#but the little details we get are so interesting

[hunihimig]

Windbreaker Art trade with @officialmiintee 🌱🍓🐈

cutting classes to pet cats

post-patrol cooldown with kitties!

[jmdbjk]

Jungkook telling it like it is...

He did tell Spotify that he'd use the blanket they gave him. Just not the way they probably thought he would: Jungkook's glossy black marble floor shows his bare feet prints on it and he used his Spotify blanket to clean the floor. He says he'll have to always wear socks or slippers. I can see him leaving a pile of toe socks at the door just for him to put on when he's in that room...

He says he briefly and unseriously considered quitting the business to be a full time cook. (JK, you can't do that, you have to make enough money to pay for the utilities and property taxes on your new fortress...) But that's his introvert kicking in, the routine, the comfort zone, the way his job holds his interest enough to make him want to keep doing it. But he is aware and he knows this about himself and knows he has to return to his "spot" as he called it.

He seems to accept the fact his place of residence is going to be known by the fans just like many other aspects of his life such as details of his military service. He seems to take it in stride but he also sets boundaries by asking fans to not come to his house and do not send packages, not only to his house but to his army base. He explains why, that he cannot accept them and that packages containing food are restricted. He clearly instructs to send letters to the company.

How do people know where he lives? Here's the answer, or at least part of it:

We all know if you spend time on Youtube the algorithm will feed you videos and channels similar to what you've watched. If you are restrained enough to limit your viewing to only BangtanTV I applaud you. But if you watch anything else, youtube will serve you similar. We all know that through the anecdotes of Armys talking about being flooded with edited, slo-mo shipping videos.

Personally, I like watching youtube channels that show walking tours of Seoul. The city captured my attention and I've learned so much about it. But because of this interest I have in Seoul and Korea, more "walking tour" and Korean travel type channels are suggested to me. Some are better than others. Some are actually run by K-Army. I am very interested in K-Armys' perspective about life in Seoul so I watch. We get to see the birthday cafe events and such that I'm probably never going to experience.

Inevitably one of these channels is going to walk by the members' homes... because they are Army and can. Streets are public. And this is how other people find out where the members live. The videos show that none of the homes are accessible. They are all behind walls and gates. None of the videos show hoards of fans congregated in front of the homes. The only place you ever see that is in front of the Hybe building.

Yes, it is controversial knowing these things but it is also one of those things that is almost unavoidable. What do I do with the information I gain by watching? Nothing. I satisfy my curiosity and move on.

Jungkook knows we are curious. He knows with his position in life there are things he cannot control and he's aware of it. It's pointless for him to pretend he isn't aware of this. That's why he sets boundaries. And he's very kind about it when he does set boundaries.

Are there bad actors out there who will take advantage of the knowledge? Of course. But that's on them. Are there people who will post every detail they learn? Of course. That's how the information spreads to other social media platforms.

Anyway... the Weverse translations are sort of skimming over what he says. There's a little bit of nuance being left out sometimes.

The Weverse English subs say "We'd sing it every day while taking showers." But Jungkook more accurately said: "We always sing together while taking a shower." (begins at 1:00:00)

The Weverse English subs say "Recently, with Jimin, now during our clean up time I finished up in the kitchen and came back up we talked a lot about music and we'd always be humming (he hums) and I'd go far away and sing songs (he gestures away from him). I'll try to practice more when I have time." But more accurately he said: "So these days I'm with Jimin and now when its personal maintenance time I go upstairs after finishing kitchen work. We talk a lot about singing and we're humming along to each other all the time (he hums) like that and we go far away and sing and stuff (he gestures away from him). I'll practice more in my spare time." (begins at 36:48)

The Weverse English subs say "I've been doing well with Jimin in my military life. I've been well." More accurately he said: "I'm/we are working hard and doing well in military life together with Jiminie-hyung. I'm doing well." (at 8:18)

He showed us his entertainment room, he clearly states he can't show us the upstairs but he does not give a reason why but as he talks he explains he has not "organized" his house. Maybe he won't show it because he doesn't want to or maybe he won't show it because in his opinion, its a mess right now. Regardless, its his choice what he wants to show us and we are privileged when he does so. I'd bet that at some point, we'll see his kitchen because he's Jungkook.

He talked about his job as a cook in the Army. He said he prepares many Korean dishes and they are either boiled or braised. He mentions that they cannot grill food. He says its not easy making large amounts of food. He says he does his best to make them tasty. I've noticed on the timeline the accounts that post military menus that on most days, meals include stews and soups so he is definitely learning how to cook a wide variety of dishes.

He sang about 30 songs including several off Golden. He sounded really good singing Standing Next to You, in fact, his off the cuff live singing of all the songs from his album was pretty exquisite even if he didn't sing most of the songs to the end.

He spoke with a slight reverence regarding only singing BTS songs with the rest of the members. It gave me the impression he knows it will be a special moment for them as well as us.

He picked at his lip, bit his cuticles, touched his lips, scratched his head under his beanie and yawned many times before finally telling us good night. Until we see you again soon, Kookie! Be safe and keep practicing with Jimin!

[atoriv-art]

what are your thoughts on the hyuga siblings and their relationship

OOF now thats one of my favorite naruto dynamics lmao. i think neji and hinata have a very interesting relationship and i say that as someone who really didn't (and tbh still doesn't) love how that relationship developed in canon

i really like the hyuga fight in the chunin exams because the way it's perceived is sooo interesting to me.. neji comes off as an outright bully and i don't even blame the kids for calling him an asshole after all of that, but from reader's perspective it's really obvious that his animosity only exists because of a larger issue...

neji shouldn't treat hinata the way he does, but he does so because of her unique position as a scorned heir. she still benefits from everything that makes his life awful - her life is still valued more than his - but hiashi hates her enough that he won't care if neji dishes out verbal abuse on her. it's an awful dynamic and definitely contributes to hinata's terrible self-worth, but it's a symptom of the life they have been forced into by the man who the manga is intent on letting escape all of the blame for this situation lmao

(hiashi himself can be a really fascinating case honestly. i think he fully means everything he says, which is what makes him so grating but fun to me LOL. his apology to neji is entirely sincere AND it completely misses the point of all of the issues, but neji is young and deprived of acknowledgement enough that he accepts it wholeheartedly. hiashi thinks he's the best uncle of all time.)

hinata herself has so little belief in her own worth that she just sits there and takes whatever abuse people throw at her... i don't actually think neji's anger towards her was a constant - i think some people interpret it that way - rather i feel like it was something that came up whenever he was pushed too far. in more normal circumstances where he's not being made to fight her directly, he was likely more detached than anything. he wanted nothing to do with her.

in one of the filler mini arcs ive mentioned before (i think. the one that focuses on hanabi and hinata) there's a scene that rang very true to me (and im gonna recount this without rewatching it atm so sorry if i get details wrong,): neji was being made to train with hinata, asked to be allowed to leave because he felt his time was being wasted and correctly noted that it doesn't have to be him here, was told no by hiashi and then he started getting vicious and violent. towards hinata, of course, not hiashi. he then got horribly punished for it LOL i think that's the general dynamic they were living in, neji reaches a limit of disrespect that he can take and explodes on the nearest most acceptable target (we loove a boy with no emotional regulation <3), goes too far and suffers the consequence of it while nothing else changes. to him interacting with hinata at all is just asking for pain, either emotional or straight up physical

But, for hinata, she saw herself and neji as similar (the black sheep of the family i suppose), and would have liked to bond over that fact; theyve known each other since they were very little and she outright refers to him as a brother. it's clear to me she's always cared a lot about neji and imo feels responsible for what happened to his father (something that hiashi doesn't help with. Dad of the year), so she saw their match in the exams as a chance to close the distance between them and get neji to see her as a person, an equal instead of a symbol to lash out on.

but, you know, she was 12 LMAO so she ended up pressing all of his buttons instead and it led to his famous outburst, which led to the famous moment of Every Single Jonin (other than asuma.) coming to stop him and further cementing his belief that her life is seen as special. i think (and this is a mix of Shit I Made up, and Me trying to make sense of the manga's insane mishandling of their plotline) that despite her trying her hardest to reach neji she didn't really grasp the horror of his situation. that's the tragedy of neji's life really LMAO, no one really tries to grapple with the severity of what having that curse mark does to a person. she thought of his fatalism as more of a psychological, metaphorical way of dealing with hurt and not like... "my life literally does not belong to me no matter how much i try to fight it"

this is loooooong take this readmore.

i think hiashi-hizashi were hoping that the cousins could have had a better relationship than they did... letting them hang out often and stuff, introducing them early, hizashi not discouraging neji from being friendly with her, to me it all reads as very "ok well this didn't work for Us, but what if it works out for them... even though literally nothing has changed". they were proper family once and hizashi wanted to die for his brother, not his leader, so that just makes sense to me.

