#I cannot possibly tag everyone in this so

[aldisobey]

WIP Whenever

Alright this is from some weeks back. I’ve shared enough of the current Foolproof chapter I’m working on and I was inspired by your post @emmg it was one of those beautiful thoughtful Emmrich ones where he was thinking of adorning Rook all in gold. And you sharing your fantastic amazing my god do I love Aftertaste Emmrich reminded me of earlier inspo. So here. My Rook Worne Thorne that cannot be given jewelry. He got stuck. I dunno if I’ll finish this WIP but it was a spur of the moment then from your writing and I was gonna and then I forgot it and here.

Ah fuck I deleted and fucked all my tags. tag me everyone this is just silly anyway and I also need to get to the goddamn store so I’m throwing it out at you.

—————

He knows, now, that gold will never adorn Rook. It is too soft, too pristine, too stable. Permanent. He did try. Once. Before experience taught the better. Rook was eager, excited. A first! He said after confirming the ribbon wrapped box’s purpose, after laughing wildly and squeezing the breath free from Emmrich. The mage hadn’t winced at the crushing embrace, smiled a ‘my pleasure’ to cover horrified thought a first. Could it be? But questioning never made its way. Rook placed the simple bangle about the wrist. A grinned acceptance of a pretty gift, pecks and thanks exchanged before a rush out to morning run. Something nice at last. All leather and cloth and dirt, here now, a sparkle, a gilding, to highlight. Outline that glimmer seen within. Finery hadn’t made its way to Worne yet, they might find it fit.

Hours pass. The worry starts slow. Builds as breakfast comes and goes. A ritual Rook has never missed. But the paths between remain silent, and you can always hear the coming and going when the Grey Warden sets out, when he returns. Emmrich waits at the crossroads gate, steady drum of fingers on staff, the others checking now and then, here and there preparing, perhaps, a search. Ill luck should never be fought, he recalls, not a fate to tempt. Kirkwall’s own luck Rook grinned when Emmrich pressed. And he thought he could hear the gold slip over callused skin again. Face pinched, somehow paler, drumming ceases as grip tightens.

“I’ll locate him. Harding?”

The dwarf had entered moments ago, he didn’t need to turn to hear the creak of gear, clink of buckles on bags as she gathered tools of wandering.

“Yep! Let’s go!”

And they were off. To Arlathan. Where they gave simple greetings to the Jumpers. Where they were given directions before the questions were asked. Their allies wondered too where the running Rook had gone.

Not far it turned out. The sound started soft, a faint call, some foreign song neither dwarf nor man could place. A whistled song. Both knew the tone. And worry, finally—blessedly—ceased. He can feel his breathing ease, fresh thoughts at a full pull and an unhurried stride. Notes that Harding, in all her gear makes less noise. At periphery he sees the smirk. He had been rushing. No longer. Her countenance at side isn’t met, but joined with a forward facing release. Tight pulled skin at lip and brow smoothed by far notes of comfort.

“Sounds like he’s doing fine!” It’s possible she never worried. It’s likely many such events happened with Rook when she traveled with him and Varric. But then she gave a start, a pause, and then he smelled it as well. Blight. Rotting darkspawn.

Harding spoke in a whisper, “We should…”

“Rook!” Emmrich called out. The whistling ceased.

“…sneak in and see….” She grumbled normal volume. But Emmrich widened his stride, near running toward the fading sound.

“Nonsense. If any are left we call them off him now.”

“Emmrich, but we…”

“I will deal with them.” He spoke in an ending manner. A harsh stop that made, for a moment, the lyrium in her blood hum. A trickle fear, and she followed assured of his word.

But none ever came. Instead they arrived to a killing ground. Genlocks, a few hurlock, and there, at the far end, a dead ogre with Rook caught hand in its mouth.

“Harding go back and get Taash, Davrin, enough to carry Rook immediately.”

“Shouldn’t I stay? Won’t more darkspawn come?”

“Now!”

“Harding. He needs care this area is secure.” She took off running then. “The sled in my quarters would be helpful!” He shouted back as he swept forward.

Voice dropped several registers, “Oh Rook,” his gaze swept again, “you promised…” the words shook.

Rook grinned pale from where he lay, “I…” the grin broke and the rogue sniffed, “I had to try.”

Emmrich saw them then as he slid next to Rook in the bloody dirt. He hadn’t sensed them.

Because they were dead.

————

[outsiders-gift-exchanges]

RULES for The Outsiders 2025 Pride Month Gift Exchange

if you have any questions that this post does not answer, please send them to this blog’s ask box (or check the #faq tag)!! this post may be updated throughout the event.

general!

This is a fandom-wide event, so NSFW and Explicit gifts will not be allowed. Canon-typical violence and themes are allowed. If you are worried about where your gift falls in terms of rating, please reach out!

This is a fandom event for all forms of The Outsiders (Book, Movie, TV Show, and Musical). If there are specific elements from these materials you are uncomfortable creating or receiving, make sure to specify that in your sign-up form. The same goes for if you’d like your creation or gift to only be from one specific form of the Outsiders. Please understand that specific requests like this may not be able to be filled out, but I will try my best. Unnecessary hate towards different versions of The Outsiders will not be tolerated (criticism in general is fine, hate is not).

Before signing up for this event, please consider if you can create a present in the time frame provided. Participants dropping out of these events on short notice is quite common and is also stressful to deal with in large amounts.

sign-ups!

The sign-ups have a few different categories: your tumblr, what art you will create, what art you want to receive, what ships/headcanons/etc. you want to receive, what you are not comfortable receiving, and if you'd like to be a pinch hitter.

