#i love u guys a lot <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[llumimoon]

The urge to post as soon as I finish something vs the want to wait until more people will be able to see it REMATCH FIGHT !!!

[shima-draws]

Just got back from seeing Sonic 3 and HOOOOOOLY SHIT y’all. Oh my fucking god. OH my god. Ohhhh my g o d

[sincerelybubbles]

Here's a dialogue prompt for Emily please! Try this out pls. Love you Kam sm sm. "So why are you here?" "To make a fool of myself." ok ty lysm

even though i watched u type this, the wording makes me giggle every time i look at it.

emily prentiss x tech analyst!reader <3

warnings: fem!reader, cannon typical violence, very brief allusions to sexual assault (nothing happens!), angst and fluff! mutual pining.

word count: 5.4k

Emily is the loveliest thing you've ever seen and you can't imagine how she could ever possibly like you back. She enjoys the game, though, and teasing you is her favorite hobby.

-

It’s a sunny day. Warmth trickles down with the scattered light through the leaves. Patterns trace your arms, throwing your skin into a collage of different shapes and shades. Leaning back on your elbows, you watch people mill about the park. You look back down at your arm after a few more minutes, this time focused on the small watch resting there. With a sigh, you stand up and dust off your pants before picking up the small blanket you laid out and tucking it into your bag. 

You walk back to work, enjoying the sounds of the people around you. You lingered too long at the park during your break and are hoping that nobody notices your slightly late return. Maybe the team will be in a meeting, gruesome pictures you never quite learned to stomach plastered on the board, entirely oblivious to your tardiness. 

Unlikely, but a welcome thought soothing your anxiety as you push the door open and scan your badge at the security desk. 

“Welcome back,” the security guard says, smiling at you over his paperback. He’s an old greying man and you vaguely recognize him. You think he’s new and send him a warm smile in return. 

“Thanks,” you glance at his name badge, “Martin!”

You walk past him and step into the elevator. “Wait!” A voice calls and you reach forward to hit the hold button instinctively before you register the voice as Emily’s. 

She jogs into the elevator with you, smiling gratefully. “Thanks, I’m already running a little behind.” She lifts a container and shakes it a little. The label is from the Italian bistro across the street, about a ten-minute walk away and always nearly triple that in wait time. 

“Brave of you to go there during your lunch,” you joke, returning her smile and pressing the button for your floor. 

You hope she can’t see how your hands shake as you reach forward.

“I know, I just love their Pasta Brado. Have you tried it?”

“Can’t say I have. I’m boring, I usually go for the parm.”

“You’re not boring,” she says so earnestly that you can’t help but blush. You cough as an excuse to raise your hand to your face and hopefully hide it some. “You do have to try it, though. Here,” she offers you the plastic box. 

“Oh, I couldn’t. And I already ate.” You ignore the way your chest hurts a little at how enthusiastic she is. The worst part? She doesn’t even know how endearing her simple kindness, her casual enthusiasm, is to you. 

“Tomorrow, then. We can go together.” The elevator doors open as she says it and she steps out with an affirmative nod to solidify it. “Don’t try to bail out on me either, I know where to find you.”

“Yeah, I'm okay,” you say, feeling lame as you step out behind her. “I would love to.” She’s too far to hear you, though, already heading to Spencer’s desk and jumping right into his conversation with Morgan. 

Someone says your last name and you turn on your heel to see Hotch and cringe slightly. “I was trying to find you.” It’s a kinder way of him reminding you that you’re nearly ten minutes late back from your lunch. 

“Sorry, sir.”

“It’s fine. Do you have the reports finished from last week's trip to Huston?”

“Yes, sir, they’re at my desk. One moment.”

-

You and Emily don’t go to the bistro the next day because she and the team are sent to a small town in Kansas that night. 

“I’ll owe you lunch,” she says, hand on the back of your desk chair and brushing your shoulder as the team rushes to the jet. 

“Don’t worry about it!” You reassure her.

“I’m taking you to lunch,” she calls over her shoulder, pretend-glaring, “you will try that Brado!”

And then she’s gone, leaving you giddy and breathless. 

You know she’s just being friendly – she treats Spencer, Morgan, and JJ all the same as you – but her efforts to spend one-on-one time with you outside of work still have you feeling like a schoolgirl passed a note from her crush in class. 

You try to remind your heart to stop singing because Emily probably isn’t even gay and definitely isn’t interested. Instead, Garcia scares the shit out of you when she interrupts your inner monologue. 

“Lunch with Emily? Things are getting serious in your work marriage.” You hadn’t seen her walk into the room and jump at her voice, hand jumping to your mouth to suppress a yelp. “Sorry! Sorry!”

“It’s okay, didn’t see you.”

“Your loss, I look fantastic today.”

“As always,” you smile up at her, nose wrinkling and genuine fondness filling your senses. 

“Careful, wouldn’t want a workplace affair,” she jokes, leaning against your desk and picking up the stress ball you keep handy. 

“Stop,” you moan in good nature. “Nobody else calls us work wives.”

“That’s just because they don’t have my brilliance and excellent observational skills.”

“Nor do they have the same privy to my more personal thoughts,” you say, glancing up at her before returning to your paperwork. With the team leaving so quickly to tend to a missing child's case, you’re not getting home in time to cook dinner but are hoping to leave early enough to grab food instead of resorting to your freezer stash. 

“I would hope not. You know I can’t be replaced, baby.”

“Does Morgan know you talk to all your work besties like this?”

“I most certainly do not. You’re a regular bestie, not a work bestie.” A wink and then her expression sobers. “I do have an actual reason for visiting your humble cubical, though.”

“Hm?”

“I’m going to need extra hands for this case. It’s time-sensitive, as usual, and seems like it will be particularly tricky.”

“Yes ma’am,” you say, dropping your pen and standing to follow her. 