i do nautttt like the naruto vs neji fight so to keep the post positive i will gloss over it <3 but hinata and neji's relationship post-chunin exams to me is peak like. God i wish this was done better because it could have been soooo good

neji realizes that his anger is consuming him and adjusts his behavior accordingly, getting a lot of his kindness back, and he becomes intent on fixing his relationship with hinata... i don't hate that premise at all, it's just the way it's executed that bothers me!

the impression i got (and i could be mistaken im in the process of rewatching the anime + rereading the manga) is that their relationship getting better is done exclusively through like. neji repenting for being mean to her. which, don't get me wrong, he SHOULD apologize (AND THAT WOULDVE BEEN A COOL THING TO SEE ONSCREEN, BTW) but you CANNOT divorce his behavior from the hyuga system in general. from the way they act after the exams you would think their issues were born solely from neji being a bully for no reason, and not, like... him lashing out on her because his uncle is literally the devil.

i don't think hinata has the power to change a lot in her clan on short notice (she did get disowned. did that un-happen offscreen? we will never know. Hiashi gets to be a grandfather to her children btw.) but i certainly would have liked to see her standing up for branch members and in the stuff i draw that's the story i have in mind LMAO. like, her gaining a deeper understanding of neji's situation and trying to work against her father trying to make her cousin's life better? i think that would have been really sweet and even show her gaining more confidence in herself and her beliefs. you can still have neji fussing over her and being protective because he feels bad for how they used to be, i actually really like that because neji IS a very sweet person, i just reject the idea that it's his sole Moral Obligation to put everything aside and make things better by the power of I Will Die For You Now, But This Time, For The Right Reasons

as for hanabi i wish she had more screentime soooo bad because i'm obsessed with how she gives off Haunted Child vibes lmfao. talking abt her requires me to expose myself a little bit and have to admit hiashi is kind of a blorbo to me because of how much he sucks ass, but like. Essentially his insane resentment of hinata was born when hizashi died, it doesnt matter it wasn't really her fault, he needed someone to blame and he would never blame himself, at least not outwardly lol. hiashi did genuinely love his brother, it just didn't stop him from being a monster to him, and he is certainly not gonna grapple with that now that he's dead!

(and, you know, the whole "sorry we sent a guy to kidnap an heir. you do need to die for killing him though" thing is really dumb but if we stop at every single stupid thing in naruto we will be here all day.)

with all that being said i think hiashi tries his best to make hanabi everything hinata isn't, and he has very little interest in having her and hinata have any bond at all. he just left neji and hinata to fester in that god-awful dynamic with no supervising, and took hanabi as the best direction for the clan to head towards. but, you know, father of the year is very demanding and doesn't seem to be very fatherly to her at all from the little we see of them. she's just like. a good soldier, and that's what he needs.

i think hanabi growing to resent her sister for the situation she's been put into (if hinata weren't 'weak' she wouldn't have so much responsibility) is very interesting! by the time we meet her i think she's learned that the best thing to do wrt her sister is to just ignore that she exists. as for neji he barely registers as a presence to her; neji has no reason to interact with her and hiashi has no reason to incentivize it. it's very fun to me!

in general i really like all of their dynamics can be used to explore how hurt and trauma drive people apart, i could talk about them for hourssss LMAO i love the suna family for the same reason!

[mothandpidgeon]

Sing a Song of Sixpence (Joel Miller's Christmas Vacation)

Moth's Masterlist // follow @mothandpidgeon-updates and turn on notifications to stay updated with my fics!

rating: G (fluff)

summary: Sarah requests a special trip over Christmas vacation. Joel does whatever it takes to make her wishes come true.

contents: fluff, 90s nostalgia, colonial america?

wc: 1.2k

a/n: Happy holidays to my Secret Santa, @whocaresstillthelouvre! Surprise but not really. Mallory, i knew we were going to be friends when you told me how much you love Colonial Williamsburg. I couldn't believe I found someone that overlapped in so many of my little niches. So when you told me that I was your secret Santa, I knew your fic was going to be about your favorite place. Thank you for being such a great friend, supporting me and my writing, and being my stoner buddy. I hope you enjoy your gift!

Thank you @schnarfer and @moonlitbirdie for giving this a once over! Dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Sarah clutches her doll as she skips down the red brick sidewalk.

Joel hadn’t realized just how expensive a toy could be until he shelled out the $86 to buy it. Sarah had begged and begged before he gave in and got it for her. “Felicity Doll” had been on every wish list, the American Girl catalogue left open on the kitchen table for two whole years. Sarah read and re-read not only the Felicity series but Addy, Kiersten, and Samantha, too, the paperback books creased and dog eared. This was no passing fad, not a fleeting interest, and so Joel saved up and surprised her with an American Girl doll of her very own for her birthday. 

She knew what was in the tall, rectangular box before she’d even unwrapped the damn thing, screeching and running around the living room in celebration. Sarah loved the doll, taking it everywhere with her, tucking it in bed beside her. Best money Joel had ever spent.

Except Felicity had a plethora of accessories and outfits, furniture and accouterments that all cost a handsome sum. More catalogues came, glossy pages with marker drawn circles around Felicity’s tea set and writing desk and pony. (“The doll has a pony?” “It’s in the books, Daddy!”) There were cookbooks and paper dolls and Sarah-sized colonial dresses that she desperately needed. It seemed that Joel was personally bankrolling the Pleasant Company.

And now he’d agreed to bring Sarah to Colonial Williamsburg. He really hadn’t had the heart to say no to her when she ask that they take a family trip there over winter break though he knew it would cost him an arm and a leg. 

“Wouldn’t you rather go to Disney World?” Tommy asked.

Joel shot him a look. Disney would’ve cost three times as much but it wasn’t about the money. He was proud of his little girl for being a bookworm, choosing museums and butter churns over roller coasters and Minnie Mouse. 

“It’s where Felicity’s from,” she insisted. 

Sarah leads Joel by the hand down Duke of Gloucester Street. The quaint little houses are all decorated for the season– around each doorway is an evergreen garlands accented with fat, red bows. There’s a chill in the air. He hadn’t considered the weather in Virginia when he’d planned this vacation. Sarah doesn’t seem to notice, excitedly pointing out the carolers on the corner and the horse drawn carriage conveying tourists down the sandy street. 

Sarah devours every little detail, listening with eyes like saucers as the interpreters dressed in old fashioned costumes drone on about milliners and beeswax candles. 

Joel’s mind just keeps slipping back to the fact that he and Tommy aren’t working right now. A whole week with no income.That’s going to hurt when the credit card bill comes in.

”D’you think they ever sniped a redcoat with one of those?” Tommy asks on a tour of the Governor’s Palace, nodding towards one of the many guns hanging on the ceiling.

Sarah shushes him.

”Hey,”Joel whispers to his brother. “Remind me when we’re back at the motel, I’ve got to call and get those tiles ordered for the duplex project.”

”C’mon man. You’re thinking about work now?” Tommy complains.

”Can’t lose another day. Order it now, it’ll be waiting for us when we’re back,” Joel explains. 

“Daddy! You’re not listening!” Sarah hisses.

“Sorry, babygirl,” he says, squeezing her hand in his.

He tries to pay attention, he really does. Joel’s never had much of a mind for history. Dates and places and stuffy old men. The buildings are interesting, at least. He amuses himself wondering what it would be like to build a house like they did in the olden days. A rough saw and a chisel and his bare hands. Like a pioneer on the homestead.

There’s a gift shop at the end of the tour. Of course. Joel lets out a sigh of resignation. Sarah knows better than to ask but she’s eyeing a tin whistle and a book about ghost sightings. 

“Pick one,” Joel offers, hoping she goes for the book. The last thing he needs is Tommy’s yammering and the squeal of Yankee Doodle for the rest of the trip.

Her brown eyes move between the two souvenirs, lips twisted in thought. 

“Shit. I’ll buy you both if your Dad’ll wear this,” Tommy says with a laugh. He’s holding up a little felt tricorn hat meant for elementary school kids.

”Really?” Sarah asks, all bright and giggling. 

Joel glowers.

Dinner is a fifteen dollar hamburger at one of the historical taverns. Sarah’s doll gets its own seat at the table, a paper napkin tucked into the collar of its dress. Joel’s able to pawn the hat off on Sarah but not before Tommy got a photo on his disposable camera. 

“That’s going on the fridge,” he chuckles. 

As Joel pays the bill (noting the price of Tommy’s three beers), there’s a rumble of drums. 

“What’s that?” Tommy asks, craning his neck towards the window. 

“The militia’s coming through,” the waitress says, clearing the dish from Sarah’s ice cream sundae (the historical accuracy of which is questionable). “They’ll march in for the fireworks.”

“Fireworks!” Sarah gasps. 

Joel sighs. He’s exhausted, out all day in the cold wrangling his brother and his daughter. His knees are aching and he’s ready to call it a day and go back to the motel. But Sarah is practically bouncing in her seat. 

