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[sabertoothwalrus]

so I’ve been gaining a lot of insight into the animation industry recently, especially in regards to pitching & the creation of new shows. There’s a few ways to go about it.

First, there’s pitching to a studio. When you pitch, it has to be SHORT and CONCISE. You may write a lovingly detailed pitch bible that perfectly breaks down episodes and characterizations, and it might barely even get read. First impressions, first impressions, first impressions!

Most peoples’ first projects don’t get picked up. I’ve heard a few stories from directors that said they tried pitching a story they’d had for years, which got rejected, to then spend a week or even several hours in their car coming up with a new idea, only for that to get greenlit.

But that’s not the end of it. Just because a show gets greenlit, doesn’t mean it will ever get finished. There’s lots of things that can happen. Sometimes, unexpected major world events (like… a global pandemic) can cause projects to get chopped. Sometimes, a CEO change or studio merge means a single person can decide a project “no longer fits with the company’s brand.” Sometimes, the one producer that was rooting for your project gets laid off, and no one else cares enough, so it gets shelved. Sometimes, a streaming service decides to create an animation department, and then they decide they don’t want it anymore. Sometimes, the studio will be simultaneously be developing another project that was too similar to yours and they just didn’t think to tell you until they decide yours is the one with less potential.

On top of that, almost everyone in the industry is saying that “studios just don’t pick up original content anymore.” Studios want something they can franchise, something that will bring in money. New content is risky. Established fanbases are safer.

However! Studios can still be a very good thing. They can be unionized. They can provide better benefits and resources. They can have connections and infrastructure and a larger volume of workers. At a studio, you can divide the labor and produce more in less time. Longer episodes, longer seasons, more consistency in quality.

But this comes with all of the disadvantages of having more in the kitchen.

The alternative is indie animation.

With indie animation, you have total freedom. Full artistic control. It doesn’t even matter if your idea sucks ass, because there’s no one to tell you you can’t make it. You could make it anyway, and you can make it whatever you wanted.

The thing is, making animation is hard. In my production class last semester, the average maximum animation one person could make in that timeframe was 30-60 seconds, and that’s not even counting background design, sound design, or cleanup/color. To make a 5 minute animated short, you should probably have at least 5 people.

And it is CRUCIAL you have a production manager. Ideally someone who’s not already doing art for the project. Most projects without a production manager will fall apart pretty quickly. Once the adrenaline and impulse-fueled motivation wears off, you need someone to hold you accountable and enforce deadlines and proper time management.

Speaking of time, that’s also hard to get. The more people you have, the more likely schedules won’t line up. Most people will have school, or other jobs.

And it costs MONEY!!!!!! You either have everyone work for free and volunteer their time & energy, or you establish a business as a proper indie studio, with people who may or may not have experience on how to handle paying someone else’s salary. And the money has to come from somewhere, so you have to rely on crowdfunding like patreon or kickstarter. (This, by the way, is why I could never fault an indie animation for releasing merch with their pilot.)

And like, maybe you wanna do a series, and all your friends agree to volunteer their labor and time to make the first episode, but it was unanimously not sustainable. Deciding not to produce a second episode until you can raise enough money is not being suddenly greedy, it’s attempting to compensate people rather than expecting them to be continuously taken advantage of.

You have to consider your output as well. There are some outliers like Worthikids, who afaik does all his animation himself, and afaik can work on it full-time thanks to his patreon subscribers. And he still has only produced a total of 30 minutes of animation (for Big Top Burger specifically) in the past 4 years. This is an IMPRESSIVE feat and this is with using a lot of 3D as part of his pipeline!!

Indie animation also has the complication of being more accessible for fandoms. When you’re posting your Official Canon Content on youtube, it doesn’t look a lot different than the fandom-created video essay in the sidebar next to it. What’s canon vs what’s fanon becomes less distinguishable. The boundaries are blurrier. When the creator is just some guy you follow on twitter, it’s easier to prod them for info regarding ships and theories and word-of-god confirmation. They don’t have a PR team or entire international tv networks to appeal to. And this is when creators get frustrated that their fans snowball and turn their creation into something they don’t recognize (and no longer enjoy) anymore.

So it’s tricky.

Thankfully, the threshold to learn animation is fairly low nowadays!! There are TONS of resources online to learn it on your own without forking over a couple hundred thousand to a private art college. There are conventions and discord servers and events where you can network, if you know where to look.

I know it can seem discouraging in the face of capitalism, but I think that’s all the more reason why it’s so important to BE DETERMINED about animation!! We’re already starting to see the beginning of an indie animation boom, and I think it’s a testament to humanity’s desire to tell stories and create art. Even if there’s no financial gain, we do whatever it takes to tell our stories anyway.

[hellishjoel]

on call

7.5k / pairing: cardiothoracic surgeon!javier peña x resident surgeon f!reader

main masterlist | notifications blog

summary: Javier Peña - a shark of a surgeon - is the head of Cardiothoracic Surgery and you're on his service for the week. After letting you take lead on a risky surgery, you crave what else he can teach you. warnings/information:  MA 18+ (minors DNI), doctors performing surgery but no gore, medical talk (open heart surgery performed, mention of aneurysms and paralysis), both Javi and reader are surgeons, implied but unspecified age gap (Javier is an attending surgeon, reader is a resident surgeon), sex in an on call room (rooms in the hospital where the staff can catch some zzz's), swearing, size kink, praise & degradation kink with accompanied dirty talk, competency kink, (un)affectionate pet names, fingering, oral cleanup (f!receiving), oral (m!receiving), unprotected p in v, creampie reader is described having hair and wears surgical scrubs, but otherwise (I believe) no physical description, no use of y/n A/N: FYI the only knowledge about hospitals or doctors I know is from Grey's Anatomy, so expect some drama and inaccuracies! beta’d by the lovely @thetriumphantpanda! spanish assistance by the talented @undercoverpena! banner made by me!

Any doctor will tell you that smoking cigarettes has a well-documented history of negative health risks. 

Smoking can significantly increase the risk of various health problems, including cardiovascular diseases, lung cancer, respiratory issues, and, most importantly, to a surgeon, how delicate your tissue is. It shreds during stitching, falls apart in between gloved fingers, and increases the risk of infection. 

So why does Javier Peña, the Head of Cardiothoracic Surgery, smoke? 

Probably because he thinks he’s God. Galavanting through the surgical wing in his dark navy scrubs. The attending flirts with every nurse who passes his eyeline, sweet-talks his residents, and charms each patient he consults. 

Beneath all that, he was a ruthless shark of a surgeon. Driven to the point of recklessness. Stealing surgeries out from under fellow doctors, commandeering ORs, and always proving to be the smartest in the room. He knew when to bark and, more importantly, when to bite. 

Javier Peña was a piece of goddamn work. 

The operating room is the only time he’s silent. Espresso eyes narrowed on the surgical field, fingers succinct and persuasive like he’s giving the most delicate organ in the world a compelling speech: to live, to keep beating, to pump blood until it simply cannot. 

He’s impressive, really. 

Standing on the opposite side of the patient on the table, watching him work, you nearly forget how handsome he is behind his mask. If you weren’t such a great resident, you’d be more impressed by his looks than his hands. 

But his hands… they were brilliant. 

Peña was steady. Every movement is filled with confidence; they don’t stutter or flinch. He operates with wonderful dexterity, switching between both hands, neither more dominant than the other. Instrumental and graceful, like a maestro conducting a large orchestra. 

This was his stage, the surgical instruments were his props and everyone in his OR was simply an extra. He was a star; everyone knew it. But no one knew it more than you, his third-year surgical resident on his cardio service for the week. 

His years of training bleed through his expertise, and shine in a way that makes you remember why you signed up for so many years of medical school, dropped top dollar on an education to get you here, and then granted residency at one of the finest hospitals in the country. 

You were good. Peña was great. 

As his resident, you must prove nothing but useful. He’s not a natural teacher, the way his brain drives allows no one in his passenger seat. But you’re keen on declaring on cardio, and you’ve been the resident by his side for most of this year. He doesn’t need your help. He can do this all by himself, so all you can do is prove yourself useful. 

You must anticipate his needs and next move, watching him progress from step one to final completion. 

But this surgery was unexpected. Unplanned. Most heart surgeries end up being accidental, arising from complications during a routine surgery. The patient on the table before you was scheduled for a general procedure but began presenting with heart issues during the operation.

Peña performs an aortic arch replacement. He starts with a #10 blade, making an incision along the sternum to access the aortic arch. 

“Retract all this tissue,” he mutters. 

It takes you by surprise because his OR is radio silent. He talks in his head, not to you, ever. 

“Me?” 

“Are you really asking me that?” His tone twitches with irritation, but you do as he asks before he can disregard and bury your anticipation. It allows for more exposure, and he’s back to work. He cannulates the patient for CPB, working through the right atrium and then the aorta. 

“Proper placement?”

You nod before you remember he’s still staring down at the patient’s heart. “Yes.” 

Doctor Javier Peña is the commander of his OR. Which makes you all the more confused as to why he decides to put you in the driver’s seat. Or rather, the hot seat.  

“Okay, we’re going to arrest the heart using cardioplegia purposely. What’s next?”

Your mouth is going dry; it takes you a moment to find your words. You should know the answer, even without having prepared. He just makes you nervous. “We need to use myocardial protection techniques to minimize… ischemic damage?”

His eyes snap up, glaring, cold as ice. “Are you asking me? Or are you telling me?”

You force down the lump in your throat and take in a shaky breath. “Telling?” 

He cocks his eyebrow in annoyance. 

“Telling.” You say more confidently, nodding before he sighs. He wanes his options in his head before his eyes start to soften. He must feel at slight ease talking to a resident who isn’t a fucking moron. 

“Okay. You’ll deliver the cardioplegia solution and monitor its function.”

You let out a breath of relief, perhaps too big of one, because Peña smirks and tuts at your shift in breath. 

“You’re not a complete waste of space in this surgical program after all. Congrats.” 

After willing yourself to bite your tongue, you watch him proceed with the arch repair. He returns to silence as he carefully dissects the aorta, amber eyes admiring each of the strong branches like that of a great oak tree. 

“Name them.” 

Eyes meeting his over the operating table, Peña waits. He’s testing you, pushing you towards greatness or failure. He wants to see where you fall—if you’re worthy to be in his OR, opposite of him, learning under his greatness, or if you’re a waste of his time and talent. 

“You’re a third-year resident, I knew this by my second,” he grinds, “all the books I’ve seen you read in the cafeteria should have told you this. Name them.” 

He watches you, it wasn’t just in your head - the magnetic stare you can feel from across the room that makes the hair on your arms stick up. He watches, he knows you’re capable. “Not gonna get by just on looks here, Doctor.” 

Dragging your eyes away from his intense stare, you loosen your jaw and line your fingers over each strong branch, starting at the trunk of the tree. “The left subclavian artery, left common carotid artery, the innominate artery-”

Peña raises his gloved hand, seeing the gentle smear of blood along his fingertips and palm. “Stop.”

Your eyes squint heatedly, feeling your chest tighten. “I can finish, I know them-”

“Stop, damn it,” he barks louder, his eyes shifting away from yours and across the room. He wasn’t listening to you; he was listening to the heart. Doctor Peña tilts his head to the monitor, watching the heart shift its beats. “Doctor, identify the pathology.” 

