#he's so young like how are people talented and know what to do with themselves from their early twenties

[pangaeaseas]

Great meta! This does a good job of extrapolating a very different Hogwarts context than the familiar Trio Era one from what we see in the books. I've seen fics that try to depict the Death Eater recruitment at Hogwarts during the Marauders Era and it's good to see a meta reasoning out why that's plausible.

It's incredibly striking to me that in the two cases where we know when a character received the Dark Mark, Regulus and Draco, they are both underage. With Draco you *could* claim special circumstances and Voldemort wanting to punish Lucius, but we don't actually know concretely of any such circumstances around Regulus, besides Sirius running away (and we don't know if Sirius running away actually impacted when Regulus would join the Death Eaters, you can headcanon that but it's not canon), and even in Draco's case it really seems more of a presaging of what will happen the next year with Crabbe and Goyle supporting the Death Eaters, and I think the punishment for Luicus aspect isn't Draco joining so young, it's Draco having to kill Dumbledore, which is a suicide mission. I think the fact that we know two Death Eaters were marked at 16, in fact the only two cases where we know an age at marking I think, is an intentional one: we are meant to draw the conclusion that Voldemort recruits child soldiers. If you are shown an example in the text (a text which can only depict so much), it's reasonable to draw the conclusion that the examples are typical.

I also think it's poignant and says interesting things about Voldemort's psychology that he would have his followers recruited at the same place he called his home, and having them behaving similarly to how he did at their age (by committing crimes. Yaaay.) Voldemort is consistently obsessed with Hogwarts (and yeah, that's in part so that the school story is interesting, but it's also a deliberate character trait) and so it makes a lot of sense that he would further that obsession by making a shadow Hogwarts of sorts by creating a network of Death Eater recruiters working there and outside. (I've seen fics that have the recruited Death Eaters in Hogwarts having secret meeting spots in the castle, an idea I love.) Of course Voldemort would recruit followers from Hogwarts, the castle is central to his psychology. Voldemort creates the kind of community and attention he would have wanted as a Hogwarts student through his recruiting network--making talented students feel at home and giving them connections to the outside world through prominent people like Lucius Malfoy. Of course, the whole purpose of that community is to further his fascist political goals and recruit child soldiers.

I also think the 'prejudice' against Slytherin House we see in the canon era is the legacy of Voldemort using the house as a recruitment center. To be clear, I do think many members of the other houses were Death Eaters, but Slytherin specifically was the heart of the recruiting network, and most of the recruiters were likely Slytherins--this is supported by the fact that Lucius is shown as likely initiating Snape into the Death Eaters, and of course was a Slytherin. In fact, Lucius was a Slytherin prefect, and is shown doing his perfectly duty in welcoming Snape, but the fact that the scene of Lucius meeting Snape is immediately followed by a scene that emphasizes Snape's Death Eater ties driving him away from Lily implies a connection--that Lucius was the impetus for Snape joining the Death Eaters. Just like the younger Tom Riddle, Prefect Lucius was using his authority as a prefect to build the cult. It's very plausible that the Slytherin prefects during the 70s were Death Eaters who identified younger students for potential recruitment and used their prefect position to ingratiate themselves with administration and to gain the trust of younger students. In fact, canonically the future Death Eater Draco Malfoy, and likely Death Eater sympathizer Pansy Parkinson, are the Slytherin prefects the first year after Voldemort returns--a sign of a similar situation earlier in wizarding history? So the official institutions of Slytherin House, like the prefects, were twisted in the service of Voldemort. If in 1993 the common room password was pure-blood, it's not unreasonable to assume even more offensive and exclusionary passwords would have existed in a time when blood prejudice was even more mainstream due to Voldemort's war (and that password is strong evidence that people who warn others off Slytherin in canon era are reasonably concerned about bigotry!). The common room password is likely another legacy of Voldemort's dominance of Slytherin. I can also easily imagine the Slytherin Common Room being used to plan Death Eater attacks openly, with the knowledge that any anti-Voldemort Slytherins would feel outnumbered and unsafe in their own house. We know that Slughorn is adept at overlooking Voldemort's doings, or may have been too afraid to stop it, so it's plausible that Slytherin House was essentially an arm of the Death Eaters by the late 1970s. When characters complain about Slytherin being home to Dark Wizards, they mean that the Hogwarts House was used as a way to intiate Death Eaters during the war (and also that it's a reasonable assumption Slytherins are bigoted and so to stay away from them. Anti-Slytherin prejudice is in my opinion more like people on a college campus telling freshmen to stay away from a fraternity with a bad reputation.)

Death Eater Recruitment Age During The First War

In this meta I'll talk about Voldemort's strategy in recruiting underage Death Eaters. Fandom often portrays teenage Death Eaters like Snape, Evan Rosier, etc as officially joining Voldemort after they graduate or, at best, their 7th year.

But the most logical conclusion is that Death Eaters recruited as teenagers would have been required to take the Mark at 16 and no later - at earliest Christmas break of 5th year and at latest the summer after 5th year. Regulus joining at 16 wasn't an exception or an anomaly - it was the expectation and the norm.

Additionally, younger Death Eaters’ age during the First War is cited as reasons they couldn’t have committed violent war crimes in the short time they were Death Eaters, but this too is contradicted by canon. I’ll go through the evidence for these points below.

1.0 Voldemort’s strategy

Firstly, I really don't know why people think Voldemort would have qualms about making 16 year olds murder and torture - given that Tom Riddle himself had murdered 4 people by the time he was 16 (killing the Riddles summer after his 4th year at 15 years old) as well as tortured students ("nasty incidents") with his gang.

Yes, many characters in HBP claim that there’s no way Draco was marked because he’s only 16 and still in school - but the whole point is that they’re wrong, that Draco WAS Marked at 16, that Voldemort thought Hogwarts was a good recruiting ground, that he was creating child soldiers. The whole point is to recruit them young - when they're most vulnerable and malleable.

On the other hand, it's unlikely that they were allowed to be Marked younger than 16 - Regulus was eager to join years before he was Marked, so if there was a way for him to be initiated sooner, he would've taken it. From Voldemort's POV, he'd want the Black heir under his control, so he would've Marked Regulus as early as was possible under Death Eater protocol. (Sirius also runs away at 16, so it’s a possibility that this had to do with Voldemort recruiting him at that age.)

So presumably, Voldemort chose an age where they're young enough to be easily manipulated, but old enough to be competent as Death Eaters.

(While Tom killed his family a year earlier, his proto-Death Eater gang was involved in their first murder together at the same age - Myrtle end of their 5th year; which imo was accidental but fits the tradition).

But once they reach that age - there's no stalling. Future teenage Death Eaters would be trained for maybe months, maybe years, before finally taking the Mark at 16.

Voldemort wants his army and he wants it now. You don't get to wait around to take the mark. Even marking a Death Eater at 17 vs. 16 is a whole entire year of the war wasted where Voldemort could have them under his control and doing useful things for him. The exceptions would be if the Death Eater isn't politically useful enough (heirs from less powerful pureblood families etc) and if they weren't talented enough by 16 and would require more training.

(It's possible the recruiting pace was a bit slower pre-war, but once the war started Voldemort needed as many Death Eaters as he could get.)

Certainly no important pureblood heir would be marked later than 16. Marking an heir means Voldemort has solidified his control over that family’s wealth and political/magical resources (at least in future).

Despite being Hogwarts students, teenage Death Eaters still have substantial windows of time when they could be committing crimes for Voldemort - 2 months of summer; 1 month combining Christmas/Easter breaks; Hogsmeade weekends; maybe ways of sneaking out other weekends. (Even many adult Death Eaters do have day jobs and keep up appearances of normal lives.)

They could also get a lot done at Hogwarts itself - spywork (i.e. out muggleborns hiding their status, similarly gather info on political enemies via other students), magical research (esp. given they have access to the Hogwarts library which Voldemort doesn’t - presumably, this is a library as coveted as pureblood libraries), invent things and experiment (i.e. Snape inventing Levicorpus which we know the Death Eaters used), and most notably, commit war crimes on campus.

Examples include Mulciber and Avery torturing Mary Macdonald with Dark Magic - which clearly wasn’t an isolated incident - and Snape having used Sectumsempra so often at Hogwarts it became known as his specialty. This is the kind of terror junior Death Eaters would be expected to perform on campus during the war.

Then there's the Dark Mark itself. The way the Death Eaters are bound to Voldemort parallels house-elf enslavement contract, and the Dark Mark is the main way of enforcing it - it’s a tracking device (per Karkaroff), a communication device, a means of control, a way to make sure you don't escape. So of course Voldemort would want to brand his followers as soon as he could. (see also: this meta on the Dark Mark by @artemisia-black)

2.0 Examples

Regulus (waiting to join years earlier) took the Mark at 16. Draco, Marked the summer after his 5th year, only a month or two after he turned 16. Barty Jr. was 19 in 1982 during the Longbottom trial, so it's a reasonable extrapolation that he too was Marked at 16, particularly since he was very dedicated and loyal to Voldemort and would've been desperate to join ASAP. As Lucius was clearly instrumental in recruiting Snape (and logically there have to be Death Eaters on campus recruiting), I assume he was Marked by the time the Marauders entered Hogwarts, so likely Marked at 16 too.

Then there's the fact that the Death Eaters is a multigenerational cult and that Voldemort expects the kids of his Death Eaters to join - examples are Mulciber, Avery, Rosier. These kids were essentially born into the cult and inherited being a Death Eater, they've known since childhood that they would be expected to take the Mark, and perhaps were trained for it very early, so there's no reason they wouldn't be Marked at 16.

Of course, not all Death Eaters are recruited underage, there are plenty recruited as adults - when you're recruited matters when Voldemort actually notices you, or when he needs you (i.e. Peter was recruited much later on, purely as a spy).

Regarding Snape specifically, he became friends with Lucius Malfoy as soon as he entered Hogwarts, and stayed friends with the Malfoys long into his adult years. Lucius would've been the main one to bring him into Death Eater circles (particularly since Lucius would've graduated Snape's first or second year, and the rest of their contact had to be out of school, perhaps Lucius inviting him to events with Death Eaters, etc.)

His friendship with his gang - Mulciber, Avery, Rosier - would function likewise, especially because they're not just any junior Death Eaters, they're the children of Tom Riddle's original gang. So, Snape was pulled into the network of pretty high ranking Death Eaters from the very start.

Snape's talent was also apparent to everyone from the get go (i.e. Sirius’s statement that Snape was famous for the Dark Arts at school, and as a first year knew more curses than half the kids in 7th year). Therefore, he would’ve been on the Death Eaters’ radar long before SWM, and there’s no reason for them to wait until then to recruit and train him. Most likely he was training under Voldemort as his student his 5th year, perhaps even 4th year, and then took the Mark summer after 5th year. (In this fic, he's already taken it by SWM, because teen Death Eaters take the Mark their first school holiday after turning 16, which was 5th year Christmas break for Snape, which is an interesting and believable scenario).

And no, his status as a poor halfblood wouldn't be an issue - canonically Voldemort makes poor Death Eaters high ranking (Snape, Amycus, Alecto), as well as female Death Eaters.

This, of course, conflicts with a certain narrative parts of fandom want to push about Snape being driven to the Death Eaters due to the Marauders’ bullying and Lily breaking off the friendship - because in any realistic scenario the Death Eaters would have recruited him long before this happened.

Regarding the level of violence teenage Death Eaters commit, it makes sense to me that you'd have to kill to be Marked - Voldemort is not going to have his Death Eaters hesitate before killing and mess up his missions (Additionally, once they’ve committed crimes for him he could use exposing them as a threat to keep them in line). I HC that you have to cast all three Unforgiveables on a victim to be Marked.

So, this means that all your faves like Regulus, Snape, Evan, Barty, that fandom often whitewashes, did in fact commit many violent war crimes while they were Death Eaters. Potentially Draco is the exception to this wrt actual murder (we know he's using the Imperius and Cruciatus 6th year), though it's always possible Voldemort made him murder someone off screen and we just didn't see it.

As more examples of this, even Crabbe and Goyle - who were not Marked or trained as official Death Eaters - are torturing first years with the Cruciatus their entire 7th year under the instruction of the Carrows, and presumably students in the years below them were also forced to do the same. (Crabbe also tries to cast an Avada Kedavra, so it's possible he murdered someone for the Death Eaters outside of campus.) This is further proof that Death Eaters have no issue making underage students commit violent war crimes.

3.0 Conclusion

We can extrapolate from the known numbers we have - Lucius Malfoy in his year, 3-5 Death Eaters in the Marauders' year (Mulciber, Avery, Snape, Rosier, Wilkes), Barty Jr. in the year below, Regulus in the year below that - that there were a few wannabe and/or actually Marked Death Eaters in every class year during the war.

So, Hogwarts during the first war wasn't just full of Wannabe Death Eaters - it was also full of actual Death Eaters who were already actively murdering and torturing others.

And this contextualizes the Marauders' actions in their Hogwarts years, and why they would've been pushed to that kind of violence to protect others on campus. (read more about that in this meta)

[anotherfanaccount]

Vibing to this on a loop since the movie. I mean everyone keeps saying the music is bad, like it's not a masterpiece but it's surely a vibe.

[billfarrah]

One of my favourite things about Young Royals and its characters is how much it romanticizes being utterly ordinary.

Stories often focus on characters who are exceptionally good at something or who are more ambitious than the average person. Even in the teen shows I’ve watched, these young characters always seemed to have their dream career and dream university figured out at a young age and I could never relate to that because I had none of those things figured out as a teen. It always felt like pushing this narrative that teenagers need to have their entire lives figured out before their brains are even fully developed.

None of the characters in YR seem particularly ambitious and in fact, the main character’s journey is a story of anti-ambition. When he is introduced to Simon, it is precisely Simon’s ordinariness that draws Wille to him. Sure, Simon is a very talented singer, but it’s never indicated within the series that he has dreams of being a pop star. It’s just something he likes to do. Simon is motivated by very ordinary things - he wants to do well in school so he can have better opportunities for himself, he wants to take care of his family, he wants to hang out with his friends and play video games. He’s a dedicated student but not necessarily valedictorian. It’s not his ambition that Wille is drawn to but his integrity and kindness and warmth.

Wille had a chance to be extraordinary - to be Sweden’s first gay king - but being extraordinary has never been Wille’s ambition. Wille’s ultimate goal and dream within the series’ narrative is to be free to make his own decisions and live his life as he pleases. He just wants to kiss his boyfriend and get drunk at parties and live his life one day at a time instead of spending every moment of his life preparing for an inevitable future he doesn’t want. In the end Wille is extraordinary not for his ambition, but for his bravery to reject the expectations thrust upon him and throw himself into the unknown and see where it takes him. Wille had a whole future in front of him as crown prince and future king - he’d never have to work a day in his life and would have people advising his every move - and he rejects that. This lack of ambition is not portrayed as a moral failure, but a necessary step in Wille’s journey to personal self-discovery and fulfillment of his own desires. His desire right now is simple - be free with Simon, but that doesn’t mean his dreams end here forever. He deserves peace and tranquility after all the trauma he’s been through without having to worry about where or who he’s gonna be in a few years. He deserves time to just exist.

