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head-empty-just-ace · 9 days

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Renovating my room means I'm blasting music through the speaker. And I am also just stuck on Hozier's music (if u don't know him— now you do). So, here are Hozier's music that I think suits the following OP men!

Featured Characters: Ace, Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Brook, and Usopp

CW: Suggestive Content (it's Hozier. Ofc, there're going to be some feral undertones)

Note: I might edit this and add more if I feel like it.

Portgas D. Ace

I had a thought, dear However scary About that night The bugs and the dirt Why were you digging? What did you bury Before those hands pulled me From the earth?

I will not ask you where you came from I will not ask you, neither should you

Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips We should just kiss like real people do

To Ace, you were the one who brought him back to life and away from the darkness of his own mind. There was that understanding between the two of you. Both knew the other had a past haunting like a shadow.

He won't pry. He won't undo the stitches of whatever had hurt you in the past. Let the ghosts stay as they are— just let him love you now. Two people that simply fell in love with each other.

The two of you feel like broken pieces of a whole to form a mosaic in each other's embrace. It becomes a chaotic madness that only the two of you could understand the raw beauty of it.

Monkey D. Luffy

Boys workin' on empty Is that the kinda way to face the burning heat? I just think about my baby I'm so full of love I could barely eat There's nothing sweeter than my baby I'd never want once from the cherry tree 'Cause my baby's sweet as can be She give me toothaches just from kissin' me When, my, time comes around Lay me gently in the cold dark earth No grave can hold my body down I'll crawl home to her

As playful as Luffy can be, he's fiercely loyal. He'll go through hell and back just to have you in his arms. May it be against the world, heavens, or even the universe its— he won't let it take you away. He can't lose another loved one.

He's already done this for so many people. No pain nor torture could stop this man from being with you. Not even the gods can help the ones who even dare try to.

The guy won't die for you. Luffy would make sure he's alive to make sure you're safe and happy. That's why not even death could keep him away.

Roronoa Zoro

You know better, babe, you know better, babe Than to smile at me, smile at me like that You know better, babe, you know better, babe Than to hold me just, hold me just like that

I know who I am when I'm alone I'm something else when I see you You don't understand, you should never know How easy you are to need

Don't let me in with no intention to keep me Jesus Christ, don't be kind to me Honey, don't feed me, I will come back

A man of solitude finally found the place to call his home. Zoro keeps to himself, and yet you wormed your way into his life without realizing the effect you had on him.

There's a silent intensity to it. He's a man of strict self-discipline. He knows who he is. But with you? Gods, a switch turns on in his brain that makes him feral.

The warmth of your soul seeped deep into the crevices of his bones and warmed him from the inside. How could he not need you and the warmth you've shown him?

Sanji

I'd be the voice that urged Orpheus When her body was found (hey ya) I'd be the choiceless hope in grief That drove him underground (hey ya) I'd be the dreadful need in the devotee That made him turn around (hey ya) And I'd be the immediate forgiveness In Eurydice Imagine being loved by me!

I won't deny I've got in my mind now all the things we'd do So I'll try to talk refined for fear that you find out how I'm imaginin' you

Oh, everyone knows Sanji isn't by any means silent with his affections. But behind those honey-like words of adoration? Behind the hands that hold you so tenderly? There's an underlying heat to it that consumes him whole.

He won't tell you— not yet. Too afraid to scare you away by the growing desire in his chest. He doesn't just want you. He needs you.

That's why he'll put up a front of a dignified lover to you. Fawning over every little detail of your being while his fingers ache to feel the warmth of your bare skin.

Brook

She's gonna save me, call me "baby" Run her hands through my hair She'll know me crazy, soothe me daily Better yet, she wouldn't care We'll steal her Lexus, be detectives Ride 'round picking up clues We'll name our children, Jackie and Wilson Raise 'em on rhythm and blues

Lord, it'd be great to find a place we could escape sometime Me and my Isis growing black irises in the sunshine Every version of me dead and buried in the yard outside We'd sit back and watch the world go by

In the vast lonely life Brook lived, there was something about you that made him forget what loneliness ever felt like in the first place. You're just it to him.

No matter how peculiar he may seemed— you were always there by his side. Laughing along his jokes. Even matching his humor and love for music.

You are his muse. And he'd gladly play the ballad of your love until the end of time, if you'd let him.

Usopp

Remember once I told you 'bout How before I heard it from your mouth My name would always hit my ears As such an awful sound And the soul, if that's what you'd call it Uneasy ally of the body It felt nameless as a river undiscovered underground

And the first time that you kissed me I drank dry the River Lethe The Liffey would have been softer on my stomach all the same But you spoke some quick new music That went so far to soothe this soul As it was and ever shall be Unearth without a name

Some part of me must have died The first time that you called me baby And some part of me came alive The first time that you called me baby

Usopp knew that there was this part of him that felt hollow with all the grandoise stories he tells. And the way you would always listen to him as if you truly believed his words made him feel as though he was saved.

Bit by bit, he no longer lived in the tales he spun in his mind. He lived in the moment— with you. All the adventures you two would go on together were all he could ever talk about now.

It felt great because it was real. You were real. Choosing him despite all his flaws and quirks. To have given him the honor to hold your heart in his hands and be the one to protect it.

~~~~~~~

Okay, I might make a part 2 for this w/ Jimbei, Shanks, Law, Kid, and Yamato. Here's my masterlist to check it out!

~~~~~~~

Taglist: @that-student-that-has-homework @captainportgasdace @ofoceansandtombsanew @lynndt-chocolate

#one piece #fluff piece #feral piece #portgas d ace x reader #zoro roronoa x reader #sanji x reader #monkey d luffy x reader #brook x reader #usopp x reader #hozier #Spotify

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fleetingcalypso · 4 months

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I absolutely love how you write Henry Winter! Perhaps you could write something more angsty. For example, Henry and the reader could get into a fight over Bunny going to Rome instead of the reader. Just an idea but I would love anything you do xx

≋ Love isn't love without some disagreements. I took the liberty of developing this prompt into something slightly different, it is a fight nonetheless.

≋ Henry Winter x GN!Reader ≋

≋ Word Count: 3277 words.

≋ TW: Possible manipulation/gaslighting, argument, consumption of alcohol, small moment of hallucination/dissociation, mentions of blood, mentions of planning someone's death, possible angst.

My arms are elbow deep in my sink, scrubbing the plates that barely minutes ago had my food resting on them. The only noises keeping me company are the quiet buzzing of the fridge, the splashing of water and porcelain hitting more porcelain. Three well assessed bangs coming from outside my apartment cause me to almost jump out of my skin and dry my hands in anticipation of opening the door, one glimpse at the clock mounted to the wall tells me it’s around nine. I’m not expecting anyone.

Most of all, I’m not expecting Henry to be the one pounding his fist against my door, a white knuckle grip on his suitcase’s handle, his chest rising in what look like panicked gasps for air. “Let me in.” He commands me.

It takes me a moment to realize this is the real thing and not a hallucination. “My God, Henry…” I don’t recognize the narrowed eyes that stare at me, “What’s happened to you? What are you doing here?” His shoulder bumps into mine as he makes his way into my home, without waiting for me to move out of the way.

“I had to leave. I had to.” He goes straight to my living room, all but throwing his coat onto my couch and ungracefully flopping beside it, I’ve rarely seen him act this way. A muscle in his clenched jaw twitches as he raises his fist, pressing it to his lips, the ever present frown on his face looks impossibly deeper than usual, he’s thinking about something and it vexes me that I can't read his mind like a poetry verse.

“Henry-” One glacial look from him shuts me up. He stares at me through his eyebrows, as if I’m everything wrong in the world, as if I was the serpent guiding humanity to an eternity of being exiled from Eden.

After he’s done petrifying me with his gaze he lets out an exhale of frustration lowering his head into his hands, his elbows sitting on his knees. Once the spell he had on my body evaporates I test my luck with just a couple steps in his direction. He doesn’t move. I’m gambling with his mood when I sit on the arm of my couch, lift his coat into my arms to fold it and set it aside.

He abruptly stands and storms into my bathroom, slamming the door behind him; the muffled water sounds make it clear that he’s taken ownership over my shower. It leaves me enough time to fish some clean clothes out of his suitcase and set them in my bedroom’s bed where I know he will retire once he steps out, dripping wet and barely dressed.

Time barely moves while I step back into the living room and take a seat on the soft pillow he used earlier. I have no idea how much time has passed when he emerges from a cloud of steam, robe wrapped around his body. He spares me no glances while I rise to my feet. This time the door doesn’t slam after he steps into the bedroom and gets dressed. I still wait for him. It’s best to let him come to me, rather than pry. It’s like a toothache: the more the tongue smoothes over an aching tooth, the more it’s going to hurt.

After what feels like forever he trudges into the living room for what is the second time now, looking exhausted, his hand rests against the wall keeping him upright. Henry walks past me, pulling me into a kiss that lasts less than the flap of a butterfly’s wings.

The couch dips with his weight and suddenly we are back at square one.

“Are you going to tell me what you are doing here, or am I going to pry the words out of you?” My words come out harsher than expected. Nothing makes sense. He’s supposed to be in Rome, keeping a strict eye on Bunny, making sure that idiot won’t do anything he might regret. I know for a fact our friend is still in Italy, he would have called and asked to meet up otherwise, surely to boast about all the things he’s admired and all to flaunt all the useless garbage he bought using Henry’s money.

