#and if you do recognize someone mentioned here

[muwapsturniolo]

Nipple or Tip ( • )( • ) C. Sturniolo

"I also saw one of those weird makeup hacks-"

⟢ funny shit tbh. nipples and tips of dick are mentioned as well as balls. chris being unhinged in ulta, reader done with his bs but also down with his bs.

dividers by the one and only rose toy @bernardsbendystraws

You were a beauty lover, it was well known by everyone in your life. When you were a kid, you were constantly in your moms makeup bag, messing up her high-priced lipsticks and eyeshadows on a daily basis.

As you got older, that love for makeup stayed.

You had a whole beauty room in your two-bedroom apartment. You had the vanity, the box lights as well as ring lights, and drawers on top of drawers filled with makeup you may not even have a chance to touch.

Chris knew of your love for makeup, he has been in you're beauty room one too many times to think otherwise. He never saw it as too much because he knew it was your way of expressing yourself - he was never the one to hate on expression.

So here he was, driving you to the place he should just invest in at this point.

Ulta.

You spent so much time there, that the workers recognize you. You have the credit card, you've racked up points, and you memorized the aisles. This was basically your third home, the first being your own and the second being Chris's.

"Alright, what do you need today?"

You proceed to go through your list as you walk inside the bright store, the sound of Billie's "Birds of a Feather" playing over the speakers. The song distracts him for a moment, but he comes back to reality hearing you say foundation.

"Wait, didn't you just get a new foundation?"

"Well...Yes, but I need another one!" He gives you a look as the two of you walk over to Wyn Beauty. "Technically, you don't need another one. You have about forty of them, but who am I to complain considering you're paying?"

It's comical to him the way you stop in your tracks, your eyes widening in disbelief. "What do you mean I'm paying? It's your turn to pay!"

Chris chuckles to himself, fixing the beanie on his head. "I'm just pulling your clit."

"Chris please stop fuckin' talking to me. That's not even how the damn saying goes!"

He giggles like a schoolboy and kisses your shoulder, motioning to the bright green packaging in front of you. "Go ahead and pick out your millionth foundation."

And so you do, you pick out a new foundation...and concealer, primer, setting spray, bronzer, lip gloss, and lipstick.

"Ok, now a lip liner." Your words spark Chris's interest, his mind going back to a specific video he saw not too long ago. The two of you start walking over to NYX, and he decides to fill you in on the content he consumed.

"So like, I saw this makeup video on tik- Why are you getting makeup videos on TikTok? What girl are you sending them to?"

"I'm getting them because of you, dumbass. You're the only girl that actually puts up with me, why would I talk to another one?" You snicker to yourself knowing he's right.

He's too in love with you to go find someone else.

"Anyway, like I was saying. I saw this video on TikTok where this girl was trying out these makeup hacks or secrets, whatever it's called. So she said the best way to match your lip liner is to match it to your nipples! Crazy shit, but it has me thinking, what if you matched it to the tip of my dick?"

All you could do was stare at him in silence.

"You being deadass?"

He shrugs before answering you, a smirk that shows he's up to no good making its way onto his face. "I mean, I think it would look nice on you. A nice pinky red....It's up your alley anyway considering you have a blush named 'orgasm' and a mascara called 'better than sex' ."

"Didn't I tell you to stop talking to me?" He groans and pulls you closer, his hands settling right on top of your ass. "Come on it would be funny! I will literally give you my card and let you roam in TJ Maxx and I will take you to Chili's!''

"You had me at TJ Maxx."

You whip your phone out, thanking yourself for buying a privacy screen, and begin scrolling through your privet photo albums to find a picture of Chris's dick.

"Wait, you should match one to your nipples too. Then we can compare which one looks better."

He could be so childish at times, but you were the exact same.

The two of you stand in the aisle, holding up different shades of pink and brown to your phone. Eventually, you two settle on "Rose" and "Nutmeg", the two colors being the closest you could get.

Soon the two of you are back in the car and Chris is urging you to try on both lip liners, refusing to drive until he sees them on you. You first try on the brown shade, lining your lips with ease. It was a pretty color, simple and not unusual considering you always wore brown lipliner.

You turn to Chris, asking him what he thinks. "Sexy as usual. You know I like it when you do the brown ones." You smile at his flattering words, giving him a quick peck on the lips before wiping the lip liner off. You unravel the pink liner and swipe it on, rubbing your lips together so it blends out.

"So what do we think? Nipple or tip?"

You see the way his eyes dart across your face, analyzing everything about you.

"Both look good, you know you can make everything look good. It's what I love about you." You find your cheeks getting warm, never getting used to the way he makes you feel so good, even on days when you look like a bum.

"Come on, I promised to let you roam in TJ Maxx." He puts the car in reverse and begins driving towards the retail store. The drive is quiet for the most part, nothing but music and the occasional small talk. As soon as the two of you make it to TJ Maxx, Chris turns to you before getting out of the car.

"You know, I also saw one of those weird makeup hacks where this girl put her foundation on with her boyfriend's balls."

"This the last time imma tell you to shut up talkin' to me!"

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Deadly Devotion

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x reader x John “Soap” MacTavish

AU: Scream/Ghostface Ghost & John x reader

Warnings: Dark themes, murder, possessiveness, obsession, yandere tendencies, stalking, implied violence, psychological manipulation, mentions of blood, protective/territorial behavior, suggestive themes, and morally gray characters. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

Author's Note: This is a dark fic with heavy themes of obsession and murder. Simon and Johnny are highly possessive and will do anything to keep you safe—even if that means spilling a little blood. If that’s not your thing, feel free to skip! But if you enjoy some deadly devotion, then welcome to their twisted love story.

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

Your town wasn’t used to crime.

It was the kind of place where everyone knew everyone, where doors were left unlocked, and the biggest drama was which neighbor had the best Christmas lights. But now?

A killer was on the loose.

Three victims. No leads. No motive. The only connection? You.

Bradley, your cheating ex—found dead in his car, throat slit.

Jessica, your condescending coworker—stabbed twenty-three times in an alley.

Mark, the persistent barista who wouldn’t take no for an answer—mutilated behind the café.

The police were baffled. No fingerprints. No evidence. Just pure, calculated violence.

But you weren’t stupid. You saw the pattern.

And you knew exactly who was behind it.

---

“You shouldn’t be walking alone, lass.”

Soap’s voice was light, teasing, but his eyes were sharp—watching, assessing. His presence beside you was familiar, comforting in a way it shouldn’t be.

You barely had time to respond before a second figure appeared on your other side.

Simon.

Silent. Massive. Dangerous.

“You hear about Mark?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Soap hummed, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Aye. Nasty business.” A pause. Then, with a smirk, “Can’t say I’ll miss him, though.”

Your stomach twisted. “Johnny—”

“What?” He shrugged. “The guy was a creep. Always hovering around you like a damn leech.”

Simon exhaled sharply. “He deserved worse.”

Something about the way he said it made your pulse spike.

You should have been afraid.

You wanted to be afraid.

But instead, you felt… safe.

And that was the most terrifying part of all.

---

The phone rang at 1:13 AM.

Bleary-eyed, you reached for it. “Hello?”

A low, distorted voice hummed through the receiver.

“You looked real pretty today.”

Your breath caught. “Who is this?”

A soft chuckle. “You don’t recognize me? That hurts, sweetheart.”

The line went dead.

A knock at your door followed.

Your heart pounded as you peeked through the peephole.

Simon.

Fumbling with the lock, you yanked the door open. “Simon—”

“You okay?” His gaze flickered to your phone. “What happened?”

You hesitated. “I… I think someone’s watching me.”

His entire body tensed. His fingers twitched at his sides, like he was seconds from pulling out a knife.

“What did they say?” he asked, voice dangerously low.

Your stomach twisted. “They said I looked pretty today.”

A muscle in his jaw ticked. Beside him, Soap exhaled sharply through his nose.

“Come here.”

It wasn’t a request.

Simon’s arms were solid, unshakable as they wrapped around you. His scent—leather, gunpowder, something dark—swallowed you whole.

“Nobody’s gonna hurt you,” he murmured.

The way he said it sent a shiver down your spine.

Because it wasn’t reassurance.

It was a promise.

---

“You’ve been quiet, sweetheart.”

Soap’s fingers brushed your knee, his grip warm and firm. Across from you, Ghost sat in silent observation, his stare unreadable.

“I’ve just been thinking,” you murmured.

“About?” Ghost’s voice was steady.

You swallowed hard. “The murders.”

Silence.

Then—Soap chuckled, shaking his head. “That so?”

Your hands clenched around your drink. “I know it’s you.”

Neither of them reacted. No denial. No shock.

Just a slow, knowing smirk from Soap.

Ghost tilted his head. “So, what now?”

Your heart pounded. What was your next move?

Turn them in? You’d never make it far.

Run? They’d find you.

“I won’t tell anyone,” you whispered.

Soap tsked, shaking his head. “We know that, sweetheart.”

Ghost leaned forward, voice low. “Because you’re ours.”

Your breath hitched.

“This wasn’t just about keeping you safe,” Soap murmured, his lips grazing your ear. “This was about making sure nobody else thought they had a chance with you.”

“You don’t need anyone else.” Ghost’s fingers traced your wrist. “You have us.”

Your pulse pounded as their words sank in.

You had been theirs from the beginning.

And there was no escaping them now.

The police would never find out.

The bodies would keep piling up.

And you?

You would stay right where you belonged.

With them.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[ur-sick-and-married]

CRAWLING BACK TO YOU • PAIGE BUECKERS

Ever thought of calling when you’ve had a few?

🎵: Do I Wanna Know? covered by Hozier

TW: suggestive, angst, reader is an alcoholic, usage of Y/N, mentions of nausea and vomiting

SUMMARY: you get drunk to avoid running back to your ex…but tonight it brought you right to her.

A/N: I went to a UConn game the other day!

How many times were you going to find yourself in this situation? You were strolling around the crowded house, searching for anyone that would have you. You were drunk again, like you were most nights.

You did this a lot now; get wasted and hookup with strangers. The alcohol allowed you to loosen up, finally find some peace, and the hookups kept you feeling useful and pleasured.

The two of those things also kept you from groveling at the knees of UConn’s best female guard.

You and Paige had been in a serious relationship. You loved that woman. She was the best thing that ever happened to you.

But you’d fucked up. Your love for booze had scared her off. She got sick of attending parties every weekend, sick of having to take away the bottle, sick of dragging you from parties, sick of pushing you off at home when your drunk self tried to start something, sick of nursing your nasty hangovers. She had told you to chill, promised you movie nights and dates instead of parties.