Joel bundles himself up once again and the trio join the crowd that lines the street. A fife and drum corps in their scarlet uniforms march past followed by an officer on horseback. The sun has long set and the air nips at Joel’s throat. He wishes he had a scarf, could probably pick one up in yet another gift shop but it would surely cost a small fortune. He hopes these fireworks will be over soon so he can put his feet up. 

The little town looks quite festive in the night. Candles glow in every window and the street lamps cast a warm light over the tourists. A massive evergreen on the Palace Green twinkled with modern lights but it only adds to the atmosphere. 

Without warning, the first firework shoots into the sky, its bang makes Tommy jump. It bursts into a shower of silver. The other spectators cheer and more fireworks follow— red and blue, green and gold. 

Sarah’s gloved hand wraps around Joel’s. Her face is turned up to the sky, illuminated by the colorful fireworks. Her eyes round with wonder, sparkling pink and white from the cascade of sparks above. 

She’s having the time of her life. And she deserves it. Sarah’s a good kid. Polite, studious, thoughtful. Joel’s always been proud of her though he has no idea how she turned out so sweet considering he and Tommy have been the ones that raised her. This is what it’s all for, he reminds himself. The hard work and long hours, the never ending stress of bills for things he can’t afford. It’s all for her. 

She turns to find Joel watching her, his heart swollen in his chest. 

“Thanks, Daddy,” she says. She squeezes his hand and pulls her doll close to her chest.  

That thing was worth every penny. 

Happy holidays to everyone! Special shout out to the tent pitchers and all of my moots but also to anyone that's read my fics this year. Thank you for your support.

[gatorbites-imagines]

I have a prompt idea, Trans reader (ftm) in the 1940s being bullied, steve and bucky find reader and help him, start to friends to poly lovers (steve x bucky x reader), fluff with a little angst and soft smut, just an idea

Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes x FTM reader

Headcanons

I don’t actually know a whole lot about the era for trans people, especially in Brooklyn during those years. So, I’m just writing on a feeling and adding what feels right. Have I ever mentioned that pre-serum Steve is one of my favorites?

Writing this actually reminded me of something I wrote forever ago, called party of one, two, three? You can read part 1 and 2 here, if you are interested. I wasn’t really in the mood to write detailed smut, so.

Being a trans guy in the 30s and 40s wasn’t easy, but was anything during that time? Depending on where you were from and when you came out, you might have had the chance to live as a man.

If let’s say you moved to Brooklyn when you were old enough to know that you were a man, and you had always presented as such, then you might have been able to get a job, and if you knew the right people, fake documents.

If you had always lived in Brooklyn, then it was a lot harder, as most just assumed you were a lady who dressed like a lad because you didn’t want to “do your duty” as a woman, or whatever they had on their minds.

Either way, Steve and Bucky were some of the few people who supported you no matter what, if they only knew you as a man, or if you guys had grown up together. If you fit in Steves clothes you could borrow his, and if Steve was too small, well, then bucky had a closet with clothes too.

Being picked on was hard to avoid, in either situation. The first would be because you were such a small, scrawny and feminine guy. The second because you were a lady that needed to be put in her place.

The second was always more dangerous. The first, theyd just rough you up a bit and taunt you a little, but it always ended up as more of a “haha we are just taking the piss”. The second? It felt like the men who cornered you had something to prove, to you or themselves you didn’t know. But they wanted to prove that they could “fix” or “correct” you.

Living in Brooklyn and being a weirdo like you meant you knew how to fight, somewhat at least. Enough to not go down without a fight. But no matter how much you practiced, keeping up with multiple fully grown men was difficult.

If you already knew Steve and Bucky or not, the two would step in when they saw this. Steve first, being the righteous guy he is, would run in swinging. Scrawny arms and wheezing breaths, eyes burning with the fury of a thousand suns, the blonde so incredibly enraged at the very idea of someone treating another person this way.

Steve never lasted long though, but luckily Bucky was never far behind. In the end, Steve always looked as beat up as you, and maybe it was because he bruised and bled so easily with how sick he was.

Steve struggling to his feet and holding out a hand to pull you up, eyes still sparkling and teeth bloody as he grinned, was enough to make your heart race.

Bucky at least didn’t look like he was the main victim of your group of attackers. He was a bit ruffled up, sure, but he still looked mostly put together.

It should shock no one that Bucky easily led you and Steve back to his and Steves apartment, where Bucky got to work patching you both up as they made you talk about the guys who did it, and why. Steve because he wanted to go back out there and smack them straight, and Bucky to be on the safer side.

Be it the first or twentieth time they save you from your so-called bullies, Steve and Bucky stayed just as intense and caring. Even when they didn’t have a lot, or Steve was sick, you always felt like you belonged and was as much of a man as them.

When you three started dating it got a little easier. Everyone already knew that Steve Rogers as built like a twig, but would swing until there was blood if he needed too. He was snarling, snapping and as feral as those starving alley dogs. He was as protective as one too, not just of you but Bucky too.

Bucky wasn’t much better, though he hid it more successfully. Everyone thought that Barnes was the charming, sweet talker, who liked to talk it out without fighting. But they were wrong, when it came to you and Steve, Buck could be worse than Steve.

Both your fellas were protective and possessive in their own ways, but you couldn’t say you didn’t feel the same. You wanted to drown the men who antagonized Steve for his height and sickness in the piers. And jealousy reared its hideous head when the pretty ladies fluttered their lashes at Bucky whenever he passed.

The three of you were all a mess, but you were each other’s mess. You and Bucky never saw Steve was just his disease and lack of stature. Steve and you never just saw Bucky as his handsome face and face charm. And they never saw you as a lady, you were as much of a man as them.

The only time it ever became a challenge, your biology being different, was when you guys got intimate. But it was never made a huge problem. There were days when Steve couldn’t get it up because of his health, or where he could even participate because of his lungs. And there were days when you didn’t want to be touched because your body made you sick. You guys just found ways to make it work.

Sometimes you and Steve would just sit back on a chair each, one you’d dragged in from the kitchen, to watch Bucky pleasure himself and show off in bed. It was like your own litter theater, and Bucky really loved to be watched and praised by you two.

Sometimes it was Steve lying in bed carefully touching himself, at times it was just him caressing his own torso and telling you two all his wildest fantasies, his face and chest bright red from his flush.

And there were even times when it was you, when dysphoria wasn’t swallowing you whole and howling that your body was wrong. You never looked at yourself when you would be with them, but having two men with their own naked bodies made it harder to focus on your own.

Some days you would imagine that their body was yours, and the dysphoria wouldn’t be so bad. It also helped that Steve didn’t grow as much body hair as Buck, meaning Steve was almost as naturally hairy as you. Part of you just basked in the fact that one of your partners looked like you in that way.

The days you were fine with touch, Steve and Bucky never let it go to waste. You couldn’t fuck them like you three all wanted, they didn’t really have toys like that at the time, or at least accessible to you three. This just meant you guys had to get creative.

God gave humans hands and fingers for a reason, and you all had mouths. You always wore so many layers anyways, so the many hickeys your lovers left on you were easily hidden. The chest was always off the table though, and neither of the men complained.

Bucky was the best at praise, so naturally gifted that Steve would joke that he should become some pulp writer, that he should write those cheap sappy romance novels the ladies liked.

This didn’t mean that Steve wouldn’t praise you and Buck, he did, just in his own ways. The blonde always struggled with forming the right words and getting them out, but his sketchbook filled with pages and paged of you and Buck was all the praise you needed.

They would be good partners. Neither have a label for what you guys are, or what their sexualities are, they just know you three love each other, and that’s all that matters.

[silentreigns]

So now that Japanese media is reporting what we have been speculating, I need people to stop blowing smoke up Yuki fans' asses. Yuki never had a shot at RedBull and he knew this the whole time. The second Liam stepped into that car in COTA, he knew he was getting that RedBull seat in 2025.

The media were trying to sell that his aggressive and reckless driving during COTA and Mexico's weekend was a good thing. "Oh he can race against the best that's why he should be in RedBull next year". Well his racecraft is still shit regardless. Alonso and Checo have both went on interview to say that Liam was going about his driving the wrong way. I know some people have their opinions on drivers, but when they openly call someone out you should take their words seriously, because they don't really do that as often. They know a lot more about what's going on in interviews but don't go into details because it's really none of our business.

During the early phase of the season, who was the midfielder after Alonso with the most points? Yuki. And he had the most points during the time where all the teams were negotiating their lineups for next year. So yeah teams were interested in signing him. Yuki probably got very far in contract negotiations too. But there was just one problem: RedBull didn't want to release him. I've been seeing a lot of people question why didn't RedBull release Yuki if they didn't have plans to the promote him. My hypothesis on why this is very simple: RedBull wanted money. That's usually the answer to why things go the way that they do. RedBull wanted a midfield team with less resources and money to pay them generously for Yuki. Because cash is king. Now we do not know how much money RedBull was asking for to release Yuki, but we can guess that it was a lot. And there's about to be a new set or regulations implemented in 2026. Teams cannot afford to spend an excessive amount of money because they have invest that towards developing the cars for the upcoming year. If a team had bought Yuki out, they may not have enough money leftover for a competitive car. It's not a risk worth taking if they have drivers in their academies who could take the seat for a cheaper price.

