#just in case i decide to revisit this

[thatswhatsushesaid]

more salty commentary about.... salty fandom commentary, but for a fandom i'm not really involved with

ftr this is about the gay-ass (affectionate) vampire show

squinting at some of super vitriolic anti-armand commentary that tumblr's algorithm keeps throwing at me like 'this? you want this one bestie? no? what about this one instead?' when in fact i want none of these takes, actually. "i don't believe a word that comes out of that lying liar's mouth!!" "of course he could have stopped claudia and madeleine's murders, he's the most powerful vampire in the world!!" (uh, i'll come back to that one later. maybe. if i feel like it) "he was onboard the 'let's murder claudia!' train from the very beginning!!!" etc. if you're even peripherally keeping your finger on the pulse of this fandom's discourse, you've probably seen some of this, too.

and... okay. bearing in mind two things:

it's been about 20+ years since i read the original novels, and

the show's relationship to the original novels, as well as the 1994 movie, is both conversational and subversive,

two seasons into this delicious mess, how are we still collectively failing to recognize that the central conceit of amc's retelling is that, intentional or not, all recollection of louis' past is both catharsis (for louis) and performance (for ???)? that all of louis' recollection of his own actions, as well as the actions of the other vampires in his orbit, is filtered through the lens of his own feelings about those vampires in that moment? like this isn't a subtle storytelling device, this is something the show is repeatedly bashing us over the head with again and again and again: louis' reliability as a narrator of his own experiences can't be trusted even when he isn't so consumed with rage that he tries to drain twenty year old daniel molloy dry for the unforgivable crime of /checks my notes, mouthing off at him like a dumbass, or goes into vulgar detail describing to lestat precisely how he is going to kill him, cut his head off, and then feed his decapitated head to lions at the zoo. which, it bears mentioning, is not the version of events that we were presented with during s1, but it is the version of events that louis himself comes to reluctantly believe is the more accurate recollection of the past.

does that make lestat into The Real Victim™️ who did nothing wrong to louis or claudia, ever? please tell me you're not actually asking me this question. be serious.

the point is that louis is right in the thick of feeling his intensely passionate vampire feelings about armand in real time, in the present day, while looking backwards through time at the 77 years they have spent together, and he is questioning everything. justifiably so, for the record! why wouldn't he question the actions and motivations of the supposed love of his life after discovering that such an important memory from his and daniel molloy's shared past was erased from his mind? but seriously, if you have reached this point in the story and your takeaway from the last episode boils down to "THIS TIME louis' recollection of the past is definitely 100% accurate! the rose-tinted glasses are OFF and we can see the TRUTH about you now armand!!!" then i just. i don't know what to say to you. lmfao.

anyway rather than getting into the weeds with anyone actually in the fandom about which of these diva vampire daddies is right, actually, find me hanging out with claudia and madeleine's ashes giving all of them the proverbial finger. because honestly, fuck all these vampires (affectionate).

[cappycodeart]

[Sorry for the repost I messed something up] A doodle I initially made before the show aired that I tweaked today after realizing it was even more fitting than I thought. Anybody played Dredge? It's a... horror-themed fishing game. I watched a friend play it and that was a fun experience. Not to spoil anything, but a certain character's situation gave me Simon vibes, :)

(Also this song lives in my brain rent free)

[phannibal]

showing tinder boy three episodes of the x files this weekend. i’ve already decided on pilot obv but the remaining two slots are up for grabs. potential options include

quagmire

oubliette

grotesque

pusher

wetwired

detour

pine bluff variant

folie a deux

drive

any input welcome plus it’s possible we’ll watch four eps bc he did show me an extra star trek episode when it was his turn

[redflannelsheets]

Though I try to remind myself that what you’re doing/thinking/feeling is none of my business, I do wonder sometimes if you think I can justify being mean to them [singular specific], or if I stand by it, or if I have zero remorse. And if I could tell you directly: I feel bad about that, genuinely, for a few reasons. 1) there’s no reason for me to feel superior about aesthetics and physical attributes other people can’t help, just as I shouldn’t feel inferior. Physicality is what it is. 2) obviously, because they are a person too, and I wouldn’t feel terrific about being shit-talked either (not that being kind is simply a case of “do unto others,” but y’know, there’s something to be said for that concept, especially when lack of knowledge makes it relatively easy to demonize instead of empathize). 3) because I should have asked you how you were feeling (about everything) and tried to talk to you gently about the discomfort I often felt about being in that role, but I was doing what I thought at the time would make you happy, and I’ve learned in the time I’ve had to reflect since that the easiest route isn’t always the best idea. I was cowardly a lot that way, reluctant to speak truth or ask honest questions in case I was told to mind my business or worse, that if I wasn’t good-giving-game *all* the time that I would be dismissed. That being said, if I’m being completely honest sometimes it feels good to be “awful” and y’know, trash together and such. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I like that two-against-the-world feeling of trust, of privately shared snark and sass. I just wish it had been more general and less specific in that way (more in the “i hate everyone/everything today except coffee, [specific valued thing], and you” fashion) but alas, what has been done and said can’t necessarily be undone or unsaid. But I can take responsibility and apologize for it, and if ever we were to speak again you have my word that I won’t repeat that behavior, even if asked or urged to. There were reasons (beyond my being a subby li’l bitch) that I tried to direct trash talk towards myself at times, or at least put the spotlight on us together as something real and genuine, but I own my words and behavior, for better or for worse. And THAT having been said, do i think we were terrible, irredeemable, evil? No. We’re human. Humans shit talk and say stupid things and carry notions too far to entertain and please each other. It’s forgivable. It’s not black or white, it’s all of those marvelous shades of grey that make it hard to see certain things in the moment. It doesn’t require a lifetime of hair-shirting, just some sincere reflection and care for the future.

Tbh I’m not sure what I’m writing this for. I can’t see you ever visiting this specific space again. But I suppose I leave my missives here just in case. This is a safe place for you always, as is any room with me in it, whether or not you dare enter—and it’s okay if you can’t quite believe me. I have never meant you (or anyone around you) harm, nor ever wanted to, and that is a double pinky promise always. 💜

[wormspoodle]

okay. au thing (?) i needed to get out of my head (its been sitting there for 2 months) its pretty half baked so bear with me

more context/ drawings under the cut:

im not sure if this has been done before, im pretty out of it fandom wise,, but!! this takes place during "Time Traveler's Pig" (s1 ep9)

the idea is that, while fighting over the time tape, dipper and mabel end up running into krampus and henceforth get taken by the krampus and the time tape gets dropped/ left behind in the process (classic)

ford hears the ruckus ofc and goes to investigate like he does in tbob j3 pages and also gets taken by krampus,, dipper and mabel see him and assume it must be a young stan or something bc at this point in the show they don't know anything!

they've never met bill, they only really know/remember mcgucket from the gobblewonker, and they don't know stan has a brother

so they just assume life was hard on stan and he looks different because he's younger (something still feels off to them ofc)

anyway story proceeds how it does in canon, ford is arguing at the krampus while dipper and mabel remember that they dropped the time tape and are also trying to plot a way out, mcgucket shows up and saves the day, and because dipper and mabel don't really know where to go from here, they decide to see if that guy is stan (which he is but not the one they're thinking of)

they all make their way back to the lab/shack for the time being, dipper and mabel find the time tape on the way back and it's damaged (another classic) so ford and mcgucket will have to fix it ofc

some conversations are exchanged, information is gleaned, dipper and mabel watch tv to pass the time and end up seeing on of stan's commercials on the tv and the dots start to slowly connect that something is going on here

those are the more. fleshed out concepts, everything else is pretty vague and undecided but ill also probably never revisit this

some more details/thoughts:

- ford is wearing no winter clothes bc im assuming when he grabbed the lantern to investigate the foot prints, he didn't think much and just threw on his boots or something, which is why he has to take refuge in that cave to stave off frostbite

- dipper and mabel don't connect that old man mcgucket is fiddleford mcgucket bc i don't think they a) think about mcgucket that much to make that connection at this point and b) assume he's just related and not the same person given how old old man mcgucket looks

-dipper does have the journal on him but he's keeping it hidden ofc just in case,, after they find out about stan he'd find out ford is the author probably but i don't want him figuring it out beforehand bc it would complicate things (i also don't think hed show ford his journal bc of. time/ space continuum reasons

- maybe bill will show up or something i dunno. dipper and mabel are armed with the j3 that knows bill is dangerous but they've also never met bill

- idk if they'll find out about the portal, idk if mabel will try and bring stan and ford together, idk what happens,, maybe the time police catch them before they do anything,, shrugging my shoulders

-this au doesn't really have a point i just wanted to draw it bc its fun for me to think about the implications !!

