#me realizing that it’s only a couple of hours until it’s technically the day of birth: 🧍‍♂️

[mvncesa]

the reunion of my existence is soon … I say like I’ll be awake for it to begin

[confused-pyramid]

Coming Up For Air | s1

pairing: aaron hotchner x childhood bsf!reader

summary: Hotch and his childhood best friend working together at the BAU: a slow burn across the seasons.

word count: 10.4k

warnings: canon!typical violence, mentions of abuse, death of a spouse, slow slow slow burn, specific episodes mentioned in this part are 1x01, 1x06, 1x07, 1x08, 1x15, 1x16, and 1x22

a/n: I started rewatching Criminal Minds from the beginning, and this is what came out of it heh. This is the first part in a little series I'm starting that follows Hotch and his childhood best friend in the BAU, beginning with the pilot. If all goes well, this will continue through the rest of the show, with ~1 part per season :) Title is from Coming up for air by Signals in Smoke

series masterlist

You haven't used your oven in over a year. It's not that you don't like cooking - because you do - you just haven't had the time. If you could, you would blame it on the extra hours you have had to put in after starting at the BAU, but that wouldn't be fair. Your transfer to the unit was the only thing that got you through his death at all.

After your husband was shot and killed in action while tailing a kingpin of one of the New York mobs, you couldn't bear to be in this house at all. You had gone back home to stay with your father for a couple of months, but eventually you had to get back to your real life. With a month remaining on your bureau-mandated leave, you returned to the home you had shared, before one of the lower-level mob soldiers misfired -

You didn't let yourself think about it for almost a year, but time heals all wounds. The poets were right. At least you hope they are.

Even back at home, you still couldn't bear to be there alone, other than when you were sleeping. That's why your peloton was gathering dust and your kitchen went untouched, until just now.

So, of course, the call from the office comes when you're making dinner. It takes five minutes to change into slacks and a button-up, and two more to toss your half-cooked vegetables in the trash, before driving down to headquarters.

A fourth girl has been taken in Seattle, and the local PD only now decided to invite your team. You know the BAU isn't well-liked by the other departments, but that doesn't mean you aren't effective.

When you enter the building, you rush through the I.D. check and jog over to the lecture hall, where Morgan and Reid are standing outside of a neighboring office like children waiting for their father to come and get them.

Shooting them both a thin-lipped smile, you step inside just as they finish discussing the unsub's pattern.

"They want you back in the saddle," Hotch says to the man beside him after greeting you with a nod.

Your eyes are so immediately drawn to Hotch that it takes you a moment to realize that you recognize the man standing next to him. You haven't seen him since the day you were assigned to the BAU, mostly because you were technically transferred to this unit because of his extended leave.

What was supposed to be one month became six, before Hotch informed you that your temporary placement would be permanent, if you were willing to stay in Virginia.

It was a no-brainer.

You turn your gaze to Jason Gideon as everyone in the room stares at him expectantly. He looks self-assured, but you're sure the confidence is a front. "They sure they want me?"

"The order came from the director," Hotch says simply.

"Well," Gideon states, "we'd better get started, then."

Hotch glances over at you as everyone files out of the room and you raise your eyebrows momentarily, a quick check-in between the two of you. He nods imperceptibly and it's enough for now. He didn't tell you Gideon was coming back today, but now isn't the time to give him hell for that.

***

Hotch is the last to board the plane, and he takes his usual seat beside you, this time in the aisle, a few rows away from the rest of the team.

"I was going to tell you," he says as soon as you close the case file in your hands. "The section chief wants me to evaluate him to see if he's ready to return to the team."

"That's a lot of pressure." They have to know that Gideon will be able to smell him out within the day. "You sure it won't get in the way?"

Hotch makes that face you hate, the one that says he knows you're deflecting. "I was going to tell you."

It doesn't take much for you to forgive him. It helps that you trust him completely, especially after everything he has done for you.

"Still," you smile, bumping his shoulder with yours, "it would have been nice to know about the sudden change to my job security."

You're mostly joking, but his frown is genuine. "Don't be silly. You'll always have a place on this team."

He takes everything so seriously these days. You suppose it's only fair, given the files he has to sort through on a daily basis. Picking which case deserves the team's attention the most.

But he wasn't always like this. You're the newest member of the team, but you've known Hotch longer than any of them.

You still remember the first time you met him, at eight years old. He was your first real friend at school, and you became inseparable easily. Your shared love for The Beatles and Law and Order made you fast friends, and as you grew older, your interests shifted in tandem.

Sometimes when you look at him, you still see that little boy who knew too much, but still managed to always make you laugh.

***

The team disperses soon after you land in Seattle. You've never had to come up with a profile in one afternoon, but it's also been a long time since your ticking clock to find the victim was just over a day.

When Gideon and Morgan head to the latest crime scene, you join Hotch and Reid to interview the victim's brother. The moment the three of you step into his house, his dog, Sandy, starts barking up a storm.

"It's what we call the Reid effect," Hotch smiles, walking over to pet her. "Happens with children, too."

You can't help but smile as well, peering over at Spencer, who looks about as uncomfortable as he usually does.

It doesn't escape your notice that the brother looks looser now. Hotch has a way with people that traces back to his childhood self. He was always wiser than his years, something you chalk up to his need to grow up faster than he should have, but his paternal instinct comes from practically raising his brother, Sean, after his dad's untimely death.

The casual interview reveals enough about the victimology that when you head back to the station, Gideon calls the officers in to explain the profile.

You can feel Morgan's agitation wafting off of him as he watches Gideon state his assumptions with startling clarity and confidence. Hotch, on the other hand, looks contemplative, which reminds you that he's been tasked with the returning agent's evaluation.

He can see your furtive glances in his direction, even as you try to remain secretive about your interest in his demeanor. He presses his lips together to keep from smiling as he thinks about how lucky you are that you went into profiling and not covert operations.

You have never been especially good at keeping your own thoughts or intentions to yourself around him. While some would call that a weakness in this field, he sees it as your greatest strength, because it clearly shows how much he can trust you.

As a kid, you were outspoken about every idea you had, and you used your strength and willpower to look out for him when he needed it. It took him a long time to admit how much he used to need you (maybe too long), but you always knew.

***

Gideon's profile leads to the arrest of Richard Slessman and Tim Vogel, and Elle manages to save the last girl while she's still alive. You catch your breath for the first time in 36 hours as you stand with Hotch in the shipyard, watching the paramedics and local police clear the scene.

"What are you going to tell them?" you ask under your breath as his gaze turns to Gideon, who is getting patched up in the back of an ambulance.

He had goaded the unsub into shooting him instead of the girl, but your mind can't seem to focus on the silver lining.

Hotch sighs, crossing his arms over his chest, as though to hold his coat closed against the breeze. "They want to know if he's fit to be a field agent again."

Normally, you would give him shit for using that tactic. Avoiding a question by providing more information. This time, you know he's just thinking out loud.

"What would you say?" Hotch asks as Morgan walks over and sits on a barrel next to you.

"Gideon saved her life," Derek shrugs, his eyes flashing to you for a moment. "That's good enough for me."

Hotch seems to ponder this for a second. "Do you know what Gideon means in Hebrew?"

"Mighty warrior," Reid interjects, popping in to the conversation with the subtlety of a tiger.

You're confused at first, but then you remember the baby names book that was sitting in Hotch's living room the last time you visited him. "You cannot let Haley name your child Gideon."

Hotch laughs suddenly, and you can tell you surprised it out of him. Your chest warms comfortably as he smiles, his cheeks flushing softly in the chill air.

He looks over at Gideon again, deciding in real time that he's going to recommend him to come back to the team. He would never admit it to you or anyone, but he knows that if your position on the team was in jeopardy from Gideon's return, he wouldn't have been able to complete his evaluation fairly.

It was Hotch who recommended you for the open position after he was promoted into Gideon's role as unit chief. You deserved the spot, of course, but Jeff's death had still been fresh and he knew better than most how much the job can take one's mind off of the other aspects of their life.

While Hotch watches Gideon, you watch him. You can tell from the look on his face that it's a done deal. Jason's coming back to the team. It will be a change of pace for everyone, but that doesn't mean it won't be good.

Having joined the team right after the bombing, you saw exactly how Gideon changed after getting the profile wrong, but so did everyone else. What people didn't talk about was how Aaron changed too. Rising into the rank. Growing to fill the hole that Gideon left in the unit, but somehow also shrinking into himself at the same time, because that's what this job does to you...it takes and it takes and it takes until you have nothing left to give.

But sometimes that's what you need: to give something up so you know you aren't losing everything.

***

Gideon settles into the team faster than you anticipated, and soon it's almost like he never left. Even though you can see the vein on Morgan's neck pulsate every time he hijacks a profile, you can't help but appreciate the support he gives to Spencer and Elle, both of whom are becoming incredible profilers before your very eyes.

That's also why you find yourself a little worried when Hotch tells you that Reid failed his weapons recertification.

"I thought you said you were helping him practice," you say as the two of you walk past security and toward the bullpen.

"I was," he emphasizes, before correcting himself, "I did. I'm sure he was just nervous."

You nod, pushing open the doors and spotting Reid sitting quietly at his desk. "He can test again in two weeks. He'll be fine."

When Morgan hands him a whistle with a quippy joke, you sigh into your coffee tumbler, but don't bother stepping in. He's being childish, but if you try to intervene, it'll just embarrass Spencer more.

"Okay," JJ starts, "Franklin Park, Des Plaines. Yesterday afternoon."

She dives into the case, but you have already read the file (and you know Reid has too) so you scoot your chair over to his desk and lean forward so only he can hear you. "I failed my first weapons certification at the bureau too."

Spencer looks up immediately, his face colored with surprise. "Really? You're one of the best shots I know."

You smile with a shrug. "The tests aren't real life. When it comes down to it, I get the job done. Just like you will."

He doesn't say anything for a moment, but then his lips curve up into a small smile. You both turn your attention back to the front just as JJ finishes explaining the case details.

"Wheels up in 30."

The flight to Illinois is filled with heated discussions about the bureau's fruitless history of trying to profile long distance serial killers.

"L. D. S. K.s are so rare, we haven't been able to build a standard profile," Hotch explains as the jet reaches cruising altitude.

Gideon chimes in immediately. "Here's what we do know: they're always male, and they frequently have law enforcement or military experience, and they always contact the police or the media."

Elle looks confused and you echo her sentiment as you lean your hip against her armrest. "To take credit or relive the experience?"

"Both," he says simply. "All serial killers attempt to relive the ecstasy they get from their killings. Some use souvenirs taken from the victims, and others return to the dump site to interact with the body. Both modes require contact with the victim, contact which, by definition, long distance serial killers don't have."

"Our unsub hasn't contacted anybody," you point out. "What do we do until then?"

"Sometimes it's not what the unsub does that reveals the profile. Sometimes it is what they do not do."

Reid glances up from the file in his lap, and you notice that he looks at Gideon first. "He doesn't kill his victims."

"Underkill's a unique signature," Hotch ponders, standing up and walking along the cabin. He only paces when he's deep in thought. "The question is, does he shoot them in the stomach intentionally just to wound them, or is he just aiming at the biggest part of the target?"

The team is silent as you take in this new analysis. You're not surprised when Gideon is the first to speak up. "Specifically, does the unsub lack the skill to make the head shot, or simply the will to take it?"

When the plane lands, you check out the last crime scene before spending the day talking to the local police and the victims' surgeons at the nearby hospital.

That night, when you check into your hotel room, the click of the door lock closing behind you is a welcome relief from the tension of the day. Many of the Des Plaines police officers were unhappy with the team's initial assessment, because it heavily implied that the unsub may have been a law enforcement official himself.

You wash your face and change into a tee shirt and a comfortable pair of sweatpants, before climbing into bed and opening the case file back up again. The rest of the team has also gone to their own rooms, but you can't help but wish you had another set of eyes looking at this with you.

As though reading your mind, a knock thuds on your door and you stand up quickly, in case it's an emergency. When you check the peephole, you see Hotch standing way too close to the door.

Unlocking it slowly so you don't startle him, you open the door to find him in still in a full suit.

"Is there a problem?" you ask immediately. "Do I need to get dressed?"

He shakes his head, glancing around the hallway so quickly that you almost miss it. "I was just looking over the profile and I wanted your opinion on some thoughts I had."

The corner of your mouth twitches and you open the door further to let him in. He doesn't miss a beat as he takes a seat on the armchair in front of your bed and flips open his notepad.

"I was thinking about the bullet we recovered on the scene," he says slowly, like he's thinking through every word he's saying.

You nod, sitting on top of the bed covers and crossing your legs under you. "Garcia called after you left the station. The bullet was a .223 fired from the M-4 variant of the M-16."

"That means he's military," Hotch says, reaching his hand out without taking his eyes off his notepad. You close the case file you had laid out and hand it to him. "M-4 is a shorter barrel than the M-16, so it's less accurate and a lot harder to fire, especially at these distances."

"This level of skill indicates specialized training. That means..."

"It means the underkill was on purpose," Hotch says, finishing your thought. "What is he trying to prove?"

You purse your lips as he sits up in the chair to give himself room to remove his jacket. His pinstriped button-down is slightly crinkled under his arms, but you can tell it was freshly ironed this morning.

"Maybe he's in a fast-paced occupation," you suggest, "which would fit with the profile that he has a big ego."

"Then we're back to law enforcement."

You lean forward, your eyes following his hands as they fidget with his cuffs and undo the buttons, one at a time. You've always been attune to every one of his movements, but maybe it's just because you've spent so much time around him.

"Hotch," you whisper-yell, snagging his attention from your case file, which he tosses back to you.

He hums and you take that as an invitation to continue speaking. "Be careful tomorrow, when you're giving the profile."

One of his eyebrows lifts and you can tell he's holding back a smile. "It's just in front of the Des Planes PD. You'll be there too."

"It's not that," you sigh, shaking your head. "Everything about this profile points to the shooter being either current or former law enforcement. I'd be surprised if they didn't take it personally."

His eyes flit up to yours, his brow furrowing. "I can handle myself."

"I'm sure you can, Hotch," you say with a breathy laugh. "Doesn't mean I don't still look out for you."

He pauses and it's like his whole body takes a beat. "I know."

***

You're talking to Dr. Landman with Derek, Elle, and Jason the next day when a gunshot rings out through the hospital. Last you checked, Hotch and Reid were in the E.R., but you haven't heard from them since you arrived.

"It's Phillip Dowd," a nurse informs you when you meet with local police outside the closed E.R. door.

After a quick call to Penelope, the profile becomes clear.

"He joined the army at 18," Gideon recites, pacing around the room in a vaguely reminiscent manner, "went to ranger school, did 6 years before being dishonorably discharged in '95 for conduct unbecoming. Obviously lied about it, joined the Arlington P. D."

"You were right," the police captain sighs. "He was a cop."

His hopeless tone is disheartening, and you find yourself upset for not the first time that your team was correct in their assessment.

After the initial commotion, the E.R. is silent except for a few muffled voices. You can't hear what's being said, but the lack of gunshots or loud noises is all that's keeping you from falling apart.

"It'll be okay," you hear whispered from next to you. You turn to see Derek, who presses his shoulder to yours briefly. "Hotch will know what to do."

You know there's nothing you can do from out here, especially with how precarious the situation inside is, but doing nothing has never been your strong suit.

"I know," you tell him, echoing your thoughts. "I just wish we could help."

Derek cocks his head at the S.W.A.T. team readying themselves to break the door down. "We can help. We need to give Hotch and the kid time to wear Dowd down."

His tone is light and you feel yourself laugh, ignoring the thickness that swells in your throat. "That shouldn't take long."

Derek bumps your arm again in a silent extension of comfort, and you mouth a silent thank you.

You can feel Gideon losing patience as he reasons with the captain, but he eventually buys them three minutes to do what they can. When the final five second countdown starts, you unconsciously hold your breath, only to be released when Hotch's voice calls through the door.

"Hold your fire!"

