#i had plans for tonight

[stervrucht]

Part 2 of some art to @cuips-not-cute's fic Blinking Red Light. As a treat🙈

[rasoyas]

@captain-silvera’s fantastic builds have me sobbing on my knees in thanks 🙏 komorebi has never looked more beautiful! 🌸

[khytal]

liar, liar

[claudia-lioncourt]

Meet the Vampire Lestat ft. Sam Reid

[moonwoodhollow]

Simone's kitchen

[fishfission-dc]

Batfamily Powerpoint Night! (Part 3: Tim)

<<Part 2: Dick    |    Part 4: Jason >>

[Masterlist]

Tim: Bruce, you should be happy to know that my presentation is educational and will help people be safer on patrol.

Bruce: Tim.

Duke: You’ve passed out on patrol enough times to make a powerpoint about it?

Barbara: I think Gothamites are used to finding an unconscious Red Robin on their roof at this point

Steph: And sometimes it happens to civilian Tim Drake

Tim: It’s fine guys I have a system don’t worry

Bruce: Just because I won’t have you arrested doesn’t mean I approve of you sleeping on rooftops

Damian: You imply that this has happened repeatedly

Tim: A few times.

Barbara: Seven, actually. I’m the one that has to clean up your mess every time. I can only take so many photos down, Tim.

Dick: what

Jason: How did you even-

[Bruce’s head is in his hands]

Tim: Don’t worry about it. Moving on

Steph: YOU WERE ASLEEP WHEN THAT HAPPENED?

Dick: TIM.

Jason: I suddenly feel more secure about my tenure as Robin

Steph: Yeah we may have died but at least we never pulled this crap

Duke: Not sure if this is endearing or concerning

Dick: It’s cute in a way that really worries me

[Bruce looks like he’s going to explode]

Dick: WHY WOULD YOU KICK HIM OUT

Jason: None of you should even know where my safehouses are much less show up in my apartment unannounced. I stand by my actions.

Steph: I don’t know what Tim expected honestly

Jason: WHAT

Damian: Classic

Jason: YOU BREAK INTO MY APARTMENT??

Steph: Wow, Tim. Thanks for exposing the best place to crash

Jason: YOU HACK MY SECURITY AND EAT MY FOOD???

Cass: (signs) You make very good pasta salad.

Jason: AND ROY LETS THIS HAPPEN?? REPEATEDLY???

Tim: Roy’s just chill like that. Moving on-

Steph: Yeah you’re for sure never living that down

Damian: Your incompetence will be remembered forever

Duke: Immortalized on the sticky note in the Batmobile that says “Red Robin banned from driving”

Barbara: And in the hole on the side of that Walmart

Bruce: Tim, after all this do you really think I’m ever going to give your Batmobile privileges back?

Tim: ...fair.

Jason: After all this I think I have to change your position on my slideshow.

Tim: I’m in your slideshow?

Jason: Oh just you wait

<<Part 2: Dick    |    Part 4: Jason >>

[Masterlist]

[mysindividual]

(Unknowingly), his unspoken wish | Aaron Hotchner

*can be read as a standalone but is a bonus scene for the Unknowingly series in honour of celebrating Aaron’s birthday🥹

MASTERLIST

pairing: Aaron Hotchner x bau!reader

summary: your boss is drowning in paperwork when you burst in with a birthday cake and a cheerful serenade, determined to rescue him from his serious face. Your playful spirit turns the mundane into a mini-party and the weight of his responsibilities fades. In that small, cozy space, laughter and connection blossom, transforming an ordinary night into a memorable celebration filled with joy and unspoken wishes. Who knew paperwork could come with cake and a side of chaos?

warnings: boss x subordinate, mutual pining, some fluff and flirting, of course

Aaron Hotchner sat alone in his dimly lit office, the clock ticking softly in the background, marking the late hours of the night. The weight of paperwork loomed over him like an unwelcome cloud, his loose white shirt hanging comfortably around his neck, the collar slightly askew. His tie lay abandoned on the desk, and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows, revealing forearms that hinted at both strength and exhaustion. The flickering light from the desk lamp cast soft shadows across his focused expression as he scribbled notes on a report.