None of the characters know where they’re going when they drive away at the end. We as the audience don’t know what careers if any these characters will find themselves in, but that’s also not important to this story. The series is saying you don’t have to have everything figured out when you’re 17 and you don’t have to do something just because your parents think they know what’s best for you and even if you don’t know exactly what you want to do, that doesn’t mean you don’t have the agency to know what you don’t want.

It’s not a moral failing to want the simple things in life or to be ordinary, and I love that Young Royals celebrates that. It shows the beauty in simple moments that feel revolutionary to a person - touching the person you love, forgiving someone and making amends after a hardship, whooping with your friends in a car as you drive into the summer and celebrates them. Ultimately these are the moments that make life worth living.

[supercap2319]

So I just saw wicked and I desperately need something with Fiyero having his sights set not on Glinda but Glinda’s brother y/n

Y/N Upland always knew that he was different. From a young age, he realized that he didn't fit in with the rest of his family, and not just because he was attracted more to boys than girls. When he was born, Y/N was given the rare gift of ice and snow, bringing great promise to the Upland name.

His mother and father tried to turn his talent into something that would make Y/N think he was better than the rest of the people of Oz, but Y/N didn't want that. He just wanted to be normal. That's why he made himself scarce as much as possible. He dressed in normal clothing and he preferred to be alone, instead of playing with other children his age. Then came Galinda, the pride and joy of the Uplands. Galinda was beautiful and had a certain way of getting whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted. The biggest difference between Y/N and his sister… he chose books. She chose looks, and it was certainly working out better for Galinda than Y/N.

She was beloved by all in Gillikin Country. The one everyone thought would succeed, whereas Y/N, would be the first ever person to disgrace his family as the ‘Upland Freak of Nature.’ And maybe they were right. To an extent. The cost of powers always came with a price, and even though Y/N was powerful, he was very bad at controlling them. It was one of the main—if not the most important -- reason to attend Shiz University to gain a better understanding of his powers, and how to properly control them. Unsurprisingly, Galinda was also majoring in sorcery.

That's how he and Galinda arrived on a pink boat to Shiz University, Galinda practically bouncing with excitement. Her pink outfit was pressed and crisp as her nails. “Oh, Y/N! I simply can't wait to attend Madame Morrible's sorcery seminar. I just know I'm going to ace it.” She flashed pretty white teeth that hurt Y/N’s eyes. He pulled his sparkly blue cape over his shoulders. “I'm sure you will, and maybe, just maybe, you'll be able to help me with this.” He made a small snowflake dance on the palm of his hand before closing it.

“Of course, brosicle.” Galinda laughed.

Once they were close enough to the school, Galinda stood on the back of the boat and sat down on her luggage, looking like a queen on her throne. A few students in blue and brown uniforms waved to them as Galinda waved back. Y/N looked down at the water until they were docked. Stepping off the boat, Galinda and her ten thousand pieces of luggage were greeted by their mother and father at the docks.

“Oh, we're so proud of you!” Their father said, as he and their mother gave Galinda kisses. “Thank you. I love you. Just remember, it's not goodbye. It's farewell.” Galinda told them.

“We love you.” Their mother said, finally taking notice of Y/N. “Oh, and you too, sweetie. You'll be good. Probably not as good as your sister, but good enough.” She said.

“Wow. Thank you, mother. Your words of reassurance melt my heart.” Y/N said, tone sarcastic.

Arduenna Upland looks at his son. “You make sure to look after Galinda, Y/N. See to it that she's comfortable, and well taken care of.”

“Of course, father. I wouldn't dream of disappointing you and mother again for the what? Sixtieth time?” He said.

“Just don't do anything to make trouble.” Arudeena said. He looks at Galinda and smiles with happiness and pride. “Have all your kisses? And you will write?”

“Yes. I love you. Sad time. Miss you already.” Galinda said.

“Popsicle board the boat.” Y/N said.

“They are going to miss me so much.”

“Us.”

“Right. That's what I said. Us.” Galinda said.

…

“Attention, students! It is my honor to announce that Fiyero Tigelaar of Winkie country will be filling out our student body. Having transferred from the Royal Winkie Academy. Please help him feel welcome. Without making direct eye contact.”

That's how Y/N and all of the student body at Shiz found themselves in the courtyard by the fountain, waiting for some spoiled Prince from Winkie country. Y/N to suppress the urge to roll his eyes as the Prince rode in on a horse. A blue horse. How original. Lines of male and female suitors were watching as the Fiyero walked passed, his black boots echoing against the ground. Some winked at him, while others twirled their hair in hopes of catching the Prince’s attention. He seemed unbothered.

Fiyero had light brown hair with blonde streaks on it. He wore a tailored navy blue suit with golden trimmings. He headed towards the bulletin board and asked a gawking male student to move as a faculty member checked out his ass. Y/N rolled his eyes from his position across from where Fiyero was. He has been studying with Madame Morrible and another student named Elphaba. He was currently reading a book about the history of ice magic in Oz as he watched Galinda swipe a book from a nearby student, and tried to pretend to be uninterested.

“Are you looking for something?” Galinda asked. She flips her blonde hair dramatically. “Or…someone?”

“No, I was…” Fiyero starts, but stops when his eyes look past Galinda and looked at Y/N.

Y/N frowns. Why was Prince McDimples looking at him like that?

“Sorry…what was I doing?” Fiyero asked.

“How would I know?” Galinda shrugged.

“Maybe it was that young man over there.” Fiyero smiles in Y/N’s direction. Galinda follows his gaze and frowns. “That's Y/N. My brother.”

“Brother you say? Well, I fancy I should meet him as well, don't you agree?”

“I guess.” Galinda pouted as Fiyero had eyes for Y/N, but her.

[lovecla]

© property of lovecla, nhl masterlist, nico hischier x you:

FAKE IT ‘TILL YOU MAKE IT, game plan:

➴ chapter warnings: none <3

➴ word count: 1.5k

💌 from me to you: and here’s the first chapter of fake it ‘till you make it! posting this sooner than expected in honor of last night’s game. can you guys believe we have nico hischier as our captain? how lucky are we? anyways! i hope you all like this! (the posting schedule will be just like TYPA, every other day!) ♡

𖧷

WHEN YOU tell people that being friends with a hot, young NHL player isn’t at all that great, all they do is look at you like you’re batshit crazy, and give you one hundred and fifty four arguments trying to make you, someone who’s been friends with a guy who’s been a NHL star player for the past few years, see how wrong you are.

You love Nico Hischier. You really do. You met him when you were just eighteen, being friends with his sister, Nina, and immediately locking in with Nico. He’s the sweetest, kindest and most loving man you have ever met in your life, and now that you’re twenty-three, almost twenty-four, you can see how rare men like Nico are.

But now that he’s a famous player, captain of an entire team and known for being one of the hottest men in the NHL, you sure feel like you’re paying a high price for being in his life.

Not in a bad way, though. It just sucks to see the amount of women throwing themselves at his feet, and what sucks even more, is knowing that he won’t even blink an eye at them because he’s head over heels for Nora Ellis, a crazy girl he met two years ago at a party.

Nora is beautiful, you’ll give him that. And usually, you wouldn’t be upset with him having a crush. In fact, you and Nina are always encouraging him to engage in new relationships and meet new people, so that he isn’t only worried about his job.

Nora. She’s the most beautiful black woman you have ever seen. She’s intelligent, she’s funny and she knows things about Hockey like no one else— being the daughter of one of the most talented coaches in the NHL does that to you, you guess.

The only problem with Nora Ellis is the fact that she only cares for men who are in a relationship.

Married or dating, she doesn’t care. Her only goal is to make them give up on their partner to be with her, and once she gets tired of them, she finds another mission to busy herself with.

Nico doesn’t seem to notice that. To be fair, no one really does. She can be very subtle and discreet, and the only reason why you caught up on that in the first place is because every party you go to, you try to blend yourself with the walls, so you don’t get too much attention on yourself.

Nico always tells you to stay by his side and mingle with his friends, but by the end of the night, you’re always sitting near the bathroom door, with a drink in your hands, watching the party unfold with attentive eyes.

And turns out that a lot can happen in the bathroom of a party full of NHL players and Nora Ellis.

So you know she’s not good for him. You’ve tried to talk him out of it more times than you can actually recall, but it’s a dead end. Nico’s in love with her, and has been for two years now. He won’t give up on her unless something really drastic happens, but since Nora is really good at what she does— destroying relationships for fun—, nothing will ever rise to the surface.

“She’s so… pretty,” Nico sighs, sitting on the couch beside you, making you sigh and put your book down, not forgetting to mark the page you were in. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you.”

You smile, touching his cheek, watching with awe as his dimples appear. “It’s fine, Dimples.”

He rolls his eyes as he always does when you call him that, and continues.

“You’re the only one who still listens to me ramble about Nora,” he pouts. “Nina said that if I talk about her one more time, she’ll fly to Newark and personally destroy my phone so I can’t call her anymore.”

You laugh loudly, perfectly picturing Nina saying that.

“And Luca?” you ask, raising your eyebrow.

“Luca just says I need to move on.”

“Well, he’s always been more patient than Nina, that’s for sure,” you nod, placing your book on Nico’s coffee table and bringing your knees close to your chest, resting your head on them. “But… he’s not wrong, y’know?”

Nico gives you the puppy eyes, as he always does whenever someone mentions that he should get over Nora, and you sigh again.

Seeing him like this sucked in every way. And you’ve tried everything— get him on dating apps, blind dates, normal dates, pointing at a pretty girl at a party, literally everything.

And still, he’s not budging.

“I wish she would just look at me. I’m handsome, right?” He looks at you, brown eyes filled with despair.

You spend some seconds analyzing him, as you often liked to do. His brown, hazelnut eyes that shined bright everyday, his hair that’s now a little bit longer than usual, his legs and arms which are absolutely huge— when did he get that big anyway?— and his perfect, charming smile and dimples.

“Emma?”

“O-oh, yeah, you’re… fine, I guess,” you shrug, trying to hide the fact that you were checking him out. Weird. “It’s not about you, Nico, I’ve said that before.”

“Okay, but why won’t she pay attention to me, then?”

Because you don’t have a girlfriend, is what you want to say.

Wait.

“Oh my God!” you jump in your seat, scaring Nico who lets out a loud scream and jumps out of the couch with you.

“What the— Emma.” He puts his hands on his hips, trying to look scary, but you brush him off.

“I know how to make her fall in love with you,” you smile, walking around in circles, trying to organize your thoughts inside your head. Nico. Nora. She thinks she’s in love. Nico’s happy. They get together. She’ll leave him after three months or so. Nico’s sad. But! Nico’s moved on. “God, how did I not think of that before?”

“What are you talking about—”

“We have to date.”

Nico stares at you like you’re crazy, his eyes big and confused. He opens his mouth a few times, probably trying to think of something to say, before closing it and inhaling the air.

You wait for him to say something, but when it’s obvious that he won’t, you continue:

“I know it sounds crazy, and I know what you must be thinking, but hear me out,” you step closer, looking up at him. “Girls sometimes don’t pay attention to guys because… well, because they can’t really see them. Like, for example: there’s this one guy in my office which I don’t care about, he’s just my coworker and nothing else.”

“What does this have to do with—” you put your index finger over his lips, shushing him.

“Wait,” you say. “So, he’s there and he isn’t anything. Until, one night, I had a dream that he’s dating me. And suddenly, I wake up and go to work, and I can’t see him the same way I did before. I start noticing how nice his hair is or how tall he is. Do you understand it now?”

Nico smiles, scratching his forehead with his finger.

“No, Emma. That doesn’t even make sense.”

You snort. “Because you’re a man. But trust me on this one, Nico. The second Nora sees you with someone else, she will notice you.”

Mostly because she’s a whore, but we’ll keep that to ourselves for a while.

“Do you have… like… a crush on me or something?” His face is now red and he gets closer to you, placing his hand on your shoulder while he looks like he’s trying to comfort you. “Is that why you want to do this?”

“What— No, what the hell!” you can feel your face getting warm and you step away from him. “No, I don’t have a c-crush on you. I just can’t stand you talking about her anymore. I’m your friend, so I will help you.”

Nico sighs, relieved it seems, still looking unsure.

“You don’t have to do it, if you don’t want to,” you say, closing your eyes for a few seconds. “I know it sounds crazy and I know you probably think I’m trying to get something here but in reality—”

“I’ll do it.”

“What?!” you can’t hide your surprise, almost shouting with how loud you spoke.

He smiles, sitting back on the couch, spreading his thighs and stretching his arms. “I mean, you’re never wrong about these love related things. You did get my sister an amazing boyfriend and you did manage to convince my brother to ask that girl out, and now they’re married. So it’s probably my turn to accept your love advice and shit, right?”

You’re starting to feel bad about this whole thing, because you know Nora will probably break his heart in thousands of little pieces, but what else can you do?

It’s the perfect plan, you think to yourself. It’s flawless, and it will work.

“I try my best,” you give him a half-smile, crossing your arms in front of your chest. “But you have to promise me something.”

Nico nods. “Anything.”

“If this doesn’t work out, then you'll move on.”

“Emma—”

“It’s not healthy for you to be thristing over someone for this much time,” you sit on the couch next to him and place your hand on his shoulder, giving it a little squeeze. “We will fight, and we will fight hard, but if there’s no results in three months, and I’m being generous, we’ll move on. Okay?”

Nico stared at his hands, biting his lips before looking at you again.

“Okay.”

𖧷

<next chapter>

[angel1010xx]

ｏｖｅｒｓｌｅｐｔ

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Pairing: Monkey D. Luffy x Reader

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

It was such a relief for it to be so peaceful at night.

The days at sea brought an ever-revolving door of chaos. Every threat the Straw Hat crew faced on the Grand Line was big—monsters from the deep as expansive as the clouds in the sky, tsunami-level tidal waves the pirates could barely tether through, hurricanes and whirlpools that spanned as far as the gods’ hands could possibly stretch. However, as it would be, big turmoil breeds bigger talent. The Straw Hat crew members carried themselves with pride, and they took each sunrise as an opportunity to grow. 

They had goals to accomplish, after all; their Captain was not yet king of the pirates, and they would see his future to fruition.

The newest addition to the sea-faring group laid quietly in the crow’s nest of the Thousand Sunny. Her body was wrought with exhaustion. There was a palpable and rather obvious difference in skill between her and the rest of the members. They were experienced. She was… inexperienced. She had not fought to overthrow dictatorships, save princesses, or taken year-long excursions to hone her craft. This is not to say that she did not have a role. No, no, she was taken on as the crew’s ambassador. She had a way, a very, very prominent sway among others with her innate ability of hypnosis. 