You shift on your feet, the nerves throughout your arms leave you feeling shaky. Something was wrong. “The aortic arch, it shows…” Closing your eyes helps you focus, ignoring the crowd in the overhead gallery, forgetting the patient on the table just for a moment, and only listening to the beat on the monitor. 

“Pretty girl, not so smart,” he taunts with a shake of his head, the beeping on the monitor pitching louder and echoing hauntingly through your ears. You wished this room would swallow you whole, but that would be you admitting to cowardice. 

Peña takes a deep breath and looks between you and the monitor, “Alright, come on, open your eyes,” he instructs, guiding your hand off the retractor and along the heart’s wall. “What do you see?”

The commanding tone in his voice brings you out of your head and back to the patient. The room wavers and it goes silent. You don’t hear the erratic beeping of the machines, you don’t see the movement in the gallery. Doctor Peña is in front of you, calm and focused. Because he trusts that you know what’s wrong. 

The aortic wall bulged out of its normal shape. It looked weak, stretched out, thin, and nearly translucent. You see the saccular protrusion, lips parting at the discovery. 

“He’s—was there an aneurysm? He had an aneurysm?” you ask with more panic in your voice than you had hoped. It must have been during the patient’s original procedure earlier in the day before you and Doctor Peña even scrubbed in. “We can’t do a repair or a replacement of the arch. We have to stop everything--” 

“So what are we gonna do, Doctor?” He probes, piercing dark eyes on you. Suddenly, your height shrinks, and you feel only a few inches tall under his gaze. He’s so much older and wiser, and all you can do is panic. “What, you can't figure this out yourself? Four years of medical school, internship, and residency, don't fucking disappoint me now. Tell me how we fix it.”

Our brains hold endless files of knowledge. A doctor is not only supposed to keep files on how to perform a procedure but also what to do if one is horribly failing. But your brain only knows panic because until you become a brilliant surgeon, all you know is fear. 

“Should we page neuro? A-A neuro consult, his blood flow isn’t reaching his spine. He might be paralyzed.” 

Peña scoffs and shakes his head, “Hoping someone else comes to save you and fix your problems? What if I wasn’t standing here? You’re on your own, kid.” he spews, focusing his headlight back over the heart. “We don’t call neuro, the patient can’t wait that long. Come on,” he whittles away your confidence, fire in his eyes. “Come on!”  

You can’t seem to control your anger, feeling it ween down to something brittle and broken. You snap. “Doctor Peña, respectfully shut the hell up. We’re gonna fix the aneurysm sac.”

“How?” He’s quick on the whip, and it feels like your lungs might give out. “Come on, smart girl, tell me how.” 

“You’re-You’re gonna use the sac to bring blood back to the spinal cord. He’s only paralyzed because the aorta isn’t able to send blood to his spine. You replace the aorta with a Dacron graft and rebuild the aneurysm into a second aorta.” It’s spoken with half confidence, but your eyes are fiercely stubborn. 

“Its only job is to send blood to the spine,” he mutters in agreement, hands already at work. 

“Like the freeway being blocked by traffic, you take a side road. Or, in this case, you’re building the side road.” 

He momentarily pauses his hands, pretty brown eyes searching yours. He stares you down longer than anticipated, and suddenly, the air feels charged. Heat tingles up your spine, and you find yourself challenging his stare. 

You deserve to be in this OR. You’re good, but Peña is great. And you will be great once you learn more from him. Him and his stupid fucking- brilliant hands.  

“I’m not building the side road; we are,” he corrects, and he asks the scrub nurses to give him the supplies for constructing the graph. 

Finally, his cheeks perk up, and a small smirk hides under his mask. “Suction, Doctor. Prep some 6-0 of prolene. We’re gonna need it.” Peña spends the next few hours teaching you how to reroute the aneurysm and restore blood flow, allowing you to reconstruct and place the graph. 

You and Peña are a well-oiled machine. He lets you take the lead under his supervision. It’s impossible not to scream inside your head about this moment. You feel like you’re floating, no longer panicking. Your fingers weave with an indescribable amount of delicacy. It feels like braiding hair, the way your fingers know where to move, the muscle movements natural despite never having done this procedure before. 

What a fucking high. And you’ve always been such an adrenaline junkie. 

Once word got out around the hospital that Peña was doing this incredible and unexpected surgery, the gallery was all standing and fighting for room to glance out the over-viewing window. And you were there, across from him the entire time. Every surgeon in your class is sitting in the gallery, damn jealous of you.

Peña watches you close up the patient and says nothing; you were perfection. 

You huff loudly upon completion, watching as Peña wipes his forearm across the sweat on his forehead. You despise him in this moment. Thankfulness fights your need for social justice. He can’t talk to you like that, belittle you, squish whatever confidence you had left. But you’re exhausted now and don’t feel like snapping in front of half the hospital. 

“We won’t know if he has full function until he’s awake. Page neuro and tell them they have a post-consult waiting for them.” His voice drips with exhaustion, rolling out his shoulders as he speaks, and you can’t help but watch as the broad muscles move under his shirt, tan skin now visible after the medical gown has been removed. 

Trailing behind him out of the OR, you strip your surgical gloves, gown, and mask in the trash as you try to calm your adrenaline. It never stopped beating; your heart, the strong and beautiful organ that it was, never stopped pounding. You can hear it in your ears, in your pulse, even thudding excitedly against your neck. 

It beat for your ambition, it beat for Doctor Peña. He’d never see you as his equal. Hell, he’d never see anyone as his equal. But today, he taught you. And you can’t think why. He has barely done his duty all year despite working at a teaching hospital where the residents are nearly quizzed on the minute by their attendings. 

Peña didn’t think anyone was worth his time, but he saw something in you today. Despite being thankful, you can’t help the anger you feel bubbling up as he smirks at you from down the hall. 

“What the hell, Peña?” 

Oh shit. 

The head of neurosurgery stomps down the hall in his navy blue scrubs, graying hair tucked under a scrub cap decorated by EEG waveforms. His eyes are narrowed on Peña, pointed finger at the ready. 

“Who the hell do you think you are? Your patient goes into paralysis and you don’t think to page me?”

Peña merely shrugs and sets his hands on his hips. “I did think to page you. And decided not to.” 

The head of neurosurgery scoffs in disbelief, raising his voice to a shout. “You’re too fucking- cocky for your own good! I could have done an assessment, they could gotten spinal cord ischemia- and a third-year resident of all people performing that surgery? What the hell were you thinking?!”

Fuck. Now you were brought into this, and standing at the end of the hallway couldn’t be farther away. Peña was as solid as stone, heat didn’t faze him. “She had it under control. She was perfect.”

Perfect. 

Neuro seems to smirk lightly, brain doctors who love to play mind games. “You two screwin’ around in the on-call rooms, too? Is that why you let her in on that surgery a fifth year couldn’t even perform? You pull that shit again, and I’ll-”

“You’ll what?”

Peña steps closer, narrowing his eyes on the short little man whose bark was louder than his bite. 

Neuro stutters for a moment, his posture shrinking. You can’t help but smirk, almost a little lightheaded at the way he steps in to protect your credibility. Peña was a dangerous surgeon to stick around with. His arrogance, next to his skills in the OR, could be taught by accident. 

Neuro grabs onto a slipping rope and sniffs as he glances around at the onlookers in the hallway. “Don’t think I won’t tell the Chief about what happened today. You and her are on thin ice.”

Peña smirks and pats his shoulder in a futile manner, pulling loose his scrub cap and running a hand through his jet-black tresses. “She had it under control. I wouldn’t have let her do anything she couldn’t handle. And if you talk about her like that again, I’ll knock your fuckin’ teeth out.” 

Peña’s already walking away, back to the angry little man. 

Your stomach bubbles with something unfamiliar, slipping behind the elbow of the wall and taking a shaky breath. You can’t feel anything besides the buzzing in your brain and the tremble in your hands. 

Doctor Javier Peña was defending your fucking honor. 

In Javier’s eyes, any surgeon can walk into an operating room and follow the procedure's already-written steps. They can rehearse, practice, and prep all they want. But the beauty of surgery was that it was both a science and an art. 

The heart was such an intricate, unpredictable thing. Healthy one minute, broken the next. 

Javier loves to read, but only for the plot twist endings—the ones you don’t see coming—which add richness to the story and make you fall deeper into the mystery. 

That’s why he loves the heart because it isn’t easy. It’s a challenge. He also loves that hearts make him feel special because not everyone can handle operating on a heart. That’s why people choose easier specialties. Cardio was hardcore. Javier was hardcore. 

Despite how difficult a cardio surgery can be, the surgeon must be gentle. Going too fast leads to mistakes. 

As if driving on black ice, you can’t twist your wheel too fast, or you’ll spin out and crash.  He was like that during his internship, even into his residency, but he carried raw talent that no one else could compare to. He was the star of his class, a surgeon who felt like he was more than a doctor, more than a God. A preacher to the soulless, a guide to the lost. He was his patient’s light at the end of the tunnel. He saved their fucking lives. 

In his eyes, heart surgeons needed to be sharks. He never met a shark who wasn’t fierce and damn near evil. It’s critical to success; to be a shark in the water, eager to see crimson. 

You were no shark—not yet. But your drive, dedication to the art, and willingness to work with him set you apart. He knows he’s not easy. But he’s never liked easy anyway. 

Javier slowly slumps down onto the edge of an on-call bed, smacking the light switch so damn hard that he thought he broke it. The room sinks into darkness, a velvet blanket of blue from the slight night sky slipping past the blinds. 

He was exhausted after today, the hours of his day stolen by back-to-back surgeries. His back ached, and his knees were screaming at him. But the comfort of a bed wasn’t all that he craved. 

You were brilliant, purring like a kitten whenever Javier stroked your ego. A younger colleague impressed him for the first time in months. 

God, you were young. What—ten years his junior? More? 

His face fell into his hands, heat flushing into his stomach at the thought of you. 

When he’s in surgery, the heart is all he can think about. But your eyes were on him for hours, watching him, learning from him—God, the things he could teach you. 

Suddenly, the door clicks open, and light floods the room, causing Javi to drop his head and squint. 

“We need to speak, Doctor Peña,” your silken voice evokes a sense of long-lost courage.  

You’re the last person who should be in his on-call room.

He groans and stands, eyes cast on your hand still nervously caught on the door handle. “Not now.” 

“Yes, now,” your voice wavers as you click the lock and cross your arms. His eyes drag over your body, hugged by the comfort of your soft blue scrubs. He can tell it’s taking everything in your body to control your temper, as he is still technically your boss. “You can’t just belittle me in front of the entire OR. No more calling me princess, no more calling me pretty. I’m a lot more than those pathetic superficial names, and you know it.” 

Javier runs his fingers down his nose, mutters something incoherent, and plants his hands on his hips before curtly jerking his head expectantly. “I said not now.” 

“You push me, you push me around, you push me in the OR, you just don’t stop-”

He snaps. 

“I push you to be great!” His brown eyes nearly turn obsidian as he locks you in his gaze. “You’ll be a better doctor when I’m done with you. You should be thanking me.”

You scoff indignantly and throw up your hands in frustration. You’re so fucking cute when you’re upset. “Thanking you?”

“Yeah. Thanking me. My ass is on the burner because I let you perform that surgery.”

“The one not even fifth-year residents could perform?”  

