#but Ani is a bajillion times better

[lushlovers]

frat joe with drunken confessions definitely !!!!

Drunk Promises, J Burrow

summary; joe being absolutely gone and rambling about things he shouldn't.

warnings; swearing, kisses, mentions of drinking, drunken rambling

word count; 700 something

note; i'm so bored and tired but i can't sleep so i decided to fulfill this request while i have some downtime:)) also hey?? Its been like a million years, more frat joe coming soon;)!

The porch is spinning and Joe swears he sees three different door knobs after he's struggled with only you to help him drag his heavy limbs around. He attempts to reach for one of them but misses, swishing his hand around before he finds it to unlock and shove the door open. You mumble every swear that comes to mind when it slams into the rubber stopper on the wall, surely waking up everyone in the house and a few houses down, "Welcome to my humble abode, gorgeous," he smirks, stumbling into the wall, trying to play off the fact that he nearly fell over by leaning on it with arms crossed over his broad chest.

When your eyes meet him, his brows raise playfully. At this point it's taking everything out of you not to bust out laughing at his advancements, he's not one for compliments unless he's high as hell or drunk out of his mind, "I've been here more times than I can count, but thank you," you shake your head as you unstrapped your heels, leaving them to rest on the shoe rack.

After he'd struggled as much coming up the front steps, you're thanking God he chose the bedroom on the ground floor rather than up or downstairs. "To my bed then," he asks hopeful as all hell and you nod, taking his hands and leading him straight to his bed. He falls back onto it slowly scooting himself toward the headboard.

Quickly you bolt to the kitchen in search of hangover relief and some water before he gets any stupid ideas whilst left alone. Upon your return, you're greeted by a shirtless Joe who's struggling to get his jeans from around his ankles. Shaking your head for the thousandth time, you tug them off, discarding them in the hamper in the closet. "Eager for me?" You scoff at the ever-deepening of his voice and allow him to unzip your dress.

When his hands swiftly push the fabric from your shoulder, "Not tonight, Joey. Why don't you get some sleep" you step back and he continues attempting to pull you back into him. Joe watches intently as you find one of his LSU shirts folded atop his dresser, give it a smell test, and climb into bed beside him.

"Pathetic excuse for panties," he mumbles through hiccups, using his index finger to snap the elastic against the meat of your hip. You roll your eyes and as you inch away from him his arms wrap even tighter around you, keeping you plastered into him. He grinds his hard-on into the back of your thigh holding onto your hips moving you only where he sees fit.

"Sleep, Joseph," you murmur against his pillows but of course, he's relentless with his wet, sloppy neck kisses. This time you sit completely in bed, snatch the pillows from behind your head and throw them onto the floor. You fumble in the dark for the throw blankets at the foot of his bed, once you've found them you make your spot on the floor, but before you even put the pillows into position he's mumbling and hiccupping through protests.

"mmmm, baby noo, get up here with me. I sleep a bajillion times better with your body next to mine," when you meet his eyes they're glazed over, almost like he wants to cry but is fighting it with every fiber of his being. You're quite shocked, never has this man ever cried in your presence and for that to happen right here, right now, wouldn't shock you with the way he's been acting since his third drink. "And you're drunk, I don't want you to do or say something you'll regret, honey."

He's melting internally at your use of that sweet little nickname you love to use when he's been drinking, "I'll be quiet about all that, mama, I promise" You sigh, and give in as soon as a pout begins to show itself on his pretty, perfect face, picking up your stuff off the floor just as fast as you had put them down. Before you're even back into his bed, he's giggling and scooting over to leave much more space than you need to keep his promise.

[kentopedia]

hi rylie!! thank you sm for the recs! and since you said your inbox is open …

could i maybe request a fic where nanami proposes to you? like a spur of the moment thing where it’s not really the “right time” but he just springs out the question bc he wants you forever 🥹😮‍💨

thank you a bajillion! <3

my everything

FEATURING: nanami kento x f!reader — wc: 3.1k

SUMMARY: after nanami remembers how short life can be, he realizes he wants to spend the rest of his with you.

CONTENTS: takes place during jjk 0, slight angst per usual, marriage proposals, sorcerer!reader, nanami's pov, happy ending

note: thank you for this sweet request!! i kind of took it and ran w it, but this was so much fun to write :) i hope you enjoy lovely!! <;33

Kento couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so afraid.

The gnawing feeling of dread was as heavy as the ring in his pocket, the one that he now regretted hanging onto for so long. Shinjuku streets were drenched in the blood of so many curses, humans, and sorcerers and it sickened him, reminded him that life could be cut short at any moment. There was a reason that he’d quit Jujutsu so many years ago, and he started to wonder if he’d made the right decision in coming back.

Kento sorted through the bodies, scanned the mangled corpses for any sign of your familiar face. He never spotted you, but he wasn’t certain if it was a relief that you were nowhere to be found.

Satoru stood at the edge of the street, his forehead lined with sweat, the pale bandages falling away from his icy eyes. Briefly, he dropped the façade that always lingered, and it was obvious how tired he was. How much everything had beaten him down in the last decade and refused to let up.

In that moment, Kento felt sorry for him. Then, Satoru resumed his usual air of arrogance, straightened his back, and the natural balance fell between them once more.

In just a few strides, Kento was upon him, his hair unruly, shirt wrinkled as the tie remained still crumpled around his hand. His muscles ached and he longed for a shower—though any of those trivial thoughts were outweighed by his incessant need to find you.

“Where is she?” The words hung in the air before Kento realized they’d left his lips at all.

Satoru hesitated, almost unwilling to hand over his confession so easily. “I sent her back to the school.”

Kento clenched his fists, but Satoru was defending himself before any irrational actions could be taken.

“She insisted, Nanami.”

Still, he couldn’t help but wish that Satoru had ignored your pleas, even if Kento was unsurprised that you’d volunteered to stand by the students’ side. You weren’t the type of person to let a few first and second years go up against a special grade on their own, no matter how strong they were.

Satoru was squeezing Kento’s shoulder before he had even noticed the movement. Something in his expression had darkened, and though Kento normally would’ve shoved him off, put some distance between the two of them, he wasn’t sure he could remember a time when Satoru Gojo looked so somber. “I wouldn’t have sent them there if I wasn’t certain they’d be alright. I’m not as cruel as you might think.”

Kento knew that he had never behaved warmly towards his ex-classmate, but his opinion of the man was not as low as Satoru believed. For better or worse, Satoru loved his students, and though he pushed them, Kento knew he would never put them into an undefeatable danger.

He sighed, dropping his chin to his chest as Satoru’s hand fell away from his shoulder. “Just take me to her, Gojo.”

Satoru nodded, his lips curling down into a frown before he was teleporting them both back to the high school. There, the sight was even more dismal than Kento had expected. Many of the buildings had been destroyed and there were clear residuals from many sorcerers and curses. It was chaos, a grim sight to behold, and they weren’t even past the gate.

The anxiety twisted up in his chest, and inwardly, he prayed, hopeful that you were as fine as Satoru believed. That Geto, in every inch of his darkened heart, would hesitate when it came to killing an old friend.

“Hey,” Satoru said, tying up the blindfold once more, tightening it across his snowy hair. “She’s fine. This, I’m certain of.”

Kento’s lips were too dry to even offer a thank you, even though Satoru probably deserved it, for all the sacrifices he made, all the time. Instead, he nodded, and turned away from the tall man, haunted by a memory of him once as young as the students that had been left behind to protect humanity.

The leaves and gravel crunched under Kento’s feet as he ran up to the school, taking in the sheer destruction that had befallen the place he’d once called home. It made him ache with a longing for a simpler time, even though he could never go back, and the boy he’d been was long gone.

It was a brisk night—the kind of night that you normally would’ve spent bundled up inside, a bowl of hot soup between you, a movie running while you rested your head against Kento’s shoulder, dozing off before the credits rolled.

That’s how his night should’ve gone. Instead, he was searching every crushed piece of building, every pile of rubble in case your body had been caught between it.

Kento knew that the life of a sorcerer was a miserable one, that it was easy to lose the people you cared about, but he wasn’t certain he’d be able to go on for much longer if he lost you.

The ring was even heavier in his pocket, weighing him down, making it near impossible to move. If you hadn’t survived, Kento would never forgive himself for waiting so long to propose.

He called your name, ripping off his glasses in any attempt to see you better, wondering where you could’ve disappeared to, hoping that you hadn’t died alone.

The grounds, it seemed, had been hollowed out completely, and for the first time, Kento wondered if Gojo was wrong about his old friend.

Panic clawed up his chest, scratching at his throat, sending him into an illogical spiral before a small, shaky voice from behind him brought him back to reality, a light that parted through the black night, so sweet and heavenly to his ears.

“Kento?”

He turned, blinked as you swayed on your feet, making your way slowly down the steps of the main building. You walked awkwardly on your ankle, though you pushed on, heading towards him despite the pain.

For a moment, he watched, and then he was upon you without even acknowledging his movements, two long strides that brought him back to his salvation.

Kento pulled you into his arms, burying his face in your hair, breathing in the undeniable truth that you were still alive, even as you winced from his stronghold, your arms limp at your sides.

“Fuck,” Kento said, kissing you on the top of the head, your hairline, forehead. His eyes were glossy with tears that had been held back by his remaining shreds of hope. “You scared me there for a second, sweetheart.”

Your hands were on his chest, tracing his bicep before you curled your fingers around his jaw, bringing his gaze to your own. The touch was light, searching for any wounds that hid under his stained button-up. “I’m okay,” you said, softly, even though your face was bruised, your ankle twisted, and you were bleeding from more places than one. “Are you?”

Kento nearly laughed, wondering how you could even think to ask that question when he was untouched compared to you. Though, the amusement died immediately when you looked at him with so much concern that he melted, and he squeezed your hand in reassurance. “I’m okay.”

You nodded, expression serious as you attempted to ingrain the words into your mind, convince yourself that everything would be alright, even though things hadn’t been that way in nearly a decade. You kept your hands on him, as if waiting for some wounds to appear, for him to start bleeding into your palm, even though his injuries went no further than some sore muscles.

“And everyone else?”

Kento pulled you into his chest, running a hand up and down your back, wishing that he could heal you as easily as Shoko could, that a gentle touch could fix everything that had ever soiled your life. “Everyone’s fine,” he said, and as far as he knew, that was true. “A little beat up, but they’re alive.”

You exhaled, nodding into his chest as you rested your weight on him.

Kento would gladly bear it, would carry you all the way home if need be.

Briefly, you were silent, before you squeezed your eyes shut painfully and grimaced. “I got the students to Shoko, but they were all so hurt, so badly,” you swallowed, digging your fingers into his shirt, and Kento suddenly hated that Satoru hadn’t sent him with you, even if he was needed in the city. “Geto—”

You stopped yourself, and said nothing more, heartbroken by a boy you had too many fond memories of to ever see in a malicious light. It was difficult for everyone who’d ever known him back then, even if he hadn’t been that way in a decade.

Kento swallowed and you pushed away your tears, buried whatever conversation had transpired earlier between you and the dark-haired sorcerer.

Though, you’d resolved to be everything that Geto was not. That, at least, had been one positive outcome of his betrayal. “It’s not your fault, love.”

“I should’ve been more prepared to kill him, Kento. I’m not as strong as him, but I should’ve been able to hold him off until Gojo—” You choked back a cry before standing straight, shaking your head. “I tried too hard to reason with him. I left it to a student, and—”

“Hey,” Kento held your cheeks tight in his palms, forcing you to gain a better perspective of the situation. You looked up at him with soft, lost eyes, and Kento was filled with a swell of adoration for you, for the strength that came with the vastness of your heart.

Despite all you’d suffered, you’d managed a smile, been the light in Kento’s life, even when he’d wanted to do nothing but wallow in his own misery. If not for you, he wasn’t sure he ever would’ve come back to being a sorcerer at all. If not for you, Kento would’ve been lost, without an ounce of meaning in his life.

You were so foolish for thinking you hadn’t done enough, when you’d done more for him than he could put into words. Kento’s love for you was enormous, and in that moment, he would’ve let the rest of the world collapse in on itself if it meant you’d be safe and happy.

“Any of us would’ve done the same. Do you really believe that Gojo would’ve so easily killed Geto without speaking to him first? Would I have?”

The look didn’t dissipate from your irises, but you didn’t disagree with him, and that was enough. Kento kissed you, deeply, putting every ounce of affection into that single touch. Everyone had made it out of the night alive, and you’d been there for the students when it mattered the most. That was more than he could say, at least.

“I don’t want to lose anyone else, Kento,” you said, blinking at him once more with those sad eyes, ones that he never wanted to see on your normally bright expression. “I can’t keep pretending it doesn’t tear me apart.”

“You won’t lose me,” he promised, even though he knew that there was no way he could keep it, an oath that was almost destined to be broken. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“You and I both know that you can’t be sure of that,” you said, backing out of his embrace to wrap a protective arm around yourself. The smile that graced your lips was sad, defeated. “Our world is not merciful enough.”

Kento knew that better than anyone, and he’d been reminded of it that evening. Reminded of the loss that befell those who wanted to fight for a better world, and even those who didn’t. Death didn’t give any warning, didn’t choose based off anything more than a random draw. “Then I’ll promise to love you until the day I die. That, at least, is a vow I won’t ever break.”

The ring in his pocket was practically vibrating now, reminding him how little the non-necessities of life mattered to him. All this time, he been waiting for the perfect moment, to plan everything down to the very last detail.