Captain Monkey D. Luffy had been immune to her sway. It perplexed her. She wanted to chase him, to follow him. Was this what it was like to stand with another on equal ground? Could this young man really see the true her twixt the mirage? 

Luffy had taken an instantaneous liking to her. This was, of course, after he had seen how everyone else threw themselves to the feet of the young woman. “I could use someone like you on my crew!” He had exclaimed. “Nami has been getting onto me about…. ‘Public relationships,’ and such. ‘Parently people don’t like us. Well, I don’t know care. But she’ll know what to do with ‘ya!” 

The boy might as well have thrown a bouquet of roses and a diamond ring at her, because she was smitten. “Yes, yes, I will come!” She had cried. 

The young woman shuffled her sitting position to rest her back on the rails of the nest. She had almost fallen asleep while reminiscing on her meeting of her captain. She felt as though she owed everything to him. He had given her a family. He had given her a home. Most important of all, he had given her hope. 

A smile crept up onto her face, and she gazed lovingly at the stars.

*------*-------*-------*

“Where is she?” Sanji inquired, eyeballing the untouched plate still resting on the dining table. Everyone else had eaten. “She was on night duty,” Chopper responded. “I think she fell asleep. I knew that was going to be too much! She was in tatters after yesterday’s fight!”

Luffy listened on, a pout growing on his face. He knew his newbie was struggling to adjust to the intensity of the high-stakes pirate lifestyle. As oblivious as he was by nature, it was hard to ignore the signs when his newbie had collapsed in front of him multiple times before. He’d sweep her up every time. He’d get met with a “Please, Luffy, I can get it myself,” to which he’d just give a sly grin and shake his head. “No! Chopper needs to see you!” He’d insist.

And each and every time, he rather liked the feeling of her arms around his neck. 

The captain whistled and giggled as he stretched and slung himself up to the crow’s nest. There she was, his newbie, fast asleep. Luffy’s dark eyes studied her for a brief second, taking note of how peaceful she looked. He’d get her down to Chopper, in a moment. He’d have to stick his tongue out at her, ‘cus his newbie was sure to protest. And he’d enjoy having her frame flush to his, with the warmth of her arms around his neck that he enjoyed so very much.

[hugheses]

I think there was a bit before this but this is most of it.

Transcript below cut

[Cole]

Yeah, I mean, I think both of our older brothers played together growing up, so I think somewhere along the way we met. But I think I played a tournament in Toronto with the Bulldogs, with Jack, and that was kind of the first time I was like, I think I'm a pretty bad hockey player. But, I mean, the whole family's great.

They love the game, they're so passionate about it, but obviously from any age you knew Jack was going to be something special.

[Amanda]

What was it about the way he played from that young age that you could see that? Because you're not such a bad player yourself, too, you know?

[Cole]

I mean, just the way he skated. He could always handle the puck well, move the puck well, but I think it's just like the skating talent, everybody at that age could kind of move around, but he was like, probably skated the same way he does now, just a little bit slower back then. You know, he's very special, and it's cool to see how far he's come, but for sure always special to watch.

[Amanda]

And I know that you guys speak to each other, you're still really good buddies, right? So tell me what the Hughes brothers are like when they're up at their cottage. I've heard the stories, the boat, the house, all that.

What's it like when you guys get away together, away from this game?

[Cole]

I mean, it's pretty much anything that we can play a game at. I mean, I just moved five minutes away from their place, so it's even worse than it was. I mean, they're just chill guys.

I mean, they like to compete or whatever, but surprisingly really good cooks and guys that take care of themselves. Obviously, it's always fun being on the boat and kind of messing around, but I think at the end of the day, everybody's just looking out for each other and having a good time. But summertime is fun for sure.

[Amanda]

They are very competitive, as I'm sure you are as well. So what brings out the most competitive spirit? Is it pool?

Is it something, you know, water ski- What is it that brings out that summer competitive spirit the most that gets a little heated?

[Cole]

Yeah, I mean, obviously that pool table's gotten the most use I've ever seen out of something. It's a chalkboard with so many names about how many wins they have. It's either that, ping pong.

Otherwise, we're on the boat. But some nights can get a little bit more fun than that. But again, everything's just out of fun.

I think we've got a good group of guys over there, and everybody just likes hanging out with each other.

[Amanda]

And what's Luke like away from the arena? I mean, he's got a real competitive drive too, and I've heard that he is the best at pool. He's shaking his head, by the way, for people who can't see.

Cole is shaking his head. Is he actually the best at pool?

[Cole]

Yeah, I mean, he's tough to beat. I think everybody's chasing him. I mean, I think he's got his own pool stick.

I don't want to confirm that, but I want to say everybody's chasing him down. If you don't know that, he'll probably tell you. No questions asked.

He's also a guy who never stops eating.

[Amanda]

You know his nickname is Rusty, right? Do we know where that originates? I mean, obviously I know it's from Ocean's Eleven and Brad Pitt's character, Rusty, who in every scene he's always snacking on something or whatever, but it's kind of crazy.

[Cole]

I think he's going to fill himself out pretty well moving forward here.

[Amanda]

And then just as friends, what do you enjoy most about competing against them?

[Cole]

I mean, honestly, they're really special at what they do. They love what they do. It's pretty cool to be able to get to train with them and kind of compete against the best, and that's kind of what you want.

So to be around them, golf with them, do whatever, it's definitely good to just stay competitive in the offseason, but also have guys like that you can lean on and talk to throughout the year.

[Amanda]

All right, we'll do this quickly. Out of the three of you, we'll leave Quinn out of this because he's not involved here. So out of the three of you, who is the best wakeboarder?

[Cole]

Jack.

[Amanda]

Who drives the boat the best?

[Cole]

Probably Jack, too. Luke's pretty good, but I think everybody's more comfortable when he's not behind the wheel. Do you have your boating license? Are you able to?

I've driven their boat a couple times, yeah. I've got to get one for myself, but I probably trust myself more than Luke.

[Amanda]

Best baseball player, if you play?

[Cole]

Me, 100%.

[Amanda]

You?

[Cole]

Yeah, we used to play in high school. I know they all played growing up, but for sure me. We'll have to settle that this summer in a batting cage or something.

[Amanda]

Do you guys play basketball at all together?

[Cole]

Oh, yeah, we used to play two-on-two, one-on-one. If a guy gets out of hand, I think me and Alex Turcotte won a two-v-two this summer. We beat Luke, which is surprising.

Getting him down low, it's tough to defend, but you can get him moving on the outside. You can't keep up. He for sure got his fair share of points on me down low, which is not fun.

[Amanda]

Two-on-two, who is Luke? Is it Luke and Jack? Is it Luke and Quinn?

[Cole]

I don't know who he was with. I mean, we have a huge group, like Larkin, Norris. Glendening, too.

We had a bunch of guys that were just like dogs in a paint. It was crazy. Me and Turcs won, and I was like, there's no way we just did that.

We needed to be on the shelf for two weeks afterwards. That was probably the most sweat I've ever had today, for sure.

[Amanda]

Lastly, Ellen has told me this story, how when they were growing up, that Ellen and Jim used to tell Quinn and Jack, please just try and pass the puck to Luke once in a while. Let the guy do it once in a while. I know you're laughing there.

What does that tell you about these brothers, that family? Does that not check out when it comes to Luke and the boys?

[Cole]

Yeah, I mean, obviously, being the younger brother, I'm a younger brother, too. That's just how it is. But now I think everybody's old enough that it's kind of getting out of the question a little bit.

But he for sure is always the last one for stuff. I feel like I always hear Ellen kind of tell him, just get Luke in on something. Get Luke involved a little bit more.

But Luke's great, a really good human being, to be honest with you. Definitely needs a little bit more respect, I think. And I'll give it to him this summer, for sure.

But I think he's being able to move into the house this year. Now that he's played a couple more games, so that's huge.

[Amanda]

Thanks, Cole. Really appreciate it.

[sky-scribbles]

Party Banter with Rook!Blackwall

Harding: You know, for a moment back there, I thought you might actually get through to Solas.

Thom: Regret’s something we have in common. I thought… if I reached out to him, told him I understood what guilt drives you to do…

Harding: But no. ‘Do not compare your regrets with mine, Thom Rainier!’

Thom: He’s right, though. He can at least say he did his crimes trying to stop tyrants. I did mine for coin.

Harding: Uh, yeah, and then you faced up to it and decided no one else was going to get hurt for it except you. Solas is right. He’s nothing like you.

—

Lucanis: Do we have a problem, Warden Rainier?

Thom: You kill people. For gold.

Lucanis: I do. Venatori. Blood mages. The political rivals of those who hired me.

Thom: And that’s enough for you? Someone flashes a purse, and you’re ready to murder over some nobles’ spat over which of them gets the bigger fancy house?

Lucanis: Depends on the size of the purse.

—

Bellara: Um, so, about the mayor of D'Meta's Crossing? I just… do you really want someone like that? In the Wardens, I mean.

Thom: I won’t defend him. But he wouldn’t be the first Warden who let innocent people die for gold, and got another chance from the Order.

Bellara: He doesn’t deserve it. Like, really, really doesn’t deserve it.

Thom: No. Neither did I.

—

Thom: Do you ever get people trying to bribe you? To look the other way, or drop a case, or...

Neve: It's Minrathous. If I took even half the bribes I've been offered, I could buy an estate in Hightown.

Thom: It takes a special kind of strength to resist that.

—

Thom: I got a letter from Sera the other day. Don’t ask me how she got it to the Lighthouse.

Harding: ‘Friends’, I bet. And hey - she dealt with the Fade for you! So what'd she say?

Thom: Well, there was a lot of calling Solas a shite-faced arseknuckle. And then she told me not to get killed, or she’d yank my beard ‘til my head came off.

Harding: Aw.

—

Lucanis: Rainier, I do not knife civilians. Everyone I have killed has been embedded in politics. Their hands are never clean.

Thom: And you're sure you’ve never made a mistake? Never got a passer-by or a child caught in all the blades and arrows? Never gone in without knowing everything, and got someone hurt?

Lucanis: Of course not. I’m a professional.

Thom: You’re a mercenary with a cape.

—

Thom: You could’ve left Dock Town. A mage. Talented. You could’ve gone anywhere, chased a better life.

Neve: If I left, I’d be abandoning people who never got that choice. I’m good where I’m at.

Thom: I hope you know how admirable that makes you.

Neve: Not that admirable. If I got that estate in Hightown? Too far to walk to Hal’s fish stand.

Thom: (laughs) Good priorities.

—

Davrin: So, Rainier. Heard a lot of rumours about how you joined the Wardens.

Thom: (uneasy noise) You know, Warden Blackwall told me your past gets forgotten after the Joining.

Davrin: A nice ideal, but it never stands up to the gossip. But you’ve shown your worth.

Thom: Enough for me to have one of those griffons when we rescue them, d’you reckon?

Davrin: (laughs) We’ll see.

—

Thom: I knew someone like Manfred once. He was a spirit, but he sort of… grew his own body.

Emmrich: Oh! A spontaneous incarnation! Do you happen to know what kind of spirit he was?

Thom: Uh… the kind that looks like a young man, but reads minds and flits about trying to make everyone feel better about themselves?

Emmrich: Ah, Compassion! A rather more advanced emotion than Curiosity, and therefore capable of manifesting a physical body, rather than needing to adopt a vacant one.

Thom: More advanced? Right. That explains why Cole used to talk to me about living with the weight of regret, and Manfred spent ten minutes yesterday poking my face to see if my beard came off.

—

Neve: So, you know Dorian?

Thom: Does anyone who’s been in the same room as him for thirty seconds get a choice about knowing Dorian?

Neve: And didn’t always get along, I take it.

Thom: He’s… he’s not so bad. We might’ve judged each other by first impressions back when we met.

Neve: And what’s your impression now?

Blackwall: Still too fancy for his own good. But it says exactly who he is that he’s fighting against slavers and blood mages. I think I got the better deal with the darkspawn.

—

Taash: I heard the Inquisitor turned into a dragon.

Thom: No, she… didn’t. But she did get one to fight with us once.

Taash: She did? What kind? How’d she do it?

Thom: Sort of… gold? And she drank from this pool of elven magic, and… that somehow let her ask it to help us. I think.

Taash: Did she ride it into battle?

Thom: Uh… No.

Taash: Oh. I would’ve ridden it into battle.

—

Thom: Emmrich, do you know what those demons were the other day? The ones that wouldn’t leave me alone?

Emmrich: Ah. Those were manifestations of Shame. A variant of the Despair spirit.

Thom: Right. Don’t know what I expected.

Emmrich: If it’s any consolation, I find that one can tell much more about a person from the more benign spirits that gather around them. I catch glimpses of them about you often. Valour. Fortitude. Honour.

Thom: I hope to be worthy of them.

—

Thom: Lucanis, have you ever regretted any of your kills?

Lucanis: Not so far.

Thom: So this is what you’re fine with being? A man who takes nobles’ money and lives in luxury with your bloodied hands? That's the life you chose?

Lucanis: Not ‘chose’, exactly. It is what I was trained to be since my childhood.

Thom: Wait. You were – who trains a child to be an assassin?

Lucanis: You met my grandmother.

—

Davrin: You held up pretty well in the last fight, Rainier. For an old man.

Thom: Whelp like you’d better watch what he says around a senior Warden.

Davrin: Why? You’ll tell me to do the fifty press-ups that your creaky bones can’t handle?

Thom (laughs) I’ll stop letting you borrow my best chisel.

—

Bellara: Hey, um, Thom? You know that little rocking griffon you made? Could you make, I don’t know, a bigger one? Like… adult… person-sized?

Thom: (chuckles) You never have a rocking griffon growing up?

Bellara: No! They’re not a Dalish thing! Because you can’t really rock. When the aravel’s moving, I mean. So… no, it’s a dumb idea. Forget I said anything.

Thom: You want me to make it a rocking halla?

Bellara: Yes please thank you.

—

Emmrich: How far you must have travelled, with both the Inquisition and the Wardens!

Thom: I like being on the road. Keeps a man honest.

Emmrich: I rather envy your fearlessness of the wider world. It’s so recent that the end of the Circles allowed me to travel freely outside the Necropolis.

Thom: Must have been freeing. Having the whole world suddenly open to you.

Emmrich: And rather overwhelming, I must admit. When I compare myself to you – a brave Warden, combatting the Blight across all of Thedas…

Thom: Trust me: compare the two of us, and that’s the only way I’ll come out better from it.

—

Thom: We fought quite a few dragons in the Inquisition. Almost got eaten once by some pissed-off beast in the Hinterlands. Kept throwing its dragonlings at us.

Taash: Fereldan Frostbacks are crappy mothers. First sign of trouble, and it’s ‘here! Take my children!’

Thom: (laughs) The worst was the lightning-spitter off the Storm Coast. Spent twenty minutes hacking away at its scales, rest of my team unconscious on the ground.

Taash: Wait - you what? That's not how you fight dragons. You can't just stand there and hit them. That's stupid. And boring.

