a little hoarse “Do you want me to? Or are you just asking because you think it’s what I want to hear?”

You sighed, the sound coming deep from the pit of your stomach, and blew a stray lock of hair out of your eyes. Hotch watched it flutter in the air for a moment, before reaching up with one hand to tuck it behind your ear. You leaned against his palm, some of the tension leaving your expression as you did.

“I missed you.”

A smile played about Aaron’s lips, and he leaned down to plant a soft kiss on your forehead. That wasn’t the answer he was looking for, and he had no doubt you were intentionally avoiding giving him one, but he was too intoxicated by the scent of your shampoo to care. He’d only been gone for a week, and yet he’d spent every day yearning for you like some lovesick teenager. Now that he finally had you in his arms again, he wasn’t about to let that be ruined by a foolish misunderstanding.

“I missed you too, honey. Now, are you going to be honest with me or are you going to make me chase you around the house a little first?”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, as Aaron’s comment brought up memories of wonderful nights past. It would be a lot of fun to squirm free and play the brat for a few hours before finally giving in, but your ego was still too bruised for that. All too quickly the smile fell from your face, and you began to bite anxiously at your bottom lip, a sign that Hotch knew meant you were far more upset than you were letting on.

“Sweetheart? Talk to me, please”

“I just-”

Your voice cracked slightly, and Aaron’s heart almost broke along with it. There was hardly ever a good moment to be a horny idiot, but this one was probably worst than most. You had gone out on a limb for him here, done something spontaneous and outside your comfort zone so he’d have a memorable homecoming. You’d been vulnerable with him and even though he hadn’t intended to, he’d all but thrown it back in your face.

“I…do you think this is stupid?” you continued, pulling back so you could look down at the golden sheen that adorned your skin.

“Well no, considering I’m not entirely sure what this even really is yet.”

“It’s…it’s edible body powder,” you blurted, your cheeks starting to turn pink “Honey dust, to be more specific. Penelope gave it to me. I wanted to…mix things up a bit. Make them exciting for you. I should’ve known you’d think it was dumb and-and vapid and-”

Any further self depreciation vanished the instant Hotch’s tongue touched your skin. It was all you could do to keep your knees from buckling as he licked a stripe up the column of your throat. His mouth was blazingly hot, and if the noises he made were anything to go by, he approved much more than you initially realized. The sensible thing to do now was to let him keep going until he’d licked every inch of you clean and fucked you six ways to Sunday, but unfortunately your brain wasn’t about to let you off that easy.

“Aaron hold on- Aaron, baby- could you please just-”

You had to grab a handful of Hotch’s hair and tug before he finally extracted himself from your neck, grumbling softly under his breath as he did. The way the heady sweetness of the paint combined with the salty tang of your skin was potent. He’d barely gotten a taste, and yet Aaron knew he was ready to get down on his knees and beg if it meant he could have more.

“You’re not stupid”

“I never said-”

Aaron brought a finger up against your lips, gently but effectively silencing you so he could continue. Biting back your annoyance, you let him, your sense of curiosity overcoming your wounded pride.

“Look, you’re welcome to spend all night arguing with me about it if you want, but I also know there’s plenty of other things we’d both rather be doing so I’ll make sure I’m clear about this. You’re. Not. Stupid. You’re brilliant, and gorgeous, and I am so incredibly lucky to have someone like you to come back to every night. ”

You thought about protesting again, putting Hotch in his place and demanding to know why he’d been able to walk in, find you waiting for him as you were and not crack so much as a smile. He was smiling now though, looking like the cat who got the cream while his eyes roamed freely over the golden shimmer that decorated your cleavage and neck. His hands were also doing their fair share of roaming, trailing across the lace of your chemise and slowly working their way lower. It was only when you felt him cup your ass that you relented slightly, letting out a small moan and dropping your forehead against his shoulder.

“Besides,” Aaron’s voice was soft and low in your ear, his breath warm against your skin “You worked so hard to set this all up. The least you could do is let me thank you properly.”

“I like the sound of that,” you replied, offering Hotch a warm smile as you brought your hands up to rest against his chest “Only…”

“Damn it, sweetheart, you’re going to kill me. What is it now?”

You laughed quietly, not even bothering to hide how much you enjoyed working big, mean Aaron Hotchner into a tizzy. If only the other agents at work could see him now.

“You still haven’t told me what you really think.” you said, as one of your fingers started to twirl around the end of his tie “About the honey dust, I mean.”

Aaron groaned, and affectionately rolled his eyes. The fact that you were being stubborn really shouldn’t have surprised him as much as it did.

“You’re still on that? I thought it would be obvious by now. I love it, though I’d love it if you were wearing a brown paper bag.”

At the sight of your furrowed brows and the hard line of your pursed lips, Aaron let out a sigh and gently grabbed hold of one of your wrists.

“Still don’t believe me? Look.”

With that, he pulled your hand down and brought it firmly to rest against his crotch. You gasped softly, feeling what was very clearly a massive hard on straining against the zipper.

“Holy shit,” you breathed, your eyes going so adorably wide Aaron had to fight the urge to smother you with kisses then and there. You’d been together for almost three years now, and somehow you were still oblivious to the effect you had on him.

“See? The reason I didn’t say anything before is because honestly, you had me too turned on to think. If I had been able to come up with anything besides “guh” and some drool, believe me I would’ve.”

For a moment you stood there, stunned and trying to process what Hotch had just said. Then, the laughter came. It bubbled up out of you like a freshly popped bottle of champagne and there just seemed to be no stopping it. Before you knew it, tears were streaming down your cheeks and you were clutching Aaron’s shoulders, trying to stay upright as your body shook with mirth.

He held you through it, his own laughter, rich and warm, soon joining your own. When the two of you were finally able to settle down, you found yourselves sitting on the floor, still holding each other for dear life. Your tears had carved a path through the honey dust on your cheeks, creating dull stripes in between the swaths of gold. Aaron was also covered in the stuff, with most of it on his lips and nose from when he’d had his mouth on you earlier. The sight set you off in a fit of giggles again.

“Oh god, baby, I’m so sorry,” you said, breathlessly between suppressed laughter “What a mess, and the bed’s probably a whole lot worse. This really was a stupid idea.”

You reached up and tried to wipe some of the gold powder off Aaron’s face, but only succeeded in dusting it down onto the lapels of his suit jacket. That didn’t seem to bother him too much though, and he caught your hand before you could pull it away. He pressed a kiss against your palm, deep and reverent, before licking up the tender skin on the inside of your wrist. You shivered with pleasure in response, and let out a soft moan.

“This is stupid,” Aaron agreed, moving to stand and gently tugging you to your feet as he did “And also kind of fun. Besides, we can always do laundry later and after the week I just had, frankly I could use a little fun.”

You gave Hotch a sympathetic smile, and allowed yourself to be lead towards the bed without any further resistance. Sure enough, you could see gold dust coating your navy sheets and comforter, most of it concentrated in an outline of where you’d been laying. Aaron shook his head fondly at the sight, before scooping you up in his arms and laying you out like you’d been when he’d walked in earlier.

As soon as your back hit the bed, you reached for Hotch, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a searing kiss. He lent into it eagerly, letting out a hum of appreciation as he felt your tongue brush against his lips. This was your first taste of the honey dust, and right away you understood the appeal. It was sweet. but not over powering, a nice little addition to Aaron’s already delectable kisses. With any luck, you’d be able to talk him into letting you cover him with it later on. The bottle said it could be put anywhere on the body, which had given you more than a few ideas you wanted to try out.

Despite the rough start, it seemed like the evening was heading towards a much more pleasant end. However, instead of climbing into bed and straddling you like you’d expected, Aaron suddenly broke off the kiss. Your eyes flew open and you propped yourself up on one elbow, watching has he turned away to walk back towards the bedroom door. His absence was already felt, your lips and body now caressed by the cold air instead.

“Aaron? Sweetheart?” you called out after him, trying to keep your voice calm “What are you doing?”

“Call it a do over,” he replied, flashing you a wide grin over his shoulder as he reached for the doorknob “An enthusiastic welcome deserves an enthusiastic reception.”