Peña pauses, his jaw shifting from left to right as he glances at the room's corner. “You heard all that, huh?”

There’s a lull, one that signifies you both know that he stepped in to defend his choices in the OR; specifically defending you. He watches as you slowly nod, pulling your hand off the doorknob and crossing your arms over your chest. 

“You didn’t have to do that. Now it looks like you favor me. I’m gonna get chewed out by the other surgeons, not to mention my entire class is going to think I’m sleeping with you.” 

Pena shrugs and purses his lips. “Let ‘em.”

He watches as your lips part, taken aback by his words. After a few doe-eyed blinks from you, the room falls out of focus, and it doesn’t feel like he’s standing in the hospital anymore. 

Javi imagines you in places he shouldn’t. At his place, in his apartment. On the couch. In his bed. He thinks about how different you’d look in the light of day, your body curved by jeans or even a sundress if the weather allowed. He’d be privy to the freckles on your back and shoulders, the dips of your hips, the slope of your body he wants to memorize with his eyes closed. 

But fantasizing wasn’t enough. 

“Let ‘em,” he mutters, low, and enclosing the space between your bodies. “If they already think that, let ‘em. Fuck ‘em.” 

Your face visibly softens, and your head naturally leaning into his hand that rests on your cheek. 

“I want you to teach me,” you whisper to him. And it’s so fucking soft, so sweet dripping from your lips, almost whining with need. 

He slowly nods as the room falls silent, Javi’s opposite hand coming to your hip, flushing your body against his. 

“Okay, cariño, I’ll teach you.” 

“Teach me,” you plead again, your chest heaving with anticipation. His eyes fall to the way your breasts protrude with each breath you take in your scrubs. The emotion that stirs in the room is enough to start a full-blown hurricane. 

Javi’s hands fall to the hem of your top, and you raise your arms swiftly, so pliant to his touches. But that’s your job, to anticipate his needs. 

The sight of your skin alone is enough to make his shoulders tighten, seeing you all pretty and exposed. A knot begins to grow in his stomach. But no, you weren’t done yet. 

“Please, Doctor Peña,”

No, don’t fucking beg. 

“I want you to use your hands and teach me.” Insistently, your fingers dip into your scrub bottoms, his eyes catching the pretty black band of your panties before the material is pooled on the floor. 

You stand there with soft eyes, wide and expecting. The longer he stands here, not touching you, it damn near looks like he’s hurting your feelings. But he’s not stupid enough to leave you abandoned. 

“Fuck,” he grunts, closing the distance in a matter of a second, his hands on your hips as he yanks your body into his firm front.

The kiss is tangled and heated, desperate and needy, so different compared to the subtle dance you both played before. But now it’s so obvious the pure need that consumes you both. 

Your small fists clutch his broad shoulders, and you moan into his mouth purely at the muscle built into his toned body. He licks into your mouth, and all he can think is how fucking sweet you taste. And how your pussy probably tastes just as sweet. 

Your fingers blindly reach for the light switch, flicking them off and sinking you into midnight once again. 

Javi tuts and shakes his head, breaking the kiss as he glares down at you. “You wanna see my hands work, cielo? Then you gotta watch.” He mutters as he flicks the switch back on, guiding you into the lower bunk of the on-call beds. 

He likes the way your hand slips from his cheek to the back of his neck, fingers gentle at first before clutching at the hair on his nape. 

Javi lets out an unexpected moan into your mouth as his body slots perfectly between your legs. His rough and calloused hands explore the smooth skin of your outer thighs. He squeezes and cradles the flesh with the perfect balance of strength and delicacy, the coarse hairs of his mustache scratching your skin as he presses kisses over your exposed breasts. 

He craves every breath that you take because of him, because of his actions. Your reactions are honest and instinctual, watching as you bite down on your lip because God forbid anyone saw you sneak into his room. 

Javi’s fingers are just as you expect, expertise as he unclips your bra with ease. He snatches away the black material, your nipples sensitive to the cool air as they peak under his eyeline. 

“Christ,” he mutters, his hot mouth on them in an instant. His tongue circles them meticulously before he suckles, lifting his head and watching as your breast is tugged into his mouth. A whine slips past your lips and he feels your legs tug tighter around his waist. It’s enough to get him hard, the way you won’t let him go, because this feels way too fucking good to stop. 

“Doctor Peña-”

“Javi,” he mutters upon letting your nipple go with a pop, moving to the other and showing it just as much affection, letting his teeth gently nip at the sensitive peak. “So fuckin’ pretty, princesa,” he mutters before sucking on a spot just above your breast, a place to mark his territory. 

You gasp at the feeling of his hot mouth on your skin, goosebumps flooding to his touches. You glance down through barely-open eyes as the skin changes color, from red to a soft purple as he draws blood to the surface. His teeth marks are still there even after he leaves, a smirk on his face as he slips lower to between your legs. 

“Javi, please,” you muster up, trying to regather air in your lungs. 

He shifts to his knees, one arm straight and hand planted beside your head as he hovers over you, the other finally slipping between your legs. Your lips part as he slowly swipes two up your center, seeing what makes you tick. 

His smirk widens as your eyes roll to the back of your head, biting down on the plush of your lower lip again to conceal a moan that surely would have slipped. He spreads you, letting his thumb pads delicately circle your clit experimentally. “So fucking wet for me.” 

Just as a moan emits, his hand is clamped over your mouth. 

“Shh, shh, shh,” he degrades, your eyes wide as the circles continue achingly. “Into my hand, baby girl, don’t want anyone else to hear you. Just me.” 

Your thighs begin to tremble as his thumb experiments on you, and you realize he’s learning. Everything is about learning for him. He learns and studies the heart, now he’s studying what makes you fucking soaked for him. 

The slow circles are enough to get you going, but as he continues to pick up the pace, he realizes you need more more more. 

His thumb moves faster and surfs the edges, it makes you twitch under him. His smirk widens as two of his fingers glide up and down your wet center, your hips nudging upward with neediness. 

“Wanna hear you,” he mutters, but you’re so scared to let out a peep. In this fog, you can’t even remember if you locked the door, and now your heart is pounding against your chest, the beautiful muscle that it is. 

“Come on,” he says goadingly, pushing two fingers into your entrance. Your eyes blow wide as you let out a soft sigh into his palm, followed by a wimpy whine. “Give it to me,” he mutters as his fingers start to move through your tight heat. He’s trying to find it, working himself deeper and deeper, curling them just right and finally-

His hand clamps harder down on your mouth as you let out a loud cry, eyes shutting hard as your body writhes against him. You leak out against his fingers, hearing them squish with your arousal as he smirks. “That’s fuckin’ right, feels so good to let it out, doesn’t it? You can gimme more,” he encourages, and you don’t think you fucking can. 

But he works against you so feverishly, the combination of his thumb on your clit and fingers fucking your entrance, once the seal was broken, it was hard to contain it. 

“Fuck!” You cry out as he scissors you open, separating his fingers and forcing your entrance to work itself wider for him. The noises are obscene, soaking his fingers as he continues to plunge so deeply into you. Your hand shakily reaches up to the bicep bulging beside your head, nails sinking into his tan flesh. 

His movements have your thighs beginning to shake as he searches, still learning, looking for that one spot that has you breathless. Then it fucking sucks the air from your lungs. 

You gasp against his hand and clutch his wrist desperately, feeling him massage the sweet, spongy part inside of you that has sparks going off at the base of your spine. Your eyes begin to water at the overwhelmingness of it all, him and his stupid fucking perfect hands. 

“Javi,” you pant against his mouth, because something indescribable is building. Your back arches against his body. He doesn’t even need to look at what he’s doing, he’s so distracted in watching you unfold. 

Finally, it’s all too much, and he’s got you in the palm of his hand. You can’t help but bite into his palm as you sob against his hand, his fingers so perfect inside of you, leading you to the crescendo of your orgasm. The build leaves you lightheaded, your thighs twitching against his hips as he purrs your name. 

“Just wanna little taste,” he mutters as he finally slips his hand from your mouth, still feeling the burn of your pretty bite. His chest lands on the mattress, and you sit up a bit to allow him space. 

Javi’s arms wrap around your legs, hands now on your inner thighs as he helps spread you open. You whimper, still so sensitive that you nearly twitch away as he moves in. “Aww, come here, sweet girl. Know you taste so good, don’t you?” 

You weakly nod and sink back into the mattress, your eyes falling closed as he slowly sponges kisses to your warm inner thighs. Your hole still puckers for the loss of his fingers, a groan leaving his throat at the sight. He teasingly flicks his tongue against your twitching clit, and it’s enough to make your entire body seize. 

“So fucking sensitive,” he mutters adoringly, spreading your labia and letting his tongue flush against the juices that soak his tongue. He audibly grunts against you and works slowly to clean you up. His eyes meet yours, and he reads your wrecked face instantly. 

You let out a hesitant moan, your fingers tiredly weaving into his dark locks and nails gently scratching along his scalp. His mustache tickles your clit and you try to breath through the aftershocks of your orgasm. 

He was right, his hands were fucking perfect. Look at the way he learned your body, what it was chasing after, how it could be healed with his touch. You only with to give him the same. 

You sit up off your elbows, and he looks up at you with your arousal sitting silkily across his mustache. You cup his jaw, and he sits up with you, your mouth landing on his. You taste yourself, and it almost makes you shy, knowing Doctor Peña has tasted you. More importantly, made you cum with nothing more than his fingers. 

The opportunity to touch his body is one you didn’t realize you craved, small palms moving down his front. On instinct, he parts from your kiss and pulls his scrub top off. And God, you were right with every assumption. 

You knew he worked out, all cardio Gods adhere to the rule of working out to keep the heart muscle strong, but this was a different kind of strong. He was a Greek marble statue, all arms and toned chest and a waist you could easily tangle your legs around. 

“Jesus,” you breathe out.

Javi smirks confidently, his large hands cupping your face once more and tangling his tongue with yours. You swallow the lump in your throat and move your hand to his upper thigh, coasting your hand along until you feel his shaft protruding against his scrubs. 

“Take ‘em off,” you whisper. 

“Are you asking me or telling me?” He asks confidently, forcing a grunt out of your mouth as you tug against the hem. 

“Telling. Now off with them.” You command. 

He tuts as he stands from the mattress. “That’s my girl,” he mutters proudly, circling his thumbs along the waist of his scrubs before pushing them down, briefs included, stepping out of the material that pooled around his feet. 

You slowly raise an eyebrow, your lips parting at his size. No wonder he was so cocky. You sit at the edge of the on-call bed and he steps forward knowingly. 

“S’okay, pretty girl. Just wanna make you feel good.” 

You stubbornly shake your head and take his hands, guiding him closer as your doe-eyes meet his melting brown ones. 

“I can do it.” Wrapping a hand slowly around his length, your other hand rests on his thigh to allow some security. 

He takes in a slow breath, his eyes growing heavy as you spit along his length. 

“Fuck,” he mutters as his large hand gently comes to rest on the back of your head, fingers intertwining in your hair as he begins to clutch them possessively. 

It felt so good to be the one in charge, to be his guidance. He wants you so badly, your hot mouth wrapped around him, begging for his own release just as you were. 

You sponge kisses along his length, watching him almost in a taunting way, because you know he’s going to fall apart before you. Flatting your tongue and sticking it out, he grunts at the sight. Leaning forward, you take him in your mouth. Your tongue circles his beady tip and you get to enjoy the taste of his pre-cum on your tastebuds. 