—

Lucanis: It’s how the Crow Houses work. Children of the House lineage are trained from our infancy.

Thom: Andraste’s fucking tits.

Lucanis: It’s necessary. If Illario and I had been coddled… Caterina pushed us hard and young, because she wanted us to survive.

Thom: I don’t… (sighs) The things people do to children.

—

Harding: I never thought to ask - how come Varric changed your nickname?

Thom: I asked him to go with something else. 'Hero'... that was a name he gave to Blackwall.

Harding: Well, he chose the right name. You know, 'cause Rooks move in straight lines. And you charge right in there, don't mess around with fancy words, just hit things til they drop. You could say you're -

Thom: Don't do it, Lace.

Harding: Straightforward.

Thom: (chuckles) You're as bad as Sera.

—

Emmrich: Master Rainier, I wanted to say – I hope you know that you’re the only person here who looks at you with any harshness.

Thom: I – (sighs) You don’t know everything about me.

Emmrich: I would never claim to. But I know that you place yourself before your allies and the defenceless without hesitation and with utter selflessness. I know you understand your Warden oath better than many of your superiors. I know that you are a good man.

Thom: … I wish I knew what it was like to be you. Seeing the good in everyone, living or dead.

Emmrich: Then I hope you’ll permit me continue to see the good in you – until you can see yourself as I do.

[kandlewick]

In the Queendom of Roses, where such things as seven-league boots and cloaks of invisibility really exist, it is quite a misfortune to be born the eldest of three. Everyone knows you are the one who will fail first, and worst, if the three of you set out to seek your fortunes. gn reader x rook, a howl's moving castle au pt. 1 2

You, being born the eldest of three, always knew you wouldn't make it far in life. It was to be expected after all. You were fated to fail first and worst out of your siblings. When your siblings both were able to conjure magic from a young age, you could hardly blow a breeze. It would have been embarrassing if you hadn't already humbled yourself as a child. Of course you weren't anything special. The world needed normal, ordinary people too after all. So what if you weren't able to attend fancy colleges and gain the attention of the headmage Ambrose like your sibling had. There was nothing for you to be jealous of because you never aimed higher then what you could reach.

And so, here you were, employed — stuck — at your family's prized hat shop, sitting alone in your little alcove with only your hats as company. It was quiet, some might think too quiet, but it was where you were most comfortable. No expectations, no commentary, just you, your utensils, and your craftsmanship.

You handled your hats with care, quietly whispering blessings with each stitch. They were your creations after all. You might not amount to much but your hats would. They would settled themselves on to the heads of the busy housewives, the men of the army, and the young lovers, each with their own story to tell. You would flatter the hats, just as you would your customers.

"You," handling a small cap adorned with a veil and knot, "will surely be given to someone of glamor and beauty. They won't be able to keep their eyes off of you" You set it out amongst your most prized hats, quietly adjusting it atop the display. This one was made using expensive but durable material. It wouldn't do to have it placed sloppily. It deserved the best.

"And you," you smiled with a small chuckle, picking up a white fedora with a gaudy ribbon tied around it, "will go to a wonderfully handsome man with a good heart, I'm sure of it." It was a rather silly hat, made last minute with some left over materials, but it was sturdy all the same. The colors were also popular in the Queendom of Roses, especially amongst the card soldiers employed at the castle. Maybe one of them might stumble upon your little hat shop and spy this hat in the window.

You talked to your hats more and more as the weeks went by. You were good at selling them so it wasn't hard keeping yourself afloat. Just the other day, one of the Queen's card soldiers had come in to your shop, a man with hair the color of clovers, and sheepishly asked if he could see that one white fedora in the window. He claimed that for some reason, he couldn't stop thinking about it when he had gone off shift and needed to know if it was still available. It was a good sale and you're glad your hat went off to a good owner.

But then one day, on a particularly strenuous and busy day, you found yourself stuck wit horrible artist block. No matter how much you tried, you couldn't find any sort of inspiration for a new hat. Hours were wasted while you wiled away at your desk. Nothing worked and you found yourself teary eyed, sniffling loudly as you rubbed at your burning eyes, spools of ribbon and fabric lying all around you.

"Truly," you sobbed, heart aching, "being the oldest child is the worst curse you can be given."

What good were you if you couldn't even do the one thing you had some modicum of talent for? So what if your shop was popular?Surely this is where you peaked, alone with only the company of your hats. While your siblings were off making their fortune, surrounded by friends and loved ones, you sat here alone in an empty shop. You had no friends to speak of, the only time you ever talked was when your customers gossiped at you and finally it seemed the dam you had tried so hard to ignore had finally broke. The waves of your bottled up emotions drained out of you in waves and you could hardly stand it. What was the point of youth? Compared to others your age, you felt so old, so decrepit. Your bones ached from your poor posture, your hair thinning from the stress, and your eyes were circled with what could be mistaken for charcoal. You have never felt more unfit of your young age in your life.

In your sorrow, you spotted a purple hunter's hat — an incredibly gaudy thing you had made in an attempt to create something, anything of worth — and for the first time in your life, you cursed one of your creations.

"Surely only someone who finds beauty in anything will find any use of you!"

But the days go on whether you liked them to or not. You opened your store once again and quietly pushed down your feelings. You sat in your little alcove again today, quietly and mindlessly stitching something on to another, when you heard the tall tale sign of someone entering your shop. A small jingle followed the stranger as they ducked in almost silently. You inwardly sighed, slouching against your seat, but got up all the same. It wouldn't do not to be polite. You didn't have the fortune to afford it.

"Good evening," You plastered on a small smile at the stranger, a man, before you stopped and actually got a good look of him. He was quite tall, casting a lovely slender figure with his elaborate blonde hair, and was garbed in a bright and obviously expensive purple. His sleeves trailed longer than any you've seen before, all delicate trim and golden weaves. He even wore perfume too. The subtle smell of hyacinths followed him as he turned and smiled, his bright emerald eyes crinkling with delight.

"Bonne soirée!" He eagerly returned your greeting, with a bob of his head, his hand to his chest. You blinked up at him, mildly surprised at his mannerisms but chose not to acknowledge it, instead choosing to respond in kind.

"I've never seen you before," You admitted softly, watching as he slowly turned to admire your work. It wasn't too uncommon for customers to want to see everything but there was something different about this man. The way his eyes never glazed over as he looked, almost as if he was inspecting each one in great detail, almost made you embarrassed. Most people would just mindlessly look for something to catch their fancy but this man seemed almost entranced, as if each piece was a work of art. You both stood there in silence until the strange man seemed to snap out of his trance, his long eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks. Were those tears in his eyes?!

"Ah, forgive me," He apologized, "I was simply admiring them. Is this all your work?" He appeared almost eager for a response, his head bobbed to the side.

You nodded sheepishly, "Yes, these are all my work. It's my job. When I'm not up front with the customers, I'm in my workshop creating them."

His smile, once subdued and quiet, widened. He took your calloused hands in his own and squeezed them. You flushed and scrambled away but his grip was too tight, not uncomfortably so, but enough that it felt too rude to rip your hands away...

"You're incredibly talented, mon ami!" He spoke with such reverence, "All of these hats, each more enchanting then the next, were obviously created from the hands of an artist!" The strange man spoke with such conviction, he almost had you believing him. You could smell the hyacinth even clearer now from your close proximity to him and it nearly made your head spin. What a courtly person!

The stranger, his hands still firmly clasped around your own, turned back to admire your hats. "Each stitch is full of magic, I've never seen anything quiet like it before."

"I - sir, I appreciate your words but I fear they're wasted on me," You let out a nervous laugh as your heart thumped in your chest, its excited beating feeling like it was about to jump straight out or your chest, "They're just hats."

The blonde man was quick to deny this, his hair rolling down his shoulders in waves, "I beg to differ, mon petite souris! Even someone such as I can see all the hard work you've put in to these! There's no need to be so humble!"

Humble! Hardly! If only he knew how you've been the past few days, stuck in your artist block, unable to dig your way out of it. He was wrong! So, so so wrong! You were nothing! This wasn't talent, this was just you using up all the luck left that had been given to you. With an almost annoyed huff, you were quick to free your hands from the strangers embrace and hid them away in your aprons front pocket. Your fingers were shaking.

"I... appreciate your kind words but I do have a business to run," You put on your best customer service voice you could muster and looked away from the man, not seeing the soft crestfallen expression forming on his face. His eyes narrowed but he made no move to reach back out and instead, his voice lowered in to an apologetic tone.

"You're right, mon petite souris. Perhaps in my admiration, I got a bit too excited." The blonde man's gloved hand came to rest against his chest and he gave a small nod of his head towards you, trying to catch your eye, "My apologies."

Well, now on top of your horrible mood, you felt bad. You let out an equally remorseful sigh, and turned back to him but he wasn't looking at you anymore. Instead, his gaze was over your shoulder, looking past you to the lone purple hunter's cap hidden away in the back. The very hat you had cursed.

"If I may be forward," He began slowly while his eyes reluctantly looked away to meet your own, "As an apology, I'd like to purchase that hat from you. Name your price."

You gave him a look but turned to grab it. The feather tucked inside of the red around the brim bobbed as you picked it up.

"This thing?" You asked, "I don't think it's any good. I made it on a whim and —"

Rook slowly plucked it from your hand and admired it for himself, turning it this way and that. His smile was sad but he accepted it all the same, "I think it is a lovely hat," he lowered his head and slid in on top of his blonde hair. It was strange, the hat seemed to... belong with him. While the hat itself was hardly anything to look at on its own, it matched his whole ensemble, like it was a piece of the puzzle that had been missing the whole time.

"How much?" He asked, utterly enamored by his reflection.

You watched from beside him, eyes avoiding your own form, but you offered his reflection a small smile and a shake of your head, "It's free. I couldn't charge you after I was so rude to you."

The stranger's eyes widened for a fraction of a second, his bright green eyes meeting your own, but they were quick to narrow in delight. His lips curled into a smile.

"Thank you, mon petite souris, I will treasure it."

"Is there anything else I can do for you?" As much as you wanted to get back to your work, you couldn't help but silently wish for a few more moments with this stranger. He was so oddly charming.

"Non, non, you've done more then enough for me today." He bowed his head, the feather on his hat bobbing with the movement, and quietly made his way to the door. His steps were silent all the way. "I have much I need to do an I have left two others waiting for my company long enough." And with a final wave of his hand, the strange man exited the shop.

You stood there longer then you should've, staring at the door, his words quietly echoing in your mind.

"All of these hats, each more enchanting then the next, were obviously created from the hands of an artist!"

You scoffed but smiled all the same. Courtly men like that just say things to gain favors. He must've been just trying to butter you up. You shook your head. It was almost a shame you'd never see the man again.

The quiet was soon shattered by a bustle of women worriedly entering the shop, each one calling out for you in worried tones. One of your regulars, an elderly woman was quick to push past the others and hurry her way to you. Her arms wrapped themselves around your shoulders and pulled you down to her height, "Oh, you poor thing!"

"Huh?" You blinked as she pulled away to look you over. Why was everyone so worried about you? "Whats gotten in to you all?"

"Whats gotten in to us?" She shrieked, her feet stomping into your worn floor, "What's gotten in to you! Do you know just who that man was?"

The man? The blonde, courtly man?

"Yes! That man!" She hollered, "That's the wizard Rook! Rook Hunt! The man who eats the hearts of those he sets his sights on! The one with the moving castle!!"

Oh? Oh! Oh.

You just gave the great wizard Rook Hunt an ugly hat.

[tommydarlings]

Mercy | m.v

pairing: mean!dom!max x sub!reader

warnings: smut, chocking, slapping, dacryphilia, spanking, inappropriate usage of a belt, hair pulling, slipknot reference (not an actual warning but i wanted to add it hehe), getting forced to spit cum out, hardcore blowjob

w/c: 2.4K

summary: You were always used to talking back with your bratty mouth and winning the argument in the end, but how is this gonna turn out when you're having an argument with your boyfriend max verstappen? Not very well for you.

song suggestion: mercy by duffy

check this out: my masterlist <3 // my ko-fi to support! <3 // my PayPal to support me! <3 // my Patreon to become a member! (get access to +25 works) <3 // Save a Life carrd made by me! <3

Max is a very impatient person that tends to get angry very easily — everybody knows that, and that’s the exact reason why nobody dares themselves to talk back to the young Dutch driver.

Everybody expect for you.

Growing up with 3 older brothers that sometimes loved to pick on you a bit for fun, taught you quite a lot. You were never able to shut your mouth, you always had to open it and say exactly what you were thinking.

Most of the time it helped you since some people understood the message and left you alone… but some peop-, men… weren’t a fan of your big mouth, like your boyfriend max for an example.

Your boyfriend was only used to people carefully and innocently listening to him, not actually opening their mouth and talking back to the young kart racing talent.

Especially since you were the most innocent and oblivious women he ever met, at least that’s what he taught after the first date the two of you had.

But oh was mad max wrong.

“Shut the fuck up, y/n! I asked you nicely to leave me alone for now, is that so fucking-”

“Do not talk like that to me! Don’t you ever think that you can talk in that tone to me just because you're a man, you-”

And as you should have probably guessed, max hated the fact that you’ve interrupted his sentence and talked back to him.

So he narrowed his eyes at your standing figure before he quickly took long strides over to you and grabbed you by the neck, mercilessly slamming your body against the wall in his driver's room, making you yelp.

For a few seconds he just stared down at your visibly nervous figure, you didn't say anything as well, just looking him deep in the eyes, desperately trying to show him that you do not care.

“Don’t you ever even think about raising your voice like that at me again.” Voice quiet but very stern and strict, “I do not think that I can raise my voice at you just because I am a man, y/n.” Thumb pressing harder into the side of your throat, “But I do think that I can raise my voice at you and speak to you however I want because I know that you would be nothing without me.” He told you harshly.

Then, he raised his other hand to unbutton your navy blue blouse but you didn’t back down, you never back down — so you were the one now to raise your hand and slapped his hand away from your chest area but max hated the fact that you just weren’t able to obey him and be putty in his palms.

He didn’t even say anything, or change his facial expressions, he just quickly threw your trashing hand away and raised his own hand to slap your across the face, eyes not leaving your chest area as he raised his hand again to pursue a second attempt at opening your blouse that’s obviously supposed to represent redbull.

You briefly licked your lips before a grin covered your lips, then you swallowed a tiny amount of fear that build itself up in your throat down and pursued your second attempt at showing him that your not gonna listen to him that easily.

You raised your right hand again and tried to push his big hand away once again, this time you tried to act a little quicker since he almost completely unbuttoned the thin piece of clothing already.

But this time he did look at you. After he pushed your hand away, squeezed your throat harder and slapped you so rough that your head automatically turned itself to the other side, immediately shooting tears into your eyes. You pathetically whined at the impact since it was way harder this time, making him look at you after he unbuttoned the last tiny button.

