#and they’re less dark than the stuff I usually like

[thenightshadowqueen]

That odd feeling of getting back into a book series you loved as a kid and realising that the mentor character is really hot, actually

[luveline]

can we possibly get the one where Gideon doesn’t like bombshell reader and poor Spencer is watching like☹️

Spencer feels a little like a child of divorce. Like, he absolutely is a child of divorce, but he didn’t think he’d feel this way at work. Lately, all Hotch and Gideon do is argue. 

It’s especially odd in that Hotch doesn’t usually go against Gideon’s judgement, even when he doesn’t agree, but you seem to be something Hotch is willing to fight for, and Spencer has no idea why.

“We don’t need her,” Gideon says. Spencer knows it isn’t Gideon being cruel, just stern. “We have a fine team without her.” 

“But with her, we’re better. And we have an opening. I know you like Greenaway for it, and I do too–”

“Everyone likes Greenaway for the position, she’s more palatable than L/N, and she works harder.”

Spencer tries not to whip his face back and forth like he’s following a ping pong ball, but it’s hard to keep up. He has no idea what his mentor’s talking about in all honesty, you’d seemed more than palatable when you met him last week. You were nice. And barely anybody is nice to Spencer. 

You sounded like you actually wanted to hear him talk, something Gideon has often been alone in. And palatable is a subjective word. 

“That’s not necessarily true,” Hotch says, knowing he’s losing. 

“We’re not gonna rush into picking someone,” Gideon says, less stern, more neutral. 

“No. I have invited her to the Georgia consultation this afternoon.” 

Gideon sighs through his nose. The afternoon rolls around quickly. Spencer doesn’t want to think about it but he’s excited to see you, and he feels conflicted in that; Gideon is the first person in a long time who actually seems to care about him, so Spencer is guilty of always aiming to please, but he can’t understand why Gideon dislikes you so much. Am I being easily led? he wonders. 

He’ll admit to finding you attractive. In his head, that is. You’d spoken so particularly, you’d looked stunning, and you didn’t make a fuss when he wouldn’t shake your hand. You called him beautiful. 

It’s the nicest, kindest attention he’s had since he started. Morgan calls him pretty boy. Spencer knows it’s not the same thing. 

They gather in the conference room, Morgan, Hotch, Gideon and Spencer, just a few minutes before 2PM. A minute later, you’re knocking on the door. 

“Hello…” You smile when you realise they’re here. “Am I late?” 

“No, L/N. Come and take a seat,” Hotch says. 

There’s a plastering of documents on the table and an empty seat by both Morgan and Spencer. You choose the one beside Spencer despite a stack of manilla folders, tucking your chair in neatly. “Oh, the grizzly stuff. This will upset my feminine energy.” 

Morgan laughs. Gideon glares at the table. 

Spencer likes it when you’re around. One more person and suddenly the consultation is a conversation and not a debate. You can keep up with everyone. You laugh at Spencer occasionally and he doesn’t know why, but he can tell it isn’t cruel laughter; he’s had a long time to work out the difference. 

Gideon excuses himself for a coffee half an hour in. 

Hotch immediately leans across the table. “I’m trying to help you,” he says. 

You grimace. “What am I doing wrong now?” 

“The laughing.” 

“You laugh.” 

“I know.” Hotch smiles at you. “You’re getting good at this, you have good insight on the dark triad. You read the book I sent?” 

“How’s Haley?” you ask.

He shakes his head, but his smile stays. “Don’t joke about that.” 

You’re not flirting. Or, Spencer doesn’t think so. It’s more likely you’re joking as Hotch says, everything about your body language pointing to amicable friendliness besides your flirting tones. “I read the book,” you say. Your gaze turns to Spencer. “Bet you’ve read it too, huh? Morgan said you’ve read every book ever written.” 

“That’s an exaggeration,” Spencer says. 

“But close?” you ask. “I’d love some recommendations. You know. For profiling.” 

“Don’t let her fool you, Reid, she’s well read,” Morgan says. 

“Wait, Gideon doesn’t like you because you laugh?” Spencer asks. 

It’s a socially inept thing to say, he realises after. You lean back in your chair all sweet and soft with your legs crossed, your dark stockings thin at the knees. He’s so, so worried you’re going to be offended and that’s exactly what he needs, a possible friend isolated again by his inability to read the room, but you don’t chew him out. You nudge his leg gently with the toe of your heel. 

“Now who said he doesn’t like me, handsome?” you ask teasingly. 

Spencer regrets the heat that floods his face and neck. 

“It’s complicated,” you add, your smile more than friendly, Spencer can’t work it out. “But don’t worry, I’ll turn him around eventually. It’s one of my many talents.” 

Oh, he thinks. That’s what it is. Spencer’s finally in on the joke. 

[kaiser1ns]

#. GIVE ME WHAT I WANT

featuring 𝗺𝗶𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗲𝗹 𝗸𝗮𝗶𝘀𝗲𝗿 𝘅 𝗳𝗲𝗺!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

fluff. he allowed himself to feel something he rarely did, peace and love because with you he got everything he wants.

happy birthday to my lover boy kaiser !! and happy christmas everyone !!

More awake inside of his dreams, the loneliness suits him better as he remains the only star in this cruel world. He doesn’t know what he wants but it’s not this, these sugar-coated words don't mean anything when he says them with his lips, tongue rolling with venom when he sees the faces of despair, experiencing the depth of a person’s soul when they have been put in their place. The moment people give up and are left hopeless, desperate for salvation, sacrificing their talent for more tedious lives — they are weak, more or less dead.

Impossible. He hates and loathes upon hearing that word coming out of someone's mouth, which makes him want to prove himself even more. Nothing is impossible. He was the weak person who gave up at any given chance, curling up into a ball to disappear and become invisible, embracing what is dearest to him in all the vast space, a planet that shines brighter than any star, emitting its own light basking in the gravity of football.

I don't know what I want but I know it's not this… A blue rose on his neck traced down with chain-like intertwined thorns that made their way to the crown on his left hand. To remind himself, to never again fall into that weak mindset, a dark and deep rabbit hole that won’t lead you to Wonderland but straight to execution, and it's ‘Off with your head!’. A symbol that shows the impossible, he is the symbol itself, not the tattoo.

Was that really you next to me? It’s cold even under the blanket, it's cold because it's winter … But it’s warm when you kiss him, it’s warm when you love him. Sometimes it makes him sad when he receives a gift because he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to react. It’s his birthday and he doesn’t like it. Christmas lights, a decorated apartment, food on the table, and a woman full of love. Giving him what he wants, then again who is he supposed to please?

“Don't you like it, my love? I-I can always return it if you don't…” Kaiser tried to play it off, masking his emotions behind his usual arrogance. But with you, he was different—less rude, less cold. His eyes lingered on the gift he had just unwrapped: golden rings. Promise rings, you had said with a soft smile, assuring him that nothing could ever tear you apart. Yet, your expression betrayed you—your face was full of sadness and regret. It hurt him more than he cared to admit, more than anything else ever could.

He watched as you looked down, fidgeting with your hands, retreating into yourself. You had given him so much more than he deserved. You gave him what he needed the most: a dream to hold on to.

Then, you felt it—his colder, larger hands settling gently atop yours. For someone usually so brash, the touch was rather gentle and tender. He turned your hand palm up, brushing his thumb over your knuckles before sliding the ring onto your ring finger. An arrogant young man with a superiority complex, Kaiser had always been a fortress of pride and self-importance. But beneath it all, he was just a boy yearning to be loved. “I never said anything like that, Engel,” he murmured, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it. "I’m just… not good at this stuff, okay? Birthdays and gifts, they’re not my thing. Never have been."

He tilted his head, studying your face. His usual smirk returned, but it was softer now, almost boyish. Kaiser knows you are doing this with pure intentions, he knows he has ben truly blessed not on this day, but the day he met you. And even if he hides it, you can see the little boy's eyes waiting to hear those three words.

“I love you,” you whispered, leaning in to kiss him. Wrapping your arms around his neck, your lips met his, the warmth of your touch seemed to catch him off guard, and he instinctively stepped back. You both paused, glancing up—mistletoe. A sweet kiss for the birthday boy. A loving kiss for the gift you’d received from the universe. His lips were softer than you expected, and he tasted faintly of your lipstick, a reminder of just how sweet your kisses were. He loves you too. You are everything he could ask for: pretty, smart, loving, and caring. You are his.

As he kissed you back, his hands found your waist, pulling you closer. The motion brought him off balance as he hit the edge of the bed, pulling you down with him. You landed on top of him, both breathless, laughter spilling into the space between your lips.

“Time to unwrap your other present~” you teased as you caressed his face, and he felt the golden ring pressing to his cheek.

On days like this, angels are said to come alive. But you were born one—his angel, his most precious treasure. For someone who believed the world to be cruel, who found pleasure in proving everyone else wrong, you were the exception to all his rules. You made him want to be better, not for the world, but for you. Who am I supposed to please? He asked, more to himself than to you, repeating the question that haunted him. His answer was clear now. It wasn’t about the world, the people who doubted him, or even his old self. It was you. It had always been you.

©2024 kaiser1ns do not copy, repost or modify my work.

[love-that-we-were-in]

lighting the fuse might result in a bang

pairing: frat!luke castellan x reader summary: Silena thinks you need to start blowing off some steam. You think you just need a fresh victory and Luke Castellan is the perfect opponent. word count: 5.3k warnings: smoking, drinking, usual college party stuff.

author's note: brought to you by my personal deep dark history with boys in hats. also i haven't gotten drunk in like 4/5 years so i don't remember what it's like so this was interesting. also i don't know anything about frats OR smoking. have the most fun <3

When Silena mentions a party you could go to, you jump at the offer, brain fuzzing at the edges where you’ve been locked in on flashcards all afternoon. It’s something you’ve started to navigate better this year, remembering to have fun after a year of non-stop focus. Silena makes it easier - a social butterfly with no qualms about dragging you out of the library when she thinks you’re pushing yourself too hard - and there’s no harm in listening to her without protest sometimes. 

“Do you even know who’s throwing this one?” You ask as she’s leading you through campus, rubbing at your arms to fight the fall chill. “I do not want a repeat of March.” 

“Have some faith in me. I’ve started vetting my sources.” 

Both of you shiver, the memory of a night spent outside the Stolls’ cramped dorm still haunting you six months later. You’re not overly familiar with this side of campus, turning away from the usual halls and towards the sorority housing, but Silena walks the path with ease, arm looped through yours.

The walk seems to have cleared your head, the music as you approach shaking off the last of the static. You’ve been here before, borrowing notes from a teammate, but it’s different like this, all pumping bass and cheers from the kitchen. Clarisse waves at you from across the room, beer in hand, and you mutter to Silena that you’re going to grab a drink. She nods, making a beeline for Drew Tanaka. You assume that’s who the invitation came from originally.

There’s a different energy to the kitchen, not quieter by any means but less noisy. Less concentrated, maybe, with twenty different conversations happening at once and nothing you have to pay attention to. Most people you don’t recognise, a group from your first year stats class huddled together near the sink, and the Stolls off to the side pointing at every new person they see. 

Mixing your drink is an easy fix, the kitchen island covered in more choices than you’ve seen in a while, and you savor the first few sips. Between class and swimming, you’ve barely drank since the semester began and the burn of vodka isn’t as numbed as you wish it was. Still, a drink is a drink so you refill it before returning to the thick of the party. 

Clarisse takes it upon herself to drag you away from the conversation you end up trapped in with Lee Fletcher, quite literally taking hold of your elbow. You mutter an apology, however disingenuous, rolling your eyes in mock exasperation as he smiles grimly. 

“I have no idea how you talk to that lot,” she says when you’re far enough away. “They’re all boring.” 

“Lee’s great. He always lends me notes from the lectures I miss.”

She laughs, pushing you into another room. “He’s trying to swindle a date out of you and you’re using him for lecture notes.” 

You shrug. There’s nothing wrong with Lee, except that Clarisse is a little right when she says most of your classmates are boring. It’s probably not intentional, and they definitely don’t realize it, but there’s this way they carry themselves around campus - half-nervous and half-haughty. It’s not a great combination and it’s why you gravitate towards the people Silena meets. 

“We were wondering when we were going to see you next,” Chris says as he throws an arm over Clarisse’s shoulder. You still don’t quite know the story there, how Chris Rodriguez managed to sweet talk your stoic teammate. One day, you’ll find out - a drunken vow you made with Silena on your dorm room floor when Clarisse mentioned a boyfriend - but you’re content to let them enjoy their romance in peace for now. “Almost thought you’d succumbed to the dark side.”