When you are asked what elements you would like featured in your art in the sign-ups, understand that your gifter is not required to fulfill every single request you send. Rather, they can choose between the different elements you request. Feel free to list your requests randomly or in order of importance. 

The art forms listed are art (digital or physical), fanfiction/writing, web weaves, video edits/gifs, music playlist, other. If you’d like to create/receive a different form of art, please ask me first.

The theme of this event is Queer Pride. As this is a Pride Month gift exchange, it is heavily encouraged to center your requests around queer headcanons, ships, plots, etc. to celebrate queerness and the LGBTQ+ community, especially within the Outsiders fandom.

This event will not ban any characters, ships, headcanons, etc. but understand that gift assignments are given out based on who is willing to create art for your request. This shouldn’t deter you from requesting whatever you’d like, though!

If you do not respond to your Tumblr DMs often, please give me another way of contacting you. If I need to reach out to you, it’s important to be able to get a response and to have trustworthy communication.

after assignments!

Fanfiction/writing is recommended to have a minimum of 800 words! Art (physical or digital) is recommended to be past a sketch. 

As a gifter, you should follow at least one request your giftee submitted to make sure everyone receives a gift they are happy with. If you have an issue with your giftee’s requests, please reach out to a mod as soon as possible. 

This event will have at least one check-in where a mod will message you on Tumblr asking to see/hear your progress. This is to guarantee that everyone will be able to finish their gift on time or that they will drop out of the event if needed. 

If you become aware you cannot participate in the event after assignments are sent out, please message a mod as soon as possible so we can give our pinch-hitters time to fulfill your request.

If your giftee drops out of the event, you will be notified and given the account of their pinch-hitter to gift your gift to instead. 

During the posting period, please post your gift (or a link to it, if you’re posting onto ao3, etc.) to tumblr and tag your giftee in the post so they see it!

sign-ups for this event will be posted March 31st! let me know if you have any questions! (dividers created by @cafekitsune)

[ace-shikamaru-quotes]

thoughts on hair color

[pixiecaps]

hey guys go watch this qsmp animation it has 50 artists and animators that worked on it for over a year to retell some of the qsmp story so consider go giving it some love because it is actually incredibly well made and a nice trip down memory lane:) massive respect for this project

[ko-odi]

i have terrible, awful, horrendous news.

i went from being hyperfixated on a story about a group of young people on the run from the government in search of a magical library and undead family member to... being hyperfixated on a story about a group of young people on the run from the government in search of a magical library and undead family member .

[corrodedcoughin]

okay so your trans art binge-reblog spree yesterday kinda synced up with me having Intense Gender Feels so please allow me the liberty of gently knocking at your inbox again bc I feel a mighty need to unleash some trans!Eddie headcanons on you >.>

imagine the sheer emancipation of Eddie growing out his hair again after he had cut it short when first moving in with Wayne but this time long hair feels different and so, so much freeing bc it's no longer a stupid social expectation rooted in sth that isn't even true about him but instead a personal choice, one deeply connected with the music that comforts and inspires him like nothing else

imagine the freedom of him first realizing he's trans and how things — maybe not all things but at least some of them — suddenly fell into place from just knowing who he is, even if back then he had no opportunity and no safe place to as much as think about trying to socially transition. just feeling like his authentic self for once, without the weight of others' preconceptions about all the arbitrary ways he's supposed to be. he might've been unable to tell anyone at that time but simply having that knowledge to himself was liberating from the years of having felt like there's sth wrong with him. liberating bc now he knew for a fact that there wasn't. how can this be wrong if it made him feel like himself for the first time maybe ever?

imagine him hesitantly knocking on his uncle's door in the middle of the night when he had no choice but to run away from home. imagine the surprise on Wayne's face and all the unyielding unquestioning trust and comfort he's got for him, so thorough and genuine that it only takes him a few days to come out despite the fear. and then Wayne's silence breaks into a question of what name his nephew would like to called then. the words startling soon-to-be-Eddie into a impulsive hug, which is returned with utmost care and with quiet thinking-out-loud rambling of whether Wayne's got any clothes that would fit his nephew and that he would feel comfortable in

imagine the joy when Eddie gets a fake ID from Reefer Rick one day

imagine him making friends with the rest of Corroded Coffin guys and, when he gathers the courage and trust to come out, being met with support, ranging from confusion and a promise to eventually get how any of it works and to respect Eddie's pronouns etc, to deep understanding that hardly needs words bc you know you're being seen for who you actually are

imagine Eddie working on his voice and ending up achieving some success partly thanks to singing along to his favorite songs and trying to learn harsh metal vocals and at first scaring everyone around by going over the top with them until he figures out ways to train his voice to be more masculine sounding without resorting to that kind of harshness (and developing multiple fun vocal stims on the way)

imagine Eddie getting together with Steve and as a bonus gaining the perfect person to get advice from when it comes to figuring out a workout routine for his purposes

imagine the relief of knowing there are multiple people who you can be your authentic self with and who love you for this and would never change a single thing about what makes you yourself

oof well, I kinda carried away "a bit" (meanwhile the Feels have only intensified further whoops) and these are in no particular order but I really hope you'll like this humble offering. have a restful fulfilling weekend💜

LIAM!!!! LIAM!!!!! I am always ready for transing the narrative (been in some gender struggles too so let’s be in this together 🤝) I’m going to be running commentary replying so if it’s incoherent or accidentally cover something said later I’m sorry!!