Your position at the bureau is kind of a catch-all. Most of your time is spent logging data, building reports, and doing general research for the team. Occasionally, though, you jump in to help Garcia with real-time research. Nothing as high-stakes as her direct assignments, more background work. Calling offices to talk to managers, combing through more meticulous data, generic census material to rule out obvious dead ends. 

It’s stressful work that technically isn’t what you’re paid for but you never complain. Your team saves lives, consistently putting themselves in the line of danger. If you have to spend a few hours a month helping Garcia call a suspect's manager at McDonald's to see if he still works there, it’s literally the least you can do. 

“Yes, so, it looks like our unsub…”

You drown out Garcia’s brief about information you already have sitting in front of you and begin vetting possible suspects from the large pool her system created.

It’s going to be a long night. You think about future Brado to cheer you up. 

-

“Reid, Prentiss take the back,” Hotch’s voice fills your ears. You imagine the pair nodding and splitting off from the group. 

This is your least favorite part of helping the team with active investigations – listening in on the calls. It’s rare that you and Garcia join the line when they’re approaching the unsub but, with you helping her, it isn’t a risk to distract Garcia and a much quicker method of getting any new information the team needs. It’s a new system you’ve only tried thrice, unsure how having microphones on 24/7 will work, and it grants you and the team more fluid communication.

Still, adrenaline floods your veins as you listen to their coms, the sounds of Garcia typing a constant behind their voices, imagining every way this could go wrong. 

You suspect the girl is still alive, the uncle doesn’t seem to have any reason to kill her just yet, but your fear for her grows with every minute. 

“Clear!”

Your eyes fall to the receipts flooding your screen. Ammo. A new rifle and pistol. The team knows but the evidence of this unsubs ability to hurt any of your friends, your family, isn’t helping your nerves. 

“I think he’s going to the roof!” Morgan’s voice, clear in the comms. 

You click out of the documents. Two swift motions on the screen. The firm press of the button. 

“Morgan, you’re on foot. Prentiss, follow him. Everyone else in vans, go!”

“Garcia, map out possible escape routes from the roof,” you instruct. 

She nods, screens shifting immediately. She puts on her own headset with one hand and clicks on the call and starts to bark information to Hotch. 

“Got her!” Reid’s voice sounds and you deflate a little. He mutes as he begins to console the small girl. 

You know you can take off your headset now, leave the call, and go to your paperwork. There isn’t much more you can do to help – you’re sure that’s what you’re supposed to do – but you stay on anyway, listening. 

“Right on Elmore!” Morgan calls. You find the street on Garcia’s screen, eyes tracing the path you think they’re taking. 

“We’ll try to cut him off,” Rossi says and you can hear tires in the background of the call. The click of a steering wheel cutting to the side too quickly. Someone’s labored breathing – probably Morgan’s as he dead sprints. 

“Stop! Put your hands up!” Emily shouts. The firmness in her voice makes you sit up straighter in your chair. 

You hear something that sounds vaguely like, “bitch,” before a loud pop drowns anything else out. 

“Emily!” Morgan’s voice, more pops. 

Gunfire. That’s gunfire, your brain recognizes. 

Your blood has gone cold.

“We need a medic!” Morgan shouts. Hotch’s line blinks red, going dead as he calls the ambulance. “Emily, Emily.”

Rustling. Cars. Sirens. Morgan’s line goes dead after you hear a car door slam shut. Then Reid’s and Rossi’s. Emily’s is the last to stay green, blinking.

You and Garcia stare at each other as you listen to Emily be loaded into an ambulance. Listen to Morgan tell the team, voice far away and barely tangible, that the unsub only managed to fire out one shot before he downed him. 

Neither of you can hear where she was shot or how badly injured she is before Emily’s line goes red as well.

-

“Emily?” You call softly, rapping your knuckles softly on the frame of the cracked hospital door. 

Your name, faint, answers you and you take that as permission to nudge the door open. The room looked dark from the hallway but Emily has the small lamp embedded on the wall switched on, throwing her face into harsh shadow. 

“Hey, you,” you say, walking in, arms full. “I brought things.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” she says, trying to sit herself up further and wincing as the motion pulls on her stitches in her abdomen. 

“Wait, let me help you,” you say, setting your things down and reaching out a hand. 

You wait for her nod before touching her, letting her grasp your arm and looping your other arm around the back of her waist to take most of her weight yourself. 

“Thanks,” she mumbles. You can tell she hates feeling useless, hates needing help for something as simple as sitting up, so you drop the subject with a nod and kind smile. 

You turn around to the small rolling tray where you put your things down, pulling two black containers out from a plastic bag. You feel silly and very awkward as you turn around to show them to her. 

“I know it’s probably not quite what you meant but,” you set the containers down on her bed and pop one open. 

“The Pasta Brado! Oh man, I was going to treat you.” She’s pouting through a smile, attempting to put on an upset facade and failing miserably. 

It’s so cute that you struggle with what to say next. 

“Thank you, really. You can pull up that chair, if you’re hungry now.”

You grab the chair she’s motioned to and drag it to sit next to her. “I’m hungry if you are. It might be a little cold, though, it’s kind of a far walk.”

“You walked here?” Emily asks, tone appalled and face comically shocked. 

“Yeah, my car broke down last week. I’ve been walking to work – it’s actually really nice out right now – and I couldn’t find a cab from the bistro.” You busy yourself with the food while you talk, opening the second container, setting it on her legs, and unwrapping the plastic cutlery for her. 

“Jesus! You didn’t need to come and see me if you don’t have a car. You didn’t need to come at all, actually. I really appreciate it,” she amends, seeing how your bashful smile freezes on your face, reaching forward as if to touch your face and brushing your shoulder instead. “It’s really sweet of you but you didn’t need to walk all that way. Isn’t it like a twenty-minute walk from here?”