It seemed meaningless now.

You squeezed his hand, your face brightening despite your sorrow, lips tugging up sideways. “I can promise the same.” Kento’s heart swelled, and you kissed his cheek before dragging him a few steps forward so the two of you were walking in time together. “We should go check on the students. I want Shoko to check my ankle too. I’ve suffered worse, but it’s starting to swell pretty badly.”

Kento nodded, though his mind was too busy whirling with fears of a wedding that might never happen, that you might never know he was going to propose if he didn’t do it soon. You could be snatched away from him at any moment, or perhaps, he could leave this world with the ring still in his pocket, and you’d only know once you found it on his corpse.

Kento wouldn’t forgive himself, even in death, if he didn’t do what he’d been wanting to do for months.

With one arm around your shoulder, he reached the other into his pocket, twirling the box. He wasn’t even sure why he carried it with him that night when he could’ve so easily lost it in the middle of battle.

Yet, there it was, lingering, the constant weight in his pocket that rested against his hip. He swallowed, and you looked up at him, your lips falling back once more into a frown.

“Hey,” you said, slowing your pace, concern evident in your expression. “Is something wrong? Did something happen in Shinjuku, Kento? I didn’t mean to just brush off—”

Kento shook his head, shushing you quickly. It didn’t take him long to make up his mind, and he wrapped the tiny box up in his hand. “Nothing’s wrong, sweetheart.” He kissed the top of your head again before holding the box out, presenting it to you calmly, without any spike in his normal tone. “I just was thinking about how I was going to ask you to marry me.”

You stopped completely, your pupils blown wide as you took the box from him with shaky hands, blinking back down at it before meeting his tender brown eyes. “Kento?” you said again, calmly, as if waiting for him to explain.

A beat of silence passed between you. Kento, suddenly, felt nervous around you for the first time in a long while.

“Truthfully, I was going to prepare a long-winded speech and buy you some flowers and take you out for dinner. But,” he cleared his throat, regaining his composure as he flipped the lid of the velvety box, revealing the sparkling ring he’d spend hours searching for. “I love you too much to waste any more time. Somehow, until tonight, I’d forgotten how short life can be. I just want to spend every moment I can as your husband.”

Your eyes became glossy as you stared down at the beautiful gem, lifting the ring out of the box to slide onto your finger. As expected, it fit you perfectly, shimmering in the pale light, the perfect complement to your skin. Kento gently took your hand, kissing the knuckle right below the jewelry.

“I’ll propose again to you properly,” he said, laughing quietly, though if it was because of your silence or the joy lodged within him, he couldn’t be certain. “Without all the blood and the—"

“Kento.” Your lips were on his before he could finish his sentence, harsh and passionate despite your injuries. Fingers curled around his chin, holding him into place, making him forget all the horrors that had occurred that evening. “Don’t be silly. I don’t need a grandiose display to know I want to be with you forever. I love you too much.”

Kento’s chest warmed, that bundle of affection within him bursting, making its way through every ounce of his being. There, you seemed to glow brighter, every day making you more beautiful than before, and he wondered how it could be possible that he could feel so much for one person.

He relaxed, unknowingly tense, and kissed you again on the forehead, his arms around your shoulder once more. “I should’ve done it sooner.”

You smiled and caressed the harsh bones of his cheeks, shaking your head. “It wouldn’t have changed anything.” You laughed, pulling him down by the tie, pressing a kiss between his brows to ease the wrinkle there. “Besides, now you’ve turned this awful night into something special. I don’t have to remember this day with a bitter taste in my mouth.”

Kento returned your smile, but it was still weak, even with all of the adoration he felt for you.

Though, when you beamed at the ring, your eyes soft, all of the previous despair gone, he knew that everything would be alright. Perhaps his timing had been less than ideal, but he would do it over and over again if only to ease away the misery from your face.

“So, then you will marry me?” he said again, wanting to hear the words from your lips, even though there was no doubt in his mind.

You rolled your eyes playfully, noticing his teasing smile and indulged him. “Yes, Kento.” You kissed his cheek, letting out a sharp exhale. “I’ll marry you. I would’ve always said yes, even back when we were silly, lovesick teenagers.” You sighed theatrically, adjusting his tie. “Who knows why. You had such a ridiculous haircut back then.”

Kento’s cheeks grew warm, splitting with the force of his smile, one that only seemed to appear with you at his side. Despite all of the horrible things that had happened in all of your lives, he was grateful that there were good moments too.

“Well, I still managed to win over the prettiest girl in the world, didn’t I?” he said, ghosting the words as he laced his fingers with your own, squeezing tight. “Now I get to call her my fiancée.”

You mumbled something less than kind under your breath, but Kento could feel the warmth on your cheeks, the flush the began from your neck.

He laughed, continuing his path back to the infirmary, where the students were likely waiting for you to return safe and sound. “Come on, I’m taking you to see Shoko. I wouldn’t want my future wife’s injuries to get any worse, would I?”

And though the both of you knew your injuries were minimal, your eyes brightened as the skin around them wrinkled, and Kento knew that whatever happened after this, he would live and die a happy man.

[queermania]

I think the reason jensen “can’t win” when it comes to destiel is his own fault. Like people are justified to be a little weary of jensen comments on destiel because of his past comments and remarks. Obviously it was a while ago but you can’t expect people to take what you say in good faith when you never had any before

not to be an asshole but this sounds like a bit of a skill issue. if you think one or two comments made years ago hold more weight than everything he's said and done in the time since, then i don't know what to tell you. i'm certainly not going to tell you that you have to get over something that hurt you (and i really do get why people are hurt by some of the things he's said and i'm not going to defend those things), but i am going to say that if you sincerely can't get past it, then you might need to move on from supernatural in general, because it doesn't seem like you're having any fun now and it seems unlikely that you will have any in the future.

because here's the thing: i do think you can expect people to take what you say in good faith when you've been acting in good faith for years now.

and he has been! he's been doing things like talking about how the more affectionate and/or emotional ways he plays dean specifically with cas get cut, talking with glee about the handprint, sending reaction videos to the confession back and forth between him and misha, liking tweets related specifically to the confession, complimenting misha's performance, calling dean's monologue in the trap his "confession," wanting to have the confession in despair filmed on his phone, being most excited for dean's storyline with cas in the last season, saying that dean should have told cas he loved him too, saying dean's biggest regret is that he couldn't save cas, creating a production company with a mission statement about diversity and then actually delivering on that, talking positively about a destiel reunion and how he wants to see that, the bajillion reports about how happy he is to sign destiel/queer dean fanart and do destiel/queer dean photo ops, etc.

the fact that he's even expressly acknowledged that he didn't handle everything perfectly in the past and is clearly trying to do better.

like, at a certain point if you are not taking what he says in good faith, it actually is on you. it's a choice you've made.

[sgiandubh]

This was a work Outlander event and posts. No way to determine how they feel about each other from today's Social media promotion. 12 minutes apart just shows it was a coordinated attack for audience involvement. When you have something about their connection unrelated to Starz, Outlander, then it will be interesting. But so far after 10 years, everything between these 2 still is work related. Nothing new. Even Sam coordinated his whisky event over the weekend to coincide with OL 'birthday'. It's all promotion. Do you have anything not related to Outlander showing a relationship?

Dear Work Event Anon,

I could really set my watch by you guys popping in here each and every time a breath of fresh air floats over this fandom. Since you seem to have a problem with people being happy about something, I figured out you'd actually be better hearing what I have to tell you:

I am not sure I am interested in what you have to say, Anon. You certainly chose to step in here completely uninvited, unwanted and at your own risk. At this point in time, I am actively hesitating about you being bored, daft, cruel or simply desperate. A bit of each, to be honest and the mix might vary.

Two social media posts might not be able to determine how These Two feel about each other, Anon. But, I wasn't exactly discussing that. I was discussing their entourage reactions, in my first post, something you probably understood very well, since I do not think you are visually impaired. I was also pointing out the fact S shared C's post in record time, something that did not happen in a good while. That is all.

Sam coordinating 'his whisky event over the weekend to coincide with OL's anniversary' (not birthday, punk - that is for people only!)? You must be kidding, pumpkin. Hasn't your Marketing Expert Supremo explained to you yet that The Kimpton Hotel & Restaurant Group, LLC is, in fact an international boutique hotel brand, based in San Francisco and owned by the InterContinental Hotels Group? Hasn't she explained to you that, as all the other international hotel brands, their marketing strategy is also focused on event management and planning, with a separate dedicated website to boot?

Hasn't she told you there is actually a dedicated event management and planning webpage on Kimpton Charlotte Square's website?

It features everything you'd need to properly organize any type of event. As is the case for a bajillion other luxury hotels all around the world:

Same wallpaper, same picture frames. Matchy-matchy, as Ye Olde Troll would say. Heh. And this is how we know the pop-up shop was organized in the hotel (connecting) private Dining and Drawing Rooms:

You also seem to not be aware that such events are never planned last minute. He did not 'coordinate' anything, punk. The opportunity was there and he took it. As simple as that.

If you think you do God's work by trying your very own version of the Chinese water torture, i.e. asking the same damn questions over and over again, well...You have no idea how wrong and clueless you are, Anon. What makes you think people will actually engage with a broken record?

And last but not least, I don't give a damn if you find my page uninteresting. Now be a doll, Anon - scroll on and fuck off.

[1arkspur-aconitum]

SOULS OF POETS (s.r.)

SOULS OF POETS DEAD AND GONE, WHAT ELYSIUM HAVE YOU KNOWN?

[PART ONE OF THREE]

IN WHICH: Spencer discovers more about Juniper’s previous work history, and it is not to his taste.

PAIRING: Season3!Spencer Reid/Fem!BAU!OC

CATEGORY: angst

CONTENT: strip-clubs, common BAU violence, the team being little shits, established secret relationship, Spencer being mean, not a happy ending (in this part at least)

WORD COUNT: 8k… (I got a bit carried away)

PUBLISHED: 16/10/24

TO SAY THIS ISN’T HOW I was expecting today to go would be an understatement.

Sure, we end up on some of the most bizarre cases in the FBI, but the chances of this happening are slim to none—I am not Dr. Reid, so I am unable to give you an exact statistic, but I reckon it would be in the 1:1 bajillion ballpark.

Normally the cases are bizarre because of M.O., or because the people we deal with are strange; I still remember that one interview Emily and I had with that frankly absurd woman with way too many garden gnomes inside her house. Or the time Derek and I found a dude in his bath, stark naked, the tub filled with what I have told myself was milk, and have refused to ponder any other possibilities since.

All that to say, we get weird shit at the BAU.

Yet when I walked in this morning and saw the photos, and read the case file, I was more nervous for this than I had been for any bomb or kidnapping case.

To the others, it looks perfectly average. Localised crime scene, moderately high-risk victims, a clear comfort zone. New York City isn’t far from D.C and we have a good relationship with the police working on the case already. Seems simple enough.

But even as I sit on the plane, knees up to my chest, I still feel as if I can’t take a proper breath. As I try to force myself to take one, I catch Emily’s concerned glance from across the aisle. She knows me too well.

I clear my throat and force myself to adjust. Dropping my knees underneath the table, I spread the photos across the table in front of me. Women’s bodies–hands and feet removed–shoved into the bins out the back of a strip of clubs ranging from gay bars, to strip joints, to your average night-out with the girls club.

Shoved into bins. Nothing better than rubbish.

To my left, Spencer is busy pouring over a map of the NYC suburbs. He’s armed with his favourite set of coloured pens, slender fingers idly tapping the lid on his chin as he thinks it over. Spencer, as always, looks adorable. Messy hair, loose tie, those cheekbones–the little furrow he gets between his eyebrows when he’s thinking. With his lips parted in focus, I can’t help but let my knee press against his under the table.

He smiles privately, not once looking up from his map. It’s the only concession to tenderness he’ll give me at work. The only one he can whilst we’re keeping our relationship hidden from the team.

‘So, when we land, I want us to hit the ground running,’ Hotch announces, drawing all of our attention to him. He looks at us gravely in turn. ‘We have to handle this one with tact, especially considering the subject matter–JJ and Rossi, I want you guys to head to the police station and help us get set up.’

‘That should be fun.’ Rossi says without a trace of humour in his tone. ‘The local police always get antsy about us treating these cases like they’re important–’

‘They are important.’ The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them, sounding a lot harsher than I originally intended. Rossi stops mid sentence. All eyes turn to me. Flushing, I pick at my fingernails as Spencer jostles my knee gently. ‘I’m sorry. It just pisses me off that people treat them like they aren’t.’

‘I know that, but the local police don't always.’ Rossi reminds me gently, flashing me the palms of his hands. A classic sign of apology. I incline my head and don’t say anything else. Emily is still watching me from across the aisle with those perceptive eyes of hers. ‘So JJ and I will do our best to get them on board.’

‘The rest of us are going to head to the main club that’s been targeted,’ Hotch has an air of disapproval in his tone, sending me a quick glare to remind me that I am the source of his anger. I sink lower into my seat, biting my lips shut. I shouldn’t have said anything at all. ‘See what we can find out about the place, the locals.’

‘Are you okay?’ Spencer murmurs to me under his breath a few moments later. The rest of the team have devolved back into their previous conversations, so the sweetness in his voice isn’t as easily detected. He is looking at me with those annoyingly perceptive, wide brown eyes. It’s like he’s peering deep into my skin and I don’t like it.