- the hair!! YES!!! I feel like he had long hair before and felt pushed into have short hair in order to be taken seriously in his identity but what he always really wanted to be was ‘just a boy with long hair’ and the more it grows the happier he gets becuase THIS!! THIS!!! Is who he feels like he should have always been!!! This feel RIGHT! When it gets past the length of being ‘acceptable’ for a boy and starts brushing his shoulders he hasn’t never felt more strongly that he is Right. That this is Who He Is, this is Eddie Munson and Eddie Munson is a societal expectation-dodging BOY

- THE ACCEPTANCE AND REALISATION!!! What if he was going around as a child saying kid stuff like ‘when will I grow a beard?’ And being hushed by his elders (before Wayne). Going along with what was given to him, be it toys or clothes because his family didn’t have a lot so he’s not going to ask for more but knowing that they didn’t feel right. That he was performing a character for these people and hoping it would be enough for them, for himself. It’s not, something still feels wrong and he can’t figure out. But then, then he gets the keys to the kingdom, he moves in with Wayne and Wayne gives him some money and sets him loose in the thrift shop. At the start he sifts through the girl’s rails but all of the sizes are wrong for him. So wayne just suggests the boys racks because hey it’s just T-shirts and we need to get you stuff that fits. He guides eddie to the plain T-shirts, not thinking much of it. Not thinking it’ll be a Realisation in the young mind of his nephew. Eddie goes home with 2 boys T-shirts that day and from then on gravitates to exclusively wearing them. Next thrift shop visit eddie makes a beeline to the boys section and doesn’t look back.

- AHHH WAYNE AND COMING OUT I LOVE YOUR VERSION!!! What about Wayne passing a couple of shirts on to Eddie? A hat too? And a belt because god knows Eddie’s buying the jeans that hide his hips and needs something to hold them up. Wayne starts calling eddie ‘son’ and ‘boy’. Every time it’s like Christmas lights have been turned on behind his eyes. He feels dizzy with it, can’t contain himself, has to clench his fists to stop himself from shaking becuase this? This feels right. It fees Correct and knowing Wayne is here with him is the ballast he needs to secure himself on this unpredictable ride.

-CORRODED COFFIN SAYING ITS SO METAL OF HIM. (I personally also hc Gareth as trans so I like to think that Jeff and Freak are always ready to be Boys and show them Boy Stuff. Like alongside band practice they had Boy Practice at the start and now they can burp the alphabet in harmony and can armpit fart guitar solos and play fight and are just GOOFY)

- eddie going to a gig or band practice and then the next morning waking up with a slightly wrecked voice that he /loves/. He surreptitiously tries to maintain it, shouting lyrics in his room and just screaming sometimes but it starts to get painful and he accepts he has to find a different way. He listens to the radio with Wayne, asks to go with him when Wayne’s work friends plan a couple of drinks in one of their yards. Eddie gets to go to a couple, gets to listen to Wayne’s country and rock radio stations. Gets to hear these men talking and tries out phrases he hears when he’s on his own, records them on a tape deck he found in the thrift by luck one day. Records and re-records until he gets it right. Until he can prank call principle Higgins and get shouted at down the phone ‘I’ll find out who your father is boy! He’ll have your hide!’ The peak is when he goes into scoops and gets everything he wanted ‘hey man, how’s it going?’ From the offensively cute sailor with the big hands and strawberry sweet smile

- WORKOUT SUPPORT STEVE. YES. YES ABSOLUTELY!!! Steve showing him that he can’t just hit upper body every day, that he has to get everywhere. That he needs to make his core thicker if he wants that boy look. That working on his quads and calves will help, he promises it won’t leave him a big butt and tiny waist. (Not unless he wants Steve’s routine, that boy is going to work on his ass-ets okay?) eddie doing his first full push up with Proper Form and feeling the muscles in his back move and thinks yes. This is Good. God knows he’s not great at sticking to it but when it serves a purpose and it means he gets to ogle his boyfriend? Kind of a win win

- TBE LAST POINT!!! Yes!!! Eddie living in subconscious fear for so long that he pushes the very notion of being a Boy down. so far Down and Away that he won’t ever let it see the light of day. Or so he thinks. He tells himself that he is fine, that this is fine. But it isn’t and he doesn’t know what feels wrong. Until it slowly starts to change at a glacial speed. He tries different things. Starting only in his room, makes jokes that he thinks he can get away with in front of Wayne. Pushes it further, does more Boy things with corroded coffin. Sees that it’s okay? They are okay with it? With how he is? Sees that Wayne just nods at him and doesn’t make a fuss? That Wayne’s friends don’t bay an eye somehow? (Sure some guys at work do, but Wayne makes sure they know where their opinions aren’t wanted. That Wayne and his group aren’t to be taken lightly on the topic of Wayne’s nephew)

Eddie experiencing so much acceptance and love and there being so venom in it. No ‘waiting’ for it all to pass and Eddie to go back to ‘normal’. Eddies never been normal and that’s a badge he starts to wear with pride. With defiance. Knowing that he has everyone he could ever need how could be not?

[moonsidesong]

tierlist of every touhou character ranked by their fumo count (only including base fumo types, so not including nendoroid plus, deka, etc) bc i was feeling slightly insane that gift made lost word alts of reimu and marisa instead of. Any of even the popular characters they havent touched yet (its weird that byakuren doesnt have one right. like is it me or is that strange??)

[crossbackpoke-check]

just wanted to let you know your tags on the trevor/mason post absolutely broke me 🥺 - @bondedpairs (formerly softvikings)

me when i cause all my beloved friends in my phone psychic damage… yay 💕☺️✨

[astralazuli]

So there's that D&D class quiz going around, & I took it & was so deeply offended I got Paladin.