Finally, he deems me worthy of an explanation, “Cuniculus molestus,” he says and it only adds fuel to my puzzlement. I repeat his words, he could only be talking about one thing, the one situation I hoped would never emerge. One blink, two words, three breaths and four shaky words: “What do you mean?...” It was all it took for Henry to rip apart at the seams.

“Bunny knows. He knows everything. The damned idiot found my diary.” He tries to contain the growl in his voice while rummaging through the clutter on my coffee table, searching for cigarettes I assume. And my suspicion is confirmed hearing his groan of annoyance, finding the almost empty packet of Lucky Strikes: only four cigarettes, one is flipped upside-down.

“It was a living nightmare. Bun acted as his usual aggravating self, perhaps even more so than usual, but nonetheless he wasn’t causing any actual harm. He complained about the rooms not being up to his standards, hell we were staying in some of the most picturesque rooms I had ever seen. He could have only dreamed of standing in that room, were I not there. Then he began feigning asthma attacks, nagging me about every small thing he could think of.” Henry’s words stop only when at last he lights the first cigarette.

“My God. He lamented being left alone just for a couple of minutes, but those times where I solicited him in coming with me, to a church, an art gallery, a restaurant- I don’t understand if he was faking, but he was insufferably bored, pestering me to leave. And it only got worse after a few weeks. Like salt sprinkled on a bleeding wound, I fell ill. A migraine, quite a painful one too. There was not much I could do, I realized. When after days of pure, unfiltered agony I finally mustered up enough strength to stand and search for a glass of water, that’s the moment it happened. I saw Bunny, because of the morning light shining into my eyes he simply looked like a blurry figure. When I greeted him, it took me a while to grasp the reality of what was happening.”

By now he’s a quarter in his second cigarette and I’m fully ready to cash a punch I know his words are leading the way for. He keeps talking.

“Do you understand what I’m saying?” Henry asks, the pictures hung on my wall suddenly being the most interesting thing he’s ever seen, he stares at them almost unblinking. “I hit him. Hard. He retaliated, making me his punching bag until the chambermaid broke us apart. Since that day I tried to be as compliant as I could with him, I’d written quite a lot of harsh things about him after all, the best thing I could do was try to show him that- I don't know- that I didn’t mean them? Or that he wasn’t as estranged from our friend group as he thought?-” This time it’s my turn to interrupt him, this rambling has gone on for far too long.

“Henry, get to the point. My patience is wearing quite thin, while I appreciate you going through what very well sounds like your own personal circle of hell to keep an eye on that menace of a man, I would very much like to know if we are all going to get caught because of that fool’s inability to keep his mouth shut in a foreign country or not.”

“I’m getting there.” He snaps. The third cigarette meets the previous’ fate, being lit and sitting between his lips. I try my best not to panic as he recounts about a German overhearing Bunny talk about what happened then following them, waiting for them by the fountain near their hotel. Anxiety nestles in me with each word that flies out of his lips, it doesn’t abandon me for a moment while he confesses that now he’s left Bunny alone in Italy without a note.

With the way my head spins I’m unable to reach the couch and I just sit on the floor.

Henry knows Bunny better than anyone else, and he’s assured me countless times that he’d never go to the police, but I can’t help but wonder: if that German man found his way to Bunny, perhaps while he’s drunk in some italian bar, what are the chances that the truth would be out and we behind bars before we can plead ‘not guilty’?

“You think you could fix this?” My voice is barely above a whisper, I don’t think I even hear it over the sound of my blood thumping in my ears. When his head moves in a nod, mine mirrors it. “It all depends on waiting for the right opportunity.” For the first time in my life, his words sound completely disconnected from reality after he adds, “It depends on how far we’re willing to go, as well.”

I can’t bring myself to glance at his eyes, if at first I delighted myself in being the one to willingly drown into the depth of his focus, meeting his divine stare feels borderline blasphemous now. Is the way my blood is freezing in my veins because my mind is spiraling into madness, or have I passed on as well? If I turn my head to the side and lower my gaze will I find a mauled farmer welcoming into the world of the dead? For a split second, when my hands come into view, I’m sure they’re stained red up to the end of my forearm; the water I used to wash my dishes did nothing to wash away the guilt that apparently only I, in my friend group, feel. Invisible, imperceptible droplets of what I know is blood, stains my carpet. There’s no washing it off. I could bathe in the holiest of waters, scrub my skin until it turned the very same color of what I want to rinse off of me and it still would be for naught.

Lucky for me, my holy salvation undoes the curse I’ve cast upon myself with just a call of my name. “I said I could fix it. Do not doubt me.” My hands clench, I feel my muscles tense as soon as I realize that what he accuses me is indeed true, I am doubting him.

No words are able to make it through the lump in my throat. With what little strength I can gather I force my legs to stand straight after I lift myself off the ground. “I’m not doubting you,” I lie, “I just think this entire ordeal has developed into something way bigger than us all.”

“So you don’t understand, then.” He shakes his head, strands of hair the color of raven wings fall onto his forehead, his glasses sit precariously low on the bridge of his nose. “I don't, Henry. I really don’t,” My panic is slowly shaping itself into something else, something I am familiar with and that I had stored away as soon as Henry’s healing salve was rubbed on my sinful body, “There’s a lot I don’t understand at this exact time.”

He doesn’reply. He silently lights up the last cigarette, the upside down one, the one I was saving for last and after a couple of clouds of smoke are created into existence he extends his hand to me: offering me my own lucky cigarette. I accept it. Smoke fills my lungs and burns my throat while I pace back and forth, letting ash fall to my feet.

It’s not enough, just one isn’t enough to calm the nerves that threaten to take over me. Inadvertently stubbing my smoke in my hardwood coffee table instead then into the ashtray an unstable exhale escapes me.

Henry doesn’t move, not one of his muscles has even remotely twitched in the time I took smoking.

It is impossible to think in this scenario and in what feels like the blink of an eye, there’s a cold bottle in my hand, burgundy wine flows into a clean glass, it doesn’t settle into it for a second before it makes its way down my throat, the fruitiness and sweetness of it tickles me. In my rush, it spills down my lips and leaves a maroon spot, as small as a cherry, on my shirt.

“I want my life back,” I pathetically confide in him, this time taking a seat next to him, “I am sick and tired of living in fear of the authorities showing up at my doorstep.” A miniscule yet expanding part of me outright believes the murder we committed is a sin not even Henry can absolve.

“You think I don’t feel guilty, also?” He began, taking the empty glass out of my hands and pouring himself a drink before pointing his finger at me, “We are human. Of course I feel bad for eradicating a man’s life, but certainly not enough to be distraught over it like you are.” It makes me feel wrong, being so agitated over something he swears he can fix.

“It’s not guilt that I feel, it’s fear. I am terrified every morning when I wake up that I am going to be in handcuffs in a prison cell by the end of the day.”

“You do not know Bunny as well as I do. He won’t say anything.”

“You say that, but you’re just a man. You’re not an all-seeing creature. You don’t know every small variable that could cause him to out us all.” I’d never thought I’d say it out loud. ‘You’re just a man’. It felt like blasphemy to even think of Henry as anything but a deity, jabbing his mortality right in his face was something that I had never even imagined doing. I didn’t think it would come to this.

“I see what this is.” The way he said that, it resembled a lighting flung from Olympus, ready to strike an unaware, disrespectful follower of the gods. “You’re not guilty and you’re not scared of Bun telling anyone. What you’re scared of is repercussions.”

"That's not-"

"Not true? Is that what you're going to say? Because it sure sounds like it is. You don't believe I could find a solution." Never has a voice so calm yet so deadly existed.

"I'm just saying, what if you can't? What if none of us can?" I keep seeing it like I'm reading from a book set in the future, like the Oracle of Delphi is miraculously inhabiting my body. "Henry, I don't think there's time to wait for 'the right opportunity'. Bunny is a ticking bomb as is it."

"So what?" He spits, "Should we just kill him, as soon as we see him, without a proper plan? That would ensure his silence, wouldn't it?"

The temperature in the room drops.

"Kill him?..." Never in my life had I imagined entertaining the idea of putting an end to one of my friend's life. I might lie, in truth, if I said it didn't sound like a plausible solution. "We can't."

"Why not?”

Good question. While it sounded absurd, it was truly the only way this nightmare would come to an end. I thought of Mrs.Corcoran, Mr.Corcoran, all of Bun’s siblings and Marion.

“It’s insanity.” I stood, backing away from him. “We are not killing Bunny. That’s final.” No matter how much it would help us, no matter how much that would ease my anxiety in the moment, I couldn’t. It is likely that my expression betrayed my words, for Henry’s next words shot a spear through me. Being in his presence was insufferable, now.

He hissed as he spoke, “Oh, would you quit the wounded bird act, for just a moment of your life?” He lifted himself off the couch, following me as I evaded his gaze by walking away into my kitchen. “What are you trying to prove? Your acting like this won’t bring back that man in the countryside, nothing will ever bring him back.”

“I don’t want to bring him back! You’re so deep into your own view of life that you're refusing to see my side!”

