#like!! give me attention before i do thing several people will regret

[wittness]

goddddd i need attention.

[atlabeth]

family line

pt 2

pairing: spencer reid x gideon!reader

a/n: pardon the end where i just go into endless conversation for no reason but i cannot control myself. anyways thank you sosososo much for all the love on the last part and gideon!reader as a whole it makes me so happy!! enjoy some dad-daughter-spence car convos(arguing) and some elle time

wc: 3.8k

warning(s): the usual! r and gideon argue, gideon is not a good dad(but theres some reconciliation), angst, hurt/comfort, but some fluff between r and gideon & spence. more of a set-up chapter

The drive over to the safe house is a long one, and unfortunately, not a quiet one. 

Spencer takes the back seat, leaving shotgun for you with your dad. He spends the entirety of the drive briefing you on what living in a safe house will entail, all the things you can and can’t do. 

You can’t use your phone because it could be tracked. You can’t leave the place without Spencer because you are, in fact, being stalked. You’re not to reveal anything about your location to anyone—you’re basically shut off from the world until the unsub is behind bars. 

And once he’s done briefing you, he basically starts interrogating you. 

“Have you been contacted like this before in any way?” 

You huff a laugh. “What, with creepy pictures of myself? No.” 

“Anything unsettling,” he clarifies. “A text message, a call, an email— anything that rubbed you the wrong way that you might’ve just passed off as a joke or spam.” 

“No,” you repeat. 

“You’re sure?” 

“How many times do I have to say no?” You pull your phone out of your pocket and stare at your dad. “Go through it if you want. You won’t find anything.” 

He pauses, then he nods. “Reid.” 

You shake your head with a slight laugh, then turn it over as Spencer extends a hand. He flips it open and starts to go through it, and you just cross your arms and stare out the windshield. 

“We should really hand this over to Garcia,” he says. “She’ll be able to do a lot more than I can. I don’t really—”

“Like technology, I know,” your dad finished. “We will. Just trying to get all the leads we can upfront.” 

You sigh, but you keep quiet. You guess you can’t really consider it an invasion of privacy when there’s a stalker after you. 

“We typically talk to stalking victims for a while to figure out their lifestyle and possible suspects, as well as the type of stalker we’re dealing with,” Spencer says. “We don’t exactly have the time for that here.” 

“This unsub has already been watching you for a month, maybe more,” your dad says. “He’s made his first move by reaching out to me—that means he wants us to know about him, wants you to know about him.” He glances over at you. “He wants to scare you. You’re not going to give him that satisfaction.” 

“You’re jetting me off to a safehouse before you’ve even gotten the chance to look into any leads,” you say. “It looks like we’re pretty scared, Dad.” 

“It’s preparation,” he says. “The unsub has made his first move—I’m not going to wait around for him to make another and compromise your safety.” 

“This could also be a lot more dangerous than we think,” Spencer says. You still hear him clicking through your messages, and you’re beginning to regret your decision to turn it over to him. “Our unsub could be someone after Gideon using you as collateral.” 

Your heart stops for a split second and your attention snaps to your father. “What?”

“…It is a likely option,” he says. “Very few people know you as my daughter. Someone who wants to hurt me could try to use you to do it.”

“So I was right,” you say. “This is only happening because I’m your daughter.”

“Do you want me to say yes?”

“Yes!” you exclaim. “Yes— I want you to admit that I’ve missed out on all the positives of you being my dad and gotten stuck with all the negatives!”

“This is not the time,” he says. 

“How is it not the time?” you ask with a laugh. “You’ve said it yourself several times— my life is in danger. There’s someone out there that might kill me to get back at you. What is a better time than this to talk about how shitty of a dad you’ve been?”

“A better time would be when we aren’t this high strung,” he says evenly. “Neither of us are thinking as properly as we should be. We don’t want to say anything we’ll regret.”

“Oh, I don’t think I’ll regret any of this,” you say. “After all, I could be dead soon, right? I should get all those regrets out of the way.”

“Please stop arguing,” Spencer interrupts hastily. “This— this is very uncomfortable.”

You scoff. The flames burn just as bright, but for some reason, you decide to hold them back a bit. 

“I’m sure it’s real hard for you, boy genius.”

The silence lingers. You can tell he wants to say more, but he doesn’t. Your dad, to his credit, doesn’t stoke the fire.

It looks like you’re all capable of restraint today. 

“I— I went through all her messages,” Spencer continues. It irks you that he talks like you’re not here. “There’s nothing suspicious there, at least.”

“Good,” your dad says. “I’ll hand it over to Garcia after I drop you both off.”

“We’re not gonna have a car?” you ask.

“You’ll have this one,” he says. “That’s why Agent Greenaway is following us.”

“Elle’s coming?” Spencer asks, and you see him perk up. You belatedly wonder what that deal is. 

“Just so she can drive me back to the office,” your dad says. “She offered.”

“What’s everyone else doing?” 

“Garcia is digging through some of your personal records for the team,” he says, glancing at you. “JJ is in contact with the local police stations so they’re ready once we have a profile. Morgan and Hotch should be looking through every case I’ve closed to get a running list of suspects.”

“Great,” you say as you lean back in your seat. “Nothing like getting my whole life aired out and put under a microscope.”

“It already is,” Spencer says. “You’ve got a stalker.”

“Thanks, Spencer,” you mutter. “I forgot.” 

-

The rest of the drive goes by with ease—at least, relative to how difficult you’ve made everything else. 

You’re already sick of Spencer Reid by the time you get out of the car. You don’t know how you’re going to survive such close quarters under these kinds of circumstances. 

Another car parks next to you as the three of you get out, and your eyes are drawn to the woman that steps out. 

“Easy drive?” your dad asks. 

“I was right behind you,” Agent Greenaway says. “You drive like an old man.” 

Your dad just barely smiles. “Stay with her, Elle. Reid and I are going to check the perimeter.” 

“You can’t be serious,” you cut in. 

“I already told you I’m not taking chances with this,” he says, and he takes his gun out. “This won’t take long.” 

Spencer takes his out as well—he carries it with both hands, like it’s actually weighing him down, and it’s a bit ridiculous—and they split to cover both sides of the house and the surrounding area. You sigh and shake your head as you cross your arms. 

“He’s certainly spirited,” Agent Greenaway says. 

You huff a laugh. “That’s one way to put it.” 

“I’m Elle, by the way,” she says. “I know we haven’t been formally introduced.” 

You nod your acknowledgment and say your name. “Nice to meet you.” 

She turns to fully face you. “Do you mind if I say a few things?” 

“If it’s about my dad—”

“It’s not,” she interrupts with a wry smile, “I promise.” 

You shrug. “Then sure.” 

“First, I just want to ask if you’re doing alright,” she says. “You’ve gotten a lot dropped on you all at once.”

“I’m as good as I can be,” you say. 

Elle nods, and her eyes soften. “I’m not gonna tell you to take it easy on Gideon. He’s an incredible agent, but that makes it hard to be a good dad.”

You don’t say anything, and she continues. 

“My dad was on the force too. I resented him for a lot of my childhood because he was gone so often, but… then he was killed in the line of duty.”

You frown. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Elle nods in thanks. “I’m not trying to get sympathy. I’m just saying I know what it’s like.”

You shift your balance and sigh, glancing away momentarily. “Everyone here sees him as a hero, and— and he is. He started this whole thing and you all save lives every day, but it feels like he’s missed my entire life because of it.” You huff a bitter laugh. “I think you all know him better than I do.”

“I think you’re probably right,” she admits. “You deserve to be angry. And honestly, I think you deserve to hate him some for it.” 

You huff a slight laugh. “You’re the one person who hasn’t tried to make me feel bad for it.”

She shrugs. “You’re in an awful situation and it might be because of him. You don’t have to have endless grace.”

“Any chance I can get you to stay in here with me instead of Spencer?” you ask.

She smiles. “I don’t think Gideon wants to stick the two of us in a house together. But I am gonna make sure we catch this guy.”

“These kinds of assholes go after vulnerable women because it gives them the attention they crave,” she continues. “They worm themselves into their lives and disrupt it all and it makes them feel powerful—you have to play to their whims.”

“Sounds like you have a lot of experience with this,” you murmur.

“I have a lot of experience putting away sick men,” Elle says. 

“Do you have any advice, then?” you ask weakly. 

“I’ve only been around you for a few hours, but I already know you’re better and stronger than whatever bastard is after you,” she says. “He wants to control your life. Don’t let him.” 

“Thank you,” you say quietly. “I’m… really glad you’re on my side.”

She smiles again. “Just doing my job.”

Your eyes latch onto your dad as he and Spencer come back around the front, and they both tuck their guns back into their holsters. 

“It’s all clear,” your dad says. 

“And I’m not dead,” you say. “Looks like we’re all doing good.”

He chooses to ignore you, instead looking at Elle. “Did you go over anything with her?” he asks.

She shakes her head. “Just gave some advice.”

“Great,” Spencer says. “Just what I need.”

“Oh, get over yourself, Reid,” Elle says. “You’ll be fine.” 

You don’t miss the look he gives her, and your dad clears his throat. “Can you take her inside and check everything? Reid and I need to talk.” 

He frowns. “We do?” 

“Sure,” she nods. 

You stare at your dad this time, and he doesn’t entertain your annoyance with some of his own. “We’ll be in soon.” 

“Sure,” you repeat. 

You follow Elle in—you don’t feel like getting a lecture on safety just yet—and when you pass a glance over your shoulder, you meet Spencer’s eyes. He was watching you. 

His eyes dart away just as quickly, and you huff the slightest laugh. You don’t know if he’s scared of you or just tired of you already, but whichever one, you don’t really care. If you have to be stuck in this house with him, he has to be stuck in there with you too.

Elle shows you around the place, and it’s nothing special—a one story house with two bedrooms and a noticeable lack of windows, furnished plainly with a couch and a few chairs, a small kitchen table, a television. You’re honestly surprised at how nice it all is. 

But as she takes you on the impromptu tour, you can’t stop thinking about her words. You can’t stop thinking about all of it, honestly. 

A month ago, you were driving home in silence after your dad forgot about the plans you made. A week ago, you were out for drinks with friends. 

Today, you’re hunkering down in a safe house because there’s a stalker after you, and you have to do it with your dad’s stand-in kid. 

That’s what gets you, you think. That you know more about Spencer Reid than anyone at his job knows about you—that your dad ignores you in favor of his work, and instead of trying to fit you into his life, he finds an FBI replacement.

Your jaw clenches. It takes a few seconds for you to realize you’ve completely tuned out Elle, only really coming out of it when she says your name.

“Sorry,” you say. “I was distracted.” 

“I don’t blame you,” she says wryly. 

You’re about to respond when Spencer walks in with your dad. His face is slightly flushed and, as opposed to all the other times, he won’t make eye contact with you. You can only imagine what your dad decided to talk to him about. 

“You showed her around?” your dad asks. 

Elle nods. “The basics. She and Reid can figure out the rest.” 

“Thank you,” he says. He looks at Spencer, who has his hands stuffed in his pockets and is very intently focused on the wall behind you. “Help Elle get the rest of the things out of her car.”

He frowns. “Elle doesn’t need my help.”

“Come on, Reid,” she says as she starts to walk. 

He blinks and nods. “Oh. Uh— yeah.” 

You feel his eyes on you as he goes, but you don’t meet them. You just stare at your father.

“Is it my turn for a lecture?”

His eyes soften as he says your name. “This isn’t how I want things to be between us.”

“Yeah, well,” you shrug, “it takes a decade or two of neglect to get here.”

“You’re right,” he says. “You wouldn’t be in this situation if it wasn’t for me. But I’m going to get you out of it.”

“I hope so,” you say. “Because I don’t really know how Doctor Reid is going to help.”

“Don’t take it out on Reid,” your dad says. “Hate me all you want, but leave him out of it.”

“You’re the one that pulled him into it,” you retort. “He’s more your kid than I am.”

“And I regret it,” he says. Your eyes widen a bit, and it actually gets you to shut up. “I regret that it took something like this for me to be a part of your life again. But I don’t want our last interaction before you’re sequestered for the indefinite future to be a fight.”

“That’s all I’m good at when it comes to you,” you mumble. The wind has been taken out of your sails considerably. 

“And I want to change that,” he says. “But first, we have to get through this. And we’re going to get through it together, sweetheart.” 

The term of affection feels strange coming from him. Ever since your teenage years, he’s felt less like your dad and more like some estranged cousin. You hate it. You hate how unfamiliar everything feels with him. Jason Gideon has been a profiler longer than he’s been a dad and it shows in your every interaction with him. 

But still, your heart aches. You bite the inside of your cheek.

“You promise?” you ask. You feel like a kid again. 

“I promise,” he says. 

Then your dad pulls you into a hug, and for a moment, you freeze. You can’t remember the last time he hugged you. 

Despite the anger inside of you, the bitterness built in your bones, you can’t help it—you hug him back. You practically melt into his arms as you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to stop the sudden threat of tears. 

Because deep down beneath it all, you’re scared. You’re fucking terrified, actually, and right now you’re just a girl who wants comfort from her dad. 

“I love you,” he says. 

“…I love you too,” you mumble.

Neither of you pull away for a good thirty seconds. When you do, you turn around to wipe your eyes, not wanting him to see. You hear the door open and start, but it’s just Spencer and Elle with some bags and boxes. 

“Elle’s got some groceries,” your dad says, clearing his throat. “We’ll deliver more if necessary, but you’ve got the basics for a couple weeks, at least.” 

“And a whole lot of books and movies,” Spencer says, hefting the box in his hands. “Did you know that there have been approximately 122 million unique titles published since the invention of Gutenberg’s printing press in 1440?” 

“That’s less specific than usual,” Elle says. “You sure you’re feeling okay?” 

He frowns. “I couldn’t find statistics on the exact number.” 

“Why were you even looking at those statistics?” 

“I get bored sometimes.” 

Elle just laughs as they continue into the living room. You feel your dad’s eyes on you, and you sigh. 

“I’ll take it easy on him,” you say. “Mostly. Maybe.” 

And he actually smiles. “Thank you.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” you say offhandedly, but you find the slightest smile creeping on your lips as well. You kind of hate it. 

Everything else goes by relatively quickly now that you’re not arguing every single thing—you have to fight your instincts not to, but you manage—and eventually, after another lingering hug and some promises to be safe (and one from Spencer to your dad to keep you safe)—you’re alone in the house with him. 

“So,” you say as you settle on the couch, “this is what the indefinite future is going to be like.” 

“If it makes you feel better, last time we dealt with a stalker we caught them in a few days,” Spencer says. “She watched her for a good while, though.” 

“It doesn’t make me feel better,” you say. “Thanks.” 

“...Sorry.” 