‘What? Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?’ I close myself off, folding my arms and trying to work some of the tension out of my jaw. I know I shouldn’t. I know it’s not Spencer’s fault, and even genius Spencer Reid doesn’t have all of the pieces to finally puzzle this together.

‘I don’t know…is it because we’re going to New York City?’

‘What’s made you think I don’t like New York?’

‘Well…I know you lived there for a while after you dropped out of Cornell–’

‘I took a break from Cornell, I went back eventually.’ I scowl at him, brushing some loose strands of hair away from my face. Spencer quirks his eyebrows but I can tell he’s laughing internally at me. ‘I completed that degree, thank you very much. I just…’

‘You just what?’ He bumps his warm shoulder gently against mine.

‘This case…’ I pick up a picture of one of the bins–the woman inside has her legs spread, blood crusted around where her feet used to be, the short skirt she was wearing shoved up around her hips. She seems so painfully familiar. ‘There’s something…there’s something personal about it.’

The next time I look at Spencer, his lips are slightly pursed, eyes narrowed. If I were to lean in, I’m ninety percent sure that I could hear the cogs in his brain working. The idea of Spencer finding out concerns me more than I want it to. Rechecking my microexpressions, I plaster on a mildly bored smile. He doesn’t believe it. I can tell immediately. Yet he still can’t put a pin on why I’m lying.

‘I feel bad,’ I say, doing my best to pace the words to a steady, ordinary beat. ‘These women are as deserving of respect as anyone else, and yet somehow they always end up being the ones covered in rubbish.’

Spencer nods slowly, apparently satisfied with this, but the narrowness to his usually wide eyes doesn’t fully lift. I can tell that I have not heard the last of this. Spencer Reid is nothing if not persistent–at least he won’t have to wait long to find out, because I know that as soon as we get off the plane, I’m on a deadline. An hourglass with only a teaspoon of sand left.

I lean back into the seat and wait to meet my terrible fate.

Elysium is everything you would expect from a strip-club.

Bleak and unassuming exterior, with one door manned by a beefy looking security guard, and several cameras aimed at the entrance. Inside it’s dark and seedy, the walls painted black to better enhance the vibrant colours of the strobe lights. They pulse in time to the music; a classic pop song I recognise, pumped through massive speakers at an almost deafening volume. The beat is so nostalgic I resist the urge to tap my foot.

We step into the main room and my heart stammers. It’s still laid out the same–a big raised platform at the back of the room with three poles, two currently in use. The women curve around the silver poles, the low lights slicking off of their curves. There’s a catwalk down the centre with a few loose notes blanketing it like leaves. The door to the right with the big neon ‘PRIVATE’ sign above it sits resolutely locked. The extensive bar has several scantily dressed women lean against it, talking to the patrons. It’s so familiar that I am suddenly twenty one again, walking into this place for the first time.

‘Can I help you?’ A voice says and I drag my attention from the bar.

The lady talking to Hotch hasn’t changed either. She’s still got that impossibly divine smooth skin, but she’s swapped the belly button piercing since I last saw her. It’s now a golden teardrop embellished in green that swings as she moves. Long dreads hang down to her waist and she’s dressed in the little gold number she always saved for big payouts. She must be planning on scoring high tonight. Despite myself, I let my face split into a broad smile.

‘Yes, actually could–’ Hotch starts, pointedly looking at her face rather than the rest of her body. Spencer is trying not to look at her breasts and failing–and I don’t think Derek even makes the attempt to be discreet. He’s like a kid in a sweet shop. The woman lifts her hand to silence him, brown eyes settling onto mine.

‘No fucking way.’ Tia takes two steps towards me, vibrant eyes scouring my figure. The last time she saw me, I would have been caught dead in a pair of suit trousers and a button down, yet here I am. I flare my arms away from my body, as if to say ‘yes way’. ‘June–Junebug!’

‘Hi, Tia.’ I laugh as she throws herself at me. Her strong arms wrap around my shoulders and she presses her body tightly against mine. The team is openly ogling at me as the stripper gives me the biggest, friendliest hug ever. I don’t look at them, though, face buried in her neck. She smells like cigarette smoke and vetiver perfume. ‘I’m afraid this isn’t a friendly visit.’

‘Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.’ Tia grins, gesturing at the gun holstered at my hip before she grabs me again. When she speaks next, she shakes me to punctuate each word. ‘Ugh, I’m so glad to see you! You don’t visit us enough, and you said you would.’

‘I know, T, I’m sorry.’ I extricate myself from her arms, wincing awkwardly at my team. I feel very exposed. There will be time for explanations later, though, and right now I’m busy basking in the warmth of an old friend. She’s right. I haven’t visited nearly as often as I said I would. Regret seeps through my pores. ‘We’re here to ask some questions about the murders that have been going on?’

‘Oh, of course.’ Tia immediately loses the air of excitement, brow furrowing. She inspects the team as a whole again, noting the way they’re looking between us with a curious air. When she looks back at me, she raises a quizzical brow. I shake my head–explanations later. Tia, ever the saint, doesn’t push the issue. ‘Come on, do you want to head to the back office? I’ll get some of the girls together but Harold is already in there, waiting to talk to you.’

‘Harold still works here?’ I blink, surprised.

‘Yeah, he does–his hip is bothering him more now, but he’s still kickin’,’ Tia loops her arm through mine and starts to lead me through the strip club. I can hear the sounds of my team whispering behind me as they fall into line, but I pointedly ignore them. Nosy buggers. ‘You would know that if you came to visit.’

‘I already feel guilty about it,’ I knock her with my elbow. ‘No need to make me feel worse.’

‘I’m just glad you’re here now.’ Tia presses a sticky, lip gloss kiss to my cheek as we stop by another inconsequential door. It’s been painted black to match the walls, designed to be unobserved by the patrons. The amount of secret spaces in this place is unprecedented, rat runs sprawling through the bowls of Elysium. It took me months to learn where all the nooks and crannies were. I scowl petulantly. ‘You remember where you’re going?’

‘Of course, I mean, how could I forget?’ I flash her my cheekiest of grins.

I cross my arms as I wait for the team to catch up with us, leaning back against the wall.

Derek is currently casually flirting with one of the barmaids–someone I do not recognise–which doesn’t surprise me. Hotch is scouring the layout of the place, pointedly avoiding looking at the half-naked women gyrating around poles, or meandering around laps.

Emily has that shit-eating grin on her face, striding towards me and Tia, and Spencer is staring down at his hands as he follows in Emily’s wake.

Thinking about it, I wonder if Spencer has ever even stepped foot in a strip club before. It doesn’t seem like his kind of vibe, but you never know. Spencer is always full of surprises.

‘I’m gonna get Jas, she’ll die when she sees you.’ Tia grins as Emily arrives, bouncing off into the crowd. Tia has always been my favourite; she was the one who took me under her wing when I first arrived at Elysium, who gave me a place to stay when I didn’t have anywhere. The fact that she’s still here hurts my heart like a bruise. We always said we’d get out together.

‘You, ma’am, have a lot of explaining to do.’ Emily grins at me when she gets within earshot, grabbing my elbow. She loves this.

‘There isn’t much to explain,’ I try, but then Derek appears on my other side and I know I am done for. ‘Seriously.’

‘What, so you’re just casually friends with strippers?’

‘What’s wrong with being friends with strippers?’ I retort, turning pleading eyes to Spencer.

Spencer Reid looks as uncomfortable as possible–his shoulders are tense, hand to his lips, that slight frown between his eyebrows. He’s physically trying to make himself smaller by curving his shoulders inwards. Whenever someone nearly naked walks past him, he deliberately makes a lot of space. If his eyeline drifts for more than a few seconds, he’s instantly staring down at his feet again, cheeks blazing red hot. When he meets my gaze, though, he cannot hide the subtle hint of interest. It becomes clear that Spencer is not the person I should look to for help.

Balls.

‘Hey, you know I’m not complaining–’

‘Shut up, Derek, you’re just salty because she kissed me.’ I shove him in the chest, realising I’m not going to get any help from anyone involved. I’m on my own. Turning away from them, I rap on the door. ‘I can feel your stupid grin, Morgan–and yours too, Prentiss.’

‘Ooo, the last names, someone means business.’ Emily teases, but a voice from inside the room invites us in, and I take this as my saving grace.

I open the door to the small back office, holding it wide with my foot so the rest of my team can trickle in. The office is relatively small, lined with filing cabinets, and manned by a desk covered in papers and an overflowing ashtray. Someone has replaced the wooden chairs with two comfier looking arm chairs, though they still look slightly weathered in the dim light. The ceiling fan above is still laden with cobwebs and dust, perpetually unused. Yet another thing that hasn’t changed.

Once the door is shut behind us, I turn my attention to the man sitting behind the desk.

‘June?’ Harold spots me first, his Texan voice thickened by tar and smoke. He has more wrinkles around his eyes now, but the smile is as blinding as the last time I saw it. Harold’s beard is streaked with white, and when he pushes himself to his feet, the silver cane is new, too. ‘Junebug? Is that really you?’

‘Alive and in the flesh.’ I smile, reaching out to hug him as he hobbles towards me. Harold was the one who gave me that moniker barely two days after I started working here. There’s something about the way he says it that doesn’t make me feel like he’s being condescending–in fact, it just reminds me that someone loves me enough to say a nickname with such adoration. I wrap my arms around him and hold on tightly. I try not to focus on how he feels thinner underneath me.

‘So,’ Harold says, stepping away from me but not letting go of my waist–I don’t know if it’s for support or just for show. I don’t really mind either way. He inspects the rest of my team, who are standing awkwardly around. None of them can hide the thinly veiled amusement from their faces, nor the bright curiosity. ‘These your friends?’

‘Yup.’ I nod, not meeting any of their eyes. There’s too much going on right now. Shame is a powerful emotion and even though I know I shouldn’t feel it, I can’t exactly control my own brain. ‘Uh, SSA Hotchner, Prentiss, and Morgan–and that’s Dr. Reid looking uncomfortable in the corner. We’re with the FBI.’

‘The FBI huh?’ Harold affixes me with that appraising stare before pushing away from me. I follow him, keeping my arm out for support. He plops himself down in his chair and leans back. Waggles his cane at me. ‘I never thought one of my best dancers would make it up into the big leagues like that. Good on you, Junebug.’

And there it is.

It takes Spencer about three seconds to process that information. About two times faster than it does for anyone else in the room. I can see the realisation burning red hot behind his brown eyes when he jerks them to me. I can’t hide my expression quickly enough–my blink is all he needs to confirm what Harold said. Spencer’s eyes cloud for a second, lips parted.

When he cocks his head curiously, I can tell exactly what he’s thinking. What he’s imagining in that brain of his. What a little shit. When his eyes focus again, he sees my look of disapproval and flushes. Then, his expression changes–closes off. Becomes unreadable. It’s an annoying talent he has and one of the most frustrating things about him.

‘Thanks, H.’ I clear my throat, ignoring the mercilessly gleeful grin on Emily’s face. ‘Guys, this is Harold, he’s the manager here–if something happened, Harold is the one who’s most likely to know about it.’

‘You were a stripper?’ Derek blurts out. Of course he would be the one to ask first. It just encourages Emily, though. Soon enough, both of them are peppering me with questions like they’re rubber bullets.

‘How long did you work here?’

‘Yeah–were you good?’

‘Why didn’t you tell us?’

‘Do you still dance?’

‘Was she good?’ Derek directs this last question to Harold, evidently not satisfied with my silence.

‘Jesus Christ, guys, it’s not exactly relevant, is it?’ I snap, feeling a familiar burn of anger and shame. Spencer has remained, thankfully, silent, but is watching me with that blank expression. It’s unsettling. ‘Can we focus? I’ll answer your questions later, we’re here about several murders, let’s not get distracted by the fact that I used to be a stripper.’

‘You ain’t told ‘em till just now?’ Harold says from his seat, voice tinged with amusement and something that strikes me too much as sorrow. When I look at him, he’s surprisingly sad. It hurts me right in the centre of my chest. ‘I can understand that. There ain’t any shame in it, though, Junebug. You loved it here. Sure, you were at rock-bottom, but e’ryone who comes here is. It’s an absolute joy to see you doin’ somethin’ fulfillin’.’

‘Stop it, Harold,’ I say, the words choked somewhere in the back of my throat. A tingling sensation behind my nose threatens to make me sob. His words carve away at something within me, a part of me I haven’t thought about since…well, since I left Elysium. Avoiding looking at the others, I step around to the withered old man. Rest my hand on his shoulder. The next words are a breath of sadness. ‘Thank you.’

He understands that that’s not just for his words today. It’s for everything.

Harold gives me that sad smile again and rests his own hand on top of mine. It’s a connection I haven’t had in a while–Harold always reminded me of my father. Seeing him again is like seeing the ghost of my dad. I can’t afford to break down in front of the others, not when we’re here for a job, so blink furiously at the silver lining around my eyes. I plaster a smile on.

‘Bishop,’ Hotch says, voice low and measured. His words are not unkind and he is the only one out of the entire team that does not look disturbed, surprised, or horrified. Realistically, Hotch probably already knew this about me. I imagine it’s on my file somewhere. ‘If you need to go to the police station, you can. We can handle the questions here.’

‘It’s alright,’ I say, taking a deep breath and schooling my features. I do my best to forget where I am, who I am with–I try to become Dr. Bishop, the FBI agent working on a case that she has no personal connection to. ‘I can do it. Besides, I think Tia might kill me if I leave before she can accost me again.’

‘Alright, then.’ Hotch nods briskly, and the questioning begins.