Over thirty, but you nod anyway, knowing it won’t help your case to correct her. “It’s not a big deal. You were shot in the stomach, of course I wanted to see you.”

“Ah, so you wouldn't want to see me otherwise,” she teases, nodding and pushing her pasta around with her fork. She doesn’t even try to conceal her grin. 

“Ha ha, very funny,” you mumble. You take a bite of your food and your eyes widen. “Oh my god.”

“I knew you would love it,” she beams, watching your expression as you taste the food. You you she meant to say it in a gloating way but you swear you can hear a sort of fondness behind the words. Something in you warms at her ability to know you so well. 

You tell yourself you’re overreacting about both thoughts. 

“You were right – Emily this is unfairly good.”

“Oh, I know,” she says, taking her own bite and letting out an exaggerated moan, complete with an eye roll. You giggle and she smiles at you. “Thank you, this is exactly what I needed.”

“You’re welcome,” you say, holding her eye contact. 

She's been in the hospital for three days, transferred back to Virginia last night; her hair is unwashed and unbrushed, and she’s wearing no makeup and a hospital gown. 

She’s still the prettiest girl you’ve ever seen. 

-

Your car is fixed by the time Emily is released from the hospital two days later and you offer to take her home. 

“Hi Sergio,” you greet the cat brushing against your legs as Emily disengages the alarm. 

You set her things down by the door before turning to offer her your arm. Emily doesn’t pretend that she doesn’t need the help when it’s just you two, something you’re grateful for after watching her struggle with the team around, and lets you guide her to her bedroom. 

You set about making her comfortable, turning down her sheets and propping the pillows up so she can sit. 

“I’ve got it,” she laughs, playfully pushing away your hands. 

You laugh along with her, raising your hands and backing away. “I’m going to go put the rest of your stuff away and get you a drink.”

“Perfect, I’ll take an old-fashioned. Don’t forget the cherry.”

You roll your eyes at her, scoffing and leaving her room. 

You throw her clothes and go-bag in her laundry room before making her a glass of water and another glass of juice. Once you’re sure she’s settled in her bed with her book, you return to the kitchen to make her a few dinners, ignoring her protests. 

-

Emily is back in the field much sooner than you would have liked. 

“I was cleared by the doctors,” she tells you, coat slung over her arm as she digs through her bag for her badge. 

You smile at Martin, sending him a mock exasperated look, before she finds her ID and shows it to him. 

“It still seems too soon, Em,” you persist, reaching forward to push the elevator button and turning so you can lean back to watch her face. 

“Em?” Emily asks, the hint of a smile pulling up the left corner of her mouth. 

You sort of feel like you could die in that moment, just from the heat that simple gesture surges through you. 

“It just sort of slipped out, sorry,” you say, thoroughly embarrassed. 

The elevator dings and the doors open, throwing you off balance for a second. This doesn’t help your already flared nerves as you stumble back and drop your bag. You reach down to gather it and the files scattered across the floor. 

You’re kneeling to stuff everything in your bag when Emily crosses your line of sight again, wide smile on her face – teeth fully on display and nose scrunched, you are in desperate need of help – holding out your notepad.

“I think the nickname’s sweet. I kind of like the idea of having a name only one person, only you, calls me.”

All of the air has left this godforsaken elevator, the heat must be on, you stare dumbly at her as she reaches forward to grab your bag and put the rest of your papers inside of it for you. 

And then, realizing you look like an absolute idiot, you snap back into your body and cough slightly. The doors ding and open again, you grab your bag from her and stand slowly. Smiling at her, still crouched on the floor and looking, amused, up at you through her eyelashes, you say, “Okay. Thanks, then, Emmy.”

You walk away after that brief flash of confidence, telling yourself you’re just imagining how you swear her face flushed bright at your comment. 

And if Morgan mentions a few minutes that Emily seems flusters, well, who can blame you for floating on that high for a few days?

Except she doesn’t let it go. 

She corners you on your break in the kitchenette. Literally. She catches you when you’re examining the coffee pot that has been making concerning gurgles for the past few days and leans on the counter behind you, effectively blocking your exit. 

Not that you really want to leave. 

She’s wearing a red tank top and dark jeans, her hair is loose around her shoulders, eyes steadily trained on your face as you work. 

“Hello,” you say, quiet in a way you’re not normally. 

“Hi.”

“What’re you doing?” You ask after a few more moments of her silently staring at you while you pretend to know what you’re doing with a screwdriver. 

“Enjoying the view.”

You drop your screwdriver and relish in the sound of her laugh. 

-

You’d love to say that you had some suave answer to return her charm but you think you spent it all that morning with your boldness. 

You’re not shy but confidence doesn’t run in your blood either. You’d say you’re pretty normal – average. You don’t find much wrong with that, you know you have other qualities that build you up into an interesting person. You love your friends and coworkers deeply, for one. And have an intense trust in them and their abilities. 

That trust is always tested in your day-to-day at work but never more than now as you feel the car around you make turns at highway speeds. You think you’re on some sort of back road but it’s hard to tell from the trunk given the obvious lack of windows. 

You’re calmer than you thought you would be if kidnapped. 

Groaning after one particularly rough turn that has you jostling against the sides of the trunk, you allow your head to thump back and stare at the inside of the dark car. Light breaks through the cracks of the hinges of the trunk and you wonder if water trickles through when it rains. 

You’ve been in here too long to consider if you’re focused on the wrong things. You’re scared shitless, of course, but the adrenaline faded about an hour into your drive and now you’re just bored. 

Imagine that – bored as fuck in the trunk of a stranger's car, wrists burning from the rope and jaw sore from where it’s been forced open too long by the fabric tied around the back of your head. 

You’re just allowing yourself to reimagine your morning with Emily when the car stops and the engine cuts. 