“You’re not getting rid of me yet.”

“And thank god,” he knocks his cup against yours before gesturing to the far corner of the room. “Because we need someone to kick Castellan’s ass at beer pong.” 

“Whose?”

Turns out, Luke Castellan is the newest brother to ksig. There’s not much to know about Chris’ fraternity in your eyes, just the basics of all frats, and you know from last year that there’s always bound to be a hotshot that needs someone to pump the brakes on their ego. Usually, they’re on the younger side, with more money than sense and they don’t expect anything from your approach. Luke Castellan isn’t quite that, but he’s not far from it either.

While Chris talks to the boy who was about to play, you take the opportunity to size up your opponent. It comes naturally, a part of constantly competing, and it comes in handy in moments like this, when the element of surprise is a key factor to the situation going ahead. 

Fitted jeans, branded polo and a stupid snapback cap worn backwards to show how cool he is. Nothing you haven’t seen before, really, except there’s this focused glint in his eyes with each plastic ball he throws like he has to prove his worth here. It’s a simple practice, unnecessary for a silly party game, but there’s this serious set to strong shoulders that you’re curious about.

The same way you want to know about Clarisse’s relationship, you want to know what makes Luke Castellan, whoever he is, tick. 

“Are you trying to get alcohol poisoning, Rodriguez?” 

“I’m not playing you, Luke,” Chris says and you watch closely as the other boy tilts his head slightly to the left. “I just had to go and get the current undefeated champion on campus.”

There’s this moment that happens every time you play - those awkward seconds where everyone looks completely past you to anyone else, anyone more noticeable. You count on it, occasionally, so it takes you a moment to process the way Luke’s gaze slides to you, drinks you in before he nods towards the other end of the table. 

Chris mutters a quiet “you got this,” as you brush past him, handing him your drink. You’re not delusional enough to think you can get away with mixing your drinks this early in the game. 

It takes two of Luke’s shots for you to land your first, his last hour of playing an advantage you accounted for. He’s not getting sloppy, not in the slightest, but he’s at the point where he’s a little worse for wear - a tired arm and hazy mind - and you take the chance you have at a false sense of security, taking your losses on the chin before playing the game to win. 

Within seven shots between you, you can see Luke start to get restless. How he reevaluates the table in front of him, his three empty cups to your four. Part of you really wants to knock that hat off his head, as if it’ll give you more of an insight into his mind. Instead, you wait for what you know is coming, a slight miscalculation that has the plastic ball rolling off the table to land at someone’s feet. 

Chris hands you a fresh one and you take in the way Luke swallows, jaw clenching as you line up your next shot. Whether he knows it or not, you’ve just been handed your win.

Clarisse cheers, handing you one of the cups from in front of you as everyone yells. You both chug what’s left of them, the bitter taste of cheap beer drowned out by victory, and as soon as that’s done, she throws herself back into Chris’ arms. Laughing, you turn around to find another drink, only to be met by Luke standing beside you.

“Are you about to be a sore loser?” 

He chuckles and it’s different like this. His eyes are brown, which you didn’t know five minutes ago, and his hair is dark from the little wisps of it you can see peeking out underneath his hat. You consider telling him that the hat makes him look lame, but then he’s leaning down to whisper anyway. “I expect a rematch.” 

It’s quiet and heavy and you wonder if anyone can tell that your blood feels like it’s on fire. It’s nothing, really, and it takes more effort than you want to respond. 

“Then expect to lose.”

The only saving grace to the exchange is that Luke looks a whole lot more affected by it, a blush crawling up his neck as you take the drink nearest to you and leave to find your roommate once more. 

*

Losing never used to get to you. Not like this, at least, where everything sort of feels like a precipice and you’re waiting for the next loss to fall on your shoulders alone. It was meant to be an easy game, a warm-up, for when the season started in earnest and you couldn’t afford to be incohesive. There’s always a learning curve, new starters and new competition, but in no world should it have caused this. 

Silena tells you to let it go, throwing yet another outfit on her bed as she gets ready. When you saw her at lunch, Clarisse told you to just push harder during practice. Sometimes you’re not even sure how you can be friends with both of them, how they can be friends with each other either. Unfortunately, it becomes very clear when Clarisse knocks on the door that night. 

“Why aren’t you ready?” 

“I’m not going anywhere.” 

She tuts at you, digging through the pile of clothing on Silena’s bed before throwing a dress at you. “Get dressed.” 

“You can’t make me,” you protest, the black fabric scrunching in your fist. You’ve borrowed it before, for a party last year you don’t remember very well, and you don’t even want to consider why it’s the one Clarisse selected. You turn to your roommate, looking for backup, only to find her with a pair of your shoes in her hands. “Are you seriously going to make me?” 

In unison, they raise a singular eyebrow each and it’s unsettling enough that you let go of all will to fight them. Today may as well just be full of losses that you can mourn tomorrow.

It’s only when you arrive at the party that you realize you have no idea who’s throwing it. Or who’s going to be there. Distantly, you really hope it’s a stranger Silena met on her way around campus - full of people you’ve ever met and will never see again. You could find someone nice enough to blow off some steam with before going on your merry way. 

When Clarisse yells at her boyfriend, you let out a huff as both he and Luke Castellan turn around. 

Since your first meeting, you’ve learned a few more things about Luke. He’s from Connecticut. He was responsible for half of Drew’s sorority coming down with the flu during freshers week. He’s in pre-med. He’s the reason Professor Chase introduced a ban on energy drinks in his lectures (one hundred students simultaneously opening a can of Redbull each was, apparently, mildly disconcerting). Most importantly, he’s always wearing that stupid cap. 

You try to equate the things you know with the Luke standing in front of you. Some of it makes perfect sense - Professor Chase and Connecticut - and some of it unsettles you, but it’s all true. Freshers and pre-med and track meets. Focusing on the distracted way he taps on his beer bottle instead of Clarisse greeting Chris, you kind of want to find out a whole lot more. 

“Fancy a rematch?” 

It’s the first thing he’s said to you all night, twisting the cap off a fresh beer before handing it to you. Then doing the same with his own. You pretend not to notice the movement of it, the few short seconds where you can get away with staring at the shine of silver rings in low light. Taking a sip, you crinkle your nose. 

“I’m not really in the mood,” you mutter and, at the very least, the beer is cold and you chug half of it before you even notice you’ve done it. “Don’t you have someone else you can bother?” 

There’s seconds before you notice it, how his eyes shift from slightly curious to intense. They don’t change much but standing in front of him, you can tell when they go from relaxed to focused. How his back straightens and shoulders roll back just so. You should go and find something stronger to drink. Maybe even see if Lee Fletcher is nearby.

You stay put.

“It’s just a bit of friendly competition,” Luke shrugs, unknowing of how it echoes in your skull. How that’s all today was ever meant to be. Leave it to him to dig the knife in again just as the tightness in your chest was starting to ease. “But I guess you just can’t handle it.” 

“I’d kick your ass in a rematch. I’m doing you a favor.” 

It’s obviously the wrong thing to say, Luke’s eyes brightening as the words push past your lips. The beer you drank way too fast is forming words before you even know what they are.

“You can always choose something else for me to beat you in,” he says, like it’s an offer, something gracious that you should be grateful for. “I’m easy.” 

“How many beers have you had?” 

“Three, I think?” 

Silena would tell you it’s a stupid idea - you have a coaching session at 9am and you haven’t gotten drunk since the party where you met Luke - and she would be right. But you need a win tonight, something guaranteed, and there’s this itch that crawls under your skin the longer you stare at the boy in front of you. 

So you say it anyway. 

“I bet I could outdrink you.” 

“I’d like to see you try.”

He waits as you down two more beers in quick succession, nursing his own as you do. A clink of your bottles against one another, followed by the final sip you each take and it’s finally a competition. 

The night continues, you and Luke almost joined at the hip. It’s to keep track, you tell yourself, talking to a kid that might be in your organic chem class. If the kid looks at you weird for pouring two drinks, only to hand one to Luke in silence, that’s probably just the alcohol misreading things. Only once, when you’re deep in conversation with Lee does Luke pass you a beer, eyebrow raised when Lee gives him a glare. You think that might’ve been drink eight. 

By the time Chris finds you both again, you’ve thrown yourselves onto the couch on the outskirts of the room. Someone’s abandoned coat is thrown over your legs in a mediocre attempt to preserve some dignity in the dress you’re wearing and Luke’s hat has twisted to the side. You’re sure neither of you has drunk a sip in ten minutes.

“You guys doing okay?” 

“We’re drunk,” you say and you can’t tell if it’s a whisper or a shout. “I’m winning.” 

“You’re not winning,” Luke turns his head to glare and you blame the alcohol on the attention you pay to the slope of his nose. “Neither of us have finished these drinks.” 

“Are you going to?” 

He glances down at the cup in his hand, half empty. You can see it, the hesitation, before he places it on the floor by his feet, shaking his head. “Are you?” 

The nice thing to do would be to give up, call it a draw and appreciate that you managed to have fun despite the bad day that had preceded it. However, you like to win. So you grit your teeth before drinking the final three sips, tilting the empty cup towards him so he can see the proof. It takes you a second to remember you have to actually swallow in order to drink, but you do and Luke scrunches his nose. You kind of want to kiss it as a way to smooth the skin back out.

“That’s two wins to me, Castellan.” 

Chris shakes his head at you both. “I’m not calling either of you to make sure you’re alive in the morning.” 

*

It’s an almost unconscious action when you walk into Drew’s sorority house, how you wave Silena off in favor of scanning the crowd, searching for the one reason you agreed to show up in the first place. It takes a moment, pinks and blues and silvers all merging together in your eyeline until you spot him near the staircase, familiar black cap resting on his head. 

You’re already a little buzzed, the thrill of your final project this semester finally being handed in just hours ago, and it’s why you let yourself actually look at Luke for once. 

By this point, you’ve seen him in a polo and a flannel, always with jeans. Laidback. That’s what party Luke was. Tonight, though, it’s like he’s trying harder - baggy pants, like they’re resting a little too low on his hips, a white t-shirt, white trainers that you know are going to stain before the night ends and a slightly oversized leather jacket that doesn’t quite go with the hat you used to identify him. Maybe it’s something he does on purpose, ruining a good thing over comforting familiarity. Maybe you’ll ask him.

Luke looks up then, as if he has a sixth sense, and you kind of don’t know what to do with the slight wave he sends in your direction. You wouldn’t call him a friend, that’s for sure, but you nod in response before weaving through your classmates to the kitchen.

It takes two vodka cranberries for Silena to find you. And it takes four shots with people you’ve never met for Chris to ask if you’ve seen Luke anywhere. You tell him where you last saw him, maybe an hour ago, and he shakes his head like he’s already checked the entire house.

“Do you think you can let him know I’m heading out?” Chris asks, one arm looped around Clarisse’s waist, more for support than anything else. She was already unsteady when you arrived and you know by the flush in her cheeks that it’ll only take a couple more drinks for her to start throwing up. You nod at Chris, cradling your drink to your chest, and he mumbles a thanks while steering his girlfriend towards the door.

With both of them gone, it leaves you with little to do except go hunting for Luke. So that’s what you do, waving Lee off as he attempts to grab your attention from the couch. 

Focusing is a lot harder now, squinting over everyone’s heads in search of that damn hat. Nothing. You know he’s not in the kitchen, that’s definite, and you learn that he’s not in the garden either, Katie from your anatomy class staring at you bewildered as you explain your quest. 

There’s only one place left to check for Luke and you consider if it’ll be a worthwhile risk. It’s entirely possible that he’s already left, whoever he was locked in conversation with earlier with him maybe, and you’re searching an entire sorority house on the off-chance he’s still in the building. 

But you promised Chris. More than that, you refuse to let Luke Castellan beat you.

So you commit to the staircase, pushing past the line for the restroom upstairs. It’s quieter up here, not by much, but you can hear yourself think clearer. There’s three doors on your left, all closed, and you drain the remnants of your drink so it warms your blood and erases the small part of your brain still protesting. 

There’s two yells when you knock on the first door, both hurried and pitching higher as the words fade so you move on quickly. No one answers to the second door, so you crack it open enough to see inside. It’s dark and neat and completely untouched by whatever is happening below, so you let it click shut again. 

Luke is in the third room, you learn, pressing it open when there’s no response to your knock. The room itself is still orderly, but you find the boy you’ve been searching for sitting on the floor at the base of the bed, hat turned to the side and the sleeves of his jacket bunching carelessly where they’ve been pushed higher on his forearms. 

