#most of the time it’s just regarded as Evil and left at that but

[rosielefay]

Arthur is spiteful and bitter and vengeful and these awful qualities are my favourite parts of his character, truly.

I've spoke in the past about the lucifer comparisons: the fair hair and skin, angelic; interrupted by the burning green eyes, wherein behind lies an insatiable, desperate greed. He's this demonic, terrible thing that no matter how many times you put it down its always tapping away at its enclosure come morning, hand reaching out for its lock.

He's the outsider of Europe but always at the centre of their conflicts. His best is the worlds worst - most at home in battle, in conquest, and in the gaping abyss of the great seas.

And the best part about him: war erupts and economies are crippled, his fellow nations are on their knees in defeat - and yet he's waiting and begging for a round two.

Its like some sort of destructive impulse - snapping jaws serve a hungry mouth, and he's a starving, skinny thing.

But then there's another angle to relentless, spiteful character, for it is also represented through his longevity.

And Arthur has one hell of a legacy. Language, history, culture, the new young superpower of the world - all his. Even in nations: memories of him and his empire are still points of affection and hurt alike.

He's a rotten core that can't be purged. In the people and places and everything in between. (there's a tragedy there too, about blame and redemption and wounds that will never really heal).

Yet one cannot ignore the positive side to him: hope. Throughout so many wars he's been the saving grace, the spiteful last addition to a losing cause. WWII, and he's the last good man standing. Half of Europe has fallen and the only one left to protect it is its staunchest, most bitter adversary.

Arthur is a clawing, evil thing, but he also represents persistence/hope. In combat and history, but also as an individual - it colours all his relationships.

+ I pair this view with my headcanon that Arthur looks really young. I really don't fw the whole nations are old and ugly and miserable thing. I like my pretty boys pretty sorry!! Arthur is younger than a lot of his European peers, and he canonically looks 23 but even then I think he should have a bit of a babyface.

It just suits his spiteful, somewhat immature personality. And he is immature - he non-stop argues with France and he still plays victim regarding the American war of independence.

Also, it works with his origins. Seen by Rome as the sort of 'back-water' of Europe, he's always been a little neglected. So he's skinnier, and smaller, and really nothing but a scalding pair of wide-green eyes looking up at his fellow nations in resentment.

(see: Alexandre Cabanel's 'The Fallen Angel) - how apt for a fallen Empire. Time really is a flat circle!!

(and I think it looks really cute with all his new world children being so much bigger and healthier. Australia, America, candida, new Zealand - they're all a lot taller and stockier.)

[swordmaid]

having sm thoughts about drow culture and menzo (or how I interpret it at least) and hhhhrrm there’s so much potential in there it’s such a shame that they’re just written off as the place with evil women bc dissecting it is sooooo interesting. to me…!

[0nsyu]

To share a quote from the tattoo artist:

Shisa and Hibiscus This, like Rikiya's, is a design that brings the essence of Okinawa to the forefront. It resembles the standard karajishi seen in irezumi, but the way its ears stand up, among other things, differs subtly. — Horitomo

Taking into account the rest of Horitomo's commentary on his designs (featured in the 10th and 15th anniversary books), as well as commentary from Yokoyama, there is for sure a wealth of evidence for the idea the tattoos are meant to represent the characters in question! I've always felt Yakuza 3's are particularly well-thought out and Nakahara's is no exception, coinciding with Yokoyama's estimation that his writing got a lot tighter overall from that game on.

Lot of good points brought up here, and there are a few things that come to mind about the origins and cultural context surrounding the shisa I'd like to add.

Firstly, shisa are not considered a form of komainu. The two are thought to have evolved separately from the shishi/karajishi at different times. "Shisa" is the Okinawan pronunciation of "shishi," and they're called "shiishii" in Yaeyaman. "Komainu," on the other hand, is chiefly thought to suggest the idea was brought to Japan via Goryeo/Koma, or perhaps more broadly the area around mainland China according to some.

Komainu came to be some time after shishi were brought to Japan from China. Shishi originally came in symmetrical, open-mouthed pairs, but thanks to Japanese sensibilities favoring asymmetry, "shishi-komainu" pairs (with an open-mouthed shishi on the right and a close-mouthed komainu on the left) became popular.

They have other differences, of course: komainu may or may not have horns while shishi never do, among other things, but a number of their features have become muddled in meaning and difficult to distinguish. The term "shishi-komainu" for the pair has in a sense become just "shishi" or "komainu" colloquially because of this, with the distinction between shishi and komainu only being made if they physically differ from one another in a way that's recognized. If you see one with a beribboned ball (like the one pictured in your post above, actually) and one with a cub, though, that's a male and female shishi/komainu respectively.

Shisa were brought to Okinawa from China around the time (or shortly after) the asymmetry between male and female was established, which may be why the open-mouthed and close-mouthed variants came to denote gender instead of species, but that one's entirely speculation on my part. Another difference between shisa and shishi-komainu is that they actually don't come in pairs as often as the game suggests; more often, sure, but there are plenty of examples of lone shisa.

This relates to the final difference I want to highlight for this post, which is that while shishi-komainu guard the emperor and the divine, shisa guard villages and homes; lone shisa were often erected to guard against fires, while pairs were erected to ward off evil. Famously, the lone Tomori shisa, the oldest recorded stone shisa in Okinawa, was used as a shield by US military forces spying on Japanese military forces during WWII. Today, the bullet holes that mark its surface have faded considerably.

So I do think it's interesting that Nakahara has a lone shisa. Shisa are, after all, often tattooed in pairs, on both sides of the chest or on the arms. Where that leads me personally, though, isn't that Kiryu represents the missing half of the pair. With regard to Saki, Kiryu doesn't say a word to her outside of Premium Adventure, and he leaves her care to Rikiya and Mikio, Haruka who volunteers, even the other orphanage kids—everyone but himself, essentially. And she's only staying at the Morning Glory for a week or less before Nakahara gets better, most of which Kiryu is in Kamurocho for. The oryu, like the shishi-komainu, is loyal to the emperor (in this case, Daigo as sixth chairman, a reading Mine's tattoo reinforces) and leaves his responsibilities behind to attend to him.

But it's not specific to Kiryu. To me, no one person represents the missing half of the pair, because there is no missing half of the pair. Nakahara is the lone shisa that guards not just his daughter and his men but his community, a community that loves him and his men and his daughter in return, in stark contrast to most other yakuza organizations in the series. And like the lone Tomori shisa, with its bullet holes from a conflict Nakahara is not even one generation removed from, his must have faded by now too.

Shigeru Nakahara's tattoo being a shīsā (J. シーサー), a regional form of the komainu (J. 狛犬), is actually really cute, and I like how it's surrounded by an Okinawan floral motif.

Shīsā are these iconic Buddhist creatures that you can find in a lot of Japanese shrines and other sacred sites. They're supposed to be protectors that almost always come in pairs. Earlier, you can encounter a substory with a married couple looking for the partner of a shīsā statue that they bought alone that introduces the player to this concept.

What I like about Nakahara's shīsā is that it's alone, he only has one on his back, but as a character he's defined by two particularly strong bonds. One is with Saki, his adoptive daughter, the character he is protecting and whom the desire to protect acts as a power up here, and the other with Kiryu, who is implicitly, in my nerd headcanon here, being positioned as the counterpart guardian during this storyline.

I may be totally off here but I want to believe this is the case because it is more evidence to my growing Yakuza Tattoos Are Advanced Fursonas Theory.

I also just think it's a really cute design for a fat old Okinawa jiji to have.

*the komainu are themselves a regional form of a broader East Asian concept, and I'm pretty sure but not certain that "komainu" itself is a portmanteau meaning "Korean dog," and they're also sometimes referred to as karajishi, meaning "Chinese lion." This is not to say that the symbolism and narratives associated with them are universal!! It's kind of like how gumiho (K. 구미호) foxes in Korean mythology tend to be real assholes who turn into hot women to eat your guts, while their role in Japanese mythology is influenced by the Inari Ōkami (J. 稲荷大神) fox religion.

Shīsā specifically have a lot of Ryukyuan religious influence, and tend to be gendered, with the male having his mouth closed to keep evil out and the female having her mouth open to let good in, though I've heard the reverse. Shīsā can be found in Okinawa on gateposts to non-religious buildings just like Morning Glory, and have been built for a variety of reasons like warding off fires. According to Ryukyuan legend, they were even used to ward off dragons.

Mythology and culture are super complex living things and I'm being very very very broad here. I apologize if I'm incorrect, I am just a student. Please be nice to me.

[synthetic-sonata]

really awesome day to think everythings going alright and then you wake up and get hit in the face twice in a row

[gghostwriter]

Whispered Truths

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your weekly reading club with boyfriend, Spencer Reid, has never been as sweet and life-changing as this night Trope: Fluff! Just fluff! w.c: 0.8k a/n: This is actually a request from @bloodredrubyrose and I really liked how this came out. I also used my favorite piece of fiction here as a prop so I hope you like it! Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated! 💗 masterlist

Couples, no matter how new or old, tend to create personalized dates as a way to strengthen the relationship. Some go on hikes together, some go on travels, while some stay in the comfort of their homes—under a blanket with a chosen book on hand.

You and Spencer definitely fall under the latter category. It was quite obvious from the first meeting that literature would be one of the strongest bonding agents between you and him. After all, it was how you were brought together—crashing into one another at the library with books and miscellaneous items scattered on the tiled floor. A few shy glances and bewitching dates later, you found yourself spending your Saturday nights in the presence of your boyfriend of six months, hosting an exclusive reading club with just two members, you and him.

“I never thought of it that way,” your left hand paving an aimless path through Spencer’s curly hair while the other held the book up high.

The pitter patters of the rain outside softly echoed through the walls. You were propped up on the loveseat sofa, his head resting on your lap as he looked upwards in question in regards to your statement.

“Never thought of which?” His voice low and soft, striking a resemblance to how he gazed at you oh so lovingly. As if you were the most riveting piece if art he had ever laid his eyes upon.

“How water played a big symbol throughout the whole book. It was really focused on during the first chapters but I—I just never quite connected the dots,” you clarified, bring the book to a close.

It was your choice for the week, East of Eden by John Steinbeck—a modern classic and had been your favorite work of literature since high school. Spencer had lent his copy to you last week and you vice versa—both turning brown from age, pages about to fall apart from its binding, annotations scribbled on the margins and any lengthy self reflections written on various notebook pages sandwiched in between.

“Your explanation on the empty pages at the end—how water is capable of bringing both life and death. Water being essential for the crops but at the same time, drowned victims. It’s such a poignant note that I think I just fell more in love with Steinbeck’s writing,” you added. “It also made me realize how water in his novel represents the dual capacity of the human soul for good and evil. How we are all filled with conundrums and contradictions and what makes us different from the other species on Earth is our ability to choose whether we are good or evil—” Spencer had sat up and leaned in, interrupting your musings. “—what?” You breathed out as his lips hovered on yours.