You peered through the slightly ajar door, a smile breaking across your face at the sight of him buried in work. It was a familiar scene—one you had come to appreciate. There was something about seeing him so immersed in his tasks, yet so human in his dishevelled attire, that made your heart flutter. The way he concentrated, the faint lines of stress etched on his brow, made you want to lighten his burden.

You pushed the door open wider, stepping inside with a piece of cake held delicately in your hands, a single candle flickering atop it like a beacon of cheer. Taking a deep breath, you began to sing, “Happy birthday to you…” Your voice echoed softly against the walls, a playful melody breaking the stillness.

Aaron’s head snapped up, confusion flashing across his face for a split second before it transformed into a genuine but tired smile, softening the stern lines of his jaw. He looked at the unexpected sight before him, momentarily caught off guard by your vibrant presence. Weaving your way around the desk and towards him, Aaron turned his chair to face you fully, his brow furrowing in surprise before softening with gratitude. “How did you know?” he asked, the weight of his day momentarily lifting.

“Do you really think you can keep secrets from me?” You set the cake down with a flourish, leaning against the desk, your playful demeanor a breath of fresh air in the still office. “I have my sources,” you replied, your voice teasing and light. “Every birthday deserves a little celebration, don’t you think?” You winked at him, your smile infectious.

He chuckled softly, shaking his head, clearly both flattered and amused. “I usually keep my birthday under wraps to avoid… this,” he said, gesturing towards the cake, a hint of bemusement lacing his tone. “I prefer to keep it low-key. Too many people would make a big deal out of it.”

“Good thing I’m not ‘too many people’,” you shot back, raising an eyebrow as you grinned down at him. “Just the right amount of fun for the birthday boss.”

As your gaze locked, the world outside seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you. The flickering candlelight danced between you, casting a warm glow that highlighted the softness in his eyes. “You’re full of surprises,” he said, his voice low and almost reverent, as if acknowledging something sacred.

“Aren’t birthdays meant for surprises?” you replied, your brows lifting in playful challenge. The candlelight danced in your cheerful eyes, enhancing the intimacy of the moment. “Now, close your eyes, make a wish, and blow out the candle,” you urged, clasping your hands beneath your chin, your heart racing in anticipation.

Aaron sighed, knowing you wouldn’t let go until he did it, knowing too well he couldn’t resist your charm. So he closed his eyes, focusing on the flame that flickered before him. In that stillness, his thoughts turned inwards, settling on a wish that felt profound—a desire that had stirred in his heart for longer than he dared to acknowledge. The truth settled in his heart: you were the source of his joy, the light that pierced the shadows of his long hours.

When he opened his eyes again, he found you watching him intently, a playful smile dancing on your lips. “Well? What did you wish for?” you teased, leaning closer, your curiosity brightening the room.

He smirked, the playful banter returning, but he felt the weight of his unshared truth. “That’s for me to know and you to find out,” he replied, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “After all, you have your sources.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, pulling plastic forks from your suit’s pocket and offering one to him. As you both shared a slice of cake, Aaron looked up at you, his expression softening. You were perched on the edge of his desk, a playful sparkle dancing in your eyes as you dove into the cake, savoring each bite. But as he glanced back at the clock, a question nagged at him. Why were you really here, choosing him over the festivities? He couldn’t shake the thought. While others were out enjoying the night, you had willingly stepped into the dim light of his office, sharing a slice of cake and laughter instead.

“Shouldn’t you be out with the team, enjoying your night off?” he asked, a hint of curiosity threading through his tone. His gaze flicked to the clock on the wall, the seconds ticking away, a reminder of the lively night happening elsewhere.

“Because,” you replied, leaning in closer, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “I’d much rather celebrate with you than be in a crowded bar where no one knows how to appreciate a good cake.”

A teasing smile crept across your lips, surveying the neatly organized office as if contemplating a grand scheme. “I could say I was worried about you, but honestly?” You paused for effect, cocking your head to the side with a playful smirk. “I couldn’t resist the chance to bring a little chaos and cake to your perfectly organized life.”