Hotch leads it, as usual, Derek and Emily still staring at me with those aghast expressions. I don’t care about them, though. Whilst Hotch and Harold discuss the recent murders (three of the girls had been new dancers at Elysium, some of them regulars) and if Harold saw anything suspicious (a few odd cars, but most people who come here are unusual or strange), I keep my eyes trained on Spencer. I want to see what his reaction is, to gauge if I should start thinking about damage control.

He’s busy scouring the room, taking at each of the pictures on the wall. They're all of the dancers Harold has employed. I’m up there somewhere. I wonder if that’s what Spencer is looking for. He stands with one arm across his lower stomach, the other brought up to his chest. Long fingers rub the sharpness of his jaw idly. His eyes work furiously across the walls, committing everything to memory.

Spencer has always been good at disguising his microexpressions, so I doubt that I can ever truly work out what he is thinking from just observing him. The blankness hasn’t gone from him.

I hope he’s relaxed, though, and not severely freaked out. I have no idea what I would do if he was severely freaked out.

‘Hey, Junebug!’ Tia’s melodic voice cuts through my panic crisis-prepping brain fog as she steps into the room, making Spencer jump. I turn to look and see that my gorgeous friend is dragging yet another gorgeous friend into the office. The other girl is tall, willowy, with ice-blonde hair that she’s been carefully maintaining since I knew her. She is wearing a pair of thigh-high blue boots and the tiniest lingerie set I have ever seen. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting, this one was a nightmare to find.’

‘It’s true!’ Jas squeaks, her eyes widening as she lays them on me. I barely have enough time to process her being there before she launches herself at me. Despite the fact that she is all bone, Jas is surprisingly strong, and squeezes her arms around my neck. ‘I can’t believe you’re here. It’s been so long, what the fuck, June, where have you been?!’

‘Whoa, there, Jas,’ Tia chuckles, gripping Jas by the shoulders and extricating her from me. Grateful, I rub the spot where Jas’s acrylic nails dug into my skin. ‘Give her some breathing space. She’s with the FBI, silly, didn’t you hear me say that?’

‘You’re such a bitch.’ Jas scowls at me as she shakes Tia off, and hits me hard in the upper arm. I yelp in pain, staring at her with an affronted look. She pats the spot where she hit me apologetically. ‘I’m sorry, I just missed you.’

‘No need to get violent.’ I remind her, turning her around to face the rest of my team. ‘We’re here to ask you some questions about the recent murders?’

‘FBI?’ Jas scans my team, her eyes widening as they sweep over each member. Her gaze lingers on Spencer, and I can see the familiar glint of interest sparking in her eyes. She lets out a long, low, appreciative whistle that seems to echo around the small office. I can tell immediately what’s going through her mind, and I brace myself for what is about to happen. Jas angles her head like a cat watching a bird. Her posture shifts. ‘Well, hello there. Aren’t you the most handsome man I’ve ever seen?’

Spencer’s reaction is immediate and intense. His face flushes a deep crimson, the blush spreading down underneath his collar when he realises that she is talking to him. His eyes, wide with surprise and discomfort, immediately lock desperately on me. The way he shifts his weight from foot to foot, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, is so endearingly awkward that I can’t help but find it utterly adorable.

I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing as I watch Jas saunter seductively towards him, hips swaying with each step.

‘Jasmine,’ I interject, my voice is thick with warning, hoping that that hides the jealousy I’m feeling as she begins to circle Spencer like a shark. She trails a hand across the back of his shoulders and I have to resist the urge to physically remove it. Only I am allowed to touch Spencer like that. ‘Behave, please. That’s my colleague.’

What I really want to say is ‘that’s my boyfriend you’re pawing at’, but I can’t. Not when the team is standing right there, watching with varying degrees of amusement. The secret aspect of our relationship hasn’t bothered me as much as it does right now. I don’t know what to do.

‘Oh, come on, Junebug, you’ve never been a prude.’ Jas flashes me a familiar, mischievous grin as she casually straightens Spencer’s collar from behind, her nails scraping across his shirt. I know that expression–I’ve seen it on her several times before she scores a big payout, and Jas always scores big. Bitter jealousy twists in the base of my stomach. ‘If I remember correctly, you would have been all over this one a few years ago. Let me have my fun. What’s your name, handsome?’

‘I–I’m Dr. Spencer Reid.’ He stammers, bottom lip pulled between his teeth as he finds the ceiling very interesting. I can practically feel the heat radiating from him. Part of me wants to intervene, to yank her away from him and put an end to this little performance. But another part, a part I am decidedly not proud of, wants to see what Spencer will do. It’s a test of sorts, though I am not sure what I am testing or why.

‘Dr. Spencer Reid.’ Jas purrs, drawing out each syllable as if it’s fine wine. She completes her predatory circle to stand in front of Spencer, giving me an excellent view of her pert behind. It’s not exactly hidden in the thong she’s donned. She twists a stray strand of his hair around her finger. Spencer flinches away from her touch, and I can’t help but feel a pang of sympathy. I want to tell her to back off but Derek’s amused expression stops me. ‘A doctor–you’ve always loved a man with brains, Junebug. So, Spencer, what brings you to Elysium? Looking for some extracurricular studies?’

‘We–we’re here about the, the recent murders…’ Spencer chokes out, his voice strained and higher than usual. He’s still staring resolutely at the ceiling, as if trying to solve some complicated mathematical equation etched into the plaster.

‘Yes, we are.’ Hotch cuts in, his voice taking on a sharp and authoritative tone. He places a firm hand on Spencer’s shoulder, effectively creating a barrier between him and Jasmine. I feel a rush of gratitude towards my Unit Chief for doing what I could not. ‘We’re hoping you could help us by answering some questions, not by accosting a Federal Agent.’

‘I suppose.’ Jas pouts dramatically, but there is a glimmer of understanding in her eyes. She knows she’s pushed the boundaries a little bit too far. Her shoulders slump in defeat, but she turns back to Spencer. ‘I guess I can behave. But only if the good doctor here promises to buy me a drink. What do you say, gorgeous? Care to hear some stories about our Junebug’s wilder days?’

‘I will buy you that drink, Jasmine.’ I interject quickly, my words coming out harsher than intended. My hand shoots out, curling around her upper arm as I tug her a few steps away from Spencer. I fix her with a stern look, eyebrow raised in silent warning. ‘Leave Spencer alone.’

‘Fine, June, you absolute spoil sport.’ She hisses at me, but there’s no real venom in her tone. If anything, there’s a hint of amusement, as if she’s enjoying this power play. It wouldn’t surprise me. ‘Why don’t all of us go out for a drink, then, if I can’t have Spencer by himself?’

‘Can we focus, please?’ I sigh, not liking the way both Emily and Derek have perked up upon hearing the possibility of getting the juicy information about my ‘wilder days’ as Jasmine so kindly phrased it. ‘We are here on official business–we can gossip later, alright?’

‘Alright, alright, message received.’ Jas rolls her eyes but finally relents. She sits down on Harold’s desk, looking expectantly up at us. ‘Ask away.’

‘Don’t think you can escape, Juniper Bishop.’

Balls.

I turn around sheepishly, one hand on the door to my hotel room. I was so close. If I hadn’t stopped to stock up on snacks, I might have escaped, might have managed to prolong the inevitable until I felt ready to face it. That’s the unfortunate thing about the inevitable, though. It always comes around eventually.

There, standing at the end of the corridor, are Derek Morgan, Emily Prentiss, and JJ. I only need to take one look at the blonde to realise that they have already dobbed me in, and have caught her up to speed about what happened at Elysium. They stand there like hunters spotting prey and knowing it has nowhere else to run.

‘Seriously, guys? Now?’ I sigh, leaning against the doorframe and readjusting the snacks in my arms–the vending machine was limited, but it had Oreos, and that’s good enough for me. Hair falls into my face as I hang my head. ‘I was just gonna watch a film and go to sleep…’

‘Not happening.’ Emily announces, striding over to me and grabbing my upper arm. ‘We’re going to the bar.’

‘The bar?’ I say, dragging my feet but letting her lead me over to the others. I don’t like the way they are looking at me. I feel like a student being dragged to the headmaster’s office for a scolding. ‘We haven’t solved the case yet, surely it’s a bad idea to drink on the job?’

‘Then order a soda.’ JJ grips my other arm and they frog march me towards the top of the stairs.

‘Guys.’ I whine, trying to dig my heels into the plush carpet, and failing spectacularly. It’s no use. I am dragged rather roughly down the stairs and towards the hotel bar, my protests falling on deaf ears. ‘Come on, this is ridiculous–’

‘What’s going on?’

‘Spencer, save me!’ I call, looking over my shoulder to spot my handsome boyfriend by the lift, his head angled curiously as he witnesses what is essentially my death march. JJ and Emily take no prisoners, though, and continue to haul me towards the bar.

‘We’re just gonna ask her some questions, that’s all.’ Derek says, talking to Spencer as if he’s just found out that I am a suspect in a gruesome murder. Spencer blinks, confused, and starts to trail after us. ‘Care to join?’

When we reach the bar, I am deposited unceremoniously into a booth, being wedged in by Emily and opposed by JJ. Derek and Spencer don’t take long to join us, the former drifting off towards the bar with a firm warning not to start without him. The latter sits down beside JJ. I glare at them, arms folded across my chest, Oreos abandoned on the table.

‘You brought this upon yourself, you know.’ Emily says, all high and mighty. She rests her elbows on the bar and cocks her head at me. ‘I mean, I knew there was something…different about you, but this? This is not what I was expecting.’

‘Oh my God.’ I groan, staring down at the table rather than at their three pairs of inquisitorial eyes. Spencer’s gaze is the hardest one to avoid and the worst one to meet. He’s guarded his expression so I can’t fully read it, but judging from the way he has his arms crossed, he isn’t going to come to my rescue. Evidently he’s just as curious as the rest of them. ‘Was all this really necessary?’

‘You were the one trying to hole up in your room.’ JJ says with a casual shrug, glancing over to where Derek is paying for a selection of drinks. ‘Forgive us for trying to get to the bottom of this.’

‘There isn’t anything to get to the bottom of!’ I say, voice rising in volume and in pitch. ‘I think you guys are making this out to be worse than it actually is.’

‘Aw, come on, hotstuff, we’re just curious.’ Derek says, putting down a circular black tray in the middle of the table. He divvies off the drinks, placing what suspiciously looks like a G&T in front of me. Despite my earlier reluctance to imbibe, I’m kind of grateful. I might need alcohol to get through this. Once he’s done, he pulls up a stool and heads the table. ‘Can you blame us?’

‘Yes.’ I retort, slumping back in my seat and scowling. ‘Fine. Fine. Ask away.’

‘How come you never told us you used to be a stripper?!’ Emily cuts right to the chase, leaning forward even further. If her eyes could get any wider, they would. She resembles one of those weird marsupials with the long fingers that tap on trees to eat the bugs.

‘It…it never came up.’ I shrug, running my finger along the edge of my glass and glancing at Spencer. He’s still utterly unreadable, stirring the ice around his drink with a straw. He’s watching me carefully, probably looking for any microexpressions or tells–fucker knows me too well at this point. Unlike him, I’ve never been good at hiding things. ‘It’s not exactly something you just casually tell people, especially when you now work for the FBI. It’s…frowned upon.’

‘I suppose I can understand that.’ JJ concedes, taking a sip of her drink. ‘When were you working there?’

‘Oh, maybe, like, five, six years ago?’ I copy her movement, letting the gin blaze down my throat. It’s relaxing.

‘So…was this before or after your PhD?’

‘After. I was in the middle of completing another undergrad at Cornell when…well, when I started to dance.’

‘Another undergrad?’ Derek says, apparently more surprised at my academic achievements than the fact that I used to get naked and dance around for money.

‘Yes, Derek, another one.’ I laugh, sipping my drink again and let myself watch Spencer watching me. ‘I was bored after finishing my PhD and felt like doing another degree–it was psychology, which now that I think about it, is kind of ironic.’

‘So…were you dancing to pay off your debt?’ Emily asks, her curiosity piqued. Her bright brown eyes sparkle with intrigue. I’m apparently the most fascinating thing she has seen in quite some time. ‘I mean, degrees are expensive, were you having money problems?’

‘No, it wasn’t the money.’ I confirm, eyes flickering down to trace the pattern of the wood. I have to be careful here, and I have to choose my words with the utmost precision. God, sometimes talking to these guys feels a lot like sitting an exam. ‘It was…well, there were a lot of things going on, and I felt very out of control. I don’t know, I think dancing gave me the control…and the escape…that I needed.’

‘There are other ways to get control.’ Spencer finally speaks, and I almost flinch at the rawness of his words. When I look at him, he’s staring down into his drink. His tone is laced with disapproval. ‘Why…why would you do something like that?’

‘Don’t get me wrong, I have no shame in it.’ I say, somewhat harsher than intended. ‘I loved dancing. It was empowering and freeing, and brought me a lot of joy. But I started it for the wrong reasons, and unfortunately it facilitated habits I really should have been trying to break rather than…well, rather than indulging.’

‘And, according to Harold, you were good. In fact, I think he said you were one of the best.’ Derek grins cheekily at me, eyes roving over my body. I can see Spencer tense out of the corner of my eye at Derek’s words, his shoulders closing inwards. This is dangerous territory.

‘Stop picturing it, Morgan–never gonna happen.’ I flick an ice cube at him, but laugh to show him I am actually teasing.

