#Because it's kinda like a sort of sorting y'know?

[pendularium]

jfj's brittania costume is genuinely so well done, because it gets across where & who he is, y'know. The Dress itself is pretty clearly linked to vulnerability, specifically physical vulnerability (1), as it's then that the scurvy reveal happens, and this vulnerability is not just something that will be an issue, especially when facing down the prospect of walking with the injuries he already has, but it's also something, that as we see in the show, arguably removes what signifiers of rank he has - it's the sick who are carried in the boats, together. So then, brittania and the carnivale: the carnivale is pretty solidly an expression of empire? As crozier puts it, it's a temple to all that they miss (2), and there is jfj as brittania & its orchestrator, bringing this slice of the empire to the arctic - when under threat, he turns to the protection that the british empire and his status within offers (3) - a security that is kinda fundamentally - not hollow - but flawed: carnivale is as much a temple of vanity as it is one of home, and the fact that it is burned (with des voeux (I think) quite literally dressed as an orientalist caricature) calls back to the chinese sniper story; the empire does offer some level of protection, but it is also what kills him. wow. I'm detecting some sort of theme or something. There is also the extra fun Gender layer to all this, which is that by going as brittania, the female performance is legitimised as an expression of patriotism, rather than treated as, in no small part, ironic demonstration.

(1) side note here, but of course there's also the fact you can argue jfj's bastard status is also a form of physical vulnerability - 'I'm not even english' (2) ok I know this has been said before, but the connection between religion/god and the empire the show draws is so interesting here: if you accept that home is also the empire, the choice specifically of temple is so interesting in a christian context for its pagan undertones right? home/the empire is a drive, and a distraction/a turning from the 'true' path - the empire has no place, and trying to force it in is what kills them (3) coming back to vanity! what is vanity if not his stories - 'like the shot that killed lord nelson' (thank you edward), his performance as brittania is part how he displays himself as belonging and as a celebrated part of the empire

this show is so good

[bonefall]

Sorry if you’ve already answered something like this! how does Warrior Bites work into the initial journey in TNP? I don’t recall how long the journey to the sun drown place took, but I feel like with how cooked food is preferable due to diseases and parasites, did Bramble and co have to get dewormed when returning to the clans? Or perhaps the Tribe could help them with that on their way back, as a thanks for how they help drive out Sharptooth?

I feel like it’d be difficult to sneak out with extra rations with how the Clans were struggling, plus it’d be difficult to carry all the tools required to cook every time they set up camp. It’d be easier for them to eat their prey raw, at least during certain parts of the journey.

Would also be an interesting opportunity to introduce the cast to different foods, too! Rogue groups in twolegplace using vegetables from gardens for flavor, for example. I couldn’t find if there’s salt beds in English mountains, but if there is the Tribe would have way easier access to it than the Clans do. I bet they’d have wildly different cuisine as a result.

Sorry for the long winded ask but your ideas tickle my autistic brain just right fjahfhsh

The Tribe mountain MUST have salt under it, right? The Appalachians and the Caledonians are the same mountain range split up by tectonic shift and I know there's salt in the Appalachians because it's, like, pre-life-on-earth old right? Hangon

*le googel*

YEP there's a lot of salt in Cheshire, one of the counties I use as a model. Which I could have just learned by googling "uk salt mine." However, my brain is a rube goldberg machine.

The Sundrown Patrol DEFINITELY needed a deep cleaning! They would be full of fleas, probably be carrying a couple of bad knots or a couple of mats, and one or two of them definitely caught worms. Probably Squirrelpaw tbh, knowing her impatient little butt (affectionate).

The Tribe wouldn't do a deep deworming though, because that takes time and the Clan cats would want to get home as quickly as possible. They just stayed for the quick celebration to gather some rations and planned to leave... but then the appearance of Sharptooth changed their plans.

(btw if you wanna see how the Sundrown Patrol's Journey to the Lake goes in Bonefall TNP, I made a map and a synopsis!)

Setting up a basic cooking fire wouldn't be TOO hard though! You just keep a couple of sticks to use as spits and roast your prey over the open fire, like either a roast or a marshmallow. Beats dealing with tapeworms for the whole trip.

Funny enough I actually think it's Crowfoot/feather who's the main cook of the little patrol, I keep feeling like Mudclaw was a pretty good chef. He would have passed that onto Crow.

Tawnypelt: "It's almost sunrise, Crowfoot is late... if he doesn't come soon we'll have to go without him."

Crowfoot: "Hold your hedgehogs I'm here. I was making tunnelbuns for the trip."

Squirrelpaw: "Where- what-- how did you do that so fast??"

Crowfoot: "youre weeeeeeeeelcome."