The once cozy atmosphere quickly charged with tension and desire that seemed to ooze out of Spencer. There was little space in between and you had no doubt that from the outside looking in, it looked like he was kissing you but he was not, rather a sliver of air was still given space to pass through. So close but so far.

You studied his features up close. How his long lashes fluttered like butterfly wings beating against the wind as his molten, darkened, hazel eyes flickered between your lips and eyes. How his nose lightly caressed yours in an endless Eskimo kiss. How his cheeks stained into a lighter shade of red. And how his pink tongue peeked out to wet his pillowy lips. 

“I’m in love with you,” he whispered as if it was some kind of national secret that he now felt right to expose.

Your breath caught in your throat. This was the first time he had said it. His love for you had been conveyed with every touch, with every action, and with every silence but this was the first time he had put it into words.

His lips caressed yours—the pressure almost non-existent. A ghost of a kiss to gauge your reaction and consent.

“I love you,” he repeated a little louder this time, eyes locking into the very depths of your soul. “You and your mind have enchanted me since the beginning—so beautiful, so captivating.”

The butterflies set free in your stomach caused you to viscerally shiver in reaction.

“I love you too, Spencer.”

A smile graced his face and it was bright and as blinding as the sun, like it had finally decided to stop hiding behind the clouds and show itself in all of its glory.

He leaned in once more. The pressure from his lips now heavier and headier, trying to stamp his everlasting mark on you and in between all these kisses were whispers of his utter devotion and adoration until there was no more space—until you both became one on his loveseat sofa.

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[hexhomos]

little random but i really appreciate your dissections and analysis of Mel mainly bc the fandom either adore her and won't admit she is a flawed character and get over defensive when you call her out, or straight up hate her and make her out to be completely evil.

Mel is written as morally grey for a reason and when ppl try to act like she was morally correct in everything she did, it goes against the whole plot. yes, she regrets most of her actions by the end of the series and is left to deal with her family's leagacy and the weight of her actions, but that doesn't undo anything she did. and her eventually starting to care about Jayce doesn't just cancel out that she manipulated him (you'd think this would be obvious)

what bothers me the most i think is meljay shippers who say Jayce mistreated her and that Mel only ever helped and care about him and aided him in rising to power politically, and how she was so understanding of Jayce's and Viktor's friendship. yes, encouraging methods of political corruption in order to gain more power is so caring and kind of her! ❤️

Mel might've told Jayce to go spend time with Viktor after finding out he was ill, but the one time in the show she interacted with Viktor was... prejudiced to say the least. she never directly spoke to or answered Viktor, and the expression on her face any time she looked over at Viktor was so clearly full of dislike. it shocks me ppl still believe Mel and Viktor could get along and respect one another, especially romantically. no way.

anyways, sorry for the rant. just tired of how many bad takes there are in this fandom and very fond of your account lol

you are right and you SHOULD say it re: that oft repeated argument about her "only wanting what's best for him" bothers me so much. Its just... weirdly patronizing and spousing pro-piltover nationalism every time i see it being brought up. "She's doing what anyone would do/what is best for the city!" IDK MAN I AM NOT ROCKING WITH THAT. Im not an ubercapitalist. I don't think any of that was the good option actually lol. Probably I hate piltover too much to humor these arguments but from day 1 we are shown this is a city of immense class inequality in which the elite few holds all the power and all the profit gains at the cost of everyone else's submission and humanity. (Not for nothing: these are also the classic old guard Noxian tenets of supremacy. That's how they do colonization.)

The interactions Mel has with Jayce for majority of the series, before she watches that bomb come in and has her rapid onset change of heart, are her talking about how investors want his work and how she can use his discovery to advance this city (which is already built on exploitation!) or instigating his rise to power as a new ringleader for the council's rigged mercantile operations, and this is just not good or heroic in any way to me. This isn't love either, it's industrial convenience. The fact that she's conflicted by the end doesn't cancel these actions out! Jayce realizes that he's been used in ways he strongly disagrees with and any the affection in that dynamic vanishes instantly. The time he spends in isolation replaying his mistakes in that cave has an emphasis on mel/heimerdinger's voice on the council too, all of his regrets with blindly following someone else's vision or disappointing an idol he held in high regards.

And Jayce DOES care about the state of the cities, or he did before the writers forgot: He's the one who pleads for Zaun's independence at the end of season 1! He's the one who spent all his life trying to work towards improving the lives of common people, giving them the miracles they've been denied!

Viktor is a fucking nobody. He is extremely worthless in the eyes of the piltovan upper crust, only kept around on the merits working with Jayce have afforded him; and they still don't care. They're probably hoping he dies quicker. We *SEE* him being singled out and alienated during that weapons discussion where Mel is pleading for Jayce to think about "protecting his people" (only piltovans, never, ever zaunites- protecting piltovans against the zaunite menace.) and Viktor is set off at that whole exchange because it doesn't matter how loud he screams, these people can just tune him off and pretend he doesn't exist anyway. It's what they're used to doing. It drives me insane!!!!! His indignation is extremely under-explored and very inline with his act1 speech of feeling like an undesirable presence in piltover and having to push through with the grit of his teeth. It's open faced classism and I still see people pretending it didn't happen. Fandom makes all of these characters FAR less interesting by defanging them. The heart is in the friction and in the ugliness of them fucking up because they have very, very different conceptions of "utopia" - and some of those utopias require the death of the other characters present.

A lot of the Arcane character arcs have to do with realizing the above, and weighing if the sacrifice is worth the risk. Sometimes it turns out their utopias were shit.

[sp4ceboo]

Who's Afraid of Little Old Me?: Feyd-Rautha x Reader

A/N: ty taylor swift i attempted to base this fic on your song but then i divulged as normal

tw: 18+, smut, p in v, inkpie, oral (both recieving), sub feyd by which i mean feyd is DOMMED, spit, degradation + praise, one spank kinda, swearing, lil bit of crying, mention of evil baron activities so sa + pedophilia, tiny mention of cheating but none actually happens, lmk if there's anything else bc lbr there probably is i just forgot it

wc: 3.9k

Feyd-Rautha has gravely underestimated you.

It is true that you are not strong in terms of Harkonnen definitions, but you expected a man destined to father the Kwisatz Haderach to be able to see past that. What was that the Bene Gesserit were saying about superior genetics? You don’t see even a glimpse of that in his frosty gaze when he regards you - he looks at you as if you’re a delicate vase that may shatter in the lightest of breezes. He thinks he needs to fear breaking you.

He misses how you miss nothing.

You are not Bene Gesserit; you are merely one of their pawns, a genetic machination produced from centuries of manipulations and deceptions, but you can read a man better than the majority of their number.

The seething jealousy in the clenching off Glossu Rabban’s fists is like a monster sinking its venom laced fangs into his heart: starkly evident to you - as evident as the barely repressed, parasitic fear of inadequacy that lurks like a second beast within the first. Just the same, the gazes the Baron sends your husband do not escape you. Nor does the caged, wild look that washes over him whenever you leave his uncle’s chambers: the look of a man who inside is still a boy, relief washing over him that he has left unscathed and untouched for another time.

Even more nuanced than that, you see the vulnerability within Feyd-Rautha. He craves to be loved, the way he should have been as a child, when instead he was desired; all this at an age where the most he should have been doing was playing with carved wooden toys at his parent’s feet.

He believes no one can see the last, soft sliver of his heart that he’s fought to preserve, that wants nothing but to have someone to be vulnerable with, just because he’s buried it so deep inside of him that sometimes even he doesn’t think it’s there any more.

But you see it.

You see beneath it too, to a place that he himself is not fully aware of. A place where he hates who he has become - a wild, savage creature, bleeding from wounds that do not seem to close up, slipping in its own blood when no one can see.

It’s from here, from this place, that the urge to preserve you somehow originates. He thinks you are a flower whose petals will easily be crushed in his heavy, calloused hands, and he is wrong; in a strange way it endears you to him, that he believes that he is too rough to hold you. You do not think it is quite love - not yet, at least, it is only the third month of your marriage - but when you see him fighting to not be the beast that he is before you in an effort to spare you, something that is not just pity stirs in your heart.

You can hear him now, pacing, cursing under his breath in the antechambers. Sometimes he sleeps there, on the narrow sofa, and you’ve come to realise it is those nights when he wants you most. Aside from your wedding night, he has made no other attempts to produce an heir, and you find his restraint valiant, but stupid.

He could try as hard as he liked; he would not get anywhere close to breaking you.

Rising from your seat on the small, ornate stool at the vanity, you push open the door to the antechamber and take a step into the room. Feyd pauses his pacing with his back to you, and you can see the tension in his shoulders and the rigid way he holds his body before he turns around to face you. His pupils are dilated, his eyes dark, and you watch him regard you with something too untethered to be restraint.

‘Am I keeping you awake, wife?’

You shake your head. ‘I had not retired yet.’

You know he expects you to explain why you’ve interrupted him, but you remain quiet - your silence is as much of a tool as your words. He doesn’t speak either, but his eyes tell you enough; they do not leave your frame, hungry, torrid, and his fingers twitch as if they ache to slip you out of the simple shift you wear to sleep and touch you everywhere, to explore the curves and dips of your body.

Tilting your head, you smirk. ‘If you wish to give me your heirs, husband, I would advise another method that differs from staring one into me.’

‘You don’t know what I want,’ he growls, but his face tells other tales.

Stepping forward, you reach out to him but he backs away. Still, the sheer thirst in his eyes sears away at you, even as his actions fight against it, his fingers closing on the doorknob. His hands are steady, his shoulders too, but the tightness in his muscles betrays him as always. Usually, you’d let him go now, but tonight you wish to see how far he will let you push him before he pushes back, so you snare his forearm in your fingers, tugging at him as he turns the knob.

He doesn’t look at you. ‘Don’t test me.’

You smile, cloyingly so. ‘Why not?’

Lightly, you trace your fingers down his chest, straightening the fabric of his black shirt while you gaze thoughtfully up at him through your lashes, lips curving upwards at the indecision in his eyes. He fights it, wrestles with the burning need, but in the end, he prevails, transforming it into a streak of anger that colours his voice as he tears himself from your grasp, recoiling as if your touch ignites pain within him - and maybe it is pain, that he wants you so but fears to indulge himself.

‘Get away from me.’

Feyd-Rautha does not give you a second to do so, because he is the one haring down the dimly lit corridor, his jaw tight, nails digging into his palms. Truthfully, you have never seen him move that fast, not even in the arena, and it almost makes you laugh - the great na-Baron fleeing from his wife and his own lecherous thoughts.