“Don’t raise your voice at me.” I hadn’t even noticed my loud volume, “Nothing can please you, I swear. You’re in no way the single victim of what transpired in that field. Yes, your hands were stained red that night, but you’re not the only one: Camilla still has nightmares about it, Francis as well and Charles, he will never forget that bloody bite on his arm. You’re not a saint, you were there with us drenched in blood, no matter how much you’d like to imagine the contrary. ”

My clenched fists trembled at my sides, with my back metaphorically against a wall of needles there was not a single thing I could do. My time was slipping away from under my fingers, crumbling into sand and being carried into a faraway land, never to be seen again. “But killing our friend is… it feels so wrong.”

“Try not to see it as murder.” To my surprise his steady hands held mine until they stopped shaking, “Look at me, look me in the eyes,” he held my face with one of his hands, slightly squeezing both my cheeks to stop me from looking away, “It’s not murder,” His whisper was slow and soft, deep down it sounded as if he was trying to convince an invisible audience and not me, "Think of it as a redistribution of matter, alright? You’re calling him friend, but was he behaving like one when he would throw out references to our misdeed? Was he a friend when he would pick up the phone and pretend to call the tips number on the daily paper?”

“You’re going mental Henry. There is not a single way in hell you’re seriously saying these words. If in the right situation I were in Bunny’s place, would you conspire against me, too?” I asked, knowing what he would say, “You wouldn’t be half as troubling as Bun is.” That was confirmation enough.

That night in the country, the only thing that was somewhat planned was the bacchanal, being drowned in what can only be described as the epitome of blissful, dionysian madness. Mauling an innocent man wasn’t planned, it was a tragedy. This, on the other hand, is a plan to get rid of Bunny. The one man that could be described as Henry’s best friend, there was a time where one would not ever be seen in public without the other.

“I don’t recognize you.”

“You don’t need to. You just follow my lead and it will all be okay. I promise you, we’ll fix it. I’ll fix it. Don’t stray away from me, don’t make us fight over something like this, alright?”

Hours after this conversation, when he’s fast asleep in my bed and I’m staring at his eyelashes, I want nothing more than for this torment to reach an end. “Does it all mean anything to you? Or is it all momentary until divine punishment wipes all off the face of the Earth?” My whisper is met with no answer on his end, his soft breathing for the time being placates my doubts. This is enough.

#fleetingcalypso #calypsodaydreams #henry winter x reader #the secret history x reader #the secret history #henry winter #angst #reader insert #dark academia #tsh donna tartt

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judgementdaysunshine · 11 months

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hi baby! can I have a Damian priest x reader where reader accidentally overhears Damian talking about reader to his friends (what he says is kinda inspired by this song ). Thank you baby<3 I love you!!

Aaaah

Sweeter than a wild cherry

Pairing: Damian Priest x Fem reader

Description: You overhear Damian talk about you to the judgement day when you go to surprise him for the day

The Judgement day laughed when Damian looked at his phone to see a text from you opening to see a picture of you and your 12 year old baby sister Carrie who you were spending the day together. They all look at him as he texts you back before looking up at them "What?" they raise a brow before he shows pictures of you to them not knowing you and your sister just walked in to have lunch with him while carrie was sitting with Edge who was a family friend and adored her like she was his daughter even letting her call him dad due to her real father not being there for her, you stop a few feet away from the door when you hear talking "Whataya mean she's sweeter than a wild cherry?" he chuckles as you stand against the wall and listen being sure to stay quiet "She's sweet and I don't mean just in terms of personality or acts, she tastes sweet when I kiss her even when neither of us chew gum or have anything sweet she gives me toothaches I mean it" they listen as he talks more about you which melts your heart like honey as you listen falling for him all over again "She just makes me feel safe and she gives me this raw, open, and honest type of love that makes me feel home in a way that makes me realize home isn't just a place but in another person no matter where we are". Tears form in your eyes as you smile putting your finger to lips when Sasha walks by noticing the tears on your face smiling before giving you a hug and walking by waiting a few minutes after everyone flowed back into a separate conversation knocking on the door and slowly peeking in the room smiling when damian turns his head seeing you and immediately opening the door to bring you in his arms as carrie jogs down the hall hiding behind the corner of the doorway due to her having anxiety and being nervous around other people turning when Dom walks by all of you leaning down a few feet in front of carrie and then within a second she was smiling laughing in his arms making your heart melt as all of you have lunch saying bye to sasha and edge as you, damian, and carrie leave telling him you heard everything as carrie listens to music on her mp3 player "I was walking to the door when I heard you talking to them saying I was sweeter than a wild cherry and I was home" you kiss his hand as the two of you see your mom talking to her looking outside to see damian holding a giggling laughing carrie upside before she was on his shoulders as you record and take pictures knowing this was the man you would marry as the two of you head home, have dinner, and watch a movie before going to bed saying I love you's against each other's lips.

#damian priest #wwe x reader #wwe #damian priest x reader

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lussiane333 · 1 year

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Slashers or their S/O with a cavity or a toothache. Like how would they help/deal with it? (I’m getting my wisdom teeth out later this week and I’m hoping for some comfort/fluff from the slashers)

I hope everything will go well for you 🖤

Slashers and toothache.

RZ! Michael Myers

I mean let's be real. Considering he ate a dog and from a trash, we know his teeth cannot be perfectly healthy.

But! After you took him under your wing his hygiene has upgraded! (thank god)

Michael has a big (if not otherworldly) pain tolerance

However...

Toothache is just damn annoying and the pain goes straight into his head

He hates it..

He would brush it aggressively thinking it's going to help

If it did, perfect.

Now if it didn't...

You wouldn't know about it at first

If he's that comfortable around you to not wear a mask you're going to see him frowning, moving his tongue a lot

When you ask him what's wrong he's just going to ignore you, don't even try

You noticed your bathroom cabinet with pills a little.. messy.. like a lot, nothing is in it's place

Now you know that something is bothering him and decide to take care of it yourself. He's going to be such a bitch about it, what are you thinking touching his face like that? He doesn't need your help, it's going to go away on it's own!

But Michael wants your care, just don't be so obvious about it.. He wants it especially when falling asleep, he won't sleep without your touch and warmness

You made him soft food, fruit and vegetable smoothies for the rest of the week, along with some pills and.. tada! It really did go away on it's own somehow

He's thankful, Michael didn't even think about the possibilities if it didn't go away, maybe like getting used to it..

Art the Clown

Insists on ripping it out for you.

Why not?! It's going to be free and he's gonna have so much fun!

He just kinda looks at you when you're cursing in pain

He doesn't remember hurting it that much, come on you must be overreacting..

He wonders what would hurt you more, this toothache or stabbing you right into the guts

When you cuddle him he will rock you in his arms and place his warm palm on your cheek

Art will try to make you laugh in everyway, he knows he can't tickle you now, that would make it worse (He really really wants to tickle you..)

So, Art is going to dance, make funny faces or just grin at you just to make you feel better

He will make you herbal tea with some painkilling drops

Please just don't cry anymore, he feels like he's unable to help

He suggest you taking that removed tooth back with you so he can make a necklace or a lucky charm for himself!

Art will welcome you with a warm soup when you come back home

If you bring him the tooth, his crazy little heart is beating with happiness, and his eyes have that significant sparkle in them

Carefully kisses your cheeks and caresses them

If you want to sleep for the rest of the day, that's fine, he will try to make you stay at home with him for the rest of the week, what if it's going to hurt again??

He enjoys this time with you when you're extra sensitive about something, it makes him feel somehow more important

Jason Voorhees

He just wants to hold you, would that make you feel better?

Jason is going to do anything he can just to ease your pain, at least a little

He doesn't really know how tho, he has no pills you could take

Later on, you decided to visit a dentist and get your tooth removed

Poor you.. What have they done to you..

Jason doesn't leave the cabin, even if you insist it's fine, no it isn't, he's staying with you

He knows and sees that you're better after few days, he's so glad

He kinda wonders how it felt when they removed your tooth, I mean he has never done that.. Did it hurt a lot? You're brave for that..

If it's nice and warm outside, he would like to take you out for a walk around the lake if you'd like

He would collect some flowers for you, and give you a masked kiss on your cheek

Lots.of.kisses.

Please tell him how they removed your tooth, what and how they did it, he wants to know

Jason hopes that no one will try to ruin your day together, he can go to kill mode within a second, but he even thought about letting them get away if they appeared all of sudden

He would, for you, he doesn't want to leave your side

When it got a little darker you were already walking back, Jason held you closely next to him

Fortunately, no one tresspassed and you had a great day, it really felt good to go out like this

#slashers #slasher headcanons #slasher x reader #slasher fanfiction #slasher imagines #slashers x reader #slasher x you #rz michael myers #rz michael myers x reader #halloween #art the clown #terrifier art the clown #art the clown x reader #terrifier #jason voorhees #jason voorhees x reader #friday the 13th #slasher fandom #slasher community

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tumb1rprincess · 7 days

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youtube

I got introduced to this song in the Malevolent discord server, someone pointed out how well it fit Arthur, and I've been listening to it on repeat ever since and I'm going feral with how much it fits. I feel like every verse sums up or describes some of Arthur's most important relationships.