Hotch leaned back in his chair, a satisfied grin creeping across his face as he watched you. It was rare for him to let his guard down in the office, but here you were, radiating a lightness that cut through the heaviness of his responsibilities like a beam of sunshine. You were animated, lost in the joy of the moment, and it reminded him of how much he valued your presence—your ability to infuse laughter and warmth into the often-grim world of the Bureau.

You didn’t just bring chaos; you brought something deeper—a sense of connection, a reminder that even in the seriousness of his job, he wasn’t alone. He appreciated how you lightened his burdens, even if just for a brief reprieve. The laughter and shared cake were small acts, but they brought a brightness that pierced through the usual shadows of his responsibilities.

In that fleeting moment, he felt a swell of gratitude that you had chosen to stay, even if it was just to share a slice of cake. He felt a flicker of hope. Maybe this wasn’t just about the cake; maybe it was about you choosing him.

“Did you wish for another piece of cake?” you teased, breaking the comfortable silence, a mischievous sparkle in your eyes revealing your hidden intentions as you enjoyed your bite.

“No, but I should have,” he replied, a hint of playfulness in his tone as the corners of his lips lifted slightly. “What I wished for might be a little more… complicated.”

“Oh? Now you have to tell me, or I can’t help,” you insisted, leaning closer, your voice dropping conspiratorially. “I have my sources. Was it something about the case? A promotion? Or maybe that I’d bring you cake every year?”

He raised an eyebrow, maintaining a teasingly serious expression. “Let’s just say it was a wish for happiness.” His gaze lingered on yours, and in that moment, a soft connection sparked between you—an unspoken understanding that hung in the air, almost tangible.

You felt warmth blossom within you, the moment stretching as you shared that knowing smile, nodding. “Well, then, I think we have to make that wish come true. Starting with more cake,” you declared, laughter bubbling up as you reached for a fork, your enthusiasm infectious.

The night was far from over, and in that small office, surrounded by scattered papers and the gentle ticking of seconds on the clock, something unspoken began to bloom—a shared wish, yet unvoiced, hanging delicately between you.

As you both indulged in the cake, the storm of paperwork faded into the background, replaced by an easy warmth that enveloped the room. The simple act of celebrating—a birthday, a connection—infused the atmosphere with a sweetness that even the weightiest cases could not overshadow. Each bite of cake felt like a small victory, a reminder that joy could be found in the midst of chaos.

[ohwatson]

we as a fandom don't talk about how funny a scandal in belgravia is because

'here to see the queen?' / 'apparently, yes!'

'laterz!'

'i really hope you don't have a baby in here'

'she'd applaud your choice of wording'

'sherlock was complaining...saying...'

'my god, really?'

'mrs. hudson has been attacked by an american, i am restoring balance to the universe'

'and exactly how many times did he fall out the window?' / 'it's all a bit of a blur detective inspector, i lost count'

[pilkypills]

ladies ✨

[asofterepilogue]

thank you to mother earth for making me a horrible unkind immoral person just so I can without guilt say this tonight

[satans-knitwear]

sometimes im a bit of fun 🐉🙀

Treat me ~ Tip me ~ More of me

[oceans-beloved]

Meme dump yayyy🥳✨️

(off to make more now muhahaha >:3)

[rudnitskaia]

White Chrysanths for the Swallow

Rocky was waiting for her at the table at the Little Daisy, but this time he was especially eager. Even Ivy had stopped teasing him about the way he lighted up and hummed to himself as he waited for Mau to show up at the door of the café, and just smiled, refilling his coffee whenever it ran out. He almost daydreamed of handing Maura two tickets to tomorrow's musical: of her eyes sparkling, of her taking his hand and telling him he was the best in the world.

But time passed, and Mau wasn't coming.

In those few hours, Rocky had replayed the fantasy in his head hundreds of times, changing the lines and the scenery. At first, imaginary Maura was beaming with happiness, calling him affectionate names, melting in his arms like all those heroines on the stage of a musical theater in the arms of their beloved ones, but every time the fantasy became darker and darker. More disturbing. Mau no longer rejoiced, no longer smiled. Her bright lively figure was becoming more and more dim, and she more often sighed, frowned, did not accept the gift. She asked him to return the tickets, scolded him for wasting his money carelessly, told him some news, one worse than the other, and finally said she didn’t want to see him again. Never again.