[reinedeslys-central]

more!! again!! for the nico after blood of olympus fic!! actually I thought of this while writing the last one but I just finished it.

His elbows buckle and he lets himself fall into Will, snorting at his theatrical groan under the weight. They lay there for a second until Will shoves him gently, and Nico lets him manoeuvre them into a more comfortable position.

"Hi," he whispers, moving a curl away from his cheek. The greenish tint of the loft window casts a weird shadow over Will's face.

"Hey yourself," Will murmurs back, winking.

Nico rolls his eyes. "You look like Apollo when you do that. Please stop." Will squawks in protest.

"I do not! Also, since when do you remember what Apollo looks like? Actually, no, don't answer that, you can't bring up my dad while we're in bed, Nico, why would you do this to me?"

Now it's Nico's turn to sputter and whack Will in the chest - getting another dramatic oof and a laugh in return - before turning around to face Hazel's bed. He's not sure when he'll ever be able to sleep facing the wall. Will can't do it either.

As Will's arms curl around his waist and draw him back against him, just like they did back in the infirmary that one day, he thinks maybe he'd be okay trying that with him sometime. One day, in a house with gates, no longer wary of monsters.

Will noses the back of his neck, causing him to twitch. "What is it?"

Will's answering smile presses through the rough cotton of his t-shirt. "Nothing, sunshine."

Nico frowns under the covers. "Hey, what do you think of houses with gates?" He whispers.

"Gates? Well, it'd be safer, I guess, but we'd lose the neighbours coming over -"

"As if you want to see random people at the door anyway. What if they're monsters?"

"Oh, come on, darlin', I'm from Austin. Of course I gotta keep space for the neighbours to come knocking."

"…Fences? Actually, hey, why'd you assume I was talking about us? Obviously - Obviously I was talking about random. Random houses. For architecture reasons."

Will muffles his laugh into the back of his neck, again. "Oh, my bad. And I'm only here because you ripped a stitch on the lava wall yesterday."

Nico feels his ears warm.

"Shut up."

"I didn't say anything."

"..Still."

Will reels him in closer until his back hits his chest and he can press a soft peck to Nico's still-red ears. "I think a fence is a great idea, by the way. We could ask Hazel for help with some ward stones too, like you have in the cabin. Gotta make sure we've got at least one window and standing space in every direction, though, or at least in the east, because you know my dad would sulk if he didn't get to scream me awake in the morning."

Nico's blush gets worse.

"Now who's talking about your dad in bed?" He gives up on pretending. Will sees him through every time, anyway. "Also, shrines, obviously, and we need a spot to stargaze."

"Yeah, shrines, obviously. Maybe just yours, mine, and Lady Hestia's though, or else everyone else is gonna get pissy."

Nico barks out a laugh like it's shocked out of him. "Pissy? Don't let them hear you say that."

Will holds him tighter and settles against the pillows. "Sure thing, sunshine. Now can we sleep?"

"Yeah, yeah."

It's not long after that that Will's breath evens out behind him, his muscles untensing. Nico knows he's got a few minutes yet, so he thinks.

Today was…. good.

Today was nice. Normal, even. Just a day of camp schedules, working in the infirmary, an admittedly short campfire, and this. No monsters, and no mistakes. No deaths, but..

Unbidden, the moments in the infirmary come to mind. He thinks of helping Will scrub in for his one surgery of the day, a kid that had gotten parts of an arrow stuck in their leg a week ago and hadn't noticed til yesterday. He thinks of yesterday during capture-the-flag, stepping in and desperately trying to copy what he'd watched Will do, because Lydia was hanging crooked from a tree and there was no one else around but him-

He thinks of Patroclus tying the straps of Achilles' armour, watching his lover sleep peacefully. He thinks of what Connor had told him about at the campfire weeks ago, of Silena Beauregard taking on a drakon when Clarisse declared the Ares Cabin wouldn't be fighting.

He thinks he might understand.

Lydia wasn't the same (thank the gods), but if there was something to be done that only Will could do right, yet couldn't, and the only way Nico could take up his mantle would be to die trying - then, yeah. He'd do whatever it would take for these kids. To do what Will would do. He's gone to Tartarus already, hasn't he? At worst, he'd try his best and greet his father early if he failed to survive. Nico could even give Charon a tip on the way in for the hell of it, why not?

If there is a luxury that comes from being a child of Hades, after all, it is that dying is not the thing that scares him.

There's a brazier still lit outside the window. Its glow falls in slits across their bed.

Will grumbles, pushing his feet forward until their ankles are wound together. The sheets shift.

Nico smiles into the dark, into the chirping of crickets and the soft glow of the fireflies out the window, and falls asleep.

more for this fic:

scene 0 - prologue-ish scene 1 - the library of social awkwardness or here (or in my heart, 'kidney function is not a right, it's a privilege' lol)

general writing directory

also lmk if you want more lore. I am so down to talk about this fic + the worldbuilding ideas I have for it in the notes it is unreal

[silent-sanctum]

Yes, listening to jotaro cover rock is cool and superb

But ever wanted to know how our gruff, stoic, secretly-soft marine biologist would sing a slow, romantic ballad for his s/o?

Now you can!

[sunsetsandsunshine]

~ 𝙲𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛, 𝚙𝚞𝚖𝚙𝚔𝚒𝚗 𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛 ~

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝚆𝙰𝚂𝚂𝚄𝙿 𝚈’𝙰𝙻𝙻 🔥⁉️ 𝙵𝙸𝙽𝙰𝙻𝙻𝚈 𝙱𝙰𝙲𝙺 𝙸𝙽 𝙱𝚄𝙸𝚂𝙽𝙴𝚂𝚂 𝚃𝙾 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚁𝚃 𝚆𝚁𝙸𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙰𝙶𝙰𝙸𝙽— 𝙴𝚇𝙿𝙴𝙲𝚃 𝙰 𝙻𝙾𝚃𝚃𝚃𝚃 𝙾𝙵 𝙵𝙸𝙲𝚂 𝙱𝙲 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙼𝙰𝚃𝙷 𝙸𝚂 𝙼𝙰𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚁𝙽˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎: 𝙵𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜: 𝟻,𝟽𝟶𝟿

𝙻𝚎𝚎: 𝙼𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚢 🐢🧡 (𝚂𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚁𝚊𝚙𝚑 🐢❤️)

𝙻𝚎𝚛: 𝚁𝚊𝚙𝚑 🐢❤️ (𝚂𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝙼𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚢 🐢🧡)

𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝙼𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚢 𝚒𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚋𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚍, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚘𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚜, 𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚝 𝚁𝚊𝚙𝚑’𝚜 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚋𝚕𝚎𝚖.

(𝙰/𝙽: 𝚃*𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝙳𝙽𝙸 𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜— 𝚢’𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚗𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚢 <𝟹)

𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚜 𝚋𝚌 𝚠𝚑𝚢 𝚗𝚘𝚝: @tiggleebug @tmnt-th1ngs @creativecutie

@veryblushyswitch @snugglyfluffle @kanene-yaaay

@someone1348 @vxlepop @what-youd-expect

@ziipzeepzop-eez @my-l0v3r-v3rse @skye-minecraftyt-blog

@augonot @soft--dragon @titters-and-tingles

𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐— 𝚒𝚏 𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚓𝚊𝚖, 𝚙𝚕𝚣 𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 ❤️🧡

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝙷𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢!˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

“No.”

“But Raph—”

“No.”

“But Raphie—”

“No.”

“But—”

“I literally just said no, Mikey.”

“But Raaaaaaphhhh, I’m bored!” The youngest groaned, flopping onto the second oldest’s bed dramatically. The second oldest in question raised an unamused brow, looking up from his comic where his little brother laid in front of him. The red banded turtle sighed, going back to reading his novel calmly and ignoring the younger turtle completely. 

Now, if you couldn’t tell by Mikey’s whole demeanor, or the fact that he just stated so…he was bored. VERY bored. EXTREMELY bored. 

TREMENDOUSLY bored if you will.