So if you see me tweaking out about this potentially being Yuki's last full year on the grid, please understand my thought process. If teams didn't want to spend a lot to buy his contract out this year, I doubt they would do it next year. I need to make another post why I think the "Yuki to Aston Martin" thing has little to no chance of happening. Because I think people haven't really thought this situation through and are just parroting what they've read online.

[whosscruffylooking]

The Purest Things: Envy (Lo-Fi) Part 1

Aaron Hotchner x Fem! Reader Word Count: 5.2k Warnings: Mentions of guns, shootings, bombings, and other canon typical violence. Brief use of alcohol. The Purest Things Masterlist

au! may 2008

Bookend: "Success is not built on success. It's built on failure. It's built on frustration. Sometimes it's built on catastrophe." - Sumner Redstone

The jet hums steadily as you settle into your seat, the team taking their places around you. The weight of the case looms large, even before you’ve touched down in New York. A shadowy figure roamed Manhattan, shooting people in broad daylight. You can already feel the tension building.

Rossi leans forward, his voice cutting through the low hum of the jet. “The victims?”

“Each shot in a completely different neighborhood,” Hotch responds. “Hell’s Kitchen, Murray Hill, Lower East Side, Chinatown, East Harlem.”

“It doesn’t make any sense,” you mutter, still trying to wrap your mind around it.

“The killings are happening roughly every two days,” Hotch continues, his voice steady. “The press is having a field day, and it sounds like the mood on the street’s getting pretty tense.”

Rossi, always focused, presses on. “It’s a joint FBI-NYPD task force?”

Hotch gives a short nod. “Kate Joyner heads up the New York field office. She’s running point on the case and called me directly.”

Your ears perk up at the mention of her name. She called him directly. That little detail catches your attention, even though you try not to show it.

“Oh?” You ask, trying to keep your voice casual.

“Kate’s starting to butt heads with the lead detectives and wanted a fresh set of eyes,” Hotch explains, his tone businesslike.

“Joyner, I know her. She’s a Brit,” Morgan chimes in, clearly familiar with her.

“Dual citizenship,” Hotch corrects. “Her father’s British, her mother’s American. She was a big deal at Scotland Yard before coming to the Bureau.”

His quick correction catches you off guard. There’s something about the way he highlights her credentials that leaves a strange knot in your stomach.

“I heard she can be a pain in the ass,” Morgan adds with a grin.

“I don’t think so,” Hotch replies without hesitation.

You can’t help but blink, surprised at the way Hotch speaks about her so easily. It’s not just the words, but the way he says them—like he’s familiar with her in a way you hadn’t realized.

“You know her?” you ask, the words slipping out before you can stop yourself. The question hangs in the air, and you feel a strange hint of something—curiosity, maybe, or something else you’re not ready to name.

Hotch nods, his tone neutral. “We liaised when she was still at Scotland Yard.”

Liaised. You repeat the word in your head, trying not to overthink it, but it sounds so formal. So… familiar.

“You liaised,” you echo with a soft chuckle, keeping your tone light. You’re not sure why it even matters or why you’re suddenly more interested in this Kate Joyner than the case itself.

Hotch’s expression remains indistinct, but there’s a faint twitch at the corner of his mouth, almost like he caught the edge in your voice. “She’s a competent agent,” he says, turning his attention back to the discussion as if that settles everything.

“She must be good,” Prentiss reacts, and you’re almost dreading Hotch’s response. Of course, he replies without delay.

“I think we’re lucky to have her,” he says, a softness creeping into his voice as he speaks her name.

Hearing Hotch speak about her with such ease—admiration, respect—tugs at something inside you, leaving you momentarily off balance. You tell yourself it’s nothing, just the suspense of the case, and force your focus back where it belongs.

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.

You walk into the field office, curiosity rising inside you—though you’d never admit it. Hotch seems almost… lighter as he steps through the door, and it’s throwing you off. This entire situation feels strange like you’ve wandered into some alternate reality where you’re just an observer in Hotch’s orbit.

And then you see her. Kate Joyner. Blonde, blue-eyed, perfectly put together, down to the last strand of hair. The kind of woman who looks effortlessly in control. You think to yourself, who does she remind me of?

JJ leans in, her voice low and laced with humor as she glances toward you and Penelope. “Is it me, or does she look exactly like Haley?”

Bingo. Your eyes widen as realization clicks into place. “This feels like we are in an episode of The Twilight Zone,” you whisper back, half-joking, half-serious.

And then it happens. “Aaron!” Kate calls out warmly, her British accent smoothing out every syllable.

You blink. His first name? Out in the open like that? You’re pretty sure he only recently gave you that privilege, and now it feels… less exclusive.

Hotch doesn’t miss a beat. “Kate Joyner, this is David Rossi, Emily Prentiss, Jennifer Jareau, Penelope Garcia, Derek Morgan, and Spencer Reid.”

And then nothing. No mention of you. Just like that, you’re invisible.

“And I’m Y/N,” you say, a little too quickly. You try to sound casual, but there’s a harshness to it that betrays your irritation.

Hotch’s eyes flick to you—briefly. If there’s an apology in that glance, it’s buried deep, because he turns his attention back to Kate without missing a beat.

“Thanks for being here,” Kate says, her smile effortless and her tone gracious. “Anything you need, just let me know. No need to stand on protocol.” Of course, she has a perfect accent too. Naturally.

You’re still trying to figure out why this whole exchange has unsettled you when Emily leans closer, smirking just enough to be dangerous. “They liaised at Scotland Yard,” she whispers, drawing out the word.

You shoot her a look, but she just raises an eyebrow knowingly. JJ suppresses a snicker beside you.

Okay, maybe this isn’t jealousy. Maybe it’s just… mild confusion. Mixed with a tiny sprinkle of irritation. You linger near JJ, pretending to review files as you process whatever it is you’re feeling.

Whatever it is, you’re pretty sure you don’t like it.

You find Hotch engrossed in a quiet conversation with Rossi. His focus is razor-sharp, as always, but you can’t shake the nagging irritation from earlier. The question has been bouncing around in your head ever since you introduced yourself to Kate, and you know it’s not going to leave you alone until you address it.

Taking a steadying breath, you make your way over. Rossi catches your approach and gives you a brief nod before excusing himself, leaving you and Hotch alone.

“Aaron,” you say, keeping your voice calm, and casual.

He turns to you, brow furrowing slightly. “Everything all right?”

“Fine,” you reply, though the word feels tight on your tongue. You cross your arms, looking him straight in the eye. “I just wanted to ask—was there a reason you didn’t introduce me earlier? To Kate?”

For a split second, his expression tenses, as though he’s surprised by the question. Then his features settle back into that familiar neutrality. “It wasn’t intentional,” he says curtly.

You raise an eyebrow. “Didn’t feel that way.”

He exhales, glancing toward Kate’s office as if to gauge whether you’ll be overheard. “I was focused on the case, on briefing her about the team. It wasn’t a deliberate omission.”

You tilt your head, studying him. His explanation makes sense—you’ve seen how single-minded he can get when it comes to work. But still, something about being overlooked like that doesn’t sit right.

“Okay,” you say after a moment, your tone lighter now. “But for the record, being left out isn’t exactly a great feeling. Especially when everyone else got the full introduction.”

Hotch’s gaze meets yours, steady and sincere. “You’re right,” he says, and there’s no defensiveness in his voice—just a quiet acknowledgment. “It won’t happen again.”

You nod, satisfied—for now. But just as you’re about to say something else, Kate’s voice cuts through the air, pulling both of your attention toward her office.

“Aaron?” she calls, standing in the doorway, her tone brisk and professional. “Could I borrow you for a moment?”

Hotch glances at her, then back at you. There’s a flicker of hesitation like he’s not quite ready to end the conversation.

“We’ll finish this later,” he says quietly, almost as though it’s a promise.

“Sure,” you reply, forcing a small smile as he heads toward Kate’s office.

You try to focus on the file in your hands, but your gaze keeps drifting toward Kate’s office, where Hotch is standing. The blinds are partially open, giving you an unobstructed view as they talk. It’s nothing inappropriate—just two professionals discussing a case—but something about the way he stands so close to her, his posture relaxed but attentive, gnaws at you.

She says something, and he nods, his expression calm and composed. You can’t hear them, but the way Kate gestures, assured and poised, makes it clear she’s the one leading the conversation. It shouldn’t bother you. It’s work. It’s Hotch being Hotch—focused, professional, unreadable.

Still, you can’t seem to stop watching.

“Tell me it’s not just me,” Derek’s voice pulls you from your thoughts. He’s leaning against a desk nearby, arms crossed as he follows your line of sight.

You blink, trying to shake off the weight in your chest. “What do you mean?”