Stormfur: "Hang on, you didn't steal from your own Clan in famine, did you?"

Crowfoot: "??? I mashed my personal larvae stash to make into travel rations and this is the thanks I get??? you think my clanmates were gonna keep my mealworms alive while I was gone?? Mousebrain!"

Brambleclaw: "Yuck, who wants to eat mashed bugs?"

Squirrelpaw hiding how appetizing it sounds because her buddy Sorreltail opened her eyes to how good grasshoppers can taste.

[hi-note]

Would you care if paper doodles I did last night idk I wanted to draw more characters shaped like this

[snepfeathers]

augh. I am feeling...out of sorts.

[randomcinematicuniverse]

M2D HC(?): I kinda wish we had an episode where Nicole is the sole babysitter to Gracie for a day, like the dads are both out & Nicole's left in charge of the loft & taking care of the baby. Just Nicole being the best big sister (figure) ever to Gracie. I would've loved to have Ben come back & visit too. Make all three of them - Nicole, Ben, & Gracie - a special pseudo-sibling trio, you know?

[astarab1aze]

➥ Loux Garo

fuck around, find out / drabble warning for violence, vaguely direct gore, probably poor handling of this exact situation

"Naw, y'see..." Loux said, leaning into knuckles itching for a fight, fangs bared, a sneer on his lips. Staring down the proverbial barrel of a gun, surrounded by the weres he stole from - all of them, seething, from the -bull to the -wolf, and the dragonkin in between. And he could only flash his darkest storm, his sharpest grin, hand under his haori, fingering his spoils. "I ain't jus steal from ya, ma chicos y chiquitas..."

In point of fact, he'd done a fair bit more than just steal from them - he robbed them utterly blind, and had stood there for twenty minutes rubbing their faces in it.

The bull, with hair black as night and truly impressive longhorns, stepped forward, fists balled tightly. Loux could see the rage in their eyes, beady black things, glaring down at him- No doubt on the verge of making a grab for him. Funny. They always acted it was some cardinal sin, that a trinket or two and a handful of cash be taken, but maybe if they hid their shit better, the fox wouldn't have been so keen on investigating... No personal accountability, for shame! How could he not teach them so basic a lesson? They left it all out in the open in front of a known criminal.

"'Course not, 'cause you're a rat - and rats ain't good for no fuckin' thing else."

Stormy gray met furious black in defiance with a nonchalant tilt of his head, champagne blond falling out of his eyes. He knew what was to come, could sense it in them all, could feel it spiking in the air. In the thundering beats of their hearts, the cracking of their knuckles, flexing of muscle under cloth and fur, in the grinding of their teeth, the sweat upon their brow - and he was quietly, happily goading them into the fight they so wanted, the justice they demanded. He didn't even have to do anything but stand there, feigning a scratch at his ribs, rolling his eyes the while.

It would just be easier if they could get a fucking move on already. If they wanted to beat him to death, now was their chance. He would get his, in the end. There wasn't any way he was going to get out of this anyway, so may as well let them do as they pleased.

"He's just a kid," the antelope whispered, short hair, glassy green eyes, but it didn't seem they'd meant to. Oh? What's this, apprehension?

"So what, ya think we should just let him go because o' that? Ya think he gives a damn about the fuckin' rules? Look at him, grinnin' like it's nothin'. He knows he's wrong - he just doesn't fuckin' care! Ya wanna let him have it or d'ya want yer fuckin' money back?" the wolf barked, growling as he spoke from behind Loux, claws shattering the hardwood and brick of the Packhouse bunkroom. Splintering, clattering to the floor.

Was he supposed to be intimidated? As if. He was a lackey of Deadeye once - try harder.

He glanced between the bull, the antelope, the gator, and the exit, gray temporarily affixing to woodgrain, mind tumbling over a handful of exit plans once all was said and done. He could've shifted into the form of a fly and left right then, but he wanted this, this confrontation, something reckless and dark gnawing at the back of his mind, snipping at his heartstrings. Counting on this, wanting this to happen, for someone to catch him in the act and show him how fucked up and worthless he really was. Maybe it was baser, more idiotic than even that, instinctive drive to go down and take everyone else with him pushing him ever further down the path he'd chosen. Was he trying to get himself killed? Or did he know his best and only chances were on every gamble he'd ever taken? He'd survived all this time on his own, after all, and how else but adapting to the ugliness of the people and world around him? Steal to make deals and pay for meals, kill or be killed, dog eat dog, the whole shpiel. This was their chance, their turn to prove true what seemed as natural law. There would always be killers and thieves, so there must always be someone to stop them, be it the common man or folk who didn't mind beating the shit out of a kid.

