#also the blond there is Lisa | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

icanseethefuture333 · 9 months ago

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How to gain followers as an influencer according to your Midheaven

Aries MC:

These influencers are blunt and say whatever that comes to mind. They have a confident aura to themselves and a lot of people gravitate towards them because of how infectious their personality is. Aries MC as influencers are competitive, bold, and outgoing. They also can have a cute and bubbly nature due to Aries being the youngest of the zodiac signs. In order to gain followers or success an influencer - speak your mind. Post pictures of yourself in the gym, dancing, or playing sports, Aries are known for their athleticism and people admire the amount of energy they possess. Aries MC do best in their career as an influencer when they are energetic and thriving in life. Their following might go down if they talk about losing or show a significant change of attitude in their content such as accepting defeat. Fans can emphasize with them if they open up about trauma and abuse.

Loren Gray’s most viral video is when she transitioned from blonde to brown hair. Making bold choices such as a change in hair color, makeup, or fashion style will attract more attention.

(Ex: Tana Mongeau, Loren Gray, Lisa)

Taurus MC:

The misconception of Taurus MCs is that they are always perceived as classy or being “refined” in their aesthetic. When the most famous Taurus MCs influencers are the exact opposite. They have this “untouchable” essence to them (“Yo voy voy voy”). Like those cool girls you pass by in the mall and never see again. They live a life of fun and luxury, their stories you always want to tune in because they’re always doing something interesting. Taurus MCs need to give little by little, share your interests while also keep an air of mystery to yourself. They are the life of the party and you can often see them enjoying good food, alcohol, and/or on vacation. Taurus MCs can pull off slick buns, gold hoops, glossy lips, and tight clothing like no other as well. Unless they are showing off their riches and bragging, people will get bored of them. They don’t want someone they can relate to, so these people often get put on a pedestal or people look up to them for motivation. Most likely to be the ones on somebody's vision board. People are turned off when they display arrogance and envy out of insecurity.

Alex Consani’s most viral video of her is at a fancy restaurant singing “Lifestyle” by Young Thug.

(Ex: Alex Consani, Alexa Demie, Selena Gomez)

Gemini MC:

These girlies are some chatterboxes. They are similar to Aries MCs in a way when it comes to saying whatever they want but what they say often… doesn’t make sense but also totally makes sense, yk? The girls that get it, get it, and the girls that don’t, don’t! Queens/kings of musically fr. Gemini MCs are good at being animated and cunning when creating content. They act really ditsy and lost but they are secretly very intelligent. To gain followers, just be WEIRD, but not weird as in it being forced to be unique and different. I mean weird as just being yourself - unfiltered. Imagine yourself at 10 years old and how annoying but funny they were then letting it out as an adult now that you have control of your life. Give your inner child that space to be creative and humorous without overthinking.

Trisha Paytas being a Gemini MC in her most viral videos. That is all.

(Ex: Trisha Paytas, Liza Koshy, Bella Hadid)

Cancer MC:

Ahh Cancer MCs, they just give mother, ykwim? Something about them is just so feminine and nurturing. If they are young in age, people are drawn to their girl/boy next door vibes. They often fit the beauty standard and are praised for their youthful features. They are way over romanticized sometimes and people have an unhealthy obsession with them. People often see Cancer MCs as overrated but honestly who cares? You are capable of gaining followers by making content with family members, at home, or honestly doing the bare minimum (this placement doesn’t require much effort).

Ari Fletcher is famous for being the girlfriend of rapper G Herbo and mother of their son, Yosohn, she often posts videos of her and their son together.

(Ex: Charli D’amelio, Ari Fletcher, Zoë Kravitz)

Leo MC:

Divaaaas. Leo MCs just give celebrity through and through. They are probably some of the youngest influencers out there. These are the people who were in their bathroom making YouTube videos at 11 and getting over millions of views just for talking about their day at school. They could talk a lot of shit and people would just tune in for the gossip. They are hilarious and entertaining to watch. Always hated but could never be imitated. They are just that it girl/boy. Leo MCs gain attention for their voluminous hair, balanced features, and radiant style. The more they shine, the better. These people gain followers when they look the most glamorous and behave unapologetically themselves. Fun to hear them talk while drunk too. Might have to make a few apologies throughout their career but their fans are loyal and would never turn their back on them lol. “They could never make me hate you ahhh😝”. Leo MCs live by the saying “only god could cancel me”, the feline that got 9 lives. Haters would even miss them if they died.

Bretman Rock’s viral contour video that’s … dare I say chaotic.

(Ex: Justine Skye, Bretman Rock, Doja Cat)

Virgo MC:

True natural beauty. These people probably started the “clean girl” trend, they are so effortlessly perfect at everything they do. Top student of their class, successful in their career, etc. You name it. Virgo MCs are admired for their good reputation and clean image (or in another case, when their reputation goes to shit, they can salvage it by being clever and profiting it off themselves. Kim Kardashian became famous for being in a sex tape and ever since then she’s been one of the biggest influencers in the entertainment industry). They gain followers for posting content of their everyday routine, cleaning habits, and comfortable but stylish wardrobe. These people lose attention when they are looking messy and dirty. Sometimes engaging in reckless behavior and not always being the “perfect” girl people perceive them as can gain attention - good or bad. These people may have a harder time keeping up with the standards people enforce onto them and often face criticism more than others which could impact their mental as well as physical health.

(Ex: Yara Shahidi, Hailey Baldwin Bieber, Maya Jama)

Libra MC:

The ultimate beauty gurus omg! These are the best people to receive beauty tips from. Unfortunately, people could never look as pretty as them but they could at least learn tips that would help them enhance their appearance with makeup, skincare, etc. Libra MCs are the embodiment of beauty and style, they make the perfect influencers and a lot of them are very popular on social media. They know how to balance humor while being serious when giving advice, giving off big sister/brother vibes. The beauty standards they present could be unattainable, so they could receive both love and hate from others because they are not able to replicate them. These influencers are the type to set trends such as “#wonyoungism” and what not. Wearing pink, using your artistic skills, and being an advocate for a cause you care about could attract more followers.

Jenna Marbles most famous video is ironically about “how to trick people into thinking you’re good looking”.

(Ex: Jenna Marbles, Kylie Jenner, Michelle Phan)

Scorpio MC:

Sexy spooky gals. Scorpio MCs possess a beauty that is haunting to the mind, they are the bad girls/boys. They are daring by nature and their quirky personalities contrast with their sensual appearance. These placements could be former porn stars or be very popular on onlyfans (*cough cough* Mia Khalifa). They are often involved in scandals, dating rumors, and people view them as dramatic. Indulge in people’s fantasies and feed into others illusions. Emphasize your eyes by doing a smoker eyeliner look, contour your cheeks, and wearing a nude lip is a signature look for the Scorpio MCs. Wearing leather, revealing, or stripper type clothing and having tattoos is part of their grand appeal as well. Entertain your fans by engaging in harmless flirting and venting about your emotions.

Quenlin has been gaining popularity recently for being involved in a dating rumor that her, Billie Ellish, and Odessa are in a throuple after making a video together.

(Ex: Emma Chamberlain, Quenlin Blackwell, India Love)

Sagittarius MC:

The one everyone wishes to find. These people become the most searched in a matter of seconds. Everyone wants to know who they are, what’s their name, and where are they from. Sagittarius MCs could be praised for their “exotic” look or extravagant style. Wear clothing and jewelry from foreign countries, these people have to give off the vibe they just came back from vacation. They are often seen sporting tans and look good in “airport fashion". To gain followers, post content of videos of yourself talking in the car, traveling, going to the airport, being on vacation, driving to your favorite places, and/or speaking in foreign languages. Sagittarius MCs become famous “unintentionally” and they experience a lot of luck and success within their career. Being too stagnant could harm their success.

Cindy Kimberly went viral after Justin Bieber posted her on his instagram asking people who she was.