You never listened, so eventually she sat you down and, with a lot of difficulty, ended things. It had become too much for her. She needed to focus on school and basketball. It was her last year in college, after all. She wanted to make it count.

Without Paige, your need for alcohol only grew, which is how you found yourself in the middle of a frat party. Things had been usual, until someone screamed and everyone started fleeing. You knew what this meant; cops. You started running, too. If the police got you, you were screwed. Chugging drink after drink was fun, until the idea of getting caught came up.

You stumbled through the woods behind the house. This was where people typically ran, but you were alone. Maybe you were going the wrong way? You could see lights up ahead, so you went towards those. If there was civilization, you could find your way home. Once you made it through the trees, you found yourself in a campus that you quickly recognized…UConn.

Well, you thought, at least you knew your way around.

You started wandering, your phone in hand, waiting until you had good enough WiFi to get an Uber.

When you first heard the sound, you thought you were imagining it. Surely it was just the sound you associated with the school.

Nope…when the small, outdoor court came into view, you realized there was someone dribbling a basketball.

That someone was Paige Bueckers.

What were the chances?! You needed to go, before she saw you. You turned around fast, and tripped over your own feet. Your body hit the grass with a small “oof” sound escaping your lips.

“Y/N?!” Paige called when she saw you.

She was at your side within a second, immediately trying to get you up.

“Hi, Paige…” You said awkwardly, trying not to slur.

“The hell are you doing here?” She asked as she pulled you to your feet easily.

“I was…in town.” You shrugged.

She was gonna say something else, when her nose wrinkled. “Jesus…you smell like beer.”

It clicked in her brain just then. You opened your mouth to lie again, but all that came out was a shaky, alcohol scented breath.

“Ar you drunk?” She asked quietly.

“Just…a little bit.” You mumbled.

“Bullshit!” She exclaimed abruptly. “You’re wasted, aren’t you?!”

“I didn’t mean to be!” You yelped.

“Sure.” She scoffed. “You accidentally took a few shots? Chugged some beer? Drank some soda that you didn’t know had vodka in it?!”

You huffed, not knowing what to say. She was always right when it came to this.

“I just need to get home…” You whispered shakily.

“Where were you?” She whispered back.

“Party.”

“Hm. It’s early for you to leave a party.”

“Cops.”

An awkward silence passed. She watched you fight intoxicated tears.

“What do you want me to do, Y/N?” She sighed.

“Could you…get me a ride?” You said. “I’ll pay you back, I swear.”

“Where are you going? Home?” She asked.

You nodded.

“What if you go out again, huh? The bar? The club?”

“I’m super tired, Paige.” You shook your head. “I’m not going out.”

“You think I’m gonna believe you?” She scoffed. “You’ve pulled that shit before.”

“Then what are you gonna do?” You said, frustrated.

She sighed again, dragging a hand down her face.

“You’ll stay with me.” She announced. “Just for tonight.”

You froze. Really? Your ex would be the one taking you home?

“Come on.” She said, hesitantly placing a hand on your shoulder. “Let’s go. It’s getting cold.”

She led you back to her apartment. You were a bit unsteady, starting to feel the negative effects of the alcohol.

“Don’t you have roommates?” You asked once you were inside her building.

“They don’t mind.” She waved that off. “Just be quiet and they won’t care.”

“We shouldn’t do this…” You said.

Usually when you got drunk, you were all over her, insisting she go home with you.

You knew better by now.

“Don’t worry about it.” Paige said softly. “I just…I can’t let you go home alone right now.”

The both of you went up to her dorm. She pulled out her keys and opened the door, inviting you in. When you struggled to slip your shoes off, feeling unsteady, she knelt down to get them off for you.

“You feeling sick?” She whispered.

“Uh…not really.” You replied, despite that fact that your head was spinning.

Paige saw right through the lie.

“Go in my room.” She told you. “I’ll be right there.”

You quietly went to her bedroom, remembering where it was, of course. You perched awkwardly on the edge of her bed, waiting.

Paige came in a few minutes later, after convincing her roommates they they wouldn’t be hearing any grotesque noises. She carried a small trash bag and a glass of water.

“Drink up.” She instructed, giving you the cup. She then placed the bag in your lap. “And if you have to puke, do it in there.”

“Thanks.” You muttered.

She knelt down in front of you, looking at you with those insanely blue eyes. “C’mon…drink.”

You took a few sips of the water. You knew she was being helpful, but the water kind of made you want to throw up.

“Just hold onto that bag.” Paige said when she noticed your facial expression.

She stood up, and walked over to her closet. After digging around for a moment, she came back with a t-shirt and comfy shorts. The shirt looked so familiar…you suddenly realized why.

You would always steal her clothes when you were a couple. She often found her hoodies in your bedroom, her sweatpants (which were actually ginormous on you because she was so tall), mixed with your laundry. You rarely hid it well. Sometimes you’d just show up at her place in her clothes.

Your favorite thing to steal was one of her March Madness shirts. It was very comfy, and a reminder of how amazing Paige and her team were. So when she gave you the shirt that drunken night? You quickly burst into tears.

“What? What’s wrong?” Paige asked worriedly.

“You…you remembered.” You sniffled.

She didn’t know what to say. She felt sort of caught. She muttered a quick “Of course I did” and took the water from you.

Her bedroom was dark, only slightly lit by the moon shining through the window, so she didn’t see much when she helped you out of your party clothes. Not like she’d never seen you naked. Once you were in the comfortable clothes, she pulled the blankets on her bed back, allowing you to slip in.

“I’m gonna stop, Paige.” You whispered, still crying as she tucked you in. “I’m gonna stop drinking.”

She sighed. She’d heard you say this before, but never so seriously.

“Good.” She said. “You’re gonna kill yourself at this point.”

“I know…” You whimpered. “I don’t want to die…”

You were quick to put your head in your hands so she wouldn’t see you cry even more. She bit her lip at this. She was angry at you, for continuing to abuse alcohol, but…she hated that she was. She just wanted to comfort you. She never liked seeing you cry.

“Let’s just try to sleep, alright?” She said softly, climbing over you to lie down.

She got in the bed, keeping a safe distance. Neither of you were very comfortable. You were too tense. You hadn’t been in bed together in ages. It would’ve been nice if you weren’t so awkward.

You really tried to pull yourself together. You wiped your eyes, took deep breaths, focused on good thoughts. But your drunken tears kept coming.

Suddenly, Paige was shifting, and she was getting closer. She laid on her side, facing you. Then you felt her hand carding through your hair, gently scratching your scalp.

“What’re you doing…?” You whispered.

“When I used to do this, you’d be out cold within minutes.” She whispered back.

She kept doing the soothing motion. Your eyes were getting heavy, like she’d hoped.

“I’m really gonna stop.” You muttered.

“I know…just sleep.” She murmured.

“I miss you.” You whispered. In your half asleep, intoxicated state, you didn’t think twice about saying that.

She swallowed hard, her hand faltering for only a second. “I told you to go to sleep.”

“I just wanted you to know.” You answered.

“I know.” She repeated, smiling a little at the small amount of sass in your voice. “You don’t have to miss me, though. I’m right here.”

Exhaustion was finally getting to you, so you were falling into a deep sleep.

“I’ll be right here.” She whispered a few seconds before you fully sank into unconsciousness. “We’ll figure this out…we always do."

[drafthorsemath]

Tech Remembers

Written for Pheebruary!

Prompt: First Kisses

Warnings: Mention of Tech’s fall, but Tech lives! Includes CX-Tech, amnesia, and the beginnings of recovery. SFW. A continuation from my first Pheebruary prompt here.

Word Count: About 1,350

Phee held her breath as she watched the holovid from Tech’s goggles and Omega and Wrecker slowly fell from view. Only they weren’t falling. He was. Watching this scene was no easier on any of his family who, by this point, were gathered round and trying to get any and all information he left using the codes in Mel. No one needed to worry that the trail went cold once Hemlock found Tech’s goggles. Although his mind had been played with, CX-2 managed to remember Tech’s encrypted channel well enough to try to reach them even if it was for no discernable reason. It was a message sent while he was off on a mission for Hemlock; as if he was remembering that he needed to contact someone in his past but was on autopilot.

“Havoc 4. Do you read me?” was all he could say.

It sounded like Tech and yet not. He was distant.

“Disregard.”

Apparently, he didn’t remember enough to know why he was trying to contact Echo and at that point he probably didn’t even remember who Echo was. The brothers felt a punch to the gut thinking they’d unknowingly left their brother on Tantiss.

No new information existed on any of the hardware except for a recent time stamp on another message; this time only one standard rotation ago.

“Havoc 4, this is Havoc 2. I am…. We are….. nearing the forest moon of Endor. I am not sure where I should…..”

Again, it sounded like Tech, but distant. He sounded confused and agitated. He was clearly lost.

“Who is ‘we’?” Omega asked the group. She was only met by shrugs and Crosshair standing up.

“He’s alive,” Hunter answered.

“That’s all that matters,” Crosshair added; already headed for Phee’s ship and clearly determined to get his brother back.

They flew in silence with the hope that they could at least find a clue to his next steps, if not find Tech himself.

They landed near the coordinates from the comm message.  A pirate ship was left nearby; which Phee recognized. She had to laugh to herself a little as the group hid behind some trees. When she told him not to run off with pirates, she didn’t foresee that he’d actually do it. She rolled her eyes when a familiar voice started talking about profitability.

“You know them?” Echo asked.

“Hondo,” Phee replied. “He’s one of a kind.”

“Think they’ll give us any trouble?” Wrecker inquired while Crosshair stood on his shoulders for a boost to climb a tree and get a better view.

“Doubt it,” she answered. “He’s a big talker, so leave it to me.”

“There,” Crosshair whispered with a nod. He climbed back down with a smile, finally getting to see his brother. “Tech’s arguing with someone near the front of the ship.”

“What’s the plan?” Omega asked.

Hunter took a breath and looked from one person to another while forming his thoughts.

“From what we know, Tech doesn’t seem to remember much. Phee knows these guys so she should definitely approach, but I’m thinking maybe it’s best if only one of us goes with Phee, so we don’t overwhelm him and if backup is needed, the rest of us step in.”

“Right,” Omega replied. “So who should go with Phee?”

“Echo,” Phee answered.

“You sure?” he asked.

“He kept comm’ing Havoc 4,” Crosshair said. “He remembered that much.”

Everyone nodded. The two approached.

“Hondo Ohnaka,” Phee said, wasting no time and clearly announcing their entrance so as not to get shot sneaking.

