#but the dunking on his fashion choices and the way he speaks and his hair is just below the belt and downright offensive

[jinglerat]

hot take but in light of recent events, yeah i won't mind if the d20 fandom falls from grace and ttrpg folks dont interact with us anymore.

being a d20 fan is a red flag now. let's do it.

[koukouture]

Rating Genshin Impact designs pt.2!

(part 1) 

Welcome back whales, f2ps, and everyone in between! Since the first part was pretty well received, I’ve decided to continue this series! 

Once again, I am not a professional artist of character designer, I am just doing this for fun since Genshin has a lot of good and bad designs

Aether

I LOVE HIM!!! I LOVE HIM SO MUCH!!!! LOOK AT THE SILHOUETTE! THE DETAILS! THE COLOUR SCHEME! 

Aether’s design is a fucking GODSEND from those shitty basic male MC looks. Ya know, the ones with dark basic anime boy hair and an outfit that’s about as imaginative as an unborn fetus. 

The use and placement of colours is so nice and I love the details all over him. He looks like your typical kind and princely character, which is honestly how I imagine his personality. Also idk why but I love the fact he’s wearing a crop top, it’s just so refreshing to see an MC that isn’t in a regular outfit or a full suit of armor with a shitty silhouette.

He looks sleek and leaving him in mainly black and other neutral tones ensures that he’ll look good with any element in his lights, gold also works with a lot of colours very well, so nothing ever looks awkward on him. 

I also love where they put the lights, it just works really well. Hell, even without lights he looks awesome, I could see Aether’s design without any of the elements lighting him up like a lightsaber. 

Also, it looks pretty comfortable for traveling, boots, gloves, and he’s gonna be walking and fighting a lot so a crop top is a good choice. The pants are a bit more loose for easier movement and he doesn’t wear too much armour that could restrict him. Love it. 

Overall, I love this design so much, I wish my colour placement was that good, bruh he looks like the friggin sun I love his design so much ;-;

Lumine

Ok so, I like this dress, and I like the design. It’s not my favourite, but Lumine is really cute and looks super dainty and doll like, but it just doesn’t speak as loud as Aether’s design. Idk I feel like it’s lacking something. I do love her hair though, it’s a super cute hairstyle and is leagues different from other generic blonde anime girls. 

The main gripe i have with this is that i don’t think a WHITE dress with a corset is a good outfit for traveling. There’s also just a lot of weird detail on the dress? Like there’s this weird part in the middle of the skirt where it looks like there’s metal? Just attached to the fabric? 

She doesn’t look like a traveler, she looks like a princess, and I guess that fits given that Aether is the one used in most promotional material, but I think this dress is more something she would wear when she joins the Abyss. 

Lumine seems so cool and threatening as a villain, I think her outfit really reflects that, like I said, she looks like a princess and the cool whites and blues really help with that. 

Overall.... I just don’t know. I don’t like it, it’s really easy to recognize but it’s just not as good as Aether’s. Sorry Lumine 

Mona

Ok, ok, ok, I LOVE MONA!!! Her colour scheme is so nice and not only is her design pretty, it tells you a lot about her. There are stars all over her, she’s an astrologist, her outfit is very intricate and it suggests a cocky personality, which is pretty true. 

The outfit looks so expensive though??? Like Mona how did you afford this? But it sells the mage vibe so well and aaaahhhh she’s just so pretty! 

Not a lot to say, she’s just pretty :3

Xingqiu 

I really like the top part and the shoes, my only gripe is the shorts. They look so out of place?? They look like workout shorts and just don’t flow with how elegant the rest of the design is. I feel like adding more detail to the shorts or just sticking with the “young noblemen from the 1800s” vibe and making them longer (and maybe pleated?) would seel the look a lot better. Don’t get me wrong Xingqiu, you work booty shorts better than me, but booty shorts that look like “athletic gear” from Walmart? On a young noblemen/martial arts prodigy? Yeah no, it doesn’t pass the vibe check. 

On the other hand, his shoes and shirt (and tailcoats) really sell his whole rich vibe better. I love how it sort of combines elements of Victorian London and traditional Chinese clothing, it works so well. I just wish I could come of with something as creative. 

I see a lot of people dunking on his haircut but I like it personally, it’s very recognizable. The fact that the right is really short and flat just kind of pisses me off? Idk maybe that’s just me. 

Overall a very good, well thought, and creative design. 

Chongyun

Ok, next to me loving Chongyun so much, I just- look at his design. There is so much to unpack and I love all of it. 

It combines modern day fashion with traditional Chinese clothing and it just does it in such a natural way and looks so fucking good??? Like the hoodie over the qipao? The baggy pants and the shoes that allude to him as a martial artist? Immaculate. 

Cryo characters all have such nice designs, Miyoho really does play favourites. Like there is not a single cyro character with a bad design, all of them are 1) recognizable and 2) very very very very pretty 

(Also random thought but Chongyun reminds me of a k-pop idol? Like his haircut and the drip? Idk but peak k-pop energy)

His colour scheme is on point because why wouldn’t it be? You can tell that he’s sort of cold and that he definitely has ice powers, the placement is also just really smart. Chongyun has like four colours on him (gold, navy, light blue, white) and yet it’s just arranged in such a way where it’s so easy to recognize and sets him apart from all of the other blue and white characters with ice powers. 

I remember I saw a video titled “why you should play Genshin Impact” after I had finished BOTW, and I saw Chongyun’s design and being like ‘Oh wow, he looks pretty cool’ 

I love Chongyun so much and his design is a big contributor to that, and that’s all I have to say. 

Geo Daddy Zhongli 

BARK BARK BARK BARK GRRRRR AWOOOOOOGGGGGGGAAAAAAAAAA-

Ok Zhongli is really hot. Like really, really, really, FUCKING hot. Like “he simultaneously raised and lowered my standards for the male gender” hot. How did he lower them? Bruh his spending habits, it makes him so endearing and cute I just- *dies*

(Zhongli I have Mora, you don’t need Childe I can be your sugar mommy-) 

Ok so let me start with his colour palette because awooga that shit is hot. Black and brown wasn’t a colour palette I expected to love so much but here we are. He definitely looks like he has earth powers, and it’s so nice. I have never seen any character who have brown in their colour palette, even if they do, it’s just their hair. 

And the fact that he’s wearing an elegant suit and yet has pauldrons? I love it so much. It speaks to him as a gentleman and a warrior, which is literally his entire personality and I love it so much. 

Once again we have a character who combines Victorian London vibes with traditional vibes and it is amazing. Like the tassels and the dragon motifs? The long ass tailcoats that aren’t practical for fighting but GOD are they hot? Yes. Yes to all of it. I just wanna tug on his lil tie and smooch him. 

I love how they just added yellow on the inside of his tailcoats, it’s really nice and helps break up the dark colours of his outfit I love Zhongli so much he is my comfort character and everything I don’t deserve :’)

[prepare4trouble]

🍀For your writing prompts, maybe the brothers having a fun day at the lake? Like just fooling around before everything went to hell🍀

The summer sun beat down mercilessly from high in the sky, onto the lake just outside of Kattegat. Ivar shielded his eyes to glare up at it accusingly, as though he could somehow shame it into retreating behind a cloud. The sun appeared to have no intention of doing any such thing. It was shortly after midday, and in the summer, they would have hours of heat to look forward to.

Ivar was fast beginning to regret wearing dark clothing. He pulled off his tunic over his head and dropped it on top of the already discarded gloves that he wore to protect his hands and the delicate bones of his wrists as he moved around. Not far away, his brother's clothing lay in three similar piles where they had stripped before diving into the cool water of the lake.

Overhead, gulls circled in the sky, and the smell of pollen and slightly brackish water filled his nostrils. In the water, his three brothers shrieked and laughed as they splashed and swam.

Ivar dipped a hand into the edge of the lake, splashed his face, then ran his fingers through his hair. It felt wonderful for a moment, but it did not last long enough.

The glare of the sun was blinding on the surface of the lake and Ivar squinted as he watched Hvitserk swim up silently behind an unsuspecting Sigurd and push him underneath. He held him there for a moment, until Sigurd came up gasping and bedraggled, with water dripping from his nose and the ends of his braids. One hand paddled in the water to keep him from slipping underneath again, while the other emerged in a fist, ready to swing. Ivar couldn’t help but laugh as Hvitserk dove into the cool depths and resurfaced on the other side of the lake, safe from Sigurd’s retribution.

Although he would never tell them, he envied his brothers their ability to swim and play in the water. He could have joined them, of course, he had done so before, but it would not be the same for him. While he could float on the surface and move himself around after a fashion, he could not swim. Neither could he stand in the shallower water, and so to stay in the lake for any length of time would be both exhausting and awkward. Not to mention that if he were to sink below the surface while his brothers were distracted, he could easily drown.

But, in the water, he felt weightless, like he could almost stand. And it would be wonderfully cool...

He moved a just a little closer to the edge and plunged both of his hands in up to the wrists. He splashed his face and chest, then dipped his tunic into the water to soak it, and draped it around his shoulders. He pulled the cap from the leather flask he had brought with him, and took a long drink of water that his brothers had not washed and swam in, then moved himself slightly back from the water to place himself completely in the shade. He lay down, resting his head on the ground, closed his eyes, and allowed himself to relax to the sound of birdsong, and his brothers enjoying the swim.

Soon, when they got bored of being wet, when their fingertips started to wrinkle uncomfortably and they grew tired of unexpected dunkings, they would emerge from the water and dry off in the sun, before the four of them would make their way back up to the cabin to relax until the afternoon’s heat subsided a little. As night approached, they would light a fire and cook some of the meat from the deer that Ivar had brought down with a lucky arrow the day before.

It was surprisingly comfortable laying in the grass in the shade of the tree, and slowly the world around him began to fade away as the heat sapped what was left of his energy.

Water hit him suddenly and unexpectedly.

Ivar spluttered against the plume of lake water that hit him directly in the face. He gasped, one hand swiping frantically at his eyes to clear them, the other reaching out, ready to exact retribution on whoever had dared to…

Laughter.

As he cleared the water from his eyes, the image of Ubbe, his second oldest brother after Björn, and supposedly the responsible one, swam into view. Ubbe grinned widely behind his hand as he wiped water from his lips. His hair, braided at the back, was frizzing on the top where it had started to dry in the heat, and his shoulders were burned red from the sun.

���Why don’t you get in the water with us, Ivar?” he asked. “I can almost hear you sizzling in the heat.”

Ivar stared at him, his sleep-addled brain still trying to piece together why he was suddenly wet. “Did you spit at me?” he demanded.

“No.” Ubbe smiled, then shrugged. “Not really. It was a mouth full of lake water,” he added, as though that made it okay.

Ivar reached behind him for his rapidly drying tunic, and used it to scrub at his face. He scowled at his brother. Ubbe was standing in the shallow edge of the lake, emerging from the water at just below waist level.

He reached down with one hand, and splashed Ivar. Drops of water covered him, and it felt good. “Come in,” he said. “Mother would never forgive me if I let you die of heat exhaustion.”

Ivar rolled his eyes. “I don’t want to. I like it here.”

“Told you,” came a shout from behind Ubbe. Ivar glanced out into the lake, and Ubbe half turned to look at Sigurd. He was closer to the centre of the lake, submerged to his shoulders in the water. “He doesn’t want to get in because he’s afraid of the water.”

What? Ivar pushed himself up into a fully seated position to allow him to better glare at his slightly older brother. “I am not. Why don’t you come over here and say that to my face?!”

Sigurd laughed in response. “If you’re not afraid, why don’t you come in the water and prove it?”

Ubbe watched the exchange with folded arms and a disapproving expression on his face, but made no move to stop either one of them.

“I have nothing to prove to you, Sigurd,” Ivar told him.

He squashed down a stab of anger at Sigurd’s accusation. He imagined himself moving to the water’s edge and launching himself effortlessly into the lake, swimming the length of the water before pulling himself onto the shore once again to repeat that he had no interest in swimming.

If only it was as easy as that. For a start, he could not swim. The best that he could hope for in the water would be to sit at the edge, submerged up to his neck, with reeds tangling around his feet. Or perhaps to be carried by Ubbe into the deeper water where he could float around for a while, unable to fully relax due to Sigurd’s malicious presence.

Maybe if Sigurd hadn’t been there, if it had only been Ivar with Ubbe and Hvitserk, he might have joined them in the water. But of course if Sigurd had not been there, nobody would have challenged him, or accused him of being a coward, and he would be happily relaxing in the shade.

Appearing to realise that he wasn’t going to change his brother’s mind, Ubbe shrugged. “Your choice,” he said, then reached into the water and sprayed Ivar with a splash one more time, then fell backward into the lake with a grin, and disappeared under the surface.

Sigurd remained where he was for a moment, then shrugged. Deciding that Ivar wasn’t going to take the bait this time, he turned his attention to Hvitserk, who had made the mistake of moving closer to him. Sigurd plunged a hand into the water and splashed his older brother in the face. Hvitserk responded in kind, floating onto his back and kicking up the water with both feet until Sigurd began to beg for mercy.

Ivar closed his eyes and began to relax again.

For a moment.

Drip… Drip…

The water wasn’t hitting him directly. Instead, it appeared to be bouncing up from the ground and landing on him in small splatters.

Drip…

Apart from that one. That one had been a direct hit to his left nipple.

Irritated, he opened his eyes again to see that Hvitserk had climbed out of the lake and was standing next to him, naked as the day he was born, and dripping wet. Water ran from his hair, down his face and back, and eventually onto the ground. Or onto Ivar.

“You’re not really afraid of the water, are you?” he asked.

Ivar propped himself up onto his elbows and shot an accusatory glare out into the lake where Sigurd was floating on the surface of the water with his arms and legs outstretched. Sigurd was going to pay for this one. It was partially his own fault for speaking about these things to Floki when somebody could overhear him, but still, Sigurd was going to regret it.

Hvitserk sat down on the grass a short distance away, and stretched out, basking in the warmth of the sunlight. “Are you?”