You snap back into the present, energy flooding your system again as your brain flicks into overdrive. You might spend your days paper-pushing behind a desk, but you passed your physical. You’re smart, you’ve heard the stories of how these victims survive captivity. 

When the trunk pops open, you squeeze your eyes shut to prevent pain from the sudden lack of light. You don’t want to be blinded and the action has the added benefit of pleasing your captor. He put a hood over your hood when he grabbed you, muttering in your ear in tense tones that you would do best to not even try to see him. 

Say what you will, you usually do a pretty good job at following directions. This one is easy and happens to be number one on your list right now – keep him happy so he keeps you alive. 

“Good girl,” a gruff voice says before a calloused hand gropes the back of your neck to yank you forward. Scratchy fabric envelops your head and your hot breath bounces back against you, trapped against the fabric of the hood. 

You stand when his hands start to grab your waist, pulling yourself to your knees and allowing yourself to be lifted from the trunk.

You want to run but know now’s not the time. 

“Look at how well-behaved you are!” His breath is wet against your neck. He stands too close, hands clawing under the hem of your shirt to cling to your skin. 

He walks you forward like that, chest pressed against your back and breath slithering down the collar of your shirt to hang uncomfortably over your collarbones. 

It’s becoming increasingly more obvious what this sicko wants from you and your stomach is twisting at the thought. You urge the team to hurry up, knowing your absence would have been missed ages ago. They have to be looking for you by now. And, with how sloppy this dude seems to be, he must have left a plethora of clues waiting to be found. 

You have to repeat this to yourself as you hear a door lock click. 

“Took you long enough. This is the girl? She’s kind of … well,” the second man kisses his teeth with a sharp sound. You’re pushed forward again. “Whatever floats your boat man.” The door shuts and locks behind you. The second man's voice fades as he talks, disinterested. 

You wonder if it’s wrong to feel slightly insulted right now. 

“This way, doll.”

You listen. It’s saving your life to be complicit in his directions, so you listen. Still, you’re shoved harshly to the floor once you get to where he wants you, knees striking what feels like cement. Before you can recover, your cheek stings and your head is whipping to the side from a sudden slap. 

Then, there’s a kick to your ribs. You fall onto your side, too winded to even cry out, lips falling open in a silent scream. A boot in your belly. Your ribs again, your hip and back. 

“Why?” You manage to sob out. “Why, why?”

You don’t get an answer.

-

You’re not overly religious but you thank whatever heavens or universe exists that he leaves you alone once he’s done kicking the shit out of you. Your ribs are bruised but the worst you expected hasn’t happened. 

The boredom returns as you lay with throbbing ribs. At least one is broken and every breath hurts. You can’t imagine sitting up and, luckily, with your hands tied behind your back, it’s not really an option anyway. 

It must be near an hour later when you’re fading out of consciousness – a purposeful choice on your part to save your energy – when you hear the front door burst down. 

“FBI! Hands where I can see them!” Morgan. You nearly weep but think better when your stuttered gasp makes your side throb. “What the fuck?” You hear shouted in reply. “Robb, what the fuck man.”

There isn’t much of a resistance from the living room. The second man is shouting at what you can only assume is the first – your initial kidnapper – but there’s nothing else other than that. 

“Clear!” You hear Hotch call. Spencer replies and then you hear the door nearest you open. 

His voice calls out your name. You deflate against the floor. A second, you know he’s scanning the room with his gun before holstering it. “Clear! I need a medic!”

Hands, gentle, against your face, removing the hood. Swifter after that, removing your gag, and then hand binds. 

“Hey, Spence,” you say, trying to smile up at him. 

“Shh, you’re okay. We’ve got you.” He starts to support your weight behind your shoulders and the pain that brings is too intense to prevent your yelp. 

“Oh my god, is she okay?” You hear Emily ask seconds before you see her. She looks concerned, hair now in a tight ponytail and FBI vest strapped over her chest. She whispers your name once and then a second time, reaching forward to gently brush your hair out of your eyes. 

“Hey, pretty,” you say, words tumbling out of your mouth before you can catch them.

“Hi beautiful,” she answers, reply just as soft as your own. Earnest. 

It makes your heart ache and, for the first time since being yanked off the road walking to grab lunch, you start to cry. 

“Hey, hey, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, beautiful, it’s okay. You’re okay.” She repeats this as you’re lifted by the paramedics and cry harder. 

She repeats it when they stitch up where kicks burst the skin over your cheekbone open, repeats it as she trails a hand down your arm in gentle patterns while they examine your ribs and confirm that you’ve broken two, maybe three. 

She tries with you in the ambulance. 

You can’t help but think about being on the phone when you heard Emily be shot weeks earlier. You squeeze your eye shut as they insert the IV, beyond grateful that she’s there to hold your hand while they do it. The tear that falls down your cheek has nothing to do with the pain and everything to do with the thought that you couldn’t have been there for her in the same way. 

An odd thought, you realize, but it’s the one you’re stuck with as you drift away when the pain medicine enters your system. 

-

You’re sent home three days later. You insist on spending the night alone, afraid to admit you’re scared because, honestly, nothing much happened to you. 

Oh, of course, everyone tries to convince you otherwise but you know they’ve all had it worse. You were gone from the bureau for about eight hours and spent most of it bored. 

So you force yourself to spend the night alone. You don’t need help moving around or doing things for yourself so you convince yourself you don’t need help. 

You’re cooking dinner when the doorbell rings. You wipe your hands with a dish towel and take your time walking to the door to look through the peephole. You don’t know who took you yet, you haven’t asked and nobody has said, but you can imagine seeing him through the door. Waiting for you, waiting to kill you this time. 

Okay, yeah, maybe Spencer was right when he talked about PTSD and usual levels of anxiety, but you’re so tired of him being so right all of the time that you really want to prove him right.