“Phee! All the way out here,” he replied. “And what brings you this way? Hopefully you didn’t come this far for another one of your trinkets.”

“No,” she said.  “As a matter of fact, we’re here for him.”

She pointed at Tech who stood frozen.

“Ha... Havoc 4?” Tech ventured.

Echo nodded and smiled.

“Fantastic,” Tech said. “Goodbye Hondo.”

“Wait wait wait wait wait,” Hondo interjected, trying to get between the lost clone and his destination. “You promised me you would be my new pilot.”

“And I was,” Tech curtly replied. “Now I am not.”

Phee offered, “I thought you could fly anything, Hondo.”

“Of course I can! I may simply be expanding business and in need of some good men.”

“And have you paid this man for his time and skills?” Echo asked with a grin.

“Not exactly,” Hondo answered. “Not for this trip at any rate, but that is because we are not done.”

“You haven’t paid him and you still have the rest of your crew and a way to get home,” Phee surmised.

She couldn’t help noticing Tech staring at her almost helplessly and confused, but she stayed focused.

“Then you’re out nothing,” Echo added, taking a few steps toward Tech.

Echo put his hand on his shoulder. Tech nodded; the friendly touch grounding him. They both walked toward the Providence with Phee following and keeping an eye on Hondo.

“You can’t just walk away from me,” Hondo shouted.

“Bye Hondo!” Phee shouted back.

They walked as fast as they could and before long the ship was in sight.

“Everyone else is on the ship,” Echo told Tech as they got closer. “Hunter, Wrecker, Omega, and Crosshair.”

“Crosshair?” Tech asked.

“Yeah,” Echo replied. “Long story, but we’re all here.”

They walked onto the ship and Phee got into the pilot seat with Mel parked at her side. She would have her moment later. For now, they needed to get back to Pabu.

The family reunion was more than a little awkward.

“I don’t remember everything,” Tech admitted, “but I know your faces.”

Omega reached for Tech. She hugged his waist and he instinctively returned the hug.

“I’m sorry,” was all he could say. He felt he had let her down.

“We missed you, Tech!” She looked up at him with tears in her eyes and while Tech searched his memory, he knew he needed her to feel safe now. He squatted down and held her.

“Does Tech give hugs now?” Wrecker asked as quietly as he could, bumping Hunter with his elbow. The oldest brother shrugged and smiled.

The flight home was quiet, but filled with Tech putting pieces together using his old datapad and goggles. Crosshair had brought them along, hoping it would speed up his recovery process. He sat next to him and they discussed what Tech could remember about Hemlock and Tantiss. Between the chemicals Hemlock loved to use and the CX indoctrination, it was a wonder Tech was still mentally as okay as he was. Phee overheard the conversation and wiped tears away. Mel inquisitively beeped at her.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Phee replied to her trusty droid. “I’m glad he’s back.”

Once on Pabu, she landed the ship and the group discussed logistics. A routine would go a long way in helping Tech adjust.

“Why don’t you wander around the island with an expert?” Hunter suggested to him, nodding toward Phee.

“Very well.”

Tech watched a lurca hound run up to Crosshair and Omega and smiled to himself. He was certain that was new.

“We didn’t have one of those before, correct?” he asked Phee.

“Correct,” she answered with a smile.

They stood as Tech took in the scene around him, barely believing he was even there. He started walking next to Phee as she took him to familiar places. The Archium, the tree, the spot where they had their first dinner together just the two of them, and the balcony where she showed him Pabu’s sunset for the first time.

“I’m remembering more,” Tech said quietly. “It will take time. Not recalling what I know to be basic facts is incredibly frustrating.”

“I know,” she replied. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.” 

He turned to her and looked into her eyes as the sun began to set.

She paused and cautiously asked, “Do you remember me, Tech?”

He tentatively reached for her hand and said, “I remember that I love you.”

She held his hand up and kissed his wrist, eyes fixed on his. Her heart burst as Tech tenderly leaned in and kissed her lips for the first time and only pulled away to say, “Phee.”

[grimesve1l]

When Rafe met Barry's cousin from the mainland

Summary: Barry and Rafe gets a suprise visit from Barry's favorite cousin

Warnings: Drug use, swearing, mentions of weapons, and a lil suggestiveness?

Rafe and Barry were discussing prices and doing lines when they heard a car pull in Barry's drive way. "You expecting someone?" Rafe asks. "Nah, I don't know who the hell just pulled up but ima find out." Barry goes outside while Rafe waits. "Well shit you could've at least told me you were coming." Rafe hears Barry tell the stranger.

"I didn't wanna ruin the suprise" he hears a female voice reply. Barry comes back inside with a girl he didn't recognize following after him. "Y/n this is Rafe, Rafe my favorite cousin, Y/n." Barry says introducing the two. "Sup" Rafe says barely looking up from the line he was making. He takes a hundred dollar bill and snorts the line before turning to look at Y/n.

"Damn Barry if I knew you were hanging out with cute frat boys I would've dressed more like a sorority chick." Y/n says sitting next to Rafe. "What do you know about sororities. Your ass didn't even go to college." Barry responds. "Neither did you asshole" Y/n retorts. She turns to Rafe and asks "So what are doing with my cousin cause this doesn't really look like your scene?"

"Just uh business." Rafe replies "Oh business. Okay." Y/n replies while nodding. "Well you two have got yourselves another partner." she says putting her hand on Rafes shoulder. "Wait what?" he replies. "Oh nah." Barry butts in "Look you can stay here with me all you want but you're not getting involved with this shit." he says motioning to the coke, money and guns lying around the room.

"Why the hell not? It's not like I wasn't involved with this kinda stuff back home." Y/n replies. " That's back on the mainland. Here you're gonna get your shit straight alright. You're not gonna be like me." "What I am gonna do then." Aye country club won't you just complaining about how the cart girls at the country club can't do their job right?" Barry asks Rafe. "Yeah always mixing up the wrong drinks and shit." Rafe replies.

"Perfect looks like you have a job" Barry says pointing to Y/n "and you have a new cart girl" pointing toward Rafe. "A country club seriously?" Y/n asks. "I don't know why your complaining guys like Rafe secretly love your whole weird poor girl vibe i'm sure you'll make bank." Barry points out. "Whatever" Y/n replies while sitting back on the couch. Barry's phone begins to ring. " I gotta take this. Don't do nothing stupid while i'm gone." he says while leaving room.

"So Rafe you gonna show me around your country club?" Y/n asks pulling her legs up on to the couch and turning to face him. "Maybe." he replies. "Maybe? What you scared to take a girl like me up there around all your preppy friends?" she jokes as she lights up a cigarette. "Nah but if you want you could come to a party i'm having tomorrow. See what kinda people will be at the country club."

"Is this your way of asking me to come over to your place?" she asks while blowing out her lips. "I guess so." he replies while laughing and putting his hands behind his head. Like this Y/n could see how big Rafes biceps were. She leaned over to touch one "I look forward to it then." She says looking him in the eyes while giving him a mischievous smile. He looks up at her and smirks "Yea?" "Yea." she replies while leaning in closer.

Right before their lips could touch Barry came back. "Aye man what did I just say?" Rafe jumps as Y/n sits back in her spot. "Seriously Barry?" Y/n groans. "What do you mean "seriously" y'all were about hookup up on my couch!" "I was only gonna make out with him geez Barry. I'll remember that when you bring a girl back here." Y/n says standing up. "Whatever i'm tired. Ima go to bed" she says.

"But first gimme your phone" she says to Rafe. He does so instantly and she puts her number in with the contact "y/n<3". "Call me alright?" "Yeah" Rafe replies. "Okay goodnight boys" she says as she disappears down the hall. "Man why didn't you tell me about her sooner?" Rafe asks once he knows Y/n can't hear. "For this exact reason. She's already got you pussy whipped and y'all ain't even kissed yet." Rafe just sat back in the couch with a smile wondering what would happen the next time they saw each other.

A/n: i think i'm gonna make this into a series cuz i'm already thinking about where else i can take this so hope y'all enjoyed cuz there's fs gonna be more!!

[literallyjusttoa]

Forgot to mention in the last one, but he also calls Sally "Madam" which like, again, so formal but it fits him so well.

He also calls Sally "The Mother of Jackson", which sound like an epithet and I love it.

"I no longer felt as if someone were knitting a sweater inside my chest with hot needles" Hotdamn is this a metaphor. This is awful, but I immediately know exactly what feeling Lester is talking about. He is so good at this and it sucks lmao.

Love that Apollo points out that Percy has "long and nimble" fingers and that "he would have made an excellent musician" Just a cool thing for him to notice. He makes a lot of observations about other people's appearances, and they're surprisingly very non-judgemental. Unless he hates them, then he is extremely brutal.

Apollo recognizes the moonlace on Percy's windowsill, which is interesting bc I need to check but I think that only grows on Ogygia? Idk I gotta fact check that one, its v interesting he remembers what those specific flowers are called tho.

"This will probably involve many harrowing trials with a high chance of death" Apollo I think you jinxed yourself here buddy.

Kind of a follow up to the musician thing, but Apollo is so tuned in to people's body language. Like the whole paragraph where Apollo compares Meg to the mimosa plant is so interesting, bc he has known this girl for like, an hour at most, and he's already paying attention to the way she reacts in a conversation. Also he got hit by his own dodgeball of prophecy, making plant metaphors with Meg this early on.

Side note, I really wanna know what ambrosia nachos look like. Like, which part of that is made of ambrosia? All of it?

"He can dispatch some of you talented fodder- I mean heroes-" I'm not gonna lie, I think this is the worst thing Apollo says in all the books. Yikes man.

"Like billowing plumes from smoke grenades touched by King Midas." How do you come up with this stuff? What a wild description.

Another side note: Meg's earnest enthusiasm about Percy showing off his powers is so cute. Like, she's so excited by the thought of him being like Aquaman. She is the best written child in this whole franchise, honestly.

"My Adam's apple dropped into my chest like a billiard ball." I don't mean to keep focusing on these metaphors, but each one is more cursed than the last lmao.

I think I'm gonna make a reblog chian of all the little phrases and Apollo uses throughout ToA, now that I'm rereading it. Bc like, he has such a unique way of speaking, and I really wanna dig into it, you know? Ok let's start.

He says "heavens help me" instead of "heaven help me" using the plural the same way demigods do with "oh my gods". I'm guessing this is an acknowledgment of other pantheons? Or I'm looking too far into it, I've just never heard this phrase with a plural "heavens" before.

He calls Cade and Mikey "Ruffians" . And he makes fun of the arrow for being Shakespearean.