Your breath comes out like a gasp and you squeeze Derek's arm before rushing forward. Hotch stumbles past you with a murmur that sounds obscurely like "help Reid", so you push your way through the throng of civilians moving to escape until you see him.

"Spencer," you gasp, crouching down to help him into a standing position. You would never admit it to him, but ever since he joined the team, he's been something of a little brother to you. "What happened in here? Are you okay?"

"You were right," he says with a surprising steadiness to his voice. "I got the job done."

You don't ask what he means, knowing that Hotch will fill you in when the time is right. Instead, you decide not to fight the vaguely maternal urge rising within you and you pull him into a tight hug. It's more of a quick squeeze, because you don't want to push past his physical boundaries, but he doesn't complain, instead looking over at you with a small smile that's more than enough for now.

***

You find Hotch where the departed ambulance that patched Reid up was parked. All of the hustle and bustle of the paramedics and local police officers and bureau agents comes to a standstill as you walk over to where he's sitting on the edge of the curb.

"I heard what happened," you say as a way to announce your presence. "Can I sit?"

He nods without looking up, and you crouch down next to him, settling on the curb with your shoulder pressed to his. You can feel the tension in his muscles as he grips the sidewalk, his palms digging into the concrete like he could break through if he pressed hard enough. "Reid.."

"..is fine," you whisper, nudging him so he looks up to where Spencer and Jason are chattering excitedly. "He's more proud than anything."

He doesn't say anything, so you bump your knee against his. "I guess all of the physical training classes you made him take at the academy paid off."

He knows you know exactly what is running through his mind, so he doesn't bother trying to articulate it. Instead, he lets out the breath he didn't realize he was holding, and looks over at you. "Do you remember that self-defense class we took before law school?"

You're not expecting this question, and you almost laugh. "You mean the singular self-defense class you dragged me to before dawn in the summer before we started at Georgetown?"

He levels you with a look that you would think is serious if you didn't know him so well. "You don't regret it, though."

"No," you smile, your eyes blurring with emotion. That's where you met Jeff. "I don't."

He was your instructor that day. He only taught that class twice a week, between lectures at Georgetown Law, and it doesn't escape your mind that you so easily could've missed him. One day earlier or later and you never would've met him, never would've been his girlfriend, or his wife, or his widow.

Hotch remembers meeting him that day too. He had to literally come to your apartment and drag you out of bed to make the seven AM class that he had signed you both up for, and you had been grumpy the whole drive over.

There wasn't much, other than coffee, that could get you alert before eight in the morning, but the moment you walked into that gym, it was like you were wide awake. He spent the rest of the class trying not to look as the man he would later come to know as Agent Adler kept coming over to give you extra pointers, and he pretended that the coil of ice slithering up his spine was there just because he was watching out for you.

When he found out the two of you had started dating, he continued to pretend the nausea rising in his stomach was from the day-old sandwich he had had for lunch, because it wasn't fair. Especially since he was with Haley, and he was happier than he had ever been, even if the new law school course load was making it harder to see her as often as he wanted to.

But eventually, your happiness with him overpowered every protective urge he felt, and he realized that even if there was a feeling in his gut that he didn't recognize when he saw you two together, Jeff was perfectly suited for you.

***

"He's so gorgeous!" JJ coos, her hands twitching at her sides like she's trying not to reach forward and take the baby out of Haley's hands.

She brought Jack, their newborn son, in to work today to show the team, and Hotch looks prouder than you've ever seen him. "Thank you."

"If you find baldness and wrinkles attractive."

"Reid!" you chastise, swatting at him. He dodges your hands without even looking.

"Look at his widdy biddy nose," Garcia squeals, before turning to Morgan with an inquisitive look. "Don't you want one of these?"

He just laughs as he rests his chin on her shoulder. "Mm, I'll stick to practicing."

"Congratulations," Elle chimes in before returning to Gideon's side to continue discussing the new case that came in. She's always on top of things, and it's something you respect greatly about her.

"Thanks," Hotch smiles, his gaze returning to Jack after looking away for only a moment. Jack is like a siren, the way each of his little sounds or movements holds Hotch's attention so steadily. He's the most focused of all of you, but you've still never seen him this enamored. "She's amazing. I'm a little terrified."

"You're glowing," you tell Haley as the rest of the team heads to the briefing room. "How is it that you had a baby just a few weeks ago?"

"You're sweet," she smiles, before tilting her head forward. "Do you want to hold him? You're practically his aunt."

You gasp quietly, so as not to wake little Jack. "That is a title I will carry proudly. And yes, I would love to hold him."

Haley hands him to you slowly, and you make sure to support his head carefully as you cup your arms around him. He looks so much like Haley that you almost make a joke about Hotch's genes not even putting up a fight, but that nose...that nose has Hotch written all over it.

When you glance back to where the team left from, you see him turn back at the same moment and offer you an encouraging smile.

"How are you holding up?" you ask Haley, barely able to focus on your surroundings with a newborn in your arms. Maybe there is something to the siren thing.

"Jack's been incredible. He barely cries, it's kind of a godsend...but I do wish Aaron could take time off with me."

You give her what you hope is your most comforting smile. "We've been super swamped with cases here, but in all my years working with him, I have never seen him so eager to leave every night."

She laughs, a pretty sound you remember from your youth. "I know. I feel so unfair when I complain about these things, but I appreciate you humoring me."

"Not at all," you assure her, glancing back down at Jack, who is mid-yawn. "I understand completely. If I had one of these little guys, I wouldn't be able to think about anything else."

You hear her breath catch and you open your mouth to reassure her that it's fine, but she is already reaching forward to squeeze your arm. "You and Jeff would have made amazing parents."

When you both joined the bureau, you were so busy with work that kids weren't on your mind at all. It wasn't until you got settled at the BAU, and Jeff found his place with organized crime, that you even started talking about it.

You want kids, don't you?

Only a few. Maybe four or five. Yeah, five's a good number.

"I should get back to the team," you say softly, blinking away the memories.

Haley sees your face and she smiles sadly as she takes Jack back from your arms. "I'll see you soon. Tell him I'm heading home, will you?"

You nod and watch the elevator doors close in front of her, before joining the team.

***

"I can't believe you went bar hopping without me," Derek shakes his head, feigning offense as he leans so far back in his chair you're afraid it may tip over.

"I think hopping is kind of a strong word," you say, glancing over at Elle, who is perched on the edge of your desk. "We only had one bar in mind, but it closed earlier than we thought, so we went somewhere else after."

"This was a much needed girl's night," Elle grins, patting Morgan on the shoulder as he continues to pout. "We'll invite you next time."

"How was your weekend, Dr. Reid?" you ask, turning around to face him.

Spencer doesn't look up from his crossword.

You say his name again, recalling the attention of Derek and Elle, who had started talking about some trip they've been planning for what feels like months.

When he still doesn't look up, you pick up one of the BAU-provided pens on your desk and chuck it at him, just hard enough to bridge the gap between your desks, but not so hard that it hurts on impact.

"Ow!" Spencer yelps anyway, glancing up with a look that's somewhere between confusion and indignation. He picks the pen up off the ground and turns it over to see the tiny insignia on the cap. "This is FBI property."

"How was your weekend, Spencer?" you ask again, ignoring him. "Didn't you say you had some fun stuff planned?"

"I did," he lights up, instantly forgetting about the pen incident. "My local movie theater was showing reruns of the first season of the original Star Trek, so I got to experience it on the big screen."

Derek laughs and walks back over to his desk next to yours. "We have very different definitions of fun weekend plans, kid."

You're about to tell Derek that no one wants to hear what his idea of fun is when the office door upstairs flies open and Hotch and Gideon walk out.

Reid hands you back your pen, and Derek sits up in his chair so fast it's almost comical.

"We have another case," Hotch announces before coming to a stop.

Gideon takes it away. "Our unsub is male, intelligent, organized and methodical. He has the confidence of a man who's been killing for a long time."

"Only victim removed from the scene is Freddy Condore indicating some tie to him."

Hotch turns to you. "You, Elle, and Reid stay on Condore's background with Garcia. The rest of us will head to the crime scene."

You nod before standing up. "Let's go, kids."

Penelope's lair is just as eccentric as you remember it.

"Take a seat," she instructs before logging into her computer and opening up her criminal history database. "Just don't get too comfortable."

Your lips quirk up as Elle flashes her eyes at you, and you nod your head at the empty chair on Garcia's opposite side. Reid is already sitting on a desk chair by the back, spinning in aimless circles as he rattles off a list of markers to search for.

After a minute, Penelope stops typing. "Credit card receipts show Freddy loved crab cakes, preferred light beer and used to spend his Thursday nights with a woman in Fells Point."

You pick up a stress toy shaped like a tomato from one of her shelves and bounce it in your palm, just for something to occupy your hands.

"What about his associates?" Elle asks, grabbing a pen with a pom-pom on the end and poking it at Spencer's knee.

"Most of them have criminal records."

Elle glances up. "That much I guessed."

Penelope frowns, and looks pointedly at the pen in her hand.

"She's holding the tomato!" Elle complains, throwing a finger at you.

You lift up your hands in surrender, dropping the stress toy. "Thanks a lot, Greenaway."

"Anyway," Reid interrupts, to everyone's surprise, "One of these guys is particularly interesting. Pull up James Baker's rap sheet."

Penelope turns back to her computer as Spencer reads over her shoulder. "He spent time in juvenile detention for attempted murder, was released at age 21, and then subsequently arrested for, and this is in order, armed robbery, petty theft, burglary, narcotics sales, and rapе."

"What's so interesting about that?"

"When it comes to psychological behavior, anything is possible but this criminal history? It just isn't probable."

Elle nods in agreement. "I mean, as a minor, he began with attempted murder and then devolved into pettier crimes?"

"It's the criminal history of a fractured schizophrenic with multiple personality disorder," you sigh. "It just does not make sense."

***

Hotch calls you into his office when he and Morgan return from Baker's address. You can tell something is off before you even step through the door, so you shut it behind you and take a seat in front of his desk.

"What's going on?" you ask, your eyes glancing over his face to see if his micro-expressions can give you a hint. "What's wrong?"

He looks up with a sigh, his hands clasped on his desk. "Baker's place was an artificial dwelling, and the weapon we recovered on the scene was standard law enforcement issue."

It takes you a few seconds to comprehend what he's trying to say - a few seconds longer than usual - and your breath stutters in your throat. "He was undercover?"

"That's what it looks like," Hotch agrees. "I wanted to inform you before telling the rest of the team."

You nod, pressing your eyes closed for a beat.

He missed his pick-up, Mrs. Adler.

We'll call you as soon as we know more.

The memories start to flood back in and you squeeze your eyes shut tighter before opening them. Hotch looks blurry for a moment until your eyes adjust to the light again.

"Does organized crime know where he is?" you ask, desperately needing to fill the silence.

He looks down at the case file. "We assume so, but it's not like they would tell us. They weren't too happy that we were taking on this case at all, and now we know why."

"Maybe they'll talk to me," you suggest, even though the idea of talking to Josh Cramer makes you taste bile. You haven't seen him since a month after the funeral. It's not for his lack of trying, you just couldn't stomach looking at any of them after what happened. One missed call turned to ten and eventually they stopped trying.

There's a piercing pain behind your eyes and you squeeze them shut for a momentary relief. "It was only supposed to be three months."

Hotch's brow furrows and you don't look up at him just yet. You can already picture his expression, the anguish you know he feels for you whenever you bring up Jeff.

"It was a three month operation," you continue, knowing you won't be able to discuss it later if you stop talking now. "That's all we signed up for. Three months away from me and then he was on leave for the rest of the year, so that we could focus on us again. Maybe even start a family."

Your voice cracks on the last word and you tilt your head down to hide your face. He hates it when you cry, but that's not fair. He knows how important it is to get your emotions out, so they don't pile up inside of you, but if he had his way, you would never have had a reason to cry in the first place.

"I hadn't seen him in over a month when he was..."

He can hear the tightness in your voice and he resists the overwhelming urge to reach his hand out and take yours. You're sitting a foot back from the desk, and it's not he could reach you from here anyway, but his fingers still ache.

"I don't want to blame them, Aaron," you sigh. Your words sound watery, and he pulls a handkerchief out of his inside jacket pocket and hands it to you. He's almost surprised when you accept the gesture, pressing the cloth square under your eyes to catch the tears leaking out. You were so self-reliant as a kid, never wanting or needing anyone else's help. "I don't want to blame them, but I do. I can't help it, I just do."

Someone else would have consoled you. They would have assured you that feeling this way was natural, and that no one could blame you for feeling what you do, but that isn't who you two are. "Jeff wouldn't."

His name is like a dagger to your heart. You practically wince as Hotch digs further. "That team was his family, just like we are yours. He wouldn't blame them, not for this. Not for something he chose."

Something he chose. This is why you don't let yourself remember that day. This is why you kept that day - the day you got that horrible call - locked up inside your brain, where not even you could reach it. Because if you let yourself think about it and remember, then you will remember that it wasn't really Cramer or his unit or the bureau that you blamed. It was him.

For choosing to miss his pick-up. For choosing to go undercover. For choosing to join organized crime.

You take a deep breath and re-adjust yourself in the uncomfortable chair Hotch refuses to replace, even though it's literally splitting at the seams. Something about your tax dollars hard at work. "What are you going to do about Baker?"

He lets you change the subject. "We have to contact Agent Cramer before-

"What the hell is wrong with you people?"

Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

"Sorry?" Hotch frowns, both of you standing up immediately.

Cramer doesn't take his eyes off Hotch as he seethes with anger. "I told you, this is my case! You ran my agent through IBIS?"

"Because I wanted to know who he worked for and now that I do, I'd like to talk to him."

"You don't have him?"

You can hear your heartbeat in your skull.

Hotch looks at you then, and finally Cramer notices your presence. "Y/N...it's been a while."

Your lips press into a thin line. "Almost two years." The anger you've been trying to avoid seeps into your voice against your will and you sigh, returning to the investigation. "How long has Baker been missing?"

"About 12 hours."

"You think he ran?" you ask, watching Cramer closely as his jaw ticks.

"No, Jimmy's too experienced to run without contact."

He realizes his misstep immediately and his shoulders fall. To his credit, he doesn't break eye contact, even as his expression softens. "That's not what I meant. All I'm saying is that I think someone's keeping Jimmy from calling in."

You can feel Aaron looking at you, but you avoid his line of sight. If you're going to have to interact with organized crime, you might as well make yourself useful. "We all want the same thing, Cramer: to get Baker back to his family."

You wait outside as he explains the situation in more detail to Hotch and Gideon, and you're surprised when he's the first to leave. "Can we talk?"

Hotch comes out behind him and raises his eyebrow for a fraction of a second, a check-in. Swallowing thickly, you nod your head and follow him down the hall to the top of the stairs.

"I'm sorry I haven't reached out recently," he says as soon as you're out of earshot of the others. "You know Jeff was one of our top guys."

Your eyes shut at his name, as though someone clapped their hands too close to your face. It's almost laughable how sure you were that you were past your grief. You passed the bureau's psych evaluation after your six month leave with flying colors (because your team practically wrote the answers yourselves), and as each new day passed and you weren't so debilitated by just the thought of him, you thought it meant you were fine. Because time heals all wounds. At least it's supposed to.

"I know," you whisper scratchily, before clearing your throat. "I know that. And it's okay. We've all been busy." You look down at the bustling bullpen where his agents are interacting with your team. "Clearly."

Then you remember you're job here in the first place. "We really are just trying to help. It wouldn't hurt to keep us involved."

Cramer sighs and you know he won't refuse. "We'll loop you in."

***

James Baker is found and Vincent Perotta gets taken into custody, but you can still hear the end of the interrogation ringing in your ears.

"You were just responding to what you learned, Vincent.

When you grow up in an environment like that, an extremely abusive and violent household... it's not surprising that some people grow up to become killers.

And some people grow up to catch them."

You can't pinpoint exactly what you're feeling, but if you had to guess, it would be sorrow. Sorrow for that little boy who got dealt the worst hand you can imagine, and still turned into the best version of who he could've been.

