#and then i also had to set it down for like an hour for the same reason. i just. im gonna go play minecraft for a few hours.

[clockwayswrites]

Distracting Birb! Part 28

*throws this and runs* Masterpost

“So what did you find out?” Tim asked as he spun around. He was at the computer, of course, and looked most of the way to villainy backlit by the large screens.

(Dick loved his little brother, but villainy really wouldn’t be the most surprising outcome for Tim.)

“What makes you think we found anything?” Jason answered, just to be impertinent.

Tim rolled his eyes. “You wouldn’t have called us all down to the Cave if you didn’t have anything.”

Jason scoffed. “You underestimate how willing I am to waste your time.”

“Boys,” Cass said calmly, ending the growing argument with just that word.

“Duke still out on patrol?” Dick asked as a distraction.

Tim glanced over his shoulder and back at the screen. “On his way back. He’ll be here in fifteenish.”

Best not to wait in case Danny woke, Dick decided. They’d be sure to fill him in. “Okay. Well, Danny was not lying, he has a lot of plants.”

“Dick managed to turn on the watering system. We’re all very proud of him,” Jason said flatly.

The siblings all golf clapped, which Dick took a dramatic bow to. “Thank you, thank you. Otherwise a pretty normal apartment. Comfortable, a little nerdy, and not fussy.”

Jason nodded. “There’s a hero—not sure if someone real or fictional—that we saw a few times. Someone called Phantom.”

Obliging, Dick sent the photo of the mug from the bathroom up onto one of the screens. Tim spun back to the computer and started searching.

“There were also a lot of medication in his cabinet; vitamins and several prescriptions also. Some of them had weird labels.”

“Damn, Dick, you couldn’t have gotten a clearer photo?” Tim asked as he squinted at the new set of images.

“As much as I hate to defend Dick,” Jason said as he added photos of his own to the screen, ‘that is a clear photo. Danny was writing in the same language along with English in a bedside notebook of his.”

“Are you in need of glasses, Drake?” Damian asked as he looked from the photos to Tim with a judgmental brow raised.

Tim flicked him off, which Dick considered telling Tim off for (Damian had enough bad habits), but was actually curious about this. “No. The text looks glitched out.’

“No,” Damian said slowly and with a scowl, “it is clear. Odd, but clear.”

“Cass?” Dick asked.

She moved a step closer to the television, head tilted. There was a long, quiet moment before she lifted her hand a gave a so-so motion.

Tim looked from her, to Damian, to the screens. “…Dick?”

“So that’s the thing, it looks wrong to me too. If I look at it too long it’s like it gives me a headache. Jason can read it though.”

Jason snorted. “That’s taking it a bit far. I feel like I should be able to read it. I can get a word here or there maybe.”

“Like it whispers,” Damian said, the quiet words oddly poetic for the youngest of them.

“…yeah, like it whispers,” Jason agreed, just as softly.

“Right, okay. Freaky language that only some of us can even see, much less read, and those who can have spent a lot of time in or around the league,” Tim said. “How concerned do we need to be able this? To we need to be concerned about this? I feel like we need to be concerned about this.”

None of them had an easy answer for Tim.

All of them were grateful for the roar of Duke’s bike interrupting the conversation as he pulled into the cave.

“What are you all looking some grim about?” Duke asked. He yanked his helmet off and took a deep breath, like he hadn’t been able to breath in hours.

It was a feeling they all got. Even a good patrol was draining and Duke had been actively on follow up over what had gone down today with the Mad Hatter. Dick tossed a towel Duke’s way and went to grab a drink for the other from the food safe fridge.

“Stuff from Danny’s place. Take a look at the screen,” Jason said.

“Danny? I thought that we liked the guy,” Duke said, accepting the drink with a grateful thank you. He drained half of it his the way to the screens. “Shit, that’s a lot of meds.”

“Take a closer look,” Jason said, though not unkindly.

Duke stepped closer to the screen.

And went alarmingly still.

Dick resisted the instinctual urge to reach out and grab him. “Duke?”

Duke gave an answering hum and turned his head, just slightly, towards Dick. His eyes never left the screen. Dick wasn’t sure if Duke had really heard him. It was Jason who ended up acting, ended up listening to that instinct. He stepped between Duke and the screen, blocking their newest brother’s view. Duke sucked in a sharp, startled breath.

“What?”

“Hey, come on, have a seat,” Jason said and guided Duke backwards into one of the chairs at the table.

Tim swiftly cleared the photos from the screen.

Duke shook his head. “Sorry, man, I don’t know what… that, huh. What did those look like to you all?”

“Magenta tinted pill bottles with different levels of medication in them,” Tim replied calmly. “Dick and I can’t read what’s printed on them. Damian, Jason, and maybe Cass can a little which means it might be League writing of some sort.”

Dick leaned against the table. “What did you see, Duke?”

“Magenta tinted pill bottles with something in them. Like whatever it was my powers were weird about it. I’d have to see them in person to know anything about why, I guess, but they were… I don’t know. But whatever that stuff was I don’t think it’s League because I don’t think it’s human. I don’t think it’s earthly.”

“Well, fuck,” Dick said with a sigh.

He wasn’t sure if that was better or worse.

[jungwnies]

wreckage - charles leclerc

୨ৎ : pairing : charles leclerc x wife!reader ୨ৎ : synopsis : after a heated argument with charles, you watch in horror as his car crashes during a race

୨ৎ : genre : angst ୨ৎ : tws : car accident/injury, arguments/conflict, anxiety/panic, trauma, medical trauma. ୨ৎ : wc : 1318

part one | part two | part three | part four

They say life can change in the blink of an eye. One second, everything feels steady, solid, like the ground beneath your feet couldn’t possibly give way. And then it does. Maybe that’s the irony of it all—you never see it coming. Not really. You think you’re prepared, think you’ve braced yourself, but you’re never quite ready for the moment it all falls apart.

You fought this morning. Not just a little spat about something trivial—no, this was one of those fights that echoed louder than it should have. The kind that lingered, thick in the air, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth even hours later.

It wasn’t about anything catastrophic, either, but somehow, with Charles, the small things had a way of snowballing. His schedule. Your schedule. The time you didn’t have together. The things he didn’t say and the things you did.

“I’m trying, okay? You think it’s easy for me?” he’d snapped, his accent sharpening the edges of his words. “You know what this life is like.”

“Yeah, Charles, I do. But I also know you don’t get to use it as an excuse every single time something gets hard. I’m here, too, and I’m trying to make this work just as much as you are.”

His jaw had tightened, his gaze flickering to the ground before meeting yours again. “Sometimes it feels like no matter what I do, it’s never enough for you.”

You’d felt the sting of those words, like a slap across the face. But you weren’t one to back down, not even when the weight of his frustration pressed heavy on your chest.

“You don’t get to say that to me, not when I’m the one waiting, worrying, wondering if this is ever going to feel… stable. Do you know how hard it is to love someone who’s never really here?”

The silence that followed was deafening, his features a mix of hurt and anger, like he didn’t know which to lean into more. And then he’d said it.

“Maybe it’s hard because you don’t trust me enough to believe that I’m doing my best.”

You hadn’t answered, and maybe that was the problem. The fight ended there, not because either of you wanted it to but because there was no time to fix it. Not when he had a race to prepare for, and you had to pretend like none of this was tearing you apart from the inside out.

When you arrived at the paddock, it felt impossible to mask the weight of the argument. You greeted a few people with forced smiles, but you could see some of them watching you a little too closely. It didn’t help that Charles seemed just as tense, his jaw set and his usual ease nowhere to be found.

Carlos was the first to pull you aside, his brown eyes narrowing slightly as he leaned closer. “¿Qué pasa, eh? You look like someone stole your churros, and Charles… well, he looks worse. What happened?”

“Nothing,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “It’s fine.”

Carlos raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “Amiga, por favor. I know you, and I know him. Whatever this is, it’s not nothing.”

You sighed, glancing over your shoulder where Charles was talking to his engineers. “We just… had a fight this morning. It’s not a big deal.”

Carlos gave you a skeptical look. “Not a big deal? You’re both walking around like someone cancelled Christmas. If you’re not okay, neither is he. You should talk to him before the race.”

You hesitated, the memory of this morning’s argument still fresh in your mind. “I don’t want to distract him. He needs to focus.”

Carlos clicked his tongue, shaking his head with a small smile. “Tch. If you think he’s focusing now, you’re wrong. You being upset is a bigger distraction than anything else. Go.”

Reluctantly, you nodded and made your way toward Charles. He was still in deep conversation with one of his engineers, but when he saw you approaching, his expression softened—just slightly.

“Hey,” you said quietly, folding your arms across your chest.

“Hey,” he replied, his voice lower than usual. There was a pause, the tension between you lingering like a storm cloud.

“Good luck out there,” you finally said, your voice steadier than you felt. “I mean it. Be safe.”

Charles studied you for a moment, his green eyes searching yours. Then he nodded. “And… I’m sorry. For earlier.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, someone called for him, signaling it was time to get ready. He gave you one last look, then turned and walked away, leaving you standing there with words unsaid.

The race began, and for a while, the roar of engines and the blur of cars distracted you. Charles was in good form, holding his position, making clean overtakes. You found yourself exhaling with relief every time his car flashed across the screen.

But then it happened.

It was almost too fast to comprehend. One moment, Charles was rounding a corner, perfectly in control. The next, there was smoke, debris, and the sickening crunch of metal against metal.

Your heart stopped.

The commentators’ voices rose in panic, their words a jumbled mess that barely registered in your mind. “Oh no, that’s Leclerc… that’s a big one.”

Everything else faded—the noise of the crowd, the hum of your thoughts—until all that remained was the image of his car, mangled and still.

“Red flag,” one of them said, and that’s when it hit you. They’d stopped the race. It was bad.

Your hands trembled as you gripped the edge of the table, your breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening.

The minutes crawled by like hours, every second another layer of dread settling in your chest. You kept your eyes glued to the screen, desperate for any sign, any update, anything to tell you he was okay.

When they finally cut to the scene, you saw the medics surrounding his car, moving quickly but carefully.

“He’s conscious,” one of the commentators said, and you felt a rush of air leave your lungs, but it wasn’t enough. Not until you saw him. Not until you heard him.

You thought back to the fight, to the last thing he said to you, and it made you sick to your stomach. This couldn’t be the last memory you had of him, the last words you exchanged. It couldn’t.

You were already reaching for your phone, dialing his team, someone, anyone who could give you more than the vague reassurance of the broadcast.

“Please,” you whispered, the word barely audible over the pounding of your heart. “Please let him be okay.”

It’s strange, how quickly everything can unravel. You think you’ve got it all figured out, that the argument was just another bump in the road. But in the back of your mind, there’s always that voice whispering, telling you that things might never be the same.

And now, with every second that ticks by, your thoughts spiral, faster and faster, until you can’t breathe. What if this is it? What if those were the last words you ever said to him?

You close your eyes, trying to steady yourself, but all you can see is that image of his car, broken and still. Your pulse races. You told him you loved him today, but did he really hear you? Was he ever truly certain, or was that last moment of tension, the words left unsaid, enough to make him doubt everything?

You hate this. You hate the fear gnawing at you. You hate that you're sitting here, helpless, as he’s out there fighting for his life. That feeling of powerlessness—it’s unbearable.

Please, you think again, clutching the phone like it’s the only thing tethering you to reality. Please, don’t let this be the end.

© 2024 jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate.

