#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💜

[all-our-turf]

honey, you're familiar (like my mirror years ago)

Fox is unsure about her place among the Warriors. Swan understands that more than anyone.

--

Read under the cut or on ao3

+++++

When Swan came home to a quiet apartment, she didn’t think much of it initially. She knew Cochise and Cowgirl had managed to convince Rembrandt to go out with them, which means Ajax likely went along too. Cleon mentioned that she’d be out for a meeting, and when Swan peered down the hallway she noticed the light to Fox’s room was off, so she figured Cleon had taken the younger girl with her. 

Fox had only been around for nearly three months now - hadn’t even been officially initiated yet - and Cleon seemed to be determined to keep her close for the time being, despite the girl’s protests about wanting to be more involved in the gang. 

Except, when Cleon came in through the front door half an hour later, she was alone. Swan was on her feet in half a second, and Cleon raised a curious eyebrow at her, casually shedding her colors and draping them over the back of a chair. 

“What? Did I -” 

“Where’s Fox?” 

Cleon went still, staring blankly at Swan. “She’s not here?”

Swan turned back down the hallway and knocked - slammed, really - on Fox’s door. “Fox! You home?” 

No response. 

When she turned back around, Cleon was already shrugging her vest back on. “I’ll go check if she managed to convince the others to let her tag along at the bar. Go look for her in any of the other usual hangouts.” 

Swan nodded, trying to ignore the anxious pit in her stomach as she donned her own colors and locked the door behind them. If it was just Cowgirl and Cochise, she wouldn’t be surprised if Fox managed to get them to take her along. Fox had a killer pout and (unfortunately for all of them) knew how to use it effectively. 

But there was no way in hell that Ajax would let Fox anywhere near that place while she was underage. Hell, even when Swan was old enough it still took a fight for Ajax to let her come along. Fox - who was small and pretty and still looked like she’d fall over at the slightest gust of wind, even after three months with the Warriors? No chance. 

Swan was just starting to feel the edges of panic creep up on her when she finally found Fox. The girl was near the edge of their turf, arguing with a guy nearly double her size. He was affiliated, judging by the jacket he was wearing, but Swan didn’t recognize the colors. She didn’t really care at the moment. 

Swan was at Fox’s side in half a second, and the guy cut off mid sentence at the sight of her. 

“Hey. We got a problem?” She placed herself in between him and Fox, tilting her chin up to glare up at him. He took a step back. 

“He was on our turf,” Fox explained from behind her, and Swan tilted her head to the side. 

“Fucking barely! I didn’t even realize I’d crossed over, but she was already coming at me!” He threw his hands up, gesturing wildly towards Fox over her shoulder. 

“Why are you still here? You didn’t realize this was Warrior turf, now you know, so fuck off.” 

He hesitated.

“Unless there is a problem?” Swan took another step towards him, raising a challenging eyebrow, and he immediately backed off. He stalked away, grumbling under his breath. Swan kept her eyes on his retreating back until he was gone, and then whirled around to stare at Fox, who looked way too nonchalant for someone who Swan had just spent the better part of an hour looking for. 

“I could’ve handled that,” Fox tried with an innocent smile. 

Swan was distinctly not in the mood. “Fox. What the fuck are you doing?” 

“Patrolling.” 

“No the fuck you aren’t.” Swan pinched the bridge of her nose, taking a breath and trying to calm down before she snapped a little too harshly. “What the hell were you thinking, sneaking off like that without telling anyone? What if something had happened to you? What if that guy decided to -” 

“That guy was a wimp,” Fox scoffed, crossing her arms defiantly. 

“God, you sound like Ajax,” Swan groaned. 

“Really?” Fox seemed a little too excited at that. 

“That is not a compliment, quit smiling. You should not be picking fights for no reason like Ajax does, that’s -”

“It wasn’t for no reason! He was on our turf!” 

“He was one guy on the very edge of our turf. And that isn’t even the point, considering you aren’t supposed to be out here at all! Kid, -”

“I’m not a kid!” 