Hotch can't get the interrogation out of his mind either. He had grabbed his briefcase and headed out to the elevators as soon as Perotta was taken away, in the hopes of avoiding everybody. He's about to let out his breath when a hand reaches between the doors and sends them flying open again.

Normally your appearance is a welcome sight, but tonight, he's had enough talking. Perotta took everything he had to give, and then some, and he doesn't know if he has the strength to go through the proceedings again with you.

"I just want to get home," he says as you stand next to him without a word and face the doors. To my family.

You don't say anything as the little fluorescent floor number ticks down - has it always been this slow - and he feels his nerves tighten with agitation. You're never silent, especially not about something like this.

Just before the elevator reaches the second floor, you reach forward and pull the emergency stop button. He whispers your name, half irritated half relieved, and you step in front of him, focusing your eyes on his. It's a classic profiler technique, both to mentally establish trust and to physically block him from the keypad.

"You're a great father, Aaron."

His mind flashes back 25 years, but he squeezes the hand in his pocket into a fist to keep himself from succumbing to the memories. "I'm trying."

He knows what you're doing, and he would normally be open to a healthy exchange between two adults, but tonight he just can't. It's too fresh.

You seem to understand at least a fraction of what he's trying to convey. Your next words are gentle. "That already makes you a thousand times better than him."

That almost makes him smile. "You can say his name, you know."

You shrug, looking at him with a glint in your eye. "Honestly, I don't think I can. I'm afraid I'll turn into a pile of ash, with the fury your father instills in me."

That's what gets him. He coughs out a laugh that echoes around the elevator, and you return to his side, giving him a moment to breathe on his own.

This time, when his mind spirals back to his childhood, he's not as equipped to block it. The memories come in flashes, a blackening bruise on his abdomen, a split lip explained away through roughhousing in the backyard, the thin scars on his hands and elbows as he finally started to fight back. He would've taken it all forever if he had to, if it meant that he could keep the horrors away from the people he loved. "I really should go."

"Yeah." You push the emergency stop back into place and the elevator hits the ground floor in no time. "I'll see you tomorrow, Hotch."

He steps out, half expecting you to follow him. Instead, the doors close and he's by himself again, and he suddenly can't remember why he wanted to be alone in the first place.

***

When the Keystone Killer is finally caught after 18 years of inactivity, he finds himself expecting for there to be some sort of celebration, either in the form of a commendation, or a much-needed break. Instead, what he gets is a mountain of paperwork.

He usually doesn't mind the paperwork that comes after a long case. It's a helpful way for him to sort through his thoughts on what went down, and to learn from mistakes that were made along the way, whether in the profile or in the capture of the unsub.

Lately, paperwork has felt like an added torture to the long hours he already spends at work. It's not that he wasn't excited about going home before, but ever since Jack was born, he hasn't been able to get out of the office fast enough. But being the unit chief of the BAU has its responsibilities, and this is one of them.

He's drowning in consultation files and case reports when you knock on his door, two coffees in hand.

"Thought that was you," he says, finishing the sentence he was writing.

You frown, setting one steaming cup down on his desk. He hasn't even looked up yet. "How'd you know? Or do you just say that to everyone who walks in here?"

His lip twitches and he puts his pen down. "I could smell the coffee. It always smells the same when you make it."

"Oh?" You weren't aware you had a method. "And how's that?"

"Burnt."

You take the lid off your cup and chuck it at him with surprising accuracy. It would have thwacked him in the forehead if he hadn't swatted it aside with his stupid catlike reflexes.

"What are you working on?" you ask after taking a scalding sip of perfectly brewed coffee.

He looks up for a beat before diving back into the file he was skimming. "Paperwork for the Keystone Killer case."

"But we just finished that," you point out before reaching forward and taking the file out from under his nose.

He huffs. "I was...looking at that."

"This is a report on what happened a couple of hours ago," you say, ignoring his remark. "You can easily do this tomorrow, or later this week."

"It's fresh in my mind now. I don't want to forget any details."

You shrug in a motion that says 'fair enough'. "Or, you could actually go home before midnight for once."

You slide another file off the top of his pile and flip it open, reading over the notes Hotch has scribbled in the margins. He's so meticulous about his job that you almost forget he was promoted just a little over a year ago. He became unit chief at the same time that you joined the team, so you didn't get to see him in his early days, but looking at him now, you almost can't imagine it. It's like he's built for this, for taking responsibility and leading people with kindness and respect.

"Elle said something on the plane today," he says suddenly, jerking you from your thoughts.

You close the file and look up as he runs a hand over his head, pushing his thick hair back just for it to bounce forward again. "She said that she's scared she's going to look up and see that her life has passed her by while she was chasing monsters."

Something cold runs through your veins and you sit up straighter in your chair. "And what did you say?"

"I told her the truth."

You smile in an effort to keep your eyes from shining. "What, that we're all doomed?"

He looks at you candidly. "That this job will eat you up if you let it." Your smile falls and he continues. "You just can't let it."

"I'm sure Elle loved hearing that."

He shrugs. "She was surprisingly receptive."

That gets a laugh out of you, even if the good humor doesn't last long. "I don't know how you do it."

"Do what?"

"This job, while also being a husband, and a father." You sigh, and you can almost feel the weight of the air as it leaves your body. "When I go home, I don't have to be anything to anyone. Most of the time it feels awful, but sometimes, after an especially bad case, I'm almost relieved when I can go home and just check out."

You aren't talking about him anymore, and he can tell. He doesn't mind, if this is what it will take for you to work through your emotions.

"We were gonna start trying for a baby."

That surprises him. Not that you wanted to be a mother - he knows that - but that he didn't know you were already thinking about it, especially because of how you grew up. You don't talk about it often, but after losing your mother to a drunk driver when you were ten, you almost transformed into her, becoming the emotional support for your family when there was no one else to fill that role.

You press your lips into a thin line and take a deep breath, your coffee cold and forgotten on the desk in front of you. "We had been talking about it for years, but with the paths our careers were taking, there just wasn't enough time before then." Your eyes look far away, and you don't seem to notice that your lips have unconsciously curved up into a reminiscent smile. "Jeff wanted five kids. Five. God, can you imagine?"

He can, but he doesn't say anything, because he knows you aren't looking for a response. Just for someone to listen.

"I'm an only child," you say with a laugh. "I don't even know what it's like to have one sibling, let alone four." But Jeff had come from a huge family, and he had wanted you to experience that. He loved how full his home always felt growing up, never without someone to talk to. Now you won't ever get to experience that. "I guess I just wish sometimes that we had tried earlier."

"You'll have it someday," Hotch says simply, practically reading your mind. "If that's what you want, you'll have it."

"I waited so long," you whisper, closing your eyes for a long moment. "I was just so afraid that I wouldn't do it right, because I didn't have my mother anymore to help me."

"You would've been a great mother," he assures you, his voice confident. "One day, you will be."

Your breath comes out like a gasp and you clear your throat to keep the tears at bay. "How do you know?"

"I just know."

***

When you push through the doors to the bullpen the next morning, you are greeted by a familiar head of blonde hair.

"Sean?"

He turns around slowly, clearly recognizing your voice, and pulls his lips up into a smile that you return. "Hey, Y/N, how's it going?"

You weren't close to him as a kid, mostly because of the age gap between him and Hotch. You had tried to make more of an effort after graduating college, but Sean was fierce in his convictions, and there were a lot of things he didn't understand about his childhood that you certainly weren't going to explain to him now.

"Good, good," you say, leading him away from the throng of staring women. You shoot them a look that makes them disperse. "You here for your brother? He's upstairs."

He nods, glancing up at the closed office door. You start to lead him to the stairwell when he stops in his tracks and turns to you. "What mood's he in?"

"Why?" you ask, your brow furrowing. "You got bad news? Nothing I need to worry about, I hope."

Sean shakes his head, glancing up at the closed door again. "Nothing like that. I'll just go up."

You let him walk up on his own, knowing he doesn't want you getting involved in whatever he's thinking about. Before you have a moment to catch your breath, the three women return to your side.

"That's Hotch's brother?" Penelope asks, standing so close you can feel her breath on your ear.

"Maybe Hotch is adopted."

"What do you mean?" you ask, unconsciously glancing up the stairs. "They're honestly pretty similar." You're only half joking. They don't look anything alike, but that Hotchner brand of righteousness runs deep.

JJ frowns. "I don't see it."

"Yeah, he looks...like that," Penelope murmurs, before looking at you. "Did you know him when you were younger? Was he hot then too?"

You choke on your own spit. "He was nine years old when I left for college, so...no."

Her eyes widen and she lifts her hands in surrender.

"Ooh, here he comes."

You look up to see Sean storming down the stairs, Hotch hot on his heels.

"Sean, listen to me."

He turns so fast, you're afraid they're going to crash into each other. "Don't profile me, Aaron."

Sean stomps out of the bullpen while Hotch watches him leave, and you can't get the striking feeling of deja vu out of your head. Two boys, 15 years younger than they are now, standing in the same positions, with the same looks on their faces.

You imagine that you and Hotch probably act the same way around each other as when you first met, at eight years old.

The memory comes easily, even with more than two decades of time standing in the way. The little boy with dark hair who had sat next to you on the school bus, just because there were no other empty seats available that day.

You hadn't said anything for the first few stops, just watched him out of the corner of your eye as he nodded his head unconsciously to the music coming out of his large headphones. Eventually, curiosity got the better of you and you tapped on his shoulder. "What are you listening to?"

He had taken his headphones off quickly, as though caught in the act. "What?"

You repeated your question before leveling him with a pointed stare that meant 'there is a correct answer'. You were a feisty kid, and you weren't always the best at making first impressions, so his steady response impressed you. "Beatles. Revolver album."

"I love that one!" you had gushed, leaning in closer without a warning to press your ear to one of the speakers on his headphones. "Is this Yellow Submarine?"

He had nodded, the confusion in his eyes slowly transforming into delight. "You know their stuff?"

"Of course. My favorite's Eleanor Rigby."

He had frowned then. "That one's too sad."

You weren't surprised by his opinion. You had yet to find a boy your age who could appreciate serious music, but liking The Beatles was a start, at least.

"I'm Y/N," you had said, extending your hand like you were starting a business meeting.

He shook your hand furtively. "Aaron."

"Maybe I'll see you around."

The school bus had stopped at your street then, and you had gotten up without another word to this boy, who would one day become your best friend in the world.

Luckily, the next day, Aaron chose to sit next to you again, this time with a second pair of headphones to attach to his compact cassette deck. Two days turned to three, and before long, you had a new friend.

***

"I can't imagine what two weeks away from this place is gonna feel like," you sigh, packing some essentials into your bag and snapping it shut. "I might actually miss you guys."

"Not me," Morgan grins, before pressing a kiss to your cheek as he zips around you. "Two weeks of pure heaven with nothing but young, beautiful adults looking to make vacation memories."

"Your friend's resort better be as nice as you say it is," Elle says sternly as she wiggles her finger at Derek, who is busy inviting Reid to join their vacation.

"Thanks, but I'm going home," he says quickly, without looking at any of you. "Have a good one, guys."

"I'll head out too," you announce, grabbing your things and following him to the elevators. "Wait up, Spence."

He doesn't seem to hear you, but you slip through the doors just before they close. "You okay?"

"Huh?" he says, finally looking up. "Oh, yeah. I'm just not looking forward to the Nevada heat."

You can tell he's lying, but you don't want to press him right before the long break. "You can always call me if you need anything. Seriously."

"Yeah," he nods. "I know."

You wave goodbye to him in the parking lot, and you're back in the silence of your home by the end of the hour.

The rest of your day is spent lazing around the house, and you're asleep when you hear a knock at your door. After Jeff's death, you started keeping your gun in your nightstand, more out of a general sense of security than any specific acute fear, but its proximity during late night calls has given you the peace of mind you needed to finally sleep through the night.

Lifting it from the drawer, you hold it behind your back as you tiptoe to your front door and look through the peephole. When you don't see anyone, you carefully pull the door open, only to find a small packet sitting on your welcome mat with your name scrawled on the top.

After bringing it inside the house and locking the door again, you pry open the seal and extract a large piece of paper covered in a series of numbers and dots.

That's when the phone rings.

***

"How's it going?" you ask Reid and Morgan as you enter the conference room where all of the Fisher King's clues have been laid out. Neither of them have taken their eyes off the paper you brought in since you tacked it up on the board.

As expected, Reid doesn't look up. "The answer to what book we need has to be in here."

"Yeah," Derek sighs, glancing over at you, "but we sure as hell can't see it."

"Yet."

You look at the numbers again, hoping that your short walk to the coffee station and back would have been enough to unlock something new in your brain. Nothing. "The answer has to be based on specific details of each person's clue." A small sound turns your attention to the couch, where Elle is lying on her side. "Is Elle asleep?"

"I'm awake!" she starts, sitting up lethargically.

At the outburst, Hotch walks into the room and points at her bags. "I'm sending you home. You need to get some rest."

"No-"

"We won't do anything without you, I promise."

"Elle, seriously, we're not any closer than we were."

She nods, her lack of sleep seeming to dawn on her as she yawns again.

"Anderson," Hotch calls out, before you stop him. "What is it?"

"I can take her home," you suggest, looking over your shoulder as she lugs her bags down the hall with bleary eyes. He looks like he wants to protest, so you speak up before he has the chance. "She barely knows Anderson. I'll make sure she's settled, and then you can send him to watch her house, so I can come back here."

"I don't know if that's a good idea," he sighs, his eyes still trained on Elle's silhouette lingering by the elevator. "We may need you here."

You cock your head at Reid and Morgan, who have been sitting in the same positions for so long, you're surprised their necks haven't locked. "It's like they said. We haven't made any progress in over an hour. I'm not helping here."

He still looks unsure, but you know it's just worry. He'll always worry about you. "Okay, go. Call me in an hour to check-in."

You dip your head in a nod and jog through the bullpen to catch Elle as she's heading out.

"So you're my bodyguard, huh?"

You laugh, pressing the button for the ground floor. "Something like that."

"Good," Elle says, trying and failing to stifle a yawn, "you're much more fun than Anderson."

"Prettier, too."

The car ride to her house starts off silent, but eventually you break your internal promise to let her come to you. "How are you feeling after last night?"

She just shrugs. "It was more annoying than anything. I'm just glad I got to enjoy at least some of my vacation."

"I heard there was blood all over your room," you point out lightly, trying to broach the subject in a delicate manner. "That can't have been fun to wake up to."

"It was all on the outside. That's part of why they weren't able to hold me. That, and Hotch's lawyer chops."

You raise an eyebrow, glancing over at her as you pull over to the sidewalk. "His lawyer chops?" You know he used to be a prosecutor before joining the bureau, but you never got to see his skills in action.

"Yeah," Elle gushes, her face brightening considerably, "you should have seen the way he walked in there. Those beat cops had no idea what hit 'em. He was in full prosecutor mode, went all rainmaker on them until they released me."

You can imagine it. If any of you were in trouble, he wouldn't let anything get between him and your safety. "I wish I could've seen that."

When you put the car in park, you help Elle with her bags and walk her up to her door, where she insists that she'll be fine on her own.

"I promised I would wait with you until another agent could come and relieve me," you emphasize, instinctively scanning the vicinity around her home as she walks inside and drops her things on the floor.

"In about thirty seconds, I'll be passed out on this couch right here," she points at the window seat behind her, "so you'll just be watching me sleep for an hour."

You open your mouth to argue but she cuts you off. "Y/N, I'll be fine."

If there's one word to describe Elle, it's stubborn, so you let her shut the door behind her and you walk back to your car. Even if she won't let you sit with her inside, you still can't bring yourself to start the ignition, so you lean your seat back halfway and close your eyes, just for a few moments.

You haven't gotten much sleep either, and you're about to doze off when you hear a loud thud from outside the car. Jerking up, you undo the clasp of your holster and push open the car door. The world is silent, except for the rustling of leaves in the wind, but you start making your way up the drive, just to be sure. There's another thud, quieter this time, and you reach for your sidearm as you ascend her porch steps. Then comes a gunshot.

