#but maybe that makes it more upsetting somehow

[monzabee]

i desperately need nanny!reader and jealous!hotch. maybe reader have a date (that didn’t end well) and afterwards something happens between her and hotch… i just need something steamy to happen tbh

also how old is nanny!reader according to you?

date night (gone wrong) - a. hotchner

criminal minds masterlist || part of the nanny series

Summary: hotch recruits help to make sure the nanny’s date is not a serial, it’s definitely not because he has feelings for her.

Pairing: aaron hotchner x nanny!reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: jealous and posessive aaron (finally), feelings galore, kissing, mentions of a bad date 

Author's Note: thank you so much for your request and i hope you like it!!

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 

Aaron convinces himself that it is for the best. And perhaps, it is. He doesn't need to feel this way—jealous, possessive—but somehow, when he sees you slipping into that dress, he is a goner.  

Black, skintight, and short, it is enough to drive crazy on its own if he were to imagine you in it. But actually see you walk out of his house wearing it? 

It’s a big problem. 

A very specific kind of problem that tightens in his chest and coils low in his gut. 

Jack had run up to hug you goodbye, completely unaware that his father was standing there, stunned silent, jaw locked, and fists clenched just out of your view. You’d looked over your shoulder to say something, he can’t even remember what, but the flash of a smile, the tilt of your head, and the bare expanse of your legs had him swallowing hard. 

“I’ll be back before midnight,” you’d said sweetly, adjusting the strap on your purse. “Try to be good for your dad, okay?” 

He’d barely managed a goodbye. Because how was he supposed to let you go when you were walking out the door looking like that? 

And with him? 

Your date had pulled into the driveway with his engine too loud and his sunglasses still on, even though the sun had set a long time ago. Aaron watched from the window, watched you wave and laugh as you slid into the car, his car, and drove off into the evening. And how could he be sure that he was a good driver? How could he be assured that he wasn’t going to get you in an accident which could end up in you getting hurt? 

So, he told himself it was because he wanted to make sure the man wasn’t a criminal. That it was just protocol. But that excuse thinned out the second he called Garcia to dig up a background check. Just in case. 

And now? Sitting alone in the dark with a glass of scotch he doesn't even want, Aaron realizes the truth: he's never wanted to punch a man more in his life. He’s never also wanted to punch himself more in his life for suggesting that you should try dating other people, but that’s a whole other story.  

He’s still on the couch when the sound of your key in the lock breaks the silence. 

It’s 11:56. 

You step in quietly, slipping off your heels by the door. He hears the faint clink of your purse hitting the entryway table, then the soft shuffle of your feet against the hardwood. 

Aaron doesn’t move. Not until you sigh. 

A quiet, tired, defeated little sound that lodges itself right into his chest. 

You’re in the same dress—minus your heels, and your makeup is smudged in a way that has nothing to do with laughter, passion or good conversation. Your expression is sour, your lips pressed into a line. 

“Hey,” you murmur, as you step into the living room and realize he’s still up. You take a few steps and drop yourself onto the armchair across from the one he’s sitting in. 

His eyes flick up to meet yours. You look… not upset exactly. But not like someone who had a good time either. “Hey,” he echoes, setting his glass down. “You’re early.” 

“Date from hell.” You respond, not choosing to elaborate, since you know he’ll understand just how bad it was from your lack of explanation.  

He doesn’t respond. Not right away. Because part of him is already, shamefully, thrilled.  But the lack of words on your part doesn’t stop him from asking, “What happened?” 

“He was rude to the waitress. Talked about his ex-girlfriend half the night. Called me a babysitter like it was a bad thing. Then he tried to kiss me in the parking lot and got pissy when I didn’t let him.” The shudder that goes through you is enough to send Aaron snapping. 

His jaw clenches so tightly it hurts, and his fingers curl into fists against his thighs. He’s up before he even knows it, crossing the room with a kind of restrained intensity that sets your heart hammering. 

“Did he touch you?” he asks, voice low and dark. Deadly calm. The kind that would make you scared for your life if you didn’t know he’s not capable of hurting you in any way.  

“What? No!” You shake your head, your face scrunched up in disgust. “No. I got in my Uber and left before he could try again.” 

He breathes, but it doesn’t ease the storm behind his eyes. You’ve seen him like this before—when someone threatens Jack. Or when a case hits too close to home. But never over you. 

Never like this. 

“You shouldn’t have to deal with people like that,” he says, and there’s steel in his voice now. “You shouldn’t have to pretend to be interested. You shouldn’t have to settle.” 

You cross your arms—not out of defiance, but to hold yourself together, and it nearly drives Aaron insane because you push up your breasts without even intending to. “I wasn’t settling!” 

His eyes meet yours, sharp and knowing, and he tilts his head to the side in a knowing way. “Weren’t you?” 

You flinch at the honesty of it, at the way it lands squarely in your chest. You’d tried. Tried to date someone nice, someone safe. Someone who wasn’t Aaron. But it had felt wrong the entire night. “You told me to go,” you whisper. “You said I should date other people. That I—” 

“I know what I said,” he cuts in, voice rough. “And I lied. I lied because I thought it was the right thing to do. I thought…” He exhales, running a hand through his hair. “I thought if I wanted what was best for you, it couldn’t be me.” You don’t answer him right away, not knowing how to choose the right words, and he takes it as a sign to continue. “I live a complicated life. I have a son. A demanding job. I don’t always get to come home on time. Sometimes I come home broken. And I thought someone else could give you something easier. Something… simpler.” 

He’s looking at you now like it’s the first time he’s let himself really look. The way you hold yourself. The faint smudge of mascara beneath your eyes. The way your shoulders sag like you’re tired of pretending.  

You feel exposed under his scrutinizing gaze. He is so tall, even when he is sitting down with a drink in his hand. “If I didn’t know any better,” you start, leaning towards him, “I’d say you were jealous.”  