“Sure, you’re a teenager who should not be out at this hour, especially not alone this fucking close to the edge of our territory. Cleon’s going to -” 

“You’re a hypocrite!” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Weren’t you even younger than I am when you joined the Warriors?”

“Yeah, and Cleon didn’t let me out alone either! You can’t just -” 

“You guys aren’t my parents, I can go out whenever the fuck I want!” 

Swan blinked, raising a disbelieving eyebrow. “Maybe we’re not, but -”

“And I shouldn’t have to ask for permission every time I step foot outside the apartment! And -” 

“Fox! Can I get a word in without you fucking interrupting me?” That definitely came out harsher than Swan meant it to, judging by the way Fox’s mouth snapped shut immediately. The younger girl was glaring at Swan, and Swan took another carefully measured breath. 

“Okay. First of all, I don’t give a shit how old you are, if you go out somewhere at night, especially alone, then you tell someone. That has nothing to do with you, and everything to do with the fact that we’re in a gang, and sometimes shit happens, and when shit happens there needs to be at least one other person who knows where you are. Got it?” 

Fox looked away, glaring at a spot on the ground instead, but grudgingly nodded anyway. 

“Second of all, you definitely shouldn’t be out doing anything like patrolling unless Cleon asks you to. None of us decide to do that shit on our own, so why the hell would you think it’s a good idea?” 

“Cleon won’t even send me out with anyone! It’s been almost three months and I’ve barely gotten to actually do anything for the Warriors! None of you treat me like I’m actually one of you!” 

“Is that what this is about?” Swan tilted her head to the side, some of her frustration fading into concern.

Fox shrugged, her crossed arms now wrapping around her middle. She sighed, sitting at a bench and staring down at her knees. Swan watched how she seemed to curl into herself, and sat down carefully at Fox’s side. 

“Fox?”

“I was just alone in the apartment and I didn’t like it, okay? I’m not allowed to join whenever you guys go out to the bars and hangout, I’m not allowed to join whenever you guys go on jobs, and even when I do get to go it’s like -” She made a frustrated noise in the back of her throat. “I’m tired of feeling like the kid you’re all stuck babysitting.”

Swan felt an ache bloom in her chest, something painfully familiar echoing in Fox’s words. “That’s not what we think of you as.” 

“But it’s how you all treat me. I’m not - I’m not fragile, you know?” Fox rubbed furiously at her eyes, trying to scrub the wetness away before it got a chance to slip down her cheeks. 

“Of course I know that. We all do. You’re tough, Fox. And crazy smart, too. We’re not stuck with you, you are one of us, but - you just have to give yourself time.” 

Fox’s mouth twisted in displeasure, unconvinced. 

“Look,” Swan said. “I get how hard it is being the youngest in the group. Like you said, I’ve been in your position. I know it sucks.” 

“It’s not the same,” Fox scoffed and shook her head. “You’re - you’re you. You’re all intimidating and badass and I’m me. It’s been three months and I don’t think anyone sees me as anything other than the stray picked off the street.” 

Swan stared at the teenager, disbelief creeping into her expression. “You haven’t heard the story of how the Warriors found me?” 

Fox looked up curiously, furrowing her brow. “No? I know that until I came along you were the only one who joined up as a teenager, but…”

“Oh my god, and you think-?” Swan cut herself off with an amused chuckle, turning to fully face Fox, whose face was twisted in confusion. “Fox, I was in worse shape than you were. Cleon found me sleeping under the boardwalk, practically half dead already. I was smaller than Rembrandt and scared out of my mind. It took me nearly two weeks to even say a word to anyone.” 

“Wait, are you serious? But - but now you’re so..!” Fox trailed off, making an ambiguous gesture towards Swan. “I mean, you’re Cleon’s number two. You can keep up with Ajax in a fight!” 

Swan shrugged. “But it took time, Fox. Cleon didn’t make my position official until I earned it. And I spent a lot of sessions getting my ass kicked by Ajax before I could even land a punch on her. I get that it’s frustrating, I know how badly you want to prove yourself, but just…be patient, yeah? With yourself and with us, and eventually, you’ll be just as much of a badass as you seem to think I am.” 