“Chris wanted me to tell you he took Clarisse home,” you blurt when it feels like you need to say something. “He couldn’t find you so…”

Luke waits. When it becomes clear that’s all you’re here for, he says, “Well, thanks for letting me know.” 

You’ve done your job. You can go back and enjoy the party downstairs, maybe make use of the empty room next door instead of remaining awkwardly in the doorway. 

You think about how Chris mentioned that Luke can recite pi to seventeen places while drunk. How you’re still beating him by two points. How there’s an ashtray on the floor beside Luke’s knee and it’s sort of considerate of him to use one when no one else would.

“Mind if I join you?” 

Being in an empty bedroom with a guy at a party isn’t unusual. You’ve had your fair share of them, rushed and quiet and mostly on a bed. Sitting on the floor with Luke is different, you find, a gravity to it than you can’t quite wrap your head around after so many drinks. It’s slow and languid and you don’t really say much of anything as your knee bumps against his thigh in an effort to get comfortable in the space.

No one told you Luke smokes. 

You tell him as much.

“It’s a bad habit,” he shakes his head, twisting a cigarette between his fingers and you both act like you’re not paying rapt attention to it. “I try to avoid making it one.” 

“I used to. Back in high school. Gave it up when I got accepted here.” 

He turns to face you then, head tilted so the visor of his slanted hat brushes his shoulder. “I would never have guessed you were a smoker.” 

It’s not said with judgment, just as an observation from the limited interactions you’ve had since the semester began. The focus in Luke’s gaze crawls up your spine and mingles with the alcohol you’ve yet to flush from your system. 

“You ever blown a smoke ring?” 

If you’re not challenging him, you don’t quite know what to make of Luke. It’s the thing you know most about him, the way his face shifts from victory into loss. The way it matches yours, stretches from his eyes to his jaw and into clenched hands. If you’re not challenging him, you can’t read him - you want to be able to read him in the low light of right now. 

“I bet I’m better at it than you,” you say after he answers. A short laugh escapes him, almost a huff, and it raises the skin on your arms when it meets the top of your ear. “Wanna see?” 

“I’ve only got one.” He waves the cigarette he’s been holding in front of your eyes. 

“We can share.” 

It’s a bad, terrible, absolutely stupid idea. 

“You’re on, Castellan.” 

As he lights the end of it, you wonder if he knows what the brief flame does for his cheekbones, for his jawline. Paints them in small, defined shadows that you might still see if you close your eyes. You almost want to mention it to him. You settle for watching his lips settle around it, the sinking of his cheeks on the inhale and the noise as he exhales. There’s an almost complete ring of smoke in the air.

Luke hands you the cigarette and you repeat his motions, a little quicker. A little smoother. The ring that leaves your lips is full, but less circular. 

Both of you pretend not to notice the other one staring.

You agree to best of three. You agree and you win by the tiniest margin and you hand Luke the little that remains as a consolation prize. He indulges in the last few drags and you watch him do it, looking nothing like the pre-med student you know he is. You think he could be dangerous like this, based on the way your stomach twists as he puts the cigarette out, how his head tilts back and the final wisps of smoke escape his mouth.

You aren’t as drunk anymore. 

You really wish you were.

It takes Luke a second to notice that you’ve moved at all, eyes still closed but he does, and the run of his gaze across your face is enough for you to seize the last of the alcohol in your bloodstream, pushing forward so you’re actually face to face with him, knees digging into the rough carpet beneath you. 

“Can I help you?” It’s low and a little ragged and this is the first time you’ve really noticed the thin, pale scar that stretches down the skin of his right cheek. It’s actually a little insane how pretty he is up close. 

“I think I want a little more than the glory of winning this time,” and half of your whisper is lost to Luke Castellan’s lips but it’s not that important anyway.

What is important is the warmth of his hand through your shirt, pressed into the skin that exposes itself as you shift even closer. It’s the slightly rough texture of his jaw underneath your palm, the way his breath hitches in tandem with yours and you both push through it anyway. It’s the unexpected catch of your finger on his cap and the way you give up on it entirely, finally snatching it off his head so it lands somewhere nearby. 

You’re not sure what you expected Luke’s hair to look like. Horrible, probably, with odd patches that lie weirdly flat and should be covered from view. It’s not this, wild dark curls that deserve to be seen. 

“You have curly hair?” You say it before you can think not to, so caught up in the discovery you’ve just made, and Luke squints at you, unsure. “I can’t believe you have curly hair.” 

He’s preparing a smart-ass comment, you know it by the way his teeth dig into his bottom lip, and that’s really just not going to work this time - not when he’s been lying for months behind a hat. So you do what any sane person would, twist your fingers into the curls at the nape of his neck and trail your lips across his jaw like you’ll die if you don’t.

His hand hooks underneath your thigh and, when you bracket his waist between your legs, cool leather brushing against your knees, you think this might be the best victory you’ve experienced yet.

*

Silena knows something is up when you refuse to speak to her about the party. There’s few secrets you’ve kept from each other since meeting, and even less since Clarisse got involved. It’s pointless to try, mostly, since they all spill out of you when the lights go out and you’re left with each other's company. You almost forgot how annoying she could be when she’s pushing for information.

“Don’t think I’m going to tell you either,” you say when Clarisse joins you in the library a week after the party. “I am a fortress of secrets.” 

“I know you hooked up with Luke.” 

“Seriously?” 

She rolls her eyes, passing you the book you’d asked her for during practice last night. “Calm down. Chris told me. I’m down ten bucks now.” 

“You bet on it?”

“Of course we did, it’s our brand.” 

“I’m not telling Silena,” you whisper again, frowning at your notes. You wonder if Clarisse is aware you haven’t actually spoken to Luke since that night. “She’ll make it a big deal for nothing.” 

“I won’t tell but you should probably figure out what happens next. There’s a party at ksig tomorrow night before everyone goes home for the holidays.” You tap your pen against the textbook. Clarisse pushes a slip of paper towards you. Someone’s phone buzzes to your left. “Think about it.”

When she’s long gone, you grab the paper she left from the table. It’s wrinkled and you smooth it as best you can beneath your fingertips. Blue ink, messily scrawled, and you commit it to memory. Closing your textbook, you leave it pressed between chapters seven and eight. 

The party is loud, louder than you’re prepared for after flaking out on so many since your first one last year. Silena brushes past you once you arrive, shoving your shoulder just enough that it twinges and you frown. You didn’t speak a word on the way here and the silent treatment is starting to drive a little crazy. 

It feels silly now, in a place so crowded, and you breathe deeply. Someone points you in the direction of the kitchen after multiple attempts at asking and you miss the light chaos of throwing up outside the Stolls’ dorm with your best friend. 

You grab a beer, using the table edge to pop the cap off, and it helps to ease the tightness in your chest at how unfamiliar this all is. You’re not sure you could even find the restroom, let alone a singular person.

Pushing back into the bulk of the party, you vow to leave if you don’t find him before you finish your beer. There’s a project you have to start looking into for next semester that could be a good use of time tonight. 

If anyone tried to convince you that most of campus was here, you’d be willing to believe them. A drink raised in Lee’s direction, a nod to Ethan from last years’ stats class, a half-hearted smile at Rachel, who raises an eyebrow at you like she knows something no one else does. 

And maybe she does, because you turn away from her to find Luke just feet away, gesturing animatedly to the guy next to him. There’s a beer in his hand and a hat on his head and his phone number so deeply etched in your mind since last night that you hardly think about it until you’re standing next to him again, drink placed on a table somewhere along the way.

“Hi,” he smiles and his scar shifts with it. He turns to the guy from before. “We’ll catch up later, man.”

“Have I ever told you that I hate that fucking hat?” 

“I sort of got that when you threw it across the room.” His lips wrap around the rim of his bottle and you think you can be normal about it, go back to the way things were, until he smirks just slightly and you know you can’t. 

“You’re such a sore loser, Castellan,” you mutter as you push yourself up to snatch it from his head. He doesn’t comment, lets your fingers brush through his curls until they’re a complete mess instead of compacted. He glances down at the cap in your hand and mutters, “And what is your genius plan for my hat?”

It’s a really fucking good question. Short of getting it off his head, you didn’t know what you were going to do. It’s one thing to throw it across an empty room in the dark, another thing entirely to abandon it to a frat party. So you choose the next best thing - placing it on your own head and daring him to question it. 

“I guess that can work,” Luke says and it sounds like a promise soaked in laughter. 

Neither of you find it as funny when he has to tip the visor upwards to kiss you.

[heartlilith]

The Rising Signs

Aries Rising

❤️Probably has something that makes them stand out whether that be tattoos, scars, or a birth mark

❤️Masculine features - defined jawline, thick eyebrows, muscular body, intense eyes

❤️Always looks like they’re on their way to bitch someone out hahaha

❤️High energy placement - walks quickly and with purpose, hates slow people and slow drivers (probably drives fast too)

❤️Don’t mess with people they care about because they will bitch you tf out on the spot

Taurus Rising

🌿Chill reserved stoner vibes

🌿Not a morning person whatsoever

🌿Likes the finer things in life; you’ll see them in nice clothes and even if their clothes aren’t expensive they look like it because they take care of their stuff

🌿Loves going out to eat

🌿Probably has a mother who cooks some bomb ass food 

Gemini Rising

✨Ive noticed a lot of Gemini risings have blonde hair and usually on the taller side

✨Smarter than you or at least they think they are

✨They are smart though and know the most random facts ever … but interesting none the less

✨Loves music and has a diverse taste

✨People like them because they’re easy to talk to and they’re very interesting; they have cool hobbies/skills and they tell funny/memorable stories

Cancer Rising

🦀 Looks like 🌚 and also they really resemble dolls

🦀 Females can act bitchy or defensive when first meeting them because they’re really sensitive but don’t want you to know cause they think it’s a weakness

🦀Same with males but probably worse - feels like they have to take on more Martian traits because they feel like being sensitive is shameful

🦀They have the cheeks that grandmas always pinching

🦀They also have a resting bitch face just like Capricorn rising but unlike their sister sign they wear their emotions, you can always tell if they’re pissed off

Leo Rising

☀️Beautiful hair but we already know that - they also have full lips and literally resemble the sun - happy, good vibes, and just a beam of fucking sunshine

☀️Want to do everything fun they make great friends

☀️High self esteem and even if they don’t, you wouldn’t know because they naturally come off as confident

☀️Kids love them

☀️Very comfortable in their skin especially as they get older

Virgo Rising

🥑 They look really “clean” if you know what I mean - like they always look neat and simple in a good way

🥑Beautiful skin and symmetrical faces

🥑I’ve noticed these people can get along and talk with anyone about anything thanks to their mutable energy

🥑Likes to match everything - clothes and accessories, nails with outfits, etc

🥑Can look younger than they really are

Libra Rising

💕Super sociable, polite, and kind

💕Probably popular in highschool or at least in their friend group

💕Can be fake nice to someone and talk about them behind their backs later

💕Aesthetically pleasing instagram

💕Great at doing makeup

Scorpio Rising

🦂Dark just dark - their eyes look dark even if they’re light colored, dark auras, tattoos, literally looks like a fucking shadow ok

🦂Doesn’t realize they death glare people they hate

🦂I love these people tbh they’re so intriguing and beautiful in a mysterious way

🦂DEFINITELY attracts obsessive people and friends

🦂Probably feels like they’ve been 20 different people in their lifetime - always transforming their image and looks

Sagittarius Rising

🗿Ok legssss 👏 fr tho they have stallion legs

🗿Also likes the finer things in life and will probably get them because they’re lucky in life and blessed

🗿Really funny placement and someone you want to have around all the time to do fun shit with

🗿Carefree for the most part but they have certain triggers that they’ll cause a fit over

🗿Usually hates commitment (depending on other aspects and planets) because they don’t want to be tied down or have a loss of freedom

Capricorn Rising

🪵 Resting bitch face - their face literally screams “please don’t talk to me”

🪵Likes neutral colors for clothes and such

🪵Wise asf and literally downloads information from the gods or maybe they’ve lived 100 lives who knows but they definitely know

🪵Will not be falling for your bullshit or buying any dream you sell

🪵Strives to be self sufficient and independent - oh and also NO SCRUBS (shoutout TLC)

Aquarius Rising

💨Kinda look like aliens but in a hot sexy way

💨Can get along with anyone they talk to like Virgo Rising

💨Rebellious and a trendsetter who can attract a lot of copy cats

💨These people actually knew the song before it was famous

💨Has a lot of friends that are all different personalities - they could have one nerdy smart friend and another friend that’s the captain of the football team (this is cliche but yk what I mean)