There is no man standing on the other side of the door, though. Instead, you see Emily, holding a plate wrapped in tin foil and looking serene in your apartment hallway. 

You open the door quickly, unlatching it and turning off your alarm with a few clicks. “Emily?”

“Ah, man, I was getting used to Emmy,” she jokes, stepping inside with a smile in your direction and kicking off her shoes. 

You can’t think of an answer so you just smile at her, hoping she’ll take the lead. You’re tired and she must see it because she offers the plate in her hands to you once the door is closed and the alarm is reengaged. 

“Rossi sent me with it with explicit instructions to not let you share it.”

You giggle and take the plate. “I’ll have to tell him thank you. It’s kind of out of your way to come all this way, though, isn’t it?”

“Not out of my way at all,” she says, words dripping with meaning as she holds your eyes. “I would have come even if Rossi didn’t have food for you.”

“So why are you here?”

“To make a fool of myself,” she says, casually, like that’s something people say every day, “probably. You’ve just gotten back from the hospital and I know you said you wanted to be alone, but,” she swallows and her words are becoming more rushed as she speaks, “I said the same thing and you still stayed.”

“Emily?” You ask, setting the plate down on your hallway table and clearing your throat. “Ah, Emmy?” You amend when she cuts you a look. Your attempt to diffuse the tension doesn’t work and she steps closer so you’re toe to toe.

“That doesn’t really answer your question, though. You’re sweet enough that you would let it go, but,” she shrugs, reaching forward to gently loop her fingers around your wrists. “Stop me if this is awful timing. Please,” she says, leaning forward and staring into your eyes. 

You feel like you’re suffocating, but if this is death, you’ll greet it gladly in the irises of Emily Prentiss. You’re caught in the trap of the moment, heart hardly breathing, all aches and sores forgotten because Emily is leaning closer, breath fanning across your face. You feel intoxicated, ensnared. 

Everything that has ever been exists here, now, in this moment. Every breath used to blow out birthday candles and blow away eyelashes – breaths with purpose, with wishes, with intent – exists between the two of you as she leans closer and closer. Closer, still, and how can so much distance exist between you two when you’ve been standing so closely?

“Just, stop me, if you want,” she whispers against your lips, eyes falling shut. 

Time yawns again, freezing. Your eyes open, hers closed, beats of seconds pausing. Hesitating for you to hold this moment in your hands. You’re grateful to appreciate it because she really is so lovely. Her bangs are pushed back from her face with a headband – imagine that! Emily owns headbands! – and you can see every detail of her face. Her elegant nose, her slim eyebrows, her narrow, prominent, lips.

And then your heart finally catches up, beats loudly, cracks whatever fragile plane of glass holding the moment so perfectly still, and her lips are meeting yours. 

You gasp into her mouth, hands breaking out of her hold to grab her face. You’re afraid that she’s going to pull away before this kiss can be fully real. Before you can actually taste her – lemon cake and rain and warmth. Before you can memorize the feel of her lips pressed against your own before you can drag her closer and slip your hands into her hair. 

But she doesn’t pull away. She meets your enthusiasm with a sigh and then enthusiasm tenfold. You can feel relief in the kiss, feel how she relaxes into you. She takes a step forward and you take one back half the amount to account for it. 

A tilt of your head and it’s better, impossibly. She’s firm, sturdy, beautiful. Confident. Lovely, lovely, lovely. 

And then she reaches forward to hold you to her, hands brushing your ribs to wrap around your back and you can’t hold in the gasp of pain that causes you to stiffen. You want to take it back, want to ignore the pain, want to keep her near, but she won’t allow it.

“Oh, I’m so so sorry. Are you okay? I’m sorry.” You smush the apologies against her lips, removing one hand from her hand to guide her arms around your shoulders where they won’t hurt. “Okay! Okay,” she giggles, leaning back with several short kisses that do nothing to satiate you. “I need to know you’re okay.”

She can obviously tell she hasn’t hurt you too bad by your reaction, but the sweet caution in her voice has you melting further. 

“I’m perfect.”

[haza1ll]

TNV Fanart

so i think i said i was gonna make fanart for this (again).. probably uhhhhh early september late august?? i don’t remember. but. erm. It took FOREVER. school kicked my butt and i had no free time. (buddies this took me 6hr 30min total) BUT i think it came out good. so yippie! also, side bar, im trying to get used to digital art again so the lighting looks mega weird. pls help. OTHERWISE YAYAYAY ITS DONE @sugarpasteltmnt SORRY IT TOOK A COUPLE MONTHS. this could possible be classified as a remake (spot the old one: impossible mode). ill put both down~ (TUMBLR ATE THE QUALITY LITERALLY WHERE DID IT GO.)

[suntails]

soooo eepy sleepy

[cobaltcreations]

Me and my partner @the-good-ol-art-corner collaborated on this AWESOME poster for one of our favorite Bendy Aus @toontiedterror by @dictatortirah !! I am in LOVE with how it came out and I am so excited to see how this story and world develops!!

I put so many details into this, it is absolutely silly, but I had a swell time doing them. Those headshots on the missing posters belong to the staff from our own Bendy project @howdy-folks-its-showtime and we didn't even intend to make two versions. But I put so much into the background... I just had to make a version without the foreground to show it off <3

[didderd]

when u kiss his chipped eyebrow <333

[shakingparadigm]

what is the theory that ivan manipulated the event where till and mizi met the wagyein?

It's not a theory, actually! It's confirmed that Ivan orchestrated the whole event. The true reason as to why however is still unknown. The information provides more context to this scene, though:

During the earlier times of ALNST the most rational explanation for this scene was that Till ran after a flower crown (presumably Mizi's) and Ivan followed him in out of curiosity. Now we know that Ivan was conveniently just standing there because he was waiting.