You shrug your indifference and Spencer walks past you, focusing in on some of the paintings hanging on the wall. You’re sure he knows the artist, title, and meaning behind every single one, so you speak up before he can start.  

“What did you and Elle talk about?” 

“How this place doesn’t have a pool,” he says.  

You frown. “What?” 

“Nothing,” he says quickly. “What’d you and Gideon talk about?”

“We fought then made up,” you say. “It was… weird.” 

Spencer looks at you. “How?” 

You shrug again as you cross your arms. “You’ve seen how we are. We don’t exactly get along.” 

“Has he really been that bad of a dad?”

“It’s none of your business,” you say. “But… yes. He’s barely been a dad at all.” 

Spencer shakes his head. “I don’t get that. He’s so different in the field.” 

“That’s why he’s barely been a dad—because he’s so busy here.” You tilt your head. “Don’t you have some facts or whatever on the percentage of fathers that are workaholics?” 

“Well, 89% of dads work full time,” Spencer says. “And fathers typically work around 47 hours a week. But I don’t have anything on workaholics specifically.” 

“Great.” You stand up and walk over to the box of DVDs Spencer set down on the table, and you start rifling through them. “So, what’d my dad tell you about me?” 

Spencer blinks. “What do you mean?” 

“When I came in here with Elle and he kept you out there,” you say. “Did he give you the run-down? Warn you on how difficult I am to be around? Tell you that I hate you?” 

His Adam’s apple bobs. “Uh— no. He just… talked to me. Gave the rundown on everything.”

You hum. “You can tell the truth.” 

“I— I am,” he says. He’s clearly not. “He didn’t say anything bad about you. Promise.” 

“Whatever you say.” You land on a DVD and glance over at him. “How do you feel about Groundhog Day?” 

He shakes his head. “I don’t like Bill Murray.” 

You frown. “That’s ridiculous. How can you not like Ghostbusters?” 

“I love Ghostbusters.” 

“How can you like Ghostbusters but not Bill Murray?” 

“Because I like the concept more than I like him,” he says. “I love Halloween.” 

You shake your head and move on. “Who put these together?”

“I don’t know. Maybe Gideon? Or maybe some random BAU office worker.” 

“It’s an interesting compilation.” You look up at him again. “How about Dirty Dancing?” 

“No.” 

“No reasoning?”

“I don’t feel like dealing with a musical right now,” he says. 

“So you choose to deprive me of Patrick Swayze,” you tut. You grab one movie out of the back and hold it up. “If I put on Goodfellas, will you interrupt every five seconds with facts?”

“...I can push it back to every thirty seconds,” he says. 

“Five minutes,” you say. 

“One minute.” 

“Two.” 

“One forty-five?” 

“Two—take it or leave it.” 

“Technically I have all the power here,” Spencer says. “I can talk nonstop about anything. Putting down a movie narrows that down.” 

“...One fifty.” 

He nods, and you huff a disbelieving laugh as you put the DVD in the player. 

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re ridiculous?” 

“A lot,” he says as he sits down on the couch. “I usually get insufferable or weird or annoying, though. So ridiculous isn’t too bad.” 

“Well, you’re certainly something.” 

“That’s also not too bad,” he says. “I could even take it as a compliment.”

You sigh and pick up the remote before you sit back down. You look up at the clock on the wall and bite back a curse. 

“It’s only been ten minutes,” you mutter. 

“Ten minutes and thirty-four seconds, actually,” Spencer says. “Did you know that Scorsese actually cast real mobsters as extras? The cast members were told ahead of time so they could show the necessary respect to them while they were on set. There’s a whole mafia hierarchy, and only full-blooded Italians—”

“I haven’t even gotten to the start screen,” you interrupt in disbelief. 

Spencer shrugs. “You said every minute and fifty seconds. Not how long I could go on for.” 

You let out another sigh as he continues on. You bet Spencer could probably recite the whole movie from memory if you asked, but you honestly don’t know if you could take that. 

There’s one plus, at least. When you’ve got a human encyclopedia next to you that can spout off whatever information he wants any time he wants, you think you’re gonna have a hard time thinking too much about your stalker. 

You look over at Spencer when you finally make it to the opening scene, still talking but now about the different crime families in the United States. His eyebrows are surprisingly animated when he talks, going up and down depending on his inflection, and you find yourself thinking that it’s charming. 

It’s annoying how pretty he is, and it’s annoying how annoying he is. 

You look away. 

This is going to be a very long lockdown.

[cocklessboy]

I see a lot of people saying that gender-affirming health care like top surgery for trans people like myself should be freely available (which is correct), but one of the reasons they often give is that top surgery is very safe and has a very low rate of complications compared to other surgeries. And I often see transphobes clutching their pearls over the few people who do have complications. What about them?! What if you're one of the unlucky ones?! Should we really let those transes risk it??!!!

Setting aside the fact that no one raises such concerns over other types of surgery, I'd like to use myself as an example for anyone who needs one.

In May of 2022 I had top surgery (double mastectomy). The surgery was done by a gynecological surgeon, not a plastic surgeon, because that way my insurance would cover it.

The surgeon did his job and removed the breast tissue, but he did not make it look pretty. I have dog-ears at both ends of both scars (extra bits of skin that hang off in a very unappealing fashion), my chest still looks unnaturally flat with no muscle or fat despite a lot of working out, and one of the stitches didn't heal properly and was left as an open wound through "secondary healing" for several months before it finally healed over into a very large scab (and eventually a very large scar). My nipples are uneven and irregular and look... well, just awful, really. Due to bad genetic luck, I wound up with keloid scars which, instead of getting smaller and lighter over time, have instead expanded, becoming thicker and darker. Worst of all, I now have chronic nerve pain in my chest. My GP thinks the surgeon must have hit a nerve during the procedure, and now I have random sharp pains all over my chest even now, nearly ten months later. The pain might improve with time, or it might not.

I basically had almost every possible complication one can have from this surgery short of infection or death. Some of the aesthetics might be fixable with more surgery (though plastic surgery will be expensive). Some are probably permanent. I might never feel comfortable taking my shirt off in public again. I might have to tattoo over the scars.

And pay attention to this next bit, because it's the most important part of this whole post: I do not regret the surgery. Even with all the complications and the ugly state of my chest and the pain. If someone said they could push a button and make it so that the surgery never happened and I'd have a perfect, unmarred chest with C-cup breasts again, I would tell them to take their button and fuck right off. Because even with basically the worst of all possible outcomes, that surgery was the best thing that ever happened to me.

I don't feel good about taking my shirt off in front of people now. I do think my chest is ugly. But it's a male chest now. When I put on a t-shirt, it rests flat against my chest. No one will ever mistake me for a woman again. I'll never have to wear a bra or binder ever again.

The dysphoria I felt from having breasts was so severe that a hideously scarred chest and chronic pain are vastly preferable. The euphoria I feel when I look in the mirror with a shirt on is something I never knew I was capable of feeling.

And it's my fucking body, and it's up to me what I do with it. If I wanted to tattoo myself from head to toe, or file my teeth into fangs, or have a doctor break my legs and surgically implant extensions to make me taller, that's my right because it's my body. The fact that all those things are regarded as basically acceptable (if a little weird), but I had to have a dehumanizing interview with an old cis psychiatrist who hates trans people and wants us all sterilized just to get a piece of paper giving me permission to have my tits removed, is fucking absurd.

Top surgery (of any kind) is generally very safe, and complications are rare. But even with the worst outcome, a trans person will basically never regret it.

And frankly, if a cis woman wants her tits cut off, or a cis man wants a pair of boobs to play with on his own chest, more power to them because literally who gives a fuck what people do to their own bodies? I saw a dude on TV when I was a kid who'd tattooed his whole body to look like a cat, filed his teeth into fangs, and had loads of plastic surgery to surgically implant whiskers and make his face look more feline. It was weird! But literally no one said that should be banned because he might regret it. It's his body to do whatever weird shit he wants with.

The next time someone clutches their pearls and kicks and screams about how you can't let someone permanently alter their body in a way they might regret, feel free to point to me and my complete and utter lack of regret.

(Or have a little fun with it, go hard in the other direction, and say you absolutely agree, which is why we should ban ALL non-emergency surgeries until the patient has been FULLY evaluated by three psychiatrists - along with tattoos and piercings. Oh, and ballet lessons for anyone under the age of 25, since ballet changes the structure of a child's body FOREVER.)

[cuubism]

as a certified horse obsessed freak i'm obliged to have an equestrian au so here's an equestrian au. make it olympics flavored for relevance. but there will be no sex in hay!! EVER!!!

it is smutty though.

--

Dream Endleas’s reputation for being difficult preceded him. His critical eye, his adherence to perfection, his crisp turnout and refusal to ever appear the slightest bit disheveled even after competing in the summer heat; his family, his money, his luxury-brand sponsorships—Hob had seen enough videos of Dream’s Grand Prix tests to be prepared for all of it. But he wasn’t prepared for the force of seeing it in person.

Dream in person was somehow even more perfect and posh than he appeared on video. Hob hadn’t actually spoken to him yet, had only communicated through his groom, Matthew, while getting the horses settled in—but God, he looked like such a prat. He looked like the type of snotty kid Hob had seen around the yard growing up, the type who thought they could ride because their parents had bought them a fifty-thousand pound pony. The type that persisted into adulthood, rolling up in a Range Rover to get on an already tacked horse, later handing their fancy horse back to the groom before stalking back out of the stable in pristine white breeches, leaving all the care to others.

Hob might have had a bit of a chip on his shoulder about that sort of thing.

It would have been easy to hate Dream, except that, fancy horse or not, he actually could ride, exceedingly well at that, and—and Hob was feeling very betrayed by his dick on this one—he was also blisteringly hot.

Dressage competition wear was, by and large, not one’s first choice of clothes that would be considered “sexy.” The combination of “business formal” and “cavalry officer on parade” wasn’t exactly giving come hither, but Hob took one look at Dream stalking down the center aisle of the barn in his clean white breeches and his high boots and his black coat with its little fucking Union Jack embroidery and he wanted. It was a good thing thoughts were an internal situation because it was embarrassing how quickly he went to I want those skinny little thighs wrapped around my head. Mortifying, really.

He was thinking about it so hard he didn’t immediately realize Dream was coming for him.

“You,” Dream said, stopping before him. “You are the stable manager.”

“That’s me,” Hob agreed. Regretting it more every minute, too. Managing the horses for the Olympic team had sounded like a good gig in theory…

“Why have the horses not been turned out?” Dream demanded.

“Aren’t you competing in—” Hob checked his watch— “an hour? Why are you asking me this now?”

“Because it came to my attention that things were mismanaged,” Dream said, unrepentant, then stood, waiting for his answer.

Hob sighed. “They didn’t provide us any turnout space.”

“They did not provide—” Dream started, then stopped, apparently flummoxed. “That is unacceptable.”

Hob had to grudgingly admit that it was to his credit that he cared. Not everyone did. “Tell me about it. But if you hadn’t noticed, we’re in a several hundred year old stable and they weren’t about to revamp the entire situation for us.”

“As per usual, horse welfare comes last,” Dream said, narrowing his eyes. Jesus Christ, Hob thought, he’s wearing eyeliner. “Be advised that I will be paying close attention going forward—” he looked at Hob’s name badge— “Hob Gadling.”

And with that ominous statement, he turned and stalked off.

“Good luck with your test,” Hob offered, half-heartedly, to Dream’s retreating back. Then, to himself, “Really? That prick’s the one you want?”

He could hardly be angry with Dream for being upset about it, though. Hob certainly had a bone to pick with the organizers about the horses being stalled 24/7. But he doubted that the people who managed The Palace of Versailles gave a fuck what he thought.

It did mean less for Hob to do, though. So once he’d done another round of their team’s wing of the stables he headed out to the arena to watch Dream’s test. There was no way Hob was going to miss watching him ride after a performance like that. If you were going to live up to your reputation of being rude and difficult you had damn well better live up to your reputation for skill as well.

Unfortunately for Hob, Dream did in fact live up to that reputation. He and Jessamy were gorgeous together. She was a smaller and lighter horse than many of the others and seemed to practically float across the ring. Dream made it look so easy when Hob knew damn well it was not. Hob could have watched him for hours, though of course the test was only a few minutes long.

In addition to watching Dream’s test, he was keeping an eye on the horses going in and out of the stable, keeping up to date on any injuries or soreness, though each had its own groom who was responsible for the horse’s immediate care. At the conclusion of Dream’s test, Hob expected him to hand Jessamy off to Matthew, but instead Dream just dropped his stirrups, letting Jessamy steer on a long rein as he wandered off towards the grassy area past the border of the dressage arena.

“Oi!” Hob called, catching up to him. “Where are you going?”

“I am going for a hack,” Dream said, hardly sparing him a passing glance.

Hob followed the direction he was headed. “On the cross-country course?”

“They aren’t using it,” Dream said, uncaring. “We”—presumably he meant himself and the horse—“are sick of being in the stable.”

So saying, he started off again, Jessamy’s ears pricked forward in interest as she picked her way across the grass.

Hob doubted he could stop him. And he had to admit it was probably more entertaining for the horse to go for a walk than to sit in her stall. It seemed a strange thing for Dream to do, though, wander off across the grass, legs swinging free out of the stirrups, instead of maintaining a strict training regimen in the arena.

Dream stopped before he was too far away, turning over his shoulder to call out: “I will be back before the final test is complete. If scheduling concerns you.”

So there was some recognition of the fact that it would be Hob’s neck if the horses weren’t where they were supposed to be when they were supposed to be. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, waving a hand. “Though given your score, I’d imagine you want to be back before they announce the medals.”

He got a half-smile from Dream for this, and then he was wandering off again, sitting comfortably in the saddle with the reins long, Jessamy’s tail swishing away the summer flies.

Hob watched his retreating back for a long moment, then turned back to the ring to keep an eye on the rest of the horses.

As Hob had predicted, Dream did win gold. He showed up just in time for it, finally giving Jessamy back to Matthew to take inside. She’d picked up some grass stains on her white socks, though Dream’s clothes were as pristine as ever. He seemed immune to dishevelment. He accepted his medal with predictable stoicism and bore the obligatory photos with grace and poise but what seemed to Hob like resignation rather than enjoyment of the attention.

Hob didn’t see where he ended up next. He had horses to feed and water and tack to be sure was in order for tomorrow’s events. In fact, he doubted he’d see Dream again at all. It should have been a good thing, for all Dream was a source of frustration for him. Instead, he found himself feeling disappointed. 

Hob was always the last one in the barn at night. Partly out of obsessiveness, partly due to the fact that unlike the riders, his lodgings were actually on the stable grounds. So he did his final round looking in on the horses at around 9 p.m. Not that there was much to do—check water, throw a little hay, make sure none of the horses had managed to keel over in the last two hours since he’d seen them—but it was a soothing ritual, making sure everything was shut up tight before going to bed himself.