Pisces Rising

🐟Looks like a mermaid

🐟Beautiful people and angelic looking but they can’t see that so when people compliment them or stare they don’t really get it

🐟Looks different in every photo they’re in

🐟Another placement that attracts creeps and stalkers

🐟Picks up everyone’s energies around them which is why it’s important for them to be around good people

[iatnen]

daniel and sebastian defo the type of couple to explosively break up at breakfast and be making out sloppy style at dinner, people ask ominis whose side he takes when they argue and he threatens to avada himself

Exactly

I’ve let my inbox pile up for long enough I NEED TO GET TO THEM NOW SO HERE I GO

Oooof I had a hard time with this one….. I was stuck between pride and greed. I mean if you push Daniel’s character to the veerrryyy extreme he’d be a success hungry guy who craves recognition and validation 😅 And Daniel’s main flaw would be his short temper LOL

Doesn’t like being seen as less than > goes out of his way to be the best > gets mad when he doesn’t reach his own expectations/what he thinks other people’s expectations are + insecurity of his own abilities = anger issues…… does that make sense 🤔😰 hopefully HAHAHA

What makes Daniel laugh? Sebastian 😙 NAAAHHHH but fr pretty much just anything that makes the average teenage boy laugh….. like skibidi toilet (ironically) 😸 Sarcasm, irony, anything that’s funny bc of how unfunny it is, I think that describes Daniel’s humor in a few words

For his laugh… hmmm

Well first he’s not the type of guy to really laugh out loud or cackle, when something is funny it’s usually more like one of those short little exhale laughs yk ??? But I mean if he’s really going to LOL he would be sorta airy, breathy, starts with a wheeze kinda laugh that just goes silent and then broken by a sudden gasp for breath YK??? Likeee I suck so bad at explaining but those out of breath laughs is what I’m imagining

Ominis is both of their friends but it’s a little complicated 😅 ofc Ominis would be conflicted cuz of the dark arts stuff yk still he doesn’t hate either of them. Daniel and Ominis had a very rocky start, in the end they respect each other on their own choices and views. Ominis separates Daniel from Sebastian’s actions, so he isn’t angry at him for whatever happened with the relic and Solomon etc. (even if he lowkey enabled Sebastian 😰)

I like to think that Omini would take on the role of the “responsible one” in the group when they’re together, while Sebastian is the one coming up with the crazy ideas and Daniel is like “ok!!!”. He’s still closer to Sebastian than to Daniel just bc of how long they’ve known each other but yah they’re all good friends and hang out yay !!! 😙

HI ANON ! TYSMMMM it’s so shocking to read that people like Daniel too…. Like THAT’S MY OC GUYS !!! 😦 WHAAATTT !!!??!!

I’m truly motivated by such messages when I get them 😿😿😿 I know I don’t answer every single one like this but I NEVER DELETE THEM !!! I keep them in my inboxes and read them whenever I need a little push to draw so THANK YOU ALL

HAHAHA well I hope you’re being careful when opening my posts at school….. some of them are uhhh 😳

I honestly had no idea what OTP meant for the longest time, I just saw it everywhere BUT YAY THAT’S SO EPIC YET STRANGE TO HEAR LIKE…. I CAN’T BELIEVE PPL LOVE THE QUIDDITCH BROS ???!! (I think I’m just gonna call them that now)

And finally thank you to these two for the sunflowers 🙏 I was surprised to even get one THANK YOU 🌻🌻

[smehur]

Some Harry/Draco Fic Recs

There is so much great fic in this fandom, I'm struggling to keep track of everything I read and like. I already mentioned some of my early favorites here, but I have since found several more.

In no particular order:

Hermione Granger's Hogwarts Crammer for Delinquents on the Run by waspabi

In which Harry did not go to Hogwarts, but is instead found by a group of seventh year students led by Hermione, and recruited for the war at the ripe age of 17.

I'm not usually a fan of AUs, but this charmed me within the first few paragraphs with irresistible characterization. Harry is a little different than how I imagine him, but the premise allows for it. And the Harry/Draco romance is possibly the sweetest, softest I've seen so far. 10/10 would read again.

In Pieces by dysonrules

Harry returns to Hogwarts as the new DADA instructor, only to find his teaching efforts thwarted by a very familiar ghost.

When I got this rec myself, I wasn't sure I would like it, because, well, the summary spells it out, doesn't it? But I ended up loving it. It's incredibly sweet and tender and sad and hot. I couldn't put it down.

An Emerald In The Sky by corvuscrowned

The hardest part about shagging an Unspeakable is that they’re not allowed to speak of anything. All Draco knows is that Harry works in Time. Harry works in Time, and while he’s out there in all of that time, it is as unforgiving to him as it is to anyone. Somewhere along the way, Draco realizes he's been thinking in lines, when he should have been thinking in circles.

This story moved me like few others. It's a masterpiece of 'show, don't tell' in that elusive way I have never been able to tap in my own writing. It speaks in images, and the images capture incredibly specific, perfectly chosen details that paint years and decades of slowly fading hope. Just the thing for one who considers their own aging and mortality increasingly often.

Take You Home by lq_traintracks (lumosed_quill)

Everybody’s a little fucked up after the war, Draco especially. What starts as hate sex after a night out, eventually turns into something else, something more like comfort. And even though his friends all tell Harry he’s just being used, all Harry’s doing is making sure Draco gets home in one piece. He’s not falling helplessly in love.

From the author of one of my early favorites (Right Hand Red), a hugely enjoyable read that makes love to a post-war Draco (and his long hair in a man-bun that he fastens with his wand). I gulped this down in one sitting.

Hey, Potter by SunseticMonster

Harry returns to Hogwarts for his 8th year, determined not to let Malfoy get to him. But when the snarky teasing starts up again, Harry finds that returning the jibes with compliments has a far more interesting outcome.

I am in love with this premise. It works so well? While I wished for a bit more shipping and a bit less collateral, I still enjoyed this story immensely and went on to read almost everything the author wrote for the pairing.

An Issue of Consequence by Faith Wood

Draco has woken up in an alternate universe. Or he has woken up utterly insane. Nothing else can possibly explain why Harry Potter suddenly seems to think he's Draco's boyfriend.

The light-hearted summary belies the gravity of the plot of yet another favorite tale from the pen of my favorite author. The POV immersion is so deep that I absolutely did not see the resolution of the mystery until it was revealed, and then I was just as shocked as Draco. Fabulous stuff.

A Doll's Tale by Faith Wood

Harry/Draco, as observed by Draco's childhood doll. Please note, this doll is very self-absorbed.

This... broke me a little, lol. Don't get me wrong, there's nothing (too) heavy, angsty or dark about this story. It's as innocent as they get? But it just clicked so well with the idea I've been brewing in my own (yet to be published) writings, of Draco as this... sensitive boy hiding under the guise of confidence and cruelty. And the plot-twist, Merlin. Was it obvious? Maybe, but not to me! It struck me like a (fluffy toy) train and days later, I'm still recovering. I want to take this fic and hug it when I go to sleep.

Actually, I'm in a bit of a pickle, as my instinct is to list pretty much every single thing written by Faith Wood that I've read so far. But that would be silly, so I'll list only one more, as a treat.

Beholden by Faith Wood

Draco Malfoy might not be a killer, but it turns out he's an effective painkiller. If stopping pain was all Draco's touch did, things might not be so complicated, but either way Harry can't afford to be choosy.

I already mentioned this one in that inaugural post I linked at the very top, but: 1) it's now completed and can be safely binged on; and 2) the only thing I said about it back then is that it deals with chronic pain, which was particularly relevant at the time because I was at the peak of sciatica and could relate to poor Harry all too well. But that's just one of the many merits of this incredible story. Now that I'm feeling better, I'd praise it first and foremost for the patient exploration of the characters' inner worlds and the gradual, methodical and inexorable buildup of their feelings and convictions that eventually leads to falling in love. A masterpiece of slow burn. I plan not only to read this again, but to study it in the hopes of improving my own craft.

Tagging the authors I found on here: @dysonrules @faith2wood @corvuscrowned @lqtraintracks and also my friend @kuraiummei who helped me find some of these gems.

Thank you for enriching my life. ❤️

[thevampiremarie]

Summertime Sadness (part 2)

Simon "Ghost" Riley x reader

Second chance romance, heavy angst, hurt/very little comfort

Ten years ago: the first time you met Simon

Today: the first time Ghost meets you

Tags: mental illness, therapeutic boarding school, self harm, suicide attempt/suicidality, self harm, abuse, parental abandonment, much the same as last chapter. This fic is unedited because I don’t feel like editing it lol. If you see spelling/grammar issues, no you didn’t.

TEN YEARS AGO

Reader POV

-

It’s intake day.

Intake day happens once a week, always on Wednesday.

You don’t know why they pick Wednesday. It seems pretty arbitrary, doesn’t it?

On intake day, the nurses and counselors make all the current residents of the inpatient program line up to greet the newbies. You actually look forward to intake day. Everyone here is so boring and routine; your roommate never speaks unless spoken to and she always keeps her earbuds in. On intake day, the hope that someone nice will be admitted survives for the few hours of the intake itself.

It usually dies right after. There was one polite girl who smiled when you waved last week, but she was transferred to a different facility that night before you could learn her name.

You’ve been here for three weeks, so that’s three intake days.

You’re not sure why you’ve been here so long. It seems a little excessive; you’d think by now they’d realize your stuff isn’t so bad and maybe you could transition to outpatient appointments?

It’s a little dissociation and some minor depression. Not bad at all.

But your doctors agree, albeit gently, that you should stay for the full five month course.

The program isn’t so bad. The facility sits on a sprawling multi-acre property in the British countryside, where everything is beautiful and verdant and always chilly. It’s lovely. The tea is good. You’re getting used to how they take it here. It’s nothing like the sweet tea you drink back home.

You suppose that’s another reason why they won’t let you go home even though you’re okay; there isn’t a home to go back to. Your dad hasn’t looked you in the eye since Mom left. At least the orderlies here greet you in the morning.

(What Dad doesn’t know is that before she left, she told you she loved you and to wait for her. Soon, she’ll take you away from this place and you’ll never have to see your dad again.)

Before you head to the foyer, you check your hair in the mirror of your room’s suicide-proofed bathroom. A young teenage face stares back at you with cheeks flushed red from the sun. You trace your deep smile lines with the tip of your finger, then practice smiling. You would have feel better about moving to a therapeutic boarding school if you’d been greeted with a smile.

At first, you think the newest crop of poor souls will be uninteresting at best. Listless rich kids detoxing off Mommy’s coke, frightened preteens who’ve never been away from their parents for an extended period of time, and a few teenagers straight from an ER, IV bags and all.

And then you see him get off the bus last.

He’s tall, towering over everyone else. A lanky, almost skeletal build, with a bored, aloof expression on his face. He hides the Zippo lighter he was playing with in his sleeve before the nurses catch and confiscate it.

There’s something horrifically severe about him. He can’t be more than a couple of years older than you, but he carries himself like he’s a blade and the world is filled with monsters.

His eyes are large and dark, rich brown irises rimmed with pale blonde eyelashes. And they’re kind, even though he would probably hate having that pointed out.

You decide then and there that you’ll befriend him. He could use a friend; everyone here does. He’s beautiful in his sharpness and elegant in his abrasiveness. Maybe you can coax more of that hidden kindness out, show him that it’s worth more than his anger. You wouldn’t be able to stay away if you tried.

You both like playing with fire, though you prefer less literal ones.

-

TODAY

Ghost POV

-

Your smile fades swiftly as if it was never there to begin with.

There are two ghosts in this room. That’s what you are; a ghost of the girl he knew.

He watches and waits for you to shift uncomfortably and start blabbering to fill the silence like you used to. “Why’d you make them call me?” Ghost asks when it’s clear that you won’t.

As soon as you explain, he’s out of here. Ghost meant it when he said he never wanted to see you again.

You’re the last living reminder of the past he’s tried so hard to kill. The beeping sounds of your heart monitor spell out his mistakes in a grating, irritating rhythm.

Your answer disappoints his expectations. “I didn’t actually think you’d show.” Ghost doesn’t hear any wistfulness or longing in your voice, anything that would tell him that you’re clinging on to the boy you thought he was. Only a bone-dry and hollow statement of facts.

“What do you want?”

You ignore his question. At fifteen, you were good at that. At twenty-five, you’re better. “You got any cigarettes I could bum? You look like you still smoke them,” You say as you fiddle with your torn, bleeding nail beds with the classic anxiety of nicotine withdrawal.

He does that too when a mission stretches too long without a resupply and he finishes his cigarettes early to stave off hunger.