(Ex: Cindy Kimberly, Khloe Kardashian, Jenna Ortega)

Capricorn MC:

These mfers are always mewing. Patrick Bateman core. These are the business moguls, supermodels, and professional gamers. They are competitive and efficient when it comes to their work. They look great in black and have noticeable tattoos. Similar to Scorpio MCs with having a baddie image but instead of being just “bad”, they give off mafia vibes. The sexy super villain that’s hard to resist and secretly rooting for. People want to know how much money they make and what they did to achieve being rich (“sprinkle sprinkle”). Capricorn MCs are appreciated for their dedication and hard work. People admire them most when they talk about their struggles and how they overcame obstacles to become successful. Although, if they are someone who benefits from nepotism, people could really despise them. Be the unbothered queen/king you’re meant to be and invest in yourself, remember your time and energy is valuable.

Rihanna’s most viral video is of her saying “she could beat me but she could not beat my outfit” during a speech.

(Ex: Vinnie Hacker, Rihanna, Kendall Jenner)

Aquarius MC:

The definition of social media stars. These are the innovators and trend starters. They are the reason influencers are so big now on the internet. Aquarius MCs gain popularity for their unique perspective and usage of technology (cameras, editing content, etc). They could post about tech, talking about interests from their fandom, doing Q&As, and having a close relationship with their fans. People admire how friendly and down to earth they are. Aquarius MCs lose followers when they are cold and distant. These people could wear just about anything but look best in a hoodie, sunglasses, and jeans. They are oh so casual chic.

Madison Beer went viral in her cover of Etta James when she was only 13, she showed gratitude to her fans in the comment section and was praised by Justin Bieber as well.

(Ex: Madison Beer, Jackie Aina, Dixie D’amelio)

Pisces MC:

These people just spawned into existence. They are otherworldly in terms of appearance. Pisces MCs are quite strange when it comes to how they express themselves and people who are often misunderstood find comfort in these public figures. As influencers, their style has spiritual or mystical elements. They look like a fantasy character come to life and their makeup style can be quite bizarre. These people lose followers when they try to fit in and dim their light. They make a positive impact on others when they talk about acceptance and self love. Pisces MCs’ sexuality could be a hot topic as well and they might be very progressive with their views. These people could be psychic and are very intuitive in terms of the future.

Julia Fox’s most popular video is about how her son was born the same day her best friend who died (she also talked about how she came to her in a dream to tell her she was having a boy!)

(Ex: Julia Fox, Addison Rae, James Charles)

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starlesswdz · 12 days ago

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i finished reading camp damascus yesterday so here's some unserious fancasts i came up with

KATHRYN NEWTON or SABRINA CARPENTER as ROSE DARLING

they're both blondes so it's book accurate, also i love kathryn and i would cast her in anything (especially as lesbian horror mc) and sabrina is a goofy choice alongside my willow casting

JENNA ORTEGA as WILLOW CROGALL

she will rock that bob with bangs, kiss girls and set things on fire!!!

JUSTICE SMITH as SAUL GREEN

justice smith in queer horror just makes sense also i think he'll be perfect as a gay punk who loves jesus and will take care of you (i love him)

DAN STEVENS or ROBERT PATTINSON as PASTOR PETE BEND

i'm type casting dan stevens based on his roles in abigail and cuckoo, and to be honest with you if pastor pete looked like robert i would also be seated at camp damascus (for gay reasons? not at all)

DAVID CROSS as DR. SMITH

my bf came up with this one and i still can't stop laughing at it bc it's hilarious, the chipmunks kidnapper as awful homophobic therapist

JOE CHREST as LUKE DARLING

from The Clueless Father (in lisa frankenstein) to The Evil Homophobic Jesus Stan Father

CATE BLANCHETT as LISA DARLING

milf um anyways she's blonde and pretty so it's book accurate also she's the first person i thought of

RACHEL ZEGLER as MARTINA

imagine having so strong lesbian thoughts about her that some anti-gay demon appears out of nowhere, i don't think i need to add anything

BILL SKARSKARD as ANTI-GAY DEMONS

yes. all of them.

thank you that's all, feel free to agree/disagree i had fun with it and wanted to share ;D

#camp damascus #silly fancasts #don't hire me as casting director #chuck tingle

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ssa-dado · 12 days ago

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i’m actually convinced that hotch is secretly a huge gossip. what if that’s the thing that gets him and fleabag reader to start talking? maybe it’s about one of the other pool dads ? hotch actually knows him cause his kid goes to school with jack and it’s something real scandalous. idk i just need to have hotch being nosey and spilling tea.

Pinot Grigio

triathlon!Aaron Hotchner x fleabag!reader Genre: 21st-century-feminist-meltdown-over-an-old-man mutual pining Summary: It’s a party. You’re the help. He’s the Hotchner. He shows up to the gala in jeans, insults a politician for you, then stands around long enough to overshare a bunch of gossip you didn’t ask for (meaning: casually reveals he’s been tracking your poolside admirers like a repressed Victorian husband.) Warnings: Explicit sexual language! (not graphic, it's all in reader's head and meant as a joke... for herself, apparently), alcohol use, age gap, cuss words, hint of the vile act of female masturbation *pearl clutch*, classism, mysogeny, unhealthy coping mechanisms (wine, gossip, Hotchner) Word Count: 4.2k Dado's Corner: This prompt was so juicy and triggered my brain just right, I had to fumble a lot to find the perfect setting to reveal Hotch’s true chatty grandma self hihihihi this was so funnn! (I think I wrote three different versions of it because my brain cells just refused to collaborate… but hopefully this one works.) [I didn’t end up scripting in the part where Hotch knows the dad because of Jack, butttt! trust me, it’s probably for the better.] Thank you so much for the request, marry meeee <3

masterlist(s)

Pinot Grigio.

Just a normal white wine.

Pear on the nose. Citrusy. Crisp. Innocent.

Until yesterday. 7:24 PM.

When Penelope Garcia - who you don’t know, didn’t follow, would absolutely remember if you did (because of the most adorable Lego duck earrings and blonde curls) - posted a single photo from some FBI event on Facebook.

A glass of wine in one hand. Aaron Hotchner’s shoulder in the other.

A bottle of Pinot Grigio right there on the table.

Since then, it’s been panic.

Pool moms liked. Pool moms shared. Some pool moms commented, even.

Penelope is now famous.

She’s gained at least forty new friend requests from women named Debbie (the cool-girl rebrand of Deborah), Beth (Bethany, but pretending), and Lisa (just... Lisa) - all of them hoping for fresh content.

A new Hotchner sighting. A blurry arm. The back of a head. The profile of his nose.

And now you are paying the price.

Because you’re six bottles deep into Pinot Grigio and currently opening your seventh for the Pool Extension Project Announcement Party.

(A name so thrilling it could only have been brainstormed by three men named Greg in a windowless office with beige carpets and no dreams... broken dreams, maybe.)

(Apparently they’re adding a spa? Maybe? You weren’t listening. You were too busy arranging the buffet to look “effortlessly elegant” while silently sobbing into a tray of beet hummus.)

You’re catering it. Sort of.

You were a last-minute call.

You were a desperate substitution. Someone dropped out, and they called you.

Because you are reliable.

Talented. Charming. Funny. Qualified. And – crucially - cheaper.

(Not cheap. Cheaper. Enough of a bargain to be flattering but still slightly degrading.)

And of course, you said yes. Said “I’d love to,” said “What’s the dress code?” while internally shrieking because - what if Aaron is there too? (He might be. He probably is.)

You also told yourself you weren’t dressing for him.

That you just wanted to look professional in your very black, very tailored to your body catering uniform (with a slutty apron) - but your ass looks absolutely divine in these trousers, and if it’s not captured in one of the official photos and framed in the break room, you’re suing.

Mayday. Mayday.

He’s here.

Confirmed visual.

Aaron Hotchner.

In the flesh. In the room.

Looking slightly out of place, which of course only makes him stand out more.

Navy button-up. Jeans.

(Jeans? Him? He owns a pair of jeans??? Who sold them to him? Who authorized this? Who gave this man thighs and then denim?)

(Well… apparently so. And they fit. Criminally well.)

Meanwhile, everyone else is trussed up in three-piece suits, using big grown adult vocabulary like municipal redevelopment-

(Meaning: someone’s cousin is getting paid a suspicious amount of money to plant four trees and call it urban renewal)-

and strategic infrastructure planning-

(Meaning: they’re finally going to pour some lukewarm asphalt over the holes in 45th St NW, right before election season.)