“Do you?” He asks, an inquisitive eyebrow raised, “Know better?” 

Your lips part in a silent shock. “What are you saying right now?” 

“I’m saying I hated watching you walk out that door tonight.” His hand brushes your arm, trails up to your shoulder. “I hated knowing someone else was going to touch you, even just your hand, even for a second.” 

Your breath catches. “You told me to go,” you remind him. 

“I know,” he murmurs. “And it was the biggest mistake I’ve made in a long time.” 

There’s a beat of silence where neither of you move. Then you whisper, “So fix it.” You glance over at him then, the corner of your mouth twitching, something unreadable in your eyes. “You jealous, Aaron?” 

The question hangs there, naked and daring. Kind of like you are, minus the naked part—though you wouldn’t object if he asked you to. 

His eyes meet yours. He doesn’t look away this time. 

“Yes.” It’s quiet. The kind of quiet that prickles under your skin. 

You blink. “Seriously?” 

He nods once, slow. “Painfully.” 

A beat. 

Then you stand up and walk over to him. 

Climb into his lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And he lets you. You’re straddling him now, your dress riding up, your palms pressed to his chest. Your legs bracketing his. You’re so close now, so unbearably close, and he realizes just how well you fit together, as if you were always meant to be. 

“I wanted to call you all night,” he admits, voice low and rough. “Wanted to tell you not to go. That I couldn’t stand the idea of someone else making you laugh, touching you, kissing you.” 

Your pulse spikes. Your knees feel unsteady even though you are sitting down on his lap. “And now?” you whisper, barely audible. 

His eyes drop to your lips. Then back up. “Now I’m going to kiss you,” he says, “unless you tell me not to.” 

You don’t. 

You couldn’t even if you tried. 

So, when his mouth finds yours, it’s with months, or maybe a year, of pent-up longing behind it. It’s not gentle. It’s not cautious. 

It’s desperate. And it’s perfect. 

[nephynes]

jungwon being such a sucker for tatas 🛐

in my head jungwon is a tits guy soooo

MDNI

══════════════════════════

There isn't a single position in the world that your boyfriend can't somehow turn into an excuse to grope you.

Sitting on the couch with his head in your lap, arms wrapped around your waist, and hands up your shirt, cupping your tits like they're just... there for him. Like he owns them. Like they're not part of your body, but some security blanket he needs to function. He doesn't even look at you half the time. He just scrolls on his phone, scrolling through apps with his thumb while his fingers absentmindedly tweak your nipples under the cotton of your sleep shirt.

He does it with the same casualness as cracking his knuckles. Gentle, patient rolls between his fingers, tugging slightly every few minutes just to keep you on edge. He's not even hard—it's not about getting off. It's just his comfort, his rhythm, his thing.

"Jungwon," you say, soft but exasperated. He looks up, blinking slowly like he's just now realized what he's doing. But his hands don't move.

"Hm?"

"You don't have to touch me every second of the day, you know."

He just pouts a little. "Yes I do."

You give him a look, but he ducks his head and latches onto your chest like you're the one being ridiculous.

"M'sorry, princess" he mumbles against your skin, kissing the swell of your breast lazily. "They just... help me think."

"You're not even thinking."

He shrugs and slides his other hand under your shirt. "Still helps."

When you're in bed, it's worse.

He physically can't fall asleep unless he's got your tits in his hands—pressed together in his grip like a makeshift pillow, or your back to his chest with one hand shoved under your shirt and the other curled around your waist. You've woken up more times than you can count to him sucking your tits in his sleep, lips latched around your nipple like it's instinctual.

Sometimes, you pretend to be asleep and just watch him. His eyebrows furrow in his sleep like he's focused, like this means something to him, maybe he's dreaming about it.

And it would almost be cute, almost, if he didn't turn feral every time he had a bad day. Because when that happens, he's not subtle about it.

He comes in grumbling under his breath, eyes half-lidded, tossing his keys down like the world has upset him. You open your mouth to ask him how his day was, but he's already on you—arms wrapped around your torso, pulling you down onto the couch and burying his face in your chest before you can even sit properly.

You giggle a little, stroking his hair. “Bad day?”

"Mhm," he hums, already hiking your shirt up. "Don't wanna talk. Just wanna stay here."

"Let me guess—here," you gesture to your chest, "means my boobs?" He groans like he's in pain. "Stop teasing me. You know I can't relax until I've got them in my mouth."

You roll your eyes, but you lift your shirt anyway. "You're so dramatic."

He doesn't respond. Just presses hot, open-mouthed kisses across your chest like he's kissing away the stress of the day. Then his mouth wraps around your nipple and he sucks. Long, slow pulls—like he's feeding, like he's addicted, and the whimper that escapes his throat makes your breath catch in yours.

His eyes flutter shut. His fingers even sink into your waist.

And he just stays like that. Breathing you in. Tongue lapping lazily over your sensitive skin while you cradle his head like it's the most natural thing in the world.

"You're like a baby," you murmur.

"No I'm not," he slurs, already half-asleep, lips still moving. "My dick is so hard right now, baby."

You blink and feel it pressed against your thigh, already knowing what's coming next. No matter what position he takes you in, spooning, missionary, bent over the counter, his hands will never leave your chest. Even when he's fucking into you like he can't get enough, he's still suckling like it keeps him grounded, like it keeps him alive.

"Jungwon," you sigh, breathless already.

He kisses your sternum, then looks up at you with the softest eyes you've ever seen.

"I love you," he whispers, "but I might love them more."

You raise an eyebrow. "Really?"

He nuzzles in deeper. "Don't make me choose."

You're half-asleep when the weight of him settles on top of you. You can still feel how raw your nipples are now.

At first, you think it's just one of his usual nighttime cuddles, warm chest pressed to yours, face buried somewhere between your neck and collarbone. But then his hands push under your shirt, his palms are hot, possessive and there's a low, almost breathless murmur against your skin.