[agave]

GOTTA add some headcanons to this

laios spends loads of his playtime just creeping along after the big monsters, taking notes like he's studying a real wild animal. he has a dossier on each one and he's well known in the subreddit for being present at the scene every time someone has a question because the wiki is unclear about something

SOME of his dossier is carefully researched headcanon (speculative skeletal structure, mating habits, etc) but he keeps that in a separate notebook

he also has a third notebook that combines canon and headcanon so he can better imagine it being a real organism. everything is hand-copied

loves those youtube videos like "100 things you DIDN'T know about monster hunter" or "I went into the files to deconstruct how rathalos's AI works in excruciating detail, here's EVERY decision tree!" these don't impact his immersion at all

marcille had a phase where she got SO stressed out about having a PERFECTLY manicured, resetted for, time-traveled, villager-cycled town (this is especially a nightmare on the 3DS version because you have JUST enough power over your town layout to make it frustrating) that even playing became overwhelming and she had to stop. but then she also felt bad for not playing, which compounded the stress of going back to playing

eventually falin got the game so she could play with marcille and marcille bought an entire new switch so she could play without going back to her old town (and without deleting all that hard work!)

the old save file is still sitting there and on the new one marcille has vowed to herself that she won't use any manips or anything (it's still bugging her though. but she does genuinely enjoy playing)

marcille also plays fire emblem. both for the strategy and for the visual novel elements. she talks about it as a high level strategy game to anyone who asks. if a character dies she resets

chilchuck has loads of save files and they're ALL stealth archer. he does pretty much the same thing on each one but he has fun every time like it's a new experience

he LOVES survival mode. this guy will fish in skyrim for an hour. sometimes he sets up with a case of beer like he's fishing irl and has his character down an ale every so often as "bonding". if anyone teases him for this he'll kill them but he genuinely finds it relaxing. video game fishing is basically a gacha

don't get him wrong though, most of his time is spent carefully preparing materials, going into a dungeon, checking every corner, and then stealth assassinating the boss from across the room and rendering the whole thing totally pointless. he does not have any sense of clarity about this and just loves the thrill of the chase

he's tried modding but never really found any he liked enough to stick with. his favorite mod was the museum one but he thought it was too much fanfare to bother with. he'd rather it was just a plain house with a million racks and zero quests or dialogue. the real reason he's not into modding is he's just set in his ways (plus if he got used to a mod on PC how would he play switch edition? checkmate. no mods)

slightly interested in TES6 but "will it have the community skyrim has built over the years?" (he doesn't interact with the community that much)

other than cooking mama, senshi really likes wii sports and especially wii bowling and tennis. he's not that interested in the real sports but he'd try them to see how they compared to his game

has watched a million of those "we cooked every dish in cooking mama using exact instructions from the game!" videos and has a ranking of them in his head. his major criteria are how faithful it is to the actual dish, how faithful it is to the game, and how much it infuriates him to watch as a cook ("we can't add salt because mama didn't! :)")

he does EXCLUSIVELY play the wii because he finds the motion controls the most intuitive. he'll push the buttons but his brain just doesn't compute if it's ONLY buttons

has been shown that the switch also has motion controls, but he sees those kids mainly using it as a controller with buttons, you can't fool him, you know he doesn't get that kind of stuff!!

eventually someone sets him up with a capture card and a streaming setup and he's top 10 in the accidental asmr category within a year

Stinky group of gamerz

It came to me in my fever dreams

tag yoself, I’m Chilskyrim

[obsessedhoneycomb]

Heating pads

Max Verstappen x fem!reader

Summary: Your good time in Portimao being interrupted by your endo flare up again.

Warnings: endometriosis, cramps, love and care, infertility and baby talk

A/N: Wrote this last night and I poured into it some of my personal experience with endo, more this time. Surgery worked a little for me, it gave me a three months without cramps. Every body is different, every treatment works differently for us. But we’re in this together, endo sisters!

For @amberjazmyn 🧡

Don’t use my writings without my permission! Pictures found on Pinterest.

———

The weather at Portimao circuit wasn’t so pleasant as it was nearing the end of the year. F1 season was long gone and Max was able to finally avert his attention to his other hobbies (not gonna mention it’s still racing, but for his kinda own team).

Meeting with all the people around Verstappen.com Racing was a great one, especially with Thierry Vermeulen, because he was so funny, but humble at the same time.

You were always amazed how Max was so good at handling his many duties and hobbies at the same time. He was a great mentor, passing his legacy and wisdom and you watched how his temper calmed down a little through the years.

It wasn’t long ago when you moved to his apartment at Monaco, making your relationship more official after three years of being there and nowhere, between your job and his races. One day you decided enough is enough and you didn’t want to face your life alone anymore. That stirred some rumours through his fan base and also your parents weren’t able to hold back in their questions about you two starting a family. Truth was that you and Max weren’t exactly against having children, but the main problem was your endometriosis. Severe pain episodes, ending in ER may times, being neglected by doctors, saying it’s only in your head and that you need to sleep it off. You thought, for so many years, that you’re just insane, but after Max got through one of your endo flare ups with you, he got you through many doctor appointments, to the best specialists in the field, where you finally heard your diagnosis.

The surgery date was set after the new year’s, when Max would be still around to help you get back on your feet and mend your wounds with his love and care. But to that date your body just decided that you need to suffer.

You stood in the garage, watching how Max talked with the engineers and Thierry about some issues, his yapping always getting more and more interesting, when you felt a cramp in your lower back. It wasn’t unusual, you always had similar, and you brushed it off as some kind of back pain, most likely from standing for too long.

Watching Max racing at the empty track was always fun, he gave it his all, enjoying his time and it made you genuinely smile. But now you were pale, your forehead getting a little sweaty, same as your whole body. Feeling the need to sit down, you understood immediately, when the pain shot through your abdomen, pooling at your right side, that stretching burning sensation ghosting to your lower back. Trying to play it cool, you swallowed hard, smiling at everybody around.

About two hours later, Max was done with the testing, leaving the car to Thierry and he went to look through some performance reports, when he spotted you sitting at the bench, having that weird expression on your face like you were trying so hard to hide something, but failing miserably.

“Hey, love.. are you okay?”

His hand went to your cheek and you quickly shot him a look full of pain. He knew that look, seeing it more frequently in past weeks.

“Come here.” Without further words, he grabbed your hand and led you through the corridors to your car outside, where you had your things. Sitting you in the backseat, he quickly went to the trunk, rummaging through his bag, coming back after a while with some packages.

“Max, it’s okay, I can manage it.” You tried to protest but he dismissed you.

“Let me take care of you, I’m prepared.” Sitting beside you at the backseat, he opened both packages, shaking the contents a little with an approving hum. Heating pads. Your eyes went wide with surprise, but then your face softened, your eyes nearly welled with tears.

Warming his hands with the pads a little, he carefully lifted up your hoodie along with your top, to get to your bare abdomen, placing one pad under the waistband of your pants and the other at your lower back. You were always taken aback, how he remembered the location of your pains, where it hurts the most. After he was sure he placed pads securely, he pulled down your top and hoodie.

“Does it feel good?” Cupping your cheek, he had a concern written all over his face and you just nodded. With soft hum, he wrapped his hands around you, getting you closer to his chest, holding you tight against him, making sure you’re comfortable.

“Thank you, Maxie..” your sweet murmur made him smile, your hands hugging his warm and huge body like a teddy bear, the heating pads bringing you comfort you needed.

“Anything for you, my love.. I would go to the end of the world if it meant for you to be in less pain.” Max kissed your temple softly, letting out a soft sigh.

“You’ve done so much for me in this case, I don’t know how I deserved this.”

“You deserve the world, darling. And those pains.. I would do anything to take it on myself instead of you. I hate to see you contorted by it. Packing those heating pads it’s less than I can do for you, to make it easier.”

“You really changed my life, Max.”

“Oh, baby. You changed mine. A lot. I wasn’t this happy like I am beside you. I never forget that moment you smiled at me at that coffee shop in London, because you absolutely stole my breath.”

You chuckled softly, but the slight shot of pain made you wince a little.

“Can you please rub my back a little? It helps also..”

Max just nodded, sneaking his hand under your top, his warm hand rubbing the heat into your skin slowly and gently, making you relax more.

“You know, when we bought this car back then, I thought that it will be different action we’ll be doing on the backseat..” his voice was laced with teasing, trying to make you smile.

“Well.. I thought so too, but I can’t even imagine doing it right now.”

“No, love, I didn’t mean it like that. You’re in discomfort and never in the right mind I would try to make a move on you like this.”

Max liked being intimate with you, your chemistry being something undeniable when you two got to bed, but he respected you and your body. He would rather not have sex with you for weeks than to cause you pain.

“I know, I know, sorry. But we can try after I’m healed from surgery. And there can be a little miracle after. Like we talked many times before. Little Verstappen tapping around.”

It was true happy smile he saw on your face in a while. His heart skipped a beat at the idea of having a baby with you.

“Sure, whatever makes you happy, love. And whatever doesn’t cause you pain.”

His soft lips kissing your nose in the most lovely way was something only you could see. To the world he was that unbeatable lion on the track, dominating champion. But with you he was a caring, loving boyfriend, who would die for you in every way possible.

[shrimpybbq]

thinking of how maybe high school gf probably pushed herself too hard after emmy was born because she kind of reverted back to when charlie was a baby and how she had no help and also taking care of rafe on her own. and rafe obviously doesn’t like that

this is similar to the last ask i answered, but she definitely did - especially as rafe was so busy with work and trying to rebuild the reputation of cameron development. she tried to do everything by herself, always doing her best to manage a bubbly and adventurous charlie with a brand new baby that couldn’t be left alone. she was constantly telling rafe,

“No it’s ok, you need to rest.”

“You have a big meeting tomorrow with the investors, don’t worry about this. I can take care of it.”

rafe was also off the drugs by that time, but when she noticed him start to drink more and more she began to do her best to help him. it didn’t really work, but he did promise her he would set a limit on his drinking. rafe didn’t realise how stressed and overwhelmed she was until he came home from a meeting one day, only to see her sobbing on the bed as she cradled emmy in her arms, the small baby crying non-stop.

“Hey, hey - baby! What’s going on? Are you ok?” he asked, watching her almost not even register his words.

“She won’t stop crying, Rafe! I’ve fed her, and I’ve changed her, and I sang to her and wore her and she just won’t stop and Charlie wants to play in the garden and I need to get your suit ready for tomorrow and the-“

rafe froze as he watched his wife cry, finally realising just how much she had been doing, and that maybe - despite her claims, she wasn’t coping. he felt awful and couldn’t believe he had been too blind to notice her struggling.

“Hey, give her to me, ok? Go take a nice bath, with all those salts and fragrances you like. I’m gonna look after the kids and get everything done,” rafe had commanded.

“No, but-”

“No, baby. You need to relax. You deserve it,” he continued, grabbing emmy from her arms as she looked up at him pitifully, “and ‘m sorry. I should’ve seen that you weren’t ok. I’m gonna do better and be here more often, m’kay? I’m not gonna be like my dad.”

rafe had practically dragged her into the bathroom and closed the door before walking down to the kitchen with his daughter. she had stopped crying after a few moments in her father’s arms (go figure),

“Hey, you’re not being very nice to your mother, you know that?”

rafe had carried out all the tasks he knew were on her list for the evening and even ordered take out for dinner that night, not wanting her to do any more work. he grinned as she wandered down the stairs after an hour, noticing her calmer demeanour,

“Feeling better, baby?”

she gave him a low hum in agreement and he had smiled once more, reaching down to kiss her. his hands ran over her hair, smoothing down the wet strands and admiring his wife.

“I meant what I said. You’re not doing this alone, and if I ever make you feel that way again, tell me. I gotta take care of you - you’re my wife. We’re partners in this shit.”

rafe and high school gf shared a smile and another kiss before turning to the gurgling baby girl in her high chair, her chubby cheeks now smushed full of food. she was the perfect mix of the two of them, and as the couple admired their baby girl, they shared a warm embrace.

[goldenxshine]

Hiii! I was wondering if you could do a modern au fic where aegon is divorcing his ex wife bc she would neglect their kids which almost resulted in the death of jaherys. But aegon soon finds reader who is his personal assistant and she is just so sweet and loving to his kids and is really the maternal figure they need in their lives and also takes care of aegon’s health and well-being. Over some time he falls for her and her for him and immediately when aegon tells the kids that they’re dating they start begging to call her mummy

₊˚.⋆⋆⁺₊✧ Finding home ₊˚.⋆⋆⁺₊✧

aegon ii targaryen x f!reader

Summary: Aegon Targaryen II, after a painful divorce, finds comfort in his assistant, Y/N, who becomes a mother figure to his children. As they start dating, the kids eagerly call her "Mommy," and with Y/N’s care, Aegon’s family begins to heal.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Aegon Targaryen II sat in his lawyer’s office, his head in his hands. The weight of the past year bore down on him like a dragon’s flame, searing his soul.