[mariasont]

Okay so we need a smut with the reader coming home from a stressful day, and Aaron runs the reader a bath with candles and flowers maybe. After a couple minutes in the bath he comes in and has other ways of relieving your stress👀👀👀 slipping his hand under the water. Ya know the drill from there

Please girl I’m dying for this

Let Me Take Care Of You - A.H

a/n: ngl i was sweating writing this... i also feel like i haven't written smut in ten years so this is probably TERRIBLE but alas

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

warnings: MDNI 18+ smutty smut, fingering, hotch talking you through, hotch being obsessed with you

wc: 2.1k

You felt like your body was moving on autopilot as you climbed the front steps, stress pouring into your shoulders like an unwelcome visitor who decided to follow you home. The day had been particularly brutal—hours spent locked in a conference room with Reid, revisiting gruesome details until the lines between work and emotion blurred and you were no closer to making progress than you were when you started. By the time you finally decided to call it a night, exhaustion had settled in every inch of you, dragging your mood down like quicksand.

You could feel it in the ache in your feet, the tension clinging to your neck, and the sluggish way your hand fumbled to unlock the front door.

Inside, you noticed the glow of the table lamp first, and as you stepped through the threshold, your eyes immediately found him. The tension in your chest loosened.

He sat with one ankle casually resting over his knee, a case file spread out across his lap. Aaron's tie had been discarded, and his shirt partially unbuttoned, revealing the hollow of his throat and the crisp undershirt peeking through. His jaw was set in concentration, brows furrowed, but when he heard you shut the door, his head lifted.

For a moment, he just looked at you, dark eyes scanning your face, taking in every detail—the slump of your shoulders, the crease between your brows, the way you were clutching your bag strap too tightly. He didn't say anything at first, just closed the file and set it aside.

When he stood, his gaze softened, and the hard lines of his face gave way to something much gentler.

"Hey," he said quietly. He crossed the room in a few long strides, hands sliding up your arms as he searched your eyes. "Long day?"

He was already reaching for your bag, his other hand brushing over your cheek as he pressed a kiss to your temple.

You let out a heavy sigh, leaning into him without realizing. "Yes."

Aaron's hand reached for your cheek again, this time brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his touch light as if you might shatter under too much pressure. There was no rush to his movements, no urgency—just a deliberate care that made your chest ache.

"Come here," he murmured, voice barely above a whisper as he placed a hand on your shoulder and guided you to the couch.

You sank into the cushions, but Aaron didn't stop there. He kneeled in front of you, gently taking your shoes off one by one and setting them aside. His hands lingered briefly on your ankles before he moved to sit beside you, opening his arms in invitation.

Without hesitation, you leaned into him, your head finding the crook of his neck, body molding into his. His arm curled around your waist while the other rested against the back of the couch, his fingers lightly brushing your temple.

"I saw the notes from today," he murmured, his lips close to your hair. "Rough case."

You hummed in acknowledgment, too drained to offer more than a soft yeah.

"Reid run you ragged?"

You gave a half-hearted laugh in agreement.

His hand shifted, brushing your arm as he let out a quiet chuckle. "Figured as much."

He just let you sit there, pressed against him, your breathing evening out as the tension in your shoulders began to melt. It wasn't until he pressed a kiss to your hair and spoke again that you realized you were moments away from sleep.

"I drew you a bath."

Your head tilted up to meet his gaze. "What?"

His smiled faintly, his hand dropping to yours and lacing your fingers together.

"A bath," he repeated, standing and pulling you with him. "Come on, let me take care of you."

He led you down the hall, but when you stepped into the bathroom, your breath hitched. There was a soft glow of candles reflected in the steaming tub of water, delicate rose petals floating on the surface.

"Aaron," you whispered, voice trembling as you turned to him.

He stepped closer, cupping your face in his hands.

"You needed it," he said simply as if that were the only explanation he needed to give.

Stepping forward, you kissed him softly, but to you it wasn't just a kiss; it was everything you couldn't say, it was gratitude, it was affection all wrapped into one simple motion.

When you pulled back he worked your clothes off piece by piece, careful not to disturb the fragile peace that was settling over you. He knelt again to ease off your pants, his hands brushing against your thighs and calves as he worked them free. 

Once you were undressed, he stepped back, eyes never leaving you. "Get in."

You followed his instruction, lowering yourself in, the heat of the water seeming to seep into your muscles. Aaron leaned down, pressing a kiss to your cheek, his thumb brushing against your damp shoulder.

"My poor, pretty girl," he murmured, his lips grazing the shell of your ear.

The words seemed to wrap around you like a ribbon, sending a shiver down your spine despite the heat of the water. Goosebumps rose across your arms, and you felt your body sink even deeper in the water.

You turned your head slightly, meeting his eye. "Aaron."

You weren't sure what you were asking for.

He chuckled, the sound deep and rich, his hand trailing lazily down your arm and under the water to rest just above your breast, tracing circles on the vast area of your collarbones.

"You're so tired, sweetheart. I can see it all over you." He tilted his head, his fingers moving to rest dangerously close to your nipple. "Why don't you let me help you relax a little more?"

Your answer came quickly, almost breathlessly. "Okay."

The word slipped out so easily you didn't even realize you said it at first.

"That was fast," he teased, his voice dipping low. "You're so easy to take care of when you're like this. Makes me wish you'd let me spoil you more often."

Your head lolled slightly again to the edge of the tub.

"I let you take care of me," you murmured, your words slurring slightly. "I love when you take care of me, Aaron."

His hand stilled for a moment, and you could almost hear the shift in his energy, the smirk against your ear.

"Is that right?"

The sudden pinch to your nipple made you gasp, your breath catching as your body arched slightly under the water.

You could only manage a soft whimper in response, your body too pliant and relaxed to conjure up anything more coherent.

"That's what I thought," he murmured, his lips grazing the side of your jaw. "Just relax, sweetheart. Let me take care of everything."

His hands moved again, trailing down your side under the water, his fingers brushing over your hip with a torturous slowness that left your whole body aching.

When you turned your head towards him, your lips parted, and you gave him a look half-lidded with exhaustion and want. He let out a soft laugh, his hand sliding up to cradle your chin, tilting your face up toward him.

"You want me to kiss you?"

"Yes," you whispered, the word barely audible.

He didn't hesitate. His lips crashed against yours, his kiss deep and all-consuming. His tongue swept into your mouth exploring with an intensity that made you feel dizzy. His free hand moved under the water, skimming your thigh, but the kiss left you so breathless you hardly noticed the shift.

Your own hand moved instinctively, slipping under the water toward your clit, desperate to relieve the burning ache. But before you could make contact, Aaron pulled back abruptly, leaving you gasping for air.

His hand caught your wrist under the water, his grip firm but not harsh. "What did I just say, baby?"

You blinked up at him, your lips swollen and breath uneven. "I just—,"

He cut you off with a soft kiss, his lips mumbling into yours. "I told you to let me take care of everything. No touching. That's my job tonight."

Your lips trembled as you let out a soft, needy whimper, body arching into where his hand clasped around your wrist.

"Okay," you whispered. "I promise, I won't. Just—please, Aaron."

His eyes gleamed in satisfaction, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "That's my girl."

He released your wrist, his thumb finding your clit with unerring precision, pressing against it just enough to make your body shudder before he began tracing slow circles.

"There we go," Aaron murmured, his voice soft and reassuring as if coaxing you into complete surrender. "Just relax for me, baby."

A soft gasp fell from your lips, your head tilting back as the tension in your body started to unravel in waves. Each motion of his thumb sent sparks of pleasure through you.

You whimpered again, reaching back blindly, desperate to feel more of him. When your fingers brushed against his arm, he chuckled softly.

"Looking for me?" he teased, his free hand momentarily pausing as he caught yours. He brought your hand to his lips, pressing a tender kiss to the knuckles as you writhed against him. "I'm right here, sweetheart. I've got you."

Your body trembled at his words, your legs tensing slightly as the sensation built, his thumb moving in maddeningly perfect circles.

"You're doing so good for me. Just let go. Let me make it better."

It was like he knew your body better than you, the heat in your core growing with each circle, your breaths quicker, your lips trembling as soft moans escaped you.

Then, without warning, he slipped a finger inside you, the sudden fullness drawing a weak cry from your lips. Your back arched, pressing your body closer to him, the overwhelming sensation leaving you a mess in his grasp.

"There we go," he said. "That's what you needed, isn't it?"

Your answer came out more as a desperate whimper, melting into his touch. His thumb didn't stop, now perfectly synched with the deliberate thrust of his finger inside you. The combination made your mind go hazy, the words on your lips coming out as half-coherent whimpers and moans.