Maybe you did not win this round of tug of war, but he has asked something of you - to get away from him. Over the next few weeks, you follow this to the letter, avoiding him like the plague; you do not interrupt his pacing in the antechambers, nor do you haunt the bedroom like you normally do, asking him questions that he cannot answer. Feyd-Rautha is sensitive to change and you know he will seek the reason for it.

There is a barely cloaked intensity in his eyes when he finally corners you, and under it, you detect recognition: he sees that you are not who he thought you were, and he sees that you are not so different from him - always observing, always planning, and so, mind shatteringly hungry.

You were just dropping by the bed chambers to gather some of your clothes. The night before, you’d relocated yourself to one of the guest bedrooms - you could sense Feyd’s resolve cracking, and you knew that this would break it for certain: coming into his chambers to find them empty, wifeless, your side of the bed damningly cold. Jealousy is clear in his eyes as he backs you against the vanity, filling you with a rising sense of triumph.

‘What has caused this change in your behaviour, wife?’

You raise a brow, faking confusion. ‘What change? I would argue it is your behaviour that has changed, Feyd, you who can barely stand to be in a room alone with me.’

He snarls. ‘Who were you with last night?’

‘I thought you wanted me to get away from you,’ you reply, keeping up your pretence a little longer. ‘I slept in the guest quarters. You do not reciprocate any of my advances.’

‘Advances?’ He echoes, incredulous. ‘You taunt me, wife. It’s like you want me to break you.’

Cocking your head, you regard him coolly for a moment, letting some of the sharpness of your unmasked gaze leak through, letting him see the calculation in your eyes - you see the wariness it incites in him as he realises again that you are not who he thinks you are. Wordless, you lean in close to him, bringing your face to his, hovering there.

And then you let your arm drop and make a swipe for the knife at his belt.

Fast as a viper, he catches your wrist in your fingers, but you smile, challenge in your eyes as you bring his second blade to his neck. You’d slipped it out while he was distracted with your other hand, and he blinks at the cold press of it to his skin.

‘That’s the problem, isn’t it?’ You murmur. ‘You’re not scared of me, you’re scared of breaking me. Who’s afraid of little old me, huh? No one is, Feyd.’

‘They should be,’ he whispers, and when you meet his gaze, it sets you alight.

‘Indeed,’ you reply softly, letting your lower lip brush his.

As he kisses you, his hands seizing your face and locking you to him, you hook his knife’s blade in the collar of his shirt and drag it down, slicing the fabric until it flutters to the floor. Pulling away, you take him in - the moonlight planes of his sculpted chest, the broadness of his shoulders, his roiling, keen gaze. This man whets your appetite in the darkest kinds of ways: you cannot wait to ruin him.

Absently, you trace the outline of the tent in his pants with the tip of the knife blade. A breathy noise leaves him, and he freezes as if he can feel the cold kiss of the metal against his skin; you laugh, delighted that he is so mouldable in your hands.

‘Get on your knees,’ you command, seating yourself on the end of the bed.

It’s captivating, his lack of hesitation as he follows your orders. He sits back on his heels, looking up at you, and you can tell that he’s letting you see him like this, you can tell that if he didn’t want you to have him like this, you wouldn’t, but still, you reach out, gently skimming his shoulder with your fingertips.

‘All you have to do is say, and I will stop,’ you say.

He dips his chin. ‘I do not think I’ll have to.’

You smirk, something savage and powerful and thrillingly depraved rearing its head inside you, awakened by the sight of the na-Baron kneeling at your feet. That will be his last coherent sentence tonight.

Pausing, making him wait, you lean down a little, inspecting his features, the ardour in his eyes. He looks at you as if you hold the universe in your hands, as if you hung the stars in his sky, as if you are a  goddess, and he wants nothing but to worship you until he is expended.

You spit on him.

It lands on his cheek, and his eyes widen a fraction. A shudder wracks his body, and he simply stares up at you, breathing heavy, before slowly, his lips part, and he sticks out his tongue, his request evident. You grab his jaw, squeezing so that he opens up wider, and spit in his mouth - the low groan that leaves him as he swallows is fucking delectable.

His cock twitches in his pants when you pick up the knife. Tracing the blade over the shell of his ear, over his cheekbone and over his lips, you marvel at the way he holds still, awaiting what you’ll inflict on him next like a good little toy.

When the metal reaches his jaw, you nick the skin, drinking up his sharp intake of breath and the clench of his fists as the blood trickles down the column of his throat; you catch the droplet of crimson on your tongue, licking a careful stripe up his neck, grinning when you catch his lips in a kiss and he trembles at the taste of his own blood. Feyd is greedy, his tongue brushing against yours as he leans up into your touch, the way his mouth works against yours hot, fervent, pleading.

Planting a palm to his sternum, you push him back, chuckling when he strains to follow you, eyes glazed, lips swollen. You spot a streak of red and swipe your thumb over his lower lip, wiping it off before standing.

‘Get up, strip, and get on the bed,’ you bid him, pulling your own shift over your head.

Feyd scrambles to follow your orders, yanking his pants down, and you take your time to admire his muscle sheathed body; strength ripples beneath his skin, a sweet dichotomy to his weeping cock, rock hard and flushed rosy. He halts his movements, as if he’s pinned down by your appraising gaze.

‘For whom do you wait, husband?’

As he turns to get onto the bed, he’s a little too slow and you swat at his ass. A choked sound leaves him, and you laugh at the way his knees almost buckle. Feyd’s ears run red when he lies down on the mattress, and you straddle his thighs, sneering at the way he twists his fingers in the sheets, squirming beneath you.

‘Pathetic.’

You don’t give him time to respond, instead wrapping your fingers around his cock and pumping up and down fast, and he gasps at your rough touch, his back arching and his hands coming up to touch you - you wave them off you, meeting his eyes.

‘No touching,’ you intone, the hint of warning in your voice enough to render him obedient.

This time, you take his cock head in your mouth. He’s so fucking sensitive, reacting as if the sweep of your thumb down the underside of him and the slide of your tongue over him is mind shattering; it doesn’t take you long to get him teetering at the edge of his orgasm, just for you to pull away at the last moment.

His thigh jolts, weak pleas of your name leaving his lips, gripping the sheets so hard you wonder if they’ll rip. Again, you take him in your mouth, deeper, one hand dipping to play with his balls; you revel in the wretched sound that he makes when you hollow your cheeks around him, your teeth grazing up his length. You toy with him until you think he’s moments from breaking, until he’s writhing upon the sheets, face contorted in pleasure loaded with sweet, sweet agony.

‘Please let me come,’ he whimpers, voice cracking, the look in his eyes crazed, pitiful. ‘Please.’

You decide to give it to him, jerking him brutally fast until he comes; it hits him like a tidal wave - his eyes roll back in his skull, his body tensing, rigid and impossibly taut before he goes boneless, a broken cry of your name on his lips as he spills all over his stomach. A single, ecstatic tear slides down his cheek as his orgasm seizes him, snatching him up and shaking him like a ragdoll.

Lingering at his side, you wait until he’s come down from his high before getting up to retrieve a damp cloth from the bathroom, perching on the bed beside him and cleaning up his come, pressing kisses to the surprisingly soft skin of his hips. One wavering hand comes to rest in your hair, and you glance up at him, biting back a smug grin at the dazed look in his eyes.

‘Feeling okay?’

He nods.

‘Words,’ you chide.

‘Y - yes, na-Baroness. Better than okay.’

You raise a brow at that. You did not specify for him to call  you anything, so this is all his doing; he fidgets beneath your gaze, and you note that he’s growing hard again, his cock stiffening between his thighs.

‘Can I…’ He begins, but trails off, thinking better of it.

‘No, little na-Baron,’ you reply coyly. ‘Tell me what you desire.’

His eyes scorch you with their yearning. ‘I want to taste you, na-Baroness.’

You smile. ‘As you wish.’

You lean back against the pillows, letting your legs fall open for him. It’s somewhat comical, the way his eyes widen as he sees your slick cunt, and he swallows harshly - you can almost sense his mouth watering. Carefully, reverently, almost, he nudges your knees over his wide shoulders, bringing his face close to your pussy, admiring you. It’s as if he’s testing himself, waiting to see how long it takes for him to break and taste you.

Lurching forward, Feyd groans, low and deep and right against your clit when he laps at your heat, quickly becoming insatiable as his tongue moves masterfully at the apex of your legs, laving over your clit and curving in and out of you. Bolts of pleasure spear through your body, fierce like crackling lightning at the eye of a storm - he is everything to you in this moment. He shatters you, breaking you and mending you anew.

As he brings you closer, your body begins to shake and your legs close around his head; you suffocate him with your thighs, and you can tell he lives for it from the way he fervently grips your ass in his large hands, kneading the flesh and moaning into your pussy.

Something pulls tight within you, deliciously so, and you cry his name in warning, fingers curling around the base of his neck to hold him still as your hips buck, rutting into his face. Dimly, you can see him grinding into the mattress as you fuck yourself on his tongue - the chafe of his nose against your clit makes you shatter, and you fall apart for him with a ragged cry, nails digging into his shoulders.

You’re still coming down from it when Feyd begins to lap at you again, dutifully cleaning you up, and you twitch with the slight overstimulation, hooking a finger under his chin to see his eyes: his gaze is loaded with the heat of a thousand suns, and yet somehow it is also bleary, drunk. A laugh escapes you, and you tug at his hand, encouraging him to lie beside you.

‘Good boy,’ you hum as he nuzzles into your touch. You can feel him achingly hard against your thigh, and you let yourself catch your breath before reaching down and wrapping your fingers around his cock. ‘Want to fuck me now, hm?’

He nods avidly. ‘Yes, na-Baroness.’

All it takes is for you to half spread your legs before he’s climbing eagerly between them, hesitating before looking up at you for permission. You dip your chin, smirking, and then he’s sinking into you, burying himself inside you.

Voice cracking, Feyd chokes out your name, and he shudders, gasping at the velvet vice of your cunt as it clenches, bearing down on him. Sharply, you rock your hips up to meet his, and this time, a soft, keening whine leaves him, and he squeezes his eyes shut, biting down hard on his lower lip.

He can barely keep himself from spilling inside you.

‘You can barely hold it, can’t you, my little na-Baron?’

His words come out jumbled, his speech scrambled, mind ground to a standstill by the all consuming heat of your cunt; he babbles out protests, saying that he can, desperate to prove he can, stammering that he wants to make you feel good.

Cruelly, you buck your hips up against his again, and a pained sound looses from his chest, but he thrusts to meet you, hips lurching forward, his arms almost buckling either side of your head. Panting, he pulls out slowly before slamming back in, unable to stifle the whimper that tears from the back of his throat when you rake your nails down his shoulder blades, claiming him, littering his shoulders and neck with bites.