You start running.

[thirstydemisexual]

Blood path || Jason Todd x vampire!reader

Prologue

divider by: @sister-lucifer

PSA: the povs will switch from second to third person as convenient. also I'm writing this as I go so yeah the pacing between the parts hopefully will be coherent

warnings: 18+ content, mention of r4pe, blood, a p3do getting what the fuck he deserves, (and bad grammar)

I've made mistakes, Lord struck me down Caught in a landslide, lost underground I hear them gates, swing open loud Come close to midnight, hell fade me down - Used To The Darkness by Des Rocs

The night was young. As the last shades of orange had just dissipated in the sky, Gotham prepared itself as their usual over abundance of criminals took to the streets. Some of them tho, were busy browsing on the internet, unlucky them.

Phil, 38, child predator who escaped Arkham a couple weeks prior, sneaking away as the Bat and the other heroes took care of the bigger fishes, was browsing on the dark web, looking on his phone at his favorite source of inappropriate child videos with a fist down his pants.

The abandoned building in which he resided, which was once an apartment complex before a villain attack, was located in a rather well populated zone of Gotham. Only two streets down from The Wayne foundation preschool.

Unlucky for him, his connection wasn't the most secure. Even a high schooler with basic computer science knowledge would have been able to dox him.

The dumb fuck didn't even try locking the door, not like it had a functional lock to begin with. But non the less, she still wouldn't be stopped by a mere lock as that men's refuge wasn't his home, thus the threshold didn't bound her. She was able to sneak into the premises without as much as a sound.

She was hungry and her face was morphed into an inhuman shape.

He doesn't even have time to scream or fight as her fangs sinks in his neck, tearing his carotid artery. Long claws shredding up the skin on his forearms as he tries to reach to stop his attacker. He stops squirming in seconds as she feasts on his blood, draining him in mere moments.

After she's done she quickly leaves the building, ready to go home and wash her hands and mouth throughly as just the mere thought of having touched that individual, let alone feeding from him, in her post feeding shame(and because of than mans nature) made her regret her choice of feeding.

Although she would never regret ridding the world of scum like him.

It was a weirdly sunny day in Gotham, Jason Todd noticed as he turned off the engine of his motorcycle after parking in the Gotham University parking lot.

Last night patrol had took a tool on him, and he was more exhausted than normal. He threw his book bag on his shoulder before entering the building, toward his first class of the day.

Jason normally quite enjoyed his Modern Literature class, but today all he wanted to do was crush on his bed at his safe house and sleep away until patrol hour came.

He sat down in one of the last rows in the room and crossed his arms on the desk before laying his head down and closing his eyes, he couldn't wait for the day to be over.

"Slept bad?" a familiar voice came from his side. Jason lifted his head up, a little smile at the realization of who it was.

"You could say that" His eyes didn't leave you as you sat down next to him and started to get your stuff ready for class.

"You could have skipped class today Jay, you seem way too tired to be here"

"And miss the chance to have our daily banter, no way miss" he replied, smirk on his face. You couldn't help but roll your eyes.

"Seriously Jay, you can't keep coming to class looking like a zombie"

well technically I am a living dead so its not that out of character for me, thought Jason but didn't voice it out to her.

"I'll take a nap between classes alright? Come on, don't act like you wouldn't miss me if I were to go back home"

"You're incorrigible Todd"

"I don't hear you denying my claim" he kept smirking at you, you shushed him as the professor started class.

"Just rest your eyes, I'll give you my notes later" he chuckled a bit as he put his head down on the desk again,

"You'd be a light saver sweetheart"

If you could blush, the nickname would have done it. You tried to stay concentrated but your gaze would often stray onto Jason's figure, slumped over the deck, neck slightly exposed.

Looking so appetizing

You mentally slap yourself as you divert your eyes. That is Jason, one of your only friends NOT a charcuterie board.

You took a deep breath and tried to calm down. You didn't know why but even after feeding the thought and sight of Jason Todd just riled you up, hunger rising through your undead body and plaguing your mind.

Hopefully you'll keep being able to control yourself around him.

You have to

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[mammons-lover]

Obey Me! Burgers (this is based on bob's burgers)

Context: This all starts when Beelzebub devours an outrageous amount of food at a human-world restaurant—only to realize he conveniently forgot his wallet. Instead of paying up, the brothers are forced to work off the bill.

Lucifer (entering the kitchen with his usual stern expression): Alright, what’s the 'Demon Hunter Deluxe'?

Belphegor (casually leaning against the counter, smirking): It’s the burger of the day.

Lucifer (deadpan): No. It’s not.

Belphegor (shrugs): For a limited time...until you came upstairs.

Lucifer (pinching the bridge of his nose): Did someone actually order this?

Beelzebub (nervously scratching the back of his head): Uh… yeah.

Lucifer (raising an eyebrow): Who?

Beelzebub (gesturing toward the dining area): Him.

All heads turn to see a sketchy guy sitting at a corner table. He’s wearing a trench coat, fidgeting with a silver dagger, and looking around suspiciously.

Lucifer (frowning): Mmm… he looks like a demon hunter. Belphegor, don’t serve him. Let Beelzebub bring it.

Beelzebub (gaping): Why do I have to serve him?!

Lucifer: Because he’s not going to try anything with you.

Beelzebub (offended): Why not?!

Lucifer (sighing): Because you’re, uh… intimidating.

Beelzebub: Bigger demons can still get targeted! I’m very targetable!

Belphegor (snickering, squishing Beel's face): Yeah, who wouldn’t want to take this guy down?

Lucifer (glaring): That’s enough, Belphie... I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant Beel is older—

Beelzebub (cutting him off): By a couple of hours. If anything, Levi’s technically the oldest. Make him do it.

Lucifer: Leviathan’s not good with customers.

Leviathan (storming into the kitchen, overhearing): Excuse me?! I’m amazing with customers.

Belphegor (deadpan): Nooooo.

Lucifer (sighing): Not really.

Leviathan (sighing sadly): I’m great with the customers.

Beelzebub (innocently): He's autistic; he can’t help it.

Leviathan (grumbling): Yeah, I'm autistic; at least I'm trying.

Lucifer (sighing, rubbing his face): No, your not autistic Leviathan.

Belphegor (grinning mischievously): Alright, Levi, how many ketchup packets are on the counter?

Lucifer (groaning): Don’t start this.

Belphegor (ignoring him): C’mon, Levi, how many?

Leviathan (narrowing his eyes): A hundred.

Beelzebub: No.

Lucifer (shocked): A hundred? There are three!

Belphegor (cracking up, dumping an entire box of packets onto the counter): Alright, what about now?

Leviathan (confused): Three.

Lucifer, Belphegor, and Beelzebub (in unison): NO!

Belphegor (snickering): You’re the worst kind of autistic.

Beelzebub (laughing): You can't even count.

Leviathan (crossing his arms): Why are you guys so mean?!

Belphegor (calling into the hallway): Mammon! Get in here! You’ve gotta see this!

[heliads]

angel boy charles leclerc with a workplace romance?? maybe r’s new on the ferrari pr team or an engineer who he keeps flirting with but she’s kinda shy so she doesn’t rly flirt back and doesn’t know why he’d want her over everyone, but then he defends her against some shitty reporters who keep making jokes abt her and she realizes oh he actually does like me and SHE asks HIM out?? obvs it’s cool if you don’t wanna write this but either way i think you’re really cool and i hope you’re day’s goin great!

'here's what i know' - charles leclerc

masterlist

It’s time for the one part of the week that Formula One teams across the grid detest most of all. No, it’s not qualifying, and not even the threat of a bad race day that can crush championship dreams for good. Today is Thursday, media day, which means that twenty drivers and many more members of staff are about to be hounded for hours until they break down and spill something they shouldn’t.

Since you’re not a driver, you had always hoped that you’d be able to get out of these sorts of things without too much difficulty. No one pays much attention to the engineers anyway– outside of Adrian Newey and the like, the guys behind the scenes tend to be ignored in favor of the ones in the cars, although you don’t know many engineers or strategists that have a problem with that.

No, the baying mass of reporters known affectionately to the paddock as Sky Sports and their affiliates are more of a difficulty than a blessing. Each and every race week, drivers and team principals alike are briefed by their PR officers on how to dodge bad questions and only stick to their strengths. For one of the first years in your career, though, you now have to deal with the same thing, and that is due to your recent promotion.

You’ve been a race engineer for a couple of years now, and you’ve loved every minute of it. Every STEM-inclined student with a hankering for racing dreams of working for Formula One, but you actually managed to turn those fantasies into a reality when you signed your first contract with the Scuderia Ferrari racing team. It wasn’t a showy job, of course, closer to tightening screws and redoing paint jobs than anything specific, but over time, you’ve managed to show your worth and quickly rise through the ranks.

As of this season, though, you’ll be out on the pitwall as Ferrari’s chief strategists instead of tucked away somewhere in the garage. It was a risky move when you decided to throw your hat into the strategy ring instead of sticking with the more technical aspects of race engineering, but you’ve had a knack for it ever since you first turned up in the paddock, and the higher-ups at Ferrari have noticed that. This promotion has been a long time coming, so they say.

Regardless, it’s still a bit stressful to be the face of Ferrari’s strategy decisions, especially given the fact that the Scuderia has struggled a bit in that department over the past few seasons. The Tifosi were definitely hesitant to show their support of the change in leadership, but after your critical advice led to some excellent showings in the first few rounds, you won them over in a landslide. No more terrible back-to-back stops, no more team orders mixups, you’ve proven your effectiveness in the strategy seat and everyone is glad to see it.

Well, almost everyone. The reporters are still as fixated as ever on getting a good story, and for some reason a couple have decided that the best headlines are centered around creating drama regarding your new job assignment. It feels like every week they’re running stories about how the Ferrari team principal wishes you weren’t there, or how Charles and Carlos are shaking their heads over each and every one of your bad calls.

This, of course, isn’t the case. Ferrari couldn’t be happier with your decisions since they’ve propelled the team up in the championship standings, and you get along quite well with the drivers. Charles especially has taken it upon himself to reassure you countless times that the rumors couldn’t be less true. Some of the reporters have a way of twisting their words from compliments into insults, but he wants to ensure that you never believe them.

Charles has been one of the greatest parts of your climb to head of strategy at Ferrari, actually. You met him when you were the lowliest of engineers, and for some reason, he’s stayed a friend of yours ever since that very first day. Truthfully, you hadn’t expected him to so much as remember your name– there are infinitely many engineers and strategists and PR workers at Ferrari, after all, and Charles is introduced to dozens of new celebrities at every race– but the very next time he saw you, he’d smiled and greeted you by name as if you were an old friend.

It had made your day. Same with the next time he’d done it. Although you may not entirely understand it, Charles Leclerc is committed to liking you, and he doesn’t seem inclined to stop any time soon. Nor are you inclined to stop him yourself– Charles is a fantastic person to be around. He’s never let his fame get to his head, and if you were to talk to him, you’d swear he was just a friend from uni or a next door neighbor or something, certainly not a world class driver. Charles doesn’t talk to you like he’s a Formula One driver and you’re a strategist. He speaks with you like he’s Charles and you’re Y/N and he couldn’t want anything more than to hear you laugh when he tells a joke.

Armed with this knowledge, you feel that you could take on any reporter, their tendency to warp simple statements into crazy arguments be damned. What’s more, you have an excellent friend in Hannah Schmitz, Principal Strategy Engineer over at Red Bull Racing. Although the two of you may technically be on rival teams, that hasn’t stopped you from becoming close friends. Hannah is one of the only people in the world capable of understanding exactly how you feel regarding work, as she’s in almost the same position as you, albeit on Red Bull instead of Ferrari. She’s older than you by a good couple of years, but that hasn’t stopped you two from quickly growing close.

For Thursday’s media frenzy, Hannah meets up with you close to the gate so you can walk in together. The Ferrari and Red Bull motorhomes are close by, and it’s nice to have a friend while you brave the storm of reporters waiting for you just inside the paddock.

The first round of them draws near. Hannah grins at your obviously forced smile. “Stay alert. They’re coming.”

“I’ll do my best,” you whisper back, and she hides a laugh.

You don’t have much time for inside jokes after that; a dozen phones and recording devices are flung in front of you, and you’re immediately greeted with several overlapping questions. You answer in quick syllables, all the while careful to keep your tone light so no one accuses you of being unnecessarily terse. You feel confident that you didn’t say anything to dull your team’s image, but you still can’t help a sigh of relief when you bid Hannah goodbye at the door of the Ferrari motorhome.

Upon entering the Ferrari center, you immediately spy Charles at one of the tables near the door. He glances up when he sees you enter, and flashes you a kind smile. “You look stressed. Don’t tell me Sky Sports has gotten to you already?”

You laugh. “They were waiting for me when I arrived. Man, I miss when they had no idea who I was.”

Charles chuckles. “I don’t. You’re more interesting to see on my screen than some of the other drivers.”

You scoff. “I don’t believe that for a second.”

Charles’ eyes widen meaningfully. “It’s true! You actually have things to say. The rest of us can only talk about how we plan on winning. Everyone says that.”

You walk over to his table, leaning your hands against the open chair. “If you paid attention during strategy meetings, you’d have something to say to them, too.”

Charles rolls his eyes, but grins sheepishly nonetheless. “How about you fill me in now, then? Come on, have a seat. I’m sure my PR officer would appreciate it if I didn’t go out there sounding like a total idiot.”

You shake your head on instinct. “You’re relaxing. I don’t want to take up your time.”

“I mean it,” Charles insists. “Sit down. I even have extra coffee.”

“That’s certainly a nice coincidence,” you say with a raised brow, but take the seat he offers you.

Charles smiles satisfiedly when you join him. “Yes,” he murmurs, “A coincidence.”

You end up passing more time than you expect at Charles’ table, just the two of you and the coffees cooling in your mugs. At first, you do talk about strategy, but over time Charles starts coaxing more details out of you, like what you’ve done since the past week and if you’ve got any plans for the upcoming weekend. He sounds genuinely interested in what you have to say, and it’s easy to forget that he isn’t just your coworker but a real, true friend.

You glance down at the table when the intensity of his earnest stare becomes a little too much for you. You know how the other strategists talk and tease you about your friendship with Charles, even if it is just that, a friendship. Yes, he may bring you coffee all the time, and eagerly stay back after strategy meetings so he can walk you out to your car, but he’s just doing that to be nice. It doesn’t mean anything. You cannot allow yourself the hope of thinking that it might mean anything.

After all, despite the denials you’ll give the other strategists and even Hannah when she has the occasion to join in the teasing, you wouldn’t mind it if Charles ever acted on his flirtations. The only problem is that you have made a career out of being realistic and reasonable, and you know that this is one perfect victory that just won’t be yours. Charles is gorgeous. He goes after gorgeous girls, stunning supermodels, and amazing actresses. You are lovely in your own right, but you aren’t the kind of person that a Formula One driver would ever date. It is important to keep your heart from being crushed, even if denying this hurts you more than Charles’ rejection ever could.

That little coffee chat ends soon enough, much like every other quick lunch and early morning talk you’ve shared with him. Charles goes off to his garage, and you head out to your office to prepare some talking points for meetings later that day. The drivers will be escorted to media day press conferences, and you probably won’t run into Charles again until later into the afternoon.

You realize about halfway through the day’s work that you haven’t gotten up once since you arrived. In need of a brain break and a chance to stretch your legs, you decide to go for a quick circuit around the paddock before coming back inside again to carry on. The sun is warm on your face when you dare to duck outside, and it feels good to walk around for a little while.

Unconsciously, your legs carry you towards the building where the press conferences are being held. Not wanting to intrude, you decide to head back towards the center of the paddock. While you’re in the middle of making this decision, though, you notice Charles emerging from the building. You switch directions to aim towards him instead; you can joke about the nightmare that is a Formula One press conference, and you know Charles will be glad to let off some steam by complaining.