Ivar shook his head, and tore his attention away from thoughts of revenge for the time being. “Of course not.” Hvitserk had seen him in the lake before. So had Sigurd for that matter.

He wasn’t afraid.

He really wasn’t.

Only… He thought of Hvitserk pushing Sigurd under the water. If one of his brothers did that to him, he did not know whether he would be able to surface by himself. He imagined the water closing over his head, and the world growing darker as he sunk deeper beneath the surface. He imagined precious bubbles of air escaping from his lips as he screamed for help, with nobody able to hear him. He thought of the long reeds that grew on the bottom of the lake, and imagined them tangling around his arms and legs, growing worse the more he struggled against them.

Despite the heat, he shivered.

“No,” he repeated.

Ubbe and Hvitserk had almost drowned once. They had fallen through the ice of a frozen lake. He imagined what that must have been like; the water icy cold, perhaps already beginning to freeze over again and seal them underneath. He imagined the terror they must have felt as they had fallen, the certainty that death was near, and he could not understand how either one of them could stand to submerge themselves in the water of the lake.

Okay, so maybe he didn’t exactly love the idea of going into the water, but that didn’t mean that he was afraid.

“So why does Sigurd think that you are?”

“Because Sigurd is an…” Ivar stopped, then gritted his teeth. Sigurd hadn’t arrived at his theory by simple observation and piecing things together; he wasn’t that clever. No, there was only one explanation. Hvitserk was staring at him intently, and Ivar knew that the only way he was ever going to end this conversation was to tell the truth. “Because he overheard me talking to Floki,” he admitted. “But I am not afraid of the lake.”

Hvitserk nodded, and remained silent, waiting for more.

Floki had been telling him, not for the first time, of the first journey that he and Ragnar had made to the west, to England, setting out with no real certainty that they would find land. He had told them of other trips across the ocean, of ships lost to the waves, and of men who had set out alongside them and never arrived at their destination. “I do not like the sea,” Ivar admitted.

Hvitserk’s lips quirked into a shadow of a smile before his expression grew serious again. “You’ve never been in the sea,” he said. “Or even on the sea.”

That was what Floki had told him too. Ivar shrugged. “True. And now you know why.”

“No, that’s not why,” Hvitserk insisted. “You have never been on the sea because both you and Sigurd were too young when father took Ubbe and I to Frankia. After that, you would not have had the chance.”

Ivar felt his lip curl in distaste. “Why would I not? Because nobody would ever ask a cripple to join their raiding party?”

Hvitserk hesitated. “Yes,” he admitted. “Though I might not have put it quite so harshly. But not only that, you’re still almost a child, and Sigurd has never been to sea either.”

Ivar scowled. “I am not a child, and Sigurd would have no interest in raiding. All he wants to do is lounge around playing music and spreading his legs for anybody who asks. Anyway, you were a child when father took you to Frankia.”

Hvitserk nodded. “But that was different, because it was our father. Unless he decides to come back, we’ll all have to either join other crews, or have Floki build us a boat of our own. Or not. There’s no shame in staying in Kattegatt, you know.”

“Says the brother planning to go with Björn to explore south,” Ivar said.

Hvitserk shrugged. “He asked all of us, I was the only one that decided to take him up on the offer.”

That wasn’t quite true though, was it? Either Hvitserk hadn’t noticed that one of his brothers had been missed out of the invitation, or had chosen to ignore it.

“Anyway,” Hvitserk added, he clapped Ivar on the shoulder and grinned widely. “If you do ever go raiding, can I be there to watch when you tell mother?”

Ivar frowned. “I will go,” he said. But Hvitserk was right, that would be a… difficult conversation. For all that their mother had told him his entire life that he was just as strong and capable as his brothers, and that one day he would be a great warrior and carry on his father’s legacy, he didn’t think that she actually believed it. Not really.

But it didn’t matter, because Ivar believed it.

“Well, sign me up to go too,” Hvitserk told him. “But first, you need to get over that fear of the water. Unless you want to conquer the world by land, riding on my back.”

Ivar scowled. “I am not afraid, I just...don’t like it very much. In theory.” He folded his arms defiantly. “Anyway, it is not important. When the time comes, I will board the boat regardless.”

Hvitserk nodded. “Well, one good thing about the ocean, he said. “Out there on the open water, being able to swim would make no difference at all. The waves can get so big and the wind so strong that anybody who goes overboard will end up as food for Jörmungandr.”

Ivar swallowed, suddenly feeling queasy at the thought. He took a deep breath and the sensation passed. If Hvitserk thought that piece of information was going to help, he was mistaken.

One glance at Hvitserk and the expression on his face showed that he had not been trying to help. Ivar opened his mouth to say something in return, but for once, words failed him. Hvitserk got to his feet, shrugged apologetically, grinned, and backed away into the water again. As Ivar watched, he ducked underneath, and re-emerged at the other side of the lake.

Ivar glared at him for a moment, then looked around. His brothers’ clothes still lay in three messy piles close to the water’s edge. Well, if Hvitserk wanted to mess with him, he could mess right back again. Sigurd too, for that matter. His little dig about him being afraid had started the whole thing.

And now that he thought about it, it was Ubbe who had drawn everybody’s attention to the fact that he wasn’t in the water. And it was Ubbe who had spat water in his face while he dosed in the heat…

Ivar glanced out into the centre of the lake to check that his brothers were distracted, then flipped himself onto his front and made his way over to the piles of clothing...

[lils-writes-stuff]

Divining Rod

spencer reid x reader

Best years part ten | part nine | part eight | part seven | part six | part five | part four | part three |part two |part one

Summary: The death of a serial killer rises another and the team must stop it.

warnings: normal criminal minds things,

A/N: based on season 7 episode 21

 “A row house in Demount Circle wow,” Penelope said, astonished at the news Emily just gave. 

 “I can’t believe I’m doing it.” Emily shook her head in disbelief at the news also. “I mean, it’s probably not gonna work out anyway, right?” 

 “That’s what I said before I found out I got my apartment so, you probably will,” Y/N said, laughing at the end of her sentence. 

 “Well, there are five other sealed bids, and I offered way below what the owners are asking,” Emily spoke, standing up from her chair and began walking. JJ, Y/N, Penelope, and Spencer stood up and followed her. 

 “Uh-huh, sounds to me like someone’s hoping they don’t get it.” JJ’s voice was filled with sass as she side-eyed Emily. 

 “Orthophobia, fear of owning personal property,” Spencer said from in front of the four women. He was intently looking over the case file in his hands as they walked to the round table room. 

 “No- I don’t have a fear of owning stuff, turn me loose in a shoe store, I’ll prove that,” Emily defended herself. “My fear is owning personal property that weighs three hundred tons.”

 “Actually, depending on materials used, square footage, and horizontal versus vertical construction, the average house only weighs sixty tons,” Spencer retorted, spewing off his knowledge without even a second thought. 

 “Well, thanks for that Reid, I feel light as a bird,” Emily said sarcastically. 

 “It’s okay Em, it took me months before I could even settle into my apartment because I couldn’t feel at home, it just takes time.” Truly Y/N felt uncomfortable because the last place she lived in by herself all her friends were tormented in, but Emily didn’t need to know or worry about that.

 “What‘ve we got, baby girl?” Derek asked, breaking up the conversation to bring it to the case at hand.

 “We have a killing in Enid, Oklahoma, and not the capital punishment one you are thinking of right now.” Penelope walked over to her chair and took a seat before she continued. “I’m talking about a woman named Cara Smith, who was murdered in her apartment minutes after the execution of Rodney Garret.” 

 “Neighbors saw her front door open and discovered the body,” Hotch added.  

 “Look Familiar?” Rossi asked directing everyone’s attention to the victim on the screen. Her appearance is the same as all of Garret’s victims. 

 “Young, pretty, short blonde hair,” JJ said, examining the photo.

 “And stabbed directly through the heart.” Y/N brought her pen up in the air, showing that she realized what Rossi was saying. 

 “That’s exactly the way Garret killed his victims,” Spencer said as he remembered back to the Garret murders. 

 “So are we looking at a copycat?” Derek asked looking at those around the table. 

 “Or someone creating doubt the right person was executed,” JJ countered, looking at Derek next to her. 

 “In Garret’s case there was no doubt,” Rossi corrected. “His guilt was the slam dunk of all slam dunks. Prints, DNA, a confession…”

 “He even led the police to where he buried two of his victims,” Spencer added to the list Rossi was creating. 

 “Garret killed 25 women before he was caught. If this new unsub is a copycat, the body count’s just getting started,” Emily said. 

 “Which is why we can’t waste time, wheels up in thirty.” 

----------

 “Firing squad? That’s new,” Y/N said after hearing Garret’s choice of execution. 

 “It’s definitely not something you see every day,” JJ agreed.

 “Well, Garret had the option of lethal injection, but he chose this instead,” Derek responded. 

 “Flair for the dramatic,” Rossi stated. 

 “No kidding.” Y/N let out a breathy laugh with her words. 

 “Initial reports indicate no forensic evidence at the crime scene,” Hotch said looking at the file in his hand. 

 “What about the ice pick?” JJ asked. 

 “It was generic, no serial number or unique metallurgy,” Derek answered looking at the paper that gave more detail on the pick. 

 “Well, now, it says here-” Emily pointed to a page in her file- “that there were water droplets and a half-filled flower vase on top of the chest drawers, but no flowers. Not in the vase, not in the garbage, nowhere.” 

 “Maybe the unsub took them,” Y/N posed, looking up from her folder. 

 A pinging sound came from the laptop as Penelope popped up on the screen. 

 “Hey, say it like you mean it, baby,” Derek greeted her. 

 “You know I’m gonna,” she replied before giving what she found. “So if you look in the dictionary, the word ‘normal’-” she held her hands up to show quotation marks- “you will see Cara Smith. College student, well-liked, straight A’s, English lit major- oh speaking of which I just got a transcript of Rodney Garret’s last words, hot off the press and a gold star to the first person who can identify the source of this: ‘She comes like fullest moon on a happy night, taper of waist-” 

 “‘With shape of magic might,’ it’s from the Thousand and One Nights, not the exact translation I would have used, but it’s got its own merits,” Spencer finished the last of the poem. 

 “And in a shocking non-upset, we have a winner,” Emily said, hopefully stopping Spencer before he would go on a spew of insight of the story. 

 “Garret was a sixth-grade dropout, an unlikely guy to be quoting from a Harvard classic,” Rossi said. 

 “The choice of material does make sense though,” Spencer began. “The book is all about how a Scheherazade forestalled her own death at the hands of the king by regaling him night after night with stories.” 

 “In the end, he won him over right?” JJ asked. 

 “Yes, the king found a love for her and decided not to execute her,” Y/N answered, looking at JJ. “Although I wouldn’t say that would be a strategy that would work with the Oklahoma Department of corrections.”

 “Another body’s been found half a mile from the first victim, same M.O.” Hotch had stepped away to answer the phone and was now relaying the information he was just given to the team. 

 “That's six hours later, this guy’s not wasting a lot of time,” Derek said.

 “We land in twenty minutes, Reid, you and Y/N go to the latest crime scene, Rossi, you JJ and Prentiss go talk to Garret’s widow. Morgan and I will go to the prison.” Y/N saluted Hotch at his order. “If Garret’s got a disciple, we need to find out who he is and fast.” 

----------------  

 “Such a beautiful day for such a terrible thing to happen.” Y/N’s eyes looked up to the sky, observing the blue of it and the bright sun. She wasn’t really thinking about the case until she walked up the steps, always trying to fit the last of the good in before she saw the bad.

 “I don’t think serial killers stop because of the weather, sweets,” Spencer said, raising an eyebrow at the thought. 

 “Hey, what did I say about nicknames at crime scenes,” Y/N said turning to Spencer who was slightly behind her.

 He laughed lightly. “Not to use them, because you’re afraid they’ll be ruined,” he answered her remark. 

 “Exactly.” She pulled her credentials out of her back pocket to show the officer at the door. Walking into the house, a tall man turned around to greet the two.

 “Hey, I’m detective Childers,” the tall man said walking up to Y/N to shake her hand. “You must be with the FBI.” 

 “Yes, I’m Agent Y/L/N, and this is Dr.Reid.” Y/N pointed to her right to the lanky brunette. 

 “Hi,” Childers said, holding his hand out for Spencer to shake. Spencer offered the man a small wave, as usual, opting out of the handshake. 

 Y/N offered a smile to the detective in hopes of trying to make the awkward moment go away. “How about you show us the scene.” Y/N changed the subject. 

 “Yeah, why don’t y’all follow me back here,” Childers said as he led the two over to the bedroom. “It’s unbelievable this is happening all over again.”  

 “Who is she?” Spencer asked as they entered the bedroom. 

 “Jodie Armstrong, single, works a cosmetic counter at a department store downtown,” Childers answered. 

 The body laid in the exact position it was found. Duct tape still on the mouth and wrists, and the ice pick stabbed into her heart.

 “Young, pretty, short blond hair,” Y/N said as she looked at the victim’s appearance. “That’s the same victimology as the others.” She turned her head to look at Spencer, who’s eyes had been wandering the room around them.

 “Who discovered the body?” Spencer asked. 

 “Apartment manager. A neighbor called to complain that a teapot in the kitchen kept on whistling,” Childers explained.

 “So he surprised her.” Y/N said, turning as she watched the struggle play out around her. She pictured the unsub pushing her down and tying her onto the bed. 

 The three separated as Childers went to go handle something out front and Spencer and Y/N stayed to look around the scene more. Y/N gloved her hands and squatted down next to the bed, looking closely at the victim’s head. Pushing her head to the side, she moved her hair to and fro as she examined the hair cut. She noticed it’s unevenness and well, basically, it was a shitty hair cut for such a pretty young girl to have.

 “Hey, Spence, come look at this.” Spencer looked over at Y/N who was across the room from him. 

 “What is it?” He asked, setting down the CD he had been looking at to walk over. 

 “This girl is young and she obviously cares about her appearance, she’s fit, her nails are done,” she said, laying one finger on top of the other as the listed off the things she’s noticed. “But her hair, look at it, it’s uneven.” She picked up the phone that had headphones plugged into the jack and turned it on. 