He also refers to people as "Mortals" a lot here, which I remembered him doing, but now I want to keep track and see if he keeps that up throughout all the books, or if it peters out near the end.

"I thought how amusing it would be if I could make the snake tattoos around his neck come alive and strangle him to death" I honestly love how violent Apollo's thoughts can be sometimes. Like, you can tell he's someone who has done shit like this before.

I also want to keep track of all the little anecdotes Apollo brings up, so we'll start with the guitar contest against Chuck Berry in 1957, which apparently ended with him getting repeatedly stomped on.

"But something told me this was not she" II love how it's the little things that really get across how old Apollo is. Rick could've easily just said "It wasn't her" or something, but instead he had Apollo phrase this in a way that is far more formal, and more reminiscent of the grammatical patterns of old english. Idk it's just really cool.

(Side note that's not connected to Apollo: Meg's glasses are black? I feel like I've been living a lie, I've been coloring them red for years lol)

God his metaphors are just so striking. Like, I can imagine the phrase "Whatever was left of my pride turned into ice water and trickled into my socks" but I don't want to, because that's such a visceral feeling. I like that Apollo inadvertently proving how poetic he is by making the reader as uncomfortable as possible.

I think I'm gonna start crying out "Horrors!" when I'm upset to. I think I deserve that level of drama.

ahh the classic "My blessings upon you!" Again, I love how every little line characterizes him. Either it's overly formal, like before, or subtly arrogant, like here, or both. It's so fun.

I need to write him saying "Sacred Sibyl!" more. Because that is such a fun little term. Rolls right off the tongue, honestly.

I think I'm gonna leave it there for now, but trust that I will definitely be adding more to this later. Bc Lester-speak is so fun to really look into.

[jetii]

Event Horizon Chapter Seven: Forward (Rex POV Rewrite)

Contribution to @clonexocweek | Theme: Introduction

Pairing: Rex x Soma (Goldie)

WC: 3,081

Tags/Warnings: Rex being an awkward cutie patootie as per usual, mention of blood/battle scenes

A/N: This is a retelling of Rex and Goldie's second meeting in my x reader longfic Event Horizon from Rex's perspective. The timing of this week perfectly synced up with the latest chapter where it's revealed just how down horrendous Rex is for her, so I'm thrilled about that lol.

Experimenting with third person perspective vs second person here and in future EH one-shots for my own amusement. Soma "Goldie" Anathorn is my pride and joy Reader turned OC, and some day I'd like to rewrite EH in third person too.

Join the Taglist | Masterlist

When Rex walks into the hangar, trailing behind Commander Tano, he's expecting to see General Skywalker and Cody. He's expecting a plan, a list of objectives, a timeline.

He's not expecting her.

At first, it's not her he sees, just a Jedi. It's her clothes, and the lightsaber, and the confident set of her shoulders. He'd read the briefing, of course. But the briefing didn't say much. The briefing didn't include what General Soma Anathorn looked like, how she carried herself, what her voice sounded like. It certainly didn't include that she was the very same Jedi he'd pulled out of the desert on Geonosis.

And then she's turning, and the shock is so great that he nearly trips over his own feet.

He'd recognize those eyes anywhere. They'd been burned into his mind for months, the color, the emotion, the depth. They're a little softer now, a little less intense, but there's no mistaking them.

She recognizes him, too. He can see it in the way her eyes widen, in the way her mouth parts. There's a look on her face, a hint of awe, and he wonders if he looks the same, if the shock is mirrored in his expression.

Her mouth moves, her lips shaping his name, and it feels as though time slows. He's standing in the sand again, the sun beating down on his armor, the heat making his skin prickle. The smell of sweat and dirt and blood is in the air, and the sounds of the battle echo in his ears. He can hear the buzzing of the bugs, the cries of the dying, the distant explosions.

As quick as the memory comes, it's gone. He's back in the hangar, and she's saying his name, and the world spins back into focus.

She looks the same. The same dark, wild hair, the same warm skin, the same fierce determination. The features are just as beautiful and striking as he remembers, even more so without the blood and dust and exhaustion.

She looks the same, and it's a punch to the gut, like he's been thrown out an airlock and can't breathe. He'd forgotten, somehow, the effect she'd had on him. The effect she was still having. She looks just as she did in his dreams, just as she did when he'd thought about her, wondered what became of her. And now, here she is. He has half a mind to pinch himself, just to see if he's awake.

And then he remembers where he is and who's watching, and the feeling is replaced by embarrassment. He schools his expression into a mask of calm professionalism and tries to suppress the flush on his cheeks.

"Do you two know each other?" Ahsoka asks. Rex fights the urge to glare at her. It's an innocent question, and he knows it, but he can't help the annoyance. She looks like she's barely containing her glee, the grin on her face so wide her eyes are crinkling.

"We've met," Rex manages. The words sound strange, like they're coming from someone else, but they're steady. It's a small mercy. He glances at Skywalker and then back, nodding. "Good to see you again, General."

"Good to see you, too," she replies, and her lips twitch. 

Her eyes rove over him, taking him in, and there's an intensity in her gaze that makes his heart race. It's not a bad feeling, not at all. In fact, he's enjoying the attention, if he's being honest. There's something about the way she's looking at him, the way her eyes are locked on his, that makes him feel a little hot under the collar.

For a moment, no one speaks, and the silence stretches between the five of them. General Kenobi is watching him like a hawk, and Skywalker and Ahsoka are exchanging conspiratorial glances. He has a feeling they're going to make fun of him later. 

He has no doubt that Ahsoka will tell the rest of the men, and he's not looking forward to the teasing that's sure to come. He's already endured enough teasing about his apparent lack of interest in women and his devotion to his job. He can't imagine the shit he'll have to put up with when word gets out that the woman he's been daydreaming about is actually a Jedi General. And not just any Jedi either. One with a reputation.

But all that is a problem for later. Right now, his only concern is keeping his expression neutral and his pulse steady.

"So, uh, how do you two know each other?" General Skywalker asks after a minute.

"He saved my life," she answers, and there's a hint of a smile in her voice, her eyes still on his. "On Geonosis. He dragged me back to the ship when I was injured."

"It was nothing, sir," he mumbles. He rubs the back of his neck and tries not to let the flush show. "Any trooper would've done the same."

"Maybe, but they didn't," she insists. She takes a step closer to him, and her eyes narrow, her jaw setting. There's a fierceness in her expression, a stubbornness that reminds him of the first time he met her. "You did."

He can't think of anything to say to that, his mind completely devoid of any coherent thought. She's still looking at him like she wants to memorize every inch of his face, and it's making it impossible for him to concentrate.

The sound of General Kenobi clearing his throat breaks the spell, and he snaps his head to the side. The man is looking at him with a mixture of confusion and suspicion, his arms crossed, his expression contemplative. He can't help but wither under his gaze, the scrutiny making him squirm.

General Kenobi is a good man and a good general, but he's also her closest friend and confidant. The two of them are practically family, and it's well known among the men that they're often joined at the hip. He knows, and fears, what the man would do to him if he knew how often Rex had thought about the woman in front of him, and the thoughts he'd had.

But to his relief, General Kenobi simply sighs and shakes his head.

"I can't believe it," he murmurs, and he sounds as bewildered as Rex feels. "The odds..."

"Me either," she says softly.

Kenobi and Skywalker exchange a look, their brows furrowed, and Rex takes the opportunity to steal another glance at her. She's looking back at him, a small smile on her face, and he can't help but return it.

The whole thing is surreal, like something out of the holonovels he keeps tucked under his bunk. To meet her again, here, after everything, seemed almost too good to be true. And yet, she was standing right in front of him.

“Then it seems I owe you a debt of gratitude, Captain," General Kenobi begins, and his words are measured, careful. "For doing what I could not. You have my thanks."

Rex blinks and tears his gaze away from her. Kenobi looks as calm and composed as ever, his hands clasped behind his back, but there's a tension in his shoulders, a stiffness, that betrays his true feelings.

"There's no need for that, sir," he insists. "Anyone would have done the same."

His words are sincere. Any trooper worth their salt would have done the same, would have risked their lives to save a Jedi. But there's a part of him, a tiny, selfish part, that's glad it was him. 

As soon as the thought appears, he shoves it down, down into the dark, hidden place in his mind where he keeps all the things he's not allowed to think, the things he doesn't let himself feel. It's not the time or the place, and besides, there's no point. She's a Jedi, and he's a clone, and that's all there is to it.

Kenobi holds his gaze for a moment, and then nods, accepting his answer. He hears Skywalker snort, and out of the corner of his eye, he sees Ahsoka roll her eyes. He tries not to look annoyed and fails, glaring at the two of them. They respond with matching smirks.

"If you say so, Rex," Anakin says, a teasing note in his voice. He looks over at Kenobi and grins. "Seems like the Force has a sense of humor."

"It appears so," Kenobi agrees, glancing at General Anathorn. "Quite the coincidence, isn't it?"

"It certainly is," she replies, her tone dry. 

She arches an eyebrow and shoots them both a pointed look, one that makes Rex's lips quirk upward. He's not the only one on the receiving end of their teasing for once, and it's nice to know that someone understands the feeling.

"I guess I'll be seeing a lot more of you, Rex," she says, and there's a smile on her face, a twinkle in her eyes, that makes his breath catch.

"Yes, it appears that way, sir," he replies, his voice gruff. He forces himself to look away, his eyes darting back to Ahsoka and General Skywalker, and the sight of their matching grins does little to calm him. 

"I look forward to working with you," she adds.

Rex can't help but glance back at her, his cheeks warming. He tries, and fails, to fight the smile that's threatening to spread across his face. "Same here."

He knows it's unprofessional, and that he needs to get a grip. But it's hard to keep a cool head when the woman he'd been thinking about for the last six months is standing in front of him and telling him she wants to see more of him.

He'd spent so long trying not to think about her. He'd told himself, repeatedly, that it was silly to hold onto the memory of a single meeting. It was nothing, his brain trying to make sense of the chaos and trauma of Geonosis. That was what he'd convinced himself. The product of adrenaline, and the fact that she was quite literally the first woman he'd ever laid eyes on.

But now, faced with the reality of her, the physicality of her presence, he has to admit that he's not as good at lying to himself as he thought.

"As touching as this is," General Skywalker begins, and he claps a hand on Ahsoka's shoulder. "We really should be going. Felucia won't liberate itself."

The young Togruta sighs, her head drooping slightly, but she allows herself to be led away. Rex watches her go, his lips forming a tight line.

"Right," Kenobi says, turning to her. "We shall see you on the ground."