Or it would have been soothing, if there wasn’t somebody else there.

The distant sound of a stall door sliding open had Hob immediately on edge. No one else had cause to be here this late, and at such a high profile event, he couldn’t rule out the possibility of ill intentions—or just of a horse getting out past an improperly latched door. He walked quickly towards that wing of the stable, though there had been no more sounds since—

Oh. It was Jessamy’s stall. Hopefully that meant it was Dream, or at least Matthew, because otherwise Dream would be royally fucking pissed.

Hob peered around the door where it was cracked open. And then just stood there, frozen, because it was Dream, crouched down in the shavings cleaning the grass stains from Jessamy’s leg—but not Dream like Hob had ever seen him.

For one, he was wearing shorts. Actual jean shorts that fell to mid-thigh, legs bare down to his paddock boots. Legs which were just as wiry and pale as Hob had imagined under his breeches, but covered in dust, with a streak of mud across one knee and a small bruise on the other thigh of the type you inevitably get when you spend enough time in the barn. Instead of his crisp white shirt and black jacket of earlier, he was wearing a loose black t-shirt spotted with water across the chest—watching the way Jessamy was sloshing about in her water bucket, now full of hydrating additives, Hob could just about guess how that had occurred. Dream even had a piece of hay stuck in his hair.

It was all so shocking Hob didn’t realize Dream was calling his name until he’d said it a second time.

“Hob Gadling. Do you require something, or can I be left in peace for the first time today?”

“You’re wearing shorts,” Hob said, dumbfounded.

Dream raised an eyebrow. “It is very hot out, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“I just— I can’t imagine you in shorts.” Or covered in dirt, for that matter. Dream was so pristine, so refined. Except for now, when he was at least fifty percent dust.

“Do you imagine me frequently?” Dream asked, and Hob was grateful that the low lighting disguised the way his cheeks flushed.

“No, I—” he did, though. He’d imagined Dream constantly since first seeing him. Since first learning they’d be crossing paths at the Olympics, really. “Maybe.”

Dream smirked, and stood, stepping out of the stall and perching instead on his tack trunk in the aisle, latching the door behind him. “What about me makes you think I do not own shorts?”

Hob was definitely blushing now. “You just. Always look so put together. And now you’re…” he gestured to the various bits of grime sticking to Dream.

“Of course I am put together at a show, Hob,” Dream said, rolling his eyes. “You could hardly expect me to show up to the Olympic final with mud smeared across my face.”

This was a good point, actually.

“I did not intend to be seen like this at all,” Dream added, giving him a pointed look.

Hob found it charming, though. The fact that Dream’s relative familiarity in being sticky with sweat and hay dust meant he did at least some of his own horse care regularly. The fact he didn’t just show up to get on and off.

“Why are you here so late?” Hob asked, glancing over at Jessamy. “I think she’ll survive with some grass stains until tomorrow. You’re done competing anyway.”

Dream’s brow pinched. “The amount of socializing at this event is stressful. And there is no reprieve in my rooms.”

This made Hob grin. “Not having fun in the Olympic Village?”

Dream wrinkled his nose. “I do not like having a roommate,” he said, and Hob had to laugh at the disgust in his tone. “I considered booking my own hotel room, but was informed this was not demonstrative of team spirit.”

“Oh no, you had to be part of a team at a team event, that’s terrible,” Hob said, still grinning. “Poor Dream.”

Dream’s lips twitched into a half-smile, but it did reach his eyes, Hob saw it. “Terrible,” he agreed. “Hence, I am hiding in the barn.”

“And you wanted to check on your horse,” Hob guessed, softening. He had finally reached the conclusion that he had been wrong about the type of horseman Dream was likely to be. And shouldn’t have assumed it in the first place.

“I worry about them overheating,” Dream said. “This barn has poor airflow.”

“You’ve got better at your place back home?”

“My horses live outside,” Dream said.

Hob had really been wrong about the type of horseman Dream was.

“Now you will tell me they will break themselves in the field,” Dream sighed, apparently well-used to the argument.

“Nope,” said Hob. “So do mine.”

Then, Dream looked at him in surprise and, if Hob wasn’t mistaken, a new hint of grudging respect.

“Mine aren’t as expensive as yours, of course,” Hob teased. He could only guess at the price tag on Dream’s Grand Prix dressage horses.

“They are insured,” Dream said, dismissively. “I care little for how much they cost me. They are happier out of their stalls.”

Hob smiled, and felt the softness of it on his own face. Goddammit. Now he wasn’t only finding Dream hot, which he could maybe have coped with, but going soft on him, too. “I really am sorry about the turnout situation here. There’s just not much we can do about it. I did ask.”

“It’s no matter.” He’d apparently decided to give up on his annoyance with Hob about it. “I may bring her home early. Though I doubt they will let me leave until the end.”

“No one’s ever been less excited to be at the Olympics than you, Dream,” Hob said, laughing, and Dream cracked another smile. He was very pretty when he smiled. He was pretty when he was stern and focused, too. Really, all of him was doing it for Hob.

“I am not very good at dealing with people,” Dream admitted.

Hob felt abruptly bad for him and the reputation he’d developed. Not that Dream hadn’t done anything to justify it. But it couldn’t make it any easier to make friends. He looked so much smaller, too, sitting on the tack trunk in his shorts and t-shirt, covered in dust and hay. Far from the stern and unapproachable Dream Hob had seen earlier.

“Come take a walk with me,” he suggested. “We’ll finish checking in on the horses and then, I don’t know. Get a drink or something.”

It felt too bold a suggestion as soon as Hob suggested it, but Dream sighed and stood, dusting off his shorts. “I suppose I should try not to sequester myself.”

“That’s the enthusiasm I like to see,” Hob said, and got another smile out of Dream. He was quickly becoming addicted to getting those smiles.

Dream followed as Hob checked in on the remaining horses, helping him top off waters and throw hay. By the end Hob was just as covered in dust as Dream, t-shirt drenched in sweat, and had tied up his hair in a bun to get it off the back of his neck, not that it helped much. Dream had been right, the barn was poorly ventilated, and they were both suffering the results of that.

When he turned from tying up his hair, he found Dream watching him, gaze tracking the movement of Hob’s hands, the fall of his hair, then back to his face.

“What?” Hob asked.

“I—” Dream swallowed, throat catching. “Was I. Wrong. To think I caught you looking before?”

Somehow Hob knew exactly what he meant. He probably should have felt embarrassed about it—but it was hard to when Dream was looking at him like that now. Dust sticking to his hair, sweat gleaming along his neck, and he was looking at Hob like he’d suddenly found something very compelling to cut through the weariness of the day.

“No,” Hob said. “Did it bother you?”

Dream shook his head. “No one looks at me like that.”

“Seriously? But you’re gorgeous.”

Dream’s mouth popped open, and even in the semi-dark Hob thought he saw his eyes dilate. “Am I?”

“Maybe they’re all just too intimidated by you to show it,” Hob said, taking a step closer to him.

“And are you?” Dream asked. “Am I so terrifying?”

“I think I can handle it,” Hob said, and closed the remaining distance between them, sparing one moment to think I can’t believe I’m fucking doing this before he took Dream’s face between his hands and kissed him.

Dream whimpered into the kiss, clutching at Hob’s wrists. He opened his mouth to Hob, head tipping back. Dream had such a strong presence that Hob hadn’t realized there was a slight height difference between them, but he took full advantage of it now, pressing him back, letting go of his face to catch him around the waist.

Dream pulled away long enough to take a breath, then dove back immediately into the kiss, sucking on Hob’s lower lip, digging his fingers into Hob’s hair. Hob steered him back, half-blind for kissing, until they stumbled into one of the empty stalls being used to store extra tack, where he pushed Dream down to sit on one of the tack trunks.

Dream’s breath caught, his pulse hammering where Hob set his lips and teeth to it, sucking a mark into his throat on his way to kneeling between Dream’s spread thighs. “I was thinking about you as well,” Dream admitted, once Hob had detached from his neck and dropped fully to kneel on the floor, grinding dirt into his knees. “Seeing you. Carrying bags of feed over your shoulder like they weighed nothing. Mmm. Your shoulders.”

“Oh, yeah?” That was heady to think about, Dream watching him like that. Hob undid the button on his shorts, skimming them and his underwear down and off over his paddock boots. This revealed Dream’s pretty pink cock, already plumping up as he leaned back on his hands on the tack trunk. Hob nosed at the base, taking in the sweat and musk of him, hearing Dream’s breath hitch. “You know what I was thinking about?”

“What?”

“Doing this.” Hob took the head of Dream’s cock in his mouth, pulling a wrenching cry from Dream as he twitched where he sat, thighs trembling. Hob bobbed his head, sucked up the length of him, pulling off with a pop and saying, “This is exactly where I wanted you.”

“Indeed?” The word was shaky. Dream’s fingers twitched on the wood of the trunk.

“Go on,” Hob told him, and Dream’s hands went to his hair, pulling it from its bun, directing Hob back down onto his cock. Hob took him deep, pressing his nose into the hair at the base of Dream’s pelvis. The weight of Dream in his mouth was addicting, and then Dream’s legs shifted and he tucked them up and over Hob’s shoulders, thighs pressing in against his head—yes, perfect.

Dream pulled him close, thrust his hips up into Hob’s mouth, hesitant at first then bolder when Hob hummed in encouragement. Dream’s fingers combed through his hair, not quite pulling but tugging and tangling in little pinpricks of delicious pain, and Hob closed his eyes, surrendering to the experience of satisfying him, so hard in his own jeans but ignoring it for now—it only made everything feel more vivid, anyway.

“Hob,” Dream cried, cock twitching, pre-come spilling over Hob’s tongue. Hob didn't let up, only took him deeper, Dream bumping against the back of his throat as he swallowed.

Dream cried out as he came, hands clenching to the point of pain in Hob’s hair, legs tightening around Hob’s head. Hob nearly came himself at the feeling. Instead he swallowed again, sucking on Dream’s cock as it softened until Dream whimpered from overstimulation, and then Hob carefully let him go, finally able to take a full breath as Dream curled around his head, thighs trembling against Hob’s cheeks.

Hob turned his head to kiss his thigh, grazing his teeth over the small bruise he’d seen earlier, making Dream gasp. He uncurled himself from Hob, letting go of his death grip on Hob’s hair to instead caress his cheeks, run his thumb over Hob’s wet lower lip. Hob looked up, met his gaze, nearly perished at the look of blown-out pleasure there. He could live on that look, he thought, feed himself on it every day.

“Come here,” Dream ordered. Hob was helpless but to obey. He let Dream draw him up, disentangle them so Dream’s legs were around his waist instead of over his shoulders, and Dream plucked open the button on Hob’s jeans, pushed his underwear down far enough to take him out. Dream took him in hand, humming in appreciation.

“Like what you see?” Hob teased, but it came out far breathier than he intended, all of him going taut with Dream's hand on him. Dream only smiled slowly, stroking Hob, slow but firm.

“I do,” he said, and drew Hob in with his other hand wrapped around the back of Hob’s neck, sticking in the new sweat that had beaded along his skin, letting Hob rut into his fist. Hob kissed up the side of his neck, leaving marks, breath catching when Dream hooked a leg around the back of his thigh to pull him even closer.

“So perfect for me,” Dream praised, hand sliding up to curl in his hair while his other kept expertly working Hob’s cock. “Mmm. Later, I want you to fuck me properly. I want that gorgeous cock inside me. I know you will fill me so well. I want to feel you.”

All it really took was Dream’s sweet words to send Hob’s arousal boiling over. He gasped into Dream’s throat as he came, hips stuttering into Dream’s fist. Dream pet his hair as he came down from the high, wiping his hand off on his shirt. Hob kissed the side of his neck once more for good measure, tasting the sweat there, before finally pulling away.

“You really want me to fuck you?” he asked. “You going to—”

Dream laid a finger over his lips. “If you make a joke about me riding you I will walk out of this stable and never return.”

Hob broke down laughing, pressing his forehead against Dream’s shoulder. “You get that one a lot?”

“Constantly.”

“I’ll bet.”

Dream was chuckling, too, chest rumbling against Hob’s body. Hob liked the sound of it.

“Cross my heart, I swear I won’t make any jokes,” Hob promised.

He liked this. Leaning against Dream. Touching him. Sharing a soft moment. He liked it a lot.

Dream tipped his face back up with a fingertip under his chin. “I do still want you to fuck me,” he said, watching Hob with dark eyes. Hob swallowed hard. “Will you take me back to your rooms? For we are certainly not going back to mine.”

“Don’t want to involve your roommate?” Hob teased, and Dream sighed.

“Don’t make fun of my indignities,” he complained, and Hob laughed.

“I’m sorry, darling. You suffer so much. Your life is terribly difficult.”

“And you are making it worse by making me wait,” Dream complained.

Hob certainly didn’t want that. So he stood, tucking himself away again, and rearranged Dream in his shorts, helping him up. He paused then, wondering just how far this burgeoning thing between them went, before deciding, fuck it, and pulled Dream in for a soft kiss, hands light on his lower back. Hob was feeling very fond of him right then. He might as well show it.

Dream hummed into the kiss, sinking into him. When they separated, his lips curved into a soft smile.

“Perhaps you might make me breakfast in the morning, too,” he said, taking Hob’s hand.

“If you’re willing to wake up at six,” Hob said. “Because that’s when the horses get breakfast.”

Dream groaned dramatically, but didn’t let go of Hob’s hand, and as Hob tugged him out past the stall door and towards his lodgings at the far end of the stable, he was smiling, eyes bright. And Hob thought waking up to him before sunrise might be very beautiful indeed.

[2amriize]

˚⟡˖ RIIZE when you tell them you wanna break up

ᡣ𐭩 masterlist genre angst, fluff pairing bf!riize x reader

ᯓ★ SHOTARO

You had never seen Shotaro so serious in your life. For a few days, you'd been feeling like Shotaro wasn’t giving you the attention you needed, as he had become too obsessed with a song he had to choreograph. Even though you knew it might be temporary, you had been having a rough week, and despite knowing that, you hadn’t received his support.

Shotaro immediately regretted the way he had acted. When he heard you asking to break up, he grabbed your hands, shaking his head several times.

“Y/n, I’m really sorry… I’m sorry I haven’t been there for you these past few days, but please, let me make it up to you. Please, don’t leave me…”

ᯓ★ EUNSEOK

“Are you serious?”

Eunseok couldn’t believe you were asking to break up. He couldn’t understand why; what had happened? Had he done something wrong? Just a few days ago, everything seemed perfect, so why were you asking to end it now?

