#if you read this far. WOW. twenty parts. TWENTY.

[obsesssedblerd]

Birthday Wishes

Synopsis: You, your kids, and all of your friends and colleagues work together to give your husband, Satoru, the best birthday ever. 

Pairing: husband! Gojo x f! reader

Contains: Teeth-rotting fluff, comfort, angst but i promise it’s brief, canon divergence, reader and gojo are married and they adopted the first years, reader and gojo also have a baby together, the students being students, yuuji planning a party, everyone is happy bc i freaking said so. 

wc: 3.2k

a/n: happy birthday satoru <3 you’re so loved.

likes, reblogs, and comments appreciated <3 (also, if you want to read the first part where they adopt the first years, it’s here!)

barely proofread, sorry for mistakes.

— — — — — 

The first time Satoru felt bothered about birthdays was when he was seven, and he was walking around the city on his own so he wouldn’t have to deal with his annoying trainers. He passed by a park, and he saw a family singing happy birthday to a young boy. He was surrounded by his family and friends, who all looked happy to be there with him. There were presents, a cake that everyone shared, and decorations that the boy loved.

The sight made his heart pinch slightly, and he began imagining how his birthday party would look if the world was perfect and far kinder to him. As he grew older, that pinch on his heart turned into a tight squeeze, an ache that intensified with every minuscule reminder that he truly was alone in this world, no matter what people told him. 

Even though he attempted to shove the idea of birthday parties, celebrations with friends, and a family to hug him tight on his special day to the back of his head so it wouldn’t hurt as much, every year on December 7th, he found himself making a birthday wish when it was late and everyone else was asleep.

I wish I could make friends; when he turned eight. 

I wish I could have a party; when he turned eleven. 

I wish I could have a normal day for once; when he turned fifteen. 

I wish I could stop having nightmares about Toji; when he turned eighteen. 

I wish Suguru would come back; when he turned twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, and twenty-three. 

It was fine. He was the strongest. He shouldn’t feel that way about a birthday. They were stupid and beneath him anyway, right? He’s not like everyone else, even though there was a tiny sliver of something heartbroken within him, constantly screaming about how badly he wanted to be like everyone else. 

–

“Satoru.” 

The nightmare has the same scene as the others. The crowded street in Shinjuku, Satoru’s heavy breathing as he’s desperately blinking back tears, and Suguru, dressed in black, slowly turning around so his back was facing him. 

God, no. Not again. 

“Satoru.” Suguru’s tone is dismissive, and Satoru’s feet are glued to his spot on the sidewalk. He can’t follow him where he’s going. He never could. All he could do is watch as his best friend walks away, leaving him and the friendship they had behind. 

No. Please. 

He knows how this ends, but it still hurts. Around him, the people and buildings start to darken, and the light fades with every step Suguru takes away from him until he’s alone in pitch black. Soon, there’s nothing but a sickening, shadowy silence. 

– 

“Satoru.” 

The voice that calls his name isn’t Suguru’s from the nightmare. It’s soft, feminine, patient, and so full of love. You. He feels fingers tenderly brush against his cheek, and he stirs in his sleep with a small groan. 

“Baby,” you call him again. “It's time to wake up.” 

Satoru’s eyes flicker open, and he’s met with your smiling face. He looks around the large bedroom that you two share, remembers that life is so, so much different now, and exhales in relief. He sits up in the bed, and he looks over at the digital clock on the nightstand. “Oh, wow, it’s past noon?” 

“Well, yeah,” you say with a small, quiet laugh. “We all thought you should sleep in today.” Your hand finds his cheek again, and you lean in so you can kiss his forehead. “Happy birthday, Toru. I love you so much.” 

“Oh?” He looks at the clock again to check the date. Sure enough, it’s December 7th. 

However, the ache that he’s felt for most of his life wasn’t there. Since falling in love with you, it’s been replaced with a comforting, gentle warmth. For the last few years, he’s actually looked forward to his birthday, because it meant another year and more experiences with you and the family you two made together. More time, more love.

He smiles up at you and hugs you close to him so he can rest his head on your tummy, allowing you to rake your fingers through his snow-colored hair, which was messy from sleeping all morning. “Thank you, pretty girl. I love you, too.” 

Once he’s done brushing his teeth and washing his face, you appear in the bathroom door again. An adorable, yet frustrated whine from your side makes him look down, and you laugh, shifting your baby so she’s in front of you instead of resting on your hip. “Someone is a little upset that she didn’t get her morning cuddles from Daddy.”

Satoru chuckles at that, and he takes his daughter from you right as she starts reaching for him, her blue eyes light with adoration and excitement. “Aw, ‘m sorry, princess. I was sleepy.” He rains kisses on her chubby cheeks until she bursts with giggles, and Satoru can’t help but grin, gently stroking the girl’s hair—colored exactly like yours except for a few white strands. “How has your morning been, Riko? Hope you’ve been good to Mommy.” 

“She was whining for a while because she didn’t know where you were, but other than that, she was great.” 

He carries Riko and follows you out of your bedroom. Like every time he’s in the hallway, Satoru finds his favorite picture hanging on the wall. It was from the evening when Riko was born. Kento was kind enough to take a picture of you and Satoru holding her. The three teenagers you adopted, Yuuji, Megumi, and Nobara, were surrounding the bed with teary eyes and happy smiles. 

Speaking of. 

“Hey, the house is as quiet as the day we moved in,” Satoru says. “Where’s our other three kids?” 

“Hm? Oh, they’re taking care of some things at the school right now,” you reply once you reach the living room where the first of many gift bags rested on the couch. You lift it up for him to see, and Satoru gasps excitedly. “Oooh, a present?!” 

“Duh, silly. It’s your birthday.” You trade him the present for Riko, and you point towards the notecard that was taped on the gift. “That’s a clue. When you’re done opening that, get dressed. You’re going to be going on a little scavenger hunt for the rest of your gifts.” 

“Oooh, interesting. Can I teleport?” 

You frown, and Riko cosigns with an adorable pout and whine. “Absolutely not. That takes the fun out of it.” 

Satoru scoffs with a roll of his eyes, but his smile doesn’t fade. He starts opening the present, and you sneakily open your messages to text one of your sons. 

You: We’re about to leave the house. It’s 1pm right now. Do you think you guys can be done by four? I’ll do everything I can to stall him.

Yuuji: 100%. We got this! :)

— — — 

“Alright, everyone!” Yuuji calls out to the rest of the group. “Mom just left the house with Dad. We only have about three hours to get everything there and set up! Everyone ready?” 

“All ready,” Yuuta replies as he places three more bags full of party supplies in the back of Kento’s car. “Ino is with Kugisaki and Inumaki right now. They’re at the bakery grabbing the cake.” 

“I bet you lunch tomorrow that someone here is eventually going to drop the cake.” Yuki chortles.

Maki snickers as she loads a box into the trunk, using her free hand to ruffle Yuuta’s hair when she passes him. “I agree with her. There’s always some type of tragedy when setting up surprise birthday parties.” 

“Ladies, please. Let’s not speak that into existence,” Choso says. “I heard that [Y/N] spent quite a bit of money on that cake.” 

Next to Yuuji, Megumi taps his shoulder to get his attention. “Do you think he used his Six Eyes to see the presents we hid in the library?” 

“Well, Mom said he woke up a bit late. He had to get ready before starting the scavenger hunt she set up, plus Riko’s an adorable distraction, so I doubt it.” 

Megumi nods, then peeks at his phone. “Okay, got Mom’s location. They’re about thirty minutes away from home. Now’s our chance.” 

“I’ll have Ichiji meet the students at the bakery once they’re ready,” Kento Nanami says, pulling his jacket on to fight the December chill. “I would hate for them to have to catch the subway back.” 

–

“Holy crap.” Takuma Ino’s surprised voice echoes throughout the living room where everyone else is setting up for the party. “This is where you guys live now? This place is huge!” 

“Yup!” Nobara answers as she takes off her shoes and places them next to the others near the door. “Amazing, right? I truly had no idea how much money Dad had until I saw this place. There’s rich, and then there’s stupid rich.” 

Megumi pauses filling up a balloon and turns towards her with a small, amused smile. “I thought you learned that when you spilled something on one of his shirts and nearly fainted when I told you how much it cost.” 

At the memory, Yuuji snickers. “Then we tried to shove it in your shirt to hide it.” 

Megumi rolls his eyes. “Like the idiots you two are.” 

“If anyone is used to how much Gojo likes to spend on clothes, it’s definitely Megumi,” Maki says as she tapes a blue tablecloth down on the table. 

“Yeah, he’s known him the longest. Has Gojo-sensei always lived here?” Yuuta asks. “I never heard him talk about a house this size.”

Megumi shakes his head. “He had no intention of living here. This place was a gift from the Gojo clan. He showed me once when I was nine, then never brought it up again. He had a small place near the school he stayed at.” 

“Then he fell in love?” Yuki asks with an excited grin. 

“Then he fell in love,” Ieiri Shoko replies. She smiles as she points at the portrait of you and Satoru on your wedding day hanging on the wall. “Moved here, adopted those three, then [Y/N] had Riko.” 

“Speaking of Riko, why couldn’t she be here?” Nobara asks with a small whine. “I was hoping to hold my baby sister while you all set up for the party.” 

Panda scoffs. “You could help, y’know.” 

“I did help! I went to go get the cake! Right, Toge?” 

Toge, who was helping Yuuta with some decorations, nods with a thumbs-up. “Salmon.” 

“Alright, guys, the table for the presents is all set up,” Maki says. “Leave your gifts here.” 

“I’ll go grab ours from the library!” Yuuji announces, then taps his older brother on the shoulder. “Could you give me a hand? There’s quite a few.” 

“Of course.” 

Choso follows Yuuji to the sunroom that you and Satoru turned into your at-home library. He finds the presents stashed in the corner behind one of the bookshelves, and starts to lift a few of them. 

“Wow,” Choso breathes out. “This is a lot of books.” 

“Yeah, Mom reads a lot. Her and Megumi spend a lot of time here,” Yuuji replies.

Choso helps by grabbing a stack of presents, and smiles at his words. “I’m glad to see how happy and comfortable you are here. All three of you.” 

“I still can’t believe it. Like, a part of me still thinks that this is a dream and I’m going to wake up back in the dorms, still attached to Sukuna.” 

When Choso’s smile falters, Yuuji changes the subject. “You should come over more often. I know you and Yuki are incredibly busy, but I still want to teach you how to play video games.” 

“I’ll make time. And I—” 

“OH, NO!!!” 

The loud chorus of fearful gasps and screams make Yuuji and Choso drop what’s in their arms, and they sprint down the long halls back to the living room. “What is it?!” Yuuji exclaims. 

Toge turns around with a gulp, then shakily points towards the ground. “Mustard leaf,” he whispers. Yuuji looks to where he’s pointing, then gasps in horror, nausea swimming in his gut.  

The cake is splattered across the floor. 

Ieiri releases a loud sigh to break the silence, and she drags her hand down her face. “And there’s our tragedy.” 

Megumi shakes his head. “I blame Maki and Yuki for speaking it into existence.”

“Well I blame Takuma for dropping the damn thing,” Maki snaps back.

“I said I was sorry!!” Takuma shouts, looking as nauseous as Yuuji felt.

“Oh, no. Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no!” Yuuji’s heart pounds, and he yanks his phone out of his pocket to check the time. They only have about forty more minutes if they want to be done on time. What now? How can I fix this? 

“Okay, no one panic. That won’t get us anywhere.” Kento says. “First things first, let’s get this cleaned up. Itadori, call [Y/N] and let her know what happened.” 

“Yeah, he’s right. Besides, this isn’t the first time we had a cake dropped on someone’s birthday, remember?” Yuuta gently pats his shoulder. “It’ll be alright. We’ll clean up.”

Right, he needs to call you. As everyone else either helps clean the mess or continues setting up, Yuuji steps outside where it’s quieter. He waits for a couple of seconds, then presses the green button near your contact to call you. 

“Hey Yuuji, is everything alright?” You softly ask him once the line connects. 

He swallows hard. “Hi. Uh- Yeah, things are fine. How’s Dad doing?” 

“He’s currently showing Riko around the butterfly garden where we confessed that we loved each other for the first time. He’s having way more fun on this hunt than I anticipated. We might be about twenty minutes late. I figured it wouldn’t be too much of a problem, just in case you all needed more time.” 

“Well…” He mutters sadly. “We messed up the cake. I don’t know what to do. I can’t imagine throwing a birthday party and not having a cake.” 

“It’s okay. Are Yaga and Utahime there yet?” 

“No. They mentioned that they’d have to work late so they wouldn’t be able to help set up. They’ll be at the party, though.” 

“Good. Have either Kento or Ieiri call and ask them to stop by the bakery closer to our house. Yaga will know exactly what to get, okay?” 

The knot in Yuuji’s chest eases. “You had a back-up plan.”

You laugh at that. “If being a sorcerer and being in love with the one and only Satoru Gojo has taught me anything, it’s to always have a plan B, and sometimes a plan C. Everything’s going to be alright. I promise.” 

“I’m really sorry about the cake. I know you spent a lot on that. Gosh, I just really wanted everything to be perfect, and—” 

“Yuuji,” you sigh. “It will be perfect. He’ll be so excited that you even came up with this plan and brought everyone together for it. You tried your best, and no one got hurt. That’s more than enough. Yaga is going to pick up Satoru’s favorite treat, and we’ll put his candles with that. All of the guests will have the cake he brings. Don’t beat yourself up.” 

“Thanks, Mom.” 

“Of course, honey. Chin up, okay? Finish strong. I’m so proud of you for planning all of this. It wasn’t easy, but you did it. I’ll see you all soon.” 

“See you soon.” When Yuuji hangs up the phone, he’s overcome with a burst of determination. Finish strong. I can do this. He walks back into the house with his head held high.

– – – 

“Satoru, did you really have to buy her so many butterfly clips for her hair?” You ask as you hold up the souvenir bag from the butterfly garden. “Riko’s going to be wearing these for the rest of her life.” 

“Of course I did. Look how cute they are in her hair!” He lowers his head so he can talk to Riko, who’s safe in your arms. “Right, princess? Of course you need sixty butterfly clips. I would’ve gotten you a million of them if I could.” When the baby giggles in response, he kisses the top of her head. 

In his hands are all of the gifts he’s received throughout the day. Clothes, accessories, cologne, a new watch, and a detailed birthday card and love letter from you. Satoru spent the whole afternoon smiling that you’re certain that his face will be sore tomorrow morning. 

“This was so much fun, pretty girl,” he tells you as you approach the front door of the house. “Thank you. I’m so grateful for you.” He begins unlocking the door, and you struggle to contain your excited grin. This is it. 

“Still wondering what’s going on with Yuuji, Megumi, and Nobara,” Satoru mumbles as he opens the door and switches on the light. “I really hope they didn’t take a mission today—” 

“SURPRISE!!!” 

Satoru stops in his tracks, and the shock is so great that he lifts his blindfold to take all of it in. His colleagues, his students, and his three teenagers are all here in the living, wearing blue party hats and using noise blowers. There’s balloons, a banner that reads, Happy birthday, Satoru, and a table full of presents and cakes. 

He looks over at you with wide eyes, then back at everyone else in the room. “A party?” He whispers. “Did you plan this?” 

You shake your head. “Actually, he did,” you say as you point at Yuuji, who was standing in the front with Nobara and Megumi. “I planned your scavenger hunt, and he planned your party.” 