Ghost remembers fighting with you over the pack of smokes he smuggled into the program. He would hold it way above your head and laugh as you struggled to reach them. But you never gave up - they were bad for him, and you liked him too much to see him die of lung cancer.

He remembers the determination in your eyes and your unwavering faith that he could be saved.

“They’re bad for you,” Ghost echoes.

If you remember that moment, you don’t show it. “You know what else is fucking bad for you?” Your tone is so acerbic that it gives him whiplash.

He can’t resist taking a shot. “What, being a prick?” You just… bring out the worst in him. You make him feel as unhinged and unmoored as he was when you first met.

You roll your bloodshot eyes.

“I wasn’t going to call you out on that. I was going to say benzos and vodka. Also throwing yourself headfirst off a bridge.”

“Oh.”

What is he supposed to say to that?

“Why did you come?” You ask after a long moment of quiet interspersed by that fucking heart monitor.

Ghost grinds his teeth into each other as he reflects. He hates doing that; the inside of his skull is a bad place. “…I don’t know,” He admits. Coming here was a mistake; Ghost understands that now.

The foul taste on the back of his tongue is guilt. But why? You did this to yourself. You brought him here to play games and fuck him up, so why is he the one who feels… bad?

You sigh. “Simon-“

“Ghost. It’s Ghost now,” He cuts you off with more violence than necessary.

Your mouth settles into a tight, pained line. “Ghost. Go away.”

“But you called me here.”

That provokes a reaction.

Ghost sees it and immediately wishes it hadn’t.

You stare him straight in the eye, your dilated pupils peel back his mask and see the face underneath. Your skin is tinged gray and your bottom lip blooms red with blood from where you’ve bitten through it.

He wants back the child sobbing for his forgiveness on her knees, who looked at him like he hung the stars in the sky.

“And it was a mistake, and I should never have done it, and I just wanted the satisfaction of knowing you weren’t going to pick up the phone. That I was truly alone.”

So the memory of him is a knife you’re using on yourself. Fucking disturbing.

“Oh.”

You raise an eyebrow as you wave. “Bye.”

Right.

That’s it.

Though your dismissal rankles, Ghost does as you ordered and takes his leave of you.

His work phone vibrates a few times.

Only one person calls that it. “Captain,” Ghost greets.

Captain Price clears his throat on the other side of the line. “Lieutenant. When can we expect you back?”

‘Tomorrow’ is on the tip of Ghost’s tongue.

He’s never taken a day off in his career, which means he’s got at least a year or two in built up vacation time. “I’ll be gone for a while longer, sir. Not sure yet how long,” Ghost answers promptly.

It’s only for a few more days, a week at most. Long enough to make sure you won’t try to kill yourself again, long enough for the guilt freezing his blood and choking his lungs to fade.

“Alright, Lieutenant. Keep us posted.”

“Yes, sir.”

TAGGING: @devcica @igotmajordaddyissues @almightywdm @copiasratscheese @nerdyreaderpapi @schmelscorner

[natalievoncatte]

“Your son just kicked me, Miss Luthor-Danvers.”

Kara looked over to the couch, where Lena bad stopped reading her book, which now lay propped on the dome of her stomach. She looked absolutely exhausted, with dark circles beneath her eyes, marring paler than usual skin.

The pregnancy was taking its toll on Lena, but just as difficult for Lena was the order to remain on pelvic rest, as were the Herculean caloric requirements of gestating a Kryptonian child on Earth. Lena Luthor was the type of woman who grew more fatigued from orders to lay up in bed, and Kara had to practically bat her phone out of her hand to stop her from answering emails at all hours of the night.

Kara swung out from behind the kitchen island, carrying another smoothie with a carefully selected mix of fruits, vegetables, and protein powder.

“Blegh,” Lena said, as she choked down a gulp of the stuff. Does it have to be so sweet?”

Kara didn’t answer. Lena looked haggard by her own usual standards, but to Kara, she was the most gorgeous thing she’d ever seen. Yes, she was pale, but there as a rosy glow in her cheeks and though she sighed and complained and groused, rarely had there been such joy in her eyes. One of Kara’s new favorite things was catching Lena unawares, finding her smiling at nothing and cradling protective arms around the new life coming to being within her.

After she gulped down the last of the thick, gloppy shake -which Lena had given the appetizing name of ‘nutrient slurry mark one’, she turned halfway on the couch.

“There he goes again,” said Lena, sighing.

Kara reached out with a trembling hand, resting it gently on the warm curve of Lena’s skin. She went quiet for a moment, forcing back the tears. Thinking about this overwhelmed her. She’d never dreamed she’d really have this, much less with the most beautiful and kind woman she’d ever known. A soft twitch against her palm made her grin from ear to ear.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying this. I’d like to get some sleep.”

Kara chewed at her lip for a moment.

“What if I try singing to him?”

Lena raised a sharp eyebrow.

“Alex gave me an article that says that babies can hear us while they’re in the womb.”

Lena’s head fell back against the cushions.

“Do you know any lullabies?”

Kara swallowed, hard.

“Yes.”

There was a pause, as Kara worked herself up, pulling the words from the lost days of her youth, across an ocean of stars beneath a far distant sun.

She more spoke than sang at first, until her voice grew into something soft and light, like a rare flower opening its petals to greet the sun. By the time she really began to sing, Lena was smiling, listening intently.

Kara dug deep in her memory for the words to the traditional Kryptonian lullaby, a promise from a young mother to her child lost in the wilderness, an invocation to come home safe to loving arms before the reunited in the final verses.

When Kara finished she looked up and saw that Lena was fast asleep, her hand now resting atop Kara’s as it rested on Lena’s belly. Tenderly, Kara drew her hand back and, with practiced ease, raised Lena in her arms and carried her back to the bedroom, another Kryptonian verse flowing softly from old memories, and the eventually they slept, until sunrise.

[buckbuckleykinard]

here's a little snippet from a fic i probably wont ever finish but may repurpose into something else

He curls his legs into his chest and presses the warm glass of his phone screen to his ear.  With his free hand, he drags his fingers across the rough, night cold grit of the stone beneath them, just to feel the scratch against his skin.  Little grits of sand and moss lift up and stick in the whorls of his fingerprints as his phone rings once, twice, three times–

“Evan?  Are you okay”

Tommy’s voice is drowned out a little by the distant but unmistakable sound of chopper blades whirring to a stop.  It’s only 6pm in L.A. and Tommy is still on shift.

“Shit, you’re at work.  Sorry.  I forgot about the time difference.  I’m fine I–”

“It’s okay.  We just got back from a call, just give me a second to get somewhere quieter and I can talk.”

Buck considers telling him it’s fine, that he’s fine, that his crisis can wait till Tommy isn’t at the tail-end of a 24 but the problem with that is that he wants. And maybe he’s selfish and childish and all the terrible things his parents think he is but maybe Tommy wants, too.  

Because Tommy answered his call.

“Okay, I’m in the bunks now.  How are you?  How are your parents?”

“I'm good.” A lie. “My parents are fine.  How they usually are.”  The painful truth.

A semi truck speeds by, blaring its horn at nothing, headlights cutting through the dusty blue evening.

“How are they usually?”

Mean, Buck wants to say.  Careless, oblivious, belittling.  Maddie always says they’re not bad people, just bad parents, and he has always parroted it back.  He feels like he’s said it so often that it had just become true, but at the time he hadn’t been around them.  It was easier to put on some rose-coloured glasses and pretend that things were better than they actually were, or at least less painful.

“I don’t think they like me very much.” Maybe it’s too honest but he finds the more they talk, the more he wants to be honest with Tommy.  Some wicked part of him thinks that maybe if he shows this man the ugly, jealous rot of his insides, that he’ll leave before it hurts too much.  That it won’t be like Abby, who he’d thought he loved, or Taylor who he knew he did.

His parents loved Daniel, and how fucked up is it that he’s jealous of someone whose dead.  Then again, maybe they're more alike than he thought because yes, they had loved him, but they erased him too.  They scrubbed their lives clean of him, threw out his things and painted over the glow in the dark stars on the ceiling.  Maybe the only difference is that Buck is still alive.

“Yeah?” Tommy says, a little probing but kind.  Buck knows that if he dropped it, if he moved on to something lighter, that Tommy would let him.

“They repainted my room”  He knows it's ridiculous as soon as it comes out of his mouth.

“They didn’t tell you they were going to?”  Tommy asks, like this is a completely normal thing for an adult man to be upset about.

“No, they didn’t say anything.  They threw out all my stuff too.  Not that there was a lot there, but stil–”

“They should have at least given you the opportunity to come get what you wanted to keep.”

“Yeah, exactly!”  He says with a chuckle.  “I mean, I’m pretty sure my skateboard was still in the closet up there.  They’re not cheap, you know.”

“You skateboard?”  Tommy asks.  Buck swears that he can hear the smile in his voice.  

“I used to, sort of.  I'm pretty sure I spent more time falling off than actually riding.”

“God, you were a total punk in high school, weren’t you?”  Tommy laughs.  It’s nice, like warm honey settling low in Buck’s stomach. 

“Oh, definitely.  I think I spent most of my childhood injured in one way or another.”  It’s hard for him, looking back, to find a memory that doesn’t include bandages or a cast or a sling of some kind.

“You know, considering that the first time we met was flying a helicopter into a hurricane, I’m really not surprised to find out that you’re incredibly reckless with your own safety.”

“I had a motorcycle, too.  Got it basically as soon as I learned how to drive.”

“God, Evan.”  His voice is still tinged with amusement.  It floors him a little, how Tommy had managed to steer the conversation away from his morose family musings toward something lighter.  It makes Buck want to run through every time he’s ever almost died.  Chase away the amusement and ruin this on purpose before he does it by accident.

“Does it bother you?”

“Depends on why you're doing it.”  Tommy doesn’t ask what he means, doesn’t need to.  Buck wonders if he can smell his insecurities through the phone line.  He waits for Tommy to continue.

“Every time you go into work, you put yourself in dangerous situations to save lives.  So do I.  That’s the job.”  Buck can hear some shifting from Tommy’s end, tries to imagine him sitting on the edge of one of the bunks at the Harbour station, phone pressed against his ear.  Maybe he’s gotten more comfortable, lying down, eyes closed as he tries to get a little bit of rest between calls.  They shouldn’t be having this conversation over the phone, but the thought of having to do this in person, to have to look Tommy in the eyes and ask to be soothed, sends a chill through him that's much stronger than the one caused by the rapidly cooling evening air.

Some kind of sports car speeds by, music thundering through the closed windows as it slows around the corner and disappears.

“But being reckless with your life because the only time you felt like your parents looked after you was when you were hurting?  Yeah, that bothers me.”

And there it is, The Breaking Point.  He’s found a way to push Tommy too far.  Tommy, who’d already given him far more chances than he deserved.

“I mean, I’m familiar with shitty parents, believe me, but if I made my kid feel so unloved that they thought they had to hurt themselves to get my attention, I don’t think I’d ever forgive myself.”

Huh.

That’s unexpected.

“Evan?”

“Yeah, sorry, I’m here.”  There is another beat of silence.

“Sorry, if I overstepped.  I didn’t mean-”

“You didn’t.”  Buck says, definitively.  “I’ve just never really had anyone see it like that?”

“Like what?  What do you mean?”

“Like my reckless behaviour isn’t some sort of defect of my personality.  Like maybe, I was hurting, too."

[ct-multifandom]

Miraculous s6 Trailers Breakdown

Before I get into it, if it calms anyone’s nerves, I think this poster is a case of questionable graphic design. The weird official render style makes the characters look different from normal, plus Chat, Carapace, and Rena are all squished to match Ladybug’s proportions on the poster. This is an interesting choice from the designer: making the smallest character in the group take up the entire height and corresponding width of the poster and then awkwardly smushing the others in next to her. That’s why Carapace looks more short and stout than usual, and why Chat and Rena are kinda elongated. It doesn’t help that they shrunk Rena to accommodate her fox ears.

I’m liking the little updates to the hero suits. I honestly wasn’t expecting to see change for anyone but Ladybug and Chat, so now I’m excited to see everyone else. I love the changes on Carapace. They took his old, pretty simple suit and added a lot of new textures like the chest plate and wrist guards, and they gave him fingerless gloves and neck speakers. This gives me hope that they’ll update other designs that get criticized for just being a bodysuit with a decal on it like Ryuko and Viperion’s into something more interesting.

Rena is very similar, but her ears are bigger and pointier, the flute has been redesigned, her palms are white now, she has big poppin’ eyeliner, and her tail seems to be dark. Some people noted that they seem to be making Alya’s skin look darker after accusations of whitewashing her, so I hope they’ll finally give Pegasus the same treatment.