"Lift it," Jungwon says, voice rough with sleep but steady with intention. "Wanna see."

You blink through the haze. "What time is it?"

He doesn't answer. Just sits back on your hips, straddling your stomach, completely naked, cock hard and already leaking against the soft dip between your breasts.

He watches you with dark eyes, expectant.

"Come on, baby," he murmurs. "Be good for me. Let me fuck them."

You shiver.

There's no whine in his voice this time. Just calm, quiet need. And you obey, half because you want to, half because it's always like this with him, he wants it, so you give.

You pull your shirt over your head, tossing it aside. He watches the way your tits bounce free with something like reverence. One hand wraps around the base of his cock while the other glides up your thigh, over your stomach, and down between your legs, slipping effortlessly into your panties.

His fingers are already inside you before you can react—slow, deep pumps, curling just right.

"Good girl," he praises softly, using his other hand to line himself up between your breasts. "Keep holding them like that."

You do. You always do.

He thrusts forward, letting the head of his cock glide slick between the softness of your tits. Your body trembles as he fingers you deeper, his wrist moving with an ease that makes you clench around him.

"Can feel how wet you are," he moans, watching your face like he's memorizing every twitch. "You like letting me do this, huh? Like being used like this."

You nod, eyes fluttering, breath hitching as his fingers find that perfect spot inside you.

"Use your hands," he instructs gently, hips picking up a rhythm between your breasts. "Press them together for me—just like that."

His cock slides through the warm valley you've made, slick and swollen, dragging along your skin while his fingers fuck into you in slow, purposeful motions. He doesn't rush. Doesn't even moan. Just breathes heavier, leans forward slightly, lets his thumb circle your clit like he knows exactly what you need.

"You're perfect," he says, not even breathless. Just focused. Worshipful. "Always give me what I want."

You let out a soft whimper as your thighs tense, your fingers struggling to keep your tits squeezed together while pleasure curls low in your stomach. His cock is glistening now, smeared with precum and your own slick from where his fingers have been wrecking you.

He shifts slightly—grinding harder between your tits, his hand between your legs fucking you faster now, like he's trying to get you off at the same time.

"Let go for me," he says, more command than request. "Come on. Show me how much you like this."

You do—fall apart around his fingers with a sharp cry, thighs trembling beneath him. “Jun—Oh my God!” He watches you ride it out, still stroking himself between your tits, eyes fixed on your flushed, dazed face.

And when he finally cums—spilling across your chest in thick, hot ropes—it's with a low, guttural groan and his hand gripping your hip like he's anchoring himself.

“Ah! Shit shit shit! Oh fuck!” “I feel like I’m going insane.” He says continuing to rut up, overstimulating himself before finally calming down.

He doesn't move for a long minute. Just breathes, inhales and exhales where he’s situated on top of you.

Then leans forward, dragging his fingers slowly out of you and slipping them into his mouth, licking them clean without breaking eye contact.

"Didn't even need to fuck you," he mutters, kissing the space between your tits. "Just this. Just you."

You're still trying to catch your breath when he lays back down on top of you, smearing his release between your bodies like he couldn't care less. And then, just like always, his face buries into your chest again.

Safe.

══════════════════════════

• a/n: these reqs are getting fun 🤤

[galaxymagitech]

Wasn’t Jason the one who came up with dying his hair though?

Batman #366

Jason: I found this spare costume in Robin’s closet. Then I died [sic] my hair black, and—

And in the timeline where Jason dyes his hair—precrisis—Jason is allowed to have his own identity.

Batman #366

Bruce: You had no right to wear it in the first place. Becoming my new partner is one thing…stealing someone else’s very identity is another—one I absolutely won’t allow.

So Bruce is in fact willing to let Jason be his partner…only if he doesn’t take on Dick’s identity.

Batman #368

Later, Dick passes on the mantle to Jason, who, after having tried on a few other identities, accepts it enthusiastically. Jason does have a bit of a thing later on where he’s upset that he won’t build his own reputation, but he specifically chose to be Robin instead of a new superhero identity—against Bruce’s original wishes. He accepts being the Pantless Wonder with pride.

Pre-Crisis Bruce does initially have a problem where he keeps thinking Jason is Dick, making Jason insecure. I certainly won’t deny that. Plus, on the meta side, Jason wasn’t allowed to have his own identity out-of-universe—he’s a Dick Grayson clone built to be the next Robin so Teen Titans can use Dick fulltime. Of course he had to fit visually into the role for the out-of-universe public. But that’s out-of-universe.

(EDIT: deleted a post-crisis event leaking into my argument) Why would Bruce be insistent that they go to such great lengths to hide the transition between Robins? He wasn’t originally intending to hide that he had a new partner. And even if I’m missing a panel where Bruce decrees that the public must not know there is a second Robin, it was Jason’s decision to become Robin. He had his own costume with pants and was brainstorming names. Bruce wanted Jason to have a new identity. Jason chose to accept Dick’s instead.

Maybe Jason somehow felt pressure to continue dying his hair. Maybe he thought it was necessary to be Bruce’s son. That would certainly be interesting. And it’s not disproven.

But it was initially Jason’s 100% unprompted decision, and Bruce wanted Jason to have his own identity.

EDIT: I would like to clarify that this isn't an argument that Morrison was coming out of nowhere. It is a clarification, phrased as an argument, that this is one interpretation among many, and not necessarily one I agree with. I felt that the original post could lead to incorrect assumptions, and wanted to give more information, such as Jason initially choosing to dye his hair. I do think Jason felt that he needed to be Batman's partner, and may have, in a convoluted way, theoretically decided that continuing to dye his hair was necessary for this. I personally think it's more likely that Jason is extremely committed to whatever he does, including playing the role of Robin. He's a theater kid.