“I hope you like it,” Yuuji says as he steps forward with his dessert, neatly topped with a few lit candles. “Happy birthday. Thanks for being so incredible. From stopping my execution all the way to adopting me, you really changed my life. You changed all of our lives.” 

Your heart swells at the scene, and the crowd ‘aww’s. Yuuji does a small countdown, and everyone starts singing happy birthday to him. Satoru thinks back to the child he was; how he watched from a distance as that boy in the park was surrounded by love, and how he yearned to be in his spot. Now, he is. 

Once they’re finished singing, Satoru reaches forward and hugs Yuuji, Megumi, and Nobara all at once. “Thank you,” he whispers to them. “You all changed my life, too.” When he pulls away, he looks down at the still-lit candles, then glances at you. 

“Go on, love,” you tell him quietly, wiping away the happy tears that formed in the corner of your eyes. “Make a wish.” 

Satoru thinks about his past again, and how he spent all of his birthdays wishing to be somewhere else, something else, someone else. But as he looks at you and the daughter you blessed him with, the three kids he would choose in every lifetime, the students he cared so much about, and his colleagues from Jujutsu Tech that all came here for him, he desperately wanted to stay himself and stay where he is.

I wish for another safe year, full of love, he thinks to himself, then blows out the candles.

[for-a-longlongtime]

Guilty Pleasure (6/7) - dbf!Joel Miller x reader

An open bar and Joel in a tailored black outfit mean trouble at your father's garden party. Enough reason to do something you haven't done before.

Rating: Explicit, 18+ only, mdni 🔞🔥 Series warnings (tba): Age gap (reader is 22, Joel is 43), masturbation (f), use of sex toys, oral sex, PiV, anal, hair pulling, dirty talk, getting caught, playful use of 'daddy', outrageous flirting, groping, reference to m/m, Joel's arms should always come with a warning. No outbreak!AU. Word count: 3.4K A/N: I finished writing the final chapter last night and y'all, I'm giddy as fuck. Big BIG thanks to @milla-frenchy and @reallyrallyauthor for your support and reading Part 6 and 7 early to make sure this hits juuust right!

< part 5 | series masterlist | main masterlist

There are too many people in your backyard. Mingling, chatting, networking, kissing ass - all accompanied by canapés that are too fancy, beer that is so painfully hip and micro-brewed that you don’t even want to try it, and outfits intended to seem semi-casual yet also upstage everybody. You hate these gatherings. It’s far from the first time you’ve had to endure them because of your father’s work, though. Even your grandmother liked reminding you when you were little that your grandfather also hosted affairs like this. “It’s important to build connections.”

You don’t care. All you give a damn about tonight - or maybe these days, if you are honest with yourself - was Joel, dressed like a fucking vision. Well fitting black pants, that you suspect are tailored, an ever better fitting black dress shirt which is absolutely tailored, and matching black boots. His hair, usually curly and messy, now looks so sharp that you wonder if he got a haircut this morning; it’s a little shorter, definitely neater, and brushed back a little.

But what your eyes keep going back to the most are the few buttons on his shirt that are undone, showing off his tanned skin and a smattering of freckles you had barely noticed before. It makes you want to trace every single one with your tongue and find out if he would whine when you'd suck a hickey on his neck.

He’s at the bar, waiting for his drink, so you slide in right next to him and bump against his arm. “Hey. Don’t tell me you’re drinking those craft beers?”

“Jesus. No, of course not.” 

The expression on his face is one of instant disgust, and you can’t help but laugh at the candid response. “Wow, didn’t think there’d be someone else who’d hate them as much as I do.”

Joel grumbles something, then gives the bartender a nod as he takes a glass of whiskey from him. When the guy turns to you to take your order, you point at Joel’s glass. “I’ll have whatever he’s having.”

The guy gives you a doubtful look. “Can I see some ID?”

“Yes, you can. It’s called ‘I’m the daughter of the guy who is paying your salary tonight’ and I’m twenty two. Thanks for making that drink now.” You stare at him, daring him to push back against you - you are NOT in the mood for this tonight, especially not in front of Joel. After a few moments, the bartender sighs and shrugs as he turns around, reaching for a glass and some ice. You can feel Joel’s eyes on you, so you turn towards him to give him a similar look. “What? Go ahead. Say it.”

“Say what?”

“That I’m being a brat.”

“Nah.” Joel shakes his head as he sips from his whiskey. “You’d just get off on that. That’s not brattiness - you’re actually being rude,” he says, then wanders off to go talk to someone nearby.

You stare at him with an open mouth, anger starting to creep into you. How the fuck does he dare to just say something like that to you? It hurts, and most of all it gives you a pang of concern that maybe you’ve ruined your chances with him - between this and the way he responded at the pool a few days ago.

“Oh honey, forget about it.” The bartender gives you a look that’s bordering on pity and disdain, his inflection drastically different all of a sudden as he pushes a glass towards you. “That man ain’t into you. Wouldn’t touch you with a ten foot pole. Why don’t you go find somebody of your own age to play with, hmmm?”

“Why don’t you go fuck yourself?”, you snap at him as you grab the glass and stalk off, his words feeling like claws that have sunk into your skin and won’t let go of you. The burn of the liquor doesn’t help you in the way you’d hoped for, and you find yourself craving something stronger, sweeter. Anything that’ll help you take the edge off.

Anything, in this case, turns out to be 6’3”, blond, looks like a jock and is named… Brady? Brody? Brad. Ben. Blake. Something like that, you can’t remember, but it’s unimportant after having chatted with him for all of ten minutes. What matters is that he’s not a bad kisser, smells fine - not woodsy like Joel unfortunately - and his hands are large as well as eager, pressing you with your back against the solid wood of the pergola. 

If it wouldn’t ruin the mood for him, you probably would’ve laughed at the irony of making out with Blaine - Brandon? Brayden? No. Bruno. Bruce. Barry. Maybe it was Chad after all - right against the pergola that Joel had built over the past couple of days. 

You’d been watching Joel from your bay window, his muscles straining in the sun, while he grunted the way you had memorized from his Instagram videos. And for all of those three days, you’d had several orgasms as you’d watched him. Some of them were thanks to your fingers, others due to toys - varying from the small bullet vibe to the thrusting rabbit vibrator you used for longer sessions. But in the end, all of this had been going on for too long. The flirting, the way you’d feel him look at you regularly, the build up of tension; it had you feral by now, and you just wanted Joel.

You are gonna get him. Soon. Even if it means needing to make him jealous.

“Should we- should we go inside?” Jock guy pauses his kisses, leaning his forehead against yours as he runs his hands down your body, and you can feel him press hot and heavy against your thigh. Fuck, he is hung. “We’ll have some more privacy, and…”

“No, this is fine,” you say quickly, your eyes scanning the crowd of people across the yard. Most of them are unaware of your makeout session, and your glance slides right past them, but suddenly you detect Joel not too far away from where you are. He is staring right at you, gripping his whiskey glass in your hand, and when the guy next to him says something, he only shakes his head, not breaking his glance with you.

“Are you…”

“I said this is fine,” you said sharply to the guy with his hands on your hips. A frown plays over his face, and in a gesture of good will you let your hand brush over the crotch of his pants, tracing the outline of his dick. “Nobody is watching.”

He groans, his lips finding yours again as he pushes himself against your hand. You kiss him back eagerly this time, your arms around him as you turn him just the slightest bit so you can keep your view of Joel. He’s talking to the guy next to him now, a back and forth conversation, but every now and then his eyes slide back to you, and then there’s a nod he gives you that makes you shiver.

Baxter, or Bart, Bobby, or whatever the hell his name is, slips his hand under your skirt, and you moan when his fingertips trace your lacy underwear. You hear how he sucks in air for a second, then his chest almost puffs up in pride at how wet he finds you. Silly guy. He thinks it’s because of him, that his not-too-bad kisses have riled you up so much. Has no damn clue how Joel’s eyes are back on you again.

“Touch me,” you breathe at him, and then hold your breath when he does so. Thick fingers - though not as thick as Joel’s - slipping under the fabric of your panties, pulling them to the side while your eyes remain locked on Joel. You’re trying to merge the touches with your fantasies and the visual of Joel right in front of you, conjuring up his voice. You think of the way he’d tease you with slow, playful strokes over your pussy, each time a little more focused on your clit, making you delirious with need before he’d even consider sliding a finger into your soaked cunt.

But reality seems more than unwilling to blend with your fantasies. While initially the guy seemed to smell fine, you’re now noticing the overwhelming amount of generic fuck boy cologne he’s wearing, the scent unsettling and clearly something Joel would never even wear. He doesn’t smell like a hard day’s work on Joel does and his hands are too smooth, too well taken care of. No roughness from manual labor whatsoever, no finesse to tease you, and definitely not much muscle memory on how to properly get a woman going. 

Instead he’s just clumsy, perhaps because all the blood has rushed to his cock that’s pressing insistently against you. Substitute-Joel’s fingers slide over your folds only one disappointing time, clearly not even attempting to find your clit. He fumbles around as his own breathing grows heavy, then suddenly tries to push two fingers inside of you - without any further prep or even checking if that’s okay with you. 

It abruptly ruins the horny spell you’d been under several minutes ago, and you swear as you grab his hand to stop him, your pussy strongly objecting to his fingers trying to invade you. 

“Hey! Fucking hell,” you hiss, pulling his hand out of your underwear before he can go any further. “You always fingerbang girls without properly prepping them?”

“What? You’re practically dripping on me,” he hisses back as he looks confused. But you’re not about to end up in a discussion about how being wet doesn’t mean he can just shove his fingers inside of you - let alone without any warning.

“Never mind,” you say as you push him away from you, then straighten your clothes as you move away from the pergola. “Let’s just forget this happened, okay? I’ve gotta go say hi to someone.”

“Bitch,” he mutters at you, adjusting his tie and the collar of his shirt. On most days you would’ve gladly torn him a new asshole for that, but you’re just not in the mood to further engage with him. So you start to head into Joel’s direction, but then see that he seems to have moved elsewhere, leaving you to look around in confusion.

You look up when you hear a group of men laugh, and see your father shake some hands as he offers his audience a few more words. Joel is there too, you realize, still with a drink in his hand. Your father gives him a friendly pat on his arm, which is returned with Joel’s signature nod, as he then heads over to some other people who look more than eager to greet him. It makes your skin crawl to see him acting like some kind of politician, eager to make a good impression on everyone, and you quickly turn away from him to look back at Joel - who is now looking straight at you again, without saying anything.

It’s not until you’re back at the bar for another whiskey - you’ve lost track of how many you’ve had - that he shows up next to you, giving you a gentle nudge like you had done to him earlier. “D’you eat anything recently?”, he asks, absentmindedly playing with a coaster on the bar. You can smell the smokey alcohol on his breath, see that the buttons on his shirt are just a little more opened than they were a little while ago, and it just makes you ache for him.

“Shut up, Joel,” you mutter, but he doesn’t follow your suggestion - instead he picks up the whiskey that the bartender slides over to you and takes a sip of it.

“A water for her, please?”, he asks, then covers the liquor glass with his hand when you try to reach for it. “No. You’re done.”

You’re starting to seethe at this point. “Who the fuck you think you are telling me how much I can drink?,” you snap at him. His eyes are infuriatingly calm, but the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips makes it clear he’s a lot more amused than you are.

“Easy, darling. Just looking out for you, okay?” He pushes the glass of ice water on the counter over to you, but you have half a mind to throw it at him.

“Why are you bothering me?”

His eyebrows raise at the word ‘bothering’, but he doesn’t quite respond to it. “Just have some water and food,” he says softly. “You’ll feel like shit if you don’t.” 

“You’re drunk too.”

Joel rolls his eyes at you. “Yeah, well… have to get through this all somehow, don’t I? Been drinking water too, though.” He gives you a look as he takes another sip of whiskey, sighing.

“I don’t get why you’re here.” Your head is spinning a little, but at this point you’re not sure if it’s the booze or proximity to Joel that’s getting to you. The memory of that jock guy’s cologne is far from your mind by now, replaced now by that smell that you crave - the cologne you would recognize anywhere, layered with Joel’s own scent. And it’s driving you mad. “Nobody is making you, unlike they’re doing with me.” 

A smile plays over Joel’s face and he shrugs. “Your mom asked me.”

You can’t help but laugh. “My— what? And that’s why you’re voluntarily subjecting yourself to all of this?” You gesture around the yard, the groups of stuffy people, pretentious bite sized food and music that makes you desperately want to connect your phone to the speaker system. “I’ve been to so many of these. It’s awful, every single time.”

You’re waiting for him to tell you it’s not that bad, or even that you should suck it up. But instead he simply doesn’t respond, and only gives you a raised eyebrow as he has some more whiskey. When he puts the glass down on the bar, you impulsively swipe it and drain it before he can interfere, waiting for an actual retort this time. 

A frown slides onto his face and you grin almost triumphantly at the reaction, pushing the empty glass back towards him, only ice cubes remaining in it now. “I think you like dramatic,” you then blurt out, and see how he blushes slightly, the red flush creeping up from his chest to his neck.

“That what you think?” His eyes flick over you, and you nod, poking him in the chest with your finger. 

“Yeah. You’re… practical. Proper. Maybe kinda boring. You got your routine.” You really should stop talking with all that liquor in your system, but you refuse to admit he was right about you needing to sober up. “Maybe getting close to a midlife crisis? Working your job and then all the reno on your house. Don’t see you chill a whole lot.” 

You run your finger a little down his chest, then place your full hand against his shirt as you lean over to his ear. “I think you want some fun,” you whisper in his ear, barely audible due to the music playing at the party. “Somebody who shakes things up. Brings a little drama and excitement.”

Joel’s eyes are slightly unfocused from the whiskey, just like yours probably are, and you can tell that his guard is down in ways that you haven’t experienced before. “Old, huh? Boring, old, and close to a midlife crisis,” he says after a moment, a smirk on his face as he shakes his head. “But you would shake things up? Why would you bother with an old man?”

“Maybe I’m into that.” You bite your lip as you hesitate for a moment. “The whole DILF thing. And don’t think I haven’t noticed you watching me.”

His smirk widens into an actual grin now as he laughs, looking away at some commotion or a gathering that’s happening at the party. When he looks back at you, his eyes are darker than usual, and you can’t help but feel a shiver run down your spine.

“Little girl. You are in over your head.” His words are measured and quiet as he seems to pick them carefully, his hand now reaching for yours that’s still resting against his chest, and he gently pulls it off his shirt. “ Y’don’t even have a clue of what you’re playing with, darling. What are you gonna do? Rock my world? At your father’s party?”

“I don’t give a shit about his party,” you say sharply, but he shakes his head, interrupting you.

“But that’s the thing. You do,” he murmurs. “Y’couldn’t be more thrilled than to do so here, just to make a scene. Like you did with that guy.”

You feel victorious hearing him confirm that he had been watching you, and together with his ‘little girl’ comment it’s enough to make you soak your panties on the spot. “Were you jealous?”, you ask him challengingly.

He chuckles again, this time getting up from the barstool, and you take in his physique, admiring the way those tailored pants fit around his thighs. “Have some more water. And food,” he tells you, and in the split second you have before he turns away, you make up your mind. Perhaps it’s more like instinct, to do what you’ve been stopping yourself from doing for a while now. 

You grope him. 