I’ve seen people say LB and CN must’ve taken influence from their reverse selves for their current designs, and CN seems to have some PV nods like his new shirt collar. Ladybug’s design feels more mature and is probably a response to criticism of her looking too simple as a character with a fashion interest among other superheroes with more detailed designs.

I didn’t include the poster of Marinette’s outfit, but overall I like it. I agree with people saying the bow on her shirt feels extra, but I like her emonette jacket. Her tights under jorts remind me of Mylene’s outfit, making me wonder if there’s some character influence there, or if they’ll be changing Mylene’s clothes so they don’t look too similar.

First look at Alya! Yay! I love her new haircut. It reminds me of Haru from persona 5. She seems to be wearing the same shirt, which is lame. Maybe the rest of her outfit has changed, or maybe they’re not fixing what isn’t broke. It’s disappointing, though, that Adrien’s outfit looks the same. I can only dream that they’re leading up to a makeover scene where he realizes he’s allowed to pick out his own clothes now, but alas.

Here Adrien is jogging with a new character (?) who has a prosthetic leg. There’s no good look at their face and even this screenshot sucks. If this is the same scene as Marinette with binoculars, then we might be getting a rare moment of a new character being introduced through Adrien rather than Marinette, perhaps someone he knows from rich people stuff or whatever nebulous and dubiously canon sports he participates in.

This frame appears after a camera pan right from a modernized remodel of the school. Before, there were average city blocks around the school, so whatever this is might be part of an expanded campus built for Bustier’s utopian academy.

I think I’ve written in a post before that I hope ML does something to commemorate the Paris 2024 Olympics, so I’m thrilled to see an Olympian akuma in the trailer! Perhaps this character is a celebrity cameo, but idk anything about Team France and its stars. It’s possible this scenario will be a special episode as well, but maybe more like the plastic special than the world specials. I hope they have to beat her by competing in games like Penalteam but with less cheating. It’d be awesome if the other heroes helped represent events that fit their characters. An episode like that would be a fun and light way to introduce the new animation and hero designs without diving into deep overarching drama and lore.

Perhaps the character jogging with Adrien is connected to this episode since they have a prosthetic running leg and seem athletic.

Here’s our first look at Lila’s akumatization. Her mask thing is very pretty and soft looking compared to Gabriel’s sharp, geometric, simple one. It reminds me of a masquerade mask with all the swirls. Maybe there’s some visual symbolism here of Lila being a more complex butterfly user than Hawkmoth. We also see her shooting some sort of beam at CN from the mask, maybe separate from the akuma’s power. I hope they’ll revisit the somewhat-retconned bloodbending power we saw Hawkmoth use on Evillustrator and Pixelator and explore the full extent of the butterfly’s power over their akumas.

Tomoe? Astruc said he wants Kagami to fight her and take her down further down the road, and I believe she may be a bigger villain than they’re making her out to be now. Lila is great and all, but an adult threat who owns a tech megacorp and is one of the only surviving members of Gabriel’s creepy billionaire sentibaby cult seems like a scarier enemy than the pathological liar from class. We don’t know Lila’s deal yet, but I imagine her villain motives are probably something deeply personal. Meanwhile, Tomoe might be trying to reach some greater goal that Gabriel failed to achieve. Both she and Lila practically had all the fruits of his evil labor fall into their laps without lifting a finger, so they might have an interesting dynamic as rival villains or fake allies.

Okay this is from the London special. The synopsis says someone found Ladybug’s identity to take her down, and she and Bunnyx have to solve the mystery and reverse the events. This masked person looks like they may be the enemy, and their design is themed after the rabbit miraculous. People have been kinda assuming that it’s just Lila, but everyone in the audience knows she’s the next big villain right now, so it feels like a cop-out to frame this special as a mystery. It could still be her, and it’s just a mystery to the heroes, but what if the enemy is someone else? If they’re using the rabbit miraculous, Lila wouldn’t have access to it during season 5 unless she stole it somehow and gave it back unnoticed.

My theory is that the villain is Tomoe who got the miraculous from Gabriel. The trailer shows catbug looking in on Adrien and Kagami in their white rooms, so maybe during that time, Gabriel sent rabbit!Tomoe after Ladybug to ensure his victory in the upcoming finale, and maybe she has her own motives as well.

I recall Zag releasing concepts of some hero or spy characters from London a long time ago, and I thought they’d be for the London world special like Eagle and Lady Dragon, but maybe they’re for a different show or got scrapped in favor of focusing on the main miraculous plot (which honestly, good. Please focus on the existing characters)

Finally, poor Nooroo in Lila’s creepy catacomb bunker. I hope her jumpscare reaction at the end of s5 wasn’t just the sight of him. It would feel odd after the latest of Marinette’s hero friends were totally chill seeing kwamis for the first time. He’s in some bubble here. Maybe it’s stopping him from sharing things he’s not allowed to say, or maybe Lila is forcing him to stay put? I’m also curious about the angle and what that metal bar is a part of. Is Lila sitting under a table?

Anyway! TLDR I like the new designs overall and I’m excited to see everyone else. I’m also excited at the prospect of an Olympics episode and I think Tomoe may be the next big villain next to or even surpassing Lila.

[fanfoolishness]

Growing Pains

This one came to me as a combination of prompts from @thecoffeelorian (who sent Tech and Crosshair + Cadet as a prompt!) and @summer-of-bad-batch, whose week 1 prompt was water gun fight. Somehow my brain mashed them together and here we are!

Crosshair has trouble sleeping, but Tech has an idea for a distraction. Cadet Batch, brothers being brothers, pure fluff. ~1700 words.

-

Tap tap tap.

Tap.

Tap tap.

Crosshair growled, rolling over in his bunk and kicking his legs out from under his blanket.  “Tech,” he warned.

There was no answer. Crosshair lay on his back, scowling up at the ceiling.  He reached down and rubbed his shins, wincing.  They throbbed and ached. 

More growing pains. He was so sick of them.  Nala Se said they were normal, that pain medication wouldn’t help. Crosshair wished he could just grow up already and be done with them.

He lifted his hand, nibbling at the dry skin around his fingernails, biting at it until he tasted blood.  He frowned, balling his hand into a fist and jerking it away.

Tap tap.

“Will you stop tinkering and go to sleep?” Crosshair hissed.  

“Hm?” Tech asked from across the room, where he was working on a half-scuttled battle droid under the light of a single glow lamp.

What he was doing with it, Crosshair had no idea, but the nagging tapping wasn’t helping him get to sleep any faster.  Especially not with the way his shins pulsed and ached.

“Put that thing away and go to sleep,” Crosshair snapped. “Haven’t you noticed it’s been lights out for hours?”

“You can usually sleep through my projects,” Tech said, adjusting his goggles. He got up, padding over to Crosshair and peering closely at him. Despite the late hour Tech looked as alert as ever, though his brownish hair was rumpled and dark grease smudged his cheeks.  “Why are you still awake?”

Crosshair sat up with a scowl.  “Because you’re annoying.”

Tech raised his eyebrows at him, unperturbed. “I’m no more annoying than I usually am.”

Crosshair sighed, crossing his arms over his chest.  “My legs hurt,” he confessed.  

“Oh. Growing pains.  They’re no fun.”  Tech paused, looking closely at him.  He reached out and grabbed Crosshair’s hand, examining his fingers.  “You should stop biting those, you know.”

“Shut up.”  He yanked his hand away.  “I know.  I just -- I start and it’s hard to stop sometimes.  Especially if something else is bugging me.”

Tech sat down beside him, sitting with him back to back.  Crosshair felt some of his tension fade, and he leaned into his brother, closing his eyes.  He was so tired.

But his legs twinged, as painful as ever.

“So why aren’t you asleep yet?” he asked Tech, trying to keep his mind off his legs.

“I’m trying to figure out how to reprogram this droid,” Tech said.  “Make it fight for us instead.  I know it’s a training droid, so it won’t really be fighting at all, but it’s good practice.  Maybe it’s something I could do on the battlefield, once we get our shot.”  

“Huh,” said Crosshair, impressed.  “That would be good.”  He was quiet for a minute, thinking.  “Don’t you get tired staying up, though?  You could do this stuff during the day.”

Tech fiddled with his goggles.  “I could.  But we have other training then.  I want to learn as much as I possibly can, but since we grow so quickly, that translates into less time.”  He shrugged.  “And I don’t really get tired when I’m focused.  It’s as if I go into my own little world.”

Crosshair stifled a snort.  That was an understatement.  “I’ve noticed,” he said, but considered.  He thought he knew what Tech meant.  “Like when I’m planning a really hard shot?  Everything else goes away.”

“Yes, exactly.”

Crosshair wished he had that kind of focus now.  His legs ached with another horrible set of pulses, and he rubbed at them with both hands, swearing under his breath.

“It’s particularly bad tonight, isn’t it?” 

“Yeah,” Crosshair admitted.

“You know what helps me?” Tech asked.  “Distraction.  I may have just the thing.”  He trotted back to his tangles of wires and tools.  Crosshair watched him, wondering if they’d wake up Wrecker and Hunter.  But Hunter had buried his head under his pillow, and Wrecker could sleep through anything.

“If you want me to tear apart droids with you, thanks but no thanks,” said Crosshair. He was okay with basic datapad work, but hopeless at the intricate stuff Tech managed to do without breaking a sweat.  “They don’t make any sense to me.”

“You could learn if you wanted. You’re very bright.  Not at my level, but still —“

“Tech.”

Tech finished rummaging in his pile of projects and came back to Crosshair, pressing something into his hands.  “Here.”

Crosshair looked down at what appeared to be a small white blaster, but with a curious tank attached to it.  He lifted it and heard it slosh.  “What is it?”

“A water blaster,” said Tech. “They won’t let us have real blasters to practice with in here, of course, but I thought I’d try making something like this for practice.”  He held up a little board of shiny white material with a black target drawn on it.  “Where do you want this?”

Crosshair grinned.  “Across the room. Give me a challenge.”

“You might find it’s more of one that you think,” said Tech. “You’ll have to account for gravity, and the minimal propulsive capabilities of this water blaster compared to the real thing.”

“Hm. I’ll be the judge of that,” said Crosshair, experimentally squirting Tech with the blaster between the eyes.  Water dripped down his nose and splattered on his goggles.

“Very funny,” Tech said, mopping his forehead and lenses with his sleeve.  He flashed Crosshair one of his little half-smiles.  “All right, let me find a spot to stick this.”

“Try over here,” Hunter groaned. “Since you two are keeping me awake anyway.”  He tapped the top of his bunk.  “I think… it’ll take Crosshair four tries before he gets a bullseye.”

“Four?” Crosshair asked, offended, as Tech affixed the target above Hunter’s bunk, across the room.  He took aim with the blaster, lining up his shot, figuring that the water would take a parabolic motion at that distance.  He fired slightly higher than the target —

And the water splashed harmlessly onto the floor a good meter away.  

Crosshair stared at the dry target, infuriated.  “You didn’t tell me this thing had no power!”

“Well, look at it,” Tech chuckled. “Do you see a power source? I just put it together with some spare casing material and a simple plunger. It’s significantly limited.  That’s why I had it set aside, I’m sure I could design something much more effective if I had the time.”  Tech sat down again amongst his wires, resuming his fiddling.

Hunter yawned, sitting up and running a hand through his shaggy hair.  “Maybe four was too generous. Maybe I should make it five tries.”

Crosshair glowered.

“What are you all blabbering about?” Wrecker mumbled. “Some of us are trying to sleep!”

“Crosshair’s trying out a new weapon,” Hunter said.  Which was the wrong thing to say around Wrecker.

“What!” Wrecker cried in excitement.  He tried to get out of his bunk, but was so tangled in his blankets that he rolled onto the floor with a thump.  From there he propped himself up on his elbows, all hint of sleepiness forgotten.  “New weapon? Where’d you get it? How’d you sneak it in? What’s it do? Can’t believe you were holding out on me —“

“It’s Tech’s. It’s just a water blaster, and not a very good one,” Crosshair said, taking aim, adjusting based on the disappointing performance of his last shot.  He experimented by slightly covering the barrel of the pistol with his fingernail, narrowing the opening, and shot a jet of water out the end. It sailed across the room, falling short of the target again but hitting Hunter square in the face.

He grinned.  That would do nicely.

“Oh that does it, Crosshair,” Hunter grumbled, wiping his face off.  “Tech! You got any more of these things?”