And if the youngest was bored, you’d best believe you’d hear him complaining all day in and all day out until he found something to occupy himself with. And Raph? Well, the young teen personally did not have the time nor patience to deal with all of that today. 

Or any day really.

“For the millionth time, Mike— I’m busy. Go bother Don or somethin'.” The hot-head grumbled, flipping through the pages of the comic book he was currently reading. The other rolled his eyes, turning his head to his older brother, “Don’t you think I already did that?” Raph chuckled at the statement. “Oh really? And how’d that go?”

“He threw a beaker at me…but I think it had acid in it—“

Raph visibly shuddered, “Okie-dokie then. Another reason for you to get out of my room. Buh-bye. Sayonara. Thanks for stopping by. Adios amigo.” He demanded, pushing Mikey’s face with his foot but the youngest stubbornly stood his ground. He pushed back with his head until the other eventually gave up, throwing his comic book at him in frustration. 

Mikey got up from the bed, annoyingly whining again.

“Just do an activity with me or something…! He huffed, shaking Raph by the shoulders back and forth. “I can show you the way out of my room! That can be an activity we can do together!” The red banded teen smiled with a fake sweet tone, which only caused the other’s frown to deepen. 

“I’ll never ask you for anything ever agaiiiiinnn! Just do something with meeee! Pleeaseee?!” Raph had to bite back a grin when he heard that bargain. In the next 5 minutes, Mikey would probably ask him to do the hokey-pokey or some shit like that. The second oldest let out a long yet playful sigh, rubbing his temples before crossing his arms. “Fine fine…what do you wanna do?” 

The youngest blinked, rubbing the back of his head and looking away for a bit. Well…Raph was surprisingly easy to convince today. It usually took him a solid 2 hours and 30 minutes (he’s counted) until he cracked. Usually 1 hour and 15 minutes on a good day…

“That’s…a very good question…I’ll get back to you on that…” The smaller turtle muttered. Raph tilted his head in complete and utter disbelief. “You came in here harassing me for, like, an hour straight talking about how you wanna spend time with me and now you don’t even know what you wanna do?!”

“I’m thinking, okay?! Don’t get your tits in a twist!” Mikey huffed at his older brother. 

“Don’t get my what in a what???”

The youngest then suddenly snapped his fingers, smiling brightly and turning to the second oldest, “We should play a video game!”

“Like…Fall Guys or something? Dude, I’ve beat you anytime we’ve played two player. Just accept your many MANY losses.” The green eyed mutant teased, laughing at the offended expression Mikey was giving him now.

“I think you might have hit your head a bit too hard when we came from the ooze, my dear friend. Because I clearly remember you losing when we were playing last weekend.” The orange banded teen challenged, sticking his tongue out at Raph who only scoffed in amusement, resting his hand on his hip. 

“I was being a good big brother and let you win.” He retorted. Mikey rolled his eyes, knowing full damn well Raph just sucked absolute ass and didn’t want to admit it. “Yeah yeah, whatever. But, no. I have an even better thing in mind. And it’s a board game.”

A pause.

“…so are you gonna tell me what the board game is?” Raph asked impatiently. 

“I’m pausing for emphasis! I request a drumroll, please.” 

…oh for the love of…

Raph sighed, drumming his hands on his bed for a couple seconds before stopping, waiting for Mikey to tell him the name of this soooo special game that he couldn’t just tell him already.

Because emphasis or whatever.

“Twister!” Mikey smiled, clapping his hands excitedly. “Twister.” Raph repeated, his eye-ridges (is that what they’re called—? Idk…) raising in surprise as he scratched the top of his head confused. “Why Twister of all things? We haven’t played that game since we were, like, 7.”

The blue-eyed mutant shrugged, leaning against his big brother’s beside and lazily checking his nails. “Eh. No reason. Just what first came to mind. What? Afraid you’ll lose, Raphie boy~?” He smirked, looking up at the taller green eyed mutant who only chuckled at his taunt. 

“Oh please. That game is so easy I could play it in my sleep.” He smirked, looking down at Mikey who only had a satisfied grin plastered on his face.

Raph was lying— lying right through his teeth in fact. He wasn’t good at Twister— he wasn’t even semi-good. He didn’t even qualify anywhere near semi-good when it came to Twister. Raph wasn’t the most…flexible turtle of the bunch, which made it hard to do some, if not most of the poses Twister had conjured up for you. 

And usually, he wouldn’t care so much about losing a game. Heck, it was Twister for crying out loud. But Raphael grew up with a family of competitors.

And so, he was competitive. Very competitive.

He didn’t like to lose— in fact, he hated losing. He’d rather beat up Kraang droids all day than lose. 

Well…he’d beat up Kraang droids any day but that’s beside the point! 

Point was, he absolutely sucked at Twister, period. And personally? It wouldn’t be so bad if he was going against Leo, heck— even Casey Goongala Jones himself would be a better opponent than Mikey.

If Mikey won (which he always did), he would make sure you knew all day in and all day out that he beat you. It was annoying as hell and that would only fuel Mikey more into reminding you that you lost against him. 

And like stated before…Raph did not like losing. He didn’t like it one bit. 

The elder straightened up his slouched posture, extending his hand to do a hand shake, which the youngest gladly accepted. “I accept your offer. But don’t be disappointed when I completely annihilate you.”  

“We’ll see about that.” Mikey chirped, grabbing Raph’s arm and almost soaring out of the room with him. 

Aaaaand so that’s where the two were now; spreading the well known dotted mat onto the floor carefully in front of the TV. The two spun a couple times already, the positions that were being requested weren’t hard. At first…just subtle movements here and there. Until Raph had his whole arm underneath Mikey and Mikey had his whole arm under Raph’s…

And by 12 turn’s, they were intertwining each other like a bunch of yarn. Raph, surprisingly, was doing really well. His stance being something along the lines of a downwards dog and a corpse pose— if that makes sense. Which it doesn’t. Because it’s Twister. Twister doesn’t make any sense in the slightest. 

Mikey on the other hand, was not doing so hot. His stance was just basically the Family Guy dead pose but just slightly standing. With every spin of that darn evil plastic wheel, the younger teen seemed to be getting more and more difficult adjustments, while Raph barely had to move a finger. Or…limb in this case. 

The turtle gods were on his big brother’s side today and Mikey was not having it. 

“Doing alright, bro?” The hot-head smugly asked, his voice a little strained due to the odd positing but a teasing grin was on his face nonetheless. “You’re shaking a bit there…” He mused at his little brother, whose limbs were shaking like a bunch of conjoined jello conjoined.

The smaller mutant then fixed his footing, not shaking anymore as he looked up at Raph, smirking smugly right back at him. “Oh I’m fine, big bro. Just. Fine.” The orange banded turtle gritted out.

Now, Mikey wasn’t going to lie, but this whole Twister thing was starting to not seem like such a good idea. His older brother was a complete abomination when it came to Twister! But apparently, he seemed like he was getting every single easy position, and he was doing a pretty decent job at it— and Raph…Raphael has NEVER done decent! 

Mikey, on the other hand, was struggling. He might as well become the actual mascot for the game or something because his arms and legs were getting twisted like actual Twizzlers. It’s probably not even normal for his body to twist like this, but hey! He’s not losing and that’s all that matters, right? 

But he couldn’t keep this act on forever. He was going to fall sooner or later if he didn’t do something fast. 

The younger tried to move to spin the wheel but almost fell in the process; catching himself at the last second. “Yeah…I won’t be able to reach it…” The elder hummed in acknowledgement, also attempting to spin the wheel but ultimately failing as well.

Conveniently, a couple seconds later, the eldest turtle of the four quadruplets walked out of his room, walking into the lounge area where the two were playing Twister. Leo looked the two up and down before sighing, rubbing his face tiredly.

“It’s too early for this…” He grumbled, going to the kitchen to refill his tea cup. Raph and Mikey shared a confused glance with each other, before looking at the other turtle with even more confusion.

“It’s 4 in the afternoon…” The youngest giggled. Leo turned around, glaring at the both of them. And if looks could kill…Mikey would’ve been nothing but a bare shell.