& so I have had conversations with both Bestie & Birdfriend about this grave insult & they both were like, "Well... They have a point?" & informed me that my desire to absorb hits meant for others & deep drive to help whenever I actually can & strong convictions make me a bit Paladin-coded.

& I am just so... Idk. It's just interesting to get glimpses of yourself from other people's POVs. To be told that my defining characteristics are protecting & healing others & being incredibly fighty about the things I care about... Especially as someone whose brain specifically fixates on whether I care enough, do enough, give enough... Yeah. It's just kinda wild.

Anyway, I'm now adjusting my self-perception to include the fact that if I were a D&D character, I would be an Oath of the Ancients Paladin & not a wizard & that actually that's okay.

[pigswithwings]

OH MY GODDDD

the angel staying over at my house asked for a nightlight in their room and i told them buddy, don't you produce your own light? what're you gonna do with more? and they said they wanted to see why people like it so much. and also that the nightlight i own is blue and they're been trying to understand color. anyways i think they've stared at it for an hour now

[buttercuparry]

In less than two months it will be October 7th again.

In less than two months, it will be a year of genocide. 

In light of this, I just have only one request for you; please do not give into whatever you are describing as “compassion fatigue” right now.

Realize that this is exactly what the colonizers conducting this genocide want you to feel. Realize that apathy during a genocide is what leads to the normalization of atrocities. Realize that this is a tried and tested method found throughout history; that now when the genocide is been widely documented by Gazans themselves- the only way the colonizers can get away with it is by running you down and making you feel hopeless!

They want you to stop caring about their victims and this is why you need to fight harder now more than ever!!

I request you to fight harder for every Gazan! And therefore request you to fight for my friend Siraj Abudayeh too, whose family recently faced another assault. His parents and siblings had to flee to him for protection, because their areas ( Hamad, southern Khan Younis) were marked for assault from occupation forces. With the number of people depending on him increased now, Siraj has a much heavier responsibility on his shoulders to raise enough funds to support all of them and their needs, when prices of food water and other essentials are already skyrocketing.

With the coming of the rainy season, there comes the danger of epidemics spreading from open sewers as well! Siraj’s son Amir has already fallen ill, and his other two sons are showing symptoms too- they are in dire need of medical treatment! I cannot overstate how badly Siraj and his family need these funds!! How badly he needs your continuous support.

There has been a significant drop in engagement with fundraising posts and I very clearly remember, someone tagging one of my posts with compassion fatigue. It shocked me to my core to think that the cries of Free Palestine could fade so suddenly; that after only a year some of you have begun to feel fatigued, from having to care about this.

Do not give in please; do not let the colonizers make you complicit in this horror! They know that if they can overwhelm you enough, then one day the videos and posts would stop hitting as hard and sooner or later everyone will stop talking about Palestine. This cannot happen again! Not when your attention can literally save a life! This is the power you hold- especially if you are living in the Imperial core. The colonizers are afraid of it. You have to know this and believe this!

So please do not turn away and help Siraj get to 50k as soon as possible!

He is currently only at $45,044 / $82,000 CAD

[ GFM LINK ]

[ Vetting at 219 on Hussein's spreadsheet]

And if you are having trouble donating to Siraj's fundraiser through Paypal, please get in touch with @malcriada .

[bulletbilltime]

Between Ethel Cain's Preacher's Daughter, Shisumo's Bookstore Max AU, and whimsicalcotton's polluted marrow Max AU (and let's be real pretty much all of Life is Strange 1 & True Colors), I am noticing that I may be latching on to stories about traumatized ppl more than may be healthy

[it-veries023]

And Valerie is pissed because she didn’t realize (for whatever reason) that Phantom being in Amity was the ONLY reason she was getting a good nights sleep and being able to study and keep her grades up (I’m going with the idea that Danny fucked off in the beginning or middle of his senior year and started doing online schooling) and now everybody keeps saying she’s pulling « FENTON AND PROBABLY GONNA DROP OUT » (people in Amity think he turned 18 and dipped not even bothering with a diploma) Now she’s trying to get ahold of the JL so they can fix this because « god dammit I have a scholarship on the line ».

I'd love to see a dpxdc story where the Justice League knows about Amity Park and the Ghosts the whole time, and does think the ghosts are rogues to be addressed. Doesn't agree with the GIW, maybe doesn't even know about them? THE IMPORTANT PART.

The Red Huntress is the only active vigilante in Amity Park, according to the JL. Phantom is marked as one of her rogues. Maybe the Fentons even are marked as rogues from all the property damages and random shooting/sliming of citizens. Valarie is the only person successfully taking care of the ghosts, masking and suiting up in the classic vigilante way the whole time.

[aureatelys]

hotch being super touchy with bau!reader during a night out with the team and like cannot wait until they’re home or something ? (idk if this helps!!)

citrus

pairing: aaron hotchner/fem!bau!reader w.c. 1.5k c.w.: fluff!! suggestive content, established relationship, mentions of alcohol, needy touchy hotch <3

a/n: thank you so much for the request! i realize now while typing this that you may have been asking for horny hotch but instead i give you needy hotch with a touch of horny. not my best work but i hope you like it <33

You first start to suspect something’s wrong when Hotch sits next to you on the jet.

Not that Hotch sitting next to you was an abnormal occurrence, however ever since you two came clean about your relationship with the rest of the team, both of you made the effort to maintain as professional as possible. Which meant not sharing hotel rooms even though you’re sure the budget manager wouldn’t complain, no favoritism, and no PDA.

The no PDA rule was particularly difficult for you because, how could you not touch him?