The first verse is about him and Bella, which I know whether they really loved each other or not is kind of debatable, but I know they cared about each other. As far as we know, this was Arthur's first relationship, he was enamored with her (I'm so full of love I could barely eat). The lyrics use a lot of sweet, sugary words (cherry tree, toothaches just from kissing) and it puts this image in my head of their relationship being this puppy love kind of thing before Bella became pregnant and everything changed.

Second verse is about Parker. Arthur's drunk off his ass and wallowing in misery when Parker first meets him (I was three days on a drunken sin). The "empty crib" is that emptiness Faroe's death has brought and Arthur's said more than once he was pretty much suicidal at that point (I didn't care how much long I lived). But Parker doesn't push, doesn't ask for the finer details, just tries to get Arthur out of his hole he's dug himself into (never asked me once about the wrong I did).

Third verse is about John, how he's seen Arthur do terrible things, but loves him anyway (never fret none about what my hands and my body done). The whole verse is about how God may not forgive what you've done, if Heaven and Hell are even real, but you have someone you love and they have you and that's all that matters, and if that isn't John and Arthur in a nutshell, I don't know what is.

The chorus could be the multiple times Arthur has almost died, and I know he's said he doesn't believe anyone's waiting for him when he dies, but that hasn't stopped him from saying Faroe's name when he's almost died. He thinks about her, Bella, and probably Parker now too anytime he's close to dying, and how seeing them again would feel like coming home, but like "no grave can pull my body down" he just keeps getting pulled back and keeps on living.

#malevolent #john doe #arthur lester #bella saltzman #peter parker yang #faroe lester #Youtube

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lemondemonpickuplines · 7 months

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you, yes YOU could become the next greatest LD pickup artist! that is, if you have a couple free minutes and are a fucking loser. just like me! submit your pickup lines today!

to jumpstart your beautiful and creative minds, I've made a list of songs that are yet to have a line under the cutoff. Remember, though, we're only Lemon Demon in name - you're also welcome to post about a Mouth song, a YouTube video, or anything else that speaks to you and that Neil Cicierega is a part of. GOOD LUCK!

Error

Bowling Alley

Wrong

Hazel's Modus Operandi

Idiot Control Now

Pepper and Salt

Holy Bison Beaks

Fire Motif

Elsewhere

Hydroelectric Viking

The Saga of You

Mr Wolfgang

Destructo

Fly Straight

Oz Explodes

Booja Jabooja

Chu Chu Rocket

Switzerland**

Birdhouse In Your Soul

Mold en Mono

What's In The Toaster

Sunbeam Light Show Flower Seed

Musical Chairs

Matches and Nails**

Relativity

Fancy Pants Manifesto

Go To Hollywood

Sick Puppy**

Almond

Bad Idea

Behold the FUTURE

Not Applicable

Roman Robot Statues

Run, Harry, Run

Take a Picture

There's a Robot in My Head

Dead Sea Monkeys

What Will Happen Will Happen

Subtle Oddities

Gonna Dig up Alec Guinness**

Smell Like a Cookie All Day

Eventuality

March of the Living Figments

Lollipops

Bicycle Race

Fuzzy

Bottom Line

Sky Blue Up

I Want to Wake Up

Stampy

Zero Gravity

Mothers All Over the World

Pirate in a Box

How To Poop

Neil.soul

Dinosaurchestra Part One

Archaeopteryx**

This Hyper World

The Too Much Song

Stick Stickly

Princess Unicorn Bunny Kitten Angel

Abraham Lincoln's Head

Funniest

Snakes On a Plane

Turkeys

Kaleidoskull

Gadzooks**

The Afternoon**

Nightmare Fuel

The Wiggles Hate Each Other In Real Life

You Got a Toothache

320x200

Strangelet

Today's Secret Word

While My Keytar Gently Weeps

Treasure Map

Creepy

Super Hey Ya

Prelude to Presents

Spiral of Ants

Geocities

Angelfire

Gravitron

Moon's Request

Cat Hacks

Kubrick and the Beast

WIERDNESS

Everybody Likes You

Christmas Dog

Clark Kent

Degrassi

eBaum's World Dot Com

Fly Away

Happiest Shit Ever

Sorry For the Text Posts

Experiments in VOPM

Happy Songs

Hydoelectric Viking Funeral

It's Gonna Get Weird

Illemonama Polkarama

Magic Dance

MyNewSong

Pokerap

Prince Ali

Robo

Vanilla

Wiry Song

Wolfden Radio

Yellowfish

Zip-up Rap

**the songs with asterisks may or may not already have lines. my blog is old enough now that I struggle to comb through the whole thing, and tagging isn't always perfect. don't worry about re-using a song, though; as long as it's not an egregious duplication of an existing post, you're alright.

also, I only post every few days, so forgive me if it takes a while to get to your submission. sometimes I don't post lines until months after they've been sent in, so if you've submitted and I haven't posted, it may just be lost in my ass-long queue. or i just don't think it's very good. but you have no way of knowing, do you.

#lemon demon #neil cicierega #not pickup lines

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lilac-den · 8 months

Note

I hope you don't mind and if you'd feel like it, you could entertain me a little. ROs scenario ask incoming, for both series. But first, a little explanation where it comes from.

So, ever since last weekend started, I've been dealing with a big headache made by a toothache. and only today I finally have a dentist appointment. I'm tired from five days of barely sleeping, taking a little too much strong painkillers, and overall feeling dizzy and just too much, as well as being nervous as hell, since the last dentist visit I had (a few years ago) left me a little traumatised. I had a wisdom tooth removed waaay sooner than anesthesia kicked in (basically, I started feeling numb only after getting home). it hurt so much I left the dentist crying, with some adults looking at me like I'm crazy and kids looking scared. and I might be lucky the dentist didn't take it against me when I was so close to touch them myself (in attempt to take their hands off of me). so, today I wouldn't mind some little... fluff? comfort? anything, really, as I'm already standing in a store choosing my comfort plushie for today. (I may be 25 this year but I'm also adult enough to admit I need it).

anyway, the scenario? lets say MC is dealing with all that: a cheek so swollen they look like a hamster, toothache so big it leaves them either crying or dozing off in between, dizziness both from pain and as little (or as much) food they were able to get. add to that that little bit of trauma/being scared of dentists. and for whatever reason they need to wait a few days before meeting with a dentist. how would ROs help them, maybe comfort them in meantime? especially if all that could make even the calmest, kindest of MCs snap a little? (and they'd apologize either right after or once the pain is gone, depending on MC character)? 🥺

It's a bit rough for me to write answers for ROs from both series (cuz it's a lot) but I'll try my best XD

Pls try not to send me asks of both series at once though. It's a bit much for me 😢

(But I'm sorry to hear about your dentist visit ;u; if it helps - I never got to visit the dentist till about a year or two ago for the first time and jesus fuck was it a disgusting experience ._. I'm just glad my dentist was patient and informative) [And no judgement here - pretty sure being an adult means you got to have a horde of plushies if anything XD]

Silverking

Zeus: They'll treat MC like how you would treat a feral pet: Carefully and slowly approach them from the rear. XD But for real, they would start learning a whole new system for this rare event to get the pattern worked out.

Zeus wouldn't feel like MC needed to apologize - in fact, they had fun discovering this new side of MC.

Hermes: As someone who has medical knowledge and experience in the medical practice...Even they agree that dentistry sucks. But Hermes, while they would be pretty peeved about getting snapped at, is pretty up-to-date MC's state and understands the pain MC is in isn't their fault (that, and they know better than anyone that the snappy words MC said were out of the pain from the toothache, not from Hermes themselves). But mark my words, they'll be the ones to record MC being under loopy world from the dentist procedures of putting patients under anaesthesia with their phone and then show it to MC when they apologize to Hermes.

Dionysus: They'll be fretting so much - and also be sensitive with MC's mood, trying their best to not overstep anywhere. They would be the most comforting presence, but they'll also end up walking on eggshells around MC in fear of accidentally pissing them off. ^^"

Moment MC apologizes tho, Dionysus would relax and reassure MC that it's fine.

Ares: They're the most steady presence for MC but they're also not afraid of replying back to MC's snappy tone - just in a more of 'yes, dear, whatever you say' sort of manner (not in a careless one, but more like a spouse that's just so used to chaotic shit that this is their new normal XD) But Ares would go instinctive, protective mode of sorts - MC feels some discomfort? Ares tries to find out what's causing it then adjust it till MC is satisfied. MC's feeling dizzy? Ares ends up picking MC up to either let them rest on the bed or, if MC wants to, let them cuddle against them on Ares's lap.

Dolos: Huh...Kinda hard to picture how Dolos would do. Farthest I get is that they would already have things prepared, like they know MC just before MC asked - at least, stuff that's part of MC's routine/common choice of comfort/relief.

TSR

Maverick: Considering his ability to wield ice, he's the endless supply of ice packs for your swollen cheek! He'll personally tend to MC too - at least, until the staff had to convince him of the paperwork and stuff that's been piling up, which Maverick would work on it if it seems like he's suffocating MC a bit too much.

Rydigan: Unlike Maverick, he's gonna end up being attentive and maybe overprotective? I can picture MC being both exasperated but also nostalgic about Rydigan fretting over them.

Ittania: She'll help out if MC asks for it - not because she's uncaring (far from it!) but because she trusts MC to know what they need. Only time she'll put a hand in is if MC tries to do something that they shouldn't do in their condition - basically a limiter for them?