They all shake hands with fake smiles, congratulate each other on breathing, and pretend the room doesn’t still vaguely smell like feet and chlorine, despite the mountain of imported cheeses you spent hours shaping into perfect little geometric offerings to the gods of local politics.

And Aaron-

Aaron just stands there.

Not speaking. Not smiling. Not performing. Just existing.

And yet, somehow, he still looks more elegant than all of them combined.

God, what a man.

…A man you’ve had full conversations with–

in your head.

While brushing your teeth.

While shaving your legs.

While marinating chicken.

You’ve practiced your banter with him more than you’ve prepared for actual job interviews.

The fact that you’ve barely spoken to him in real life is not because you’re shy. Not because you’re afraid of rejection. Not because there’s the occasional whisper that he’s technically old enough to have fathered you if he’d started very, very young.

(Which, most of the time, only makes it more erotically confusing.)

No. (Yes.)

It’s because you lowkey hate him.

You hate him because he walked in holding his pool bag.

…He just showed up here to do his laps.

And you just know - deep in your soul, in your bloodstream, in your ovaries - that inside that bag is a navy speedo. Matching. To. His. Shirt.

A Speedo that will now never fulfill its destiny, heartlessly imprisoned, crushed by a rolled towel and - if you had to guess - a blister pack of ibuprofen (he’s old enough to break his back sneezing and still blame it on “tight hamstrings.”)

Because, clearly, judging by the way he’s confidently flipping the strap back up onto his shoulder…

He has no idea the pool is closed today.

Didn’t know there was a party. He wasn’t briefed. He didn’t glance at the laminated flyer at reception with a dolphin in a bowtie that said “Join us for the Pool Extension Gala!”

Beautiful, beautiful man. But apparently can’t read for shit.

Because he was too busy doing… FBI things.

Whatever that means.

You don’t really know what he does.

In your head it’s just a sweaty, shirt-clinging montage of him saving lives, wrestling evil, or rescuing kittens from burning houses and carrying them out in one arm while the other cradles a bleeding witness.

You just know it’s hotter than whatever the hell you do, because before he can take more than two steps into the room, he’s already being mobbed by politicians.

Actual, elected men - men with power, men with authority, men with at least three types of stress-induced hair loss and thinning temples they pretend aren’t happening.

And they know him. They recognize him.

They even lower their voices when they speak to him, they shake his hand with such reverence, you can smell their intimidation from all the way across the room.

The fear. The respect. The power. The arm veins. The way Aaron has no idea he’s the main event at a party he didn’t even know existed.

Quite ironically, on the other hand - on the small, overworked, kind of underpaid, sexually malnourished hand that is you - you haven’t slept properly in a week because of it.

Because of the stress of the endless prep and logistics and… fine, because of him too.

Sometimes at 4 a.m., you’d find yourself just… staring at the ceiling. Lying in the dark, vibrating with anxiety and something much less noble and your only two options for survival were:

Cooking. Loudly. Desperately. Whipping up reductions and spreads in your tiny kitchen, determined to perfect the fig-and-goat cheese tartlet while trying not to scream when the oven beeped and you realized the sun was already rising.

Or… Well. Let’s just say your neighbors must think you’re really, really into dental hygiene. What kind of electric toothbrush has that many vibration modes? What kind of dental tool sings at such frequency?

Answer: not a toothbrush.

It’s pink. Plastic. Takes two AA batteries and a prayer.

You may or may not bought it during a very dark week with your café tip money at 2 a.m. from the back shelf of a pharmacy, and since then it’s been the most stable relationship of your adult life.

You’ve had to steal batteries from your TV remote more than once just to get through the week.

She’s not fancy, but she gets the job done.

You’d recommend her.

You’d even recommend her to the woman now standing in front of you - if she’d stop looking at Hotchner and trying to hormonally inform him that she is, at this very moment, in the mating phase of her cycle.

It’s not even subtle - the little cleavage tug, the fluttery eyelashes, the way she’s nodding absently while you talk about acidity and finish, eyes locked on the back of his neck rolls.

You get it. You’ve been there. Last week, actually.

And even now - when you are categorically not ovulating, when you are actively trying to be a functioning member of a patriarchal society - he does, objectively, have a beautiful neck.

A neck that has almost certainly never been stressed about fig preserves or the structural integrity of a puff pastry shell.

“I’ll have that one,” she says, stopping you midway through your ramble and pointing at a bottle.

The fucking Pinot.

Of course you will.

You smile.

Because you are a professional.

Because rage doesn’t pair well with brie.

“Sure,” you say, and pour.

You handpicked twelve white wines for this event. Twelve.

Each chosen with a level of passion that should’ve been reserved for, say, human relationships or personal growth.

Some of them had to be pulled from tiny Italian cellars with shipping so disorganized you’re now on a first-name basis with a man named Lorenzo who thinks you’re unstable and possibly in love with him.

(You might be. You’ve sliced figs and cried about tannins. Your grip on reality is… soft.)

You woke up in cold sweats for a whole week wondering if the Soave made it through Zurich because Italians do not believe in emails. Or customs. Only God.

But none of it mattered, because in the end, it’s always the Pinot, for her – and all the other people that came to your stand earlier.

You call it the Aaron Hotchner Effect.

The logic goes like this:

“If in the picture, he was drinking Pinot, and I drink Pinot, then we have something in common. We can laugh. We can clink glasses.

He’d say something dry and low - “You’ve got good taste” - and brush my fingers as he takes the glass. Maybe the hand. Maybe the elbow. Maybe the fucking thigh.

We’d flirt.

And then he’d fuck me.

Some really good rough, sex up against his hardwood bed. He’d keep his tie on. Hold my wrists. Press his mouth to my shoulder to keep from making a sound, because letting go like that, making noise, would be too revealing. Too honest.

He’d fuck me until my knees gave in and my breath stuttered and my voice cracked from begging. He wouldn’t come until I had. At least three times.

And then, of course, He’d marry me.

All because I drank his wine.”

That’s the pipeline. That’s what’s happening behind their eyes.

And you can't even judge them.

You’d be doing the same, if you weren’t currently being reminded by the smell of onion jam soaked into the pocket of your apron that you’re on the job.

You’re the help, the wine girl no one listens to until the glass is already full and the flirting has failed.

But you’d do it. You would.

Just… correctly.

Because while everyone else in that cursed Facebook photo saw the bottle, you saw the glass.

His glass, the one shoved off to the side, barely in frame - because God forbid someone like Aaron Hotchner be photographed holding the fun juice. That would imply he experiences pleasure. Or whimsy. Or serotonin.

Still, you zoomed in. You don't like to admit that. You really don't. But you did.

And thanks to the course that still haunts your bank account - the one led by three men, all named Marco - you can confidently say, with devastating clarity:

That was not Pinot.

It was Verdicchio.

Lean. Salty. A little green around the edges.

The kind of wine that doesn’t care if you like it.

Citrus and sea air and something just a little bit wrong at the end, like it’s judging you.

And maybe it is.

It’s bitter. Quiet. Difficult.

Difficult also because no one knows how to properly pronounce its name - you didn’t. You butchered it every time and got scolded by each of the Marcos at least once.

(Marco One - smoking indoors in his wool turtleneck in July, would hiss, "No, no, Ver-deek-kio, not Ver-dish-ee-oh, do you want to die in shame?")

(Marco Two made you repeat it five times in a row in front of the whole class.)

(Marco Three just muttered “Madonna Santa” and poured himself another glass.)

Verdicchio doesn’t seduce.

It holds its distance, stands in the corner of the room with crossed arms, and waits for you to prove you're worth the conversation.

Half the people who taste it hate it. The other half get addicted.

It lingers. It cuts. It stays in your mouth longer than it should.

A wine with boundaries.

A wine that says: you don’t know me.

You think you do, but you don’t.

Just like Aaron.

And you tried, betraying everything the three Marcos ever taught you about integrity, balance, and correct regional pairings, to guide each of your (unwanted) patient tragically afflicted with Hotchism toward the Verdicchio.

Even when it didn’t pair with what they were eating. Even when it clashed. Even when it made your soul itch with the wrongness of a soft-rind Brie beside all that salinity.