He’s salty and musky, hours after a long surgery and it tastes divine. All man. All Javier Peña. 

Javi’s breaths are getting faster as you begin to bob your head, taking him inch by inch until you felt comfortable enough to really go for it. 

“Such a fucking- overachiever,” he grins, your nose brushing against the coarse hair along his base as your eyes clench closed, choking around him but not letting off. “Holy fuck,” he moans. Your nails sink into his thigh and he hisses, your one and only reminder for him to stay quiet. He pulls off with a pop, leaving you pouting as you stroke over his impressive length. He twitches in your hand and he’s so heavy in your palm. 

“Don’t want anyone to hear us, Peña,” you remind as you break to give kisses along his thigh where your nails created crescent moon shapes. 

“Got me so close, baby. Don’t wanna cum yet, though.” 

You pout but ultimately leave him with one last kiss to his shaft. 

Javi can’t seem to get enough of your kisses, tracing his tongue along your bottom lip as he moves you back onto the mattress once more. Your fingers glide down his body, feeling the ripples of his muscles that you hope stays engrained in your mind forever. 

Even if it’s just a one-time thing, you wouldn’t mind storing the way he makes you unfold so effortlessly, caring to learn your body and its cravings. 

“Please, Javi,” you whimper against his mouth, feeling the warmth of his body slipping between yours once again, and it feels like a home. “Need you.” 

He nods breathlessly against you, propping up the pillow behind your head. You’re not sure why it gives you butterflies, taking care of you more than just sexually. But he pats the pillow a few times nonetheless and centers it to the back of your head, not stopping until you’re smiling up at him. 

Your hand cradles his jawline, thumb gliding across his chin before his mouth is back on yours. His lips part as your gasp enters his mouth, feeling his hand guide his tip from your clit to your leaking entrance. 

“Wet all over again,” he mutters against your mouth, but acting surprised is pointless. 

“Uh huh,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth before letting him envelop you fully. 

Javier listens to you, reads your body language. He feels you grow tense as his tip nudges at your entrance, feeling your legs tighten hesitantly around his waist. 

Your hands are soft on his back, moving along the carved muscles and following their runs like wild rivers. Perhaps it is a way you calm your nerves, touching his warm skin relaxes your walls. He’s able to push onward. 

“Jesus- Javi,” you whimper, letting him sink his length fully into you until he bottoms out in one thrust that leaves him groaning. The pillow he’s laid down for you is held by his fist, the veins down his arms bulging against your head. 

“Fuck, that’s it,” his chest rumbles, Javi starting to find a rhythm as he guides his length in and out of you. 

The first couple of strokes are dragging, aching. It’s hard to breathe and your nose brushes against his neck. 

Javier is so lost in the feeling of you, your tight little cunt squeezing repeatedly around his cock. The hand not holding him up runs up the side of your body, first on the outside of your thigh, then moving upwards to squeeze your ass in his large palm. You moan into his ear, and he does it again, both of you smirking against the kiss. Then he’s on your hip, following the pretty curve before he wraps his arm on the underside of your body, cradling your shoulder. 

It’s like a seatbelt clicking in, gasping as you feel him lock you into place. Your eyes widen as you look up at him, Javi coming to rest his forehead against yours as he begins to snap his hips. 

With the change in pace, the energy becomes charged with something less delicate. It’s like you were witnessing Javier’s two-sided personality, trying to learn and teach, and now, the arrogant, cocky shark. 

The drag, once painful, now feels heavenly, the ache becoming a sedative that has you cooing for more. He’s more relentless now, hips snapping into yours that has your eyes rolling into the back of your head. Your jaw points to the ceiling, and he sees the opportunity for his lips to latch onto your neck. 

At the height of sensitivity, you feel everything. The sweat trickling down your temple, his teeth carving marks on your neck, your breasts pressed against his toned front; he’s all encapsulating. 

You whine as you squeeze around his cock, his hand on your shoulder pressing harder into your skin. He keeps you there, pounding into you, the coarse dark hair grinding against your clit so perfectly. Your core tightens, and you feel your second orgasm begin at its crest. He must be close, too, because he’s driving into you with ferocity. 

“Javi,” you cry against his neck, your nose brushing against his tousled hair, “I-I can’t.”

Javier shakes his head and moves the hand on your shoulder down between your bodies, finding your quivering clit and adding pressure to the small ministrations he starts on. His lips move to your ear, placing a kiss against the outer shell. 

“You can,” he demands in a stern tone, his hot pants fanning against your face as his aquiline nose nudges your cheekbone, “you can give me another one, cariño.”

He wants to see your star explode. See you dissolve before him into a million tiny sparks, fizzling into the night sky so he can take your beauty in fully, from inner soul to outer exterior. You were slipping into the void before him like a firework bursting. 

“Fuck, I can,” you pant, your head dropping back onto the pillow as heat slips down your spine and your vision goes dark. 

You squeeze his cock repeatedly as your orgasm surges through you, back arching off the mattress and your legs tightening around his slim waist. He can feel your pulsing clit against the pad of his thumb, feeling you gush around his dick as his balls slapping against your core grow slick with your arousal. 

From below, your vision is hazy, and he looks so fucking handsome. The surgical mask doesn’t do him justice. 

“You can come inside me,” you whisper as you lean in and nibble his earlobe, hearing him grunt at your comment. 

“Christ,” he mutters, “you have no idea what you do to me.” Javi gently tugs on your lower lip before he distracts himself with your kisses. His snapping hips begin to lose their rhythm, becoming more sloppy and erratic.

He was chasing the feeling, distracted by how perfect you were for him today.

The vein along his temple bulges as his desperate espresso eyes meet yours. All he needs to see is that little smirk of yours, and it sends him over the edge. 

His jaw drops, and a silent moan wants to slip out desperately, but somehow, he’s able to conceal it with low grunts of something that resembles your name.

You begin to feel his warmth spread through your core, making your insides fuzzy. He trembles; you both do. It feels like he comes for forever, but frankly, you don’t want it to stop. 

This feeling sits still inside you, humbles you, and centers you with the universe. Your life is hectic, and for one hour today, you’re not running around from one room to the next or getting chewed out by the senior doctors. This was the perfect stress relief; Javier Peña was a damn good break. 

His strong body collapses over yours, and any residual strength he has left is being held by a tiny string that keeps you from being crushed. 

He lays on his side, shoulder blades pressed against the cold cinderblock wall. He buries his hand in his face, and you wonder if he regrets what he’s done. 

Did he? 

“Thanks,” you whisper, reaching blindly for scrubs and accidentally tossing on his scrub pants in your orgasmic haze. 

“For what? And those are mine. You can have them in a few years when you’re an attending.” He hums, smirking as he pulls the sheets up to cover his lower half. 

You scoff and pull off the pants, switching out for your own after you clasp your bra behind your back. 

“For the lessons.” 

He watches you change, slipping your shoes back on and fixing your hair in the mirror. You try to ignore the feeling of his come slipping out of you, your legs as wobbly as a newborn calf. 

“Yeah? What did you learn?” He cocks an eyebrow and blindly reaches for a pack of cigarettes on the windowsill, propping open the window a few inches. 

Your eyes scan over him slowly as you tighten the tie on your scrub bottoms, a slow smirk gradually growing on your lips. 

“I know why you smoke.” 

Ignoring his intrigued face, you flip off the lights and leave his on-call room in a midnight blue film. The heavy door inches open, light shedding through and inching into the darkness. It clicks closed behind you just as your pager goes off, seeing that there is a message coming through for your newly reconstructed aortic arch patient. 

“Shit,” you mutter. 

The door swooshes open behind you, and Peña reappears dressed in his navy scrubs, surging past you. His shoulder knocks yours on the way out, and you can’t help but scoff. 

“Let’s go. Pick up the pace,” His voice is raspy and tired, but you keep his stride as you work your way towards the intensive care unit. 

Doctor Peña glances back over his shoulder, his smirk mirroring your own.  

Even a shark has its vices. Perhaps after tonight, you’re Javi’s. 

main masterlist | notifications blog if you enjoyed the read, commets and reblogs are super appreciated!

[gallusrostromegalus]

If you're still taking AEIWM questions for the muse's slush pile: Given that Kido is breaks in reality, and given Bankai and Hollow powers do things to the environment, Is there a specialized sub-squad for Battlefield clean-up? And to help extrapolate where would it fall on a scale between Marvel's Damage control and the SCP Foundation?

Site Cleanup, one of the tasks of any organization that goes wildly underrepresented in Shonen, much like Medical Care and Civil Services. Which is a shame because, as any fan of Damage Control or The SCP knows, some of the best stories are lurking in the details, presumably next to the devil.

Anyway, In AEIWAM, Site Cleanup Duties fall to a variety of organizations, and the flow chart USED to go as such:

1. Do We Know Whose Fault This Mess Is?

No: Go to 2

Yes, A Specific Division, Organization or Individual under the governance of Soul Society: Got to 3

Yes, Hollows or other Persons not under the governance of Soul Society: Go to 2

2. Where is the Damage Site?

In The Seireitei City Limits: 4th Division and City Civil Services

In the Rukongai: 5th Division and District Civil Services (5th Division is responsible for Rukongai Affairs)

In the Living World: 10th Division (10th Division is responsible for Deployments and anything that happens in the Living World.)

Elsewhere: Not Our Fucking Problem!

3. Is the Party Responsible or their Organization Available to do cleanup (i.e. Alive)?

Yes: It's their problem.

No: If the whole Organization is dead, we have bigger problems.

Recently, there's been a few Shakeups!

For the first time since she became captain of the 4th, Unohana is finally willing to share some of the 4th Division's responsibilities regarding civil upkeep and Damage Control- Captains Ukitake and Kyoraku had been offering to assist their beloved Senpai for centuries now, so it seemed rather peculiar to them that she should trust recent blow-in and honestly somewhat Dubious Captain Zaraki to start taking on the Non-Medical tasks, but he has proven to be rather good at the hard work of fixing things. Even if he's usually the one that broke them.

[sitp-recs]

omg love the water recs you shared!!! what a good idea for how to make a list. what about fics set in gardens or featuring gardening? recs from followers welcome too! thank u livvvyyyyy

I’m so happy that you enjoyed the water-centric recs. And thank you for the excellent prompt! I’ve really enjoyed these, most involve gardening and a couple feature gardens in a special way even if it’s not the focus, so I thought I’d include them too🪴

I Fall On Grass by @tackytigerfic (T, 3k)

Harry loves his garden, and he loves his sons, and he also loves— Well, he definitely feels something for Draco, who is currently distractingly topless under a pear tree. The language of flowers isn't much good when it comes to big declarations, though; Harry needs to find the words to tell Draco just exactly what he's been feeling all these years.

To the Rhythm of the Waves by @tsauergrass (G, 3k)

They found a lot of things together: the cottage, the garden, their lives, each other. Then one day, Harry finds a hammock.

In the Garden After Dark by @the-starryknight (M, 3.5k)

Unspeakables work in teams of three, but when Draco and Harry lost their third, Draco left too. Now he's back, Illusion magic stronger than ever, and Harry is less lonely in his arms.