"Do you want to go to jail?! Are you crazy?" the antelope yelped, drawing Loux's attention back to center. "I'm not going down with you! Especially not since--"

"Since what, coward? Since he's Loux Garo? Ya think we didn't know that? It's even more reason to just get rid of him now!" Wolf again, heavy paws thumping into the wood beneath them, scraping his claws into it. Whatever. "We'd be doin' everyone and his mom a fuckin' favor. We'd be heroes, for fuck's sake."

Loux wondered if they were even paying attention to him anymore, if it would be easy to slip through. See, part of him was keen on vanishing into the night, but it was quiet, overshadowed by impulsivity and boredom, pinky digging into his ear to show as much. A little surprising though, that they've decidedly jumped to the idea of killing him.

"Kid's not jus' a thief, he's a fuckin' murderer! A terrorist! Hate to say it, but I think yer right..." Gator, hissing in agreement, heavy tail grinding against the floor. "Killin' 'im leaves a bad taste in m' mouf though, maybe we shouldn't. We'd 'ave blood on our 'ands--"

"And who out of us doesn't, huh?!" bellowed the bull, and Loux decided he'd just about had enough of their utterly pointless, circular conversation.

He stepped forward, gaze never again returning to the bull's face, and he raised a hand, two fingers in the air with his thumb tucked in. "Iffin ya feel like doin' it, go ahead. Get it o'er wit, ain't got all day t' wait till y'all can figger out 'ow to get away wit assaultin' anybody, me included." Then he curled them, and a spark would catch flame in the bull's hair, crackling in the dim light and giving off its own. "How's 'bout a lil provocation?"

And he laughed, madly, taking pleasure in the sudden terror bleeding in between all seven of his would-be killers, swiftly turning on his heel and with an arrogant flourish, doing much the same to the wolf. Again, swinging around to the antelope and delighting in the way that she screamed. Starting fires in fur and flesh, little ones, small ones, enough to cause panic, enough to goad into action. The bull and the wolf each howled and growled, anthromorphic hands rushing to put out every flame, and they would succeed, of course they would, even as their skin burned. A flurry of gasps, too slow on the uptake, and though his smile was wide, his hands ready to set them all ablaze, they would have their graceless retribution.

The twinkle and chill of ice shot through the air too soon after, frigid shards shattering on impact with brick, lodging into wood - and freezing everything around them like a volley of blighted arrows. Oh, not good. As smoke then clouded the room, he felt himself tumble a step forward, barely able to keep standing, in place of the bull, hands frantically flutter to his chest, then under the right-side of his ribcage. He hadn't felt it at first, distracted by his own provocation, hot fingers melting into the ice burrowing in. His eyes went wide and he hazarded a pitiful gasp, an even worse laugh, diaphragm catching on the pressure, his nerves not quite registering the pain just yet. Shaking on his feet, blood curdling in his veins, gut viciously churning, sudden anxiety clutching at his heart. The heat of his blood poured from his chest, mixing with water, and all around him batted away the smoke, rushed closer, watched him fall to his knees as the agony of it took root at last.

"We...we have no choice now, do we?" Voices blurring together. "He set us on fire!" Too many at once. "Yeah, but-" Shouting. "He's still just a kid!" His heart was slowing, fire wouldn't come to his call, the magic dying inside before he could ever hope to make use of it. "Hey, he ain't gettin' back up." Fuck. "Oh yeah! We shoulda opened wit that ice cast - 'e's weak to it." Wheezing, eyes burning with smoky tears he couldn't weep, trembling on the floor in a heap, willing the spike of ice to hurry up and melt so he could pull it free-- "C'mon, this'll be easy."

He tried to lift his head and wear his best smile, crooked and vile as ever, knowing well and good that no matter how youthful his appearance, calling him a child didn't truly make it so. A fist dove into the mess of his hair, smelling thickly of singed hair, tangled in and yanked him backward, winding him in the process. He sputtered and coughed on every breath, robbed of his power in an instant, arrogance swept clean from his face. Blood pooling on the hardwood between his knees, spilling between the cracks, sticky on his skin. Feeling around the spike, coming to the realization that with this, he very well could die.

But even in the end, he would provoke, he would incite, he would demand it.

"Took y'all long 'nough to figger tha' out..." he croaked, "Gon-gonna finish the job or leave a girl waitin'? Got shitta do afta this--"

"Shut the fuck up!" Hoof to the spine, another forcing the spike out of him - bruising, cruel all the same. He couldn't begin to quantify the pain he was feeling now, layer upon layer of carefully woven protective thread shorn through. Ribs cracking, dislodged, out of place, shockwaves spidering up and down his spine- and he couldn't move, more and more blood pouring out of him like a faucet, neck near to snapping, everything everywhere all of it--

"F-fuck you," choking on the sounds he made.