Fingers quick as you cup him through his pants, closing around his balls and a part of his dick. It takes effort to bite back a whimper at finally feeling him, thick and hot and heavy in your hand, after all those weeks that you’ve been here and tried to figure out what the right move was. You hold his eyes defiantly, lips parted as you’d like to use your words but they all seem stuck in your throat.

His surprised intake of air when you grab him is immediate, and he looks frazzled as he shakes his head, tugging your hand abruptly away from his cock. “You out of your damn mind?”, he hisses, looking more than just a little flustered. “In front of everyfuckingbody?”

“So come insi—” The words die on your tongue when you suddenly see your mom approaching from a couple of feet behind Joel, unaware of what’s happening between the two of you, but apparently in search of you as she calls your name. Joel and you immediately step away from each other, him leaning against the bar as he seems to need a moment to compose himself. You have even less time to plaster a smile on your face for your mother, so you just nod enthusiastically as she rambles at you about some person’s son you should come meet. Your heart feels like it’s hammering out of your chest as you force yourself to tell her that you’d love to meet them, bringing a smile to your mom’s face.

Just as you’re about to join her to meet this person, your mom pauses at the bar and puts her hand on Joel’s shoulder. “By the way, he said that he could use your help with moving that thing, if you have time? Think he’s inside, couldn’t find you,” she said, and Joel nods while humming something affirmatively. His eyes flit to you for a split second before he looks down at the bar again, and he seems to wait until the two of you have moved away until he goes inside.    

You’re in a mild daze as you follow your mom through the crowd, performing the role you’re expected to play, while the moment that you grabbed Joel plays on repeat in your head. The gasp that spilled from his lips, the way he didn’t say ��no” - just “in front of everybody?”, which was an entirely different thing, and frankly… he wasn’t wrong.

You can wait. Just that little bit longer. It’ll be so worth it.

Joel's outfit at the party (as a dress shirt and pants instead of a jumpsuit):

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Thank you for reading, commenting or reblogging - I appreciate it so very much 🙏

🚨 Follow @longlongtime-updates + turn on notifs to see when the finale drops later this week!

[lizzyk137]

Baby's Secret- An Agent Gibbs Fic (Gibbs X Reader)

Description: After keeping your relationship a secret, what will it take for Gibbs to admit your his. Warnings: Mentions of bombings, swearing, hospital, fluff

(Part One) Want to read more, visit my Masterlist!

Dinner at Gibbs place was great, and it certainly wasn't food you both were devouring.

The next few months kept you busy with new cases, therapy sessions and at-home date with Gibbs. Gibbs wasn't one to leave his house much when he was home from work. He was stubborn, stating he goes out enough at work that he doesn't need to on his days off, and he stays with that statement no matter how much you try to change his mind.

Now you didn't mind staying home with Gibbs. It was relaxing and brought a calm over you that you needed after a stressful job, plus, some of the activities were very entertaining. But you wanted more.

As time went on, and your relationship stayed a secret from the team, due to Gibbs breaking one of his own rules, you were starting to get irritated that it didn't seem like he wanted people to know about you. On cases he always stayed a far enough distance away from you so no one could assume and reserved to checking on you when you were out of work when you got hurt. He also never expressed how he felt about you. He was a man of few words and you could feel that he cared about you when you were alone but you also know that things could be very much different as they were presented to you. And as good as he made you feel, he also equally was hurting you.

"Where are you going?" He asked six months into your relationship. It was a quiet Sunday morning, and it was gorgeous out, so you thought of going out and enjoying it.

"I'm going to the farmers market with Tim." You had answered back as you grabbed your purse and a reusable bag.

"McGee?" You could hear him getting up from his chair.

You turned around to meet his eyes, "Yes McGee, we always go to the farmers market on our days off."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. We've been doing it for the last year." You laughed.

"Oh." You walked up to him and gave him a peck on the lips, hoping his scowl would wipe away from his face, but it stayed.

"I'll be back in a few hours. See you!"

You didn't realize that day would leave to you two having to expose the very secret Gibbs had hidden for months.

"Y/N, look at this!" McGee was holding up a poster for an old video game.

"Wow, twenty dollars? I don't know if it's a steal or a rip-off." You laughed as he handed you the framed poster and reached into his wallet for cash. He paid the merchant and grabbed the poster back.

"Defiently a steal for me, the starting price online for this is $100. So where to next, Y/N?"

"There is a cute little stall selling plushies that I was eyeing, if that's okay?" He nodded, and let you lead.

You headed over to the stall when you felt a pair of eyes on you in the crowd. You scanned the area but didn't seem to find anyone out of the ordinary. You reached your stall, and you and Tim were checking out the plushies when you felt the same feeling as before on you.

"Tim, I think someone is watching us." You whispered as you held up a small plush bat.

"Really?"

You showed him the plush bat, "Yeah, while we were walking over here and now. No one seems out of the ordinary. I might just be paranoid. What do you think for Abbie?"

He nodded, and you held the bat in your arms. "I'll keep an eye out." You nodded back to him and grabbed a cute orange kitten plush.

"I think I want this!" You smiled up at him, trying to make the air a bit lighter.

His lips morphed into a smile, "Well then, I guess we better get it. It's on me since you bought me coffee."

"Aw, Tim! That's sweet of you, thanks!" You showed the merchant your items and they tallied them up and you both paid. "Alright, I think it's lunch time!"

Tim stood next to you, looking around. "I feel it too. Lets head to another stall, I don't like this feeling of being watched.

"Sure." You took a step forward when you felt and heard a sudden blast behind you. Warm air hit you, shoving your body forwards as you flew through the air, body tumbling as soon as it touched back down to the ground. Wood flew everywhere around you, as you tried to get up to look at the damage, when you felt another blast from another stall besides you as the world grew black.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gibbs was frightened. He hadn't been this frightened in a long time. Two of his teammates were lying unconscious in the hospital from some lunatic setting of a bomb and your condition wasn't the greatest as he watched your heart monitor bounce around irregularly.

"Hey, boss." Tony's voice interrupted his thoughts. "McGee just woke up. The doctor is checking him over and once he's done, we can talk to him."

The doctor came out an hour later and let the team know they could go in to see their friend.

"Take your time but what happened, McGee?" Ziva asked.

"Everything was normal until we got to our last stall. Y/N said she felt like someone was watching us but she didn't see anyone, and neither did I. I felt it as we were leaving but it was too late." McGee looked worried as he explained what happened to Gibbs. "I didn't see anyone but if I had just suggested we leave right off then she wouldn't here."

"Hey, nothing could have stopped those bombs from going off." Tony said gently, seeing McGee getting worked up as his heart monitor started beeping louder.

"Bombs? There was more than one? I only remember one of them."

Ziva nodded, "There was two. One at the stall you went too and one that was behind it."

They eventually left McGee after calming him down, and headed back into the waiting room.

"Tony, see what Abby has on the bomb. Ziva, figure out what stalls McGee and Y/L/N visit every week this past year."

"Past year? McGee didn't say anything about the past-"

"Just do it, Ziva!" Gibbs barked out.

"On it."

Gibbs circled around back to your room and watched you lying there. "We'll get them for you. I won't stop until I catch those bastards. Wait for me just a little longer."

Gibbs didn't visit the hospital for the next few days as he stayed up going over every little detail they had and trying to discover new leads. You still had yet to wake up, which fueled him even more to find whoever did this to you.

"Gibbs, I found something." Abby said over the phone.

"I'll be down." He said and ended the call. "Abby has a something, let's go."

The elevators chimed and as he and the team stepped off and into Abby's lab. "Whatcha got, Abs?"

"I found something in the security cameras. The shop that Y/N went to every week was this one here," Abby pulled up the shop's logo on the screen, "it's a small business that sells stuffed animals. She had been eyeing this cat for weeks. With my findings on the surveillance and evidence from the bomb, it looked like whoever made the cat used it as a trigger. Once out of the safe zone, it set off both bombs. The second one was delayed due to the stall being moved slightly during set up." She showed a few slides of the stuffed cat, one that looked similar to her cat that had just past away, and then to a video display of how the bombs worked. "I did some more digging, and found that the maker for these stuffed animals come from a company located just out of D.C."

"We spoke with the shop keepers and they said they draw up the designs and then send them out to a group that then goes around to manufacturers." Tony said.

"Tony, Ziva, go to the factory and interview the workers."

"Wait! I can do you one better." Abby said. "I managed to hack into their surveillance cameras, courtesy of McGee, and found exactly who worked on the stuffed cats for our small business. He goes by the name, James Harrington." Abby hit a key on the keyboard pulling up his James' social media. "It looks like Y/N and him had gone out a few times but about six months ago they haven't communicated or gone out."

"Let's bring him in." Gibbs said through a clenched jaw.

Gibbs was pumped for the interrogation and with a bit of yelling and one slam of the desk, James was putty in his hands. Spilling everything from how you rejected him after a few dates, and that you were always around McGee and he was furious that you could be with anyone but him.

"She always was with him. It was disgusting to watch them together every Sunday. I had to teach her boyfriend a lesson." James spat.

Gibbs eyes narrowed at the word boyfriend. "Well lucky for you, her boyfriend gets to ruin your life. Have fun in prison, while I get to continue dating her." He got up and slammed the interrogation room door closed and headed straight to the hospital, ignoring the shocked looks from Ziva and Tony.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gibbs pulled your hand closer to him and rested his cheek on it as he clasped it in his. Ever since he got the confession out of James, he had been by your side waiting for you to wake up.

Ziva, Tony and McGee watched from the door way, Gibbs oblivious to the three of them watching which was very much unlike him.

"I can't believe they're dating. How did we miss this?" Ziva whispered.

"What I wanna know is how." McGee answered back.

Tony chuckled, "I bet it was after they went 50 Shades of Grey during that undercover mission."

"Do you think they've been together that long?" Ziva questioned. "That was like half a year ago."

"It explains why Gibbs avoids her during cases."

"But why keep it a secret?" McGee asked.

"Maybe it's because they're happy with just each other." Tony replied, watching Gibbs gently kiss your forehead.

Gibbs watched as you slept peacefully. You looked like an angel, to him you always did, but especially now because you looked so peaceful. You were always peaceful when you slept. He could watch you for hours, running his fingers through your hair as you cuddled into him, your head on his chest.

He closed his eyes, feeling days worth of no sleep catching up to him.

"Jethro?" He thought it was your voice, but how could it be? You've been unconscious for the past week.

"Jethro?" The voice was clearing up and it definitely sounded like you. But it had to be a dream, he thought.

"Jethro!" Your voice was much louder this time, enough that Gibbs' head sprang up off the mattress and his eyes opened to meet yours.

"Y/N?" Gibbs said shakily.

You were sitting up, your hand still in his, with a big smile on your face. "You've been asleep for a few hours, you're quite cute when you're sleeping." You giggled.

Gibbs looked at you in disbelief for a second before he crushed you to his chest, holding you tightly. "Don't you ever leave me like that again." He whispered. "From now on, anywhere you want to go I'll follow. I can't lose you."

You pulled him away and cupped his cheek. "Are you okay with that?"

"This whole thing has made me realized how much I care for you. I'm not letting you walk out that door again, especially when you want me there."

He watched you smile, cupped the back of your head and placed a sweet kiss on your lips.

"No more hiding?"

"No more hiding."

Taglist:

@crimeshowjunkie

@slxmw

So sorry this took forever! So many things in my life popped up half way through writing this! The second half of this doesn't do the story line justice. Let me know what you think down below!!

[wolfjackle-creates]

Wow. I am blown away by the response to my bang fic so far. I did not expect a Jazz POV fic with a (relatively) rare pair to do half so well as it has.

But here's another scene I love from the first chapter. Consider checking out on AO3 if you haven't already!

-----

Twenty minutes later, they were curled up together on Dick’s bed with the lights out. Jazz had insisted on being the little spoon. After the last few days she’d had, she wanted nothing more than to have her boyfriend curled protectively around her.

“Jazz?”

“Hmmm?” she replied, already half asleep.

“Do you— Are you— Is it good for you, to work with metas in trouble?”

Her eyes flew open and she stared into the dark room. Any hint of sleep was gone as she lay there tense. Dick’s arm tightened around her stomach. She took one deep breath, then another. “You’re worried because of my brother.” It was a statement, not a question.

Dick hummed, “We’re similar in some great ways and some terrible ones. I want to make sure taking cases like Callum’s isn’t going to keep you wallowing and unable to move on.”

Jazz screwed her eyes shut against the burning. “My brother is dead,” she said, the half-truth ash in her throat. “He is dead and I couldn’t stop it. His powers only made him more of a target and not a single adult tried to stick up for him.” Each word was harder to say than the last. “If I can keep it from getting that bad for anyone else… I need to do it. I wouldn’t be able to face myself in the mirror if I didn’t try.”

“Okay,” said Dick. “Okay. I believe you.”

Jazz forced herself to relax again. Of course Dick would be worried. If their positions had been reversed, she would’ve asked the same thing.

Just as she was starting to relax, Dick spoke again. “Would he have liked me?”

Jazz sucked in a breath; behind her, Dick tensed. Before he could apologize or try to take back his question, Jazz replied. “Danny hated every guy I dated in high school.”

Dick’s arm tightened around her, and Jazz grabbed his hand to thread their fingers together.

“I can’t blame him, though. I dated some horrible guys. The worst, get this, he only dated me because he was part of some weird magic cult. They fucked up a ritual or something and he wanted to use my body as a host for his real girlfriend’s soul when her body got destroyed.”

“What the fuck?” asked Dick. “Didn’t you grow up in the middle of nowhere? That’s some Blüdhaven or Gotham shit.”

Jazz laughed and squeezed his hand. “The corn makes people crazy. Now hush, let me answer your question.”

“Sorry,” said Dick, but Jazz could hear the smile in it. And feel it when he kissed the back of her neck.

“Quite all right. Now, Danny, as I said, he hated every guy I dated.” She bit her lip. Despite the jokes, she struggled to talk around the lump forming in the back of her throat. “But none of them were good guys. If I had been able to introduce the two of you, he’d be mistrustful. And probably try to interrogate you.” She chuckled, though it was a bit wetter than her normal. “Not that it’d phase a police officer like you.

“But… Yes, Dick. Once I’d convinced him to give you a legit chance? He’d have loved you. The two of you have the same sense of humor, the same sense for justice, and the same disregard for personal safety. I’d go gray worrying about what the two of you were up to behind my back.” She let out a shaky breath and repeated, “He’d have loved you.” The truth of that statement burned more than the lies and Jazz kept herself still so Dick wouldn’t notice the tears she couldn’t stop.

It was a long moment before Dick replied. “Good. I’m glad.”

“Now, let me get some sleep.”

Dick kissed her spine again. “Good night. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

-----

Read more on AO3

[cinnamoodles]

the language of flowers — part two, irises

warnings: more angst than part one which is great, also reader throwing stuff bc she’s a badass, and in character Anthony which is honestly more of a red flag than ooc Anthony but you love him anyway you nasty :)

word count: 1.4k (wow I impress myself sometimes)

author’s note: we love this part bc reader stands up for herself and Anthony is one major daddy issues boy.

read the other parts! — part one, daises | part three, peonies

i don’t consent for my work to be reposted or copied, translated, or transferred to any other platform, or this one, in part or whole.