 “Could it maybe be a fashion statement, you know, look bad on purpose?” Spencer asked looking next to him at Y/N.

 She shook her head, looking through the phone in her hand. She began to look through some things in her photos before she found a selfie of Jodie and some of her friends. “Look at this,” she leaned over to show Spencer the photo. 

 With two of her fingers on the screen, she zoomed in on Jodie, who in the photo had very long blonde hair. “It was taken last night,” she said after pointing to the timestamp at the bottom corner of the photo. “The unsub cut her hair.”

--------------   

 In the station, the mood was serious. Two bulletin boards stood side by side with large maps placed on the. Spencer, Hotch, Y/N, and Derek sat in swivel chairs from desks in the area they were in. Behind them sat JJ, Emily, and Rossi, who were looking through letters that were sent to Rodney Garret’s home. 

 “This new guy’s hunting in a different neighborhood,” Childer’s spoke after looking at the map. 

 “He must be comfortable in the area, he knew the victims’ routines,” Derek stated.

 “His method of ingress and egress is quiet and unnoticeable,” JJ said, leaning back in her chair. 

 “Get a load of this one,” Emily began as she turned in her chair with a letter. “Dear Mr. Garret: It took a lot of courage to do what you did. Most people are cowards and don’t do what they feel inside them. You are an inspiration, and I applaud you.” 

 When Emily had finished the letter, Y/N barked out a laugh. “I’m sorry for laughing but ‘I applaud you’?” She just shook her head, the letter being very funny to her in a weird way. 

 “These are supposed to be the non-wacko letters,” Rossi said. 

 Everyone raised their brows in question. A computer beeping signaling the arrival of Penelope’s on a screen got everyone’s attention. 

 “Hey guess what, Y/N’s genius has struck again,” Penelope began as she popped up on the screen. “The hunch about the hair was right, I’m sending you an ATM image of Cara Smith. She’s the first victim, this was taken ten hours before her murder check it out.” 

 At that, everyone’s attention was brought to a screen. The video showing Cara walking up to the machine with very long hair compared to what was left on her body. 

 “The unsub cut her hair too,” Childers said as he looked at the video. 

 “You know, there could be a sexual element involved. Trichophilia is a fetish where one becomes aroused by the removal of hair,” Spencer said. 

 “Yeah, but, either way, this is starting to look less like a copycat,” Y/N said looking next to her at Spencer. 

 “The unsub’s deviating too much from Garret’s M.O., Garret never took trophies,” Derek said in agreement. 

 “He’s also choosing low-risk victims, Garret’s stayed with high-risk target- prostitutes, runaways--” Spencer said but was cut off by JJ. 

 “Garret also got sloppy and left clues that eventually nailed him, this guy’s careful and meticulous,” JJ said.

 “He’s not that careful,” Childers corrected. “He leaves doors open, teapots boiling.” 

 “I think it’s intentional. He wants the bodies found so we know when and where he’s killing,” Hotch said.     

 The room fell silent again, everyone getting back to their work. Little conversation was made, Emily or Rossi reading off an obscure letter or Y/N saying something about the geographical profile to Spencer. All conversation halted due to Childers getting a call that there was another body. 

 “Reid and Y/N, come with me to the scene.” Hotch stood up, Y/N and Spencer following his request out of the room and to the scene. 

 Walking into the house, Y/N took note of how it was kept and lived in by the victim. She did so in hopes of gathering something for victimology. After noticing she fell behind Hotch and Spencer, she quickly caught up to them as they entered the bedroom. 

 The blonde woman laid on her back, her arms duct-taped to the foot of the bed. Her eyes were closed, and she almost looked peaceful, but the ice pick in her heart told them otherwise.

 Hotch squatted down to the bedside and examined the side of her head that was exposed. 

 “He shaved her head,” Hotch commented. Y/N and Spencer stood on either side of him, looking over the body from behind their unit chief. 

 “That’s even more humiliation and disrespect,” Y/N said. She turned her head sideways as she looked at the poor and almost frantic shaved spot. 

 “He didn’t do it to the other victims.” Hotch stood up as he spoke, looking at Childers who was on the other side of the bed. 

 “Detective when was the body discovered?” Y/N asked. 

 “Half hour ago, the killer left the front and back doors open,” Childers responded. “And there’s no indication of any contact on the wine glasses swabbed for DNA.” He gestured to the CSI unit that was brushing the wine glass behind him. 

 “Not even the victims?” Spencer asked. His face doing its normal twist as he thought.

 “The unsub probably wiped it clean,” Y/N said. The upper half of her body turned to her left to look at Hotch and Spencer.

 “Has anyone found an open or empty wine bottle in the house?” Hotch asked, turning back to the detective after looking at Y/N. 

 “We haven’t found one yet.” Childers shook his head. 

 “He probably took it with him, like the flowers of his first victim,” Spencer commented. 

 “He’s killed at six A.M., noon, and now six P.M.,” Hotch said, looking between Y/N and Spencer. 

 “That’s not a long cooling-off period.” Y/N spook with a sigh as she stuffed her hands in her pockets. 

 “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m not feeling so good about the stroke of midnight.” Spencer’s eyes bounced between the three in front of him. All of them nodding their heads in agreement at the comment. 

-------------         

 “We believe we’re looking for a white male between the ages of thirty and forty who is strong enough to subdue physically fit young women with minimum resistance,” Hotch said. The team stood in front of a crowd of local officers as they told the profile. Rossi and Emily had found out that the same man that wrote the letter Emily had read to them were some of Garret’s favorites. Taking that, they presumed that the man who wrote the letters was more than likely the unsub.

 “He’s forensically sophisticated and evidence-conscious,” Derek added. 

 “He targets his victims in advance and leaves no trail.” Y/N stepped forward as she spoke, coming into line with Derek. 

 “This person is also confident.” Emily paused, then continued. “He’s been taunting us by revealing his crime scene quickly.”

 “Because of his ability to plan and flawlessly execute his crimes, we’re looking for someone capable of holding down a job. Even though it’s probably menial and unfulfilling,” Rossi said. His hands stuffed into his pockets as his shoulder shrugged when he spoke.

 “The victims have all been young, blonde, and pretty. As such, they reflect a certain societal standard of perfection that may actually represent the type of women that are unattainable to this unsub,” Spencer explained. 

 “He cuts his victims’ hair, and then he takes it with him, this could be another way for him to possess a part of them,” Y/N said, bouncing off of Spencer’s statement.

 “Or to degrade these unattainable women, make them uglier,” JJ added on to Y/N’s words. 

 “The killer has been murdering in six-hour increments. He is, in effect, time-stamping his victims, there’s no reason to believe he will deviate from that now,” Rossi said. 

 “Which means the next kill will be at midnight.” Y/N emphasized her words as she spoke. 

 “The public needs to be alerted to stay off the streets for all non-essential activities,” JJ said. “Single women should not be in their homes alone,” she continued, her warning to the people relaying its importance.

 “Every available officer will be out in full force tonight, we need to blanket this city,” Emily commanded. The officer’s around the room nodding that they understood.   

 “We do have one advantage,” Hotch began. “A killer who uses this kind of precise timing and specificity is easy to disrupt. We can use his own M.O. against him,” he explained. The officer’s around the room were then dismissed and went to get ready for the night out.

 As the sunset fell over the city of Enid, the officers suited up and began to canvas the town. Emily and Derek joined them while the others stayed back and helped run point. While they waited, they had Penelope do some more digging into Garret to find out who the unsub might be.    

 “What you got, Garcia?” JJ asked as she answered the call from Penelope. 

 “I have found a thing of interest regarding these shanking attempts made on Garret in prison,” Penelope began. 

 “What is it?” Hotch asked, curious as to what she found. 

 “The timing, see, the first time Garret was attacked was May 25, 2008, the day before that, May 24, for those of you keeping score, Garret’s imminent execution date was postponed, right?” Penelope’s question was rhetorical so everyone stayed quiet as she continued. 

 “So then if you flash forward to the second shanking attempt of stabby-ness, that would be November 15, 2010. The day before that, his next execution date, also postponed.” When Penelope had finished her explanation everyone was basically one the same page of what was happening. 

 “Okay, so I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say someone decided to take matters into their own hands,” Y/N said. She crossed her arms across her chest and popped her hip to the side, the resting position she stood in when she thought. 

 “Thanks, Garcia,” JJ said, her finger hovering over the hang-up button on the computer. 

 “Ever welcome, my comrades.” JJ hung up the call and turned back to those behind her. 

 “Well, that sounds like what you would think of somebody on the outside wanting a little revenge,” Childers said, his head turning to Rossi and Hotch beside him.        

 “They wouldn’t wait five years, give it two tires, and then toss in the towel,” Rossi stated, his head shaking as he didn’t believe that theory. 

 “It sounds to me like someone just needed Rod Garret out of the way,” JJ said, adding in her own theory. 

 “But Garret was on death row, confined to his cell 23 hours a day. How was he in anybody’s way?” Hotch questioned, both theories not making sense now. 

 “Since we’re on the subject of things that don’t make sense, the unsub left the doors open after the murders,” Y/N said, bringing in a new topic in hopes of coming up with something new. 

 “Okay, that’s directed at law enforcement-- catch me if you can,” Rossi responded to Y/N’s thought. 

 “But the cutting of the hair,” Y/N said her voice trailing off in question. 

 “That’s for Garret,” Hotch finished, knowing what Y/N was thinking now. 

 Rossi nodded agreeing with Y/N. 

 “Well, what makes you think that?” Childers asked her. 

 “Well, Garret chose victims who were easy prey-- drug addicts and prostitutes. But this unsub has chosen more difficult targets but gone to the trouble of making them look like Garret’s victims,” Hotch answered, turning to Childers. 

 “That’s his way of telling Garret, ‘I can do better than you’,” Rossi elaborated. 

 “Okay, but why wait until after the execution to start killing? If the unsub really wanted to thumb his nose at Garret, wouldn’t he want him to be alive to see it?” JJ asked, not fully understanding this theory. 

 “Exactly, that’s the part that doesn’t make sense.” Y/N pointed as she spoke. 

 “Them we’re missing something,” Hotch said. 

-------------

 When the sun rose, the team had been at the station all night. In the early morning hours, another victim was found with a different M.O., stab wounds. Since the unsub could not kill his victim properly, this led them to believe that the killer could go on a spree. The unsub also removed her scalp this time, taking away most of her hair. 

 The clock on the table flipped to 9:44 A.M., and Y/N’s eyes were heavy. She laid on a bench, her head resting on Spencer’s thigh. His hand rested on his arm that was propped on the railing of the bench. The two sat peacefully, Y/N was not totally asleep, but her mind was in and out of full consciousness from the long night. She wasn’t totally sure if Spencer was asleep either, his body not moving which she was grateful for. His warmth was what kept her so at peace, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to stay like that for long. 

 “I never could do that,” Rossi stated as he looked at Y/N and Spencer who had their eyes closed. 

 “Do what?” Emily asked, her eyes following Rossi’s over to the sleepy couple. She let out a small ‘awe’ as she noticed the two.   

 “Take a nap, it never felt natural,” Rossi answered, not appreciating the cute moment.

 “I’m actually wide awake,” Spencer said, sitting up from his position. His movement stirred Y/N as she moved to get comfortable again, but never opening her eyes. 

 “But for future reference, polyphasic sleep is completely natural. Quite common in the animal world, and highly beneficial.” His eyes panned to Y/N who was still, he believed, asleep on his lap. “However, I believe Y/N is very much taking a real nap.” 

 “Shhhh.” Y/N reached one of her hands to her lips sleepily, placing her index finger on her lips. She sighed after a second and sat up, realizing she was now fully awake and there was no going back to whatever state of sleep she was in before. “Okay, I give I’m awake.” 

 “All right, six o’clock’s way come and gone, if our guys killed again, he’s not leaving the front door open,” JJ said after looking at the clock. 

 “Or he could just be taking a breather,” Derek posed the counter. “I mean, even the unsub has to realize he can’t keep up this pace indefinitely.” 

 “Maybe the last murder completed some sort of cycle,” Rossi said, saying his thoughts aloud. 

 “What do you mean?” Y/N asked, leaning her forearms on her thighs. 

 “A day and a night have passed, the sun rises for the first time in a world without Rod Garret,” Rossi answered, his hands moving as he spoke. 

 “There could also be a more mundane reason, our guys got a job, and yesterday was his day off,” Emily said. 

 “He killed his first three victims in their homes-” Hotch pointed to the markers on the map where the homes were- “But the last victims, Emily Sisk, he tried to but he couldn’t. SO he abducted her, took her somewhere else, and then brought her all the way back to dump her body in front of her apartment building.” Hotch’s voice got slightly aggressive as he spoke, irritated as to why he didn’t know how that happened. 

 “That’s incredibly risky considering all the increased police presence,” Y/N said, agreeing with Hotch.  

 “There’s gotta be a geographic component to the unsub’s design,” Hotch said turning back to the map on the board. 

 “Let’s connect the dots, literally.” Spencer stood up from his seat next to Y/N and walked to the board. He pulled a red marker out of his pocket and drew lines to connect all four homes. 

 The lines formed an upside-down arrow almost.

 “A tip of a spear,” Emily guessed, turning this into a game of Pictionary. 

 Y/N walked up to the board to get a closer look at the design. Her head cocked to the side as she thought. 

 “Maybe it’s an arrow pointing south? Could he be steering us to his next victim?” Derek asked as he pointed to the bottom of the arrow. 

 “It’s a quadrilateral, but there’s nothing particularly symbolic about a four-sided concave polygon,” Spencer said, pointing out the math of the shape.

 “Spence, can I?” Y/N said reaching for the marker in his hand. Spencer nodded, handing her the red marker. “Look what happens when you curve the lines.” She drew curves over the lines the Spencer drew, forming something in the shape of a heart. 

 “A heart,” Emily said, eyes trained on the drawing. 

 “Well, Garret and the unsub both killed their victims using stab wounds through the heart,” Derek said. 