“Yeah. And my statement still stands. It’s too early for this…” The blue banded turtle repeated, taking a sip of a now full tea cup. “Now. If you’ll excuse me, I have to go read some Captain Ryan x reader fanfiction…” He grumbled with the most deadpanned face and voice ever, but you could tell by the sparkle in his eyes that he was genuinely excited.

The young leader was probably too tired to acknowledge what he just said…oh well. More blackmail for Mikey then.

“Leo, wait! We need you to spin the spinny thingie!” The second oldest yelled in impatience. This stance was starting to hurt like shell! And losing is not an option here!

Leo turned around, looking his brother up and down again before sipping his tea again. “Do it yourself.” 

“I can’t, wise guy! The spinny whatchamacallit is all the way over there! If I try to spin it, I’ll lose!” Raph explained which only resulted in Leo blinking once before rolling his eyes.

“Then lose.” And with that, the young leader walked to his room, chuckling a bit to himself as he closed his door. “Smug bastard…” The red banded turtle grumbled under his breath.

After a few moments of thinking, Mikey decided he needed to do something to try and get an advantage in this game. That’s when he reached up with one hand and jabbed Raph in the side lightly.

The elder flinched violently, drawing out a surprised and loud shriek, but stubbornly staying in the same position he was before. The second oldest glared at his younger brother, who had the most innocent smile plastered on his face.

“Michelangelo. Hamato.” He warned, his glare hardening. “Poke me again and see what happens.” He said threateningly, which only caused the younger in question to innocently bat his eyes at him, continuously poking around his side.

“Mihihike— shihihit!” Raph cursed, trying to squirm out of reach of the poking with the little room he had. Mikey continued to tickle him, now moving his fingers to scribble on his stomach, which obviously made Raph shriek louder.

“MIHIHIKEY!” 

“Aw…there’s that smile!” The youngest grinned. And finally, to the smaller turtle’s delight, the older fell down on his shell, officially concluding the game and granting Mikey his 100% hard earned victory. 

“I won!” The menace giggled, doing a small little victory dance on the mat before he made eye contact with Raph— who looked like he was ready to KILL.

Victory dance over. Victory dance WAY WAY over. 

The younger got up almost immediately, quickly backing away as the other turtle scaringly followed right behind him. “W-Wait wahait…dude, bro, my man…we can talk about this! We can talk this out like the civilized mature mutants we are! There’s noho need to doohoo anything drahastic…” He rambled, taking multiple upon multiple steps back as Raph inched closer and closer towards him, game obviously loooong forgotten at this point.

The elder cracked his knuckles, an evil smirk spreading across his face almost like a wildfire. And that, ladies and gentleman, was enough evidence for Mikey to know that he was absolutely in for it.

The youngest bolted for Donnie’s lab, running as fast as his little legs could carry him, only to be hoisted onto his big brother’s shoulder as the red banded turtle walked back to the lounge area.

Nervous giggles escaped Mikey’s mouth as he tried to get out of his older brother’s grip, squirming, pushing, kicking— basically all the things he could do in this oh-so-horrible-situation-that-he-definitely-did-not-plan-out-what-so-ever!

Raph put Mikey on the ground, sitting on his legs. “Mihike, I haven’t even done anything yet...” He commented at the squirmy giggly mess that was his youngest brother. Mikey snickered, a small blush creeping to his face. “Shuhut it!“ He squeaked as he felt three fingers on his sides, not moving but just resting there in anticipation. 

The youngest helplessly held the taller turtle’s wrists, shaking his head back and forth while sputtering out giggly pleases as his eyes were closed shut. “What’s gotten you so giggly?” Raph asked innocently, smirking down at his baby brother who was currently losing his mind.

“Just gehehet it oveheher wihith already!” He giggled desperately. If getting absolutely wrecked wasn’t gonna kill him…then the anticipation definitely would.

“Get whahat over with, Mike? I genuinely have no idea what you’re talking about…” The orange banded turtle lightly smacked at Raph’s arm, loving and hating every single second of this. Mikey looked to the side, hiding his head in his shell a tiny bit out of embarrassment. 

“Is there…something specific you’re talking about? Something oh-so embarrassing that you apparently can’t even say it out loud?” Raph grinned, his fingers clamping lightly on his sides as the other giggly whined in annoyance and desperation. 

“Will yohou plehease juhust tihihickle me already???” The smallest turtle squeaked; the last part barely audible to the turtle ear and of course Raph felt the need to comment on it. 

“Hm? What was that~? I couldn’t quite hear you…” He smirked, his fingers twitching against the other’s sides. 

“Rahaph!!”

“You gotta speak louder, bud. I can hardly hear you.”

“Rahahaphie plehease!”

“Well since you asked so nicely…” Raphael smiled, starting to actually tickle Mikey’s sides now.

“You know, you could have just…told me you wanted me to tickle you, instead of doing the whole ‘let’s play Twister’ bullshit.” The taller turtle stated calmly, only causing Mikey’s blush to deepen. 

Was he seriously that easy to read? Well that’s embarrassing…he honestly thought he had his older brother fooled with the whole ‘Let’s play Twister bullshit.’

Random fun fact, one of the best and worst things about being tickled by Raph was that he could just casually say the t-word as if it was an everyday word as you can see.

Well…in retrospect it is an everyday word.

But it’s a very embarrassing everyday word.

A very VERY embarrassing everyday word.

And you best believe he always used it as an advantage to gain the upper hand in every situation. Whether he was tickling one of his brothers or not…you bet he would randomly use it in a sentence.

“Literally what are you talking aboHOUT?” Mikey screeched as Raph prodded and poked his lower ribs. “Oh, don’t play dumb. You know exactly what I mean.” The second oldest smirked. “Playing duhumb is not my forte— thahat was yohou duhuhuring Twister.” Mikey managed to giggle out.

Raph sent daggers to Mikey as he pinned one of his hands to the carpeted floor, digging his free hand into his exposed underarm. 

The blue eyed mutant automatically squawked at the sudden sensation, trying desperately to pull his arm back down. The other let out a satisfied huff from the noise, “You were saying~?”

 “ScREHEHEW YOHOU!” He squawked. Raph flinched slightly at the turtle belle’s sudden yell but chuckled at it nonetheless. Oh this is gonna be so so easy…

Mikey’s feet helplessly kicked behind Raph, his legs going up into the air every so slightly every now and again. “Your gonna break the sound barrier with all that screaming, baby brother...” Raph commented.

“But, you okay? You’re voice raised a bit there…” He asked as he heard Mikey’s laughter spike up suddenly. The youngest wiped a couple happy tears from his eyes, giggling still. “Yeah, yeah…I’m okay…”

Raph nodded at the response, rubbing some of the ghost tickles away before going back to tickling him, now squeezing his hip area.

The freckled turtle’s eyes completely shot out of his sockets as and of course his big brother had to make a smart remark.

“Uh oh…did I happen to find a bad spot?” Raph smirked, raising a brow as the younger shook his head back and forth. “NOHO! NAHAT THEHERE! RAHAPH! PLEHEASE!” The teenager cackled loudly, grabbing the other’s wrists but making no attempt to push them away of course.

“Not there?? Whaddya mean not there~? You mean right…here?” Raph giggled, “Right here? Is this a bad spot, Mike?” He questioned innocently.

“RAHAPH *squeak* PLEHEASE!” Mikey squealed. “Please what? I can’t understand you because of my little brother’s mouse squeaks. Sorry man…” Raph said as he dramatically wiped a tear from his eye, before going back to tickling Mikey’s hip area.

“SHUHU— *squeak* SHUHUT UHUP!”

At times like this, you would not question the fact that Mikey’s Dad is a 6'2 rat mutant. Just listening to his laugh you could hear the resemblance.

“My gahaHAHASH! JuhUST STAHAP!” He whined throughout his laughter as Raph continued to knead his hip bones, causing Mikey’s laughter to rise in volume tremendously now and again.

The youngest arched his back with a loud squeal, pushing on his older brother’s wrists again as he tried to turn himself so his shell was facing upward.

“Now where do you think your goin'?” Raph snickered, now using both his hands to tickle Mikey’s underarms now, instead of just tickling one.