You didn’t really have an answer for him either. It wasn’t something he had done, but more that you were feeling bad about yourself and didn’t want that to affect him. You were surprised to see tears falling down his cheeks. Eunseok, who was always joking around, had started to cry.

“You don’t have to leave me because of this, y/n. I can help you… You don’t know how much I love you. You can’t leave me like this…”

ᯓ★ SUNGCHAN

He couldn’t stop his eyes from filling with tears, but he still tried not to cry. What mattered most to him in that moment was you, and the first thing he wanted was to understand why you were acting this way. Why were you asking to break up when he thought everything was going well between the two of you?

It’s true that you had small fights from time to time, but you always managed to find a solution. Even though it hurt, you felt like you needed some time alone, but seeing Sungchan kneel before you, begging you not to leave him, made you feel terrible.

“Is it really necessary? I don’t want to let you go, y/n…”

ᯓ★ WONBIN

“Did I do something wrong? I know I mess up sometimes, y/n, but I can fix it…”

Wonbin was looking at you with his big eyes, that puppy-like gaze that always made you weak, so you decided to look away from him. You knew Wonbin would think that if you broke up, it was because of something he did, when in reality, it wasn’t about him—it was about you.

You hated how people compared you to other girls and how, even if they didn’t say it to your face, everyone seemed to think you weren’t good enough for Wonbin. You couldn’t help but feel bad, knowing that’s how people viewed you as Wonbin’s girlfriend.

“Babe, you know you don’t really want to break up, so why are you doing this to me? I want to be with you, and only you.”

ᯓ★ SEUNGHAN

At first, he would think you were joking, so he’d laugh a little. But when he saw how serious you were, his smile would vanish completely. He’d sit down next to you, looking directly into your eyes, trying to get you to look back at him.

He couldn’t believe you were asking to break up, especially after just a few weeks ago, you had bought matching rings and cried together about how much you loved each other. So, what had changed?

When you explained that you would likely have to move to another city a few hours away for work, Seunghan let out a sigh, feeling a bit relieved.

“That’s why…? You know I’d be with you even if you lived on another planet, y/n. Please, don’t leave me because of this…”

ᯓ★ SOHEE

“Is that what you really want? For us to break up?”

Sohee was confused. Your relationship was going well, and even though you’d only been together for a few weeks, he felt really comfortable with you. So why did you suddenly want to end things? Had you changed your mind?

What Sohee couldn’t understand was why you were the one crying when you were the one asking to break up.

He obviously didn’t want to end things with you, but he couldn’t force you to stay in a relationship you didn’t feel comfortable in. So, gently stroking your back, he said;

“Y/n, you know I want to keep this going, right? I can’t stop you from leaving me, but I just want you to know… I really love you.”

ᯓ★ ANTON

“No… I… Why?”

Anton’s voice trembled, and it didn’t take long before tears began streaming down his cheeks. You hated seeing him like this—it hurt you too much. But it hurt even more to know that your family didn’t have a good opinion of him.

For some reason, your parents thought Anton was a bad influence on you, simply because you had been spending less time studying and more time with him. At first, you decided to ignore it, thinking other people’s opinions shouldn’t affect your relationship, but eventually, it got to you. Anton knew how this was making you feel, but he couldn’t bear the thought of letting you go, so he practically begged you not to leave him.

“Please, y/n, don’t do this… I want to stay by your side.”

ᡣ𐭩 masterlist taglist: @regularsuh @gacktsa @totheseok @kkumistars @taroddori

[shanastoryteller]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY GRANDMA MY ONE TRUE LOVE!!! CAN I HAVE SOME PERCY AND TONKS CONTENT TO MAKE MY SOUL CONTENT PLEASE ✨✨✨

There are several titles that fall under the auror. When the ministry was first established, it was just inferior and superior, meant in the Latin way, but that fell out of favor rather quickly for obvious reasons. There was some talk of adopting the ranks of a legion used by the Romans, but since such ranks are still in practice in magical Italy, it didn’t the smartest idea. Tonks thinks that it was probably a Zabini who suggested it. Now their ranks are just numbered, from fifth to first, and junior, standard, and senior.

Everyone starts the same – fifth ranked junior auror – and works their way up one by one. Training is a year and if they make it through that, they’re a junior agent who better make it up to the first rank by the end of their third year, otherwise they’re likely getting cut.

There’s a track to speed through the junior phase and get to the land of securely employed standard auror, but that’s for people that have combat or specialized experience, usually for people who aren’t entering auror training straight of school like she is. Or for when they’d needed to replenish their ranks during the war and those applying had been fighting anyway.

Which is why she’s looking in confusion at the thick roll of parchment that Shackbolt has shoved under her nose. She’s only a couple months into training and while she thinks she’s doing pretty good, she’d also tripped over her literal two left feet during the first week of boot camp. Sometimes she changes in her sleep and doesn’t notice for a while, okay? It’s not like she did it on purpose. She’s pretty good at dueling, her mother made sure of that, but they haven’t even gotten to that part yet. “I’m confused.”

“Fill this out and give it back to me by the end of the week,” he says, already turning away from her.

She makes her arm extra long so she can grab his elbow before he gets too far away. “But I don’t have anything that qualifies me! There’s no way Bones will approve this.”

He raises an eyebrow and looks down at her arm. “Are you sure about that, Trainee?”

Oh. But she hasn’t really gotten a chance to show those skills off either, and being a metamorphmagus is impressive, but not that impressive. But she does as she’s told, leaving it on his desk and trying not to think too much about it.

Bones approves it.

Being on the advanced track has it advantages – blessed job security – but it also means she just gets a jump on desk duty, really. Apparently they don’t just send newly minted aurors out to battle dark wizards to the death, for some reason.

She sighs. She’s never been very good at paperwork.

How very not good she is at is proved when during her very first week when Percy Weasley shows up at her desk, looking even more sleep deprived than he had as a runty fourteen year old, which is impressive. He’s a lot taller now. Late growth spurt, perhaps. Or maybe she just wasn’t paying that much attention. He drops a stack of paper on her desk and she recognizes her own messy scrawl. “These are filled out incorrectly. I can’t process them like this.”

Her shoulders slump. She’d tried to pull other reports and fill them out the same way, but it was all so confusing. How she’s supposed to know how to categorize these things? Why are there thirteen different codes for a house robbery, anyway? And there are so many different sections, and she wasn’t even there, she just has other people’s notes to go off of, and they take notes like she did in History of Magic.

She’s going to be here all night redoing them and they’ll probably still be wrong and Kinglsey will regret ever pushing her through the advanced track and her mother will have been right, which is really the worst of all –

“Hey,” Percy says, and she blinks several times before looking up at him so she doesn’t embarrass herself. “I can – if you’re busy, I can just,” he reaches for the papers he’s dropped on her desk.

She slaps her hand over them to stop him, but instead his hand ends up trapped beneath hers. “No! No, it’s okay, I have to learn how to do this. It’s important.”

He stares at her with a look she can’t explain. “It’s just paperwork.”

“It’s my job,” she says stubbornly, “it’s all important. I’m going to be a great auror – the best auror. And that includes my paperwork.”

He smiles at her, which is suitably distracting from her own ruined night. She doesn’t know if he’s ever smiled at her before. He’d always seemed so stoic, nothing like his brothers. “All right. If you’re sure.”

“Yes,” she says, freshly determined, finally lifting her hand off his. Everyone else has figured out how to do this. She can too. She will. “But thanks.”

“No problem,” he says, then, “My dad has a muggle coffee pot in his department lounge. If you want. The password is rubber duck.”

She does prefer coffee made the muggle way. That’s how it’s made in her house, of course, with her muggle father, and there’s something to the taste that she thinks coffee loses after it’s third hour of being charmed hot or squeezed through by magic instead of just hot water and a little patience.

How does Percy know that?

Before she can ask, he’s already turned and walking away from her, and she barely has the chance to shout, “Thanks!” before he turns the corner.

[ebullientheart]

dogs. aaron hotchner x reader

content — dogs🤍. fluff. humour. fem!bau!reader. brief mention of case. one swear. sorta sunshine!reader.

5 times you try to convince hotch to get a dog with you +1 time it works.

1. the scent dogs

a frazzled officer had handed you the leads of two sniffer dogs, running away on the insistence his captain was going to ‘kill me for letting them piss on his van again’. you had snorted sympathetically, meaning to tell him you’d love to help out but your unit chief would be expecting you; he was already running away.

you laughed and accepted your fate, wrapping the leads tightly around your knuckles and sitting cross-legged with them. they were eager for your affection and silly voices, even though they were squashing you in their best attempt at hugging. two large german shepherds, but probably the friendliest police dogs you’d ever seen.

“how do these things always happen to you, agent?”

hotch saw the way your shoulders stiffened, and regretted scaring you. the dogs seemed to pick up on this too, turning to the man with low growls at his interruption. you stifled your mirth at their reaction and twisted on the spot to look up at your slightly formidable, but currently intimidated by the dogs, boss.

you chanced a shrug, careful not to dislodge the canine leaning on your shoulder, “one of many mysteries, sir. wanna say hi?”

the look he gave you then was priceless; it was pure disgust. but at your giddy grin, he did crack the smallest of smiles on the hard stone of his face.

i wish i could make him smile all the time. no, shut up.

your mind was not on your side as you tried not to flush, instead burying yourself in between the dogs and letting them yip happily at the attention.

“don’t you just want one of them forever? or maybe both. look how cute they are!” you put your face between theirs.

hotch risked a muffled laugh and extended a hand, wondering how you were an adult. instead of putting your palm in his own, though you were severely tempted, you handed him the leads for the dogs.

“careful, there’s an angry captain on the prowl with a piss stained van. okay paperwork, bye!”

like the officer before you, you were gone before he could open his mouth to reprimand you. not that he was planning on reprimanding you. he was planning on asking if you wanted to get a drink post-case, but for now he had two other problems in the form of two disgruntled german shepherds.

2. the stray

the neighbourhood you were canvassing was not exactly upmarket. it had a high concentration of crime and poverty, and with that, plenty of malnourished animals that likely carried many diseases. no matter how much you loved them, and you did still love them, you were not planning to kneel down with them and touch. you weren’t carrying hand sanitizer.

“the unsub should be familiar to almost all of these people, he’s prominent in this community, so if- erm, shoo?”

seeing hotch startle back and weakly attempt to ‘shoo’ a stray dog was probably the highlight of your day. she was a small thing, possibly some kind of terrier, but too underfed to tell for sure. she sniffed at his ankles as though he’d have any food kept there, but besides that, made no threatening move. you took pity, unwrapping the sandwich you’d got from the hotel cafeteria to eat for lunch, and ripped it up into pieces to make it easier for her to chew. she wolfed it down and skittered off.

hotch frowned, “why would you give your lunch away?”

“she clearly needed it more than me. i hate people who abandon their pets….” you lamented, watching the assortment of strays on the outskirts of each alley. the dogs formed small packs, while the cats hunted alone, equipped with the ability to catch birds and mice.

the two of you kept walking, knocking on doors, when the idea struck you on the way back to the local precinct. you were only teasing, lacking even an ounce of sincerity.

“you should adopt one! i’m sure jack would be thrilled, and i don’t mind holding it on the plane home.”

he just deadpanned you and walked away at a pace you struggled to catch up with. eventually, he took pity as you had on the dog, and slowed down for you to fall in step next to him once more.

3. movie night

it had taken him quite a while, but hotch did eventually ask you out for that post-case drink, which turned into a few dinners, which turned into regular dates, until the two of you had a designated saturday night. this time, you were at his apartment watching a film he’d picked out from his limited stack of dvd’s.

“oh my god!”

hotch had left you alone for two minutes to get you a glass of water.

he raced back into the room, causing his hair to become disarrayed for probably the first time in his life, only to see you pausing the movie to point out… a dog.

he huffed, “are you kidding? my knees can’t cope with that, woman.”

you laughed, beckoning him over, “i didn’t mean to scare you, but look how cute he is.”

“i can see just fine from here.”

“suit yourself.”

but he caved, and crossed the distance between you. not to stare enthusiastically at the dog, but to kiss you on the cheek and press play on the remote while you were distracted by his affection.

you hummed, “i think i’m gonna get a dog.”

he raised a brow, “it’s never moving in here.”

now both completely ignoring the film playing behind his back, you smiled, “and i am?”

at the risk of sounding too forward and scaring you off, despite you being one of the most intense people he knew (and he knew garcia), hotch merely offered you a shrug and another quick peck before returning to the kitchen. you could hardly contain the glee on your face as you burrowed into the cushion you were clutching and tried not to let your thoughts get ahead of themselves.

4. jack’s plea

“i made a mistake.” hotch murmured to himself, watching you and jack bond.

as he once predicted, you were going to be the death of him. albeit a happy, glittery death.

your activity of choice to bond with the child you’d only officially met once so far, was to take him to a park. a dog park, where you volunteered in your free time. some people took their dogs there, others dropped them off with a volunteer for the workday. jack was jovially bonding with your daily pups, a young golden retriever, and an elderly pomeranian.

he tried to stack them, but you quickly intervened.

“mistake? the only mistake was not letting me get matching boots for him and the dogs.”

hotch just looked at you blankly, lacking the heat of a glare, but clearly unamused with your antics. externally, at least, because on the inside he was definitely smiling fondly at you. you took that from his eyes.

jack, at that moment, rushed to you with the enthusiastic dogs on his heels. you didn’t miss the fact hotch didn’t flinch as they jumped at him, whereas a few months ago he definitely would of. you decided that was progress, kissed him on the cheek, and knelt down to speak to jack.

he whispered conspiratorially, though loud enough for his father to hear, “i want to take one home.”

hotch pinched the bridge of his nose, while you looked between the two gleeful you, “well, little man, these lovely guys belong to some other lovely people who would miss them very much.”

you weren’t going to promise him on of his own. it wasn’t your place, and you were not in the business of making empty promises; you’d all but accepted that aaron’s reluctance translated to ‘never gonna happen’. it was just fun to tease.

jack nodded, “that’s true. i like the big ones, anyway.”

that was not what his dad wanted to hear, but you were elated.

“finally,” you laughed, entwining your arms behind aaron’s neck when jack went back to play, “a hotchner after my own heart.”

he only laughed back, spinning you around so you both had eyes on the adventurous kid, and keeping his arm firmly around your waist. eventually, he responded, “we work too much for a dog.”

the fact he’d even got that far in thinking about it? you considered it a win.

