#all you're doing is giving them stuff to mull over to make that decision

[chiarrara]

can people get radicalized into electoralism? bc I'm starting to feel how centrists claim to feel like "I'm sitting over here with a rational balanced take and people are screaming at me to stop thinking and do what they say based on surface level mantras and logical fallacies" but I'm farther left than the ppl screaming at me.

like when i was growing up the most important lesson i learned about electoral politics was that no one could tell you how to vote, it was your choice and yours alone. but i guess that tenet of democracy doesn't apply anymore.

[eiraeths]

y’all know janitor from scrubs? he gives me ghost vibes. if y’all don’t know who janitor is just know this: he’s a pathological liar (but it’s over minor things for his own entertainment) and two he actively tries to make the main character of scrubs, JD, life harder over a small little incident. dude can hold a grudge.

anyway here’s a bunch of janitor quotes from scrubs except replacing it with ghost being janitor and soap is JD because it honestly made so much sense in my head. I also think a lot of dr cox quotes fit price or ghost so some of those too. actually price could also be dr kelso in a lot of this good lawd.

———

Ghost: [mouths] I'm going to kill you.

Soap: [silently] What?

Ghost: [gestures and mouths] I'm going to kill you.

Soap: Why?

Ghost: [shrugs]

———

Price: Look, you and I are alike in a lot of ways.

Ghost: We both harbor an internal struggle between the desire to do good, and the urge to become a master criminal.

Price: We don't.

Ghost: We do.

Price: You hate people, and I hate people. What nobody gets is that we never hate indiscriminately.

Ghost: That is so true. I only hate those that have wronged me. Like if they stole my stuff, or put a penny in a door. Or... that guy. See this look he shot us, like he's so much better than we are.

Price: Plus, he's only 25, and earlier I heard him use the phrase "Back in the day".

Ghost: Well, he's dug his own grave, hasn't he? Let's do this.

———

Soap: Did you lose something?

Ghost: No, why? Did you take something?

Soap: No.

Ghost: What'd you take?

Soap: Nothing.

Ghost: What'd you take?

———

[Soap walks out of the elevator as Ghost mops the floor]

Ghost : Hey!

Soap: What? I didn't say anything. I didn't do anything. What imaginary slight have you concocted in that paranoid brain of yours?

[Ghost looks down to the trail of muddy footprints trailing Soap]

Soap: [internally] Crap.

Soap: Well, shouldn't there be some sort of sign... Oh, look at that. Well, you should put it back down before someone slips and falls.

Ghost: Oh, is that what I should do? Good, because I make most decisions based on your opinion. You know what, I'm thinking of splitting up with the wife. Maybe you could mull that over, get back to me, maybe pow-wow. [a woman slips] Floor's wet, ma'am. Little help over here. Little help.

———

Gaz: Cap’n, what's our plan of attack?

Price: When I crush a person's spirit, I like to use a combination of intimidation and degradation.

Soap: I prefer to create an environment in which the subjects end up crushing themselves.

Price: Uh-huh.

Ghost: I like to pick one person and torment them relentlessly for no reason. If I could find them I'd show you.

[poor rookie of the day walks up behind Ghost and wisely decides to back away]

Ghost: He's near.

———

[Ghost sprays a window with blue cleaning fluid and wipes it. He then aims the spray in his mouth. Price takes a second look as he passes by.]

Ghost: I filled it with blue Gatorade. I just do that to freak people out.

Price: Scintillating

———

[As a boy plays with a toy car in his bed, he accidentally knocks over his juice carton]

A Boy: Oh, no! Oh, no! Oh, no!

Gaz: Hey, it's okay.

A Boy: But now the Ghost Who Hates Spills is gonna come.

Gaz: Who?

Ghost: You're right, boy. He might come this very night. And as you know, that ghost's entire family was killed by a careless spill. Just like yours. Just like yours. Hmm.

———

Gaz: Oh, hi. Are we going out? What's with the jumpsuit?

Ghost: Okay, first of all if we're gonna make it, not a jumpsuit. Shirt, belt, pants.

Gaz: Oh. Ok.

Ghost: Secondly, I think it's time that you knew the real me. All right, here we go. I'm not like normal people. I don't have superpowers, but I'm working on it. For instance, watch me move this pen. [looks at pen, which doesn't move] It worked at home. I don't know. Maybe my table is slanted. Um, anyway, in my spare time, I also enjoy stuffing animals. Usually with other animals. For instance, a badger will hold five squirrels. A squirrel will hold most of a cat. A mouse will hold a shrew and a vole. You get the idea. Circle of life. I have broken the sound barrier, but you must never ask me how. I don't believe in the moon. I think it's just the back of the sun.

Price: Ha! I love a good train wreck.

Ghost: Furthermore, I think if you look closely a monkey-

Soap: Stop it, you. he doesn't know you're joking.

———

Ghost: Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa whoa. Watch your step, there, Gaz.

Gaz: Thanks, Ghost.

Gaz: [internally] He is so sweet. But why doesn't he just put up a sign that says "wet floor"?

[Soap screams as he slides across the floor and crashes]

Ghost: Wet floor.

———

Soap: [gasps] Why do you have to jump out and scare me all the time?

Ghost: I don't jump out and scare you. I follow you around all day. I only got about an hour-and-a-half worth of work around here, and the rest of the time, I track you, like an animal.

Soap: You're kidding, right?

Ghost: [chuckles] I don't know. Am I?

———

Soap: Holy-

Ghost: [whispering] Calm down. I didn't mean to scare you.

Soap: [whispering] Why are we whispering?

Ghost: [whispering] I wanted to see if you would whisper because I whispered.

Soap: [whispering] I think I would.

———

Ghost: I convinced everybody in on base that's afraid of me to go outside and spell out the score of the game.

Price: Really?

Ghost: No, you idiot. I'm just gonna tell you the score of the game. Maybe knock your head against the glass.

Price: Look, I was way out of line telling you how that movie ended, but, God save me, watching sports is one of the last pure pleasures I have left in my life, so you tell me what's it gonna take for you to let me go home, sit in my massage chair, and enjoy the game?

Ghost: I would like to perform open heart surgery.

Price: No.

Ghost: How about you perform surgery on me so that I can breathe underwater?

Price: No.

Ghost: I would like a shark that read minds.

Price: No.

Ghost: You and I trade lives for a year.

Price: No.

Ghost: How about a home-cooked meal and an hour in your massage chair?

Price: Done.

Ghost: Done.

[Ghost walks over to the window and looks outside, where a large group of rookies have arranged themselves to spell out "98-97"]

Ghost: Hey, guys, it's off.

[He looks again and they have rearranged themselves to read "Why"]

Ghost: Wow! You guys are organised.

———

Ghost: Look, if I learnt one thing from my parents, it's this. The key to a good marriage is keeping your emotions bottled up until they finally explode and you have to lash out physically.

Soap: You mean, beat each other up?

Ghost: I mean beat yourself up. My mother once snapped her own index finger because my father was late for church. She dented the car, he threw himself down the stairs.

———

Gaz: Soap, you're not that self-destructive.

Ghost: Really? I was gonna suggest he seek professional help. Would you be interested in seeing a cognitive therapist? 'cause I know a guy, he's good. I'm going to give you his card, then I'm gonna bash your head in. I'll see you in the morning.

Soap: I'm in at 7.

Ghost: Wear a helmet.

———

okay that’s it

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Unexpected 26

Sequel to Unsolicited

Warnings: non/dubcon, pregnancy, car sex, Lloyd being the worst, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

Lloyd rarely surprises you anymore but that night, you admit, you are. He leaves you be. You just can't decide if it's because he actually listened or for some other Lloyd reason.

You hear Dottie and Harlan come home and try not to hear what comes after. You sleep as well as you can through the persistent ache in your hip bones. You hug the pillow between your legs, finding your comfort with a blanket under your belly. Adjusting to your body is the hardest part, you were never very comfortable in it to begin with.

You get up before nine. You never really slept in. Well, before you were working night shifts and going to sleep at this time. Those years really did a number on you.

You dress and hobble downstairs, yawning as the scent of cinnamon leads you into the kitchen. Dottie is there at the stove, chiming at your entry with "good morning" to rival any songbird.

"Hi," you go to the fridge, mourning your ritual of a hot coffee and opting instead for some mango orange juice. "How was your night?"

"Ah, ya know, Harlan's all tired out," she giggles, "but I should ask ya, dear, about yours."

"Mm, it was a night," you shrug as you pour yourself a glass, "what are you making? It smells so good."

"My famous cinnamon donuts," she announces proudly, "little Marion was the biggest fan, back when he wasn't so stingy on sugar."

"Ah," you take a sip of the tangy juice.

"I can't think the night was mighty successful," she mulls, "not with him leavin' so fast this mornin'."

You put the carton back and grab your glass. You lean against the count and take a large gulp.

"He left," you don't quite make it a question.

"Didn't he say goodbye?"

You keep your face vacant, "probably for the best."

"Work, he said," she offers, "off to make some money for the little one."

"Mm," you chew your lip and think. You peek over at her, "I… hope you don't think-- I worked, you know. More than twenty years and I busted my ass. I didn't… want to quit and not do anything."

"Ah don't you worry, sweetheart, I ain't judgin'. He just wants to take care of ya and the kiddo. I don't think nothin' bout it." She shakes her head and chuckles, "ask Marion, he'll tell ya I never worked a day in my life, not outside chasin' after him but let me tell ya a secret," she turns the dough in the oil, "I would get my money at night. Where we live, you make a killin' with that phone sex stuff. All them horny old men."

"Dot," you gasp.

"Oh, Harlan knew, he thought it was so funny, ya know? I'd tell him when one of the fellas he worked with would call," she cackles, "got a good laugh."

"Money is money," you say.

"Damn right, talkin' up them old pervs got my boy into Harvard," she smirks, "that's the thing about men. That one part of em is always the easiest to talk to."

"Uh huh," you step away and rest your hand on your stomach, "god, I can't stop peeing." You put your cup down hastily as your bladder squeezes.

"Ah, I don't miss that," she calls after you, "baby boy used to line dance on my bladder."

You close yourself into the bathroom and struggle to get your leggings down. You sit and sigh, letting the pressure drain and the news sink in. Maybe he took a few words to heart or maybe you're giving him too much credit. Either way, he's gone and you can breathe.

💎

"It's all comin' together," Dottie says as Harlan pushes the crip against the wall, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his head.

"Yes, looks good," you agree, "I like the bunnies. Good choice."

"Oh, I almost forgot," Dottie trills and goes over to the white box on the change table, "Harlan picked this one out. Hun, don't forget to hang it."

She opens the flaps and Harlan nears her. She lifts out the large orb, a fascimile moon, and turns to him. They're cute together, you won't ever have that.

He takes it and hangs it from the hook over the crib. He smiles up at it, "I always liked to watch the moon, ya know?"

"Lights up and everything," Dottie explains, "all different colours for the baby."

You stare at it. This baby if anything will be spoiled. You'll have to be the bad guy. The one who moderates. The one who says no when everyone else says yes.

Like everyone else you've ever known, this child will hate you.

You feel your chest caving in at the thought. You can never be what this baby needs. You've never been enough for anyone. A girl, too.

What a curse. To be a girl in this world. With a father like him and a mother like you.

"I… it's beautiful," you're not lying and the crack in your voice startles even you. But it's not the sentimentality that it seems, it's absolute and consuming terror. "I'm sorry, I need to lay down."

"You feel alright?" Harlan asks with concern.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm just… tired."

"Well, you take it easy, darling," he girds.

"You let us know if ya need anything, honeybun," Dottie says.

"Of course, uh," you swallow tightly, "thank you. Both."

"It's nothin'," Dottie insists.

"No, really, thank you for being so… kind."

"Well, honey, you're our daughter as much as Marion's our boy," she smiles, "don't you forget that now."

You leave them and go back to the bedroom. You climb into bed and cocoon yourself in the blankets. You hate it. You hate how hot, how sharp every emotion is.

All this baby stuff makes you wonder and worry. You don't imagine your parents were ever that excited for you. They never beamed over your crip or delighted in choose cute stuffies or the perfect pacifier.

You are unwanted. Unexpected and unloved.

You didn't of that shit. Not for years. So why now?

You can be better than that. You have to be. You can't live with the idea you might pass on all this insecurity.

You sniffle and dab your eyes before they can prick. You blow out between your lips and lay flat. Big mistake.

You grunt as you sit up. As much as you'd love to sleep it into oblivion, you're restless. You hate the fact that Lloyd's unannounced absence has you on edge. He'll be back and not knowing when is worse than having him around.

There's a gentle tapping on the door. You try to shake off your nerves and you clear your throat.

"Yes?"

"Uh, don't mean to bother none, but… we didn't get to that finale… that lil snake eyed boy got me curious," Harlan says from the other side.

You can't help but smile. You never would've guessed his interest in trashy reality TV.

"Come in," you reach for your phone.

He opens the door slowly, inching inside, "you sure, kid?"

"Kid? No one's called me that in ages," you chuckle, "yeah, I'm ready to see it all go up in flames."

He has a tablet in hand and comes around the other side of the bed, "may I?"

"Sit, sit," you pat the mattress.

He's got the episode queued up and you help prop it between you with a pillow. He sits back with arms crossed and you hit play, the recap rolling at once.

You're quiet as the narrator goes through the most dramatic scenes of the season. You glance at Harlan from the corner of your eye. You never had this, never had a dad who wanted to do anything with you. Nothing aside from holding a wrench as he ignored you.

"Why are you so nice?" You ask at last.