For the record, this is all about pre-crisis Jason' and Bruce's motivations--I find it extremely likely that, given the way post-crisis Jason was recruited, if post-crisis Jason had non-black hair, Bruce would have forced him or at least told him to dye it. I don't believe Jason was lying when he said that in post-crisis.

I cannot stress enough that Bruce did make Jason dye his hair like that IS a thing it wasn't completely out of left field made up by Morrison. I love complaining about Morrison's Jason but that aspect is literally from precrisis as many details about that Jason are

No, there is not an explicit panel of Bruce going "well hey you have to have black hair to be my son, fuck you". But the whole thing is that Jason is not allowed to have his own hero identity and that the general public and villians arent supposed to know there's a new Robin, which, pretty heavily implies he's meant to look like Dick as Robin. If Jason isn't allowed to give the costume pants (or at least, made to feel like he can't change that aspect), then yeah, he's gonna have to keep up dying his hair too

[karaaeilish]

౨ৎ the last leaf; b. eilish

౨ৎ angst & fluff ` ౨ৎ artist!billie x ill!reader ⋆˙⟡ when the last leaf falls from the old ivy — your life will end. you’ve clearly decided this, until a miracle happens before your eyes

in a little district west of washington square the streets have run crazy and broken themselves into small strips called “places.” these “places” make strange angles and curves. one street crosses itself a time or two. an artist once discovered a valuable possibility in this street. suppose a collector with a bill for paints, paper and canvas should, in traversing this route, suddenly meet himself coming back, without a cent having been paid on account!

so, to quaint old greenwich village the art people soon came prowling, hunting for north windows and eighteenth-century gables and dutch attics and low rents. then they imported some pewter mugs and a chafing dish or two from sixth avenue, and became a “colony.”

the small studio you shared with your friend ava was located on the third floor of a five-story brick building. the view from the window, alas, wasnt a masterpiece of nature, pleasing the eye every day when the first rays of the sun illuminate the streets soaked by the night's rain.

all you saw was a dull, dim courtyard and a blank brick wall twenty steps away. old, old ivy with a gnarled trunk rotten at the roots had twined halfway up the brick wall. the cold breath of autumn had torn the leaves from the vines, and the bare skeletons of the branches clung to the crumbling bricks.

your languid, almost forcibly lifeless gaze had been directed at the window for the last twenty minutes, while ava was quietly but persistently discussing something with the doctor who had come to you for the third time this week. perhaps she thought that you would want to somehow eavesdrop on their conversation, but you, in fact, frankly did not care. you've decided everything for yourself. and maybe your pessimistic view of this situation was stupid and desperate, but it's the only thing that gave you hope. hope to calm down and finally go to a better world. where there is no fear, bitterness and illness.

quiet muttering under her breath becomes clearer, louder, and ava's gaze becomes more worried when she comes into your bedroom, saying something to you, most likely asking about your well-being for the hundredth time that day, as if at one moment something will click in your head, and a thin thread of light will frame your upset mind.

“twelve,” you said, and a little later “eleven”; and then “ten,” and “nine”; and then “eight” and “seven,” almost together.

ava looked out the window, puzzled. what was there to count?

"sweetheart.." she asks softly, quietly, almost maternally. her light hand falls on your shoulder, but at first you don't react, looking at the exhausted old ivy through a veil of approaching tears.

"six" you whisper, barely pausing between the quiet words. "five", then "four", and then you finally look at her. "when the last leaf falls, i must go, too"

for a brief moment, a suffocating silence hangs in the room, while ava tries to process your words, which are nothing more than the feverish delirium of a sick person. even if it was so, you sincerely wanted to believe in it. the disease will soon win and you’ll finally be able to rest from all this.

"you mustn’t, stupid" she abruptly jumps away from you, walking from one corner of the room to the other, then again approaching your bed, on which you lie motionless, only watching her every movement with your eyes. "your chances of recovery will increase if you finally understand that you’ll survive"

her eyes are mixed with anger and irritation, but also with a huge concern that pours out in every gesture of her hands. and you can't be angry with her. she clearly wants to see you alive more than you do yourself. and sometimes it’s worth using radical solutions to achieve this.

"and you know what? i'm going for billie. maybe at least she can set your brains straight" your eyes widen, your body finally shows noticeable signs of life when billie's voice appears in your head. a grumpy girl, unbearable to the point of foaming at the mouth and eternally angry at the whole world. but something about her fascinates you. you fidget awkwardly, carefully sitting up and leaning your back against the soft pillows. "you can't call her. ava, she can't see me like this!"

you raise your voice, but regret it a few seconds later when you start coughing and ava holds your shoulders, helping you stay in a sitting position. you know how hard and painful it is for her to see you like this.

“if she’s the only chance you have to believe in your recovery, i swear i’ll send her to hell after you.” ava pokes your shoulder lightly, not causing any pain but clearly driving home her point.

maybe you weren’t able to argue with her, maybe you just wanted to see that grumpy face you’re in love with too much.

billie appears in your room like a storm, barging in with a worried and at the same time terribly displeased face. her hands and clothes are heavily stained with oil paint, her hair is tied up in a high bun, but she managed to get even that dirty with light paint, causing a few stray strands of her bangs to stand on end. she still smells the same — sweet peach, oil, some kind of mix of different types of professional paint, and a hint of the bitter black coffee she drank in the morning. honestly, it's only now that you've realized that you have no idea what time it is.

"you're delirious," her voice shakes. you always know what that means. and it always makes you sad.

"and you’re trying to write your 'masterpiece' again?" her face goes from angry to more upset, and you realize you've hit the nail on the head.

for months now billie's been saying she's about to paint a masterpiece that will change the world, but every time she has nothing to show for it other than a torn canvas in the trash and some wasted materials. "i'll paint that picture, you'll see"

her face softens slightly when she sees the small smile on your face, unaware that it's her own.