“WAHAHAIT! WAHA— *squeal* WAHAIT! IHIHIT TIHI— *squeak* NAHAHAH!” The youngest stammered through his laughter, his bandana long gone off of his face due to how much he was squirming around.

“It tickles? Ya don’t say.” Raph deadpanned, snickering at the small squeal the turtle below him let out after the comment. “Can Dr. Name-Einstein not take what he dishes out~?” He continued, digging deeper in Mikey’s underarms.

“Tickle tickle tickle~!”

“NoHOH—!”

“Tickle tickle~! Kitchie kitchie coo~!”

“SHUHUT— *squeak* SHUHUT YOUR MOHOUTH!”

“Aww…well, that’s not very nice, now is it?” The green eyed teen fake pouted, continuing to tickle Mikey’s underarms, but slipping his hands out every now and again to poke the other’s neck lightly before going back in.

“Ahh tkltkltkl….ahh tkltkltkl— what? I’m abbreviating it for you because you hate that word soooo much, see? Ahh tkltkltkl…”

“IHI’M GOHONNA MUHUHURDER YOHOU!” The youngest shrieked, banging his heels on the floor in a futile attempt to escape his big brother’s VERY mean comments. “Oh yeah? You and with what hands, little man~?” Raph grinned, grabbing both of Mikey’s wrists to put above his head, scribbling all over his stomach.

Mikey’s hyena cackling only raised in volume after that. Raph evil laughed at the reaction, chuckling to himself as he tickled the younger to pieces.

“Woah. I think I hit the jackpot…what do you think, Mike?”

Mikey squeaked.

“Yeah, I think so too.”

Behind all the evil laughing and teasing, Raph took glances at his baby brother’s face every now and again to make sure that he was actually enjoying himself; and that he wasn’t uncomfortable in any way.

…And before you even think of calling him a softie for thinking this, being a softie and being caring are two completely different things.

Don’t get them twisted.

Anyways, even if Raph never openly says so or displays so…he genuinely cares about his brothers, and if he ever hurt them in any way, physically or mentally…just know that he’s taking that with him to the grave. No further questions asked.

Unfortunately for the youngest, this didn’t mean Raph would be merciful while tickling him in any way, shape, or form right now…

But Raph didn’t want his baby brother’s voice disappearing all the way to Timbuktu, so stopping right now would suffice.

The older turtle ceased his tickling onslaught, crossing his arms across his plastron to glance at the flustered and oh-so giggly mess he created.

“Yohou…suhuck…” The maskless turtle giggled, refusing to look at his big brother who just snickered at the purely adorable behavior.

“Yohou okay?” The elder turtle asked, “Like seriously, I didn’t hurt you or anything, right?” He asked genuinely. And now wasn’t that sweet? Asking if someone was okay after almost committing a first degree murder to said person. Yeah. Reeeeaaal sweet alright.

“Mhm…yeah I’m okahay…” He nodded, sitting up slightly to look for his mask that flew over to who knows where.

”I don’t remember your stomach being that ticklish, Mike.” Raph teased, snickering softly at his comment which Mikey only rolled his eyes to. “Whehell, my neck isn’t embarrassingly sehensitive. Especially the bahahack ohof ihihit. I don’t thihink yohou can relate, but I’m juhust putting thahat out there…”

…Remember how I said Raph loved his brother very dearly? Well…forget it. Stopping right now would not suffice. It would do anything but suffice.

The hot-head simply gave his little brother a look that would be known as the look of ‘You are getting your shell HANDED to you.’ Now Leonardo was the turtle who invented this scary yet effective gaze (because of course he did…)

And so naturally, the look got passed down to Raph. Then to Donnie. And even Splinter found a way how to.

The youngest on the other hand, never really had any reason to learn the look, as he had wonderful looks of his own. Obviously.

But now…he was kinda wishing he did, so that the look didn’t look so scary (see what I did there? I’m hilarious, I know)

“I-Ihi’m sohorry?” Mikey giggled out meekly, immediately going to grab Raph’s wrists again for, like, the hundredth time in the past hour.

Sometimes it’s best to keep your comments to yourself…even if you are spitting straight up facts…

“Oho you will be sorry.” The elder effortlessly grabbed his baby brother’s wrists, slowly bringing his head down towards the other’s stomach. Mikey kicked his knees into Raph’s shell, hoping to at least faze him, but all his attempts to stop his brother were in vain as the other took in a deep breath and lowered his head at an agonizingly slow pace to his plastron...

“W-WAHAIT! RAHAH— *squeal* PLEHEASE!!!” However, even if you’re a strong, cool and fast mutant like Mikey himself here, you would never be able to go up against the power of an older sibling in a tickle fight (a very one-sided tickle fight but a tickle fight nonetheless…)

Raph had to stop to chuckle at the wriggly mess that was his baby brother— the dude was wriggling and giggling like he planted some drug in him! And he hasn’t even done anything to him!

Yet, anyway…

“SHUHUT UP! STAHAP LAHAUGHING AHAT MEEHEE!” The youngest screeched as he felt his mind going on an anticipatory rollercoaster, thrashing in his big brother’s hold which he knew he was never getting out of. Well…acceptance is the first step to anything right?

“PLEHEASE! IHI’M— *squeak* SOHORRY!” Mikey cried, now frantically trying to get out of the hold. Screw acceptance. Mikey didn’t want to see heaven’s gates early. And besides, he has a slice of pizza in the fridge that he’s been dying to eat. So dying right here, right now, isn’t an option.

Raph hummed in amusement, “Oho yeheah? Where were all these apologizes when you made me lose in Twister?” Mikey giggled, “Ihit’s nahat MYHY fault YOHOU suhuck at gahames! Ehespecially board games. Ahahand video gahames…dohoo I have to go ohon?”

Raph was shocked as he was impressed. The pure nerve of this teen. Mikey definitely got that attitude from him…that’s for sure. “Okahay that’s it. No more mister nice turtle…”

“Sihince whEHEN were yOHOU NIHICE?”

Instead of making another sassy remark back, Raph tightened the grip of his hands on Mikey’s wrists slightly, lowering his head to his little brother’s stomach and taking a huge breath…

“RAHAPH— nohoHO— WAHAIT! RAHaph dUHUDE PLEHEASE!” Mikey rambled through his laughter, shaking his head back and forth with his eyes shut. Oh…this was gonna tickle so freaking bad. Maybe instead of provoking Raph he should of just tickled himself— because Michelangelo would not come out of the lounge area ALIVE after this. 

With one last evil chuckle, the elder lowered his head to the center of Mikey’s plastron and…well, let’s just say all of New York City presumably heard the high-pitched shriek that ascended out of the youngest’s mouth.

Raph was mean. He was the definition of mean. He might as well be cast as the next Regina George if Mean Girls gets another reboot because this. was. mean.

Because not only was this smug dunderhead blowing raspberries on his stomach without barely taking any breath’s (kinda impressive honestly), but he also was using one hand to squeeze directly on Mikey’s knee.

Evil. Pure evil.

And you would think that it was pretty nice of Raph to let one of his hands go so he could at least attempt to escape, right? Well the youngest’s free hand was too busy happy stimming in order to do said task…so he’s kinda-sorta-maybe-possibly stuck

“I don’t remember you being this sensitive to raspberries when we were little…” The elder teen commented in between his breaths. Because…honestly. Did Donnie make Mikey one of his nerd concoctions to make the youngest embarrassingly ticklish or has he always been like this? Because there’s no way he should be giggling and wriggling this much.

“IHIT’S NAHAT MY FAHAULT!” And it wasn’t! It’s not Mikey’s fault he’s a literal walking talking tickle spot! Besides, you haven’t met walking talking tickle spot until you’ve met Leo.

“It tickles that bad, huh?” Raph laughed at the inhuman screeches coming from the teen below him. “SHUHUT— *squeak* SHUHUT UHUHAHAHA—!” The youngest cackled loudly, still kicking Raph at the back of his shell with his knees.