 “And Garret was executed by a shot through the heart,” Rossi continued the theory. 

 Hotch then moved the clear map of all the roads and homes over the heart drawing on the board. In the center of the heart sat the home of Rod Garret’s wife, Helen Garret. 

 “Helen Garret,” Emily realized as Hotch put the map on top of the other.  

 “It’s all about her,” Hotch said, confirming the speculation Emily made. 

-------------

 After JJ, Rossi, and Hotch established that Helen was probably at the prison since she was not home, the rest of the team made their way there. When the others met up with them, all of them in their kevlar’s ready to take action, they met outside the gates of the prison to talk. 

 “So nobody saw what happened, but Helen’s car is still in the parking lot,” JJ said walking up to the group with Rossi and the warden. 

 “He’s got her,” Hotch said. 

 “The driver’s name is Dylan Kohler, he lives at 4488 Harmony Court,” the Warden said identifying the unsub. 

 “Did he work yesterday, Warden?” Y/N asked. 

 “No, he arranged for someone else to take his shift,” the Warden answered.

 “I’ll have Garcia check into Kohler, but now that he’s tipped his hand, I doubt if he’s going back home,” Rossi stated, pulling out his phone to call Penelope.

 “All right, Morgan, take Reid, Y/N, and Prentiss to the house of Kohler, see if they’re there just in case.” Derek nodded, then gestured for the three to follow him to a car to go to the home. 

 When they arrived at the home of Dylan Kohler, there was no sign of him or Helen. They headed out of the house to go back to the prison. 

 “Yeah, Hotch, they’re not here,” Derek said to Hotch when he answered the phone.

 “Where the hell could they be?” Y/N asked looking to Spencer next to her as she holstered her gun. He shrugged his shoulders, opening the door for Y/N. She climbed in hoping to the seat on the left and Spencer sitting on the one on the right.  

------------

 After finding Garret’s secret hideout, the team wrapped up the case, saving Helen Garret and were now on their way home. Y/N sat in the seat across from Spencer, eyes glancing at him every once and a while as he read. His finger trailing down the page, his steady breathing, and the curve of his nose entranced her as she looked at him. 

 She was sleepy, there was no doubt about it. Yet, her eyes couldn’t close as she looked at him, too caught up in his domestic feel to let it be intruded on by sleep that she desperately needed. 

 Tell him, the voice in her head whispered. Tell him how much you love him.   

 She couldn’t, at least not yet. Not until she knew that Caroline was out of sight, or if he said it first. But something in her told her that he knew she loved him. Simple acts like saying you need sleep or hold my hand was ways she was able to say she loved and cared for him without having to voice it. 

 Y/N’s thoughts were interrupted though by the beeping of a computer from behind her in.

 “Oh, hey, guys, hey,” Penelope said with a sleepy voice. Y/N turned in her chair to listen to the conversation. “I just wanted to see what was going on.” 

 “This better be important, Garcia,” Emily said irritated as she was woken from her slumber. 

 “Oh, it’s nothing.” Penelope was playing it off, the excitement in her voice giving it away. “It’s just that a messenger came by the office today with some papers from Escrow!” Her voice was sing-song at the end. 

 Emily’s face became very surprised. “No!” She said, astonished and not believing the blonde on the screen. 

 “Oh, yes, the house in Dupont Circle-- you got it! Whoo!” Penelope was throwing confetti at the screen in excitement. 

 “Oh my God, Em, that’s so exciting!” Y/N said happily as she sat on her knees in her chair to face Emily. 

 “Congratulations,” Hotch said with a smile.

 Then, Emily’s face fell and she looked like she was going to be sick. Y/N and Spencer stood up to sit on the couch so they could be closer to the conversation. 

 “Six seconds, fastest case of buyers remorse ever,” Rossi said, looking down at his watch then at Emily.

 “Well, I say the moment we land, we all head over to Ziggy’s and clear out the champaign inventory,” Derek said sitting next to JJ. 

 “And talk Prentiss down off the ledge,” JJ chuckled as she looked at Emily’s horrified face. 

 “Oh, my stomach doesn’t feel so hot.” Emily clutched her stomach. 

 They all let out a small laugh at Emily’s reaction. 

 “I was in the middle of the best dream,” JJ said changing the topic. “I dreamt that I was at this exclusive salon getting my hair done.” 

 The toll from the event of the last two days pressing themselves on her dreams. The thought of having a wig made of human scalp and hair placed on her head made Y/N shudder at the thought when she was told.   

 “Ah, the psychotherapeutic benefits of dreams-- purging unpleasant images and replacing them with good ones,” Spencer said, giving insight on to why we dream things like that. 

 “Yeah, ‘unpleasant’ is putting it mildly, bub,” Y/N said looking at Spencer next to her.

 “If someone put a bloody wig on my head, I would have ripped that thing off and kept it off.” JJ thought back to how Helen let the wig sit on her head when they found her.

 “Well, you’d think instinct would take over,” Derek said agreeing with JJ. 

 “Oh, hey, Rossi, I meant to ask you, what did Helen mean at the end when she said ‘daddy was right’?” JJ asked turning to look at Rossi across from her. 

 Rossi let out an annoyed sigh. “He once told her that she was a divining rod for the evil in men. That she could sniff it out when nobody else could.”  

 “There was definitely something a little strange about her,” Emily said as she recalled the time she and Rossi had to speak with her. 

 “It’s curious, one woman at the center of two serial killers.” Hotch’s voice was low as he voiced his thought. 

 “Yeah, what are the odds of that?” Y/N said, her question being rhetorical but she knew Spencer would answer.

 “Astronomical.” 

 Ah, there’s the answer, Y/N thought. 

 “Removing from the calculations serial killer groupies--” Spencer was cut off by Hotch lightly hitting her arm to have him stop. 

 “Y/N, why’d you ask?” JJ laughed. Y/N just shrugged, knowing she’d get the answer she kinda wanted to hear later. 

 “You know, whether she knew it or not, maybe Helen Garret did give Dylan something,” Derek said as he thought more into it. “I mean someone once said that every seed, even malignant ones, they won’t grow unless they get water from someplace.” 

-------------

 That night, after going out to celebrate Emily’s new house, Y/N walked into her home. Stumbling as her lips were connected to Spencer's. The impromptu makeout session starting at the door when Spencer started to say goodnight, but Y/N had a little too much champaign and really wanted a good ‘ole fashion junior-high makeout session. 

 She pushed him back to her couch, the two giggling like thirteen-year-olds as they kissed. She straddled his lap as they continued to kiss. It was childish and full of smiles and teeth as they giggled. Still, the kiss was full of love and tenderness as Spencer would caress the side of her face with his large hands. Or when she would grab the front of his sweater to pull him closer to her.

 “I really need to go home,” Spencer said. His lips brushing against Y/N’s as he spoke. 

 She didn’t listen and kept placing pecks on his lips before she let their lips mold together in bliss. 

 “No,” she protested quietly as she pulled away, then went back to his lips. 

 He chuckled, trying to pull back again to speak, but her lips chased his. “I’m not taking advantage of you, sweets,” he said gentlemanly. 

 She sighed, knowing that she was slightly drunk and he wasn’t going to keep going since she was. “Fine, but you owe me.” She poked his chest with every word. “Always a gentleman, even when I’m horny, but it’s fine.” Her words were a slur of mutters under her breath, but he heard her and laughed. 

 “Always.” He pecked her lips one more time as she stood up and led him to the door.     

 Once Spencer had given her one more kiss goodnight, promising her a coffee in the morning at work, she closed the door and turned to the inside of her apartment. A sigh of relief leaving her as she stepped further into her safe environment. She took her boots off and placed them by the door and moved her keys she dropped on the floor in the bowl on the table. She began to walk to her kitchen but stopped when her eyes caught glimpse of a letter. 

 She hastily pulled the wax seal back to open it, but became confused as she looked at the note. 

 Ashes, ashes, we all fall down. 

 She laughed, it was a pathetic line to spook her that wouldn’t work. She put the note back in the envelope and placed it with others. 

 She thought nothing of it. She didn’t think she would need too, but everything Caroline did had meaning. This too would show it’s meaning soon.

Tag List (let me know if you want to be added!!):

@throughparisallthroughrome​ @word-scribbless​ @nintendumbfuck​ @confused-and-really-hungry​ @justine-en​ @andiebeaword​ @itsarayofsunshine​ @baby-i-am-fireproof​ @abitofeverythinggg​ @nanocoool​ @marceline-is-my-spirit-animal​ @fancyfaucet​ @im-a-raging-gay​ @atletino @mo-whore @peterparkersdestiny​ @bandsandjill​ @mbowles23-blog​ @sarcasm-n-insomnia​ @citrussirus​ @nerual222 @april-14-blog​ @reidloversisforever @heavenlyholland​ 

[the-mad-starker]

Starker Fic: Untitled Royalty AU

So I was looking through my old drafts and this one was from June 2018 when I just started exploring Starker. Before that, I was writing for MCU ships and HP, and I've decided to post this because it's been two years since it was written and it feels like a whole other person wrote it. I think my writing style has changed? And I'm not entirely sure if it's for the better haha

Just felt like sharing, this is more of a tease and I doubt I'll ever get more in since I feel like my writing has changed 

WC: 1500

Summary:

Royalty AU. Tony is the King, Peter is his manservant. Tony is clearly in power and Peter has no choice but to obey his king.

Obadiah Stane insists that it is time for the beloved King Anthony Stark to marry. For Tony, who has rarely involved himself in the politics besides wearing the crown, that means no more parties, no more lovers being brought into his bed.

But to distract the golden goose from seeing its cage, Stane gives the king a pretty new toy, a new manservant named Peter to satisfy all his needs while the search for a suitable partner begins. But Peter, despite being low born, is the catalyst, the change that wakes Tony from the beautiful dream that Stane created.

💗💗💗

The weight of the crown was settled on Anthony Edward Stark’s head at an early age. It was much too heavy and so, the late King’s advisor and trusted friend took some of the burden from the young prince’s shoulders.

In time, King Anthony Stark’s worries became less and less. He was free to pursue his passions, following the footsteps of his father. As an inventor, Anthony Stark brought to life all these marvelous and terrible creations on paper. Weapons the world had never seen.

And his hands, the hands of a blacksmith even with a crown upon his brow, forged into creation these great and terrible monstrosities.

The Kingdom of Stark flourished from its King’s dreams, bringing in fortune and security to the country. King Stark sat on his throne and by his side, his ever faithful advisor whispering into his ears of all the adorations paid upon him by his people.

The people of Stark who cherished the beloved son of late King Howard, the Iron Prince, and now they loved and adored him as their king.

It seemed to the king that his life would continue in this fashion, days filled with busy hands… Nights full of drinks and beautiful men and women while his dreams shaped the outlines of things yet to come.

It was a good life and as Tony laughed and drank on the commemoration of his birth some thirty or so years later. Tony didn't think he needed more in life. His kingdom was flourishing and his passion for creation was being exercised daily.

Yes, life was a good thing. So it came as a surprise when Obadiah spoke to him after the celebrations.

At the prime age of 35, Tony had yet to marry or sire a child. The years had passed quickly after his parents death and now, years later… this.

“We’ve held this off long enough,” Obadiah said sternly. He was stiff with wariness, expecting a fight with the Iron King for his next advisement. “The people are getting restless. With no prince or princess to succeed you, they grow more concerned every year.”

Tony sighed but his shoulders slumped in defeat. Truly, being able to avoid marriage for so long was simply a miracle. Many princes and princesses were betrothed by birth or if not that, at least an early age.

Stane had told Tony that his mother, the late Queen Maria, had wanted to wait until his majority to speak to him about marriage. And they had died a few short months before Tony turned 21.

That was the loophole that had given Tony years of borrowed time. But now that time was up, the last grains of sand trickling down the hourglass.

“I’m guessing you have a list of names for me then…?” Tony’s eyes were fixed on his hands, noting every single scar and callous that decorated them. His hands were not a nobleman’s hands, not smooth and unblemished, no. His hands were scarred and marked from his love of creating.

“I do,” Stane confirmed. “We’ll need to go over it soon. But for now… I'm sorry to say it, but I can't stress enough how important it is that your… proclivities must cease.”

Tony raised a brow in question.

“No more… dallying with others,” Stane said bluntly. “It's a miracle that we don't have any bastards running around. But it is what it is, so if the King of Stark is going to be looking for another king or queen to match, we can’t have any scandals reaching the ears of your potential partners.”

Tony’s lips quirked up. “You're asking me to abstain?”

Stane’s eyes narrowed at the smiling prince. “Yes, to put it bluntly, my King.”

“God, Obbie,” Tony laughed, a bit bitter. His days would be bereft of lovers, of soft skin and hungry kisses all because of his duty. Marriage and then children.

A heavy hand clasped his shoulder. The older man led Tony back to his room, mindful of how much drink the King had for his birthday.

Tony was only a little buzzed, but he didn't mind his old friend’s help.

“Now, Tony, please. I never ask you for anything. You know I don't, but I need this from you,” Obadiah insisted.

That was a lie. Obadiah often asked him for approvals, for his designs. Year after year, the demands would grow with more specifications but Tony would do better. No matter the requirements, Tony’s brilliant mind would come up with even better proposals. But that was the business of keeping his kingdom prosperous, his people secured against threats. It was the only thing Tony could do when his parents were murdered on route to a peaceful envoy.

So instead of bringing all that up, Tony just leaned heavily on Obadiah, giving a weary sigh. “I know, Obie.”

Besides. Despite never wanting to settle down, marriage was still sacred to Tony. His parents had had a strong marriage and despite all the flaws his father had, Queen Maria had loved him, flaws and all. Tony would be lucky if he could find someone even willing to put up with his eccentricity.

They reached his doors. There were guards positioned outside, giving Tony a bow before opening the doors.

“Now, I know I'm asking a lot of you,” Obadiah began once they were inside.

Tony had thought the matter concluded. He paused in undoing his outfit, throwing Obadiah a inquisitive look.