As you’re walking over, you notice a few reporters coming out of the building as well and groan internally. These couple of men in particular have been nothing but thorns in your side since you accepted your promotion. When the news first broke, they wrote a couple of articles apiece about how you were going to run Ferrari into the ground. When that proved false, they switched tactics and decided to use their journalism skills to disparage you whenever they got the chance. Numerous drivers and reporters alike have called them out for targeting you, but they haven’t stopped yet, which is frustrating.

Charles notices the reporters at the same time as you, you can see his head turn as he tracks their progress. You’re close enough now that you can hear what they’re saying, but it isn’t good. They never get tired of repeating the same bullshit about how you can’t make a smart call to save your life. One of them laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. That’s what you get for putting a girl in charge.

Hot anger boils through your stomach, but you force it down. They haven’t seen you yet, and you’d like to keep it that way. Challenging them on this will only provide them with more ammunition.

Charles, however, doesn’t seem to see it that way. He stops directly in front of the two reporters, arms folded coldly across his chest. “What did you say about Y/N?”

The reporter who’d just spoken eyes him confusedly. “Nothing, man. Don’t worry about it.”

“I will if you’re insulting her,” Charles fires back. “Don’t talk about her like that. Y/N is a welcome part of Ferrari and her strategy decisions have won us races, as you well know. I don’t know what you get out of taking her down but it’s stupid of you to carry on like that.”

The reporter blanches, leaning back as if Charles has struck him. “Calm down, man. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Charles’ glare doesn’t lighten for a second. “Then stop talking badly about her. It just makes you look like an asshole who doesn’t know what he’s talking about. That’s what you are, of course, but maybe you want your reputation to be better.”

You clap a hand to your mouth to stop from letting out a surprised laugh. He’s totally caught them off guard, and it’s fantastic to see. More fantastic than that, you realize slowly, is that Charles is doing this purely to defend your honor. There are no cameras around. No one is recording him. Charles could have just ignored it, but he chose to go out of his way to defend you because that matters the most to him. Because he would never be able to live with himself if he didn’t spend his every waking hour making sure you got the respect you were owed.

Charles doesn’t have to do this, but he wants to. There is a reason for this, a reason that, at last, you know. You’ve been denying it to yourself for the longest time, but the proof of his affections is right before your eyes.

You spin away before he can notice your presence, giddy with the knowledge that, of all the people in the world, Charles Leclerc wants you. You. Y/N L/N. His chief strategist.

You nearly run into Hannah when you pass by the Red Bull motorhome. She’s just emerging, and looks at you confusedly. “Is everything alright?”

“Hannah,” you say, grasping vaguely at your friend’s arm to steady yourself. “Hannah, I’m having an epiphany.”

She eyes you dubiously. “What now? You want to change your tire strategy for Sunday?”

“No,” you say, voice weak, “I realized– I think Charles likes me, Hannah. I think he likes me a lot.”

She stares at you. “Are you just now coming to this conclusion?”

You turn to her in surprise. “You knew?”

Hannah throws her hands in the air. “Y/N, we all knew. It was extremely obvious.”

You feel heat rise to your cheeks. “Oh. I didn’t know.”

“That was also obvious,” Hannah comments. “Now, come on. You’re one of the most action-oriented people I know. What are you going to do about this?”

You turn towards the Ferrari motorhome. “I’m going to talk to him.”

“Great start,” Hannah says, clapping you on the shoulder. “Tell me how it goes. Tell me everything.”

You grin at her before you leave. “I won’t leave out a single moment.”

Charles has just made it back to the Ferrari center when you arrive. He beams up at you when you walk through the door, as if he hasn’t just heard some assholes insulting you and decided that every moment not spent defending you is a moment wasted.

“Charles,” you breathe. “Can I talk to you?”

He arches a brow, still wearing that same lopsided smile. “We’re talking now, aren’t we?”

“Yeah,” you laugh him off. “What if we talked later, too? Like, over dinner or something?”

His eyes go wide. “What? Do you– what do you mean?”

“Charles,” you repeat. He goes silent, like just the sound of his name from your lips is enough to compel him to you forever. “I’m asking you on a date. Will you say yes?”

“Yes,” he tells you. “Yes. What– I didn’t know you felt like that– do you really? This isn’t a joke, is it? We’re not going just as friends?”

“I think I should be asking you that,” you laugh. “No, Charles. I want to go on a date with you.”

“Well,” he says, smiling, “I think I can arrange that. Only if you promise there will be more than just one.”

“I promise,” you tell him.

How could you not? Charles is the one you want, the one you have been wanting since you first fell for the spark in his dark eyes and the light of his laughter. He is the one you will continue to want months and years from now, after countless dates and many gifted flowers and a lot of moments spent together, always together. It starts now.

f1 tag list: @j-brielmalfoy, @juphey

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[slut4thebroken]

Trapped

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Pairing | Robert Capa x reader

Summary | You ask Capa for his help, then get stuck in a a room barely big enough for the two of you. After only a few minutes of forced proximity, he snaps.

Warnings | NON CON sexual content, 18+, smut, dubcon but technically noncon tbh, forced proximity, vaginal sex, painful sex, forced breeding, crying, idk what else lol.

Words | 1k+

Notes | Don’t ask for specifics on the beginning… I kept it vague for a reason💀 Also I lowkey can’t tell if this is cringy cause I wrote and published it in one day which I never do so I’ll probably come back to it😭 but anyway I hope y’all enjoy

Ao3 link | <3

Masterlist

“Yeah I know, but everyone else is busy.”

“I’m busy.” He retorted. 

“With what exactly?” You waited and he huffed, rolling his eyes, making you smirk. “It’ll be quick.”

“Fine.” You led him through the long hallways before finally stopping outside of a door. You used your key to open it, then stepped inside, and he waited impatiently for what you wanted to show him. 

“I just need you to double check this for me. Better safe than sorry, you know?” He mumbled out an agreement, then stepped closer, trying to see. When he still couldn’t quite make it out, he stepped forward even more and your stomach dropped as the light quickly left the room, followed by the door clicking shut. 

“Fuck! Capa— this door locks!” You all but yelled, panic filling your chest. 

“What?” 

“We’re trapped, you fucking idiot,”

“Hey, this is not my fault. You could’ve told me.” You could hear the handle violently jiggling as he tried to open it, despite what you just said. With the door now closed, you couldn’t even turn around to face him because of how small the space was. “Who else did you ask to help you before me?” 

“Not enough people for them to realize we're missing anytime soon.” He cursed under his breath and you let out a heavy sigh. There wasn’t a light in this ‘room’ so he couldn’t even look at what you originally came down here for, which just made all of this worse. 

You shifted your weight, trying not to think about how long you might have to stand here without being able to move. Even though you were praying someone would come, you knew deep down that it would take a couple hours at least. You heard him try the handle again before letting out a heavy breath. You were silent, trying to think of something to say or if you should even say anything at all. When his breathing picked up, you paused, listening for a few more seconds just to be sure. 

“I hope you’re not claustrophobic.” You said, mostly teasingly. 

“That’s not the problem right now.” He muttered, making your brows furrow in confusion. He cursed under his breath and you waited for him to elaborate on what the problem was. Instead, his hands just barely brushed your hips, making you stiffen. When he grabbed them lightly, your breath caught in your throat. 

“What are you doing?” You couldn’t hide the slight quaver in your voice. He ignored you and started rubbing up and down your sides. “Stop it.” You warned, trying to bat his hands away, but barely being able to in the small space. You suddenly felt his breath on your shoulder and he dragged his nose up your neck, inhaling deeply. 

“Capa?” You whispered, stomach knotting with fear. He let out a low groan and suddenly gripped your hips, hard enough to make you wince, to keep you from moving. 

“I’m sorry.” He muttered. Before you could ask what that meant, he was shoving your pants and underwear down, making you yelp and try to pull them back up. His were next, pushing the clothing down just enough to free his cock. 

“Wait,” You tried thrashing, but he pushed you forward against the wall and grabbed your hips again to limit your movement. “Capa, stop!” You felt his cock brush your hole and you stiffened. He moved one hand to line up his cock and the other to cover your mouth. 

He applied some pressure, but wasn’t able to push in, so he used more force until he finally breached your hole. You let out a hoarse scream behind his hand, feeling your eyes burn with tears. That was nothing compared to the burning between your legs though. 

“Fuck— I’m sorry. I just need this…” He said through a breath, only staying still for a moment before starting a brutal pace, making your tears fall. He rutted into you and the hand not on your mouth wrapped around your stomach, holding you still. You clawed at both of his hands and arms, trying to get him to release you. Instead, he just groaned at the pain and fucked you harder. 

“I know… I’m sorry.” He said, as if that could make up for anything. You sobbed violently behind his hand and that only seemed to encourage him, making him fuck you even rougher. “Fuck you’re so tight.” He whispered, hot breath fanning your ear. “You feel so fucking good… god— it’s been so long.” 

He humped into you desperately, chasing his own pleasure and ignoring your muffled cries. Even though your body was starting to adjust to make this easier, it still hurt like hell and you already knew you weren’t going to be able to sit comfortably for at least a day or two. He groaned and cursed against your ear as he tightened his grip, fucking you more frenzied now. 

“Oh fuck— I’m already close… I have to fill you.” He said lowly. You let out the loudest scream so far. “I know, I’m sorry, I just need it so fucking bad. I need to come in a tight, hot pussy, I can’t take it anymore.” He whined, holding you tighter. You let out a stifled sob and shook your head.  

“I’m sorry,” He moaned, thrusts becoming more forceful and desperate, “I can’t stop— I can’t pull out, I’m so sorry.” You tried to scream protests at him from behind his hand but nothing you said was coherent. 

He moaned out one last apology before his hips snapped forward, burying his cock deep enough to make your cervix ache. He humped into you as he rode it out, groaning against your ear and squeezing your body tight enough to almost hurt. You felt his cock twitching as warmth filled you, making you let out a strangled whimper. The hand on your mouth dropped so that his arm wrapped around your chest instead, still holding you against his body as you cried silently. 

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, one last time. 

Taglist (join here)

@pedrisgatorade @lunyyx @cillianscrybaby @vivvive @ceruleanrainblues

[hornyfor-redacted-onmain]

Bamboozled

Pieces of My Heart - Chapter 15 Stray Kids OT8 x reader, Soulmate AU

Masterlist | Next Part

The next morning was spent doing errands. You woke up to a few good morning texts that made you smile, and you let them know you were heading out to the store down the street. The street was slightly busy as it was early morning on a weekday, but it wasn’t crowded.

You managed to make it through the store with little to no issues, only slightly panicked when you messed up while thanking the cashier, but thankfully she brushed off the error and wished you a nice day.

Soulmates

Y/N Guess who only slightly embarrassed themselves at the grocery store ^^ Img.png Felix Oh no, what happened? Y/N Tried to say thank you. Accidentally said you’re welcome. Felix ∠ ( ´• ０ •`) 〴 Han Damn, that’s so embarrassing For you For me it’s hilarious Y/N ( ⇀ ╭╮↼ ) Chan Glad you’re back safe Sorry to hear about your embarrassing moment Minho Poor Jagiya RIP your dignity Funeral will be held at 8pm           Y/N ( ง •` ⎽ ´• ) ง

You got back to your apartment and began putting things away only an hour after leaving, which left you with plenty of time to sort out all the things you had planned for the day, starting with your assignments for the week.

You received a text as you began to set up your computer and pull out the books you had bought only a week before you got onto the plane, but you forget about them for a few seconds and it isn’t until you get 6 consecutive notifications that you finally pull out your phone.

Changbin Hey, do you mind doing me a favor? Y/N Hmmm, depends on the favor

The other texts you received were a couple photos and selfies sent by Jeongin, and you smiled as you looked through a few of them. Most of them were obviously taken without the members’ knowledge, and you shamelessly saved a few of them and used your favorite selfie as your phone wallpaper.

Changbin Channie-hyung made plans to work later tonight, despite my best efforts to convince him to take a day off. You mind giving it a shot? Y/N What makes you think he’d listen to me? Changbin I figured you could persuade him more effectively. Y/N Hmmm. I might have some ideas in mind. Changbin Oh? Thought about it before, huh? Y/N NOT LIKE THAT! Get your mind out of the gutter! Changbin Kkkkk As long as it gets him to bed before midnight, I don’t care what you do. Y/N ( ￣ ^ ￣ ) ゞ

You then decided to thank Jeongin for the pictures by making yourself a breakfast full of his favorite foods, settling down at your desk while you ate to go through your email before you got started on your homework. You set a timer for 2 hours, working through as much work as you could with a few breaks in between, and pretty soon your alarm went off.

Double checking it was around lunchtime, you sent a quick message.

Y/N Are you busy right now? Chan Hmm, having a quick lunch with the boys. Why? Is everything okay? Y/N Can I call? Want to hear your voice.

Instead of a reply, you received a call from him, which you received with a smile.

“Well, someone was quite eager,” You teased.

“What can I say. I missed you too.”

“You saw me yesterday.”

“Hmm, but that was over 24 hours ago. It’s a long time to be away from my girlfriend.”

You let out a laugh. “Girlfriend? Awfully sure of yourself considering you haven’t actually asked me yet.”

“I haven’t. But a little birdie told me Seungmin already asked for us.”

“Oh?” You began to pace your room. “Doesn’t that technically mean only Seungmin’s my boyfriend?”

“Haven’t you realized sweetheart? We’re a package deal.”

That made you pause, and you were suddenly grateful that this conversation was taking place over the phone and not in person, because it allowed you to ignore your suddenly hot cheeks and act as if you were as confident as you wished you could be.

“Well, in that case, I think I deserve a nice night in with my lovely boyfriend. What do you say, want to hang out tonight?”

There was a pause on his end, and you could just about make out the distant chatter from the other boys. “I don’t know. I had some ideas I wanted to flesh out while they were still fresh …”

“Shoot. Are you sure I can’t convince you to change your mind? I was really looking forward to getting to spend some time with you.” You dropped your voice down to a seductive tone. “I promise I’ll make it worth your time.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I have some ideas in mind.”

“What kind of ideas?”

“Good food, good company, and a good night’s sleep. What more could you possible want?”

“That sounds like heaven,” He said with a smile in his voice. “I’ll agree on one condition.”

“Hmm?”

“Tell me which one of the boys put you up to this.”

You snickered. “Please don’t kill my boyfriends, babe. I prefer to have them around just a little longer.”

“Oh no, I mean to thank them. I was planning on spending the night with you anyways, as an apology for missing dinner last night, but I figured I could get a better deal if I convinced the others that I was going to work tonight-“ He trailed off.

Your mouth dropped open in shock. “You planned this!?”

“I planned on someone snitching on me.” His own voice suddenly dropped, and you felt shivers roll down your spine. “Getting to hear you practically begging for me? Oh honey, that was just the cherry on top.”

“You little shit,” You snapped back breathlessly.

Chan let out a chuckle. “I’ll see you tonight sweetheart.”

“My place or yours?” You wondered, twirling around on your spot with a smile.

“My place. If I have you all alone, I won’t be able to keep my hands to myself.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” You teased. “But your place it is. See you later, alligator.”

“In a while, crocodile.”

-0-0-

Y/N You’re too predictable And apparently, so am I :( Changbin ??

-0-0-

Using the key you had been given just the day before, you made your way into an uneasily quiet apartment. It felt wrong to be there by yourself, but you had a plan for a perfect evening, and part of that part was making sure that you had a nice warm meal waiting for your boys when they got back home.

You were planning on something simple, but also something you were sure everyone would like. You didn’t know if everyone would come around for dinner or if it would just be the 4 who lived there, so you made enough for 9 people and figured if there were leftovers they could always eat tomorrow.

And your timing was nearly spot on, because just as you lowered the heat to leave the food warm, you heard the front door click open. There was a soft chatter and a surprised hum from behind you, and you turned around with a smile.

“Dinner’s ready if you guys are hungry,” you said, and Jisung waddled over to you with a tired smile.