He tilts his head toward the office. “Her. Joyner.” His mouth pulls into a slight frown. “Something about her makes me feel uneasy. Can’t quite put my finger on it yet, but…”

You glance at him, surprised. For a moment, you consider agreeing outright, but your reasons feel different—murkier—than his.

“I don’t know,” you say carefully, tearing your gaze away from the office window. “Maybe it’s just her style. She’s confident and assertive. Maybe that throws people off.”

Derek gives you a look, one that says he knows you’re deflecting. “Nah. It’s more than that. She’s got this energy. It's ikeshe’s not afraid to step on toes. It puts me on edge.”

You hum in response, keeping your eyes on the case file now instead of the window. “Or maybe it’s just because she’s new and already running point.”

It’s a plausible enough answer, but you can’t help the tug of discomfort in your chest, the one that’s been sitting there since Hotch introduced her—since she called him Aaron.

Derek doesn’t let it go so easily this time. He pushes off the desk and strolls over, dropping a heavy hand onto your shoulder with a grin. “She’s not my Y/N. You’ll be bossing us all around soon, even Hotch.”

You snort at that, shaking your head as his words pull a reluctant smile from you. “Oh, please.”

“I’m serious.” He pulls you into a brief, reassuring hug, his voice low and genuine. “Give it time, hot stuff. Nobody’s got what you’ve got, and don’t you forget it.”

His words settle something in you, even if only a little. When you glance back toward Kate’s office again, you don’t linger. You still feel that tug—something strange—but maybe Derek’s right.

Maybe it’s not about her at all. Maybe it’s about you and where you’re headed.

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.

For the first time in months, Hotch has assigned you to work separately from him. It’s odd—like a piece of your routine has shifted without warning. Adjusting isn’t easy, but you remind yourself that versatility is part of the job. Still, you can’t shake the feeling that his decision wasn’t entirely random.

At the field office, you’re working with Emily and Spencer, pouring over files and maps. The case feels impossible—five neighborhoods, five victims, no clear connection. Every lead seems to dissolve as quickly as it appears.

“Okay,” you sigh, leaning back in your chair. “Five victims, five locations, zero correlation. It’s maddening.”

Emily nods, tapping her pen against the table. “Tell me about it. Could this really be random?”

Spencer shakes his head. “No such thing as true randomness, not in cases like this. The Unsub is making deliberate choices. We’re just not seeing the pattern yet.”

You glance at the map, your frustration brewing. “What if the victims aren’t the point? What if this isn’t about who they are but what they represent? This could be a test—a way for the Unsub to refine their methods before escalating.”

Spencer pauses, considering your theory. “That would explain the lack of a clear victimology. If this is a precursor to something bigger, they don’t need specific targets yet.”

Emily raises an eyebrow. “So we’re dealing with someone in training. That’s comforting.”

You gesture to the map. “Think about it. Hell’s Kitchen, Murray Hill, Chinatown, East Harlem. These aren’t personal locations for the victims, but they’re all high-traffic areas. If this is a test, the Unsub is challenging themselves—choosing chaotic places where they can prove they’re in control.”

Spencer nods slowly. “It fits. The precision of the killings—broad daylight, crowded areas, no witnesses who can pin them at the scene. They’re perfecting their process.”

Emily sighs, crossing her arms. “And when they decide they’re ready? What then?”

“They’ll escalate,” you say grimly. “Target specific victims, make bigger statements, maybe both.”

Spencer taps his pen against the desk. “If this is a test, we’re looking for patterns that have nothing to do with the victims. Timing, locations, routes in and out of the crime scenes.”

Emily leans back. “So we’re chasing ghosts. Great.”

You glance at the files again, determination hardening in your chest. “Maybe we’re thinking too much like investigators. If we want to stop this, we need to think like the Unsub. What are they getting out of this?”

Spencer’s eyes light up as he nods. “If we figure that out, we can predict their next move.”

Emily sighs, brushing a hand through her hair. “Looks like another long night staring at maps. Lucky us.”

You smirk faintly, trying to lighten the mood. “Glamorous life of the BAU.”

Spencer smiles briefly, but you can see the wheels turning in his mind. You glance back at the map, if this Unsub wants to play a game, you’re going to make sure they lose.

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.

Another killing. Another killing, and somehow, Hotch remembered to inform everyone but you. You arrive at the scene, scanning the cluster of agents and officers until your eyes land on Hotch. He’s standing next to Kate, speaking quietly, while the rest of the team is scattered nearby. You linger on the edge of the scene, unsure whether to join them or not.

Derek notices you first and heads your way, his brow furrowed. “Where were you, hot stuff?”

You let out a scoff. “Funny, I was wondering the same about all of you.”

He tilts his head, confused. “What do you mean?”

“No one told me there was another killing,” you say, your tone sharper than you intended. “I was sent to look into some security footage—missing timestamps from the last murder—and when I got back, everyone was gone. No message, no call, nothing.” You shift from one leg to the other, the frustration bubbling to the surface.

Derek places his hands on your shoulders, his voice steady. “Talk to me.”

You glance over at Hotch, then back at Derek, hesitating. “I just don’t get it,” you admit, your voice quieter now. “On every other case, Hotch makes a point of keeping me in the loop. He’s always made sure I feel like part of the team. But the second we land here, it’s like I don’t even exist. He forgets to introduce me, doesn’t give me a clear assignment, and now I’m out of the loop on major developments. It’s bull crap.”

Derek’s eyes soften. “You need to talk to him.”

You shake your head. “Why should I? He won’t talk to me. So what’s the point?”

“Because you’re stronger than this,” Derek says firmly, pulling you into a quick side hug. “And because letting it stew won’t do you any good. You’re a badass, hot stuff. He knows it, I know it, and soon enough, the whole damn field office will know it too.”

Despite your frustration, his words draw a reluctant smile from you. “You think?”

He grins. “I know.”

For the rest of the day, Derek stays close, making sure you’re involved in conversations and helping you stay engaged with the case. His steady presence eases the frustration building up inside you, but every time you glance at Hotch and Kate, the knot in your chest tightens again.

What you don’t notice is how often Hotch’s gaze shifts toward you—always quick, always subtle—but Derek sees it. He catches it the third time and leans in with a grin. “He’s watching you, you know.”

You look up at him, confused. “What?”

Derek smirks. “Hotch. He’s been glancing your way all day. Maybe he’s finally realizing he’s been neglecting you.”

You sneer, brushing it off. “He’s just focused on the case.”

Derek raises an eyebrow, not convinced. “I don’t think that’s all of it.”

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.

As the team regroups back at the field office, Emily signals that there’s new surveillance footage to review. She pulls up the most recent shooting first, then switches to the footage from the previous murder.

“This is the latest shooting,” Emily says, then switches the footage. “And this is from the previous one. Anything stand out?”

Derek squints at the screen, leaning forward. “He sprints off in one, and walks calmly in the other.”

You nod, your mind racing. “It’s two entirely different demeanors.”

As Garcia shows you her analyzed footage, a thought starts to form. You look at the images more closely and it hits you.

“We’ve got more than one unsub,” you say at the same time as Hotch, your words overlapping.

You both glance at each other briefly before quickly looking away.

“This fits perfectly with what Y/N profiled earlier,” Emily says, looking between you and Hotch.

Hotch turns toward you, his gaze steady. “Care to share?”

You feel a flash of frustration at his sudden interest—finally giving you a chance to speak. You bite back the urge to snap and instead take a deep breath. You’ve been holding this theory all day, and now it feels like you’re finally being heard, but not without the irritation of waiting so long.

“The victims aren’t being targeted. They’re just part of something bigger. I think these killings are a test," You take a deep breath, " after the last killing, I think they’re testing something. It’s not about the victims, they're collateral to them—it’s about the timing, the reactions. I think this is all just a distraction from their end goal.”

The room falls silent, the weight of your words settling over the team.

Kate nods thoughtfully. “Do you think we have enough for a working profile?”

You glance at Hotch, hoping for some acknowledgment.

He meets your eyes briefly before turning back to the team. “I think we need to go in a different direction with the profile. Let’s focus on refining the behavior patterns we’ve seen so far.”

Your stomach tightens as he brushes past your theory without a second glance. You stay silent, the words you want to say sticking in your throat. You had worked hard on that profile, and now it feels as if it’s been dismissed without much thought.

As the team begins to disperse, you try to shake off the aggravation that rises in your chest.

Derek steps into your personal space, his voice lowered so only you can hear. “You need to talk to him, Y/N. Don’t let this simmer.”

You hesitate, biting your lip, unsure. “I don’t know if it’ll even matter.”

Derek places a hand on your shoulder, his gaze steady as he looks you in the eye. “Trust me. It will. Talk to him.”

Your heart races at the thought of confronting Hotch, but Derek gives you one last reassuring smile before shifting his focus back to the case.