You’re not a bitch. You don’t gatekeep. You offer your knowledge freely. Warmly. Kindly.

But you’d be lying if you said that knowing the truth didn’t make you feel good.

Smug.

A little superior.

And yes, fine, maybe that made you feel close to him.

Closer.

Maybe you are a bitch.

Because you could have said it, could have casually dropped the line - “Oh, by the way, he was drinking Verdicchio. It wasn’t the Pinot.”

You could have been generous. Transparent. Correct.

But it wouldn’t have changed anything.

You’d be out of Verdicchio instead of Pinot.

They’d still fawn.

Still flutter.

Still call him Agent Hotchner with that glazed, pseudo-coy voice like they’re already imagining what his mattress feels like.

(It’s probably very firm. Orthopedic. Recommended by his chiropractor. No softness. No give. Posture is sacred. Comfort is weakness.)

(He probably tucks the sheets so tight you’d have no choice but to scooch closer to him just to have some room to breathe. Which, obviously, is the point.)

Same thirst, different label.

Maybe you’d tell the first one who actually listens to you.

The first one who doesn’t treat you like furniture in an apron. The first one who doesn’t cut you off mid-sentence the moment they clock that the politicians are loosening their grip on him.

Maybe the reason why you have such a crush on him is because he’s everything.

And you’re- well. You’re here.

In shoes that are starting to pinch. With wine on your hands and fig paste in your hair. With bills and back pain and the slow, creeping dread that no one really sees you unless you’re holding something they want.

And even then, just barely.

He’s elegant, unreadable, capital letter Important.

You’re… nice. Warm. Cheap... cheaper.

Maybe that’s it. Maybe that’s the whole appeal.

Maybe that’s why you keep staring at him as he’s basically dragged to your tasting stand by a small parade of men who spend their days warming seats in the Senate and collecting checks for pretending they invented civic duty.

One of the men makes the effort to squint at your name tag.

You can see the gears turning in his head as he uses it - not to address you - but to soften the blow of a condescending joke he thinks is charming, such as “how rare it is to find a young woman with taste… especially one who serves.”

You smile.

Because that’s the job.

You’re the help. The scener-

“What do you mean?” Aaron asks, turned slightly toward the man, voice flat.

He looks disgusted.

(Though, in fairness, everything he says sounds vaguely judgmental. That’s just his face.)

“Oh, no… Hotchner, don’t get me wrong. I mean it as a compliment. I admire it. Not everyone’s meant to chase titles or build a résumé, you know? And that’s not a bad thing - society only works because some people are content doing the everyday stuff. The real work.”

You’re two seconds away from breaking the last Pinot bottle over his head.

Kill two birds with one stone: one bottle, one condescending prick, and finally, blissful silence.

“…We need the people who keep the wheels turning. Mechanics. Hairdressers. Cooks…”

He gestures vaguely to you, apparently your existence is now an example. A concept. An idea. Something nice to look at when dressed in black and pouring wine.

“Really,” he adds - just in case you didn’t catch the insult the first three times - “I admire it.”

“Do you always talk to people like this?” Aaron doesn’t raise his voice - just tilts his head slightly, gaze locked on the man with a kind of stillness that, for reasons you’ve yet to comprehend, is louder than yelling.

It’s unsettling.

“What? I’m paying her a compliment.” Senator Asshole tries to laugh it off.

“You’re condescending to her. It’s not the same thing.”

“Come on,” Senator Asshole chuckles, flicking a desperate glance around, “I’m just saying she’s good at what she does.”

“And I’m saying maybe you should stop talking,” Aaron hisses.

The silence is immediate.

Aaron just stares at him – for one, two, three, four??? Seconds.

Senator Asshole, sadly, does not burst into flames. He’s stolen away by Councillor Buttchin, who probably heard everything and tries to mop it up with the limp excuse of needing to discuss “urban renewal”

(Meaning: gentrification. The rich man’s robbery.)

And so Aaron watches him leave, before he turns back to you.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, shaking his head. “The asshole didn’t even apologise.”

(He’s very hot when he swears.)

You wave it off. “It’s alright.”

“No. It’s not. It’s disgust-”

“It’s not the first time,” you cut him off. Because you don’t want to hear it. The apology. The concern. The male guilt wrapped in decency like it's somehow revolutionary.

Yes, thank you for noticing misogyny exists. Gold star.

You’ve done the bare minimum and you’re very tall so it feels like more. Congratulations on not being a monster.

At least, that’s what the rational part of you is saying. The one with a spine. The one that reads theory and donates when she can.

The other part – the one currently regulating the lubrication levels of a certain region of your body that apparently believes being mildly defended by a man with forearms like that is enough to justify reproduction - has… other thoughts.

Darwin would call it natural selection.

You’d call it bringing feminism back fifty years in one pelvic pulse.

But maybe your body’s oh-so-romantically prepping for insemination because he doesn’t make a speech.

He doesn’t continue to perform, doesn’t launch into a well-rehearsed monologue about respect, social or say something like “I have a lot of female friends, my mom is a woman, for instance.”

He doesn’t explain how decent he is.

He just… nods. Gives you a flicker of a concerned half-smile (because he’s a dad, and concern is hardwired into his frontal cortex, right between disapproval and knows best.)

But it’s quiet. Undramatic.

Like he saw it. Heard it. Filed it.

And now he’s moving on. Not because it didn’t matter. But because it did.

And not just emotionally, physically. Actually moving-moving.

Shifts halfway down the shorter end of your stand - not technically in your area, but just close enough that if he got any nearer, people might start asking him what cheese pairs with a Chablis.

(Which would be a disaster, because he looks like he’d say “cheddar” and then stare you down until you corrected him.)

Close enough to feel like a choice.

He doesn’t look at you. Scans the room instead, until his gaze lands on something. Someone.

“See that guy?” he says, nodding subtly toward ‘that guy’ across the room.

You follow the gesture.

Ah. That guy.

Mid-thirties.

You don’t know his name.

You just know he’s always suspiciously nearby. Hovering. Lurking. Casually orbiting the table where you sit every week in the pool cafeteria while waiting for your friend to finish her laps.

Objectively hot - if your type is broad shoulders, hollow eyes, and a divorce lawyer in waiting (and it pretty much is, unfortunately.)

He has a kid, you’re pretty sure. And a wedding ring he forgets to forget.

The kind of man who blames his wife’s headaches instead of confronting the fact he thinks the clitoris was a Greek philosopher.

(“Clitoris? He makes an appearance in Plato’s Symposium, doesn’t he?”)

“He’s been battling with himself over asking for your number for about a month,” Aaron says. “Still hasn’t managed it.”

Oooooooooooooookay.

Weird. Unexpected. Also deeply awkward.

(How strange that it’s not you making things weird for once.)

“And…” you trail off, because you’re too distracted by how he looks like he’s regretting it all - what a loser. “You’re saying this because you want me to hand it to him directly?”

“Oh, not at all.” Boy. That was fast. Too fast. “…he’s married.” You knew that already. “…You shouldn’t-”

“I shouldn’t?” You blink.

“Um, you…” He shakes his head, “You should… just… know this.”

…Right.

Aaron’s wife definitely cheated on him. Or maybe he’s just a prude. Or a control freak.

All possible. All extremely inconvenient. Poor him. Or maybe he deserved it, who knows.

“…Thanks,” you say flatly. “You… want something to drink?”

You ask because it’s polite… and also because he’s technically clogging the line forming behind him (all faint whiffs of Pinot settling directly into your nostrils from people pretending they need a refill, when really, they just want to stand near him.)

(Mr. Aaron.)

(Awkward-mr.-Aaron.)

(Socially-repressed-emotionally-terrifying-mr.-Aaron.)

(Mr. very-much-returning-to-the-place-he’s-meant-to-be, mr. Aaron.)

(Mr. leaning-in-to-read-the-wine-list, mr. Aaron.)

(Mr-)

“How did you know about the guy?” slips out of you, as you’re already pouring something into an empty glass just to keep moving… you don’t even look at the bottle.

No pear. So, not Pinot. (Small victories.)

“He always sits on the side of the table facing you, instead of watching his son’s swimming lesson like the rest of the parents.”