“That's why I got you a little present,” Obadiah smiled, a dark, almost indecent grin. It looked so out of place on his not-Uncle’s face that Tony thought that surely, the alcohol was playing tricks on him.

Even so, Tony replied with a huff of laughter. Obadiah giving Tony “little” gifts weren't unusual, the man always acted like a second father to him.

“You didn't have to,” Tony always had to say in response to such comments but of course, Obadiah waved it away.

“Come, come,” Obadiah urged, grasping him by the shoulder. Tony moved with him, his gait a little compromised but he didn't falter in his steps.

“You're taking me to my bedroom,” Tony observed then gave a wry laugh. “You better not have gotten me a courtesan, Obie.”

The older man didn't reply, didn't need to. As soon as they entered, Tony found out for himself what the present was.

Tony’s mouth went dry, head filling with confusion and indecent things. On his bed, there was a boy. No, the boy was a young man, though just barely. Lithe and slender, with skin that was the pale color of milk. Beautiful really, with such soft brown waves in his hair. His lips were soft looking and plush, such a lovely color of pink that Tony wondered for a moment if someone had painted them. But the thought was quickly dismissed as white teeth pressed down in a show of nerves. The young man was beautiful… Breathtaking But his eyes… Tony’s heart plummeted. That wasn't desire or anticipation. The young man in his bed was terrified. Large brown eyes with the longest dark lashes Tony had ever seen. And he was trembling, the blankets wrapped around his shivering form like the most inadequate shield ever made. But when stripped of his clothes and forced into a bed not of his own choosing, what else could the young man do? All hazy, lust filled thoughts disintegrated in a second. It was the most effective cure to his tipsy state. It felt like Tony had been dunked into a freezing cold lake. “What is this?” Tony demanded softly. Another friendly clap on his shoulder, Obadiah’s gruff voice sounding pleased to Tony’s ears. “This is my gift to you,” Obadiah announced proudly, “Your new manservant. Peter.”

Tony’s eyes remained fixed on the boy. He saw the way Peter flinched when he heard the title, the dirty suggestion in the title manservant.

“You can do anything you want with him, Tony,” Obadiah confided in him. “You've been needing one.”

“I don't need one,” Tony said dejectedly. Tony was more the inventor than King and the period of wakefulness were off and erratic. He wasn't going to wait for a manservant to dress him, not when his clothing would be stripped off in his lab anyway.

Obadiah’s grip tightened down, just a touch harder. “I know it won't be enough compared to having a new companion every night, but I'm giving you an out here, Tony. Use the boy, don't get caught fucking or getting fucked by others.”

The tone was firm, a no questions asked kind of tone that left Tony speechless.

“This is my gift, Tony,” Obadiah said a bit more gently. “I wouldn't ask you to abstain, I'm not out to hurt you, boy. But Stark needs this marriage and if the only way I can keep you from offending your potential prospects, then I'll do it.”

With no response from Tony, Obadiah took it as acceptance. With another friendly clap, Obadiah called out to Tony as he left, “Have a good night, Tony!’

The door shut behind him and then it was just the two alone. The King of Stark and a young man, his future bedmate.

[drawlfoy]

The Wonders of Ohio P.3

masterlist request guidelines

part 1    part 2 

pairing: draco x muggle!reader

request: no, this was my idea from forever ago

summary: american high school student y/n’s senior year is interrupted when a british exchange student comes to live with her. 

warnings: cursing

a/n: i’m being so unproductive since my ankle is hurting ughggghghghggh. also: if you like this muggle high school au please please check out @silversslytherin and @fallatyourfeet and @jhspuff as they all have fics that contain some element of this fic! i pulled a little inspiration from them so give them some love!! also second a/n because i worked on this about a month ag oand i’m back now: hey everyone! it’s been a while! it’s going to be a longgg time until i’m posting like i did over the summer, unfortunately, but i will do what i can to get some writing out in my free time.

word count: 2,350

tags: @eltanin-malfoy @accio-rogers @geeksareunique @fallatyourfeet @daintyyukhei @lunathepettuna @writerandee 

music recs: cherry hearts rac remix by the shins, everyone but you by young veins

Y/N took a sip of tea, staring down her mother.

“No. There’s no way. He wants nothing to do with me.”

“Y/N, sweetie, you’ve got to,” Mrs. Y/L/N said. She had a plate of semi-buttered toast in front of her, but she was paying no mind to it. Instead, her coral nails were tapping the surface of the coffee table. “He’s just in a bad place. He’ll feel better once you two are more connected.”

“I don’t know if going out for a day on the town is going to fix this,” Y/N argued. “He’s got some major issues that he needs to resolve on his own. We’d probably be doing him more of a favor by taking him to a therap--”

“Good morning, Draco,” her mother cut in cheerily despite the death glare she sent Y/N. “How polite of you to wait by the doorway for us to finish our conversation.”

Y/N refused to turn around to face Draco. She knew her face was burning red, and besides, she wanted to pretend like he didn’t hear what he just said for as long as possible. Draco seemed compliant to this idea as he glowered by the toaster, waiting for his bread to be done. 

“How did you sleep?” Y/N asked, noticing how dark his undereye circles were. 

“I’m sure not very well,” her mother cut in. “Jet lag and--”

“Mom, I was asking him.”

Draco shifted his eyes onto Y/N’s face in an unrelenting stare. “Not very well.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. The tea didn’t help?”

He scowled and turned his back to her, suddenly waiting very attentatively for the toast to finish.

“I was just telling Y/N that she should take you with her into the city,” her mother said as she began to butter her toast again. “You’ll love Cincinnati. It’s unlike anywhere else.”

“No thank you,” said Draco simply. Y/N took note of how tensely he was gripping the counter, watching how the veins in his pale hands strain. 

“Draco, I insist! It’ll do you some good to see the city before orientation tomorrow,” Mrs. Y/L/N pushed. “I’ll be out to see Y/D/N and pick him up at the airport for the majority of the day, and I don’t feel comfortable leaving you alone here after only one day. It’ll give me some peace of mind to know that my Y/N is with you. She doesn’t bite.”

Y/N snorted ungracefully at this, tearing off a piece of bread to dunk in her tea. He seemed unimpressed and ready to refuse again when the pop of the toaster rang out through the kitchen, making him jump nearly a foot in the air.

“Sorry, it’s a bit of a loud one,” Y/N offered. “You get used to it after a while.” 

His cheeks were just turning a carnation pink when he spun back around to plate the bread and reach for a knife. 

“You two can go whenever you’re ready, Draco,” Mrs. Y/L/N said, setting her bread down and getting up to clear her dishes. “And I won’t take no for an answer.”

With that, she turned and left the two with the kitchen to themselves. Y/N was still working on her toast and fruit and began to curse whatever it was inside that made her a slow eater as Draco settled down across from her, elegantly ripping open a tea bag and plopping it into a mug.

“So, uh...” Y/N scrambled to think of a conversation topic. This conquest was made harder by Draco’s intimidating tilt of the head. “How’s the British school system? I’ve always wanted to know. Britain seems like it has it together.”

“I went to a rather unorthodox school,” Draco answered, “so I don’t think my experience would be a good example of my country’s education.”

“Oh.” 

“Yeah.”

Y/N busied herself by eating, attempting to do so without getting to many crumbs stuck on her lips. It had never been a problem before, but now that a very tall and broody boy was sitting across from her and looking like he might off her right then and there, it became much harder to eat normally. Draco ate almost robotically, only pausing to sip daintily from his tea. 

Y/N finished before him, and she was up on her feet and clearing away her dishes in record time. “Draco, I’m going to go get my things ready,” she called as she began to make her way out of the door. Come find me when you’re ready to go.”

He sent her a tense, tight-lipped smile that was so forced it looked painful. 

<^>

Y/N was in the middle of her physics homework when a light tapping on the door took her out of focus, prompting her to drop her pencil and shut her notebook. “Yes?”

“I’m ready.”

His voice, apart from the obvious muffle, was noticeably more reserved, like he was defeated or something. Y/N closed her eyes and readied herself before she opened the door to see a very well dressed boy waiting for her, clad in a very expensive looking silk suit. She couldn’t help but laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“You can’t wear that into the city!” she exclaimed. “You...you look like you’re about to walk the red carpet or something! Not the streets of Cincinnati on a Tuesday morning!”

He looked at her blankly, like he didn’t understand a word she had just said. “This is what I wear in England.”

“I mean, it suits you,” she said, leaning into the doorframe to look him up and down. It certainly did--black was a welcome contrast with his ivory features and gold-spun hair, and the expensive fabric seemed to match his elitist aura. His shoes were strangely unique, with a very exotic pointed toe. 

He cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with the intensity in which she was examining him. 

“Uh, yeah, let’s get going then,” Y/N said, making her way down the stairs to the garage and suddenly feeling very self conscious about her fashion choices for the day. 

<^>

The car ride downtown was exceedingly awkward, with only occasional breaks in the silence for light conversation. Y/N managed to pull out certain facts about Draco--he was an only child, he was born in June, and no, he hadn’t been able to contact his friends back home--but he was still frustratingly vague and secretive. 

“So, what do you want to do?” Y/N asked, unlocking his door and getting out of her own side. “I have to get some last minute stationary, but other than that, the options are endless. I have a few special locations that I have in mind, if you want me to take you to them.”

He shrugged. Y/N suspected that he was beginning to regret his clothing choices as he saw that no one else in the city was dressed as formally as him. 

“D’you like history?” she prompted, stepping a bit closer to him. 

“Not particularly.” God, it was crazy how Draco could make anything he said sound regal and beautiful. 

“Perfect. Follow me.” Y/N locked the car and grabbed him by the sleeve, ignoring his protests about the material or the tailoring that she was going to completely ruin. She pulled them through alleys and backstreets until the bustling city was almost completely behind them and all that stood in front of them was a small shop, with a sign that read “My Grandfather’s Attic”. 

“This is the coolest antique store you’re ever going to find here,” Y/N told him, proudly standing tall in front of the entrance. “I know it’s probably not nearly as old as the stuff from England, but half the stuff in here is so obsolete that I can’t even identify them.”

Draco scowled at the ground. 

“If you don’t like it, we can leave,” she said. “All I ask is that you come in and see it with me for a moment. Maybe you’ll be interested in it.” 

Y/N boldly grabbed his arm again, noting just how stiff it was, like an iron rod. Draco scoffed, attempting to tug it out of her grasp, but she held fast. 

“You are coming with me,” she commanded through gritted teeth, resorting to dragging him to the entrance. “Would it hurt you to be enthusiastic? Or manageable? Just once?”

“I don’t want to be here!”

“And you think I’m enjoying having to sacrifice my senior year for some rich kid with daddy issues? As if!” 

Draco’s silver eyes were blazing as he jerked away to glare down at her. Y/N was once again reminded that he was substantially taller than her and began to feel uneasy.

“At least I have a father to speak of” His voice was cool, unfeeling, and deliciously savage. 

“I have a father! What are you talking about?” This prat was really going to try that?

“In theory, sure,” he said. “But he spends more time traveling than he does with you, right?”

“That’s...no!”

He raised an eyebrow. “So the calendar that your mother has set up isn’t accurate?”

Y/N, flustered, curled and uncurled her fists. “It’s been a bad year. He just wants to make sure he can pay for my college tuition.”

Draco made a sound that was infuriatingly disinterested before striding into the store, tossing her a rather sour look. 

“If you really wanted me to come in, all you had to do was ask. Nicely, mind you. No need to manhandle me.”

<^>

Y/N hadn’t been in the old antique shop for over a year, and she was stunned to see just how many items she’d never seen before. None of them looked like familiar household items--instead, they were strange looking contraptions, worn with age and marked with the writing of older generations. 

The most surprising aspect of it all was Draco’s sudden turn of mood as he floated about, picking up strange items with a familiarity that confused Y/N. 

“Draco,” she called. He snapped his head up from something strange that he was looking at...was that a broken piece of a twig? “Come over here, will you?”

He set down the weird looking ragged stick with an especially broken end and strode over to her, a rather annoyed expression on his face. “What is it?”

“Do you actually know what all of this stuff is?” Y/N asked. “I think it must’ve come under new management...I knew they sold it last summer. The new owners totally revamped it; I don’t recognize any of this.”

“I don’t know what any of this is.” He was suspiciously quick to answer.

“Now that I think about it,” she continued, “I’m surprised I even found this place. I’ve tried looking for it with my friends before, and maybe we got lost or something since we couldn’t find it. But I found it this time, with you, so obviously I must’ve... I don’t know.”

Draco suddenly seemed very uncomfortable. 

“I think I’ve had enough. Do I have your permission to leave now?” His tone was snotty and not unusual, but there was an underlying sense of urgency.

“Yeah, let’s go,” Y/N agreed, visibly shuddering. “The energy in here just feels weird.”

He laughed at this, a real, genuine laugh, and Y/N was treated to the sight of shallow dimples in his cheeks. “I can’t imagine why.”

<^>

Y/N was holding that strange looking box she had picked up in the antique shop, only it was black and much heavier. Her head hurt the longer she held it, and the simple engraving of a symbol she couldn’t recognize burnt into the skin of her palm. 

How had she gotten here? And how was a simple box glowing like...that?

She shot awake, nearly banging her head on the headboard. It was only then that she realized she was dripping in sweat, her brow frothy with perspiration. 

Gross. What kind of dream was that?

One glance at the clock made her heart drop: it was 6:05, and time to get ready for orientation. Her senior summer was really, truly, and absolutely over. 

Y/N wasted no time in getting up and ready, taking extra care to wash off the sweaty remains of her dream in the shower. It was quickly fading from her memory, and by the time she was heading down to the kitchen for breakfast, she had nearly forgotten the entire ordeal. 

“Good morning,” she greeted her father, who was sitting at the head of the table and staring down at a crossword. 

“Oh. Good morning,” he said, glancing up from his paper for a moment. “I haven’t seen you in a bit. Is it time for school already?”

“Orientation. I have to take Draco this morning.”

“Draco? Did your mother get a dog or something?”