Enid: Hrm...She'll probs be pissed if the doctors try to do the procedure before the anaesthesia even kicked in, an amateur mistake since the House of Scales is known for having the best knowledge of medicines, including how long it takes for the anaesthesia to kick in for both susceptible or resistant to it. You can imagine her picking a fight with the doctors who's dumb enough to remove MC's wisdom tooth without the anaesthesia (even when MC tells her that it's not that bad, given how high MC's pain tolerance is).

Then...I guess she tries her best to care MC? (Tho she's pretty bad at this, so Ittania would take notice and try to help her when she can XD)

Thank you for the ask!

#silverking #TSR #The Sole Reminiscence #dentist #ROasks

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kerubimcrepin · 8 months

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Episode 17 - Toothache

These look like various different armours. Interesting.

One of the very, very rare times Kerubim says "Jojo", and not "Joris" or "my Jojo".

Considering how fast he came, chances are he was outside, listening in to Kerubim searching for the tooth. He is so real for that.

Joris gets a pass for not being normal about Kerubim and his stories because he's 7. I won't make fun of him. He's baby.

(Kerubim doesn't get a pass for not being normal about Joris because he's like 60-80, and should go to therapy, instead of compensating for his fail orphanage childhood and divorce. It's equality. To me.)

Yes, his spine always hurts. Yes, he's also still very good at acrobatics and parkour, as all adventurers should be. He contains multitudes.

Peace and love in the World of Twelve. Also, Kerubim's fruity stance here...

He loves sharing things that make him happy with Joris. It's very cute. But also Joris is like 7, so I don't know what he's expecting.

Maybe he's trying to raise him with a love for selling things to people, so that one day he will continue the family business.

Bad news: Joris's main interest as an adult, while manning the store, is Bullying The Customers. Bullying them until they start to cry or call him slurs.

And are these... "assistants" in the room with us, right now?

Also: Kerubim knits, as can be gauged from the yarn balls with the knitting needles in them. At least he is putting that yarn ball addiction that has been alluded in the first episodes (before Simone cleaned up) and which will be fully revealed in episode 49, The Jellivision, to a good use.

I just know that before coming out, they had a talk that went something like:

"And then, when I clap, my Jojo, you will jump onto the counter, with milk! Imagine how happy it would make the customer."

"Yay papycha!"

Yet again, everyone in this household loves to jump onto tables. This will not change in even 600 years. Manlets. Littlefellas. Shortguys.

Joris is more won-over by Keke's customer tactics than the customer. A likely thing for Joris to be.

I want to point out that, at literally no point during the series, except for the racing episode, do we see Kerubim actually go to Brakmar, or really explore the Sidimote Moors.

I wonder if he has something to hide.

(Atcham. I am yet again talking about Atcham.)

Despite wanting to act like he's cool and lucky, Kerubim does actually put in the time to research what waits him where he's going. Especially when he knows it's going to be dangerous. It's an interesting contrast to the way he was in the Unikron episode.

I suppose it's very likely that that story happened before this one, and he's matured.

(Though it doesn't mean he isn't wrong about things sometimes.)

Truly, he is the male version of Lina Inverse.

Food moment: I am not describing all of them, but man, those sure are fruits and veggies.

This implies that Kerubim has used the tooth for cleaning before, either cleaning the house, or cleaning himself. No wonder he's so beautiful.

I will be real, if I was Kerubim I would like. Do unspeakable evils upon Simone. I would make her tea with salt for a week. He is more patient than all of us.

Dead.

Yeah, not even being the best and the prettiest can save this. It's over.

#ep17 #wakfu #dofus #krosmoz #ro liveblogs dofus

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apocalypticavolition · 1 year

Text

Let's (re)Read The Eye of the World! Chapter 39: Weaving of the Web

Something something spoilers.

Something something the entirety of The Wheel of Time, not just book one.

Something something block tags.

Something something read the books.

Something something chapt--

No wait this part I want to put effort into. This chapter's icon is the Lion of Andor once again, because we're still in Caemlyn and Rand is about to be diving skull-first into the lion's den.

Mat glowered from where he lay curled up in a ball on his bed. “Take that Trolloc you’re so friendly with.”

STFU book 1 Mat. Rand, if he needs a bath so damn bad, throw a full bucket at him for comments like this. Throw several buckets at him, then blind him with more lightning. All must love Loial or else.

Herbalists and hedge-doctors were lying low in Caemlyn right now; there was talk against anyone who did any kind of healing, or fortunetelling. Every night the Dragon’s Fang was scrawled on doors with a free hand, sometimes even in the daylight, and people might forget who had cured their fevers and poulticed their toothaches when the cry of Darkfriend went up.

It's impressive that Mat is literally being corrupted by a source of evil that is some equal yet opposite to the source of all other evil and yet he still isn't the most paranoid asshole in the city. The Whitecloaks are stirring this up of course, proof that they as a faction completely suck, but between the winter and the False Dragon it didn't take much.

“Don’t know his name. Just heard about him. I hear most things in Caemlyn, eventually. Beggar.” The innkeeper grunted.

Oh right, Fain's in town. Still, Mat's not even the SECOND-most paranoid asshole in town. Really, Caemlyn is all kinds of fucked: the dagger and Fain within, "strange shapes" outside the city, the Whitecloaks flowing in and out... This city takes beating after beating in these books. There's a noose tightening around Rand and he's barely paying it any attention.

“Watch your back today, man.” Lamgwin’s voice sounded like gravel in a pan. “When the trouble starts, you’ll be a handy one to have here, not somewhere with a knife in your back.”

I suspect that Rand had to have the accident he's about to have to keep his dumb ass from ta'verening the riot into some sort of coup. All the crazy accidents he causes most of the time would really be the last straw.

Today, Caemlyn celebrated a victory of the Light over the Shadow. Today the false Dragon was being brought into the city, to be displayed before the Queen before he was taken north to Tar Valon.

I feel like there's something here, with this false Dragon and soon-to-be former Queen (and soon-to-be false Amyrlin) being the thing that everyone has their eyes on while the real Dragon meets with the future Queen and the real Amyrlin (either Siuan or Egwene works) is miles away. Elaida's Foretelling in particular seems like an echo of the one Siuan received long ago. I just can't quite string all the parallels together.

No one would have dared do such a thing two days earlier. More, Rand realized, the men who had done the bumping wore white cockades on their hats. It was widely believed the Whitecloaks supported those who opposed the Queen and her Aes Sedai advisor, but that made no difference. Men were doing things of which they had never before thought. Jostling a Whitecloak, today. Tomorrow, perhaps pulling down a Queen?

It's never said so, but I feel very much that this is some of Rand's ta'veren, the way that these dudes who should feel like they're on the same side are all sniping at each other.

Where streets in the New City mostly ran every which way in a crazy-quilt, here they followed the curves of the hills as if they were a natural part of the earth. Sweeping rises and dips presented new and surprising vistas at every turn. Parks seen from different angles, even from above, where their walks and monuments made patterns pleasing to the eye though barely touched with green. Towers suddenly revealed, tile-covered walls glittering in the sunlight with a hundred changing colors. Sudden rises where the gaze was thrown out across the entire city to the rolling plains and forests beyond.

Frankly something about this construction sounds almost impossible. Too many angles, too many heights. It feels like navigating a city designed by M. C. Escher. Wish I could live in Caemlyn!

The ragged man paused on the far edge of the street. His cowl, torn and stiff with dirt, swung back and forth as if searching for something, or listening. Abruptly he gave a wordless cry and flung out a dirty claw of a hand, pointing straight at Rand. Immediately he began to scuttle across the street like a bug.

One of the reasons I never much liked Jordan's statements that Fain was unique and had "side-stepped the Pattern" is moments like these, where his presence in Rand's life seems like a necessary ingredient to victory. If Fain hadn't scared Rand so much here, he wouldn't have ended up at the palace. Sure, some other coincidence might have happened (and he hasn't been Winded yet, so you could argue that he's still mostly on track here), but every major Fain moment in the series seems as intricately necessary as other major events that don't involve him instead of anything feeling off-script. I'll talk about this more as we go forward.

The beggar would not give up; he was sure of it, though he could not say why. That ragged shape would be working its way through the crowds at that very minute, searching, and if Rand returned to see Logain he ran the risk of a meeting.

I think Rand's certainty here is him twigging off of the alterations Fain's had that make him more Shadowspawn that the average Darkfriend.

The face of the wall had been left much in the natural state of the stone, the huge blocks fitted together so well that the joins were nearly invisible, the roughness making it seem almost a natural cliff. Rand grinned. The cliffs just beyond the Sand Hills were higher, and even Perrin had climbed those.

Ladies, gentlemen, those who transcend the petty binaries of mortals, meet the shittiest construction in the entirety of the Third Age. A wall whose only purpose is to allow one idiot farmboy after another climb the wall like they're lemmings with a power-up. It's a miracle Perrin never actually ends up doing it, since Jordan establishes right here that even he could. Why did they build this wall? How many people have taken advantage of it at one point or another? Can I blame Thom in some way to make sense of this absurdist bit of architecture? Yes that seems best. It's Thom's personal "fuck the queen while Damodred's at the front gate" wall. Maybe other sneaky lovers have used it over the years.