Side note, I find it heartbreaking (and maybe a little funny, sorry) that Till most likely didn't notice Ivan in this scene. That's just like him, isn't it. Always too busy running after Mizi while Ivan trails behind, an ever-present shadow.

I'm not sure how Ivan manipulated the circumstances for both of them to end up there, but it is confirmed that everything was intentional. What strikes me most is how they describe this particular scene:

I can't copy down what they said word-for-word (Patreon info), but they described Ivan watching "creepily" as Till and Mizi are faced with danger. We know that Ivan was familiar with the Cerberus wagyein beforehand, enough to touch its teeth and even to rest himself inside its maw. To Ivan, the wagyein is not dangerous, but to Till and Mizi, it could be. Ivan prepared the wagyein, led them there, and watched "creepily" from afar as Till fell on his knees, seemingly injured.

The closest I can get to making sense of Ivan's "scheme" is that he wanted to see how other children would react in a dangerous situation. Ivan's always been an observer, after all, and he's learned to survive by copying the more "normal" behaviors of his peers. This situation occured when Ivan was still young and had not yet developed his more charming mask, so perhaps he staged this encounter to study a situational response, to learn and mimic the emotion of fear. And what better subjects for the experiment than two of the most expressive and reactive humans of their batch? It helps that he was already fixated on Till beforehand, too. I think Ivan became irreversibly obssessed after this incident, especially since it's framed as a turning point in Ivan's life, comparing Till to the stars.

This is just my attempt at an interpretation, though. It could very well be for another reason. He most likely chose Till and Mizi specifically for personal reasons, not just for reaction. I'm still not sure on the purpose behind the whole thing.

The team wanted to capture Ivan's "dark emotions" through the shot of his stalking, which could relate to his more sinister intentions. His gaze can be read in a few different ways, though. Curiosity, interest, fear, etc. Maybe that's why they decided to redraw the shot in ROUND 6.

I think this better sells the feeling they were trying to convey.

[lenle-g]

From Serious Moments by @mariashades

This year, it was just after two in the morning when Virgil rolled out of bed and went looking for Scott. He’d been roused from a restless sleep when, informed by some subconscious awareness or instinct, he’d sensed Scott leaving his room. Padding quietly through the dimly lit house on bare feet, Virgil found the eldest on the mezzanine floor above the lounge, his tall frame curled up and wearing the old university tee shirt and sweatpants he usually slept in. Scott didn’t look up as Virgil approached, his eyes fixed on his watch and scarcely daring to blink as the numbers ticked over, a large open bottle of something dark in his other hand. Not even Virgil crouching beside the chair got a reaction. “Scott?” Virgil asked carefully, already planning how to get the bottle off his eldest brother. This was not a coping mechanism that he wanted to chance becoming a habit. “...I’m officially older than Mom,” was the reply, and Virgil felt his gut twist at the utter heartbreak in the words.

[wickjump]

im gonna start posting fanfic recs btw whenever i find good ones. both here and my (awfully barren) 18+ account. because there are so many good fics out there with so few hits and fewer kudos and sometimes no comments period and it SUCKS because i REALLY LIKE THEM A LOT.. and i hope that by linking them here and yelling at everyone to COMMENT DAMMIT they might actually do it

seriously though any comment means a lot. most people who read a fic don’t even give a kudos. even if the fic wasn’t top tier, if you didn’t dislike it, hand over some kudos!! and if you liked it, comment!!!! even if the comment is one singular heart emoji it will be appreciated. if the comment just says “great fic!” the author will be happy. your comment doesn’t have to be this long winded gushing or analysis.

so many authors quit writing or lose motivation because the comments are few and far in between or just sometimes nonexistent. trust me when i say authors don’t care about how long or cool or smart sounding your comment is i promise!!!

i hope that mmmaybe recommending fics and telling people to comment might help fics i really like get more support maybe. and i, points at you reading this, hope that you will listen!!!at least a little….at least sum kudos….

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

Something about how Fire & Ice give up on going after Pearl directly, and instead both arrow in on dissing Marina-

Something about, Pearl having no shame at all, outright telling Frye right off that Off the Hook is here to “take control” and then literally talking over Frye’s turn. Frye’s snarking on how Pearl isn’t the boss here and no one’s cheering for her, ignored. How she goes after both Frye and Shiver asking where Frye’s big friend is to help her pass this test, moving right on to saying they’re both just goons making a mess anyway, little fish who should stay in they're bowl, but

that seems to give Frye the idea of hitting back with the “who’s backing you? Imaginary friends?” line… like Marina doesn’t even count as a music partner- or a friend?

Pearl literally yaps about Marina being divine, one of a kind, voice so fine, big mind- raps the lines off her cuff and the heart that's proudly pinned there

And Frye and Shiver go TARGET DETECTED. They lock onto Marina.

Shiver doesn’t bother trying to needle Marina about Pearl, the way their partners were each doing- if Pearl has no shame then at least she DOES still have a weakness, a soft spot, a thing she openly cares about- something they can try riling her up over

(problem: Pearl actually has all the confidence in Marina as a musician, partner, and performer. She's WATCHED Marina be all those things for YEARS now)

In the end Frye and Shiver just rile up the gay feels. Because Marina’s been living with a rapper who LOVES hyping her up even when they’re not on stage- Pearl who said she’d cut a fish for Marina. And if you don’t come to Inkopolis with a lot of self confidence, well then getting some from your girlfriend is fine too  

But it’s cute that Pearl’s still so obvious about being Marina's no. 1 fan that Fire & Ice thought they could use it against her XD

[applestorms]

ok, well. if last time i talked about parallels between near & light, i guess it’s only fair that this time i talk about parallels between mello & misa. yap central on this blog lately.

the main thing that stands out the most about mello & misa, and the reason why i will forever Defend them and their place in the story, is that in my mind they both function in a similar way on a narrative level: namely, both of them are incredibly active wild-card characters that keep the action going and the story moving forward when the other main characters like light, L, & near start getting too passive.