‘That’s it,’ you sigh as he finds his pace. ‘Just like that, good boy.’

A strangled noise tears itself from him at your praise, and he fucks into you, frantic, almost feral. Eventually, his thrusts begin to turn sloppy, and you kiss him in order to steal his breath and taste his fervid moans of your name on your tongue as he comes deep inside you.

Pressing a palm to his lower back, you pin him there, buried snugly within your pussy as you reach down with your other hand and rub your clit hard - it takes but a moment for you to come, and he writhes at the cataclysmic feel of your walls fluttering around him, overstimulating him, his mouth falling open in a silent cry as he comes again with your cunt milking his cock.

Completely spent, Feyd goes limp, and you rub your hand over his back, smoothing circles on his skin with your lips to his forehead. The post orgasm clarity begins to hit him, and you feel him go rigid - slowly, he pulls out, his seed leaking out now that he’s not filling you, and he attempts to get up, but his legs are too weak and he collapses beside you instead, his chest heaving, his eyes still a little hazy, still fucked out, even as he fights for lucidity.

There’s something on his face that cuts at your heart - a look of expectancy, as if he’s waiting for you to get up and leave now that you’ve had your fill of him. Concerned, you reach out, and he leans away from your touch.

‘Feyd,’ you murmur. ‘It was not too much, was it?’

‘N - no,’ he replies. ‘I just…’

Sitting up slowly, you look him right in the eyes. He stares back, bewildered, but you press a finger to his lips, foregoing your own fumbling words to instead recite the pledge of allegiance of a Harkonnen soldier to their general; his eyes widen - you know you have hit home. You’d exchanged wedding vows, of course, but these have a different meaning: you see it in the respectful way it is uttered, a soldier acknowledging his superior’s presence.

You pledge to him not only your heart, but your sword - your service - too.

‘Wife,’ Feyd bites out. ‘Surely you do not mean - ’

‘I mean it,’ you cut in. ‘Every word.’

Again, you reach for him, and this time he does not flinch away, letting you tuck him close to you, his breath coming out shaky. Gently, you tip up his chin, planting a chaste kiss on his parted lips, and he returns it slowly, wondrously, no teeth or tongue, just the gentle brush of his mouth against yours: the innocence of it is bittersweet - has anyone ever kissed him this tenderly?

Carefully, you withdraw, wanting to see him, but he does not let you meet his eyes, instead hiding his face in your neck, his lips at the hollow of your throat. You grant him the privacy of not being seen when you feel wetness on your skin, his hot tears tracking down and pooling in your collarbone - his hands ball at his sides, and you pry open his fingers and lace yours with his, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. Tightly, you wrap your arms around him, holding him with a hand cupping the back of his head, cradling him to your chest.

Your voice is quiet in the still air, but it carries as if through an arena, a promise arcing through the air like a soaring arrow.

‘You no longer walk this world alone, Feyd-Rautha.’

best believe when i started writing this i did not anticipate the 2x 'good boy's 🧍

dune taglist: @callumsgirl @oh-you-mean-me @insufferablyunbearable

[an-idyllic-novelist]

Jin "Jiji" Enjoji relationship headcanons

warnings: fem!reader, spoilers beyond the Cursed House arc, OOC, tooth-rotting fluff.

Special thanks to @miaurieee for beta-reading this draft before I posted it :3 I am caught up with the Dandadan manga series up to Volume 10, which somehow I was able to acquire over the Christmas break by nothing short of a miracle given to how my local bookstore keeps running out of stock 😅 So if you don’t want to be spoiled, it’s probably not a good idea to venture any further.

For those who have chosen to stay, I hope you’ll enjoy these headcanons~!

Although he is a flirty and weird-ass drama queen by nature, Jiji is the sweetest guy that a girl would love to have as a boyfriend. Not only is he charismatic, funny, easygoing, he is also loyal. Once he knows he has found that special someone, he is in it for the long haul. And he knows that it’s you because…well, he’s got great instincts! :3

He would definitely walk you to and from school.

Do you want a drink from the school cafeteria? No problem! Just give him a few and he’ll be right back~! He might seem a little flighty, but Jiji has a really good memory. Remember how he knew Momo preferred Pompy even when it’s been years since he’s seen her? Yeah, he’ll have your likes and dislikes memorized in no time.

Dates with Jiji would be spontaneous; ranging between cozy and quiet, like window-shopping around the city and then grab something at the coffee shop, adrenaline-pumping like playing against each other at the local arcade to see who can win the most tickets or going on all the rides at the amusement park, it’s honestly the luck of the draw. But please don’t feel obligated to do everything in one day just to make him happy, okay? If you’re feeling tired and want to go home or if you’re hungry, he’ll totally understand.

Communication and honesty are important foundations in your relationship, so bottling everything up inside is not a good idea and might cause Jiji to second-guess himself or think he’s doing something wrong.

Now, in regard to the whole Evil Eye scenario: he will insist that you stay away from the Ayase residence until the exorcism is completed. He has a mountain yokai inside of his body, and it was his own fault for inviting him inside. The last thing he wants is something to happen to you and there was nothing he could do to stop it from happening. This would happen if you two started dating right after he transferred schools or continued dating until he left town for the city after his parents’ hospitalization.

Flash forward to Okarun making a deal with the Evil Eye and fighting the yokai on Tuesdays after school, with the cursed underwear being safely kept at Manjiro’s shrine. Once he knows that the Evil Eye will not break his promise, especially after accidentally transforming a few times at home, Jiji will feel a little more at ease being around you. Just don’t go around splashing anything cold on him, just in case. Room temperature is fine. His chi training is paying off, so in the unlikely event that it does happen, he can revert the transformation and go back to normal. He might be a little tired afterwards, though.

If you two weren’t already together prior to the Evil Eye situation, Jiji would definitely be falling head over heels for you as time passed. He would see you as someone who is amazing in their own way, even if you had some glaring flaws and were a bit of a weirdo too :3 Brownie points if the Evil Eye actually doesn’t call you a turd and is semi-well-behaved when he’s around you at school or in public.

Treat this eccentric dude right, and your relationship will definitely be one heck of a rollercoaster ride that will be full of firsts, maybe some scary things, but he’ll be by your side through it all.

Taglist: @bdudette @hoodiepandaninja16 @napbatata @karai-frost @kazudare @myduality @shidousprincess @sleep-all-day-everyday @taesy-miranda-lee @osarumi @satorousgf @cherie-soup @skwunkler @melodiblues @anonymity-222 @cumbersome-robes @zero-in-kyoto @h0undd0gzw0rld @decay-1 @justamegafan @minnie-1-3 @bumblebeebutter @theofficialfem @sadprimrose @bigbodycity @daniiixoxo @silentbreathss @skelletonscloset @mira-belcul18 @thatstrangesheep @thewindigo

[ssa-dado]

Annoyingly Yours - SOS

Aaron Hotchner x fem!bau!reader Genre: fluff, angst though it's more like ♫ LOATHING, UNADULTERATED LOATHING ♫ Summary: At 33, Aaron Hotchner prides himself on discipline and control... until you become his deskmate. With quirks that seem to clash against his precision, you’re nothing short of maddening. Even your breathing seems to provoke a visceral reaction in him... surely out of frustration, right? Not out of... attraction?! Warnings: None, just wanted to clarify the story is set in 1998, before Hotch became Unit Chief (Gideon and Rossi were charge instead). Word Count: 4.4k Dado's Corner: Based on this ask sent by the loml @c-losur3. Made a few tweaks because I can. And because I’m evil. Enter Aaron “convinces himself he hates you while secretly nursing a big fat crush” Hotchner. A timeless classic. Hope you like it.

masterlist

“People demand freedom of speech as a compensation for the freedom of thought which they seldom use.” - Søren Kierkegaard

Written in blue gel ink on a neon pink sticky note, it sat smugly atop the pristine case file Hotch had spent hours perfecting the night before.

No signature, no admission of guilt.

Just a bright, audacious square of defiance left to mock him.

In all his years as a profiler, he’d never encountered a case this easy to solve. Hell, he wished his active investigations were even half as simple as this. Because only after approximately half a second of analysis, the profile of the Unsub was crystal clear:

Female. Early 20s. A twisted sense of humor. A fascination with philosophy, particularly the existential, though occasionally dabbling in absurdism. Works in law enforcement - specifically, the BAU. Only writes in blue ink because she needs her words to stand out as much as her personality does. Likely has a compulsive habit of arriving to work early but never early enough to beat him to the office.

And there she was, the Unsub, strolling through the entrance just as the clock struck 6:01.

“Good morning, Hotch,” you said without even glancing in his direction, as if you somehow sensed his irritation wafting across the bullpen.

You were the Unsub.

His polyglot, sarcastic, sticky-note-vandalizing deskmate.

Case closed.

“Why did you leave me this?” he scoffed as his fingers carefully peeled back the neon pink square from the folder.

The glue resisted just enough to be infuriating, threatening to leave a smear on what he privately considered his masterpiece - a report so cleanly written that it might one day serve as the gold standard for FBI rookies.

And now, his file, had been vandalized.

It bore your mark.

“Educational purposes,” you said airily, as you dropped into your chair facing his own, a complete lack of regard for the disruption you caused just by existing in his vicinity.

He despised it.

That your desk had to face his, ensuring that every time he so much as lifted his gaze, he was met with the perpetual source of his unease, was nothing short of torture.

Why couldn’t you be like his last deskmate? That moron at least had the decency to leave him alone unless absolutely necessary.

The most small talk he’d ever inflicted was the occasional, self-congratulatory monologue about whatever barely-legal college girl he’d managed to con into bed last Friday night with the oh-so-irresistible revelation that he was FBI.

At least after spewing his bullshit, the guy would shut up and return to his self-inflicted misery, no doubt haunted by the limitations of his pitifully small brain.

You, instead, were far too smart - too sharp for your own good, really - but still your humor was as broken as his own. You had the same, if not more, level of drive. And for some inexplicable reason, you shared his obsession with arriving early.

It was maddening.

It was his thing - his small act of rebellion against a world that had always expected more from him than he could give.

His hours of solitude before the office filled with noise, before the madness and the demands of others hijacked his peace. Those few precious hours were his escape, his refuge, where he could think, where he could breathe.

But no, you had to show up too. Every damn morning.

“Educational purposes?” He echoed flatly, regretting, for the hundredth time, that he ever encouraged you to speak before his second cup of coffee.

“Yes, Hotch. I’ve never seen you use a sticky note,” you retorted, as if your reasoning were completely rational and not mildly absurd. “So, naturally, I assumed you didn’t know they existed. Thought I’d be kind of me to introduce you to the concept.”