Yeah, okay, that guy is a bit way too obvious, but the problem only continues to be him.

Aaron.

“He straightens his posture every time you laugh.”

Aaron, who shouldn’t have time to notice these things. Who stops by every other week, maybe. Maybe less. Always suited. Always in a rush. Always delivering the same three lines.

“Americano, no sugar.”

“Card.”

“Have a nice day.”

He never lingers. He doesn’t sit. Doesn’t even stir the coffee. Just takes it and goes. Gone before the register beeps. FBI stuff awaiting for him.

“He ordered the same drink as you twice. Didn’t drink it. He doesn’t like cappuccino, he only did that because he thought you’d notice him”

So, how the hell does Aaron know? How does he notice you? Because he must have.

Somewhere in those two-minute drop-ins. In the blur between Card and Have a nice day. In the handful of seconds he’s ever been within ten feet of you.

Unless…

“Puts his phone down when you walk in. Doesn’t check it again until you’re gone.”

Unless he did look. Unless he looked specifically at you. Out of all the people. All the tables. All the parents and staff and regulars.

“His son finishes swimming before your friend. He doesn’t leave. Doesn’t talk to anyone else. Always finds something to do. Phone. Book. Pretending to read the sign about pool shoes.”

He saw you. And he remembered.

Which means…

“Always leaves five minutes after you. Never before. Never with anyone else.”

He’s either been paying attention. Or this big, terrifying federal agent is actually just… a massive gossip.

You freeze, because he picks up the glass you poured.

It wasn’t meant for him. You didn’t even know what it was.

Aaron swirls it once.

Leans in. Smells it.

Then brings it to his lips-

And hums.

A low, pleased little sound that settles right between your legs lungs, ergo straight to your heart. Because you’re a professional. And you take the sommelier thing very seriously.

You’re just passionate about your craft.

Especially about praise.

You love being praised.

On the job.

For the wine.

“People give a lot of themselves away when they want someone,” he says softly, almost kind.

Then he licks his lips. Just to clean the red off.

But it’s slow. Thoughtless. (Only makes it worse for you, honestly.)

You’re magnetically locked onto that smart mouth, so it’s easy to catch the small smile he gives you before turning and walking away.

Still with that soggy pool bag slung over his shoulder.

Fuck.

The things you wouldn’t do to that man.

“Can I have what he just had?” the next woman in line asks, already stepping up.

Of course you can.

That’s the point of lines, isn’t it? You wait your turn, you get what you want, and you leave. No lingering. No swooning. No involuntary pelvic lurches.

Survival.

Even if the sommelier - oh, that’s you! What a coincidence - would swear to drink Pinot for an entire godforsaken month just for five more seconds with that huge, handsome, back in that goddamn navy shirt… and that mouth too.

You glance at the bottle in your hand.

What did you even pour?

Oh. Of course.

It’s that wine.

The one you only open on nights when you’re either crying or coming.

The one that tasted like a mistake the first time and like a need every time after.

Aglianico.

Black fruit. Smoke. Leather.

Earthy. Dense. A little savage around the edges.

Unapologetic.

Masculine.

Slow to open.

Demands patience.

Tastes better if you wait for it.

Like all the worst things.

And all the best ones.

What a coincidence, really.

Phi's Corner: requests for fleabag!reader x Hotch are (wide) open(ed)!

taglist: @beata1108 ; @c-losur3 ; @fangirlunknown ; @hayleym1234 ; @justyourusualash ; @khxna ; @kyrathekiller ; @littlemisskavities ; @lostinwonderland314 ; @mmmunson ; @mxblobby ; @oxforce ; @percysley ; @person-005 ; @prettybaby-reid ; @reidfile ; @royalestrellas ; @ssa-callahan ; @softestqueeen ; @theseerbetweenus ; @todorokishoe24

#fleabag!reader #aaron hotchner #hotch #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner imagine

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fuji-sen · 7 months ago

Text

the 'evil imposter' just wants to be a baker!

Prologue: The Foodie turned Imposter?!

Part 6: Ginisang Ampalaya

[ part 5 ] || [ masterlist ] || [ part 7 ]

divider is made by @/saradika-graphics

"Wait!" Paimon yelped as the Pyro slime that accompanied you lunged at them, going into their ignited state. The floating fairy dodged with ease as Aether was about to bring out his sword out of its sheath.

"Don't hurt them!" You pleaded, and he hesitated, which caused the Pyro Slime to hit him in the face. "Wait Don't hurt Aether either!"

"Yeah!" Paimon nodded in agreement, but yelped in fear once again when the pyro slime turned its attention to her and glared. Who knew something as cute and small could have such a fiery gaze.

Ignoring the two smaller companions, you worriedly approached Aether who was on the ground, he was rubbing his face and wincing at his own touch. "Oh I'm so sorry Aether, he didn't mean it okay? he was just protecting me." You apologized, hands reaching to his face to find the skin dry and warm, but luckily he did not end up with any degree burns, perhaps it was the plot armor protecting the main character's face.

Luckily the blond seemed to be nice about it as he let the incident go, "'s alright, I kinda did freaked you two out." he waved his hand to dismiss your apologies.

Your eyes continued to glance at his face, soaking in his appearance and the finer details the game did not have, it did not also do justice to the other worldly beauty that is Aether "Still your face is a bit red, is it because of pyro here?"

Aether rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed "I'm fine really. it's just . ." he glanced away from you and you flushed realized how you were invading his personal face.

Reeling back you awkwardly chuckled "so what brings you two here?" "Oh. ." Aether stood up, holding his hand out for you silently as he thought about what to say. Should he not tell you just yet so he could easily observe you while your guard wasn't up? or should he tell you now and risk you putting on a mask?

"Well. ." Paimon looked away, slowly floating closer to the duowhile eyeing the pyro slime warily who also approached it's master, you. "We just wanted to get materials and do a few quests in the area." Aether easily offered with a well practiced smile.

Bobbing your head, you didn't think too much about his lie. You had a sneaking feeling after all on why he was here. A part of you wanted to run, run from anybody that wasn't an 'enemy' or 'mob' by the games standards. But Aether was an outlander, maybe he didn't have this crazed devotion to the Creator like Jean and Lisa did.

You took his hand without complaint or any fear, were you this quick to trust people? he wondered. "Thanks!" you smiled at him and stood up with ease- but quickly faltered as something electrocuted you both. It was a tingly sensation at first, until light and golden lightning sprouted from where your two hands made contact, then it travelled, to your wrists then up your arms-

"Ack!" you yelled, shivering in fear as you stepped back, slapping his hand away. "I'm so sorry! What happened?!"

Your eyes widened as you stared something right in front of you. There, right in front of you, emitting a golden light. . was a holographic tabs you'd seen in sci-fi movies.

"What the. ."

[Color] eyes met golden ones, both wide due to shock. You two could both see it. It displayed both of your inventories-

There you could see the uniform Katheryne had given you, the only item in the Cosmetics Section, which was an entirely new section!

୭ 🧷 ✧ ˚. ᵎᵎ 🎀

You two had left the shores of the lake, far away from prying eyes as you two entered stormterror's lair. Since the hilichurls may not take kindly to Aether and Paimon you stayed at the east entrance you had used to get to the lake.

The entire walk had been silent, you and Aether having a calculating look in your faces as you tried to understand what this means for the both of you.

Deciding to just fuck it and hope he doesn't kill you, you decided to speak first, taking charge of the conversation. "Aether. . by chance, did you always have the abilities to have your own inventory space and pull out a virtual map?"

You two had also separately inspected the glowing virtual screen that displayed in front of you. "Yeah, it's something me and my sister picked up from traveling different worlds." He told you, eyes finally moving to glance at you.

That would explain it other than saying the game developers just gave it. "I see. Then, why do I have one. I may come from another world, but being here is purely accidental." You told him and watched as their jaw drops.

"You're also from another world?!"

You nodded at Paimon's question, then put a finger to your mouth to make them quiet down. "Yes." You weighed the options of whether to tell Aether about the whole world being created by a game, it would definitely destroy the residents of the world's mind, but Aether wasn't affected the laws of the world, maybe he'd be safe with this knowledge. . or does uttering it cause an event similar to what happened in the deserts due to the forbidden knowledge?