The team had just finished up a kidnapping case in Florida. Nearly two weeks of suffocating in the humidity and dealing with swarms of mosquitos every time you stepped outside of the precinct. The relief from being in a familiar setting and the working AC is tangible when you plop down into a window seat facing the front of the cabin.

When you notice Hotch approaching you and taking the seat next to yours, you barely hide the surprise on your face. Hotch just merely raises an eyebrow at you before he jumps into debriefing.

Afterwards, when everyone has either fallen asleep or victim to playing chess with Spencer, Hotch knocks his knee against yours.

You look up from your book, a question forming on the tip of your tongue, when you notice Hotch hunched over his files and eyebrows creased in concentration.

It must have been an accident, you think. Except he does it again.

“You okay?” you ask, placing your bookmark and setting your book aside. It’s not like you were paying attention anyway, having had read the page at least two times by now.

“Fine,” he mutters, not unkindly, before scribbling something at the bottom of a file and moving onto the next one.

The past two weeks had been difficult for everyone, and the week before wasn’t any easier. You assume that Hotch was just itching to go back to your shared apartment to check on Jack before passing out in your bed.

And then he bumps against your knee again.

You don’t say anything this time, instead picking up your book and hitting your knee back against his. You just barely catch the corners of his mouth quirking up.

-

You could’ve sworn Hotch was going to decline tagging along with you when you decided to go out to O’Keefe’s with the rest of the team as soon as you landed. You were even expecting a glare, silently telling you that everyone needs to go home to get some rest and that he is driving you two back to the apartment whether you like it or not.

You start to think Hotch is really up to something now when he shrugs and agrees to tag along with you, promising just one drink.

And then, Hotch rests his arm on the console while driving, his hand worryingly close to your thigh despite Reid and JJ sitting in the backseat. Then, he’s placing a large hand on the small of your back when you’re walking into the bar, causing a shiver to run up your spine despite the warm evening air. Then, he sidles up next to you in the booth, thighs pressing against each other and his wide shoulder brushing against yours. It’s a lot of touching, which you’re clearly fine with, but touching from Hotch, at work, several times in the span of 30 minutes?

“Are you sure you’re okay?” you ask, having to lean in to be heard over the music even with his good ear.

Hotch raises his eyebrows at you over his drink. “I told you, I’m fine.”

And it’s like you’re able to see the idea form in his head, having spent so much time with him on and off the clock that you’ve luckily gotten better at reading him.

You still nearly jump out of your seat when Aaron places his warm hand on your thigh, underneath the table where nobody else was able to see.

You’ve gotten used to how touchy Aaron can be behind closed doors. At home, he’s constantly touching you—an arm around your waist, a finger tracing the curve of your jaw, or a kiss pressed at the crown of your head.

But this? A hand on your thigh at a bar in front of your coworkers?

You can feel the heat of his palm seep through your pants, annoyingly close to where you really want him the most. Is that what this is about?

“You two lovebirds alright over there?” Emily calls from the other side of the table, looking spectacularly sober despite you witnessing her downing shot after shot.

The sudden weight of 7 different pairs of eyes on you has you even more frazzled because Aaron’s hand only squeezes the flesh of your thigh while he glances at you casually, his free hand wrapped around an old-fashioned.

“Just talking about how I need another drink,” you say, hoping that your voice doesn’t sound as strained to them as it does to you. And technically it is true as you shake your glass to emphasize the ice cubes clinking around with no fruity drink accompanying it.

When you notice Garcia’s mouth open to volunteer to come with you, you scramble up out of the booth, glad that you chose the outside spot, and weave your way through the crowd to the bar. You try to ignore the way the right side of your body suddenly feels colder without Hotch’s body pressed up against yours.

You’re waiting for your drink when you feel a hand snake around your waist. The only thing keeping you from spinning around to maybe unethically flash your badge is the familiar weight of Hotch’s palm pressed against your hip and the citrusy smell of whiskey on his breath against your ear.

A giggle bubbles out of you, instinctively leaning back against his chest. You’re secretly glad that he left his suit jacket in the car, leaving you to ogle the way the crisp white dress shirt stretches over his shoulders. “Seriously, what is with you today?”

His lips ghost over your ear, the low tone of his voice making your knees weak. “I’m not allowed to touch my girlfriend?”

Girlfriend. You don’t think you’ll ever get tired of hearing that.

You lean even harder into him, one of your hands coming down to grab at his toned forearm as you reach for your finished drink. “Of course you can. I just can’t remember the last time you’ve been this touchy in front of everyone, or ever really.”

“I don’t hear any complaints.”

“I might start if you don’t kiss me.” And it’s mostly to just poke fun at him because Hotch hasn’t even held hands with you in front of the team, much less kiss you in a crowded bar with them undoubtedly watching and whispering amongst themselves.

You’re expecting Hotch to huff a laugh against your ear, letting go and stepping away from you. Maybe even him holding your hand while he leads you through the dance floor and back to your booth to humor you.

You don’t expect Hotch’s free hand to come up and cradle your chin, tilting your face towards his almost uncomfortably to press his lips against yours. It’s soft, chaste even, but the fact that he’s kissing you in front of your colleagues and strangers, in a crowded bar with the loud music nearly thrumming through your veins, makes you feel hot all over.

His arm tightens around you, spinning you around until you’re facing him, and he swallows the gasp you unintentionally let out as he deepens the kiss, your mouth instinctively parting. You’ve been dating for months but kissing him still feels like that very first time in his office, the hard edge of his desk digging into your hip and the glow of the sunset highlighting the clear affection in his eyes.