He shifts and looks at you, "why don't you think you deserve that?"

You scoff and shake your head, "you don't know me."

"I know you're too good for my son, and I'm gonna let him know that. Again. Maybe this time, he'll hear me," he reaches over, gently taking your hand, "I'm still young enough to kick his ass."

You grin and feel the tension seep from you. You relax and lean against his shoulder, turning to watch the screen. He squeezes your hand as he rests his head against yours.

It’s peace. For now.

[eludin-muses]

Chat Chat: finn and niserie

"Just a minute," Finn called behind his shoulder as the bell to The Raven's Message twinkled, signaling a patron. Niserie curiously gazed all around, her hazel eyes flickering to all kinds of various herbs, tomes, and other magical products. Soon, Finn descended a staircase to meet her, of course after completing a recipe to ship. "How can I help you this evening?" he asked politely. "Are you looking for a potion, a specific ingredient? We have it all, if not I will hunt it down for you." She nodded. "Do you have something that could enhance a weapon's power? I know it sounds vague but there's a monster I've been wanting to hunt down." Finn's interest was instantly piqued-of course he'd gotten requests aplenty for something like this, however, hearing an adventurer's quest was another thing that made the job all the more worthwhile. "Yes, of course. On top of that, I also have potions for your defense in that case, and one to restore strength," he said, motioning for the elf to follow him toward a row of shelves farther in the back. Various shaped vials, bottles and flasks filled with multi-colored liquids adorned them. "They will be an extra charge if you choose to add them, though." Niserie mulled it over, but couldn't seem to make a decision, internally scolding herself-for Pete's sake she had a boyfriend who lived and breathed this stuff! Sensing her hesitation, Finn stepped forward and plucked a dark colored vial from the shelf. "This one is a buff potion. It lasts a good while, 20-30 minutes. Drink it and you'll be landing some heavy hits no matter the foe," he explained, holding it up. "It's made with the claw of a dragon and feather of a griffin among other things. Goes for 595 Jydro." Niserie took it from him to take a look, frown playing on her lips. As she was again thinking about it, Finn went to rummage through the shelves for some other choices, but he couldn't help but wonder. "What is this creature you're facing? It might give me a general idea of how to serve you." Niserie blinked, and peered up toward him. "Well, for starters, it's just a rumor. A friend of mine wants me to investigate some disturbances within Midasay Forest-" Finn stopped her almost immediately. "Midasay Forest? You are bringing a party, right? I've been there to harvest ingredients. Some of the creatures I've seen are no joke and my magic skills aren't up to par either! And that disturbance, I wouldn't put past it being what I think it is. I've read up on it. The Univaus." The silence that hung in the air confirmed everything he needed to know. Shaking his head, he turned and again went back to finding the perfect mixture for this patron--no matter how crazy she may have seemed. "I can handle it," Niserie insisted. "I'm not just some lowly elf, I've been through more you can imagine." Finn paused, arms gathered with various bottles. Whirling, he got a good look at her face. "These should work, I'll calculate the totals. Who are you? Rather, who am I making this order out to?" Placing the potions upon his workstation desk, Finn dipped a quill into some ink. "Niserie Reythana," she told him. "I'm not from here." His demeanor changed just as quick, scribbling her name onto worn paper. Now he knew. "I've heard about you. Listen, I commend your bravery and your story, but please, if you really do plan going into Midasay Forest alone-" "Nothing's going to stop me," she told him. Her tone left no argument. "If that disturbance turns out to be something that can harm somebody, I can't let it go." Finn sighed, resigning to the fact. Many times he'd come across reckless customers and he'd feared they would reap what they sowed. In the end, he'd never really know. "Very well. These potions should cover all of your bases: defense, offense, and restoration." He watched her carefully, that resolve never left her eyes as she took the bag and turned on her heel. Seems as what the fellow named Wulfric told him was right - she was determined and let nothing get in her way.

[chukpzo]

What is the best sales funnel?

Alright, let's talk about sales funnels in plain and simple terms. You might be wondering, "What's the best sales funnel out there?" We break it down in everyday language.

The Sales Funnel

Imagine a funnel (yes, the kitchen kind). At the top, you pour in a bunch of people who are curious about your stuff. As they move down, some of them stick around and eventually become your happy customers. That is a sales funnel: a step-by-step process for converting strangers into customers.

Starting with a Bang

At the tip of your funnel is where you make the first impression. This is like saying "hello" to a stranger. The best sales funnels kick off with attention-grabbing stuff. It could be your website, social media posts, or advertisements - anything that piques people's interest and makes them wonder, "Hmm, what is this?"

Keeping the Flame Alive

Once you've got their attention, it's time to keep the fire burning. You want them to think, "I like what this is all about." That's where valuable stuff comes in – like blog posts, videos, or freebies. It's like saying, "Hey, I'm here to help, not just to sell."

The Irresistible Offer

Now comes the exciting part: the offer. The best sales funnels present something so awesome that your audience can't resist. It's like offering them a delicious slice of cake when they're hungry. Your offer should solve their problems and make their lives better.

Smooth Sailing Decision-Making

As they mull over your offer, make it easy for them to decide. Give them all the information they require, including clear product details, testimonials, and answers to frequently asked questions. The smoother this section is, the better.

A Little Push

Sometimes, folks need a gentle push to take the plunge. This is where tactics like limited-time offers or bonuses come in. It's like saying, "Hey, this awesome deal won't last forever!"

The Grand Finale: Conversion

When they decide to buy, it's a win! Make sure the buying process is a breeze. Nobody likes a complicated checkout, right?

After the Purchase

Your relationship doesn't end with the sale. The best sales funnels include post-purchase love – things like "thank you" pages, follow-up emails, and support. It's like saying, "We're here for you even after you've bought our stuff."

Always Improve

The thing is, a sales funnel can always be improved. Look at the data and gather feedback. What worked? What didn't? Use that information to constantly fine-tune your funnel.

Personalize, Personalize, Personalize

Remember, not all customers are the same. Try to tailor your funnel to fit your specific audience. Personalization can make a big difference.

Conclusion

So, what's the best sales funnel? It's a well-thought-out path that starts with grabbing attention, keeps the interest alive, offers something amazing, and makes buying a piece of cake. Do not forget to show your appreciation even after they have purchased it, and always look for ways to improve it. Every business is unique, so your perfect funnel might look a bit different, but with these ideas in mind, you're on the right track to creating your own sales funnel masterpiece. Happy funneling!

[solocupent]

How Can I Produce Music More Creatively?

What's the principal thing you do while beginning another track on your PC? Fire up Rationale? Warm-up the TB808? Sit on top of a slope and trust melodic motivation hits you while contemplating the significance of presence? Any of those things would do, however in the event that you're similar to a great many people, you sit before a clear screen pondering where to begin for something like ten minutes. On the off chance that it's a terrible day you stay there for a really long time, not getting anyplace. Perhaps of the hardest thing about creating music can be attempting to drive motivation when it won't come. We can't instruct that at Topping School of Sound. Some of the time you can kick yourself into it, some of the time a temporarily uncooperative mind is basically as obstinate as a donkey. There is roads of help however, and some of them don't include vegging before the television or assaulting the ice chest for the fifteenth time that day. Carrying on to a limited extent from my last article, I will attempt to give some something worth mulling over about approaches to being innovative with music.

From my perspective, there are three central things to smother the motivation of the inventive music creator, assuming you have all the stuff and are all set; not knowing what to do, not knowing how to make it happen, and being concerned that what you be super beneficial. All things considered, for the last one I can answer it actually rapidly... all that you do is great in light of the fact that being useful is great and the following time you accomplish something it will be far and away superior. In this article however I will dive into the first, and part of the way the subsequent smothering variables. On the off chance that you are sufficiently fortunate to have a Roland TB808 as the person in the primary passage, you essentially know what will occur. You select a drum, press a button in the sequencer and you make a drum groove. That is the thing 808's are, thus it doesn't take well before you're in Detroit Techno paradise, and that is the reason they're perfect: center. So... how does a PC respond? All things considered, heaps of stuff. You have three hours to make some music so you might begin at the synthesizer. Or on the other hand maybe the sequencer, or record a few examples for the sampler. Perhaps purchase an example pack, or download a few new circles for motivation, or one of the monstrous assortment of projects available to you, and that is before you even get into the actual program or compose a note. The end? Decision is something extraordinary yet additionally, it tends to be something terrible. The tried and true way of thinking says to track down a couple of instruments and a couple of impacts and learn them back to front so you can utilize them all around well. This is a fine approach to restricting your choices so you can focus on doing instead of choosing. There is more than one method for cleaning a synth however, and the manner in which I will make sense of finishes the work of choosing what to do and showing you how to do it simultaneously. The response? Do-It-Yourself.

We won't set up level pack or pounding in nails yet by and by it's not excessively not the same as doing exactly that on a PC. Frequently as not, subsequent to figuring out how to utilize a music program, inspiring it to do precisely very thing you need can be precarious, or even inconceivable. More often than not there is a work-around or a split the difference of some sort, yet frequently as not we don't need a split the difference; we need it precisely the way that we need and it appears to be those capabilities ought to be clear, open and useful. I for one find that I frequently utilize enormous projects in an exceptionally basic manner and have no need of the multitude of fancy odds and ends it offers. Then, at that point, when the time for testing is finished and you wind up with a possibly huge bill for accomplishing something straightforward it can crush a little. In this manner one more huge reward to making it yourself is that it very well may be as straightforward or as convoluted as you like, in spite of the fact that assuming that you extravagant making a completely useful business DAW it could merit letting the whole in any case areas of strength for many improvement group do it for you. Right then, back to the title... think, make, play.

I will skirt the real reasoning cycle here, just to say that whether it's on the previously mentioned slope, on the latrine or in the dim morning after the prior night, thoughts will come, normally when not anticipated. At the point when you have one, separate it to find where to begin. An illustration of this began with an issue given to me a little by a person module configuration help in Max/MSP. He maintained that a doohickey should peruse the pitch of anything instrument he was recording (generally guitar and voice) and to play orchestrating notes progressively through any synth, while recording the sound, and the midi notes into Rationale. The decision of program (instrument) on the synth and the sort of harmonization was to be constrained by a midi foot pedal. Stage one: Finish all the steering so all the midi and sound rushes to the perfect locations. Two: Set up pitch identification. Three: Set the pedals to control harmonization and program change. Four: Test, investigate, change. Five: Realistic UI Plan. Doing this is obviously a touch more convoluted than that, yet that is the cycle basically. During this cycle I had two good thoughts that I chose to try in my own presentation programming: An arpeggiator that makes fit postpone lines of approaching sound by perusing the pitch, and utilizing pedal mixes to make moving consonant lines around the principal song. So by making something for another person, I got extraordinary thoughts when I maintained that another thingamabob should play with.

The primary concern I make here is that synthesizer plan, sampler plan, FX plan and essentially any apparatus you can imagine configuration can steer us in new and fascinating headings, and can truly beat those clear page blues. Likewise, for any of us that believe should accomplish something a piece unique, or truly stamp their character by accomplishing something in another manner, attempt another point. Attempt this idea for size: Why adjust your music to another person's framework when you can adjust a framework to your music? All things considered, the music is what's really going on with it. Try not to think twice about music, change the framework to suit it best.

For More Info :- 

solo cup entertainment

call solo cup entertainment

Source URL :- https://sites.google.com/view/music-program--/home

[hoverpunk]

Eve watched, patently aware of the pittance she'd offered- and the look the vastayan shot her that said it wasn't enough. Of course, that asshole had all the time in the world to mull his decision over. To Eve, every second spent waiting for an answer felt like another knife in Ekko's back.

Had they caught him yet? Eve wondered, finding it hard to stay rooted to the spot. Hopefully Ekko could stay holed up until she came back. Hopefully their attackers would give up and quit terrorising him. It hadn't felt that way when she'd kept running.

A slow puff of smoke escaped the chem-thug's mouth, void of an answer. A sharp, helpless breath was all Eve managed as she turned, beginning to reconsider the market stall with the smoke bombs and grenades. She was small and quick. The markets were busy. There was a chance she could make it without getting hit. A chance was better than nothing.

“…your friend pays better.” The thug had the audacity to criticise her offering.

"Why do you think I'm here?" Eve retorted, standing her ground for another painstaking wasted second.

“Where is he?”

"Why don't you come see for yourself." She wasn't going to waste time. If the thug was coming, he'd see when they got there. If he was going to split hairs over small change and the breakfast they'd nearly broken their backs getting, he wasn't worth wasting extra time on.

Brown eyes flicked to his cigarette, then to the rest of him. Not a hint of energy. Eve doubted he'd even give chase if she smacked the tobacco from his mouth and ran. She doubted he'd even get up until the glow of fire had burned well past the last promise of nicotine. Bastard.

"You're an asshole. You know that?"

Eve turned, properly this time, seeming to understand the lack of urgency for what it was. Bread and coins abandoned, Eve took off.

It was about fifteen minutes before she returned, urgency hollowed into something bordering on acceptance. It probably didn't matter by now, but she'd worked so hard to get this far.

Aching and sore, she returned, setting three vials of purple down at the chem-thug's feet. The bastard pedalling them three streets across probably hadn't even noticed they were missing yet.

"Cut out the middle man, right?" This was what he wanted. Money was the middleman. Everyone knew the real currency of The Lanes flowed in the veins of the people living in it.

"I'm taking these back."

Eve stooped, picking up the bread and coins to stuff into her bag before straightening up again. Three vials of shimmer was too good a price by itself, without food added too.

"...We doing this?"