5. clooney

morgan didn’t ask the team for favours all that often, but occasionally he asked one of you to dogsit, if he knew nobody else could check in, feed, walk, and so on. reid never took that bait.

one extended, long weekend, on which he planned to travel to a nice resort on his time off, he handed responsibility to you. at first, you’d been delighted, but not even a day into bonding with your new pal, you’d fallen with the flu. fallen being an accurate term for your dramatics. luckily for you, you’d recently moved in with aaron.

luckily for him too, because you made much better pancakes than he did.

so while you were ill and uncharacteristically miserable, he was playing tug of war with the dog, and cursing himself for thoroughly enjoying it. jack rolled around laughing, and he was struggling to fend off the invasive thoughts that were result of your persistence. he had once promised to dedicating the parts of his life that weren’t reserved for profiling to making you happy, and while that was usually an easy task, a dog would…

but he cut the thoughts off when clooney peed on his kitchen floor.

yeah, fuck no.

later on in the day, he ventured into your shared room to check on you. pitifully, you curled into his side of the bed and offered a morose sniff in reply to his gentle greeting.

“how’re you feeling, honey?”

you sighed, unfolding the covers from where they were tucked into your chin, “you know how you felt when jack accidentally hit you in the skull with his metal lunchbox? worse.”

despite your detailed description, aaron took your verbose approach to his question as a sign you were on the mend. he brought you another glass of water, and let jack give you a get well soon card, while holding your breath to risk contaminating him. on the front, a rough sketch of clooney, holding a flower.

“this is the best card i’ve ever seen, jack.” you assured him, propping it on your nightstand.

“if we had a dog, i could put him on the card!”

you nodded, “that is true.” aaron rolled his eyes.

he was saved by your chest racking cough, ushering jack out the room to let you rest. jack was happy to run back down to clooney.

aaron gave you ‘the look’; it meant calm down and go to sleep. he gave it to the team a lot.

you had to giggle as he went downstairs to jack’s onslaught of ‘can we get a dog? when?’. you were proud of your little ally as you laid back down.

+1

having to work a case on your birthday was unfortunate but unavoidable. the team bought you a cake, which you really appreciated, and until the strangulations, there was a celebratory air to the unit. on the plane home two days later, spencer even offered to let you win at chess. you flipped him off for that.

in the car, you yawned dramatically. amused, aaron asked, “tired?”

you mumbled back, “jus’ wanna go home and see jack.”

he couldn’t ignore the way his heart tightened at that admission. glancing over to your sleepy face, he didn’t think he’d yet been this in love with you. if he regretted the decision he’d made on a phone call to jessica while in california, he would remember this moment. by the time he pulled into the driveway, you’d long since closed your eyes.

“honey, wake up. we’re home.”

you all but slugged your way to the front door, aaron’s hand between your shoulder blades, urging you onward. he carried both your bags, and tomorrow you’d apologise for not helping. today, you just wanted to check your stepson was tucked in for the night, then crawl into your own bed and collapse.

to your confusion, the tv was still playing. which wouldn’t be strange, jessica did put it on sometimes, but it was playing cartoons. you frowned, off to investigate. if you’d turned and seen aaron’s smile, you would’ve been more confused.

“hey, little man, what are you still doing up?” you opened your arms and he ran to them, while you gave his aunt a quizzical look. she gestured for you to turn around, jack giggling.

behind you, aaron held a gorgeous puppy, looking at you with round, brown eyes, inset in a face of smooth fur. his tail whipped back and forth excitedly as you reached out to hold him. aaron deposited him carefully in your arms, overcome with second hand joy at the expression on your face.

tearfully, from your exhausted state and fear of his answer, you asked, “are you kidding?”

he shook his head, while jack drew your attention again. he wanted to pet the puppy.

you lightly put him to the floor, where he ambled around with little grace, absorbing all the attention you had to offer him. at some point, aaron had to intervene and put jack to bed, but you stayed with the dog for hours on.

almost nervously, aaron asked, “do you like him?”

you gaped at the ridiculous question, “i love him. and i love you.”

there was a quiet moment, where he admired the happiness before him, and you hugged your new friend some more.

“can he sleep in with us, aaron?”

“absolutely not.”

[magics-neptunes-things]

Winter is coming

Hi guys!

This is the first time I try to write with two existing people, I hope it suits you. I don't really know what to think about it to be honest.

Also I apologize if there are weird things, I received a new lava lamp that bubbles for my birthday and it hypnotizes me x)

Do not hesitate if you have suggestions or requests, I will respond as soon as possible ♥

It was a request right here by the way.

TW : Mention of nudity

Enjoy!

P.S I'm sorry for the title

The icy Swedish cold seems to pierce the Barcelona players tonight, during the game between FC Barcelona and Rosengård. Apart from Ingrid Engen and her Norwegian origins, most Spanish players seem to suffer particularly from the cold. Despite the relatively easy win as the match ended with a 5-0 for Barcelona, Lucy can only notice Ona’s defeated and tense face.

After a few seconds of hesitation, the English decides, despite their vain attempts to keep their couple deprived, of joining her, the need to know what’s happening to Ona more important than her desires for discretion. Ona doesn’t turn around when Lucy calls her name, a bottle under her arm and applauding, her face turned towards the audience.

In a few strides, Lucy finally reaches her height, gently placing her hand on the neck of the young woman. This doesn’t prevent Ona from being a little startled before relaxing when she realizes that it’s only Lucy who is behind her.

"Is everything okay?" Lucy asks, immediately seeking to plunge her eyes into Ona’s.

"I'm fine" Ona simply replies, without even trying to smile.

This seems to quickly alert the English, perhaps a little too used to seeing Ona smiling and radiant at her side. Ona puts her hands on her face while Lucy speaks again.

"It doesn’t look like it"

Lucy’s tone is gentle and delicate, certifying that there is only concern behind it and that it isn’t for the push to confession in any way. The attention warms the heart of the Catalan, unlike her sore fingers.

"I’m fine, Luce. I’m just cold" begins Ona before turning in the direction of the English. "I just couldn’t wait for the game to end. The last ball I took from my head gave me the impression that I was given a huge slap on the face"

To explain better, Ona carries a gloved hand on the side of her face, making Lucy laugh softly.

"Nice assist anyway" compliments the brunette, making Ona smile. "I'm going to the locker room before losing all my fingers. You come with me?"

Ona nods and follows in Lucy’s footsteps, seizing her gourd to drink some water, regretting however that it’s not a good hot tea. Shivers run through all her body all the way to the dressing room and she willingly wraps herself in a blanket when she’s inside.

"I have no desire to undress" Ona admits from the bench on which she sits, huddled under her blanket.

"I can give you a hand if you want" Lucy offers with a grin.

Ona laughs softly and shakes her head, trying not to let her eyes slide too often towards Lucy who is changing. She is helped a little by their teammates who join little by little the locker room, Aitana seems even more disturbed by the cold than her. Unlike Ona, Aitana almost never left Spain to play, so she never had to face Manchester’s winter on a daily basis.

Lost in her thoughts, Ona realizes that Lucy is completely changed only when she comes to sit next to her on the bench. She passes her hand energetically into the back of the Catalan, seeking to create a friction to warm her.

"How about not showering now and taking a nice warm bath back at the hotel?" whispers Lucy to Ona while bowing an eyebrow.

"I really like this idea" Ona says with a smile.

Ona finally found the courage to get out of her blanket to change also, putting on with relief several layers of clothes to warm up as much as possible. In the bus taking them back to the hotel, Ona sits on a seat next to the window and Lucy doesn’t hesitate a single second before sitting next to her. They have no particular rules and sit very often next to other people, but this evening the older one have the impression that there is more than the cold which bothers Ona.

Ona gradually lets herself go against Lucy and when the bus finally starts once everyone has arrived, the head of the youngest is fully on Lucy’s shoulder. Even if Ona is tactile and her love language is physical contact, she isn’t the type to have such intimate gestures in public. But Lucy says nothing, promising herself to ask Ona questions once they are in their hotel room. And when Lucy gently puts her hand on Ona’s leg, she tightens a little more against her.

After a group meal in the hotel’s dining room, Ona quickly returns to their room but it’s only a few minutes after Lucy joins her. When the brunette arrives in their room, Ona is on the phone and speaks quickly in what Lucy recognizes to be Catalan. Understanding that her girlfriend is either on the phone with her mother or her older brother, Lucy gently closes the door behind her and approaches her girlfriend from behind.

"Say hello to them for me" Lucy whispers in Ona’s ear before kissing her neck.

The shivers that runs through Ona isn’t related to the cold this time, but to the pleasant sensation of Lucy’s lips on her skin. Smiling softly, Ona turns her head in Lucy’s direction with a small smile.

An exchange of eyes later while the interlocutor of Ona tells her something, Lucy smiled softly at Ona before kissing her nose and letting her go. Seeing Ona’s sulky face, Lucy smiled softly.

"I’ll prepare the bath" she whispers again.

Ona nods and sits on their bed to end her conversation, her eyed following Lucy as she sneaks into the bathroom. It’s not every time there’s a bathtub in their hotel rooms, but since there’s one it’s great to enjoy it, right?

When Ona joins Lucy a few minutes later in the bathroom, the bathtub is fully filled and Lucy is adding foam.

"Tadam!" Lucy happily sings, triggering the laughter of the Catalan. "Lady Batlle’s bath is ready"

"It’s Miss for now, thank you very much"

Lucy smirk for any answer, watching Ona get rid of the thick sweatshirt she had been wearing until now.

"Aren’t you coming with me?"

Ona’s question is posed with a touch of concern when she realizes that Lucy doesn’t make the slightest gesture to join her while she is on almost entirely ready to enter the bathtub.

"If you want, but I wanted to let you relax before I talk to you about something."

Lucy almost immediately regrets her choice of words when she sees Ona’s face painted with worry. The brunette frozes, with only one leg entered in the water while she was stepping over the bathtub.

"Nothing dramatic Oni, don’t worry" adds Lucy, smiling affectionately to reassure her.

It only seems to work half way, since even if she ends up nodding and sitting in the hot water, Ona’s gaze is always anxious. Deciding to join her instead of mentally slapping herself, Lucy gets rid of her clothes, leaving them on the pile of clothes already formed by those of Ona.

Settling behind Ona, Lucy sighs of relief as she feels her muscles relax in the hot water. Even if she seemed less affected by the cold than Ona, this didn’t prevent that it was probably not her favorite conditions to play a football match.

"Come here, Love"

Passing her arms on each side of Ona’s body, Lucy draws her all against her, smiling when she feels Ona pressing her face into the hollow of her neck. Sliding her fingers along her hips, the English girl thinks about the best way to engage the conversation. The language difference between them was never a problem, Ona speaks really good English despite her accent that Lucy simply finds adorable. And Lucy understands Spanish perfectly well and also does well in this language by spending time with their Spanish teammates.

"What did you want to talk about?" asks Ona, interrupting Lucy’s thoughts.

"You"

The answer seems to surprise the Catalan who takes off her face to be able to better observe her girlfriend.

"Me?"

"Yes, I think you looked trouble by something. As if you were thinking of something, not really here you know? I know you told me it was the cold, but I feel like there’s something else"

Ona briefly bites her lip before answering, choosing the words she will use to not lie to Lucy without worrying her too much.

"I’m a little tired, that’s all" Ona replies, continuing to see Lucy’s unconvinced gaze. "I’ve been playing a lot lately between the national team and Barca. And even though I love it and wouldn’t do anything else, tonight was really complicated for me. I was exhausted at the end of the game."

"Why didn’t you ask for a replacement?"

Lucy furrowed her eyebrows when Ona shrug, turning her head to look ahead. Her back leaning against Lucy’s front.

"I won’t let the team down"

Knowing Ona’s determined and stubborn character, Lucy can only imagine perfectly the reasons that pushed Ona to finish the match as planned in Jona’s head. And, knowing also that it’s useless to discuss with the Spanish for the moment, Lucy decides instead to change the subject. For the moment. Or rather try to relax Ona as much as possible. Stepping back a few centimeters, Lucy put her hands in the back of the brunette, drawing her tattoos with her fingertips before starting to massage her back. She presses her fingers along the shoulder blades and the neck of Ona, taking the time for each of the muscles of the Spaniard.

"Madre mia" moans Ona, making Lucy smile.

"Are you moaning already?" jokes Lucy maliciously.

It also amuses the youngest, who gives her a little playful slap on the leg. But apart from that, she remains peacefully motionless, too relieved by the attentions that Lucy brings her.

"You are so tense" the English mumbles feeling the muscle knots everywhere in her back.

Ona humms simply for any answer, eyes closed and as transported elsewhere by the benefits of this massage. She could fall asleep on the spot. But her smile was reborn on her lips when she felt Lucy’s lips again on her neck and in her neck.

"Is that part of the massage?"

"Only for you"

"Because you massage a lot of other people?" Ona informs herself, an innocent look on her face.

"No" laughs Lucy. "On the other hand if someone other than me does it to you, you have to inform me because I need to kill him"

Ona laughs softly and opens her eyes, tightening a little more against her girlfriend’s body, tilting her head back to look at her.

"I’ll think about it the next time I go to the physios at the training center"

Even if the sentence is said in the tone of the joke, Ona can’t help but feel a heat wave in the hollow of her belly by noticing the upset air that emerges for a few moments on Lucy’s face. The idea that she may be jealous for her will never cease to amaze her.

"Bésame, por favor" murmurs Ona.

Obviously, Lucy oblige and quickly breaks the few inches existing between their lips. Soft and tender at first, the kiss deepens when Ona raises her hand to place it on Lucy’s cheek and keep it longer against her.

A few minutes later, Ona had turn around in Lucy’s arms to sit on her lap, causing them both to lose their balance when Lucy slips into the tub and finds herself lying on her back.

When their laughter ends up interrupting, their glances plunge into each other. One arm holding her firmly against her, Lucy gently pushes back a long strand of brown hair behind Ona’s shoulder.

"You may decide not to take care of yourself, but count on me to make sure you do, Ona. And you can also count on me to take care of you. And you can talk to me if you need to, you don’t have to do all by yourself. I’m here for you that’s what a relationship is about to. Let me be there for you."

What’s the answer to that? Ona, who is still struggling to realize that her celebrity crush is sincerely and deeply infatuated with her, finds herself suddenly without knowing what to say. But, luckily, Lucy to find all the words she can’t pronounce in her beautiful chocolate eyes.

"I’m so in love with you"

Ona’s confession, pronounced no higher than a murmur is however perfectly understandable in the tranquility of the bathroom. Only the lapping of the water is audible, adding to the serenity of the moment.

"I’m in love with you too" whispers Lucy in return, smiling, before stretching her neck a few centimeters to capture once again Ona’s lips with hers.

[worriedvision]

Saving you from someone who doesn’t take no for an answer - Tighnari, Cyno, Cynari, Kaveh, Xiao and Dottore.

Gender neutral reader, these lovely lot (well, Dottore isn’t but shh) will be getting you out of an uncomfortable situation with a guy who isn’t seeing you aren’t interested in them. Romantic stuff in here. The guy is harrassing you, if you are uncomfortable with this skip the fic.