There was a pause, brief, thoughtful, pregnant with consideration, next steps. Everything came in bits and pieces, words picked and plucked from what he could manage, throbbing pain echoing through him sharply, drowning much of it out. He couldn't think- Exit strategy, how to get away--

And for what felt like hours, all seven of them took their turns. Hoof stomping him into hardwood, cutting him open with shards of ice, wood, and glass, holding him up by his hair and throwing enhanced fists into open wounds, holding him down and doing the same to his face, kicking him, breaking his bones, shattering his will, taking ample advantage of the time it took for him to recover from contact with ice. Succumbing to their own impulses, appealing to their own sense of justice. He was helpless, teeth tumbling out of his mouth, nose twisted and broken, lips split, shoulder and right hip dislocated, jaw fractured, ice forming in his hair, back bent and nothing, nothing, nothing but sheer unfathomable agony and despair taking him. No means to protect himself, robbed of the opportunity by happenstance, by accident, and led as a lamb to inevitable slaughter - one he deserved, one he thought he'd commanded of them. Thought he wanted, punishment to fit his crimes. Writhing before them, victim again to a pause followed by merciless strikes, impacts spattering his blood across the floor, iron on his tongue, vision blurred, hearing lost to dull ringing and throbbing hums. Head snapping sideways with the next blow, flesh around his eye swollen to bursting--

"How's 'e still conscious?"

"Dunno, best keep goin' then."

And again, again they went, ripping clumps of hair from his scalp, tearing through his haori and qipao, clawing at the stitching to each and every one of his infinite pockets. Arms pinned painfully behind his back, wrist broken, fingers gnarled, head hanging in the air with the stench of blood and defeat to accompany him. There was nothing he could do, brain on fire, crippled by the damage done to his body, no exit strategy to be had, no winning, no getting out of this, it's time, it's now, finally, no--

If he couldn't get to the finish line, if he couldn't find the sanguine star and revive them, then this...this was the next best thing. This was his only other option. People like him...they didn't deserve their chance to fix things, didn't have the right, hands too soiled, putrid and rotten to the core. Torn in half on whether to live or die, inklings of coveted confidence and strength lost, lost, never his to keep. He thought of his mother then, his father too, and his sisters, Letha and Silvere, Antonetta, Beau and Jackie, everyone, everyone he'd ever wronged, who suffered his existence, the fruits of his agonies, his hate, his anger. And he wondered if this would be a fitting end for him in their eyes, if this was what they wanted for him too. Let justice be served, let him die so none else could fall alongside him. Let there be no more blood to wash his hands, stop him now.

On the verge of losing consciousness, Loux was beginning to succumb to it all, the furthest reaches of him aching to numb and crumble away. So in tune with his body, yet somehow torn away from it completely, a ghost in the same position. But a final blow to his already ruined stomach had been the end of it, new blood gushing from impaling wounds, and he lay there, limply, overwhelmed, near to falling apart at a moment's notice. He should've been dead minutes ago, yet somehow...somehow, he wasn't. Somehow, his eyes were still open, staring blearily into his reflection, seeing nothing more and nothing less than what he hated most of all - beaten, gored, broken to pieces, as was right and true. Breaths short, shaky, and few, skipping, catching in his throat as radiant warmth was born anew inside him, tendrils of cool fire weakly stretching into even his most damaged of nerves.

Time, lapsed.

As the seven heaved and hoed, moving away from him, satisfied in their work- He had no strength to speak of, but he wouldn't let them leave so easily, not as magic returned to him, even if only little by little.

He willed another spark, begged it to catch flame and burn, burn until there was nothing left, roar and twist and grow far into the night sky until naught but red could be seen, blending into bloody violet with the abyss. For he was nothing, nothing if not vengeful, nothing if not a sore winner, nothing if not an opportunist, even in the end, even when his deserved fate had come for him - maybe there was weaseling his way out. Changing with the wind, coaxing his bloid to boil and serve as fuel on the fire, as tangerine flickered across his face, iron cooking before his very eyes.