“Hi baby,” he said, wrapping his arms around you.

“Miss me?” You teased.

“Always.” He hooked his chin onto your shoulder, and you felt an arm reach out to pull the lid off the pan on the stove. “Ooh, whats this?”

“Chicken parm. You hungry?”

“Ahhh, you made food!?” Changbin’s loud yell made you jump, and you peeked around Jisung to wave at the other three who were piling into the kitchen.

“It’s ready, if you guys want to eat.”

You received a loud overlapping rumble of confirmation from 3 of the boys, and Chan gave you a knowing look when you winced at the sudden pitch in noise. He mouthed what you assumed was ‘thank you’, but you had to quickly look away to keep Hyunjin from dropping the plates he had been trying to grab despite you and Jisung standing in his way.

Jisung whined when you pulled away, and it was only with a promise to sit next to him that you managed to wrangle them all to the table.

The rest of the meal was surprisingly silent as the boys ate. You could tell they were tired, and you were thankful that Chan wasn’t going to actually be working late that night because he looked like he needed a good night’s sleep more than anyone.

“I’ll clean up,” You reassured the others when they finished. “You guys go get ready for bed.”

“Are you staying?!” Hyunjin piped up, giving you a pleading look.

“Sorry Hyunnie, I called dibs,” Chan said, patting the young dancer on the shoulder.

Changbin gave you a sour look and you laughed, knowing that he had undoubtedly asked Chan about your cryptic text and realized you had both been bamboozled.

Jisung let out a yell. “No fair! Why do you get to spend the night with them?”

“Yeah! What if I get lonely tonight?”

“Ah, Hyunjinnie! You can stay with me if you want!” Changbin chimed in.

Hyunjin made a face, leaning away from Changbin who was now making kissy faces, and shooting you a pleading look. You grabbed his plate and escaped into the kitchen, the sound of chairs scratching along the floor and pounding footsteps echoing down the halls.

“Everyday,” Chan sighed, joining you at the sink and placing his plate on the counter.

You glanced at him, smile tugging at your lips. “You poor boy. You look like you need a break.”

“Hmm, good thing I have a perfect escape,” He whispered, wrapping his arms around your waist.

The heat from his body soaked through your shirt and you leaned back, pausing in your dish washing to appreciate the feeling of content you experienced being in his arms, and you knew he felt it too when he slumped against you as his muscles relaxed. He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, grip tightening for a split second before he pulled away.

“Move over,” He said, bumping you with his hip. “Let me help.”

“You don’t have to,” You reassured him. “I know you’re tired.”

“The quicker we finish this, the quicker I get to have you in my bed.”

You flushed at the subtle innuendo he dropped on you, and if it wasn’t for the giggle that escaped him when he realized it too, you would have thought it was on purpose. You bumped him back and the two of you made quick work of the dishes.

-0-0-

Something nudged your shoulder, and you jolted awake with a sudden inhale of air. There was a blurry smudge of a person leaning over you, and your heart was beating loudly in your ears until your eyes adjusted to the dark and you realized that the smudge was Jisung, frozen with his eyes wide at having been caught. You let out the breath you had been holding.

“Sungie,” You groaned, and Chan shifted from behind you. “Seriously?”

“I was hoping you wouldn’t notice until tomorrow.”

You closed your eyes, lifting up the blanket in a silent invitation, and Jisung took the win with grace as he slid under the covers. Chan huffed out a laugh in realization, warm air hitting the back of your neck. Jisung pressed his back against your front, and you wrapped your arms around him, the warmth from both sides slowly pulling you back to sleep.

[whereianonymouslypostfics]

Mile High Club

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x reader

Word count: ~1.6k

Summary: You and Wanda go on vacation

A/N: ✈️

Warnings: Fluff, slight angst

“What are you reading?”

Your wife turns to you with a curious look as she shifts to get more comfortable next to you. She’d been gazing out the window and you had to admit it was a pretty sight. The sun was starting to set and it looked beautiful over the horizon of clouds that floated closer to you than you’d ever be again. The two of you were taking a trip to Europe to visit the villa Wanda had recently purchased in Southern Italy. Technically she and her brother had bought it together one night when they’d had too much to drink, but she wasn’t going to tell you that.

You’re smiling as you turn your tablet toward your wife who still couldn’t tell what you’re reading, but you fill her in.

“It’s that supernatural thriller I was telling you about? Spirits help solve a murder, that sort of thing.”

Wanda hums at this as she leans closer to you with a sigh. She knows they have at least four hours until they’re in Italy, but she’s getting restless. She stifles a yawn as she looks around the room from where the two of you lounge on the bed. There’s still a lot of food on the dresser for you to snack on before dinner, but Wanda would rather stay in bed with you for a while. She’s tired from work as usual, but this last month had been killer. Literally. She’d had to deal with a rival attempting to take her out. She’d tried to kill her at least three times, and the last close call had landed her in medical for a few days. You’d insisted that she take a break from work to recover fully and just to get away, and she hadn’t argued.

“I’m so glad to be getting away with you.”

Wanda says this as she snuggles up next to you, and you smile before putting your tablet down with a sigh. You’d been relieved when Wanda agreed to take a trip because the last few weeks had been very stressful for you. You’d been distracted at work because the idea of your wife facing assassination attempts didn't sit well with you. You were worried and after each one of them you plotted how you could get your wife to hide until her competitor could be killed. You should have known that Wanda would insist on dealing with it herself, but now that balance was restored you were dragging your wife to Italy kicking and screaming if you had to.

Luckily, she was glad to be leaving, and you barely had to convince her to let Steve and Bucky stay back and handle the aftermath of this past month. You were going to enjoy the next couple of weeks and relax if it killed you.

“Me too. You are very overdue for a break, my love.”

Your hand absentmindedly travels to the barely healed wound that’s hidden beneath Wanda’s shirt. You try not to dwell on that night. You don’t want to think about the events that unraveled after that dreaded phone call. You didn't want to think about the time you’d spent in medical camped out beside Wanda’s bed as you waited for her to wake up from her most recent assassination attempt. You’d gone through the entire spectrum of emotions when you’d seen her passed out and bloodied in that damn bed.

You don’t realize that your mind had drifted precisely where you hadn’t wanted it to go until you feel Wanda’s fingers against your cheek. She brushes your hair out of your face with a look of understanding and regret. She always hated to put you through any sort of distress, and she’d only felt extraordinarily guilty when she’d finally woken up only to find you passed out beside her. She had decided then and there that she would do whatever you asked of her. Luckily it had just been a request for a vacation.

When Wanda leans in to kiss you, your mind is cleared of the unpleasant memories and replaced by the here and now. You focus on how your wife tastes like the expensive wine that you could honestly drink like water. How her fingers tug at your shirt as she leans back against the bed, and pulls you on top of her. You find it easy to get lost in the feeling of your wife beneath you. You follow her direction and press your lips against her neck after throwing her shirt somewhere behind you. Wanda would usually say something about this, but she’s too busy removing your shirt and leaving you bare to bother.

You’re too distracted by the view to hear what Wanda says, but you realize later that it was something complimentary that would have made you blush. You can’t count how many times you’ve gotten to see your wife like this, but you are certain that you’ll never grow tired of it. You certainly hope you’ll never grow complacent either.

“You’re so beautiful.”

You barely registered the responding smile before Wanda rolls you over onto your back. You feel your breath catch, but you can’t say for certain if it’s from the impact or the sight of your wife hovering over you. The disappearing sun streams in from the window just enough to bathe the lower half of Wanda’s face in a cool golden glow. You see her lips part and you can’t stop yourself from shivering at the feeling of her fingers trailing down your skin.

The herculean effort it takes to frown ends up being worth it when your wife responds with a smile so bright, you’re momentarily dazed.

“This was supposed to be about you.”

Wanda’s not sure where you got this idea, but she shakes her head as she sighs contently. She loves having you underneath her and she doesn’t plan on changing this any time soon. She hums under her breath as she waits for you to settle. When you release a sigh of defeat Wanda can’t help but smile triumphantly.

“I don’t remember agreeing to that.”

You want to roll your eyes, but there really isn’t any point. When your wife wants something, she’s going to do what it takes to get it. Short of you out-right refusing her, you have a feeling she’s going to get her way as usual. In this case, you’re not sure you can pretend to be bothered by this. Even if you did want to go first.

The sun’s long gone and the moonless sky keeps the room comfortably dark by the time you and Wanda settle in for the last hour of your flight. You’re sure you’ll have to hunt for your tablet later, having heard it hit the ground a while ago, but you can’t be bothered to care at the moment. You’re too comfortable near sleep with Wanda held close to you as she naps on and off.

You’d originally said that you would try to get on Europe time during the flight, but you figure you'll have plenty of time to work that out once you get there. You’re pulled from your thoughts when you hear Wanda mutter something under her breath. You miss it because you’d been thinking about Gelato and pasta, but you quickly tune back in with a confused look.

“What was that?”

Wanda smiles at you as if she knows exactly where your mind had gone, but she doesn’t comment on it right now. She turns slightly so she’s facing you and drops a hand on your waist.

“I’ve never done that before.”

You hold back your urge to tell her that she most certainly has, and instead you take a moment to read between the lines. You look around the dark room once again before you decide to ask what your wife means. She merely smiles before confirming your suspicion that she’s never had sex on a plane before. You offer her a serious nod before leaning down to kiss her cheek.

“Well allow me to welcome you to the club babe. It’s great to have you here.”

Wanda’s laugh makes your smile widen and you just wait patiently as she turns completely so she’s face to face with you. She shoots you a curious look that clues you in to what she’s going to ask before she even opens her mouth.

“You��re a member already, are you?”

You can’t help but laugh in response because the mere idea of you having the chance, or desire to do this before Wanda seems incomprehensible. Wanda watches you closely as she waits for you to explain.

“Yes actually. As of an hour ago at least.”

Wanda rolls her eyes and shakes her head before mumbling something against your chest. You don’t catch what she says, but you’re not too worried about it right now. You feel your muscles start to ache in a way that makes you realize you should really take a nap. You don’t want to be exhausted when you arrive because you and Wanda are going to hit the ground running. You’d made a comment about going to the store and then immediately disappearing into the villa for the unforeseeable future.

You lie down so you’re resting on a pillow, but you keep your arms around your wife who still has her head ducked down against you. You sigh heavily as you close your eyes and will yourself to sleep. When you wake up, hopefully you and Wanda will be one step closer to your much-needed relaxation.

Masterlist

[eponymous-rose]

Monday!

It's been a while since I've done one of these week-in-the-life posts (and I LOVE reading them from others), and it's a particularly stressful week where I'm trying to stay off social media for Reasons, so hey, let's do this again!

It's a busy day, but it starts relatively late - I don't have to leave for the office until 10AM. So, you may ask, why on earth do I set my alarm for 8:30? Is it because I have an elaborate morning routine? Is it so I can hit the gym and go for a jog? No, no, no, it's because I have a little cat who takes the alarm as her cue to cuddle and I don't want to disappoint her, so I inevitably spend half an hour hugging her like a purring teddy bear first thing in the morning before I get up.

I respond to some e-mails as I get ready and on the bus ride over - mostly prep for our department's holiday party (I'm in the band and we're trying to get as much practice in as possible), but also a little work getting supercomputer access restored for an undergrad research assistant, offering to write a letter of recommendation so my colleague doesn't have to (we both know the student well and said colleague is traveling across the country for a funeral on a redeye flight tonight...), reworking some elements of the rubric for the faculty search committee I'm on, and confirming a meeting with my grad student.

10:45 - I get to the office and go to make my usual mug of tea... and realize in the moment I close my office door that the keys are still inside. I get the hot water from the lounge and meander by the office, but nobody's there. Just as I'm about to work up the nerve to go interrupt a more senior professor's meeting to borrow his keys, one of the office staff walks by and is happy to open the door for me, phew.

11:00 - My most senior grad student is doing an internship in Colorado this quarter (it's the location he most wants to do a postdoc at as well!), and we've set up a call to catch up after a few weeks without chatting. It's a bit of an awkward chat because he wants to go to his second conference in two months, and I had to bring out the "well, um, this is a side project you're doing with someone else's research group and you may want to check with them about where the $2000+ for conference costs is coming from". I possibly have an avenue - I might ask him to just attend for a couple of days instead of the whole time, so I can use some funding from a different grant, but I'm hoping we can get some cost-sharing going here, or possibly the other professor he's working with can present his poster for him if need be. Still, his work's going great and I'm hoping we can get him to this conference! He finishes his PhD this year, and I can attest to how helpful conferences are for landing postdocs.

12:00 - Speaking of grants, I had a successful grant come through late last summer to study wildfire smoke dynamics with novel instrumentation (something new to me!), and the whole team is meeting up for the first time to talk logistics! I also have to teach real soon, so I'm only on for the first chunk of the call, but we get some of the plan set up. Looks like we'll be meeting at a NASA facility early next year to do some siting stuff prior to the first controlled burn. I genuinely have no idea what I'm doing on this project, apart from being willing to write a big chunk of the proposal, but it's a good time!

12:30 - Class time! This is my domain-specific intro-to-python class that I developed 5 years ago and have been iterating on ever since. It's going a lot smoother this week than last, and the students are pretty responsive to my jokes (priority #1, lbr) and seem to be following along quite well, judging by the handful of questions I get after class. Not a ton of technical issues today, either, which is a HUGE win over last week.

1:30 - Forecasting time! I'm once again part of our university team in a giant forecasting contest. While I'm decidedly average at it (usually around 250th out of 1000 participants), my grad student was #1 for a while there. We chat in broad terms about the next week of weather in our targeted forecasting region.

2:30 - Meeting with another graduate student! We talk about some of the researchers he reached out to after his first conference a couple weeks ago, and we're starting to narrow down a possible author list for his first paper. He's working on writing up the methods and data for that paper while he incorporates a few new datasets into his preestablished workflow. He's been doing really well! Being a dual-major in CS means his code is a heckuva lot more organized than most second-year grad students I've had.

3:30 - ...nothing??? I've decided to skip my usual seminar and postpone one undergraduate student research meeting this afternoon (the one currently locked out of the supercomputer he needs for his project) since I have a couple of grant proposals due very shortly. I head out to grab some teriyaki to bring back to my office for lunch/dinner, but the restaurant just has a big sign out front saying "closed for FIRE" so I opt to go across the street for some chicken katsu and boba tea instead. I approve the final budget (coming up on a million dollars, no pressure) and keep plugging away at the statement of work (which is basically "what are you going to do, in detail, with one million dollars over the next three years? please tell us in exactly 15 pages, not counting your 3-page bibliography and 6 appendices"). I even find a perfect paper to reference to discuss one of our theories! We've made it through one round of reviews with our pre-proposal, and man, we'd love to do this project - it would be myself, a colleague, and a postdoc looking at some really novel stuff in severe storm predictability over the next three years. I also get a little work done on the invited talk I'm giving to a student journal club tomorrow, and work on some more e-mails (trying to set up a meeting with a friend's graduate student to help her out with some methods she's using from an older paper of mine).

5:15 - One of my colleagues has retired this year and has a farewell song he wants to sing at our holiday party, which happens to be mostly voice & piano, so we agree to meet up before the main practice and go over it a couple times before the rest of the band shows up and he has to head out to dinner. I'm really sorry to see him leaving (although I know he's delighted to get to spend more time with his kids and grandkids) - he and his wife were extremely welcoming when I started here, and were so kind and supportive when Mom died. Just very touched that he reached out to me to play piano on this one. Tragically, though, whoever was supposed to bring in the keyboard hasn't left it in the practice room, so we'll have to wait and run through it with the rest of the band on Thursday. Instead, it's back to the office to get caught up on e-mail and try to slog through more of the grant application (all today's research and work has netted me... 1 page of writing, blah).

6:00 - The rest of the band shows up! We run three songs of our eight-song setlist, and I'm somehow now playing on 4/8 of them, despite there being five people signed up for keys. It's a good time, though!