“Yes, I made enough for all of us,” Tech said mildly.  “Though as I said before, the design could be better…” He searched through his piles of debris and pulled out three more blasters, tossing one each to Hunter and Wrecker before whirling and squirting them both in the face with his own.

“Oh, it’s on!” Wrecker roared, rolling out of his blankets and squirting Tech three times, then training his blaster on Crosshair.

“Oh no you don’t —“

The battle was pitched and bloody.  Crosshair leapt from his bunk to take cover behind the crate that held their dirty laundry, sending out jets of water that spritzed his brothers dead in the face every time.  Wrecker charged him, wearing a blanket as armor, water from his blaster flying everywhere.  Hunter circled around on the outskirts of the fray, catching Tech from behind, but Tech pulled out a secret fifth water blaster and squirted both Hunter and Crosshair at once. 

They howled with battle cries, erupting into a mad scuffle in the center of the room, water splashing into the air, limbs a tangled frenzy.  

“I’m gonna get you!”

“I’d like to see you try!”

“You’re all dead!”

“We’ll see who has the upper hand now!”

At last the battle came to a close.  By the time they flopped onto their backs panting with exhaustion, Wrecker had a (self-inflicted) bloody nose, Hunter’s head was drenched, Tech’s goggles were halfway across the room and Crosshair had stolen all five of the blasters for himself.  

“We should do this every night,” Wrecker snorted, pinching his nose shut.

Hunter laughed, elbowing him.  “Well, it was pretty fun.”

“It was certainly a good distraction.”

Crosshair took aim with one of his blasters at the target over Hunter’s bunk.  The spray drenched the bullseye perfectly.  “There.  Three,” he said in triumph, sticking his tongue out at Hunter.

“Haha, nice one, Cross!”

“Ahhh, I knew you had it in you.  I only said four to piss you off.”

“Not that that is difficult.”

“Hey, that’s -- okay, that’s true.”

Crosshair lay on his back near his brothers, still catching his breath, his eyelids getting heavy.  He put his hands under his head and stretched out on the floor.  With the blankets Wrecker had managed to hurl around the room beneath him, he was pretty comfortable.  

Comfortable enough to stay here, just a little longer.  He yawned and his eyes fell closed.  

He drifted off to sleep, and his legs didn’t hurt at all.

[babiebom]

When You Fall (VIII)

A/N: i got the sweetest message from someone(idk if they’d want me to call them out) and somehow it made me want to start on this chapter so I guess it literally just takes someone being nice for me to actually do something lmao. Also happy new year!! Also also whenever I’m writing one of these chapters and the tumblr notif shows up it jumpscares me. Like how do y’all know?

Tw: depression, reader decides to force themself to be happy, cursing. The usual

Wc:3.0k

Previous Next Masterlist

Sweat dripped from your forehead as you attempted to clear some of the farm from debris. It was taking long to clear everything, and though you knew that most of the land would be unused until you actually got enough money to plant more things and get a coop or barn.

Shadow ran around wildly, barking happily as she snapped her teeth at the air. It’s funny, watching her as she runs. Getting pets didn’t make being in a depressive pit completely go away, but they did make that pit less dark, less daunting and lonely. Mango lazed around on the porch, his tail slowly waving side to side as he watched you.

Sticking your rake into the ground and wiping the sweat again, you grin at your animals, letting out a labored breath. “Okay, so, I love you both very very much. And I’m sorry that I can’t take you but they’re hosting an Egg Festival in the town and I’m going.”

You move to sit on the porch, Shadow dashing to crash onto your lap. You open your arms and let her move her big body onto you with a roll. “And I swear I’m not going to enjoy being away from you both, but I have to go as part of my healing. I’ll be back soon.” Neither one of them did anything other than stare at you and then go about their own business as you get up and head inside to shower. Shadow trails behind you after a moment, her tail wagging so hard her butt wiggles along with it. You take one last glance at her as you finally get in the shower, hoping the day goes by quickly.

Walking into the town’s square, it’s like a decorating bomb went off. There are banners and decorative flags and other things littered around in a way that made you think whoever decorated spent way too long out here only for them to be messed up by the wind. There’s so many layers of tape that you feel irritated for whoever had to fix it.

“Farmer!” Pierre calls out from behind his booth. You want to ignore him, not really ready for social interaction but go over to him anyways. Forcing a smile onto your lips you lean on the booth counter, looking at the things he has stocked.

Some strawberry seeds, lawn flamingos, plants, a painting, a bright pink banner, a plush bunny, and a….decorative pitchfork? What kind of stock is this? What does this have to do with the egg festival? You blink a couple times and attempt to control the look on your face, maybe you could buy a couple of strawberry seeds. Even if you don’t plant them this season you can always wait. “Hey Pierre! Selling some good stuff?”

He smiles and moves his hand around, gesturing to his stock. “Yeah, looking to buy anything?”

“Sure…a couple strawberry seed packets…and that plush bunny.”

“It’s pretty cute huh? Okay that’ll be 2,500g.”

Your breath gets caught in your throat. 2,500g? The man has to be insane! What the fuck costed so much that you were being charged this much? “Yeah, prices are a little steep. But I have to make a living somehow,” he chuckles when he sees your expression. You try hard to keep your face in check, not wanting to snap on the man in front of everyone. You were here to make progress, not to make enemies.

After giving him the money you take your new things and stuff them into your backpack. The letter said the festival ended at two, and looking at your watch it was only 9:30. That meant 4 and a half more hours of agony trying to force yourself out of a depressive pit that you aren’t really all too sure you’re ready to leave just yet for the sake of getting better.

Well, at least there’s food…

Hurrying along, the sight of the buffet table makes your mouth water. Not eating breakfast and working all morning in a large field without totally knowing what to do is a bad idea, but now that you’re looking at all the different types of food you can’t help but praise yourself for how lucky starving yourself got you. Now you can eat, then when you get home you can pass out and sleep until tomorrow. Like another rest day that feels like a reward after running around in the dirt.

As you fill your plate with food, you can see Gus and what’s his name…’Clive?’ You think to yourself, nose scrunching in confusion, ‘No, that's a stupid name. Carl? It has to be Carl…what other C names are there?’ In your thoughts you almost drop your plate and gain the attention of the two men, Gus smiles brightly and waves you over while the other man averts his eyes. Weird…

“Hey Gus!” You smile warmly at the older man. There was a twinge of stress in his eye, but it seemed rude to point that out to him. His eyes moved over the rows and rows of food and it occurs to you that he must have cooked almost everything himself being the Towns Saloon owner and all.

“Hey farmer! I was just telling Clint here…you’ve met Clint right?”

You shake your head at his question. You had only seen him around maybe once and heard his name in passing from the blue haired girl who was talking to him when you passed by and from Maru when you were in the clinic. Thank Yoba Gus said his name or you would’ve been stood awkwardly just like you are but more so because you wouldn’t have known his name. “Oh well, he’s the towns blacksmith…anyways I was just telling him how I hope everyone’s enjoying the food. I’ve been cooking for days to get the food ready.”

“Days? Wow thats a lot of work…”

“Yeah I made fried eggs, boiled eggs, poached eggs, deviled eggs, scrambled eggs, chocolate eggs, you name it!”

“I mean it is the Egg Festival…”

“Yeah, not to mention the other foods. I’d be upset if it turned out horribly.”

You take a bite of whatever was on your plate in front of him, trying to make a show of how good it is, but not really needing to act because WOW can this man cook. How’d he even make this? His eyes light up at your expressions and mannerisms, his shoulders relaxing at the sight of you enjoying the food. “No Gus, I swear this is amazing! You don’t need to worry about anyone not enjoying the food at all!”

“Thank you for the kind words, Farmer, it means a lot to me.”

You nod vigorously, not wanting to ignore him but now overcome with the urge to stuff down as much of the food as you can. What the fuck was in this? Drugs? You can’t even remember the last time you were this hungry.

With your plate you walk around, smiling at anyone who talks to you, and try to carry on conversations that you didn’t really care much about. It had been weeks since you moved here, and you were just now meeting everyone personally. There were so many people living here in Pelican Town that you wonder how you had managed to avoid 60 percent of them whenever you ventured out.

As you make your rounds to the buffet table for the second time, the sight of a bright red cape catches your eye and the man with the eyepatch flashes in your mind. You hadn’t seen him since that day, but you had to find out what those stupid jelly things are.

“Marlon!” You call out, rushing to the man in the corner. He looked surprised that you were speaking to him, but made no moves to walk away or ignore you. Instead he looked slightly pleased. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

His eyebrows quirk up in amusement, “I could say the same about you, don’t hear anything about you going around.”

You shrug and realize that just as much as you stick to your farm, he must stick to the caves and mountains. Neither bad, but awfully lonely when you think about it. You wonder if there’s anyone he lives with up there. “I just thought that you would prefer to be adventuring or something…like in the caves?”

“Yeah, but even with my bad leg I never miss a festival.”

“Oh…say you know down in the caves how there are…things right?”

“Yeah the monsters?”

“Yeah um, have you ever seen the little Jello creatures? They’re really tiny and all but are like really strong for some reason, and jump at you like they’re legless spiders?”

“The slimes? Yeah you have to be careful with them. They might be easy to defeat but can quickly overwhelm you if you’re not careful.”

He frowns at you and you swallow. That’s exactly what had happened. The stupid things were just too much the more you ventured down. But you’d be ready for them next time, and whatever else is down there. “Yeah, they kinda kicked my ass last time I went into the caves.”

He nods solemnly, as if he could relate. Maybe he could relate, having a bad leg and an injured eye and living up there. There had probably been times that he’s gotten overwhelmed and hurt. The thought sends a shiver down your spine. If he could get hurt down there, and you have already been hurt, who’s to say that you won’t just die the next time you go down? It’s weird to think just how lucky you truly were when you were saved.

Thinking of being saved…your eyes flit around quickly trying to spot the man that had saved your life. Maru and Sam had said that Sebastian had gone down into the caves himself to save you, and even though you hadn’t seen him personally since meeting in the Saloon, the need to thank him was always in the back of your mind. And now you have the chance, Yoba you wished you were home.

You bid goodbye to Marlon and shuffled your way to the trio standing off at the bottom of the town’s square. Rehearsing what you’re going to say in your head, you hope that it would be a quick conversation, that you wouldn’t stutter over your words and that you wouldn’t act so awkward that they think you’re weirder than you are. But as you clear your throat as you walk up to them, regret settles in your belly at the looks on their faces. It was like being in school all over again and the kids that you thought were cool were too tight knit as a group and hated outsiders.

Before you could say anything Abigail speaks first, staring straight at you. “Do you think I’m too old to do the Egg Hunt?”

You frown at her in confusion before shaking your head. “No?”

She punches Sebastian’s arm as soon as the word leaves your mouth. “Ha! I told you I wasn’t too old. It’s like, why stop if I’m having fun?”

“How are you having fun searching for eggs with actual children?”

“Hey! Searching for eggs is like going on a treasure hunt! Besides, your sister does it too!”

Sebastian rolls his eyes at her, looking towards the river without saying anything more, choosing to sip on the punch in his cup. Sam looks like he’s suffering and you tilt your head, silently questioning him. “Ugh…it’s my doze…allergies.” His nose is so stuffed up that his words seem heavy. You wince at him and nod in understanding, Springtime wasn’t the best for people with allergies.

Sebastian clears his throat after a minute. “You know what I miss? The rotten egg toss.”

Both Sam and Abigail agree quickly, words coming out both of their mouths too quickly for you to really understand anything they’re saying. They’re very enthusiastic about it, recounting things that happened in previous years. In your confusion you look over at Sebastian, and he swallows his drink quickly. “We used to do a rotten egg toss, a couple years ago. It was only for like two years, Mayor Lewis put an end to it pretty quickly.”

“Yeah, too many people complained that it stunk.” Abigail laughed. It sounded pretty fun, tossing rotten eggs at a target or something, but the smell…ugh.

Before you could say anything else, Sam says he’s going to get more food before the egg hunt starts and they put everything away. Abigail looks between you and Sebastian and smiles. “I’ll go with him, either of you want anything?”

You shake your head, plate still full from the second round. “Maybe some punch? If it’s not too much trouble?” She shrugs and looks at Sebastian who just hands her his cup. She leaves without another word and without turning back. Ha…now it’s awkward…

“I didn’t think you were one for socializing.”

You’re surprised at his words, but think that in a small town there are rarely secrets. Everyone must know that you’re suffering. “Yeah um, just had a bad couple of weeks. I’m better now, though, ready to mingle and become part of the town…being alone is no good.”