"You're so beautiful like this." He kissed along the curve of your neck, his lips trailing your jaw. "So perfect, just for me."

When he added a second finger, your hips bucked against his hand, the stretch sending another tidal wave of pleasure over you. A strangled gasp escaped your lips, your body completely at his mercy as he worked you closer and closer to the edge.

"You're doing so good for me." His free hand squeezed the one in his, kissing your knuckles again, lips lingering there before returning to your neck. "Just a little more, baby. You're almost there."

The tension in your body coiled tighter, the heat building unbearably, until finally, the wave of pressure crested, crashing over you and through you and in you with an intensity that had you blubbering Aaron's name over and over. Your body trembled violently as you came undone. Aaron's fingers never faltered, thumb slowing but continuing to draw every last bit of pleasure from you.

You slumped against the tub, your breaths coming in slow, uneven waves as the remnants of your orgasm rippled through you. Your mind felt delightfully blank, exhaustion and satisfaction leaving you too dazed to move.

Aaron chuckled, pressing one last kiss to your temple before his hands left your body, leaving you momentarily adrift. "Stay right there."

He reached for a soft washcloth, dipping it down over your arms. The cloth skimmed over your chest, along your legs, as though he were attempting to wash away every last ounce of tension you might have left.

You hummed softly, head lolling back into his touch.

"Aaron," you mumbled, though you weren't quite sure what you were trying to say.

"I'm right here."

He lifted you gently, the water trickling down your skin as he wrapped you in a soft towel. His hands moved carefully, drying you off like you were made of porcelain.

"Let's get you into bed," he said softly, guiding you out of the bathroom and into the bedroom.

He slipped a soft, oversized shirt over your head, his hands brushing against your skin as he worked. Once you were settled under the covers he pressed a kiss to your forehead, moving to dress in his own pajamas before sliding into bed beside you, pulling you into his arms.

"How are you feeling now, huh?"

"Like I'm floating." You giggled softly, the sound light and carefree as you nuzzled into his chest. "I don't think I've ever felt this good."

"Good. That's exactly what I wanted."

Your smile widened as you snuggled closer, a deep sense of contentment settling over you. For the first time today, everything felt perfect.

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[toovaeloe]

bus stop 𝝑𝝔 “If I was your boyfriend, you sure as hell wouldn’t be waiting at a bus stop.”

suguru geto x genderneutral reader

no curse au

You’ve used the “I have a boyfriend” excuse and you may have just manifested one. Or a gorgeous man, at the very least

☁️🚏☁️

This was the worst, you think. Had to be punishment for something you did in a past life.

For starters, you were late for work. Was it your fault for staying up so late, giggling and doom-scrolling through mounds of mind numbing media? Yeah, maybe…

Let’s blame it on the weather. Your alarm didn’t wake you up after you silenced it. The neighbor’s dog wouldn’t stop barking through the night. But it’s not like you could tell your boss any off that.

So that’s why you raced out the door, haphazardly juggling your belongings in your arms. Wallet. Keys. Phone. Something else you couldn’t quite remember at the moment. Did you have everything? Probably; no time to check now. Only to find when you stomped on the brake and turned the key in the ignition…your car wouldn’t start.

Sputter…sputter…and then nothing.

Great.

There’s your late-to-work-excuse.

Maybe you shouldn’t have ignored the “maintenance needed” symbols that have been lighting up your dash like they want their own holiday. To be fair, time and money just weren’t things that came in abundance.

In any case, as you were sitting in that local garage enduring the mechanic babbling on about vehicle expertise junk you just couldn’t begin to understand, zoning out and nodding every few minutes with a halfhearted “hmm,” so it at least looked like you were absorbing information…you made note to at least revisit the idea of changing your smoke alarm’s batteries before it decided to turn on you, too.

But that was last week.

7-9 business days.

That’s how long until your car would be up and running again. Apparently, according to the mechanic, you were lucky it was even that. Apparently. Which meant you needed some other means of transportation to and from work and such.

Lucky you had the local bus service, right?

WRONG.

They were always late, but you still felt the need to get to the stops on time, lest you have a repeat of 5 days ago. (You showed up only 2 minutes late and were left behind at the store. Had to wait for an hour for your friend to get off her shift and come pick you up.) You highly doubted it, but what with the way the world was shitting on you right now, it wasn’t out of the question. And the city’s money obviously wasn’t going towards public transportation— they could qualify as garbage trucks if they really needed them with how trashed they were. Mystery sticky patches on the seat, gum underneath. The inconsolable children whining their heads off. That was kind of cute at first, but now it made you want to throw yourself out the window. The whole thing was just the experience that you could expect from a free public transportation system.

And why was it so rainy this month??? Ugh.

But what could you do but make do with what you had? Complaining definitely wasn’t making your shoes any less waterlogged. Be grateful, or some shit like that.

That evening, however, as you were waiting twenty minutes past the time the bus was supposed to arrive at the stop after an exhausting work day…you were just so fed up with everything. With the puddle water soaking through your shoes, with the way you had to stand because the benches were damp…with this rando-guy who had walked up next to you that you were half sure kept looking at you. To say the least, it only served to annoy you in your already sour mood.

You were willing to just ignore it. Until he stepped closer.

“Hey I’m uh…I’m pretty sure I’ve seen you around.”

Oooohh boy.

“Yeah, yeah, it is you. I’ been taking the bus sometimes. Usually I’m riding my motorcycle but uh, not today.”

Did you ask?

“Thought I’d drop by.”

The public bus stop. (???)

“What’s yer name, toots?”

Yeah no. Go back to the 1950’s and maybe that’d work there. You’d rather lick the mystery sticky shit off the bus seat. You could pick up a date 10x better without opposable thumbs.

All of the above is what you would’ve liked to say. Alas, you were tired. You didn’t want trouble that would take more energy than it was worth. So before he could go any further, you just coined the foolproof line.

“I have a boyfriend.”

Lie. You didn’t, but it was the first thing that came to mind. And if that didn’t make him lose interest, then he must really be a pathetic asswipe.

Sadly, he was. In terms of getting the hint to shut up, the guy looked barely deterred; offended even, as he prattled on.

“Well why were you acting so into me then, huh?” You definitely didn’t. You don’t even know this dude.

“I wasn’t even going for you.” He definitely was.

“You’re—“ X, Y, and Z. Just because his game is trifling?? You felt a headache coming on. And maybe a bout of anxiety. People are crazy, and the last thing you wanted was for this needless situation to escalate into something dangerous.

The entire mess was occurring just as Suguru was making the commute to work on the same street. But he found himself slowing nearly to a stop when he caught sight of you.

How could a person look so exhausted; hair extra frizzy, floccose from the humid rain, clothes soaked, droplets of the downpour dribbling onto your cheeks and blinked away from your lashes…and still so breathtaking? Or perhaps that was part of your beauty in this moment. You looked every bit done with the day, but who knew when- if— he’d ever see you again? He’d be stupid, a fool to not at least try to strike up a conversation with you. He’d be…

…Probably like that idiot.

A sulky moue twisted at his expression as he witnessed the disgraceful way this loser was fumbling. Oh dear. His approach lacked so much grace, so much respect…it was really just distasteful. You didn’t deserve that. And frankly, he didn’t think he deserved to watch you be treated like that when he knew he could do so much better.

“Sorry to keep you waiting!”

A merry sounding tone directed your way had your head sharply whipping to the source. A tall dark haired man you’ve never seen before; layered in a gray colored quarter zip and dark slacks, you think. His approach was casual and relaxed, a subtly jovial yet inherently guileful grin tugging at his lips. He even waved to you like an old friend. His entire facade was so convincing you considered for a moment if you had known him from somewhere and simply forgotten.

No, you really wouldn’t have forgotten a face like that. Eyes like those. A presence so contrasting of itself and yet so cohesive in its own way, if you had to try and describe it. Just a damn beautiful man. With eyebrows that were beginning to crease on his forehead.

Ooh, you were staring.

More than that, he was giving you a pointed look that you didn’t notice while drooling over the poor guy. Unfortunately for you, slo-mo’s only happened in movies, and in reality you just looked like an ogling dork. But you didn’t have time to dwell on your embarrassment when he was quite obviously urging you to play along with this illusion he was creating.

And so you did.

“Oh- hi! No worries,” You insisted in an awkward attempt to adapt to this new charade.

“‘Hasn’t been that long,” though your reaction to his presence wasn’t as well-articulated, it was convincing enough.

The other dude looked to be at least somewhat suspicious, and might’ve spoken on it if wasn’t for Geto’s scrutinizing gaze and a simple raise of his brow.