That pulled a smile out of Fox, and Swan felt like she could breathe a little easier again. 

“You really think so?” Fox stared at her with watery eyes, big and earnest and, god, so young. “You really think I’ll be like you someday?” 

Jesus, was this how Cleon felt when she was a recruit? 

“No.” Swan shook her head. “I think you’ll be better. And I think the Warriors are very lucky to have you.” 

Fox grinned, a bright smile stretching across her face for a moment, but then it dimmed again and she looked back down at her hands. 

“I’m sorry for running off. Did I ruin everyone’s night?” She sounded painfully small, picking at the edges of her fingernails. 

“No - Fox, you didn’t ruin anything, okay?” Fox nodded, but it was clear she wasn’t very reassured. 

“Listen,” Swan nudged her arm gently. “I’ll talk to Cleon, see if I can get her to ease up on the overprotectiveness a little. But only if you promise not to pull something like this again, okay? You freaked us out - not because we think you’re weak. But because we look out for each other. That’s what we do as Warriors.”

Fox inhaled shakily, nodding her head again. “Yeah, okay. I won’t do this again, I promise. You’ll seriously talk to Cleon, though?” 

“Believe me, I know how overbearing she can be sometimes. She still drives me crazy every now and then, and I know she’s been worse with you. So yeah, I’ll talk to her, see about letting you come along for more jobs. Just - it’s important that you know she’s only like this because she cares about you. All of us do.” Swan reached out, affectionately patting the top of Fox’s head and ruffling her hair. “Your time will come, Fox, I promise. It won’t feel like this forever.” 

Fox half heartedly batted her hand away, but the beaming smile across her face and the way her shoulders seemed about twenty pounds lighter told Swan that she was feeling better. 

“Come on, kid. Let’s go home before the others lose their minds.” 

“So when are you guys gonna quit calling me kid?” Fox whined as the two of them began walking back. 

“Up until you came along, the others were still calling me kid. I’m just glad it’s not me anymore.” 

“What - but you’re old now! Is this nickname gonna be stuck forever?” 

“Hey, what the fuck? I’m not old, we only have a couple of years between us.” 

And even as Fox launched into an explanation as to why Swan was, in fact, old, Swan couldn’t help but smile, grateful that the girl was in a much better mood than earlier. Fox brought a brightness that the Warriors desperately needed. Maybe she wasn’t sure where exactly she’d fit yet, but that was okay. Fox was still young. 

They had time. 

[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.

[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

[a9saga]

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

[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!

[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.”

[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?” 

[ozzgin]

I just finished playing Firewatch and the cozy, lonely vibes gave me another monster idea! You got a summer job as a fire watch for the closest National Park. All you have to do is to sit in your tower, and...watch. For fires. Sounds boring? Worry not, your supervisor is there to keep you company over the radio. Content: gender neutral reader, monster romance, obsessive behavior, suggestive ending

"And? What are you running away from?"

"Excuse me?"

You raise your eyebrows at the unexpected question coming from the radio. The deep voice belongs to your supervisor, the man who'll guide you throughout your stay at the National Park.

"No one picks up an isolated job in the mountains out of sheer desire. Especially someone as young as you." He chuckles briefly, then resumes in a more professional tone: "My apologies. You don't have to answer that."

What a strange way to begin the conversation, you think to yourself. Yet this nonchalance and casualty is all you have for the following months. The other watchtowers don't talk much, if at all. You're entirely alone in the wilderness, save for the mysterious man on the radio.

Slowly, you begin to warm up to his chatty nature. He likes to ask a lot of questions. A terribly curious individual, though you can understand his reasoning: he's been working for the Park for over a decade. How does one survive without another human being?

He never leaves his tower, and thus you've never seen his face. He's content, you're indifferent. Occasionally, he'll mention sketching you to pass the time.

"How would you describe your eyes, (Y/N)?" he'll ask between his pencil scribbles. "I see. I'm sure they're beautiful. Why are you suddenly quiet? Have you forgotten how to take a compliment? I'm just messing with you, kiddo."

You haven't witnessed a single fire since coming here, despite the torrid summer heat. Your days are spent hiking without aim and talking to your supervisor.