‘Wait, really?’ Emily sounds genuinely upset, gaping at me. The concept that Emily Prentiss was actually considering asking me to dance for her blows my mind.

‘Oh, come off it, I’m not gonna strip for my coworkers!’

‘Even if I paid you?’ Derek flirts, leaning towards me and flashing me his characteristic wink.

‘Oh, Derek, sweetheart,’ I let the words roll around my tongue, let them drip seductively from my lips. I focus all of my attention onto him as if he were another patron eager for something from Elysium. My eyes trail slowly across his handsome face, lingering on the firm jaw, sticking to his slightly parted mouth. Derek swallows–hard. He leans in just a little bit more. ‘You wouldn’t be able to afford me.’

‘Damn…’ Derek blinks as if clearing his eyes off water. The others (minus Spencer) are laughing at us, and I join in. Derek, to his credit, moves past it with dignity. ‘Worth a shot, eh.’

‘You’re a pig, Morgan,’ JJ steps to my rescue, sneering at our coworker. ‘What would Garcia say if she could hear that?’

‘Hell, she’d probably ask me to split the cost with her.’ Derek winks at me again, but I don’t indulge him this time. I’m watching Spencer, and my heart is sinking.

He hasn’t touched his drink. It just sits in front of him, condensation forming a ring around the bottom. Spencer is staring down into it as if it’s the most interesting thing he has ever seen, eyes narrowed, lips pursed. I know that if I looked under the table, his hands are most likely either fiddling with the seam of his slacks, or balled in his lap.

He looks…angry. Hurt. Betrayed, almost. I don’t really blame him. It’s a lot to hear, and I should have told him when he asked me about it on the plane. Spencer doesn’t ask for much, but what he does ask for is transparency. Truth.

I don’t know why I didn’t tell him. I want to reach out and touch him, apologise for not mentioning it to him, and apologise for the fact that when I am telling him, it’s surrounded by our coworkers. I can’t reassure him in the way that I want.

What I want to do is hold him and kiss him and tell him that none of the past matters now that my future is his. I have never regretted keeping our relationship underwraps–it works for us, especially considering it’s so new, but…but right now, it sucks.

As I continue to watch him adamantly not looking at me, I wonder if I actually do know the reason why I didn’t tell him. Maybe I didn’t tell him because some small part of me didn’t want him looking at me like that. Like I am dirty, or impure, or whatever disgusting words people use for strippers.

‘So, let me get this straight.’ JJ is saying, seeing off the remainders of her drink. ‘You started dancing because you were in a rough patch. That’s fine. What made you stop?’

‘Hah, my mother.’ My laughter is dry, and I take another sip of my drink. ‘She’s very good at being disappointed. She basically sorted me out, sent me off to complete my undergrad. I haven’t danced since.’

‘Do you miss it?’

‘Sometimes, Em, sometimes.’ I smile at her, trying to squish down any thoughts of Spencer’s upset gaze. ‘I mean, not the sleazy pricks, or the teenagers who don’t know how to listen to boundaries, but I miss my friends–Tia, Jas, Harold–and I miss the freeness of it. If you guys haven’t had some kind of pole class or something, I seriously recommend it.’

‘You could teach us.’ JJ suggests.

I laugh dryly, swilling my drink. ‘You and Emily, sure, but Spencer and Derek on a pole? Could be questionable…’

‘Hey, I’ll have you know I would be a very good stripper!’

‘Whatever you say, Derek.’ I roll my eyes at him but I can’t stop the laughter. I finish off my drink and am very glad that I decided to accept it. Alcohol warms me from the inside. Makes this whole conversation so much easier. ‘So…are you guys satisfied? Can I go to bed–can I eat my Oreos?’

‘No way, Hops, we’re only just getting started.’ Emily grins naughtily at me and gestures for Derek to get another round. Before he can, though, Spencer is already standing and walking away from the table towards the bar without a word. Ouch. It’s clear he’s not very impressed. He hasn’t even finished his drink. ‘We still have so many questions.’

‘Like, did you have a stage name?’

‘What kind of dances did you do? Pole, group, private?’

‘Did you have a signature move?’

‘Do you still have a stripper playlist? If so, can I have it?’

‘Did you ever fall off the pole?’

‘What was the most money you made in one night?’

‘Did you have any regulars? Like, people who came in just to see you?’

‘Did any of them ever try to take you home?’

‘Did you let them?’

‘Oh my God, guys!’ I have to slam my hands on the table to get them to shut up, the words coming in a breathless laugh. I think Derek might have gotten me a double because the alcohol has loosened my tongue and I’m genuinely considering answering them. ‘One question at a time, please.’

It is then that Spencer returns, passing around the drinks quickly. He can’t even look me in the eye as he sits down and goes back to staring into his drink. My mind whirrs with ways to rectify this problem, but it’s not as if I can go back and change the past. Spencer has to come to terms with this on his own merit, and all I can do is wait.

‘Tell us everything.’ Emily gushes, taking a healthy swig of her fresh drink.

‘Everything? Do you think you can handle everything, Spencer?’ I don’t know why I call him out like that. As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I regret them. I chase the icky feeling away with a swig of another double G&T.

Spencer finally looks up, his eyes meeting mine for the first time in what feels like hours. There’s a flicker of something in his gaze–hurt, maybe? Anger? Perhaps even a hint of arousal. I can’t fully tell, and that scares me. Spencer opens his mouth, but before he can say anything, Derek interrupts.

‘Hey, Reid, don’t tell me you’re not curious.’ Derek nudges him playfully, but Spencer doesn’t react. He just continues to stare at me, expression unreadable. I have no idea what that look is trying to say. ‘Come on, man, we all wanna hear about Junebug’s wild past.’

‘Don’t call me that.’ I snap, shaking my head at Derek. I don’t know why, but hearing that old nickname on his tongue upsets me. Derek shows me the palms of his hands in apology and I’m pleased to see that my little outburst has shifted his focus away from Spencer.

‘Come on,’ JJ sighs, cutting Derek and Spencer a curious glare. ‘Tell us everything.’

I hesitate for a moment, taking another drink. How much to reveal? I realise that I am going to have to toe a careful line between what is suitable to tell them, and what I want to take to the grave. They are my friends first, though. Colleagues second. There’s not much point in hiding anymore, not if they still want to go out for drinks with Jas and Tia when we’ve finished the case. There’s no going back.

‘Alright.’ I take a deep breath and start to pull at my fingernails. ‘But don’t judge me, okay?’

‘We promise.’ Emily says, voice so sincere that it almost hurts. She raises her glass in a mock toast, and the others follow suit–even Spencer raises his glass, though his movements are more stilted, eyes clouded with that mixture of emotions I’m driving myself insane trying to decipher.

‘I did dance under a stage name–it was Cassandra, or Cass. I chose it because–’

‘Because of the priestess?’ Spencer’s words are a mere mumble, but I am so attuned into him that I hear him. He’s looking somewhere in the region of my collar, but at least he’s looking at me.

‘Yeah. Precisely. She was this Trojan priestess that was cursed to see the future, but for no one to believe her, but I chose it because of what the name means, etymologically.’

‘Bless you.’ Emily teases, and I roll my eyes. ‘Go on, what does it mean?’

‘The Greek spelling is with a K, so ‘kassos’ means to excel, and ‘andros’ means over men. So her name literally means ‘to excel over men’. I was quite proud of that one.’

‘Damn…and did you? Excel over men?’

‘Oh, yeah.’ I grin, taking a sip. ‘I did a variety of different types of dances–you kind of have to do all of them, really. No favourite moves, a couple of regulars that came in just to watch me, and yes, Emily, I do still have my playlist. To answer your question, Derek, a couple of them tried to take me home, and only one succeeded.’

‘What?’ Spencer’s word is perfectly formed, a bullet that pierces through the alcoholic armour I’d been establishing. I blink in surprise. He is staring at me with his mouth slightly parted, such a betrayed look on his face that I’m cut deep to the core. Spencer had seemed content to stay out of the conversation, but this is perhaps the first sign I get about how he’s actually feeling. ‘You slept with the people you danced for?’

‘Only one, and that was a long time ago–’ I say, wondering how only Spencer can get me feeling so defensive and so eager to alleviate his concerns.

‘It doesn’t matter when it was.’ Spencer’s voice is sharp, but he remains motionless, evidently not wanting to give away too much. The rest of the team are leaning back in their seats to get away from the tense energy now crackling between us. Emily is looking between us with a curious expression. ‘You slept with someone you barely knew, someone who saw you as nothing more than a–’

‘Than a what, Spencer? Go on, say ‘whore’, I know you want to.’ I snap back, slamming my glass down onto the table more violently than intended. Spencer flashes hurt eyes at me. ‘Jesus, Spencer, it’s my life–my old life–and I did what I wanted with it. I don’t need to explain it to you.’

‘No, no, don’t worry,’ Spencer scoffs, voice laced with bitterness. ‘I’ve worked it out. You used to sell your body for money, let men ogle you and touch you and degrade you, and you slept with one of them just because you thought, what, you thought it was fun? That doesn’t make you a stripper, June, that makes you a hooker.’

‘What the fuck, Reid?’ My words are soft, but the meaning is harsh. I’m hurt. I’ve heard those words a thousand times, from a thousand different people, but hearing it from Spencer–my Spencer–sucks the life right out of me. It’s as if it’s the first time I’m hearing it. All I want to do is run away and hide, but I can’t. ‘Don’t talk to me like that. You have no idea what it was like.’

‘Oh, but I do. I’ve seen the crime scenes.’ Spencer’s voice is cold. Clinical. Detached. It breaks my heart a little. ‘I’ve seen what those men do to women like you, I know how they treat you, how they view you. And you willingly put yourself in that position–it’s…it’s disgusting and, and–’

‘Stop it!’ I snap, slamming my hands onto the table. His words hit me like a physical blow, knocking all of the air out of my lungs. My eyes line with silver. I can’t believe he’s saying this to me, I can’t comprehend that he thinks that about me. I rise out of my seat, towering over the table. ‘Stop fucking talking, Reid. How dare you?’

‘Whoa, hey, easy now…’ Emily puts out a warning arm between us and I am suddenly reminded that the rest of the team are there. They have shifty looks on their faces. ‘Let’s all just calm down.’

‘No, actually–actually, I’m done.’ I sigh, seeing off my drink and gesturing for Emily to get out of the booth. ‘I’m leaving. Fuck this.’

I grab my snacks and my phone before pushing out past the rest of them and making a beeline for the door. I can hear their voices call out after me, but I don’t care. Even when I see Spencer rise too, as if making to follow me, I don’t change my trajectory. Thankfully Derek yanks Spencer back down into his seat. At least that’s one less thing to worry about. I stalk out of the bar as quickly as possible.

It’s only when I’m in the lift that I let the hot, salty tears start to fall.

THANK YOU FOR READING! PART TWO CAN BE FOUND HERE.

[genshin-scenarios]

caught! - maid!heizou x reader

Summary: you’re a regular citizen (in a vague royalty-historical AU) who’s recently hired a maid! Heizou is charismatic and dependable, but one day you come home, discovering his real motives and occupation. 

Wordcount: 1.4k+

Adopt a Wanderer: Digital Store / Red String of Fate Prompt List

If it wasn’t for you moving from a small village to Inazuma city, you never would’ve been able to justify hiring a maid. 

You aren’t someone who can afford this in the long-term, after all. But you have to admit that having Heizou’s help with unpacking, settling down, and maintaining the house while you start at your new workplace has been a godsend. 

Most days, you’d be lucky if you returned home with any energy left at all. Heizou would always leave dinner on the table for you after he finishes his shift. He’s been nothing but kind and patient as you peppered him with questions about groceries and how to navigate around, along with your awkward first-meeting where your home was empty save for a few boxes and zero furniture.

All in all, you’re extremely grateful. And now that you’re starting to get used to city-life, it was about time to consider when to end Heizou’s freelance contract; you’d love to keep him around, but your future plans require some savings. As such, today you bought takeout from what you learned is Heizou’s favourite restaurant, hoping to treat him to a better meal by the end of his term. Perhaps you could stay friends after that, but you didn’t want to get ahead of yourself:

“Heizou? I’m back.” You push open the door with your foot, arms occupied with takeout boxes and other belongings. “I brought…”

You’d normally return to a greeting and Heizou busying about, but there’s no-one in sight right now. 

Odd. Maybe he left to throw something out. There’s a sinking feeling in your stomach as you realise he might have left early after finishing his work, since you didn’t tell him about your plans aside from a simple ‘there’s no need to cook today’.

Setting down the food on the dining table, you step around quietly to check the other rooms. The longer you wander in the silence, the more random scenarios fly through your head with burglars or some other incident. There’s one door left—the storage room—but when it swings open with a loud thunk against the wall, you’re dumbfounded at the sight of Heizou changing, halfway through taking off a shirt.

“I—I’m so sorry!” You squeak and immediately slam the door close, dashing away. 

You’ve seen Heizou dressed in casualwear before, but you don’t think he’s ever worn that particular top. It was dark in colour, almost like a uniform for a different job, with a golden crest that…

Heizou exits the storage room, ears dusted with a slight pink as he coughs into his fist. “Master, you’re back early!” He tries to smile, but the ribbon on his maid dress is a little crooked and he looks out of breath. “Is that ramen I smell? I can’t mistake it—you brought back dinner from the tonkotsu place I recommended!”

“Heizou…” Your brow furrows in an effort to remember what he was wearing seconds ago. “Why did you change back into your uniform? It looks like you finished all the chores already.”