His clothes seemed ordinary, a cloak and coat and breeches that would not have caused comment in any farming village. But the way he wore them. The way he held himself. Logain was a king in every inch of him. The cage might as well not have been there. He held himself erect, head high, and looked over the crowd as if they had come to do him honor. And wherever his gaze swept, there the people fell silent, staring back in awe. When Logain’s eyes left them, they screamed with redoubled fury as if to make up for their silence, but it made no difference in the way the man stood, or in the silence that passed along with him. As the wagon rolled through the Palace gates, he turned to look back at the assembled masses. They howled at him, beyond words, a wave of sheer animal hate and fear, and Logain threw back his head and laughed as the Palace swallowed him.

Logain's being so clearly important despite being captured is nice foreshadowing for the way he'll sidestep the fate the Tower has planned for him. It also explains why so many people were willing to follow him, if he had such an air before capture.

Though it's not clear yet, Logain is laughing because he has the Talent to see ta'veren and Rand is so much ta'veren that he can see him from this distance. I'd always assumed this Talent is what Logain's controversial TV show line was referring to, Nynaeve being ta'veren in that canon and standing much closer to him, but maybe I'm crazy. It's been awhile since I saw season 1.

I have gotten my Fire Cube working again though, so maybe I should finish my rewatch to refresh myself? Eh. I'll probably just read butterflydm's a few dozen times and call it good and pretend that rewatching Bojack six times in as many weeks is healthy instead.

“Why were the Aes Sedai watching him?” he wondered aloud. “They’re keeping him from touching the True Source, silly.” He jerked to look up, toward the girl’s voice, and suddenly his precarious seat was gone.

Aww, Rand and Elayne have a meet cute. Rand nearly getting himself killed and barely dodging a concussion is a way better start to their romance than Min's creepy routine.

Sadly, Rand being knocked unconscious means we're done with this chapter and there was absolutely no Loial in it. It's an absolute travesty and I don't think Jordan's fixing that in the next chapter either. But we'll find out tomorrow!

#let's read #wheel of time #wot #robert jordan #wheel of time spoilers #wot spoilers #rand al'thor #mat cauthon #basel gill #lamgwin dorn #padan fain #logain ablar #elayne trakand

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masterwords · 2 years

Text

barely balancing

Summary: 5 times Hotch didn't eat (for reasons) and one time he did. More or less.

Pairing: Hotch/Morgan (not in every story, but a few)

Warnings: food is central to the story, there is also some vomit, canon references to the chili incident in "Lucky", hospital, Foyet stabbing references, references to MCD (Emily's faked death)

Words: 5.6k

Notes: For @eldrai who requested this scenario and I'm so sorry it took me two months to come up with SOMETHING for you. <;3 "Five times Character A went hungry, plus one time Character B treated them to dinner." As is usually the case with me, this prompt is loosely interpreted at best. Anyway, it's dark in some places and soft and sad and sweet in others...it's all over the place really.

Read on AO3: barely balancing

(1)

A free Saturday afternoon is the real treat, but to make it even sweeter Hotch decided to take Jack out for a walk around the neighborhood. Balmy summer afternoons make him itch to be outside. It feels like the only time he gets to spend outside anymore is walking through disposal sites, and today he wants to be as far from that as he can.

His apartment, still in boxes, feels cramped and too small. He's got Jack for the evening, so he takes his son's little hand in his and they walk down the sidewalk with no real destination in mind. The park sounds nice, at least for a while, maybe they'll find a restaurant with outdoor seating before Haley comes and picks Jack up. Neither of them wants to be in his sad little apartment, Jack won't sleep there, he just cries for Haley. The divorce has been cruel to each of them.

When Jack whines that his apartment is boring, that's not really what he means but he doesn't have the right words to say what he actually wants to. It isn't mommy's house, that's what Jack really means and it's so new that Hotch means it too. He misses his house; he misses his family...coming home to people that love him. He's just doing his best not to think about things out of his control or he'll ruin the few good hours he has with his son.

The song of the ice cream truck makes Jack's heart race. He hears it in his neighborhood every day and sometimes Haley gives him a dollar and lets him run out to the sidewalk to get an ice cream sandwich. His sticky chocolate fingers and vanilla ice cream dribble are worth the trouble. The truck doesn't come through Hotch's neighborhood often, not a lot of kids, too many busy streets, but he'll park his truck in the parking lot at the park and sit with that music blaring for twenty minutes.

“You want to get something?” he asks, and Jack bounces up and down on the balls of his feet.

“Yeah yeah yeah!”

Hotch lets him pick anything he wants, and he's instantly drawn to a treat that is bright pink and laden with rock-solid bubble-gum spheres. It looks a little like off-brand Pink Panther, and Hotch can't help but wonder if kids these days even know who that is. It looks like a toothache on a stick. “One Pink Panther and one fudge pop.” He's hot and ice cream doesn't sound too bad; he hasn't had anything but coffee yet today. He doesn't eat much these days unless Jack is around, won't cook for just himself. He's not there yet. Dave tells him it'll get easier to be on his own, but he's never done that before, not really...he's living in this sort of stasis like he's on a case and his apartment is just another hotel room. The permanence of it hasn't set in yet.

Walking through the grass, he unwraps Jack's frozen treat for him before opening his own. It happens almost immediately. Jack takes the stick and gets one solid lick in before his attention is drawn to the squeal of the chains on the swing set. He turns his head and the toe of his shoe catches on a tree root, that's all it takes. Hotch watches the catastrophe in slow motion unable to do anything to stop it. Pink Panther is flying through the air as the boy lands on his hands and knees. He's okay, it's a small trip into thick, soft grass, but Jack's tears seem to fall before the ice cream even lands. And then it's all bright pink bubblegum flavored mess all over the grass. It starts melting right before his eyes. With a sigh, he looks at his own treat, barely even unwrapped and untouched. If he was being honest, he never really expected to eat it anyway.

“Jack?” he asks, crouching beside his sobbing son and placing one hand on the little boy's back. “Here buddy. Have mine.”

(2)

He can't eat on cases.

Of course, he understands that sometimes he has to. Living requires eating, he knows, so he'll find a vending machine and grab a bag of salty crunchy pretzels and a bottle of water. Just enough to get him through. But if he's at the police station, he's got to be on his game and eating makes him comfortable and tired. He finds it difficult to stay sharp...he enjoys good food too much. It doesn't seem to affect the rest of the team the way it does him. JJ and Derek will be on their game with pizza and soda in their hands, Dave can solve a whole case while eating a meatball sub, but Hotch runs better with only coffee fueling him. Something about his relationship to food just throws him off.

This case is no exception. Something about it is turning his stomach and he's barely even drinking coffee. He's existing on the calories provided by a handful of Tums chased by a gulp of Pepto Bismol. Derek and Dave are locked in a battle of wills over Derek's distrust of the church and he's one step shy of stepping in on Derek's behalf and making Dave back off...except Derek doesn't seem to want that.

Not yet, anyway. They're still figuring each other out. It's new.

“Derek,” Hotch says quietly when they have a second alone. There is something tense between them now and it's crushing him, he needs it to stop. “You don't have to talk to the pastor if you're uncomfortable with it. I can do it.”

“Naw, it's not like that...” he starts, searching Hotch's tired eyes for recognition. It's a power thing now. Derek can't let Rossi push him around, he can't let Rossi win. It's not about Hotch. “I got it. Thanks though.”

He's sick to his stomach by the time the search party is in the woods and the smell of the chili makes him feel worse. He's never liked chili with its greasy heavy meatiness, the bold spices, the thick beans that he used to tell Sean were beetles. That was mean of him, he knows it now (and he knew it then) but it's still funny. Sometimes he'll remind Sean of it over Thanksgiving dinner or in a birthday card.

“Hotch, you want a bowl?” JJ is holding a steaming styrofoam bowl of chili. It's almost tempting, it looks so warm, and his hands are blocks of ice. But he knows he'll end up sick in the restroom if he does, he's already on the verge, so he shakes his head.

“No thank you, JJ,” he says quietly, his hand absentmindedly fiddling with his tie and settling against his twisting stomach. He just wants to go home. He'd take a hotel bed, or even a shower. Not the woods, not a search party.

“I haven't seen you eat in two days.” She approaches him and offers him her bowl; she hasn't eaten any yet. She's practically pushing it at him. “You have to eat something.”

“I will.” He grabs a two pack of saltines from the table and puts them into his pocket, waving them at her to make sure she sees he's got them. He'll eat them later. With a shrug, she digs in while visiting with Derek and Emily who have their own bowls. Hotch wanders into the woods to get away from the smell and sends Sean a quick text with only a picture of a beetle he finds on a fallen log. Feels appropriate.

By the time they've solved this case, he won't just be thinking about beetles in his chili anymore. And if Sean ever finds out, he'll never hear the end of it. (Sean does find out via Derek later, and he makes everyone chili at their mother's house for Halloween. Hotch doesn't eat any. Derek...well...he's shockingly resilient.)

(3)

The ICU is cold, and shockingly quiet as visiting hours come to an end. It's usually a hub of commotion, patients coding or being carted in and out for surgery, but tonight there isn't much commotion. Not many patients. Derek is sitting beside Hotch arguing in hushed whispers with Emily about how to divide up the caseload with Hotch and Reid both out for who knows how long. He's barely awake, floating somewhere in a medicated stupor. Lashes flutter against his cheek as he tries to drag his eyes open, to tell them to stop arguing but he can't seem to claw his way to the surface. Derek knows how to do most of Hotch's job, he's filled in briefly before, and they'll just make Dave take on the real heavy lifting but Emily's drowning in consults and she doesn't want to take on Hotch's too.