“Can I help you?” And just for good measure, he’d wrap his arm around you, sliding his hand into your coat pocket as if he’s done it a million times before to pull you closer against him. Whatever glare this ravenette man was glowering down the length of his nose at this guy with must’ve been scarring, because he murmured some half-assed excuse before scampering away.

You idly wondered how’d he get wherever he was going without the bus.

Or maybe you’d have more time to think about it if your brain wasn’t short-circuiting, acutely aware of the unworldly attractive man’s hand resting just over your hip.

“Sorry,” Geto spoke after a few beats, languidly retracting his arm from your coat and back to his side. “You looked like you were about to burst a blood vessel entertaining him. I hope I didn’t overstep. Y’know, with your boyfriend and all.” He had to have overheard you earlier.

But the way he spoke made it sound as if he doubted that fact, glancing to either side of you as if to say That is nowhere in sight..? without being so overtly rude. Or maybe he just wasn’t all that apologetic.

“That-! Yeah,” You pepped with a nervous pitter of laughter, “yeah…it’s not a problem, thanks.”

Your hand gravitated to the zipper of your jacket, absentmindedly fiddling with it as you frantically thought up an at least half decent explanation. One that wouldn’t make you sound more clumsy than you already felt.

“He’s not real, so he won’t mind.”

Yeah, real smooth. What was that you said; about being able to pick up a date without opposable thumbs? You’d need at least ten pairs of hands.

But Suguru didn’t seem to mind. In fact, his grin widened into something toothy and almost boyish, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that added an innocent charm to his otherwise elegant features. He found it endearing.

“Perfect,” His response was coupled with a discreet chuckle.

“Don’t feel obligated,” He’d continue as he reached to the side of you. So close to brushing your shoulder, it made your breath hitch. Though truly he was reaching around you, sharply tearing a flier from the side of the bus stop and pulling a pen from one of his pockets. If you were paying more attention you’d have noticed the glint of impish amusement in his umber eyes that led one to believe that action was more deliberate than he let on.

Still, he’d make quick work of jotting down a phone number and the address of a nice restaurant he’s been meaning to try with Satoru— but plans change. “but I’d like to take you out. I was on my way over to ask you, anyhow.”

He offered the page to you; his handwriting as sumptuous and calligraphic as you would’ve expected his penmanship to be; in the margins of some tacky ad for a lawn mowing service. As you went to accept the paper, however, he rescinded it from reach. All whilst drawing closer so that his piercing dark amber eyes held your gaze with an unwavering intensity. The kind that made your stomach do flips and stole your breath away.

“And for the record,” He spoke quietly but poised; a conspiratorial whisper for only you, him, and the rain to witness. “if I was your boyfriend, you sure as hell wouldn’t be waiting at a bus stop.”

There wasn’t time to react; he was already slipping the page into your pocket, withdrawing to a comfortable proximity all the while waving you off and wishing you well with a kind smile, disappearing someplace else.

You didn’t even catch his name.

At least your bus was here.

a/n: I had something to say but I totally forgot 😭

OH but I did add an upcoming section to my masterlist so you can see my works in the works if you’d like! 🤍 always open to ideas too

Dear god I crave geto with that loose low bun that’s barely a bun kind of hairstyle. Ykwim???

ty for reading 🤍🤍🤍 love you have a lovely lovely day or night

edit: OMG THATS WHAT I WAS GONNA SAY. I kept accidentally writing bust stop instead of bus stop as I wrote this. So, sorry if you bust

☁️☁️☁️

[luveline]

Hey Jade!

I can’t remember if you’ve already written this or not but if not, could you please write bombshell!reader finally joining the BAU? I wanna know how Spencer and everyone else reacted to her finally joining

Thanks lovely :) hope you’re doing well

ty for requesting 💌 fem, 1.3k

The trek from the SCU to the BAU is familiar. If you aren’t being asked to consult, or occasionally brought along on sex crime specific cases, you’ll make any excuse to get there. A broken laptop, an updated reading list, a good cup of coffee. Spencer Reid always provides. 

He just doesn’t get it. You think about it every time you see him, but he can’t understand how nice, kind, and pretty he really is, or he wouldn’t be so shy, and he wouldn’t act surprised to have you seeking him out. 

He’s sitting now behind his desk with a hand over his mouth. You can tell he’s smiling despite it, a warm light to his brown eyes as you approach. 

“Hello,” you say. 

“Hi.” He sniffs, curling his hand into a fist under his nose. His smile is a thousand times more obvious as he tries to hide. “You okay?” 

“Hotch asked me to come. You don’t know what it’s for?” 

His smile finally softens before fading to a more neutral expression. “I have no idea.” 

You wipe your hands down over your hips. “Well, I’m sure it’ll be fine, and not at all like last time.” Hotch has never been angry with you before. It was strange. “I hope he still likes me.” 

“What are you talking about? Of course he does.” 

“What am I talking about?” You agree. “Kiss for luck?” 

“Pucker up,” Morgan says, a coffee cup in hand. Without coffee you’re sure this office would cease to function. 

You shoot him a smile, Spencer a promising look to return, and start up the stairs to the office. You watch your shoes on each step, their shiny black, and you try not to be nervous, but Spencer was acting strange and Hotch has enough reason to revisit his anger. 

Your best defence is a smile, you decide. If you act like nothing happened, you won’t get another rehashing of your mistakes. 

You knock his door. “Hotch? It’s me.” 

“Come in, please.” 

You turn the handle and feel the weight of the door against your elbow as you enter. Hotch sits behind his desk, as usual, but when you’re a few paces from the desk he stand up, which is unusual. 

“How are you?” he asks.

Your eyes widen against your will. “I’m fine. How are you, Hotch? How’s your sweet boy? Did he have fun at little league?” 

“Jack’s perfect. I’m good, I need to talk to you about something.” 

“I assumed.” You wait. Then, neck growing warm, “If it’s about last time, I'm still so sorry.” 

“I’m not going to get angry at you twice for a mistake. But no, that’s not what you’re here for.” 

He’s making you nervous. Is this a guessing game? You lean into your nerves and put your arms behind your back, grasping your wrist as you tilt your head ever so slightly to the side. “It’s not about Spencer, is it? I told you, he’s just a friend. A good friend. But I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardise my chances.” 

“It’s about that.” 

You stand straighter. “I do like him,” you confess, which Hotch already knows. Everybody seems to know except for Spencer. It’s not like you’re in love with him, just you could be, maybe. “But I’m really not– I would never do anything–” You start again. “I want this job more than anything. I know I flirt and I make more jokes than I should, but I take the work seriously, I promise. You guys are the most impressive people I know and I might feel like you’re a friend to me, Hotch, but you have to know how much I admire you. I admire Spencer, and I’d never let my feelings impede my professional ability.” 

“Y/N, I’m not reprimanding you for anything.” 

You swallow awkwardly. “You’re not?” 

He raises his eyebrows and turns to his desk. There’s a packet waiting across his outgoings, which he picks up and gives to you. “I need you to fill these in, first and foremost.” 

He’s smiling. Why is he smiling? 

You peer inside cautiously. Chest suddenly aching, thinking, It isn’t what you want, don’t break your own heart, you pull out the very top sheet from inside. FBI letterhead greets you. 

Facilitation of department transfer for Y/N L/N from the Sexual Crimes Unit to the Behavioural Analysis Unit, as requested by Unit Chief Supervisory Special Agent A. Hotchner and approved by Unit Chief S. Peterson. 

You lay it on top of the envelope. All the papers whine under your tight hand. “You requested it?” you ask. 

“Months ago.” 

“And Sandy said yes.” 

“Strauss, finally. If you sign them today, Penelope’s promised to expedite your processing, whether that’s fair or not. Your desk is ready.” 

“Hotch,” you whisper, not without excitement, but sound hard to summon, “are you serious? You’re not messing with me?”

“You deserve it. You have for a long time.” 

You squeeze your eyes closed. For five long seconds, you stand there, and you think about how hard you’ve worked and how badly you’ve wanted this, and how much faith everybody’s had in you the whole time. You’re so thankful. For Hotch, Morgan, and especially for Spencer Reid. 

“Don’t get upset,” Hotch says, taking your arm. He gives it a good squeeze. It’s so friendly and kind you consider jumping up to wrap your arms around him, but you restrain yourself. 

“Thank you,” you say quietly, pressing the packet to your chest. 

“You’re welcome. I didn’t mind fighting for you.” 

“I need to go and tell Spencer.” 

“Spencer, your good friend.” 

Your laugh comes in fractures from a sudden deep breath. “My good friend,” you agree. “Hotch, thank you. Thank you, I’m gonna go tell Spencer. I’ll be right back.” 