Y/N laughed stiffly as she prepared her tea. “No, Dad, our exchange student this year from Britain. Don’t make fun of his name so loudly, I’m sure he can hear you.”

Mr. Y/L/N simply nodded and returned to his work, occasionally taking a sip from his half full cup of coffee. Y/N had never been close with him, but they had spent enough time around each other to feel comfortable in silence. 

Y/ N had only just sat down to eat when she saw a flash of blonde hair out of the corner of her eye, prompting her to look up and see Draco, wearing slightly less dressy clothes and a matching scowl.

“Hi,” she said, faltering under his gaze. He simply sniffed and entered the kitchen, floating over to the kettle and looking inside of it. Unsatisfied with the contents, he changed the water and placed it on the stove.

“This is my father,” Y/N attempted again. “He just got back from Australia on business.”

The two made brief eye contact and her father grunted in acknowledgement. Draco seemed wholly unimpressed and sent Y/N a “I told you so” look that made her want to get up and slap him. She stood up and forcefully stacked her dishes in the sink, turning around before she completely left the room.

“I’ll be ready in 10,”

final a/n: i’m still kinda swamped with work tbh and i don’t think it’s very fair of me to expect to get out anymore work than what i had going at the beginning of the month, but i’m hoping that once january begins, i can start writing more often. i know i promised a dramione fic that’s based in the fall but i’m not sure if i’ll have the time to do that...maybe once i’m in university? i apologize for any of the typos i may have made in here, i don’t have the time to proofread and just wanted to get something out to prove to you all that i’m not dead. love youuuuuuuu

[hollandsmushroom]

Too Pretty

Calum Hood x Plus Size Reader

Word Count: 4149 But worth the read

A/N: This is based of personal experiences, so I am not speaking about an issue that I do not understand. We have been taught to hate ourselves because self hatred is profitable, we are told we are not enough as we are so we try and change and in so many ways end up tearing ourselves down and the biggest act of rebellion is to love ourselves despite everyone who tells us we shouldn’t. 

I also feel like when Cal falls in love he doesn’t go half assed he is head over heals and that is why he is apprehensive about it. 

Summary: Cal wants to go swimming but the reader is nervous at everyone seeing her body, a man catcalls her and Cal gets protective and takes her home to prove how beautiful she it

Warnings: Talk of extreme body issues, catcalling/harassment, smut, smut smut, fluff, love, sex, angst, self depreciation

 You and Cal had been together for years, yet over all that time there was one thing that the two of you had yet to do, and that was to go swimming. He brought this up one afternoon as you two sat on the couch, you between his legs and his hands wrapped around your tummy, running his thumbs up and down your sides, over the rolls that grace your hips. No matter how often he touched you like this you couldn’t help but become insecure, because there was always a little voice in your head, a voice that told you Cal was with you because he pities you, one you tried to ignore. Cal brought you out of your thoughts, placing his lips on the shell of your ear. Calum spoke to you, in a soft voice, 

“Lets go swimming,” he mumbled into your hair, this took you off guard, shifting in his grasp so that you were facing him, looking in his eyes you cocked a brow,

“Why do you want to go swimming,”

“Well, my dear,” he leaned in and kissed your nose, “we have been together for, what, 3 years now and we have never been swimming together, now, why is that?”

“Um, I don’t know, we never got the chance?” you stated it like a question

“Now that simply isn’t true, when you come on tour with me I always suggest that we go swimming in the hotel pool and you always decline,”

“Well I had been missing you, maybe I just want to catch up with you, my love,” you spoke, punctuating your sentence by kissing him on the nose, his face scrunching up a little

“Every time?” he inquired

“Every time,” you confirmed 

In your head you knew the answer, and it wasn’t just because you had missed him, though you always did, but that wasn’t all of it. It was because you didn’t think that you could take going there with him, seeing all the girls that were so much smaller than you, the girls that fit the fucked up definition of beauty, the definition that excluded you, the ones that didn’t have the problem with the incessant rub of their thighs together, the ones you wished you looked like. You had never felt as though you deserved Calum, and though he knew you were insecure he didn’t know the extent of it, he didn’t know how much time you spent in front of a mirror poking and contorting, he didn’t know how uncomfortable you felt in your own skin and oh lord if he did.

“Let’s go swimming,” he interrupted your train of thought yet again

“Now?”

“Yes, now, come on get a move on,” he said while sliding you off his lap

“Cal,” you called after him as he started making his way out of the living room and into your guy’s bedroom, he turned around when you called, “I don’t have a swim suit,”

He furrowed his brows at your statement, “How do you not have a swimsuit, everyone has a swimsuit,”

“I don’t know, I just don’t I guess,”

“Well, lets go and change that, shall we?” you could tell by the smile on his face that you two were going swimming today, whether you liked it or not. Cal headed off and packed a bag for the two of you to go to the beach. Before you knew it, you and Cal were in the car driving to Target to buy you a new swimsuit.

“We are here m’lady,” he said when he parked the car in the Target parking lot, getting out and hurrying around to your side to open the door for you. As soon as you stepped out he laced his fingers between yours and headed off towards the entrance.  It was like he was on autopilot, taking the both of you immediately to the swimwear section. Your reaction to the options of swimwear was apprehensive to say the least, all suits would show the parts of you that you tried to hide, Cal didn’t notice your affect change, he was to busy looking through the choices and holding some up to you.

“You have got to try on this one,” he stated excitedly, gaining your attention and bringing you out of your haze of self loathing, he was holding up a two piece.

“Hmm, I don’t know,” you hummed, faking actually contemplating it while the voice in your head yelling that you couldn’t possibly wear something like that, but there was also a voice telling you that you simply had to, and that voice was Calum.

“Okay…all right…fine, I will try it on, only because you want me too,” you snatched the material from his hands and walked over to the dressing rooms,  stripping down to try the swimsuit on you were confronted with your body, a thing you saw as your enemy, when all it was doing was holding  you up, and you were simply tearing it down. You slipped the suit on and looked in the mirror, you sucked in your tummy, appreciating that the suit was high waisted, it accentuated your curves, the top made your boobs spill out slightly, and your initial reaction was not the immediate revulsion you had expected, you kind of liked it, but the longer you stared the more the hate started to seep back into your thoughts. Until you were once again shook out of your haze by Calum, but this time he was knocking on the dressing room door,

“Hey babe, they didn’t have anymore good suits in your size so I guess you are getting this one,” he chuckled

“Oh…um, okay, give me a second,” you stripped from the suit and put your ordinary clothing back on, stepping out to see Cal leaning against a wall waiting for you.

“What, I don’t get a fashion show?” he asked

“It will be a surprise when we get to the beach,” he seemed satisfied with the answer and grabbed your hand again, leading you to check out.

You arrived at the beach in no time, the both of you heading towards the bathroom to change into your suits, you had a plan in mind, one that would make it so you wouldn’t have to show the entire population of the beach your body, simply come out of the bathroom wearing a towel and tell Cal you are cold and want to stay on land, okay maybe not the best plan but it was all you had. You stepped out of the dressing rooms a towel wrapped securely around your body immediately catching Cal’s eye as he waited for you.

“I was promised a fashion show, this doesn’t look like any show to me,” he stared at you

“I am just a bit cold,” you knew this wasn’t going to fly, it was like 98 degrees in LA

“Come on show me, I just want to see it, I bet you look gorgeous, also how could you be cold, it's boiling out,”

“Come on, lets go find a place to set up,” you said, completely ignoring his words

“Wait, Y/n,” he reached out to stop you, grabbing your towel, causing it to slip from your grasp and to the ground, a gasp escaped your lips and you turned to see Cal, mouth hanging open slightly, of course, it's not like he has never seen you naked, having been together for years,  the two of you spent many nights lost in each others bodies, but there was just something about him seeing you like this in public, surrounded by women you saw as much more beautiful than you, but all Cal saw was the very definition of beauty standing right in front of him.

His jaw dropped at the sight of you, and he was pretty damn sure he had never seen anything more beautiful than the person standing right in front of him, even if they did look like a deer in headlights.

“Holy fuck,” he groaned looking at you

“This is why I didn’t want to go swimming,”

“What, why?”

“Because I look terrible, and disgusting” your words sparked a little fire in his eyes, a fire he felt when he wanted to protect you from something, but most cases it was a rude journalist or paparazzi, never from the venom in your voice when you spoke about yourself, at least never before now.

“No you fucking don’t, you look gorgeous, like wow, and what do you mean ‘this is why you didn’t want to go swimming’” a blush spread across your cheeks as you looked at your feet

“Can we talk about this later?” he nodded his head, reaching out to grab your hand and pulling you into his chest, his arms around your waist, hands resting just above your butt as he had to mentally remind him self not to cop-a-feel in public. He leaned in and joined his lips with yours, you felt the passion in his lips and it made you want to stay like that forever, but to your dismay, he pulled away slightly, looking into your eyes.

“You look fucking stunning, love,” he grinned

“As do you kind sir,” You could tell he was about to retort but you beat him to it, pulling him towards the water, and before you knew it you were waist deep in the sea with the man of your dreams. Completely lost in the waves and his eyes as the two of you laughed and trying to dunk each other, forgetting that the two of you were surrounded by people, forgetting for a moment how uncomfortable you had previously been, that was until you heard someone yelling, and it seemed to be at you.

“Aye, honey, don’t worry, I like bigger girls,” a man yelled, you didn’t know how to react, a part of you deep inside, the one that had been told that harassment is flattery, became flustered and flattered, while the rest of your mind was disgusted, but used to it, but Cal wasn’t

“What the fuck did you just say?” he seethed, his nails digging into his palms and his teeth tightly clenched together, the squish in his cheeks was gone, every muscle in his body was tense, trying to hold himself back.

“Hey man, no harm, just appreciating the woman you got there,”

“No, you really weren’t,” Cal bit at the man “You were disrespecting her, thats what you were doing,”

“There is no need to freak out on me here, I don’t see what the problem is,”

“The problem is that you are making it seem like you deserve some kind of fucking award for ‘liking bigger women’ and you really don’t, because there is nothing special about it, and my girlfriend over there is fucking perfect, so what if she is curvy, she is gorgeous. Big and pretty aren’t mutually exclusive, and she is proof of that, so fuck you man, and if anyone in this relationship deserves an award, it’s her form putting up with my bullshit,” Cal  yelled before he turned to you, seeing that you had begun crying and he was torn between fighting the twat who catcalled you and comforting you, deciding to let Karma deal with the dickhead, Cal ran to your side, placing a finger under your chin and tilting it so you were looking at him, eyes flooded with worry as he wiped the tears from your cheeks with the pad of his thumb.

“Can we go home, please?” you mumbled into his chest, trying your best to stop crying

“Yes, of course,” he said without hesitation, pulling you into his side wrapping an arm over your shoulder protectively.

The both of you entered the car and Cal pulled out of the parking lot in silence, that was until Cal spoke up,

“Babe,” you looked up at him, lifting your gaze from your lap

“Yea,”

“What did you mean earlier when you said that ‘this is why you didn’t want to go swimming’,” glancing at you and then back at the road

“Cal, can we talk when we get home, I want to talk to you face to face,”

“Sure,” he reached out a hand and placed it on your thigh, soothing the skin with his thumb while also attempting to soothe you,

You opened the door and headed up to your bedroom Cal following close instep.

“So?” he spoke trying to prompt the conversation he had tried to start in the car

“Cal, why are you with me?” you blurted out

“Wait, what?” his eyebrows shot up, as did he, from the seat he had taken on the bed, “What the fuck kind of question is that?” he asked

“Cal, you are you, a literal rockstar, a fit, tall, tan, gorgeous man that if he stopped playing music could be a model, why are you with me?”

“I don’t understand how you could ask that, Y/n,”

“Cause Cal, I am ugly, lets be fucking honest, someone who looks like you shouldn’t be with someone that looks like me,” tears started falling down your cheeks again.

“No, your wrong, you are so so wrong Y/n, because you are amazing, there is no one in the world like you,” you opened your mouth to say something but he beat you too it, “Y/n, I love you, more than anything else in the world, you are my future, I love everything about you, I love the way that your thighs jiggle when you walk, I love that your breast aren’t tiny, they are a big fucking handful, I love that you have stretch marks because it reminds me how much you have grown, they are nothing to be ashamed of, I have them. I love your tummy, it makes a great pillow, I love kissing my way down and up it. I love you Y/n, and nothing is going to change that, nothing, so if you really do think that someone who looks like you shouldn’t be with me you are wrong, you don’t get to decide that I should be disgusted by you, I don’t get to decide who I am attracted to but thank god I was attracted to the most beautiful person in the world, and that they were attracted to me,” at this point you were full on crying, no one had ever said anything like that to you before,

“Your body is gorgeous, and so are you, that guy at the beach was a dickhead who I really really wanted to punch, and barely resisted doing so. He seemed so confident in the fact that what he was say ing was a compliment when really it wasn’t, I also didn’t like him talking about you like that, you’re mine”

“Cal, I am yours, every inch, I love you so much,”

“Y/n, why did you never tell me that you struggled so much with your self image?”