When you pull back, you notice a pink tinge high on his cheeks and the way his tongue peeks out to lick his lips, as if chasing the taste of your fruity cocktail. “What was that for?”

“Just letting you know that I can’t wait to take you home,” he says, pulling you until the entire line of your body is pressed against his. Your hand unconsciously comes to rest on his chest and you’re not sure if you can feel the bass line for the song playing or the thudding of his heart.

His hands start trailing down to your ass and you seriously wonder how touchier he can get.

But, like you realized earlier, it’s been weeks since you’ve had alone time with Hotch. So, you untangle yourself from him despite his protests and slip your hand in his pocket to retrieve the car keys. You grin when it’s Hotch’s turn to jump.

“I’ll meet you at the car?”

“I already said bye to them for us, let’s go.”

And then he’s pulling you towards the exit with his thick fingers wrapped around your wrist. You barely have the chance to peer over the moving crowd to see the rest of your team waving at you, wearing shit-eating grins.

[lighting-and-shadow]

Sylus x Non!MC Reader: Soulmate AU

Link to 1st part of full length fic

In this story, everyone has a soulmate. Everyone except you that is. And while you pretend otherwise, that's always stung a bit. You don't have this destined perfect love that everyone raves about. You're just you. Lonely, jaded, sarcastic, you.

So... let's say you're a negotiator for Onychinus (Sylus found you and gave you job and your whole history is a story for another time). You were given this position for your unique talent: to see, what you call, the threads of fate. You don't just see someone's connection with their soulmate, you see their very soul.

You can imagine this makes you great in the business world. Able to discern lies from the truth, as well as make impossible deals possible. So, you and Sylus always had a great working relationship. He trusts you and tends to you everything. After all, how could he think to hide anything when a simple glance at him will tell you oh so much (including the pain from his past life as a dragon he tries so hard to hide)?

Now, enter MC. She rocks your world in more ways than one: Sylus didn't tell you about her, his own thread of fate is linked to her, and—and this is what makes you so intrigued by her—she has multiple, glitching threads. They sometimes become more visible when she's near certain people, but over all, you're just baffled by this girl. So you study her like the nerd you are.

(Or maybe that's just an excuse. A cover to hide how your heart hurts and how much you hate this girl. Because she has so much of the one thing you cannot have: true love. Because she has all this love in the world, so why, just why, did she have take the one you wanted?)

(You hate her and you love her. She's so kind, and smart, and beautiful, and everything you'll never be. Maybe that's why she has so many soulmate links while you have none? Because you're plain and boring and bland and lonely and...)

And who knows, maybe something good might come out of it?

Edit: anyone who wants to be tagged when I release this, comment below! I’m currently writing down those I see, so even if I didn’t reply, know that I’m being sure to make note.

[andypantsx3]

LOADS OF FUN : TODOROKI x READER

SUMMARY: After moving into your first apartment together, Shouto seems more amorous than ever. You're not sure why—but when he comes home to you doing a load of laundry, more than your clothes are about to get tumbled. TAGS/WARNINGS: nsft (18+ only, minors please dni!), pro hero au, gn + afab reader, established relationship, fluff, emotional sex, table sex, cunnilingus, the shouto domesticity kink agenda goes absolutely crazy in this one lol (2.8k) NOTES: This piece is part of my pretty boy summer Shouto x Reader collab! Please go check out the other incredible fics people have written over the course of the summer; you will absolutely die over how good they are. This fic was also made possible through donations to the Fics for Gaza project. I cannot thank everyone who donated to one of the charities enough, as well as those who organized, reblogged, discussed, and got the word out. Lastly, I am so grateful for your immeasurable patience with me as I take time between fics to manage my workload, I hope I'm not too out of practice here lol. In summary: thank you, thank you, a million times thank you.

The sound of the door opening was hidden in the thump and glug of the washing machine starting its spin cycle.

Halfway across the house, you were oblivious—you had the clean laundry spread out on the kitchen table, hunting through the pile trying to match one of Shouto’s socks to another that seemed to have vanished into that mysterious void which opens somewhere between the laundry basket and the dryer. One of his shirts was half-folded over your shoulder, abandoned in favor of the sock search.

The rest of your things were still mostly tangled together on the table, warm and fresh and cottony, the few shirts you’d already folded sagging off the kitchen chairs.

It still gave you a little thrill—even several weeks after you’d moved in together—to see Shouto’s things twined up with yours—his enormous socks dwarfing yours, your sweaters clinging to the occasional piece of his hero suit that hadn’t seen enough action to need his agency’s industrial cleaners.

It all added to your sense of satisfaction with your afternoon—a frosty weekend day you’d spent cozy indoors, moving slowly and leisurely through some chores. A pot of soup simmered on the stove, and your favorite playlist worked itself through in lazy loops. Shouto was due off his rotation soon, and you hummed contentedly to yourself, entertaining pleased little fantasies of curling up with him for the rest of the weekend.

Which of course is when something moved in the corner of your eye. Your hum sawed up into a strangled screech, and you whipped around, flailing. Shouto’s sock launched itself full force at the intruder before you even registered you’d thrown it. In your shock, your leg caught against the table and you went stumbling—

—right into a pair of warm hands that caught you about the waist.

Your hands were on the man’s shoulders to push him off before you realized you recognized the touch—and that you’d caught sight of a distinct mop of scarlet and white hair as you’d whipped around.

“Shouto! Again?” you scolded reflexively, even as your heartbeat stuttered out of its wild kick into high gear. You tipped your head back to stare your boyfriend in the face, shoulders slumping in relief, letting him take some of your weight.