“You’re hilarious,” he deadpanned, the sarcasm sliding off his tongue with a sharpness that matched the ache now forming at his temples. “I know what sticky notes are. I don’t use them because they’re impractical. They always leave glue residue, it’s annoying.”

Since for some reasons he felt the need to emphasize his point, he held up his sacred notebook - a worn, leather-bound treasure he treated like an extension of himself. “That’s why we have these. To take proper notes. Like agents. Not middle schoolers.”

But you didn’t even flinch.

Instead, you leaned back in your chair, the movement slow and casual, yet just enough to make him irrationally nervous that you might tip over. “They don’t leave residue if you close the case fast enough. The glue won’t have time to dry. But I guess if it takes you ages to solve something, that’s not really the sticky note’s fault, is it? Sounds more like a problem with the agent.”

His jaw locked so tightly it was a wonder his teeth didn’t crack.

The nerve of you.

He hated how his body betrayed him like this, the faintest tingle at the back of his neck, the way his pulse faltered and then stuttered, because his decision to remain silent didn’t let his voice do the stammering instead.

Oh, he wanted to argue.

Desperately.

To lay out an irrefutable case demonstrating, that the fault lay not in the man who would undoubtedly climb the FBI ranks faster than anyone dared imagine but in the cheap adhesive some factory somewhere had slapped onto your stupid pack of hot pink sticky notes.

And all he wanted, absurdly, was to prove you wrong.

Not just wrong. Spectacularly wrong.

But instead of offering a retort worthy of his reputation, he exhaled sharply, forcing his jaw to unclench.

He leaned forward slightly, his dark eyes locking onto yours, narrowing into the kind of look that could silence seasoned agents, suspects, and even Gideon when necessary.

Yet somehow, it had no discernible effect on the 21-year-old profiler sitting across from him - the one who’d been in the BAU for barely three weeks and already seemed impervious to his most withering glares.

As if in response to his futile attempt at dominance, your smirk widened, as though you could hear the unspoken debate raging in his head. Worse, it looked like you were enjoying the fact that you’d managed to rattle him.

And God help him, he felt rattled.

“How many of those sticky notes do you have?” he finally asked.

Your response was almost immediate.

“As many as you need,” you said as you pulled open your top-right drawer – the drawer that had come to symbolize everything he couldn’t categorize about you.

It housed your so-called “essentials”: pencils, a collection of elastic bands you had an infuriating habit of launching at him when the mood struck, and the same six markers in various states of decay - probably relics from your high school days. There was a stapler in there too - one he had to admit, with no small amount of shame, he borrowed from time to time.

But then there were the other items. The ones his categorically organized brain couldn’t quite justify sharing space with stationary essentials.

A box of tea - the kind of black tea with a scent so strong it practically sucker-punched him from across the desk every time you brewed it, chocolate bars that mysteriously appeared and vanished like contraband…

…and, as it turned out, the dreaded sticky notes.

They were hidden beneath the tea box, of course - because why not force him to think about the assault on his nostrils that would begin precisely three hours and twenty-seven minutes from now?

You lifted the box, revealing the fluorescent pink squares of doom, a shade so bright it only made the pain going on in his head since the first moment you opened your mouth today even worse.

“I only have hot pink, though,” you announced, holding the sticky notes up.

“…And?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Am I not allowed to use hot pink? Do you have a problem with that?”

“On the contrary,” you said, your lips curling into that infuriating smirk again. “I’m impressed. I thought you’d whine about a color demasculating your sacred reports.”

He felt his pulse thrum in his ears at that.

He almost - almost - wanted to tell you that you were looking at a man currently wearing pink socks under his neatly pressed slacks. A pair that had, unfortunately, turned pink during his first solo attempt at laundry in college and had somehow managed to stay in his rotation all these years, as a reminder that even the best could make mistakes.

But he didn’t.

Not because he was embarrassed - he wasn’t - but because he knew you’d twist it into something else entirely, another jab, another laugh at his expense.

And the last thing he needed right now was more of this.

Whatever this was.

Instead, he picked up the hot pink sticky notes, tapping them against his palm. “I’ll take them, we’ll see if it’s really the agent’s fault."

By mid-morning, to his reluctant surprise, the sticky notes had become one of his favorite tools - not just for their undeniable practicality but because they gave him the perfect weapon to deliver a dose of your own medicine.

And you deserved it. Absolutely, unequivocally deserved it.

After all, it wasn’t him launching elastic bands at his deskmate with sniper-like precision at ungodly hours, the faint thwack cutting through the quiet bullpen as the band landed squarely in his lap, while he was clearly trying to work. This, from the same person who’d managed to fail their firearm certification twice

It wasn’t him leaning subtly - though not subtly enough - to sneak a peek at his case files because your own workload wasn’t challenging enough to hold your attention. Still too new to the team, you’d only been sent into the field once, a prisoner of the bullpen and endless paperwork. Yet, despite the monotony, you remained undeterred, tirelessly determined to prove your worth at every possible turn.

And it certainly wasn’t him disrupting the flow of the day by asking if his coffee needed refilling when he was clearly already immersed in work, only to return moments later with an extra steaming cup - and a piece of chocolate from that drawer - placing it without a word on his desk like it wasn’t an unnecessary intrusion. Because you were just kind like that.

It wasn’t him rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, the fabric bunching unevenly around his elbows - a motion so predictable it had practically become your tell when you were wrestling with a puzzle more stubborn than the agent that solving it.

Nor was it how your forearms inevitably transformed into impressionist paintings of smudged blue ink, the accidental artwork often bleeding onto the cuffs of your shirt, leaving the unfortunate soul seated across from you utterly derailed from whatever he’d been about to jot down, unable to look away.

It wasn’t him who dressed like that.

Had a brain like that.

A voice like that.

A face like that.

No.

It wasn’t him. It was you. And that was the problem.

Because for all his irritation, for all his carefully constructed disdain, he couldn’t stop noticing. Couldn't stop looking. Couldn't stop… what exactly?

…Right.

Couldn’t stop scribbling down his meticulously crafted revenge, which he would plant squarely on your desk the moment you wandered off to refill your coffee.

“We are all born ignorant, but one must work hard to remain stupid.” – Benjamin Franklin

Thought you might enjoy something to ponder while you’re busy ignoring the typo you made on page 7, line 15 of your report.– A.H.

He placed the sticky note precisely in the center of your desk, ensuring it was impossible to miss. Satisfied, he returned to his seat, feigning an air of indifference as he watched you from the corner of his eye.

It didn’t take long.

He didn’t look up when you arrived, but he heard it - the subtle shift in your breathing, the gasp as your eyes widened. The pages of your report rustled as you flipped through them, and the sharp exhale that followed told him you’d found it.

“Unbelievable,” you muttered, more to yourself than him.

Never had a sound been so soothing to his ears.

And yet - he should have known better.

He barely had time to blink before the loud thud of your hand slamming onto his desk jolted him upright. He looked up to find you standing over him, your eyes gleaming with a smugness so infuriating it made him want to wipe it off your face.

His gaze darted down to the sticky note you’d slapped in front of him, and -

Oh.

Hotch stared at it. Then stared some more.

There, in all its crude glory, was what could only be described as a "creative interpretation" of a very specific part of the male anatomy, staring back at him from the bright pink square.

“The proportions are all wrong.” He deadpanned.

And then you, with all your infuriating composure, leaned on his desk.

Close. Too close.

"Oh, I’m sorry, Agent Hotchner," you said, raising a brow. "If you want it anatomically correct, maybe next time you should hand me a reference photo."

His brain short-circuited.

For a horrifying moment, he couldn’t think of a single word, but only at the implication of what you said… you couldn’t mean that… right?!

“Not yours!” you blurted out, your hands flailing in a frantic attempt to erase the moment. “I didn’t mean- I wasn’t asking for- I just-”

"And I certainly wouldn’t-" he cut in, his own voice breaking due to the sudden clumsiness of his own tongue.

But the damage was done.

Your cheeks turned the same vivid shade as the neon pink sticky note still plastered defiantly on his desk. He felt his own face burning, and the back of his neck prickled uncomfortably, like his own body was actively rebelling against him.

Both of you were way too stunned to say anything that wouldn’t somehow make it worse.

Hotch’s mind raced for a way to defuse the situation, but every possible response felt like it would either escalate the embarrassment or reveal… something he wasn’t ready to confront.

And then, mercifully - or perhaps not - your survival instincts kicked in.

“I’ll just… uh… get more coffee,” you muttered, backing away from his desk like it might physically combust if you stayed a moment longer. You turned on your heel, clearly aiming to escape the bullpen as fast as humanly possible. “Do you want some?”

He blinked, thrown off by the question. “Yes, thanks. Black,” he replied automatically, his voice still a little stiff.

As soon as you were out of sight, he allowed himself to crumble. His left hand dragged across his face, fingers pressing against his temples as if they could massage the ridiculousness of it all out of his brain.

Stupid. The whole thing was so stupid.

A slip of the tongue, a misstep, blown completely out of proportion.

And yet, here he was, sitting at his desk, undone by a pink sticky note and a fleeting moment of awkwardness.

With a low, frustrated groan, he let his hand drop, hitting his forehead against the heel of his palm in a futile attempt to snap himself out of it.

Focus. He needed to focus.

He stared down at the open case file in front of him, its neatly typed words mocking him with their clarity.

He knew they were legible - he’d written them himself.

But right now, the letters blurred into meaningless smudges on the page, overridden by a far more vivid image - your face.

Flushed. Wide-eyed. Flustered.

This was ridiculous. He was ridiculous.

Just a joke, he reminded himself. Just a stupid, ill-timed joke.

And yet his chest still felt tight, his pulse erratic, like he’d run up the stairs two steps at a time.

His gaze flicked to the sticky note still sitting on the edge of his desk, as bright and offensive as the moment it had first been slapped down in front of him. Without thinking, he grabbed it, crumpling it in his fist.

There. Problem solved. Gone. Out of sight, out of mind.

He could move on.

But then his hand stilled, his grip loosening as he stared at the crumpled ball of paper.

His pulse still raced, his mind still spiraled, and all because of… this.

A rational man would throw it away. Rip it into pieces, toss it into the trash, and let it become a fleeting, forgotten memory.

He should throw it away. He would throw it away. Any second now.

But his hand didn’t move.

Instead, and against every shred of common sense he prided himself on, Hotch smoothed the crumpled edges as best he could and opened his desk drawer, tucking it far into the back, behind a few other things he pretended not to care about but couldn’t quite get rid of.

Hidden away, out of sight.

Safe.

From what? From you? From himself? He didn’t have the answer, and he didn’t dare linger on the questions.