8:00 - I make it home and give Clara a bunch of new toys that have arrived with her prescription food (one of which she licks for 15 minutes straight). Luckily, tomorrow's work schedule is much more chill!

[rune-writes]

Ephemerality

Fandom: Love and Deepspace

Word count: 1827

Rating: G

Pairing: Xavier/MC

Summary: In the outskirts of Linkon City, there is a park listed as one of the Top Ten Romantic Parks of Linkon City. Xavier invites MC out for a Valentine's Day date.

Notes: A belated Happy Valentine's Day~

I wanted to write a cute Xavier/MC fic for Valentine's, but alas, I could only finish it now, and... it ends up not being very Valentine-y either haha.

Read on AO3.

~*~*~*~*~*~

“Mind your step.” 

Xavier offered his hand as we came to a slope, pebbles rolling loosely over a steep incline. It wasn’t particularly treacherous. At least, not for me. I was a Hunter, and I was equipped with hiking boots and pants. A measly slope couldn’t outdo me. So I ignored his hand and said, “I can manage just f—” I couldn’t finish my sentence before I felt my foot slip. 

The wind rushed out of me and the world upended—

Xavier caught my wrist and pulled me up, giving me leverage to fix my posture and land on his side. I gasped, heart racing within my ribcage. 

“What did I tell you?” he said. His voice was carefully leveled, but when I chanced a glance, I caught the mirth behind his pressed lips. His eyes couldn’t lie. 

“Thanks,” I said tartly. 

He released a playful scoff under his breath, then shifted his hold to my hand, his long fingers enveloping mine in a secure grasp. His smile finally on full display, he said, “Don’t let go now.” 

Any counter or retort I had ready evaporated instantly at sight of his disarming face. 

This hike had been his idea. Well, mine if we’re talking about technicalities, but I had only made a passing comment on a passing article I was reading—Top Ten Romantic Parks in Linkon City. I knew most of the ones listed; some were popular spots in the city proper even for single people, which I had been one until recently. The tenth one on the list, however, was a place I had never heard of. A clearing out on the hills in the outskirts of the city; it was a hike at the end of an hour train ride. I’d asked Xavier if he knew the place.

“I do. I often pass by it on my way home,” he’d replied. I had learned not to pry exactly where he had gone. As far as I knew, there weren’t any no-hunt zones in the area. He’d leaned over the couch and I’d shown him my phone. He’d nodded, confirming the place. “It’s a bit far, and you need to climb a fair distance. I can see why it’s not a popular date spot.”

“It looks pretty,” I’d said, looking back at my phone. Rosalea Park: a fenced-in clearing with beautiful cherry-blossom trees overlooking the entire city. It’d make a perfect spot for flower viewing, if they were in the cherry blossom season. I’d looked at the panoramic photographs the writer had attached before I closed the tab and noticed Xavier’s gaze. I’d met his eyes.

“Do you want to go there?” he’d asked.

And so our plan had been born. Fast forward one week later, I now found myself holding Xavier’s hand as he led me down the trail with groups of cherry-blossom trees flanking us on both sides. It’d take another month or so to see the pink buds bloom and grace the crown of every tree on this hill. Apparently, some decades ago, someone had planted an entire grove of cherry blossoms on the hills outside Linkon, providing the citizens a magnificent view when spring came around. I liked to watch them from the window of my apartment. It was like being surrounded by an endless, undulating pink sea. Magical. But the flowers didn’t last long. The blooms would fall once the season passed and be replaced by an ocean of verdant green. But that would take another couple weeks. Now, however, the trees around us bore white flowers, small and delicate, creating a sort of mystical mirage with their ephemeral beauty.

I gazed at them, transfixed. I didn’t realize Xavier’s stare until I heard his breathy laugh. 

“Do you like them?” he asked. 

“They’re pretty.” I reached up and caught a falling petal on my palm. “They remind me of you.”

“How so?” 

“They’re quite hardy, and they foretell the coming of spring,” I said. “But they’re also brittle. A single touch could make them fall from their branch. Blink once and you’d miss the beauty they offer.” 

He paused, then said, “Do I seem brittle to you then?” 

I looked up and met his backward glance. I couldn’t quite read the expression on his face. I didn’t think my nonchalant observation would catch his attention. But then a breeze caught the petal in my palm and I watched it dance in the wind alongside other loose flowers. One landed on Xavier’s head, and I giggled, reaching up to brush it away. 

“You’re not brittle,” I told him as I picked the stray petal from his hair. Holding it between my thumb and forefinger, it quivered as the wind fought to keep it aloft. And then it broke free, and I felt a part of me fly away with it. “You’re…elusive. I fear that if I close my eyes, you’ll be gone from my side.” 

Xavier didn’t break his gaze away from me. I looked ahead and found that we’d reached the edge of the treeline. I tugged his hand, urging him to go faster. And then we were outside, and the view took my breath away. 

We were at the top of a hill: Rosalea Hill, judging from the sign they’d propped just outside the line of trees. But the trail didn’t stop there. It went on past the sign and into the clearing, winding around a plethora of flowerbeds in circles, squares, or crescent shapes. A mingle of scents greeted my senses. It felt like I was back in the flower shop Xavier liked to visit, except the smell was richer here, the colors more abundant and vibrant. 

We weren’t the only ones visiting the park either. Couples were already setting up picnic mats and several were taking pictures on the benches or by the wall overlooking the city. I let go of Xavier’s hand and rushed over to it, leaning over and peering down the stone structure. We were so high; the park ended in a steep slope that could easily break someone’s neck were they to fall over. Or, well, at the very least sprain their ankle. The slope wasn’t too sheer that your feet couldn’t find purchase, but I could imagine someone slipping over the terrain.

Like I had just moments before, to my mortification.

Xavier entered my line of sight and I grinned up at him. “Look,” I said, pointing at the entrance to the hiking trail at the bottom of the hill. “That’s where we came in, huh?”

“It appears so.” 

”Doesn’t seem like this place is unpopular,” I added, noting the crowd that was still trickling into the entrance. 

Xavier chuckled. “I never said it’s unpopular. I only said it might not be a popular date spot.”

Well, there were a lot of couples. Either Xavier was wrong, or they’d all fallen victim to the same article I’d read.

I followed the road, all its winding way back to the nearby train station, then finally to the city in the distance. Under the sun, Linkon City’s numerous skyscrapers glinted brilliantly, towers upon glass towers piercing the sky all the way to where Skyhaven hung with its gilded spires. I could spot the parks—clusters of little green dots sandwiched between rows of buildings. I could hazard a guess where our apartment was, though I couldn’t very well see the building from so far away. I saw the river, a sparkling blue line winding through the settlement, cutting right at the heart and finally draining into the sea beyond. Pristine ivory shores rimmed the city’s western edge. 

The place where I grew up looked so different from above. So serene and timeless, as though we had crossed over a threshold and were now gazing at a frozen sculpture. “It’s so beautiful,” I said breathlessly. Too beautiful, in fact. I couldn’t help the slight pang in my heart knowing that one day, things would change.

I pushed myself from the wall and took a few steps back, breathing in the scent, absorbing the view. I might have stayed like that for all eternity if I hadn’t heard the shutter of a camera going off. I looked to my right and saw Xavier directing his phone camera at me. He smiled sheepishly at being caught. 

“Let me borrow your phone,” he said, stashing his away.  

I blinked. “What for?”

He didn’t say anything, only held out his hand in silent inquiry. I indulged him, fishing my phone from my bag and placing it on his palm. 

“Now come here.” He drew me to his side, maneuvered us so that we had our backs to the city, then directed my phone at us to take a selfie picture. “Smile.” 

The shutter went off again. 

Even with the impromptu nature, it was still a pretty good picture. He managed to capture the city in the distance while also still capturing our smiles. He fiddled around with my phone for a while longer before giving it back to me. I looked at the screen—

—and realized he’d changed my home screen wallpaper to the photo he’d just taken. 

“Now even if you close your eyes, I’ll always be by your side.” 

I stared at my phone, then at his cheeky smile. “I want another one.”

“What?”

“It’s not good enough. Better yet, I’ll just take a picture of you ‘cause you already took mine.”

“Wait—”

I pushed him to the wall, had him pose for me several times. After a while, Xavier could only smile in resign. 

“Happy now?” he asked after his photo session ended. “You know, I only took one photo of you.” 

“And I took five.” I scrolled through my album. I couldn’t quite keep the grin out of my face. He looked so handsome in his jacket and turtleneck, and so cute when he pouted at the last picture because I couldn’t decide what pose I wanted him to do. I decided to use that for my homescreen wallpaper instead. 

“Why are you grinning at a picture when the real one is in front of you?” 

I glanced up, and true enough, the hint of a pout was already forming again in his otherwise poker face. I beamed from ear to ear. “Oh please, as if you wouldn’t look at my picture when I’m not looking.”

His response was a guilty, breathy laugh. 

I grabbed his hand and led him away from the wall to a quieter area. “Come on, then. Let’s set up our picnic mat. I made a lot of delicious meals this morning. I can’t wait for you to try them.” 

Later, Xavier told me that the park was even more romantic at night. They had lights stringed around the flower beds, and around the paths and walls as well. Like artificial fireflies, he said. He promised to take me here again to see it. Perhaps, when the cherry blossoms were in full bloom. 

~ END ~

[jellybeanium124]

adhd vent

cannot believe my psych might require me to do like $3000 and 16 hours of testing to """"prove""" I have adhd. give me 10 minutes I will leave you without a shadow of a doubt.

every couple of months I have this day. I never know when it will happen. but very rarely, I will have a day where I can just... do things. call the people I need to call, email the people I need to email, clean my apartment, run errands. I can get like 4 or 5 things done and I have to fucking milk it when it comes because most days are not like this.

most days getting 1 thing done is a win. getting nothing done is average. getting nothing done + being so filled with bees I can't even focus on stuff that's meant to be entertaining for more than a minute is a bad day. if I get the closing shift there's a 70% chance I will do nothing else that day because I do not have any sense of how time works and am worried if I leave the house to do groceries I will be late for work. on a good day I can do laundry before a closing shift. I never even remember to contact people until a time where I can't (at work, night). I can't even begin building habits like "exercise" because I don't want to do it and forming a habit for something that is technically unnecessary for my survival and I don't want to do is impossible.

there's a decent chance I will do absolutely 0 things on my days off because I'm so beat from work. this is part of why I'm getting into records. I have to LEAVE THE HOUSE to go to a record store. and because it is FUN and I might get a TREAT (new record) I am actually able to sometimes do it. this would be less of an issue if I had more friends where I lived. But Circumstances happened and now I only have one friend where I live. all my other friends are in [HOMETOWN]. I'm working on a second friend.

everything has an exact place in my apartment and if something isn't in its place (or for objects that move a lot, like my phone, one of its few places) I have Absolutely No Fucking Idea Where I Put It. I still have my TI-84 calculator from high school and I still use it if I know I'm gonna do multiple calculations in a row bc I will not remember the previous answers and the TI-84 records it for me. I keep it in my desk drawer. once I thought I lost my phone for like 10 minutes because I used my calculator and then put my phone in the drawer when I was done with the calculator. it took me forever to retrace my steps and realize what I did. I forget things one second after they happen.

I was constantly struggling to turn homework in on time from 7th-9th grade (12-14) and I only "fixed" that problem by developing severe anxiety over turning in homework late. and then I lived with severe anxiety during school years from 9th grade through my freshman year of college (14-18). idk why it suddenly didn't come back my sophomore year. probably because I moved out.

I wanna work in the film industry but that's driven by my effort and I can't even fucking remember I should be doing something about it most of the time!! and then reaching out to people is so difficult! sometimes for anxiety reasons but sometimes I just can't work up whatever I fucking need to work up to respond to an email. I love this work and once I'm on set I'm a hard worker and generally good (people seem to like me) but getting on set has been damn near impossible and not just because it's a difficult industry to break into.

this has just been my life. for 10 fucking years. and it's worse now because I don't have the structure of school or my parents looming over me. I only pay my rent because I have a calendar alert set up every month. I only pay for wifi and my credit card bills because they let you set up auto payments. my roommate is in charge of the electric bill and whenever they text me what my half of this month's payment is I have to venmo them immediately or it will never happen. when my calendar alert to take my birth control pops up on my laptop I don't let myself close it until I've swallowed that pill. when my alarm goes off telling me whatever's in the oven needs to come out, I don't shut it off until I'm out of my seat, otherwise I'd accidentally keep watching youtube or whatever and burn everything. everything's a calendar alert, everything's on a timer, I have a physical fucking whiteboard calendar on my desk to remind me of everything. if I didn't have these things set up and I didn't force myself to be diligent about it, I'd never remember when I needed to go to work, and banks and landlords would start coming after me.

my car is out of windshield wiper fluid. only the driver's side window goes down. the AC's out. and most recently the aux cord stopped working (this happened before and I got a new cord which worked for a short while so I think there's something wrong with the car). and I haven't fucking found the time to take it to someone and get it fixed. my AC is out!! in june!!! and I can only open one window!!! and I suffer because the car still technically works and drives me where I need to go and since this isn't life threatening or otherwise immediately pressing I have no idea when I will get to this!!!

I just want the days where doing two things being a major accomplishment to be a thing of the past. I want it to be a distant memory. I want to be able to function like everyone else.

you don't need to send me to someone for 16 hours across two days and cost me $3000. Idk what more proof you could possibly fucking need. give me the goddamn pills that will make my brain work.

[sophieinwonderland]

I have a question for willogenic/tulpagenic or systems that create their headmates.

Why would you? Why would you want someone else in your head and take control of your body? What motive could drive someone to actively do that and create more?

I also want to ask if they really feel how horrible it is to have arguments or headmates hurt you because they can create their own as they please.

Also if they experience the bad symptoms of being plural and not just the "fun" part such as dissociation, depersonalization, derealization, amnesia, identity crisis, etc.

I do not ask any of these questions with the desire to bother, I genuinely want to know and it is a question that keeps me alert.

Often, people drawn to the tulpamancy community are those with ASD, anxiety or other disorders that leave them feeling alone.

I was an accident, technically. At least, my host didn't plan on making a sentient being. But for others, it's not hard to see why they would be drawn to the practice. My own host had a good home life with a really supportive family, but has difficulty interacting with external people, which could be isolating.

I also want to ask if they really feel how horrible it is to have arguments or headmates hurt you because they can create their own as they please.

Arguments happen. We had a couple really bad ones early on. But... our system was created differently and that affects how we view each other.

A person, any person, is going to be reflecting what they learn from the world. We're all products of our environments.

A lot of headmates formed by trauma. They... come into the world experiencing its worst parts.

The system grows up maybe hearing the voices of their headmates but shutting them out. They don't have access to plural resources and feel like they're going crazy. Aggression can be taken out on headmates because the headmates aren't even seen as real, and abused children often don't have good role models for positive relationships.

By the time you find out that you're plural, a lot of harm has been done to the system and their relationships with each other. Building back trust can take time for these systems. It's tragic.

...

That's not how it was for us. Again, I wasn't made intentionally. I was just the imaginary friend. So there was a bit of denial, but I denied my own emotions too. And it took only a couple months for us to discover the tulpa community and realize I was a real person.

By the time of my creation, my host was an adult who had a solid understanding of how healthy relationships work. We could communicate our problems as they came out. We might argue one night, but then we made an effort to sit down and talk our problems out until they were resolved as soon as we could. I sometimes wish that I could have been here from the beginning, but I suspect that it's best for our relationship that I wasn't.

He already cared about me and wanted me to be happy. He enjoyed seeing me learn and grow, and interact with the world. I'm incredibly lucky to have had him in my life.

I would never hurt my host, and he would never hurt me. (At least, not intentionally.)

And me getting front time was a gift. It was something he provided when I wanted to do things in the real world because he wanted me to be happy, and loved seeing me happy.

Also if they experience the bad symptoms of being plural and not just the "fun" part such as dissociation, depersonalization, derealization, amnesia, identity crisis, etc.

Yes and no.