“Whaaat? No… I haven’t dusted the windows today!” He steps forward to lead you back to the kitchen, throwing a glance back at the storage room where he’s forgotten to turn off the lights. “I’ll just tidy up before catching up with you—”

“That was a Tenryou Commission crest, wasn’t it?” You finally make the connection, remembering it from when you visited their office earlier in the day. But why would Heizou…

Heizou’s smile strains. “I… suppose it is.” You can tell he’s making a bajillion calculations in his head; a stressed version of the Heizou who’d ramble to you about mysteries and theories. “I can explain.”

“You don’t have to if you can’t.” You raise your palms. “I won’t question what a Tenryou officer is doing.” In your house, though? You highly doubt Heizou would need a side job. Horror washes over you, realising that you might’ve been a subject of investigation. “I’m not in trouble, am I? I swear that anything I might’ve complained about isn’t—”

“It’s not that, but you can’t tell anyone I’m an officer!” Heizou’s grip on your shoulders pulls you back to reality. Seeing his panic, you’re struck by the reminder that secret-officer or not, he’s still the Heizou you’ve known in the past two months. “I’m not exactly here on official business.”

“You can’t tell me you were just considering changing jobs.”

“Not at all—but I’m part of the investigation team and there’s a case that I can’t solve using regular means.” Heizou surmises. “Head Kujou might wring me out for going independent, but I’ve been making progress and I really need to maintain my cover as your maid.”

You maintain eye contact, and it’s awful how Heizou’s desperate expression is enough to disarm you.

“Is there anything I need to know before I agree?” Your shoulders sag, but Heizou lights up at the hints of agreement in your attitude. “No one’s going to get hurt, right?”

“No innocent bystanders, nor you.” He promises easily. Aside from his current maid dress, you can easily imagine Heizou in the Tenryou Headquarters solving crimes. No wonder he’s always had a confident charm. “If you were ever at risk, I’d leave your hair without a trace.”

You notice the pattern in his speech. “But what about yourself?”

“Huh?”

“Are you likely to get hurt?” You frown. And for a moment, Heizou’s capable aura wavers, freezing as he tries to come up with an answer. 

“I’m quite adept in combat, so there’s no need to worry.” His grin is a little less practised now. “It’s part of my job.”

Instead of giving him a direct yes however, you purse your lips and continue into the living room, starting to unpack the food. 

“I’ll overlook your lack of personal-concern if you’ll eat with me.” You say. You’re not close enough to Heizou to start giving him a speech, but he reads your effort to connect and his mouth tugs into a small, gentle smile. 

“How can I refuse my Master?” Heizou gets the cutlery, putting a kettle on the stove to boil tea as he sets the table up quickly. “Let me plate the dishes before they get cold. I’m still being paid for this, after all.”

“Where did you learn to do all this?” You tilt your head curiously. “I didn’t suspect you at all.”

Heizou makes a guilty hum. “I just did regular cleaning like I would at home. I believe the only reason you didn’t notice my blunders was because you were too stressed yourself.” He sets the bowl of premium ramen before you. But surprises you by picking up chopsticks and raising a mouthful of noodles to your lips. “Say aaah.”

You back away in embarrassment. “This isn’t part of—”

“The food is getting cold, Master~”

Helpless against his teasing, you sigh and lean in to let Heizou feed you. When he continues this for another few minutes, you finally reach your limit and demand that he eats with you, earning you a laugh that finally sounds like his usual self.

“Thank you.” Heizou says, calling you by your real name. You feel like a sort of barrier has been lowered with that simple act. “I won’t burden you with my work, so if anything happens I’ll send an actual maid to replace me, however long you need.”

“Would it be childish to say I’d only want you?” You admit, catching Heizou off-guard. “I was actually thinking that I’ll need to end our contract soon, since I can’t afford maids long-term. But I was considering extending it just because the house might feel empty.” And if earlier is anything to go by, you definitely aren’t used to coming back to an empty home anymore. 

“Well… In that case…” Heizou holds his chin. “Part of the reason I’m here is because your location is good for keeping tabs. Maybe we can figure something out.”

Roommates? “I don’t know, what if we get too used to it?” You joke, taking Heizou’s outstretched hand and shaking on it. “Housemates it is, until you fulfil your job for the greater good.”

“Do you think my work is so noble?” He muses. 

Maybe not his work, but certainly him.

“You simply remind me of the heroic type.” You say lightly. “Stopping criminals even with a broom, or while you’re mopping the floor.”

Weeks later, you find out (ironically,) that your statement couldn’t ring more true.

[paper-starz]

i was so surprised by the lack of AUs in the My Friendly Neighborhood fandom! So, me and a few discord buddies decided to create our own! The Opposite Au! (Or the OPP AU for short)

its basically a personality swap with a few story changes!

(click read more for bonus doodles + character descriptions!)

NORMAN

Norman is THE BEST character on 'My Friendly Neighborhood' and he WILL remind you constantly!

He has like a bajillion fans and friends that are definitely NOT made up! Of course he has fans and friends from all over the world what do you mean he doesn't???

He's a bit of a diva... ok "bit" is an understatement. He genuinely believes that he deserves to be treated better than anybody else! He proudly displays a star on his door as a symbol of his supposed stardom!

There's a blurry line between fiction and reality for Norman. He believes his on-screen friendship with Lenard translates to real life, despite their mutual mistreatment of each other. Lenard is definitely NOT Norman's friend. (In fact, most of the puppets in this AU despise each other)

Incredibly overdramatic. He once laid down on the floor for 3 hours straight because someone ate the last chocolate chip cookie.

Norman is still very lonely.

JUNEBUG

Much more calmer and introverted than her OG counterpart. She would rather stay inside reading books than play outside with her so-called 'friends'.

She is the resident bookworm of the neighborhood, incredibly smart too!

Her demeanor is highly apathetic; even if chaos erupted in the neighborhood, she wouldn't even lift her eyes from the pages of her book.

She also speaks in a very monotone voice.

She still very much hates responsibility.

She and Norman have a sort of pseudo rivalry with each other, even though it mostly affects Norman. While others react to Norman's antics, Junebug's indifference to it annoys him the most.

Even if she's not currently reading books, she's usually staring off into space or thinking about something. Ms. Lilianna is not fond of her due to her inattentiveness during one of her lessons.

Has a horrible habit of sneaking up to people and scaring them due to the fact that she walks VERY quietly.

MS. LILIANNA

It's MISS Lilianna. Not Lilianna, MISS Lilianna! She is your teacher and you WILL show her some respect!

Miss. Lilianna is incredibly strict and uptight. If you so much as even breathe loudly she will get furious with you!

She does genuinely love teaching! She teaches math, science, english, history... but her favorite lesson to teach are RULES!

Currently, she has 874 rules in her rule book. Here are some examples:

22. No talking while she's talking, that’s rude. 23. No chewing gum 24. no smiling 25. no breathing too loudly 26. no running 27. no jumping 28. no laughing 29. no living 30. no screaming 32. no playtime 33. no snack time 34. no lunchtime 35. definitely no nap time. 36. No blinking more than once per minute! 37. You must sit at a perfect 90 degree angle 38. No writing with anything other than a blue ballpoint pen with a 0.735 mm tip!

Her favorite rule is rule #17: "Everyday is Teacher's Day!" You must give Ms. Lilianna gifts and hugs to show how much you appreciate her!

The most important rule is the "No complaining about the rules" rule! Or else you'll be sent to the principals office! Which is her. She is the principal, the custodian, the janitor, every and any faculty member of the school!

...Except for the Art teacher. Please don't show her any art, she will not understand anything. She lacks any and every sort of creativity.

Her favorite weapon to use is the classic ruler! Light weight AND teacher-y

Baldi's basics lookin' ass

LENARD

Anxious Dog Energy right there.

Poor Lenard is very shy and super self conscious. Like Junebug, he would rather stay alone than be anywhere NEAR people.

He has a bit of a stutter.

He is so anxious, that he's developed several self-defense mechanisms!

He will either SCREAM BLOODY MURDER

Or he will bite you

Or a combination of both.

Sometimes he'll bite for no reason whatsoever!

Lenard is TERRIFIED of being watched, especially while practicing. Memories of him being taunted and teased during the show's production still haunt him.

He's developed severe scopophobia because of this.

He will usually sing and dance in private. Though, he's not a very good singer nor a very good dancer.

GEORGE

The epitome of "I hate my job."

This George really hates being a taxi driver. I mean, wouldn't you hate being stuck as a taxi driver for the rest of your life?

After MFN got cancelled and the puppets got abandoned, George ripped out the 'T' in his taxi cab hat. He tried ripping out more from his taxi uniform, but stopped since his uniform were the only clothes that he's got.

He's now stuck in exitensial dread. What IS George now that he's not a taxi driver? He might've hated being one, but that was all that he's got.

He hates any and all vehicles with 4 wheels or more. All the taxi cabs in the studio are smashed, even the wheels have been taken out!

He still likes rats. However, it's mostly a "appreciate from afar" type of ordeal. The rats in the studio are vicious little beasts.

He once saw a puppet get too close to the rats. Let's just say that the puppet is now a pile of cotton fluff.

The only time he was genuinely happy during the show's production was when they were filming the Pirate's Cove film. It was his first experience of being anything other than his taxi driver role. He still has his pirates hook and he would fight you tooth and nail if you try and steal it from him

AND THATS EVERYONE (for part 1 ofc)

Thank you to my friends who definitely helped with this AU (you know who you are!)

Oh! And please click the images for better quaity!

[cyberphuck]

The Patreon Post

SO HERE'S THE DEAL: I do not want to make anyone have to pay to see my art.

Let's be real: there are like fifty bajillion other, more skilled, and better-known artists on Patreon putting out more detailed, more unique, more in-demand, and just more art than I am (or want to). I'm a self-taught, frequently distracted amateur who's had an iPad for a year. I'm not gonna pretend that I am going to be able to pull in more Patreon subs-- or keep them, for that matter-- on the strength of my random doodles alone. I have never really thought or even hoped that I could do that, because it would mean Doing Art As A Job, and I absolutely do not want to associate "drawing" with "work." (I also don't have the means, time, motivation or experience to self-promote and/or keep a small community of followers entertained, and even the thought of having to do all that on top of having to Draw For Work is terrifying.) There's the self esteem-destroying gutpunch that someone with BPD (me haha!) receives when they ask if something they created is "worth" a certain amount and are answered with silence. (If you have BPD, you know that 'silence' is so much worse than 'no.') I don't think that anyone is actually saying my work is worthless any more than I think stairs were invented to fuck over people with bad knees, but I want to avoid one for the same reason I avoid the other: hurts and bad for healing. And also, maybe most importantly, most of the fans of my work are my friends, and most of my friends are poor people. I do not ever want someone to have to choose between "Eggman weeping as he cradles a slain Speedy Gonzales" and "rent." Lots of people I know just don't have any money to spare even for professionally made entertainment, or, like me, sometimes they have money (yay, beginning of the month!) and sometimes they don't (booo, end of the month). I'm not gonna put a paywall between my friends and my art. So, as always, you can view all of my art on Patreon for free, without an account*. (*you will have to have an account to view NSFW stuff but this will be in the 'free' tier as well.) H O W E V E R. You guys I am so fucking poor. If you follow my blog you know the whole story already-- mental illness, chronic illness, chronic mental illness, surprise rescue puppies, surprise fines from the city, the fukken recently concussed clown show that is social services in my area-- and you've seen me having to crowdfund for everything from food to gas to dog emergencies. We budget down to the cent and have cut out so many things (like the meal replacement shakes for my eating disorder lol) and we're still not making ends meet. I've got friends who help, and they help a lot, but I hate the miserable, humiliating task of asking for help every single month. (You guys also know that I don't have family that can help me, even if shit goes critical. I was on my own while I was a homeless sex worker, on my own when we lived in a shed with no windows, on my own when we were in a house with no heat and only one source of running water, and definitely on my own now, in desperate need of mobility aids, house cleaners, and a god damn break.)

So here's where I'm at: I can't ask a few people for a lot of support, but I can ask a bunch of people for a little bit. If you like my art and want to help me keep making it, want to help me make shitpost replies to people on the internet, want to help me do free askbox art challenges: Put your doodle prompt requests in the askbox. You can even request stuff anonymously! Participate in polls about what prompts you wanna see. Reblog the art you like, show off the doodle you got, leave keysmashes in the tags. The more people see the post, the more statistically likely it is we'll find the one person on Tumblr with disposable income. Also, people should know they can get free art when the prompts are live! Sub to the Patreon if you can spare three bucks a month (you can also do Ko-fi if you don't want to make a Patreon account). Ko-fi is also a good place to just plunk something into the tip jar once in a while. There are Artcards and Monthly Sketch sub tiers on Patreon for a little bit more, but I will send an Artcard to pretty much anyone who asks as long as I have some left. The art is free, it will always be free. But if you can, spare a dollar (or three).

[dsnzfb]

Counting Numbers

OC writings :)

Cactus/Rose, 1.2k words, M/M, cold snz.

It's much fun to have your boyfriend be so observant of you that he knows you're sick before you do.

"-hhaAAiish!!"

"...Ten!" A grin spread on Cactus' face, confusing his boyfriend.

From behind a tissue, Rose choked out a "Pardon?" 

"You've sneezed ten times today now."

"Thanks for counting, I... I think? You usually just say 'bless you'." A pointed sniffle, the taller man lowering the thoroughly used tissue from his irritated nose.

"This many in such a short time? Are you feelin' good, baby?”