--------- . . . ---------

ii. 1804, iridaceae versicolor. irises, trust

Anthony paced the length of this study—which wasn’t all too large, but stress relieving nonetheless. His mind was a whirlwind of emotions, a tempestuous mix of newfound worry and lingering doubts. Today marked one year, one year without his father, one year his mother was cast into a depressive state, one year since he had taken on the mantle of viscount, and become the father figure that his youngest siblings did not have.

It had been far too long since he had last spoken to you—days? Weeks? He had never gone so long without even seeing your face, and that was a stretch. He’d spent his last few months mourning, brooding, and perhaps being a tad overbearing on himself, but he had to, for the sake of his family’s honour, it’s prestige. 

There’s a sharp knock on his door, it’s most likely Colin or Daphne, who are frequent in irritating him. He makes no effort to open the door, and with a practiced gesture, he dips his quill into the inkwell, resuming his task of poring over the estate's financial matters. How often had his father sat here, absorbed in these very same calculations? A pang of longing pierces through him at the thought, his heart echoing the emptiness his father's absence had left behind.

Another knock.

It must be Colin, his eyes sparkling, attempting to irritate him once again. “I’ve got a job,” he snaps, “and I suggest you get one as well, one that does not involve vexing me at every given minute.”

The door creaks open, candlelight flickering over the stacks of leather bound tomes and haphazardly organized scrolls, casting lanky shadows over his face, playing upon the strong angles, highlighting the lines of exhaustion that marred his usually composed countenance. His normally impeccable attire was slightly disheveled, as if he had been running his hands through his hair in frustration, and his ink-stained fingers spoke of long hours spent in diligent work. He wasn’t in a position to meet anyone, much less usher yet another one of his young siblings out of his room.

“Oh, I vex you? Is that why you've been evading me like the plague?” Your presence was like a sudden burst of sunlight piercing through the storm clouds—startling, yet warmly welcomed. The quill slipped from his fingers as his eyes widened in surprise, locking onto your face, a vision that brought back a flood of memories and feelings he had attempted to suppress.

Your stormy eyes burned through his deep brown ones, and you crossed your hands across your chest. Your soft hair was tucked behind your ear, and your eyes were wide, as if staring directly into Anthony’s soul, and for just a moment, he allowed himself to become lost, to dream, and to gaze into them as if he was merely a boy again, holding you in his arms.

“Say something, Anthony! I’ve not seen you in weeks, properly, and you’ve barely held a conversation with anyone other than your butler, and frankly, I—” 

Anthony quickly wrapped you in a hug, burying his face in your shoulder, your cotton dress soft to the touch. He mumbles. “I missed you.” He can feel you stiffen, but soon gently relax into his arms.

“That is why I came,” you smile, and pull away, holding him at an arm’s distance. “Oh, and my brother is getting married. I wanted to invite you personally to the wedding.” Your oldest brother, twenty eight years of age, was getting married, Anthony recalled. He was, of course, to be the next Duke when your father inevitably passed.

Anthony rubbed his eyes. “My sisters will come, of course, but I may not be able to.” Your invitation was tempting, and the prospect of seeing you again filled Anthony with a mix of excitement and trepidation. He hadn't realized just how much he had missed you until this moment, when you walked in the door. But his responsibilities as the viscount weighed heavily on his shoulders, and he feared that leaving the estate at this crucial time might jeopardize his mother’s already precarious emotional situation.

"I wish I could attend, truly," Anthony replied with a hint of regret in his voice. "But with the estate's financial matters in such disarray, I can't afford to be away for long. I must attend to my duties here."

You frowned slightly, concern glazed across your soft, delicate features. "Anthony, you can't carry the burden of the entire estate on your own. There must be someone who can assist you, even for a short time."

"I've considered that," Anthony admitted, his mind aching from the internal struggle. "But finding someone trustworthy, capable, and knowledgeable enough to handle the estate's affairs is not an easy task. I fear leaving things in someone else's hands might cause more harm than good.”

You crossed your arms, frustration evident in your expression. "Anthony, you can't keep shutting yourself off from the world. Your family's honor and prestige won't matter if you run yourself into the ground!"

He takes a step back, feeling defensive under your stern gaze. "I am taking care of things. I'm doing what I need to do to ensure the estate's survival, which is all that matters to me, at this point in time."

"Are you?" you snap, your voice tinged with disappointment that Anthony could see etched in your face. "You've barely spoken to anyone, including me, for weeks. You're burying yourself in work, and for what? To prove some sort of point? That you’re fit to be the man of the house?"

"I don't have a choice," Anthony replied tersely. "As the viscount, it's my duty to oversee everything. And after losing my father, I can't afford to let anything else slip through my fingers."

"You can't live in the past, Anthony," you urged, taking a step closer to him. "Your father's gone, and while it's natural to mourn, you can't let grief consume you. Of course, you have responsibility—"

His jaw clenched, and he shot back, "Responsibility? What would you know of responsibility? You don't understand the weight of responsibility on my shoulders. I can't just leave everything behind and go gallivanting off to weddings, like an immature child."

Pain flashed across your face, but Anthony was much too in his head to take a look at his surroundings. He continued, as if possessed by some spirit. “You’ve never had to work a day in your life. You’re spoiled, and the only thing your family has ever thought of doing for you is getting you married.” He spit. “So why don’t you worry about your responsibilities, and I’ll worry about mine.”

A single tear fell from your eye, and in that moment, Anthony wished he could take it all back, swallow the poison he had thrown at you so mercilessly. “I…” you bite your lip, and he wanted to take you in his arms, comfort you, and hold you.

“I’m sorry,” you choke out. “I’m sorry for whatever sin I’ve done to have you treat me like this.” You quickly wipe your tears and rush to the door. Anthony wanted to stop you, to scream about how he didn’t mean any of the words he said.

You quickly turn around, revealing a bouquet of irises, the specific ones Anthony had commented on the last time he visited your estate. He could barely remember when. “By the way, I bought you flowers. I thought they’d cheer you up,” you retort, before throwing the delicately tied bunch of flowers straight to his head, hitting his nose.

The door slammed, and Anthony was once again left alone, only this time, he’d have done anything to bring you back. Slowly, the petals of the irises cascaded down onto the ground, fracturing the flowers, and Anthony noticed a small piece of paper.

The Guide for Flora for Debutantes: In the quaint world of botany, the charming iris blooms have long been regarded as symbolic emissaries of trust and faithfulness. Like an ancient scroll unraveling before our very eyes, the iris, with its alluring hues and delicate petals, unravels the story of steadfast devotion and allegiance. Just as an honest man's handshake vouches for his sincerity, the iris bestows its trust upon those who approach with an open heart and gentle touch, and a receiving of this gentle bloom from either gender discloses that the gifter trusts you with their whole heart. Its regal demeanor, reminiscent of a gallant knight in armor, instills in us the assurance that this flower is a beacon of loyalty and constancy.

Trust. You had trusted him, and what had he done with that? He’d tossed it away, and your gift had broken. Anthony wasn’t usually one for symbolism, but these broken irises were pretty damn apparent.

[sitp-recs]

Hi ,its my first time asking you anything since maybe one year ago that i found your reclist that in my opinion is one of the best IF NOT THE BEST drarry reclist to exist. Not only is so well organizased but is amazing how you cover almost avery theme, tag, request....Thanks for the effort that you make ❤️.

Since you an amazing reccer i wanna know if its posibble asking you for some recs, the thing is that i love the kind of stories tha break my heart into pieces while reading more so when our boys have to suffer to finally have peace and enjoy themselves. By any chance do you know stories where Harry and Draco have to give up their relationship and their love for other things or people like draco for his parents or Harry for the Weasleys or the greater good?

If by any chance you read this thank you so much and keep blessing us with your presence here. ❤️

Oh wow what a way to start my week! Thank you for the kind words, I’m so happy that you enjoy the blog and are finally sending your own request. I appreciate you ❤️ I see you’re going for hardcore angst with the self-sacrificing trope! I think you might enjoy these treats:

The Promise by Frayach (M, 4.5k)

Draco made two promises that pulled him in opposite directions. He can only fulfill one.

An Emerald In The Sky by corvuscrowned (M, 6.6k)

The hardest part about shagging an Unspeakable is that they’re not allowed to speak of anything. All Draco knows is that Harry works in Time. Harry works in Time, and while he’s out there in all of that time, it is as unforgiving to him as it is to anyone.

The Eighth Tale by lettered (E, 12k)

Draco Malfoy tries to fix the past, but instead mucks it up some more. For Harry, it all becomes quite clear.

Unfinished Business by cupiscent (E, 20k)

Ten years after the War ends, Harry and Draco still haven't got their act together. But maybe it's not too late.

Us, in Lieu by Tepre (E, 29k)

Teddy needs help and Harry needs funding. Draco sits in the other room and plays the piano.

On One's Knees by pir8fancier (E, 33k)

The war is over and to the victors go the spoils. If you are triggered by infidelity, this is not the fic for you.

We Are Young (I'll Carry You Home Tonight) by Femme (E, 70k)

Harry and Draco have been falling into bed on and off again since the last election five years ago, much to the amusement--and financial gain--of their circle of friends.

Far From The Tree by aideomai (E, 112k)

The arrival of Harry Potter’s children—snapped back in time, the children themselves guessed, twenty or so years—was the most interesting thing to happen at Hogwarts for years.

Close Behind by oflights (M, 134k)

To rescue Draco from the Underworld, Harry has to look forward. Unfortunately, Draco has to look back.

Twist of Fate by Oakstone730 (T, 300k)

Draco asks Harry to help him beat the Imperius curse during 4th year. The lessons turn into more than either expected. A story of redemption and forgiveness.

[moonlit-imagines]

Headcanons for being Scott and Hope’s child (Hank Jr. Edition)

Scott Lang/Hope van Dyne x child!reader

warnings:

a/n:

prompt: anonymous: “Scott and Hope have a baby girl (reader). And everything seems to be fine, but somewhere from the age of five, it becomes clear that the reader is a complete copy of her grandfather Hank Pym, that is: she is incredibly smart, she loves ants (she can talk about them for hours), she also has problems controlling anger (she hit a guy in the face at school for saying that ant-man sucks), thinks that there is no one smarter than her and her grandfather, and she also transferred his sarcastic communication style and views on things and people around, for example, when she first met Tony, she said: "You can never trust Stark."”

somewhere in the distant future a special kid was born

and that special kid had special parents and special grandparents

and those parents and grandparents were two generations of superheroes who saved countless lives (and, well, the world)

so it was no surprise to them that this next generation would be just as intelligent and caring as the ones before them

*cue a toddler with crayons in class*

“and then my grandpa asked the ants nicely to fly him to a bunch of different places and do all these cool things like move stuff around and like do other stuff” -you rambling on

“do you like anything besides ants?” -your teacher

“no” -you, continuing to draw ants on your paper

hank and janet were quite proud grandparents

and scott and hope, your wonderful amazing parents…couldn’t get enough of it

“honey, what about wasps? wasps are cool, right?” -hope

“no” -you

“she’s spending too much time with my dad” -hope

“well, he’s the only babysitter we’ve got since cassie got that new job” -scott

“oh, you mean our old job? yeah, miss those days where we could go flying around getting into trouble and beating people up” -hope

“well, you promised we’d retire so y/n wouldn’t end up with a childhood like yours” -scott

“y/n’s gonna want to be a superhero when they get older, arent they?” -hope

“let’s not think too far ahead. it might kill me” -scott

scott reads you his biography every night before bed

and you always giggle at the parts where your mom and grandpa bully him

“hey, not funny!” -scott

“so funny” -you

“dont get any ideas” -scott

“daddy, are you gonna get arrested again?” -you

“if i do it’ll be grandpa hank’s fault” -scott

you continued spending time with grandpa hank and grandma janet

and they spoiled the crap out of you

hank…got you an ant farm

“now you’re just being ridiculous, hank” -janet

“what? i’m just having some bonding time with my grandchild! hope never wanted anything to do with me growing up” -hank

once you started getting older, you wanted to hang out in grandpa’s lab allll the time. day and night

your parents hated it

“hey, think this one will suck us all into the quantum realm?” -scott

“it was one time!” -cassie

cassie was at hank and janet’s a lot, too, actually. they always wanted to help her with her suits and gadgets and all that

and make sure she had plenty of pym particles

“you have enough, right? here, take some more, i have plenty” -hank

“grandpa, please, i have more than enough, thank you” -cassie

“can i have some pym particles?” -you

“we can play with them in the backyard next time youre over” -hank

you draw new suit designs for cassie all the time

some of them she actually incorporates into her suits

and as you get older, you try to start designing more tech for her

“y/n is really scaring me” -hope

“why?” -scott

“just watch her and my parents together…they’re the same” -hope

“dear god, what have we done” -scott

“dad, look at this new pym particle powered weapon, i just finished the prototype!” -you

“okay, now i’m mad because where was this when i needed it!” -scott

“fifteen to twenty years too late” -hope

“we should have gotten together sooner” -scott

“i disagree” -hope

“wow, not even a pity agreement” -scott

asking your parents if they’ll get back into crime fighting

they said no

asking if you can get into crime fighting

they said no again

so you just kinda stockpiled all your ideas

and did everything you could to further your grandpa’s work

and help your sister

and keep your parents’ minds at ease (doesn’t really work)

and maybe one day you’ll be able to ride those ants and kick some ass like you always dreamed

taglist: @alwaysananglophile // @locke-writes // @sweetheartlizzie07 // @queen-destenie // @johnmurphyisqueer // @captainshazamerica // @ravenmoore14 // @canarypoint // @procrastinatingsapphictrash // @swanimagines // @randomfandomimagine // @petersgroupie // @summersimmerus // @scarthefangirl // @bad4amficideas // @sheridans-dynamos // @simsrecs // @prettysbliss // @skdkdkckfk // @simp-legend // @zoeyserpentluck // @wild-rose-35 // @nekoannie-chan // @evilcr0ne // @v0idl1nq // @ruvaakke // @thedarkqueenofavalon // @amirahiddleston // @beth-gallagher22 // @brutal-out-here // @rqmanoff // @elenavampire21 // @mymelodymia // @pheonixfire777 //

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

Finally it’s the stories where Magic is watching season 8 and can tell that we’re gonna get canon Buddie and has decided to get involved to speed things along! Which is honestly so valid of Magic I would do that too if I could

⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️ (It makes me so happy that every story with a bucktommy breakup is now just realigning with canon! We love BtBones! And we love this fic! I still have no real clue what’s happening and it’s delightful!! Loving the ride!)

🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️🌤️ (IM. SO. NORMAL.) (No I’m not but that’s okay! Is this another “buddie sees snippets of their future” type story and that future includes a Nico? I love your other ones like that and I already love this one too!!)

I hope you have a nice time in Jamaica Cal! And I hope you enjoy the continued journey of Getting Eddie Out and getting Buck off the hamster wheel and the return of Brad and HotShots! Wow I really love this show right now (and always) and I’m so glad to share it with lovely people like you!

- PCA <3

HELL YEAH TO THIS THEME TOO.

And thank you! Jamaica was awesome. Very affirming career wise. And YES I am loving it!

78 for ⚖️ (THANKS! You are going to find out a bit more of what is happening here.)

---

She sighs. “My name is Nemesis.”

“Oh,” Buck replies, concealing a grimace. Parents were edgy then? Then Buck remembers the scales on his arm. His mind flashes to an illustrated mythology book that Chris once showed him. “Or… Wait a minute. You’re not saying you’re that…” 

She nods. “The very same.”

Buck’s shoulders drop. “Okay. That’s… That’s not real.” 