Still since Paimon was here you decided to hold off on it.

Aether frowned, did that mean you were no imposter nor the creator. That would make you a normal person stuck in a very bad situation. Still. . your voice was familiar to him, as if it was a forgotten song he was slowly remembering.

You felt familiar yet different,

new and old,

friend and stranger. .

"You are finding your sibling right." you suddenly asked, no, it was more of a statement with your tone. The way you spoke and held yourself in front of him, you knew something.

Then your face contorted into one of sadness and pain, as you told him "The journey ahead of you will be very tough Aether, you're sister was fine, but for reasons I'm not yet entirely certain about, she does not want to be found, nor does she want to leave Teyvat at the moment."

"What?!" he grabbed your shoulders, tight enough to make you wince as he desperately waited for an answer.

"She. . She is planning something with an organization, I know things but I cannot make a certain conclusion with it." She winced, the lore and story of teyvat was heavy yet she wasn't an expert, nor was she one to theorized the future and even then she had a hard time wrapping her head around the story. She didn't want to misinform Aether because she, you acknowledged that you aren't entirely sure of things anymore.

The game didn't have a creator, so what knowledge is real or false, what information has been neglected in the game that may be important here?

"At. . at least she's alive." He sighed, nearly falling to the ground from the revelation. Knowing his sister was alive was nice enough, that she was well and kicking and planning like usual. "Could you, could you let go of my shoulders now? it's starting to hurt. ."

He quickly let go "I'm sorry!"

Waving him off, you rubbed your shoulders, the pain slowly disappearing. "It's alright." you assured him, you understood why he reacted after all. This was just the cherry on the icing anyway, the future. . despite being surrounded by many people, you couldn't help but think that Aether was lonely, for he missed his sister who was always within out of reach.

"You, you know my name though, and about my sister. If you come from another world. . how do you know?"

You eyed Paimon and your pyro slime, "could you two leave us for a bit? how about you eat some fruits and pinecones." you suggested to the two with a smile. The two small companions stared at each other, and despite pouting and huffing, they obliged.

"I cannot say for now. I don't know how you'll react to it." You honestly confessed once the two were out of earshot. Would saying that he was in a world that was created to be a game destroy him? because he would realize that his and his sister's journey, separation and the loneliness was caused to be the premise of a game where he was to be controlled for entertainment. .

"However, all I can tell you, without bringing the world to destruction (with forbidden knowledge) is that I'm always on your side Aether, I have been with you since the beginning of your journey."

"beginning. . but" he clutched his head at a flurry of memories, he knew Paimon was the one there with him, ever since he fished her up. But then those memories slowed down, connecting with one another to be coherent.

"Alright, so now I have to fight the shogun to end the archon quest in Inazuma. ." there's a faint voice in the back of his head as he stood in the middle of Ei's throne room. The ashes of Signora laid on the tatami mats as the Shogun silently stood, waiting, or were they paused.

And just like usual, his body was covered in a faint golden glow, it was like he was stuck in a warm embrace as his body was being controlled. He pulled out his map, as his finger clicked on a waypoint to a domain.

"Since I got Ganyu, I should build her for the boss fight. Then I'll cook some recovery Items." A voice said, he couldn't quite tell where it came from. Because it felt like the voice was from everywhere and no where in particular, it was in his head, it was from above, then to his sides.

Suddenly he watched, while standing inside the Momiji-Dyed Court as the visages of Diluc, Xiangling and Diona appear beside him, all covered in that same glow. They two had been summoned by the voice. "Hello Traveler, it seems her divine excellency needs our assistance. Do you know who this is for?" Diluc asked, though his body could not move, he was able to speak.

"It's for Ganyu this time." Aether said as the man nodded in understanding.

"Aether!" he was pulled out of memories, finding himself on the ground with the others staring down at him worriedly. "I. . I remember."

"Remember what Aether?"

"This. . This has all happened before. But you where there, you were everywhere. Your voice, your guidance, you control us, control me as I travel to Liyue, then to Inazuma, then to Sumeru and Fontaine. But you also controlled other vision users!" he said, his voice had started off as slow and in awe but as he continued he spoke faster and quicker.

His face turned to one of awe and respect for her, because he remembered, not everything but enough to know, to know that the voice he had heard before was the same you now held. That your warmth was still there, though now withdrawn from the pains the others had caused you.

"You helped me."

"Ah. ."

Yet your face turned to a stark contrast from his own, instead of awe or happiness, you stared at him terrified.

. . .

Aether knew, he was beginning to become self-aware. You assumed he was talking about the times you controlled him to push forward the plot, to finish archon quests after archon quests. . You hoped he wouldn't utter those words, you were afraid of causing another incident similar to that of Sumeru's.

Seeing you look, he took a few deep breaths, placing his hands on top of your own as he sat up, once again your eyes met and he said softly, and with all the sincerity he had.

"Thank you."

Even though the world and time itself rewound, even if he lost all progress and has to go through all the nations again, still he can't forget about her help. Vaguely he could recall your commentary from different events, how you were silent when he died, and how you had been respectfully silent to mourn for his death. How you shouted and complained when his sister left him once more, when none of the first three archons could give him any concrete information. How you laughed when you chose to call Paimon an emergency food every now and then. How you shared his sentiments, wishing you didn't have to help everyone only for missing flyers to be your reward.

"hic. ."

You found yourself crying again, you knew the world was just a game, and you knew you only played it because of the food, and the visuals and for comfort at the beginning, but for you to get attached to the characters and the world, for you to painstakingly go through those annoying missions and dialogue, to build characters and pull for them. . .

to have Aether of all people to genuinely thank you, when he had gone through a lot of things (and he remembers) made you feel a sense of accomplishment, what you did wasn't useless. It wasn't for nothing.

Because if it were nothing, he wouldn't be thanking you, and shedding tears with you.

⟡𓌉◯𓇋₊˚⊹♡

"You guys are weird!" Paimon complained as she rubbed her swollen eyes, having shed a few tears to "Who shares a few words and suddenly bursts into tears anyways!"

You and Aether chuckled, walking once more as you offered to show him where and who you have been staying since nearly being killed by Lisa. "Make sure to not attack or scare them okay? The hilichurls are nice as long as you are too. Right?" You turned to the pyro slime who made a motion similar to that of a nod.

"I. . I see. I'll make sure to be on my best behavior." Aether said though seemingly he had begun to regret the idea when you were heading for a very huge hilichurl camp.

"Unu!" You hear someone shout, and they repeated as if spreading the word that you had returned. "Hi guys-" you said before gasping as a few hilichurls began to attack Paimon and Aether.

"What hey-!" you yelled stopping them, "Odomu, they are Odomu!" you quickly said pointing to them. "Odomu?" they hesitated, clearly suspicious of the two new comers who accompanied their God.

You nodded in confirmation, "This is Paimon, and that is Aether, whose hair you are still pulling." Huffing you approach, chiding the hilichurl who was pulling the blond's hair.

Pinching the bridge of your nose you repeated, first pointing at Paimon "Odomu Paimon. Odomu!"

"Odomu. ."

"Aether, Aether Odumu."

"Odomu. . ."

Then you smiled as they finally lowered there weapons, your hand stretched out, patting their heads like you would do for a child "Good. . Good job guys. Thank you for trying to protect me."

Despite the language barrier, seeing your soft expression, hearing your gentle voice and feeling the warmth form your touch alone. . they simpered.

"She makes Hilichurls look like docile puppies. ." Paimon couldn't help but comment as Aether silently nodded, his hand petting his frayed hair.

The hilichurls calmed down when they realized she had returned from a trip, pulling out the contents from her rucksack they slightly deflated from the lack of meat. Rolling your eyes playfully at their reactions you asked Aether for some help getting some Meat and Eggs which luckily he had in his inventory.

So as you managed to convince the Hilichurls to let you cook, you found yourself in the cooking area with Paimon, Aether and your Slime. The pyro slime returning to the dug out hole with ashes and wood.

"Oh I'll get some sticks and branches!" Paimon offered as she looked around the camp for materials to stoke the growing fire. "Anything you need help with?" Aether turned to you, realizing he was left with no tasks as Paimon and your slime were finally getting along swimmingly.