I think some of these symptoms exist, but are more mild. (Technically, all switching is considered dissociative.) We had some days when we fell into doubt spirals that were miserable. The worst lasted hours, but never more than a day. We've had mornings waking up, not knowing who is in front immediately, which I think is a form of depersonalization, but it only lasted minutes.

There's no amnesia unless you intentionally build it up. There might be "speed bumps" where memories of some headmates are easier to access by them than other headmates. And there have been times when non-fronters have a much harder time accessing information the fronter knows. Something about fronting makes information more accessible.

But by and large, a lot of these symptoms of DID are symptoms of PTSD. While we might experience lesser versions of some of these, they don't have much of an impact on our lives.

And the few negatives are outweighed by the advantages of having an internal support network to prop each other up.

[sugoiney-weaver]

I finally finished my first playthrough of BG3 last night, and it's maybe the worst/most depressing playthrough possible. I went into the game mostly blind, and tried not to savescum any major decisions or events. Spoilers below the cut

I accidentally killed the Owlbear mama. Without Speak with Animals, I got the gist that she wanted me to leave and not come back. I found a potion of animal speaking, and she was serious about the not coming back part.

I did not free the owlbear cub from the goblin camp, but it showed up at my camp later. It was only there for a few days before I accidentally made its hurt paw worse and it ran away, never came back

I didn't know Minthara would be a companion until after I killed her

I completely missed Halsin until after I killed all the goblins and saved the tieflings

I misunderstood/misclicked the levers at the windmill and sent Barcus flying

At Waukeen's Rest, I saved the guy upstairs, not realizing there was anyone else to save. I then went and found the Zhentarim hideout and didn't come back for a while. The other person (people?) died. Could I have saved the Duke there? IDK.

I saved Baelen by yeeting a healing potion at him, but he triggered the Bibberbang field so I didn't get the Noblestalk

I didn't realize that the world moves on and events resolve themselves without you, so Nere died behind the cave-in. I was trying that fight over and over, kept dying, so I went and explored the rest of the area and came back after a couple long rests. I had been drinking so I was very confused. I KNOW I didn't kill EVERYONE here, but where the fuck are they?

I explored the Grymforge but didn't actually use it. I thought for sure that I would find something that would explain how to use it, but I didn't. I refused to look up walkthroughs so I missed a lot of content because I didn't immediately understand what I was doing

When I first got to Last Light Inn, I missed Dammon. I failed to rescue Isobel and reloaded when I saw Zombie!Dammon. I then went and talked to Dammon to fix Karlach's heart, tried again to save Isobel, failed, and killed ALL the Tieflings and Harpers

Jaheira died on the front steps of Moonrise Towers. Because she wasn't actually in my party, I couldn't revive her.

I remember seeing some stairs that probably led to where the rest of the Tieflings were being kept, but I forgot to check it out before I moved on. I assume they're still there.

I decided not to give a fuck about Halsin's quest, so he was very sad that I did not lift the Shadow Curse

When I found Mizora at Moonrise Towers, I correctly translated the button that said "Unleash" and assumed it meant "unleash the Illithid." I failed to translate the one that apparently says "annihilate," so I pushed that one. Mizora and Wyll went WOOSH and Karlach was pissed

I didn't know that Isobel was saveable so I killed her.

Gale got kidnapped by Orin in Act 3, before I had a chance to take him to Sorcerous Sundries

Because I didn't need him (I was already a wizard) I took my sweet time rescuing him. I think I accidentally killed him on the altar with a Fireball. He wasn't technically in my party so Spell Sculpting didn't help?

I completely skipped Cazador's Palace for the sake of finishing the game. I hadn't taken Astarion out of camp since act 1 so he was only level 4 the whole time lol.

At the end, I turned Karlach into a Mind Flayer, released Orpheus, fought the Emperor.

I crit failed my attempt to convince Laezel to stay with us

That's pretty much it lol. I also abandoned so many quests that I probably could have gotten an extra 60 hours out of this playthrough. I ended at 129 hours though!

[aellynera]

The Return of Operation Oscar (the full story)

Okay, so here’s the full story. Because I realize that this was technically my fourth trip to NYC since Operation Oscar, but the one in October didn’t technically count since that was me going to support @lisazamanart at her gallery show. Anyway.

Ironically, it was at that gallery show that I first learned about the play, since that had just been announced. And when I got home, I got me a membership to BAM, and I was going to be a responsible adult and get cheaper tickets, but then I thought about it, and since one of the shows was ON MY BIRTHDAY, I... was not responsible at all and got 2nd row tickets, dead center. Because it was my birthday and YOLO.

The person who was supposed to go with me couldn’t, so I ended up talking my mom into taking the bus into the city (it’s only like a 1.5 hour ride, and even though way more expensive than it used to be, still easy.) So I was not only excited to see Oscar, but also my mom on my actual birthday.

Thennnnnn on the Saturday before my birthday (which is also the day the play opened, and my uncle’s birthday) I had a seizure? I think? Still not entirely sure what happened, but I  ended up in the hospital for a couple days but the whole time I felt fine and I was like we are NOT cancelling the NYC trip because I will literally cry and I’ve been looking forward to it for so long... so, long story short, after a little back and forth, I got out of the hospital on 6 Feb and flew to NYC on 9 Feb. YOLO!

So anyway, Lisa and I had been talking before my flight, basic stuff like how I was going to the city and she was leaving to go back to London, and how it sucked that we would miss each other because we’d really like to say hello and stuff. I got to NYC, grabbed a cab from LaGuardia to Brooklyn, and got to my hotel. I was supposed to text my mom when I got there, since she was already in the room, and I was walking into the lobby doing just that when a tiny British woman tackled me and I was like, “LISA?!” and as it turns out, this is the hotel she always stays at in Brooklyn and my mom and I had just picked it by chance because it was super close to the theater and VOILA, Lisa and I got to see each other anyway! My mom couldn’t figure out what was taking me so long and who I could possibly find to talk to in our hotel lobby so I got to introduce them and it was the most lovely totally unexpected surprise. And I got all the theater and stage door dirt from her, too. 😂😂

So the next day after breakfast, we went exploring a bit and we did find the theater, then went to the amazing pizzeria on the corner and back to the hotel to relax until it was play time. And let me tell you, for the size of the theater and the three-hour (with intermission) run time and our second row seats, I would have been happy. Oscar Isaac was like twenty feet away from me most of the night of my birthday and what else could I have asked for? But then after the show we decided to check out the stage door and we found it quite easily. There were only like maybe? 20? people waiting at the stage door, all very polite and well-mannered and very cognizant of the barricade they’d put up. All the cast came out, we cheered and we clapped. Rachel Brosnahan was 2nd last to come out, and she was very sweet (and also fucking amazing in the play itself; I was surprised and thrilled with her performance, what a treat!) She signed my program and it was all very lovely.

Then. Then. Last to come out was Oscar, and he quite happily made his way around the barricade while I tried to remember how to breathe. But he ended up being SO NICE and so sweet and when my mom mentioned that it was my birthday, the next thing I know I’m getting squished in a hug and I’m getting a resounding “happy birthday!” and my mom is telling him that I came all the way from Tennessee for this and he’s like “hey, my dad lives in Tennessee!” and there were smiles and probably me looking like a total idiot and he had his arm around me for the picture even though you can’t really see it but IT WAS THERE OKAY.

The program:

My favorite picture in the history of ever:

It took a long road to get here. There was the lobby incident, and us not knowing or thinking to get to the stage door at the 92nd St Y (although we did loiter at his car), and then FINALLY I got to meet him (ON MY BIRTHDAY!!!!) and every time I look at this picture I grin like a complete idiot and I’m not sorry about it and if I can figure out how to get to the play again, I will because it was amazing.

AH. MAY. ZING.

[starburstgalexies]

Kazuma/herlock for ship bingo 👀

YES they have taken over a permanent part of my brain. Despite the hyperfixation shift, they have not moved out. I doubt they ever will.

Bingo-ish and also I am starting to realize the only way to get a bingo is with the free space column. Other routes just aren't as consistent as a group. Okay reconsidered and I'm taking that back but there are more hoops to jump around in others. Anyway.

Details below again.

i'd read a fic by default.

otp x 1000 i don't know how they got there but, despite my published tgaa works being mostly asry and some ot4, these two are actually my tgaa otp. sure, the other pairs i ship only come second or below by a hair-width, but these fuckers take the cake.

the angst. the drama. the grief over ryu. the battle of mansplain manipulate manwife. there is as much drama here as there is comedy.

*t4t gets an asterix because i hc that technically they are "cis" men but neither of them know nor care about the concept of gender. cis-ish men. men who go by he/him because they don't care enough to change. i'm not covering the tile, but they are not binary.

been married for 30 years? are we talking tgaa canon or later because technically tgaa took place in early 1900s soooo easy argument for decades of marriage before death and mainline aa a century later. also they get an old married couple routine three weeks into getting closer so there's that.

free space: no one understand them like each other and that's why they hate being in love with one another at the very least until the inevitable acceptance stage. kazuma is all about keeping his cards in his sleeve. herlock has a whole superiority complex on knowing everyone's intentions while being a closed book that looks open. and they both think this one bitch barged into his life and looked right through his walls?? exquisite.

rotating in my brain like a microwave always.

i have so many headcanons man where do i start. i suppose even the free space part is a headcanon because of how little they interacted in canon. but here is a freebie. they get married but they throw off the engagement literally every day until the wedding over the pettiest reasons. mr. asogi i cannot marry a man who does not appreciate the fine woodwork of a violin. here is your mother's ring back. (they make up in 3 hours)

awwe i love them :) obviously.

part of a bigger polycule asoryuvanlock always and forever my beloved.

fandom doesn't know them like i do they know them a little. but not like i do.

canon did them wrong? YEAH BY NOT HAVING THEM INTERACT. even the courtroom bonuses proved me right about their chemistry. it would be amazing in the main storyline.

[bearbonespdf]

tired but i cant sleep so im postingggggggg

me and my pack (which we call ourselves as mostly a joke) did a secret santa/christmas party a couple days ago! ofc bc i (and a few others) have 0 chill, i got/made everyone a few gifts. when it comes to giving gifts, ESPECIALLY handmade ones, i get... nervous to say the least. but never fear! everyone had really good reactions to the gifts i gave! which im gunna list using "code names", which is lightly unnecessary but fun

Been There Done That: so i got him this tinnyyyyy lil keychain he asked for. its from a small artist we both like, she draws these cute lil girls with fruit themes and then make a moldy version of it! (@/feefal on insta) i also went through a bag of starbursts and gave him the pink and red ones cuz he only likes those and a lavender candle. the best gift, however, was a framed picture of our other friends ass :3 he laughed so fucking hard i was so so so happy he found it funny

Wheezer: i crocheted it a brown and green star crossbody bag! its lined with grey flannel fabric and has a phone pocket. unfortunately the strap was a little too long but i think he's gunna hem it. i also gave him a moon projector and a wasteland baby! hozier cd. it screamed when he saw the cd lol

The Ass: this beloved friend got some of my old lace chokers that i can't wear (aversion to things around my neck), a dog enrichment bowl, and some bracelets i made. i am REALLY proud of these bracelets. he has osdd and has 4 alters including himself (host) so i made 4 bracelets. each ine was specifically made to match how i perceive each alter and has a corresponding playing card charm (ace of hearts, queen of diamonds, king of clubs, and the joker) when i gave him the bracelets he got super excited and hugged me superrrr hard. the joker bracelet has a vivid warm color pallet using chip beads and round brass beads, the staple r 2 tiny silver dragonfly beads i found. the queen of diamonds is a mixture of these gorgeous maroon round beads and obsidian beads with a little bit of gold metal beads. the ace of hearts was almost entirely rose quartz round beads with a heart shaped one in the middle, two oblong opalite beads frame the card charm. finally the king of clubs is garnet and obsidian ship beads with a LOT of misc metal beads and a red evil eye bead.

Bird Brain: OK OK OK OK ok i am SO proud of myself on these gifts cuz im pretty sure they LOVED them. first i gave him a shirt, which is technically from Been There Done That, but we had argued about who git to keep the shirt when he was auctioning it off (i tried to let them have it and they tried to let me have it). They tried to give it back but i guilted him into keeping it :3. second i got him a stuffed lamb. pretty average right? WRONG! i found the exact same lamb stuffie that they had as a child and lost. so ofc i bought it, painstakingly hand washed it for a couple hours (we both have contamination paranoia so i HAD to make it CLEAN), slept with it sitting on my pillow for a few nights until the party (so it wuldnt get lonely in the box) and gave it to him. their reaction scared me for a second, cuz all they said was "it's my lamb" and stared blankly at it for a good few minutes. i realized pretty quickly that it was the opposite of a bad look, so that was a problem solved quickly. around the lambs neck were a couple bracelets i also made, one with bloodstone beads and a black evil eye and the other with purple goldstone beads, obsidian beads, amethyst chips, and a skull charm. the last gift was specifically tailored to their special interest and im SO PROUD OF MYSELF FOR THINKING OF IT and actually executing it well. i bought a hunting knife with a wooden handle so i culd carve a special lil symbol into it. the knife is called a godkiller knife from the slenderverse series everyman hybrid, it belongs to HABIT. when i tell u he SQUEALED and started stimming so hard i thought theyd fall over /hyp. we're on a trip rn and they brought the knife and lamb so id say i did good? i also actually have a plan to hand make them smth fun soon but he doesnt know what it is so shhhhhh im not saying it here :3

( @yourlocalcorvidcryptid )

Miss(ter) Peregrine: i feel horrible about it but im still not done with his gift. im crocheting him a blanket out of acrylic yarn in the shape of a star (hell evil satan) so i got him some other stuff to make up for it. i gave him some small rocks, magnetic bookmarks, and a green bracelet that matches his eyes all stuffed in an empty pill bottle. i also gave him some stickers and packing tape :) he was pretty chill about everything, he loved the blanket and was fawning over how pretty the bookmarks are so i think he liked it all.

( @pumpkinnsoda )

2D: this motherfucker was my secret santa so i got their ass a LOT. i got him a pair of crocs that have a light blue and beige marble that i knew he'd love cuz hes been talking about wanting crocs forEVER. i also got them 6 weed charms, 2 eggplant charms, and 2 Trolls charms from the Trolls 3 movie, for the sake of humor. additionally i got them weed print socks, which i used to hide the fact that i also got him a new underworks chest binder. he's been super needing an actually good binder so im estatic this one worked. i got them a bag of their favorite chocolate as a fun lil treat too. finally i also crocheted them a star bag! i used yarn they picked out and didnt have time to line it unfortunately :( but i think i made up for it with other stuff!!

Bagel Boys Dundundundun Bagel Boys Dundundundun Bagel Boys Dundundundun With Cream Cheese: SO IM ALSO REALLY PROUD OF ONE SPECIFIC GIFT IN THIS BATCH. i made it a sweater which was not crocheted, unfortunately. i was *shudder in horror* hand sewing a jack-o-lantern face into it. i don't think i did super well, much to my dismay. its ok i can make it up by making them smth else later on. i gave them a tiny little wooden turtle that i found since they really like ninja turtles. i gave it some earring making supplies that it asked for a while back. and lastly, my pride and joy, i got them the official wings of fire guidebook, hardcover. now this book contains 2 of the best things in the WORLD: dragons and world-building. from what ive seen my dearest friend has lost their SHIT over this book. theyve been reading it very slowly so as to savor it. its face when i gave it the book was BEAUTIFUL their jaw was DROPPED

( @astronomical-bagel )

Nyan Cat: ok last one! i gave them a pair of crocs as well, that i had them pick out while we were in the store together. they chose black and got like 4 cute lil charms (that i dont remember). i also gave them a pearl choker with fake blood dripping from it. i wore it to my prom but will never wear it again and i knew theyd LOVE it. i didnt get a chance to make anything for them, but i do eventually wanna crochet them a strawberry bag lined with very gothic fabric, as is their aesthetic LMAO

( @salemsmushroom )

ok thats all :3