--

Tighnari:

You weren’t a forest ranger, merely a researcher that had a fixation on mushrooms. Recently, a guy started being really creepy. He would just stand there, you writing on the paper laying on your clipboard as you observed the mushrooms. You asked him to leave you alone, him laughing and apologising before continuing to creep you out. 

When you asked your mentor about this, all they said you could do was defend yourself if things went poorly. Apparently, him being creepy by standing behind you and not leaving you alone once you asked him to do so. That opened up the idea that he could spin some story about you hitting him once he makes an advance, you only had your word against his. 

As you were crouching down, using your pen to measure the size of a particular mushroom that recently popped up, you hear him approach. Instead of just standing there, he begins to talk.

“I want you.” He states. “I want to date you.” He continues, still standing there.

“I’m not interested. Please leave me alone.” 

Hearing him step closer, your grip on your clipboard tightening. You regret not taking a self defence class, you knew this clipboard would be no use here.  

“C’mon, give a nice guy a chance.” He purrs, making you feel queasy. “It’s not like you have a boyfriend.”

“I do, actually.” You state. 

“Well he isn’t here right now, is he?” The man hums out, looking around before leaning closer. “How about I show you another kind of mushroom?”

You see Master Tighnari approaching. It’s clear he didn’t hear the comment, and it was unlikely he understood how creepy this man was, but you know he’s able to catch on relatively quickly when it’s needed - just what you heard from a friend, but it’s all you had.

“He’s over there.” You exclaim, making eye contact with Tighnari. 

“That’s not your boyfriend, stop lying and give me a chance!” The man turns, back facing Tighnari.

Thankfully, Tighnari understands the situation fully based on these movements. He jogs up, and he starts to talk.

“Hello, _. Apologies for being late this afternoon, I know you miss me when I’m away.” Tighnari starts. He gets to your other side, taking the clipboard from you before taking a look. “Let’s have a look at this mushroom.” 

The man still doesn’t leave, still not believing the act.

“Can I help you?” Tighnari asks, glaring at the man. “I have had several reports on you. Just so you know, it is an offence to harrass people like this. My friend is going to pay you a visit very soon, you are not permitted to be here.” Tighnari states, clearly not making this up. 

The man scrambles away, and you could have sworn you heard some sort of electro attack.

“Thank you, master Tighnari.” You let out, not realising you’re tearing up. Tighnari hesitantly reaches a hand around your shoulder, you leaning in as he wraps his arm around you. You expect him to leave you once you stop crying, but he gives you a smile before returning his sight on the mushroom.

“Let’s have a look at this mushroom. It has caught my eye now that you’ve brought attention to it.” 

Cyno:

Dating Cyno was certainly difficult at the start. He loved you, he always did, however he didn’t want you two to be public. The idea of people targeting you due to being his lover put him at unease, and he didn’t like the prospect of either of you losing feelings at the early stage.

But then one day, someone kept trying to make moves on you. This man seemed to take you having a boyfriend well at first, but when he never saw you with your boyfriend he started asking you if you were lying. The man got more angry at you, asking you if he wasn’t your type.

“I’m not lying, I do have a boyfriend.” You state. “Even if I was lying, it is none of your business.”

“Well, it is.” The man responds. “I am interested in you, and I want to know who I’m up against.” He scowls at you.

You see your boyfriend approach, and you expect him to put on his General Mahamatra hat and  make him stop, unless he wanted to be charged with disturbance of peace. To your surprise, Cyno walks up to you, cupping your face and kissing you on the cheek. 

You hear the man run away, realising that your boyfriend was Cyno, and Cyno fixes his gaze on you. 

“Does this mean you want us to be public?” You ask, Cyno nodding. 

Cynari:

You were the third person in the relationship. At this point, most people only knew Tighnari and Cyno were together, they didn’t know you were also dating them both. You worked as a doctor - a humble doctor that prided themselves on focusing on patients wants as much as their needs. 

With a good reputation came people that wanted to be with you. The reputation of doctors being well off, it was really nice for people.

One man was particularly persistent. He was a patient of yours, and you knew one thing would never happen - you would never date a patient. Sure, you may need to take care of your boyfriends injuries, but that was different from meeting someone as a patient and dating them afterwards. 

After discharging this patient, you realised he became a frequent flyer of yours. He seemed to be fine and well, but he would regularly make himself sick. You knew he didn’t truly need this care, and you weren’t daft - you knew he was doing this to spend more time with you. However, you didn’t dare let him simply hang out with you - you explained your situation as a doctor. 

One day, he catches you gazing out the window at Tighnari. 

“Is he why you’re not accepting my love?” He tries to make you pity him. “He’s a taken man, Doctor.”

You don’t give that a reply, simply smiling softly as you see his ears twitch.  The man goes to open his mouth, but Cyno enters the room.

“The General Mahamatra is dating-”

He doesn’t get to finish the sentence, seeing Cyno grab your chin and kissing you on the lips. You yelp in surprise before pecking him on the lips. 

“Are you ready?” Cyno asks. Let’s not...waist any more time.” He grabs your waist, ushering you out. Cyno knew about this guy, he had seen reports of doctors refusing him care after he wouldn’t respect the boundaries of a doctor.

“That was a terrible joke.” Tighnari grumbles into himself, Cyno shrugging.

“I thought it was hysterical.” Cyno states blandly.

Kaveh:

You were Alhaithams sibling. When you met Kaveh, you found you had a big crush on him (to your brothers distaste), and he seemed to share the same sentiment. When Alhaitham wasn’t looking, you would both give each other flirtatious looks, but Kaveh never made a full move on you. Sure, he didn’t show a disinterest, but he didn’t seem to be one for commitment.

You had a weird feeling when you were walking to Alhaithams place one evening. It was like someone was following you, and you were soon to find out this was correct. 

Turns out, a coworker that you rejected followed you to Alhaithams place in the hopes of finding out where you worked. He didn’t seem too happy about this, beginning to emerge. You feel someone pull you in, and the immediate wave of relief when it’s Kaveh is overwhelming. Kaveh looks out the window, seeing the coworker was still there, and he turns to face you before he pushes you lightly against the wall, initiating a makeout session. You move to pull him closer, hands around his neck as he deepens the kiss.

You can hear muffled sounds outside, and you can tell it’s Alhaitham based on the anger only he could leak out with his voice as he chases after the creep that had obviously been following you home. Neither you nor Kaveh move away, both of you enjoying the intimacy you were both craving for ages. 

Alhaitham eventually barges in, locking the door and yanking Kaveh away from you. He holds Kaveh by the scruff of his neck, scowling at him.

“Don’t break my siblings heart.” He warns, letting him go before turning his attention on you. He checks you’re alright, leaving you alone with Kaveh once again. 

Xiao:

He doesn’t take the guy on in the way most people do.

Instead of burdening you with meeting the guy that’s got an unhealthy obsession with you, he asks Zhongli if he would be happy to assist him with a ritual. Zhongli seems to understand why Xiao was asking, managing to hide a smile as he collects the required materials before setting up the incense. He stays out of Xiao’s way, knowing Xiao alone would be enough to stop this man’s obsessions. 

Xiao enters the mans dream, polearm gleaming in the moonlight as he silently warns the man to take his following warning seriously.

“Leave _ alone.” He states. “I, conquerer of demons, forbid you from interaction with this individual. Failure to do so will be considered disrespect to the Yakshas.”

Safe to say, the feeling of unnerve you used to have when that man was close stopped. In fact, he wasn’t around at all. You were thankful for this, and although you were yet to meet Xiao, he would one day find a way to introduce himself.

Dottore:

You were a fatui agent, unfortunate enough to constantly be paired up with people that looked to be in the professionn for finding love. Whenever they made a move, you found they were taken away the next day by order of a fatui Harbinger. You were never informed of who it was, but it seemed like these people wouldn’t stop coming along.

One man that refused to go along after being requested was particularly difficult to work with. When you were out on a mission, you had to remind yourself your target was not your colleague, but an enemy of the Fatui. 

Seeing a harbinger walk in your direction, you fear that you’ve done something wrong. Your partner didn’t seem to notice, asking you out for what felt like the millionth time. The harbinger stops a few paces away from you, pointing at your partner.

“That one will do.” He states, the agents next to him immediately taking the man away. The harbinger watches on as the man screams in horror, realising his mistake too late, before turning to you once again.

“Continue.” He dismisses, walking back to where the agent had been dragged off to.

[dark-dragon-8]

In case you guys couldn't tell, Dick Grayson, AKA Nightwing, is my favorite DC character. Specifically because I can just write/imagine him however way I want, within the realm of (fanon) reason, and someone will agree with me/there's already a fic about it.

Want to read about a murderous character? Nightwing has once killed the Joker and (as far as I know) didn't regret it. Not to mention Renegade also exists (along with former Talon AU, secret/resolved "killer" AU, where he kills but doesn't tell anyone, and more minor ones as well) and there are several fics where he takes on that alias in order to deal with some "unfinished business" regarding his family.

Want to read about an undercover character using their looks and flirting to their benefits (and having the attention of everyone at the bar by simply existing and being hot)? I have read so many undercover Dick Grayson that wore the sluttiest outfits just to get info. Even read a few where he did it to make his siblings (mainly Jason) more comfortable since they weren't comfortable with it yet that was his forte (regardless of whether or not he liked doing that as well).

Looking for a rich (kinda spoiled, an act, but still lovable and amazing) Nepo baby that everyone thirsts over in the gala? Richie Wayne is right there and is the eldest Wayne/heir, that's bound to cause some drama at parties/Galas (esp with protective Batfam) and I love that (please give me more fics like that, I can barely find any).

Want a badass vigilante that can beat the absolute life out of criminals and defeat Batman with relative ease? Nightwing is one of the strongest members of the Batfam, if I remember correctly he even defeated Cassandra/an opponent equal to Cassandra before.

Want to read an angst filled story about a character that feels like they're being objectified all the time and just wants a break? Do I even have to say it?

Want a character study about how the annoyed/stubborn/exhausted guy from the comics turned into an "attention whore" on fics? I remember reading (and even writing) character studies where Dick is suffering from stuff such as hypersexuality and anxiety issues where he needs people to see/notice/pay attention to him as a result of his sexual trauma (the assault & other stuff he went through).

And so much more. The duality of that man, when a character has such a variety of interpretations and ways to write about them it just fills that writer/storyteller/reader in me with joy. That complex potential that I seek in characters, like being able to kill someone while also being a hero loved by the hero community, a celebrity loved by the world and a few beyond it, a spoiled rich kid when he likes to indulge himself and a victim that has suffered through so much, it's natural to give them different ways (separation anxiety, exhibitionism, aversion to touch, etc) to cope and deal with the horrible hand that was given to them. It's just something that is very rare to come across in a character, especially one so well known and loved for all of those different things rather than only one or two of them taking over the entire character and its interpretation, and I really love Nightwing for being that character for both writers and readers looking for somethings and finding all they could ask for and more in just a singular tag (ofc I know the other characters have a variety as well, Dick just has such a big variety and his "spectrum" is so big, vast and versatile, he has a piece of the fandom for everything, like a bunch of different characters smacked into one, all sharing the same name, it's why I chose him specifically and why I love reading about him the most specifically).

[tcwmatchmakingau]

As Sweet As Sugar

Pairing: Wolffe x F!Reader (no physical descriptions)

Rating: SFW 

Summary: Wolffe’s date is running late, and he finds himself wondering if he made a mistake.

A.N: This is my first Wolffe fic and I don’t know what I’m doing, so I figured I’d keep Part 1 short and sweet. I know typical Wolffe fanon sees him as more of a hard dom (I mean, I get it and I’m here for it…) but I wanted to take a softer approach with this fic.

Shout out to the reader who requested “Anything with Commander Wolffe where he is just a sweet kind flirty date?” 

Word Count: 687 (I’m shocked I was able to write something shorter than 2.5k words lmao)

Warnings: None, just fluff and first date awkwardness.

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

Wolffe was beginning to regret this decision. 

Dating… matchmaking? He didn’t have time for any of this. There was still much work to be done— endless stacks of reports to review and approve before he could finalize his men’s reassignments and discharge orders. It turned out that even winning the war could not put an end to all the paperwork.

He drummed his fingers on the table and scanned the busy roof-top cafe, looking any sign of his date. The glass-domed dining room was lush with exotic greenery, which provided a surprising amount of privacy to its patrons while giving the space a vibrant tropical feel, despite the cafe’s location high in Coruscant’s skyline. 

“So what are you looking for, Commander Wolffe?” the matchmaker, Sander Loris, had asked him when they met in the the RTL offices. 

Wolffe didn’t have an answer for Sander then, and he still wasn’t sure now. 

He had visited RTL Matchmaking in an apparent moment of weakness, after meeting his brothers for drinks. Cody and Rex were both enamored and gushing about their new partners, and even kriffing Fox couldn’t stop smiling and messaging his partner the whole night. Wolffe had left that night, wondering what if.

And so here he was, several weeks later, sitting in possibly the nicest space he’d ever set foot in, waiting for a mystery date who was running late. He shifted in his seat, tugging awkwardly at his new civilian clothes. It still felt weird to wear civvies, but Cody had insisted that Wolffe wear something appropriately casual to make the right impression, instead of his officer’s uniform like Wolffe had planned. 

Not that it mattered, because she still wasn’t here. 

He glanced around the room again before looking out the window. The busy afternoon skylane traffic was nearly obscured by the decorative vegetation lining the windows, and he absently wondered where all those people were going and how they spent all their free civilian time.

“Commander Wolffe?” A light voice at his side snapped his attention back into the room. 

All lingering reservations Wolffe held about this date evaporated quickly when he saw you standing near the table, smiling hopefully at him as you awaited his response. Your smile ran him through instantly, just as your voice had cut through the soft murmur of the cafe. 

Wolffe shot up from his seat a bit too suddenly and stood straight and at attention, as if summoned by his General. “Ma’am,” he said stiffly and just barely managed to stop himself from saluting you. Instead, he held out his hand to you in a casual greeting.

You smiled and chuckled as you took his hand and insisted he call you by your first name. 

Wolffe repeated your name, and it did not escape his notice how warm and soft your hand was, and how neatly it fit into his. 

“Please, call me Wolffe,” he added with what he hoped was a charming smile as he released your hand, but his voice still felt stiff in his own ears.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Wolffe. And I’m so sorry to keep you waiting. This is really not how I wanted to start things, but an unfortunate emergency at work delayed me,” you winced apologetically as you sat across from him. “Even when I’m done with work, it never seems to be done with me.”

You laughed nervously and he couldn’t help but smile at the endearing sound. “Ah, yes. I’m all to familiar with that feeling.” 