"i'd like to see it" you whisper as she finally moves to sit carefully on the edge of your bed, trying not to get the un-dried paint on her pants all over the place.

the first minute passes in quiet, as you both watch the three swaying leaves on the green ivy. your thoughts are unconsciously intertwined, hers, about your kisses on her plump lips, yours, about her hands caressing your face in the morning. and billie made you believe without a word that you could beat the disease.

in the second minute her hand goes down to yours, fastening your fingers in a strong, but such a gentle lock, giving bright hope in the impenetrable darkness. billie could rarely be seen like this — calm and affectionate, not shouting at anyone, not trying to annoy everyone, just because she had a bad character. no, with you she was different. completely different. a girl in love.

"the last leaf won’t fall. never" she says quietly, but confidently, that her whisper cuts the cool air of your room. pure thoughtfulness is written on her face, as if she is drawing her self-portrait in her head, knowing exactly how much her eyebrows are frowning, or her lips are pursed. although, it was more like the brush was in your hand. you painted every bit of joy on her face, and she let you take over her mind, capturing portraits of you.

"you're talking nonsense. strong winds and rain are forecast for the night." you protest, but your words don't seem to impress billie at all, because not a single muscle twitches on her face. as if she was absolutely certain of what she was saying. the last leaf won’t fall.

and she was… right?

the first thought that runs through your head the next morning is that you are alive. but what about the ivy? feeling a sudden surge of strength, you kneel on the bed, resting your palms on the wide windowsill, decorated with some silly pictures that billie drew during one of her visits to your apartment.

your eyebrows rise in surprise as you look at the brick wall and notice that the very last leaf, which was not promised life, remains on. still dark green at the stem, but touched along the jagged edges with the yellow of decay and disintegration, it hung bravely on the branch twenty feet above the ground. you cannot believe your eyes, but it’s there, it’s there! that last leaf was the one that meant your life.

but how? everything around you had suffered from the relentless wind, the endless rain, but not the ivy. a smile comes to your face, and hope comes into your heart.

the first day passed, and even in the twilight she could see the single ivy leaf hanging on its stem against the brick wall. and then, as darkness fell, the north wind rose again, and the rain pounded the windows incessantly, rolling down from the low-hanging dutch roof.

and still the ivy leaf remained.

after the first day passed the next few, which have more effect on your life than the last few months and heaps of medicines. your body blossoms like a lily of the valley, and a sincere smile plays on your face every day. ava's eyes sometimes tear up, seeing a spark of hope in every look you give her.

the doctor came again, examining you and proudly telling you that you can get better. and you could ask for nothing more. only to see billie's face again, to thank her. to finally dare and feel the sweet taste of her lips with a hint of cigarette smoke.

but that same day, in the evening, ava came to the bed where you lay, happily finishing knitting a bright blue, completely useless scarf, and hugged her with one arm - along with the pillow.

"i need to tell you something, dear," she began, hesitating slightly before continuing. "billie died today in the hospital from pneumonia. she was only sick for two days"

your body shrinks, your chest becomes heavy, and your breathing is difficult.

"on the morning of the first day the porter found the poor girl on the floor of her room. she was unconscious. her shoes and all her clothes were soaked through and cold as ice" pause. long, silent. "nobody could figure out where she had gone out on such a terrible night, but then they found a lantern that was still burning, a ladder that had been moved from its place, some abandoned brushes and a palette with yellow and green paints"

a clear picture is beginning to form in your head, but you are still in a state of denial and numbness. ava gently touches your chin, forcing you to look out the window.

"look at the last leaf of the ivy. haven't you ever wondered how it doesn't tremble or move in the wind? yes, my dear, thats billie's masterpiece — she painted it the night the last leaf fell"

based on "the last leaf" o. henry

౨ৎ tags; @billiesbabygirll, @amara-eilish, @st0nerlesb0, @bxllxebxtch mystiquemm, @bilswifee, @dragoneyelashart, @bilssturns, @chrissv4mp, @allyeilishh, @bitchesbrokenpromises

[hopeymchope]

My new theory on Takumi Sumino from Hundred Line: Maybe he's not a dick, just kind of socially inept... ? Or could he just be... dumb?

I'm pleased to report that, after passionately venting my frustrations with the characters' actions in The Hundred Line: Last Defense Academy, I continued on in the game and found myself soon absorbed in the mysteries of the story again. I managed to be enthralled by the main plot enough to ignore the weird behavior of the characters for a while, and that's more than enough to keep my attention.

Btw, the first/default 100 days doesn't have nearly enough Moko Mojiro, whose Hope's Peak talent would be Ultimate Cinnamon Roll.

However, I began to notice something weird about Takumi. It happened when his behavior frustrated me AGAIN, in a whole new way.

I'll need to talk about some events from the middle of those first 100 days to really dive into this, but I'll try to keep the details around those events as vague as possible.

See, there's a morning early in the back half of the first 100 days (somewhere in the 50s or 60s) where Nozomi rings Takumi's doorbell to tell him that she really wants him to tell her about the girl he knows that looks like her some time. (If you've seen any trailers or read the web site for this game, you know this is referring to Nozomi's strange resemblance to Takumi's lifelong/childhood friend Karua.) A few days later, Takumi and Nozomi spend hours in a single location together... mostly in silence. He doesn't know what to talk to her about. He thinks to himself that he really wants to talk to her about Karua, but he thinks it would just upset her. You know—despite the fact that she literally TOLD HIM to tell her, just a few days prior?

"I better not bring up that topic that she specifically asked me to bring up to her soon."

Another couple days pass, and this happens again. He is talking with her privately and thinks to himself about how he wishes he could talk to her about Karua, but he doesn't think it's appropriate/the right time... for some reason that he doesn't explain.

Of course I realize that, in actuality, this is just hand-waving away the obvious opportunities to advance the mystery because Kodaka doesn't want to do those reveals this early in the narrative. But if we want to justify these decisions from the perspective of the characters, what would drive this line of thinking? Why would Takumi—who was literally asked by Nozomi to tell her about Karua—assume that he definitely *shouldn't* do that on MULTIPLE obvious occasions?