One morning, you wake up to the grating beep of the radio instead of your alarm. You pick up the small device with an irritated grunt.

"Would you like to meet?"

You need a moment to process the words. Are you finally going to greet the one man who's kept you distant company for weeks? Intriguing. You mumble your agreement, still half-asleep.

As you make your way down the hill, you notice a supply station covered in moss and overgrown vegetation. You check your map, just to be sure. There shouldn't be anything here. What a peculiar thing to stumble upon. You approach the old wooden box and lift the lid carefully.

The musty inside is filled with rows of newspapers and some scattered notes. You pluck one newspaper out, and rest your eyes on the first headline.

"National Park is saying goodbye to its employees. The area will be permanently closed after the devastating fire."

You gawk at the title, then at the photographed location.

It's your watchtower.

You scramble to read the rest of the paragraphs, words slipping behind in your frantic search. This forest has been sealed off for years. You recognize the name of your supervisor in the report: a father of three, loved by everyone, died tragically before a rescue team could reach him.

"Found anything interesting, kiddo?"

You turn around with mild hesitation. Whoever this impersonating maniac is, or what he wants, is rather irrelevant at this point. You're trapped alone with him.

Across from you stands a creature, resembling a chimera more than a human being. Long, grotesque limbs ending in black claws, hollow eyes, and mangled rows of razor-sharp teeth put together in a grin. Monstrous.

You're out of breath.

"That looks great", the creature remarks cheerfully.

"Don't use my voice to talk. It's embarrassing to hear myself like that", you lecture it as you spread out the food onto the picnic blanket.

It switches back to the supervisor's soft, masculine tone.

"Sorry, I did not mean to make you uncomfortable."

The monster extends one bony hand over your head, fanning out the fingers and dragging them across your hair in gentle strokes. What a precious little human you are.

You did not run away. A terrifying thought: losing you after all the time spent together. It didn't want to chase you down and make it even worse for you. But you stayed, you truly did.

"By the way", you say as you bite into your sandwich, stretching out your legs. "Is it you who prevents the fires? Usually it's a common occurrence here, especially in summer."

You recall the scorching flames from the newspaper.

"Yes. To keep you safe, you understand."

"Not only did you lie to me about the job, but you kept me out of work, too", you whine. "I got bored to death! Days on end!"

You're suddenly pushed down into the blanket, and you stare into the spiraling, empty sockets, confused.

"I can entertain you to your heart's desire, (Y/N)."

Its snout widens in a flirty smile, releasing a bizarre succession of clicks. Is it laughing in its natural voice?

You blush.

"I suppose there are some ways..." you suggest cheekily, unbuttoning your shirt.

[More Monsters] | [More Original Works]

[oliveroctavius]

In Plagiarism and You(Tube), Hbomb says "If you consider something so obscure you can get away with stealing it, you do not respect it." Save that line for the next time someone tries to tell you that Roy Lichtenstein brought respect to comics as art.

It's since been pointed out that while Lichtenstein did copy one of Russ Heath's drawings of an airplane getting hit, the painting depicted above was actually copied off Irv Norvick, because Lichtenstein did this so many times to so many comic artists.

In Lichtenstein's defense, he was doing this in a time when comic artists frequently weren't even credited in the issues themselves. In his condemnation, he never even tried to check, nor has he made any move to pay or credit any of the comic artists who recognized their own work later on. Rather than elevating the "low art" of comics, he was widening the gap of financial success and respect even further.

The Hbomberguy of this story is art historian David Barsalou, who has now spent decades tracking down the original art and the names of the original artists used in Lichtenstein's most famous output. Here's the flickr gallery for the Deconstructing Roy Lichtenstein project. Frequently copied were Tony Abruzzo, Ted Galindo, Mike Sekowsky, Joe Kubert, Jerry Grandenetti, and dozens more Golden Age artists who aren't very well known in comics circles, let alone art history books. Many of them died in poverty. That's something that the Hero Initiative, mentioned in Russ Heath's comic above, aims to prevent.

Also, Lichtenstein didn't even paint Ben-Day dots. That's a specific thing.