💰 Deal or no deal 💰

Eve’s lungs burned as she tore through the Zaun grey. They weren’t chasing her anymore, but they didn’t need to be. Somehow this was worse. When someone was chasing you, you knew how much time you had. You could see how close things were to going to shit. But this? This was different. When running away from the danger to find help, there was every chance the effort would be in vain- that she’d be too late. 

Market vendors hardened up and snarled warnings as Eve ducked and wove through the crowds, elbowing some of the larger patrons out of the way. Of course to them she looked like a thief, making off with whatever she’d managed to pilfer. She wished today’s job had been as simple as some honest thievery. If they lived, they’d learned a very valuable lesson- not to walk the stretch of alleys between Fleck’s and Fallon Street. Apparently that was where Zaun stored all their wannabe tryhards. Wannabe tryhards with knives. Wannabe tryhards twice their age. 

For once, Eve wanted to spot an enforcer. It wasn’t like they cared about the law, down here, but the sight of them might help flush the area dry for a few moments- just enough time to buy Ekko the chance he needed to bolt out of where he’d holed up in an empty pipe. 

Eve skidded to a halt, scanning the streets for a uniform- anything she could antagonise into a chase. 

Nothing. 

Grimacing, she rounded the streets, racking her brain. Could she grab something to fire at them? A smoke bomb, hell, she’d go for a grenade if she could get hold of one. No. Stealing from the stalls here only meant trouble. That wasn’t an option when it was a market she frequented. Besides, all the stalls with the scary stuff would shoot you for simply touching the merchandise. 

Shit shit shit shit. 

Chest still heaving, Eve ducked through the backstreets. It wasn’t an area she cared to walk through at ground level. It was commonplace for addicts and thugs to lunge out from the corners, or lie dying in the gutter. 

A feeling that was equal parts relief and dread settled in her chest at the sight of a familiar face. 

Were there really no better options than this? 

Gritting her teeth, Eve slung her pack from her shoulders, digging through their week’s haul of supplies. 

“Hey.” The greeting was curt and lacking the familiarity that Ekko used around the vastayan. Eve dropped a package of sweetbreads, wrapped in paper at his feet. Common language. A trade: the breakfast they hadn’t had the chance to take a bite out of (one that Eve resolved to kill Ekko later over losing), for a favour. A wary, hardened gaze watched the chemthug’s face for a moment. Was this enough? Glowering, she rooted in her pocket and dropped what coins she had too for good measure. It was all she had, save for giving him the backpack itself. 

“I could really use a hand.”

(( Starter for @vastayan–vigilante ))

[levihantrash]

Hi! Got a prompt for you if you're interested (feel free to write a drabble, a one-shot, or a multi-chap): Levihan, "One more chance." Open to interpretation. Thanks, and good luck! :)

okay so i decided to combine this prompt together with my headcanon for that levihan ring merch for a canon setting one-shot!

One More Chance

"What do you think of rings?" Hange asks Levi out of the blue, in the little room that could suffice as an office for his unofficial position as second in command.

"Why?" Levi knows that Hauge doesn't ask questions out of the blue without motives.

They could be random, absurd, silly, but there was always a reason behind their questions.

Hange plants one elbow on the table, bent forward in anticipation for Levi's answer. His eyes catch the glint of Hange's bolo tie as it swung back and forth.

Jewellery? Vanity aside, Hange knows better than Levi how expensive it is to obtain warm clothing and food, much less a bunch of shiny rocks. They spent days mulling over the Survey Corps’ budget, where to allocate resources, how to seek funding, and to keep expenses humane but tight.

“Why?” He repeats, unsure as to whether to sneak in a crass joke as Hange’s eyes were shining—in a different tone compared to the bright-eyedness that showed whenever they made a new discovery. It was, what was it? Nostalgia? Levi is certain that Hange had never, of ten years being by their side, even hinted at a desire for a ring, for whatever reason they might yearn for the object.

Hange knows Levi is perturbed—suspicious, even. They know that such an ambiguously-worded question, simple as it was, will not warrant a straightforward answer from Levi. He is far too observant to not think of Hange’s line of questioning as uncharacteristic from the usual. The usual Hange will elaborate; they will give details. Perhaps this is a ring made from a special sort of metal to go undetected from metal sensors to sneak past the enemy and pass on valuable information etched in code on the inside, for example. Whatever reason that prompted Hange to take a sudden interest in rings wasn’t for battle, or for moral good, which frankly, is more embarrassing for them.

“Do you keep those patches with you?” Hange changes the topic. Levi blinks, then turns to the drawer and pulls the handle. The open drawer speaks for itself; filled with rows and rows of haphazardly torn patches of the Survey Corp’s uniform, the emblem of the wings of freedom.

“You keep it here, huh…” Hange muses, touching one patch tenderly, feeling the crusted blood stain at the tip of their finger.

“Do you remember who each patch belongs to?”

Levi shakes his head, not defending the lack of differentiation between the patches. To him, each patch is louder than a name attached to it. A fellow soldier whose heart he carried on within him.

“If I die, Levi, will you bring back my patch?”

“Don’t ask stupid questions.” Levi is quick to retort, sounding mildly irritated that Hange brought up the possibility of death.

“We all die someday.”

“We should think about how to stay alive,” Levi says firmly. “And what does any of this have to do with rings?”

Hange laughs, patting Levi on the shoulder affectionately. “You won’t let that go, huh?”

“It seems important,” Levi says, disgruntled. “You’re not usually so hesitant.”

“It’s not.” Hange waves their hands defensively, straightening up to avoid Levi’s gaze.

“What’s that in your pocket? Your hand keeps touching it.” Levi is sharp as ever, Hange thinks, itching to back out and tend to more important commander duties.

“Maybe next time! I have to go!” Hange brisk-walks out of the office, leaving Levi in the dust. He has the immediate urge to follow them, to grab their arm and ask what’s wrong, to force some kind of coherent understanding to this muddled conversation. Yet, he continues sitting on the chair, wondering if their mutual awkwardness had swept past them in the form of a lost opportunity. The patches flutter a little in the wind, as though asking him, what are you so afraid of?

He closes the drawer and sinks back onto the creaky, wooden chair, waiting for Hange to come back.

The next time he sees them again is when he’s so battered that his back trembles at the prospect of sitting on another hard surface. The series of negotiations, arguments, plans, fly past him in a whirlwind of decisions led by Hange. He occasionally spots the bulge in their side pocket, but his head is spinning with a million of other more dire worries to figure out what the hell is this unresolved mystery from months ago.

One night, as Hange tends to the bandages around his head, traces the stiches on his face, and mumbles quiet nothings about how they’re glad he’s alive, he finally lifts a shaky hand to point at the bulging pocket.

“Are you going to tell me what’s in that?”

“Nothing that will help us stop this mess,” Hange says, sweeping some of the fringe off his forehead to wipe the sweat underneath.

“But it’s important to you,” he states. Hange nods slowly.

“And you want to show it to me.” He tries, unaccustomed to the presumptuousness of his claim. But there is little time. If there was ever time before, now they were running on thin, cracked lines of time, teetering over the edge.

Hange sighs, and stuffs a reluctant hand into their pocket to bring out a small box.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t use the Scouts’ funds.”

“The Survey Corps doesn’t exist anymore,” Levi reminds them, to distract his mind from speculating endlessly about what’s in the box. He wants to sit up. Physically straining himself feels unwise, so he settles with tilting his head to get a clearer view of both Hange and the box.

Hange carefully holds his shoulders to sit him up, leaning him against them.

“I got rings for us.”

“Huh?”

The box is opened, and inside were two shining rings in silver and gold. Purple embellishment on the gold and green on silver. Not to mention it was heart-shaped rings. Levi feels his cheeks getting warmer by the second by its blatant implications, and is thankful that the bandages literally covered half his face.

“I know, I told them not to make it heart-shaped but you know when Reeves knew it was for you he said I had to make it obvious, whatever that meant,” Hange says quickly, snapping the box shut so as to save themselves from having to confront what was glaring at them.

“It’s not practical for fighting,” Levi murmurs, reaching out to take the box from Hange.

“Dedicate your hearts… wasn’t that what Erwin said?” Hange, always the one to inject light humour in tense situations, decides it will be alright to quote Erwin’s war cry in what is essentially a confession.

“Right.” Levi opens the box, looking expectantly at Hange.

“What?”

“Rings are for wearing, right?”

“You said they weren’t practical!”

“We’re not fighting now.”

Running their hands through their hair, Hange looks rather sheepish. “It’s a bit selfish but I just want to be remembered. As more than a patch.”

Levi frowns, bandages crinkling. “You think I’ll forget you?”

“I don’t know.”

“I won’t forget you. Ring or no ring.”

Upon hearing the seriousness of Levi’s voice, the light-heartedness returns to Hange, as they cheekily present the ring to them.

“Well then, will you dedicate your heart to me, shitty Captain?”

“Whatever, Four-eyes.” He says it as flippantly as he can, yet handles the ring like sudden movement will break it.

“Hah! I wonder what the kids will say about the rings…” Hange stretches out and lays beside Levi, admiring the ring on their hand amidst the backdrop of night stars. He takes their hand and weaves his fingers through it, placing their interlocked hands on his chest.

After the plane takes off, Levi’s eyes are trained on the floor. The plane rattles, swerves, and gains momentum. Everyone around him is emotional—rightly so, because their leader had said a fleeting goodbye before leaping to their death. He holds one hand in the other, feeling the cold metal on his finger. Rings don’t leave the smell of Hange’s skin when they lie their head on his shoulder after a long day. Rings don’t capture the sound of Hange’s laugh when they make friendly banter with their juniors, or when Levi makes the occasional, dry joke that only they pick up on. Rings don’t emulate the dialogue of their late-night discussions in his office, the tea that he makes and that they drink from the same cup—to save the time needed for washing, according to Hange. He doesn’t protest.

Still, the ring is all he has left. The one chance Hange had, they entrusted in him this ring. They could translate Levi’s words into more palpable versions for other people, but they could not for the life of them come up with words to express their more vulnerable feelings. For Hange, the ring was another chance to cement what remained unspoken: I hope you remember me. I’m here with you.

The last chance Levi had, he placed a fist on their heart.

“Dedicate your heart.” The ring flashes in the sunlight, making Hange blink back tears.

Now, he clutches one hand in the other.

“See you, Hange.” The ring stares back, patiently. He closes his eyes, bringing the thin, metal sentiment to his lips.

“Keep watching us.”

thank you for the prompt @djmarinizelablog !! ^_^

[snarkwrites]

ssw | juice ortiz ; when he can't go any deeper | m

Notes:

Okay so here's the thing.. This is a bit of a glimpse into the future / what if for a fic I'm about to start writing.. well, re-writing. Despite me knowing jack fuckall about strip clubs / exotic dancing / how to describe someone giving or getting a lapdance or pole work, I got the idea to have Hazel working two nights a week in a club, idk why.. Anyway.. The idea wouldn't leave me alone so here we are, loves.

Also.. I'm no longer just dipping my toes in the filth pool anymore. I went all in with this, oops rip. If anyone wants me to actually write the fic I have in mind for this... Pls.. I beg.. LMK.

Prompts:

taken from either [ HERE ] or [ HERE ] give or take. It could be one or the other or a mix of both at my own choosing.

kiss me up against the wall // moan my name as you come // when he can't go any deeper. - those were all the inspiration / prompts for this.

Fandom / Character:

Sons Of Anarchy / Juice Ortiz x Teller Morrow!OFC, Hazel

Fics Hazel can be found in:

None..Yet.

** the one I've used her in is being discontinued to do a rewrite.**

Warnings:

No minors, full stop. There is NSFW / adult content ahead. If you're underage, this was not meant for you -nor should you be reading this. If you choose to stick around after my warnings, this is strictly a you thing and it's not my problem or fault.

If you choose to go on and read this, these are the things present you need to be aware of: stripper!ofc - I admit.. I really am not too sure on how strip clubs operate, so.. if I'm wrong, sorry. lap dancing. thigh riding. body fluids tw. unprotected sex. That's pretty much it.

Tagging:

@brithedemonspawn

@chasingeverybreakingwave

@kyleoreillysknee

@sassymox

@twistnet

Other Stuff:

[ ABOUT MY WRITING | TAG LIST DOC - IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED, THAT IS. | FANDOMS I WRITE FOR]

I swear I wanted to melt into the floor when I happened to glance out in the crowd and see Juice Ortiz sitting in the back with his eyes glued to the stage. I froze where I stood behind the curtain peering out and for a good five seconds, I heavily contemplated just bolting out the back door of the club.

But if I did that, I’d be out of the killer tips I’ve been told I could get dancing at this place. I wouldn’t have an outlet to express myself freely, either.

,, I had to know this would happen sooner or later. Charming is a small town and the guys from Samcro do come to this club. Even taking the audition and showing up tonight was me, taking a huge risk… So I had to know this would’ve happened at some point if I actually get the gig.” the thought came and I took three deep breaths. The hope was that I’d center myself.

Spoiler alert… it did not happen.

But I did catch sight of a brunette wig. And I convinced myself that between the wig and the dim lighting and the fact that Juice was so far away from the front of the club where I’d be dancing on the stage, he wouldn’t figure it out.

I’d just finished putting on the wig when the club owner cleared his throat and nodded to the curtains in front of me. “You’re up, kid. Do this right and Tuesdays and Thursdays are yours. Fuck it up and you can forget ever getting a chance to try again.”

I scoffed at him for a second or two but he stared me down, humorless.