A few days after the above incidents—we're in the back half of the 60s in terms of the first 100 days now—Takumi expresses to Nozomi that he's worried about her. She snaps back with the question "Are just worried about me because I look like that girl you know?" Takumi is silent. He has no idea how to respond. Later that night, in his room, he wonders what Nozomi wanted him to say in that moment. He wonders what he was supposed to say or do when she asked him that to make her feel better. It's not a question for him of what the honest answer is—it's a question of what answer she'd LIKE. Now... that's a pretty silly question, right? Any bog-standard "normie" person would obviously know what she wanted to hear. But somehow, Takumi doesn't have the ability to understand what she was looking to hear.

In light of these incidents, I came to a theory: Maybe Takumi can't read people whatsoever. (ETA: It's been brought up to me that this could be construed as some kind of disability or some form of autism, which is actually a really interesting/cool interpretation. But I don't want to pretend I know much about the autism spectrum. Sadly, I don't. I don't want to say anything ignorant. So... I'm just going to leave that subject here in these parenthesis so that you know it's a cool possibility that would explain a lot, and now I'll move on.) He doesn't know when someone means what they say or doesn't, he doesn't know what different facial expressions mean. This would also retroactively make some sense out of his decision to throw his trust and support behind Ima shortly after Ima stabbed Takemaru and was strongly implied to be abusing his sister in some fashion... see, Takumi just can't comprehend human interaction for some reason. He is, on a base level, poor at interpersonal communication because of some major blind spot—which you can explain/interpret however you like.

Alternatively: Could it be he's just... dumb? In a far more general sense, I mean? This is easily the more unkind interpretation, but I don't mean to say that him being "dumb" would make him a bad person at all. Perhaps it's not just that he has some kind of basic failure to understand people's words and expressions—perhaps Takumi just has a basic failure to understand things, period.

After some further consideration and additional game progress, I came to the conclusion that "Takumi is kind of stupid" actually has SOME supporting evidence.

There's a missable conversation you can have with Eito one morning where Eito is talking about how he stayed up late reading in the library, and he asks Takumi what kind of books he likes. Takumi doesn't know what to say because he's (*drumroll*) never read any books. Like literally, he's never read A single book. (He does further clarify that he's never read any "real" books, which leaves some room for interpretation. So what's a "not-real" book, then? Is he saying he's read some manga? Maybe children's picture books or something?)

We know from his dream flashbacks that Takumi had some trouble understanding his classes at school more than once. (This is assuming his memories are all legitimate, which I suppose is something of an open question.) This can and does happen to all of us at times, of course, so it's not noteworthy by itself... but in the context of everything else I'm listing here, it could be seen as supporting evidence for the "Takumi is kind of dumb" argument. .... Maybe he'd do better at school if he read one of his schoolbooks. :P

Throughout the game, you can freely "explore" outside the academy by asking three people to go with you and look for resources. There eventually comes an event where someone else wants to find a resource outside. Takumi instantly agrees to join in, and—despite the fact that you can pass some other students AND tell them your plan to do this mission on your way to the Entrance Hall—he does not think (and you, the player, are not allowed) to ask anyone else to join them, thereby making the mission significantly more difficult than usual because there's only TWO of you this time instead of the standard four. You could call this ludonarrative dissonance, I suppose. Or you could call it Takumi being pretty thick-headed.

[antianakin]

I think you can fit the Force thing into this in a way that feels less clunky too.

Bix has been pulling back from missions because she's getting tired and so she's spending more time on base doing engineering work likely, but there's other engineers/mechanics and there isn't ALWAYS work to be done, so she makes herself useful other places too and this leads her to the healers where she meets this woman who people claim is actually a Force healer of some kind. Bix is obviously a little skeptical of what that means, is this woman actually a Jedi who is trying not to use the title, or just a farce?

Bix goes to talk to her out of pure curiosity and she's not injured so they just talk for a while, getting to know each other. The woman says she's not a Jedi and never has been, never even met a Jedi before so she can't say if what she does is in any way similar to what a Jedi healer would have done, but that she learned her skills from a local village healer on her home planet or something and it's something that's part of an ancient tradition among her people that's never utilized the name "the Force" as a descriptor.

But regardless of what she is or isn't, Bix finds her incredibly soothing to talk to. The woman is great at listening and knowing when to offer advice or just sympathy, she somehow always knows the right thing to say to help Bix feel better and understand herself more. It's through her talks with the Force healer that she starts realizing how much she DOESN'T want this life and doesn't want to stay with the rebellion anymore because she doesn't like the person it's turning her into (or turning her loved ones into).

And maybe when she talks to Cassian about leaving, he's initially upset about it, and he tries to convince her to stay, asking why she's suddenly changed her mind. She explains that it's not sudden at all, that she's been thinking about it for a walk and talked about it a lot with the Force healer. Cassian scoffs at that, saying that the woman clearly doesn't know what she's talking about because one time she'd come up to him out of nowhere when he was eating or fixing a ship or something and told him that he had some kind of great destiny as a messenger or some such bunk. Anything she's told Bix is probably equally as nonsense.

Bix disagrees, says she hadn't known about what the Force healer had said to Cassian but that nothing she'd said to Bix had been anything like that, and that she'd actually really helped Bix heal from the pain and loss and trauma she'd been going through over the last several years. She's not choosing to leave just because of something the healer said, but because she genuinely believes this is what's best for her.

This allows the Force healer to serve effectively the same purpose in the narrative (being the catalyst for Bix choosing to leave) without making it all about how Cassian Is Special instead of about Bix's own development as a character and her feelings about her own life. And the comment about Cassian's destiny is still in there, but it's left more ambiguous as to whether it's true or not and how you personally want it to fit into his narrative because you only really hear about it through Cassian's paraphrasing of it, anyway.