Harry, Harry, Quite Contrary by @maesterchill (T, 4k)

It's almost Midsummer, and that can only mean one thing! Time for Upper Itchington's annual Tidy Streets contest. Draco Malfoy is supremely confident his street will retain the title. It just takes one contrary neighbour to bollocks things up: a certain Mr Harry Potter.

Garden War by @cibeewastaken (T, 5k)

Harry and Draco are quarantined in their houses, a lake across from one another. What better ways to spend this time than to annoy each other with letters and attempts to prove that their garden is better ?

This Delicious Solitude by Omi_Ohmy (M, 17k)

Draco is sent to investigate Harry’s extraordinary carrots for the Prophet after whispers of cheating rock the world of competitive vegetable cultivation. But how’s he meant to get anywhere when Harry won’t even let him past the garden gate?

A Ghost in the Garden by thistle_verse (E, 27k)

Harry and Draco are thrown together on an investigation into a sinister political movement.

Orbit by HenryMercury (E, 52k)

They don't like each other. They're not friends. There's not even a ceasefire of any sort because they're fighting as much as ever—but there's definitely something different about it. An added layer of self-awareness they don't dare identify, but which colours every Scared, Potter? and Do your worst; each You wouldn't dare and Then prove it.

along each garden wall by @oflights (E, 61k)

Draco has to have a baby (or have one on the way) at the time of his fast-approaching 35th birthday, or he's going to lose his home to his vile cousin. Harry offers to help, but their complex past—even beyond Hogwarts—prompts Draco to set out on a long journey of friendship, kittens, gardens, motorbike rides, and more.

That Old Black Magic by bixgirl1 (E, 77k)

Centuries ago, marriage contracts were the norm — ready-made alliances between families, expected and complied with, without complaint. But norms have a way of changing, and when a long-dormant contract flares to life, Harry has to navigate an unexpected splintering of the path he'd thought would be easy after the war... with Draco Malfoy.

Wild, orphaned (E, 92k)

“No,” Harry said, by way of greeting. Malfoy’s blonde head rose slowly, carelessly. “Get out.” “I feel as though we’ve already established this, Potter,” Malfoy responded. “And I feel that what we established was that you telling me to get out of places really doesn’t make me more likely to vacate them.”

Dronarry:

Trillium by @wolfpants (E, 13k)

Harry and Draco are shagging. Ron’s got a hunch, and the only way to find out is to volunteer his services alongside Harry’s in the Big Malfoy Manor Cleanup of 2010. What could possibly go wrong?

Silhouettes by @sweet-s0rr0w (E, 17k)

Draco's trying to fix the Burrow, Ron's trying to grieve, and Harry... well, just what is Harry actually doing, anyway? A tale of grief, gardening, and ghouls, bad memories, bad puns, and bad flirting, and nudity both accidental and very, very deliberate.

[ladyiristheenchantress]

Elemental Work Crash Course

Hello friends! As a west witch I find myself in a lot of elemental spaces, but as an elemental pagan I feel like we get little to no representation without wicca being present so this post is for all my friends who may be looking into elemental work and want to know what to expect! This is an introductory post so if anyone is interested in further information let me know in the comments!

Earth

Common Lessons tend to include grounding, understanding your place within it all like your social circles, life itself, or even the ecosystem. People also tend to find out how to see beauty even when they feel there is none, home and hearth magic, generational magic, and harnessing your own power. Its important to recognize earth is extremely giving, often giving things without expecting anything in return. Remember to give back to the earth when you can in your practice, it isn't fair to take things without giving back. Eventually earth takes all things back from the living, so remember that earth is as powerful as she is kind Darker Aspect/Element: Rot How to honor and find these teachings:

Going out in nature

Taking care of plants

Herbal work

Community service

Exploring

Grounding and meditation outdoors

Connecting to earth itself

Evaluating what it means to be human

Common forms of divination

Osteomancy (Burning Bones)

Abacomancy (Dirt)

Dendromancy (Tree reading)

Falling petals or leaves

Air

Common lessons from air tend to be quick and ever present, air speaks rather quickly to people and messages change! Its best to keep a log of signs and messages you receive because it tends to be a pebble trail on your journey. Air teaches how to keep calm in tense situations, creating your own path on the journey of life, going with the wind and learning to not value materialistic lifestyles, plus learning how to be more gentle with yourself and others!

Darker Aspect: Tempest How to honor and find these teachings:

Breath work

Spontaneity and leaving your comfort zone

Living to the fullest (however that might look for you!)

Dance or Hand motions

Meditations

Keeping sword or athame imagery as a talisman

Storm tracking

Common forms of divination:

Smoke Scrying

Wind Watching

Electromancy (By Lightning)

Austromancy (By Clouds)

Fire

Common lessons in fire encourage you to listen closely and not rely so much on searching for messages. In most mythos fire speaks once per session, when its burnt out usually the message is over. Fire teaches us how to be confident in our work, ambition, and performance. Fire likes to throw a lot at you and teach you adaptability, and most importantly how to be the best you can be. You can learn a lot from just a little flame.

Darker Aspect: Magma

How to Honor these teachings:

Practicing Confidence

Glamour Magic

Using your backbone/saying no more

Making friends in odd places

Hosting bonfires/tending to a hearth fire

Using candle magic

Common forms of divination:

Fire Scrying

Candle/Wax reading

Flame Shape reading

Casting knives

Water

Common lessons range depending on what you are looking for! Water can teach you how to be calm and collected, but also encourages you to be fluid! so if you need to unleash the flood you know when its appropriate to do so. You also learn how to go with the flow, how to be persistent, and how to be a fierce enigma. Water is also very humbling at times, so you will learn a lot about yourself.

Darker Aspect: Abyss

How to honor these teachings:

Emotion based meditations

Shadow work

Being in tune with yourself

Swimming

Boating

Fishing

Beach cleanups

Exploring your waterways

Common types of divination:

Water scrying

Waves

Rainfall

Storm tracking

Mist/Dew

Tip Jar

[roosterbruiser]

I feel like Jake is very touchy in general. When you’re together his hand is on you somewhere. Not in a possessive way but he just feels better with the contact and so when he is tied up he loses it (in a good way) he sees you touching yourself and just comes right there

(Is that too dirty for slumber party?)

oh girl......this isn't dirty enough for slumber party

Jake absolutely has to have a hand on you at all times. because I say so, I think Jake was a bit touch starved before. so, when he meets and then promptly falls in love with you--he takes all the touching he can get.

you're exactly right--it isn't always sexual or possessive. sometimes it's just him stroking your hair as you watch reruns of Cheers. other times it's his hand on your hip while you walk around the grocery store. occasionally it's his nose pressed to your cheek while you two blink yourselves awake on a particularly lazy Sunday morning. usually it's his hand in the back pocket of your jeans or his fingers laced with yours or his palm slid beneath your shirt to rest on your belly.

sometimes, though--it is possessive. at The Hard Deck, when Rooster's had one too many and is doing that thing where he gets too close when he talks and laughs too loud at nothing, Jake is standing with his arm wrapped firmly around your waist. and it isn't that he doesn't trust you (or that he doesn't trust Bradley), but it's that it makes breathing easier when he feels you right up against him.

needless to say, touch is very important to Jake. it keeps him going. he keens at your touch, but loves even more to have his hands all over you.

so, when he walks into the house after a half-day on base and sees you splayed across the couch on your belly, mostly naked and writhing as your fingers disappear inside of you at a dizzying repetition--he isn't sure what to do. his breath is stuck in his molars, his eyes are wide, his belly is tight.

but it's when he hears the beautiful sounds tumbling from your parted, swollen lips that his body seemingly reacts for him. he can't stop it anymore than he can stop a thought from forming in his head. he climaxes right there in the entryway watching you service yourself like that, your warm face buried against the couch cushion, your fingers wet, your legs spread.

and you two don't mind helping each other with the cleanup at all.

[seat-safety-switch]

Once again, I am tested by my circumstances. The local animal shelter was looking for someone to drive some dogs to their various appointments. That responsibility fell to me, a drivers-license-having individual with a community service requirement with an “exponent” symbol in it in Microsoft Excel, to truck them there. Nobody else wanted to do it, possibly because some of the dogs have what medical experts are calling “the terror shits.”

Naturally, I couldn’t do this in my own car. Not only is the Volare incapable of holding any passengers due to the structural rust issues, but I like to keep the car clean. That’s why there’s the big holes in the floor: any dropped candy wrappers, stray strands of hair, or spilled coffees will just run out when I lift the floor mat on the expressway. No: the animal shelter was very insistent that what I would receive is a 2005 Chevy Express van, white-on-white.

This van was, well, a van. For some reason, everyone I met was apologizing to me about “how old” it was, and how they had “no money” in the budget with which to upgrade it. I didn’t have the heart to tell them that it was several decades newer than anything I’d ever operated, and I was a little bit intimidated by driving something that could go forward and backward, without having to turn the engine off and push it a little bit first.

Still, after a few minutes on the road, I immediately saw what they meant. It didn’t have any soul, this new automobile, being enormously competent at virtually every task. It didn’t shake violently on the highway, all the doors stayed closed, and it could go around corners without the windshield falling out. Soon, I was going an integer multiple of the posted speed limit, still feeling it was too slow because the sensation of danger was no longer prickling its way up my spine. I was practically falling asleep, and when I arrived at the vet’s office an hour away nearly 45 minutes ahead of schedule, I decided something had to be done for the safety of my canine charges.

While the dogs were in the shop, getting their tires rotated, I decided to do a little bit of work on my own. I had been stuck behind a slow-moving BMW SUV on the off-ramp. It was now parked outside a realtor’s office, taunting me with its copious reserve of compressed air and torque. I decided that if they weren’t gonna use their turbocharger, then I should rightfully be entitled to it. After all, it’s for the public good: who would deny these dogs an efficient, comfortable ride? Using the BMW’s toolkit and a piece of parking lot rebar as a lever, I soon had the turbocharger worked off of the engine, dropped out the bottom, and swaged into the van’s induction system. To test it out, I jumped in and pinned the throttle a few times, hearing the delightful whoosh of at least a hundred more horsepower. Yeah. This would do nicely.

All I’m legally allowed to tell you about what happened next is two things. One, the van really was less boring after all this work. The little V8 sang with the joys of forced induction, and the tires smoked well through however many gears this magic future transmission had in it. Two, it was a good thing I was going to the dog groomer’s next, because none of these animals were in a presentable shape. It turns out dogs afflicted with the terror-shits don’t like to pull a deep thirteen-second quarter mile, which is definitely something they should have told me before they gave me the keys.

Not every day of volunteering is going to be perfect. Next time I go back, I think I’ll cut a hole in the floor instead. At least that will make the cleanup easier.

[tinyinvadr]

I’m back with another chapter! Thank you all so much for supporting this fic! It’s cool to know that people like the same stuff as I do, and it motivates me to write more!

Ch. 1/Ch. 2

Hide & Shrink

Chapter 3

I woke up on a plush surface, practically sinking into it. There was a part of me that wanted to still believe my entire experience with the Digital Circus was a dream, but I knew that couldn’t be true.

This wasn’t my bed. Not my real bed, at least. In fact, it didn’t feel like a bed at all, more like a giant pillow.

Right. The last thing that happened before I passed out was when I realized that Caine couldn’t change me back to my normal size. Which meant wherever I was, I was likely still tiny.

I finally opened my eyes, and the bright colors surrounding me were almost blinding. Massive blankets and pillows of every shade stretched as far as I could see.