“Cause Cal, I was embarrassed and thought you might see me as damaged and weak and that is the last thing I want, I want you to see me as strong,”

“I do see you as strong, you are amazing, now can you do me a favor and let me show you just how amazing you are?” you nodded your head slightly and Cal leaned in and attached his lips to yours, working them together as he licked at your bottom lip, asking for entrance, which you happily granted. Calum kissed like no one else you had ever met, you felt it through your whole body, from your toes to the hairs on the back of your neck, and especially your core. His tongue moved leisurely around your mouth wrestling slightly with yours. His hands wandered from your sides, slipping under your swim suit top, groaning into your mouth at the feeling of your hard nipples against his palms, massaging your breasts slightly. One hand stayed on your breast while the other slid its way down your back grasping your ass pulling you close to him so your hips were flush, you felt his hard on through his trunks. His hand left your breast, going down to meet his other at your ass,

“I had to remind myself so many times today that I cant feel you up in public, much to my dismay,” he murmured into your mouth, hands massaging your ass “God, I love your ass, it's so fucking cute, I also love that I can do this,” he gripped your ass tight as he lifted you up, you instinctively wrapped you legs around his body, as he turned and walked to the bed, setting you down on it, you sat back up slightly, propped up by your elbows at your sides, you were soon pushed back down onto the bed, Cal crawling over top of you, part between your thighs part resting on them, he ground his hips into you as he kissed you with more passion than you think you have ever felt before. Your core getting wetter my the second, you arched your back into his chest as his hips dug into you, he took this as an opportunity to slip a hand underneath your back, pulling the string of your swimsuit  tell it came undone, your breast beginning to slip from under the material at the sudden lack of support, his lips left yours and attached themselves to the underside of your breasts, sucking contently at the soft skin that only ever comes in contact with your bra, leaving a mark on your still salty skin, he leaned back to admire the new red mark that was on the sensitive flesh,

“I can’t believe your all mine, how the fuck did I get so lucky,” he moved the cups of your top aside, fully exposing your chest to his hungry eyes, he leaned forward, attaching his lips to your nipple while one hand slid down your tummy, holding the flesh, lightly tracing patterns across your stretch marks,

“Their like lightening bolts, and tiger stripes, you are fearsome, my love,” he spoke, still flicking your nipple with his tongue, teeth gently nipping at it, arching your back into him again, his lower hand slid into the front of your swim bottoms, rubbing slightly over your folds, not quite coming in contact with your clit yet. His mouth left your breast and he started kissing his way down your torso, sucking marks as he went, soothing them with his tongue afterwards. He soon reached the hem of your swim bottoms but made not move to remove them, simply kissing his way down your thigh to your knee,

“I love your thighs, how strong they are, how they wrap around my head and bury my face deeper in your pussy,”  you blushed, covering your face with your hands, “Nu-uh pretty girl, I wanna see your face as I do this,” without further warning he dragged his tongue up your other thigh, grabbing the crotch of your swim bottoms with his teeth, pulling them down your legs, until you were in front of him, totally bare, you gasped at the cool air on you're burning centre, he kissed his way back up your leg until he reached his destination,

“Such a pretty pussy, so wet you’re practically dripping,”

“Only for you, Cal,” he grinned as he dragged his finger between your folds, collecting your wetness before pressing the pad of his thumb to your clit, rubbing soft circles on the bundle of nerves, small gasps left your lips, egging him on. He leaned his face in, replacing his thumb with his tongue, moving his hand down and sliding his fingers into your heat, pumping them in and out, reaching the spot deep inside that he knew you loved. Your hands flew down to his hair, tugging as his tongue flicked beneath your hood,

“Cal, oh god, Cal, I am so close, fuck fuck fuck,” you screamed you belly tightening, he reached up a hand and grabbed one of your breasts, rolling the nipple between his pointer finger and thumb.

“Cum for me pretty girl, show me how good I made you feel,” the vibrations of his gravelly voice sending you falling over the edge, hands desperately gripping at his short hair,

“Fuck Cal, so good, feels so fucking good, fuck,” your back arched as your toes curled, hips bucking slightly into his face as he rode your through your high.

Once you had come back down to earth you felt him kissing his way up your body again, reaching your lips in a heated kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue.

“I love you Cal, so much, so fucking much,” you spoke into his lips

“Not as much as I love you,” you dragged your nails down his tan skin, slipping your hand into the front of his trunks, stroking him gently, a groan leaving his lips as he struggle to keep himself from collapsing on top of you at the pleasure.

“Y/n, you gotta stop, I wanna cum inside you,”  he whimpered, he removed himself from his place on top of you, quickly sliding his trunks down his legs. The lack of restraint causing his dick to slap up against his stomach, just as he was about to get back on the bed he looked at you and froze, you looked amazing, he couldn’t understand how he had gotten so lucky,

“Cal, what are you staring at?” you spoke making moves to cover up your body from his sight, but he caught them,

“There will be no hiding while I am here, pretty girl, I wanna see all of you, cause if you are anything, it is too pretty”

He got back on the bed, leaning down and connecting his swollen lips with yours in a heated kiss, you reached your hand down between you, grabbing his cock and running it through your folds, collecting your arousal, before lining him up at your entrance.

“Ready?”

“For you, usually,” you grinned at him above you, he slipped into your heat, filling you to the hilt, gasping at the sudden fullness, he paused waiting for you to adjust. You nodded slightly and he started dragging in and out of you slowly, making you feel every bit of him as he did, picking up speed he did something unexpected, flipping it so you were on top.

You made a move to get off but he grabbed your hips, before he was unsheathed from you,

“Where do you think you’re going, baby-girl?”

“Cal, I can’t ride you, I will crush you,”

“With an orgasm, maybe, with your weight, not a fucking chance,” he smirked at you with ernest eyes “Please?” he pleaded

“I am going to need some help getting going,” you agreed

“On it,” he gripped your hips, assisting in your rotation and grinding against him, before lifting you slightly and helping you begin to bounce on his cock

“Baby girl, you look so fucking perfect like this,” he looked down at the place the two of you connected and felt himself nearing the edge quickly,

“You gonna cum for me baby, you gonna cum?” he questioned as his hands left your hips seeing as you had gained enough momentum, one hand grabbed one of you're bouncing tits and the slid between you, reaching your clit and rubbing harshly,

“Yes, Cal, I am gonna cum, oh god,” you clenched around him, releasing your juices, sending him over the edge before he knew it. Bucking his hips into yours carrying the both of you through your orgasms. Once you came down, you curled into his sweaty chest,

“Y/n?”

“Mhmm,” you mumbled sleepily

“If you are ever feeling that way again, please tell me, okay?”

“Cal, there is always a part of me telling me that I don’t deserve you,” you whispered, feeling him tense behind you, he rolled you over,

“Well, then know this, I would be lost without you, you are my world, to me, you put the stars in the sky, you raised the mountains, I love you more than life itself and you are the most beautiful person I have ever seen, if someone doesn’t deserve someone in this relationship, its me not deserving you, okay?”

“Cal, you are all those things to me, and so so much more, I love you,”

“One day I am going to make you see just how fucking stunning you are, love,”

“I don’t think anyone else could,” you smiled, leaning up for a kiss which he happily returned. He pulled away suddenly

“Side note, you should ride me more often, your tits look amazing when you do,” giggling at his bluntness you faded off to sleep

Tags

@heartbreak-5sos @booklove-2 @harrysgucciclothes ​ @katiejatiebatie

[kegareki]

Alright s2e1 here we are!

lisa i am happy to see you but What the fuck kind of hand-washing was that. you sprinkled something into the water in the basin and dunked your hands in for like 2 seconds before pulling them out and you just shook your hands dry and rolled down your sleeves and then touched a book.

“a powder? you sound like the old wise woman we used to have. the powder turned out to be her dried foot skin.” lisa, immediately: “my gd. i’m amazed any of you are still alive.”

oh NO lisa fell into the “hair tied into a low ponytail pulled forward over her shoulder” dead anime mom trope! lisa!

fuck this bishop and fuck this church

oh hi dracula it’s been a while

there are a lot of vampires gathered here and some of them are Visibly POC, which is neat. but... there are 2 characters with skin-colored skin and the rest of them have grey vampire skin....... what does this mean

Dracula Stair Watch: he glided down the stairs but there were footstep noises so i’m going to assume that he used his feet to do so. he went down them one step at a time like a normal person.

OH LOL the skin-colored skin means that they’re human. alright.

“godbrand, you’ve never met anything you didn’t kill, fuck, or make a boat out of.”

“i don’t understand why our lord doesn’t tie you up outside with the rest of the animals.”

these humans are Savage holy shit

dracula has a painting of lisa up in ... what appears to be his brooding room, because that’s where he goes to sit in a chair and stare into the fireplace and brood

everyone is wearing a red sash around their waist. is that vampire fashion? is that how they’re declaring allegiance to vampires? what does this mean

trevor awkwardly puts his hand on sypha’s shoulder and tries to comfort her... “your people are going to be fine, you know.”

“i know. and i know they have to do it. other towns need their aid and to have their stories saved. i’m... not worried about them.”

“you’re worried about yourself, sypha. you’ve always been with family. you’ve never traveled alone.”

“never. isn’t it silly? they’re heading into who knows what danger, and i’m standing here sad and angry because they’re together and i’m alone.” there’s a pause. trevor leans his head back, then hunches forward a little. grunts a hmm. doesn’t look at her. she turns her head to look at him and says “this is where you’re supposed to tell me that i’m not alone, belmont.” and he just... takes his hand off her shoulder and she’s like “you... are really not very good at this.”

“i... learned to travel alone early in life. maybe i just got too used to it.”

he’s TRYING sypha!!!!!

(if i do actually write a self-insert for this it really is going to be as trevor’s friend and traveling companion, huh.)

trevor sighs and speaks so reluctantly lmfao. “okay, look. i know a little bit about what you’re feeling. i’m sorry. but we have a thing to do now. all i can do is try and make sure it doesn’t get you killed, so you can see your family again.”

“that’s your encouraging talk?” Sypha that was not the worst encouraging talk i’ve seen. he’s telling you that he understands how you feel and that he wants to keep you alive so that you can return to your family. what more do you want from him

trevor gives up and goes “or you get killed and they get eaten in the forest so none of you have to be sad. how’s that?”

cut to adrian who’s in the building that SHOULD have contained the cloak but is SUSPICIOUSLY EMPTY OF IT. my self-insert really is going to have to be in the building with trevor when he takes it off, huh.

adrian draws his dad in the dust? dirt? with a stick....... it looks remarkably good....

“alucard, they called me. the opposite of you. mother never liked that. did you know that? she hated the idea that i might define myself by you. even in opposition to you. she loved us both, enough that she wanted us to be our own people, living our own lives, making our own choices. and so, here i am... choosing to honor my mother by killing my father. no longer adrian tepes. choosing to be alucard of wallachia, the name of my mother’s people.”

the single tear of sadness... dripping onto the rendition of his mother...

adrian is like the pretty boy angst machine here isn’t he. like i just want to take hold of his shoulder and tell him that he’s still adrian, still his father’s son. he isn’t in opposition to dracula For No Reason Other Than To Oppose Him. like dracula is literally planning the extinction of the human race because a bishop ordered his wife’s death and a city watched her burn at the stake for witchcraft. Genocide Is Not The Answer Here

hector creating the bat-people... through magic forging human corpses? holy shit. alright.

the way dracula’s castle moves . i don’t even want to talk about it

[ezrisdax-archive]

it's either hell or high water (let's get outta this place)

it’s late but for @thefemalemusketeer, a start of season two au. (also here on ao3)

~~

London wasn’t all that different from Paris, the streets were the same cobbled stone and the rich turned down their faces at the poor. Porthos watched it all from his corner, frowning at the nobles that walked by. Next to him Constance also looked dismayed by the marketplace, her lavender and red dress stood out amongst the blue fashion that was the interest of London currently, and she moved her hand jerkily as though to run her fingers through her curls and only then remembering she had it pinned up.

 Neither of them belonged there, they were as far from their element as they could but there wasn’t much of a choice. The Queen had sent them to retrieve her diamonds and their intelligence gathering had brought them straight to London. It was Flea who had tracked down a woman named Sylvie who then used her experiences to find out that there was a dark haired woman seen fleeing the building that had housed Suzette, in possession of the Queen’s diamonds.

 It hadn’t taken much for them to find out that woman was Milady de Winter and had struck a deal with the Cardinal once more upon her return to Paris. It had been harder for them to discover that the plan was for Milady to frame the Duke of Buckingham as the Queen’s lover to turn the King against her. Constance had skulked in certain areas of the palace to overhear whispers for days before she finally figured it out.

 Which lead them to England, standing in a corner of the market and watching the bustle go by. Porthos squinted when the clouds shifted and the sun shone down on them, it was unbearably hot, that much it shared with Paris in the summertime. He felt unusually exposed, his pauldron which marked him as a Musketeer had to be left at the inn they were staying at so as not to draw attention. It hadn’t helped at all, people continued to stare at the odd coupling they made but they ignored it.

 Constance shifted behind him and Porthos glanced back at her, asking silently what she was doing.

 She grinned at him, “I may as well get some value from your height,” She teased, standing in his shadow to cool herself.

 Porthos snorted in amusement, “Be better if this contact would arrive already.” He didn’t name her in fear that someone else might have overheard him. In fact he shouldn’t have spoken that but the heat was irritating him.

 Constance hummed her agreement, the heat had clearly sapped most of her energy, he could see the beads of sweat that dripped down her neck. Porthos felt his impatience rising, sighing heavily and scrubbing at his face to try to reinvigorate himself.

 He looked up in surprise when Constance snatched his bandana and watched her as she made her way to the fountain in the middle, dunking the piece of fabric in the water and walking back with it.

 “To cool you off.” She explained, trying it back on to his head and though the water was warm he had to admit it still felt nice. Constance had to stand on her toes to reach, pressing close to him and he could almost feel her breathing in tandem with himself.

 He cleared his throat to take a step back when she was finished, resolutely ignoring the confused look on her face and scanning the market one more. He nudged Constance lightly when he saw who he was looking for, like them Sylvie stood out with her dress a much darker blue than anyone else’s.

 “How unexpected!” Constance called out when Sylvie was close enough, acting like it was a surprise. “I didn’t expect to see you in London.”

 “I was visiting family, what brings you two here?” Sylvie ducked in closer, the paper in her hand slipping in to Constance’s when they embraced.

 “We were just seeking a break and heard London was lovely this time of year.” Constance replied, looking back at Porthos and smiling widely. He returned it with an easy affection, their story was after all that with the death of Jacques Bonacieux, Constance had been seeking some peace and she and Porthos had started a romance that would only last as long as it took them to get the diamonds back.

 “This fair city has its appeal.” Sylvie stated but she didn’t at all look like she meant it and Constance knew that given her choice she too would return to Paris. Her mouth turned down slightly when she said the word ‘fair’, like it hurt to say that and Paris was no better but at least it was home.