He motions for General Anathorn to follow him, and she takes a few steps towards the transport before stopping. She glances over her shoulder at Rex, a small, apologetic smile on her face, and her eyebrows lift.

"I'll be right there," she says to Kenobi.

Rex can't help but stare as General Kenobi's eyes widen, and his lips press together. She shoots him a look that seems to communicate something, and the older Jedi raises an eyebrow. It's strange, the way they seem to have an entire conversation without saying a word, and he can't help but feel like he's intruding on something.

"Of course, my dear," Kenobi finally says, his tone light. "Don't be too long."

Her lips pull downward, and she rolls her eyes, though there's no real annoyance in the expression. Kenobi grins and gives her shoulder a pat, and then turns and waves down Commander Cody.

The two men stand a respectful distance away, and Rex watches them for a moment, debating whether or not to break the silence. He's not sure what he's supposed to say, or even what he wants to say. His mind is a mess of questions and emotions, and it's difficult to focus on any one thought.

She's a Jedi. He knew that. Of course, he did. But seeing her again, it's hard to think of her in the same way. She's different, somehow. More...real.

He's not sure why it matters so much. It's not like she's any different than she was six months ago. But he can't help but feel like everything has changed.

She's watching him, and there's a flush in her cheeks, a shyness in her gaze. She takes a few steps towards him, her arms crossed over her chest, and he has the distinct impression that she's as at a loss as he is.

“It’s...good to see you again, sir. And, uh, it's nice to put a name to a face," Rex finally manages, his voice formal, almost stilted. He keeps his tone light and friendly, hoping that his nerves don't show through.

"Agreed. It's nice to put a face to the name," she replies, and he smirks.

"It's not exactly a unique face, sir, but I appreciate the sentiment," he teases, unable to resist the urge to joke.

The response is immediate. She lets out a short, surprised laugh, and her expression softens, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. It sends a shiver down his spine, and his embarrassment melts away, replaced by a surge of pride.

"No, I suppose it's not," she chuckles. Her eyes rove over him, taking in every feature, and his heart skips a beat. "Still, I like it. It suits you."

Rex can't stop the grin that spreads across his face, and his cheeks heat, a warmth spreading through his chest. His brain seems to have stopped working, his mind struggling to form a response.

"Thank you, sir," is all he can manage, the words coming out a little breathless under the weight of her stare.

She gives him another smile, this one more mischievous than the last, and his mouth goes dry. He doesn't think she's teasing him, not intentionally, but the way her lips quirk, the way her eyes shine, makes him suspect that she enjoys seeing him flustered.

The idea doesn't bother him as much as it probably should.

���I didn’t realize you were a Captain now," she continues.

"I am, sir," he answers, grateful for the change in topic. He takes a breath, regaining his composure. "I started my training after Geonosis, and I was promoted to Captain shortly after the start of the war."

"Impressive, Captain," she praises. She leans in slightly, her eyes brightening. "That's quite the accomplishment."

There's a warmth in her tone, a sincerity, that makes him blush again. He tries not to let it show, and he's only partially successful. His lips form a tight line, and he gives a short nod in thanks.

"I always wondered what happened to you," she says slowly. Her gaze drifts away, and she bites her lip, her brows furrowing. “I thought... well, I wasn't sure if you made it out alive."

Her words are raw, honest, and the weight of them hangs heavy in the air. It takes him a moment to process what she's saying, to understand the implication of her statement, and he finds himself blinking, a sense of shock washing over him.

She'd thought about him.

He'd thought about her, too. In fact, it would be more accurate to say that he'd been unable to stop thinking about her. But he'd never expected that she would think about him as well. He'd assumed she'd forgotten him, that his brief appearance in her life was nothing more than a footnote, a passing memory.

But she remembered him. She remembered him, and his name, and what he'd done.

The knowledge fills him with an emotion he can't quite identify, and it takes him a moment to realize that it's gratitude.

"I didn't think you would remember me, sir, if I'm being honest," he manages after a beat, his tone softer, his eyes searching. "But, if it's any consolation, I wondered the same thing."

"How could I forget?" She shakes her head, and the strands of hair sway, framing her face. "I would have died on that planet if it wasn't for you."

His lips part, and his eyebrows raise. He'd had no idea that her condition had been so dire, or that his actions had meant so much to her. It certainly hadn’t felt like that. In his memory, she had fought beside him with a ferocity and skill that he could barely comprehend, and she’d fought stubbornly against his attempts to help her in equal measure.

"And don’t say anyone would have done the same," she interrupts. Her voice is sharp, almost commanding. The look on her face, the stern frown and the narrowed eyes, is both adorable and terrifying. He's not sure whether to be amused or intimidated.

"Alright, I won't," he promises, fighting the urge to laugh.

"Good,” she huffs, and she crosses her arms over her chest, her expression petulant. "Because you'd be wrong."

Rex laughs at her insistence, the sound bursting from his lips before he can stop it. She frowns at him, her eyes narrowing further, and the reaction only makes him chuckle more.

She's ridiculous, and stubborn, and fierce, and incredibly frustrating, and, Maker, he likes her.

"So, you've said," he agrees, once he's composed himself, though the smile remains. "What I was going to say was that you gave me a hell of a fight over it. You were very insistent, as I recall."

"I suppose I was," she admits, and the admission is accompanied by a sheepish laugh. Her cheeks color, and she bites her lip, her eyes lowering. "I was reckless."

"Don't be so hard on yourself, sir," he responds immediately with shake of his head. "You did what you had to do, and it was brave. It's an honor to serve with someone like you."

She pauses, and her eyes widen. For someone so capable, so skilled, it's clear that she's not used to receiving praise. The thought bothers him. He'd seen only a glimpse of what she can do, but he’s starting to suspect that she hasn’t seen it herself. She was a formidable fighter, and the fact that she wasn't aware of that is concerning. A soldier’s confidence is often a matter of life or death, and the lack of confidence can lead to fatal mistakes.

She needs to believe in herself.

He wants her to.

"I don’t know about that," she says, her voice quiet. "But, thank you."

Rex nods. He's not sure how to put his thoughts into words, and he can't quite seem to find the right words. It frustrates him. He's always been a good speaker, had always been able to convey his ideas and his opinions with ease, but something about her makes him hesitate, makes him unsure of himself.

He's not sure why. He doesn't know her.

Well, not really.

"Well, I'd better be going," he blurts out. His eyes flicker over her shoulder, and the sight of Cody and General Kenobi watching, their eyes glued to the two of them, fills him with a sudden sense of self-consciousness. Cody is looking at him like he's lost his mind, and Kenobi is giving him a knowing look.

The feeling intensifies when he realizes just how long they've been standing there, talking, and he tries not to panic.

"Looks like General Kenobi is waiting for you," he says, trying, and failing, to affect a casual tone.

General Anathorn's gaze follows his, and she rolls her eyes. The irritated pout is back, and he bites his cheek to keep from grinning.

"Yes, I can see that," she sighs.

"Good luck, sir," he offers, his tone teasing.

She snorts. "You, too, Captain."

The words are accompanied by an exaggerated sigh, and the corners of his mouth lift, despite his best efforts. She's a far cry from the intimidating figure he'd imagined during the months after their first meeting, and he's enjoying getting to see the more relaxed side of her, the softer, gentler side.

There's a comfortable silence between them, and for a moment, he allows himself to hope. Hope for what, he's not sure, but he hopes nonetheless. Then, a familiar sense of caution washes over him, a cool wave that chases away the warmth in his chest, and he forces himself to turn.

It's not until he's back in the shuttle, surrounded by his men, that Rex allows himself a moment of relief. He'd gotten through the conversation without completely embarrassing himself, and, despite the tension, the awkwardness, the interaction had been... pleasant. He had even managed to make her laugh.

It's enough.

He knows it is.

And yet, he can't shake the feeling that it's not.

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[cervinae-canine]

is it fair to call people like this "hack writers" if the only way they find a relationship interesting is when it involves pedophilia, incest, cannibalism or necrophilia?

[rapidhighway]

gonna vent for a sec but im so tired of this "don't wanna be an inconvenience", people pleasing shit ngl.....do people who do this know that they just come off as really rude and like... it just feels insulting each time

[ftmtftm]

marxistcalvinisthobbiest is a well known instigator, and that reading of my answer is in extreme bad faith. I'll respond here though, just to add further context to my recommendations.

To marxistcalvinisthobbiest's credit - I did forget a load bearing word while I was typing my initial answer and that's 100% my mistake and on me - and frankly? I appreciate it being noticed and having attention brought to it.

I forgot the word "Marxist". Feinberg was the first author to advance the Marxist concept of transgender liberation. That info is straight from hir website [ X ] and as far as I'm aware, there weren't any major Marxist / Communist analyses of transgender liberation before Feinberg. Someone please correct me if I'm wrong and Feinberg wasn't a major advancement to the theory.

From pages 2 and 3 of my heavily annotated and read several times over copy of the 2024 edition of Whipping Girl. I will transcribe the section I'm highlighting below:

Other people who know me from my work as a transgender activist and trans-focused performance poet might have assumed that I was working on a "transgender revolution" book: one similar to those books by Kate Bornstein, Leslie Feinberg, and Riki Wilchins that influenced me so much when I was first coming out; one that challenges readers to look beyond the gender binary; one that encourages all transgender people (whether they are transsexuals, crossdressers, genderqueers, drag artists, etc.) to recognize that we are all in the same boat, all victims at the hands of the same rigid cultural gender norms. While I do believe that all transgender people have a stale in the same political fight against those who fear and dismiss gender diversity and difference in all of its wonderous forms, I do not believe that we are discriminated against in the same ways and for the exact same reasons. I have found that the ways people reacted to me back when I identified as a mostly closeted male crossdresser, or as a bigender queer boy, were very different from one another and yet again different from the way people react to me now that I am an out transsexual woman. The focus on "transgender" as a one-size-fits-all category for those who "transgress binary gender norms" has inadvertently erased the struggles faced by those of us who lie at the intersection of multiple forms of gender-based prejudice. And while I agree with many of the points "shattering-the-gender-binary"-themed books make, I have come to realize they only tell part of the story.

The idea that all anti-trans discrimination arises from the fact that, as transgender people, we "transgress binary gender norms" does not resonate completely with my personal experiences. [ . . . ] I find those who wish to ridicule or dismiss me do not simply take me to task for the fact that I fail to conform to gender norms—instead, more often than not, they mock my femininity. From the perspective of an occasional gender bender or someone on the female-to-male spectrum, it might seem like binary gender norms are at the core of all anti-trans discrimination. But most of the anti-trans sentiment that I have to deal with as a transsexual woman is probably better described as misogyny.