The papers in front of him—a finalized divorce from his ex-wife, Lila—felt both like a relief and a failure. He never imagined he’d be here, fighting for custody of his children after Lila’s negligence nearly cost him their lives.

His thoughts were particularly consumed by his eldest son, Jaehaerys. It had been six months since the accident—a near-drowning at a pool party where Lila had disappeared for hours, leaving the children unattended.

Jaehaerys was still haunted by the memory, and his younger sister, Jaehaera, often woke up crying in the middle of the night.

Aegon blamed himself. He’d been too distracted, too absorbed in the world of business, too content with his own indulgences to notice how far Lila had drifted from her responsibilities as a mother.

It wasn’t until the accident that he realized how much his children needed someone who would love and protect them unconditionally.

That someone, he vowed, would never be Lila again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N L/N adjusted her glasses as she carried a tray of coffee into Aegon’s office.

She had worked as his personal assistant for the past year and a half, and while she initially thought the job would be all emails and schedules, she soon found herself stepping into a much more personal role.

Aegon’s life was chaos, and she had become the one constant keeping it from falling apart.

“Your 2 p.m. meeting with the board is confirmed,” Y/N said as she set the coffee on his desk. “And the kids’ school called—they need someone to chaperone the field trip next week. I put your name down just in case, but let me know if you want me to handle it.”

Aegon looked up at her, his violet eyes cold and distant, his posture slumped as though the weight of everything pressed on him all at once.

“Thanks, Y/N. I’ll take care of it. I don’t know why you’re always doing so much for me. It's just part of your job, right?”

Y/N smiled, but there was a hint of concern in her expression. “It’s not just my job to keep things running smoothly for you, Aegon. I want to help. You’re doing a lot more than you think.”

He grunted, uncomfortable with the sentiment. For the past year, Y/N had been the one person he could rely on without questioning her motives.

She had kept the household running, ensured that Jaehaerys and Jaehaera were always taken care of, and yet, Aegon never truly let himself see how much he depended on her.

He didn’t want to be vulnerable, not after everything.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N wasn’t sure when it happened. At first, she was just his assistant, a professional working in a chaotic, emotionally distant environment.

Aegon didn’t open up easily, and when he did, it was often shrouded in bitterness. He would show up late, distracted, often late for meetings or with his mind clearly elsewhere.

But she began noticing the small signs—the way his shoulders would relax when she offered him a cup of tea, the way he leaned into her words when she gave him advice, even how he softened around the kids.

Aegon Targaryen wasn’t a man who was used to being taken care of. His divorce had left him a hollow shell, focusing on work and ignoring the gaping hole in his life. But Y/N’s warmth and presence had a way of cutting through that coldness. It was disarming, and she couldn’t help but feel a deep sympathy for him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

One evening, after a particularly grueling day, Aegon found himself sitting on the couch with Y/N while the kids watched a movie. Jaehaerys had fallen asleep with his head on Y/N’s lap, and Jaehaera was curled up beside her, clutching her hand.

“Y/N,” Aegon said, his voice quiet, strained, but not with the usual indifference. It was as if he had to remind himself to speak. “You’ve done more for them than I ever could. I didn’t even realize how much they needed someone until I saw you with them.”

Y/N glanced up from the children, her expression softening. “They just need someone who’s there, Aegon. They’ve been through a lot.”

He met her eyes for a long moment, his face hard but somehow… softer than usual. “I’m not good at this. At any of this. I was a lousy husband, a worse father, and now… I just want to fix it. For them. For me.”

Her heart clenched. She could see the pain in his eyes, the weight of everything he’d lost, and yet he still fought for his children, still tried in the only way he knew how.

Y/N placed a gentle hand on his, but he pulled away quickly, as if startled by the intimacy.

“You don’t have to do everything alone, Aegon,” she said quietly. “You don’t have to fix everything. Sometimes, things get fixed just by being there.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Weeks passed, and Aegon began to realize how much he needed Y/N—not just in terms of work, but in his personal life. She was always there for the kids, always there for him, with a kind word, a thoughtful gesture.

She wasn’t like the others in his life, who only wanted something from him. Y/N never expected anything in return. She just gave, endlessly.

It was late one evening, when the kids were asleep, that Aegon found himself in the kitchen, his gaze lingering on Y/N.

She was rinsing dishes, humming softly to herself, and Aegon could hear the comforting rhythm of her movements. It was absurd, really. He was the future of a dynasty, but in that moment, all he could think about was how Y/N made him feel… like maybe he wasn’t so alone anymore.

He cleared his throat, and she turned toward him. “Y/N… I—” He stopped himself, his voice dropping.

“I don’t know what to say. You’ve done more than I ever could have imagined. But I… I don’t want to keep pretending that this is just business. That it’s just about the kids or the company. It’s not, and I think you know that. It’s more. I want it to be more.”

Y/N didn’t say anything at first. She simply stepped closer, her gaze steady, and placed her hand on his cheek, as though to steady him.

“You don’t have to pretend anymore, Aegon,” she whispered. “I think I’ve known for a while.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~The following weekend, Aegon decided it was time to tell the kids. As they sat around the dining table, their plates half-empty, he cleared his throat. Jaehaerys was picking at his food, his usual brooding expression on his face, while Jaehaera busied herself with her toy.

“Jaehaerys, Jaehaera,” Aegon began, his voice low but resolute, “I want to talk to you about something. Y/N and I… we’re dating.”

The kids stopped immediately, their attention snapping to him. For a long moment, there was silence, and Aegon could feel the tension rise.

Then, without missing a beat, Jaehaerys looked at Aegon with a mixture of surprise and curiosity.

“Does that mean we can call her Mommy?” Jaehaerys asked in a tone that was a little too casual, as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

Aegon froze, his heart lurching in his chest. Y/N’s eyes widened, and she looked at Aegon nervously, waiting for his response.

Jaehaera chimed in, her voice a little too enthusiastic. “Mommy!” she repeated, giggling.

Aegon’s lips twitched into a half-smile, one he rarely allowed himself to express. “If it’s okay with her,” he said, his voice a little more uncertain than he would have liked.

Y/N smiled, her eyes filling with emotion. “I would love that,” she whispered, her voice thick with sentiment. “If you’re okay with it.”

And in that moment, Aegon knew that his life had changed. For the first time in a long while, it felt like things could be… okay. Maybe even good.

He wasn’t sure where this path would lead, but with Y/N by his side, and with the kids by his side, he could finally begin to heal.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Over time, Y/N continued to prove herself as the rock Aegon had always needed. She cared for the kids with the tenderness of someone who had always been their mother, even though she wasn’t.

She helped Jaehaerys regain his trust in the world, and she encouraged Jaehaera to open up about her fears. Aegon, too, began to change. His attitude softened. He took better care of himself. He even started to show up for his kids in ways he hadn’t before, inspired by Y/N’s steadfast love and patience.

One evening, as he watched Y/N help the kids with their toys, Aegon realized he had found something precious. Not just love, but a family. His heart swelled with a quiet pride, knowing he had found a partner who could be the mother his children needed. And for once, Aegon Targaryen didn’t feel alone.

Because in Y/N, he had found not just a companion, but a home.

[anumberofhobbies]

Have a reference,

By Nina Metz | Chicago Tribune UPDATED: June 9, 2018 at 1:42 AM CST

The following is an edited conversation with Matzen about Stewart and “It’s a Wonderful Life,” which will also screen at Symphony Hall on Dec. 9-11 accompanied live by the Chicago Symphony Orchestra with the Chicago Symphony Chorus. ... Q: What was it like on set, since it sounds like Stewart was a reluctant participant? A: Capra had supreme confidence in this story. Stewart not so much, but he got on board with it. It was this sense of, “This is our last shot. Hollywood went on without us, we’re not getting any younger, and if this bombs after we’ve both been away for five years …” But if you watch that performance by Stewart, there was a lot of rage in it and it’s an on-the-edge performance because that’s what those guys were feeling — they were scared that this wasn’t going to work. That the audience wasn’t going to buy it. Donna Reed (playing Stewart’s wife in the film) is one of the eyewitnesses who said, “This was not a happy set.” These guys were very tense. They would go off and huddle say, “Should we try this? Should we try that?” And it proceeded that way for months. They started shooting at the beginning of ’46 and it was a long shoot, it went into June. It was a very expensive, exhaustive production. It cost $3 million to make the thing. Q: Was Stewart also on edge because he was still working through some of his PTSD? A: Oh, absolutely. At this point, he had just started to eat again. He always had a high metabolism and always had trouble digesting food, and during the war it got worse and worse. He himself said that the only thing he subsisted on was peanut butter and ice cream. He just hadn’t been able keep food down. Now he’s starting to gain weight. But he’s still having nightmares and the shakes and the sweats. He’s got some hearing loss now, from the sound of the bombers on those seven-, eight-hour missions. So now you have an actor who, it’s not easy for him to hear his cues. Q: He wasn’t of the Method actor generation, but it sounds like he was, intentionally or not, drawing from his life in that performance, especially those scenes that reveal how untethered or frantic George Bailey is feeling. A: It was a personal and professional risk, playing that role. While he was making that film, he was questioning the superficiality of Hollywood and acting in general, and Lionel Barrymore (who plays Mr. Potter) said to him, “So, are you saying it’s more worthwhile to drop bombs on people than to entertain them?” And that really hit Stewart and was one of the things that turned him around and made him think, “OK, I do have an important role and there are things to be done.” There’s a scene in the movie where he questions his sanity and he’s got this wild look about him. That’s one scene that really struck me, watching it on the big screen. And the other scene that always made me uncomfortable, but now means so much more to me, is when he’s in his living room and he’s throwing things and screaming at his kids — and his wife and children look at him like, “Who is this man? Who is this monster?” And that is so reflective of what millions of families faced, looking at these strangers who came back from the war with this rage. Stewart played it beautifully. He just lets it out.

Jimmy Stewart & Post-Traumatic Stress: Months after winning his 1941 Academy Award for best actor in “The Philadelphia Story,” Jimmy Stewart, left Hollywood and joined the US Army. He was the first big-name movie star to enlist in World War II. An accomplished private pilot, the 33-year-old Hollywood icon became a US Army Air Force aviator, earning his 2nd Lieutenant commission in early 1942. With his celebrity status, he was assigned to attending rallies and training younger pilots. Stewart, however, wasn’t satisfied. He wanted to fly combat missions. By 1944, frustrated and feeling the war was passing him by, he asked his commanding officer to transfer him to a unit deploying to Europe. His request was reluctantly granted. Stewart, now a Captain, was sent to England, where he spent the next 18 months flying B-24 Liberator bombers over Germany. Top brass tried to keep the popular movie star from flying over enemy territory. But Stewart would hear nothing of it. Determined to lead by example, he assigned himself to every combat mission he could. By the end of the war he was one of the most respected and decorated pilots in his unit. But his wartime service came at a high personal price. In the final months of WWII he was grounded for being “flak happy,” today called Post Traumatic Stress (PTS). When he returned to the US in August 1945, Stewart was a changed man. He had lost so much weight that he looked sickly. He rarely slept, and when he did he had nightmares of planes exploding and men falling through the air screaming (in one mission alone his unit had lost 13 planes and 130 men, most of whom he knew personally). He was depressed, couldn’t focus, and refused to talk to anyone about his war experiences. His acting career was all but over. As one of Stewart’s biographers put it, “Every decision he made [during the war] was going to preserve life or cost lives. He took back to Hollywood all the stress that he had built up.” In 1946 he got his break. He took the role of George Bailey, the suicidal father in “It’s a Wonderful Life.” Actors and crew of the set realized that in many of the disturbing scenes of George Bailey unraveling in front of his family, Stewart wasn’t acting. His PTSD was being captured on film for millions to see. But despite Stewart’s inner turmoil, making the movie was therapeutic for the combat veteran. He would go on to become one of the most accomplished and loved actors in American history. When asked in 1941 why he wanted to leave his acting career to fly combat missions over Nazi Germany, he said, “This country’s conscience is bigger than all the studios in Hollywood put together, and the time will come when we’ll have to fight.” This holiday season, as many of us watch the classic Christmas film, “It’s A Wonderful Life,” it’s also a fitting time to remember the sacrifices of those who gave up so much to serve their country during wartime.