 “Porthos and I were just about to get going, we can’t stay long. We were just…” She paused for the word and nearly made a face at it. “Admiring the markets.” Next to her Porthos snickered when he caught her hesitation and she almost elbowed him, shooting him a dark look instead that just made him guffaw louder. “Excuse him. I think the heat has gotten to him.” She said through clenched teeth.

 Porthos coughed and nodded, “Heat, flies, it’s a damned shame there isn’t a fight to be had or it might feel like home.”

 “Give it time.” Constance said, low enough for only Porthos to hear and couldn’t help but grin back when he did.

 “You two best be on your way then.” Sylvie drew their attention again, “Get out of the heat while you can.” As she leaned in to hug Constance a goodbye she whispered in Constance’s, “Best of luck to you.”

 “Safe travels.” Constance whispered back, letting go. They watched Sylvie step back in to the crowd and then off the street down an unused alleyway.

 Without speaking they walked in tandem back to their inn but along the way Constance saw girls fluttering their eyes at Porthos. She felt a stab of jealousy that she tried to brush away, Porthos was after all only her false romance.

 Constance glanced up, knowing what it was those girls saw when they looked at Porthos; it was easy to be lost in his eyes that promised an adventure. Coupled with how well he fit his uniform and his roguish smile… she sidled in a little closer, telling herself it was only right she’d be jealous of the attention he was given since she was supposed to be his lover.

 Porthos turned to look at her, a question in his gaze but she ignored it, looking ahead instead. She still caught the slight hurt in his eyes that she had turned away from him and guilt bubbled up inside her. There wasn’t any time for this, she told herself, they had a job to do.

 The inn was no cooler than the outside and their room offered little sanctuary to eavesdroppers but it was the best they had. She reached into sleeve where she had hidden the paper Syvlie had passed her to unfurl it so they could read it.

 Porthos stood behind her, his bulk should have been uncomfortably warm but Constance found herself wanting to lean in. Instead she focused on looking at the information in her hands.

 “She was in the palace.” Porthos said idly, frowning at the paper. “No doubt placing things where they don’t belong.”

 “It is her specialty.” Constance remembered her kidnapping with a slight shudder.

 Porthos’ hand came up to rest on her shoulder, he looked like he wanted to say something but apologies weren’t his strong suit.

 “I’m fine.” She said softly, reaching up to touch his cheek in appreciation. “We should go.”

 There was never any time to rest, to think about events in the past, and Constance almost preferred it that way. If she was in Paris she’d have to act like the grieving widow as expected of her position. People would be vicious to her when she came back, scolding her for not doing her duty to mourn and leaving for London instead with another man, but she’d deal with that when it came.

 It wasn’t like there was much left to her name and the Queen at least had promised Constance would always have a position and home with her.

 They reached the back of the Duke’s place by the time night fell and the air was cooler.

 “Suppose we can’t just go barrelling in there.” Porthos sounded sad he couldn’t and Constance knew he’d rather the direct approach.

 Aramis perhaps would have been better suited for this mission. Even d’Artagnan had proven himself to be sly when he’d tricked Milady. Porthos had been confused when she’d picked him to come along with her, despite that he had been the one Flea had given the message to.

 “I need someone who won’t expect everything of me.” She had told him, thinking it harsh to say that of d’Artagnan but true nonetheless. “And who understands.” She hadn’t needed to say that he’d understand what it would be like not having the best reputation in the eyes of Paris.

 “Well.” Constance said then, “Maybe we could.” When Porthos looked at her she grinned wolfishly, “Don’t ever speak of this to others.” She pulled him with her, throwing herself into the situation. When they were close enough to the guard Constance turned to kiss Porthos, trying not to think about how his hand settled on the small of her back. How he drew her in to the kiss like they were the only two people that mattered, giving it his full attention.

 She pulled back only long enough to say “now” and Porthos’ swung, his fist connecting the guard who’d come to investigate them and taking him out for the night.

 He had to smother his amused laughter that just seemed to come naturally, his other arm still wrapped around her so she tugged him closer to smother his laughter with another kiss and hide her own in it. She had done it without thought though, there was really no reason to since the guard was out and the rest patrolled the front of the house.

 Porthos pulled away first, letting her go and holding up his hands to silently say that he understood it was the heat of the moment that drove her to it.

 Constance bit her lip, ready to move on like she should have but then swore.

 In the pale light from the house it was hard to make out Porthos’ face but she’d stared long and hard enough over the ride to London. Her thumb touched the very bottom of the scar, just below his eye, and her fingers spread out over his cheek as she stroked it in affection.

 “Constance.” Porthos said, his already raspy voice lower and her shudder this time had nothing to do with fear.

 “I know.” She had to pull away but didn’t. Constance swallowed hard and between one breath and the next Porthos swept her in to another kiss. She had expected ferocity but it was gentle yet passionate all the same. She left her breath be stolen, leaning in to the kiss and standing on her toes for a better angle.

 This was what those girls in the market were missing and what Constance wanted for herself.

 When he pulled back he twisted to catch her wrist and kiss her palm before letting her hand go. Porthos licked his lips and averted his gaze back to the house, “Should do what we came to.” He said regretfully and Constance took one faltering breath before she nodded.

 Porthos made quick work of the lock at the back door, letting them in. Every step they made felt too loud in Constance’s ears but Porthos looked confident as they trailed down the hall and up the stairs to the main bedroom.

 The Duke wasn’t there, Constance was betting he was still taking dinner somewhere in the bottom level of the house and prayed he wouldn’t decide to come upstairs. If he did they could explain it to them, she held a letter that had been sealed from Anne but that would take time that they didn’t truly have.

 They needed to get the diamonds back to the Queen before Milady reached Paris once more and informed the Cardinal she had succeeded.

 Porthos growled lowly as he rifled through the Duke’s closet, Constance glanced his way in warning as she went through his drawers.

 “Constance.” Porthos whispered after a few minutes, she turned to see he was holding the jewellery box with the diamonds in it and grinning victoriously. They opened it to take a quick peek inside to make sure and breathed a sigh of relief.

 She slipped the letter onto the Duke’s bed, issuing him a warning that Milady had attempted this and was shocked when they made it back outside without complications.

 As soon as they were a great enough distance away Porthos’ arm slipped around her waist, hoisting her in the air as he chuckled. With his other arm he still held the box at his side, an unintentional show of strength that he could lift her like that.

 “Porthos.” Constance tried to complain but laughed. “I can’t believe we got away with it.”

 “Not bad.” Porthos agreed as he set her down.

 “Do you always do that when you succeed?” She smoothed her skirts down, “I’ve certainly never seen you throw Aramis about.”

 Porthos scratched at his cheek and looked like he was about to apologize so Constance cut him off, pulling his hand down to push herself up and kiss him on the cheek.

 There were more things they needed to discuss but it would all have to come later as they rushed back to the inn to gather their things and make the long ride back to Paris.

 “You ready?” Porthos asked as she mounted, the diamonds safely stored in a saddlebag.

 “Yes.” She looked over at him and smiled softly, “I think I am.”

[princesas-peluches]

Finding the right doll for a 3 – 4 year old

Top tips on choosing a doll for a child aged 3 – 4 years Baby dolls and doll best friends Little ones aged 3 – 4 have rich imaginations. Their understanding of the world around them grows every day. Watch a 3 – 4 year old play with a doll and the chances are you’ll see them acting out situations and events that are familiar to them. Bath time, nap time, enjoying lunch or visiting the park will be familiar routines and will often form the basis of a story line in play. For playful children, dolls have days like we do and they simply love to tell this story! Some children of this age may prefer to play with a doll that looks more like themselves than a baby. Dolls with more grown up clothes, proper shoes and hair that can be brushed feel like special playmates – or as we prefer to call them, doll best friends! On the other hand, many 3 – 4 year olds – perhaps particularly those with younger brothers or sisters – still prefer to play with a baby doll, taking on the role of a mini mummy or daddy to someone small that they can care for. You’ll know best whether the 3 – 4 year old you’re shopping for is likely to find a baby doll or a more childlike doll engaging, and there’s no more or less ‘advanced’ option in terms of a child’s development. All children grow and learn in different ways and at different rates, and the way that youngsters play is always heavily informed by their day to day experiences. It is important, though, to pick the right doll for right now. A doll that’s a good match for the child’s age and activities, will take pride of place at the centre of free-play – rather than collecting dust on the shelf! Doll safety and suitability Children aged 3+ can play safely with a wide variety of dolls, including all of those listed on our website as best for youngsters from 3 – 4 . However, it’s a good idea to consider suitability alongside safety when buying for a child this age. While it’s perfectly safe for a 3 – 4 year old to play with a hard-bodied doll, for example, this may not be the ideal choice of doll for them at this stage. Young children often like to take their doll best friend everywhere they go – including to bed. A soft-bodied doll might be a nicer companion for the little one you’re buying for if he or she tends to snuggle up with favourite toys at sleep times. Soft-bodied dolls with sewn on, floppy limbs are easier for young hands to manipulate, too. This makes removing and putting on clothes simpler and less frustrating for 3 – 4 year olds, who may be learning to dress themselves at the same time as working out how to dress and undress their doll best friends. Doll sizes, sleeping dolls and other functionality When buying a doll for a 3 – 4 year old, it’s important to think about how big it will be in relation to his or her new owner. While many 3 – 4 year olds are physically large enough to play happily with dolls of up to 42cm long, petite children may find smaller dolls – such as the Gotz Little Muffins easier to handle. Features such as washable, brushable hair, changeable outfits and accessories such as potties and bottles can add new dimensions to doll play for developing little ones. Sleeping eyes are especially popular with children of this age, who often like to put their doll best friends down to sleep when they feel ‘tired’! Doll hair can quickly become tangled and is unlikely to stay pristine in the hands of a 3 – 4 year old – which is why many of the dolls suitable for younger children have shorter, more manageable hair. Alternatively dolls without hair can be wiped clean and are therefore the simplest of all to look after. Some dolls on the market go further in terms of functionality – for example, ‘speaking’ dolls that make sounds – but it’s important to remember that dolls with a finite set of functions can serve to limit rather than inspire creative play. A child can quickly become irritated that the doll cannot do more, or is repetitive in what sounds it can make. A doll can be so much more to a child with imagination. At My Doll Best Friend, our favourite dolls are often the simplest: those that invite a child to imagine an array of different situations and events, instead of prompting repetition of particular scenarios such as feeding time. What else should I consider before buying? Finally, it’s nice to think about the individual preferences of the child you’ll be buying for before making your purchase. Would he or she prefer a little boy or girl doll? Perhaps they’re looking forward to the arrival of a sibling and their baby doll is a gift, so they can copy you care for the new baby while they play. They might want a girl doll if they’re having a sister, or a boy doll if they’re having a brother! Are there particular styles of clothing that might excite them? First, look for something that would match their skill level so it’s possible for them to dress and undress their doll.  Second, an outfit the doll could wear for a regular activity as the child’s companion. Where play and real life cross over is especially enjoyable for a child. What about hair, eye and skin colour? Maybe a doll with skin, hair and eye colour the same as the child’s would be what they’d like; or perhaps the opposite. Will you want to wipe down your child’s doll, or even put it in the washing machine for a thorough clean? Vinyl dolls can be wiped down with a damp cloth. Some Gotz dolls made of vinyl and fabric can actually go in the washing machine, which is great for this age group. Would the little one you’re buying for enjoy water play? There are dolls that are specifically designed to be suitable for immersion in the bath. Remember a little time will be needed for the doll to dry after bath time, so best to have another ready for bedtime! Our favourite dolls for children aged 3 – 4 years Gotz’s selection of dolls for children aged 3 – 4 is excellent, with the Aquini bath dolls being ideal for children who won’t be able to resist dunking their doll best friend in the tub after a busy day! Many Aquinis also have the drink and potty function. Little Muffins are baby dolls with many clothes and accessories you can buy separately. They also come with a dummy that fits into their mouth. Just Like Me dolls are the child-like dolls with a good range of additionally available clothes and shoes. Gotz Little Muffins, Maxy Muffins and Precious Day Dolls are made from vinyl and fabric and can go in the washing machine: Precious Day dolls are doll best friends that are a bit taller at 45cm and they extend play into a slightly older age group as their hair is very long. Again, a good doll for the 4 year old plus. Ciao Bimba’s Mini Bambina dolls Waldorf dolls are truly charming. Soft, dinky at just 29cm long and made with beautiful natural materials, they are perfect for children who love to cuddle up with their favourite doll at bed time. Ciao Bimba Mini Darling dolls are exquisite handmade Waldorf dolls who can be dressed and redressed, and whose hair can  be styled. These dolls are to be cuddled, played with and admired for the unique one of a kind doll that they are. For children who love dressing their dolls, the D’Nenes range is ideal: with a huge variety of dolls at low prices, and outfits to choose from, little ones will have many hours of fun with companions such as the Marieta Little Red Riding Hood doll!  Some of these larger, hard-bodied dolls with extra clothes and shoes might be good choices for children towards the top end of the 3 – 4 age range. Llorens’ range of baby and toddler dolls is another wonderful option for 3 – 4 year olds, offering life-like features, engaging accessories including cribs, slings and changing mats. Schildkrot baby dolls are dolls to pass down generations. Made in Germany for to a very high standard and suitable for play, they are loved by adults and children alike. Petitcollin Petit Calin and Bibichou dolls are treasures from France. See cute French fashion designs on baby dolls, for those for whom the style of the clothes is as important as the doll itself. There are also the Minette and Minouche dolls that are child-like versions wearing equally stunning French doll fashion. Vestida de Azul Marina and Tonino dolls are larger, very pretty dolls that come with either a full vinyl body or a soft body and vinyl limbs. At 42-45cm they could well be able to wear real newborn baby clothes. The post Finding the right doll for a 3 – 4 year old appeared first on My Doll Best Friend Blog. . De: My Doll Best Friend Blog - https://www.mydollbestfriend.co.uk/blog/finding-the-right-doll-for-a-3-4-year-old/ Fecha: August 15, 2018 at 11:26AM . Haz clic en la foto de abajo para ver otro de mis Blogs. Encontraras mas publicaciones interesantes. 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