As much as I didn’t want to admit it, the pillows were kind of nice. It reminded me of pillow forts…

Of course. This was Kinger’s pillow fort. That made sense, since he was holding me before I passed out. He probably brought me there so I could rest.

“Oh, Pomni, you’re awake! You really had us scared back there.”

I don’t know how I didn’t notice that Kinger was also in the fort with me right away. Then again, he kind of blended in. His robes almost looked like one of the blankets.

I tried to scoot myself back, but the pillow was too soft and I ended up just sinking into it further.

“Oh, did you need help getting up? I’ve got you!”

Kinger started to reach for me, and I frantically tried to move away faster.

“Nononono! It’s okay! I’m okay!”

He could tell I was panicking and stopped, glancing away in shame.

“Aw, I’m sorry. I must be freaking you out right now. I know I’d be terrified if I was in your place. But there’s nothing to worry about! I won’t grab you again, and it’s perfectly safe in my impenetrable fortress, so we can just wait here until Caine gets this whole thing sorted out.”

Admittedly, I needed the levity, so I gave Kinger a nod of approval and willingly let myself sink into the pillow. I could see why he liked to hide in his fort. It was like a little break room from the overwhelming insanity of the circus.

But it wasn’t as impenetrable as he thought it was.

A pillow on the bottom of the fort suddenly slid out of place, and before either of us could react, a huge assortment of pillows and blankets came crashing down on us.

It was a chain reaction of disaster as Kinger fell onto the pillow I was laying on, and the sudden weight shift sent me flying into the air, only to fall on my face a couple inches away. As I struggled to push myself up, I could hear the voices of the others.

“Jax! What did you do that for?!”

“What? I wanted a pillow.”

“But… Pomni could’ve gotten hurt…”

“These are cartoon physics we’re workin’ with here. She’s fine, look.”

For the third time, I was grabbed without warning and lifted into the air, this time by Jax. The thought of what he might do made me sick. The others at least seemed like they were worried about me, but it was pretty clear that he didn’t care.

In front of me stood Ragatha, Gangle, and Zooble, all looking concerned. Well, at least Ragatha and Gangle. Zooble’s expressions are kind of hard to read.

“She doesn’t look fine…”

“Yeah. I’m sure she LOVES being grabbed like that, Jax. Totally not traumatizing at all.”

Jax simply laughed off their concerns, emoting by moving his hands and arms around a lot in a way that was definitely intentional.

“Hey, come on, you guys, Pomni can speak for herself. If she didn’t like it she’d say something. Isn’t that right, Pom?”

By the time he stopped talking and moving me around, I couldn’t hold back and I threw up. Again.

Jax quickly dropped me and backed up in disgust.

“Ew. Somebody call Bubble.”

Right as he said that, Bubble appeared in front of me, way too close for comfort.

“Cleanup crew at your service!”

I backed up as he started licking up the vomit just as he did the day before. He’s really a freaky little thing. Though he didn’t look so little from my perspective.

Caine appeared shortly afterward, shaking his head(?) at Bubble, but then shifted his attention to me.

“Goodness gracious! You sure are prone to getting sick, aren’t you? Do you need anything? Want me to carry you to your room?”

The last thing I wanted was to be picked up again, so I queasily backed up in protest.

“No, no, it’s fine, I can get there by myself.”

Just as I regained my balance enough to start walking away, Jax walked in front of me, nearly stepping on me.

“You sure about that, shorty?”

Ragatha glared at him again as she made her way over to Caine.

“Anyway, Caine, have you made any progress on finding a way to fix Pomni?”

“Nope! Still working on it! But don’t worry, I’m sure a solution will come to me soon! After all, this is the digital world, and anything is possible!”

Zooble scoffed. “Yeah. Anything except leaving.”

“That’s the spirit, Zooble! Now then, Pomni, I leave the choice up to you if you want any of us to escort you to your room, or anywhere else you might like to go!”

I really would have preferred to be alone, but that wasn’t an option on the off chance that Jax decided to try anything else. I needed someone I could trust. I needed the one person I’d been avoiding.

Keeping my eyes glued to the ground, I approached Ragatha.

“Um… Ragatha? Can I go with you?”

She didn’t say a word, and kneeled down in front of me, her hands resting on the floor. I looked up to meet her eyes, and she gave a reassuring smile as if to say that this would all be on my own terms, and she wasn’t going to grab me.

I was still hesitant to even get near her, but she had a calm patience that the others didn’t. It was like she was willing to wait there for as long as it took until I was ready. In each passing moment I could feel my nerves ease just a little bit more, and finally, I took the first step onto her hand.

Due to her being a rag doll, Ragatha’s hands didn’t feel much different from the pillow I was sitting on earlier. I sat myself down, continuing to look up at her as she watched and waited.

“You okay?” She asked, her voice soft and warm. I simply nodded, and she continued to smile and wait. “Just let me know when you’re ready for me to stand up.”

I gave her another nod of approval, and she slowly stood up, holding me close to her for support, but not too tight to where I felt trapped. As she lifted me up, I could see the others looking on in surprise at how calm I seemed.

“Alright guys, I’ll be back in a bit.” Ragatha said as she turned to walk down the hallways where everyone’s rooms were.

As soon as we were far enough away from the group, I finally worked up the courage to speak again.

“I… thank you…”

She let out a content sigh as she continued walking.

“Hey, I’ve got your back.”

[sfblah]

The Cleanup Crew - Tactical Maid Service - Chapter 2

[Previous Chapter]

Now to meet the rest of the main cast. Things still haven't really gotten tactical yet, but should I finish the third chapter sometime this century I promise this series will actually live up to its name eventually lol.

Female sneezes - Various causes

Operation "Crackers"

Cleanup Cafe. A cafe. With maids. A maid cafe.

And today, with one more maid than before.

Over an hour remains until the cafe opens, but she goes around back to the staff entrance anyway. Her hand stops short of the door handle, and her shoulder-length ponytail sways in the breeze for a moment before she finds her resolve and steps inside. 

The break room is more or less what she expected: a table, a few chairs, a series of lockers, and an outdated computer in the corner. The only thing that might seem out of place in any other cafe is the collection of weapons displayed on one wall. Pistols, rifles, shotguns, and so on, most of which she recognizes from various video games. Her eyes drift across a few empty pegs, and she can only hope she wasn’t supposed to bring her own.

“Ah, Miss Bucket, you’ve arrived.”

A low, calm, and mature voice, but it still startles the maid enough to make her jump. It sounds like the same person she’d spoken to after her assessment, but there’s really no way to be sure. And… ‘Miss Bucket’? She really should have done more to assert that that would not be her nickname.

A tall, proper woman emerges from around the corner, blonde hair in a claw clip updo and clad in a black and white maid outfit. Sharp but tired eyes pierce through the large, circular lenses of her glasses, and Bucket finds herself frozen to the spot.

“Uh. Hi,” she stammers, unable to give even a little wave. Why is she so anxious? She already got the job. Just clock in, collect a paycheck, and…

“Again I’d like to welcome you to The Cleanup Crew. You may call me ‘Kerchief,’ or simply ‘Manager.’ I hope you enjoy your first day with us.”

Bucket fidgets in place.

“Um, yeah. You too. I mean… Yeah.”

“Please don’t be nervous,” commands Kerchief, her flat tone of voice doing little to reassure her new subordinate. “I’m sure you want to meet the rest of the team, but first, I have an assignment for you.”

Bucket gulps. Is this going to be some kind of initiation thing? Something to get blood on her hands and keep her from running off and snitching? Kerchief begins to move away from the weapon wall, and Bucket enjoys a moment of relief before her manager pushes open the door to the kitchen.

“Your first task is to prepare something to eat. It could be a meal, a snack, anything that strikes your fancy. Then, you are to come out to the floor and serve us as if we were your customers. I think that would be a lovely way for you to introduce yourself.”

After Kerchief disappears into the next room, Bucket takes a second to shake out her nervousness, wiggling from her feet all the way to her head. She skips through the door, and… It’s just a kitchen. No command center, no vast collection of weapons. Hardly any euphemisms for murder to be found. For better or worse, the maid has little time to catch up before Kerchief is already on the way out another door.

“We’ll be right through here, Miss Bucket. See you soon.”

“Wait, I…”

And the door swings shut.

Bucket limply lifts her hands and lets them fall back to her sides. Great. Time to navigate this whole-ass restaurant-ass kitchen, because she definitely knows how to do that. Gotta start somewhere, just open a cabinet, any old cabinet.

Seasoning. Condiments. Is salt a condiment?

The pepper grinder lays on its side, along with a sprinkling of that black and gray dust. Bucket frowns and shuts the door, grumpily pressing her fingers across the underside of her nose as she turns away.

Just make something simple. More involved than handing out ketchup packets, but this didn’t exactly seem like a Michelin star operation.

Bucket squats down, checking the cabinets below the counter this time. Her eyes clench shut and she gives her pudgy nose an upward wipe with her palm, still feeling a peppery itch somewhere inside. Then, once she finally has a chance to look… Flour!

Perfect! Flour goes in all kinds of stuff, like bread, and other things made out of bread. Bucket grabs the bag, struggling with its surprising weight for a moment, and slams it down on the counter. She spies a stack of mixing bowls at the other end of the counter, and she slides over the biggest one she can get her hands on. Ready to finally get started, she tears the bag of flour open and begins to pour.

Suddenly, Bucket’s mind and expression both go blank. Flour continues to flow as the maid’s teardrop-shaped nostrils flare and constrict. Like it or not, it seems the pepper is ready to leave.

“ah… ah-ahh…”

The last of the flour falls into the bowl as Bucket’s breathing begins to heave and hitch. The bag wasn’t big enough to completely overfill the bowl, but a veritable mountain of white powder stands before her nonetheless. At least, until…

“aaAAH-CHOOOO!!!”

The hapless maid sneezes up a blizzard that envelops half the kitchen. Her face and clothes above the waist are completely covered in flour, a few clumps falling away as she weakly opens her eyes. She barely has time to realize what happened before her face scrunches up again and she delivers another “haa-CHHHOOO!” into the bowl.

After the second explosion of flour settles, Bucket cringes and cracks one eye open. The blow is softened ever so slightly by the kitchen’s already largely white decor, but the powdery mess is undeniable.

“Oops…” she mumbles, sheepishly rubbing an outstretched index finger back and forth under her nostrils. After a look over her shoulder at the door to the cafe floor, Bucket makes a token effort at brushing herself off as she runs back to the break room. Partway there it occurs to her that she really should be doing this outside, and so she flings herself through the exit door. Maybe she can change into a fresh uniform and pretend none of this ever happened. Just sweep the flour out and then the wind will… Th-the wind will…

“ah-ahh-ahhh-CHOOO!!”

A layer of white bursts away from the maid as she sneezes again. She snuffles and rubs a finger hard under her nose, bending it from side to side. And when she straightens up, Bucket finds salvation gazing upon her from across the street.

Paying no attention to any potential traffic and still blotchy with flour, Bucket flees to the catty-corner convenience store. She clumsily ducks down to hopefully avoid being seen through the cafe’s front window, and a moment later she sneaks her way back with equal care, hugging a tub of premade frosting and a box of club crackers to her chest.