Instead, he closed the drawer with more force than necessary, ignoring the faint tremor in his hand - but even as he turned his attention to the files in front of him, the pink still lingered in his periphery, an afterimage burned into his mind.

Of your flustered face.

Adorable.

So adorable that, over time, that sticky note became far from the only item inhabiting that drawer.

Aaron Hotchner - the very man who had once scoffed at your so-called “miscellaneous essentials” drawer - now secretly had one of his own.

A collection of odd, seemingly random things: items you had given him, thrown at him in moments of boredom, or those ridiculous little tokens you’d started exchanging lately that blurred the line between teasing and genuine thoughtfulness.

Because that’s what deskmates did, right?

They shared. They joked. They exchanged these odd little tokens of camaraderie that somehow made the job less crushing.

Except this felt like something more.

Maybe you were more than deskmates. Maybe even… friends?

And he wasn’t the only one who noticed.

Gideon, had been starting to observe the two of you like he was profiling a particularly complex unsub, his sharp, knowing glances making Hotch feel like a bug under a magnifying glass.

Then there was Rossi, who took an almost perverse delight in making his observations less subtle. "Synergy," he'd say with a pointed smirk, the kind that made Hotch’s jaw tighten. "It’s a rare thing, you know, finding compatibility like this. Magic, really."

They saw something. Something neither of you was ready to admit.

And ominously - no, deliberately - they decided to exploit it.

Because that’s what bosses did.

The BAU was chronically understaffed, perpetually fighting against the outdated perception that profiling was glorified guesswork. The pay wasn’t anything to write home about, either. Most cases were worked from behind desks, saving the budget for the bigger field assignments.

But what the BAU lacked in glamour, it tried to make up for in partnerships - teams so seamlessly synchronized they became the backbone of the unit.

Apparently, you and Hotch had become one of those teams.

What had started as two distinct desks - two well-defined territories with clear boundaries - had slowly morphed into one chaotic shared space.

A 5’x5’ no-man’s-land where it was impossible to tell where your workspace ended, and his began.

Like now.

The oversized map of your current case sprawled across the desk, forcing you both into closer proximity than either of you would normally allow.

You were perched on his side of the desk, tracing potential paths and patterns, completely absorbed in piecing together the unsub’s geographical profile.

He told himself he was focused. Jotting down victim locations. Marking points on the map with  little red magnets.

Totally immersed in the task at hand.

Except he wasn’t.

Because the occasional brush of your arm against his felt electrifying in a way it had no right to be.

Because your voice, low and steady as you murmured your observations, felt less like background noise and more like the only sound in the room.

And yet, this closeness, this seamless partnership, felt natural.

Effortless.

Distracting as hell.

So distracting that by the time he placed the last magnet, he realized he’d miscounted. One victim left, and no magnet to place them.

“Hotch,” you said softly, your eyes scanning the map, “It looks like we might’ve missed a pin for Daniel Hardman.”

How diplomatic of you.

How unnecessarily kind, considering it was entirely his fault.

He’d miscounted the magnets - a mistake caused by a momentary lapse in focus when, mid-count, you casually asked him if he wanted to go watch the first Star Wars prequel with you next year.

It wasn’t just the advance planning that sent his mind reeling - though the thought of you penciling him into your future like that was disarming enough - it was the fact that you remembered he liked Star Wars.

A detail you had no business remembering, and yet, somehow, you did.

“Yes, sorry. There are more in my drawer,” he said, standing quickly to fetch them himself. But before he could stop you, you were already at the drawer, pulling it open.

“It’s the second one-” The words barely left his mouth before he heard the gasp.

“…from the top,” he finished weakly, already knowing what you’d seen.

There they were. Your tokens. In his drawer. Staring right at you.

The gun casing from the bullet you’d proudly handed him after finally earning your firearm certification on your third attempt. You’d declared, almost giddy, that you’d never be a burden to him again, and maybe it was his lessons, you’d added shyly, that had helped you finally overcome it. He wasn’t sure what had struck him more: the pride in your voice or the fact that you’d thought of him at all.

A framed solo photograph of the two of you from that year’s Thanksgiving spent stuck in the bullpen, drowning in case files while Rossi and Gideon insisted on a makeshift dinner with takeout. You hadn’t hesitated for a second, throwing an arm around him for the picture and leaning into him like it was the most natural thing in the world. For you, maybe it had been. For him, it had been anything but.

Every single elastic band you’d launched at him -143, though he’d never admit to counting.

A single stray hair tie - the one you’d used to tie his hair into a ridiculous fountain one day when his fringe had gotten so long it kept falling into his face. He’d left it like that the rest of the day, silently cursing himself for how much he didn’t hate it.

An unopened pack of hot pink sticky notes, the only color he now allowed himself to buy, though he’d never admit why.

And, of course, every sticky note you’d ever left him, arranged in chronological order - except for one.

The “caricature,” the crude drawing that had started his ridiculous collection. That particular sticky note hadn’t stayed long in the drawer. Somehow, it had made its way home with him, “inexplicably” framed and placed on his bedside table.

It now sat next to his alarm clock, the two most irritating objects in his life.

Both constant reminders of things he couldn’t seem to escape - one for its relentless insistence on dragging him out of bed every morning, and the other for how it made him feel every time he looked at it.

And now here you were, looking up from the drawer, eyes wide. “Hotch…”

He tensed, his pulse quickening with each step you took toward him… what were you doing?

Without a word, you opened your drawer—the infamous "essentials" drawer he thought he knew like the back of his hand.

Except this time, its contents had changed.

Because right on top, perched like a cherished keepsake, was a photo he hadn’t known existed.

Another one from that Thanksgiving night.

The one photo taken moments later, when you’d decided, in your infinite ability to wreak havoc, to joke about “capturing a moment” and had wrapped your arms around his head, holding him still as you planted a kiss on his cheek.

His expression in the photo was pure indignation, eyebrows furrowed in protest - though it also captured the deep rouge spreading across his cheeks.

“This one is my favorite,” you said, laughing as you held it up for him to see. “You’re so red in it, it’s hilarious.”

He stared at the photo, feeling the telltale warmth creeping up his neck, threatening to betray him all over again. His ears burned as he managed to mutter, “Never been kissed by a woman before.”

The words hung in the air for a beat too long.

You blinked, your laughter abruptly halting as your mouth fell open in shock. “Wait, seriously? Are you-?”

He sighed, cutting you off before your pity or disbelief could spiral out of control. “I was joking,” he said, voice flat and utterly deadpan. “I’ve been kissed by women. Multiple.”

You burst into laughter again, this time doubling over. “Oh my God! Why did you say it like that? Multiple! Hotch,” you said, gasping for air between giggles, “you’re killing me.”

“No,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head as he turned back to the map in front of him. “You’re killing me.”

You didn’t hear him, thank God - or if you did, you gave no sign. He wasn’t sure which would have been worse.

A moment later, you were back at his side of the desk, the missing red magnet in your hand. You held it out to him, your smile still warm, still lingering. “For the record,” you said, your voice softer now, “I think it’s kind of sweet. That you framed it, I mean.”

His hand hesitated as he reached for the magnet, his fingers hovering just over yours. Something so simple suddenly felt unbearably complicated.

Delicate.

He couldn’t seem to figure out how to take the magnet without brushing against your skin - not that he didn’t want to.

He just wasn’t sure if he should.

“It’s a good photo,” he said at last, his voice quieter than usual, his eyes flickering up to meet yours briefly before darting back to the map.

Safe. Neutral.

But you didn’t retreat.

If anything, your smile only grew.

“Yes,” you said, voice just as quiet. “It is.”

---

taglist: @beata1108 ; @c-losur3 ; @fangirlunknown ; @hayleym1234 ; @justyourusualash ; @khxna ; @kyrathekiller ; @lostinwonderland314 ; @mxblobby ; @oxforce ; @person-005 ; @prettybaby-reid ; @reidfile ; @royalestrellas ; @ssa-callahan ; @softestqueeen ; @theseerbetweenus ; @todorokishoe24

[danmei-confessions]

I think we should talk about Wu Zetian, China’s only female emperor, who historically has been regarded as a horrible and brutal leader.

She was born a commoner, became a concubine to one emperor, married his son and then took the role of emperor for herself when he died. She was politically adept, highly ambitious and extraordinarily intelligent.

History has accused her of smothering her newly born daughter and blaming a rival for her death. She had that rivals hands and feet cut off and then had her thrown into a vat of wine in which she was left to drown. She gouged out another rivals eyes and had acid poured down her throat. She wiped out 12 entire branches of a clan. She poisoned her mother. Just how accurate these things are is up for debate, but while these things might not all be true, she certainly did have several family members killed. And she did deal with her rivals and her detractors ruthlessly. Yet none of these things would have attracted criticism if she had been a man. She was no more scandalous than any other ruler during that time period.

But! Her rule was peaceful and prosperous. She avoided wars and welcomed ambassadors from as far away as the Byzantine empire. She changed laws so common people could be chosen for roles in government for their abilities rather than their name or status. She acknowledged and acted on criticisms from her retainers. She built watchtowers along the Silk Road so merchants wouldn’t be harrowed by bandits. Her reign saw women given more freedom(the ability to divorce, hold government positions, travel, hunt and ride horses, to be recognized by scholars).

She supported Buddhism and helped the religion spread and grow through commissioning temples, monasteries, and even a statue of the Buddha said to be carved in her own likeness. In the eyes of the common people, she likely would have been an incredibly popular ruler.

She remains a controversial figure primarily because of stories about her personal actions against her rivals by male Confucian officials who were prejudiced against strong and ambitious women and while they undoubtedly exaggerated aspects of Wu’s life, there is still substantial verifiable evidence of her ruthlessness.

We should also be aware that although she allegedly held her power through murder and merciless, according to Confucian philosophy, ‘while an emperor should not be condemned for acts that would be crimes in a subject, he should be judged harshly for allowing the state to fall into anarchy’ and viewed under this lens, Wu did effectively fulfill her duties as a ruler.

So we have a leader of ancient china who had two faces, one who committed acts of vile cruelty against her family and rivals and one who gave her citizens peace and prosperity.

Through a modern lens she can be viewed as an evil woman who rose from humble beginnings and coldly and calculatingly murdered her way into arguably the most powerful position in the world. A rich woman who threw crumbs to her peasant people while she lived luxuriously. She is a deadly woman, a black widow, an evil stepmother, a kinslayer. But according to historians, “without Wu there would have been no long enduring Tang dynasty and perhaps no lasting unity of China.”

The comparison to a modern mr beast obviously doesn’t hold water, but we can certainly analyze jgy to a more comparable historical figure and argue more accurately in a historical context if jgy was a good leader as the de facto emperor as the cultivation worlds Xiāndū.