"Well can you fill the pails with water for me?"

He nodded "sure, that's easy." With the help of his map he was able to find the few ponds or rather water sources near the camp. After a couple of trips, he was now helping you wash the ingredients clean.

"So while Paimon and the Slime are busy, can you tell me what you know of this. ." you trailed off before bitterly spitting out ". . imposter and creator situation I got myself in?"

Aether begun slowly explaining while you both began preparing, he was tearing the cabbages as you were cutting the bitter gourds. "So first, there's this Divine Creator. In simpler ways to explain, they are higher than the archons, possibly Celestia. And they're considered the mother of all due to her caring and warm nature."

You nodded along, scooping out the inner contents of the bitter gourd or 'ampalaya' after having slicing the ampalayas into two. It was luckily you found wild ampalaya growing. "They think I am her or some cheap imposter then?"

"Yes, apparently imitating the Divine Creator is grounds for quick execution without trial." Aether said with a frown, one that mirrored your own. That was. . unfair. "Do they not understand a person is not born with the choice of how they look like?"

He didn't have an answer to that, whether the residents of Mondstadt were fanatic believers that didn't take the time to think about things logically or whether they were just. . dumb, well he wasn't sure. It was beyond him really, their thinking process that is.

"Anyways, Kaeya sent me here, he was a bit skeptical of how they handled the situation and quickly labelled you as an imposter. He told me how there is a prophecy, that well prophesized how an imposter, a demon or sign of catastrophe would come to Teyvat and cause disasters while wearing the face of the great Mother to smear their name and spite them."

"So me going to Teyvat when Dvalin was terrorizing the city as Mondstadt. . was just some bad timing for me. ." your frown had deepened. You were slowly becoming even more bitter as you held the knife tightly and begun to cut the ampalaya pieces into thinner slices.

"uhh" Aether wanted to get the knife away from you as you dangerously begun to cut the ampalaya in a quick and heavy pace due to your foul mood.

"so," your smile was icy "anything else I need to know about?"

"Jean, Lisa, Amber and the other knights are hunting you down since they haven't found your body in the lake. . ."

thump!

"c-can you give me the knife-?"

OMAKE

the hilichurls sadly stared at the food you had prepared for them, not much meat in sight. they even noticed you had prepared something with bitter gourds, which they knew would be very bitter.

Paimon and Aether were silently waiting as well for someone to eat first. The atmosphere was thick and they wondered if it would be rude for them to start eating now.

Meanwhile, Pyro was eating some sticks and pinecones, which burned into nothing inside their fiery stomachs. You sat near them, a smile on your face as you patiently waited for them to eat your cooking. Having noticed their eating tendencies, you realized that they ate more meat than vegetables. "Come on it tastes good, It's not going to be bitter I promise."

Ginisang Ampalaya was the dish you cooked, it was something you learned from one of your Filipino classmates. It had a mixed of ampalaya slices, eggs, tomatoes, some pork, and onions too. It would be nice to have some rice but even Aether hadn't been able to buy any.

"You need to eat your vegetables too." you told them. The samachurl who had also been silent, decided to take a bowl of the ampalaya, "Mosi gusha!" (eat vegetables!) it told the others who repeated in a more sad "mosi gusha. ." and thus they begun eating. But. .

"!" they stared at the meal, finding it to not be bitter as they had anticipated. They tasted the meat and the eggs more than the bitter gourds. and so they ate at a more happy pace.

Paimon and Aether followed, with Aether smiling "This is good, I didn't know you could cook something like this without a recipe!" You chuckled, cheeks flushed with the praise "It's no big deal, I learned that in school."

"Oh like a home economics class?" he briefly remembered a world like that, perhaps it was yours? "Kinda but more professional, its a cooking school so you can become a chef."

"A chef?! that settles it! come with us in our journey to find aether's sister!" Paimon said through a mouthful.

You all smiled and laughed as you talked, and suddenly you didn't feel so bitter anymore.

To help the readers in their long journey, I decided to give you a few functions! Nothing tooo op, but something very useful especially for travelers and chefs! You have your own inventory system (which is the same as the ingame one)! Of course shared with the traveler as you two are connected as the player and the vessel!

NAMING THE PYRO SLIME EVENT: ONE ACCOUNT IS ONLY ALLOWED TO SUGGEST AT MOST 2 NAMES (this applies to me)!

Current compiled suggestions: Fuji_Sen has suggested! Lava Cake or "Java" based on the food / coffee" Fuji_Sen has suggested! Monsieur Creme Brulee or "Creme" based on the food. @Fantasyhopperhea has suggested! Soleil or "Sol" @Cactus4226 has suggested! Ruru (Py-ro, ro -> ru -> ruru) @bunniotomia has suggested! Helios or "Hel"

taglist: @fantasyhopperhea @rhoswen-drake @cchiiwinkle @aman3kkun @coffee-or-hot-cocoa @bunniotomia @esthelily @earth-to-name @fandomfan-102

hopefully the tag works now, I've been having trouble with a few accounts since the tag wouldn't work on them. If you are not tagged successfully that means tumblr thinks you are a bot (because you don't have posts, or much interaction), you have been shadowbanned, or your visibility is set to prevent you from being tagged.

check here for more info.

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fratttymatty · 3 months ago

Text

All British American Boy

(All characters are 18+)

Matthew Hastings leaned his forehead against the cool glass of the airplane window, watching as the endless patchwork of green and brown fields below gave way to the sprawling suburban grid. He adjusted his glasses and ran a hand through his messy brown hair, feeling a knot of nerves tighten in his stomach. He had read every guidebook, watched countless YouTube videos, and even practiced a Midwestern accent as a joke, but nothing could prepare him for actually being here—America.

More specifically, the East Coast of California, a small town near the beach where he’d spend his gap year as an exchange student before university. For an 18-year-old British boy with a penchant for sci-fi novels, indie music, and political debates, it felt like stepping into a completely different world.

At the airport, Matthew’s host family greeted him with big smiles and even bigger hugs. The Bennetts were the epitome of California Americana: Todd, the jovial dad in a baseball cap; Lisa, the bubbly mom with a perpetual tray of cookies; and Chase, their athletic, all-smiles son who was also 18. Chase was a senior at the local high school and the starting quarterback of the football team.

“Matthew,” Lisa said brightly as they piled into the family’s SUV. “What a great name! So classic. So All-American!”

Matthew blinked. “Uh, thanks?”

Chase chuckled from the backseat, where he sat next to Matthew. “Yeah, bro, it’s perfect. You’re gonna fit right in.”

Matthew wasn’t so sure about that, but he forced a polite smile.

The first day at school was a blur of introductions and unfamiliar faces. Everyone seemed fascinated by his accent, asking him to say random words like “bottle” and “aluminium,” which felt strangely alien to Matthew, now that he was in a place where everyone had the same cadence and lingo. It wasn’t long before his name became a subject of constant discussion.

As Matthew walked into the school, he could feel eyes on him. Cheerleaders, jocks, and teachers alike seemed to zero in on him, exchanging knowing glances.

One of the cheerleaders, a blonde girl with a smile that could light up a room, grinned as she approached. “Matthew, huh? Your name sounds so... All-American,” she said, giggling. “You’re not secretly a football player, are you?”

Matthew blinked, caught off guard. “Uh, no, not really.”

“Pfft, I bet you could be,” she teased, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she walked off, still chuckling. “We need more guys like you on the team. You’d fit right in.”

As Matthew made his way through the crowded hallways, another guy—a tall jock in a varsity jacket—clapped him on the back as he passed. “Matthew, huh? Dude, that’s a name you can take to the bank. Like, you’re straight outta one of those All-American movies, right?”

Matthew managed a smile, but inside, he was still trying to make sense of it all. What did they mean? What was this weird association everyone seemed to have with his name?

“Yeah, man,” another guy, a friend of the first, added as they walked past, “you’re gonna be a star here. Football, maybe? You look like you belong on the field.”

Later that day, in history class, his new teacher, Mr. Henderson, remarked on his name with an enthusiastic grin. “Matthew. Now that’s a name I can get behind! Really sounds like the kind of guy who’d be representing the All-American spirit. You’re the pride of your country, huh?”