“There's only three of us, Em,” Derek pleads. “You're gonna have to take on more. That's just how it is.”

“There are other teams, can't we give them some?”

"We will give them what we can, but there are some things we can't pass on."

Derek rolls his eyes at her stubbornness but the worst of it is that she's right. They're overloaded even with a full team, and it isn't like JJ and Garcia can do what they do. They're offering to do what they can, go above and beyond...Garcia can do some of JJ's job so JJ can help with some of their work, she knows enough to be dangerous.

They step out into the hall when the nurses come in to do their rounds, check Hotch's vitals. He's cold, his temperature has fallen in the last hour and they both know it isn't because the room is cold. They don't talk about that, but both of their attentions to that number and remember hearing the reason. It'll probably never leave them. “He lost a lot of blood,” the doctor had told them quietly. That was a no-brainer until it really sunk in what she was saying. “It's going to take some time.”

The nurse leaves a box of apple juice and a little container of red jell-o behind with stern instructions to Derek that he needs to get one of them down Hotch's throat, she doesn't care which one, or they'll have to start intervention. "I'll do what I can, but no promises...he's a stubborn ass..." he says that with love and the nurse nods, understanding that he means they'll need to start something in his IV. She's ready to make the order, walking away with little confidence.

“I can't watch that again,” Emily says, grabbing her purse. “I can't watch him cry over apple juice again.” She's got nerves of steel, but she's seen this man stare down the worst unsubs without flinching and how is she supposed to reconcile that with him throwing apple juice up into a little pink kidney shaped basin with tears in his eyes? She doesn't know him that well yet and this is a hell of a way to do it. Besides, Derek is better equipped, she figures. They have their reasons, and she isn't going to pry...but she can leave knowing Hotch is in good hands.

Derek offers her a sad smile and a nod. “I get it. Go get some sleep, we'll talk in the morning. I'll bring you coffee.”

“Make it a triple or I quit.”

Hotch is awake when he comes back into the room. “Hey you.”

“Emily...” he rasps through desert dry lips. His tongue feels like parchment paper. Licking his lips takes more effort than it's worth, there isn't any wet to share.

“I told her to go get some sleep. She's mean when she's tired.”

Hotch nods and his eyelids start to fall heavy again. “No, no, no not yet baby...” Derek whispers that last part and Hotch tries to open his eyes again. Tries to keep them open but they're too heavy. “They want you to try some more apple juice...or maybe some jell-o?”

Derek grabs for the jell-o first but Hotch shakes his head. Well, it's not really a shake, it's more of a twitch and he lets it fall to one side at least in as close to a shake as he can muster. “No,” he says, his fingers twitching at his sides. Derek nods. He's not going to push, not now. Any other time and he's the one shoving Hotch up against a wall and forcing him to make the right choice but he's out of his depths here, there is too much hurt and Hotch has lost too much autonomy as it is. He won't do that to him now. His vulnerability is painful for both of them. “Can't.”

“Okay. That's cool, I knew you'd be stingy about it being red. I'll eat it, I'm starving...how 'bout you just take one sip of that juice for me? One little sip to wet those beautiful lips for me? There's a kiss in it for you if you do...” He's not going to force Hotch to eat anything, but he's not above a little bribery.

Hotch tries, but it goes about as well as Derek expects, and he ends up holding that damn pink bucket with his hand on the back of Hotch's neck to keep him upright. “It's okay, it's okay,” he whispers, his voice changing tone from joking casual to worried and quiet. “We'll try again tomorrow. No worries baby. I'll kiss you anyway...”

He does, once Hotch is all cleaned up, because that was sort of mean of him to try and bribe a kiss out of someone who he knows can't control whether he can hold something down. Sometimes the jokes just don't land.

Another hit to the morphine button and Hotch is back asleep. They let Derek stay at night given the nature of Hotch's arrival at the hospital, the staff don't want to deal with Foyet should he decide to pop around to check on his project. The nurse brings him a few extra jell-o cups and a voucher for him to get breakfast at the cafeteria in the morning.

(4)

When Penelope brings in donuts, it usually means bad news. She's always trying to soften the blow. Another case, something bad coming down from Strauss or the Director, more work. Hotch knows, though, that this time it's because of Emily. They've all been struggling; she's been gone a week and they've been going through the motions. Her desk is still the way she left it. Not a single thing has been moved, not even one single pen. It's like a shrine, now.

But Penelope brings in a box of huge fluffy donuts and sets them right there on Emily's desk, daring everyone to come and really notice that she isn't there. Because it's breaking her heart the way everybody is just pretending things are normal.

Derek won't touch them. He won't even look at her desk. He's still too angry at himself for allowing it to happen so he avoids the whole area as often as possible. “Sorry, baby girl, I'm not hungry. I gotta get to the Academy.” It's a legitimate excuse, but beside the point. She's not happy with him and he doesn't seem to care.

Dave stops and visits with her. They talk about Emily with smiles and tears in their eyes, and Dave takes a maple bar happily. That's the fee, she figures. She'll perch herself in Emily's chair and make them all talk about her. Remember her and her smile and her laugh and how she always had the perfect sarcastic remark.

Hotch almost walks by. It isn't that he doesn't want to talk about Emily, he just doesn't want a donut. But he can see that Penelope just really really wants to talk about Emily, she grieves out loud, so he figures he'll stop and share a funny story or two. He tells her about the car ride with Emily his first morning back after Foyet. It's something dark that he figures he can lighten up. No one really talks about that time. “She was so bossy,” he says with a sad smile. It's hard for him to say was when he knows it's a lie, that she's still out there breathing, but he's trying to tread water here. “She put my seat belt on for me. Can you believe that? She even checked to make sure it was tight enough.”

Penelope has tears in her eyes. “She was such a mom...” That makes Hotch laugh. He's never thought of Emily that way. More like a wine aunt at best, but the way she treated him that morning was very motherly. He'll give Penelope that.

“She insisted on opening the car door for me, too.” Penelope blows her nose and lets out a sad chuckle.

“Why?”

He shrugs and takes the donut she hands him. Blueberry, his favorite. “Thank you Penelope.” He can't say more or it'll kill him, his chest already feels unbearably tight. The lie is suffocating him and it's only been a week. He passes through the breakroom with his donut, what he really needs is some coffee, and he finds Spencer standing there staring at the cream and sugar with a dazed look on his face.

“Reid?” he asks, coming up beside the other man. He wants to ask if Spencer is okay but that's a silly thing to ask right now of anyone who works on this floor. None of them are okay.

“You know, it's funny,” Spencer says without looking up. His voice sounds haunted. “I want to talk about her. I do. But it's just...it's...”

Hotch nods. “I know. You will, when you're ready.”

“Everyone else seems ready now. Look at Garcia out there, look at everyone exchanging stories for donuts...even you did it.” It's a little more pointed than he means it, but he doesn't take it back.

Hotch looks at the donut in his hand, at the napkin collecting flecks of sugary glaze, and his chest feels tighter. “Here,” he says, handing it to Spencer. A sad little peace offering.

“No, those are...I didn't earn it.” It's a funny way to put it, but Hotch supposes it's true. They come with a fee, and he paid his fee. But he doesn't want it and he knows how much Spencer loves sweets. He looks like he could use a little win. This isnt helping Hotch's guilt, it's making it worse, but he has no idea what to do. This entire situation is new and it's huge and he's going to drown he just knows it. The grief is painted on the walls and he can't escape it.

Right now, though, a donut will put a temporary stop to the bleeding.

“You're right, but I did. When you're ready to talk about her, come pay me back. Okay?”

Spencer smiles. It's weak and still unbearably sad, but he smiles anyway. “Thank you, Hotch.” Spencer loves blueberry donuts and Hotch wasn't hungry anyway.

(5)

Sitting in the backseat has never agreed with Hotch. His uncle used to throw him and all of his cousins into the bed of his pick-up and head up the mountain to collect firewood. Up the bumpy, winding logging roads he and his cousins would be thrown from one end to the other, struggling for something to hang onto before they flew right out. He hated it. Absolutely hated it. By the time they arrived at their destination he was bruised all over and throwing up over the side of the truck. No one else seemed to mind as much as he did.

And then there was his mother who drove too fast and yelled at everyone who got in her way while he slid around in the backseat. “You don't need a seat belt,” she'd say while he tried to find the second strap of the lap belt. It was usually hidden beneath the bench seat and his arm was not quite long enough to fish it out. “Just hold onto the door handle. We're not going far.” There were times he would just huddle himself up on the floor, tucked in so the sharp curves wouldn't fling him to the other side.

“Jason,” he calls from the back seat, desperate. He doesn't usually make noise from the back seat, figures they'll get where they're going before anything becomes an emergency but this drive is a little too long and too fast and too bumpy. “I need you to stop. Please.”

“We're almost there Hotch!” Jason isn't paying attention to the sudden gray wash over Hotch's face, but Derek is. He sees it even in the low light. “Can't stop now, we're in pursuit.”