“If you can’t listen to me, then you have to feel the consequences and believe me, baby,” changing his posture a bit so he stood straighter infront of you, “the consequences that I'm gonna give you are really painful.” he muttered deeply as he quickly removed your blouse, throwing it away before he let go of your throat, making you gasp.

Even though your vision was quite blurry since the slap still hurt like a bitch, you were able to see how max walked backwards and plopped down onto the small, comfy couch in his driver's room.

“Take your clothes off, slowly.” He demanded as he put his arms on top of the armrests and spread his legs, manspreading in front of your still clothed figure as your bottom lip trembled while the tears didn’t stop.

But you only shook your head as you kept your gaze on him, making him throw his back and release a deep and short chuckle.

“You just don’t. want. to. give. up, do you?” Voice harsh and clear but you didn’t care, you just crossed your arms over your chest and repeated your action, shaking your head again.

He briefly sighed before he removed his arms from the armrests and put them on his thighs before he frowned and mumbled under his breath,

“Didn’t even know that I was dating a bitch that needs to be taught some respect and discipline towards her own boyfriend.” He said before he stood up and made his over to his little locker, quickly opening it to obviously look for something specific.

Tears dripped down your red cheeks as he carelessly got a hold of his black, leather belt that he wore today as he arrived at the paddock with his blue jeans and navy blue t-shirt.

If you would think that this is some kind of joke just to make you even more nervous than you already are, you would even laugh but you knew that max was not joking, max was never joking when it came to punishing you for being a brat. If he says that he’s gonna punish you in that and that way, then he’s gonna punish you in that and that way, no doubts.

Without muttering a single word, max sat himself down again, spreading his legs again and motioning your body towards his sitting one with his pointer finger, other hand still holding his belt.

He knew that if you are willing to obey to him, that he doesn’t even need to say anything, you’ll do anything for him without him having to say anything.

And of course, you haven’t made your way over to the visibly angry man sitting on the probably pretty expensive couch in front of you, your ego was way to big for that.

You quickly wiped some of the tears away, briefly sniffing before you stood up straighter and glanced down at the dutch man,

“No?” He asked you, tilting his head to the side before he sighed in a loud tone, rolling his eyes at your childish and bratty behaviour.

“Like I’ve said, little one, who doesn’t want to listen, has to feel.” Max said in a rather calm tone before he stood up, grabbed your upper in a very tight and quite painful way and sat himself down again, throwing you in the process over his thighs.

You loudly complained, trashing with your arms and legs around but secretly you didn’t even wanted to leave his place to be honest, you just couldn’t disappoint your own ego.

“Stay still.” He harshly spat at your trashing figure before he unexpectedly raised his hand and spanked your almost bare ass — great choice to wear a skirt by the way — with his leather belt, immediately making all your limbs stop trashing and gasp in a high pitched tone as tears shot in your eyes, making you grab his racing suit.

He briefly chuckled as he noticed how much you’ve regret doing everything you’ve done earlier, “Oh now we're regretting it? After I’ve told you multiple times already in the past that, that bratty behaviour isn’t gonna get you anywhere in life, especially not when you're with me?” Spanking your poor ass another three times as he went on,

“And your always gonna be mine.” Spank. “You’ll never leave me, “ Spank. “Believe me, I’ll make sure of that.” Spank. He chuckled in a mean way before he swiftly removed your white thong, quickly putting it in front of your face.

“That’s your chance to show me that you are able to listen to me and that I’ve taught you well in the past.” Quickly giving you another hard and loud spank with the long piece of clothing before he continued, “Open. Your. Mouth.” He demanded while his belt glided along your red ass cheeks.

But after a few seconds of watching you removing your gaze from his hand that’s in front of your face and putting your eyes onto your fingers that are currently squeezing his racing suit since the spankings with the leather material really hurt, he got his answer.

“Alright,” he muttered under his breath, “If that’s how you want this to go, then so it’ll be, you little bitch,” your boyfriend spat in a raspy tone before he threw your panties away and grabbed your throat, swiftly pulling your head upwards.

His nose glided along the top of your head as he spoke up, “you better not forget that I gave you a choice and you fucked it up.” Spanking your ass with his leather belt again, “So everything that’s gonna happen in the next hour is not. my. fault,” he told you angrily before he spanked you again, making you gasp and cry out as tears covered your vision.

“H-Hour?” You nervously asked him, you’ve never before had sex for an hour, especially not sex that… rough and painful. But you loved it and he’s knows that.

You heard him chuckle as he wiped one of your tears with his thumb away, “Oh you think I’m gonna spank that pretty ass of yours for a few times, edge you 2 or 3 times, slap that little face of yours and then let you go?, no, that’s not how it works, y/n, baby.”

You gulped, “h-how does it w-work, then?”

He slowly retreated his hand around your throat, dropping your head, before he put his big palm on the top of your head and pushed your wet face in the soft material of the couch.

“You’ll see,” he mumbled in a hush tone, Dutch accent covering his voice before spanked your with his belt another five times, making you jolt every single time the hard leather touched your hot skin.

“P-Please!,” you begged in a quiet tone, voice already quite hoarse, “Please, m-max-”

“What? Please what, y/n… say it, c'mon,” he demanded as his hand didn’t stop spanking your poor ass with his belt, other hand still forcing your face down into the couch.

You sniffled before you spoke up again, “Please m-make it s-stop, maxie.”

He chuckled at the pretty nickname you’ve been calling since the two of you are dating, “Do not call me maxie now, y/n,” he said, spanking your ass with the hard leather one last time before he picked your by your hair up, making you gasp.

After wiping some of your tears way — smudging your mascara and also slightly your lipstick in the process — max quickly put his belt around your wrists, tightened it around your delicate skin before he finally looked you in the eyes.

“Get on your knees,” max demanded in a quiet tone.

Since you knew that you’ve already fucked up, you’ve actually obeyed this time and removed your trembling body from his lap and got on your knees in front of the dutch man, closely watching him as he opened his racing suit and freed his very visible erection, tip already leaking with pre-cum.

You licked your lips at the beautiful sight in front of you. You’ve raised your hands to touch him and make him feel good but the black belt around your wrists didn’t allow that, making you gulp as his big hand grabbed your hair, lifting your head again.

“Stop whining, you are the only one that’s responsible for all of that,�� max told you harshly, putting a few loose strands of hair out of your wet and heated face, “C’mere,” he mumbled quietly before he forced your mouth towards his dick.

“F-Fucking shit,” he growled as your mouth went around his dick, forcing his dick down your throat until you gagged, “that’s exactly what your mouth's good for and nothing else you hear me?” Throwing his head back as he noticed how tears glided down your cheeks again and how gagging and sloppy sounds filled the air, making him moan.

You choked on his length, obviously showing him that you want to go a tiny bit slower since the pain of his spanking with his belt still hurt like a bitch, but max didn’t care.

He put your hair in a messy and careless makeshift ponytail before he forced your mouth even further down onto his cock, so far that the tip of your nose was already touching his pelvis, making you squeeze your eyes shut as tears already fell onto his thighs.

“Just like that, baby,” the Dutch driver whined in a deep tone, groaning before he went on, “That’s w-what you get for talking b-back to me, fucking h-hell.” Throwing his back and slightly arching his back as soon as he came into your mouth, hand now slowly leaving your head, dropping your hair again.

Max quickly calmed himself down before he looked down at you,

“Open,“ nodding his chin in your direction before you obeyed and opened your mouth.

You don’t have a lot of sexual kinks, but if there’s one thing that you absolutely love then it’s swallowed his cum, it’s basically some kind of prove for you — the prove that you are the only one that can make him cum that quick and like that.

He briefly bit his and smiled as he saw the amount of cum on your tongue, but after staring at it for a couple of seconds he didn’t order you to swallow it, no — he grabbed the back of your neck and swiftly lifted himself up, dragging you with him as he made his way over to the small sink in the corner of his driver's room.

You gasped as he pressed your shaking body against the hard, white sink, brows furrowing at his action, not understanding what he wants from you.

“Spit. It. Out,” Max demanded from you as he put his other hand on your chin, leaning your head forward while his other hand still held your back in place. Your eyes widened before you let his cum drip it’s way down your tongue that was covered in it, making your boyfriend chuckle.

“Good girl.”

[fastcardotmp3]

welcome to dot drops something that's been sitting in her tumblr drafts for 4 months Saturday I hope you enjoy your visit mwah! Steddie; Ballet AU; Dancer!Steve; mentions of cancer treatment; 1.5k words

Dress rehearsal is supposed to be a mess.

That's the point of it, really, to get all the mistakes out of your system and start the actual show run with a clean slate. Or at least, that had been the point of which they'd all convinced themselves when Steve was the one performing.

Bad dress meant good show, or so the old adage went, and so at least there was some ease of worry with the collective understanding that it won't happen on the night within the company.

That was the case when Steve was a student, when he was an apprentice, even during his time in the big leagues at Joffrey, but right now? At the end of a truly abysmal dress in this run-down theater on the edge of a town from which he'd once run away?

Steve is not the performer. He's the guy in charge.

And so he spirals.

He'd never wanted to be a director or an instructor or the head of a studio like this. It had never been in his plans. Steve was a man of action, where the people who do these jobs are the brains behind the operation.

Steve knows how to work hard, how to force his body and even his mind into submission until he gets the steps just right, but this? These past six months back in Hawkins temporarily helping out?

(God, please let it be temporary.)

He's not built for this. He's sitting center stage after everyone has left with only half the house lights to illuminate his misery and he's not. Built. For. This.

Not built for being a mentor or a leader or a role model; not built to handle the strenuous nature of his mother's legacy; not built to carry the name she's made for herself as a teacher and a choreographer and a shaper of young dancers.

Steve's not built for it!

They'd had a shitty fucking dress.

"Hey, uh, you gonna be a while? I kinda need to close up for the night."

The voice echoes across the empty space, bouncing off the high ceiling and straight up to land on the Marley floors at Steve's feet. The stage isn't built for dancers, much like Steve isn't built to be here, so they'd had to pull up the floors from the studio and drag them halfway across town just to roll them out here.

"Hello? Are you, like, alive up there?"

Steve sighs. "Yeah," he calls back, catching sight of the figure talking to him at the back of the theater, the young guy who runs the place and who Steve met a grand total of three days ago. His name is Eddie and he dresses more like he's running a music venue than a local community theater, but he's mostly stayed out of Steve's way so far. "Sorry, I'll get outta your hair."

"Sure," Eddie says, but he's just sort of leaning against the back wall by the window to the sound and lighting booth without an ounce of urgency to him as Steve drags himself to his aching feet and lugs his three separate bags of show stuff onto his shoulders.

There's an energy to an empty theater, one which has held a performance and one which now holds the ghosts of that performance, which tugs at the anxieties sitting buried deep beneath the more immediate ones.

Fears about his mom's health, about what will happen to the studio if she doesn't win this particular battle, about what will happen to him.

There's an energy here in the creak of the steps which lead down off the front of the stage and there's an energy to the plod of Steve's sneakers up the long, racked aisle between the seats.

There's an energy, but it's also not empty, is it.

"Hey, good show, dude," Eddie says, pushing off his wall as Steve grows nearer. "Like, talented kids you've got there."

Steve scoffs before he can help himself and then pinches the bridge of his nose in a grimace for not being able to help himself.

"Uh, yeah, thanks," he grits out, thinking about his bed. Thinking about how he never made time for dinner and he has to be here early again tomorrow.

"Wow, resounding confidence on this one," Eddie snorts, and when Steve opens his eyes it's to genuine amusement, genuine curiosity in the tilt of a head and furrow of a brow.

"No, just," he shakes his head, "you should see 'em when they're really on their game, y'know?"

Eddie hums, and when did Steve come to a stop right in front of him? He's leaving. He has to leave. Go home. Think about all the spacing corrections he needs to fix tomorrow and run through with the girls before show time.

"Bad dress, good show though, right?"

Steve startles. Maybe a little too visibly because Eddie is actively holding back laughter at the sight of him.

"What, I've worked at a theater for four years and I'm not supposed to pick up a thing or two about the ballet?" he snarks good-naturedly. "Caroline, the lady who did your job before you, she was a chatty one, taught me everything I know about Giselle."

It's a knife between the ribs. It's a soothing sort of heat, like from a roaring bonfire.

"You--" he clears his throat, "you know Caroline?"

"Highlight of the job honestly, before she retired," Eddie shrugs.

"She didn't retire."

"Oh. She...?"

"Chemo," Steve doesn't know why he's saying it all so willingly, why after months of trying to run the studio without having to talk about how's your mom doing, sweetheart? he's opening up to this stranger with the curly hair and curious eyes. But he knows her. He's-- Well, he knows her. "I'm just here to-- to fill in until she can come back. So."

Eddie is studying him now. Curious eyes turned intelligent, knowing, sad with the weight of realization.

"You're the wonder boy," he says on a breath like oh, I get it now.

"The what?" Steve balks.

"Her kid," Eddie says like it's simple. He's leaning against the wall again, like he's not planning on getting back to work anymore, "she was-- Shit, man, she loves the hell outta you. Oh, you should see my son, he's in Les Corsaire this season! Oh, my boy, he's just gotten promoted to soloist, he'll be a principal in no time! Oh, the talent on him, the--"

"Okay, okay, Jesus," Steve cuts him off, a half-hysterical laugh bubbling up out of his chest in the process.

"You should tell her I say hi next time you see her," Eddie isn't remotely deterred by having his little, lilting performance derailed. There's a softness to him that deserves a smaller space, walls less prone to echo.

"I will," Steve nods. His bags grow heavy on his shoulders.

"And you should chill out a little bit," he says, this time with the kind of glint to his eye that needs a bigger space, needs to be up on the stage to the point where it has Steve floundering, "y'know, about the the shitty dress that, between you and me," he leans in conspiratorially, close enough to feel the heat of his breath, "wasn't really all that shitty."

Steve sucks in a breath.

It strikes him somewhere old, the reassurance, somewhere young deep inside of him. The comforting from a mother that if he just works hard enough he’ll land that double tour in fifth some day soon, the unbroken promise that she would never give him special treatment as the son of the studio owner, but that she would never hesitate to reward him when he’d earned it on his own.

It strikes him because no one tells you how little reassurance the guy in charge is ever offered and it strikes him because it’s been such a long day and it strikes him because—

“Hey, have you had dinner yet?”

Eddie’s eyebrows lift high on his forehead and Steve sees it, the attitude on this dude that his mother absolutely would have loved in an instant. There’s a performer in there, even just in the brief interaction they’ve shared so far. There’s a spotlight pointing inwards and a show begging to be dragged out.

“No,” Eddie drags out slow and curious, “you offering, ballet boy?”

Steve needs a sounding board and he needs another set of eyes and he needs his mom to be okay and the show tomorrow to prove that he can handle this for her if she’s not, but maybe what he needs most right now, on the other side of a spiral in a dark and echoing theater, is this.

“Meet me at Benny’s in thirty,” he says simply as he makes his way for the door. “Since you’re such an experienced test audience.”