“Oh? It’s not?” She raises her eyebrows, casually amused. “You’ve seen yourself this week how very real I am.”

Buck swallows. He can’t deny that. 

“What did you do to me?” Buck asks. “And how can I get my life back?”

“Oh, you can’t. Sweet thing. You just can’t. It’s gone.”

“Gone?” Buck echoes. 

She nods. “I’ll break this down really simply. I haven’t had a proper representative over in these parts for… Well, since 1911.”

1911. 

Why does Buck know…

Oh. 

“That’s the year Billy Boils died,” Buck says. 

She nods. “Mmm. Sad time. Even sadder? How long it has taken to find a replacement.”

Buck feels queasy. “Me? I’m the replacement?”

“No one else that came in contact with the body was quite right,” she says. “Too power hungry. Too selfish. Too weak. You, though? You’re just right.”

“I knew I was cursed,” Buck hisses. 

“Cursed?” She protests. “No, it’s a gift! How many times do I have to say that?”

“Maybe I’m too stupid for it, then,” Buck says. “Should probably revoke it.”

“The only revocation is death, Evan Buckley,” Nemesis snaps. 

He pales. Fuck. 

“I almost did die,” he reminds her. “How is that a gift?”

“Oh, well that’s all part of it,” she shrugs. 

“All part of it?” He demands. “I got so sick they told my family I was on death’s door. That was you?”

She nods. “It was.”

“I was covered in boils!” 

She nods again.

“You dislocated my shoulder!”

This gives her pause. “I did what?”

“Uh… When my shoulder dislocated just like… Just like I accidentally did to Billy.”

She snorts. “That was all you.” 

---

144 or 1k for 🌤️ (THANK YOU! It's a trope I love to write and I missed Nico!)

---

Also that Eddie’s not far off. But still. Eddie plans on holding this over his head.

But that also means… Chris is twenty. Twenty. 

He opens his messaging app and searches for Christopher’s name. He’s right at the top. According to his phone, they talked the day before. He scrolls up without really reading. They talk a lot. That’s a good sign. Better than their current state of affairs. 

Eddie takes a deep breath and hits the call button.

It rings a few times. Enough that Eddie starts to get nervous Chris won’t pick up. 

But he does.

“Dad?” An adult male voice answers groggily. 

Eddie finds himself smiling and shaking a little, all at the same time. 

“H-hey, Chris. Hi.”

“Is everything okay?” Chris sounds a bit alarmed.

“What? Yeah. Yeah, of course. I was just hoping to talk.”

“At seven in the morning on a Saturday?”

Oh. Whoops.

“I mean, I expect this from Buck, but I thought you were reasonable.”

“Oh, wow. Sorry. I didn’t realize the time.”

“Nico wake you up stupid early?” 

“Something like that… Hey, uh… Speaking of Nico. Uh, your brother.” 

“You’re being weird. He okay?” 

“Yeah. He’s great,” Eddie guesses. He thinks so anyway. “But he wants to put up the Christmas tree.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m coming over Monday night, right?” 

Monday night. That’s why Nico was asking how many days. Okay, that’s not so long to tell him. But… But what if Eddie and Buck are back to their proper timeline by Monday night? Which would be ideal. Eddie should get back to his proper life. Ideally. But… But how can he miss this chance either? To see Chris, twenty years-old, and not… Gone from his life? A Chris nearby and in frequent contact? Or, at least Eddie assumes he’s nearby. If he can just pop over for Christmas tree decorating. 

“Yeah, Monday. We can do that. Uh, you busy today, though?” 

Eddie has no idea what he does or where he lives or what’s going on in his life. This might be an absurd ask. 

“Uh… I was going to do some schoolwork, but I guess I could postpone it.”

Normally, Eddie would say no. Don’t put off schoolwork for him. School comes first. Whatever school he’s in these days. But… But Eddie really needs to see him. He hasn’t seen Christopher in months, and he’ll take him at whatever age he can get. 

“Is that… Is that okay?” Eddie asks. “I mean… There’s sort of an adorable kid really hoping it is.”

Chris chuckles. “Yeah, that’s okay. You good to pick me up?” 

Eddie exhales, relieved. “Yes! Just tell me a time that works.” 

They agree upon a time and end the call. Eddie is so happy he feels like he’s floating. It only takes him a minute to realize he has no idea where Chris lives. 

🌤️

Buck is pretty excited to hear that Chris is coming over. Less excited to learn both their ages. Because what? That’s an insane amount of time to miss. That means Jee-Yun is ten. Jee-Yun! That means… Well, is Bobby still working at the 118? Are Buck and Eddie still working at the 118? There’s a lot to catch up on. A lot Buck feels uncomfortable to have missed. 

Buck is less excited when - through helping Eddie search his Google Maps history to find what must be Christopher’s apartment - he realizes Eddie will be collecting Chris by himself. Meaning, Buck will be staying home with Nico. Alone. And, yeah. It sounds lame. He’s sort of afraid of his future son. If this is the real future. Which, once again, is somewhat dubious because of the whole Eddie marrying him part.

It’s not that he’s afraid of Nico specifically. The kid is adorable and pretty sweet. Buck gets the sense he’s a bit more hyper than the kids he’s used to. A bit less able to sit still.  Always got something to do or say. He’s sort of busy. But… Well, that’s just kind of par for the course if he is Buck’s. So no concern there. He likes Nico. The problem is that he doesn’t actually think he wants to know him. 

It seems cruel, right? Like fate or the universe or whoever is playing a very sick joke on him. One day he’s broken up with by someone who pretty much changed his life. The next, he’s being shown some sort of dream future he won’t ever actually get to experience. Nico isn’t actually going to be his. So the idea of getting to know him sort of hurts like a bitch.

“You’ll be okay,” Eddie whispers, seeing the hesitation on his face before he leaves the house. “You’re great with kids. You know that.”

It’s been about an hour since his call with Chris. They’ve finished eating. They’ve all gotten dressed. Buck has discovered Nico has an extensive collection of firefighter shirts, whether LAFD in origin or otherwise. He insists on wearing one today. 

“I…” Buck sighs. “I know that. I just… I don’t know. I don’t know how to explain it.”

He doesn’t know how to explain this to Eddie. That he doesn’t want to look too hard at this beautiful fantasy life. It’ll come too close to admitting he thinks he would want exactly this. Exactly something that Eddie can’t and shouldn’t have to offer him. That’s an unfair expectation. Learn how to be queer because I really like playing house with you. Yeah, no. It’s there or it’s not, right? 

“I’ll just be gone for a bit,” Eddie says. “Then we’ll have Chris as a buffer anyway.”

“You don’t think Chris will figure us out?” Buck asks. 

Eddie looks skeptical. “Why would anyone, in a million years, ever guess this?”

Well, because not everyone is a raging cynic. But, Chris is twenty. Maybe he’s grown into his father’s brand of in-the-box thinking when it comes to the way the world works.

[alivingolive]

First of all, whose idea was it for Billy Joel to be born so long before me? Now I’m stuck in a timeline where I’m frantically hoping he doesn’t call it quits before I can see him live (IT SUCKS 😣)

I’ll admit, there’s a certain charm in being late to the party—like finding a book everyone’s read and realizing it’s every bit as good as they said. That’s how his music feels to me: timeless. 

So.. this leaves me with no choice but to dive headfirst into a very enthusiastic (and probably incoherent) rant about his music.

This is probably just me and my low-level understanding of music (i'm self-aware, okay?), but I’ve never experienced anything like his discography before.

Usually, I’ll find one or two songs I love, a few I like, and the rest are... there. But with his works? Well, I’m not saying every single track is a masterpiece (calm down, super fans), but liking almost 90% of someone’s work? That’s unheard of for me.

Maybe I just don’t “get” other artists, or maybe I’m just clueless about music. Either way, he’s different. I’m over here liking entire albums. Who does that? Is this what having standards feels like? 

Now, after hours of unnecessary self-inflicted stress (and questioning whether I even understand what “favorites” mean), I’ve landed on a top three.

Is this ranking stable? Absolutely not. But for now, these are the songs I’m obsessively replaying while pretending this choice isn’t tearing my soul apart. Let’s unpack them while I still believe in my own decisions. (spoiler: i don’t)

Got to Begin Again is the first. This song doesn’t just ask you to feel; it demands it. And I’m not usually the type to be all lyric-driven, but this one? It kind of broke me.

The whole thing feels like it’s saying, “Look, life sucks, but it’s cool. You’re fine... Probably.” (notice the optimism dripping off that word) And the melody? It’s like the universe is both yelling at you and patting you on the back at the same time.

I don’t know how he managed to create the musical equivalent of a therapist with zero solutions but a really good playlist, but here we are.

And Going to Extremes? Don’t even get me started.

“And if I stand or I fall, it’s all or nothing at all.”

That line is so ridiculously good it makes me want to get up and do something dramatic—like, quit my job, burn a bridge or two, and then confidently walk into… I don’t know, the nearest cafe? Because I didn’t plan that far ahead.

For exactly four minutes and twenty-three seconds though, I’m convinced I’ve got life all figured out.

Then there’s 52nd Street. I’m not even going to try and pretend I understand what’s happening in the music (do me a favor and listen to the 1:02-1:19 part)

I don’t know why it works, I don’t know how it works, and I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel—but wow, does it work.

It’s so perfect it makes my brain short-circuit. It’s the musical equivalent of staring at a masterpiece in an art gallery and thinking, “I don’t get it, but I love it.”

And... it’s frustrating because I know just enough about music to know that I know nothing (cue existential dread) Like, how does someone even create something like this? It’s so good it feels unfair.

But here’s the thing: I’ve always loved music—it’s been a big part of my life—but now it feels different. For the first time, I feel like I want to do something with that love for music.

Like, he’s set some kind of invisible bar that I have no business trying to meet, and yet, here I am. It’s not about connecting with people or becoming the next big thing, though. Honestly, I don’t care if no one ever hears it (definitely a lie)

But.. I want to take all the messy, confusing, slightly chaotic parts of me and turn them into something that makes sense—something that sounds like me (no clue how to do that)

So yeah, he’s officially turned my interest in music into an existential crisis. I’m supposed to be figuring out how to do something with this inspiration, but instead, I’m writing yet another long-winded Tumblr post about him while procrastinating on literally everything else in my life.

[artemistorm]

Avalanche Rescue Part 6 - Final

Whumptober day 25 completed--Finally finished this! Yaaay! Will put this on AO3 shortly.

Other parts if you haven't read them yet:

[Pt 1] [Pt 2] [Pt 3] [Pt 4] [Pt 5]

****** (874 words)

While Wolfie groomed Smallest Pup's fur, other pups change clothes, wrap in blankets, be cozy cuddle pups. Sky pup give out hot stinky plant drink. Battle pup, Bunny pup, and Old Father bury hole in snow.

Lick lick lick lick lick lick lick lick lick--

“Urgh,” Smallest pup groaned. Pup move! Pup open eyes! Pup waking up! Yay! Tail wag wag wag wag wag wag wag wag wag wag--

“Uhhh... Wolfie. Hi.” Four said and scratched Wolfie head.

“Hi! Hi! Happy you wake up!” Wolfie whined. “Long sleep worry Wolfie!”

“He's awake!” Sky exclaimed. Time jumped up and hurried to Four's side.

“How are you feeing?” Time asked Four.

“I've been better,” Four said.

“Would a potion would help?”

“Ugh. Probably.” Four put a hand to his forehead and closed his eyes again.

Smallest pup in pain. Wolfie worry whined.

“I have one here for you. Wolfie, back up. Give us some space.” Time nudged Wolfie away.

Wolfie get up, go to Special cub and Bunny Pup. Ow ow ow sore legs. Squeeze between pups, lay down.

“Wolfie!” Legend laughed and scooted away from Wild to make room for Wolfie.

“Is he limping?” Wild asked.

“Did anyone bother to check Wolfie for injuries?” Warriors asked.

“I didn't,” Hyrule said. “He seemed fine earlier.”

“Why don’t you change back into a human?” Wind asked.

“I think he wants to be Dog today,” Wild answered. “Some days are dog days.”

“I'll check him,” Hyrule said. “Move over, Wild.”

Wolfie let Wander pup check him for injuries. Silly pup, Wolfie was fine. Only tired sore. Lick, mouth Wander pup's arms.

“Nothings broken or bruised as far as I can tell,” Hyrule said.

“Could just be sore joints,” Legend said.

“He has been doing a lot of running today,” Wind agreed.

“I think I have something for that,” Wild said and started digging through his bag.

Hmm? What's that? Wolfie sniff Special Cub's bag. Food? Food? Is that... meat? Special cub have meat for Wolfie? Wolfie suddenly very hungry. Wolfie dinner time? Meat for Wolfie?

“Here you go Wolfie. You deserve it.” Special cub give Wolfie roasted meat. Wolfie take it, carry it away from other pups. Wolfie's meat. Not pup's meat.

OM NOM NOM NOM Mmmmm. Meat. Mmmmm. Om nom nom nom. So tasty. So meaty. Tasty deer meat. Om nom nom nom.

“Looks like he was hungry,” Hyrule laughed.

“I would imagine so with how much digging and running around he did,” Time said helping Four to settle sitting up against an old log.

“Hi Four!” Wind chirped. “How are you doing?”

“Uh. Hi everyone,” Four said awkwardly, his hair stiff with Wolfie spit and sticking out every which way. “I'm alright. Is everyone else okay?”

“Yeah, we're all fine, thanks to Wolfie,” Wild said.

“Wolfie certainly is the hero of today,“ Warriors said. “He saved my life.”

“Mine too,” Four replied.

“So what exactly happened?” Legend asked. “Wild and I were down here this whole time and we didn't see what happened to any of you.”

The Chain spent the next twenty minutes each telling the story of what happened from their perspective and sorting out how it all fit together.

“Wow. So it sounds like Wolfie himself is responsible for finding and rescuing pretty much everyone,” Four said.

“I think he deserves a treat,” Sky said. “Wolfie, do you want a treat?”

Treat? Treat? Wolfie stopped listening to boring talk long ago. Ate meat, started to doze, but Wolfie heard the word 'treat!' Wolfie always hears word 'treat!'

“That's right! Here! Have a fish! Thanks for helping dig me up, and, uh, you know. Laying on me while Hyrule fxed my arm.”

Sky pup toss whole fish. Wolfie catch it in the air! Yum!

“Ew. Did you just have a raw fish in your bag?” Warriors asked.

“I keep whatever I want in my bag,” Sky answered.

“I have a treat for you too, Wolfie,” Warriors said.

Treat? More treats for Wolfie? Yaaayyy! Wolfie very happy, tail wag and beg in front of Battle pup.

Battle pup give Wolfie a cheese sandwich. An old cheese sandwhich. Old and stinky. Need to roll in it before eating.

“Wolfie, I have something for you too,” Smallest pup said. ”It's not much, but you should have it.”

Smallest pup toss food at Wolfie. Wolfie catch it. Mmmm! Sausage roll! Wolfie eat it very fast.

“I think that's enough people food for Wolfie,” Time said. “Don't want to make him sick.”

“It's 'give Wolfie food' time. What will you give me?” Wolfie begged Old Father. Other pups laugh.

“...Alright. You got me.” Old father give Wolfie head scratch. “Here's some roasted pumpkin.”

Wolfie sniff. Not meat, but okay. Wolfie always take offered food.