You visibly relaxed at his words and flashed a smile even more brilliant than the last. “Well, even so, I’m glad you didn’t bail on me.”

“Oh it takes more than that to scare me off,” Wolffe replied quickly, holding your gaze as a crooked smile curved the corner of his mouth.

You looked away first, with a bashful little smile, and diverted your focus to the menu. 

Oh, that one…that was his favorite smile so far. He made it his goal for the evening to get you to give him as many of those as could get…

[spinningwebsandtales]

Imagine Geto Confessing His Feelings On A Mission Assignment

Geto Suguru X FemReader

Rating: T

Warnings: Suggestive themes, Gojo is a meddler

Word Count: 1k

(A/N:) With this I have officially made 300 posts! Oh my goodness how time flies! I write a lot for Gojo and Nanami that I haven't written anything for the Geto fangirls. So this is my gift to y'all! I do have an imagine in the works for several of the JJK guys so keep an eye out! I hope to start work on that soon! It's in my drafts I just have to find time to write it! Until next time happy reading! ~Countess

You walked between Geto and Gojo down the side streets of Tokyo. Scrolling through your phone, you ignored the guys surrounding you while they shoved one another playfully. Gojo had a mischievous gleam in his bright blue eyes and Geto could only glare at his best friend. He regretted the day he had confessed the way he felt about you to the tall white haired sorcerer. And you oblivious to his feelings thought of him as a really good friend and fellow Jujutsu High student. Shoko had stayed behind on this particular mission, but little did you know it was Gojo's doing that you joined him and Geto.

"Let's check out this crepe place when we're done," you said showing both of them your phone screen. They weren't paying attention, still shoving at one another. You rolled your eyes elbowing both Gojo and Geto in the ribs. This time they started behaving themselves holding their throbbing sides.

"The curse should be right around here," Gojo said his eyes roving around.

Geto shrugged, hands in his pockets as he stood close by your side. You still weren't paying that much attention when Gojo started to walk off.

"I'll go this way and look around, you two go that way," he said pointing towards a park.

Geto glared at his friend who wiggled his fingers in reply. Geto flipped him off, causing Gojo to just laugh obnoxiously and continue onwards.

"Hey shouldn't we stick together," you argued, worried at what trouble Gojo could get himself into.

"I'll be fine," he chuckled. "I'm the strongest after all."

"More like hard headed egotistical jerk," you grumbled, causing Geto to snort.

"Guess it's just me and you now," Geto said before taking off walking. He lumbered along slowly, letting you catch up as he kept his hands stuck deep in his pockets.

"I guess Gojo will never change," you sighed.

"Of course not," Geto rolled his eyes. "From here on out he'll just get worse."

"Don't worry Geto," you grinned patting his head while you both walked side by side, "I'll kick him really hard if he gets too out of control."

He laughed, the overwhelming urge to take your hand making Geto keep his hands stuffed deep in his pockets. He kept having flashbacks to the first day you arrived at the school. You had never been among people that could see the things you could. It had frightened you and you found safety to see that you weren't the only one. Then your ability began to flourish and Geto was happy that you had become so comfortable with them. He also remembered how quickly he had become enamored by you. Of course Gojo had been the first to notice and wouldn't let Geto live it down, or forget it. He was bored with watching his dark haired friend not taking a chance on you. So Gojo had taken it upon himself to give Geto his chance, and this moment was of course one of his meddling schemes. Deep in thought, Geto didn't realize that he had been talking to him.

"Sorry?"

"First Gojo and now you are ignoring me," you pouted. "Do I have a disease or something? Am I even here?"

"N-no," Geto stammered. "You're perfect."

You flushed bright pink and he did the same when he realized what he just said.

"I mean...you're fine the way you are. And that you're amazing...and I'm sorry," Geto wanted to run and drown himself in the pond you both were walking around.

Seeing Geto so flustered honestly stunned you. It was sweet but it brought a side you never got to witness. Giving his arm a gentle squeeze, he quieted down, eyes wide and cheeks still blushing bright red.

"Thank you Geto," you soothed. "You don't have to explain yourself."

He sighed, cursing his best friend who had to be laughing his butt off right now while he took out the cursed spirit and Geto dealt with this. He had decided eventually he would tell you how he felt, but not anytime soon. So now Gojo's meddling had him confessing way sooner than he had wanted. Biting the bullet Geto took your hand and led you away from the crowds of people. Finding a quiet bench by a stream that fed into the pond he helped you to sit before he took the spot beside you. Looking down at his shoes instead of you, his stray lock of hair dangled down on one side of his face. You wanted to reach out and tuck it back behind his ear.

"Suguru?"

"I like you," he blurted. "I've liked you since the first time I saw you. I wasn't going to tell you but Gojo has been trying to force me into giving in and tell you. You weren't supposed to go on this mission, just me and him, and he talked them into letting you go. All because he wanted me to have some time alone with you."

You sucked in a breath, stunned that this was actually happening. The Suguru Geto was confessing and it had you giddy.

"I'm sorry for shoving this all on you. I didn't want to strain our friendship. I could live with you never knowing how I felt as long as we could remain friends."

You tapped Geto's shoulder and he looked up. The smile on your face had him realizing how much you cared about him.

"I am so relieved." Reaching out you tucked his hair back behind his ear. "I thought I was the only one who felt that way."

Geto melted, suddenly grabbing you and pulling you into a hug. You returned it gladly.

"I guess this means Gojo won," you whispered and Geto laughed.

"I say we let him guess if anything happened and refuse to tell him anything," Geto replied. You nodded eagerly. If you both could torture the sorcerer who seemed to know everything, you chalked it up as a win, and knowing how Geto felt about you was an added bonus. Geto suddenly stiffened before he stroked your cheek. He waited to see if you pulled away but you leaned into his touch. Unconsciously he leaned inward, taking your lips in a gentle kiss. You decided in that moment as Geto's soft lips caressed yours, that when you both were done torturing Gojo you would thank him. Because of him, the man you dreamed about had finally become yours and you couldn't be happier.

[mementoboni]

[part 1/4] DIR EN GREY WOWOW Interview & Document (2020)

“Of course, I have to face the other four members. I'm carrying their lives and my life is being carried by them as well. I did it with that determination.” — Kaoru

Notes before reading:

The whole interview is divided into 8 topics, and the translation is divided into 4 parts. This is the first part, which includes the previous 2 topics. The details of all topics and time markers are 👉 here.

I have added Chinese subtitles for this video in 2021. The whole interview was very meaningful, and I hope that with the English translation, more people can understand what they're talking about.

The five members were interviewed separately and then edited into a video, so the words spoken by each of them are not necessarily coherent.

Repost and share are welcome.🙌 I translated it all by my ears, so please feel free to correct me if you spot any mistake or any confusing parts.☺️

--- --- ---

01. Band Formation ~ Debut

►The Formation of DIR EN GREY

Shinya: All four of us were in the same band except for Toshiya on bass. Then the band broke up and we had to find a new member again. Kyo: Each of us all wanted to be in a band. So after discussion, we decided to get rid of one person and get the four of us together. (*Note: After La:Sadie's disbanded, the four of them decided to form a new band in addition to KISAKI.) Die: We were friends with Toshiya at that time, so we thought about finding all the members and forming a band with him. Toshiya: At that time, their band was gaining momentum. I would like to play with the four of them if it's possible and I happened to be invited. That's what happened.

►Origin of the Band Name

Kaoru: At that time, there was a band that communicated with us very closely. The band had a song called DIR EN GREY*, and that's where our band got its name. I always thought it was a good name, so I suggested it as the name of our band. (*Note: It refers to a song called "Dir en Gray" by the band "LAREINE" (with Kamijo as vocalist), which was formed in 1994.) Kyo: There were two alternative names at that time, the other one was proposed by me, but the final vote was 3:2 so I lost. (laughs)  After I lost, the band name became DIR EN GREY. (*Note: Another name is "如月" (きさらぎ, kisaragi ) → Dir en grey turns 25 today! )

►Looking Back at the time of Debut

Shinya: The three debut singles were produced by YOSHIKI-san. He also played the piano for our song after debut, I had no regrets at that time even if I died, that's how I felt. Kaoru: At that time, we had only recorded once or twice in a decent studio, and we had also recorded in places like homes.  YOSHIKI-san took us straight to a professional recording studio and said, "Let's make the debut single!" without giving us time to think.

. . .

02. Expression

►Awareness in the Creative Process

Die: After all, the band has been around for more than 20 years, therefore, we have to create something more exciting. It's not that I have to do anything, but I try to experiment with all kinds of things. So there are times when we can't be categorized as anything but DIR EN GREY. Shinya: While it is changing over time, now I just want to make songs that I feel good about. Toshiya: Every recording has to add the sound that you think is good, and you must like the songs you create, or you must love them. Kaoru: The overall sense of balance and the feeling that the listener will have, and of course there are many other things.  I would listen to the song several times to feel it, and repeat it over and over again. I can remember it by listening to it over and over again. After listening to it a few times, I will pay attention to interesting pieces, new discoveries, and so on, while I'm composing. Kyo: Most people have a fixed style after 20 years, like "This is the way this person is," but I'm not like that. Of course it's cool to stick to your own unique style, although I can do that and feel like I can keep myself. Kyo: I don't like to make people think that "This is how I am in the end" or something like that, it's not my style. I want to show the changes in each moment directly. When I can't express the music naturally, I may stop, and when I can't create freely, I will stop.

►Things want to Convey through Music

Toshiya: What I/we want to convey is simply "pain (痛み)". Living is a hard thing, and being able to create that power of anger, I think that's our music. Kyo: I am very bad at expressing beautiful things, or is that not for me?  It's... it's irritating.  Maybe it's because I often feel that there is nothing good in the world, and I don't like things that look like fabrications. Shinya: Those are supposed to be in the lyrics, and I don't particularly want to express the pain with the drums. 🤣🤣 Kaoru: I think that varies from person to person, and there is no right answer. For me, I also have a part of myself that I want to convey, so maybe I'm thinking about that while I'm creating.  If I were to say that we all share the same idea, it would be that we can express what we think without hiding it. Die: Being able to feel pain means you are alive, and hope is born from that. The first thing I/we want to convey is "to be alive". (*Screen caption: Feeling pain = Being alive)

►The Motivation for Expression

Kyo: If there is something that I want to convey which will be the motivation, I am not.  I'm just living. Toshiya: It should be the anger and sadness in life, just the two.  If I can express both, I feel I can be saved. Shinya: There will be people who come to see the LIVE, and those fans are my motivation. Kaoru: I think it's because I don't want to admit defeat. I don't want to admit defeat, it should be more like I don't like to admit defeat. I am a weak person, I will want to run away when things happen, and will want to give up when I can't do it. But on this point I still do not want to give in to defeat, I want to do it well. Kaoru: Of course, I have to face the other four members. I'm carrying their lives and my life is being carried by them as well. I did it with that determination. (*Oh, leader sama😳) Die: I think it's LIVE. LIVE is the most direct place to convey ideas and resonate with people. I am moving forward with LIVE as my goal.

(To be continued...)

--- --- ---

part 2. & part 3. & part4.

topics & time marks

中文翻譯 (My Blogger) part 1. & part 2. & part 3.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for intervening in my friends' relationship poorly?

All right. This has a lot of context that I don't know is relevant but I'll include it:

A (25m), D (25f) and I (23f) have been friends since high school. We all went to university - they to schools that were far apart but within 4 hours driving distance, and I some way farther. We all stayed friends. They have been dating and monogamous since they were 13, and while I had some brief romantic tension with A in our last summer before leaving (and also have had crushes on both of them, as is the way with bisexuals in high school) we all decided that was stupid and went on our merry ways. I have never regretted that decision and to my knowledge neither have they. I'm now in a very stable long-term relationship.

We communicate via text and they've come to visit a couple times. A studied in another country for a year, forcing he and D to be long-distance. When he came back, they bought a house together with money they'd saved and borrowed judiciously, and now live VERY far away from me. I can't reach either of them except by phone. That's all fine and good.

The issue is this: it's not a good relationship anymore. D has severe mental health issues and needs to see a therapist, but neither she nor A believes in them really (although A has been depressed before and benefited from treatment) and we grew up in an environment where that was highly stigmatized. (I've encouraged she AND A separately to get her in, but I know it's hard when you're suffering to make an appointment and also treatment costs a fortune D does not have). This has led to A feeling trapped, and while he still loves her, he wants sexual gratification elsewhere and a life that's more stable and happier than the one where he's been supporting her mentally/emotionally, doing all the cooking and cleaning, providing transportation, etc. for the past two years.

I understand that, and I worry about her.

Here's where it gets tricky. He comes to me and says he has been having sex with people online for relief, never in person, just via text and skype. I say okay, I get it, so why don't you get out of the relationship? Well, he loves her, and is worried about her mental health if he leaves; she's fine when she's not depressed and unable to talk to him or function executively; he's not afraid to get out if the situation gets toxic (i was making sure it wasn't abusive).

I say okay, so don't feel guilty, but you need to be kind to D and HELP HER GET THERAPY. (I feel like the asshole here because I did not discourage this enough or tell him to just cut ties.) over the next several months, he does not adjust behavior, continues to tell me these things but begins to explore sex work (to help her get money for therapy - they both work other full time jobs but they pay the mortgage).

He still has guilt but is really enjoying the attention he's getting from people online. I begin to have guilt because while I initially fully endorsed it as an escape from what definitely appeared to me to be a bad situation for him, it now feels to me like he might be giving up on her but happy staying in the relationship while doing this behind her back and I might have had some hand in encouraging that. He also tells me a LOT that I worry I should be telling her.

I know he still loves her, but he's definitely needing some outlet there and not talking to her about it because he's afraid of how she might react (she's depressed, anxious, etc. and has a towering temper and a lot of self-hate, although so does he). I asked whether he'd talked with her about bringing someone else into the relationship for sex if not more, and he said yes - but they'd have to be someone both of them trust and that's not possible when they haven't got anyone like that where they live.

I don't know what to do and I really feel like I encouraged A to continue on this path of not communicating with D. I want to make sure they both know they have me to rely on, but D talks to me much less than A because of the aforementioned mental health difficulties. If we were all in the same place I feel like I would know what to do (encourage them each face-to-face to talk to each other!) but she's inaccessible to me because of the phone barrier and I can't get her perspective. I feel like I'm handling this all wrong and I'm worried about both of them. So I guess:

AITA for encouraging A in his brand of infidelity and not talking to D about it?

What are these acronyms?

[weirdestbooks]

Defenestrations (Wattpad | Ao3)

Hradčany Castle, Prague, Kingdom of Bohemia, Holy Roman Empire

May 28, 1618

Bohemia stared down the Holy Roman Empire as he entered the room, followed by four of his Catholic deputies. His gray eyes swept the room, taking stock of everything before they focused on the kingdom and met her gaze. 