“It’s fine. Just make sure you finish those forms before lunch.” 

You leave with some dignity. You close Hotch’s office door, and you walk to the balcony and look down at Spencer where he’s waiting for you. His hair falls against his neck, his head angled up, and he’s smiling so hard he must’ve already known what you were summoned into the office for. 

You rush down the stairs. He, in all his loveliness, stands in time to open his arms. “I can’t believe it,” you say, your laugh like a ring as you lean against him. He holds you tight and hugs right back, forcing you to bend under his weight. “Spencer.” 

He pulls away just as quickly. “Tell me,” he says. 

“I’m gonna be part of the BAU.” It’s so insane to finally say aloud. 

Spencer looks extremely, achingly happy for you, but his second hug still surprises you. Your nose ends up pressed to his hair, strands of it falling from behind his ear as his palm cups your shoulder. 

You close your eyes. Spencer laughs, his lips a hair's width from your cheek. 

Your excitement grows too much. You squirm away from him and wrap your hands around yourself, holding in a girlish, giggly squeal. “I did it. I can’t believe I did it.” 

He takes your hand. You barely notice. “Why can’t you believe that? You’re amazing. You work hard and you didn’t give up.” 

Morgan returns from wherever he’s been with Emily and Garcia in tow. “There she is!” he says. 

It’s possibly the best round of hugs you’ve ever had in your life. The little congratulations cupcake they present you with is the sweetest you’ve ever tasted. Spencer puts a makeshift name tag on your desk and you don’t bother pretending your eyes haven’t filled with tears, but nobody cares or minds. 

[tossawary]

Something I found surprising when revisiting the prequel trilogy is how much the clones aren't full characters in the movies. They're props. They're devices. The films give them the same weight and attention as they give the Separatist droids, really. The only two clone troopers I can easily name off the top of my head who get "named" in any way are Oddball and Cody, who are both just barely in "Revenge of the Sith", and interchangeable in their roles with any other background clone.

It's interesting when held up against "The Clone Wars" and other extension material, which had the time and inclination to say more directly, "Hey, these are people and what's happening to them is wrong." Like, obviously what's happening in Ep2&3 is wrong, the audience can draw that conclusion on their own, growing people as cannon fodder is a clear part of the greater tragedy if you take about five seconds to think about the situation here. Even without the element of the entire war being constructed and controlled by the main villain, the clones are a tragedy.

But, oh man, the movies themselves don't really care to focus on that. It's SUCH a background element. I had a "oh, yeah, Order 66 being programmed into a control chip was a later addition to / clarification of canon" moment while watching, because as far as Ep3 actually shows us (as was the initial intention by some, I know), Cody apparently knew the entire time that he might be called to fire on Obi-Wan Kenobi and was just waiting on the call. The "homogenous evil army" trope is... very much present and even more identical than usual here.

By the films alone, you can easily assume that the clone troopers have no love for any of the Jedi (whom we're meant to believe are relatively decent people) for a variety of reasons. Their upbringing and training on Kamino was presumably cold and brutal. They're (possibly enslaved) soldiers in an even more brutal war. This army is offered no development or individuality that makes the appalling Jedi Temple massacre out of character for any of them.

But when the various Clone Wars shows first turned the clones into individual characters and even protagonists, many of whom are shown to be good people and become friendly with the Jedi through years of teamwork in life-or-death situations, Order 66 became weird. "Wait, why would the majority of clones (all the clones we see in the movies, at least) just go along with this? What went wrong here?"

I get why TCW and SW canon settled on the control chips option and I find it interesting enough. The tragedy of it all makes me want to lie facedown on the floor. Darth Sidious is really winning at sheer evilness here.

On the other hand, there are some really fun and interesting "Order 66 was taught, not programmed" AUs to revisit here. Especially when some of the other (Legends canon now) contingency orders include what to do if the Supreme Chancellor is incapacitated or declared unfit, or even getting rid of the Supreme Chancellor and assuming control by lethal force if necessary. Presumably these orders existed as a back-up in case Palpatine wasn't elected to the seat in time for the war or didn't manage to get rid of term limits and was replaced as Chancellor at any point.

That really sounds like Palpatine's evil army of ruthless Jedi-Killers (unchipped) could have easily backfired on him if they'd ever decided all of these non-clones were unfit and organized to take power for themselves. I love any scenario where Palpatine's arrogant and overly complicated plans get him in trouble. The "homogenous evil army" often gets treated as a mindless mob, but while the clones may have some degree of emotional suppression, they're clearly very capable and not unintelligent, and they're not given many (if any) reasons to be loyal to the Republic. And it is FUNNY to imagine any Dark Lord's created army deciding that he fucking sucks at war (there's obviously a leak, why the FUCK are they losing so much ground to fucking droids) and they're overthrowing him for better benefits, so that they can create and run a more efficient Evil Empire themselves.

You could make this angsty as hell or a comedy, or both. I'm imagining the clones at the eleventh hour murdering Chancellor Palpatine with such brutal efficiency that it feels like its own kind of prejudice. And he gets revealed as a Sith Lord in the process (this was taken into account as a potential problem when planning the assassination), so there's an initial moment of: "I can't believe it! He was the Sith Lord in the Senate all along! How did you know?"

Cody: "Didn't."

Obi-Wan: "...Pardon?"

Cody: "This is a coup, sir."

Like, if we're going by what's shown in the movies alone, there's a clear Emperor Cody AU to be had here. Which can be played as a temporary (years long) measure to reinstall a Republic with proper checks and balances, while a bemused Jedi Order and Senate are held hostage, or the First Galactic Empire is established as per canon just with the clones running it and reaping the benefits. I'm currently enjoying thinking about the latter scenario as a dark comedy, in which Future Emperor Cody (or the clone of your choice) has to negotiate in his spare time with the various demands of his fellow clones. (Who are, let us remember due to the horror that is the accelerated aging, a bunch of teenagers at the oldest here.)

Rex: "I want Tatooine."

Cody: "The whole planet?"

Rex: "Yeah."

Cody: "It's a shithole."

Rex: "Yeah, but it'll make Skywalker so kriffing mad, so I'm calling dibs."

Cody: "Noted."

And if you want to write shipfic, there's always the AU of various Evil Army Clones meeting their love interest and then going, "Not evil anymore! Sorry, guys." Which could be angsty or another dark-ish comedy.

Cody @ the clone commander group chat: "WE'RE NOT GIVING UP ON THE 3-YEAR IMPERIAL COUP PLAN JUST BECAUSE YOU HORNY ASSHOLES WANT TO FUCK JEDI!!! STOP TALKING ABOUT THE POWER OF LOVE!!! STOP IT!!!"

[loveandleases]

Full Disclosure, I went through PAGES of tags to find the Pregnant-by-Chris!MC asks so I could revisit the angst, and it also got me wondering. How would the ROs react if MC ended up pregnant with their kid? And with regards to the F!ROs and trans ROs, how would they react if THEY got pregnant by MC? I'm down with this going in a fluffy or angsty direction, as you gathered from my search for the previous asks about it, so answer however you like!

Oh noo. I swear I'll get to work on the masterpost so you can find things easier, it's been a long time coming and I need to stop procrastinating. I feel like I did this ask before...but I'm not positive. So I'll do it again with how the RO's have developed. Below the cut~ (Tagged with pregnancy for those who don't want to read.)

❤️ Cam - Ec-fucking-static. At first. Cam would be so pleased because finally his own family. Not that MC and Em weren't already. He would give all of his love to his child, unlike what he got from his parents. Then there would be the problem. What if he's just like his parents? What if he's unable to love them the way they need or support them when they need it. MC would have to have an honest heart-to-heart with him.

💙 G - Very nervous at first. There are a lot of things to consider such as school and childbirth. Is their current living space even safe for a kid? And what if MC or G has more than one kid, it's possible. G would need a bit to kind of come to terms with it. Once they have, G is golden. They're happy and don't bother to try and hide behind their cool demeanor.