You find Hotch standing near the whiteboard, looking over the latest updates. The sight of him, the way he stands so tall and composed, only makes the knot in your stomach tighten. You’ve been avoiding this moment for too long, but Derek’s words keep echoing in your mind. You can’t let it go on any longer.

You take a deep breath, making your way toward him. The sound of your footsteps seems to get louder the closer you get, and for a moment, you hesitate. But you push through, walking up to him with purpose.

“Hotch,” you say, your voice stable, though there’s a trace of annoyance that you can’t quite mask.

He turns to face you, his expression neutral but his eyes betraying a touch of surprise. “Y/N,” he responds, his voice tranquil, as always.

“I need to talk to you,” you begin, your tone a bit blunter than intended.

His brow furrows slightly, but he nods, gesturing toward the office. “Let’s go.”

Once inside, you close the door behind you, feeling the weight of the space between the two of you.

“What’s going on?” he asks, his voice low and controlled.

You take a breath before speaking, the words tumbling out before you can second-guess them. “Why haven’t you been including me? I’ve been sidelined, Hotch. You completely disregarded introducing me as a member of the team, didn’t give me a proper assignment, and even kept me in the dark about updates. Now, you don't even consider my profile. I don’t get it.”

Hotch’s eyes darken slightly, and he exhales slowly like he’s been expecting this. “It’s not about you, Y/N. It’s about Kate.”

You blink, caught off guard by his response. “Kate?” you repeat, your voice rising in disbelief. “What the hell does Kate have to do with this?”

Hotch shifts, clearly uncomfortable. “She’s been under a lot of pressure from higher-ups. Her job’s on the line, and the two top contenders for her role are you and Derek. She sees you as the biggest threat. You're new blood and rising fast in rank among the top FBI prospects.”

Anger flares in your chest. “So you’re just going to let her undermine me because you don’t want to hurt her feelings? You’re sacrificing me and the team for her job security? What about the safety of innocent people if my profile is right? Because I know it is.”

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t interrupt, so you continue, your voice shaking with bitterness. “I’ve worked my ass off to prove myself, Hotch. I’m not some fragile rookie, I’m part of this team. I don’t even want the damn job, but for you to throw me under the bus to spare her feelings? That’s not just wrong—it’s disrespectful.”

You can see the conflict on his face, but it only makes you more upset. “And you want to know the worst part? For someone who’s supposed to be one of the best profilers out there, you have zero concept of how to be a good friend. You’re so focused on making sure everyone else is okay that you’re neglecting the people who actually have your back.”

The words hang between you, sharp and raw. Hotch doesn’t respond immediately, his gaze intense as if he’s trying to process everything you just said. It feels like an eternity before he speaks.

“I’m not trying to make you feel insignificant, Y/N,” he says, his voice more delicate now, tinged with regret. “I didn’t want to add more pressure to Kate. I didn’t want her to lose focus. I wanted to protect the team.”

“I get that you’re trying to protect her,” you cut in, your frustration still simmering. “But Hotch, please remember that I had other job offers before joining the BAU—offers I worked years to even be considered for. I chose the BAU because I wanted to, not because I had to. I’d like to pull my weight here. You said it yourself—I have nothing to prove.”

Hotch stands up, closing the distance between you. His eyes searching yours for any sign of understanding. “I’m sorry. I should’ve handled it differently.”

“You should’ve been honest with me,” you say, the offense still lacing your words, though it’s starting to fade. “Don’t sacrifice me, Hotch. I’m not asking for special treatment, I’m asking for respect.”

With that, you turn to leave, the door clicking softly behind you. But before you step out, you pause, glancing back at him one last time. 

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.

You and the team arrive back at the hotel, and you find yourself lazing in the lobby, doing your best to avoid Hotch. Then you spot Will LaMontagne, JJ’s boyfriend, sitting off to the side.

“JJ?” you ask, gesturing over to him.

“Will!” she says, but her voice doesn’t quite match her usual tone of surprise. It’s more apprehensive.

“I’m sorry for showing up like this,” Will says, clearly uncomfortable. “I know you’re working, but… I can’t stand you being on this case and me not being there.”

Hotch steps forward, ever the professional. “Is something the matter?”

JJ takes a deep breath before turning to you all. “Uh… I’m pregnant.”

You and Emily gasp in unison and rush over to her, enveloping her in a tight hug. “Congratulations!” you both exclaim, genuinely excited for her.

Will then drops a quiet bombshell, revealing that he’s also asked JJ to marry him.

“Well, uh, we’ll give you both some privacy,” Hotch says his demeanor different. Something’s weighing on him since your conversation back at the office. He quickly excuses himself, and JJ follows after him.

You make your way to the bar, where Derek is already seated. You take a seat next to him, your thoughts still tangled in the events of the day.

“Did you know?” you ask, looking at him.

Derek tilts his head, confused. “Did I know what?”

“When you told me to talk to Hotch, did you know why he sidelined me?” you question.

He shakes his head, leaning back in his chair. “No, I didn’t. I just hate seeing him treat the one person who really gets through to him like this.”

“Well,” you chuckle softly, “after I finished with him, I don’t think anything’s changed. You gonna take the job?” 

“That’s why I’m here,” he replies. “Rossi asked to talk with me about it.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Well, it’s yours. They’d never choose me now, anyway. That’s what I don’t get about her jealousy. I’m too young, too new. Now, replacing you? That’s a different story. I’m coming for your spot in a couple of years.”

He laughs, handing you his drink. “You never fail to make me smile, hot stuff.” He pauses for a moment before leaning in a little, his voice lowering. “Now tell me, what did you say to Hotch in there?”

You groan, regretting the onslaught of words. “I told him that for one of the greatest profilers in the world, he has no clue how to be a good friend.”

“Damn,” Morgan smiles, his eyes wide with admiration. “Respect.”

You can’t help but smirk. “Even if I did have a shot at that job, he definitely won’t be recommending me now.”

Derek grabs his drink back and takes a slow sip of his drink, swirling it in his glass before answering. “Something tells me he wouldn’t have, anyway. I don’t think he wants you leaving his team.”

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.

The next day, another shooting occurs. Even worse, the detective Emily was paired with was shot during the pursuit of the unsub. Thankfully, Emily managed to take him down.

At the scene, you and Derek approach Emily, eager to hear her side of the story.

“I shouldn’t have had to shoot him,” she says, her voice tinged with disturbance. “He was ahead of us. He would have gotten away, but he stopped and waited.”

You scramble to connect the dots to your profile, trusting your instincts that you’re still on the right track.

Emily continues, “His hands were steady. His eyes were dead calm. These guys have been hyper-vigilant, organized. They do pre-surveillance. What are the odds they’d shoot someone two blocks from where Cooper and I were standing?”

“It was deliberate,” you say, the pieces finally falling into place. “He knew you were there.”

“It’s almost like suicide by cop,” she concludes, her tone heavy.

You rush to find Hotch and Rossi, finally catching sight of them. “Hotch, my profile…”

Rossi cuts you off. “She’s on the right track. We have multiple unsubs. They’re disciplined, using counter-surveillance. They know the FBI’s movements. There’s a hierarchy. What does that usually mean?”

Hotch turns to you, his expression grave. “Terrorism.”

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.

Back in the office, the team gathers to present the profile, though it’s clear they’re pulling heavily from the theory you provided earlier. Emily steps forward to address the group.

“The murderers simulate a bombing,” she begins. “They station someone to watch and gauge police response times. Once they have the timing down, they know when the perfect time would be to deploy a second bomb to target first responders and civilians alike.”

Derek nods thoughtfully. “It’s organized, calculated. Just like Y/N said, it’s all a practice run.”

Spencer adds, “The precision makes sense. They’re testing variables: response times, panic levels, and procedural weaknesses. It’s not just random—it’s tactical.”

Kate folds her arms. “It’s lo-fi but brilliant. A perfect way to plan for a larger terrorist event. Good work.”

You remain silent at the back of the room, arms crossed as you listen. The profile is solid—but something feels off, a subtle gap they’re missing. The foundation is yours, but the execution isn’t quite there. The unsub’s true intent still eludes them, and you can feel it, grinding at the edges of your mind.

Hotch steps in. “Keep in mind, this is just a working theory. We’ll adjust as more evidence comes in.”

Your jaw tightens at his words. That’s it—no acknowledgment of your initial input, no recognition for the groundwork you laid. Just the same dismissive tone, the same lack of validation. Your irritation builds beneath the surface as the team begins to disperse.

Derek claps you on the shoulder as he passes. “Good work, hot stuff. Don’t let it get to you. We couldn't have done this without you.”

Spencer offers a small nod, his quiet approval something you’ve come to appreciate. Emily flashes you a brief, supportive smile, while Kate exits with her usual morale, already discussing next steps with Rossi.

You linger, watching as Hotch strides toward the hallway, Kate falling into step beside him. Their voices are low, and professional, but seeing him leave without so much as a glance in your direction feels like a punch to the gut.