I think this also allows the Force to be integrated into the narrative in a way that feels perhaps less blatant and shoehorned in. It's a lot more prevalent in Rogue One through Jyn's crystal necklace and Chirrut's faith, but it's been included a LOT less in Andor, so it feels like it needed to be brought in in a way that wasn't quite so in your face. I like the idea that there are other Force practices, too, people who ARE Force sensitive in other cultures and have their own ways of using it that aren't Jedi and may not even realize that their practice has been using the same thing that gives the Jedi their powers. It brings in the Force in a way that feels like it's fitting into the themes of Andor and Rogue One of the ways that "the little people" still contribute to the galaxy even if they don't always get recognized or remembered for it.

If they were going to have Bix leave Cassian instead of killing her off (which I do like by the way, I appreciate that she isn't just killed for convenience), they should've swapped her narrative with Cassian's in this season instead.

BIX should've been the one becoming less and less committed to the Rebellion because she just wants to be able to find peace where she can instead of giving what little she has left to this Cause.

CASSIAN should've been the one refusing to leave and becoming more and more committed the more of himself he's given to the Rebellion because who is he if he leaves now, what will it all have been for if he quits NOW.

For one, it fits in better with Cassian's entire arc in Rogue One. Cassian's speech to Jyn at the end when he brings the volunteers to her is that all of them have done awful things for the Rebellion and they don't regret that, but they WILL regret it if they stop fighting now and have to live with knowing it was all for nothing. He can't walk away anymore. Either they take down the Empire or Cassian dies working towards that goal. Those are the only two options for Cassian anymore and that's SO CENTRAL to his character.

For two, it would be an interesting foil to his earlier conversation with Maarva in season 1. People have pointed out that there's a clear PARALLEL between Cassian's two conversations with Maarva and Bix and, to me, what this shows is that Cassian hasn't really developed all that much between the two seasons even though multiple years have passed. He's still not committed to this really, he still somehow believes they can find a quiet place to just hide away from the Empire and have a normal life. But if you turn it around so that now someone else is asking Cassian to walk away from this and Cassian is now the person who refuses to do so and he has to parallel Maarva's "That's just love" line... oof that shit hits SO GOOD and shows how far he's come as a character at the same time.

For three, it allows BIX to develop more as a character. Yes, she's a fighter, and she's strong and competent and fierce. But throughout season 1 she also has so much she's still fighting FOR. She has Timm, she has Cassian, she has Brasso and Maarva and the Paaks and Ferrix in general. She's fighting for her home and her family and her loved ones. But one by one she loses them. Timm is killed, Cassian leaves, Salman Paak is killed, Maarva dies, Ferrix is occupied and then they riot and who knows how much of Ferrix and its people is even left in the aftermath of Rix Road but even if there IS something left Bix has to run from it with no real hope of being able to ever return.

And then we get to season 2 and she almost immediately loses Brasso and B2EMO. The home they'd started to make on Mina-Rau is also something they have to leave behind and the safehouse they're in on Coruscant is clearly not something Bix feels is really a home. She has SO LITTLE left to keep fighting for the way she did before. And it might've been interesting to see Bix, who had been the original rebel on Ferrix, the one who was actually Luthen's connection to the planet and to Cassian, be the one to start losing that conviction because so much of it had been connected to her love for her people and her home and a desire to save it.

Bix is a fighter, yes, but the whole reason she's with Timm at the beginning of season 1 is because she DOES want a more normal life, one that Cassian isn't able to give her even before he becomes a rebel. Bix wants to be able to build a home with her family that she can grow old in and build a life in. She WANTS that, but she also loves her family and her home enough to fight for it when necessary. But then it's all taken away and they keep expecting her to go out and fight and more and more she isn't quite sure WHY she's still doing this. Maybe she's doing similar things to Cassian, maybe she's also having to go out and be an assassin or a saboteur and it GRATES at her because this isn't the person she wants to be, it's not the life she ever thought she'd live, and she wants to take out the Empire and avenge Ferrix and Brasso and all the others who died on Rix Road, but she finally hits a point of no return where she just can't keep fighting like this and making these sacrifices, she CAN'T. And she tries to convince Cassian to come with her because she can see him chipping away at everything she'd loved about him, she can see the way it eats at him too, but Cassian is Maarva's son and now that he's committed himself to this, there's no looking back.

And so Bix leaves, because she knows she deserves more than this and refuses to lose who she is, and Cassian stays, because he knows he'll never forgive himself if he doesn't see this through. Bix finally learns to fight for herself, and Cassian learns to fight for everyone. Maybe it's even amicable. That could be another foil to the conversation with Maarva where he tells her he doesn't understand why she's staying. But this time, as Bix explains why she can't do this, he can understand, because he's BEEN there now. And Bix understands why Cassian can't leave with her, too. There's no animosity between them when they separate. They were on opposing paths and they met in the middle for a while, but now they're at different places in their lives again and they have to say goodbye. They've done this once already and survived, they can do it again.

[pricesdahlia]

pure self indulgent fluff/comfort incoming <3

there was nothing she hated more than being on her period. nothing was fun about cramps, headaches, mood swings, back pain, all of it. and to make it all worse, she used up the last pad she had in the bathroom, john wasn’t home, and she sure as hell wasn’t walking to the store with these cramps.

now, john may not be the best boyfriend at times, but he’ll be damned if doesn’t try to be attentive when his girl needs it the most. so, when she texted him saying she got her period and was completely out of pads, he immediately texted her back.

“which kind, sweetheart? i’ll stop by the store on the way home.”