There is a lot that I take issue within this section that is frankly deserving of it's own post — especially because it is a section meant to establish the premise of the entire book — but since it was asked of me I'll answer.

First and foremost, you can see Serano lists by name the authors she is intentionally trying to distinguish herself from - which is part of why I recommended them specifically. If someone wants to delve into transfeminism, they should be familiar with the authors one of the most recommended authors in the theorist space is intentionally setting herself apart from as different.

Serano also never mentions Koyama once, but I digress.

I think Serano's analysis here is incredibly shallow, and that's concerning considering it is the analysis she bases her entire book off of. The way it is framed intrinsically writes off "gender benders and [ those ] on the female-to-male spectrum" as trans people who don't also sit at intersections of multiple forms of gender-based prejudice - which is just completely materially detached from the realities of most non-trans feminine trans people.

And despite the way she couches her opinions by saying the work of other trans authors shaped her, she spends the entire final chapter of the book arguing against foundational premises of their works - that liberation from the oppressive nature of the gender binary is liberation for all trans people.

Whipping Girl is steeped in this ever present false notion that binary trans people have been fear mongering about for literal decades now — that if we're liberated from the gender binary, that means we're leaving binary, gender conforming trans folks in the dust and they would somehow be wrong for finding comfort and safety in binary gender norms so their experiences and comfort don't matter in the conversation on gendered liberation. That's never been what breaking the gender binary has been about.

Not to mention, misogyny is rooted in binary gender norms. To challenge binary gender norms is to challenge the hatred of gender-variant people who "want to be female" or "want to be feminine" - which is what the term transmisogyny is actually seeking to define despite the sloppiness of Whipping Girl's framework that allows that understanding to sort of fly under the radars of contemporary readers.

Serano has been very open in more recent years about how the term is meant to give voice to the experiences of drag queens, cross dressers, transvestites, and feminine men - not just trans women. Source: Articulating Trans-Misogyny, Serano, 2016 - bottom of the second page of the PDF [ X ]

Serano has also been very open in recent years about the fact that if she had known Whipping Girl was going to explode in the way it had, she would have written it differently and that it is just the position of one trans woman at one point in time - I think that's a vital thing to know about the book before going into it as well frankly, because even contemporary audiences of the book don't read it that way.

So to wrap this bit up, it's not a problem that Serano's writing an analysis of binary trans womanhood in Whipping Girl.

It is a problem that - at the time of her initial writing - she positions trans binary womanhood in opposition to literally every other possible trans experience and herself in opposition the trans authors who came before her.

I also recommended bell hooks because she and Lorde are authors Serano is very open about being inspired by. hooks influenced the theory, regardless of the rightful criticisms of her work.

Because none of my recommendations are to say that I don't disagree with criticisms of Bornstein, Feinberg, and Wilchins or bell hooks either. You're going to be hard pressed to find an ideologically pure author you perfectly agree with all the time and those authors are no exception for me. That's not what this is about and will never be what it is about.

I was asked for recommendations - and I provided a relatively short list of my own favorite authors because I think the frameworks they present are integral to an understanding of transfeminism, plus an author I often find myself disagreeing with, but know is still an integral part of the conversation and important to read regardless. I gave some opinions but I'm not trying to act like they're the only authors worth reading or that they're the most ideological pure authors or that Julia Serano is evil or something. If that's someone's take away from my recommendation list.... That's just intentional bad faith. There's also a difference between White Feminism and Feminists who are White and it's so bad faith to obscure that.

I do actually appreciate the additional recommendations. However, the line I do draw is with Radical Feminism and Talia Bhatt is a Radfem. Trans / Rad / Fem is an attempt at making Radical Feminism palatable for a trans audience and frankly, just on a personal level, I think that's disgusting. I, personally, inherently distrust an author who responds positively to being compared to Andrea Dworkin of all people in the year 2025. Like - we're gonna put up a stink about bell hooks, but not DWORKIN?? I'm not gonna recommend a Radfem as a primer to Transfeminism to someone on my blog where I am open about my disgust for Radical Feminism and how dangerous of an ideology I view it as, especially for queer people, regardless of the identity of that Radfem.

Hi I've seen you use the tag transfeminism a lot but I've never seen anyone else talk about it? Would you mind explaining it, or if not maybe pointing me in the direction of what to read to understand it? Thanks a lot in advance! <3

Yeah absolutely!

The most broad and basic premise of transfeminism is: it is feminist practice that works to incorporate the experiences of trans individuals into a feminist framework.

Depending on what theorists you engage with transfeminism is either a framework for the liberation of all trans individuals from the Patriarchy - or it solely focuses on the experiences of trans women and fems. I personally ascribe to the theories of the former, not the latter.

The best, and easiest, place to start with transfeminist theory in my opinion is with Emi Koyama's "Transfeminist Manifesto" - [ here ]. The first 10 pages are the Manifesto as originally written. The last 5 are a postscript to the manifesto and a bonus piece about racist feminism. I highly recommend reading the postscript, I find it fundamental to my own understanding of transfeminist praxis.

You can read more of Koyama's work on her website - [ here ] - and I highly recommend it! She's a profound trans and intersex advocate.

I also recommend trans theorists that pre-date Koyama such as Kate Bornstein, Leslie Feinberg, and Judith Butler. They're all nonbinary trans theorists across a multitude of identities and experiences. I love this interview with Feinberg and Bornstein a lot - [ here ].

Feinberg was prolific and the first author to truly advance the concept of transgender liberation - hir website [ here ] has a free PDF download of hir book Stone Butch Blues and several other resources on hir work and life.

Bornstein's books Gender Outlaw: On Men, Women, and the Rest of Us and Gender Outlaws: The Next Generation are go-to's of mine regarding a relatively modern history and understanding of trans identity. Her My Gender Workbook: How to Become a Real Man, a Real Woman, a Real You, or Something Else Entirely really helped shape my own relationship to my gender identity really positively and profoundly!

Judith Butler's most recent book Who's Afraid of Gender is also incredibly good, however it is incredibly dense in an academic sense. It personally takes me weeks to get through Butler's writing because it is so jammed with information - and that's not to their discredit, it's just the way they write. I highly recommend looking up some of their talks and interviews on YouTube as they're an easier introduction to their work.

Personally, I don't like Julia Serano as an author all that much, but she is still an influential transfeminist voice to be aware of because she coined and popularized the term transmisogyny. I personally have a lot of criticism of her work - particularly her seminal work Whipping Girl - because it explicitly, in her own words, is intended to be distinctly different from the work of Feinberg, Bornstein, and Riki Wilchins (another nonbinary intersex activist) and is more interested in societal perception and binary trans womanhood over politics and liberation. It also stands in opposition to a lot of the liberationist ideals of the Feminists she claims to be inspired by. I've read the whole book twice over now and in my opinion it reeks of White Feminism. I don't recommend it outside of reading it for context to the wider transfeminist discourse.

Transfeminism as a whole is also deeply entangled with the politics of Black and Intersectional Feminist politics, as many of those previously mentioned authors worked with, worked around, or were inspired by authors like Audre Lorde and bell hooks. As such I highly recommend both of them as authors as well!! I think their work really helps set the framework transfeminist theory is also built around.

I hope this helps!!

[a9saga]

the gazette - daku // no idea what this song's about but it sounds really sexy

[akajustmerry]

everytime someone, usually white, talks about the IOF using major US cultural events as "distractions" to commit more genocidal operations in Palestine, I want to SCREAM. The assumption that the IOF is hanging on the us's every fart to make their moves is US centrism, narcissism at global proportions. the IOF don't need "distractions" they've been murdering, torturing and displacing Palestinians and other Arabs for almost a century with impunity because they KNOW they can get away with it. Because the IOF knows practically no one who can actually stop them gives a fuck about Palestinians and Arabs. The IOF don't need a presidential assassination scandal, a met gala, or any large event to cover for their atrocities because they've been doing them in broad daylight everyday, all day for decades, AND BRAGGING about it. Claiming the IOF is doing anything because some event is providing a "distraction" is a vapid projection of a personal inability to deal with the cognitive dissonance and guilt of bearing witness and experiencing these events simultaneously. Not to mention, it plays into anti-jewish conspiracies of Jewish world domination by insulating connections between major events that are often unconnected. It's okay that you feel scared and confused and overwhelmed, but stop pretending the IOF even cares about Palestinians and Arabs enough to wait for the world to be distracted to kill us. They don't need to. They never have and it's hugely ignorant of at least a century of history, anti-Arab racism, and Zionism to say otherwise.

EDIT: I was wrong making this post. @el-shab-hussein took the time to correct me in their reblog here. But I will also copy and paste their correction here:

They committed some of the most atrocious massacres since the start of the acceleration during and directly after the debates between Trample and Bitchen, with several hundreds confirmed dead by day. It's crazy how much Palestinians have discussed the phenomenon of Israel using major U.S. events as a distraction before the acceleration and we've posted about it on tumblr and I've seen other Palestinians make threads about it on Twitter to compile various instances where U.S. events and other major world events used as distractions (wow! Look an example to back my point: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5). "They don't need distractions" yes they do, that is the very basis of the massive Israeli lobby and hasbara industry. Don't patronize us just because you can't understand how central the U.S. and its apathy is in our genocide. Recognizing the role of American cultural imperialism and its far-reaching consequences is not perpetuating it - what an incredibly lazy way to try to shut us up - it's recognizing who's the lynchpin in the equation here.

[unriding]

TRYING TO TAKE YOU HOME WHEN YOU DON’T RECOGNIZE THEM. ft. dan heng, jing yuan, mydei, phainon, and sunday.

sfw. f!reader. in which the hsr men try their best to convince you that they really are your boyfriend and not a complete stranger trying to take you back home after a long night out.

cw for implied alcohol consumption. not mentioned otherwise — just the silly scenario where reader seemingly doesn’t recognize them upon first glance. prompt from anon on prev blog! fem!reader for all.

— DAN HENG.

He wonders if this was truly the best course of action.

“Give me back my jacket, you jerk...” your words come out slurred, barely mustering the strength needed to keep your hold on his sleeve as you trail behind him down the street.

His jacket — he'd usually correct you — but he doesn't this time, lest you eventually come to the conclusion that the mentioned jacket isn't even yours and therefore holds no importance.

“Soon. The agreement we settled on was that if you don't make a scene, I'll give it back.”

It sounds like a threat.

And if someone were to spot him now, this would certainly paint his image in a light that he would much rather not be perceived in, if given the choice.

He knows this all too well — apparent from the nervous sweat collecting along his temples and the frequent clearing of his throat whenever your grip begins to loosen, but you seem to only giggle at the statement now, eagerly nodding along.