Wander pup give Wolfie mutton leg. Baby pup give Wolfie oatmeal cookies. Bunny pup give Wolfie mushrooms on pokey stick.

Wolfie eat lots, bury extra for breakfast. Pups cook and eat and talk. Sun set. Moon rise. Wolfie greet, sing to moon. Wolfie and pups cuddle together, pups go to sleep. Wolfie sleepy.

Wolfie good wolf. Wolfie found all pups. Wolfie save buried pups. Wolfie bring pack together. Wolfie help heal, groom hurt pups. All pups okay. Wolfie tired, fed, sleepy, safe.

Wolfie very happy.

[hautsreadsmarvel]

“The Fantastic Four” (1961, issue 4)

At the end of the previous volume, the Torch ran off because he was fed up with the Thing shitting on him. 

Spelling it thru is certainly a choice, and one I’ve decided to stick with for the remainder of this blog. Flashback panels having a wavy border to distinguish them is a nice touch. And is that… a primordial ad for the Hulk? I wonder what that could be?

There it is on the next page! What could they be talking about!?

Trans pride flag!Sue Storm forgets to relax her invisibility while searching for Johnny, causing another ghost scare. Starting to enjoy how this is just a consistent thing she does. The best pranksters succeed without even trying, truly.

So everybody knows this guy is the Torch, by the way. And he flames on in front of people he knows, so he knows they know. "Save this for future reference."

The Hulk - I mean the Thing - can have a little angst, as a treat. This one feels a little forced though.

I’m given to understand that Prince Namor the Sub-Mariner predates the Marvel Comics label, having been published in the 40s back when they were called Timely Comics. It’s funny to see Johnny read one of their own comics approximately twenty feet away from a guy who is totally not Namor, no way, jeez what even was on the cover of this issue ha ha

Wow, would you lookit that, that’d be Namor right on cue! Wait. Wait a gods-damned second. He can’t be.

He can’t be! But he is--! Are… are D&D elves aesthetically inspired by Namor? Or is that just a shared old-style idea of “inhuman beauty”, the high pronounced eyebrows and sharp, lengthy cheekbones? Or is it just that picture of Mialee in the Player’s Handbook that incidentally looks similar? Probably a mix of options 2 and 3. Namor turns out to be tough as nails, and elves in the earlier editions of D&D, well they certainly ain’t.

Meanwhile I really like this. Tons of people who still have no idea about capes, and so think they’re a hoax or fiction that’s been put in the wrong section of the library.

Sue does not know her own brother’s voice - you heard it here first. Johnny demonstrates for the first time his ability to reflexively “flame off” parts of his body that come into contact with others; we already saw him do a partial transformation when doing welding.

Namor meanwhile realizes that his undersea kingdom was demolished by an atomic weapons test (!!!!!!!) and he decides to defeat the surface world in retaliation. Also he’s kinda hunky : )

He unleashes “Giganto”, a mega-sized mix of whale and primate, to terrorize New York and it wrecks thru buildings once it makes landfall. Kind of surprised to see so much mass demolition this early into the comics. Anyways the Thing just requisitions a nuke (something the F4 can do, I guess), plunges into the beast, sets it off inside and makes it out safe. Namor beats all of them physically, but is obviously vanquished at the end. There is a notable moment in that fight, though, where when Namor spots Sue for the first time, he declaims that should she marry him, his feud w the surface world would be over. Gross!

This isn’t a bad issue. Namor’s fun cameo and promise to return set up a wider world, and he’s less one-dimensional than any of the villains so far. The Thing and Torch continue to provide the only real character of the quartet, though. The other two need to step up at some point.

[cedarbranch]

twenty questions for fic writers!

tagged by @sunriseverse thank you!!

tagging: @figbian @shark-myths @stoplightglow @zipegs and anyone else who wants to participate (with no pressure if you don't!) questions below the cut :-)

1. how many works do you have on ao3?

currently 65! i've orphaned several over the years though. unfortunately i am an Extremely Slow Writer so i always wanna see this number go up and it never goes as fast as i want it to :') we can hit 67 this year... surely....

2. what's your total ao3 word count?

847,778! used to be higher (more in the 950k range) prior to orphaning, i'm not sure if i've actually written over a million words or not at this point? v excited for the day that milestone actually shows up in my stats though! my current wips could tip me over, we'll see how it goes... 👀

3. what fandoms do you write for?

currently hannibal and stranger things! i've bounced around many fandoms in my day, but my most significant contributions thus far have been for mcr/bandom and the magnus archives. really hoping i end up writing enough for my current fandoms that i can consider them part of that shortlist too!! :-)

4. top five fics by kudos

like a moth to light (like a beast to bait) / 2117 kudos, save that heart for me / 1480 kudos, how particular, my fondness of you / 1445 kudos, convicted criminals of thought / 1177 kudos, and questionable decisions / 847 kudos! wow, that last one took me by surprise, it was such a jokey little fic i often forget about it. nice to look back at these and see things with over 1k kudos though, i remember that being an unattainable pipe dream back when i was writing mcr in the dead era that was 2017 :')

5. do you respond to comments?

i often do! i try to respond to every comment i get when a fic is published, and i like to respond much later on as well, it just tends to slip my mind if it's an older fic. stuff gets lost in my inbox. i certainly read every comment though, and the comments left on older fics are often the ones that make me happiest!

6. what is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

hmmm... i mostly write happy endings unless they're character studies. the true angstiest ending i've written is for a fic i haven't posted yet (hint: it's a sequel to a oneshot of mine!) but i do have short fics about both michael and gerry's deaths in tma? i'll go with the gerry death fic, thinking of the sun.

7. what's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

they're mostly happy!!! but the one that ends most on a note of Joy, i think, would be rosemary and thyme, my fae!martin au :-)

8. do you get hate on fics?

nah. i have an extremely vague memory of getting a comment that made me go "omg my first hate comment" but like it's so vague that i can't tell if it's a false memory or not 😭 people have always been quite nice to me, thankfully!

9. do you write smut?

i do! i tried to avoid it whenever i could when i was younger but these days i've actually become super interested in sex as a vehicle for character studies. that tumblr post that's like "the plot of this smut fic is that character A believes himself abandoned by god" is one HUNDRED percent my approach recently, definitely expect some of that upcoming on my ao3 lolll

10. craziest crossover?

i don't really write crossovers! i like them in comic/fanart form, but i tend to be less interested in crossover fic (unless it's HEU, i do quite like spacedogs)... the only times i've ever thought about creating crossover content myself were for a couple pacrim fusion ideas!

11. have you ever had a fic stolen?

eh, not really. a long time ago i did have someone basically rip the worldbuilding from one of my AUs with the serial numbers filed off, but they did ask permission - i said yes because i was like 16 and felt too awkward saying no. so that was weird! but not quite stealing.

12. have you ever had a fic translated?

yes!! to steal a kiss from borrowed lips was translated into russian, such an honor :D

13. have you ever co-written a fic before?

i have, a really long time ago. i don't think i would do it again (unless it was with, like, one of two specific irls) bc i think i'd struggle with figuring out a collaborative workflow. part of me also thinks it could be a fun exercise though...

14. all time favorite ship?

OUGH..... mannnn what a question. it changes every few years and i feel like my response is influenced by not just the source material, but the quality of the fan content and the fandom interactions i've had... you know what? i know i have current-hyperfixation bias, but for now i am gonna say hannigram. it's just too peak.

15. what's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Too Many Of Them - but in particular, my chrissy cunningham-centric longfic. it's an entire treatise on sapphic loneliness and small-town queer isolation and i do think it'd be a fucking masterpiece if i ever managed to commit to it, but it's on the forever back-burner i think.

16. what are your writing strengths?

hmm... characterization through dialogue is the main thing, i'd say. i'm always thinking about how to match a given character's speech patterns and i think i tend to capture their voices pretty well!

17. what are your writing weaknesses?

i'm my own biggest critic so i could list a bunch, but pacing is a big one. i tend to let things run too long and i feel like i've only just managed to balance it better in my current wip... only took a decade of fic-writing to get there 😭

18. thoughts on dialogue in another language?

depends a lot on context. honestly too many thoughts to condense well into an answer for this djglfg but in short: usually nice if it's just a few words, but can get unwieldy otherwise

19. first fandom you wrote in?

kuroshitsuji 💀 self-insert and OC-centric fic. how very unlike me

20. favorite fic you've written?

moth to light has been the reigning champ for a while now, but i think several of my current wips could potentially unseat it!

[parlerenfleurs]

heya I'm curious about your love and frustration with the realm of the elderlings--invitation to rant about it, tell me about it, etc etc I'm just a curious creature

It's been SO LONG I'm sorry for the late reply! Beware that this will be rather lengthy.

Here is my tale of love and woe with RotE~

I cannot recall exactly at what age I started reading Fitz's adventures, but I think I was still in middle school. Needless to say, it was only the first two trilogies that were out back then. I was young, and thus inexperienced, and social media were not yet a thing, and I didn't hang out on forums much - not even sure we had a family computer at that time. So my reaction to reading about Fitz speculating in one of his historical intermissions between chapters about the Fool, and mentioning he wasn't sure of his sex, was entirely my own, as a young queer thirsty for representations of that nebulous and alluring otherness, while not knowing what I was. (I wouldn't know what I was for a good number of years yet.)

That is why my reaction to this piece of writing was to become feverishly convinced the Fool was a girl, and, despite not having the word to say it concisely yet, immediately and irrevocably realising I was shipping Fitz and the Fool with every single fiber of my being. Shipping, to me, then and largely now, wasn't about fun speculation. When I ship something it's usually because it's canon, or because canon gives me a very good reason to, wether it intended to or not. So it's less that I started going "wow they would be good together" as much as I became convinced it was author intent to reveal the Fool's gender and then get them together in the course of the story. (After all, Fitz liked girls, right? So the only way this could happen was for the Fool to be a girl, and for Fitz to learn it and open his eyes to a possible romance with him...)

To note: I had, thanks in large part to Japan's obsession for gender fuckery and the unique selection of anime ignorant westerners were putting up on the TV for children in the 90s, already been exposed to a fair share of cross-dressing and androgyny and ambiguousness, and I was eating it up, it was my favourite thing, it was so cool. So (for this reason and many others) it follows that the Fool became my favourite character of all time.

As we all know, Royal Assassin and co is masterfully written. Of course, reading the first two trilogies, it became one of my favourite series, not a dubious honour at all despite my young age, as I was a voracious and eclectic reader. It is wonderfully written, and can and does rip your heart out mercilessly. But that's fine, that's good, I love a story that makes me feel things, you know? But then it ended with what I can only, and with sincerity, call a tragedy. Because what else to call Fitz and the Fool separating, after all this?

I had no concept of ever accessing an author directly, and in that time, when you were like me a young girl living on a remote piece of tropical land far from any capital or big city where the Culture TM happens, there was no notion whatsoever of approaching a creator, and even less to demand a change, or to even think this was something that could be subjected to change. If a piece of media was a certain way, it was just an inevitability. Like rain or gravity. My critical mind hadn't at all developped either so I didn't approach things with the distance that would allow me to think "This is badly-written bullshit and here's why".

Not that I think it's necessarily badly written in that case, but I do now think it's a bit of a bullshit ending, all things considered. However, as mentioned, in my eyes it was a tragedy and I can accept a tragedy, it is there to hurt, and hurt it will, and there is some pleasure in that.

Something like a decade later, I'm well into my twenties. Enters the new trilogy.

By that point, I had been to university, studied arts and letters, and been on social media for a while. So I had both critical thinking skills and the awareness of my own sexuality. I also had learned fun words like shipping, and the extensive vocabulary of queerness. Twitter existed, so audiences demanded things from creators, also (which is bad in my opinion, but this mindset has influenced me anyway).

Interestingly, it became apparent that Robin Hobb had also, in the meantime, been exposed to that vocabulary through her fanbase, probably, and doubled down on the queerness already wonderfully present in the previous books. She introduced another character with a peculiar relationship to gender in Ash/Spark. She made Fitz mellower and more understanding of who the Fool is as a whole, of the fact that sometimes she is Amber.

She made Fitz pine desperately for his Fool, in such an obvious heartbreaking way...

So despite a very, very slow beginning, and a narrative choice of senseless brutality for Fitz's reunion with the Fool (I can't fathom why he went for the stabbing, seriously, when did he ever attack a feeble person who had no weapons and was not doing anything with a rush of paranoia like this?? Even if it's his daughter and he's a man full to the brim with emotions that are usually repressed, he's still, for the better and mostly for the worse, a trained assassin, so HOW COME he didn't assess this situation even a little bit rationally before going full Ides of March mode when a simple shove would have sufficed??) - as I was saying, despite the slow beginning and this stupid fucking plot point, I was getting very excited.

Not to be like "Molly was out of the way so their romance could blossom. At last." because it feels shitty to just shove the female character aside for the queer pairing, but. I couldn't feel Molly in this trilogy. I adored her and their romance as youngsters, yes, but it was ages ago for them both and for the readers, she was a faraway fantasy of a young love... She had moved on so hard she had countless children fo show for it! And now all I could see was Fitz trying so hard to convince himself life was good while missing, and missing, and missing, people, adventures, his wolf... Hobb just didn't make their happiness that convincing, I feel.

I did find it extremely cool to have an alternative POV in Bee for the first time.

I've talked about this and I'll try to find the post and edit the link in later (here it is), but Hobb has a problem with feminity and the markers of feminity. And she hasn't moved on from that whatsoever between the second and third trilogy. So Bee is adorable and interesting but it is again reinforced through her that feminity and beauty are a pursuit that's usually humiliating and is silly anyway, and for vain shallow stupid girls (see Shine). That's a whole rant though, better not repeat myself here.

What I'm trying to get at with this frustrated rambling, is that Hobb. Is an author. At times an excellent, incredibly good author! She can weave a narrative like no problem, it awes me! And here she is, writing, and here I am, a somewhat savvy reader, and I go "Oh! I see what you're doing! You're bringing back themes! You're really, really insisting on those themes about gender, and acceptance, and really pushing Fitz and Beloved together there ;)) I can see how hard you hammer this in, no worries, I'm a reader, I will read, I am expecting that pay off you're setting up, which may or may not be Fitzloved kissing ahah, I know, I am no fool (lol), I will just trust that this will get narratively satisfying! ;)"

...Yep.

I do somewhat get why people did like the ending. I do recognise it was... set up in the narrative and thus was that same kind of pay off I was expecting. That this is them becoming. Having no limits anymore. All that.

I just... She chose this. She chose to have things be awful and for Bee to hate Beloved despite how eagerly characters and readers were anticipating their reunion and relationship. She chose to have the Fool suffer, and suffer, and suffer beyond sense - for decades? And for what? Who doesn't get tired of torturing after so many years? Just let him rot in some cell, isn't that sufficiently awful already? I don't think this torture porn was realistic or necessary. She chose to rip them apart moments after their family reunion, Bee, Fitz and him. She chose to invent a worm-infecting-thingy just to have Fitz die a slow stupid death after all is said and done.

She chose to have them find no sweetness between them for the whole final leg of their journey, of going nowhere with Ash/Spark the Fool/Amber because Fitz just. Doesn't like Amber. Is uncomfortable with her. Can't, won't, shan't be allowed to be anything else than straight and rigid and traumatised. Can't find comfort in his dearest friendship. And of course, likewise for the Fool.