Shouto peered down at you, that tiny scrunch between his brows that indicated concern. “Are you alright, love?”

Your heartbeat pounded thunderously in your chest. “I’m—fine. But my god we need to get you a bell. I almost peed.”

Shouto’s mouth shifted minutely into something that might not have registered in anyone else’s face but was most definitely a regretful downturn on his. He looked even more unfairly beautiful than when he’d left you this morning—a little flushed and windswept from the unseasonable cold, that full mouth pink and pretty.

Your mind flicked momentarily off and back on like a circuit breaker, the way it always did when you had to process Shouto.

You’d understood he was once-in-a-generation levels of beautiful before you’d even met him, his face staring up at you from the glossy pages of various tabloids over the years. But in person, even after years of knowing him and several more dating him, Shouto’s appearance still managed to cross all the wires in a person’s brain. His features were an incomprehensible blend of aloof and elegant, sensual and warm—like a cold masterpiece of a marble sculpture had suddenly found himself with a consciousness and human desires and miles of warm skin.

“I did not mean to startle you,” he said, his voice low and warm. He sounded sincerely regretful.

You knew he hadn’t meant to—you’d long suspected his silent tread was habitually ingrained in him from years of hero work. And, in your most private and ungenerous thoughts, you suspected from years of making himself unobtrusive in his father’s home. The thought sat sour in your mouth, like a slice of pickled lemon.

You resisted making an equally sour face, shoving the thought away to make space for the reflexive flush of pleasure seeing Shouto always brought you.

“Welcome home, Sho,” you said instead, smiling up at him. Shouto’s hands moved on your waist, sliding gently beneath the hem of your tee-shirt to rest on the skin there.

He was still in his hero uniform, and as usual you felt a little goofy in comparison, in nothing but a tee and a well-loved pair of fraying sweatpants, which were this afternoon decorated with little flecks of soup from a brush with the pot.

But Shouto’s eyes were warm where they rested on you, and that perfect mouth crept back into a contented set. His long fingers smoothed over your skin as he watched you, thumb brushing your hip. He did not look like he found you at all goofy.

In fact, as his eyes dropped down to your ankles, slowly dragging back up to your face, you rather thought he looked a little appreciative. He even took a rather ungentlemanly step back, still holding you, to better take in the whole picture. His eyes wandered over the swell of your hip, the lines of the shirt against your chest, before darting to his own shirt, still folded over your shoulder.

His fingers flexed tellingly on your waist, and those heterochromatic eyes were both a little bit darker as they flicked back to yours.

His obvious regard made you feel warm. You shifted on your feet, shuffling.

“I was just—doing laundry,” you said for something to say, your mouth feeling kind of dry. Something about him always made you feel sort of shy and light-headed, even after all this time together. “And I made soup. I was thinking we could eat on the couch and watch one of those horrendous old All Might films?”

Shouto’s eyes darted to the stove, then beside you to the pile of your laundry, lingering for a long minute. His long lashes dipped, almost fluttering as his gaze traced over the tangle of your things together. His eyes flicked back to you. He was still for just a moment, watching you assessingly.

And then all of a sudden the world spun in front of your eyes. The hands at your waist lifted you clean off your feet, and you let out a startled “oof!” as you found yourself laid out in the pile of laundry on the table, sheets and sweaters bunching beneath you.

Shouto moved over you, stepping between your spread thighs, right at the edge of the table.

“You have no idea,” he intoned in a deep, delicious tone that went right down your spine, “what it is to come home to you like this.”

You wondered at that, feeling a strange combination of confusion and flattery, when Shouto’s mouth descended onto yours. His mouth was soft and sweet and insistent and absolutely perfect. The table groaned as he laid some of his weight out over you, pinning you into the laundry as he kissed you.

Your fingers clutched at him immediately, curling in his silky-soft hair, cupping his face to yours. One of Shouto’s own hands shifted to your thigh, holding you against him as he pressed himself harder into you.

You heard yourself making little gasps of appreciation as Shouto’s mouth moved down to your neck, laving hot kisses down your throat. You reveled in the feeling of him over you, broad and strong, his shoulders blocking the glow of the overhead light, casting shadows over you.

He’d been a lot like this lately, ever since you’d moved in together. He’d been adequately amorous before, of course, and blessed with a pro hero’s strength and unflagging stamina. But a few weeks after you’d moved in together you’d actually decided you needed to reactivate your gym membership given the amount of incredibly athletic sex you were suddenly having over almost every surface in the house.

One of the only spots yet to be touched was the table though, which Shouto seemed determined to rectify at this very moment.

He pulled back from you, his mouth flush from your kisses, looking a little entranced as he stepped out from between your thighs. You made a little noise at the loss of weight and heat over you, but Shouto caught the fabric of your sweatpants, gently but determinedly tugging them off of you. Your underwear was tossed right over one broad shoulder as Shouto went to his knees, and then his mouth was right back on you.

A wave of wild heat licked up your stomach at the noise of appreciation he made before sealing his mouth over you, strong fingers clutching your thighs to keep them apart.

“Oh my god!” you said, pleasure zinging right up your spine with the first lave of his tongue over you. “Shouto!”

Shouto let out a deep, pleased hum, two long fingers sinking into you embarrassingly easily as he worked your clit with his mouth. Your back arched and you could feel your clothing shift with you, Shouto’s shirt balling up under your shoulder blade, still half-draped over your shoulder.

“Oh, oh!” you heard yourself saying as your fingers twisted in the clothing, shuddering with every lick and suck of Shouto’s perfect, amazing, talented mouth.