The room empties, leaving you alone with your thoughts. They’re close—but not close enough. The missing pieces feel just out of reach, and the weight of being unheard settles heavily over you.

Nothing has changed.

Hours pass, and the office quiets. You’re alone with your thoughts, replaying everything in your head, when suddenly you hear the sound of hurried footsteps. You glance up and see an officer rush to the television, changing the channel.

“Explosion in Manhattan—” the newscaster begins, but before he can continue, you’re already on your feet, adrenaline surging.

You reach for your phone, dialing Garcia’s number, but before it rings, the officer shouts, “Federal Plaza. FBI field office 26.”

Your stomach drops.

You can’t breathe.

Garcia picks up on the second ring. “Y/N, I—”

“Tell me who was there,” you demand, your voice tight with panic.

“I don’t know,” she answers, a shakiness in her voice. “But we’re trying to get the footage. Just… just hold on.”

You don’t wait. You’re already running for the door, heart pounding in your chest.

The cold reality of the situation crashes over you, but you can’t stop now.

As you rush to your car, Garcia’s voice crackles through the phone: “Y/N, I—wait, I have it. It’s… Hotch. And Kate.”

[secondarysefikura]

Back when he was still with Shinra Sephiroth used to secretly write fanfiction about himself. All of it was basically him having a normal life with his friends Angeal and Genesis, and of course his mother Jenova. It was pretty well received by those who read them, but even if they weren’t Sephiroth just enjoyed writing them. Years later after returning from the lifestream yet again Sephiroth decides for old time’s sake to write again. And while people are happy that NormalHuman7777 had returned they’re all also very confused because their stories have now drastically changed. Their new stories are no longer about the late general in a normal and domestic setting, but now their about him becoming a god? And Sephiroth’s mother is also now an alien? Where’s Angeal and Genesis, they used to have huge roles in the stories, but they’re not even so much as mentioned. Also who’s this Cloud person the author keeps shipping with Sephiroth? Every new story now has Cloud in it and the author spends paragraphs detailing everything involving Cloud, talking about how beautiful he is, and how much Sephiroth wants him, and they always get together at the end if not sooner. Is he a self insert? Also the author really hates their OCs Tifa and Aerith, always having the two die in the most horrific ways.

You know what would make this all so much funnier? If young Cloud was a fan of NormalHuman7777's works. Perhaps he even had a bit of a friendship with NormalHuman7777, with the two messaging from time to time and bouncing ideas off each other.

When Sephiroth starts writing again, Cloud gets a little notification about the new fic. He decides that even though he has no interest in reading Sephiroth fanfiction anymore, he may as well comment on the fic for old time's sake. Except when he goes to the comments, people are asking about this new Cloud character and this whole "God" plotline.

Sephiroth's fanfic: Cloud leaned his head back, exposing his neck to his god in a sign of submission. He looked even more beautiful than normal as his mouth parted just enough for his tongue to dart across his chapped lips. As Sephiroth reached out and touched Cloud's neck, the blonde's throat bobbed in nervous anticipation. A rather feminine looking man, it was nearly impossible to see or notice Cloud's adam's apple. Still, the faint bulge of Cloud's adam's apple felt devine under Sephiroth's thumb, and Sephiroth pushed harder to feel the cartilage better.

"Beautiful," Sephiroth praised.

Cloud's eyes fluttered shut with content pride as his god praised him. He felt stupid for ever opposing the great god and for trying to hide from Jenova's warm embrace.

"I know," Sephiroth said, sensing the distress that washed over precious doll as memories of those horrid women came back to him, "but now you are exactly where you belong, and you will never leave me again. We will be together forever--a god and his most cherished possession--and there is nothing those fools can ever do to change that."

"Sephiroth, please," Cloud begged, leaning further into Sephiroth's touch, "please fuck me. I want to be one with you in everyway. I need you inside of me!"

Cloud: What the actual fuck.

[showstopper35]

Anniversary - Billford

A Christmas gift for the one and only @gravedwe11er !

Ford wakes up on the roof.

It’s just before dawn, the sun behind the pines. A bitter, ringing laugh still echoes in his ears. One that makes the hair on the back of his neck prickle uncomfortably. The laugh prompts the question he finds himself asking almost daily now—what the hell did he do last night?

He stumbles down to the ladder connecting back to the house, jumping off to the floor from the third rung. Nothing in the room seems amiss, but that didn’t mean anything. Bill was both a master at subtleties and glaring, in-your-face gestures. Ford splashes some water in his face from the kitchen sink, trying to get the laughter and ache out of his head. He sees a flash of yellow in the reflection on the facet, and proceeds to throw a towel over it.

He leans back against the counter, and it’s only then he notices the cake on the table.

It’s two layers, with bright yellow frosting, of course. There’s a heart design on the top of the cake. An anatomically correct heart, of course. The details of the arteries are surprisingly good for being made out of frosting. Two plates are on either side of the cake, as if Bill could even eat a slice. Not only did he not have a mouth, but he also wasn’t even corporeal. For now.

Ford sits down and sighs, his face in his hands. What the hell was he supposed to do with this? It was probably poisoned. But despite his better judgement, he cut a knife into the cake. Out came a thick, crimson liquid, spilling all over the table in unending gushes.

Blood. Of course.

Ford throws the knife across the room. The metallic cling that sounds when it hits the dishwasher is quite satisfying. Peals of laughter rack his brain again, and then there’s chanting of “Sixer! Sixer! Sixer!” before he slumps forwards on the table and closes his eyes, the blood from the cake soaking into his sleeve.

He wakes up in his own mind: a library of doors sandwiched between shelves of books. Floating in front of him is a perfect triangle with beautiful matching angles and a very-

“Cut the dramatics, Cipher.” Ford growls.

Bill gives a loud, hearty laugh. “It’s just too much fun, Sixer. Say, did you like the cake? I worked hard making your body learn how to pipe frosting.”

“It was full of blood, which I cannot consume and is incredibly fucking psychotic, so no. I did not.” Ford sighs, finding a cushioned bench in the mindscape. Bill floats next to him, rolling his eye.

“You humans are so sensitive. First lactose intolerance, now you won’t drink blood. Next you’ll be telling me some people can’t eat uranium.”

Ford ignores this. “Would you mind telling me why I was on the roof? And why you even had me bake a cake in the first place? I didn’t even know I had enough flour for that.”

Bill materializes a martini out of thin air, swirling it around in his hand but not drinking it. “For our anniversary, of course.”

“Oh, that- Our what?”

His twelve fingers begin to shake as Bill laughs. There’s a note of nervousness in it, or perhaps Ford is imagining it.

“Don’t tell me you forgot, Sixer? It’s officially been three years since you let me into your head.” He swirls his martini a bit agressively, his other hand straightening his already-straight bow tie.

Ford sighs, dragging a hand over his face. “And this called for a…cake?”

There’s a flash of anger in Bill’s eyes. “Of course! Our bond has lasted three years! Isn’t that so exciting?” He spills the martini onto the floor and summons his cane, twirling it around. “Three years of the most interesting people collaborating. And once you get that portal running, our collaboration will turn into something even more wonderful.” He floats in front of Ford, using his cane to tip the man’s chin up. “Aren’t we lovely, Sixer?”

Ford swats him away, cursing under his breath. An uncomfortable heat finds its way up his neck. “We aren’t anything, Cipher. You’re a torment. Not even a collaboration.”

Bill floats back a little, his cane disappeared with a small poof. “I help you, Sixer. We’re a team. A collaboration. A…partnership.”

Ford sighs, shaking his head. “You’re a curse, is what you are. You just make messes and make my life so much harder. We are not partners, Cipher. I’m your plaything and you are my torturer.”

Bill is uncharacteristically silent, his thin limbs hanging limply from his triangular body for a moment. His eye flickers from red to yellow. Ford scoots away, prepared for a tantrum of near-cosmic proportions. But bill just flops onto the bench, face, er, eye-first. He’s completely flattened, a gross approximation of his initial origins.

“I hate you.” He says simply.

“I hate you too.” Ford replies automatically.

There’s a beat of silence. No ringing laughter, no sarcastic comments from either of them.

“The…heart design was pretty impressive.” Ford finally says.

“Yeah?” Bill looks up from his melodramatic position.

“Yeah.”

[marstonsboy]

some more little details i enjoy: we know lines change for certain stranger missions based on whether you started them with john and finished them with jack, or even if you started them w jack first when the dialogue was specifically tailored for john (see: jenny’s faith, “have i seen you before?” where jenny would usually point out that she and john were both on the train to blackwater, but to jack she says “no, i don’t think so”), but there’s some smaller lines that change for jack too, completely unrelated to john.

the best example i can remember is in “let no man put asunder,” aka the mission with alma horlick; her fiancé died about 20 years prior and she asks the pc to go looking for him so they can have their wedding. john and jack share a lot of the same animations, so both pull away from her when she tries to grab their arm— and i feel like that’s in character for both, since we see signs of jack not being very fond of physical affection in the rdr2 epilogue— but the line where they agree to help is different.

john is very much not interested in helping her, and will only begrudgingly accept the quest. jack will sound a bit more sympathetic and say he’ll see what he can do. i believe this applies to a few other stranger missions too, since john is understandably wanting to get back to his family, so he usually does not care about anything that distracts from that and repeatedly expresses disdain with getting dragged into everyone else’s problems. jack, however, has nothing left to live for (ow), and is much more inclined to run around assisting strangers. his line deliveries, while the lines are usually the same ones john has, are a bit more empathetic because he’s willing to help them out.

i leave most, if not all of the stranger missions for jack for this reason. i feel it gives him more character development, and also gives him some kind of purpose after having lost every reason he had to live.