(At least there was Kelsingra!! Oh Kelsingra was almost worth all this~)

At least Fitz did feel like himself, except for the stabbing (and the stupidest way to kill someone painlessly when he strangles the messenger girl like dude? Dude?? Nothing else came to mind? Not even your poisons?? No??). But I profoundly disliked seeing the Liveship traders crew. Cheap crossover where Althea was bitter and unlikeable, Etta annoying though her refusal to see Kennit in a bad light is at least consistent, and everyone was just tense and brittle (though yeah, it was funny to see Fitz react to Parangon, ah-ah, fuck the entire rest of this though).

Bee burned it all down, which was satisfying, but otherwise? Why did I bother reading this? Why did she bother writing this, even? was my reaction upon finishing.

Listen, fuck the stone wolf okay, they should have gone into the wolf, but after living a little! After caring for Bee if she allowed it! After tasting, at long last, some sweetness, some companionship! Why did I get dragged along this bitter journey with this lackluster finish as my bitter reward?

It doesn't feel like something written out of love and hope, and even tragedies are full of love and hope, that's what makes them beautiful and compelling and worth experiencing. Even real life sorrows have this fleeting or sublimating grace to them a lot of the time. Why refuse it to your dear characters and readers?

In conclusion, I'm as obsessed as ever, but instead of feeling poignant feelings, I too now feel this bitterness about it all. I'd rather have kept only the tragedy, where love was still fresh and near and made it all, despite the unfairness and sacrifices, worth it.

[quill-of-thoth]

Letters From Watson, The Noble Bachelor

Part 3: The Fun Bits

- Holmes did NOT have to make this a dinner theater, but he did. Because Watson is trapped at home by the weather? Because Lord St. Simon is footing the bill? So Hattie and Francis would get a much-belated wedding dinner?

- He also appears very ready to argue St. Simon down from his anger. And the feeling is valid but anything St. Simon would do stemming from it would do nothing but make the lives of innocent people more difficult.  - Missing, presumed dead is a trope, but it’s a lot easier to achieve believably in these days with travel and sending messages far more difficult. It’s made more believable by Victorian attitudes about the USA.  - Holmes’ visit to Hattie and Francis is also interesting to imagine. He’s a detective, but he knows you didn’t do anything wrong, you just... planned hastily. Everybody will feel a lot better if you all meet in secret at his place to talk it over - he’ll even provide a nice meal to celebrate your wedding! You mustn’t mind his roommate.  - Hattie must care enough about St. Simon to want this to go as least-terribly as possible for him. And this route does save her father a lot of grief too. St. Simon is... not so quick to cooperate.  - Holmes’ ideas regarding a US/UK global empire are, uh. You know the kind of retrofuturism that is so hopeful but also so fucking cringe? Yep. My dude. I have some READING for you to do. (How long do you think it would take to radicalize a victorian?) - After all this we skip the wedding dinner, which Holmes appears to have attempted to make enjoyable... if all went as he planned, would St. Simon and the Moultons be friends by the end? Does he think he can show off a little, feed everyone a nice dinner, and happily, instead of bittersweetly, resolve what is ultimately a case where nobody is to blame, or at least, nobody acted with malice? He doesn’t get a lot of those. - Love the actual evidence-finding in this case - the recipt. The prices alone narrow it down quite a bit, but were doubly lost on me when I first read this, being a modern american. I’m triply at sea because  the prices here are also so low that they’re really impossible to ballpark using only inflation calculators. The prices of food and lodging do not correspond to inflation anyway, as basically all of us are aware. Maybe I’ll add some historical comparison of wages vs. expenses to my projects along with the ongoing amended timeline. - Holmes gives the Moultons some “paternal” advice. Of note he’s like, barely thirty: Hattie is in her very early twenties and Francis presumably similarly aged. On the one hand, sir you are a hypocrite, on the other hand, I’m thirty and twenty-two year olds are kids. Especially if the solution to the problem is “you need to get over yourselves and talk this out.” - Holmes’ closing comments regarding that he and Watson are unlikely to ever be out both a spouse and an income in the same day are very, very hilarious if you, like me, presume that Holmes is aroace. I have legitimately told friends and acquaintances relating tales of romantic trouble (not theirs! I have some sense of when to shut up!) “Wow, glad I’ll never have that problem.” Also, when one remembers that Watson is weeks away from his own marriage, this could also be a clumsy attempt by Holmes to reassure him. This won’t happen to you, old chap. You’re the first and only person in Mary’s heart. 

[gryfflepuffinthetardis]

Prologue: April 2005 (Six Months Before Jason Gideon’s Return)

Season One Masterlist

Next: Prologue Part Two

Summary: Zoe’s interview for the BAU with Aaron Hotchner, somehow not a robot and she meets Spencer Reid.

Warning: Mentions of serial killers and child victims of serial killers.

"A little nepotism never hurt nobody, honey. If you got it, use it. Press on with it. Remind them of it."— Lena Horne

April 13, 2005

Nineteen-and-a-half-year-old Xiomara Alexandra Noble-Valdez, or simply “Zoe” bounced nervously as she and her father Alexander Noble, Senior Supervisory Special Agent and one of the co-founders of the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the Federal Bureau of Investigation in Quantico, Virginia stood next to her.

“Zoe, calm down, you’re going to do great.”

“Well, you’re not hiring me, now are you? You’re just the Senior Supervisory Special Agent.”

“Well, Stauss thinks I’m too neurotic to handle Unit Chief.” Alexander said, defensively.

Zoe continued, still looking at her father. “Hotch is going to the one interviewing me and the guy’s like a stone statue… Hey, Agent Hotchner!” She hadn’t noticed the elevator doors opening in her anxiety.

Nothing. No reaction. Newly appointed Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner, but everyone called him Hotch was standing there, waiting for them. He just held up a clipboard and scribbled something down, turned and walked off without another word. She was right about that—dude was a stone statue.

“Am I supposed to follow, what the hell…” She mumbled.

“Go.” Alexander pushed his daughter and she clumsily staggered out of the elevator after Hotch.

Halfway across the bullpen, she stumbled after Hotch before tripping over absolutely nothing at all as opposed to her untied high tops and falling to the floor, her notebooks went flying, her rave-colored idea journal skidding across the floor.

“Today, please!” Hotch somehow shouted in his near emotionless voice as he walked up the steps.

She gathered up her more essential notebooks and papers and tried to hurry after him but instead she bumped into a very handsome (in a nerdy kind of way but handsome all the same), tall, lean man with brown hair that seemed to be greased back to look professional but Zoe couldn’t help but think that it may be curly naturally, she also noted it may project his lack of social awareness and fashion, possibly a lack of caring what others thought of him (or at least perhaps that’s what he told himself), holding coffee with too much sugar in it in a thermos as he read a book faster than any average human could. He was no average human. Far from it.

“OOF!” He exclaimed from the impact due to her walking so fast and he dropped his thermos.

“Oh!” Zoe gasped, jutting her foot out and catching it, balancing it perfectly on the top of her high top, now suddenly with impressive balance as opposed to her extreme clumsiness just moment prior.

“Wow.” The handsome bookworm said. “Uh, nice one.” He awkwardly picked up the thermos.

“Yeah, sorry, I have to go.” She said and spun around him, expertly and ran to Hotch’s office where he was waiting impatiently.

Twenty-three-year-old Spencer Reid looked down, noting a rather colorful notebook near his desk on the floor.

“Wait, miss! You forgot your…” Hotch’s office door slammed shut and the blinds closed. “Notebook.” He looked at the cover, “‘Zoe’s Crime Profile Book’.” He read and muttered to himself, “Huh. Her name must be Zoe. Of Greek origin, meaning ‘life’.” It was just a nickname as she didn’t particularly love her real first name.

He couldn’t help himself, he deduced that it was unlikely to be something personal like a diary, so he opened the notebook and he found some notes of unsolved cases from the famous ones such as Jack the Ripper, the Zodiac Killer, D.B. Cooper, the Black Daliah, the Bloody Benders, the Alcatraz prison break, and the Axe Murders of New Orleans To obscure cases such as the disappearance of Louie Le Prince, the murder of Artemus Ogletree in room 1046, the Boy in the Box, Bobby Dunbar, Walter Collins, the Circleville Letters, and the disappearance of the Sodder children.

Jack the Ripper. Zoe theorized that she was a woman or H.H. Holmes, America’s first serial killer.

Theory one: Note that this was the 1800s and in stressful situations, they tend to see things and they would expect it to be a male killing. Female midwives were a common job amongst women due to females not being allowed to have as many job options as men did, in fact most midwives at that time were women, therefore seeing a woman with blood on her wouldn’t be too strange to people. Dressing up as a man wouldn’t have been too hard either, many women have successfully done it, Jack the Ripper was described as being five foot seven with a dark overcoat (possibly hiding the Ripper’s body, making their gender ambiguous and people would assume they were a man),  and a deerstalker hat (seeing themes between Jack the Ripper and Sherlock Holmes 😉, if the Ripper was a woman, she could’ve put her hair in a bun and hidden it within the hat

Theory two: H.H. Holmes had been theorized to be in London, however this seems more of a convenient suspect. Jack the Ripper and H.H. Holmes had very different methods of killing so this theory seems rather unlikely but leave no stone unturned.

Spencer sat at his desk, flipping through the notebook, almost literally with his ability to read twenty-thousand words per minute—there were detailed explanations of the crimes and theories involving what had happened if it was unsolved and/or theories about the killer’s behavior and psychology with a bit of dark sarcasm and sardonicism here and there.

“What’d you reading there, Reid? Some Star Trek thing.” Morgan appeared.

“No. A girl went to Hotch’s office and she dropped it.” Spencer answered, absent-mindedly as blunt and socially awkward as ever.

“Whoa, dude, that’s not okay.” Morgan said, leaning away as if he thought Spencer’s act would infect and incriminate him.

Spencer realized how it looked. Like he was invading the privacy of some random girl. And he kind of was. “No. No. It’s about crime. She makes notes about theories. Look.” Spencer spluttered, blushing in embarrassment, “She’s… they’re smart and well-thought out.”

——————————————————————————————————

In Hotch’s office, it was going as well as you would expect a job interview with Hotch would, with him playing mind games and implying that she wasn’t “psychologically well” enough for this job due to her past.

"I may have gone through and still am going through a tragedy, Hotch but I am more than capable." She snapped.

"You didn't do twenty weeks of training." He pointed out.

"You're right, I finished it in six weeks and I got all my degrees in six months rather than the usual two years since I was six because I don't do normal pace. My brain works faster than the average person."

"We already have a youthful genius on the team."

"Do you have a trained medical doctor on the team because as of nearly two years ago, I am. You'll need one, you deal with murders, rapists, shooters, kidnappers, and serial killers, someone will get hurt. Be it be one of the team, police officers, bystanders, hostages or victims. I still can shoot as accurately as ever and I've been adept at profiling since forever. I am the daughter of two of the founders of the BAU, nearly all of my mother’s family are in law enforcement. I have been kidnapped by different kinds of killers my entire life. They’ve told me their plans, their thoughts. I know how they think. I was three when I first identified my first criminal. A pedophile. My dad ever tell you about it?”

“Yes. He was very proud of you.” Hotch confirmed before poking the… Well, “bear” isn't really how you’d describe Zoe, more like a lazy, sarcastic, apathetic wolf that will suddenly act out violently with protective instincts without warning. "I've known you since you were ten years old. The only reason you're here is because of your dad, how would that look if the newest profiler is the Senior Supervisory Special Agent/BAU co-founder’s daughter?" He was playing a tactic on her and she saw it, very easily. "It's still technically nepotism."

"That argument is debatable, if I am the best candidate for the job, then one could argue that it's not nepotism, but people will always claim that it is. It's only illegal if I weren't qualified but I am. I know I'm young but I'm damned qualified. My youth only highlights that I am smarter than the average candidate."

Hotch looked at her as she stared him down with a challenging icy fire in her eyes that was as cold as it was hot but she remained calm. Zoe leaned forwards and put her intertwined hands on the desk, knowing he wanted her to profile him. 

"You have a sonogram in the frame semi-hidden behind a picture of your high school sweetheart and wife, Haley, so she must be pregnant. Felicidades, by the way, that means ‘congratulations’. Based off the pear-shaped baby in it, I am a medical doctor, after all, I say she's about four months pregnant, and should give birth around late September or early October, definitely sometime before my birthday. Now onto you.” She leaned closer, making eye contact, “You're scared, you're worried, no, more than that—you're terrified. You're scared of what having a baby will reveal in you. Something you've feared for a long, long time. That you'll be like someone you grew to abhor, most likely a male figure in your family. Almost certainly a father. You've always disliked abusive fathers so most certainly you were abused by your father. You have a younger brother, and given how many times you've saved Gideon’s, Rossi’s, and my dad's lives with little concern for your own or the pain, I'm assuming you took the brunt of your dad's abuse instead of your brother. You became a lawyer to please him but he wasn't impressed. Once your brother was out of the house and free of his abuse, you were able to be what you wanted. Somehow, you got this line of work... he wasn't just abusive, he was violent, extremely violent, you didn't fear for your life the most but the lives of your mother and brother. You prided yourself on being a better man than him so far, you've never hit Haley, but now you have a baby on the way, so you're scared that having a baby may show you that you're more like him than you thought. You're in this line of work to catch people who weren't as lucky with how they turned out. People who just responded to what they learned, what was subconsciously normalized into their minds as a child, that violence is normal, serial killers almost always have violent or extremely abusive childhoods, so you wanted to stop them. That's why you do this job. To catch those who weren't as lucky as you to dissociate the violence from love or normality, you knew it wasn't normal, but you knew there was nothing that could be done to stop him, so you want to stop those who are worse than your father, from hurting innocent families. Some people grow up to be killers and some grow up to catch killers. You catch killers so less families have to be afraid like you were your entire childhood. That’s the real reason you do this and it terrifies you that there are some you can’t save.”

Hotch stared at her, shocked at all of this. No one had ever deduced that much of him in all his years at the BAU, but then again, Zoe had always been wildly preceptive, but he hid his shock almost at once.

"But you've known me for ten years and again, your dad has worked with me for ten years`. You could've gotten it from him." He said, knowing full well that while Alexander did know of his abuse from his own deductions over the years and Hotch knew of Alexander's abuse from his family which also drove him to catch mentally ill killers, Alexander would never tell Zoe that. But even he hadn’t deduced the fear Hotch had.

"Oh yeah? You mentioned a genius earlier. I haven't been in this building since 2001, right after I escaped but I was focusing on finishing my degrees to be a profiler, high school, and medical school. I'm guessing the genius is that new guy with the terrible haircut with far too much gel, I say around twenty-two, twenty-three, he's a genius who can read quicker than most, smartest guy here, he’s probably usually the smartest guy in any room he’s in, probably graduated high school early, I say either late elementary school age or middle school age. He's only been recently allowed into the field, hasn't he? He doesn't have a gun on him, meaning that he hasn't passed the firearms qualifications yet. He likely has a neurological disorder, I'm not going to say which one I suspect because I said like five words to him and even for a qualified someone with a father who’s a profiler, it’s unfair to make a conclusion that fast and it's not my place to make judgements on potential co-workers, only on possible UnSubs and even then you can't get everything right. He was reading a book about the mathematics of quantum physics, possibly his specialty is stating the likelihood of how someone was killed or kidnapped. Statistics, maybe. I saw a glimpse of him as I walked through the bullpen and he turned the page a few times. So clearly he must be able to read fast. He doesn’t have a gun, so clearly he hasn’t passed his qualifications or at least barely passed which in that case means he only gets one when you go out in the field.”