Bigger, taller, greater, hotter, eat and scorch away bedframes, wall art, blankets, curtains, wardrobes, and shitty knock-off decor, thick black smoke billowing into the room, ash flying as chars burst and crumbled. Slow at first, then all at once consuming. Cosmic threads blanketing his seven adversaries in universal flame, such that attached to spirit and bone, cutting jaggedly through flesh, boiling and pustulating, popping, cracking, exploding on fat deposits, bursts spreading the wildfire. He watched, coldly, through the blurr of his storm, eyes nearly swollen shut, as the bulls both thrashed in the hall, horns getting stuck in the wood, choking on the smoke, panicking, screaming, roaring. Hellflame claws searing through them, the scent of his blood intermingling with their roasting meat, skin sloughing then steadily charring, the antelope and the wolf and the gator all to follow. Aching eyes flit toward the rest, the final pair, timid creatures too afraid to use their voices, bolting in their panic to get away. Frightened rabbit, flightless songbird, flame snaking between bodies turned blackened skeletons crusted with ash, like whips to coil around their ankles and drag them back in.

He killed them all, running the final two through with arrow-sharpened bolts born of the flames now catching on the cieling above, and he listened in trepidation and cold indifference as they screamed and pleaded for their lives. Prayed to their worthless gods in the hopes They might save them. His fire spread yet further, claiming the support beams above and funneling into the hallway, where it would continue on its path, neither smoke nor tongue to damage him further, contrarily cauterizing open wounds, wrapping him in arms of orange light - his, however dim. Stinging, burning, he winced all the same, laying in the mess he'd made, the bed he ought to sleep in.

He killed them, he killed again, and again, enveloping the Packhouse in his unending, devouring flame. Merciless, overkill, as it kept burning, a haven for his kind no longer - a haven for none at all - but a blackmark, a lie the people of Salem's Crossing would tell their children, and an omnipresent threat. Ever to blame, ever at fault, and such was true. He instigated, he fucked around, and they tore him limb from limb, and while he hadn't counted on his stroke of luck, that magic should return to him so quickly, he would've been a fool to have let all this stand. A false victory for them all, for many would die after dealing just punishment, killing all with smoke or raw kindles, fire, structural damage--

In time, he knew the Packhouse would collapse, and he wondered if he'd die after all. His head hurt, he couldn't breathe, couldn't move. If he could increase his heat... Palms sweating, he coughed, ribs rattling, aching-- Lashline sparking, puffs of smoke to mingle with the clouds, his flame growing ever further, filling into every square inch of every surface, orange and black eaten by rolling waves of violent red.

[spotaus]

TW: FLASHING IMAGERY, UNREALITY, SCHOPOPHOBIA, MILD BODY HORROR

Hi guys, so, Pretender on the surface doesn't take kindly to people bothering his family. So, here's a silly little thing I did today! ♡

(@oodlesndoodles and @mylackofgrammaristerrifying thanks for the encouragement and inspo lol! Also, "Family" is a stand-in for specific names because he Would do this for both Kale and Ozzy-)

[ubersaur]

y'know what? That was kinda fucked up.

[thorne1435]

I think it took me so long to realize I was attracted to men too because all the men where I live...kinda suck. Or at least, they aren't my type. They're all so angry and bigoted and that's dreadfully unattractive to me.

I think if I had met more anxious prettyboys and intellectual stoners around, let's say, my 7th grade year? I might've figured all this bisexual shit out way sooner.

[the-scungles-of-crungles]

This is "The Doctor", a resident of the nightmare realm, who has been there long enough to have been almost completely corrupted. His face is normally just a pitch black void hole but sometimes you can see eyes and/or teeth in there

He wants to help people, but he's almost completely lost his mind, and can sometimes act a bit... Feral.

Surprisingly, the nightmare realm's usual effect of making people lose every memory of their life before they ended up here, hasn't managed to take away his medical knowledge. He's still very smart, despite everything.

Unfortunately he seems to scare off most people who he would otherwise have helped...

[dan-crimes]

I don't personally enjoy death in my stories for one because I have no experience with it personally and for two because you can't torture a character anymore once they've died 😇

[hedge-rambles]

One of the cool things about human brains is that we can practice our responses to things we've never actually experienced.

Children love to play imagination games including dark and dangerous situations because it's how their brains work out a script of what to do if that ever actually happens. Adults like to read and watch and create media about horrible things, things they've never experienced (and hope never to experience) because it lets them play out and consider how they would act in that situation, laying down neural pathways for it ahead of time.

I think people who say "if you write about X happening, or like fiction where X happens, you like X" have it completely backwards tbh. People often like writing/reading/watching things about X happening not because they want it to, but precisely because they don't. Engaging with it in fiction lets their brains go "good job! you're prepared now!".

Every single time I see a take that amounts to "if you write about X happening, or like fiction where X happens, you like X" I'm reminded of this one time I was at a casual friends house as a young kid. We were in her room, pretending to "be orphans" escaping from an evil orphanage and having to take care of each other and fend for ourselves. It was all very Little Orphan Annie/All Dogs Go to Heaven and based on the 80s pop media.