He snorts, glancing at you and your heart stutters in your chest. Did he think you were joking? Were you that obvious in your dislike of talking to others? “Yeah sure…been there once.”

You don’t ask him what he means, understanding that he’s seeing right through your fake chipper exterior. For a minute the silence stretches on, but it’s not as tense and awkward as it was before. Maybe it was a good thing he could tell you were faking, there was no need now that it was only you two. “Y’know I’ve been meaning to thank you.”

“For?” He sounds disinterested, but when you look at his face he seems more…uncomfortable.

“You saving me? Your friends told me you went down into the caves to get me.”

“Fucking…yeah. It was no problem. You should be more careful, though, I was only able to help because I noticed that you didn’t come up.”

“Yeah…I really should…anyways. Thanks for saving me, hopefully you won’t have to do it again.”

He shrugs and says nothing.

“I owe you one.”

“Sure.”

The mayor claps his hands loudly, speaking into a megaphone that he’s holding. “If anyone is participating in the egg hunt, gather round. It’s almost time to begin!”

“You participating?” He asks, and for a second you almost say no before remembering that the whole point of coming was to become part of the community and bettering yourself.

“Yeah…you?”

“Nah…”

You nod and cough into your fist, unsure of how to separate yourself from him. “Well, I guess I’ll see you…later?”

“Yeah, sure. I’m either at home, or at Sam’s or the Saloon during the weekends…”

“Okay, cool.”

You walk away quickly, confused as to how you had somewhat made a friend of him? There was that saying that misery loves company…maybe he was the perfect person to be miserable with. He seemed like he had problems himself. Mayor Lewis claps a hand onto your shoulder a little harder than necessary, causing you to wince. “Enjoying yourself, Farmer?”

“Yeah…”

“That’s good! It’s about time you introduced yourself to the townspeople. Everyone was so excited to meet the new farmer in town and you just…disappeared. They thought you were a recluse or something!” He lets out a laugh that makes you frown. You had forgotten how much this guy could talk.

“Yeah well, family deaths will do that to you.” You keep your face straight as you stare at him. He coughs and sputters out some words before the conversation is effectively ended.

After another minute and a half the egg hunt begins and your heart starts thumping in your chest. The kids are already running off, and Abigail is darting around so quickly that you think that she’s going to knock one of them over. Looking at the other participants, the urge to beat them overcomes you. Winning at this means that you’re officially part of the community right? You’re putting yourself out there?

Your feet move without another thought from you and soon enough your basket is full with eggs. Looking at the others it seems theirs are too. You can hear Lewis counting down from ten and your heart races even more. How were you supposed to win this? You run across the square, hoping to get one last egg.

Five…

Where are the rest of the eggs? What the fuck is there no more?

Four…

In the corner of your eye something yellow gleams under the sun. An egg! Near the river!

Three…

You dash towards the egg, hand stretched out towards it.

Two…

A couple more steps to go, you’re unsure if you’ll get there in time.

One…

Your hand closes around the egg and into your basket it goes. Your heart thumps and your breaths come out uneven. But you made it! The last egg.

Lewis calls everyone back towards the center of town, eyes gleaming as he looks at everyone’s baskets. He seems happy to see more people participating in a dying tradition. There were only two kids in town so an egg hunt is bound to get boring as everyone gets older.

It takes five whole minutes for Lewis to count everyone’s eggs, yours being the last basketbhe gets his hands on. “Nine…ten…” Abigail groans in annoyance next to you. “Eleven! The winner is the Farmer! Come up and get your prize!”

Prize? If you knew there was going to be a prize you wouldn’t have tried so hard. Now someone was going to be mad at you for winning instead of them. You walk slowly to Lewis confused as to what he could be offering.

“Enjoy!”

He hands you a straw hat…well at least it’s helpful?

[kitspindles]

I’m in no way bashing on people who have already finished TSatS and say they hate it, are disappointed, etc., because I myself have not gone past chapter seven. My friend let me read some today, but I won’t have my own copy until Thursday, so maybe my opinions will change. I will say, however, that if you read 400+ pages in less than a day, maybe give yourself some time to process the entire plot first?

In any case, I can’t help but wonder how many people went into this book expecting one version of Nico and Will, only to be hit with something else entirely. And I mean like... expecting the fandom’s versions of these two, rather than what canon has previously shown us up until this book.

It’s my personal opinion that the PJO fandom’s worse enemy is their own mischaracterization of the characters at times. And I don’t mean like little head canons and stuff. Everyone has done those at some point. There’s usually no harm in those. I’m talking about people who created their own versions of Nico and Will and have been running with these visions for years through different fan fictions and what-not online.

For years we’ve known basically nothing about Will aside from the fact that he’s sarcastic, likes Star Wars, his mom is a country singer, he can glow in the dark, and he’s better at healing than fighting. (And he has questionable fashion choice at times). Like, that’s all we’ve had since his initial introduction in The Last Olympian over a decade ago. Everything else? Online and fan speculation. And again, there is nothing wrong with that! I just feel like a lot of people went into this book holding onto their own pre-conceived visions of what Will Solace was and ended up disappointed the authors made him... different? But not really different, because he didn’t have a lot of in-depth personality or backstory before this.

Me personally? Yeah, I’m not that far into the book yet but I’m loving how Will is portrayed so far. He’s still sarcastic, but he’s shown his fair share of level-headedness as well as frustrations just within the first couple chapters. He is in no way the overly-optimistic sunshine-y boy who only exists to help Nico that the fandom has portrayed him to be all these years. His character arc is already headed in a way deeper direction (more on that when I finish the book). The whole bit where Will had coffee spilled on him and spent the next couple paragraphs in the scene trying to be unbothered while actually giving off “This is fine” fire dog energies? I loved that.

As for Nico, can I just say I adore how he’s written in this book? Aside from his PoV in Blood of Olympus, this is the first time he’s had his own narration. And it’s actually about him and more in-depth than previous times. I’ve heard people say that he’s “out of character,” and while I can see a little of what they’re all saying, I just want to know... what version of Nico have you all been reading? Did I miss something?

Up until this book, what exactly did we know about Nico? That he’s displaced in time, his sister and mother are both dead (and he feels alone), he harbored repressed gay feelings from his upbringing as a Catholic guy in 1940s Italy, and he’s been through the ringer more than once (so, trauma, basically). Oh, and he’s a bit of a nerd (Mythomagic and knowing all kinds of ancient creatures). That’s... about it. Everything has been speculation and projection from fans.

In previous books he’s always been portrayed from first- or third-person point of view (usually from people who don’t know him well and just think he’s “creepy”), leading to the idea that he’s distant and low-empathy based on some interactions he’s had with demigods who weren’t thrilled to be around him, during a time of great pressure. But he’s not exactly uncaring. He’s been shown to care a lot, actually (Bianca, Hestia, Bob, everything he’s done for Percy, his friendship with Reyna, Hazel, etc.)

But what about when he was ten? He was an excitable, curious kid who liked to have fun. And what did we see briefly in Trials of Apollo (before Jason died, at least)? We saw some of that energy return, particularly in The Hidden Oracle.

So, yeah, I’m personally thrilled to see him making cringe-y jokes and have some self-deprecating humor. It’s very “#OnBrand” for a traumatized teenager who’s just trying to cope and live life without any godly wars forcing him this way and that. Can we really say it’s “out of character” if we’ve never seen more than one side of Nico? (The under pressure side, from other character’s PoVs, in books not about him where he’s basically been a side character?) I’m just glad to see him cracking jokes, laughing, and acting more like a normal kid.

Now, is this book different from Rick’s other ones? Uh, yeah. I won’t say it’s not. But it’s not bad. It’s supposed to be different. It has slightly different intentions than the other books (re: explicitly working through trauma and relationship bumps). Also, it’s co-written. Co-written books always read slightly off from the original author’s work, but dam if it isn’t hard to meld writing styles and copy another author’s particular voice. But I think Mark did a very good job at imitating Rick’s style (again, from what I’ve read so far).

Will I change my mind on all this the farther I get into the book? Maybe. There’s a lot to read and take in. All I’m saying is don’t let the negative reviews warp your opinion of the book if you haven’t read it yet and are on the fence if you should or not. Wait for the PDF to drop, or for a library copy, and read and see for yourself.

[silaslich]

HALLO IT IS I, TRYING TO ENGAGE HAVE SOME ENGAGING STUFF!!!

Ghost being caught off guard by his s/o, or Johnny, doing cuteness aggression on him. Just random 'chomp'.

HELLO MATE

This is something just for you <3

Sfw, no cws

_____________________________________________

Close calls and close quarters. That’s how it usually goes.

It’s what follows after the fact, after all is said and done and the lines are drawn in the sand. The transport touches down and they barely let the ramp fall all the way down before they’re scrambling out, like frogs in boiling water.

Ghost is put to bed for the night, until dawn breaks over the hills and the sun warms up the soil, Simon can be just that- Simon. He’d usually return to the dark confines of his personal space, the room that has his name plated in brass on the door. A sanctuary he doesn’t have to share, but he does anyway.

It’s unspoken, unsaid, because it doesn’t need to be discussed. It’s routine now. It’s what they look forward to, some kind of light at the end of the tunnel after all of the blood and the turmoil and the noise. When that door to Simon’s quarters closes, it’s just the two of them, nothing more and nothing less.

It’s not clear what time it is, neither of them bother to check, there’s not much point.

They strip each other of the gear. The tact vests and the heavy layers and the weight of everything else that they’ve carried home with them from hot-blazing foreign lands. It’s stripped right back, nothing but bare skin and the smell of sweat. There’s still dust in their hair and dirt under their nails, but it’s minor, something that doesn’t stop them from falling into that bed and curling into one another. It’s grabbing hands and tangled lower-limbs, it’s hard to know where Simon ends and Johnny begins these days. It’s how they like it.

When fun is poked their way by unknowing rookies and opposite workforces that say they never see one without the other- they both smile. Although they can’t see Simons, it’s hidden beneath the mask, away for safe keeping where only Johnny can get to it. Where only Johnny can kiss it away, replaced by hunger- by longing.

Simon can feel Johnny’s lips tracing his collarbone, in that teasing-knowing way that Simon can never resist, he puts his foot down tonight.

“M’too tired Johnny” he murmurs it against Johnny’s hair, smoothing his lips there.

Johnny doesn’t seem any less deterred, if anything, the opposite.

“Please Si- need somethin’” Johnny’s voice is whiny, catching in his throat as he teases the sharp of his teeth against Simon’s pecs. “Can’t sleep”. Liar.

Simon groans, it’s something deep in his chest, he knows what this means. If he agrees, it proves to Johnny that he has leverage over him, that he’ll give in no matter what. But there isn’t anything that Simon wouldn’t give to Johnny, he could ask him to pluck the moon out of the sky and he’d try his damn hardest. Simon parts his lips to answer but he’s cut off, a choked noise replacing the words he didn’t manage to say.

Johnny’s got Simon’s collarbone between his teeth, sucking a harsh-blooming mark there that he’ll wear for days. Simon’s resolve is breaking. His hand slides up to the back of Johnny’s head, fingers weaving into the hair at the base of his mohawk. Johnny thinks he’ll pull him away, shove him to the other side of the bed and tell him no is no- that thought only lasts for a fleeting second. Because he knows Simon better than that. When he feels his face being pulled closer into the plush of Simon’s chest by the hand at the back of his head- he smiles into the flesh. Sharp teeth closing over Simon’s nipple. Hard.

There’s a sigh that breaks through the resolve that Simon had poorly tried to keep ahold of, because when it comes to Johnny, all rationality is lost on the wind.

Johnny kisses at the welt he can feel under his lips, come morning it’ll be raw and blue and angry, and he’ll take the upmost pride in that. He glances up through lowered eyelids, bright blue eyes glowing like sapphires as he meets Simon’s eyes. Black as night. Predator like. Then comes that low-rumbling growl from his chest, Johnny can feel it under his lips.

“You’ve got ten minutes”

[airrika]

don’t normally share stuff like this but can I drop this cursed hc I started drawing last night😭 bc as usual I am analyzing petrona at 3 am and ummm we know how that goes

petra (and all the Fitz bc how is she NOT one of them) have unusually reflective pupils, but not the type of reflective pupil that causes blindness. they just quirky like that🙄💅

BUT it does give them surprisingly good night vision + terrifying flash photos in the dark!! also the intensity of light depends on how pronounced it is, giving the appearance of glowing or flickering more than it actually is

here are some very quick drawings,,i don’t like them lmao but they’re just concepts

also Iggy has it much less pronounced but u can still see it if there’s a flick taken w flash/or a light shine in his direction

thank u for coming to my Ted talk