Now, was kicking Raph in the shell going to do him any favors in the long run? Most likely not. He’s still getting tickled to pieces and no matter how much he bucked, wriggled, writhed, or squirmed from side to side, Raph’s grip would remain the same until he felt like letting go. His hold was scaringingly better than his nunchucks— and that’s saying a LOT. 

The smaller turtle just helplessly kicked behind him, just laying there and laughing his heart out. Raph took a glance at his younger brother and his snarky, evil smirk turned into a fond smile, he shook his head, laughing to himself. 

“Y'know…Leo is just a couple steps away. I’m sure he’d loooove helping me turn you into a more giggly puddle than you already are…”

“NAHAH— *squeal* DAHA— DOHOHON’T—!”

“Or…what if I got Donnie? I bet he has some tools that would help me…”

“NOHOH—!”

“What about Dad? I’m positive he would just record the whole thing and coo you all day long about you’re adorable giggles—”

“RAHAPHIE!!!” Mikey screeched, kicking Raph in the shell extra hard this time which only made the elder huff out a laugh in amusement.

“OW! Okay okahay! No need to shout!” He chuckled, getting off of the other turtle and helping him up. Raph sat down on the couch, soon followed by Michelangelo who dramatically collapsed into his lap.

He giggled tiredly, sitting up and flopping on the other’s plastron. The elder laughed at the theatrical gesture, rubbing his shell comfortingly. “You okay, bud?” 

“Nohoho. I’m lihihiterally dying.” Mikey giggled tiredly. Raph hummed in acknowledgment, resting his chin on Mikey’s left shoulder, causing the youngest to let out a subtle squeak.

The two made eye contact as Raph’s signature smirk spread across his face again.

“Huh. Which reminds me…” The elder turtle mused, wrapping Mikey in a hug with his one arm while the other was free. He shook his head, anticipatory giggles pouring out of his mouth more than ever before. “Raphie— Rahaphie nohoho don’t you dahare!”

Now, you’re probably wondering why Mikey is freaking out so much right now…let me explain.

As you know, Mikey has freckles. A lot of freckles. It was something he’s always been insecure about ever since he was a turtle tot. He used to absolutely loathe his freckles with a burning passion…and he tried to keep that fact a secret.

But sadly, when you live with 3 other brothers and you’re the youngest, there’s no such thing as secrecy.

The brothers had this whole talk about how his freckles made him, well, him. How it signified his uniqueness, adorableness, and blah blah blah sappy stuff. And that talk actually made Mikey love his freckles a lot…which he really needed.

Point being, his older brother’s created this game where they would count and poke how many freckles he had— because he had a whole LOT and they wanted to point out each adorable individual one; his freckles mainly being on his shoulders, face and neck.

But the thing was, the pokes to said spots tickled. A lot. Mikey was able to hide his reactions at first, but then a squeak went to a squeal, and a squeal went to a giggle…if you catch my drift.

And ever since then, it’s been a friendly competition on who could poke and count the most freckles on his face without him squirming out of reach (the highest score was 23 by the one and only Donatello).

“Hm. I forgot how many freckles you have…did you get any more? Seems like you got more…” Raph hummed again.

“NohOH I diHID NAHAT—”

“I think I should check just to make sure…” And with that, the poking and counting began…or as Mikey likes to call it: his complete and utter demise.

Speaking of which, Mikey might be competing with Leo for the Most Ticklish Turtle award because these pokes to his shoulders and face tickled like absolute SHELL. And Raph was barely touching him! Like…barely.

“1…2…3…4–! Mike! Stop moving! You made me lose count!” The older tried to sternly say, but it was really hard due to how much his little brother was laughing his shell off at the slightest of touches to the face and shoulders.

“PLEHEHEASE! RAHA— *squeak*! IHI’M GOHONNA DIHIE!!!”

“You’ve said that, like, 3 times. And you’re still here, aren’t you?” Raph mused, continuing to poke and prod.

“And a seven, and an eight, and a nine— wait. What comes after nine…?” He fake pondered, poking on the exact same freckle on Mikey’s shoulder to keep him a squeaky giggly blob.

“Seriously…I can’t think of the number. What comes after nine?” The hot-head asked again, going after Mikey’s neck now— causing the younger to scrunch his shoulders almost immediately. Though, that maybe wasn’t the best idea because Raph’s fingers were now stuck.

“I honestly think you’re the one with an embarrassingly ticklish neck, little bro.” The elder turtle stated smugly, wriggling his fingers in the crook of Mikey’s neck as the younger laughed even louder (if that’s possible).

Mikey flapped both of his hands, happy tears threatening to fall from his eyes, “RAHAHAPH!!!” He shrieked, his legs kicking the couch as well as the floor.

“Okay! Alright! Okay! No need to shout out me! Heard you loud and clear, giggles.” He drawed his hand away from Mikey’s face and shoulders, resting them on the other’s shell, rubbing it soothingly. The smaller turtle rested the back of his head on Raph’s shoulder, catching his breath slowly but surely.

“Are you done torturing me now?” He giggled tiredly, becoming relaxed and comfy in Raph’s arms due to the shell rubs.

“For now, yeah.” The older winked which only caused the youngest to roll his eyes at. Raph could be such a dork sometimes, but he loves him nonetheless…sometimes anyway.

“Thanks. For, uh…y'know…doing that…” The orange banded turtle mumbled after he calmed down fully, getting his mask that flew up on the couch earlier. “Yeah. No problem.” Raph shrugged nonchalantly, sitting back on the couch before creasing his eyebrows together, looking at Mikey in confusion.

“Wait. Didn’t you tell Leo like a week ago that it was 100% okay to ask for tickles? Why aren’t you taking your own advice?” He asked.

“Wha— you heard that?”

“The sewer walls aren’t that thick, Mike.” The elder explained, rolling his eyes fondly at the new silence he was being wonderfully graced with.

“Freaking hypocrite…” The green-eyed teen sighed, shaking his head and wrapping Mikey in a hug, squeezing him gently. “Again, you didn’t need to come up with an excuse for me to tickle you. You can just ask me.” He smiled softly, making Mikey return the smile tenfold.

“Yeah…I know. But playing Twister made it more fun didn’t it?”

“Pff…yeah. Yeah, I guess it did.”

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝙵𝙸𝙽˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

[angeart]

the promised hhau confession rp/fic

this got a bit out of hand. as per usual.

here's 21k words of raw rp between me and link about these idiots. <3 spoiler alert: they have Feelings. they're also very gay for each other.

[anna-scribbles]

“Look who finally showed up.” Ladybug’s voice was the quiet kind of rage, an animal she was just barely keeping penned up. “I was starting to wonder.” She looked at him like he was a dead thing.

good morning and happy call it even chapter 6 day to me and @sha-nwa and all those who celebrate<3

[lazycranberrydoodles]

I hate to ask but who is hua Chang

Hua Cheng is the deuterantagonist of the Chinese web novel Heaven Official's Blessing! It's a historical fantasy novel about gods and ghosts and cultivators (xianxia) by Mo Xiang Tong Xiu. It's also a gay romance (danmei). The main themes are destiny, love, and what it means to be a good person. It has a comic version (manhua) and one-soon-to-be-two seasons of animation (donghua).

He's an 800+ year old ghost who has a sentient sword made from his own dismembered eye, runs a city, turns his enemies into blood rain, creates silver wraith butterflies and has been devotedly worshiping/pining after his god, Xie Lian, his entire life. This book is the longest hyperfixation I have ever had. So I think it's pretty good (understatement of the century).

I can and have written essay length rants about him but here is a paragraph i wrote a while back about my favorite things about him, to sum up:

His gender probably. The way he looked fate in the eyes and said “fuck you, old man” and built a highly successful life of his own. How he is so fucked up but still hyper-competent. How all his strength comes from love. How his devotion changed as he grew up but never wavered. The way he is kind but not nice. His infodump swag.