“Um… H-hi, master. Sorry for the wait,” Bucket stammers, finally emerging from the kitchen. One hand holds a plate of frosted cra- Frosted cookies, while the other timidly rubs her nose. Her voice cracks when she sees not one, not two, but three fellow maids seated around a table. One of them is Kerchief, her manager from earlier, but the others are new to her.

On the left is a pale, gloomy maid with a bob of green hair and long, straight bangs that completely cover her face above the cheekbones. Including both eyes. If she even has eyes. And on the right sits a boyish, muscular maid wearing a lopsided smile. Dark skin, short and spiky black hair, and a bandage across the bridge of her long, upturned nose. Both turn to face their new companion, and each gives a little wave. Bucket swallows nervously and resumes her approach.

As she arrives at the table, muscle maid leaps from her chair and rushes over.

“Hey there, Bucket! Pleased to meet’cha!” she exclaims, offering a hard slap on the shoulder. Her other hand flies to the plate and pops a frosted cracker into her mouth.

“Ooh, nice cookies,” she says as she chews. “Sweet and salty’s a good mix. Anyway, call me Duster!” She pauses to swallow. “And this is Mop!” She gestures to the green-haired maid, who ‘looks’ up at Bucket and wordlessly waves again. “Welcome to the team!”

Kerchief, Duster, Mop, and Bucket. What a world. Settling into panic mode autopilot, Bucket deposits her plate on the table and sits in the one vacant chair. Mop and Kerchief each take a cracker of their own, and Bucket feels a massive weight lift from her shoulders when neither offers a complaint.

“What’s your secret ingredient?” Mop suddenly asks, startling Bucket out of her trance. Her lips part, but before she can bullshit an answer, her nostrils decide to respond for her. “Well, I… I… ah… ahh… CHOOOO!!”

[masterwords]

every day is a start of something beautiful

Summary: It's time for the leaves to be cleaned up. When kids are involved, you have to be ready for anything.

Pairings: Hotch/Morgan

Warnings: a few casual mentions of Hotch's childhood not being idyllic, a reference to Foyet, and references to Hotch having chronic pain/ailments.

Words: 2.3k

Notes: Comfortember Day 3 - Leaves. I couldn't resist Hank here. As with everything else this month, this is part of the Chicago Times universe. I hope you enjoy!

**

Hotch couldn’t actually remember the last time he raked up autumn leaves.

Maybe because the last time he raked up leaves was when he was a teenager. That was an awfully long time ago, judging by the faded edges of his memories.

He could vaguely remember waking up in the morning to the sound of his father hollering about the damn leaves. “Why in God’s name do we have so many damn trees?” It never failed, he’d be shouting about Hotch cleaning them up before he’d even wiped the sleep from his eyes. It would be a quick breakfast and then out the door with a thermos of hot cocoa for a long day of hard work. The icy breeze would bite at his fingertips through his wool gloves and his hands would be bleeding and blistered and bright red by the end of the day. During the course of his time outside, he would have picked up three or four more jobs – neighbors who were older and couldn’t do the work or simply wanted to outsource. He preferred those, they got him away from his house for days at a time. His weekends would be occupied with what he considered easy money during that lull between the glory of football season and the horrors of basketball – a sport he was truly terrible at. He was hardly more than a bench warmer or someone whose shoes squeaked on the court only when their team was so far up in points that they could put their third string kids in, but it was better than the nightmare of wrestling and it kept him busy and away from the house. He would rake for free, but everyone paid him. It kept his gas tank full and he was able to buy Haley flowers and snacks and maybe even one nice date without touching the money his parents gave him.

After University, they lived in apartments, never quite settled. A nice condo in DC when he was appointed as a Federal Prosecutor, and a grungy little dump in Seattle when he took a steep paycut to pursue his dreams as an FBI Agent. While the trees planted to line the streets had falling leaves, he never had to touch them. He only watched them flutter to the ground and be scooped up by city trucks, that was the same no matter which side of the country you inhabited. The type of trees might have changed, but the behaviors never did. When they moved back to D.C, they hired a lawn care service, and again when they moved out to Alexandria. Haley didn’t want to do it on her own and he didn’t have the time. They installed sprinkler systems, did all the mowing and all of the cleanup while Hotch worked his long hours and never saw any of it. Then came two apartments back to back, and lawn care services that would come and go in an hour, sucking up all of the beautiful decaying leaves in their big riding mowers and move on. It was impersonal and loud, and when it was all cleaned up he missed the joy of the colors the leaves brought. There were children who lived in his building who would play in the leaves until they were cleaned up, and the sound of their laughter and the rustling got him through a lot of long lonely days after Foyet’s attack.

Now, he and Derek had a house. Well, Derek had a house and was kind enough to open his doors to Hotch and Jack, inviting them to move in rather than see them go back to Virginia when they were released from protective custody. They were still taking things a little slow, poking along, living together but not saying words like love too often. (Even if it was always heavily implied.) Derek’s divorce was still fresh enough to be a wound and the year of witness protection, the loneliness and fear and physical decline, were still wearing on Hotch in ways he couldn’t cope with some days.

But then the leaves fell, and he felt grounded and connected and useful just thinking about doing something mundane and simple. Something people just did at a certain time of year. Something that meant he belonged.

The front lawn was not just scattered with leaves, it was covered. At least a foot existed between the crisp upper layer and the damp, darkness of the bottom layer that was killing the small patch of grass they called a front lawn. Maple leaves and Oak leaves married in a sea of velvet orange and yellow and brown. The acorns pelted the sidewalk and made walking a hazard. He hadn’t even bothered to look at the backyard yet, those trees were still dropping leaves. They had another week or so before he could look at it as a project.

“I’ve got the riding mower,” Derek said, kicking his feet up with a beer in front of the TV. He was ready to watch some football and relax, and Hotch was about to join him. At least for the relaxing bit, he couldn’t tell you who was playing in the game. It was more about settling in beneath a blanket with Derek, resting his cheek against the mound of his shoulder, and maybe even falling asleep. “I’ll just take it out.”

“Too many leaves and acorns, it’ll clog it all up. I don’t want to lose a window to an acorn. I’ll do it, I have tomorrow off.”

Derek eyed him and scrunched his nose, shaking his head no. Like he’d considered the offer and instead of making a counter was outright refusing it. “I’ve used that mower the last two years. It’ll be okay.”

“I’d like to do it,” Hotch said, recanting his previous offer and rewording it. He was a lawyer in another life, he could do this all day until he found a loophole to exploit. Derek wasn’t an idiot, he knew what Hotch was doing and he kind of liked it. This sort of back and forth almost always led to sex, and it had been a few days since they’d had any...he was ready for that outcome. He’d even give up watching football for it.

“How about we wait until the weekend? We’ll get the kids out there playing and it’ll go quick if we work together. Then we can walk down to Lem’s and grab a bite to eat.”

“You don’t have to help, it’s a small yard. This football season has been exhausting, you deserve a break.”

“I got all winter, bud. I’m not coaching wrestling or basketball, just overseeing. Don’t worry about me.”

“But you’re worrying about me.” Hotch could feel his upper hand slipping away as his feelings crept in, knowing now that Derek was only concerned about whether he could do it at all. They went out running most mornings together, went to the gym, played all sorts of sports with the kids and Derek was worried his body suddenly couldn’t handle raking leaves? It hurt a little and he didn’t bother to hide it.

“Of course I am. I know we’re pretty active as a family, but that’s exactly it. As a family. You’ve had ticker problems since Foyet, don’t you dare pretend you haven’t. I know we don’t talk about what’s up with your body after Foyet much, it’s your business, but I think about it all the time. Plus your back’s all jacked up, you’ve been walking like an old man all week. I’m not letting you do it by yourself.”

“You’re making it sound like I’m an invalid.”

“No, I’m preventing a reasonably healthy middle-aged man from putting himself in the hospital because he’s stubborn. There’s a difference.”

Hotch scoffed at that, but when the weekend came and they were all bundled up under the bright morning Chicago sun he was glad for the help. And the company. The yard looked larger than he thought as he stood on the porch scanning the job with the last of his coffee warming his hands, and the sound of Jack and Hank playing catch with a football nearby made him feel instantly warmer. Derek was right, loathe as he was to admit it. This was a task better suited to the whole family.

He and Derek began at opposite ends of the yard, raking big piles of leaves, smelling the sweet decay, that smell of fall that’s so intrinsic and almost cathartic it was hard to put into words. It signaled to Hotch that it was time to hibernate, to hunker down in a way nothing else could. He imagined another night on the couch, probably with his heating pad nestled against the ache in the small of his back (because Derek was right about that too), a mug of tea or a nice dark beer and a movie – sharing a blanket and a laugh with Derek. This was the good stuff.

It would be the reward for a job well done.

They managed four giant piles in the front yard. “Not bad for a days’ work,” Derek announced, grabbing Hotch triumphantly by the hand and walking him back toward the garage for the carpenter bags to stuff the leaves into. They spent a little extra time in the garage, kissing in the shadows beside the shelves of fertilizer and tools. Warm lips and cold hands, safe from the biting wind for just a few minutes. “Aren’t you glad we did it together?”

“Yes,” Hotch smiled into another kiss before insisting they get back to the yard and finish up because he was starving. When they returned to the front yard, they found Jack throwing Hank wildly into the piles. Screaming and squealing, arms in the air, hair flying wildly where a knit cap had been moments before. That knit cap was now in the mess of leaves, what remained of their nice neat piles. Hotch couldn’t find it in him to be angry, even if they had undone much of the work he’d effectively destroyed his body for. He’d be in pain for the next few days, and it was worth it, but it would have been nice not to have to do it all over again.

“Again! AGAIN!” Hank was squealing with delight, throwing his arms wide, giggling madly when he hit the pile on his belly and sent a spray of leaves around him up into the air.

Hotch stopped and folded his arms, just watching with the ghost of a tired smile. Derek, on the other hand, dropped his bags and rushed forward, diving right into a pile himself. He didn’t need an invitation to the fun, and he certainly wasn’t going to be upset at work wasted. Jack tossed Hank down on top of him and soon they were both laughing and throwing the little guy, taking turns. Hank’s appetite for flight was insatiable.

“Come on Aaron!” Derek yelled and Hank rushed, covered in scraps of leaves and dirt and grass, toward Hotch. The leaves in his hair caught the sunlight and gave the impression of a golden crown, Hotch thought as he watched the kid run toward him.

“AGAIN!” Hank shouted, raising his arms like Hotch knew exactly what he meant. And, in spite of how badly he wanted to preserve the piles because of all of their hard work, he couldn’t resist playing. He looked at Jack standing there, a brand new teenager, and realized he’d never done this with his own son. He’d never thrown Jack into a leaf pile. Had Jack ever played in one? He didn’t know, but he thought maybe not. And when had he last done it himself? Those memories were faded sepia and silent and slow. His grandfather had tossed him into one, he thought. Yes, his grandfather played with him in the leaves, long before Sean was born. Never his father (or his mother). His father hated the trees, hated the leaves, hated it all. And he’d always been too busy with teenager things to play with Sean. What a waste, he thought.

Resigning himself to the fate of doing the work all over again, he lifted Hank into the air, gave him a kiss on the nose that made the kid giggle and launched him toward the pile. Derek raised his arms and caught his son, burying them both in the leaves quickly while Hotch walked up behind Jack and shoved him in. Just toppled him right over into the last fresh pile, watching him sink in with a look of surprise that eventually melted from teenage too-cool-horror into a smile.