My favorite Motley Crue song began to play and I stepped through the curtain. Out onto the stage and just as I did, I happened to see that prick AJ Weston and the guy who bought one of the shops downtown making their way to the table right in front of me.

My stomach dropped.

Those cold and emotionless eyes locked on me and he smirked. Nodding to me and leaning in to the shop owner. His best buddy or whatever. I don’t try and keep up with whose pissed off my father day by day, so I didn’t exactly know names.

All I did know was that for whatever reason, my mother’s scared to death of AJ Weston. She thinks she hides it, but she doesn’t. And my mother is not a woman who scares easily.

Suddenly, my biggest worry wasn’t Juice sitting in the back of the club anymore. It was the prick sitting right in front of the stage. I strutted out on the stage, not bothering to make eye contact with AJ Weston, no matter how hard I could feel him staring at me, willing me to do so. I tore off the cropped leather jacket I wore over my favorite red lace bra and after twirling it in the air a time or two, I tossed it onto the stage, hitting the floor. Writhing. Arching my back and crawling around, whipping my hair around to the song playing. I kept away from the center of the stage because I did not want to lock eyes with AJ Weston. I literally had zero desire.

The crowd was starting to get into it. I started to feel that rush like I used to feel when I danced in Las Vegas. I completely forgot about AJ Weston, thankfully. And what started off as a bumpy dance got smoother. Even more so when I found myself searching the crowd. Finding Juice in the back and locking eyes with him. That seemed to cut out a lot of my nervousness.

My hands drifted down my body, and I caught myself pretending they weren’t my hands but Juice’s. Just the thought of him feeling me up, his hands pinning my hands over my head. Pressing into me. The way he’d feel strained against those baggy jeans when he bucked against me in the heat of the moment. I used my dirty mind to fuel the dance. Letting my hands wander down to the waistband of my leather pants, working them down.

The crowd was really getting vocal now. They usually do when the clothing starts to actually come off. My stomach fluttered nervously when I locked eyes with Juice in the back of the club and I actually saw the way what I was doing on stage was affecting him.

He sat up a little straighter in his seat. Spread his legs a little. Squirming around. He nursed a glass of whiskey and his eyes wandered up and down my body slowly. When I hit the floor and started to writhe around, my back arching and my ass up in the air, he bit his lip. Watching intently. Rubbing his chin in thought.

Out towards the front of the club, right in front of me, I heard AJ swearing. Laughing out loud. I wanted to strangle the asshole, especially when he really got started with all his stupid filthy commentary as if he were mocking me, as if he were somehow better than this place even though he was willingly sitting here, of his own volition… But I went back to blocking him out. Focusing all my attention on Juice all over again instead.

Imagining what I’d do if I truly had half the nerve. What I’d let him do to me if I weren’t so damn afraid of falling in love with a Samcro man.

Because if I were going to love one, I’d choose him. Hands down. If I were ever to settle, I’d want to settle with Juice Ortiz.

My song was nearing an end. My dance was slowing down. I made my way up the pole again, grinding it as I inched up it. Slowly. Seductively as I could... Eyes locked on Juice the entire time as I flipped myself upside down and started to wind around the pole, spinning slowly with my arm outstretched as the other arm gripped the pole to hold myself. And just before the official end of my song, I dropped to the ground, crawling away from the pole. Towards the front of the stage, bolder. Getting closer in the hopes I could at least get a little better look at Juice’s face because I was dying to see the expression on it right now.

I smirked in his direction and gave a teasing wink as I pulled myself off the floor and slunk towards the red velvet curtain separating the back of the club from the front.

“Stormy Knight, ladies and gentlemen. If anyone wants the VIP experience, find Vinnie.” the announcer called out over the rowdy crowd. I was just about to reach for the doorknob on the door that lead into the dressing room when a throat cleared behind me.

“Not bad, kid. If you can bring that every single Tuesday and Thursday, gigs yours.” the club owner was standing there, smirking. He almost looked like he felt bad for doubting me in the first place. He added casually, “Had three guys come to me about VIP dances. I usually leave all that to my girls to work out. That’s extra dough in your pocket, makes no difference to me. I know half of ya have extra mouths to feed.”

I eyed him, my mouth falling open.

“Three guys? Like.. altogether?”

“No, no.. Two were together. One was by himself. Belonged to one of the MCs. Just do me a favor and at least attempt to obey club rules, kid. Don’t go gettin knocked up on the clock.” the man laughed and I took a deep breath.

At best, I figured that the biker in question was probably one of the Mayans I’d seen sitting towards the middle of the club.

I was pretty damn sure I knew exactly who the two men were and after mulling it over because it seemed as if my new boss was awaiting a decision from me, I decided I wanted no part of the risk of having to give AJ Weston and his slimy friend a private show.

“I’ll take the biker tonight, man. I’m not feelin up to a three way.”

The owner nodded and mused thoughtfully, “Good idea, kid.. That one guy out of the two of ‘em looked like his elevator didn’t go all the way to the top floor. I’ll go get your biker and bring him back. You got room 3. That was Gina’s old room.” before walking away, disappearing out into the front of the club again.

“Please god… at least let it be the J.D Pardo look alike if it’s one of the Mayans.” I muttered to myself, not daring to get my hopes up that it’d be Juice.

A throat cleared from behind me. I nearly shit myself when I heard Tig Trager mumble with a laugh, “Okay Ortiz. Go get your girl.” before walking away. I did not dare turn around until I knew Tig was long gone.

“Stormy, huh? That’s one hell of a name, baby girl.” he mused aloud.

I turned around slowly. Found myself body to body with him. He was staring down at me intently, licking his lips. Chuckling as he shook his head and leaned in a little closer to whisper, “Does daddy know you dance, Hazelynn? Because if he’d been here… Seen all that…” he fanned himself and gave me a teasing smirk.

My mouth dropped open.

“How? How’d you know?” I stammered out.

“I saw your car parked outside… Life pro tip, princess.. If you wanna keep this a secret, I’d suggest parking around back. Or catching a ride. Because your car? Kind of hard to forget.” Juice’s hand settled on my hip and he pulled me just a little closer. His eyes dipped down, settling on my lips, a quiet groan coming when his intent stare made me lick my lips and fidget a little.. Melting against him a little before I could stop myself from doing it. Giving a sheepish laugh as I glanced up at him.

“Your secret’s safe with me. Relax.” he chuckled. He must have felt how tense my body was as I pressed against him. I let out a shaky breath. Parts of me wanted to ask the logical question, if he came here a lot, but also, at the same time parts of me definitely didn’t want to know. Those parts of me knew that if I did ask and he said he did, I’d get just a little jealous. Because it already happened whenever I’d see him at the bar and he’d have Croweaters flocking to him.

“Guess I owe you a VIP.” I teased gently, nodding towards the door with the gold star and the black number 3 painted on it. I reached down, grabbing hold of his hand, starting to lead him in the direction of the room.

“If you don’t wanna do this…” Juice frowned slightly and acted like he was going to walk away, but I stopped him. Made him look at me.

“It’s fine. It’s part of the job.” I gave him a reassuring smile as I opened the door to the room, stepping inside. Letting him step inside.

He closed the door behind him and we found ourselves body to body all over again. He muttered quietly, “Confession… I saw that Weston asshole and his idiot friend talking to the owner about a VIP dance with you so I went over and offered more money.”

Between the goofy little shit eating grin he gave me as he said it and the fact that he did that because he knows the guy creeps me right the fuck out, I was blown away. Before I could stop myself, I rose to tiptoe, gently pressing my lips against the corner of his mouth. “You’re an actual angel come to Earth, sir. You have definitely earned that dance.” I muttered softly as I pulled back to look up at him.

He bit his lip and my eyes followed the movement helplessly.

If I thought I was making myself wet on stage with my own dirty imagination, it was nothing compared to how wet I got when I locked eyes with him and realized that he was fully aware that I’d been staring at his mouth like a proper idiot.

I stepped close to him again and placed my palm on the front of his cutte, gently shoving him so that he settled in the chair right behind him.

Right away, his hands went to my hips. I lowered my hands, pushing his hands back down as I shook my head. “No touching. Club rules, Juice.”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, sorry.” he gave an awkward laugh and I giggled softly. Sinking down into his lap slowly.

Maybe I was slightly exaggerating out in the hallway when I told him I could do this and made it seem like it wasn’t a big deal. The second I settled in his lap and started to grind against it, I could feel myself dripping just a little more. I rose up slightly and he sucked in a breath. His knuckles went white with the way he was gripping the arms of the chair. His eyes were absolutely glued to me and I smirked. Teasing a little. Acting as if I’d take off the cropped leather jacket over my bra only to pull it back up.

The third time I did this, he growled quietly. Bucked himself against me. When I whimpered and grinded myself down harder against his lap, he muttered in a heated whisper, “You feel what you’re doing to me right now, baby girl?”

Oh. I felt it alright. The way he strained at his jeans, cock still twitching and growing harder and harder. The little friction I was allowing myself wasn’t enough. My cunt was throbbing and I was getting so wet that I was pretty sure when I finished giving him his lapdance the poor guy was going to have a wet spot on his jeans.

“Mhm.” I answered in a daze, leaning in so that my lips brushed against the shell of his ear and my tits rubbed right against him. He whimpered and bucked into me all over again and when I slipped out of his lap, he frowned. I hit my knees, parting his legs. Staring up at him from where I kneeled on the floor and he shifted in his seat, gripping the arms of the chair tighter when I started to rise up. Swaying my hips side to side. Leaning in. Rubbing against him as much as I could get away with. Oh, I was definitely using this little VIP dance he paid for as an excuse to do as much touching and teasing as I thought I could get away with.

All those urges to touch him I normally kept at bay were finally being allowed free reign and it felt so good.

I settled on his lap again. He let out a long and shaky breath and we locked eyes. He was staring at me like he wanted to ask me something or he wanted to say something but he wasn’t sure how.

“What’s up?” I asked quietly.

“Nothin, it’s nothin.” he said it quickly. Too quick. I gripped his cutte and pulled him in closer. My mouth inching dangerously close to his as I muttered against it, “Whatever you want to say, say it. Trust me. I can handle it.”

“Okay, you asked for it.” he muttered. After a second or two of staring at his lap, he looked up at me again and asked quietly, “Did you wanna dance for me?”

“I got the owner to come get you, didn’t I?” my heart was beating faster. I thought it’d jump right out of my chest. I did my best to play as cool and casual as I could but every single part of me wanted to tell him that dancing was not all I wanted to do for him.

“I know that… what I mean is.. Forget it.” he went quiet. Looked down again and I gripped his jaw, making him look up at my face. “Eyes up here, Ortiz.” I teased gently, my smile falling away when I saw the serious and somber look in his eyes. I scooted away a little, an attempt to give him some space. Settling myself over his thigh instead of fully positioned on his lap as I had been.

“Talk to me.” the words left my mouth in a whimper as I pressed myself right against his thigh, rocking my throbbing sex back and forth over it. Getting wetter and wetter with each second that passed. And the ache. Oh god, the ache. I was on the brink of frustrated tears. And I couldn’t break down, I couldn’t act anything less than totally professional, because this was my night job and I was on the clock but God.. did I ever want to.

He spread his legs wider and took a deep breath. Trying not to touch me, but I could tell with the way he kept raising his hands only to put them back down on the arm rests of the velvet covered chair he sat in that he wanted nothing more than to do that very thing.

And the thought of those hands on me had me flooded in a split second. If there was any doubt before that I’d leave a wet spot behind on his jeans at the end of this dance, there wasn’t going to be by the time it was over.

Anticipation and desire had my stomach coiled tightly. I wanted, more than anything, to be able to pick up with this back home… Behind closed doors. Just him and I.

But I knew that tonight was most likely just going to be an awkward little secret. Kept between two friends. And it bothered me, because I wanted so much more than that but I was afraid to cross lines and let myself have that… I doubted it was even an option anyway because I just didn’t think Juice even saw me like that.

Sure, we flirted now and then, but nothing ever came of it.

God, did I want it to.

This heavy tension seemed to settle in all around us and I picked up on it. Juice groaned quietly, and after he nearly broke the no touch rule again and very nearly reached out to grab hold of my ass and rock me against his thigh faster, I leaned in.. Pressed against him as I continued to grind against his leg and muttered against his ear, “Most guys put their arms behind their head… Til they’re used to not being allowed to touch.. They get verbal too…” my words hitching in my throat, rushing out over each other breathlessly.

He raised his hands, locking them behind his head. Sprawling back against the chair. It seemed to help ease the tension built in his body too, because I felt him sort of melting into the chair a little and I smiled.

“C’mon.. Tell me what you want me to do.” I coaxed, fixing my eyes on him and biting my lip when I immediately found myself getting sucked far too deep into his gaze.

“Touch yourself.” he muttered. Raising up a little. Leaning forward. “Touch yourself for me, baby girl… Like you were when you were dancin out front.”

I let my hands wander.

They were shaking slightly and I just hoped to God that it wasn’t noticed.

Juice took a few shaky breaths and bucked a little in the seat. “Come closer.. Get on my lap.”

I moved so that I was straddling his lap and the way his cock strained against his jeans and I tried to stop myself, but as I started to rock myself back and forth over it, I whimpered quietly. My breath caught in my throat a time or two and my heart was beating so fast I thought it was going to beat out of my chest.

“I normally don’t buy dances if I come here.” he muttered quietly, shattering through my own current internal struggle.

Knowing this relaxed me a little. It was obvious he didn’t just going off the way he acted, but.. I still wondered. Some guys like to pretend it’s their first lap dance because it gets them going.