Now if ex-G/MC had gotten pregnant. It would be so painful for them, because would MC want to be in the picture or would MC allow them to be. If the breakup still happened and MC had gotten with Chris, G would fight with everything they have to see their child, or to give MC the chance to see them. (it's bittersweet)

💚 Kara - So she would be scared more than anything. Happy comes way later, once she's sure this is what she wants. Because for Kara, she doesn't really get to make her own decisions so much of her life is decided for her. If her first real big decision is having a kid, she's going to ace it. First off by having a chat with her parents (who would to overstep), then MC's parents. About what is allowed and isn't. The grandparents don't get to dictate the pregnancy, the childbirth, the child. If they want to be involved then they will be expected to abide by Kara and MC's wishes or be cut out. That simple. (She will buy too many baby clothes ahead of time, it will be a problem)

💛 M - What!? Excuse you, whose pregnant? With a baby? Like an actual human being? How did this happen!? (This is M's reaction regardless of whose pregnant. )MC has to remind shocked M how in fact that did happen. In which case M turns blood red and refuses to look at MC until they've calmed down.) M is going to go through 5 stages. 1 being shock, 2 being really shocked 3 understanding 4 go back and repeat step 1, 2 and 3. 5 acceptance. Leading them all the way to joy. M will take a good bit before they get through those steps, but when they do they're happy, nervous but happy. M isn't sure how to deal with kids. If they have one should they just go ahead and have another too? M will want to call their mothers' immediately. Get some info about raising a kid and what to expect. They will order far too many books about kids and what to expect when you're expecting. (take their computer for their own good)

💜 Isaac - They very well might have a breakdown, and it's not due to not wanting to have a kid with MC. It's more of knowing that you're not promised forever, as someone who lost their mother. Isaac is going to take it hard. Because she will never get to see her grandchild, and Isaac will never get to have that moment with her. Now onto how they feel outside of that, Isaac will struggle. Because they realize they have something else to lose, and to someone who is afraid of committing due to that it's not an easy situation to be in. They would need reassurance, that this is what MC wants. That they'll work hard, and together will do their best for their child. Isaac wants to be there for everything, every checkup, every milestone. All of it. Proudest parent ever.

🖤 Ardent - The amount of breeding jokes to be told : 14. The amount of tears shed: Over 50. Which he will deny with every breath. They're happy tears. Happy to have a family with MC, happy for his niece to have a cousin to navigate the world with. He is too happy, so cocky. Rubbing MC's belly, giving it so many kisses. He did that, him! Can you believe it? Not to mention, Cupid is going to have to take classes now. That's the first step, Cupid learning how to behave around babies. Ardent is very big into reading, he will overread though. Like MC is going to learn the nitty gritty just like he is. Oh, and they'll probably have to move if they're currently living in the apartments. To a place with an actual yard, the kind his parents had back in Greece. MC will be spoiled, because Ardent will cook every meal. He will ensure MC doesn't have to life a finger, or even Cupid if they feel like they can't. He would be a great dad, plus he has been saving up dad jokes. I apologize ahead of time.

[kiwriteswords]

I Promise You This

Chapter One: All That Emptiness Knows Just Where I Live

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader

Trigger Warnings: Chronic illness, reader with past abusive relationship, canon-typical violence, canon-typical themes, language, future sexual themes

Rating: Mature for mature themes and future chapters.

Word Count: 1k

Summary: Y/N, the newest and youngest profiler in the BAU, is haunted by her past—an abusive relationship and an illness she keeps hidden from her team. Though skilled in her work, she distances herself emotionally, fearing vulnerability. Aaron Hotchner, her reserved and perceptive boss, begins to notice the cracks in her carefully constructed walls as they navigate high-stakes cases together. Drawn to her resilience, Hotch finds himself increasingly protective of Y/N. As their bond deepens, both must confront their own emotional barriers, leading to an unexpected connection amidst the darkness of their work.

AN: I originally posted this story back in 2021, but for a multitude of reasons, I stepped away from the fandom and removed it. Now, in 2024, I’ve decided to return and revisit this fic with a fresh perspective. I’m currently in the process of rewriting the entire 45-chapter story, adding new depth, and refining the plot. As I re-upload the chapters, I will be including trigger warnings (TWs) for sensitive content. However, if I miss something, please don’t hesitate to let me know. Your comments, shares, and likes/kudos are incredibly encouraging and motivate me to keep working on this rewrite, as well as inspire new content. Thank you for being here, and I hope you enjoy the updated version of this story!— Ki

Masterlist | I Promise You This | Ao3

You stare out the jet’s window, your eyes tracing the clouds below. Sleep eludes you, and the quiet conversation among your team members fades into the background. Music hums softly in your ears, a barely audible escape. You know the odds—three missing children—and yet your mind feels curiously empty.

Laughter breaks through your thoughts. You glance over and see Morgan teasing Reid, as usual. The whole team joins in, and even Hotch chuckles. If he’s laughing, whatever Reid said must have been good.

You smile faintly, though it doesn’t reach your eyes. Isolation is familiar to you—whether you're buried in a book or lost in your music, you’ve always found comfort in keeping a certain distance. It’s not about not fitting in, at least not entirely. The team welcomed you when you joined. They accepted you. But you’ve never quite let yourself feel like you belong.

Only in your twenties, you’ve already lived more life than most people twice your age. A childhood overshadowed by responsibilities that shouldn’t have been yours, and a turbulent adolescence marked by health problems that kept you in and out of hospitals. You were the kid who missed weeks of school but somehow still pulled straight A’s. The one who didn’t go to prom, didn’t have a high school sweetheart, and definitely didn’t have a tight-knit group of friends.

Then there was him. The boy who promised you the world but only gave you heartache. The one who made you feel small, unworthy, broken—both with his words and his hands. The one who convinced you to stay, even when every fiber of your being screamed to leave. You did leave, eventually, but not without scars, some of which never quite healed.

No one on the team knows any of this. To them, you’re just Y/N, the youngest, least experienced profiler in the BAU. A fast learner, sure. Someone who pulls her weight in the field. But you’ve made sure your past is buried deep, nowhere near your file. Only Spencer ever asked why your academic timeline was a little... unconventional. You gave him the same story you’ve told everyone else: You took time to travel.

The truth? You finished undergrad earlier than most, and jumped into grad school while working at a local field office. It was around that time the BAU reached out, and suddenly, your life was moving at a pace you could barely keep up with. Your health remained an ongoing battle, but that was nobody’s business. You’ve never let it slow you down, and you’re not about to start now.

Therapy helped. It gave you the tools to face your past and, more importantly, to reclaim your future. Joining the BAU felt like a step in the right direction—a chance to put your trauma to use, to give your pain purpose. And if you keep your distance from the team, it’s not because you don’t trust them. It’s because trusting people still feels like a risk.

The jet dips, signaling the approach to Phoenix. Your body tenses involuntarily. You haven’t been back here in years, not since... him. You’re not sure how you’ll react once your feet touch the ground again.

"What are you listening to?" Hotch’s voice pulls you from your thoughts.

You jump, startled by his sudden appearance across from you. He watches you with that quiet intensity, and for a moment, you wonder how long he’s been sitting there.

"Nothing important," you murmur, pausing the music and slipping your headphones out.

Hotch’s gaze lingers, and you shift uncomfortably. It’s not that he’s unkind—far from it. But there’s something about his presence, his authority, that makes you second-guess yourself.

"You seemed deep in thought," he notes, a rare hint of amusement in his voice.

"Just zoning out," you reply with a shrug. "Long flight."

He nods but doesn’t push. Hotch is observant, more so than the others. He’s noticed the way you isolate yourself on these flights, how you always seem a little more on edge than you let on. But he hasn’t asked, not yet. You’re grateful for that.

"What were you all laughing about earlier?" you ask, more to fill the silence than out of genuine curiosity.

"Reid’s latest hairstyle," Hotch replies with a smirk. "Morgan’s convinced he’s trying out for a boy band."

You laugh softly, surprising yourself. "He does have that early 2000s look going for him."

"Maybe next week he’ll try the ‘classic detective’ look," Hotch says, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement.

For a moment, the tension eases. You almost forget where you’re headed.

"Have you gone over the case file?" Hotch asks, his tone shifting back to business.

"Yeah," you nod, glancing back out the window. The familiar skyline of Phoenix looms closer. You take a deep breath. "I haven’t been here in a long time."

"Family here?" he asks casually, clearly not realizing the weight of the question.

You shake your head quickly. "No, I just... used to live nearby for a while."

It’s technically the truth. But the memories attached to this city are ones you’d rather not revisit.

Before Hotch can respond, Morgan sticks his neck out from across the aisle. "You lived in Phoenix? How did I not know that?"

"It was a long time ago," you say, deflecting with a practiced ease.

Morgan grins and steers the conversation back to the case, but Hotch lingers for a moment longer, watching you. There’s something about you that doesn’t quite add up, something just out of reach. He’s known you for a year, yet you’re still a puzzle he hasn’t managed to solve. And maybe that’s why he keeps trying.

As the jet touches down, you pull your bag over your shoulder and follow the team out, doing your best to leave the past behind. But Hotch’s eyes stay on you, and for the first time in a long time, you wonder if someone might be able to see through your walls after all.

[artist-ellen]

Wanna guess what super ambitious, totally useless, low research project my burnt out brain decided I finally wanted to start?