And this girl's mom comes in, hears what we're playing and gets all MAD and UPSET. She says that if we play act something, it's because we want it to happen. So her daughter must WANT HER TO DIE.

First off lady, we were 6 year year olds, so take it down several notches. We barely had a concept of mortality for fucks sake. She made us feel so guilty and ashamed, because she was taking our game personally.

Now I have a 5 year old. And sometimes she looks at me and says "pretend you're dead, and I have to -" Whatever it is. Some adult task she's assigned herself.

And it's just so transparently obvious that she's practicing the idea of having to do things on her own. Which is exactly what 5 year olds are supposed to do. I actually find it very flattering that the only way she can envision me not being available to help her is to be literally deceased. Otherwise, obviously, she wouldn't have to do scary hard things alone.

It's a natural coping mechanism. She's self-soothing about what would happen if I wasn't there by play-acting independence in a perfectly safe environment. She's also practicing skills she needs, and making up excuses for practicing them on her own, without taking on the responsibility of being able to do them by herself all the time yet.

Humans mentally rehearse bad this in their brains all the time. We can do that by ruminating- going over worries over and over again, which tends to lead to anxiety and helplessness and depression. Or we can do it with a sense of play- by recognizing that the fiction is fiction and we can dip our toe into these experiences and expose ourselves to bad things without actually being injured.

My daughter does not want me dead. And I don't want bad things to happen in real life. But fiction and pretend help me face the horrors of the world and think about them without collapsing or messing myself up mentally.

[arolesbianism]

Having a rain world oc moment. Dysfunctional family of the year award, they were so toxic that one of them found a way to kill themselves in a world where that was supposed to be physically impossible

[ssahotchnerr]

Mom!friend reader bringing everyone cute lunches at the bau with personalized little notes for each person 😭 maybe hotch doesn’t even know that you do this for the others too so when someone mentions readers cooking, he’s like “wat”

personalized

ADORABLE cw; bau!fem!reader, established relationship, mentions of food, fluff and aaron being cute <3

the pace at which aaron was moving must've been more intense than he intended and realized; as he hurried past jj's desk, the small draft that followed caused a small piece of paper to flutter to the ground.

uttering an apology, aaron immediately reached down to pick it up. however it had landed face up, and his eyebrows furrowed in small confusion as he caught a glimpse of its contents.

your familiar handwriting kept his eyes, instead of peering away as he normally would - 'my sweet jj! thank you so much for your help on the arizona case file, you're a total lifesaver and your expertise is always appreciated, hope you know that. enjoy <3 ps - your new lavender sweater is the cutest. must plan a shopping day w/ pen soon!'

aaron's eyebrows stayed in that confused line, his eyes shifting up to jj's in a silent question.

"came with the cookies." jj answered for him, pointing her head towards the tupperware container perched on her desktop.

instantly aaron's mind made the connection - so that's why you were up late baking. that made more sense; the time you had spent baking was much too long for the small plateful quantity he had found reserved for him and jack this morning.

"pretty girl sure knows how to cook." derek added into the conversation as he approached the cluster of desks, raising his hand to pat aaron on the back but stopped himself halfway - aaron shot him a pointed look, hiding his own amusement, while jj attempted to conceal her smile with her palm.

another eyebrow furrow. "and when have you had her cooking?"

"here and there. always comes with a note too. i could just about fill a desk drawer with how many i have." derek admitted, with his signature, vivid grin. "she may be yours, we get special treatment too, y'know."

a bit later, you strolled into aaron's office, juggling numerous files in your hands.

"as requested," you started, dropping them firmly onto aaron's desk. "five action reports, minus dave's. he told me when you're as experienced and italian as he is, you can slack off and kinda get away with it. but i think that's his fancy way of admitting he's old." you joked with a eye roll.

"thank you," aaron flashed you a smile, sorting through his current papers. assuming that was all, you spun on your heel to head out and return to the everlasting joy of paperwork, but, aaron's voice stopped you.

"hey hold it, c'mere a sec."

you pulled back one of the chairs in front of hiss desk, the legs producing a scraping noise against the floorboards, but aaron gestured for you to come around. your eyes darted in the direction of his open blinds, then back at him. 'you sure?'

aaron nodded in confirmation. and if you needed any more convincing, once in reach you were pulled onto his lap, his hold on you tight.

if he wasn't being a stickler on the open affection, neither were you; you relaxed yourself against him just as you would normally, your body melting into his and throwing your arms loosely around his neck. "what's up?"

"i didn't know you wrote the team notes."

"oh," you laughed softly, with a light shake of your head. by habit your fingers ran along the skin of aaron's neck, scratching the nape of his hair gently. "yeah, if i bring in lunch or a treat or something. or both. or sometimes just because. an appreciation reminder."

aaron nodded, his fingers drumming against your hip comfortably.