notably, while i often see this trait praised in mello, usually in the context of a comparative criticism of near for his overly-abundant passivity, i have also seen it used as a criticism of misa's character, that she breaks up the status quo of DN too significantly and thereby makes the story feel less realistic. this last point in particular is an odd argument to make imo, as if anything misa's presence only increases the realism of DN by adding some extra luck/random chance into the story in a way that is ultimately still character-motivated and thus easier for the audience to go along with-- something DN in general is very good at, often introducing elements through pure chance but keeping them grounded in characters enough that you almost don't even notice.

take light meeting naomi misora, for example: the only reason he runs across her at all is because he offers to run an errand for his mom on a bored laundry day, literally stumbling across her right at the exact moment she is divulging important insights she is literally the only person capable of making about kira. yet this moment does not stand out as particularly aggravating or out of place in the story, as ultimately the only reason why light is able to get out of that situation is his own quick thinking and ability to calm himself while under immense pressure, squeezing his way out of a potentially run-ending situation he didn't even know existed moments prior.

(not a fan of that big joel video, if you couldn't tell. lmao.)

point is, mello & misa both fulfill about the same narrative function in the story by being so aggressive in their actions, catching the others off guard even if their plans aren't as well thought out or careful as they could otherwise be. they're both incredibly passionate, dedicated characters as well, tough enough to take the hit when it inevitably comes, and in my opinion neither of them are nearly as stupid as the other MCs like to make them out to be. to some degree, i think both of them are aware of the fact that they can't win at the Mind Game Cold War Bullshit the others are inclined to get involved in, so they instead choose to carve out their own place in the story through sheer perseverance alone.

which, speaking of passion: one of the most interesting parallels i think you can make between mello & misa is the ways in which they idolize their respective heroes, misa's obviously being light while mello's is L. allow me to elaborate.

as this post points out, DN has some very interesting use of its religious imagery & theming, and in particular its use of christian/catholic gothic imagery in its story and especially its art. however, as op notes, a lot of this is quite superficial, ascribing to an aesthetic of "kitschy Catholicism," that was characteristic of a lot of early 2000s japanese goth style. yet, while i admit that a more serious consideration of religious elements in the art & story could add some interesting flavor to the story, i also think that, regardless of intention, the superficiality of DN's religious elements works really well in the context of this particular story. as i stated in my tags on that post: light is a superficial god. he is a fake, a scam, some idiot human that stumbled across the powers of a real shinigami and got his head up his ass about it. and a lot of the arcs of other characters in DN is about their reaction to light's claims-- whether they choose to follow him (e.g. misa, mikami), follow somebody else (e.g. mello), or follow nobody at all (e.g. near, also kinda soichiro?), and the implications that has for their lives and personalities.

this is all to say that while you can, on a surface level, connect misa & mello pretty easily as the two aggressive, fashionable blondes of the series, i also think that these somewhat superficial traits betray a greater connection between the two of them. if we understand the christian/catholic elements of misa & mello's fashion as a demonstration of their connection to not just a higher power but a lie, a superficial deity simply reflecting the sunlight of powers greater than himself, then i think we have great insight into another key element of both their characters.

do not forget: in the world of DN, heaven & hell do not exist. at least in the context of death itself, the realm & lore of the shinigami reign supreme, a point which the DN musical makes even more overt: "Isn't it a laugh? / Isn't it a shame? / Thinking there is someone in heaven to blame?" and "Going through the motions / as if there will be a reward / Oh, while we stay eternally bored!" (BEST SONGGG.) everyone is destined for the same fate of MU, the same void of nothingness awaits all. no reward, no punishment, no greater deity looking down upon us than the bored, slothful shinigami, lazing about in their realm and picking people off only when necessary (for the most part).

misa & mello are thus dedicating themselves to false idols, and we can see the negative effects this has on them in almost every facet of their character-- particularly for mello, who is perhaps more self-aware and has more of a mixed emotional outlook on his idol, but maybe even to a more extreme degree for misa. i keep going back to this idea of equating boredom with depression in DN, but where light/L/near are all "bored" in a very quiet, passive, stewing-in-bed late at night kinda way, misa & mello are characteristically a lot more aggressive and intense about it-- while neither of them are super overtly suicidal, necessarily, their actions still betray a distinct lack of care for their own safety or lives, expressing the same thematic sentiment as the others. even if they still don't straight up say it, through their actions they're a lot louder about not liking themselves, and seem to take the problems they see in the world more personally, shouldering the blame as a failure within themselves instead of projecting it outward like the others: e.g. light taking his unhappiness at the emptiness of his life at the start of the story & placing the blame on the world for "going to shit" & humanity's moral failings, versus misa being willing to literally & figuratively give up her life for KIRA the second he demands it, whether that be in the form of shinigami eyes or killing her own friends w/o second thought-- all because he was the only thing to bring justice to her own parents' deaths, an almost undoubtedly traumatizing/horrible experience for her considering how much value she places on KIRA/light afterwards.

to clarify, this is not to say that all of these characters are actually and literally depressed and/or suicidal, though you could certainly make that argument for some/all of them-- this is just one way that i think you could interpret their roles in the plot, and their thematic attachment to the story. even if DN isn't all that interested in considering the True Moral Answer to ethics/the justice system/human society/etc, it definitely takes at least some interest in the emotional viewpoints of characters in relation to those concepts, so i think this is a fair enough approach to take. or to say this another way, it's less about justifying the claim that "the world is shit," and more about trying to understand the emotional motivation & experience of feeling like the world is shit, if that makes sense.