I’ve toyed with the idea of revisiting my historically inspired redesigns with proper backgrounds for a while now, but the task has always felt mountainous. Too bad you will never get anywhere if you don’t start climbing anyway, so here we are. Just in case you’re new around here I have done a whole bunch of historical, modern, fantastical, etc. sort of fashion illustrations or “redesigns”. This look is based on mid 1700s fashion for men and women however the off the shoulder roses and hair styling is only inspired by instead of accurate-accurate.

I am the artist! Do not post without permission & credit! Thank you! Come visit me over on: instagram.com/ellenartistic or tiktok: @ellenartistic

[astro-cattus]

A Change of Perspective

I was not expecting so much attention on my latest Flatland artwork, as I´m writting my biggest post so far it´s about to hit 400 notes.

Thank you to everyone for sharing my artwork, following me and thanks to everybody leaving comments on them, I truly appreciate what you have to say about my work!

So, I wanted to write a little about my personal relationship with this novel. Although small, it did help me create a point of reference for my growth over these years.

I knew about this novel since 2016, after the 2016 Bill Q&A mentions Edwin A. Abott. Of course my curiosity got the best of me and I decided to figure out this world. I ended up falling on a 4th dimension theory and Mathematics rabbit hole.

Since a lot of conversations surrounding the book where around theories on the 4th dimension, rather than giving political comentary on the book. As it´s rediscovery was made in the year 1920´s, one could imagine why that was the case. For the most part, due to Einstein´s main interest being how Edwin A. was able to somehow predict the 4th dimension´s existence.

Thanks to this, I didn´t take Flatland´s themes into consideration, and just read a few chapters out of order.

July 2024, The Book of Bill releases. Once again, there´s a reference to the novel in one of the pages. And for old times sake I decided to revisit Flatland. Curiously it´s when I got recommended the 2007 Flatland movie to no end, I eventually, after a long weekend of College work, decided to watch it as I animated.

After that, I decided this time I would finally give myself the time to finish the novel. With an older and more open mind I was able to finish the book and understand it´s themes; critiquing bigotry and seeing the world through a whole new perspective. Makes me wish little me finished the book instead of taking its message for granted, could’ve helped get over some mayor denial I had back then.

I believe things happen a certain way for a reason, maybe it was for the better that I didn’t finish that book back then, at least it gave me the opportunity to better appreciate it :^]c

I hope this community keeps on growing. And I hope to see more people create more content for this interesting world!

[plumpybread]

Asking because of the previous ask, are you not a fan of Ethan anymore? If so, why?

It's complicated, I suppose (rant where i talk abt ethan but then also my OCs in general)

I really do not like the first version of Ethan I made like 3 years ago. Obviously I like indulging in devilish ideas but I don't know, it ended up turning into something I didn't really end up liking too much.

Then I revisited and sort of rewrote his story a bit a while back when making the OC archive site (I'm aware the site is not available anymore for the people who asked, I took it down myself) and was much happier with it for a while.

Don't get me wrong, I like Ethan, I know he's the OC people seem to like the most, but it's still like a personal mental battle of like maybe it's too effed up? Even when I draw characters going through unwilling/accidental extreme weight gain, I make them either ambivalent or accepting of their situation, but for Ethan it's kind of like torture, and I can't bring myself to get like..aroused and excited to draw more of that *personally*.

Changing up his lore wouldn't really work either since his story is based on helplessness and stuff, and it'd be disingenuous to make him be happy with his situation, so I've just sort of subconsciously decided to leave him as is and treat his content as its self contained story more than nsfw art to goon to, if that makes sense. I don't know, maybe I'm just thinking about it too much, but just wanted to say what goes through my head.

I also don't really revisit Ethan for the same reason I don't tend to draw much of all the past OCs I've made, as I see each of them as a way to explore different facets of how weight gain can manifest and adapt into a character's life to create a story around it, and I feel like I've covered most of the ground around them already.

All of my OCs come from a sudden short prompt that pops up in my head, usually out of nowhere. I suddenly wanted to make a big-hearted southern farm guy who was super massive and I immediately ran to draw Rudy, for example.

I draw them a little reference, with my typical bullet points next to them with basic info to get an idea of what their dynamic is like, and a more lengthily written backstory or description if I'm feeling fancy under it, and then for the next week or two it's all art of them and answering questions about them... and then another idea pops up, and a new OC comes in.

It's not that I get tired of them, but I just simply do not know what to draw with them. Ethan is the biggest outlier in this case, since he is my fattest OC and half immobile, you just don't really know how else to bring something new that's not him laying on his bed at a slightly different angle.

I guess that's why I always do OC asks, I sort of need them to be able to know what to draw with them, since I struggle coming with things like that by myself, and you know I always like avoiding drawing a character in a void with no context.

The Genshin Obesity AU is my longest running like "project"?? thing just because there is an endless amount of content I can pull from since there's all these characters, places and possibilities I can write from. My OCs are obviously much more self-contained and moreso serve as individual experiments to explore different people and scenarios, so after the 10th drawing of them... I genuinely do not know what else I can add to them.

I hope that was a bit insightful. I know most of you guys love Ethan, and I love him too! But I don't know, I guess this is why I don't tend to have immobile/near immobile OCs, since the potential art ideas for them drop to just them sitting on a mattress or sitting on the floor and I'm just left confused on what to do with them.

Maybe Ethan in his college days is something you guys might be interested in? Or I don't know, I'm just writing this post as my thoughts enter my head.

Sorry for the rant, I sure do love typing, hope this clears up some questions people might've had

[mysumeow]

──YANDERE ACE DRABBLE

ᓚᘏᗢ WARNINGS: Reader is referred to with gendered terms like girl. Yandere Ace. ᓚᘏᗢ SUMMARY: Headmage Crowley assures reader he found a way back home. Ace attempts to impede it. ᓚᘏᗢ WORD COUNT: 984 ᓚᘏᗢ A/N: Ace as a yandere is a thought that greatly amuses me. He's a silly mix between a tsun and a yandere which is kinda ironic within inself but I find the idea fun. I had this halfway written and today i decided to revisit it to finish it haha. I'm trying to finish the many drabbles I've abandoned D:

⸝⸝⸝

Ace holds on to his claim of him liking you only as a friend (... sort of) as if his life depended on it. Even if he sabotages any means of your escape from Twisted Wonderland.

First, he tries to make you doubt Crowley’s veracity.

“The headmage told you that? The headmage?” He repeated it slowly. “You’re trusting that guy after everything he has put you through?”

Headmage Crowley was, with little room for argument, not the most trustworthy person on this land. Yes, he has his instances of being helpful, but you can count the number of said instances on your fingers.

That’s why Ace’s concern didn’t seem too far-fetched to you.

“I could at least try it.” However, you were dreaming of returning home from the first time you sat foot in this place. You couldn’t just give up like that.

“What if it fails and it kills you?”

The weight with which he blurted those words took you off guard—he’d said them with absolute conviction.

“Are you... perhaps worried about me?”

“You’re a naïve, magicless girl who knows nothing of this world. I’m simply looking out for you,” he was quick to retort, as if offended by your conclusion. “Don’t read too much into it.”

“Aw, you’re worried about me,” you teased him. “You’re such a good friend, Ace.” you reached out to pinch his cheek.

“I’m not,” he swatted your hand away, both tips of his ears and cheeks growing red. “Geez, you can be annoying sometimes.”

Used to his attitude, you just chuckled at his response. You couldn’t help but wonder why everyone in this stupid college was at this level of emotional constipation. And if not everyone, a good portion of the student body wasn’t an exception.

Ace racked his brain trying to convince you to stay. He couldn’t waltz into the Magic Mirror’s chambers like he owned the place and destroy it, nor could he threaten the headmage. All he had left was to convince you not to go back to your world. Or implant fear into the fatal what-ifs of the mirror malfunctioning. Deceive you.

His words were half truths. Yes, there were a couple of cases of the mirror sending living beings into another dimension, but they were presumably dead since the subjects never reported back, nor did they send any signal of making it out alive.

But it was a long, long time ago. Maybe millennia. Since then, the arts of magic have strengthened and perfected, minimizing the margin of error. It was plausible for the headmage to have found an irrefutable way back to your universe.

A fact Ace didn’t like one bit. To the point he sneaked into Professor Trein’s office and seized one of those old dust-covered books that archived many accidents that happened because of the mirror.

Sleepovers at Ramshackle happen often enough for Riddle to not even bat an eye when Ace must report to him that he’s going to spend the night over there.