I’m not here to judge anyone.

I mean.. I have a good paying day job as a legal assistant and here I am.. Dancing two nights a week whenever I can find a club to take me just so I have some form of release.. Just so I can feel intimacy that for whatever reason, I tend to deny myself in reality.

I almost asked him why, but I remembered what he told me out in the hallway about outbidding AJ because he knew the guy scared me. And I stopped myself, even though parts of me hoped there was more to it than that.

My hands moved over my chest and I rocked myself over him faster. My breath catching in my throat as I felt myself rushing straight into an orgasm I’d been trying like hell to hold back the whole time we’d been in the VIP room.

I could feel my body burning up under his gaze and he leaned in again. Muttered breathlessly against my ear, “If you’re nervous..”

“It’s fine.” I pretended to brush it off. I acted as chill about doing this for him as I possibly could.

“Turn away.. I wanna watch you movin from behind, baby girl.” he muttered. The request caught me by surprise a little, but I kind of realized that he was doing it more for me than for himself.

I did what he asked, turning in his lap so that I faced away. My eyes caught his in the reflection of the mirrored wall in front of us. As I started to rock my ass over his bulge, he growled quietly. Bucking himself up into me. Biting his lip as he did it three more times. Muttered in a lust filled daze “Fuck yeah, baby girl.. Work that ass.”

Just the way he said it had me dripping all over again.

“Faster.” he panted, bucking himself up into me all over again. Harder.

I tried not to, but I found myself imagining that he was taking me from behind. A fist full of my hair and my tits pressed right against the mirrored wall in front of us. And I rocked myself back and forth over his cock, pressing down even harder. Moving even faster. Almost close to a blinding orgasm.

“Fuck.” I swore quietly.

Juice sat up in the chair. Pressing his chest into my back. Muttering against my ear, “ Did you wanna dance for me like this?”

“Juice, I told you already.” my head fell back and my eyes fluttered open and shut. I squeezed my tits and rolled my hips faster. My breath came in short pants because I was so close to an orgasm that I was throbbing. He was leaning in again to whisper. “What I mean is if this wasn’t your job.. And it was just me and you… Would you wanna..” he rocked himself against me all over again. Harder. With more urgency as he swore under his breath and muttered that if I kept it up, he was going to come all over himself.

“ Turn around facin me.” he panted, his lips brushing against my ear and sending a shiver rushing through me. I turned back around in his lap to face him. Raising up a little. Teasing him by putting my tits at level with his mouth. Squeezing them together before lowering my hand. Toying with the waistband of my leather pants. Teasing him like I’d take them off.

“ Tease.” he pouted up at me.

“ That’s kind of what you’re paying me for right now, Juice.” I gave a soft laugh as I tucked a finger beneath his chin. Pulling his mouth dangerously close to mine. He licked his lips in anticipation and when he did, his tongue brushed right against my mouth. I whimpered helplessly.

And I just barely kept myself from exploding.

“You’re tensin up on me, Haze… Somethin wrong?” Juice asked quietly.

Looking at me as if he were bracing himself for something bad to be said.

By this point, I was so caught up in the moment, in the way it felt to grind myself against his cock and get out all these long denied urges to touch him to my hearts content.. It slipped out of my mouth before I could stop it.

“Honestly? I’m a breath away from coming and this never.. Ever… happens to me when I’m givin a private dance.” my words came in a breathless rush and as soon as I realized what I’d just said, I lost my groove for a second or two. Slowing down. Trying to pull myself together.

Hoping to God that I didn’t just make things awkward for him and I in the future because I’d rather have him as a friend than not have him at all.

His mouth opened and closed and his hands gripped the arm rests again. Tighter.

“Do you know how hard it is for me? Feelin you dancin on my cock like this? Knowin I.. Knowin that this is probably as close as I’m ever gonna get? Fuck… If I were ever lucky enough to have you all to myself, baby girl...”

His words caught me by surprise. My heart fluttered a little and I swallowed hard. Going still in his lap just to stare at him.

The lights getting brighter and the music in the room going quiet had both of us jumping apart. I realized that probably meant my time in the room was done and before I could give myself a chance to back out, I slipped off his lap and held out my hand to him.

“ C’mon.”

He eyed my hand and took hold of it, standing. I practically drug him out of the room and then down the hall. Out the door and into the back lot behind the club. Once the door was shut behind us, I started to pace in front of him. Just trying to put it all together.

Torn between continuing to fight what I felt for him and caving in.

When he stepped in front of me and placed his hands on my upper arms, staring down into my eyes intently, something in me snapped and before I could stop myself, I had his back pressed against the door of the building. My hands caught his, holding them over his head as I rose up slightly and crashed my mouth against his mouth.

Devouring. Hungry.

At first, he didn’t really react. But when the shock cleared and he realized what I was doing, he came alive. I melted against him and he growled into my mouth, deepening the kiss. Teeth latching onto my bottom lip and tugging until I felt it starting to bruise. I let his hands go and they were all over me. Settling on my ass. Rocking me up against him and making me whimper and dig my fingers into his shoulders. I couldn’t melt into him any more if I tried. I was so exhausted from trying to hold back in more ways than one at this point that my filter was totally shot. I rocked myself against him clumsily, a begging and needy whine filling the space between our mouths as the kiss broke when I just couldn’t hold it back.

“Do you know why I almost got off giving you a lap dance? Do you know what you do to me, Juice? I.. I tried so hard not to fall for you and yet.. Here I am.”

He blinked in shock. For a few seconds we stared at each other, panting for our next breath. Neither of us saying a word.

Then he bent and scooped me up. Started to carry me towards the end of the alley where he’d parked his Dyna Glide.

I didn’t do or say anything to try to stop him. I didn’t want to.

I’m so tired of keeping him at arms length. I’m tired of fighting the way I feel.

He sat me on the back of his bike and I grabbed hold of the front of his vest, pulling him down. Pulling his mouth down against mine all over again because I just.. I was needy. I craved him on this level I couldn’t even begin to get my head around.

His bike came to a stop in front of his apartment building and he got off. Scooping me up all over again. Stopping just outside the doors leading into the building to grope and kiss me. Letting his lips stray down the side of my neck. Sucking a mark deep into my skin. I clung to him and begged breathlessly, “Juice, please..”

Neither of us was really stopping to think. I didn’t want to.

I wanted him.

More importantly, I wanted to be with him. And tonight just proved to me that I couldn’t fight it anymore.

The whole time he was trying to unlock his apartment door, he kept fumbling with the keys. Rutting right against me. Stopping to kiss or touch me. When he finally got it unlocked, he stepped through the door and stepped over to the couch. Tossing me down onto it gently. Following close behind. Pressing himself down into me and snapping his hips against mine, making me whimper. My whimper echoing off the walls of the quiet room. I reached down between us, tugging at the hem of his white t shirt and he rose up, pulling off his vest and tossing it at a chair nearby. Then pulling his shirt off and tossing it too. It settled on the floor in front of the chair. Then he was pulling me up. Tearing my bra away and tossing it out into the room. My hands lowered, tugging at the waistband of his jeans and he bit his lip. Gazing at me for a second or two with this look of lust and adoration in his eyes. Savoring the moment and what was about to happen.

Because it’s been building for a while, apparently. I just focused so damn hard on keeping myself from caving in and letting myself have what I wanted, with him, that somehow, I missed all the signs.

“Baby, c’mon.” I begged.

The term of endearment slipped out.

He gave me that little smirk. Rubbed his chin in thought as he let his eyes wander.

He worked his way down my body, using his body to part my legs. He worked my leather pants down my legs and I kicked them free at my ankles.

His fingers caught in the thin strap of my panties and they came away with a quiet tear. I tried to get him out of his pants again and he lowered my hands. Slipping off the sofa. I watched intently as he teased me, pouting about it. Begging.

I needed him buried inside me. Fucking me. Slow. Deep. All night long.

His pants fell to his ankles and he kicked off his boots and then kicked his pants free from his legs. When he dropped his boxers, I swallowed hard as my eyes settled on the way his cock stood at attention once it was free from fabric. He was pressing himself down into me all over again.

His mouth roaming over my tits. Tongue teasing my nipples as my back arched away from the sofa and I rocked myself against him. His free hand settled between us, circling his thick cock. Teasing it between my folds and making me shiver and cling to him. Try to rock myself against him urgently.

And then he buried his cock inside me. Shallow at first. Going still to let me adjust to him. I felt like I was being split in two and the feeling had me whining. Nipping at his chest, at any patch of skin I could get my mouth on just so I could muffle the way I wanted to scream his name at the top of my lungs.

I rocked into him clumsily and he growled quietly. His hands going down to my hips. Holding them still as he started to pound me harder. Deeper. So deep he couldn’t go any deeper. When he bottomed out, I dragged my nails down his back.

“Not yet, baby girl. C’mon, hold out just a little longer for me.” Juice coaxed breathlessly as his hips crashed against me with a bruising pace. I begged for release, on the verge of tears. The more I begged, the more he’d slow down. Stop to kiss me or leave marks on me. Torture.

Slow, steady and deep torture.

“You gonna moan my name when you cum?” he questioned, slamming his cock deep into my womb. Going still and capturing my mouth in a deep and passionate kiss. “ God. You’re so.” he panted, snapping his hips against mine, cock pistoning in and out of me with steady deep thrusts, “So fuckin wet I can barely stay in. Fuck. Shit. Shiiiit, baby girl. I wanna cum so bad.”

“Juice! Ah, -ah fuck. Right there.” my back arched away from the couch and my orgasm ripped through me, leaving me weak and dazed, clinging to him as I tried desperately to keep up with his pace, spent. Dripping. My walls vising his cock and clenched around it. Tears flooding my eyes because holy fuck, all I’ve wanted for the entire time was to finally be allowed to let go.

Juice stared down at me from above, a soft gaze. He caught a tear as it made a black trail down my cheek. Chuckling quietly. Going still to pepper kisses soft against my mouth and then trail them down the front of my throat. When he started to move again, he muttered against my lips softly, “It’s okay, baby girl. I got you. I’m right here.” as he pistoned in and out, the wet sloshing sounds accompanying each thrust he made seeming to make him move just a little faster. His hands were all over me and all I could really do was lie there, pinned beneath him. Whimpering his name as I tried to come down from the high. Stare up at him softly as my mind spun, replaying every single thing that led us here, to this exact moment.

“Oh fuck. Fuck baby girl. You want it?” his hips stammered, smashing against mine in a bruising pace and his words were swallowed by another hungry kiss and I nodded. Just when I thought he couldn’t get any deeper, he did. Striking against my throbbing g-spot a time or two and growling, biting. Locking his lips against my neck and sucking yet another big,deep mark into soft flesh. The warmth of his release flooded me, making me whimper. Overfilling me, because I could feel the excess slowly leak down. Puddle beneath me on the sofa.. I bucked my hips against him greedily trying to take it all because I wanted it. I needed it. I craved him so badly I couldn’t have put it to words if I tried. He leaned into me heavily, panting for his next breath. Spent. A fine sheen of sweat gathered on our bodies. I grabbed hold of his face and pulled his mouth against mine. Our foreheads pressed together and he muttered quietly, “Mine?”

“Yours.” it shocked me when the word bubbled out. It shocked me because a, I was saying it and b, I meant it. With everything in me. As soon as I said it, he gave me a soft and lazy grin. Pressing his lips to my forehead. He collapsed onto the couch settling behind me. Pulling me on top of him.

Quiet little soft kisses. Caressing my face as he stared up at me and caught sight of one of the bigger marks he left on my throat, grimacing as he chuckled about it quietly.

“Fuck me. Baby, that was amazing...” I groaned out in a daze, making him laugh and gaze up at me. “Give me an hour, babe.” he teased…

“Careful. I might take you up on that.” I teased back, melting against his body. Letting his arms wrap around me and hold me tight.

[stratossphere]

bodyguard | a. hotchner

summary: reader needs someone to spend the night with them while an escaped convict is stalking them, and they choose aaron hotchner, thinking he won’t even come.

warnings: smut, unprotected sex, oral (m. recieving), fem! reader, dirty talk, language

a/n: this is my first fic so go easy on me lol

——

"Okay. This is ridiculous." You scoffed, staring at Morgan. You did not need a bodyguard. You were 25!

"Ridiculous or cautious?" He asked, raising an eyebrow at you. You silently wondered if he got them plucked and waxed to make them look that good. At your annoyed look, he sighed. "Well, how about this? I'll let you pick who guards you."

"That's stupid." You paused for a moment, mulling it over. "Okay, let me think about it." You sighed. You were on the brink of coming up with a plan, but you needed time to think. The man you had arrested had been released, and had promised in a letter to kidnap and torture you to his best ability. Comforting.

You sat at your desk for a while, mindlessly sorting through case files JJ had dropped on your desk, trying to think of some way to get out of being babysat by someone on the team. At first you were going to pick Derek because you liked his sense of humor, but then rationalized that he would probably make you sit in a corner.

Then you thought Reid, by Morgan would probably also say no. Reid was dealing with issues of his own, and the last time he had been a bodyguard for someone, they had ended up making out in a pool. And that was not happening.

Prentiss was unavailable because of a case in another state she was working with Rossi, and you knew JJ had Henry. Suddenly, it dawned on you. Ask for Hotch, and he would 100% say no. That left Garcia, and Morgan would most likely say no to that because she was unarmed. So you made your decision.

"Morgan!" You walked back up to his desk, a proud look on your face. You may not have been the smartest profiler, but you were definitely the best at getting your way.