“the orange ones with the wings” was her reply.

he hearted the message, and was out of the building and into his car in less than two minutes. he knew just how terrible this time was for his girl, and he wanted to be a good partner and help as best he could.

he was at the convenience store down the street not long after, picking up the pads she needed. john remembered the exact brand from the last time she asked for them, putting them in his basket with a bunch of other items. her favorite snacks, an extra bottle of painkillers, even a pair of fuzzy socks with little deer on them. he figured it would maybe cheer her up.

after paying and leaving with his bag of goods for his sweetheart, he stopped and got her favorite takeout, too. john knew his sweet girl more than she thought he did, and knew damn well she’s probably been in bed all day from the pain and hadn’t has time to eat yet.

on the way home, he felt a sudden warmth in his chest. he couldn’t wait to get home and see her, the way her eyes would practically sparkle when he brought her the pads she needed, and that pretty smile of hers when seeing everything else he picked out for her. she always made everything worth it to him, he lived on seeing that beautiful face of hers light up.

he wasn’t aware, however, of how everything went to shit shortly after she texted him. she had gotten up to use the bathroom, but not before noticing the blood stain she left on her new, clean sheets, and her underwear, and her tshirt somehow (that was actually john’s tshirt), and john wasn’t back yet with new pads so she couldn’t even change. a weak, frustrated whine left her lips as she stood beside the bed uncomfortably, trying to clean it up with tissues.

shortly after, the front door to their shared home opened, and john entered with bags in hand. he set them down on the kitchen counter and toed off his boots by the front door (he’s been berated by her before for tracking mud into the house, and he definitely didn’t want to upset her any more when she was already down), noticing the lamp on in their bedroom.

“sweetheart? ‘m home. got you-“ the words died in his throat when he noticed the tears on her face and the bloody tissues in her hand. he quickly rounded the bed and took her face gently into his calloused, worn palms, staring down into those pretty eyes of hers filled with tears. “hey, angel, it’s okay… why the tears? what happened?”

her voice wavered as she explained what happened, sniffling in between words while mumbling apology after apology, and john almost laughed at that quiet ‘i’m sorry’. as if he would ever be mad at his sweet girl.

“doll, it’s fine. i’ll wash the sheets and clothes for you, alright? ‘m not mad at you.” he placed a kiss to her forehead, speaking in a soft yet gruff tone just for her. “you change outta those clothes, and i’ll turn the hot water on, ‘kay? don’t you worry your pretty little head. lemme take care of you.”

reluctantly, he let go of her soft face and walked into the bathroom, starting the hot water while she changed out of her clothes. john helped her into the shower and closed the curtains behind her, going towards the washing machine to try and get the stains out of everything. with just a bit of elbow grease, the stains were gone and he waited until he heard the shower stop before starting the wash.

john returned to her side quickly and helped her dry off, whispering just how much he loved her with kisses along her cheeks. he went back to the kitchen to grab the pads he bought for her earlier, handing her a fresh one with a clean tshirt and underwear form the dresser for her to put on after she was all done.

while his sweet girl finished getting comfortable, he was in the living room with her heating pad and favorite blanket sitting neatly on the sofa, her favorite takeout placed on the coffee table, and the tv turned on with her favorite comfort show.

the two spent the remainder of the night snuggled up beside each other on the sofa, heating pad resting over her stomach and head laying on his shoulder while wearing the cute fuzzy socks he bought her earlier. a smile formed over her lips, her eyes starting to flutter shut. he noticed the way she relaxed against him? tightening his arm around her shoulder.

“thank you, honey. i love you...”

“love you too, angel.”

[swordbreakerz]

I get rly jealous of painters (digital and otherwise but mostly digital) sometimes bc they have the skill and knowledge to be able to do style studies of famous painters, and I frequently have the urge to do some kind of leyendecker study but I patently CANNOT paint, at all, I don't even rly render I am a flat colors and cel shading kind of artist so it would just be kind of useless to attempt bc the style I make art in just isn't the kind that I can do those kinds of experiments in and it feels Bad

[hiddenbeks]

oh also in other news. i finally finished leviathan the other day

[gu6chan]

Not to be dramatic and point fingers but why is it that the worst people with no respect towards art or anything that doesn't involve mindless consumption for "the lore" always have to be drakengard 3 and nier fans. like i don't even try to look and search for things to complain about regarding them but somehow every stupid fucking thing in this fanbase comes back to them

[doushiteworld]

Proseka friend told me that both God-Ish and All I Need Are Things I Like are being added to the game on JP covered by Nightcord (God-Ish) and Wonderlands x Showtime (All I Need Are Things I Like) and oh boy am I scared. They're also adding (Not) a Devil but it's not covered so I'm not worried about that

[deerest-me]

really,

truly,

deeply,

wish i was not like this

[confused-and-dickless]

HUNGRY. I WANT FOOD. WHAT DO I WANT. I M TIRED. I NEED TO BE HELD.

[berryfairyghost]

Me when I got a text this morning from the woman my ex started dating after me, apologizing for having an incorrect image of me, after she found out the ex we share is a narcissistic manipulative douchebag who cheated on her with the SAME girl he cheated on me with

We trauma bonded and are friendly now btw 😭 I feel so bad she went through it. She says she's gonna make him pay so I'm just like from the sidelines

[rook2ii]

dude, why does accidentally messing up on RYM feel scarier that accidentally messing up on MusicBrainz :[

[cosmicheartz]

One thing I’ve been kinda stumped on regarding Solange kicking the Nari and the Bishops out of her Flock/Cult is how they’d react

For some additional context she chose to heal the bishops and all that but after she healed the last one ( most likely Shamura ) she straight up tells them that she will be kicking them out of the flock.

She also does not get along with any of them ( maybe Leshy but that’s only bc they can both relate to each other being made gods at a young age ) along with utterly despising Nari

Like on one hand I don’t think any of them really wanted to be in Solanges flock but also I feel like at least one of them would be pissed off

I particularly can’t figure out how Nari would react bc it rlly can go either way with him being pissed off or him being like “ fine I didn’t even wanna be here anyways “