“Oh, do come back with this homework done, Trappola,” Riddle dropped the pile of textbooks on Ace’s awaiting palms. Of course, much to Ace’s dismay. “I’ll personally revise it and do corrections if needed. Am I not such a great housewarden?”

Ace had a couple of thoughts that would differ from that claim, but he nodded along, not fond of the idea of getting collared.

The next step of his plan consisted of roping Deuce into lying to you as well. It wouldn’t be easy, given that he tended to be more sincere (in comparison to himself)... However, no matter how much Deuce attempted to be a goody two shoes, the fact that the news of you going back home would devastate him increased the chances of it being easier to convince him.

Ace surmised such, at least.

“Leaving? The headmage actually found a way to…?” Deuce trailed off, an evident ache within his chest. After some contemplation, Deuce accepted the inevitable. Deep down, he knew the day would arrive. Eventually. Although he’d hoped for it to be later. “I-I’m glad about it! I really am. You know how important of a deal that is.” To go back to where you belong and see your loved ones…

“That’s not the point, Deuce.”

“Then which is it?”

“The problem is that you both are blindly trusting that headmage’s word. Everybody knows how unreliable he can be. Don’t you think so?”

Deuce opened his mouth to refute; yet the longer he thought about it, he couldn’t come up with any good argument.

“Well, Crowley can be reliable. Sometimes.”

Ace’s lack of conviction was evident in his deadpan expression.

“Are we talking about the same guy? The one who abandons us to our own devices during hardships? The one who made the prefect deal with these past overblots? A magicless student, at that.”

“Okay, fine. I get it. You’ve got a good point there. What should we do, then?”

“We’ve got to convince the prefect to not head into the mirror. I borrowed a book. It contains logs of past attempts to send people back through it. None of them successful.”

Deuce eyed the book. “Those happened a long time ago.”

“Yeah, but the prefect doesn’t need to know that detail, duh!” Ace rolled his eyes.

“Ace—” Deuce caught the meaning behind Ace’s words, and, as much as he wished for your friendship to not come to an end, there was a voice nagging him at the back of his mind. “We can’t do that.”

“Don’t be a wimp about it.”

Deuce clenched his fist. “Hey!”

“And we’re not doing this for ourselves—we’re doing this for the safety of our prefect.”

Despite a certain sense of doubt pestering him, that was enough convincing for Deuce. This wasn’t for himself or for Ace. It was for you.

Yes, that’s the sole reason. He assured himself.

[the-writerwoman]

@whiskeyandcigarsmoke Here we go! Baker AU

Sorry it's short and sweet. I was trying to keep it under a certain word count. I hope you like it! I might revisit this AU again as it's cute! I feel like it needed more puns but I didn't want to go overboard lol.

@its-in-the-woods your tag as promised lol

Hope you enjoy!

--------------

The buttery scent of freshly baked bread wafted through the crisp morning air as Wade paused outside a quaint bakery tucked between a bookstore and a flower shop. The shop’s sign, “Bakes & Cakes,” swung gently in the breeze, painted in bold, clean strokes with an artistic depiction of cakes and muffins underneath. Through the large, spotless window, Wade’s eyes landed on him.

The man behind the counter moved with an odd grace for such a large man, pulling trays of pastries from the oven. He had sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his forearms dusted with flour. His dark hair was slightly tousled like he’d been running his hands through it all morning, and his beard framed his jaw in a way that made Wade’s heart do an embarrassing little flip.

Wade lingered, half-hidden behind a lamppost like a stalker in a bad rom-com. He didn’t mean to stare, but there was something magnetic about the man's furrowed brows as he worked. His deep voice, even muffled through the glass, carried a low, gruff charm as he chatted with the two young women working alongside him. One of them sporting streaks of white in her hair laughed at something he said, while the other, a bubbly girl with a bright smile and yellow earrings, nodded enthusiastically.

This man, Wade decided, was entirely too attractive for his own good.

“Okay, Wade,” he muttered to himself. “You’re going in. Just... buy something. Be cool. Don’t say anything stupid.”

He pushed open the door, the cheery ding of a bell announcing his arrival. Immediately, the warm, sweet air enveloped him, and Wade had to resist the urge to moan aloud. The man glanced up from where he was slicing a loaf of bread and gave a curt nod.

“Morning,” he said, his voice low and gravelly.

“Uh, hey,” Wade said, sauntering up to the counter with as much swagger as he could muster. “What’s good here? I mean, besides the view.” He grinned. 

The guy’s brows knit together, clearly unimpressed. “Everything’s good,” he said, ignoring the comment, jerking his head toward the display case. “What’re you in the mood for?”

Wade blinked at the blatant ignoring of his flirtation. He looked at the assortment of treats, his cheeks burning. He looked at the flaky croissants, golden muffins, cupcakes with intricate frosting swirls, cookies practically oozing chocolate chips. His eyes got stuck on an oversized Danish topped with glistening fruit and sugar glaze.

“That. I’ll take that,” Wade said, pointing. “Please.” 

The man nodded, slipping the pastry into a paper bag. “Anything else?”

“Not unless you’ve got a number to go with that pastry,” Wade flirted.

Logan raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. “Two dollars fifty,” he said.

Wade handed over a crumpled bill, took the bag, and fled with the grace of a cat falling off a counter. Outside, he tore into the Danish, savoring the buttery, sweet flavor. Then it hit him.

“Oh, crap,” Wade muttered, staring at the half-eaten pastry. “This isn’t gluten-free.”

~~

The logical thing to do would’ve been to avoid the bakery entirely. But logic had never been Wade’s strong suit, especially not when it came to the hot baker, who he found out is named Logan.

He kept coming back, always ordering something new, always eating it with gusto, and always suffering the consequences. He couldn’t help it. The pastries were amazing, and Logan’s handsome face and quiet “enjoy”s were worth every stomach ache.

“You’re becoming a regular,” Logan said one morning, his tone more amused than annoyed. “Are the bakes that good?”

Wade shrugged, leaning casually against the counter. “Maybe I just really like your buns.”

Logan snorted, shaking his head, but Wade caught the faintest twitch of a smile on his lips. He danced internally, that was progress! 

~~

One day, Wade dragged his friend Peter to the shop, eager to share the “life-changing experience” of Logan’s pastries.

“Dude,” Peter said, his eyes wide as he bit into a lemon bar. “This is insane. Are you sure these aren’t made by actual angels?”

“Told you,” Wade said smugly, picking up a cinnamon roll. “Logan’s the Michelangelo of pastry. His stuff’s a work of art.”

Logan, who was wiping down the counter nearby, flushed at the compliment. “I’m not. It’s just baking,” he muttered.

“Yeah, sure,” Wade said, grinning. “And the Mona Lisa’s just a doodle.”

As Wade raised the cinnamon roll to his mouth, Peter suddenly froze. “Wait a second,” he said. “Don’t you have a gluten allergy? Should you even be eating that?”

Wade’s hand paused mid-bite. He glanced at Logan, who was staring at him with a mix of confusion, sadness, and the faintest hint of anger.

“You’re allergic?” Logan asked, his tone sharp. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Wade winced. “Uh... well... you kinda went on this rant once about gluten allergies being a pain to cater to, and I didn’t wanna be that guy.”

Logan still looked frustrated. “What the hell are you on about? I never said that.” Wade nodded. “You did. Someone came in one day. I didn’t hear much of the conversation, just you ranting afterward about ‘People and their allergies, expecting the world to revolve around them’. And I felt too bad to say anything.” 

Logan blinked, his expression shifting from frustration to guilt in a heartbeat as he remembered. “Oh,” he said quietly, looking down at the counter. “I didn’t mean... I was just….” he looked back up, seeing Wade and Peter looking at him. 

“That wasn’t a…dig at people with allergies. That customer had come in and had asked for something gluten-free and I showed them our options that would take a while to bake, and they went off on one about how none of them were ‘up to their standards’. Said how they should be accommodated and have pastries on demand.” 

Wade processed it. “Oh. Well, that does suck,” he agreed. Logan's eyes softened. 

From behind him, Rogue rolled her eyes. “Logan, you really need to watch what you and your big mouth say. Jeez.” Wade giggled. 

Logan rubbed the back of his neck, clearly embarrassed. “Yeah. You’re right. That was stupid of me,” he looked at Wade. “I’m sorry, Wade. I’ll make it up to you.”

From that day on, a small section of Logan’s display case was dedicated to gluten-free pastries. Wade noticed they were always the freshest, most beautiful treats in the case.

One morning, as Wade bit into a perfectly flaky, gluten-free croissant, he smiled at Logan. “You didn’t have to do all this just for me, you know.”

Logan shrugged, but the pink on his cheeks betrayed him. “I wanted to.”

Wade’s grin could’ve powered the entire city.