[junixscribble]

SCREAMS ur responses are so good ty for feeding us I'm so excited for your writing omggg

ANYWHO. SO. You mentioned Jayce giving Viktor a raspberry and also the tags on the s2 art so~ let's humor that~

Raspberries are arguably one of the most childish and intimate forms of tickling because well duh. I feel like Viktor probably never had a raspberry before Jayce (at least not one he remembers). He probably saw parents blow raspberries onto their giggling kids and thought to himself "I guess it's funny, or feels weird". Never considered just how bad it could tickle.

Jayce on the other hand is FULL OF LOVE and definitely has fuzzy memories of his mom pressing her lips to his belly when he was younger. Even just tickly kisses would take him down! He's a tummy guy.

Anyway, I feel like Jayce would suddenly remember that he can Do That to Viktor one day, and he just HAS to try it out. Poor Viktor probably looks in absolute horror as Jayce pushes his shirt up and takes a big breath in Like???? What are you DOING Jayce?!?!? Then when he touches down, Viktor SCREAMS. Like full on EEEEEEEEEEs because holy shit it tickles so so so bad. Probably knocks his head against the floor as he shrieks. Jayce has big ol powerful cheeks and a scratchy face (before the beard) so it's unbearable 💔

Poor Jayce probably gets a metal leg brace to the head as Viktor jerks his legs involuntarily. And oh boy does Vik blush because ??? WHAT WAS THAT????

You know how I said I was taking so long cause I had Ideas? Well. Here you go!

Fruit

Title: Fruit

WC: 1376w

Summary: Tensions are high in the lab with tight deadlines. Arguments are had, resolved, and when under inordinate amounts of pressure one must make time for stupidity.

——————

Viktor rested his head against the blackboard, sighing. Work had been trying lately. The council was expecting something big, and fast, so he and Jayce often found themselves burning the midnight oil more often than not. Their late nights and stressed disposition had led to a decent few arguments, mainly about stupid things such as who left the dishes all over the kitchen. Most recently it had been about an equation that had ended up half rubbed out - neither of them could decide who had done it, and both were saddled with figuring out what had been written down and rewriting it. 

They had been ignoring each other for most of the day, and to be honest Viktor was tired of it. These hours only passed quickly when there was chatter and ideas being thrown about like darts at a board. With nothing but chalk scratching breaking the silence, the seconds were painful. Usually Jayce was the one to break such silences, but he had been steadfastly soldering one of his gauntlets for the past hour and a half. 

For once in his life, Viktor put his stubborn nature aside and relented. He set his chalk down and wiped his hand on the side of his pants before walking over to Jayce, leaning on his crutch. Jayce didn’t look up on his approach, and Viktor stood awkwardly by him for a full minute until he put down the soldering iron.

“If you have something to say, say it.” Jayce said through gritted teeth. Viktor shifted his weight awkwardly. 

“I… am sorry. About the equation. Truthfully, the last few days have been melding into each other, and I can’t remember who wiped the board. It very well could have been me.” 

Jayce sat up straighter, genuine surprise in his eyes. “You’re not here to berate me some more?”

Viktor flushed, looking aside. It was hard to keep composure when Jayce was looking at him like a kicked puppy. “No. I should not have done so in the first place.” 

There was a moment of silence where Viktor was convinced Jayce was going to turn his back on him, but before the idea could make a home in his head Jayce was up and his arms were wrapped around him. 

“It’s okay. We’ve been working hard, and I’ve said some things I regret too. Still partners?” Jayce asked, pulling back slightly. 

Viktor allowed himself a smile and put a hand on Jayce’s shoulder. “Of course. Now, I’m sure I have some alcohol in here from last time…” 

…

The next few days were a complete turn around from the stress. Now that they weren’t on edge around each other the ideas were flowing and problems that seemed impossible suddenly had clear solutions. 

“Ha! If I reverse the polarity on this, it will stop the hex crystal from spinning out of control!” Viktor exclaimed, nearly throwing his screwdriver. Jayce pushed away from his workbench and cheered. 

“Man, we are on a roll.” He sat contended for a bit before furrowing his brow. “Vik, I’ve just realised I’ve never asked you about your family.” 

Viktor turned to face him, amused. “And what started this train of thought?”

Jayce shrugged. “I was just thinking.” 

“Dangerous, coming from you. Anyway, there was never much to speak of. Never had siblings, my father was absent before I was born, and my mother passed when I was quite young. As was the way of most in Zaun.” Viktor said.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” 

“Don’t be. The life I lead now… it makes up for it.” 

Jayce tilted his head to the side and smiled. “Aw, I’m glad to hear I’m like your family.”

Viktor sputtered. “I- what…well-”

Jayce laughed and shook his head. “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me. Ooooh, we should do family things! Have a big awkward dinner with aunts you’ve never met, create unnecessary drama,...”

“Jayce, it sounds like you are describing the council.” Viktor commented, half a laugh on his breath. 

Jayce mimed vomiting and pouted before lighting up like a candle. “No, of course not. I couldn’t do this with any members of the council.” 

Viktor assumed he was talking about their banter, so he smiled and turned back to his work. However, the minute he picked up his pen he was grabbed from behind and wrapped up in a hug. He squeaked in surprise and swore in his native tongue before going limp in his embrace - he’d learned there was no escaping Jayce when he got lovey-dovey. 

“You know something else families do?” Jayce sing-songed, being a dick about it.

“What, Jayce?” Viktor sighed, playing along. 

It turned out there was no verbal response to that question - that being because Jayce had taken the opportunity to worm his fingers under Viktor’s arms and start wiggling on his ribs. Viktor immediately curled in on himself and made a strangled noise, pushing at Jayce’s hands. 

“No! Jahayce, you bastard-” He yelled, squirming. Jayce just laughed, pulling him away from the bench and over to the couch they had set up. Viktor knew what that meant, and he knew it could lead to him not getting back to his work for at least an hour. When one of his moods struck Jayce was hard to escape - not that Viktor minded too much. He could admit he needed the break, and he could put up with Jayce. 

Nevertheless, he protested. “Jaaaayce JayceJayceJayce we can talk about this, no? You don’t have to- haha! You don’t have to do this!” 

“Oh, but I do.” 

Viktor half-fought Jayce trying to shove him down on the couch, swearing the whole time. The minute he was down, Jayce would go ham and he wouldn’t know peace. Despite the half-assed attempts at escape Jayce successfully pinned an already laughing Viktor to the couch, and Viktor braced himself. What came, however, was hands deftly pulling up his shirt in one quick movement. 

“What the fu-” was all Viktor managed before Jayce took a deep breath and blew a raspberry on his stomach. Now, Viktor had seen this done before - often parents with small children - but always assumed the resulting laughter was because of the general silliness of the action. Never in a million years had he expected it to tickle so fucking badly. 

Viktor let out what could only be described as a screech at the contact, immediately kicking out and bashing his head on the back of the couch. Jayce nuzzled his face into his tummy, grinning, and Viktor broke into a chorus of cackles. 

“JAHAYCE! Whahaha- whahat are you dohohoing??” 

“What do you think?” He replied, still speaking into Viktor’s stomach and by god he was going to dissolve because his stubble made it so much worse. Viktor shrieked again when Jayce blew yet another raspberry, squirming within an inch of his life. 

“Yohou fucking asshole!” He yelled out for nothing, getting rewarded with Jayce’s fingers joining in the fun by kneading into his lower ribs. He made a series of high pitched sustained yelps at this, caught between the sensations of rough hands on sensitive skin and lips over spots he was discovering were really ticklish. After one particularly potent raspberry, Viktor accidentally sent his knee straight into the back of Jayce’s head, finally halting the onslaught.   

“Ow!” Jayce cradled his head while Viktor caught his breath, quickly covering his stomach. 

“You deserve that!” Viktor admonished, sitting up. His eyes were wide, staring at Jayce.

“Have you… have you never had someone blow a raspberry on you before?”

Viktor shook his head. “That affront to dignity is named after a fruit?” 

Jayce laughed. “Yes.”

“I was not expecting it to… have such an effect.” 

“No? If it’s too much, I won’t do it again-”

“No!” Viktor said before he could stop himself. “I mean, ah, I can handle your bullshit if I must, Jayce.” 

Jayce raised his eyebrows. “Do you want me to do it again?”

Viktor turned red. “Of course not.” 

Despite this, he sank further into the couch and his shirt rode up slightly. He didn’t pull it back down. Jayce grinned. 

“Well regardless, I’m not done with you.” 

It took very little time for Viktor to start cackling. Again.

[apoptoses]

Armand, Haussmann, and Paris:

The thing about Paris that's not really discussed in the VC books themselves is the Haussmann project.

In 1853 Napoleon III commissioned Haussman to completely renovate Paris. The plan was to tear down all of the old structures and rebuild the city; reorganizing the streets and reshaping them to accommodate more green spaces, and replacing smaller buildings with taller apartment blocks in more uniform style.

The Paris Armand knew when he arrived as the coven master and which he came to know as the theater leader would have looked something like this:

Dark, winding streets leading off wide boulevards and short, leaning buildings.

The Haussman project would see all of these places systematically torn down, occupants removed to other areas of the city while new buildings were put in their place. In some areas workers were destroying and rebuilding things 24 hours a day.

At this time Armand would have been living at the theater on the boulevard du Temple, Paris's street of theaters:

This dagguerotype shows the boulevard in 1838. This painting, in 1862, looks much the same:

But by 1863 all but one theater on the street had been destroyed, and that was only because that theater was on the opposite side of the street shown in the painting. How and why it wasn't pulled down, I don't know- no information on it seems to exist, just like no explanation for the very small handful of other old structures that were left untouched.

That theater, the Théâtre Déjazet, still exists today. But it was established in 1770 by Comte de Artois, so while it could have been Anne's inspiration for Armand's theater it's not the 'rickety wooden rat trap' that seats 300 that Lestat describes in TVL.

Anyways, knowing all of this, I think it makes even more sense why Armand so quickly grabbed onto Louis and was ready to run away with him at any cost.

Armand, who'd been kidnapped from the monks, who'd had his palazzo torn out from under him, who'd established something of an existence under Les Innocents and was then ripped out of that world when the cemetery was destroyed. Who was watching the city he'd finally come to know get systematically torn apart. Everything that was familiar to him was being taken again.

So why not let Louis burn the theater? He arrived in Paris in 1870, just as Haussman was dismissed. But the work of destroying and rebuilding Paris was set to carry on. Chances were the Theatre de Vampires would be next, and if that were the case there's no way the crypts beneath the place would remain safe and undiscovered.

And if he'd stayed where would they go during the renovation? What would they do? What would the point be in continuing trying to run a coven he was bored of and a life he didn't care for in a new location?

Armand was going to have to begin again somewhere- better that be with Louis, out in the world, than roaming a now unfamiliar Paris. And even though he didn't burn the theater himself, allowing/instigating Louis to do it still gave him more control than letting a stranger come in at some unpredictable moment to demolish things all over again.

(And what of Lestat, what does he feel about these changes? He never could have shown Louis the Paris he knew and loved, which existed when Louis was still mortal- that Paris was largely gone)

Chances were Anne might not have known most of this at the time she wrote interview or even TVL. But I think it still makes a lot of sense and brings up a point about Armand and immortality that I don't see brought up much- that not only do vampires lose every mortal they've ever known, but with time they also see the destruction of every place they've ever known or loved.

(ps: I'm not an expert on this topic or anything, so if anyone does know why some buildings were unchanged or has any interesting historical info to add by all means please, reblog and add it on!)

[spdrvyn]

YOU'RE HERE, THAT'S THE THING — [ wc: 1.7k. college au. fluff-ish? ] nothing cute about uni life. nothing to romanticize about pulling off all-nighters. unless... ?

now that i think about this is the first miguel fic i've written that's not adjacent with spiderverse canon world-building wise 🤔 also kinda silly of me to write a college fic when i'm not even in college so be warned i'll sound probably like a dumbass but hope you guys enjoy anyway!

7:23PM in the evening. Twenty hours until your essay was due.

The blonded hues of the setting sun reflected onto your laptop’s screen, currently open with a completely blank Google Document and nary a draft or outline in sight. As the ice in your half-empty coffee had almost thoroughly melted, you realized that you were completely fucked.