It’s easy to see the comparisons between Wu and jgy, both were undesirable and deemed unfit by society. But both were politically adept, highly ambitious and extraordinarily intelligent. Both had family members murdered, perhaps sharing between them filicide. Both had a clans murdered to a man. Both are thought to have had their faces carved on religious relics for their narcissistic pleasure. Both had watchtowers built as a defense for their people. And both were torn down by the men following after them, vilified and distorted. Both forever destined to be speculated upon and misunderstood. Both of their legacy’s destroyed by rumor and falsification. It would not surprise me in the slightest if mxtx didn’t draw on Wu at least a little bit in the creation of jgy. Both Wu and jgy are culpable for some pretty heinous stuff, that can’t be denied. But like Wu, jgy also has a second face.

Moral bias and character motivation aside, his efforts to build watchtowers, his patronage of religion in the building of Guanyin temple, his fight against political corruption, his years long peaceful reign, his charity, all these things lead to the conclusion that under the rule of Confucian, he more than aptly fulfilled his role as a leader for his citizens.

And if you really want to look at Jgys leadership through a modern lens, we really don’t have to look much further than Ingersoll. “If you want to find out what a man is to the bottom, give him power.”

And really that’s part of the tragedy of his character. Because of his background he excelled when he was in a role of leadership. He was good at it.

Whether or not jgy as a literary character is a good person, is subjective and should not be used to measure his role as an effective leader.

All of that being said, jgy is my bestfriend and I love him and would I die for him.

.

[sunderwight]

SVSSS AU where Shen Yuan's younger sister does a villainess transmigration.

The world she ends up in was originally a dating game and visual novel with some light RPG and crafting elements. Playing as purehearted main girl Qiu Haitang, one could choose any number of routes to pursue, from dashing Liu Qingge, to scholarly Mu Qingfang, sexy ice demon Linguang Jun, cute-but-domineering younger half-demon Luo Binghe, and so on. It was an interesting game, though it notoriously inspired some frustration when some of the more interesting side characters (like Yue Qingyuan) were completely unavailable as romantic options, and inspired at lot of rumors about hidden content and demands on future DLC expansions.-

Shen Meimei hadn't particularly liked the game. Sure, she played every route to 100% completion, bought all the extras, the official soundtrack, and the merch (fanmade as well as what slim-pickings existed officially), but that shouldn't be mistaken for approval. Much of that was in fact a desperate quest to figure out what the hell was even going on! Ignore the play time listed for this scathing Steam review, everyone! It shouldn't be factored into any assessments!

The game had several problems, in Shen Meimei's opinion.

The main issue was the lack of follow-through on the buildup of the backstory. Qiu Haitang's whole family was killed one night, maybe-probably by her sketchy as fuck ex-fiancee, who was also a hostage being kept by the Qiu family as leverage against a rival family. Which begged so many questions! Shen Meimei had suspected all along that there was more to it than met the eye (not just because the evil family shared her surname) but it was never deeply delved into. The whole thing only even got resolution in some of the routes, and the most thorough was Luo Binghe's. Luo Binghe had a huge vendetta against Shen Qingqiu, Haitang's sketchy former fiance, which left a lot of room for doubt about his investigating the issue. Was Shen Qingqiu really to blame? Or was Luo Binghe just taking advantage of an opportunity to pin SOME crime on him, since he couldn't really get him for the shit he actually did to Luo Binghe himself? What about the hints regarding that Wu Yanzi guy? Why did those never seem to amount to much? Were the Qiu family really stupid enough to betroth their only daughter to a hostage, or was something else going on? And what about Xiao Qi, the slave boy servant of the Qiu who was mentioned a few times as another possible survivor or witness, but who never comes up again?

Shen Meimei played through everything, certain that there had to be some way to actually solve or gain clarity on the Mystery of the Qiu Family Murders, but even after completing the main routes and unlocking and completing the hidden ones -- nothing! It was all just swept aside in favor of tepid romance arcs, made all the more insufferable because of the compelling subtext between the male love interests. Like, why were any of these guys even interested in Haitang when they so clearly had more going on with each other?

Annoyance over a game Shen Meimei lost too many hours of her life to was one thing, of course.

Transmigrating into the younger sister of notoriously sketchy ex-fiance Shen Qingqiu was another!

Bad news: in the routes where Shen Qingqiu is prosecuted for his crimes, his whole family goes down with him. So if this goes poorly, not only will he be punished, but so will Shen Meimei!

Worse news: this fictional version of her family is almost identical to her actual real family. To the point where she would be checking everyone else for transmigration, except that no one but her seems aware that anything is odd. Shen Qingqiu acts exactly like her older brother, right down to his particular flavor of prickly social behavior and cynicism. And their middle brother is a chronically ill nerd who hate-reads trash novels and is completely fascinated by weird monsters (a much more worrisome trait in a world that actually has a lot of those...)

In short, her life is on the line, and so is her family's!

Damn you, Veiled Heroine Games! If you hadn't abandoned so many plot threats, Shen Meimei might actually know what was going on and be able to neatly circumvent everything! But now she has to figure out how to win the protagonist back over, rescue her brothers, and solve (and possibly further cover up...) the mysterious Qiu family murders, all while keeping Luo Binghe away from Shen Jiu, and preventing Qiu Haitang from completing any of the romance plotlines that will cause troubles for them! Which is most of them!

[jm-2406]

Hi! I saw that your requests are open and I read your rules. Can I request a Theordore Nott with a Hufflepuff reader? A Hufflepuff who is quiet, but not shy. Like she speaks when spoken too or whenever she deems it necessary. Maybe they get grouped together in a project or something where they cross paths. Preferably fluff. Thanks love

You're feisty.

Summary - a study session ends with a confession.

Pairing - Theodore Nott x Hufflepuff! reader.

Word count - 775.

Note - I think I strayed a little and my work is rusty, I've written after a long break. I hope you like it.

Warnings - none.

Requests - open || find my work - here.

Being in hufflepuff was a good as well as tiring experience. Your housemates were cheerful and had a positive vibe, most of them were smart and badass but to others, you guys were portrayed as a bunch of smiles and laughs. The most common assumption that other houses had regarding you was that they thought you were shy, sweet and naive but you are not, you are just quiet and enjoy your alone time. It was a given that most of them who tried to bother you or make fun of you were pleasantly shut down and put into place. And on such days, your friend Hannah would find you in a sour mood.

“What happened now?” She asked curiously after seeing your grumpy expression. You shook your head and mouthed ‘potions’. That was enough for her to guess what might have happened. You shared potions with the Slytherins and one of them always bothered you because he considered himself as an expert in the subject just because of his house when in reality he was not. As you guys were about to sit down and relax, someone's footsteps caught your attention. To your left stood Theo, the boy with whom you were paired up, courtesy of professor Snape.

“Need to discuss something.” He said plainly and turned around. You didn't know what he was expecting but still stood up to follow him. Hannah looked at you with wide eyes and a smirk, knowing well about your crush on the tall boy. “Out of my league.” You would say but she was convinced that he liked you back.

Theodore led you to one of the quiet spots in the library. You took a seat in front of the windows while he wandered off to select the books needed for the potions assignment. After a few minutes he came back with not one but three thick books making you chuckle and the tall Slytherin graced you with a rare smile of his own. It made your heart flutter.

“All good, badger? You sure this is a study session and not a tutoring program for yourself?” A nasty voice interrupted your study session. You were too deep in the books to notice him the first time.

“What do you want, Codnor? We're busy here.” Theo said to his housemate. The boy continued to stare at the two of you until you finally snapped.

“Codnor, please go to madam pomfrey and get your eyes checked. They're stuck at our table, I think that might be a serious issue.” He looked at you with a very displeased expression but before he could retaliate, Theo had gotten up and made him leave.

When he returned, he saw you mumbling and couldn't hold back his laugh. “Stop it.” You whispered angrily. Theo raised his hands in surrender and took his seat. “You know [Y/N], there's something about you that I might've guessed wrong.”

“What?” You looked at him confused.

“I thought that you were one of those shy ones but you're not. You're feisty. I like that. I like you more now.” An awkward moment followed after his unexpected words. Theo cleared his throat and tried to find the right words.

“What do you mean, Theo? You're not teasing me, are you? Because that's a little evil considering you know how I feel.”

“No. I'm not. I'd never.” He reassured you. “And I know about how you feel.”

For the first time since you reached Hogwarts, you saw Theo at a loss of words. “Are you saying that you feel the same?” You asked him quietly, hesitantly.

“Merlin! Yes. I am not good with words but I'll try. [Y/N] [Y/L/N], i am infatuated with you, your personality and intelligence add to your charm. Will you do me a favour by being my girlfriend and making me the happiest man alive?” He forwarded his hand, palm up, to you.

You blinked in shock then did a little dance while sitting on the chair because you couldn't shout in the library. “Yes. A thousand times yes.” You placed your hand in his. He brought it up to his lips and placed a chaste kiss at the back of your hand.

The rest of the afternoon went away peacefully and by the end of it, you ended up in Theo's lap, sharing your first kiss.

THE END.

[messylustt]

I just finished the Miguel fic and its not bested YET my standers are HIGH. With that being said i have a hobie blurb/fic idea

goody reader! who hobie swear he cant stand (he's obssessed)

you angelllll and this scenario for hobie—ugh it lives rent free now THANK YOU my sweet anon

GOODY-TWO-SHOES AND BRITISH PUNK — hobie brown + reader: just hobie pushing away the fact that he’s obsessed with you, by finding your goody nature “annoying”.

marks no warnings. just a bit of banter. wc 1.6k.

When you joined the spider society, everyone thought of you as ‘sweet’ and an all in all ‘do gooder’. Many found it endearing, while Hobie claimed to think the complete opposite.

Even though his mouth was saying things like “ya could ‘ave aimed that web better.” And “maybe try catchin’ the evil guy next time…ay?” His body had always stayed close to you.

He said things regarding your ‘sweetness’, pinning it as ‘no good’, it won’t help being overly sweet while fighting bad guys. And god did you being a little ‘do gooder’ and following the rules piss him off the most.

But even after all those confirmations in his head he found himself looking for you, standing next to you in de-briefs or when a few of you would just hang out. It was always when you were in a group—Hobie was near.

And right now as you listened to Jess speak on the new ‘villain of the week’, you felt a presence beside you. As you glanced to the left you saw Hobie, standing, hands in pockets, as he acted oblivious to his own body’s movements.

He had moved closer to you. In his head he brushed it off as him just making sure you were listening and paying attention to Jess’s words so that you wouldn’t fuck anything up this time. (Not that Hobie ever does pay that much attention himself).