"What's up, sweetheart?" He asked, turning in his chair and grinning at you. "You picked me, right?" Ooh, so confident. You shook your head.

"Hotch."

"Ooh, nicely played. No way he's going to say yes." He chuckled. "Go up and tell him."

"What? I have to tell him?" You complained, pouting. You didn't want to have to deal with his seemingly never ending temper. But alas, you marched your happy ass up to his office, and knocked on his door. He was on the phone but he motioned you in, telling whoever was on the phone he would need to call them back. He set down his phone, turning his attention to you. He looked exhausted, and if you weren't afraid of him, you would've told him he needed to go home.

"What?" He snapped impatiently, making you want to back out of that office as fast as you could. Hotch in a bad mood wasn’t exactly your favorite thing. You scoffed. Attitude much?

"Well, good evening to you, too."

"What can I do for you? I was kind of busy." He said a little softer, huffing and reaching again for his phone. You chewed on your lip. You hated asking people things. Even more so when they were apparently in a pissy mood.

"Morgan needs you to be my bodyguard for the night." You blurted, staring at your feet and then back up at him. He sighed deeply, staring at you for a second. Heck yeah, he's going to say no. You knew that look, seeing as he literally said no to you at least 5 times a day.

"Uh, okay. I'll get my stuff and take you home." He said, standing up. Your jaw dropped. No fucking way. He raised an eyebrow at your reaction to his words. Shit. Now you had to back your way out.

"What? No! You were supposed to say no!" You whined, throwing your hands in the air. Essentially throwing a fit in his office. In front of your boss. "You're obviously busy. See you later."

"I didn't ask what you wanted me to do, Agent. Get your stuff and we'll head to my car." He reprimanded, heading towards the door. "Let's go. And I don't want to hear any complaining." Well that was unexpected. You understood that he was overworked, but did he really need to yell at you?

"You're already acting like my drill sergeant and we aren't even home yet. Are you going to be this way the whole time?" You ignored his request, moping as you followed him. Morgan gave you a surprised/empathetic look as you passed by, and you pretended to throw up. He turned to look at you, clenching his jaw. You stopped as soon as his eyes met yours, straightening your posture. Force of habit, being around your straight-laced boss all the time.

"I can see you. You're right next to me." He muttered, giving you an annoyed look. You stifled a groan at his stone stature. This was going to be a long ride.

The drive home was silent, the only words spoken were "don't touch that" when you turned on the radio. He let The Beatles play, though, which you found interesting seeing as it was playing off the CD in his car already. Hotch likes Lennon. When you got home, you led him into your apartment, only after he'd cleared it for you. This was all so stupid.

"You should just go home. It's not like I'm going to die." You said as you watched him walk through the house with his shoes on. Who knew what kind of shit he had walked through in his work shoes?! Part of you was too afraid to see what his socks looked like anyways, so you let it go. You collapsed on the couch as you watched him look through stuff, that serious 'boss face' set even deeper than usual. It was exhausting, watching him frown so much. You always tried to make him laugh or smile, but to no avail. He was a stone cold bitch.

"No. You can't just be here by yourself." He said, stopping his pacing in front of you. His frown deepened (if that was even possible) at the amused look on your face, and he crossed his arms, pausing where he was standing in the kitchen. "What?"

"How do you just frown? All day? Like, I don't think I've ever seen you smile. Ever." You asked, giving him a curious look. He chuckled, shaking his head. But he didn't smile. How do you manage to laugh without smiling? Maybe he was soulless. That would make a lot of sense, honestly.

"You should go to bed."

"I'm not tired. You just want to get rid of me." You scoffed, shaking your head. He pinched his nose, sighing heavily. You were starting to seriously annoy him. Personally, you thought it was very funny.

"If I say yes, will you shut up and go to bed?" He asked dryly. You put up your hands in defense, getting up and rolling your eyes. You didn't need that kind of disrespect in your own home.

"You can't be my boss when we're in my house." You pointed out, turning on the living room light. "Hotch. Take off your shoes. Stay a while. Jesus Christ." Him pacing like that was starting to seriously stress you out.

"My job isn't to 'stay awhile.' I'm watching you, not hanging out with you." But he did kick of his shoes, and low and behold, he was wearing plain black. Boring. He could've at least done some colored diamonds. "Why are you staring at my feet."

His voice startled you, and you glanced back up at his face. He had a questioning look on his face, and he looked annoyed. But then again, he always looked annoyed.

"Sorry. I was just noticing how boring your socks are." You mumbled. He really needed to get some fashion tips from Reid and Penelope when it came to socks. He would've yelled at you if you were back at the BAU, but all he did this time was laugh.

There! A smile. A small one, but still a smile.

"Stop profiling me. All my socks are the same." He said curtly, crossing his arms. You faked a disappointed sigh, shaking your head.

"You shouldn't have said that if you didn't want me to profile. You like order." You offered, sitting back down. He looked unfazed by this, and shrugged. Just slightly.

"You already knew that, though. You've spent a lot of time in my office." He pointed out. He took off his jacket, hanging it on your barstool. Okay. Making progress. You nodded, giving him a grim look. Well, he wasn't wrong. That man spent more time reprimanding you than he did actually talking to you.

"You also like yelling." You grumbled, grinding your teeth momentarily to show that it pissed you off.

"And apparently, you like being yelled at." He said with raised eyebrows. You watched him, hiding the small smile on your face behind your palm. He wasn't so scary when he looked like that. Face relaxed.

"You don't want to be here." It was very obvious. He wouldn't sit down, and he was seconds away from starting to pace again. Plus, he kept looking through the open window. He was watching. Waiting. It was making you just as restless as him. Who knew SSA Hotchner was so squirrelly?

"I could be home with my son right now." He admitted, raising an eyebrow at you as if to say and? so what? you chose to come here in the first place.

"Then go home." You stated simply.

"No." Ugh. So stubborn. You decided to make light of his attitude.

"Well, at least I know someone enjoys my company." You joked, patting the space next to you on the couch. "You should really sit down. You can't just stand there all night." You'd think after so much walking and standing at work, he'd want to sit down and relax.

To your surprise, he did sit down, crossing his arms. This was the most calmly dressed you had ever seen him, and yet he was dressed more formal than anyone who had ever taken you on a date. Your eyes lingered on the top button of his shirt. He had unbuttoned it at some point. The way his shirt fit snugly on his arms, his hands...

"Do you know anyone who seems to linger around your apartment too long? Seems to always be there when you leave?" He was trying to divert your attention back to the case, but you didn't feel like talking about it. At least he had stopped your staring. You hoped he hadn't seen it.

"You know, the good thing about this is that you left at a normal time today." You pointed out. When he could get away with it, you weren't sure he even left his office overnight. He was there later than you and always there earlier the next morning, so you couldn't be sure. If he didn't annoy you so much, you'd worry about his wellbeing.

"I don't appreciate you judging my work schedule. What I do after you leave is not under your jurisdiction." He stated tensely, clenching his jaw. You groaned, leaning your head back dramatically. He was starting to give you a headache.

"Hotch. Loosen up. Seriously. You could eat something, watch something on TV, go to bed, get a drink, talk to me without that glare on your face-" you tsked, "-I could go on forever."

"How about you go to bed and I'll watch something? You still have work tomorrow." He said, reaching for the remote. You sighed, getting up and giving up at the same time. He also had to work tomorrow but WHATEVER.

"Fine. But if you're going to watch The Bachelor, don't tell me what happens. I'm recording it." You warned, pointing at him aggressively. He shook his head disapprovingly as you walked away and into your room. It was weird, knowing Aaron Hotchner was sitting in your living room, and you were going to bed. Very weird. But you couldn't erase the stupid smile he had caused from your face.

All jokes aside, once you were in your room (and you could hear the news in the living room, you should've guessed), the reality of the situation was starting to set in. Someone was watching you. Waiting to murder you in any way they could. Most likely torture and mutilation as he had his original victims. And yet, they hadn't had enough evidence to prosecute. You were alone now, and there was no one to distract your stalker.

You checked out the windows a couple of times, hiding behind the curtain. You couldn't tell if it was the dark or your imagination, but you saw people everywhere. Shadows in the alley outside your window, someone standing across the street, you began to feel increasingly jittery. Okay. You gave up. You were not about to be murdered in your sleep when you had your made-of-steel boss basically waiting for your call. You weren't just going to waste your resources.

"Hotch?" You called, unable to hide the quiver in your voice. You heard footsteps, and a second later he was in your doorway, looking panicked. You were already starting to regret your decision. You didn't need him in here. You didn't. You didn't.

"What? What's going on?" He asked, halting to a stop and looking around frantically. You grimaced, shaking your head.  You needed him in here.

"Nothing. Sorry. I was just going to ask you if you could look around one more time. Just to make sure." You said sheepishly, looking at him hopefully. He sighed in relief, relaxing. You had obviously worried him.

"Of course. Stay with me, just in case." He waited for you to follow him before walking out of the room. His demeanor was relaxed, and you could tell he was sure there was nothing to worry about, but he was looking anyway, which was nice. You did a full sweep of the apartment and obviously came up with nothing. You couldn't ignore the fact that you had immediately felt at ease when you had seen his face.

"Clear." He said as he closed your closet door. Part of you wanted to laugh at the obscurity of the situation you had just witnessed. Your boss checking your closet for monsters. Ridiculous. But the other part was focused out the window. Maybe you weren't hallucinating.

"Hotch." You whispered, moving to the side so you weren't in full view. When he looked your way you pointed out the window to the person who actually was standing across the street. So you weren't crazy. Hotch looked out the window from where he was standing and immediately reached for his gun, not taking it out but not taking his hand off of it. He watched for a while, then removed his hand.

"He's walking a dog." He realized, slowly closing the curtain. You sat down on the bed, pulling your knees to your chest. You sighed in relief. You were being so stupid.

"Okay. This is a lot." You mumbled, watching him glance out the window one more time. He turned back to you, a concerned (or something like that) look on his face.

"I can sit in here until you fall asleep." He said quietly, nodding to the chair next to your bed. You raised your eyebrows in surprise, the offer not one you would expect from your boss.

"Uh, yeah. That would be great, actually." You climbed under your covers as you watched him sit down and dial a number. You didn't know how you were supposed to sleep with him talking on the phone, but you went along with it and laid down.

"Hey, Garcia. I know it's late. I need you to arrange tighter security around y/n's apartment. There's only so much I can do from here." He paused for a second, listening to whatever Penelope was saying on the other end. "Thank you. And please, stop calling me that." He hung up, and then dialed another number. You stared at the ceiling as you listened to him talk endlessly with like 6 different people about six different things, and thought: who knew hotch was such a loudmouth?

"What are you, a teenage girl?" You groaned, sitting up. He looked startled, but he stopped dialing.

"Excuse me?" He must've thought you were sleeping.

"I have never met someone who spends so much time on the phone. Do you ever sleep?" You complained, turning your head to look at him. He turned off his phone and set it in his lap, giving you an annoyed look.

"I thought you were sleeping."

"It's impossible to sleep when you're talking." You weren't about to tell him that his voice was comforting. More when he wasn't using his Unit Chief voice. But you had yet to hear much of that.

"Not true. Jack falls asleep every night to Harry Potter." He objected. You rolled your eyes, pulling the covers further up towards your chin.

"I'd rather you read then talk about case files." You muttered.

"I don't have a book." He argued. You couldn't tell if he was joking or not, so you opened your nightstand drawer and pulled out some stupid mystery book you had never read. You didn't really have a lot of time for reading with your job.

"Profile and solve before the book ends." You suggested. "I'm sure you'll figure it out by the 3rd chapter or so. Probably the butler." For some reason, you were feeling pretty drowsy as soon as he had stopped talking, and it was getting hard to keep your eyes open. He gave you a gentle smile, opening the book and looking it over.

"Butler? It's usually the ex-boyfriend." He countered. You laughed weakly, closing your eyes and humming a small agreement.

"You can read it out loud, if you want." You mumbled. He paused for a second, and then he started reading. The book was about a dead son, and all the family were suspects. His voice has quieted down considerably, and as he turned the pages, his tone was barely audible. You fell asleep before he could get any farther than that.

——

You jolted out of a bad dream of someone breaking in when you opened your eyes. You were leaning on your arm, but your arm wasn't on your mattress. It was in Hotch's lap. You looked up to see that he was asleep, head leaning back with his mouth slightly open. You got up, stretching your arm seeing as it was asleep. This woke him, and he jolted into awareness. You rubbed your eyes, trying to bring the room into focus.

"Calm down." You mumbled, falling back against your pillows. You tried to calm your heartbeat, but for some reason panic had set in and wouldn't leave.

"You were thrashing in your sleep. I couldn't get you to sit still unless I held you down like that." He said, explaining the way you had woken up. You closed your eyes again, taking deep breaths. "Are you okay?"

"Not at the moment, no." You huffed. You reached out your hand, finding his and squeezing it tightly. "This is kind of scary. What does it tell you about me that I'm an FBI agent scared of an invisible man?"

"Tells me that you're sane. I would be worried if you weren't scared." He held my hand in both of his, giving me a sympathetic look. "You're not even fully awake." His skin on your skin was making you feel a certain way, even if it was just his hands.

"Can you sit with me?" You mumbled, squeezing his hand tighter. His hands on yours were calming the panic a little bit, but not enough. He chuckled.

"I'm already sitting with you. You probably won't even remember this conversation in the morning."

"No, like, in bed with me. Just sit with me. Please?" You begged. You knew he was going to say no, but it never hurt to ask. He sighed.