Originally, there was a study group that you were intended on joining somewhere at the start of the week. Hell, you guys shared Notion calendars and made an entire group chat. Only when you courageously sent a message last night asking for a rain check on the plans, you were left on read and down one-hundred dignity points.

That’s how you ended up here, waiting for the adrenaline from the impending deadline to set in. The condensation from your drink wets your palm uncomfortably as you take a sad, bitter sip. Someone could be writing a story about your defeat, writing a ten-page analysis about it, and submitting it at least three days before the deadline like a normal person with a sense of urgency.

When you shut your laptop and concede to the pressure, Miguel walks in to your shared dorm. With thick textbooks and an open backpack slung over one of his shoulders, he pauses at the sight of you. “I thought you’d be out.”

The reminder that your group abandoned you sours your mood even more, you tersely reply: “They ghosted me.”

“Oh,” Miguel tries to sound sympathetic, but it’s obvious that he’s also struggling with a final of some kind with how he ushers all of his belongings to the table you’re currently occupying. He’s told you before that he rarely ever joins study groups, which makes sense. You’ve noticed he’s self-reliant and efficient to an almost terrifying degree when it comes to his academics, awake at ungodly hours of the night to pinch the highest grade that there is. If anything, it’s more likely that he’ll offer to tutor other people.

“What’s on your roster for tonight? I’ve got an essay,” You swiftly put on your document tab again, motivated by how he’s already flipping through his books and copying down notes on his tablet. God, you wished you could just start studying like that.

“Final tomorrow, haven’t started reviewing yet. I basically spent the last two days at the lab for my other final.” He’s writing at a speed that should be considered superhuman, all while he’s answering your pesky questions.

You don’t want to move to another spot, because it would seem rude. Not like his presence is unwelcome, his studiousness just makes you really, really envious. Also the fact that both of you are majoring in completely different subjects.

Majoring in Arts in Literature, while he majors in Genetic Engineering can cause difficulty whenever explaining plans to each other. Miguel puts in the effort to not confuse you with the STEM jargon while you try not to ramble about your current readings and explaining your interpretations of them to someone else instead of writing them down on paper to, you know, submit.

Either way, it hasn’t caused any big miscommunications with being so different and all. You hope he doesn’t mind you beginning to working with him too, as you shyly type a thesis statement into your assignment. Another sip of your coffee, sounds of Miguel scrawling, and you think you may be ready to take this assignment head-on.

~

12:40AM into the night. Fifteen hours until your essay is due.

Shockingly enough, you were able to finish three pages out of five. The grammar so far is probably going to drag you down by fifteen points and you usually send it to your friends to proofread, but it clearly isn’t an option given what time of the day it is right now. It’s still a lot better than the end you saw for yourself when you were left dangling on the edge of failure by your study group.

The caffeine had completely worn off by now, and your coffee had been drained somewhere around an hour ago. When that happens, you usually start to get antsy and it’s even harder to keep the momentum going and when that happens, you take a break and go for a walk or something.

Which is what you’re about to do, as you stand up, but you realize that Miguel is sitting still as a statue in front of one of his books and his eyes scan the words on the page, over and over again. You can’t tell if he’s also losing focus or if he’s knee-deep in focus.

“Miguel,” He sighs when you call his name and the noise makes you wince, fearing that you’ve upset him. “Uhm, I’m going to take a walk. Do you wanna come with?”

It’s an offer that you thought for sure he wasn’t going to take.

What you don’t expect however is for him to slam his reading shut, adjusting the glasses on the bridge of his nose before getting up from his seat. With a huff of, “Sure.”

“Oh- we can go for a coffee run if that’s what you want. I don’t think I can sleep tonight.”

“Ok. Me neither.”

“Great, that’s- that’s great.”

~

Both of you stew in the (semi) comfortable silence as you make the trek from your dorm room and out to the expanse of the campus.

You realize how brisk a walk can become with Miguel considering how abnormally tall he is. Granted, you recognize his subtle effort to slow down for you when he notices how winded you got after only five minutes on the way to the gas station.

It’s a new height that you’ve reached with him, not like you never wanted to grow closer with him or anything. He is your roommate after all, so it only makes sense. Although despite your love for reading that has fender-bendered into a Literature degree in the making, you were never too great at reading people. Miguel is one of the hardest people to read considering his outward stoicism, and both of you being naturally introverted didn’t help at all.

Still, this was the perfect time in your life to make new friends and life-lasting connections. Besides you would also consider yourself pretty pathetic if you wouldn’t be able to make a new one out of your roommate, A.K.A someone who is confined to a room with you for a whole school year. Literally no other choice but to do so.

You wonder if he feels the same way too, but asking each other of your first impressions is a conversation that is really only befitting for people that have been together for years. A status that you have no idea that you’ll ever achieve with him someday.

Though you are quickly broken out of your kind of depressing spiral when Miguel opens the door to the store for you, with a muttered ‘thank you’ you behold the fluorescent lights and hint of smoke. The walk to the coffee machine is instinctive, and you pluck a bag of spicy chips from the shelf on the way. Miguel follows suit, only he picks a bag of pretzels and a pack of gum.

The dispenser chokes out a splatter of coffee into your plastic cup and you flinch at the noise, Miguel spares you a glance but goes back to fidgeting with the pointed edges of his pretzel bag.

“So, what’s your final about?” It’s a stupid question being completely transparent, but fuck it. You’re bored, and the silence only gets more uncomfortable the longer both of you keep quiet.

“Genetic inheritance, the traits passed down from a parent onto a child. That kind of thing,” He muses. “And you?”

“Oh, Les Miserables essay. Five pages total.”

“Long book, and long film.”

Your cup is nearly on the tip of overflowing so you quickly slide it out and put one under for Miguel. “Yeah, I had to do a re-read because it’s been a while. I only finished around two days ago and I started it again at the beginning of the month.”

He gives you an honest chuckle, you take it and you think you’ll remember the sound forever. “One of my, uh, friends sat me down to watch the movie. Fell asleep halfway through, but I do remember it being decent in the parts that I was awake.”

“Well if I can find a totally legal recording of the stage play, maybe that would pique your interest more.”

When you look up at him, he smiles and it might be the happiest you’ve seen him ever since becoming acquainted with each other. It’s not a lot, but you feel over the moon over a small talk about your stupid essay.

…Your stupid essay!

You cut the moment short by haphazardly closing the lids on both of your coffees, you hand it to Miguel who starts to emanate your hurried energy and the walk back to your dorm is very swift.

~

Morning. Some time before your essay is due.

That is what you can assume anyway, the sun is back and its rays peek at you from the gaps in the blinds. Your hair is a frazzled mess as you lift your head off of the pillow which is perched up against the armrest on the sofa, the blanket on top of you shifts, and this was also… definitely not where you fell asleep last night.

You were expecting neck and back pain, along with a mild headache once you woke up. As you came to the sloppy completion of your work, you called it a night, slammed your laptop shut, and decided to just sleep right then and there. Doing your night routine and getting into bed would simply be too much time and work when you probably wouldn’t even be getting that much rest anyway.

There’s a fresh glass of water on the coffee table and a sticky note from Miguel, who you could only assume was the one who put you here.

‘Had to head out early for my exam. Good luck with your essay, there’s food on the counter.’

You slump back into your makeshift bed and pull out your phone from your back pocket, there’s still seven hours until your essay is due and you only need around two for revisions.

Maybe you could sleep in just a little longer, dream about conversations that will never happen, cafe dates that never come to be. But after last night, rather earlier this morning, those odds shift in your favor.

[lesbiancharliedalton]

I've been editing this write-up for literal weeks now and I still feel like I can't get in everything that I want to convey, but I'll try.

It's officially been one year since I stayed up ALL night (like, til 10-11 AM) editing this, my very first full-length music video. All in one sitting. To most, it's probably just a regular character edit or fan-made music video. To me, it's something else. It's catharsis, love and and an explosive expression of myself. To this day, I still can't quite explain what I went through when I was making this. I had just heard this song for the very first time about 24 hours prior and I immediately knew I had to make this music video. I listened to the song, and immediately thought of Charlie. I knew I had to make this. When it was done, I broke down crying and didn't stop for about 2 hours. I came to a lot of conclusions about myself and my life and I had never felt simultaneously more vulnerable and more accepting of myself.

I was crying, partially, because I realized that I was feeling real, genuine love for this fictional character who had been living quietly inside of me and influencing me for years and years. Which is an insane and crazy thing to say. And at first, I felt shame, because I knew it was crazy, and also because it made me realize I had never romantically loved another human being before, and certainly not to this extent. This revelation first made me feel scared, isolated and embarrassed. I thought it was really sad that I was only able to feel this way, feel this level of understanding and love for someone who would never exist and who could never hurt me. I thought I had matured past that way of thinking. It was embarrassing to know that I could spend hours upon hours crying and expelling all my emotional energy just trying to craft a love letter to someone who could never reciprocate because they quite literally have never existed.

But then I realized that it felt right. I had spent my life with all this pent-up energy and love and emotion and I kept putting it in all the wrong places. Nothing seemed to work for years and I felt disconnected from most of society. I realized that night that it was my own doing. I had been hurt and beat down so many times that I detached myself entirely. I repressed my passions that others dismissed as frivolous, I refused to acknowledge or show my feelings or admit to others how I felt about them and I lived a life that I was absolutely miserable in due to fear of being embarrassed, made fun of, or alienated.

In my fear of becoming alienated, I had alienated myself.

And for the first time in years, things made sense. Through rewatching this movie, through seeing this character again, my eyes were opened. I don't know why or how, but through loving Charlie I started the long and arduous process of loving myself. I saw parts of myself in him and his journey, parts that I had been repressing for years and years. And I saw parts of myself that I wanted to be in this character. I was seeing clearly for the first time.

And somehow, through this movie, this character, through crafting this love letter set to lyrics that I wish I could tell him to his face, I found myself. I realized I didn't need to pretend to be someone else anymore. I realized that by trying to be what everyone else wanted to be, I was making myself miserable and further isolating myself. I realized that I finally wanted to be myself, whoever that is, for the first time in years. It seems like an extremely obvious conclusion to make, but for some reason it took me seeing Charlie for the first time in ten years to really, truly realize it. It also made me realize that through the process of connecting with myself instead of running from it, it would become easier for me to connect with others around me too. I've become much more emotionally open and even braver when it comes to other people. I've done things I would have never done just a few years ago. I make connections with all sorts of new people constantly, and not online.

I still can't explain how sitting down and manically crafting a music video helped me come to all these conclusions that had been banging around in my head for a couple of months, but sometimes personal epiphanies come to us in unexpected ways I guess.

As ridiculous as it sounds, through Charlie Dalton, through loving him, I found and learned to love myself. And it doesn't matter that he isn't real, because the impact that he's had on me is very real, and personally I've stopped believing that it's cringe and now I think it's kind of beautiful. For years, I had convinced myself that I was incapable of love--giving and receiving. Through making this, I realized that I had plenty of love to give, I just didn't know where to put it. I poured all of it into this video. How beautiful to love something so much and have it change you.

Charlie Dalton - VIENNA

[ferrari55lover]

Rivalry and Reverie- Ollie Bearman X driver girlfriend

*WARNINGS*- Smut, fluff, MINORS DNI

Last year Ollie Bearman was crowned formula 2 champion, this was a life changing achievement for him not just because it was his dream but because it lead him to her, Y/N L/N the girl of his dreams. At first ollie thought that it would never work between them, they were racing against each other how could it ever work between them, But boy was he wrong. A year had passed since they first got together, and everything between them was perfect. Everyday they fell more and more in love. they continued to race against each other and were both involved in a lengthy and violent title fight one that ended in Y/N winning the title and an offer to race for McLaren in the 2025 season Ollie was unbelievably proud of her but he also felt kind of sad that they wouldn't be racing against each other anymore. That was until ollie got offered to race for Haas this made him extremely happy, sure it wasn't as good as a team as McLaren of Ferrari but it was still formula one.