She raised her eyebrows like, how’d I do?

"Why'd you choose him?"

"Because he's new, therefore the less I know about. Morgan's been here a few years. Gideon's on medical leave and Garcia has been here for over a year now plus she works in the back so I didn’t see her. I know all of them plus none of them have quite the IQ like him."

"Alright. Thank you for your time. I'll let you know." Hotch said.

Zoe stood up and started to leave. "Oh, and I knew what you were doing. You were trying to manipulate me into profiling you and while unrelated the boy genius," She nodded in the floppy-haired boy's direction, "You didn't, I just knew it'd be best way to prove to you that I'm not here just because my dad is the Senior Supervisory Special Agent, he, like my mother was talented in profiling and mental health. I didn't get the job, I just got an interview and he's not the one interviewing me. It's you, Hotch. And just because I have two neurological disorders along with some possible other disorders from my trauma, doesn't mean it'll interfere with my abilities, there's reason to believe they'll enhance them. If I get the job, my disorders will inspire me to be empathetic to psychotics and UnSubs, my trauma will allow it easy for me to empathize with those who have suffered. I spent eight months in captivity of lunatics and we both know that was not the first time I have ever been kidnapped, so I know how they think and what they do. Zarah is still missing so I know what it feels like to have someone I love more than anything be in the hands of a lunatic and I would be motivated to save others who are missing and to bring them back to their families.” 

“Thank you, Miss Noble-Valdez. We’ll let you know.” Hotch said.

She got up and started to leave before turning back, “You didn't manipulate me, I just played along." With that she walked out.

Alexander walked in a few moments later, "I told you she'd impress you."

"I must admit I did have my reservations and she's quite adept for nineteen." Hotch said, "I'll give her the call that she got the job on the first of May."

——————————————————————————————————

Zoe walked out and noticed the new guy reading her crime notes notebook she had dropped, she had expected this as it said it was a crime book.

“Didn’t your mom ever teach you not to go through a lady’s crime book?” She teased.

Spencer fumbled with the book and nearly fell out of his seat when it jumped out of his hands and he tried to reach for it.

“I-I-I’m sorry. I-I was just so curious. And, you have some really good theories. I quite like the Jack the Ripper was a woman one. And Walter Collins was kidnapped, molested, and murdered by Gordon Northcott. And you have some compelling facts that Vincent Van Gogh was actually murdered and covered it up to protect the boys that shot him because he was close to the boy’s brother.”

Zoe was at first teasing him but then she raised an eyebrow. “Those are like twenty pages apart. I noticed you read fast but that’s insane.

"I can read twenty thousand words per minute, I also have an eidetic memory and an IQ of 187. That-that's not a brag, it's just a stated fact. I don’t believe intelligence can be accurately quantified… here.” He handed the notebook back to her.

She took it as she scanned him, carefully which made him blush and feel embarrassed. “Thanks… um… this would be when you offer your name.”

“Oh, right. Doctor Spencer Reid.” He said, chuckling embarrassedly as his cheeks tinged slightly.

“Zoe. I interviewed for a job, hopefully I’ll work here soon.”

“As an agent?” Spencer asked in surprise, “You look a little young.”

“So do you. You’re not the only genius here.” She said and walked off towards the elevator.

“Wait, I didn’t get your last name.”

“If Hotch hires me, then you’ll find out, niño genio.” She called back without looking at him.

Spencer smiled as he watched Zoe walk off, the blush still evident on his face.

“Ooh, Pretty Boy’s got a crush!” Morgan teased when the elevator doors closed on Zoe.

“A crush on who?” The Media Liaison, Jennifer Jareauor as her friends called her JJ, asked, curiously.

“I don’t have a crush. I just met her, and I almost tripped over her!” He then ducked back to his desk, still thinking about the young genius girl he just met.

——————————————————————————————————

May 1, 2005

Zoe had talked to both her dad and Hotch and told them that for the time being, she wanted to be known as “Zoe Valdez”—her mother’s rather common surname, just so she wouldn’t be suspected of nepotism. She wanted to prove herself first and trust issues weren’t uncommon in agents of the BAU, she herself had trust issues and used use intimidation, false apathy, and sarcasm to distance herself from others. So there was already some tension there with her being new add in the fact that she was a nineteen-year-old girl. She didn’t want people to think she got the job because of her dad. She just got an interview. She wanted them to know that she was smart and qualified enough, not because of who her parents were.

Zoe stopped walking when she was just outside the building. Her dad turned around and looked at her, "What's wrong?"

“I’ve… I’ve been dreaming of having a real job here since I was a baby.” She said, staring at the building she was practically raised in.

“Come on, Zoe. You've profiled criminals accurately since childhood. Your profile of the Footpath Killer was so on point. It helped Gideon catch him.”

She nodded and took a deep breathe and looked at her father, pointedly and told him yet again that morning—she had already told him that when they had met that morning after they both had woken up, before breakfast, after breakfast, before they left the house, twice in the car, and as they got out of the car.

“Please, don't call me any nicknames other than Doctor Valdez or Zoe or Valdez and no calling me 'angel' when I'm in danger. No paternal interactions or saying. Please, Daddy?"

"Yes, Zoe, I know.” Alexander groaned and sighed, “You'll tell them eventually?"

"I promise."

Alexander smiled, "Your mother would be so proud of you, angel."

"Daddy." She scolded.

"Fine. Fine." He chuckled, holding his hands up in surrender, "you go on ahead, I'll be down in five minutes."

"No special treatment either." She reminded him as she walked towards the building.

"We both know you're too rebellious enough for me to follow that rule." Alexander called after her.

Zoe entered the doors and found Hotch, waiting for her, the same way he had when waiting for her to come to interview for the job. Like he was a statue that had just been moved.

"You ready? Agent Valdez?"

"Doctor Valdez. I'm medically trained." She reminded him in a sort of teasing professional tone.

"Just come on. Meet the team." Hotch said and they entered the elevator, "I'm aware that you want to be known as Valdez, rather than Noble-Valdez, Zoe, for now. We will respect your wishes but you can't keep this up forever."

"I know. Just... just until I feel like I've proved myself. I don't want them to think I got this job because of my dad or because of…” She paused. “Mom."

"Of course." Hotch said.

The elevator door opened to see the bullpen but that wasn’t where Zoe’s eyes went to immediately. It was to the memorial wall of agents who had died during duty, the one with her mother’s demon dog-eyed photo on it. Then it was too the bullpen where Garcia was already hissing at Morgan, hysterically like a wild goose in very colorful clothing and wild gestures.

“That’s Penelope Garcia, right? The techie I helped you guys catch?” Zoe asked. She had indeed helped them catch Garcia when she was still gothy and a criminal.

"Let's see what that's about, shall we?" Hotch sighed, giving Zoe the impression he had explicitly advised Garcia to not freak out.

They walked towards the group. Morgan seemed to think Garcia was blowing this way out of proportion but didn’t interrupt.

"We don’t even know this woman? I mean, is she nice!?”

“I don’t know, Garcia.” Morgan said, “She didn’t even talk to me. She just flustered Reid.”

“I can't have some stranger come into my family. I looked her up and her records were clearly wiped, and her file is encrypted. I don't even know the first thing about her..."

"Which is what you're supposed to have upon meeting someone for the first time, Garcia." Hotch said, giving her a disapproving look.

Garcia turned around, her cheeks red with embarrassment, then her eyes landed on Zoe who looked to be the total opposite of Garcia, wearing a leather jacket and dyed hair and a somewhat sarcastic smile.

Garcia shot her hand out in between them. "Hi, Penelope Garcia, tech analysis." She peeped.

"I figured." Zoe said, shaking her hand.

"Hi, Derek Morgan. You look familiar, agent.”

"I get that a lot." She lied as her mother’s picture was just a few yards away and she shook his hand, “And it’s Doctor, actually.”

Morgan had never actually officially met Zoe and when the team had been called after she showed up, he was back in Chicago using his vacation days.

“Doctor? How old are you exactly?” Morgan asked.

“Uh, nineteen. I turn twenty this year.”

“The minimum age is twenty-three.”

“With exceptions. I don’t mean to brag but I’m a bit of a genius.”

“Well, we already have a doctor-slash-agent-slash-genius on this team but…” Morgan started.

“I’ve been a licensed medical doctor since I was seventeen and when I was five I started taking dual college classes along with the normal preschool and kindergarten classes. If I had wanted to, I could've graduated high school by the time I was nine and I had already graduated from several colleges by that time.” Zoe said with a quirked eyebrow. “I reckon it wouldn’t hurt to have two doctors-slash-agents-slash-geniuses on the team now would it?”

Morgan and Garcia just stared at her.

"Doctor Reid is late, but let's introduce you to our Media Liaison." Hotch said.

A pretty blonde woman and blue eyes around three or four years older than Zoe with a friendly smile. "Hi, I'm Jennifer Jareau but everyone calls me 'JJ'.  I'm the Media Liaison."

"Right. You pick which cases are most urgent and you deal with the press, deciding what and what not goes out to the press if you can help it. Meaning, that journalists and reporters are usually like piranhas and will go to any lengths to get the story even if it puts people in danger." Zoe explained.

"That's right." JJ said, surprised. "Not many people know that."

Zoe stepped closer to her, "I'm not most people."

"You're back!" Spencer's voice raised a few octaves as on his way to his desk, holding a to-go cup of coffee he recognized the girl Morgan and JJ had been teasing him about for two weeks and two days.

"Hi again, Doctor Spencer Reid, right?" Zoe said, ignoring her father appearing, giving them a sharp glare as if he suspected something was up between them already.

"Yeah, do I get your last name now?"

She hesitated just a moment before saying her mother's rather common surname. "Valdez" as opposed to her father's uncommon surname.

"Huh, that's funny. One of the founders' names was Valdez but she died nineteen years ago, six months, and one day ago." Spencer said and he was about to ask if there was a relation but Zoe spoke up, dismissing it before anyone could glance at the photo of her mother and notice the similarities between the two.

"It's a common Spanish name.” She shrugged.

“Oh, my stepfamily were Spanish. They adopted me after my parents died. They were lovely. And you seem as lovely and exotic as my last name is.” Garcia said, cheerfully. “They used to celebrate the Day of the Dead, you know that?”

“Día de los Muertos. Yes, my mom’s parents are from Mexico. I celebrate it every year and I actually carry this.” She took out a small sugar skull keepsake attached to a clip that attached to her belt loop. “I keep a few of these on me. I always give them to those who have lost a loved one.” She put a hand in her satchel and took out two of them and handed them to Garcia, who took them and stared at them almost intensely, like she couldn’t quite understand what she was holding. “here. In Mexican culture departed souls in the circle of life. These are traditionally made out of sugar to represent the sweetness of life. I like to believe that they watch over their still living loved ones and protect us.”

Garcia was seconds from bursting into tears as Morgan scoffed and Spencer looked at Zoe in utter amazement like she was the most interesting thing he had ever seen, but then Hotch appeared.

"Conference room. We've got a case. You can set up your desk later, Valdez." Hotch said, gruffly, striding off towards the conference room.

——————————————————————————————————

Translations (Via Google Translate):

Felicidades — Congratulations —  Spanish

Niño genio — Boy Genius — Spanish

Día de los Muertos — Day of the Dead — Spanish

Image Sources:

Spencer Reid: @themoontaxi

*Any suggestions for songs to attach to this story?*

*These stories aren't very popular, compared to my Campbell Bain x Reader stories, those are my post popular ones, I think because Tumblr is more Reader fanfic centric than Wattpad but some people seem to enjoy these. So I'm adding links to the season masterlist and the previous and next post in the series.*

Edited: November 6, 2024

Prologue Part Two

[twodiamondhoes]

Oh wow, I didn't realize my ask would be replied back with a fic snippet!

Concept 1 sounds a bit like The Highwayman so I'm glad Dirges took a new turn (the snippet was awesome though!). Concept 2, though, that sounds so cool! I'd love to see a fic where Tango takes more of a proactive role in death and protection as a soulkeeper! Maybe you could spin it into an AU with it's own brand of spookiness, with or without Del Sombra.

I now want to ask another thing: what made you decide to use Empires characters in Dirges? And are we going to see more of them in the character stories?

Haha, hope you enjoyed it! I figured it would just end up continuing to collect dust in my docs folder otherwise, and your ask was the perfect reason to post it.

This got longer than expected, so I'm going to put it under a cut. :D

Fun fact 2! I was about halfway through plotting the revamped second concept when I read The Highwayman (if you haven't read it, go go go!! it's so good) and let me tell you, the crisis I had once I'd finished it and come down from that "I just read an excellent fic" high was major. I was in full on panic mode for a few days, worried that even though I'd already changed so much from that original concept that Dirges would still be too similar. My partner had to remind me that there are entire library sections out there that are similar premises with vastly different executions (please see: westerns, lol), that no one could write the story I had in my head but me, and that even if no one read Dirges, it would still be worth writing.

But let me tell you there was a period of twenty-four hours where I tried to think up a fic that I would want to write more than Dirges for the sake of the Big Bang and I just couldn't. So in the end, I kept going, ended up with the final concept for Dirges, re-plotted the whole thing, and then basically ate, slept, and breathed Dirges for about four months. I'm not going to be doing that with the sequels because holy smokes that was a lot of writing in a very very short time, but I still can't quite believe I pulled it off in the end.

As far as Soulkeeper Tango goes, I might see about giving him his own au! The idea is so near and dear to my heart. I've got a lot on the docket for the future, but I'm going to keep him in the back of my head, in the hopes that inspiration strikes and I can give him the story he deserves. I have toyed with the idea of a smaller fic, loosely based around the original Concept 2 plotline for Dirges (so basically an au of my own au lol), but we'll see!

Oooh excellent question! The short answer is, I needed a huge cast. The longer answer is, it felt odd to have Jimmy be the only non-hermit in the entire story, and to separate him from his buddies on other servers, especially because I wanted Lizzie as the fourth Ratcliffe sibling, so it would be Lizzie and Jimmy versus the Hermitcraft members. There was also the factor that both Pearl and Gem were on Empires 1, and the HC/Empires crossover made it an easy leap to make. I wanted Jimmy to have been able to make friends, and to make the world feel populated, without having Del Sombra be the only place the Hermits congregated, since I'd already made Joe Hills Mayor of another town, and the places I could think to put a lot of the other hermits were Elsewhere. My options ended up being: either come up with a bunch of OCs, or see if I could sprinkle in some Empires characters, and it all kind of spiraled from there! I wasn't sure how people would receive a plethora of OCs, and since the Hermitcraft cast was a limited pool of folks that I'd already placed in the world, I figured adding in some other MCYTs couldn't hurt. So, I started with Shelby and Sausage and it all kind of fell into place from there!

As for if we'll be seeing them in the other stories, absolutely! There are some Hermits I haven't included yet (sorry Iskall, my beloved), and there are parts of some of the sequels that will be taking place around some of the Empires members as well as HC members that we've seen, and some that we haven't! For example, the reason Iskall isn't in Del Sombra to pester Stress and the others is because he's a holdover from one of the Earlier Concepts and I like his role too much to change it, so it's going to be folded into one of the later stories. Oli will also be showing up at a couple of very specific points! Those are the two examples off the top of my head, but there is definitely more to come!

Thank you for the questions! This is a lot of fun XD