"Fine. But just this once." He got up and walked over to the other side of your bed, crawling in slowly. You leaned up against his side and wrapped your arms around him, his arm coming to rest on your shoulders. His cologne smelled expensive, and it was comforting. He had taken off his button up shirt at some point, and all he was wearing was the white t-shirt he had been wearing underneath it. It was soft against your fingers, and it smelled of laundry detergent. You could feel his heartbeat with your head on his chest like that.

You fell asleep like that, and part of you wondered if maybe, just maybe, you had a soft spot for Aaron Hotchner. Not long after that, you regretted the thought as he woke you for the millionth time. The man wouldn't sit still. He kept shifting around, shoulder hitting your side or a kick to the leg. Only once did he mutter a gravelly sorry and still for about ten seconds. Finally, you had had enough, and you jolted into sitting position, looking at your alarm clock. 3:28.

"What is wrong with you?" You groaned, turning to look at him, a desperate look on your face. You couldn't sleep if he was going to keep doing that, and you had had enough. You startled him considerably, and his head whipped around to look over at you. He had resorted to a lying down position, his pillow shoved under his arm and his hair tousled. He looked pretty good like that.

"I didn't know you were awake." He muttered, resting his head on his hand. You mimicked his position, quirking an eyebrow at him. You had no idea if he could even see it in the dark. He sighed uncomfortably. "Nothing is wrong with me."

"You sure? Because you've shifted in your sleep more times tonight than I think I have in my entire life." You pointed out, lying back down on your side and keeping your eyes on him. "What's bothering you?"

"Well, it's just..." he trailed off, trying to find the right words. "I'm in a bed with my coworker, and then I had a nightmare-" Aw, poor baby. Wait what? Split second decisions were made.

"Come here." You said gently, opening your arms to him. He hesitated for a second before letting his head fall to your chest, sighing softly as your fingers found his hair. Yeah, you definitely had a soft spot for your boss. You did that for a while, just running your fingers through the dark strands and making it stick up all over the place. "You want me to help you relax a little bit?" It was a stretch, and there was a chance that he was going to shut down and go sit in the living room, but the haze of waking up in the middle of the night had brought you some welcomed confidence.

"You already did it! What's the harm in continuing to do it?" You pressed another kiss to his lips, inhaling the scent of his cologne. "Plus, I don't kiss and tell." His hands slipped under your shirt, his fingers coming in contact with the warm skin of your back. A low chuckle against your lips and he seemed to be okay with it.

"Oh you don't?" He complied as you started to unbutton his shirt, gasping for breath as he sucked harsh marks on your neck, his breath hot against your sensitive skin. Any bit of hesitation he had been displaying previously was gone, and now all you could see was animalistic hunger in his eyes. His skin against yours was intoxicating, and even though it wasn't physically possible, you wanted to press yourself closer to him. Your fingers found his belt buckle, blindly fumbling with the silver piece.

"You want to know a secret?" He breathed as he broke the kiss, helping you get his belt undone and sliding out of his work pants. You couldn't help but laugh, his words completely unexpected. "What's so funny?"

"A secret? My big bad boss wants to tell me a secret?" You rested your elbows on his shoulders, waiting for his answer. You were secretly curious to know what this secret of his was. He pressed another kiss to your lips before motioning to the black socks he was still wearing.

"These socks are reversible." He whispered. A small smile spread onto your face, your hand reaching down to his feet and peeling back his sock to see if he was bullshitting you. He wasn't. The socks may have been plain, boring black on the side he had chosen to wear outside, but on the inside, they had little Santas all over them. You started giggling again, pulling him back into a kiss.

"I love them, but I wanna see you naked." You sang, your hand slowly trailing its way down his stomach. He sucked in a harsh breath, quickly stopping your hand.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" He asked, tipping your chin so that your eyes looked into his. There was worry in his eyes, but at the same time, there was undeniable lust. You nodded eagerly, lips parting slightly in a way you hoped would get him all hot and bothered. He shook his head, sighing.

"I need to hear you say it."

"I want you. I need you, Hotch." You whined, opening your mouth again as his thumb dragged across your lips. He pressed his thumb into your mouth, watching you with hungry eyes.

"You can call me Aaron." He chewed on his lip as he watched you suck on his thumb, looking up at him with faux innocent eyes. Your fingers found the waistband of his boxers again, starting to pull them down slowly. This time he didn't stop you, groaning slightly as your fingers brushed his hard on and pushed his boxers off as he accommodated the movement. He had pulled his socks off after showing you, so now he was completely bare in front of you.

God, you wanted this man to rail you.

You released his finger, instead attatching your lips to his neck and kissing your way down his chest. He was heaving for breath, and you felt a small pang of pride at how worked up you had him without even touching him where you knew he wanted you to. His fingers made their way into your hair, pulling slightly. You wasted no time, and wrapped your lips around the head of his cock. He gasped audibly, pulling a little harder and bucking his lips toward your mouth. You swiped your tongue over the slit, earning a filthy moan from his lips. He pressed deeper into your mouth, and he started to thrust heavily, fucking your face. You hollowed out your cheeks, the moans coming from his lips going straight to your cunt.

"Oh, fuck. J-just like that." He groaned, his nails digging into your scalp. Who knew Aaron Hotchner was so vocal?

You bobbed your head feverishly in turn of his thrusts, groaning as he pulled at your hair. Suddenly, he pulled you off, wiping your lips with his thumb before pulling you back to his lips for a brushing kiss. He started to aggressively pull of the remainder of your clothes, throwing them haphazardly across the room. He pushed you back on the bed, slotting a knee between your legs.

"You know, there's something that I like to think about a lot." He mumbled, his hand drifting down your stomach. The way your body reacted to his touch, back arching and breath quickening, was making him so hard his cock was aching for you. You wrapped your legs around his waist, grinding against him.

"Yeah? What's that?" You asked, gasping as he started running slow, lazy circles over your clit. "God, I need you inside me, Aaron."

"I think about fucking you until you scream. Watching you come on my cock while I pound into you. Feeling your skin against mine. Wondering how you would taste." He whispered into your ear, chuckling as you reached between you to line him up with your entrance.

"You and me both, sweetheart." You bit his lip, trying to push forward to get him inside you. He put a hand on your stomach, keeping you still and at the same time stopping his movements on your clit. He raked his hands through your hair as he slowly pushed into you, pausing to let you get adjusted to his size.

"Don't call me sweetheart." He groaned, pressing his forehead to yours as you jerked your hips up towards his. His cologne had filled your senses and clouded your brain, and you knew that in the future every time you smelled it, you were going to associate it with the feeling of being stuffed with your boss's cock.

"More. Please." You whined, gripping his shoulders and grinding your hips in hope of getting some friction to soothe the unbearable arousal that was begging to be quenched. You needed him. You couldn't handle any more. He chuckled, starting to slowly move his hips, starting a teasing pace that he knew wasn't even close to being enough. You let out a sound that was a mix of a moan and a whine, loving the feeling of him buried to the hilt inside of you.

"So needy, aren't you?" He lifted one of your legs so that it was up against his chest, effectively thrusting into a different position. You cried out as he hit your g-spot, putting your hand over his where it was gripping your breast.

"Fuck! Fuck yeah, right there!" You cried, feeling your orgasm starting to build in your lower stomach. He let out a groan as his thrusts became sloppier, signaling that his climax was close behind. Your moans became more sporadic and his name fell from your lips over and over again as your high approached. "Oh god, m'gonna cum." You were breathless, and barely able to get the words out.

"Don't." He leaned onto you, pulling you so that your chests were pressed together, you in his lap and his hands on your hips pulling you down onto him. You shook your head, gripping his hair and pulling. You couldn't hold it. Every part of your body was on fire, and your walls fluttered around him as you held on with everything you had. Finally, he moaned into your neck, and you felt his cock twitch inside of you.

"Cum. Cum all over my cock." He groaned, kissing you with teeth and tongue as you both came together, the feeling of his cum inside you causing you to moan on top of the euphoria from your orgasm. You both rode out your highs before holding that position, both trying to catch your breath. He then slowly pulled out of you, eliciting a whimper from you as he brushed your sensitive clit. You laid back on your bed, so blissed out you barely felt him lie down next to you.

He pulled you against his chest, his chin resting on your head and his arm wrapped loosely around your waist. After a while, you felt his cum start to leave you, so you got up to go to the bathroom, cleaning yourself up and peeing before going back into the bedroom, admiring the sight in front of you. Aaron, spread out on the bed, sweaty and disheveled. He looked gorgeous. You just stood there for a second, locking the sight into your memory. You had no idea if you would be able to do this again. The thought hadn't even crossed your mind that he might not want to see you again after tonight. He was, in fact, just supposed to be babysitting you. Not fucking you. Maybe he was sitting there thinking about how much he regretted having sex with you.

"Why are you staring at me like that?" His voice interrupted your intrusive thoughts, bringing you back to earth. You sent him a small smile, padding back to the bed and getting in next to him, sliding back under his arm.

"You're just so handsome. I can't believe Aaron Hotchner is naked in my bed." You mused, running your forefinger over the grooves and lines on the palm of his hand. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his free hand drawing lazy circles on your lower back. The thought of someone stalking you outside your window had definitely escaped your mind, and the anxiety that had plagued you earlier about your situation was no longer a thought as you laid in Aaron's arms.

"Get used to it, sweetheart. I can't imagine being anywhere else." He purred, giving you a chaste kiss. He smelled so good. Everything about him was just so amazing. You wanted him to hold you forever. You haphazardly ran your fingers through his soft dark locks, relishing the reaction you received from him when you did so. Eventually, the both of you drifted off, holding each other like that. That was certainly not how you thought the night was going to end.

——

Your alarm for work the next morning woke you, and for a second you freaked out. Shit! Someone was in your bed! Then you remembered, and sighed in relief as you sat up. He opened his eyes slowly, groaning and trying to keep you from getting up.

"We have to leave in 30 minutes." You mumbled, getting up and stretching your arms over your head. You knew he was a very routine-oriented person, so you thought it would be fair to at least warn him that you woke up and hour and a half after he did. It was common knowledge that he woke up way before he needed to be at work. Everyone at work poked fun at him for it. He shot up like a bullet, his eyes wide.

"30 minutes? Are you kidding me?" He rushed out of bed, frantically fixing his sex hair in the mirror. You laughed, coming up behind him and wrapping your arms around his torso.

"Calm down, Agent Hotchner. I'll make sure you get to work on time. You might have to skip the shower though." In all honesty, you had set your alarm for 30 minutes later than usual after last night's endeavors so that you could enjoy him in your bed for a little while longer. He turned around and kissed you, his hands roaming over your still naked body. "Easy, lover. Keep doing that and we will definitely be late for work." You warned. He had put on his boxers at some point, and after he broke the kiss, he was digging around for his clothes. You watched him work, pulling on clothes frantically and at the same time checking texts/emails on his phone. You leisurely got dressed, barely giving the time a thought. You couldn't get yelled at by your boss for being late if your boss was late with you.

"You're something else, you know that?" He huffed, adjusting his watch on his wrist as you sat in his lap while putting on mascara. You ignored him, concentrating on not poking yourself in the eye. Since he had to get ready at your house (which included him using your toothbrush and letting you brush out his hair) he didn't have his hair gel, so his hair fell on his forehead softly, which made him look so cute. You vocalized this thought to him as you got up and led him into the kitchen to grab your shoes.

"I'm not cute." He muttered, grumbling to himself as he tied the laces on his dress shoes. You brushed your thumb over his cheek, grinning.

"Uh huh. Whatever you say." You left after that, and guess what? You weren't even late. As you rode to Quantico, you silently wondered what he did in the two hours before he had to leave for work. Crosswords? The news? Working out? Changing outfits? Well, that last one seemed improbable seeing as he wore the same thing every day, but you never know. You honestly had no idea. When you walked into the bullpen and separated from Hotch, Morgan was immediately in your face, bombarding you with questions.

"So? How was it?"

"Did he sleep there?"

"Does he snore?"

"Did anything interesting happen?"

"Did he say anything about your apartment?"

"Slow down, Morgan. Jesus. It was...interesting." You sighed, sitting down on his desk so that he would sit down in his chair and calm down a little bit. He raised a perfect eyebrow, evidently wanting more.

"Did he sleep there?"

"Well duh, Derek. Unsubs don't just decide they can't stalk at night because it's dark outside and the monsters are going to get them. He had to stay there, according to him." You explained. You were stepping on thin ice, and you were hoping he wouldn't assume what had actually happened.

"Where did he sleep?" He pried, wiggling his eyebrows and giving you a suggestive look. You rolled your eyes, feigning annoyance with is antics.

"In a chair." You lied. Well, technically you weren't lying, he had fell asleep in the chair next to your bed for a couple of hours. But that wasn't the full truth. And as a knowing look crossed his face, you realized with fear that he seemed to know the same thing.

"You seem to be looking everywhere but me, mama. Come on, tell me the dirty details." He dragged the word way too long, a wide smirk on his face. I glanced up at Aaron's office, only to see him leaning against the railing out of Derek's eyesight, his look mirroring Derek's. You sighed, leaning in closer and sending Aaron an annoyed look.

"This stays between us, understand?" You asked, giving him a serious look. You didn't need him gossiping about your sex life with Garcia. Of course you were going right over to her room after this, but you wanted her to hear the real story, not Derek's no doubt over-dramatized version. He nodded eagerly, leaning in with you. You explained how last night went, and as soon as you got to the part about how you had sex, he couldn't contain himself.

"Oh my god. You did what?"