[sugalaritae]

hello, beloved. for the game: "Banana Panic"

matchy. darling matchstick (may i call you that?)! thank you for this. also i'm adoring the amount of fruits and plants i've been given for this game.

yoongi x reader min yoongi is a banana. no, not in the literal sense. in the way that a banana is really a berry. a surprise.

you guess that maybe he is a bit like a real banana - slippery and something you only really have a craving for on certain days. perhaps your relationship is also like a banana in that way - he fulfills a certain craving when you really need it. you've never really wanted to know more about him other than what he brings to your body (pleasure). what happens when you decide you want more from him? will you be able to handle him?

send me a fic title and i’ll tell you what i’d write

[evilkaeya]

POSTED THE SKK ELOPE FIC (HERE) IF YOU READ IT AND LEAVE A FEEDBACK I’LL LOVE YOU FOREVER MWAH BYE NOW

[kvetchinglyneurotic]

🌹🌹🌹🌹 for whenever needed :)

I wrote this in a haze last night when I should have been sleeping and I'm not sure if I'll ever expand it into a proper fic, so I'm sticking it here. Part of it is under the cut because it's a) long and b) is about Jamie's Amsterdam story

Roy makes it about a week before it all comes spilling out. They've been playing shit, 'cause Lasso may have rediscovered Total Football but he sure as shit hasn't rediscovered how to coach it, and if he's being perfectly fucking honest neither has Roy. Or maybe he would, if fucking when I was fourteen... didn't keep playing on loop in his head. He picks Jamie up from his front door every day and he's grinning, bouncing around like the chipper twat he is, twenty-five and whole, and all Roy can think about is the twiggy kid he had been, hair stuck up in every direction and mud smeared on his shins. He'd dug up pictures, is the thing, that first night back — got home aching and more exhausted than he'd been after a full ninety minutes back in his player days, and instead of going to sleep he'd dug around through the depths of City's website, through a mountain of those bullshit player profiles he refused to do but Jamie loved, 'til he found a picture of the Man City 2010 U16s. Recognized Jamie right away, the big dark eyes and prickish smirk and long sleeves 'cause the muppet always got cold. And he was a fucking child. A tiny, scrawny little lad, must've been one of the youngest on the team the way most of the others dwarfed him. No one could ever have mistaken him for an adult, not that it would've been any less abjectly fucking horrifying if he'd looked like a full-grown man by the age of thirteen.

Ted corners him in the office. Or rather, Ted knocks on the door while he's got his head in his hands and the lights off, same as he has every evening since Amsterdam. Pokes his head in with his jacket already on and his bag slung over his shoulder, says, "You know I'm always ready for a late night special on the go session of the Diamond Dogs but if sitting in the dark's what gets your brain juices going, I can respect that. Just make sure to skeddaddle on out of here before our good friends over in maintenance come lock up; I love this place but a night with a locker room aroma ain't to anyone's taste," and Roy says, "Jamie told me he was raped in Amsterdam." They both freeze, Ted in the doorway with that stupid folksy smile still fixed on his face, Roy with his elbows planted on the desk and his fingers twisted through his hair. He feels sick. Jamie's already been violated and now Roy's gone and done it again, just fucking spilled his private trauma without permission 'cause he couldn't handle it. "What?" Ted asks, breathless. "He told you— he was— he told you in Amsterdam, or it happened—" "Fucking both," Roy grinds out. "Oh." Ted's gone so pale he's almost grey. "He seemed fine on the bus." "Not when we were there." Roy says. "I mean, he told me when we were there. Happened when he was fourteen. Don't think he knows that's what—" he sucks in a deep breath, not that it does jack shit to make him feel better. "But it is. That's what happened, and now I don't know what the fuck to do."

[medicbrainrot]

i don’t wanna be here when you lose control

An awkward silence had taken over the room Task Force 141 was occupying when Ghost and Jaguar (Simon and Artemis) had gotten into a heated argument during a briefing meeting for an upcoming mission.

Ghost gritted his teeth. “Why do you always go on these off-topic tangents?! This is important!” His icy cold stare went right through Jaguar, putting a bit of a chill in the air.

“I’m sorry, but sometimes I get off track!” She says defensively.

“That is not good enough! This is important!!” He stalks closer to her, still gritting his teeth. His eyes look as angry as ever through the mask.

“We are not continuing until you realize that what you are doing is disruptive and wasting time!” His tone is cold, and his stare is even colder.

As his anger builds, his tone becomes even more harsh, to the point where he is almost yelling at Jaguar.

“Sit. Still! This is important! Now, can we please keep focus here!?” He grits out loudly.

“I CAN’T HELP IT! I HAVE ADHD!” Jaguar shouts.

Ghost growls and steps closer, putting his face right in front of hers.

“I said SIT STILL. This is IMPORTANT.” He said furiously.

His words shut her up immediately, and Jaguar didn’t move a muscle or say a single word throughout the rest of the meeting.

When the meeting was over, Ghost turned to Jaguar one more time. 

“I trust you understand the gravity of this now.” He said coldly, before walking away without another word. He’s absolutely livid, but he needs to calm down.

The next few days, the base feels awfully quiet as the team prepares for the mission.

Ghost himself is as silent as ever, hardly speaking to anyone, and keeping mostly to himself. It seems like he’s mostly gotten over the argument with Artemis, but he’s still a little pissed off about it.

No one really knows what’s going through his mind, but they’re all keeping an eye on him in case he snaps.

Artemis, in a similar vein, has been more withdrawn than usual, and barely gives more than one or two word responses when spoken to.

Simon picked up on Artemis’ behavior, and realized that perhaps she’s feeling the same way he is: guilty.

He knows he shouldn’t have snapped at her the way he did, but he couldn’t help it.

After a brief moment of pondering, he decides to go find her and try to make it up to her. He gathers a few of her favorite snacks into a little bag, and heads to her room, hesitating before knocking on the door. “Artemis?” 

After a few more knocks, Soap pokes his head out from his own room next door. “Jaguar’s not here, LT.” He says.

Ghost sighs internally. “Where is she?” He asks gruffly, even though internally he’s feeling guilty. His body language still reads frustration, but he manages to calm himself down so he doesn’t snap at Soap.

“Last I heard, she was headed to the firing range.” He supplies helpfully.

“The firing range?” Ghost asks.

Soap nods in response.

“Okay.” Ghost nods, hanging the little bag of snacks on Jaguar’s door handle before turning to leave for the range.

As he approaches the firing range, he can hear shot after shot being fired, in an even, precise rhythm. He slips on a pair of hearing protection headphones, and enters the range to find Artemis there, firing at target after target in pure anger and frustration.

She’s got her own hearing protection on, and it seems like she’s settled into a rhythm of firing round after round into the targets, quickly changing the mag, then continuing to fire.

Ghost approaches Jaguar carefully, getting closer with each step. He finally speaks when he's close enough she’ll be able to hear him over her protective equipment.

“Artemis?” He says, trying to keep a sense of calm in his voice, despite what happened the other day. “I came to apologize.”

“It’s alright Lieutenant.” She says stiffly, without turning around.

His tones soften a bit, not having expected forgiveness so easily. “Are you sure?” He pauses and lowers his voice a bit. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that…We disagree sometimes, but you didn’t deserve that.”

“It’s fine.” she says, equally as stiff as the first response.

Ghost stands in silence for a moment, before taking a deep breath. He’s not sure what else he could say to make things right between them, but he knows he has to do something.

“Are you absolutely sure it’s alright?”

She fires the rifle again. “It’s fine.” She says again. She has yet to turn around, and her voice remains awfully stiff.

Simon begins to worry that it’s not all fine. “I don’t like you sounding so stiff.” He says, notes of concern filling his voice.

He takes a step closer to her, his tone trying to remain soft and gentle. “Artemis…”

This time, she sets the rifle down and finally turns to look at him, slipping off her hearing protection. Her eyes are red and puffy, and now that she’s not holding the rifle, he can see that her hands are shaking. “I said it’s fine Lieutenant.”

An awful sinking feeling settled in Simon’s stomach, almost like he was sick. He knew immediately that he had to do something in order to fix this. All he wants is to comfort her, but he has to know where to start. He slipped off his hearing protection before speaking.

“No, it’s not. What’s wrong Artemis?”