Rose frowned, "...Sensitive. Sorry, this must be so gross, I- hhiiTshh!!"

"Eleven. I don't think it's gross, you can't exactly control it. Well, you're tryin', but..."

"Hhah- ahh- hhaaAAa-!! aaSshii!! Hhatshhiew!! Gghwaagh.." he whined pathetically, accepting another handful of tissues from his boyfriend.

"What's that, twelve, thirteen?"

"If it keeps on like this," the redhead blew his nose softly, "We'll find out how high you can count."

"Bully! But not wrong. This is more than regular sensitivity, you allergic to somethin' around here? Did I forget to dust? Or are you comin' down with a cold?" Cactus traced a thumb over his cheek slowly, intimately, "Either way, you know I'm gonna look the fuck after ya, right?"

"Language..." Another sniffle, despite his previous efforts, "Ugh... I should send you away so you don't catch this thing, if I have fallen ill..."

"But....?"

"But I... God, this is so selfish, but I want you to stay. Take care of me, give me cuddles..."

"Hah, that's a cold, all right. Tch, poor thing, you only get this clingy when you're sick. Mind if I check your temp?" Cactus didn't expect a fever, but Rose had surprised him before. All he needed was a gentle 'mmm' for permission, and he clicked his tongue.

"Startin' to get a little warm, but that might just be that my hands are cold. Whatever, gonna make you rest and take medicine anyway, should help with those body aches you get when you're feverish."

"How do you remember all this?"

"I try so I can help better next time. It's not creepy, is it?"

"No, it's swee--aahiigGSH! H-hhah- hahchii!! Hhashhii!! Aaeeshiiiu!! ...Wah."

 "Bless you, baby. See, I've lost count already. I'm just gonna say you're gonna sneeze like, a bajillion times today."

Wrapping his arms around himself and dropping the crumpled tissue, a shiver ran through Rose's body, a sad and tired expression on his face as he accepted that he was, in fact, quite unwell. Without saying a word, Cactus pulled his scarf off and easily wrapped it around his boyfriend's neck, smiling at Rose when he looked up in surprise.

"But that's-"

"Shhh, shh. Gotta keep you warm. That any better?"

"....Mm, it is rather nice..."  

"Need anythin' else? Is it prime time for you to obtain a 'boyfriend hoodie'?"

Rose laughed, hiding his lower face behind the familiar-smelling scarf. "You give that up, you'll never get it back. You're lucky I know how much this scarf means to you, so... Mercifully, I won't steal this."

"You want me to carry ya to bed?" Cactus continued, Rose rolling his eyes as a response.

"Cactus, I'm not an invalid. It's a little cold, the sofa is more than fi... Fi... Ffi-IIishh! Iihtsshi! Iishiie! Tsshiew-iishhIiew!! AahptshHh! Kktshhiiu!"

His eyes snapped open as he realised what he'd done.

".....Oh mby god." A nervous sniffle, "I'm so sorry."

"Whoa, bless you, bless! Jeez, you good? We hit a hundred yet?" 

A thick, warm hand caressed Rose's hair. Slowly, his eyes closed again, leaning into the touch. It felt so nice against his aching head.

Wait, no, wait, stop distracting him.

"C-Cac, I sneezed on your scarf, how are you not mad? Are you mad? I'm so, so sorry. I didn't mean to, my nose just tickles s-so bad right now, even just mentioning it-"

"Bless you."

"Aag-hh- I- I haven't even- s-sneezed again yet...." Rose's nose scrunched up, nostrils twitching in irritation.

"Listen, Rose... I seriously don't mind. It can be washed. You need the warmth, and it was there. I'm not gonna be mad about you getting sick, I knew what I was signing up for when I put it on ya. You can let 'em out."

"G-ggh- no, it's... Don't wanna do it again... Bad enough I... I... Hhih-... Did it before..."

Cactus blinked at him, nonplussed. 

"You serious? It's already done, just let 'em out. Hey, better yet, get that tickle out with a biiiiiig sneeze. Big breath in, that's it. Think of dust. Think of, uh... A cute, fluffy dog."

This man was going to kill him. He couldn't. That's Cactus's scarf. He wears it every single day, no matter how hot it is. And here Rose was, sneezing into it and dirtying it! The disrespect of it all!

"I... C-cah-... Can't..."

"Yeah, ya can. Come on, imagine somethin' real tickly. Ooh, one of those stereotypical feather dusters! You know the ones, that come with the french maid outfi-"

"Caaaaac, s-stop, I.... I need... T-to..." Rose's chest shuddered with hitches, eyebrows tugging higher and higher, "Need... Need... Hhi-iih-!! Iihh...."

Stray fibres from the scarf itself weren't helping matters, yet he wasn't pulling it down, or taking it off. It brought a smile to Cactus's face, and it made him want to tease the florist relentlessly.

"Come on, I know you wanna. I know you gotta. It's really no problem, you can sneeze against me if you want."

"A-a-absolutely not! You- I... It's... Nng-ggh... Gghk-TSsh-! Iighshh! Ttsh! Ii-iih-iihTSHii!! Iktshiew! I-i-iisSHhiew! A-ah... Ahh'ttshHIIi!! G'ttSHHEw!! Aauaagh, oh, god..." 

Cactus blinked at him, "Whoa, bless you! Damn, that was a lot, are you do-"

"GghTSSH! HHht-tsshiew-iishHhew!! IitshHHEee!! Ii-h... Hht'shShew! P'tshiu!!" Rose interrupted him, the held-back fit tumbling out.

"Guess that answers that question. Jeez, bless you a kajillion times." The barista grabbed a handful of tissues, offering them up to his incapacitated boyfriend. They were taken gratefully, Rose motioning for Cactus to turn around with a single finger.

“Really?”

“Dod’t look at be. I’b a bess…”

He obeyed with a chuckle. He's seen Rose in much worse states, yet he was embarrassed by this. So cute. Cactus couldn't help a wide grin on his face as he heard Rose blowing his nose and groaning in upset, likely at the ‘mess’ he made of the scarf.

Snf!

“Cactus, I have to wash this before I return it to you. I'm not having you catch this because you wanted to do something nice for me.” There was a rustling sound that accompanied this, which Cactus surmised as Rose attempting to clean the scarf off at least a little. He snuck a glance, and smirked at his suspicions being confirmed.

“I mean, you will return it, but keep it as long as you need.”

“Caaac…”

“Look, you put it on, I'll get you some medicine, some tea, then we can snuggle and watch that show you like. Whassit. ‘Dick’s Deals’? It'll be like you never left England.”

Whether Cactus got it wrong on purpose or not, Rose almost choked with laughter regardless. “P-Pffft- do you mean ‘Dickinson’s Real Deal'? It's just bad daytime TV, you don't have to do that.”

“Ah, but there ain't nothin’ better when you're feeling like shit, right?” He stroked Rose's hair, smoothing it out after his intense sneezing fits left it disheveled, “You've done the same for me.”

“....Mmm. Don't be long, then. I want you here.”

“Wouldn't dream of it.” 

[xanasaurusrex]

Ohh I see! I’ve just read the Athena one and it’s awesome! Uhmmm could u do the ephestus one next? Is he a main one? Idk tbh. Cause i don’t wanna like request Eros who’s minor cause yk ur order and sum but ephestus would be fun! (Sorry if the name’s wrong… I ain’t English native an dim not sure about the spelling, sorry). Have a lovely day and again: love the Athena cabin!❤️‍🔥

⇢ ˗ˏˋ hephaestus cabin headcanons ࿐ྂ

hi!! i think you meant hephaestus, and of course i can do that! if you want to request eros or any other minor god, go for it! and thank you so much for the love on the athena cabin hcs, they were so much fun! have a great day, and thank you for the request love! <333

so hephaestus kids are cool but kinda chaotic

their minds run a mile a minute

they always have new ideas for things to make on their mind, and things to invent

they just always have a lot of ideas

hephaestus kids do very good in prank wars, because they're very good at rigging up things like buckets of water falling on you when you open a door

another one of their favorite pranks is putting a mento in the cap of a coke and then attaching a string, so that when you open it, the mento falls into the coke and does the foamy thing

so moral of the story, if you can, avoid getting into a prank war with a hephaestus kid

hephaestus kids also come up with the best nicknames for people

a hephaestus kid will spend some time with you, gauge your personality and the things you do, and then they give you a nickname

it's rarely ever a malicious one (or you're a mean person, then you get a bad nickname), it's usually one that fits you that you actually really like

so in my athena cabin hcs i said that they expanded the arts and crafts area, and yes, athena kids are the ones who frequent this area the most, but you'd better believe hephaestus kids are hanging around there as well

they love making things with their hands, and even though they specialize when it comes to mechanical things and working with metal, every one in a while they want to make a pipe cleaner butterfly

beckendorf was really good at origami butterflies

so after they died, everyone made an origami butterfly, and they put a framed picture of him up on the wall, and then surrounded it with origami butterflies (rip)

anyways, moving on

the hephaestus cabin is always just about a bajillion degrees

IT IS ALWAYS SO HOT IN THERE

and even though not all hephaestus kids have the fire power that leo does, they are all less susceptible to heat

i mean, they have to be around heat a lot when they're forging weapons, so naturally, it doesn't affect them as much as it affects others

literally, if you have a friend and the two of you want to hangout, you will literally never be hanging out in the hephaestus cabin, because you will literally melt

(not literally, but you'll just be sweating like a pig the whole time)

hephaestus kids also always make the best marshmallows at the campfire

i mean, come on

they forge amazing weapons, and work with fire on practically a daily basis, of course they roast the perfect marshmallow

if you have a very specific amount of roasted-ness in mind, just tell a hephaestus kid, and there you go, your perfect mallow

the hephaestus cabin also has quite a few retro items, such as cd players and record players

but they're not... exactly like they should be

hephaestus kids like to take these older items and make them more usable and modern

so there are some funky looking record players in the hephaestus cabin

they just like experimenting on things like that

the hephaestus kids also set up a sort of PA system for the camp

this was sanctioned by chiron, but they don't really listen to what he says about it

they play a lot of music, and yes, they do announce things, but there's often some comedy thrown in there

hephaestus kids are actually really funny

like they could honestly be full on comedians

they just have a sort of dry sense of humor, and really good timing, which is like half of being funny

hephaestus kids are also all really close

like when you're a hephaestus kid, your best friends are your siblings that you live with in your cabin

there are always a few typical older siblings that are the oldest in the cabin, usually the head camper of that cabin and a few others that you always know you can go to when you need it

hephaestus kids are also have the least drama

i mean, camp half-blood is filled with teenagers going through puberty, having first crushes and first relationships, that kinda stuff

of course there's gonna be drama

the hephaestus kids just somehow have less

this is partially because they always find themselves focused on things other than who kissed who and who cheated on who and why they did what

they have armor and weapons to make, dude, they can't be focused on that

that's not to say that there isn't drama with hephaestus kids, it's just a lot less common

and whenever you hear something regarding a hephaestus kid in drama, you kinda are taken aback and are like... wait what?

most hephaestus kids' love language is gift giving, and that mostly consists of things made by said hephaestus kid

like, oh you mentioned you wanted to start wearing rings more?

for your birthday, you find a package of like fifty, all different and interesting and unique, with perfect craftsmanship with the name of a hephaestus kid on it

sometimes they collaborate with the hecate kids to put crystals in the jewelry they make (because of course they make jewelry

hephaestus kids are almost never seen not wearing at least one piece of jewelry, made by themselves or their siblings

one head camper of hephaestus cabin like a decade ago taught themselves how to give piercings, and now every head hephaestus camper knows how to give piercings

obviously no hephaestus kid is forced to get a piercing, but most of them are

most of them have their ears pierced at the very least, but it's not uncommon to see a few people with snake bites floating around

chiron, the most innocent ever, has no idea where people are getting pierced, and has asked around, but nobody wants to rat out hephaestus cabin, because it's really convenient

idk i kinda imagine hephaestus kids as a little bit alt

that's all i have for hephaestus cabin headcanons! this was honestly a little bit difficult for me, and honestly i cannot tell you why. i do think these are all pretty good headcanons though, and just because it was kinda hard doesn't mean i didn't love it! (that's what she said) these were really fun, and i can't wait to get to work on the other cabin hcs i have sitting in my requests! thanks so much for reading, i love you all!! <3333

[snickerduu]

What music do you like?

Any specific genre?

Any niche music that you'd recommend or think is underrated?

ooh, i listen to a lot of different genres at different times, so this answer might differ every other month HAHHA but for a very long time i've been a big fan of music that helps calm down my noisy brain -- usually folk/acoustic instrumentals! will never not love those

recently, i've been listening to a lot of hiatus kaiyote, alan gogoll, the oh hellos (their four winds albums are great and mean a lot to me), laufey, takashi kokubo (i always listen to their albums to sleep), and stray kids!

i'm also a fan of local filipino artists UDD and munimuni :)

and some other long-time favorites i always come back to are park bird, elephant gym, plini, erutan, haruno, khai dreams, again&again, ichiko aoba, and a bit of radiohead since my partner axl (who also makes music!! he's made all the music for my animations so far) is a really big fan of them HAHA i enjoy A Moon Shaped Pool the most out of their albums because it makes me feel so sad

for stuff i feel is underrated, i personally think more people should listen to elephant gym and alan gogoll!! genuinely surprised their music hasnt reached over a million monthly streams on spotify yet, they're very pleasant listening experiences 🐛 my earworms (side note i feel like axl has better answers for niche music since he seems to always find really good hole-in-the-wall artists, he's positively influenced the range of music i listen to since before uni! we were in a high school band back then HAHA)

also i listen to ABBA with my dad a lot! their songs and documentaries play every car ride we have so i know every song at this point...but their songs are all bangers so its ok (my favorites voulez-vous and gimme gimme gimme)

these are all off the top of my head so i might've forgotten other ones!! maybe if another music ask comes out next time i'll spew out another bajillion HAHA thank you for asking and for reading this block of text :) !!!