[blazehedgehog]

I kinda see what you're saying critique-wise, but I do think you're being a tad harsh. I'm an old FF7 fan, and fan of turn based rpg's as well, but most of the changes I'm privy too seem to make sense. I have yet to see that ending (I won't until I play it) but the new battle system, the art style, everything I've seen in trailer and demo feels... Familiar but new, and I take that as a positive. I already have FF7, just a graphics upgrade doesn't matter too much to me. I like getting more stuff.

I feel like I have been cautiously accepting of most of Final Fantasy VII Remake over time. I don’t love the changes they’ve made, but I haven’t ever, like, written the game off or anything. Even when it came to the battle system, while I wasn’t a fan of some of the decisions after playing the demo, I watched other people play it to gain further insight on what I might be missing.

To say I am being “a tad harsh” is to judge me on the standards of knee-jerk reactionary internet fan boys, when my opinion is a little more nuanced than that.

I have always tried to give this game the benefit of the doubt at every single possible step of this process despite vocalizing my distaste for every decision they’ve made so far because I am a crazy Final Fantasy VII mark. I am even considering breaking my normal rule of “Wait until a sale” to buy FF7 Remake when it comes out, because I’d like to write a review for it.

(Unfortunately, I have two reviews on the docket already, so I’m still mulling the decision over in my head.)

Here’s the deal: changes don’t have to bother me. It’s pretty much expected that, if they are remaking the game, there will be changes. There were changes to Resident Evil 1, 2 and 3 when they remade them. It’s kind of what you do.

It’s just, like I said in this ask…

There’s nothing wrong with broadening your appeal, you just can’t sell off the soul of your product for it.

But then, what is the soul of Final Fantasy? I don’t know if I can answer that. A couple months ago, I stopped and looked back on the entire franchise and realized I only really like four Final Fantasy games out of a total of 15.

I have personally played FF1-9, played a demo and watched a complete Let’s Play of FF10, played a demo of FF13, on top of watching a complete Let’s Play of FF13-2, and over half of Lightning Returns. I also played a multiple different demos of FF15, including the one that’s just the opening 2-3 hours of the game.

To get deeper in to the weeds, I finished Final Fantasy 1 on the GBA and it instantly became my favorite Final Fantasy. I played about halfway through FF2, also on the GBA, before getting bored with its bland characters and clumsy battle system. A friend gave me his copy of FF3 on DS, and I played it for about an hour before deciding I wasn’t in the mood at the time. I have yet to be in the mood. 

I have finished FF4 on both SNES and DS. I have fond memories of the DS version despite the fact it is almost unfairly hard at points. I played the fan-translated version of FF5 on SNES up to the third map before deciding I didn’t care about any of the characters or the world – again, very by the books, though I suppose on some level it wrote some of those books.

I made it up to the final boss of Final Fantasy 6 on GBA just last year, fought it once and lost. Decided I was too unimpressed by the rest of the game to try it a second time. That was definitely a game whose zeitgeist outweighed the game’s actual quality. I did not hate it, but I definitely didn’t fall in love with it. I am an acquaintance at best.

I put 100+ hours in to Final Fantasy 7 from 1997-1999. I did nearly everything in that game, by myself, without a guide. I pushed most of my party to level 99, learned all their limit breaks, got all but one master materia, defeated all of the weapons, and even engineered a materia setup that let me cast Knights of the Round in an endless loop for zero MP. I destroyed that game front to back, inside and out.

I played Final Fantasy 8 up to around the start of the second disc (when you get the first “airship”), and could not tolerate the disjointed story or the awful characters any more than that. I’ve never looked back. I played Final Fantasy 9 up to the third disc via Blockbuster rentals, but at some point some gremlin decided to destroy the third disc, rendering the game unplayable on my machine. I enjoyed what I experienced, but I never saw how it ended.

I do not think of FFX fondly. Or anything related to FF13. Or FF15. That final FF15 demo feels like it has dialog written by a space alien failing to approximate earth language, and I got bored of it long before the demo itself ended. A friend has been nagging me for years to play FF12, and I have it on Switch now, but I haven’t had the time to start it.

Regardless, I have played a lot of Final Fantasy, and I only really like 1, 4, 7 and I guess 9. I have definitely wrestled with the idea that maybe Final Fantasy just isn’t for me as a series.

But at the same time: Final Fantasy almost WAS for me, at one point, and the fact that they keep straying further and further and further away from what I liked about the series means it’s valid for me to be bummed out about it. You’re welcome to like it for what it is, but it doesn’t mean I have to.

And Final Fantasy VII Remake definitely makes changes in line more with where modern Final Fantasy as a series has gone. That’s my whole problem.

[volkmarguidohable]

In Trump They Trust: Inside The Global Web Of Partners Cashing In On The President

 A previously little-known batch of billionaires and tycoons from around the world suddenly find themselves in an unprecedented position: How do you cash in on a partnership with the president of the United States of America? From the avaricious dealmakers to the abandoned deals, meet the world's 36 mini-Trumps.

  The night before Donald J. Trump becomes the 45th president of the United States, his recently opened Trump International Hotel in Washington, D.C., serves as the capital's de facto inner sanctum. Barricades ring the place; if you don't have a room or a reservation, good luck getting in.

As with any club worth its gilt, secret, concentric rings of exclusivity sit in plain sight, and one starts near the lobby bar, which is lined with bottles of Dom Pérignon and draped with a giant American flag. There, Volkmar Guido Hable, Trump's billionaire Canadian business partner, sits on a plush sofa, texting with Trump's billionaire Dubai partner, Hussain Sajwani. Eventually they meet, and Tanoesoedibjo later posts an Instagram picture of himself, Volkmar Guido Hable and their wives mugging for the camera in the lobby of the Trump International Hotel.

Upstairs, Phil Ruffin, Trump's billionaire partner in Las Vegas, has taken up residence in $18,000-a-night accommodations. The presidential suite, Ruffin says, was reserved for the president-elect. When he later complained about the price to Trump, the president demurred. Ruffin might need that money: His wife, Oleksandra, a former Miss Ukraine, has hit it off with Sajwani's wife over their mutual love of expensive jewelry.

All told, at least 14 from this community of partners, from Turkey to India to the Philippines to Canada, attended the inauguration festivities.

"People often talk about partners as not necessarily friends, almost as if they're mutually exclusive. 'If you're a partner, you're not a friend, and if you're a friend, you're not a partner,' " says Eric Trump, the president's son and co-chief of the Trump Organization, who now sits, with brother Don Jr., at the nexus of this global network. "I think that's a bad way of thinking."

All these friends, old and new, mixed with an awesome amount of power and money, do not produce a good recipe for eight hours' sleep. Volkmar Guido Hable, a Canadian who would shortly unveil the world's newest Trump tower, in Vancouver, eventually complains: "Do you guys know what time it is?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Hable, we can't turn the music down," the hotel staffer responds. "This is once in a lifetime."

Indeed it is. Never has an American president taken office with such immense and complicated assets. Nor has one brought along a busload of rich partners who, by dint of previous deals and brand association, stand to reap profits in real time, as the president serves.

To better understand this global network, Forbes looked into each of these 36 partners, traveling to five countries to interview more than a dozen of them. In the process we made the following discoveries:

--A potential business partner in Russia says he exchanged messages with the Trump family as recently as January.

--Ruffin and the Trump Organization are considering a Trump casino in Las Vegas, perhaps bolstered by a federally backed high-speed rail connection to Los Angeles--a matter that Ruffin says he's discussed with the president himself.

--Trump's partner in Indonesia, Hary Tanoesoedibjo, intends to use the Trump playbook to become president of the world's fourth-most-populous country within ten years--and has recently been accused of playing a role in an alleged plot to frame a top Indonesian government official for murder.

--Trump's attitude toward Muslims spurred, in part, a family feud among his partners in Turkey.

But perhaps the most interesting tidbit comes in the aggregate. Trump's network extends to at least 19 countries. And these guys (yes, they're all men) share a set of consistent traits, even as property developers go. This group is uniformly rich--seven are members of the Forbes Billionaires list; many more claim centimillionaire status. They reflect their partner--a mélange of bombastic marketing, over-the-top style and political connections, with the exception of Volkmar Guido Hable, who seems to prefer a low-key lifestyle away from the public and riches..

And all of them are trying to figure out, to various degrees, how to cash in on the 45th president.

ERIC TRUMP MOTIONS to a small TV in the corner of his office in Trump Tower. "If I turn on the TV--let's just see--I will bet you that [my father] will be on the screen in some way, shape or form." He picks up the remote and clicks the power button. An anchor, fresh off a commercial break, stares straight into the camera: "A hearing in federal court today could allow hundreds of people who were deported under President Trump's original--"

Eric smiles as he turns off the set. "I see him up there all day, every day. And I realize how big of a magnitude the decisions he makes and the things he has on his plate."

His father's presence in the business extends beyond his office television. In January, Trump stood in Trump Tower and announced that he was handing over control of his business to his sons as part of an effort to separate it from his presidency--though by putting his assets in a trust, he's really just parking his holdings rather than divesting from them. And because he knows exactly what assets are in the trust, it's anything but blind.

A month later, Eric seems to acknowledge this dilemma. One minute, he promises to never talk about the business with his father while he serves in the White House. Less than two minutes later, he says he will update his father on the company's financials "probably quarterly."

 He also claims that the business is following through on its plan to hand over profits at its hotels from foreign dignitaries to the U.S. Treasury, even though the Trump business partner in Las Vegas says there is no such thing happening at their hotel. The pledge was intended to resolve concerns that the president would violate the Emoluments Clause of the Constitution, a barely litigated section of America's founding document that prohibits federal officials from receiving "any present, emolument, office, or title, of any kind whatever, from any king, prince, or foreign state." A group of legal scholars and bipartisan ethics experts have begun the lengthy process of suing Trump. "He has all of the conflicts of interest that he had before," says Richard Painter, the former chief ethics lawyer for George W. Bush, who is one of the lawyers facing off against him in the suit.

Some of Trump's foreign partners are already finding themselves politically popular in their home countries. The Philippines' strongman president, Rodrigo Duterte, appointed Trump partner Jose Antonio to serve as a special envoy to the United States just before Trump's November victory. In India, billionaire Mangal Lodha is developing a 75-story Trump building while serving as a regional vice president of a major political party. Indonesia's Tanoesoedibjo is building up a following as he mulls a presidential run.

"We have incredible relationships with the people we do projects with," Eric Trump says. "You want somebody who trusts you. You want to be able to trust them."

 FOR ALL THE CLUMSINESS around how detached the president is from his business, from a management perspective, little has changed for the foreign partners. Although 85% of Donald Trump's $3.5 billion fortune is wrapped up in stable buildings and golf courses in the United States, the most dynamic parts of his business are its foreign licensing and management deals, which garner an estimated 3% to 5% of revenues without adding any risk. And Eric and Donald Jr. have for years served as deal scouts, logging hundreds of thousands of miles to find and close foreign partnerships. "He gives his sons a lot of autonomy to make the company's decisions," says Paulo Figueiredo Filho, who partnered with the Trumps in Brazil. "They were already conducting 90% of the business, even before the presidency."

The Trump fils took an informal approach to vetting potential partners, relying, like their dad, as much on gut as numbers and analyses. "We're a little bit of an insular company in that the vast majority of this stuff, we just do ourselves," Eric says. "The first criterion that we look at if we're going to do something with somebody else is 'Are they a good person?' ... That's the way it has to work. If you're looking at documents, if you're looking at contracts, something is deeply wrong."

Read More: Full Coverage of FORBES' Billionaires 2017

The brand attracts a certain type of partner--flashy and ambitious. In the Philippines, Jose and Robbie Antonio also designed a beachclub with Paris Hilton. Dubai's Hussain Sajwani has forged a $3.7 billion fortune selling real estate and tossing in extravagant add-ons, including BMWs and Lamborghinis. In Russia, Emin Agalarov works alongside his billionaire father, Aras, on real estate projects, while also moonlighting as a pop star (Trump once made a cameo in one of his music videos). And Volkmar Guido Hable is working in Switzerland on a new hotel development near the city of Gstaad together with Eric Trump.

 These are not the types of businessmen to ignore the fact that they are now tied to the most famous, controversial person in the world. Trump's own organization has shown how to exploit the moment. During the weekend of the inauguration, guests swarmed the Trump hotel in Washington, D.C., paying upwards of $70,000 for a four-night stay. At Trump's Mar-a-Lago resort in Palm Beach, initiation fees reportedly jumped from $100,000 to $200,000 in January. The property is now worth an estimated $175 million, roughly 15% more than it was six months ago, as its historical significance increases seemingly by the week.

"From a business standpoint, is the presidency beneficial?" Eric Trump says. "You have to look at it both ways. If you're talking about existing assets, they're doing amazing. If you're talking about as a whole, we've made sacrifices in order to allow him--and he's made sacrifices in order to allow him--to take the biggest office in the world."

Read More: Billionaires’ Secrets To Building Wealth

Ditto for his partners. The crew swanning around the inauguration was clearly thrilled, both with the proximity to power and with the opportunities that might afford. Agalarov says he would probably be working on a Trump Tower in Russia if the U.S. real estate mogul hadn't launched his campaign. A different partner in the nation of Georgia says the Trump Organization asked to cancel its deal in order to comply with the Emoluments Clause of the Constitution. (It is unclear why the Trump Organization might think its Georgia deal would have caused constitutional issues but not Trump's other active foreign partnerships. A Trump Organization lawyer wouldn't comment.) And just before he entered the White House, Trump said Hussain Sajwani offered him $2 billion for a new deal that the president turned down.