“If you’ve come to yell at me to sit still again, don’t worry. I’ve been working on it the past few days.” She says, gesturing to the destroyed targets downrange. 

Simon looks at the targets, concerned by the mess, horrified by the realization that he was the cause. He takes a deep breath before speaking. “Artemis, I haven’t come to yell. I’m so, so sorry for snapping at you the other day.” 

He pauses for a moment, trying to put himself in her shows. “Do you…want to talk about it?”

“I don’t know…I might go on another tangent…” She says flatly.

His tone softens some more, he can tell that she’s very bitter. “Artemis, you can tell me anything you want. What’s on your mind?” He asks, trying to show that he is being genuine, and won’t criticize her for going on another ‘tangent’. 

“What’s on my mind? What’s on my mind!?” She exclaims, as she presses her hands tightly into her eyes. “What’s on my mind is I’ve been trying to figure out for weeks how to tell my boyfriend I have ADHD, only for it to slip out in an argument and then have him use it against me. That’s what’s on my mind, Simon.”

‘Oh god.’ Simon thinks to himself. ‘That’s what’s been keeping her up at night?’ Simon hasn’t felt this awful in a long, long time. He’s horrified that he’s done this to her. “I’m sorry…”

“It’s fine.” She mumbles, her hands still pressed tightly into her eyes.

“Artemis…” He takes a few tentative steps closer, putting a hand on her shoulder and turning her to face him more.

“I didn’t mean to attack you like I did. I was wrong to do so, and I was wrong to not consider the consequences. I’m so, so sorry for my actions.”

“You’re not the first one.” She mumbles, lowering her hands from her eyes. “I’m surprised you haven’t broken up with me yet.”

“What do you mean?” He asks, his eyebrows raising under his mask. “Did I make you feel like breaking up is the only option?” He’s shocked at the possibility, a look of worry on his face. “Artemis, breaking up with you never even crossed my mind. Are you serious?”

“My last boyfriend broke up with me a few days after I told him, said I was too much to handle.” She says, a few tears escaping her eyes.

Artemis’ words cause Simon to feel another wave of guilt wash over him. He had no idea this wasn’t the first time she was treated this way, and it made him feel so much worse, knowing that he was one of the people who caused her pain. “He was wrong…” Simon starts gently. “He was wrong. You’re not ‘too much to handle’, Artemis.” He pauses. “You’re perfect just the way you are, I promise.”

“That’s not what you said when you yelled at me…” She says with a flat affect.

A look of guilt passes through Simon’s eyes, and he drops his head as he tries to come up with a response. “You’re right. I didn’t say that. I essentially said the opposite, something  cruel, that I shouldn’t have said. But, Artemis…” He pauses, his tone getting soft again. “What I said was wrong. You deserve to be treated better than that… I’m sorry.”

Artemis shrugs. “It’s my fault for fidgeting during a meeting.”

“No Artemis, it isn’t.” Simon sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “You have ADHD. It’s something you can’t control. You deserve to be treated with love and respect, and you shouldn’t have to be shamed simply because you don’t act how others might want you to.”

“I wish that conversation had gone differently.” She sniffles, as a fresh wave of tears fills her eyes.

“I do too, Artemis.” Simon steps forward and hugs her tightly, trying to comfort her. “Is there any way I can make it up to you?” He asks gently.

“I don’t know. My brain is so fucking scrambled.” She sniffles.

“Scrambled?” He asks gently. “Why? Do you feel anxious? Do you feel overwhelmed?”

“I don’t know what I feel right now. There’s too much going on in my brain.” Artemis says.

“It’s okay, It’s okay to not know, love.” Simon says softly.

“It’s not okay! I keep fucking up because I can’t get my fucking brain under control!” She yells, exasperated.

Simon flinches slightly when she yells. “What do you mean by that…?” He asks cautiously. “How have you been messing up?”

“I talk too much, I fidget too much, I annoy everyone around me because I’m too much. I have seventeen trains of thought going in my head at all times and I don’t know where any of them are fucking going!” She shouts.

It takes effort from Simon not to jump when she shouts again. He takes a deep breath before speaking, trying to calm his nerves, so that he doesn’t say something that might hurt Artemis further. “Artemis…If I might speak bluntly. It doesn’t sound like you’re the problem here. It sounds to me that your previous exes were too harsh to you…” He says gently.

“It’s not just my exes. My friends, my teachers, my parents. I feel like I’m gonna go crazy if I have to be still and quiet but there’s nothing I can fucking do about it!!” She tries to take a breath. “It’s always, sit still, stop talking, stop fidgeting, stop bouncing, stop shouting, you’re being too loud, you’re being disruptive. Everything about my existence is annoying and yet I can’t seem to SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!”

Simon’s eyes go wide at the outburst, but he manages to keep calm and keep holding Artemis tightly. “Artemis…” His tone remains gentle, and he realizes what he needs to say. His own trauma is screaming at him to not go near this, but he knows that right now that’s not the answer. He takes a deep breath and starts softly. “I think I understand what happens when you get overwhelmed.”

“What.” She says in a small voice.

He can hear the pain in her voice and it makes him feel even more horrible for speaking so harshly to her.  He rubs her shoulder gently, trying to comfort her. “Your mind feels like it’s being attacked by constant thoughts, and you feel like you might explode if you don’t do something…And you feel like talking and moving helps you, even if just for a little bit.”

“Pretty much. I didn’t get diagnosed until I was 22, but it made so much sense.” She says quietly.

“Artemis, I’m so sorry you’ve had to go through this like that. Nobody should have to feel like they’re not allowed to speak or move. You have every right to speak and move around all you want. If anyone else tells you otherwise, they’re wrong.” His voice grows even softer. “You are not too much.”

“Even when it’s you telling me to be quiet and sit still?” She asks.

“That’s on me. That’s me being inconsiderate, and it’s me being wrong. I can’t apologize enough for that. I’m sorry Artemis, I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He says softly, hoping she understands.

“It’s okay.” She says sadly. “You didn’t know…”

“Artemis, I still shouldn’t have treated you like that, regardless. I’m just…I’m sorry I didn’t realize something sooner.” He says gently. “If I could go back and undo what I said, I swear I would. But I can’t. All I can do is apologize and make sure I don’t do something like that again.”

“I wanted to tell you sooner… I just….didn’t know how…I felt like there was never a right time…” She says as a tear slides down her cheek.

“It’s alright.” Simon says softly, swiping away the tear with his thumb. “Don’t beat yourself up over it. I’m the one who reacted poorly. It’s on me to learn, not on you to do something you aren’t comfortable with.” He holds her tighter, trying to express his love with the hug.

Artemis leans into the hug, burying herself into his chest. “I’m sorry for avoiding you.” She mumbles.

“It’s alright to ask for space after an argument. It just means you want time to cool down.” He says reassuringly. “If you need more time to process, I’m alright giving you whatever you need.”

“I don’t want more time to process. I haven’t slept in two days. I just want to go to bed.” Artemis says, trying not to cry.

Simon nods, pulling slightly back from the hug. He looks down at Artemis, still feeling guilty about how he hurt her. He can now tell how tired she is, and how desperately she needs sleep. 

“Okay, I can help with that. Do you need anything before you go rest? Water, a snack, anything?”

“A snack would probably be good. I’ve been here at the range since early this morning.” She yawns. “Maybe…maybe, after I’ve slept, we can talk some more about this?”

Simon gives Artemis a warm smile. “Of course, take all the time you need, love.”

He releases her from the embrace and turns to go get her a snack while she cleans up her stuff at the range.

“Simon, wait.” She calls out.

Simon stops in his tracks, turning around to face Artemis again. “What is it, Artemis? Was there something else?” He asks softly.

She steps forward and lifts his mask to press a gentle kiss to his lips. “I love you.” She says softly.

Simon is caught a little off guard by the kiss, but he quickly recovers. He leans into the kiss, and pulls away after a few seconds, smiling warmly at her. “I love you too, Artemis.” He pulls her into another gentle kiss, holding her close. “I love you… more than you could ever know. Never forget that.”

A/N: Thanks for reading! Likes, reblogs, and feedback are appreciated!

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