Eddie’s responding laugh is bright and his eyes glitter with curious amusement and maybe this is what Steve needs because maybe all of this is one big rehearsal at a big new life in and old small town.

And maybe this is his chance to make a mess of it. At least until the real show starts.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Kalim, Vil: Pyrite, Prince, and Pauper

Wah 😭 I really love the initial art!! The water shimmering and making a rainbow… ✨ (Not used to seeing Kalim without his headscarf though, feels weird to see him bare!)

A Tale as Old as Time.

If Kalim had to pick one word to describe what he was looking at, it would be celebration.

It was both humble and extravagant at once—the city streets, the venue, livened up with flags, confetti, and fanfare. A large elephant fitted with a vest and hat towered over the gathered townsfolk. Seated upon him was a young man in a turban and glaringly white robes, an arm extended to the sky.

A grand party for the public, and all were invited. Children and adults, animals and humans, nobles and street rats.

Kalim broke out into a wide smile. “Wow, it looks like everyone’s having so much fun!”

“You never seem to tire from the idea,” Vil commented dryly.

The supermodel patiently tapped a manicured nail against his arm. “I suppose a host showing his best face to the public is far from undesirable. I’ve certainly been to my fair share of events where the host was less than that.”

“Gahahah! You’re famous, so it makes sense you’d be in high demand at parties. Jamil told me about that red carpet you walked a little while ago. I managed to catch some of it on TV!”

Kalim’s garnet eyes glinted with excitement.

“You were all sparkly and the crowd was so happy to see you! You’re like the prince in this painting, hyping everyone up.”

“My, thank you for your support.” Vil’s lip curled. “I’m sure you’re in high demand as well… albeit for different reasons than I. Many would love to have the attention of the Asim heir on them.”

The third year chuckled, a hand tucked under his chin. “It’s only natural for people to be attracted to that which shines.”

“Shines, huh…”

Kalim folded his arms, inclining his head to one side. His mouth pinched slightly, disrupting the arc of his smile.

“… Hey, Vil. Can I ask you something?”

“You need not request for my permission.” Vil waved a hand. “Continue.”

“Do you really think I shine? Like, on stage.” A pause, then he quickly added, “And you can be honest with me. Please… be honest with me.”

“What’s this now?” Vil planted his hands on his hips. “Certainly, you’re not ordinary by any means, but I’d hesitate to call you a refined gem. A one month boot camp isn’t enough to polish your singing and dancing skills to that of a pro—but you’re not talking about VDC, are you?”

“Ahahah… Looks like you caught me.” Kalim let his arms fall to his sides.

“You can’t fool this actor’s eyes,” Vil said simply. “So? What is it that you’re actually after? It’s not like you to talk in circles.”

“It’s nothing. I… A lot’s been on my mind since winter break. Too many things. When I think about it for too long, I start to wonder if I’m really what people say I am.”

You’re so talented, Kalim-sama.

So handsome.

So smart.

So kind.

The very best.

“Sometimes...” He tugged at his collar, watching how it sparkled and shifted as he maneuvered the fabric. “it feels like I'm all dressed up with nowhere to go. Or like my clothes don’t fit me right.”

The golden boy, the prince to make way for, the sun all looked to. They were the roles he wore, but suddenly they felt hollow.

Lies set adrift on an errant wind.

Dust of pyrite, fool’s gold.

Am I pretending to be something I’m not?

“… I’m not making a lot of sense, am I?” Kalim laughed softly, forcing a smile. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have made today feel sad.”

“On the contrary,” Vil tutted, “I understand all too well. All the makeup in the world, the nicest clothes, and the most skilled stylists cannot make a pauper become a prince. A pauper is a pauper, no matter how they present.

“However… a perfect little prince is not all that has value. I’ve played enough parts and been in enough productions to know. There are swash-buckling pirates, daring space heroes, dastardly villains, and, yes, even clever, honest street rats who find themselves in the public eye. Perhaps they did not start off as diamonds, but in the end they proved themselves to be diamonds in the rough.”

Vil lifted his chin—indignant.

“Regardless of how others perceive you or what ensemble you wear, you remain yourself. So long as you hold true to your own moral compass and principles, you shall always be someone who shi… Ough!!”

He could scarcely finish his sentence before he was tackled. Kalim was embracing him tightly, only pulling back when Vil muttered that he was creasing both of their suits.

“Thanks, Vil!! Talking with you made me feel so much better! You’re really not as bad as they say you are.”

Vil frowned. “I’m aware that I have my detractors, but you must learn to be more tactful with your choice of words.”

“Tactful, right! Got it! I can do that.”

Kalim released him and spun around, splaying his arms out. He pretended to present the painting with a flourish, looking back at Vil.

“Someday, maybe I’ll be as sparkly as he is here!”

So I can meet everyone’s expectations. Talented, handsome, smart, kind, better.

But no matter how I might change, I’m still me.

Still Kalim Al-Asim.

And that was something worth celebrating.

[richeeduvie]

Birds of a Feather || PART TWO

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.

TWO: Take It From The Top Darkish!Aaron Hotchner x Reader

-- PART ONE -- RICHEEDUVIE'S MASTERLIST --

How you got onto the team. When it was over for him, and as tragedies and love stories go, it's always at the beginning. Aaron knew it even then, the way he was thinking about this woman who he just met - the way his head twisted slight attraction into...not so much more. Aaron can always convince himself, for the sake of you and team and his mind, that it's nothing at all.

But this is only the beginning, even then, he knew it was going to get worse as the months went on.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.

5K WORDS

WARNING: Same as Part One. Slow burn? Mentions of death, violence, things of a graphic nature. Criminal minds stuff. pre-Jealous, possessive, and overprotective Hotchner. Entitled behavior. Toxic thought process, not behavior and relationships yet. OC!Hotch sorta cause I don't think he'd turn into this crazy of a person, but reader's just that hot lol. More tags to come maybe cause Hotch is only going to get worse. Maybe reader POV next part?

BCS AND SUCC SUCC GIRLIES I'M SORRY MY MOM IS MAKING ME REWATCH CRIMINAL MINDS AND SHE'S JUST GOTTEN SURGERY, YOU CAN'T BLAME A WOMAN WHO HAS GOTTEN SURGERY...You should be thinking Hotch Daddy any writing motivates me to write about Princesa chugging Lalo's cock down her throat, or a mewling Roman.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.

Six Months Earlier. Following The Day You Met The Team.

As you got around to reading about him, Hotch got around to reading about you in his hotel room, just an hour and a half away from his actual home. It was easier to ignore the way you looked in the station, the bright ray of life that was searing in your smile. It was also too easy to ignore how ridiculous it is to feel that way about a person, a young woman he just met. 

But the others saw it too. 

It didn’t take an FBI profiler to know that you have a habit of…brightening the world around you. When he didn’t know you all that well, it was a fact. Barely interesting at most. There isn’t a need for, and yes, it’s a juvenile description, but a bubbly person…bubbling when three women are dead and there’s supposed to be two more on the way. But it doesn’t take away from anything, the same way Garcia’s demeanor never takes away the fact that she gets the job done every time. 

It didn't take FBI agents to see what you were. Young, bright, and extremely talented when it came to your work. An ebullient woman at her most nervous. You were there helping them and in that, he saw his team become bright themselves under the way you spoke. Even when you curse a bit too much under your breath, the one thing they would learn goes against your wholesomeness, things like that and your general self-deprecation, your inward agitation, they all found it endearing. 

Aaron would not. He would not find anything platonically endearing as much as he did not find those sorts of things attractively endearing. But maybe now, it’s those things he takes as reason to see you as a person to protect, to shelter. 

In the six months he’s had you on the team, you’ve proven you’re more than capable of protecting yourself, that a bubbly, kind personality doesn’t mean defenselessness. With time passing, Aaron has slowly cared less and less about attempting not to see you as the opposite for his own selfish reasons. 

But if they’re there, he doesn’t know what the reasons are. If he can’t, isn’t it more likely for you to be more defenseless and in need of safety than you seem? But it shouldn’t matter, either way. He won’t do anything with it. 

Won’t act on anything. 

A profile (which is what people call them actually, he's sure) in the New Yorker is objectively impressive. Aaron can't beat around that. 

It was bare when it came to the personal aspects of your life, nothing much outside of your self-subsistent career. At the time, it felt disrespectful of a talented, well-meaning and investigative stranger to press thought onto the parts that detailed questions and paragraphs of your familial issues with your previous partner, family in general - bits of it went into questioning on how it affected your career, your desire to help people, even your obvious and innate skill on empathic investigation. Aaron wished he could say there was no reason to ask those questions. With morals? There was every reason not to go there, but in his career, he makes those relations day after day. 

No, he did not press on it. 

Name, age. A more detailed version of what you gave when you met the team. He did not press thought onto the little personal aspects that were given.  

‘In scribblings on blogs and smaller articles, there’s always the implication that the reason why Girl Sherlock is so motivated within her work is that said motivation is a result of her past issues surrounding her family, particularly with her father and ex-boyfriend, Anthony. When pushed on this, the young investigator makes sure to make no comment of substance.’ 

“There’s nothing there that would help people realize who I am and why I do what I do.” 

‘Out of respect, I do not ask further. Out of the need for the truth, more in-depth research done after the actual interview leads to records of her parent’s divorce papers. Family-wise, there is not much information that can be found besides the separation of the mother and father. But, it’s the multiple domestic violence charges against Anthony Bogosian that bring concern. There was no conviction. Though the assumption is that the general audience of her work as well as this profile is an audience not made up of private profilers, it doesn’t take much to assume that if Girl Sherlock was the recipient of abuse, it would explain why she especially takes to cases of a domestic nature.’ 

The actual day, the first one with you went smoothly. There would not be a chance where the team didn’t make a comment on you the moment you left the room. 

“I lost my red-bottom heel at a bar called Charm’s Chamber when I was twenty-six.” 

“I’m not that much older, but when I was twent-” 

“We know which degree you finished earning while at the BAU when you were her age, Reid.” 

Reid went silent after Emily’s needed interruption. 

“Three serial killers. Or…what she thought was three at first, doing all that? Bringing this here?” Derek’s leanback was a gesture to the table, the files. “It’s crazy, and were these all cases the FBI rejected?” 

Aaron saw the way J.J’s eyes and its blue shift were a flinch in a way. He didn’t blink as he stood to look at the board. “There were cases I thought took priority, I mean…I remember the Wyoming Skinner but we had-I mean…I don’t know how we, I didn’t go back on it-” 

“It’s not your fault, don’t dwell on it.” 

He could imagine J.J looking at him. “Yeah, J.J. I didn’t mean to call you out. It’s not your fault there’s too many psychos across the states, we’ve seen it. But I don’t know how I haven’t heard of her, a private investigator can have their hits, I know some who were former feds but this? I was reading up on her-” 

“Me too.” 

“I already knew.” 

“It’s crazy, man. It’s a real help anyway. But a big accusation, one killer with three northern state personas - with different signatures. But she explained.” 

That you did. Well and nervous. Aaron could see how you took Rossi’s word, but the bite of your lips, the slow-down of your fingers tapping unevenly on the table. 

“You can take it slow.” 

Rossi’s compassion for his team has always worked better than his spitefulness towards an unsub.

He turned away from the board. Then they were looking at you just outside of the station, on the ground squatting in search of a hairclip. 

“She explained.” 

He still doesn’t understand how you could’ve been so caught up in looking for it. And Aaron didn’t know the team thought he was going to say more. 

“...Hotch?” 

He turned away. 

They were all just looking at him. 

“But Morgan’s right, it is a big accusation. I think we’ll have to find more substantial evidence that can prove it could be the same unsub. I already have Garcia working on similar cases in Ohio and Montana in general, more vague research. We have to start big.” 

He turned back, your hair was falling over. He didn’t sigh, but he felt like he should’ve. You were getting your hands dirty.

“Should somebody help her?” 

It was Morgan again. 

“I’ll go, I’ve been meaning to ask her what she meant when she described her investigative method as ‘interpreting the evidence’.” 

Reid went quickly, leaving his messenger bag behind. Aaron turned back to the group, he watched Emily and she shuffled through the files. 

“Well, even though I think she meant her method was a glorified version of profiling, it’s all impressive. I mean…this is, I don’t mean to fawn…we’ve had good men and women in stations all over who knew how to do their job and do it more than well but she’s done all of this alone and she does it as if it’s a door-to-door salesman sort of deal.” 

Emily put that slight and dragging emphasis on every sixth to seventh word as she leaned over the table. 

He remembers thinking then, that maybe he did press a little. Aaron thought that Garcia most definitely could’ve done a better job finding out about your life than that New Yorker journalist could’ve done about you. 

“It’s obvious she’s very skilled. But we haven’t seen her out in the field.” 

There was silence that he didn’t know meant something, Rossi’s eyes meeting Morgan’s. J.J’s meeting Prentiss’s.

“Out in the field? I don’t think she’s even been out in the field, she’s a talented investigator with what looks to be a budget of seventy dollars, not an official agent in training.” 

Aaron pressed his middle finger to the tip of his thumb, eyes unblinking at Rossi leaned back in his chair. 

“Are we taking her out for investigational interviews…or to wherever the unsub drops the next victim if he has a chance?” 

They were all staring at him. Again. To him. 

“If she came out from San Diego to be here and if she’s been allowed on three cases where victims were being skinned, decapitated, brutalized, then there shouldn’t be the assumption she can’t handle what we’ll find here. She’s come here to make a stretched accusation, she’ll make herself useful. 

It came out harsher than expected. Not in tone, every word is punctual, calm as Aaron makes them, maybe slightly lower. But the words themselves were nearly demeaning. He didn’t know why. There was nothing about your cheerful, bloomed nature that he came to resent yet. Maybe it was how Hotch himself came to be, a man already cold and colder and closed off due to everything and everything, so a beautiful woman who smiled too much, who managed to get Doctor Spencer Reid on the concrete was someone his brain immediately chose to be more cautious around. Showing any other personality that wasn’t stoic, but not unkind would not be suitable. 

Maybe his subconscious was already trying to save himself from the beginning. 

“There goes his germophobia.” 

“It doesn’t take a lot to get a man doing something he’d never think to do for a woman he thinks is pretty.” 

Prentiss scoffed, arms crossed with a stare on Morgan. “He’s known her for twenty minutes.” 

“It usually takes less.” 

The women of the team shook their heads, a humorous and semi-truth from Rossi that Hotch guessed they agreed with, but Prentiss’s head gestured towards the station’s door. “She’s…bubbly. With the mouth of a sailor.” 

His exact description. He followed her stare to the doorway, Reid was there. He couldn’t fault the younger agent on his team for thinking you were pretty. It was amusing as well, to see Reid with his knees digging into the concrete. Good exercise for him, really - and it was even more amusing to see him so readily open…almost in admiration for Girl Sherlock. 

When Hotch thinks of this memory, it’s near-guilt. What he felt at the sight of you and you and Spencer was humorous amusement, it didn't feel that way. 