They're not, at least not like that. They could afford the few seconds it would take for him to spill out of the car door and gag onto the shoulder of the road. Jason is just impatient, he doesn't want to chance it and under other circumstances Hotch wouldn't blame him but he's definitely going to be sick whether Jason stops the car or not.

“Please, Jason,” he pleads quietly.

“Two minutes, Hotch! Put your head between your knees!”

“Hey, uh...I don't think he's got two minutes, man...we are way past putting his head between his knees unless you just want him to ralph all over his shoes.” Derek finally chimes in, staring at Hotch in horror. He's pretty sure he's about to be puked on. It's gonna look like that scene in 'Stand By Me', he's pretty sure. Maybe 'Problem Child'. It's about to get gross. “Hotch, hey...” he puts his hand on Hotch's shoulder and is met with a look of pure desperation. Finally, after realizing that Jason is definitely not going to pull the car over, Derek shrugs out of his FBI windbreaker and hands it to Hotch. It's all he's got; they don't have anything else. “Use that.”

There isn't anything else Hotch can do. He presses his face into the jacket, into the smell of Derek that almost makes him feel better and creates a sort of barrier. It doesn't take long before he's losing everything he's eaten that day into the slick lining of Derek's coat. At least it's contained. Derek rolls down his window to let some fresh air into the car and Jason mutters something about two minutes again before doing the same. The officer in the front seat can't help letting out a small laugh before following suit. Soon the whole car is filled with wind and the smell of the mountain, and Hotch has his face buried miserably inside of Derek's soiled jacket.

It's dumped straight in a trashcan on the property when they pull up, there is no saving it. “Hotch, stay here. Keep an eye out.” That's Jason, always helpful. Ignore what happened and move on.

“I'm fine, Jason,” he says once his feet are on solid ground, but Jason won't hear his argument so he stays. The world is still all wobbly and he's definitely not fine but he will be soon. He keeps his gun in his hand while he breathes through the last of the nausea, and he listens to the sound of Derek making the arrest. He's not quiet. It echoes through the still mountain night, scatters the crickets and the birds in the trees nearby.

“Who wants pizza?” Jason asks, once they have their unsub in the police car and the three of them are on their own. “My treat.”

Hotch groans and Derek laughs at the sound of his misery. Derek is definitely in the mood for pizza and says so with a little too much excitement. He's always so full of adrenaline after a take down and it's usually contagious, Hotch can't help but feel his energy...except this time. He's still reeling, and he owes Derek a new jacket. All he wants to do is lay down.

“No, thank you,” Hotch says finally before swiping the keys from Gideon's hand. He's not messing around. He'd rather walk than sit in that backseat again. “But I am driving back.”

(+1)

Pakistan is hot.

Not just hot, it's fucking hot, excuse his French. And that's not really the problem as much as that it's also dry. He's exhausted, he's thirsty all the time, his skin is itchy beneath the beard he hasn't been able to shave and to top it all off...he's lonely.

Really lonely. The kind of lonely that he feels even when he's talking to another person. The problem is just that they're not his people. And yeah, that's kind of silly. Anyone can be his people and he's surrounded by a lot of really interesting sorts who have big stories to tell. Stories that can rival the things he's seen and that takes a lot. He's had to prove himself once or twice around a table full of men and beers during down time. He wasn't often the sort who felt the need, but here, it was almost necessary in order for them to take him seriously.

“Nine times?” one man asked, horrified. “In your own home?!”

That had about sealed it. He was worth listening to. But that wasn't how he wanted to gain their respect, so he tried day after day to give them other reasons. Up before dawn, working beside them, even in the trenches when they needed extras. They'd seen a man who would hole up in a tent with a computer and a phone and a certain level of self-importance, but what they got was a man who would come up alongside them and ask what they needed.

Unfortunately, that sort of work ethic that bordered on manic came at a price. He missed meals in order to help out, missed more in order to do his own job, and missed yet more in order to keep in touch with his family back home. By his rough estimate, he's slept about two and a half hours in the last 4 days. The sand is starting to warp and shape shift in front of his eyes. He feels like he's in an old timey movie and he's looking for some oasis in the desert but he's really about to start drinking sand in a mirage.

He's changed his clothes twice already today, sweating through the heavy cotton and dense canvas almost immediately.

These guys don't want to learn hostage negotiation, they don't want to learn interrogation tactics, they want to do something. They crave action. Hotch understands, he's a Field Agent, he loves to get in there. Hell, he's a menace with a rifle and more than a few of the guys had heard about him but that isn't what he's here for he has to tell them. He can't go out and fire weapons at empty barrels to kill the time. He's filling in for Strauss and she isn't that...she's a teacher, she's a suit who gives orders and that's what he has to be, too. He can empathize though, so he tries to make it interesting. All the while his thoughts are consumed with his team back home, Emily out in the world somewhere alone, Jack and Jessica and Derek. His family.

He's amassed most of those two (and some change) hours of sleep by burying his head in his arms at a table and setting an alarm on his phone for fifteen minutes. Just enough to shock his senses and piggy back it with coffee. Until he can't wake up. Until one of his students tells someone, and a doctor is waking him up with smelling salts like he'd passed out and telling him he needs to go back to his tent and sleep. In his bed.

And eat. They say that, too. They've been keeping track. “We keep logs of who eats and who doesn't at meal time. You'd be surprised how many people can't or won't take the time until they pass out...can't have that happening out there, Agent. Eat a meal and sleep for at least six hours. That's an order.”

The doctor outranks him, so he doesn't argue. But he stands in the walkway that leads between buildings and tents and to his exhausted eyes, everything looks identical and beige. He's lost. Utterly lost. In a place he's walked every square inch of over the last two months. He's finally got time to eat at a time that they're serving food, and even though it was 10am and they said there was chili (of all things) in the mess tent, he was actually willing. He hasn't been able to stomach chili in years, not since Dennis Feylin and Tracy Lambert, but he'd eat just about anything put in front of him right now.

Except he's just lost. He takes a step and stumbles a little, his legs are about to give out. All of the adrenaline from working nonstop is wearing off after his time in the medic's tent and he's about to crash hard, right there, in the sand.

“Agent Hotchner? Sir?” A young man approaches him from the side and he blinks himself back to some sort of reality. Something that feels wrong but looks right. He raises his chin and furrows his brow. He can always put on his best face. Hell, he profiled his own attack from a hospital bed once upon a time. This is easy.

“Yes?”

“A package for you, sir. Here. Are you lost?”

“No, I'm fine. Thank you for the package.”

Something in him clicks with the box in his hand, and his feet move without being told. Quickly, down the corridors between tents until he reaches his own. Immediately he falls onto his bed. It's not even graceful, he just collapses there staring at the package still in his lap and wondering with some uncertainty whether he has the strength to even open it. He almost decides not to until he sees the address label. He knows that handwriting. It's Derek, a care package probably from he and Jess and Jack. Sending it through official channels means it arrives sooner. His fingers tremble as he peels at the tape, tearing it off in long strips and wishing he had the steadiness to use his knife. He wouldn't chance that, not with the tremor in his hands.

A quick glance at his clock tells him he has to make this fast if he's going to get six hours of sleep. Inside is a huge bag of banana chips, his favorite peanut butter protein bars, freeze dried apples and raspberries, dried mango and raisins. And a pile of single serve oatmeal cups, no flavor, no sweetener, simply oats...just add water. All of his favorites.

He doesn't mean to cry, but he does. He's overjoyed, not just at the fact that he's holding food in his hands right now but that he doesn't have to leave his room. He doesn't have to eat chili. The streak continues.

He's got a bottle of water beside his bed and he doesn't even care that it isn't cold, he's going to drink it with a protein bar and some banana chips and he's going to love it more than anything he's ever eaten. He's that hungry.

And it's only 7pm back in Virginia, so while he tears into his sticky protein bar he waits for his laptop to boot up. It's not fast but where does he have to be? He's on ordered rest. He's got time to eat dinner with his family. They're having chicken pot pie, one of his favorites, and he would probably have killed for a bite of it...Jess cooks like a southern grandma, and that means everything is incredible and filling. Stick to your ribs stuff. He could live for a week on just one slice and he's salivating looking at it. Still, his meal suits him just fine. It's filling his belly and Jack and Derek are making him laugh while Jessica pokes at him about how thin he looks. “You look sick. I'm going to send you more food,” she insists and Derek winks at him playfully just out of her line of sight. She's a worrier, it's what she does, and Derek can see what she means but he doesn't want to make Hotch feel bad. He doesn't want to worry Jack. They'll deal with this when he's back home. Only a few more months.

“I still think you look good,” he says, leaning closer to the camera until his face takes up the whole screen. Until Hotch can see every pore in his perfectly clear skin. “The beard is a nice touch. I wanna scrattttch it." He wiggles his fingers in demonstration and Hotch smiles a little sheepishly.

“I don't have a razor,” Hotch replies quietly, popping another banana chip into his mouth. “It's itchy.” He doesn't have a lot of time, they have strict limits, but he's making the most of it just watching the chaos of his family around the dinner table and pretending he's right there with them. Tonight he is.

And by the time his limit has been reached, he feels full enough to get some real sleep. Six hours, alarm set.

#aaron hotchner #derek morgan #david rossi #penelope garcia #spencer reid #jason gideon #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #hotchgan #criminal minds #fanfiction

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