It was getting unbearable to sit still, and Rocky abruptly moved away from the table, threw on his coat, and headed for the exit. Maybe a walk would clear his head a little…

“Miss Pepper, I have a very urgent task to attend to. If she shows up on the doorstep, don't let her out of here on any pretext. Lock the doors, board up the windows, show her every fashion magazine you can find, but don't let her leave here until I get back. I'm counting on your wit and exceptional charm.”

The way he looked intently into Ivy's eyes before he left looked almost threatening. He wasn't even aware of the desperation hiding behind that look. But Ivy saw it.

“Don't worry, I'm an expert at this,” she winked at him encouragingly.

The cold air blew across Rocky's face, and he shivered, pulling his scarf over his nose, the same funny skewed scarf Mau had knitted for him last Christmas. Sometimes, like now, Rocky thought he could still smell on it the very same scent of coffee and pastries that wafted from the Venza family's eatery. It didn't help distract him, though. Quite the opposite. After walking a few blocks in an attempt to escape his doubts, he spotted a small flower shop — Rocky's imagination immediately conjured up a lovely picture of Maura cradling a fresh spring bouquet on this cold, cloudy evening and he didn't notice himself stepping over the store’s doorstep. The frail old woman behind the counter put aside the newspaper and immediately chirped, offering him different flowers, and finally convinced him to take a few white chrysanthemums. She tied the flowers with a delicate pink ribbon and also wrapped them tightly in the newspaper she had read before.

“They mustn't be overfrozen. Or they won't last long,” she explained sternly.

Rocky walked back much more briskly. He was warmed by the thought that now he would be able to give Mau not one surprise, but two. Hiding the bouquet from a gust of cold wind, Rocky lowered his gaze to it and pressed the flowers closer to himself… when suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the headline of one of the newspaper articles.

“Shootout at the small Italian eatery Casa di Rondine shocked the residents… a bloody showdown in the neighborhood… occurred on the night… police identified the bodies of two…”

Rocky couldn't remember how he reached the familiar alleyway. How he threw the bouquet to the ground, swung over the barrier tape, and rushed to the entrance — a gaping hole instead of a small blue door. Shards of glass littered the floor, the formerly cozy, cramped hall was a real mess, the furniture was riddled with gunshots. Even the old tabletop radio was now on the floor, shattered to pieces.

“Stop right there!” a panting policeman grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. “What the hell are you doing breaking into a crime scene?”

“I… uh…” in his panic Rocky couldn't think straight, but nonetheless he blurted out: “I'm from a newspaper. Wanted to visit the crime scene myself.”

“A lousy reporter you are, then. Your buddies sniffed everything around here a long time ago.”

“I was just hired today and immediately assigned to this very intriguing case. So…”

“There's nothing intriguing about it. This Bianchi guy…”

“Who?”

“The renter, Augusto Bianchi, if that's his real name at all, apparently had a huge debt to pay someone. And for that, he got pinned down. There was a scuffle in the night, at least four assailants. The two guys we found here have a couple priors, but they're not in a condition to tell us who hired them. The amount of such cold cases we have…” the man hummed and passed his hand above his head. “We've already explained it all to your fellow scribblers this morning. And I highly doubt the landlord would want to tell the same story tenth times over to another newspaper weasel. The only thing he's interested in right now is getting money from the insurance company.”

“And the girl?”

“What girl?”

“The waitress. Who worked here. What about her?”

“Considering how much blood there is, they're probably both either in a ditch, scattered in pieces, or feeding fishes somewhere at the bottom of the Mississippi… both father and daughter, if you meant her,” boredly remarked the other officer, who had quietly approached them, lighting a cigarette. “There's nothing for you to do here, boy. Henry's right — there's absolutely nothing of interest in this case. People might have chattered about it in the morning, but the very next day they'll forget all about it. Go home, don't add to our workload. And quit the paper that sent you here. If your editor doesn't realize that news like this must be broken in the heat of the moment, believe me, their business will burn out faster than a short match.”