“Hello, Bohemia,” he said. Bohemia gritted her teeth, trying to prevent herself from saying something she would regret and that would make this situation worse. 

It was harder than it looked. Bohemia hated politics sometimes. There was all the subterfuge and hiding what you really believed and felt until you couldn’t hold it back any longer, and then things exploded into war.

Hopefully, this would end up triggering a war, and Bohemia would most likely be declared in open rebellion. Maybe that’s what was needed. But still, she needed to prove a point and prove the point she would. After all, this city was the site of several defenestrations before, so it was only fitting to make it the site of another. 

“Hello, Holy Roman Empire. I'm sure you know what we are here to talk about,” Bohemia said, hoping the empire would not try to play the innocent, unknowing man who was being unjustly accused of something he didn’t know was wrong.

Empires loved pretending they were innocent of everything. This was infuriating for non-empires who had to deal with it. They were ignored, walked over, and expected to remain doormats to them. It was especially worse for Bohemia because, as a member of the Holy Roman Empire, she technically had to obey him.

Technically. 

“You are upset about the closing of the churches, are you not?” Holy Roman Empire asked. 

“Yes, I am. Emperor Rudolf II promised us religious freedoms in the Majestätsbrief. Emperor Ferdinand II violated those promises by closing the Protestant churches after promising to respect the Majestätsbrief. Then he gave the land to the Catholic Church and arrested those who tried to protest what he did.” Bohemia stated, feeling her confidence grow as she spoke.

“They were disturbing the peace and trying to obstruct the work of God.” Holy Roman Empire cut in. Bohemia ignored him and continued to speak.

“Then, we ask you to release those who were wrongfully arrested, who were arrested in the protest, and we tell you emperor about how he is infringing their rights to own property and to enjoy the freedom of worship. And you refuse and deny everything. You are clearly ignoring the Majestätsbrief and what it promised us.” Bohemia said, standing up. Holy Roman Empire raised an eyebrow.

“Is that the reason for the large crowd outside?” He asked, his voice cold, as he refused to show any emotion to anything. It was more infuriating than him just being an asshole.

“It’s a demonstration. My people and I won't take your violation of our rights lying down, which brings me to another topic. Did Emperor Ferdinand II order us to bow to his will on pain of death, and did you Catholic deputies encourage him to adopt this stance?” Bohemia asked. The Holy Roman Empire laughed.

“You really are desperate for a reason to revolt, are you? Fine, we’ll satisfy your needs. My deputies will prove their innocence, and then we can all leave, and you can end your demonstration.” He said, gesturing towards the first of his deputies to speak. Bohemia felt her fists clench and tried to stay calm. Being rash would do her no good here. 

Bohemia made eye contact with Holy Roman Empire, who just smiled at her as his deputy spoke. Bohemia wasn’t paying much attention to what the deputies were saying. That’s why some of her Protestant leaders were here, to take care of the trial. Bohemia was here to show solidarity, but now it seems she’s been put in charge of watching Holy Roman Empire, who looked so smug about everything that it was insufferable.

Once the four Catholic deputies had finished giving their reports, the leaders Bohemia had with her decided who was guilty and who was innocent. Much to her disappointment, Adam II von Sternberg and Matthew Leopold Popel Lobkowitz were found innocent and allowed to leave. 

Hopefully, the crowd left them alone. If not, that didn’t bother her that much.

But that did leave us with three enemies up here. Holy Roman Empire, Count Jaroslav Bořita of Martinice and Count Vilem Slavata of Chlum. 

“Now, what do you plan to do? You’ve declared them ‘guilty,’ but you don't have the power to put them in jail or enforce that sentence. Just back down. It’ll make things easier for us all.” Holy Roman Empire said.

“You want to go back down? Well, that can be arranged,” Bohemia said, standing up. Holy Roman Empire looked at me confused.

“What do you mean?”

“I'm going to defenestrate you,” Bohemia repeated before she and her leaders got hold of the two men while Holy Roman Empire disappeared on them.

“Coward.” Bohemia spat out, “At least we still get to throw the other two out the window.” 

She turned back to face the Prostant Leaders, smiling as she watched them throw the two men out the window. She walked over to the window, and much to her surprise, both of them were still alive. 

“Dammit.” She muttered.

Both were alive, even if one was being carried away by his servants, and Bohemia didn’t get to throw the Holy Roman Empire out the window like she wanted.

But still, she achieved her one goal.

Making a statement.

[silvfyre-writings]

I won't be sad forever (BSD Fanfic)

I couldn't resist, I was trying to spread out the gift fics, but ahhhhh, I wanted to give it, so it's an early gift for you Lemon!!! I hope I did your boys justice, and that you enjoy~ Gift for @llyfrannoddach

[Any comments about this ship will be met with my fury, don't like, move along]

“Um, Mr Fitzgerald… I wanted to let you know… uh…”

“Spit it out, Louisa, I don’t have all day.” Francis didn’t even look up as his eyes scanned the document in front of him, not that he needed to, to know that the girl in front of him was sweating bullets as she tried to find the words she was looking for. And as much as he wanted to press her to get the answer sooner, that would do nothing except make her clam up more.

Honestly, his best people had to be the most socially inept.

After several minutes of just standing there awkwardly, Louisa seemed to find her words, speaking quicker than Francis had ever heard her speak before. “I just wanted to let you know that Edgar hasn’t left his room in a week, and that you wanted us to tell you when that happened again.”

Again, Edgar? Francis let out a sigh, and leant back in his chair, waving his pen in Louisa’s direction. “Thank you for telling me. Leave that paperwork on my desk and go.”

“Yes, sir, but… what about, um, Edgar?”

Francis waved the girl’s concern away. “Leave him to me. I’ll deal with it.”

Louisa nodded and left the room, the door shutting behind her with a quiet click, and that was the moment that Francis let out his next sigh, leaning forward for a moment to place his pen back on the desk before he leant back in his chair again, this time with his hands resting on his stomach as his head tilted back to stare at the ceiling. The news that his architect had locked himself away in his room wasn’t surprising in the slightest, although it never got any less worrying in the years that they’d been involved with each other—especially since right now, it was happening far more frequently, all because of some detective contest that Edgar had lost.

If Francis ever met this… Edogawa Ranpo, he was going to make him regret his very existence.

For three years now, Francis had had to deal with Edgar’s tendencies of falling into melancholy and isolation, and no one seemed capable of pulling the man out of it. All they knew was that the architect was focused on some kind of revenge murder plot that involved the use of his ability, and honestly, Francis didn’t care what Edgar was doing in his free time so long as the man continued to do his work—which he did, to an almost horrific efficiency. But he did care a little whenever Edgar got into this state of mind, if only because it never meant anything good and that Francis had to tread carefully, something he didn’t like having to do.

He really was going to track down Edogawa and tear him limb from limb for this.

Francis stood, and quickly left his office, navigating the halls with familiar ease towards a room that was just as familiar as his own at this point. He paused outside the door, and knocked twice—because that was the polite thing to do apparently, and Edgar had a thing about politeness—but when no answer came, not even a voice telling him to go away, Francis pushed the door open, frowning a little when he found it unlocked. But then he saw Edgar’s little raccoon friend behind the door, and any surprise he did have, vanished in an instant. Because if there was one thing that Karl was good at, it was unlocking and opening doors.

Edgar always swore to him that he hadn’t taught the raccoon how to do that, but considering the man’s past before Francis had picked him up, he was inclined to have his doubts.

But now wasn’t the time for reminiscing, and Francis turned his attention towards the lump in the bed, unmoving, even as he stepped further into the room, and let the door shut behind him. “Edgar.”

There was a faint movement underneath the blankets—a jerk probably, but it was all Francis needed to confirm that Edgar was awake; he threw himself onto the bed beside the man, yanking down the blankets to reveal tired, sunken, eyes and tangled hair that was borderline matted. Francis couldn’t stop the frown from appearing on his face, which just made Edgar try to hide even more. “Go away.”

Edgar’s voice was hoarse, unused in days; Francis ignored that, and the words spoken in order to fully drag the blankets away from his love, and meet his eyes with his own. “’fraid not, old sport. You’ve been hiding away for a bit too long again.”

“… have not.”

“Have too.” Francis reached out to run a hand through greasy hair, that if it’d been anyone else’s hair, would’ve had him cringing away, but because it was Edgar, who he’d seen in such a state more times than he could count, he tried not to care too much. He sat up, and tapped Edgar’s hand. “Come on, up with you, you can mope around and be depressed once you’ve taken care of yourself a little. You know the drill.”

Edgar narrowed his eyes, not because Francis’ words had upset him, but because there was a drill to be completed in the first place. Still, with some more coaxing from Francis, Edgar dragged himself upright, and immediately slumped against the other man’s chest, heaving out a sigh that spoke millions.

“I know.” Francis ran a hand down Edgar’s cheek, his own expression softening as his love’s eyes began to fill with tears, and he swiped a thumb underneath Edgar’s eye as the first tear fell. “What’s first this time? Food? Bath?”

He waited patiently for Edgar to gather his words, soothing him with gentle gestures as he struggled with his inner demons. This was where Francis couldn’t do much other than wait, something he wasn’t overly good at, but experience had taught him not to push, lest he risk Edgar lashing out or withdrawing from him even more than he currently did. Finally, Edgar spoke. “Bath, please.”

“Alrighty then, up we get.” Francis climbed off the bed and guided Edgar into doing the same, providing some support when Edgar’s legs trembled underneath him. There was no doubt in Francis’ mind that this was the first time in a few days that Edgar had gotten out of bed, and he slowly guided him across the room to the attached bathroom—all his employees had their own bathroom with bath and shower, because who was Francis if not a man rich enough to do such a thing. It certainly came in handy for situations like this, and soon enough, Francis was lowering Edgar down to sit on the toilet seat.

Francis could feel eyes on him as he moved around the bathroom, first turning the water to a comfortable warmth and letting it fill, and then grabbing a brush and some of Edgar’s hair care stuff that someone—probably Louisa if he had to guess—had bought him, to situate on the edge of the bath. There were no words spoken, only because Francis wasn’t sure he’d even get a response if he did try to ask something. Once the bath was filled, the routine was like every other time this happened, and although Edgar’s stare was now vacant, his body seemed to remember what to do, for as Francis approached, he raised his arms and allowed his shirt to be tugged over his head.

Next came the rest of Edgar’s clothes, a battle that was made significantly harder by the fact that Edgar did nothing to help. Not that he could help it. Edgar’s mind was his biggest enemy, and it didn’t matter how close you were to him, the moment his mind won, all you could do was pick up the pieces like Francis was currently doing. But soon enough, Edgar was naked and situated in the bath, and Francis stripped himself of his shoes and rolled up his pants and shirt sleeves before sitting on the back of the tub. “Can you wet your hair for me, love?”

Edgar nodded and slipped underneath the water for a moment, and when he emerged again, rested his cheek on Francis’ knee, and let out a sigh. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not accepting any apologies until you feel better.” Francis scolded gently as he ran his fingers through tangled hair, trying to get the worst of the knots out. Unlike the last time, where there had been actual matts that had needed to be cut out—resulting in the loss of that gorgeous ponytail he’d loved—there were only tangles and knots, both which could be removed with a lot of patience.

So Francis pulled out all the patience he had stored, and got to work.

It took a while before Edgar’s hair was free of tangles, and the entire time, neither of them spoke to each other, although Edgar was relaxing the longer Francis continued to take care of his hair. Once the hair was free of tangles, Francis set about washing it, pouring a generous amount of shampoo onto his hand before he began to scrub it in.

Edgar let out a content hum, and although Francis couldn’t see from his position, he could tell that the other had his eyes closed.

“I’m not going to bother telling you to get over the defeat you suffered, because I know you too well for that. But my offer still stands to hunt down this Edogawa and make sure he can never use that ability of his again.” Francis said, guiding Edgar down into the water, so he could rinse his hair.

His words draw a faint laugh from Edgar. “No, it’s fine. I’m confident I can beat him, I’m just… in a slump right now. I’ll be fine though.”

“I know you will, but until then, you can stay with me. I can work from my room for a while.”

Edgar looked over his shoulder with a pained look on his face. “I can’t ask you to do that.”

“Good thing you aren’t asking, old sport, I’m doing it. Now, put your head forward, I’m not done.”

Edgar sighed, but did as he was told, allowing Francis to wash his hair with conditioner. He said nothing as the stuff was rinsed from his hair, and he said nothing still as Francis stepped away from the bathtub to grab some clothes for him. He just watched as the man he’d fallen for despite everything, and everyone, in his life telling him he was unlovable, take care of him because he cared. Edgar didn’t understand how he’d managed to get so lucky, especially since Francis could’ve long discarded him for being nothing short of the most depressed human on earth. But he didn’t, and Edgar still wasn’t sure why that was.

“Come on, up you get.” Francis returned to the bathroom with clothes in hand, and bent down to haul Edgar upright and drag him from the bath, being a little gentle, but still not as gentle as he could’ve. Not that Edgar complained, since he’d once said, it was easier to use a bit of force to get him going when he was in such a state, otherwise he wouldn’t be anything more than a doll. Francis threw the towel towards the writer. “You can dry yourself at least.”

“Yeah…” Edgar raised the towel to his hair and dried it as much as he could before dragging the towel over his body. Francis watched with a careful eye to make sure that Edgar didn’t miss a spot before he snatched it away and began the process of manhandling Edgar into clothes—even if those clothes were nothing but a ratty t-shirt with holes, and some plaid pants that had come from somewhere. Francis honestly didn’t know where Edgar had gotten them, but the colour really didn’t suit him.

Probably why he only wore them for sleep to begin with anyways.

After that, he sent Edgar off to his room with Karl in tow—he was willing to deal with that raccoon if it made Edgar comfortable—before he set off to grab his laptop and some work from his office. Only then, did he return to his own quarters, smiling to himself when he saw Edgar already curled up under the covers, with Karl resting against his stomach. Francis took a couple of minutes to get changed out of his work clothes into just his boxers before he crawled into bed himself, getting himself situated with paperwork on the bedside table, and his laptop on his knees.

The moment he stopped moving, Edgar rolled over, shuffling until his head was resting against his stomach, and one arm draped over his lap. Edgar’s hair was damp and cool against his bare skin, but that didn’t bother Francis in the slightest; in fact, he dropped down to plant a kiss on Edgar’s temple. “Comfortable?”

Edgar hummed, and nodded once.

“Good, I hope my work doesn’t bore you too much compared to those stories of yours.”

Edgar chuckled, even though they both knew that he’d be asleep by the time that Francis finished his work, so he didn’t say anything more as he got to it. And well, if while Edgar slept beside him, he made a plan of his own to help Edgar in his plans for revenge, then who was to know?