“Really? You pinkie promise, stranger? I'll be reaaall quiet then.”

“Yes,” his brows furrow — from either stress or a sense of urgency that you don't seem to have, “I give you my word. So, please, keep your voice down and follow me.”

You respond with a cheerful hum before eventually falling silent again, the street quiet aside from the patter of your clumsy footsteps following closely behind his own.

Though it’s short-lived, much to Dan Heng’s misery.

Only about a minute or two goes by until you start to tug on his sleeve, and his heart nearly stops beating in his chest. Perhaps you’ve already realized. Or perhaps you’ve pegged him as a dangerous type of guy — which wouldn’t surprise him, given the circumstances.

“Hey…” you tug once more, even harder now, and then stop walking entirely — shifting your weight backwards to avoid being pulled straight into him.

Uh oh.

“Hey.... stranger?” You're mumbling now, eyes locked on the floor, and his breath is stuck in his throat.

“I'm sleepy.”

“You.. you want to sleep,” He repeats, still uncertain — his words coming off a bit too similar to that of a question. “Right now?”

You nod, hands coming to rub at your eyes, as if doing so could wipe away the sudden wave of drowsiness that has overtaken you. Though, your efforts prove to be futile in the end, with each blink becoming slower than the last.

“Yes,” you murmur, “Here. I'm going to nap … and then .. and then I need to find my boyfriend.”

Boyfriend. A part of him is relieved you remember, at least. Perhaps the other critical piece of information will find its way back to you soon as well.

Your eyes flutter back open when something familiar is draped across your shoulders. “Don't sleep here.”

“Here,” he turns around, lowering himself onto a knee to gesture for you to climb on. “I'll take you to your boyfriend.”

— JING YUAN.

“My boyfriend taught me how to fight, so don’t you even dare.”

He blinks, once, twice — the hand gently patting your head a moment ago now entirely frozen in place. “Oh?”

It makes sense as soon as you turn to glare at him. While he’s rather certain he hasn’t done anything to warrant such a look, another part of him — his heart, skips a happy beat over how adorable you look, even if you’re not smiling at him like usual.

“I see,” Jing Yuan continues again, only a moment later, taking a seat beside you (and choosing to ignore the way you make the conscious effort to scoot an inch away from him). Sassily so, he might add, similar to the way you so endearingly turn your body away from him and puff your cheek out when he’s teased you just a bit too much for your liking.

His hand finds its way back to you again, slower this time — traces over your cheek until he gently cups it in an effort to feel the warmth radiating from your skin. A chuckle almost betrays him and slips out at the sight of your eyes nearly fluttering shut, subconsciously leaning into his touch until you abruptly come back to your senses and swat at his hand.

He smiles at you. “Hm. Your boyfriend — is that right?”

Your eyes narrow at the amusement in his voice, likely wondering why a stranger would be speaking to you so familiarly. “My boyfriend. The one with a suuuper heavy weapon that …. that you probably couldn’t pick up … with help.”

“Ah, how admirable he must be. You have no need for worry — I would never dream of wielding such a weapon.”

You huff before deciding to face the opposite direction, all whilst scooting a secondary inch away from him. Perhaps a third, for extra measure.

“This boyfriend of yours,” he speaks again, holding back a chuckle when you dramatically sigh at the sound of his voice once again, “surely he wouldn’t mind someone like myself keeping you company until he returns, wouldn’t you think?”

“I have grown quite curious. Perhaps he would allow me to see this impressive weapon for myself.”

— MYDEI.

“Actually, you’re rather comfy, stranger.”

Mydei only huffs in response before glancing over his shoulder from where you’re draped over his left like a sack of potatoes, quickly confirming that … as of now, you still seem content, at least.

“I’ve told you before. I’m no stranger.” The singular arm currently holding your thighs to his chest tightens, and you only giggle against his back, arms freely dangling beneath you. “Yeah, yeah.”

You’ve been surprisingly cooperative. In fact, he thinks he should make a mental note to remind you about being less trusting of strangers tomorrow — because .. surely, it should not have been so easy to convince you that he could simply carry you to your ‘boyfriend.’

Even now, when he’s seemingly been reduced to nothing aside from a mere stranger, you’re as inviting and friendly to him as ever — mumbling something about his strength, followed by a worried “Hey but — let me know if you get tired or anything, okay?”

So, he lets you talk, opting to silently listen to you ramble on about your day (aside from the occasional glances over his shoulder to check on you). It’s only when he hears a sudden shift in your voice that he stiffens.

“Say…” you start, drawing patterns along his back with a finger, as if nervous about his response. “Do you think Mydei’s worried?”

“I don’t want to worry him,” he lets you continue, eyes shifting back to the path ahead of him. “What do you think, strong stranger? He won’t be mad, right? Or sad, maybe?”

He huffs. “No. He wouldn’t be mad. Not at you.”

— PHAINON.

“Oh.” You hug your knees in disappointment to let out another heavy sigh, one far too telling of your emotions — practically seeping back into your lonely puddle when you realize that this person who had found you in your corner was also in fact… not your boyfriend.

“‘Oh?’ Well, someone doesn’t sound very excited to see me.”

The stranger decides to approach you anyway, taking a seat on the tiles beside you before letting out an exhale himself, back of his head coming to lightly rest against the wall. “What’s on your mind?”

“Hmph,” you leer at him from where your head is halfway buried in your arms, knees hugged tightly against your chest. “I wanted to see my boyfriend, not some random person. I’m tired, y’know.”

“Your boyfriend? How strange.” The confusion starts to leave his face the longer he looks at you — lips curling ever so slightly at the idea that suddenly comes to mind.

“He must be cruel … to leave you here all by yourself.”

He almost slips and calls you cute when you stick an arm out to weakly jab a finger into his shoulder, turning your head to the side again to mutter a “Hey. He’s not cruel.”

Truly too cute — the way your eyes have narrowed into something resembling a glare — the same one you always give him whenever you scold him for being too careless. Though, it tends to fade as soon as it comes, replaced with soft kisses against the crown of his head as you lull him back to sleep.

“Aw,” He’s smiling now, “You’re certain he’s not cruel?”

“Obviously I’m certain,” You huff, ignoring the way he seems to look happier at this and hugging your knees even tighter against your chest. “I like being around him. A whole lot, actually.”

The way his eyes begin to soften at your (unintentional) affection most definitely wouldn’t go unnoticed by you, he’s sure, nor the way his hand twitches — wanting nothing but to extend in your direction to pull you in for a hug. Though, luckily enough for him, you’ve settled on resting your head in the comfort of your own arms again, oblivious to the lovesick one seated beside you.

“I’ll make sure to tell him again … when I see him. So let me be, you weird stranger.”

— SUNDAY.

If someone happened to be wondering whether a halovian’s wings flap awkwardly when rendered completely speechless — this would be their golden opportunity to witness it firsthand.

“M-my apologies,” his wings flutter again, then a third time when your hand only tightens around his wrist, eyes narrowing at him in suspicion. “Please excuse me. I was only checking for your temperature, since you seem to be rather…”

“No.” You don’t let go. In fact, you hold onto him as if you’ve just now captured a crook attempting to steal March’s snacks.

“..Forgive me,” his eyes flicker from your hand to your eyes — then back to your hand. As if there may be a slim chance that you’ve simply forgotten about the ironclad grip on his wrist and would release him from his confinement, soon. Surely. “Then perhaps I should go get you a glass of wa—”

“No.”

“…”

“I… I see.” The nervous flutter of his wings shifts to something more sheepish — one wing moving to cover his mouth, as if deep in thought. Which wouldn’t be far from the truth, for even someone such as himself is left dumbfounded by your current behavior. “Then.. is there anything you’d like for me to help with? Someone like March may be better suited for..”

“My boyfriend…” he falls silent as soon as you speak, noting the softness of your words now — barely above a hushed whisper (though the familiarity has him quickly perking up in response). “I want my boyfriend.”

His head tilts at this. Subtly. Truly confused — and even more so when your brows furrow only a second later, followed by a tug on his wrist. “I want my boyfriend.”

“You’re stuck with me until we find my boyfriend.”

[milfdarthrevan]

#reblogging my own posts#free to use#everyone should check out the notes on this post yall have great ideas#silmarillion#elves#valinor#bonus points: no one ever officially cancelled the decree making Formenos and its surroundings the lands of Feanor and his kin#Caranthir ir Amrod or whoever is now the liege lord of several thousand people he never met#they mostly think it's cool - a real Ancient Kinslayer in the ruined city! how Authentic (tm)!#they don't really listen to his orders but will help clean out a house for him and pay some taxes/admittance fees to the theme park#and sure he can represent them in council in Tirion if he wants; they've all been ignoring the city and will continue to do so

Elves born in the Second and Third Ages are used to having the ruins of earlier eras scattered around the landscape being Aesthetic, and are disappointed that there aren’t any in Valinor.

So they deliberately build cities, attack them with siege weaponry, and abandon them. It only takes around two hundred years to get that Haunted Vibe!

[pseudomonaslisa]

okay i keep thinking about that hugh laurie quote like "americans don't have the same rigorous analysis of accent" or whatever like. bro do you think mr. house speaks with a normal diction? like honestly the way i speak (pacing and vocabulary) is kind of similar and people have said To My Face "pseudomonaslisa no one talks like that"

[chithereader]

jealousy, jealousy / aaron hotchner

here’s my masterlist! pairing: aaron hotchner x bau!reader / shy!reader word count: 2.4k genre & cw: fluff, a little jealousy and pining angst if u squint, mentions of made-up case, different use of cm character a/n: thank u so much for all the support i've been getting on my fics!! hope you love this one as much as i do, i really enjoyed writing this one the most!

Today was a bad day. That much was clear. From the moment you woke up to the minute you arrived at the BAU– you’re convinced that the universe has simply gone the extra mile to make your life a little harder. 

You slept through your alarm and a few phone calls from Garcia, making your morning stressful and complete chaos. You didn’t have time to grab a cup of coffee or a snack, and apparently you also didn’t have time to remove the colorful pimple patches that adorned your face. 

Your blouse is buttoned asymmetrically, your hair resembling a bird's nest, and you left your ID at home, making your arrival more delayed as you had to employ Garcia’s help in presenting a copy of your ID to let you through. 

That too was not without stress given that your phone was on the verge of dying as you were in the call, but thankfully you could finally breathe in the elevator. Or so you thought. 