*fast forward to the first race of the formula one season*

Today was the day, the day that Ollie and Y/N would fulfil their life long dreams of racing in formula one, it was a few hours before the race and Y/N and Ollie were sitting sharing a meal together in McLaren hospitality. "so are you ready for me to beat your ass" Y/N asked, this blunt statement made ollie laugh and say "hey its not my fault you have a better car" Y/N laughed in response and said "Your right, but still". a little while later they were both in their separate team garages getting ready for the race ahead. they got into their cars started their engines and completed the formation lap. Ollie was starting from P6 and Y/N was starting from P3 They started the race and slowly Y/N was climbing her way to P1 and by the end of the race she had managed to keep that position winning her very first race in formula one. After the race

The roar of the crowd was deafening as Y/N crossed the finish line, her name lighting up the leaderboard in P1. She could barely believe it—her very first Formula 1 race, and she had won. Over the team radio, the cheers of her engineers filled her ears. "Y/N, you're incredible! P1 in your debut! What a way to start the season!"

Her grin stretched wide beneath her helmet as she waved to the crowd during the cooldown lap. Pulling into parc fermé, she jumped out of her car and was immediately swarmed by her team, celebrating the monumental victory.

Ollie had finished in a respectable P5, scoring solid points for Haas. He parked his car and climbed out, making his way toward Y/N. Despite his own result, all he could think about was how proud he was of her.

As Y/N completed her media duties and the podium ceremony, she caught sight of Ollie waiting near the McLaren garage. His arms were crossed, but the broad smile on his face gave away how happy he was. When she finally reached him, she barely had time to say a word before he scooped her up in a tight hug, spinning her around.

“You’re unbelievable,” Ollie said, his voice filled with awe. “P1 on your debut? That’s insane!”

Y/N laughed as Ollie set her back down on her feet, her cheeks still flushed from the excitement of the day. “I still can’t believe it,” she admitted. “It feels like I’m dreaming.”

“Well, if this is a dream, then I don’t want to wake up,” Ollie said, his gaze softening as he looked at her.

She smiled, squeezing his hand. “You did great too, Ollie. P5 in a Haas? That’s impressive. You’re going to be fighting at the top in no time.”

He chuckled, shrugging modestly. “We’ll see. But today isn’t about me—it’s your moment, and you deserve every bit of it.”

The rest of the evening passed in a whirlwind of celebrations. Y/N basked in the glow of her victory, surrounded by her team, fellow drivers, and the endless flash of cameras. But through it all, her eyes kept drifting back to Ollie. No matter how many people congratulated her, he was the one she wanted to share this moment with the most.

Later that night, after the festivities had finally wound down, Y/N and Ollie found themselves back at the hotel. The hallway was quiet, a stark contrast to the roaring crowds and bustling paddock they’d left behind.

Y/N unlocked the door to her room and stepped inside, kicking off her shoes with a sigh. “What a day,” she said, turning to face Ollie, who had followed her in.

He closed the door behind him and leaned against it, his eyes fixed on her. “What a day,” he echoed, a small smile playing on his lips.

She walked over to him, her steps slow and deliberate. “Thank you for being there,” she said softly. “It means the world to me.”

Ollie reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I wouldn’t have missed it for anything. Seeing you up there, standing on that podium… I’ve never been prouder.”

Her breath hitched as she looked up at him, the weight of his words settling over her. “You’re making it hard to focus on anything but you right now,” she whispered.

Ollie’s smile widened as he cupped her face in his hands. “Maybe that’s the point.”

She laughed softly, but the sound was quickly silenced as his lips met hers. The kiss was slow and deliberate, filled with the unspoken emotions that had been building all day. Her hands found their way to his shoulders, pulling him closer, Ollie slowly walks them both backwards the back of her knees hit the edge of the bed and she lays on the bed and ollie lays on top of her, they continue to kiss passionately, then ollie breaks the kiss looks at Y/N and asks "Are you sure" Y/N nods and says "yes" ollie then kisses her again his hands slowly traveling down her body, eventually they find themselves in their underwear Y/N wearing a black and red lacy set one that looks very similar to ollies team colors Ollie notices this and says

Ollie paused for a moment, his eyes trailing over her with a soft smile. “Did you plan this?” he teased, running his fingers along the delicate lace of her bra.

Y/N bit her lip, a playful glint in her eyes. “Maybe. You like it?”

“Like it? You’re driving me crazy,” he murmured, his voice husky. He leaned down, his lips brushing against hers again, his touch tender yet electrifying.

Y/N's heart raced as Ollie's kisses traveled lower. He reached the edge of her lacy garment, his calloused fingers tracing the lace with a reverent touch. His voice was a rough whisper against her skin. "You’re so beautiful, you know that?"

Her breath hitched at his words, her chest rising and falling with quickened breaths. She met his gaze, her eyes dark with desire. Her fingers gently tugged at his own underwear, a silent invitation. "I want you," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Those three little words hit Ollie like a freight train, igniting a fire within him. He had been holding back, trying to be considerate, but hearing her say those words was all the encouragement he needed. With a low growl, he claimed her mouth in a fierce kiss, his hand tangling in her hair.

Their bodies pressed together, skin against skin, both desperate to feel more of each other. He moved lower, his kisses now hot and hungry as his lips traveled down her chest, pausing briefly to pay attention to each curve and contour. She let out a soft moan, her hips arching towards him in response.

He continued his journey down her body, his hands roaming over her skin, tracing every dip and curve. When he finally reached the edge of her lacy underwear, he slowed his movements, his eyes meeting hers once more.

She bit her lip, her chest rising and falling with each shaky breath. "Please, Ollie," she whispered, her voice laced with need.

His own breathing was erratic now, his body taut with desire. The pleading tone of her voice was almost too much to bear. With one swift motion, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of her underwear and slowly began to pull them down, his gaze never leaving hers.

As her underwear slipped off, he took a moment to appreciate the sight before him. Her body was a canvas of smooth, supple skin, the lace of her bra the only piece of clothing remaining. He leaned down, his lips caressing her hip, his touch gentle yet possessive.

She shivered, the sensation sending shivers down her spine. Her hands gripped the sheets, her knuckles turning white as she fought to keep herself grounded. He continued his path, leaving a trail of kisses along her inner thigh.

Her body ached for him, every fiber of her being crying out for more. "Ollie," she gasped, her voice thick with wanting, "Don't tease me. Please."

The plea in her voice was like music to his ears, and he couldn't resist any longer. He moved back up her body, positioning himself above her, his arms braced on either side of her head. He looked down at her, his eyes dark with want and need.

"Tell me what you want, love," he murmured, his voice rough.

Her eyes met his, her gaze just as intense as his. "You," she said, her voice soft but firm. "I want you, Ollie. All of you."

He didn’t need to hear anything more. With a low groan, he captured her lips in a passionate kiss, his body pressing down upon hers, their hips meeting in a perfect fit.

She wrapped her legs around him, pulling him closer, her body molding to his. Their kisses grew more urgent, more intense, as their hands began to roam, exploring every inch of each other. Every touch, every caress stoked the fire burning between them, driving them closer and closer to the edge.

Ollie's hands tangled in her hair, his mouth never leaving hers, his tongue exploring every inch of her, claiming her as his own. His hips moved against hers in a slow, deliberate rhythm, their breathing ragged and uneven.

The room was filled with the sounds of their panting breaths and soft moans; the air thick with the electricity of their desire. She ran her hands over his back, feeling the muscles tense and ripple under her touch, while he traced kisses along her neck and collarbone, his lips hungry against her skin.

The heat between them was almost unbearable, the room filling with a thick, sultry air. They moved together, their bodies writhing against each other, seeking release from the mounting tension. She clutched him tightly, burying her face in his shoulder, her nails digging into his skin "Ollie im... im" Y/N stutters out before ollie says "Y/N Shhh.. i know me too" he says grunting as they both release he can feel her clenching around him as she moans his name

a few moments later after they've both taken a moment to cool down from the heat of the prior moments. they're lying next to each other in a comfortable silence their limbs intertwined, Ollie is the first to break the silence saying "I love you Y/N" he brushes a stray piece of hair behind her ear and she says "I love you too Ollie".

[mariasont]

Okay so we need a smut with the reader coming home from a stressful day, and Aaron runs the reader a bath with candles and flowers maybe. After a couple minutes in the bath he comes in and has other ways of relieving your stress👀👀👀 slipping his hand under the water. Ya know the drill from there

Please girl I’m dying for this

Let Me Take Care Of You - A.H

a/n: ngl i was sweating writing this... i also feel like i haven't written smut in ten years so this is probably TERRIBLE but alas

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

warnings: smutty smut, fingering, hotch talking you through, hotch being obsessed with you

wc: 2.1k

You felt like your body was moving on autopilot as you climbed the front steps, stress pouring into your shoulders like an unwelcome visitor who decided to follow you home. The day had been particularly brutal—hours spent locked in a conference room with Reid, revisiting gruesome details until the lines between work and emotion blurred and you were no closer to making progress than you were when you started. By the time you finally decided to call it a night, exhaustion had settled in every inch of you, dragging your mood down like quicksand.

You could feel it in the ache in your feet, the tension clinging to your neck, and the sluggish way your hand fumbled to unlock the front door.

Inside, you noticed the glow of the table lamp first, and as you stepped through the threshold, your eyes immediately found him. The tension in your chest loosened.

He sat with one ankle casually resting over his knee, a case file spread out across his lap. Aaron's tie had been discarded, and his shirt partially unbuttoned, revealing the hollow of his throat and the crisp undershirt peeking through. His jaw was set in concentration, brows furrowed, but when he heard you shut the door, his head lifted.

For a moment, he just looked at you, dark eyes scanning your face, taking in every detail—the slump of your shoulders, the crease between your brows, the way you were clutching your bag strap too tightly. He didn't say anything at first, just closed the file and set it aside.

When he stood, his gaze softened, and the hard lines of his face gave way to something much gentler.

"Hey," he said quietly. He crossed the room in a few long strides, hands sliding up your arms as he searched your eyes. "Long day?"

He was already reaching for your bag, his other hand brushing over your cheek as he pressed a kiss to your temple.

You let out a heavy sigh, leaning into him without realizing. "Yes."

Aaron's hand reached for your cheek again, this time brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his touch light as if you might shatter under too much pressure. There was no rush to his movements, no urgency—just a deliberate care that made your chest ache.

"Come here," he murmured, voice barely above a whisper as he placed a hand on your shoulder and guided you to the couch.

You sank into the cushions, but Aaron didn't stop there. He kneeled in front of you, gently taking your shoes off one by one and setting them aside. His hands lingered briefly on your ankles before he moved to sit beside you, opening his arms in invitation.

Without hesitation, you leaned into him, your head finding the crook of his neck, body molding into his. His arm curled around your waist while the other rested against the back of the couch, his fingers lightly brushing your temple.

"I saw the notes from today," he murmured, his lips close to your hair. "Rough case."

You hummed in acknowledgment, too drained to offer more than a soft yeah.

"Reid run you ragged?"

You gave a half-hearted laugh in agreement.

His hand shifted, brushing your arm as he let out a quiet chuckle. "Figured as much."

He just let you sit there, pressed against him, your breathing evening out as the tension in your shoulders began to melt. It wasn't until he pressed a kiss to your hair and spoke again that you realized you were moments away from sleep.

"I drew you a bath."

Your head tilted up to meet his gaze. "What?"

His smiled faintly, his hand dropping to yours and lacing your fingers together.

"A bath," he repeated, standing and pulling you with him. "Come on, let me take care of you."

He led you down the hall, but when you stepped into the bathroom, your breath hitched. There was a soft glow of candles reflected in the steaming tub of water, delicate rose petals floating on the surface.

"Aaron," you whispered, voice trembling as you turned to him.

He stepped closer, cupping your face in his hands.

"You needed it," he said simply as if that were the only explanation he needed to give.

Stepping forward, you kissed him softly, but to you it wasn't just a kiss; it was everything you couldn't say, it was gratitude, it was affection all wrapped into one simple motion.

When you pulled back he worked your clothes off piece by piece, careful not to disturb the fragile peace that was settling over you. He knelt again to ease off your pants, his hands brushing against your thighs and calves as he worked them free. 

Once you were undressed, he stepped back, eyes never leaving you. "Get in."

You followed his instruction, lowering yourself in, the heat of the water seeming to seep into your muscles. Aaron leaned down, pressing a kiss to your cheek, his thumb brushing against your damp shoulder.