So, they would have to rake again. Maybe Hotch would let Derek get the riding mower out for the second time, make short work of it. Hotch did like watching Derek out on that thing, he had to admit. There was something about it that felt so domestic and sweet he couldn’t help it. He always managed to sit on the porch and watch Derek looking so pleased with something so silly. But when he and Derek began throwing leaves at one another, he didn’t think about all the work they’d put in or all the work they’d have to do again. It wasn’t easy to take his mind away from it, he had a way of getting on a loop of work done before fun, but Derek wasn’t having any of that. “You never have the fun,” Derek would remind him when he got so caught up in the work that he couldn’t see his way out. “Sometimes fun before work is fine.” That attitude was infectious. His smile managed to pull Hotch in and get him playing too.

He’d be itchy, would definitely have to suck down some benadryl when all was said and done, but even he wasn’t immune to ending up in a pile of sticky wet leaves and enjoying himself.

“AGAIN!”

[lettucebee17]

TWST Summer Camp AU - Night Raven Camp Infodump

General Information:

Night Raven Camp is a 9 week summer camp that runs through the whole summer, accepting campers from age 16 to 18. Crowley is head counselor and the rest of the NRC faculty are counselors for various activities. The kitchen ghosts work in the mess hall, but they aren't ghosts for reasons explained in the next paragraph.

This au takes place in an alternate version of Twisted Wonderland, where the geography is all the same but most of the population believes magic to be just a fairytale. So the camp is on Sage's Island but the boys aren't mages and the camp isn't like a prestigious magic camp or anything. Beastmen are still a thing (mostly because I can't stand the thought of humanizing the Savanaclaw boys), however fae and merfolk are usually thought of more myth than truth so the octatrio have to be careful with their potions and Malleus, Lilia, and Sebek use fae glamours to hide their inhuman features. The fae are the only ones that have some innate magic.

All campers are separated into 7 cabins (based on the dorms obvs), with each cabin having a cabin leader (the housewardens). I've messed with the order of the dorms to make them match the rainbow because I gave them all team colors

Cabin 1: Heartslabyul Team Color: Red

Cabin 2: Scarabia Team Color: Orange

Cabin 3: Savanaclaw Team Color: Yellow

Cabin 4: Diasomnia Team Color: Green

Cabin 5: Ignihyde Team Color: Blue

Cabin 6: Pomefiore Team Color: Indigo

Cabin 7: Octavinelle Team Color: Purple

The camp is on a lake, RSA (Royal Sword Adventure-Camp) is a rival camp on the other side of the lake because I think it's funny.

The woods that the camp is in have vague supernatural/magic/paranormal qualities (akin to gravity falls?).

Character Headcanons:

Riddle: - has printed out the entire camp handbook + has like 3 wilderness survival guides that he follows to the letter - convinced his mom to let him come to camp by telling her it was a good learning opportunity

Trey: - helps out in the kitchens at mealtimes so he can get special privileges to use the kitchen for baking - carries a first aid kit around 24/7 in case anyone gets hurt - makes camping puns far more often than he will admit

Cater: - does not do well without reliable phone service - but he's adapted since it's his third year at camp - now, instead of his phone, he's got a polaroid camera that he brings everywhere with him and the heartslabyul cabin walls are absolutely COVERED in pictures - obviously still takes a billion pictures on his phone, he just likes to be able to put some of them somewhere (hence the polaroid camera) - has an acoustic guitar that he pulls out almost every night at the campfire

Ace: - his brother went to camp a couple years ago and told him a bunch of far fetched stories about the woods - he now uses those stories to terrify everyone around the campfire (it's a joint effort with Lilia, who also enjoys scaring people)

Deuce: - his mom sent him to camp so he'd stay out of trouble - but now he feels bad for making his mom sad - so he's made an oath to himself to just be really good at camp to make her proud

Leona: - he's still 20 in this au and just no one wants to question why he's still coming to camp - he just shows up and Crowley doesn't care enough to try and stop him - he's really just doing it because it's an excuse to not be home

Ruggie: - picks up little odd jobs around the camp for extra snacks or just some cash - like lifeguarding, activity cleanup, helping out with cooking, etc. - as a result, has a constant stash of granola bars and candy

Jack: - is here simply because he genuinely enjoys camping - uses the activities as physical training - puts his all into every activity, even the ones that aren't physical (like crafts)

Azul: - refuses to participate in any water activities because he doesn't want to put on a swimsuit - always knows what the activity is going to be the next day and no one knows where he gets the information - runs a snack trading system for smuggled goods and strategy tips

Jade: - leads nature hikes that even the counselors didn't have planned - *read: drags Azul and Floyd into the woods at randoms times without telling anyone so he can show them cool mushrooms

Floyd: - likes to light his marshmallows on fire before putting them in his s'mores - has a bad habit of taking swims in his eel form at night (sure hope no one catches him doing that)

Kalim: - over enthusiastic about every single activity - but hates the competitive ones and ends up helping the other cabins - the only activity he's really good at is crafts - makes friendship bracelets for everyone else at camp (Jamil has many and he must wear them)

Jamil: - hates bugs, which is really fun when you're in the woods - constantly has to ask people to remove bugs from the cabin - usually Kalim offers but then ends up befriending the bugs and making Jamil's panic worse by trying to introduce them - carries around a first aid kit 24/7 but it's specifically for Kalim

Vil: - has to leave the campfire early every night to account for his extensive skincare routine to combat being in the woods all the time - carries around a hairbrush and emergency makeup on him at all times

Rook: - is having a great time at camp, even if Vil is constantly yelling at him for neglecting his skincare - sometimes also gets dragged away from the campfire early to either help Vil with his skincare or be forced to do his own - excels at manhunt - dominates archery competitions and can be found at the archery range if he's not busy doing something else

Epel: - wanted to come to camp to get stronger - is very angry about his cabin placement and doesn't understand how the cabin system works and why he can't just go to a different one (Crowley refuses to elaborate on his cabin placements) - pretends to hate crafting activities but is actually really good at them

Idia: - why is he here? - you think this boy would go outside willingly?? - Ortho probably convinced him to get him to make friends or something... - somehow manages to check his games even without internet or a phone signal but he will not reveal his secrets

Ortho: - not a robot - got in a really bad accident (akin to what actually happened) when he was 8 and Idia's tech is pretty much the only thing keeping him alive - other than that is actually a normal 16 year old just excited about his first year at camp - even if Idia is constantly worried about him - aroace because I still refuse to ship him with anyone even if he isn't a child anymore - plus I feel like he would be anyway - drawing of him

Malleus: - Lilia dragged him to camp, claiming it would be good for him to interact with society more often - people constantly forget to tell him about the activities, or he's missing when they try to - can often be found stargazing late at night down by the docks

Lilia: - is certainly too old to be going to summer camp, but no one needs to know that - only came along because Malleus refused to go alone, then he decided it was fun - has to restrain himself from using magic during sport activities (though people have claimed to see him floating during a particularly intense game of volleyball) - helps Ace with his ghost stories around the campfire by adding facts that he's definitely just making up and aren't true

Silver: - is here because Lilia convinced him it would be fun - can sometimes be found at the archery range hitting dummies with a sword that no one knows where he got - has a bad habit of falling asleep in the middle of activities, especially crafting ones - it's rare if he DOESN'T fall asleep on someone's shoulder at the campfire (usually Sebek's) - sometimes random woodland creatures will come up to him with flowers or hang out on his shoulders and everyone is very confused by it

Sebek: - came to camp because Malleus goes to camp - takes every activity way too seriously and will turn anything into a competition, even if it shouldn't be - tends to bring a book to the campfire and read by the light of the flames - unless he's telling stories about the fae and/or Malleus that no one believes - sometimes spars with Silver with a sword that, once again, no one knows where he got

Yuu: - I think Yuu will be some variety of relative to Crowley - they don't have a cabin because they aren't technically going to the camp - magic doesn't effect them for some reason so they can still see the faes true forms and grim looks nice and cuddly - lmk if anyone has any better ideas for their role, I'm open to suggestions

Grim: - running idea for grim is that he's a fully corrupted monster living in the woods - this is also the main point of the vague plot I have forming in my head for if I ever write a cohesive fanfic - Yuu has adopted him as their pet cat even though everyone else is very concerned about the eldritch monster hanging around the camp

Other Points:

If I write this into a fanfic it will most definitely have some ships in it, I'm just trying to work out exactly which ones to use. If anyone wants to talk to me about that, please feel free to

Also, if anyone else wants to get in on this au, whether it be by drawing or writing, I would feel honored

Again, my ask box is open for any and all discussion about this au (or anything else really, I'm trying to interact with people more). If anyone's got fun little scenarios or headcanons hmu. I'd even take little writing requests to help me flesh out the au!

Sorry for the really long infodump...

Extra Info via asks: Grim and Yuu The Great Idia Shroud Investigation™ Extra Octatrio Info

[blackjackkent]

I'm actually going to start making more of an effort to keep some of the big spoilery things under the cut of my liveblog posts because we're getting to the point where some of the Big Reveals and Twists are happening and I don't want to ruin that for anyone who happens to just wander by. (Obviously also please feel free to block "#bjk plays baldur's gate 3" which this stuff is always tagged as. :) )

So anyway yeah uh. Second half of this fight against uh. Large Boy. is decidedly not what I expected. XD

Unsurprisingly (I guess) this isn't technically Myrkul himself, but an "Apostle of Myrkul", a big floaty bone boy with a scythe and "Myrkul's Presence":

This is more than a little scary because Bone Chill prevents healing from any source, and Karlach (and Shadowheart's spiritual weapon, less significantly) are right in the thick of it as the fight starts.

On the bright side, it has a lower AC than Thorm did. XD According to its stats it is considered only a medium size creature, also, which seems strange given that he is, shall we say, imposing.

I actually ended up resetting the whole fight back to the beginning of the part with Ketheric, and focusing a little on taking out more of the adds before Myrkul even came out. That actually went pretty well (as Ketheric doesn't try to leave the platform, so a lot of his really devastating attacks waited until we were ready to deal with him). Aylin, however, did not do so hot; for as much of a badass as she seems in cutscenes, she's kinda struggling and spent most of the fight in downstate.

On the bright side she seems to be able to revive herself with one hit point when she goes down, which is convenient and saved me from spending rez actions on her. Counterpoint to this is that it takes her whole action, so she kept getting up, shouting things like "STAND AND FIGHT!" and then doing nothing else before getting downed again.

Pls don't tell Selune I said her daughter was weaksauce on the battlefield. o.o;

One thing that was interesting was that at one point, the apostle called out:

And it was definitely Ketheric's voice. So I suppose this is supposed to be his ascension at Myrkul's hands in return for his service.

Hector's bludgeoning damage and Karlach's reckless attacks were the big MVPs on this fight; Wyll was mostly cleanup duty on all the necromites and Shadowheart was kept busy trying to keep everyone from falling over. As I mentioned before, I'm really starting to discover the importance of support buffs in this game; in the past I've taken a very damage-heavy approach (this is also my strategy in Pokemon XD ) and it is starting to be considerably less effective.

Very long process of a fight (and then I had to redo a chunk of it because Karlach rather than Hector got the spotlight for the cutscene >:| ). But we got there in the end!

Narrative post to follow.