Rocky tried to get anything else out of them, at least a little bit, to look in the kitchen of the eatery, to slip upstairs to Mau’s and Augusto's apartment, but the policemen were adamant. On unsteady legs he made it to the nearest bench and collapsed on it, staring blankly into the dark November sky. He could have screamed, could have destroyed everything around him on a single painful impulse, but the emptiness that engulfed him was far more frightening.

His silence was more frightening.

Years would pass. Would flow, as before, from night to night. The world won’t notice his loss. The world won't notice any loss at all. In the place of his beloved swallow house, other birds will build a nest. Freckle and Ivy will eventually stop opening that wound with their questions. And one day, perhaps, he will stop gazing into the crowd, hoping to find among the unfamiliar faces the features dear to his heart, and stop flinching when he hears someone say amore mio. He knows how it happens — it was not the first time. All he has to do is smile and everything will work out. It'll wear off, getting back to the way it was. One day.

But the bouquet of chrysanths will still remain rotting on the cold ground.

[laundrybiscuits]

written for the @steddiemicrofic prompt: 'pool' | wc: 442 | rated: G | cw: mild alcohol use (and cussing I guess? do we warn for PG-13 language?)

“Get in on this, Steve,” Robin says directly into his ear, way too loud. She’s had most of a Long Island iced tea; her face is bright pink.

“In on what,” Steve says, shoving at her.

“Nancy thinks Eddie’s gonna strike out again, but I believe in tru-u-ue lo-o-ove,” she warbles, clinging to his arm like a tipsy limpet. “So we’re betting. Five bucks. Who’re you siding with.”

It’s not like Steve hadn’t noticed Eddie talking to some guy, he'd just thought—

He swats at her again, futilely. “Yeah, I’m sure some random asshole at a dive bar is his true love.”

“Please, that’s probably Eddie's idea of a metalhead fairytale. They’re gonna make scuzzy little musician babies.”

“Do we have to talk about the birds and the bees, Robin?” He glances over at Nancy, listing against Jonathan’s side. Steve fights the urge to push Robin away again, but he shifts uncomfortably. The four of them probably look like interlopers here—tourists.

Nancy’s not flushed like Robin, but she looks a little looser than she’s let herself be in a while. It’s nice.

She’s smiling as she watches Eddie and the random asshole. “Eddie’s not doing too badly this time. Guess there’s someone for everyone.”

“Don't bias Steve,” whines Robin. “I want his money.”

“I’m not gonna bet, this is stupid,” says Steve. “It’s shitty to start a betting pool on Eddie’s—love life, or whatever.”

“They’re just having fun, man,” says Jonathan. “We all just want Eddie to be happy.”

“Sure. Some random asshole’s gonna make him happy.” Steve leans back against the bar, folding his arms.

“Steve.” Robin’s staring at him. “Oh my god, Steve. Wait. Steve.”

He winces.

“Steve,” she says. “Do you—”

“No. Shut up,” says Steve.

Jonathan glances from Steve to Robin to Eddie, and back to Steve. “Oh, shit,” he says. “Dude. Uh. Not to like, betray any confidences, but. You should tell him.”

“Wait, what?” Steve blinks. The jack and coke he's been nursing might be hitting. “You mean…”

Robin shoves him hard enough that he almost overbalances. “Go get your man! Team True Love!” She’s not even trying to be quiet. Across the bar, Eddie jumps a little and turns to stare back at them.

Steve’s face warms. He waves, like a loser, and Eddie’s expression goes from confused to something else. Something new.

Eddie touches the random asshole’s arm, but whatever he says makes the guy laugh and fuck off, so that's okay.

As Steve pushes away from the bar and starts to walk towards Eddie's growing smile, he hears Nancy saying, “I think this means you owe me,” while Robin shrieks, “Oh, like hell—”

[keirosims]

Need a cute little subtle theatre mic

[mysecretwindowuniverse]

1x10 | Lovecraft

'I'll find your mole for you. Trust me - he'll belong to Fish'