"My poor, pretty girl," he murmured, his lips grazing the shell of your ear.

The words seemed to wrap around you like a ribbon, sending a shiver down your spine despite the heat of the water. Goosebumps rose across your arms, and you felt your body sink even deeper in the water.

You turned your head slightly, meeting his eye. "Aaron."

You weren't sure what you were asking for.

He chuckled, the sound deep and rich, his hand trailing lazily down your arm and under the water to rest just above your breast, tracing circles on the vast area of your collarbones.

"You're so tired, sweetheart. I can see it all over you." He tilted his head, his fingers moving to rest dangerously close to your nipple. "Why don't you let me help you relax a little more?"

Your answer came quickly, almost breathlessly. "Okay."

The word slipped out so easily you didn't even realize you said it at first.

"That was fast," he teased, his voice dipping low. "You're so easy to take care of when you're like this. Makes me wish you'd let me spoil you more often."

Your head lolled slightly again to the edge of the tub.

"I let you take care of me," you murmured, your words slurring slightly. "I love when you take care of me, Aaron."

His hand stilled for a moment, and you could almost hear the shift in his energy, the smirk against your ear.

"Is that right?"

The sudden pinch to your nipple made you gasp, your breath catching as your body arched slightly under the water.

You could only manage a soft whimper in response, your body too pliant and relaxed to conjure up anything more coherent.

"That's what I thought," he murmured, his lips grazing the side of your jaw. "Just relax, sweetheart. Let me take care of everything."

His hands moved again, trailing down your side under the water, his fingers brushing over your hip with a torturous slowness that left your whole body aching.

When you turned your head towards him, your lips parted, and you gave him a look half-lidded with exhaustion and want. He let out a soft laugh, his hand sliding up to cradle your chin, tilting your face up toward him.

"You want me to kiss you?"

"Yes," you whispered, the word barely audible.

He didn't hesitate. His lips crashed against yours, his kiss deep and all-consuming. His tongue swept into your mouth exploring with an intensity that made you feel dizzy. His free hand moved under the water, skimming your thigh, but the kiss left you so breathless you hardly noticed the shift.

Your own hand moved instinctively, slipping under the water toward your clit, desperate to relieve the burning ache. But before you could make contact, Aaron pulled back abruptly, leaving you gasping for air.

His hand caught your wrist under the water, his grip firm but not harsh. "What did I just say, baby?"

You blinked up at him, your lips swollen and breath uneven. "I just—,"

He cut you off with a soft kiss, his lips mumbling into yours. "I told you to let me take care of everything. No touching. That's my job tonight."

Your lips trembled as you let out a soft, needy whimper, body arching into where his hand clasped around your wrist.

"Okay," you whispered. "I promise, I won't. Just—please, Aaron."

His eyes gleamed in satisfaction, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "That's my girl."

He released your wrist, his thumb finding your clit with unerring precision, pressing against it just enough to make your body shudder before he began tracing slow circles.

"There we go," Aaron murmured, his voice soft and reassuring as if coaxing you into complete surrender. "Just relax for me, baby."

A soft gasp fell from your lips, your head tilting back as the tension in your body started to unravel in waves. Each motion of his thumb sent sparks of pleasure through you.

You whimpered again, reaching back blindly, desperate to feel more of him. When your fingers brushed against his arm, he chuckled softly.

"Looking for me?" he teased, his free hand momentarily pausing as he caught yours. He brought your hand to his lips, pressing a tender kiss to the knuckles as you writhed against him. "I'm right here, sweetheart. I've got you."

Your body trembled at his words, your legs tensing slightly as the sensation built, his thumb moving in maddeningly perfect circles.

"You're doing so good for me. Just let go. Let me make it better."

It was like he knew your body better than you, the heat in your core growing with each circle, your breaths quicker, your lips trembling as soft moans escaped you.

Then, without warning, he slipped a finger inside you, the sudden fullness drawing a weak cry from your lips. Your back arched, pressing your body closer to him, the overwhelming sensation leaving you a mess in his grasp.

"There we go," he said. "That's what you needed, isn't it?"

Your answer came out more as a desperate whimper, melting into his touch. His thumb didn't stop, now perfectly synched with the deliberate thrust of his finger inside you. The combination made your mind go hazy, the words on your lips coming out as half-coherent whimpers and moans.

"You're so beautiful like this." He kissed along the curve of your neck, his lips trailing your jaw. "So perfect, just for me."

When he added a second finger, your hips bucked against his hand, the stretch sending another tidal wave of pleasure over you. A strangled gasp escaped your lips, your body completely at his mercy as he worked you closer and closer to the edge.

"You're doing so good for me." His free hand squeezed the one in his, kissing your knuckles again, lips lingering there before returning to your neck. "Just a little more, baby. You're almost there."

The tension in your body coiled tighter, the heat building unbearably, until finally, the wave of pressure crested, crashing over you and through you and in you with an intensity that had you blubbering Aaron's name over and over. Your body trembled violently as you came undone. Aaron's fingers never faltered, thumb slowing but continuing to draw every last bit of pleasure from you.

You slumped against the tub, your breaths coming in slow, uneven waves as the remnants of your orgasm rippled through you. Your mind felt delightfully blank, exhaustion and satisfaction leaving you too dazed to move.

Aaron chuckled, pressing one last kiss to your temple before his hands left your body, leaving you momentarily adrift. "Stay right there."

He reached for a soft washcloth, dipping it down over your arms. The cloth skimmed over your chest, along your legs, as though he were attempting to wash away every last ounce of tension you might have left.

You hummed softly, head lolling back into his touch.

"Aaron," you mumbled, though you weren't quite sure what you were trying to say.

"I'm right here."

He lifted you gently, the water trickling down your skin as he wrapped you in a soft towel. His hands moved carefully, drying you off like you were made of porcelain.

"Let's get you into bed," he said softly, guiding you out of the bathroom and into the bedroom.

He slipped a soft, oversized shirt over your head, his hands brushing against your skin as he worked. Once you were settled under the covers he pressed a kiss to your forehead, moving to dress in his own pajamas before sliding into bed beside you, pulling you into his arms.

"How are you feeling now, huh?"

"Like I'm floating." You giggled softly, the sound light and carefree as you nuzzled into his chest. "I don't think I've ever felt this good."

"Good. That's exactly what I wanted."

Your smile widened as you snuggled closer, a deep sense of contentment settling over you. For the first time today, everything felt perfect.

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[newkatzkafe2023]

Hi- may I request a single father Male Y/N- you can choose it's a daughter or is the son or both at the same time.

(He's a Top in relationship.)

With The monkey king reaction.

(By the way I hope you have a nice day or night don't forget to drink water too!!)

You have twins, a boy named Jun De & a girl named Mei Lian👦👧

(Lmk Wukong) You lost your mate many years ago She died giving birth to your beautiful twins, but no you can never blamed them for what happened. Years later your cubs had accidentally met him when they found his shame temple. Your adorable twin cubs become clingy as they both would have endless energy and affection for Wukong. At the end Wukong found these cute little fire crackers belong to the whole Chinese new year that is you, you were so sexy that Wukong brain froze from your godly Presence. You thanks Wukong for taking care of your cubs and left him your phone number as you left, Wukong never felt the same after seeing you🥵.

(HIB Wukong) Single dad meets another single dad, it's quite interesting set up. It all started when Luier and Silly girl became very fast friends with Jun de and Mei Lian, because the children had alot in common. Wukong and genuinely on the other head you have different mature views on each other, Wukong would occasionally blush as you compliment him on his face. You then asked him out as you were now truly interested in him, making Wukong purr and say yes with a Deep blush😳.

(MKR Wukong) You both met when Wukong was freaking out about his missing son fruity, and you're trying to fine your own twin cubs as well. You both would have arguments here and there, but it's mostly fuel by worry you both love your children and would do anything to find them. Then, a few hours later, you both found your children by a toy stall. As you scolded the twins, Wukong had looked you over one more time. He then purred into your pecs, asking for an for a hot Date with you and who were you to tell this cute little monkey no😏

(NR Wukong) He's biting his lips so hard upon seeing you at a motorcycle race one night, wasted no time cat calling you the whole night. You are so stern and firm with him to like oh yes daddy, scold me so good you should probably spank my bare ass infront of everyone 🤤 Wukong had almost blew an Gasket man he saw those back muscles of you wanting nothing more then to run his claws down your back. The final straw was learning you were a daddy of too, and what's hotter the a daddy of two, a single daddy of two. Wukong's boxers had totally disappeared at this point🫦

(Netflix Wukong) He tends to have big brother energy more then a dad enough, at least how your twins feel. Though you felt like a daddy to him as well, blushing as he would sit obediently as you brush and groom his fur. You would also come to cook 🍽 Making sure he gets his nutrients for the day especially his protein. Finally Wukong would play with the twins as you get into Chaos and mischief, while being home and cuddling you. Over all you might have accidents turned Wukong into a little, so don't be all that surprise when the little monkey king addresses you as daddy😚☺️🤭.

(BMW Wukong) Ohhhhhhhhhh hot single dad yes please🤤😏 Wukong immediately became quite infatuated with you. Your powerful ridiculously hot and Hunky and your good with kids, checking all the boxes and he immediately wants you. If he wants your clothes on his bedroom floor then he's gonna get it, especially when he can tease you about how domestic you both are together. With you both taking care of the twins he's on his knees at this point.

(Destined one) He couldn't make eye contact with you at first, because if he dare too he's going to need new pants. Your so firm, and loving, and sooooo hot the destined one wouldn't know what to do. You treated him so gently and kindly but you both would get dangerously close, with your hands under his shirt and his hands down your pants. He also loves and cares for the twins very much and would cater to and spend time with them, while you would go out and work to get some food thanks to your support. The Destined one loved Nothing more then to have you wreck him in bed, as a reward for being such a good daddy😘

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[doomandgloomfromthetomb]

Sister Ray In The 70s

Something special to close out the year — SISTER RAY IN THE 70s! This custom-made Doom & Gloom compilation gathers together a whole lot of "Sister Ray," as performed by Lou Reed and his various bands between 1972 and 1980. One hour, 47 minutes. More ding-dongs than Hostess. Would make a great quadruple LP bootleg, if you ask me.

Everyone’s favorite transgressive-in-many-more-ways-than-one Velvet Underground epic wasn't exactly a standard during this time. But when Lou wanted to let everyone (including himself) off the leash for a bit, he'd break "Sister Ray" out as a vehicle for some unholy/unhinged jams/vamps/raveups ... and judging by what we've got here, he really enjoyed doing so. This is gnarly stuff, shameless, harrowing and totally fun. Not for the faint of heart — but none of you are faint of heart, right?!

"Sister Ray" (Leicester University, Oct. 14, 1972)

A roar rises up from the crowd when Lou announces: "This is the sad, sad story of Sister Ray." With the Tots grooving behind him, it starts off in a mellow mode — which is good, because it allows Lou to really sing, making sure to annunciate every nasty lyric. Soon, everyone’s cooking (for the down five).

"Sister Ray" (Kansas City, May 2, 1973)

The short-lived Moogy Klingman-led lineup gives "Sister Ray" a cartoony, streetwalking funk strut, hooting and hollering behind Lou. Extra props to the drummer (known only as Chocolate), who taps out the appropriate beat during the "Who is that knocking?" section. "RIGHT!!!!" Lou exclaims approvingly.

"Sister Ray" (Buffalo, Dec. 8, 1973)

As far as I know, this is the only recording of the Rock & Roll Animal band tackling "Sister Ray," but it's a 20+-minute doozy. Of course, it takes about 10 minutes for Lou to enter the scene — lord only knows what he was getting up to backstage. Despite a wonky mix that occasionally is overtaken by pummeling drums and bass, it's a vicious listen. I like that it all comes to a pretty definitive conclusion before Lou realizes he hasn't sung the concluding verse and revs things for a final ride ride.