Matthew, unsure how to respond, simply nodded. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Cool, cool,” Mr. Henderson said, adjusting his glasses. “You’re going to get along great here.”

During lunch, as Matthew stood in line, he overheard a conversation between a group of cheerleaders. They were talking about the new kid—him—and they couldn’t stop commenting on his name.

“That Matthew kid?” one of the cheerleaders said, flipping her hair. “Totally All-American. I swear, he looks like he just stepped out of a high school movie.”

“Right?” another cheerleader responded. “I bet he’s gonna be the next big thing here. He’s got the look. That strong jawline? Those cheekbones? Definitely jock material.”

Matthew froze mid-bite, his fork hovering in the air. Strong jawline? Cheekbones? He frowned and ran his tongue along his teeth. He’d never thought of himself as having any of those features. His jawline had always seemed weak and round, and his cheekbones were practically nonexistent. Had they mistaken him for someone else? He glanced around, wondering if they were talking about someone else. But no, they were definitely referring to him.

Later that afternoon, as he was leaving class, the principal—Mr. Gallagher, a tall man in his 50s with a firm handshake—stopped him in the hallway.

“Matthew,” Mr. Gallagher said with a smile, his voice warm but commanding. “I hear you’re fitting in well. It’s not every day we get a guy with such an All-American name. People around here are already talking about you. And I’ve gotta say, I think you’ll do great things at this school.”

Matthew blinked, feeling like the entire world was projecting some image onto him that he hadn’t asked for.

“Thanks, I guess?” he said hesitantly, unsure of how to respond.

“You’re welcome,” Mr. Gallagher said, still smiling broadly. “It’s good to have someone like you in our school. Now, go enjoy the rest of your day. You’re definitely going to fit right in.”

That evening, after dinner, as Matthew was settling in, Chase walked into his room with a mischievous grin and a bottle of cologne in hand.

“Alright, Matthew Hastings,” Chase said, leaning against the doorframe. “Time to complete your transformation.”

Matthew raised an eyebrow. “What are you on about?”

Chase stepped closer, unscrewing the cap of the cologne. “This is the secret ingredient. One spray of this, and you’re gonna be the perfect All-American boy.”

Matthew snorted. “Very funny.”

But before he could protest, Chase spritzed the cologne in his direction. The scent hit Matthew’s nose—strong, woodsy, and oddly intoxicating. He staggered back, his vision blurring.

“What the hell?” he mumbled, clutching his head as a strange warmth spread through his body. His glasses slipped from his face, and he blinked in confusion.

Matthew felt the change like a wave crashing over him. His clothes grew tighter, the fabric hugging new, broader muscles. His hands expanded, becoming larger and more defined. His spine straightened as his body seemed to bulk up, every inch of him transforming into a physical reflection of a guy who could play football, lift weights, and dominate any sports field.

But it was his hair that caught him off guard the most. The gelled, slightly messy brown hair he had always known as his was now slowly shifting. He could feel it growing, thickening, becoming wilder. His once-neat style unraveled, and it was replaced by a messy, dirty blonde wave that fell effortlessly into place, as if his hair had always been meant to look this way. His strands now had a natural tousled look, framing his face with an untamed, confident aura that screamed “California jock.”

He stumbled to the mirror, his heart racing. His reflection showed a tall, athletic figure with a strong jawline, perfect blonde hair that seemed to defy gravity, and bright blue eyes that gleamed with confidence. The nerdy, awkward British boy who had boarded the plane was nowhere to be found. In his place stood a tall, chiseled young man with a cocky smile and a powerful presence.

“Dude,” Chase said, clapping him on the back. “Looking good!”

Matthew turned to him, startled by the deep, American drawl that came out of his mouth. “What... what did you do to me?”

Chase shrugged. “Just helped you find your true self, bro.”

The following days passed in a blur of transformations—both external and internal. Matthew, now calling himself Matt Bennett, slid seamlessly into his new life. He joined the football team alongside Chase, becoming one of the star players almost immediately. His accent, his interests, even his political views began to shift. His love of indie music and intellectual debates slowly faded, replaced with a growing obsession for rap and R&B, the beats pounding through his headphones whenever he wasn’t on the field. He loved the swagger and confidence that came with it, the rhythms that felt so natural now, like they were a part of him all along.

His love of sci-fi novels seemed trivial now, a memory from another life. His sense of identity, too, morphed. The boy who had once questioned his sexual orientation—who had once enjoyed the company of both men and women—found himself suddenly, unmistakably attracted to women. In fact, he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d been with a guy. His attraction to men was now something distant and irrelevant, like a forgotten dream.

His new family felt like his real family. He called Todd and Lisa “Mom” and “Dad” without hesitation. And then there was Cassie, the bubbly cheerleader who became his girlfriend. With her blonde curls, wide smile, and endless use of words like “like” and “totes,” she was everything he never knew he wanted.

Chase noticed the change, of course. One day, while tossing a football back and forth, Chase shot him a sly grin. “You like the new you, right? You’re basically the ideal All-American man now. You’ve got the looks, the skills, the right political views, and, of course, the perfect girlfriend.”

Matt laughed, a confident, almost smug laugh. “Yeah, bro. I mean, it’s like I’ve always been this way, y’know? Girls, football... that’s all that matters. Oh, and, uh, conservative values, right?”

Chase slapped him on the back. “Hell yeah. If we all just stuck to our guns, everything would be perfect.” He paused, his grin widening. “Just like us.”

At school, Matt became a local legend. His name, now officially “Matt Bennett,” was on everyone’s lips. Teachers and classmates alike would remark on how “All-American” he looked. At the football games, Matt was cheered on as a hero. His life, once a tangled web of uncertainty and self-doubt, had been rewritten.

Now, he was Matt Bennett, the perfect All-American jock, and he couldn't imagine being anyone else.

One afternoon, as he walked hand-in-hand with Cassie through the school’s hallway, Chase slapped him on the back. “Told you, man. Brunettes are great, but blondes? That’s where it’s at.”

Matt laughed, his perfect white teeth gleaming. “You were right, bro.”

And as he leaned in to kiss Cassie, he didn’t think about the boy he had been before. Why would he? He was Matt Hastings now, the perfect All-American boy.

At school, Matt became a local legend. His name, now officially “Matt Bennett,” was on everyone’s lips. Teachers and classmates alike would remark on how “All-American” he looked. His new, muscular frame made him a standout, but it was his natural charisma and sharp athleticism that earned him respect.

“You know,” one of his classmates commented during lunch, “Matt Bennett... that name just screams All-American jock. It’s like something out of a movie.”

Another added, “Dude’s gotta be the most ‘jocky’ guy in school. I can already picture him playing pro football someday.”

The attention was flattering. He found himself slipping into the role effortlessly, becoming the guy everyone admired, the one who fit the mold perfectly.

But there was something else. It was in the way he now saw the world—through a lens of conservative ideals. Matt often found himself in debates with classmates, his new opinions solidifying as the days went on. He believed firmly in traditional gender roles, the importance of family values, and a strong distaste for liberal ideologies. The political conversations he had once enjoyed with his friends back in England seemed ridiculous now.

One day, during a lunch break, he and Chase found themselves talking about their political views.

“You know what’s messed up?” Matt said, taking a bite of his sandwich. “The way the country’s going. I mean, I don’t know how anyone could vote for those liberals. Everything’s just getting too soft.”

Chase nodded. “Exactly, man. It’s like people don’t want to stand up for what’s right anymore. We need to take America back. Make it great again.”

Matt chuckled. “I’m with you. It’s all about family, football, and freedom.”

Everything about Matt Bennett felt right now. His identity was clear, his life full of purpose, and every moment felt like an affirmation of his new self. He was exactly who he was supposed to be—perfectly All-American, living the life he had never even known he wanted.

And when he kissed Cassie, his blonde, bubbly cheerleader girlfriend, the world felt even more complete. He didn’t think about the boy he had been, the questions he had once asked himself. Why would he? He was Matt Bennett now—an All-American jock, straight as an arrow, and proud of it.

#male tf #male tf story #bi to straight #nerd to jock #conservative tf #lib to con #american tf

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