that being said...speaking more on the whole "not liking themselves," thing: even if she doesn't say it aloud often, if ever, i think that misa is deeply aware of the fact that she was not supposed to live this long, that her existence at all is a pure stroke of luck that let her live on past her destined date. she dedicates herself to light so fully, not even necessarily expecting reciprocation (though she at least reserves herself the possibility of such), because being a disciple to her god at least gives her life some kind of purpose. similarly, i think mello is also aware of just how out of reach the one thing he wants is, how his desperation in and of itself is ironically the one thing keeping him from surpassing near and truly being #1. it's important to note that pre-time skip misa & post-skip mello are almost exactly the same age, around 20 years old at the time of their main arcs. they're immature, and in the case of mello especially, are lashing out at the world in whatever way they can because they know they don't quite fit into it in the way that they want to or should. regardless of the intent behind it, mello & misa both still make the conscious decision to kill with the DN-- perhaps in a way that still keeps their humanity, at least following near's logic, but it's a decision to end a human life either way.

anyways, going back to my previous point, this "worshiping of false idols," idea has some interesting implications-- for misa & mello yes, but also for L and the ways in which he contrasts again light, as under this logic mello's treatment kind of inherently gives L a similar status as a sort of false god/idol. which-- actually makes a lot of sense? or at the very least, viewing wammy's house as a kind of mystery cult a la the eleusinian mysteries is a neat approach to take. L & light's mutual alienation from humanity fits them both filling a false god status, anyway. also there's another thread of analysis you could follow here where near is instead fit into the role of the person mello is fixated on which AAAAAAAAA has interesting implications but jesus fucking christ, this post is long. some thoughts for another time, i suppose.

[muirmarie]

Me: I joke about writing the same McCoy centric story over and over again in different ways

Me: and like. I love doing it and imma keep doing it because it makes me happy.

Me: but also. I do sometimes wonder if it's like. A little Much.

Me: like maybe I should branch out or something

Me: [reads another fundamental and extremely insulting misread of McCoy's character by someone who is clearly making a Choice to cast McCoy as the villain, because they have to get him out of the way of spirk, because they're too???? idk immature??? to realize that even when you're in a relationship with one person, other ppl can and SHOULD still be important to you]

Me: lmao I hope I AM too much actually!!!! I hope it is 100% obnoxious how much I love that doctor!!!!! Time to write more versions of the same story of McCoy being forced to realize that he is loved and cared for!!!!!!

Me: I KNOW MY NICHE AND IMMA DIE IN THAT NICHE, THANKS

[nonranghaes]

mark hears your giggling before he ever sees you. it felt weird being at this party without you, but now that he hears you, so satisfied with whatever plans you'd strung together with his friends... he finds himself giddy with excitement. donghyuck tells him to stop looking for you quickly, acting as though you hadn't given yourself away.

he hears your voice before anyone else joins in: "haaaappy birthday to you..."

and then he sees you, carrying a cake with lit candles. the rest joins in, and mark's smiling harder than before. he sees the way the light reflects in your eyes as you make your way forward, leading the charge. he knows the cake in your hands is homemade, too, because you'd been casually asking him little questions for weeks now. what flavor he'd want, the colors, any decorations...

you could have literally bought him a crummy store-bought cupcake and he'd love you as much as he does now.

you set the cake down in front of him, and for a moment, he just wants to quickly kiss you before going back to the party. but he feels the way you lean in for a second, giving him a lingering kiss on the cheek.

"happy birthday, cutie," you giggle, "i love you."

he doesn't say it back--not now. not unless he wants to get teased by his friends for how in love with you he really is. when he says it to you later, you just smile and give him this cheeky "i know."

"all i have to do is look at you to know," you tease, stealing a kiss from him during this quiet moment the two of you have together. you giggle, leaning against him when he curls an arm around you. "no wonder your friends tease you so much."

(and his subsequent giggles say it loud and proud, too: he adores you with everything he is.)

[deathbyclown]

Cross Guild Headcanon: How they react to bugs/insects

Mihawk:

Totally unafraid of whatever bug he finds. Venomous, poisonous, lots of legs, no legs, winged, flightless; it doesn’t matter, he hasn’t met a bug scarier than a person

Will pick up random bugs and examine them, absolutely unconcerned about stingers or pincers

Does his own taxidermy and has an extensive collection of strange insects he’s found on his travels.

Whatever bugs he doesn’t take home he sketches and writes about in meticulously kept journals

His favorite bug: the camel spider- vicious, unloved, solitary

Crocodile:

Doesn’t really think about bugs and is unbothered by them.

Except for scorpions and tarantulas. If he sees a tarantula on the wall or in the corner of the room he’s leaving. And then quietly sending someone else to get rid of it.

He will deny this fear. “Would a man who keeps man-eating beasts be afraid of some small… many legged…venomous creature?” Yes. He would.

Had an unbelievably uncomfortable meeting with Mihawk one time where he met at Mihawk’s castle and the whole wall was lined with scorpions. They never met at Mihawk’s place again.

His favorite bug: a dragonfly - eye-catching, quick, born from the water and lives in the light

Buggy:

Does not like any bug! If that thing flies at him, if it has too many legs, or looks pointy he will freak out.

He doesn’t even like the most acceptable kinds of insects; ladybugs, butterflies, caterpillars, etc. It doesn’t matter how harmless, if they have too many legs, he will not go near them.

When he was a kid, he used to collect them with Shanks. But he had a traumatic experience when he brought a spider back into their room and it released an egg sac that had hundreds of little spider babies.

After that incident, his relationship with bugs continued downhill. The straw that broke the camel spider’s back was visiting an island with humongous insects and getting lost in the jungle for hours with wasps chasing him.

His favorite bug: If he was forced to choose, probably a butterfly (but at a distance!)- colorful, flashy, can’t technically hurt him

[mrmeepsmadmind]

they are ignoring my big beautiful pathetic himbo wife and his cute little platypus tail that he has for some tank part reason im too dumb to understand why