There’s less near-guilt when he feels like he should blame you. 

“Let’s move before she loses something else.” 

Aaron didn’t mean it as a joke, but with the way he saw the team react, it’s like he did - which usually when he does, they always act as if it’s the first time he’s ever made one. But they went, Rossi pulling on Reid’s ear on the way out. 

A smile from you to each profiled passing by, a clip now in your hair. 

Why couldn’t he look away?

A smile up at him. 

“Are you willing to come with us to the dumpsite?” 

Eyes widening and the smile up at him. A pretty girl who has nothing to smile about, but it was exciting to you, he guesses. Aaron can’t remember if it was ever exciting to him, the means of the job were always just a duty, even when he was younger. 

“Yes, I’d be honored - or…not…it’s dumpsite so not particularly excited that it’s happening, but-” 

“You’ll take the car with me and Rossi.” 

You nodded. “Yes, sir.” 

And like the stereotypical mimicry that exists when you stand in front of someone so open - objectively attractive, he nodded too. 

His eyes flickered. 

“Hotch…or Hotchner will do. But if you’re used to sir, I can’t stop you.” 

That was the first time he talked to you outside of when you met him. It was met with another smile. 

“No figure of authority has ever been able to stop me.” 

Hotch was sure you meant that to be a joke, and he gave it to you. It was funny. You’re a funny girl. You know how to light the room up even without an intentional joke, which you might find a negative - when your cursing or stumbled ramblings end in someone else’s laughter. But it’s not, it could never be. He’s sorry enough that he doesn’t give in more often, nothing more than a small, sly smile. 

Like the one he gave then.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.

Aaron flexed his hand in the hotel bed, it was 2:12am. In a few days, you were found to be right about the killers being a singular monster. One for no particular reason other than a dangerous mix of sadism and psychopathy. A man born in Montana who traveled the northern states for his job, and with each state - five women were to be killed. In all the Northern U.S states. Every single one. 

There was difficulty in finding him to be that one unsub because in his words….in his words, 

“I wanted to, I could. I did.” 

Michael Bakalova. The Akron Phantom, the Wyoming Skinner, the Northwind Killer. When the news broke of his capture, the outlets named him the North American Butcher. Those were names Hotch didn’t want to remember, he was to go against the news cycle and the grain and remember his victims because he knows there’s more outside of what they found. But he thought of Michael Bakalova and what he said when they caught him. 

Those women weren’t surrogates, not one was a target of his rage for a reason other than he wanted to, he could. He did. But in the brutality, there wasn’t any rage, no. 

Pure satisfaction, bliss. It’s what Aaron couldn’t find even after they caught him. But they found that sort of reaction in the kills with you at the station, team in a circle. Penelope on the screen. 

“I see we’re just letting any cutie waltz right into a case, huh?” 

“Garcia.” 

“Sorry, sorry, Boss! I’m Penelope.” 

“What did you find?” 

Aaron doesn’t know when he doesn’t have his arms crossed or straight at his sides. But you were there before you went to look for that clip of yours and your eyes would meet his. And Aaron…he’s lucky enough that he feels that it’s absurd that he prides himself in the way he doesn’t bash and turn away like a schoolboy. That pride acknowledges there’s something in his hands and chest when he looks at you, and feels it’s absurd is self-awareness. 

You always turn away first. He won’t ever be the first one to look away. 

“I like your pink pen edging into view.”

“She has a similar one.” 

They looked to him. You looked to him, eyes wide and bright. That’s all you, you can’t force that type of light to shine. Heaven knows he tried with Haley, for her. To let up on his serious nature, it was easier earlier in their relationship, it’s easy with Jack. But you make figurative gleaming seem like there’s nothing to it. 

But sometimes, in the dark, Aaron thinks about you and realizes that the light can’t be figurative, that he sees it on your skin and through your clothes. In your smile, it’s why he can’t look away. 

“...I didn’t pull that one out.” 

The fluffy blue pen that hid in your bag, Aaron could make the deduction that you, already nervous and having presumably little experience with federal agencies and this area of professionalism, that that pen would not be suitable, it would demean you by looks alone. And he doesn’t know why…to put it objectively, called you out. 

“It’s peeking out of your bag.” 

But Garcia’s presence let you know a pen that’s fluffy is more than okay. And…Aaron wanted that out of his presence too, though he still thinks that’s unnatural. It’s not possible when you’re you in the saw and he’s him in crossed arms. 

“Sir…I don’t know how to respond to that, because that has never happened before - so yes, what I’ve found-” 

Moth to a flame, bird into the sun. Something he’ll forget he thought about himself to convince himself that there are no feelings. There is nothing different about you. 

Michael Bakalova and his names and names made Aaron’s chest break back against his lungs every time he took a breath, it made him feel like he would drown in the sheets - but then he’d flex his hand and unfortunately, a breath would let up when the movement would trigger the memory of helping you over a step. 

“Thank you, Sir Hotchner.” 

It wasn’t a joke, you brought your voice to a lower tone. You meant to call him that with maturity. 

Amusing girl. 

Soft hands, kind squeezes so carefully that Aaron can assume that you think you’ll somehow hurt him. That’s not possible. Not just because you’re you, but he’s him…

What could you do that’d hurt him? Nothing, he’s sure. Maybe if he could think of things, he wouldn’t view you as defenseless as he does. But Aaron knows he’s wrong in that too. 

They couldn’t have done it without you. Ignoring the unfortunate name Girl Sherlock, you were extremely talented. Are. But then, to see you in your element and in the field. You were natural within the investigative questioning when it came to people relevant to the victims. The questions and insights you had at the dumpsites (Talent and passion didn’t defeat the fact they needed Michael Bakalova to kill another victim while they were on the case to find him, it never does). 

You were amazing. And the sun shined down on you well. You take light in well. 

“You can take off that coat.” 

He didn’t see the way Rossi’s head tilted his way, eyes slightly smaller. A thought growing in smugness. You smiled.

Aaron looked at the grass under his shoe, there was mud on leather. There was dirt on your knees. Why are you getting yourself dirty when you don’t have to? What’s so important about a clip that you brown the softness of your hands? Where did you learn that that was okay? That it was okay to take the help of strangers? Reid, a good, overzealous and well-meaning stranger, but a stranger nonetheless. 

He stared right into you, unsmiling. His suggestion was genuine and unhumorous, but you brightened under the sun nonetheless. 

“It’s cold. That’s Virginia's fault. Not mine. But thank you. And this, obviously it’s miles - across state lines but I’m telling you, if you look at the dumpsites in Wyoming, Ohio, and Montana. It’s nearly the same. Country-like backroads. They’re all distant from each other, but it’s an area he feels comfortable in. That couldn’t be just chance.” 

“But change in signature, that means we need to make up for that assumption with more evidence.” 

His head followed yours as you looked around. 

“It has breaks in between, there’s no physical evidence to say he’s just picking a method of kill and torture to have fun with it…but it’s not like it’s different with each victim. Five decapitated one state, five skinned in another.” 

You were looking towards a tree, and it would’ve only been you to know that that tree made a difference, you were there three states before. 

“What is it?” 

“..I’ll be back.” 

He remembers the way he and Rossi looked at each other while you were off with a confused-looking police officer. 

“So this is what Arthur Conan Doyle was going on about.” 

“Dave.” 

“Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Sorry, Sir Hotchner.” 

Aaron nearly glared. Rossi and him slowly made their way towards you. 

“Think of it, we’re Scotland Yard. Have you talked to her officially? Besides when she greeted us and when you asked her to come with us.” 

“What do you think there is to talk to her about? Officially and alone?” 

“I don’t know, I think she’s an interesting case. I like her, she’d be a good fit. Reid can give you a detailed recommendation, apparently.” 

“It’s a lot, and she’s just a consultant. We’ve had those before, she is…unique. It’s admirable, but it’s a stretched suggestion.” 

“You’ve used that word twice today, and I do understand. But I don’t know why you would say it as if you haven’t been observing her like this case is her pre-BAU assessment.” 

Aaron stepped over a leaf. “Have you taken to her, David?” 

“...Wouldn’t hurt to have another nice newbie agent around. Work on the lectures and lessons through someone who needs it.” 

“You mean a fan?” 

“Oh, she knows you too. Remember?” 

He wouldn’t indulge Rossi with a slight smile and softening on a brow with that one as they met up with you. 

“Before I ramble on again, I apologize for the rambling and the murder exposition vomit back at the station. I don’t mean to toot my own horn - or use the word toot but I am proud of my work…but you guys are the agents, I could’ve just thrown you the papers and you would’ve gotten here with me.” 

“Nevermind that, kid. We’ve had worse. Speaking of which, if Reid comes at you again with his tangents, don’t be afraid to tell him to stop. Or walk away.” 

Aaron remembered Reid’s ramblings, ones that were fascinating, not in topic - but to see Spencer believe you’d be interested in what he had to say, another person around his age with interests he knew…from your online, blogging persona. The team saw you. 

“Nightmare on Elm Street was actually inspired by Wes Craven reading the news. Throughout 1981, the Los Angeles Times ran a series of articles about otherwise healthy Laotian refugees who had mysteriously died in their sleep, apparently after experiencing violent nightmares-” 

“Reid.” 

He saw you. 

Of course, he didn’t give you a gun and let you on a chase through streets for a serial killer even though he’s sure Rossi would’ve let you if given the chance. 

He didn’t let you anywhere near Michael when it came down to catching him. And that was right, what he said gave him reason to let you on a plane back to San Diego, despite the team’s (Rossi’s knowing eyes, Reid not so obvious obvious platonic gushings over you) want to let you have at the BAU, despite Hotch himself knowing if he give someone a chance, it’d be you. But Hotch tries to forget about what he said, because he didn’t let you go home to San Diego. And he’s finding himself more of a fool every time he convinces himself that it was for the team. 

It was for the team. 

But the one who brought the case together for the team sat at the police station, waiting patiently to see if the case she worked so hard on for months, through victims and victim’s parents, loved ones. 

“It’s over?” 

He nodded. 

“It’s over.”

And in the fluorescent lights of the station, he saw your smile as he did and has and will a thousand times over. But it wasn't genuine. The cases you worked so hard on, the passion you put in to bring families closure - not out of government duty with a team that’s family, but instead alone…there was no closure for you. You weren’t satisfied. 

You were like them at the end of every other case. 

“I have to stop through Wyoming. And Ohio. And Montana. I need to tell those families in person, they’ve probably already caught the news but…I think it’ll do good. Or maybe it’s selfishness, because I know I have to.” 

His head lowered slightly. “It’s not selfish. Those families came to you, you became attached to their closure. You deserve to let that in with them as much as families do.” 

You nodded, but then you disagreed. “Maybe a little less than them?” 

Aaron took a pause. You asked like he would change his mind on what he just said. 

Amusing. Taunting. Teasing. 

Maybe he was thinking your smile was cheekier than it was, because what would it mean that you would do that to him? That you liked him then? No, not you. Not a young, beautiful woman who sees he doesn’t smile or laugh because it’s not the job, it’s not just him and he won’t indulge you. Not when you just met him and you know he’s a widower with a six year old son. 

It’s that, or it’s just that you were having your fun. He wouldn’t appreciate that. 

Not at all. 

He didn't think of his slight smile through then. He couldn’t, you were in front of him - he wasn’t in bed flexing a hand. 

“Maybe a little less, then.” 

And there was silence between the both of you, but the world around kept itself busy because the team was all over, exhausted. There was still paperwork to do, reporters everywhere. But Hotch can’t remember how it just got to be the two of you. 

He pressed his middle finger into his thumb, trying to mimic a heartbeat because it was fatuous, the way his heart sped up. 

You’re just a talented woman that would make a great profiler. But he would have to think logically. He did in the moment. Maybe it’s an exaggeration to say he knew from the start that you would be on his team, there were slew of issues to expand on. One, the fact that you weren’t an FBI agent. You (according to your New Yorker profile) had no law enforcement experience to begin with. You didn’t live in Virginia. You were twenty-six. Reid was barely thirty but he had five degrees or so to make up for it. And heart. 

You had heart. He could see it, smile or not. 

Aaron remembers making the choice to turn his head away from you. 

“So…is the BAU hiring?” 

It snapped back. So quickly to the point where it caught your smile dropping. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, that was-that was a joke-” 

“Let’s get you back to the hotel.”

“...Really, I-” 

“It’s alright. Let’s go back.” 

And his hand just hovered over your back. It’s not like he’d feel the way your back curved under the coat you wore for the whole case. Hotch didn’t, still doesn’t want to realize that he would’ve let his hand touch, actually touch if it was anyone else - but with you, this woman with her hair behind her ears - the one who waited patiently at the station and watched aimfully as Michael Bakalova passed her and into a cell. It felt like it would’ve been disrespectful. 

The thoughts towards you aim differently than everyone else, even then. His touch would make his heart beat quicker and he would think about the one moment where he did touch you. Over and over in his hotel room, then in his own bed. 

And it was as if the thoughts would’ve shifted further down if he did touch the small of your back. 

But Aaron should’ve, because it didn’t matter anyway. The thoughts shifted down nonetheless, and they do with every passing night and smile. Your smiles have to be natural, effortless - unknowing and naive to what it does to him, which wouldn’t be your fault, his face and stern lines never give way. 

But if the smiles aren’t, the giggles, the head tilts, if they are not naive and defenseless and in need of protection and are instead purposeful flirtations, moments where you revel in making him suffer and harden…Aaron will not appreciate it at all. He will not tolerate that sort of behavior. That won’t get past him. 

And he wouldn’t put punishing you past him. 

“Thank you, Sir.” 

Then you smiled at him. 

He led you up to your hotel room, a fortunate coincidence that you took the same hotel the tema did, Aaron didn’t have the means or awareness to think those kinds of thoughts. 

He was trying to remember when he saw a face he couldn’t stop staring at. Maybe never, but hopefully not never. Maybe Jack. and for the sake of Haley, for the sake that at that moment, you were supposed to be just a woman, hopefully not never. 

“Have a nice night.” 

“You too, Sir.” 

Nice wasn’t what he would describe the night he had before they left for Quantico. You, Aaron, both were lucky they didn’t have to catch the plane. He closed his eyes, opened them - stared into the ceiling with one hand flexing and fingers tapping together, the other hand lying flat on his stomach. 

What were you wearing to bed that night? 

He thought something along the lines of that before he dug his nails into his palm with the curl of his fists. 

What was the point of not touching you if it meant he would think those kinds of things? He tried. 

He thought that. Michael Bakalova. 

“I wanted to, I could. I did.” 

He pressed his hand into his forehead. Aaron needed to think of anything else and quickly. 

2:44am. 

The team was right, he was right against the surface logic and challenges that would ensue the minute he would put you with the BAU. You would be an asset to this team. You were an amazing consultant. You would be an even better agent. Of course, that would be if you wanted to join in the first place. 

That not being the case would only be the case if you were just having fun - flirtations and head tilts. He said he wouldn’t tolerate that. You were to join the team, there was no doubt about it. 