He worked you with the expertise of long, dedicated practice—everything about him calculated to drive you insane. One moment he was excruciatingly soft, mouth slack and the touch of his tongue as fleeting and light as the brush of a butterfly’s wing. Then the next he was sucking relentlessly, teasing firmly with the tip of his tongue as his fingers played with you.

Your first climax hit you mortifyingly quickly, and Shouto seemed to know it before you did. His grip tightened on you, holding you down as you bucked against his mouth. Shouto looked more than a little smug as he got to his feet again, unbelting himself and laying back out over you.

He kissed you some more, the taste of yourself always a sort of shock to your system. But Shouto never seemed to mind, and if anything only seemed hungrier for you, mouth pulling at yours like he meant to devour you.

You felt the touch of his hand between your thighs as he lined himself up, then sank into you easily, groaning appreciatively like he’d just sunk into a hot bath. He bit carefully at your neck, one large hand pressing your stomach down to keep you pinned against the edge of the table where he wanted you.

“I always want to come home to you like this,” he intoned into the skin of your neck, his mouth sucking dizzying patterns into your skin. “Always.”

You could barely think past the slide of him inside you, thick and full and blissfully exquisite. He really was the most perfect man on earth, and he always felt like it too.

You barely managed to blink your eyes open to watch him, trying to catch his meaning in his face. Shouto watched you back, those blue and grey pinned on you like he couldn’t bear to look away from you as he moved inside you.

“You—” you panted out, trying to cling to the thoughts threatening to wiggle out of your grip. “What do you—? Of course you’ll always come home to me.”

Shouto bucked into you harder, the slap of his hip against the bottom of your thigh echoing loudly over the burble of soup on the stove. His eyelashes fluttered, mouth softening, and a realization struck you almost dizzy.

Oh, he really liked that.

You suppressed a wave of giddiness, charmed and helplessly pleased that he seemed to like the idea so much. Was that why he’d been so especially ardent this past month? Was it really because you’d moved in together?

Shouto’s arm hooked under one of your legs, drawing it up firmly over his shoulder so he could press even further inside of you. He looked so good like that that you nearly lost the thread of your thoughts, especially when his next thrust felt like that. Your eyes nearly rolled back in your head.

“Ah!” escaped you. “Fuck, Shouto. Like that, please!”

Shouto’s thumb pressed down on your still-sensitive clit and he had to dig the fingers of his other hand into the flesh of your leg to keep you from bucking him right out of you with the way you squirmed. Sweet fucking gods he was unreal.

Shouto fucked you harder, the sound of your skin slapping together obscene in the quiet of the kitchen.

You tried again, struggling to watch his reaction with the way you wanted to throw your head back and babble nonsense instead.

“You’ll always come home to me,” you repeated, gratified when Shouto’s grip on you tightened, a soft sound escaping him. “You want me right here for you?”

“Ah—yes, love,” Shouto panted, staring down at you again. He looked like he knew what you were doing but didn’t care. “Yes,” he hissed.

“Just like this?” you prompted, trying not to slur the edges of your speech when he gave another particularly mind-bending thrust of his hips. His chest rose and fell heavily and he looked a little wild-eyed, gazing down at you.

“Like this, for me,” he said. “In my home, in our home—”

You could hear the table squeal and groan with the force of his next thrust, and then you had to grip the sides of it to steady yourself as he fucked you, looking blissful. Your nails scrabbled at the edges of the table, caught in between a million sensations—the glorious fullness of Shouto inside you, the gentle grind of his thumb against your clit, the way he looked all flushed and beautiful and panting and wanting—

You squeezed your eyes shut, too overcome with the sight of him to look at him anymore, but it was no use. Your entire body trembled as you came, and Shouto let out a low swear at the way you clenched up around him, hunching over you and pressing himself so impossibly hard against you as he came too.

He slumped down against you, weighing you into the soft-smelling cotton of the laundry you were now definitely going to have to rewash. You could feel his chest rise and fall as he panted, his breath tickling the skin under your ear. He left an unbearably soft, sweet kiss just under the lobe, at odds with the near-wild way he’d just been fucking you.

You warmed, petting through his hair with a helpless affection.

“Well now I know what time I should always do our laundry,” you said.

Shouto huffed into your neck, but you could feel a tiny smile curve his mouth.

“It is not just that,” he said, but did not elaborate for some minutes until you elbowed him gently. He peeled himself off of you just enough to look down into your face. “It is the thought of our life together. Our clothes piled together. You in the home we chose and we made…” he said, trailing off.

But you thought you got the sentiment. It was about how easy it was, how uncomplicated. A safe place to come home to, no expectations, just soup and a pile of sweet-smelling laundry and someone happy to see you. It was something far away from what he'd grown up thinking a home was, possibly something he’d thought he’d never have—something you were determined to make him realize now that he always would.

You let your fingers pull through his hair again, smiling up at him. “I am going to have to do our laundry again, though,” you teased. “In case that interests you.”

And despite what he’d just said, Shouto did in fact look a little too interested. You watched his mismatched gaze trail over to the closet that opened onto the washer and dryer. A contemplative look snuck across his handsome face, carefully curling the corner of that plush mouth.

“There is another place we have not yet broken in,” he said slowly, voice dipping low. He looked down at you with an earnest expression completely in contrast to what he was suggesting.

You couldn’t help but laugh, and that was all the permission he needed to pull you up, gathering you up in his arms and layering a fat handful of laundry on top of you. His belt buckle rattled loosely beneath you where he'd barely done it up in his haste, and you laughed harder when he turned off the stove as you passed it.

Though it turned out to be a needed precaution—as neither of you found yourselves free to sit down to dinner for several hours yet.