"that's not a problem, is it?"

"well," aaron pretended to think, his hand changing motions and sliding up and down your side, "yes."

"actually?" you blurted as your own fingers paused. that wasn't the answer you expected, and it caused a rush of nervous heat to pool within you. until, you saw the feigned, solemn expression on his face.

aaron peered down at you, his playful eyes canceling out the forced pout on his lips. under his breath, he mumbled humorously, "i thought i was the only one getting notes."

you laughed brightly, the joy within the sound immediately bringing a smile to aaron's lips. "oh don't worry, they don't get the lipstick smooch on theirs. that's reserved for you and you only."

"i would hope not."

"or the, occasional... explicitness."

"again, i would hope not." aaron laughed again. his lips graced your temple, lingering gently as he spoke, "you're sweet."

"a very wise, very attractive person once said, 'people need to know they're important'." your lips quirked into a loving smile, a glint in your eyes. "thought this would be an easy way - i learned from the best."

[hurtspideyparker]

Tony doesn't tell the Avengers about Peter's secret identity, but Peter starts coming over constantly and chilling around the tower, helping Tony in his workshop or eating dinner with everyone.

Since Tony is weirdly secretive about who the kid is, and the fact that Spider-Man is still a small unknown (presumably adult) hero who isn't on any Avengers radars, they all collectively come to the conclusion that he's Tony's illegitimate child.

Bruce: They do have the same eyes...

Steve: This is an inappropriate conversation to have. If Tony doesn't want to tell us then we shouldn't pry

Natasha: Tony doesn't even like kids. There's no way he would tolerate one if it wasn't because of his guilt complex. I'm surprised there isn't more little Starks running around considering his previous lifestyle

Clint: *cough* drunk slut *cough*. Oh excuse my throat, I meant to say he was a drunk slut

Natasha: Steve they're the exact same. Talk too much, too fast, genius brains that go right over our heads, stubborn, like to cope with humor, same body language. They'll have the same smile lines when Peter grows into them. The only difference is that Peter was raised with manners

Steve: I'm not saying I don't agree, I'm saying it's none of our business. Anyone with basic observational skills can tell they're desperate to fill father and son roles in each others' lives, but Tony's really weird about it, so we should let him keep it private

Clint: We probably make him nervous

Bruce: Because he thinks he's a bad dad?

Natasha: I think he's kinda good at it. Which is extremely unnerving

Steve: Honestly out of all of us I had bets on Bruce having a secret wife and kids hidden somewhere. Tony stepping up to be a father was lower on my list than Nat

Natasha: You have a list?

Bruce: You think I pull?

Steve: That's irrelevant. I think it's nice that they're so close already, but we don't need to press. It might mess up a good thing

Clint: Wait can we go back to this list business. Are these like pragmatic, military leader lists, or are these for pleasure? What other kinds of lists do you have? What about which one of us is most likely to turn on you. Or what you'd turn for. Oh! What about a list of all our weak points based on accessibility and intensity, with contingency plans in case of defection or aliens or brainwashing or alien brainwashing causing defection

Steve:

Natasha:

Bruce:

Steve: This is why Tony won't share his personal life with us.

They last another week before Clint, Natasha, and Bruce team up to steal a strand of Peter's hair and test it for paternity. Steve knows something is up, and follows Clint to Bruce's lab.

Steve: What are you doing...

Natasha: Admit it, you know exactly what we're doing and you want to see the results

Steve: I... well if you already have them there's no point keeping it from me

Clint: Tony Stark is not the daddy!

Tony: Which of my exes have you been talking to?

Clint: AH oh hey Tony didn't see you there

Steve: I'm not apart of this

Tony: Is this about Peter? He told me something plucked his head when he was walking down here. Which of you murder twins was hiding in the rafters

Natasha: Y'know he's not your kid, whoever told you he was lied to you and I hope you get your child support back

Tony: My kid? He's my intern. What funky kool-aid have you all been drinking, that boy is sorting my tool drawer right now. He has slightly better dexterity than Dum-E, it's been quite helpful

Bruce: You have really poor professional boundaries if he's just an intern

Tony: Okay fine. He's actually Spider-Man. I didn't wanna tell anyone cause the Accords were still fishy, but everything should be good now. Anyways, he really wants to train with you guys so you'd have to know eventually

Clint: Who the hell is Spider-Man?

Steve: That guy in Queens who helps bring in peoples' groceries?