He knocked on your door in the morning and dreamt about opening it in silence in the night.

[potions-of-dark-devotion]

Severus Snape & Lily Evans/Potter Character Comparison

I haven’t seen anyone talking about this before, but I actually think Severus and Lily have a lot in common in both their character traits and values as well as their vices and tendencies in times of stress. Most people tend to compare Lily favorably and Severus unfavorably, but i actually think they have a great deal in common and I can see how they would get along as friends for so long. I wanted to make a list of things I noticed, feel free to share your thoughts.

1. They are both over achieving academically minded people.

-This could be a combination of a) Their working-class backgrounds that drive them to achieve more than their parents were able to. Many working class kids teach their children to excel academically early as a way of improving their social status and economic standing. I know my parents did. b) they both seem like intensely curious people, interested in learning for learning sake. They both have an aptitude for potions. Gryffindor and Slytherin typically have classes together, and this would mean Severus and Lily would have taken potions together with Slughorn. Did they partner up? If they were the only Slythergryff friend group in the class it would have turned heads. Did they teach each other? It’s interesting to me that given this Slughorn does not remember Severus and Lily being friends or didn’t think it was worth mentioning. Lily made the slug club and Severus didn’t, even though he was in Slughorn house and had a gift for potion making.

interesting.

2. Both Severus and Lily lash out verbally when they are humiliated, and both of them have sharp tongues in their arsenal.

- Many people know this about Severus, but they tend to forget it about Lily. She ripped Petunia a new one when Petunia called her a freak. She immediately went personal and cut deep. She also immediately tore into Severus where she knew it would hurt most when he called her a mudblood. This is not me saying whether or not she was justified, just that when she’s cornered Lily can be just as cutting as Severus can be in a pinch. One wonders how many arguements there were between Severus & Lily vs The Marauders. And my guess is Lily probs made James secretly cry on more than one occasion.

3. Both of them gravitated to the center of the wizarding war conflict during the height of the first war. Likely they were both recruited and radicalized due to their intense talent for magic and their polar black and white natures.

-This is a controversial one. Not all Gryffindors were members of the Order of the Phoenix. We have no knowledge of how many Slytherins of Severus’s year became Death Eaters, but we do know that Voldemort targeted the most vulnerable and the most talented wizards to be his Death Eaters. Lucious was Severus’s prefect and it’s not hard to see how he might entice a poor half-blood desperate for power and survival to join a group that promises him both. As for Lily, appealing to her chivalrous nature to join the fight against Voldemort and against the wizard who had radicalized her former best friend would not be hard to do. Lily is not in her mind just fighting for herself, but fighting for those she pities, including Severus.

4. Both of them have a self sacrificial idea of what love means, and put that idea of love above all else including themselves. This ideal of love that they both share is what ultimately saved the Wizarding World from Voldemort.

- It seems both inherent and integral to the Harry Potter fandom to understand the sacrificial nature of Lilys love for Harry. It is the foundation of the books and it is the reason at the heart of which Voldemort can not understand in either Lily or Severus. It is the reason he never suspects Severus as a spy. We understand Lily and her sacrifice- we tend to forget Severus and his sacrifice. He sacrificed the entirety of his young adulthood to being a spy and protecting Lily’s sacrifice, and he sacrificed the entirety of his adult life in the last of the war. He gave up every facet of his life to dedicate himself to making sure that Harry not only survived but thrived long enough to take Voldemort down. I know many people gripe about Severus asking Voldemort to spare Lily and not James and Harry, but I don’t think they understand. Severus would have been insane to ask Voldemort to spare James and Harry when they were a part of the key of his downfall. Granted, maybe he didn’t care about James- but asking Voldemort to spare Harry is just madness. Yet, without Severus putting his life on the line to ask Voldemort to spare Lily, she would have never had the opportunity to choose to sacrifice herself or not. Severus ensured Lilys death would not be in vein. Both Severus and Lily sacrificed themselves for not only Harry, but the entire Wizarding world.

5. They both have an intense protective instinct to protect those closest to them.

- This seems to be a given for us to understand Lily. She is a mother and she also wants to protect fellow muggleborns. We take it for granted in Severus. Consider than under Slughorn many students became Death Eaters. Under Severus as Head of House, only one does, and even then Severus manages to save that child from committing any unforgivables. Severus cares for the well-being of his Slytherin students both academically and emotionally. It is telling that none of his students join the Death Eaters (some of whom are these children’s parents) during the Battle of Hogwarts. He raised them well. He protected them. And it payed off in spades. We already know of his protectiveness of Harry, but we usually don’t consider his protectiveness of Draco Malfoy. He puts his life on the line literally to protect him from making the mistakes in life that Severus made. That is so moving to me.

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If you think of anymore please don’t hesitate to share your thoughts. I feel like people put Lily on a pedestal and put Severus beneath her, without considering how their friendship saved the wizarding world from slavery and allowed Harry to be the person he came to be. Their platonic love shaped the course of Wizarding History. It is not just a matter of Severus trying to live up to an unattainable romantic love. It is a case of Severus honoring the sacrifice of his former Best Friend and honoring the person she was. It is also a matter of his own protective nature and his own idea of sacrificial love that drives him. Ultimately, Lily is far more important in shaping Severus and he her than an unrequited love story allows.

[morethanwonderful]

Thinking a lot about how, in a series filled with liars and deceivers, when it comes to keeping big secrets, Wei Wuxian and Nie Huaisang lie in the exact same way.

In terms of truly big secrets that they have to keep for a long time, Nie Huaisang has one and Wei Wuxian has two. Huaisang's is the collective secret of his grand plot to destroy Jin Guangyao and avenge his brother, and Wwx's are the loss of his golden core and his post-resurrection true identity. And how do both of them go about covering the parts of themselves that they most want to hide? They play up their own existing traits and lean as hard as they can into their more negative public perceptions.

When Wei Wuxian wants to hide the fact that he's lost his golden core, he does it by putting on a show of arrogance, and this can only work as long as it does because ego is already such a big part of his personality. Young Wwx was already known as a willful, trouble-making rule breaker, so nobody's going to question it when he starts showing up to events without his sword. They might ask "what the hell is that kid doing?" but they can always answer their own question with, "Well he's Wei Wuxian. He's always been a disrespectful and done as he pleased."

Wwx never pretends to be anyone or anything but himself in his first life, but he dials up certain facets of "himself" to make the public think what he wants them to. Pretending to be the person that the outside world expects him to be makes a very good disguise, because it's against others' nature to question it.

And we can argue about how effective it is, but Wei Wuxian tries to do a version of the exact same thing when he gets brought back as Mo Xuanyu. He hears that Mxy was gay and a "lunatic" and says "well if you want insane, then you'll get insane." He leans as hard as he can into that public expectation, because if Mo Xuanyu is behaving like exactly the annoying, openly queer freak that everyone expects him to be, no one's going to wonder who else he might be.

Meanwhile, Huaisang uses more or less the exact same defense mechanism when he starts racking up things to hide. Based on his repeating school as a teen and late formation of his golden core, he presumably has a reputation from a young age as not the sharpest tool in the shed. People know him as the Nie brother who cares little for cultivation and developed far too slow to make use of his saber. To be unkind about it, he's a useless little dandy unfit to ever inherit his clan.

So when Huaisang wants to be sure that no one will suspect he's making moves behind the scenes, he leans into that and leans into it hard. He makes everyone think they're right—he is an idiot unfit to run his clan. But nobody's going to look twice at a fool, and nobody will suspect subterfuge of the head shaker.

Once again, though, Huaisang's act only works because people expect him to turn into a leader like the head shaker. The same act wouldn't have worked so well for someone like Wei Wuxian, because even though they disliked him, people knew he was talented and dangerous. Only Nie Huaisang can get away with playing useless for a decade, because he's playing as hard as he can into the worst of his established public persona. Others mistaking him for a fool lets him trick them into thinking that he is one.

Nobody wants to question you when you're confirming their expectations, and Wei Wuxian and Nie Huaisang both know how to use that to their advantage. It's easy to keep a secret when your cover story is something the public is already primed to hear.

[fadedtoneverland]

hello dear author, I could request a Hyunjin x male!reader who is a member of nct, reader is the brother of another famous idol and he often dresses in long dresses or long skirts, I hope I'm not asking too much of you, take care of yourself

“my muse” | h.hj

❤︎ synopsis — as an artistic man, hyunjin is drawn towards someone who embodies art in his own way

pairing: idol!hyunjin x idol!male!reader

theme: fluff ✿

a/n: first stray kids request! hyunjin is literally the most beautiful man i’ve ever laid my eyes on, and i adore him, so im glad he’s the first member from skz i get to write for !!

cw: none.

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i’d like to believe hyunjin likes to observe people on a deeper level

it’s just how he is. hyunjin is an artistic man. he sees the world beyond what the naked eye presents him, and that shows in how he treats and greets people

it’s a habit he’s had. he’ll meet someone, have a few nice conversations, and then he’ll go about thinking about their style, mannerisms and energy

he’s done it a lot in the kpop industry, being able to clock someone’s insecurities and thoughts just from a look alone

hyunjin never really questioned why he does it, in fact he himself is sometimes weirded out by his random hyper analytical behavior. but it allows himself to give a deeper insight on the people he surrounds himself with

so when sm entertainment announced a new member of nct dream, he was naturally curious.

nct was already known for their bold concept of many members, all split into different sub-units. hyunjin had personally met a few of the dreamies before

that’s when he saw you

hyunjin was immediately captured by your striking appearance. when you made your stage debut, you were draped in the most gorgeous silks and fabrics, accompanied with sparkling diamonds that made you stand out. like a prince

maybe it was the skirt, or maybe it was the flashy stage presence, but hyunjin has never encountered someone so… bold. so confident to dominate the stage with such ease, like you were made for it.

later on, hyunjin learned from jisung that you were the brother of famous tvxq member, kim jaejoong. hyunjin could see the resemblance. you definitely had his eyes… and his attitude.

it explained a lot, actually

hyunjin definitely wanted to get to know you more

and fate seemed to be on his side as he ran into you during an after party of the

the party was filled with all sorts of people tonight.

stray kids had a particularly good evening, having won a couple awards from the MAMA show this year, all thanks to their hard work and talent. as expected, the kpop sensation was invited to attend the after party at a private venue, hosted by a couple of the TV hosts themselves.

hyunjin was off to do his own thing, having separated himself from the group to get swept away in the fun party. pretty faces and model bodies were everywhere. hyunjin has seen them all, even recognized a few faces. it was expected to see many people like that, he worked in the idol industry after all.

beauty was key in a world like this

the black haired idol found himself leaning against one of the party tables, a glass of champagne cupped in his long fingers. he took a sip of the sugary liquor while scanning the crowd. the crowd was filled with all sort so celebrities, having the same shallow conversations. he’d catch sight of young women acting too humble for the sake of the camera, men too ashamed of their tan skin, so they hide it behind pale makeup, and the starry eyes of children who have yet to discover the darkness behind the industry.

it was all the same. nothing interesting caught his eyes. but then again, there’s almost no room for individuality when the standard is to just be an obedient, purse pup. almost everyone was in this room was just a pretty show dog, doing the ringmaster’s commands and tricks without question.

hyunjin sighed.

he was thinking too pessimistically for an event that’s supposed to be fun and exciting.

taking another quick swig of his golden alcohol, hyunjin set the glass down, deciding he’s had enough for tonight. as he looked around the crowd, he caught sight from the corner of his eye approaching him, and leaning against the party table next to him. neither of them made eye contact, but acknowledged one another silently.

“it’s rather lovely tonight, isn’t it?” your voice sounded on hyunjin’s right side. of course, pretty porcelain doll from nct dream had to greet him personally. not that hyunjin was offended by your presence, he was just.. taken aback.

“of course,” hyunjin agreed, not tearing his eyes away from the party crowd, “the venue is just lovely.”

“agreed.” you smiled. hyunjin took this opportunity to look at your face. god, even your smile was as perfect as your entire being.

everything about your demeanor was different. it was loud and proud, not afraid to show the world what you were made of. dressed in a clad, wine red dress shirt, accompanied with a matching maxi skirt, you stood out amongst the crowd of mannequins.

that alone intimidated hyunjin. he wasn’t used to such bravery in a dog-eat-dog world.

“congratulations on your win, by the way,” you said while clasping your hands together politely, offering your congratulations to your senior. “stray kids really knows how to steal the stage. i especially enjoyed the performance of thunderous.”

your voice was polite, but there was a hint of playfulness in those bright eyes. hyunjin took a moment to compose himself, before putting on his most charming smirk.

“thank you, y/n.” hyunjin thanked while bowing, showing the mutual respect he held for you. “but i can’t have you being flattering without your own achievements being acknowledged. seriously, your voice absolutely took me away. and your style? nothing like the industry has seen before. you’re pushing new boundaries for the fashion in kpop.”

hyunjin’s always meticulous with the compliments he gives, because it shows he cares. but he also just wanted to praise your expression of art through your style and attitude. it’s not everyday he gets to meet someone unique like this, and it seems the compliment he gave you earned a cute giggle from your pretty red lips.

adorable.

“you’re charming, hyunjin.” you said while covering your lips with your palm, pulling it away and letting your hand fall to your side.

“i get that a lot.” the idol said with a chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck.

“as you should,” you replied, a smirk making it’s way to your lips. “you’re seriously like a real life prince.”

hyunjin laughed. genuinely. not one of those quick, brief laughs he usually did to amuse people.

.. since when did he get so flirty and comfortable with an idol he just met?

the conversation flowed well. hyunjin really found a spark of chemistry between him and you. not only were you bold, but also engaging. the way you speak so beautifully and thoughtfully, it just drew hyunjin in further.

like a fly buzzing into a dazzling light.

“we should do this again, hyunjin.” you say with a smile, the corners of your eyes crinkling with the action.

“i quite enjoy your company.”

hyunjin smiles at this, leaning back against the table.

“what, like a date?” he teased.

you scoff and wave your hand at him. “if that’s what you want to call it.”

the space between you both is filled with giggles. as your laughter died down, you caught sight of jaemin flagging you over to the exit of the after party venue.

sighing solemnly, you give hyunjin one last smile, before turning around. “i’ll catch you later, hwang.”

hyunjin watched with curious eyes as you left, your skirt flowing with every step you took.

‘this boy is gonna kill me.’ hyunjin thought to himself.

he watched as you stepped out of the venue with the rest of the dreamies. you truly were a work of art, and hyunjin definitely believes there’s more he can add to the canvas. you’re beautiful just as you are, but with a splash of color, maybe he can just turn you into one of the most beautiful things the world has ever seen, and make them all fall in love with you all over again.

just as your brother did before.

his muse. his pretty little muse, that he’s just so intent on learning more about, and he won’t stop with just that amazing conversation you just had.

he’ll find you again.

hyunjin smiled. it was a smile of brilliance.

“i’ll catch you later, kim.”

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