"Sister Ray" (Stockholm, May 14, 1974)

This one starts at a blinding white light/white heat pace, everyone riding a locked-groove riff for as long as they can. Guitarist Danny Weis is off the chain here, reveling in both chicken scratch funk and insane feedback. Lou's tambourine accents make me think of On The Corner's infernal sleigh bells, and his "CooooouLLLLDDDNnnnnt hiiiiIIIIIIIIITTTTTttttt iiiIIIIITTTTTtttttt siiiiiIIIIIIIIIdewaaaaaayyyys" vocalizations towards the end are wicked.

"Sister Ray" (Boston, October 29, 1976)

Lou had Doug Yule, an actual member of the Velvet Underground, in his band in 1975, but for some reason, "Sister Ray" wasn't played that year. But she was back in action in '76 — and in Boston, we get to hear a key "Ray" ingredient we haven't heard much of so far: Lou's skronked out guitar work. It's as if he walked past the old Boston Tea Party on the Fenway that afternoon and thought, "Ohhhh yeah, I used to really shred!" And shred he does, dueling mightily and furiously with sax man Marty Fogel. I'll also recommend this video of "Sister Ray" from a week later, which doesn't feature any six-string pyrotechnics but is awesome nonetheless.

"Sister Ray" (Lund, March 26, 1977)

With Michael Fonfara's icy electric keys mixed way up and Michael Suchorsky's locked-in drums, this almost sounds more like "Kicks" than "Sister Ray." I think that's Lou on distorto guitar there at the beginning, but he mainly focuses on delivering his whiplash vocals as the song progresses. Fogel starts to get pretty loose towards the middle, though I wish he'd cut loose even more — and I definitely wish there was a tape of Don Cherry sitting in on "Sister Ray" from around this era! The car crash ending is a blast, too.

"Sister Ray" (New York City, May 21, 1978)

"Sister Ray" takes no prisoners! This one from one of the many Bottom Line sets Lou and the Everyman Band played in 1978 is a tense slow-burner, sometimes dropping down to a whisper, Lou adding profane/profound asides and stopping to tell an old Warhol story. "Andy said, 'Make sure you do the song that's got suckin' on my ding-dong on it.' I said, 'Oh, why? Social commentary?'" Also fun: the band seems to be having a long disagreement about where the changes of this three-chord boogie are. Come on, Moose! (Sadly, this is one of the more lo-fi documents included here — where, oh where, is my Take No Prisoners: The Complete Recordings boxed set?!)

"Sister Ray" (London, April 10, 1979)

One of the weirder "Sister Ray"s I've come across — though that might be partly the fault of the cavernous acoustics we're dealing with. There's a long solo guitar extravaganza (Chuck Hammer, I presume?) to kick things off, and then a monomaniacal/mechanical beat from Suchorsky, the crowd clapping along, Lou hollering over the top; it almost has a Suicide vibe? Then there's a terrifying drone-metal dirge coda ... Chaos! But that's what "Sister Ray" is all about, right?

"Sister Ray" (Avellino, June 16, 1980)

Lou's insane 1970s had ended and the sober 1980s loomed (Loum-ed?) before him. But he wasn't done with "Sister Ray." Or maybe "Sister Ray" wasn't done with him. Fittingly, this version feels a little bit exhausted, some flop-sweat, some out-of-gas fumes. "Give me some rhythm — FUCK!" Lou yells at the gang early on. But it still rocks, don't worry. My favorite part is Fonfara's wildly inappropriate synth solo. Mainline located!

📷: Lars Jonsson, Copenhagen May 1974 (via weaponsetc)

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Interesting facts about how Gringotts vaults work...

How you access Gringotts vaults is interesting, and felt oddly inconsistent to me throughout the books, so I want to take a look at it. As in, all the times Gringotts vaults are accessed and how they are accessed. Becouse a lot of fanon and Weasley bashing fics put a lot of emphasis on vault keys, but I don't think vault keys are that important, especially not with the older vaults.

In the books, we only see vault keys in Philosopher's Stone and after that they are shockingly absent.

“Morning,” said Hagrid to a free goblin. “We’ve come ter take some money outta Mr. Harry Potter’s safe.” “You have his key, sir?” “Got it here somewhere,” said Hagrid, and he started emptying his pockets onto the counter... [...] “Got it,” said Hagrid at last, holding up a tiny golden key. The goblin looked at it closely. “That seems to be in order.” “An’ I’ve also got a letter here from Professor Dumbledore,” said Hagrid importantly, throwing out his chest. “It’s about the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen.” The goblin read the letter carefully. “Very well,” he said, handing it back to Hagrid, “I will have someone take you down to both vaults. Griphook!”

(PS, Ch5)

Our first encounter with Gringotts is in PS, even this early we see two means of identifying yourself as someone who should have access to a vault:

Vault key - for Harry's trust vault from his parents

A letter from the vault owner.

This suggests that the key, rather than the only means of opening the vault, works as an identification method to show the owner gave the key to access the vault to whoever is trying to access it or is accessing it themselves. I will note it's odd the goblin doesn't identify Hagrid or Harry as who they are since a key could hypothetically be easily stolen.

It's why the letter seems to make more sense. It's a letter of temporary power of attorney signed by Dumbledore that gives Hagrid the right to access a vault in his possession. This is actually something that makes way more sense than the key, which I'll come back to later.

But the point of it all, is that Gringotts cares more about identifying who the person is and that they're allowed to access a vault than if they have a key. The key seems to be just one tool to do so.

The vaults were reached by means of small, goblin-driven carts that sped along miniature train tracks through the bank’s underground tunnels. Harry enjoyed the breakneck journey down to the Weasleys’ vault, but felt dreadful, far worse than he had in Knockturn Alley, when it was opened. There was a very small pile of silver Sickles inside, and just one gold Galleon. Mrs. Weasley felt right into the corners before sweeping the whole lot into her bag. Harry felt even worse when they reached his vault. He tried to block the contents from view as he hastily shoved handfuls of coins into a leather bag

(CoS, Ch4)

In CoS, we don't see anyone bringing up a key, and it's likely they just identified themselves in the bank by other means. As I mentioned, what matters is a person's identity, not the key.

At the beginning of PoA we see further evidence of how the key isn't really that important:

Once Harry had refilled his money bag with gold Galleons, silver Sickles, and bronze Knuts from his vault at Gringotts, he had to exercise a lot of self-control not to spend the whole lot at once. 

(PoA, Ch4)

As Harry's able to access his vault without it.

And Harry seems to be aware he doesn't actually need a key to access his vault, since he plans to do so when on the Knight Bus:

The sky was getting a little lighter. He would lie low for a couple of hours, go to Gringotts the moment it opened, then set off — where, he didn’t know.

(PoA, Ch3)

So the fact a key isn't really needed for vault access at Gringotts is common knowledge in-universe.

But the most interesting implications regarding vault access, come from the ending of PoA:

There is something I never got around to telling you during our brief meeting. It was I who sent you the Firebolt — [...] Crookshanks took the order to the Owl Office for me. I used your name but told them to take the gold from my own Gringotts vault. Please consider it as thirteen birthdays’ worth of presents from your godfather.

(PoA, Ch22)

This is from the letter Sirius sends Harry at the end of the book and the implications are fascinating to me. I stumbled upon this quote when looking for something else and decided to draft up this post just because of it.

Like, Sirius sent a letter to Gringotts with Crookshanks, identifying himself as Harry (did he forge Harry's signature? Did he do something else? Do they have magical signatures?) to access his own vault. This has so many implications.

Again we see what Gringotts cares for is the identity of the person asking to access the vault, not any magical vault key.

Either the signature Gringotts has for Harry is incorrect or Sirius leaned to forge Harry's signature. both options could be hilarious for fic purposes.

Harry, at the age of 13, can access his own vault and Sirius' vault with just his identity.

That last one implies two things:

There is no minimum age for Gringotts vaults access or, if there is, it's something low, like 11 or 12. This means wizarding children are essentially treated as adults when it comes to banking since Harry had to exercise self-control over his own money at the beginning of PoA and there were no vault rules or laws that would limit his access to it.

Sirius made Harry his heir before he was sent to Azkaban. It was always my headcanon, but this is evidence of it. I mean, if Harry wasn't Sirius' heir there would be no reason for Sirius to be able to use Harry's identity to access his own vault legally.

Now, I know Weasley-bashing fics love to use the fact Molly buys Harry stuff with money from his own vault as evidence of theft:

“Look, here’s the stuff Mum got for you in Diagon Alley. And she’s got some gold out of your vault for you . . . and she’s washed all your socks.”

(GoF, Ch10)

But that doesn't seem to be the case. Harry isn't surprised she did it, and Molly told Harry she would be buying him things the day before. It's possible he even gave her a letter to let her access his vault himself. If Harry wasn't aware of it happening, I think he would have mentioned it's odd. Harry's pretty perceptive and not stupid, so I think it's likely he had given his permission to that since he knew of the plan ahead of Molly going to Diagon whenever it happened.

(Mostly I think JKR didn't feel like writing everyone shopping in Diagon Alley again every book so it was an excuse to have it happen off-page)

The final occasion of vault access I want to examine is with the Lestrange Vault in Deathly Hallows:

“Madam Lestrange!” said the goblin, evidently startled. “Dear me! How-how may I help you today?” “I wish to enter my vault,” said Hermione. The old goblin seemed to recoil a little. Harry glanced around. Not only was Travers hanging back, watching, but several other goblins had looked up from their work to stare at Hermione. “You have . . . identification?” asked the goblin. “Identification? I-I have never been asked for identification before!” said Hermione. “They know!” whispered Griphook in Harry’s ear, “They must have been warned there might be an imposter!” “Your wand will do, madam,” said the goblin. [...] “Make him press his hand to the door!” Griphook urged Harry, who turned his wand again upon Bogrod. The old goblin obeyed, pressing his palm to the wood, and the door of the vault melted away to reveal a cavelike opening crammed from floor to ceiling with golden coins and goblets, silver armor, the skins of strange creatures

(DH, Ch26)

Again, what Hermione is asked for is identification, not a key. From Griphook's reaction, it seems asking for identification is usually not necessary. I assume, usually Gringotts goblins have another way of knowing who stands before them, it would explain why the characters are never really asked for a key after book 1 — the goblins just recognized Harry and let him enter. (I'd get to why they didn't in PS later)

Also from the above quote, we see that a Gringotts goblin can just magically open even the oldest, most high-security vaults, making the vault key from the first book completely moot. We also don't really see keys used since then in, well, any of the books. We do see Harry mention it in DH:

“I think he would have envied anyone who had a key to a Gringotts vault. I think he’d have seen it as a real symbol of belonging to the Wizarding world....”

(DH, Ch24)

But no one seems to be using them.

I think having a key to a vault means you have the physical key, yes, but it's more symbolic than something you have to have with you to open your vault. It's like a token that says you have vault number 687, not that it's the only means of accessing the vault since clearly, your identity is enough.

So, the question is, since vault keys or wand IDs aren't the usual means to identify oneself, how do goblins know? How do you usually identify yourself? How do they know who can access which vault just by looking at them? And why was the key asked for in PS?

Well, I have a bit of a theory/headcanon/speculation about this based on the evidence I mentioned above:

A Gringotts key is essentially a signifier for the ownership of a vault (goblin ownership, the vault is borrowed by wizards, and whenever vaults switch hands wizards likely have to pay for them again).

In book 1, the key was needed since Harry has never stepped foot in Gringotts before. The key acted as an identification for Harry who didn't have a wand yet and who the goblins just met for the first time.

After Harry was identified once, the goblins just recognized him. As they do everyone else. (Since a letter from Dumbledore saying Hagrid can access his vault is enough, they didn't ask Hagrid for any identification (not that he has a wand he can give them)).

I believe goblins just have a brilliant memory for faces and once someone enters the bank once, they are remembered from then on. (I also assume you need to sign something so they have a handwriting sample to identify your writing by. Which they also have a great memory of).

I think goblins are just magically really good at remembering details. It fits what we see about goblin-made artifacts which are very detailed and ornate. How goblins just remember who owes what and who took what. So, I think the identification method at Gringotts is goblins' really good memory.

That's why The Thief's Downfall is important. It removes enchantments that change someone's appearance which is how goblins identify people.

All this means Sirius learned how to forge Harry's handwriting to buy him a Firebolt, which is a fun concept. (Where are all the fics of Sirius being brilliant at forgery?)

This is a bit of a random tangent, but I found it interesting.