[leonidas1754]

Mishima and Akechi act as unexpected but interesting foils, for sure, and there's a number of things to talk about in that regard, but there's one little thing I come back to time and again, and that's their names.

Specifically, how both are called their family names instead of their given names. It's a detail I didn't pick up on at first, but once I did, I've never truly stopped thinking about it.

For Akechi, it's not really a surprise from any angle. At first, he's pretty much a public-facing stranger even after talking to him some, and by the time he joins the Thieves, he's blackmailing them and the Thieves are aware he's fully planning on betraying them. Any distance Akechi keeps, familiarity he refuses, makes perfect sense in the context of his character, and it doesn't need any real explanation because of that.

Mishima, on the other hand... There's definitely a strange sort of distance he puts between himself and Joker, deliberately keeping himself at an arm's length despite being so desperate for connection, and it's really interesting to think about. Early on it's probably at least partially idol-worship and such, sure, and not changing the name used to refer to a character likely helps avoid any confusion, but still... If Mishima had just been referred to as 'Yuuki', no one really would've batted an eye. There's seemingly no reason for it. We even know Shiho more by her given name, even if it's primarily because we know her through Ann, her best friend.

It just makes me think so much about how both of these characters are so isolated by their own choosing to varying degrees. And even at the end of the game, even if you max their confidants and such, that distance is still there.

Both view Joker as an ally, someone to be trusted, perhaps, but do either every truly think of him as a friend? Akechi's reasons and motivations are all too obvious, but Mishima's are hidden, kept apart, and it kinda drives home how little we know about Mishima in the end. He's one of the Thieves' greatest supporters and assets, but he's also almost meaningless.

Akechi is the famous person put on a pedestal, the broken and isolated child already too far down the path of self-destruction with no intent of turning back, the one you learn so much about but are ultimately helpless to truly save in the ways you might want to.

Mishima is... Nothing. He's no one. You don't know anything about him that anyone else doesn't already know. Even when facing his Shadow, you don't get to learn anything new, you don't see the true depths of his heart. And even that fact is so very easy to overlook.

[grimaldiapologist]

You're very correct, thank you. Macrinus going to Caracalla was less a request by Geta, but, importantly still, allowed by him. We don't see at any point in the movie anyone else daring to make a move to approach Caracalla when he's in that state - because realistically, who can touch an emperor? But also because who would want to, especially when doing so would risk losing their life as a consequence? For what, exactly? But allowing someone else to be in that situation with Caracalla, alone, still showed enormous trust from Geta's side.

And just as importantly, some of the more disagreeable of his choices, such as demanding Acacius be executed, are, like you said, not only par for the course in that situation but necessary. Which makes the fact that he does not always stand strong in those choices a very interesting detail to his character's potential, in other, less doomed, circumstances.

Beyond that, their hedonism and hunger for personal satisfaction on both he level of physical as well as in terms of fighting unnecessary wars for the sake of conquest is a good showing how little they understood and were prepared for the responsibility laid at their feet. I could go on a whole tangent on how that, too, likely ties very deep into both Caracalla's worsening state and Geta's attempts at both keeping him happy as well as trying to patch the void that was crawling into his life with temporary satisfaction and ways to forget, but you've more or less covered the important bits all around there. As a last note on it, though, the concept of being written out of history and forgetting - a great fear of Romans - is brought up repeatedly. Geta sees every day that Caracalla is fading, by the end he can barely remember where he is, and Geta more likely than not knows that this will only get worse, and it seems to be getting worse very, very fast. So to fight what he can't stop, he's probably also looking to put their names in the pages of history so that at least in other memories, they won't be forgotten.

From the way Geta and Caracalla reacted to Acacius' and Lucilla's betrayal to their fear of the people's wrath against them, you can really tell how young and inexperienced these two really were.

Yes, they had an almost complete disregard of their subjects needs and, yes, they were heading straight to madness but there is also a tragedy to their stories. They were given great power at a young age, Caracalla's mind was all but gone and Geta showed signs of an unhinged character. They had no one to rely on except each other and seemed eager to have someone that they can trust.

But their madness also makes you wonder, how much of it can also be blamed on their position? These two would probably have different demeanors (and most certainly different fates) if they had never become Emperors which makes you realize how power can truly corrupt and destroy people and even display their true characters.

[batsplat]

Saturday afternoon I ran into Gibernau in the paddock. "I heard that tomorrow HRC are having a press conference," he said. "That's right, just after the race," I replied. "You'll say you're staying at Honda, won't you?" he asked. "No, actually. I'll announce I'm moving to Yamaha," I answered. I saw a flash in his eyes. First astonishment, then happiness. I could tell he had done some quick thinking and figured that it would only be good for him. He reckoned that I wouldn't do much on a Yamaha. I could read it on his face, just as I later could read it in the faces of so many other people who doubted me and my choice.

Valentino Rossi in his 2005 autobiography, What if I had never tried it

[hermitcraftx]

The problem with a lot of traffic life interpretations in my opinion is they don't understand character foils or don't employ them in their writing. Grian-Martyn and Scar-Ren are genuinely pretty good character foils for a series that is not really scripted or planned out like a book is. I could go on and on about how they parallel each other and the similarities between them. Even the smaller details between the four usually match up

leaving the rant in the tags so I don't have a huge block of text again ueueue

[trans-luis-serra-navarro]

I absolutely ADORE the fact that Luis’ name is Luis Serra because it is SO easy to make new words or puns out of it. Serrautism Serrhat Serrart Shoerra Serrawyer Serrology I could go on FOREVER

[matt-in-the-hat]

OP said they're open to rants so here you go:

I am preparing a 4-week course on Jewish diaspora history rn and its actually crazy how /much/ there is. There are thousands of years of history, across 6 continents and innumerable distinct communities. Squeezing it into 4 sessions is a task, let me tell you. This is less of a history class and more of a amusebouche of diaspora migrations and philosophical discussions about Jewish identity. Ideally, they will leave the course knowing enough to go research more about whatever specific topics they're interested in, but I'm giving them much less specific details than I would in a 1:1 conversation because I want to emphasize broad concepts and themes in Jewish history.

But what really excites me is the variety of activities I'm preparing for this class. I don't want it to just be a lecture, or a bunch of readings. I want it to be a variety of modalities and learning methods, so we've got videos, me yapping, chevruta study, chavura study, group discussions, games, and model UN-style debates. This is a whirlwind of a course! If money were no object, each session would last a full day and this could be a Beit Midrash Retreat at a hotel or something, but alas.

One of the discussions I have planned is looking at various arguments for and against counting different diaspora groups as Jewish (Karaite, Samaritan, Kaifeng, Beta Israel, and, to be a little spicy, Hasidim). What I'm hoping they'll get out of this is the understanding that "Judaism" might not have to mean "rabbinic/Talmudic Judaism," and also that the metrics by which we have included/excluded different groups are a little bit arbitrary and inconsistent.

I also have a model-UN style debate planned where they'll be assigned Reformer, Orthodoxy, or neo-Orthodoxy (to learn about the Reform-Orthodox split) and have to prepare a debate with each other about who's right.

In our last session, I'm going to lead us through a game where I show them on a powerpoint pictures of Jewish musicians/actors/politicians and they have to guess if each person is Ashke, Sfardi, or Mizrachi. The game is designed for them to get most of them wrong, so that we can open up the discussion about why people assume Ashke=white-looking, Sfardi=Latino-looking, Mizrachi=Arab-looking. Gal Gadot and Noah Shufutinsky are Ashkenazi, and David Guetta and Alona Tal are Sfardi. And, frankly, a lot of Mizrachi Jews I've met would completely blend in among my purebred Ashke family, because Jews are actually still very genetically close to each other.

I'm really hopeful that this 4 session cohort will be more accessible to people who don't normally go for these courses I teach, and that it gives them a broader understanding of the trajectory of the Jewish exilic era. They might not come to same conclusions about the Jewish future as me, but hopefully they'll have a better understanding of how we got to where we're at today. And hopefully they'll feel closer to their own Jewish heritage as well.

The most liminal feeling in judaism is knowing history that's deeply shaped jewish communities and yet... nobody but jews talk about it. Obviously, this isn't unique to judaism, but it's a very specific reminder that jewish history matters more to you than it does anyone else