Tony: Well, yeah—listen, he's like 14 and he just got his powers. I'm not exactly sending him to fight armed terrorists yet. He'll grow into it, but trust me, there's potential. I'm kind of like his mentor

Steve: You really don't need to do that

Bruce: Yeah we'll all help out from now on

Natasha: Don't take too much responsibility for the boy

Clint: Oh god what have you been teaching him?

Tony: Thanks for the vote of confidence guys. Whatever, now that you all know he'll be hounding you all day for advice anyways. Good luck with that. Friday tell Pete to come down here, the Avengers are gonna train with him

Tony leaves them all, snickering to himself as loud footsteps come crashing down the hallway. If they didn't know any better they'd say several elephants were tripping down the stairs. Then, the doors burst open, Peter's mouth already running a mile-a-minute.

Peter: Really, you guys know, you guys will teach me? Can I use the shield, Ms. Romanoff can you show me how to kick, show me with Mr. Barton, or, or Mr. Rogers. I can take down someone bigger than me, I'm actually really strong. Wanna see? Why are we in Bruce's lab, is that my first lesson! Can I touch this? What are you making here, how long has this been distilling, what about my webs, have you ever seen my webs? I did them myself, but I bet we could make them even better, watch out it's really sticky—

Steve ends up with webs all over his face, several of Bruce's beakers broken from the white spray, one reacting poorly with it and exploding all over Clint and Natasha. Bruce immediately shoves them into the decontamination shower, leaving them as two drenched rats wearing skin-tight combat gear. Natasha is already fuming at the thought of trying to peel it off.

Peter: I'm really sorry, I didn't know it was on ricochet... the splitter webs were just 'cause I panicked

Steve: This is why I told you all to leave it be.

"Noted," they all say in unison.

[kitorin]

in which, itoshi rin expresses his love for you in, peculiar ways.

itoshi rin is wearily watching his opponent's highlights when you tug on the sleeve of his hoodie.

he almost rips his earbud out by the wire, contrariwise to the soft gaze he gives you, the slight tilt of his head accompanied by a quiet hum asks you what's wrong.

"were you busy? i can ask later."

"'course not." without hesitation he turns his phone off and tosses it somewhere onto his bed. "something wrong?"

you lean against the coffee table, where the two of you were studying; match analysis for rin and unfortunately an infuriating research task for your upcoming exam. your chin rests on both your palms, fingers cupping your own cheek.

"what's your favourite thing about me?"

owlishly, he stares, then blinks. you mimic his actions, waiting for a response.

"i have to pick?"

you nod eagerly. "it feels like a while since i've properly spoken to you. we don't have any classes together and i've been studying during break times. and i keep falling asleep on the bus."

rin nods with understanding. "then my favourite thing about you is that."

"is what?"

"i love watching you sleep."

it takes a lot not to make a stupefied face.

of all answers you expected, it was clearly not that. rin's love languages centred around quality time and physical touch, but he's still fully capable of uttering sweet nothings. which was something you were desperately craving at the moment.

"rin that's so creepy—"

his typical stoicism melts away into bewilderment. "it is?"

oh my god, did your boyfriend have some sort of strange fetish?

"i don't get it." rin frowns. "it's been making me happy recently, why's it so bad?"

"but why's that?"

lithe fingers brush a few strands of hair behind your ears. "you're always so tired recently, it makes me feel at peace seeing you rest. i'm relieved knowing that you're getting a proper break." his aquamarine irises avoid eye contact, pink dusting his cheeks. "i like having you close to me, too."

guilt permeates your gut for having such assumptions. "sorry for assuming the worst, love." your hand cups his, bringing it to your lips for a kiss. "i'm just busy, with exams and stuff, y'know?"

"i know, and i get that. but i don't like the possibility of you collapsing from not sleeping enough, or burning out. and you deserve to sleep and eat properly, they're important for learning and improvement too."

and rin's right, it just feels as though there's not enough time, with so many exams being stuffed into such a little period. there's the fear of failing, falling behind peers and all the efforts you've put in amounting to nothing because of a mistake.

but as he said, rest is important, just as much as working hard. success cannot be attain with one without the other.

you settle yourself onto rin's lap, resting your head on his shoulder, and back against his chest, placing a small kiss on his cheek. "thanks for reminding me, i'm done for today. let's make the most of tonight."

he responds with a small smile, and wraps his arms around your waist, nuzzling his face into your neck.

"i must be really pretty then, if watching me sleep is that enjoyable." you throw out an attempt of teasing him, waiting for his reaction.

"nah. your face kinda squishes up on my shoulder."

"wow. okay. i see—"

"your neck also ends up in the weirdest positions so i usually have to move you around to make sure you don't have too much neck pain later."

"very sweet of you, that's enough though."

"did i mention you drool sometimes too?"

"rin—"

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