There were two things that immediately caught you off guard as you walked into the bullpen: one, almost all the desks were deserted and two, Reid and Morgan were watching you- as if waiting for your reaction, which led you to look around in anticipation. Is there a surprise? A prank? Did I miss a patch? I’m…wearing pants, right? 

Not wanting to prolong your search, you look at the two for any indication or clue. Tilting your head to the side as if to ask what? But to your surprise, they both nod their heads in one direction. Oh.

Strauss was in Hotch’s office, along with Rossi and a woman you don’t recognize. Hotch looked a bit tense, Strauss firm, Rossi is as relaxed as ever, and the woman… is looking directly at Hotch. Just Hotch. Huh. 

You were stood just shy of your desk when you shook thoughts out of your head, slowly approaching your desk to settle your things. Dozens of scenarios were running through your head, trying to make sense of new additions to an otherwise normal day. 

But the way she was studying him made your chest tight like someone was stepping on it.. and you couldn’t figure out why. 

You approach the two rascals only to lean on Derek’s desk as you whisper under your breath, “What’s happening there?” 

Morgan shrugs but his focused face remains, “I don’t know, kid. I tried Garcia but she doesn’t have a clue either.” Eyes studying the people in the room, noting anything that could tell them something. 

Mulling over more possibilities, you hum in response. Turning to Reid, you ask him- hoping that his eidetic memory can tell you anything about the woman even if they’d only met in passing. 

“Do you know anything, Spence?” But Reid only pouts at you, a sign that he’s thought about it hard but is coming up empty. 

Shaking his head, he soberly replies, “No..I don’t think so. I– I’ve never seen her before. Sorry.” 

Before any more thoughts could be voiced between the three of you, the door to Hotch’s office opens and all four of them file out- the woman walking a little too close to Hotch. 

-

You’re approaching your usual seat on the jet beside Morgan and across from Hotch when suddenly Agent Seaver overtakes you and sits on your seat. Caught by surprise, your eyes instinctively go to Hotch who’s already looking at you. 

He nods to himself, moving from the aisle seat to the one by the window. But it appears Agent Seaver misunderstood his gesture and moved beside him, “Oh! Thank you, sir.” Even going as far as touching his arm and leaning closely. 

Now, you’ve never been a violent person. Rage has just never overcome your senses like that but today.. of all days– you couldn’t help the image of spilling your hot chocolate all over her cream blouse. 

You don’t even notice that you’re frowning as you sit beside Morgan, somehow still unaware of how much their closeness really upsets you. You honestly thought you’ve maintained an expressionless face until Morgan looks up from his file and leans close to whisper in your ear, “You’ll need claws not paws, baby girl.” Winking at you as you separate. 

You steal a glance at Hotch only to see him watching you and Morgan with furrowed brows. He almost looks normal if it weren’t for the clenching of his jaw that’s his tell of irritation. Moving your gaze to Seaver, in case you missed something that’s causing his new mood, you find her reading the case file. 

As you return your gaze on Hotch, you watch as Seaver touches his arm again and engages him in conversation about the case. It’s through the whole jet ride that you had to stomach the constant Agent Hotchner, Agent Hotchner! paired with a giggle or a slight touch. UGH!

If it weren’t for Strauss personally recommending Agent Seaver as a consultant for this case, you would have done– …still absolutely nothing. You had no claim whatsoever over Hotch. Morgan and Rossi may tease the two of you occasionally, forcing that he treats you specially or whatever but his behavior could simply be chalked off as him being a good and attentive boss. 

And yes, okay fine. You may have some moments here and there… but! they could honestly just be built up in your head because of the feelings you have for him. Like when he said he likes it when you stare? Come on, being stared at can be flattering and that’s just a universal truth. 

- 

After a whole day of coming up with theories, visiting crime scenes and M.E.’s, you’re all completely spent. Lounging in the makeshift discussion room, all of you are still working tirelessly on the case given that the unsub’s on a spree and his timeline is alarmingly short. 

Reid’s been silently staring at the board for 20 minutes while Morgan’s pretending to read files of potential suspects with his legs stretched out and feet on the table, “This is impossible. We just don’t have enough.” He exclaims as he tosses the file on the table with a thud. 

To the left of Morgan, you’re also silently mulling over files of potential suspects. Not wanting to admit that he’s right, you guys don’t have enough…bodies. You barely have anything on the guy, barely any clues- for a working profile. 

You sigh heavily, peeling your eyes off the paper and looking at the board. “Reid?” The boy genius shakes his head softly, confirming that the known dump sites don’t say much about the unsub’s comfort zones or hunting ground. 

You suddenly wonder where Seaver, Hotch and Rossi are. You and Morgan got back to the precinct at around 11PM, and you realize you haven’t seen any of them, “Where are the others?” 

Morgan, in an effort to lighten the mood, jumps at the chance to tease you, “Hmm. I think what you’re really asking is: Where’s Hotch and is he with Seaver?” He punches your arm lightly, making it obvious he’s only teasing. 

The smug, playful smile on his face makes you fight one of your own, desperately trying to not give yourself away, “Shut up,” hitting him in the head softly with the file in your hand. 

While you two were exchanging playful glares, Reid interjects, “Seaver wanted to turn in early since she’s also the one meeting with the families tomorrow so Hotch brought her to the hotel.” 

You instantly lift your gaze to him and watch as he removes the marker’s cap and scribbles rapidly on the board, quickly adding “And I’m pretty sure Rossi’s getting us coffee from the diner around the block.” 

You want to blame it on your exhaustion– your inability and ineffectiveness at hiding how you truly feel about what Reid just revealed to you, groaning loudly in pain and frustration. You put your head in your hands, muffling the sounds you’re making that are somehow a combination of a laugh and a sob. 

Morgan understands your reaction immediately and laughs out loud. 

“It’s not funny!” There was honestly no point in hiding it. As much as Morgan teased you, you knew he wouldn’t tell anyway, and Reid.. well, he was honestly an even better keeper of secrets than Morgan, Rossi and Garcia. 

He puts a hand on your shoulder to comfort you, “Baby girl, worry not. You know you hold a special place in boss man’s heart.” Then gripping both your wrists to pry your hands off your face. 

Pressing your face even further into your hands, you let out a muffled version of “That’s not true!” that came out more as “Daffs noft thwu!” 

When Morgan successfully pries your hands off your face, you’re surprised to see Reid’s moved from the board to behind Morgan, half leaning half sitting on the table, curiously watching you. 

Morgan turns around to look at the door behind you, making sure the coast is clear before he says, “Kid. Be real with me for a sec… are you blind?” That was not the question you were expecting. 

You must have looked so lost because he continues, “Hotch cares for you. Deeply. And not in the same way he does for us. You’ve gotta have felt that, kid.” Funny, you are starting to feel like a kid– the only thing missing are his hands on your shoulders to complete that huddle pep talk experience. 

“That’s just not–” you try to start. But Reid swiftly raises his hand, signing you to stop–

“Did you know that every morning Hotch makes sure all the pens and mug handles on your desk are pointing to the right– the way you need it to be– in case the night janitors move any out of place?”

“Or that he never really ate lunch in the office before but started bringing sandwiches and other food he could microwave, while timing his lunches with yours presumably so he could strike up a conversation with you during break?” 

“Or do you remember that one time the AC in the bullpen broke and we were all sweating badly, and I said the heat was making me too thirsty then he disappeared into his office and came back with a bottle of water and an orange juice box only to give it to you?” 

Morgan lets out a loud laugh at that one while Reid pouts playfully, “I mean I was genuinely dying then.” 

Not without his own input, Morgan smiles softly at you with a raised brow “Did you know he personally restocks your favorite hot chocolate in the pantry and on the jet? Including the marshmallows.” 

You breathe in deeply, the revelations sounding too good to be true but winding nonetheless. You crack a small joke, trying to play it off “And I thought the bureau was just feeling really generous.” 

The two, who have grown to be such brothers, give you the exact same look of Really? 

As Reid rounds the table to go back and stand by the board, Morgan catches your attention and holds your eye, “Look, there’s so much more, kid. But they all point to the same thing.” He says this as softly as possible, as if to not scare you away. 

You let out a soft, breathy laugh. Shaking your head, “That just can’t be true.” 

With all three of your backs to the door, you don’t notice Rossi nearing. You just suddenly hear his voice from behind, rounding the table and settling the coffee cups in front of all of you, “Coffee, anyone?” 

As if trapped in the null of the previous conversation, you’re still looking at Morgan as you lean back in your chair, slumping further to seek non-existent cover. Reid, who is now back in his own world with the board, is handed a cup by Rossi, who didn’t even turn to look- only stretching out an arm to receive it and mumbling a distracted “Thanks.”  

Rossi, who is simply too smart for his own good, impressively senses something hanging in the air, nonchalantly asking about the tailend of a conversation he was not supposed to hear, “So… what can’t be true?” 

Back to lounging excessively on a chair that is a tad too tiny for him, with legs outstretched and feet on the corner on the table– Morgan spouts, “That she’s Hotch’s girl, and has no reason to be jealous of Seaver– who by the way needs the HR orientation more than Penelope and I.” 

-

Now– all of your backs are to the door except Rossi’s. Not one of you tried to move due to fatigue, let alone look.

Unbeknownst to you, Morgan, and Reid, on the way back to the precinct from the hotel, Hotch had the genius thought of picking up Rossi so the latter wouldn’t have to walk a block with trays of coffee on hand.

Hotch and Rossi arrived together. And as Rossi went around the table to give you your cups of coffee, Hotch stayed behind– leaning on the doorframe with arms crossed, watching you and the team.

Imagine his surprise, hearing what Morgan just said. His heart skipped a beat, his stomach dropped. His entire being froze entirely.. What? Jealous? 

In his mind, he had two choices: Act like he didn’t hear it and save you from embarrassment or use it to his advantage and make his intentions clear..ish. 

-

You gasp loudly at his bluntness– and in front of Rossi! Straightening in your chair and pointing an accusatory finger at Morgan, “You little– I am NOT jealous! and I am NOT Hotch’s–” 

Cut off by someone loudly clearing their throat from behind all of you, you all freeze, including Reid who hasn’t been actively paying attention until now. 

The hair on your neck stands up as you hear the nearing footsteps, already envisioning digging your own grave in your head when finally, Hotch is standing right beside you. 

You’re all still pretty frozen, save from the slow movement which is your eyes slowly lifting its gaze to the man in question until they meet his hazel orbs. He holds your stare as he leans on the desk, arms straining in his shirt– 

Out of the corner of your eye you can see Rossi fighting a smile, and just as you’re about to mentally curse him in your head, you’re broken out of your thoughts by a deep voice, 

“You don’t think you’re my girl?”