[noorahqar]

Hiiiiiiiii do you have any LU headcanons you would like to share with the world? 🤗👀

Hi Ace!! Thank you for the ask :D

Had to think about this one. I have a bajillion headcanons, of course, but they're a bit scattered. Here's some that I've lightly touched upon in my fics, or that I found in my DMs!

- They all fidget. Sky chews his lip, Twilight paces, etc. Except Warriors - he USED to, but it got trained out of him eventually (With an unpleasant connotation!)

- Hyrule gets really weak in the presence of iron. It only burns him in his fairy form, but the more magic he expends, the more susceptible he is to weakness due to it

- Sky physically cannot sunburn. Skyloftians have all adapted to living above the clouds. They just have darker skin and often die of skin cancer

- Hyrule's their healer, but Warriors directs him as to what to heal. He's the only one with formal medic training, although he learned it all during the war. His abrupt promotion from trainee to Captain meant that he skipped a lot of training more experienced soldiers would have. Sky has medical training, but it's very surface level - there hadn't been many threats to Skyloft in a long time

- Sky has hollow bones (as does everyone on Skyloft). Loftwings can only carry one other member of the chain at a time because they're all too heavy - max with one or two very small Skyloftians

- Limbs are often amputated in the Chain. Hyrule or a fairy can fix it if the limb is held in place

- Warriors thinks poop jokes are the lowest form of humor and often gets harassed for it

Additionally, here's two more I found that work better as screenshots - I don't think I currently have the braincells to be able to phrase them any better as bullet points, LOL. They're a bit rambly.

Thanks again for the ask! It was fun gathering these :)

[b-blushes]

r.e. last reblog. I find this very challenging 😅 I REALLY want to be able to chat and make small talk with people because it is so important for making and maintaining relationships in a bajillion scenarios, but a) i live in a jar (disabled and literally spend <4 hours a week with other people/outside my house on average. not great) and b) i don't. have a tv or watch stuff that 'most people' seem to watch. so i can't even talk about SHOWS unless they are the almost exclusively foreign dramas that i've seen 😅 I'm pretty much a pop culture void except for whatever is going on in my tumblr sphere and i don't do/care for sports (i have nothing against sports i just am not especially interested in keeping up with them) so like what topics are there that are more than the weather??? OR things i truly feel passionate about, the hobbies i am doing in private in my own home that are, like, the depths of my heart. 😅 I feel that this makes me an uninteresting and unattractive (for want of a better word) person to new people that i meet! I normally end up talking about something to do with them, or some occasional stuff that i am aware of superficially. But we have limited time and energy and i don't really want to spend that on watching stuff for example that i don't care about on the off chance that i come across someone who that thing could forge a connection between us. and would that even be a genuine connection anyway because i'm not actually interested i'm just keeping up to date so that i can say the words. This is a genuine insecurity for me, like something i am ashamed of and i almost wasn't going to share this because i don't want other people to Find Out and go yuck about me, but maybe somebody has advice? WOW I WAS NOT EXPECTING this tumblr browsing session to take this turn. friends do you have any thoughts :P

i fear that any advice is like 'sparkle on and be yourself' or 'same and it doesn't matter’ or ‘grow a spine' or 'you are not uniquely special and this is not a you problem get over yourself' in some form hahaha but perhaps someone knows the secret to this……. :P

[disruptivevoib]

hi! ive listened to some of chonny jash's songs but did not realize that there was really a story? Or i vaguely knew but didn't have the time/energy to get into it and with the release of the bidding animation ive realized theres like a bajillion awesome animations and art and i want to get into cccc but have no clue how. also why does soul have a trident.

OH man!

The story of CCCC has an overall seeming narrative, but much of it's smaller points are interpretive due to Jash himself leaving it up to fans of the album. But! Overall it kind of goes like:

-Jash or, what most people call Whole, splits as due to mental dissonance and waning mental health. (Time Machine Reprise).

- Whole fades into Soul (End of TMR into Dream) and from there its Mucka Blucka as a sort of introductory song. The recap for a story you have or haven't heard yet.

- (The entire album is a time loop! Which is a big metaphor for the cycles of mental health and illness people go through.)

- From there its the section called "Cacophony" which starts off with Soul, but eventually it turns to Heart and Mind + their fighting and inability to see or listen to one another or their points of view. Of course, as Logic and Emotion, they both have valid ideas or opinions, but believe themselves so contradictory that the other must be evil or out to get them.

- Heart attempts to shoot Mind, as referred to in Ruler of Everything. Literal or Metaphorical as you take this, it is seemingly symbolic for an attempt at one's own life if not self sabotage. If not then both.

- The rest up until Soul Eclectic is sort of just the Mind and Heart fighting and their own personal views each on the situation.

- Soul in The Soul Eclectic reaches his breaking point. Threatening to kill them all (A more direct attempt at suicide)

- Mind and Heart in the subsequent songs decide to get their shit together.

- (Two Wuv) Soul realizes that not only can they be happier now but that trying to force themselves to conform to society's ideas of mental health or belief or love is just plainly unbeneficial. Sort of a song about unapologetically being yourself.

- Welcome To Tally Hall is a tribute to Tally Hall themselves more than anything.

- This transfers into Concord soon after! Concord is Whole or Jash by himself, though many of the songs seem to carry themes from Cacophony in them. Self sabotage, disagreement, importance placed on the wrong thing, the idea that no one person is better off than another. It concludes with Taken for a Ride. Which is also sort of CJ's epic "im burnt out as hell" song towards the end. But exaggerated to my knowledge for lyrical shenanigans.

That is CCCC as neutrally told as best as possible. I highly recommend forming your own ideas on it, but I'd be happy to also discuss more in depth my opinion on each song should you or anyone else express interest!

Getting into the Trident: The fandom took the metaphor of "Tridential Sovreignty" and "This trident he formed (found? Lyrics.) is both weapon and motive" and said "Soul's got a trident" to which Jash responded with "Absolutely yes he does now" Same with the crown most people put Mind in, and that is referenced in the "Trident, Crown and Blindfold" line.

Soul really did get noose imagery, a trident and a mask. All Heart n Mind got were a blindfold and crown. Lmao

Though Heart is also commonly drawn with wings. Which is semi-canonical according to album covers. I choose to ignore them because I don't particularly have an attachment to the idea!

Getting into the fandom itself, I can recommend looking around for the Chonny Jash Fan Server (CJFS) Discord link. But it can be extremely intimidating and even I just stick to discussion and one other thread channel. (Sides from my au channels which pop up every once a month or so).

Important note is that only Tally Hall covers have to do with HMS. Any of Jash's other music (of which I highly recommend, always) is unrelated. There is also a fan QnA somewhere that was done like a year ago now which has some neat answers in it.

I, again, am happy to go into my interpretations of HMS and the music as a whole but skdmsm saved you the reading hopefully should that be undesired!

[iamthat-iam]

Hi Bry ("Bry" 🤔 lol you know), I hope you're having a lovely day! Thanks for your patience with me as I always send a thousand questions haha 💀 I wanted to send this one over asks in case anyone else is wondering about it. No worries about getting to this ask if you can't, I know you probably have a bajillion and I am grateful for your time!

I wanted to ask you a question related to something I see ND blogs talking about a lot, related to the ego's desires (don't worry, this is NOT a manifestation related question but rather a clarification question on ego vs Self). I see a lot of ND bloggers talking about how once you drop the ego and realize Self you can then experience anything and everything you want and dream any beautiful dream because you know that you are everything and are absolutely, 100% limitless. But the phrase, "anything and everything you want" is a confusing phrase to me, because Self doesn't have any preference towards the ego's desires and instead feels lovingly neutral and blissful towards everything, including suffering. So then why do people say you can have everything "you want" once you recognize Self in reference to becoming aware of the ego's desires? Even the idea of changing the channel if "you" don't like the show you're watching, that's still the ego wanting to be free of itself and not liking the show. So why would Self ever want to change the channel once it has been realized, or, why would Self want to dream a specific dream if it has no preference towards that dream?

My interpretation of it is that once you realize you are the lovely, limitless Self, manifesting the ego's desires for the ego's enjoyment is just a bonus FOR the ego. You (as self) have the power to give the ego that You used to identify with anything it wants. This is because You absolutely love Your creation (the character You used to be identified as), because Self loves all of Its creations, and it is fun to give the sweet character You've been playing the gift of everything it wants, because it's fun to love it up. Or maybe You as Self want to give the ego a little boost of everything it wants before identifying with it again, because it's all part of the fun game of awareness and getting lost in the play. These are the answers I've come to myself, but I wanted to ask another person to see if they had a different interpretation.

I guess what the question boils down to is this: why would one want to "become aware of a different channel/dream/ego/character" once you realize Self, if Self is lovingly neutral towards it all? Isn't that just re-identification with the ego? Ultimately I know it comes down to love and fun and enjoying the play and I should probably just relax and have fun haha, but this definitely has confused me a little when I see ND bloggers talking about it. Maybe it's just because a lot of us come from LOA and that's where the need to address it comes from. But yeah! Was just curious what you think about this.

Anyway! I hope this makes sense, it's a little hard to put into words but I am hoping it is clear this isn't a manifestation question and more a question of clarification question haha. Thanks for your time and energy and I hope you are doing so, so wonderfully!

Hi "Bunny"! 💙

So it seems that we have similar interpretations. The Self has so much love for it's creations so why not give them all better circumstances to live under?

The Self wanted to experience life in all sorts of ways possible, including the suffering aspect, and it's done it, billions of times. The goal has already been accomplished right?

Now that you are awake and you aren't attached to anything that is going on because it isn't you, the illusion is gone. You no longer think that it's you going through circumstances. The game is pretty much over. You won 😂 At some point you go, "well that was fun. Time for me to do something different."

So it's not exactly changing everything so the ego is satisfied, it's more like, "well... What more is there to do here?" If you DID choose to create a new dream or change the channel. You do it because you can.

[lux-scriptum]

Elliot Vampire Au Part 6

Itty Bitty scene today :3

Previous Part

Owen was kind enough to get Elliot settled before he left. He even texted Cyrus for the spell to enchant Elliot’s windows so he didn’t have to stress while trying to sleep later.

While Owen helped himself to the herbs in Elliot’s kitchen for the spell, Elliot shot his friend Ben at quick text apologizing for vanishing for over twenty-four hours. He didn’t get a response, but that made sense. When he checked the time, it was barely past four in the morning.

“Hey.” Owen tapped Elliot’s wrist to get his attention.

“That was fast.” Elliot left his phone on his coffee table. He leaned into the hug Owen offered with a small sigh. There was infinite comfort in the warmth of Owen’s arms around him.

Owen pressed a kiss to Elliot’s hair. “I’ll be back tonight. If I haven’t figured out how to to track down some blood for you, you can feed on me again, okay?”

Elliot nodded reluctantly against Owen’s shoulder. “I’ll be fine,” he promised. “I’m just tired. It’ll be nice to sleep in my own bed.”

“I’m sure,” Owen tugged on a curl teasingly. “With your bajillion thread count sheets and your goose feather pillows.”

Elliot gave him a little shove. “You like my sheets and pillows when you stay over,” he puffed haughtily.

Owen just laughed, tugging him back in for a hug. “I like you.” But he was heading for the door anyway.

It was still dark enough that Elliot could walk him down to his car, as if it was a normal night, and Owen had just popped over for a movie and maybe something… more. Like they had countless times before. But when Elliot made it back inside and shut the door behind him, he pressed his forehead against it. Blindly, he reached for the deadbolt. And then the chain for good measure.

Almost mechanically, Elliot went through his bedtime routine. He ignored how the bruising under his eyes was worse than usual. He ignored how his hands shook as he changed into whatever pajamas he found first.

He couldn't ignore how the moment he hit the bed he started to sob. It was quiet at first, but quickly escalated into hysterical gasps as he fought for control. He’d been told before his impulsive and flippant nature would get him into trouble one day, but he hadn’t thought one ill advised hookup would lead to this.

Sometime while his tears slowed, he realized he was thirsty. Made sense. He was unsure how long he’d been crying. He heaved a hiccuping sigh an shuffled to the kitchen. Halfway through his glass of water he realized it wasn’t that kind of thirst. The shock of it found him on the kitchen floor with a fresh wave of hysteria that took a good half hour to overcome.

In the end he dragged himself to bed again. He flipped his pillow so he wasn’t laying on the damp spot his previous crying session. When sleep was a long time coming, despite how exhausted he was, he grabbed his phone to find Ben had, in fact, texted him back.

Elliot couldn't bring himself to tell Ben over the phone, so he shot off a few reassuring replies and then asked Ben to come over - he glanced at the clock - that night. Ben’s reply was enthusiastic. This didn’t make Elliot feel any better, but he set his phone face down and curled tighter. This whole situation was a nightmare, but one he knew wouldn’t go away when he woke up.

`

Ask to be added or removed from the tag list! @mecharose @incandescent-creativity @fragmentedink @idreamonpaper @cwritesfiction @firesidefantasy