Hobie had never been a nitpicker, but when it came to you he noticed all the details. He could almost tell you your own body’s habits before you even realised them yourself. Like the little nose scrunch you’d do when you were bored. Or the tilt of your head, signalling that you were really trying to listen. Or even the press of your lips, showing that you were just…thinking.

He didn’t pay much attention to his reasons for taking such close notice though. No. Because he's sure that the sole reason (only one) is because you've always annoyed him.

“So please….” Jess is saying. “Please don’t touch any of the guy’s gadgets.”

Then the debrief is over, and you’re getting to your feet, having jumped up onto a ledge. Hobie can’t help but watch as you began to walk towards a portal. “Careful there luv…woul’n’t want you to get ahead of yourself. Maybe ya should stay back this round?” Hobie walks backwards, leaning his head slightly to the side as he moves to the portal.

You press your lips together, eyeing him. What is she thinking about?—Hobie thought to himself, eyeing you back, as he continues to speak. “To be good at ya job, ya gotta loosen up on those rules, ya do know that…right?”

“You say that like you think I’m wound tight.” You say, slowly walking with him—his feet still walking backwards as you walked forward.

He raises a brow. “Aren’t you, luv?” He tongue began to absentmindedly play with his lip ring, dragging it slightly between his teeth as he neared the portal. Then he’s leaning back, and falling through it, you not far behind.

The portal had opened up over a high sky, resulting in you both falling. Hobie tilted his head, watching as you faced each other, skyrocketing down. You spare him a tilt of your head, before your web is attaching to a building as you slip away from his line of sight. And Hobie doesn’t know why but his lips had began to twitch up.

Shooting his own web out, he swung to a stop on the building, where everyone else resided. And of course, he yet again moved closer to you.

Directions were given by Jess as the spider variants all went their separate ways. "Nah, you're comin' with me." Hobie says, grabbing your arm as he pulls you towards the edge of the building. "I thought I bothered you too much..." you mutter more to yourself.

"What was that?" Hobie asks, but you just spare him a "Hm?" before you're web slinging to the next building. Hobie scoffs, copying the action.

Soon you're both swinging past buildings, and when Hobie attaches his web to where yours was gonna go, your face actually displays a slight scowl. Hobie raises his brows—effortlessly swinging backwards. "See...I knew ya were fakin' ya sweetness." Hobie comments through the wind.

"And when were you paying so much attention to me for you to know that?" You call back, slipping past him as your hand slightly brushes his guitar strap. He doesn't like the feeling that crawled up his neck when you brushed so close. He was the one who initiated the closeness, and you having barely touched him made him quickly follow you.

Then you're both swinging almost together, Hobie's gaze stuck on your relaxed posture. "Ya did learn from last time right, luv?" Hobie asks, to which you lazily glance at him.

"That wasn't my fault." You say, slipping through a narrow gap. Hobie went over so as not to scratch his guitar. "Ya can't be that blind...can ya?"

"You know, I've never understood why you act like this." You say, coming to a stop on a lower building and gazing down, spotting the gadget wearing anomaly. Hobie fluidly stops beside you as you both crouched down. But as you stared at the anomaly, Hobie stared at you.

"Act like what?" He asks, feeling a strange urge to pull your mask off. Why did he want to see your expressions when he was talking to you?

You glance at him. "Act like you hate me. Maybe you do...but I just can't pinpoint an exact reason why."

"Aw..." Hobie coos. "Scared not everyone is fallin' for ya goody-two-shoes act?"

"It's not an act. And I am not a goody-two-shoes." You slightly huff out.

"Yeah ya are..." Hobie hums out, almost sounding amused. "You always follow the rules, being a dottin' little helper to Miguel."

You look back to the anomaly. Jess had said to wait, as backup, so you do, trying your best to ignore a now closer hobie. "And you always do that...can't find a reason for it either." You mutter.

"Do what?" Hobie shifts closer. You turn your head, eyeing him. "That. Coming close."

"Maybe I'm scared you might do something overly heroic, just to get into Miguel's good books."

"Hobie being scared? Now that's a first." Hobie's surprised to hear the clear sarcasm in your voice. "And what makes you think I'm trying so hard to get into Miguel's 'good books'?" You ask.

"Ya are always the first to accept missions." Hobie says, and he hopes you don't notice his slight jealous tone. "And Miguel seems rather pleased with that."

"Maybe because I'm doing my job?" You ask, finally glancing at him again. And Hobie can't help but swiftly grab your mask. He wanted to know if you were bored, thinking, or actually listening to him.

"Hobie..." You say, reaching for your mask again. "I need that."

But Hobie just pockets it in his jacket. "Nah, Jess won't need us. She's too prideful and...usually completes missions..." He eyes you like he's hinting at something.

"I'm sorry—but when have I ever not completed a mission?" You have a slight frown on your face. And Hobie grins under his mask, liking seeing your expressions. Especially because he's been able to get new ones, like a frown and a scowl.

"Last week." He answers, fiddling with your mask material in his pocket.

You groan. "I told you, that wasn't my fault."

"Hm..." Hobie's eyes had begun to grow distracted in your moving mouth, noticing the details...yet again. The way they would slightly part when you were confused. You were confused now, so Hobie got a chance to see a fraction of your teeth. Why was he focusing so hard? And maybe if his mask was off, you would see exactly where his gaze was trapped.

"Hobie." You say, noticing he had stayed silent for a little too long. "Hobie." You shuffle closer to knock his shoulder. "Can I have my mask back?"

But he just began to shake his head. "Nah...I think I'll keep it." He then stands, looking down at you. You quickly get to your feet also, eyes narrowed. "Why? I do actually need it."

Hobie just shrugs, feeling thoroughly amused with the whole situation. You go to reach for his pocket, but he easily dodges. "This is really not the time." You mutter, trying again. But Hobie just moves around you.

You then swiftly shoot a web, aiming for the inside of his pocket, but hobie snatches the end, yanking you towards him, making tumble to a stop against his chest. And you can feel the slight rumble of a chuckle, making you quickly stand straight, only for your breath to hitch.

Because now his mask is off, and he's extremely close. Now you can see his eyes dart, fully absorbing your details, and you actually grow to feel a tad nervous. "Can I please have it back?"

"Back to the fake sweetness, are we?" He asks, his gaze now stopping on your lips.

"It's not fake." You mutter out, moving to step back, but Hobie tightens his hold on your web, keeping you still. "What are you doing?" You ask, a slight groan of annoyance edging your tone.

Hobie tilts his head, acting as if he isn't doing anything, as his finger comes out to just brush your collarbone through your suit. You don't know what to do, as you stare at him. He'd never been this close, facing you, at least. He's always been behind you or beside you. And now as his tongue comes out to lick his full lips, you find your gaze getting caught up in the action.

"I'm not a goody-two-shoes..." You choose to say, still slightly hung up on the nickname.

"Yeah...ya are." Hobie repeats, this time quieter. "...but it's..." You narrow your eyes on him. 'It's' what? "It's kinda cute, luv."

Your eyes widen. "W-what?"

"Hm?" He quickly hums, before he's webbing away, making you spin to gaze after him. "Hobie!" You call, as you quickly web after him.

© messylustt.tumblr please don’t steal, copy or translate my work onto other platforms.

[youremyheaven]

Vedic Astrology Observations

1. Punarvasus tend to be very spiritual if not religious. They find peace in prayer. Another thing I've noticed is that they are very sexually conservative (probably because of their cat yoni). Mariah Carey, Punarvasu Moon was a virgin when she married her first husband and waited until marriage to be intimate with her second husband as well. She was engaged to James Packer for 18 months and they reportedly never had a physical relationship.

Miranda Kerr, Punarvasu Moon was in a relationship with Evan Spiegel for 3 years and waited until marriage. Drew Barrymore, Punarvasu Moon has said that she's been celibate since her divorce in 2016.

2. Mariah Carey, Punarvasu Moon speaking of the nature of light & time , her memoir has multiple chapters titled with light-related names and even sooo many of her songs , including Butterfly (Punarvasus are connected to butterflies)

3. Moksha gana nakshatras embody the trickster archetype. They also often argue or provoke people simply for the heck of it. 2/3 Moon ruled naks (Rohini & Hasta) are Moksha gana and it makes sense as to why they fuck with people just because they can, they have nothing to gain from it and it serves no purpose, they're evil for the heck of it. They'll go to any length to ruin you even if they ruin themselves in the process.

Moksha means liberation in Sanskrit (Sanskrit is a classical language like Latin that is pretty much only used in a scholarly context) and is one of 4 purusharthas or motivations assigned to the 27 naks. The others are artha (wealth) kama (pleasure) and dharma (duty). Moksha would be located at the very top of Maslow's hierarchy of needs, which means an individual with Moksha gana naks has transcended all the other base level motivations of accumulating wealth, seeking pleasure and doing one's duty. What is left to do now? If an individual is evolved, they actually seek liberation through their spirituality but if they are not, not only are they unbothered by any ordinary human motives, they lack the ability to devote themselves to anything ordinary because they simply dont care about getting a job or building a house or whatever. this means they also kind of exist beyond normal social norms?? go up against a Moksha gana native/Moon dominant person and the kind of arguments they'll use against you will reveal this nature of theirs. like they will have zero issue using your every vulnerability and insecurity against you just to win an argument or put you down. they hate to look "weak" so they will tear you apart just because they can, with no regard for any history you share. there are people who defend this by saying "oh well i was mad" babygirl everybody gets mad, but if someone isnt raising their voice, being petty or singling you out and bringing up your past to make you crumble, its not because they're incapable of it, its because they have principles.

Moksha gana naks love to play devil's advocate.

4. Rahuvians have bad memory, they probably repeat the same stories in different ways every few weeks lol

5. Saturnian women often marry billionaires according to Claire Nakti and I recently found some more examples of that:

** Mariah Carey, UBP Sun was engaged to Australian billionaire, James Packer who used to date Miranda Kerr, Pushya Rising (both these women are also Punarvasu Moon), Miranda is now married to the CEO of Snapchat.

** Lisa Manobal, UBP Sun is dating Frederic Arnault, a French billionaire

** Elle Macpherson, UBP Sun was in a relationship with Arpad Busson with whom she had 2 kids (he's not a billionaire but he does have a net worth of $500 million)

6. Nominative determinism, literally "name-driven outcome", is the hypothesis that people tend to gravitate towards areas of work that reflect their names.

but i thought i'd use it in the context of astrology and how most people are subconsciously given names that reflect their nakshatras

ex: Angelina Jolie

the name Angelina is an expansion of Angela which is derived from the Greek word Angelos which means "Angel" or "messenger". Angelina has Revati Moon which is a deva ("godly" nakshatra) and Jolie is the French word for "pretty" and Angelina has Venus in 1h and is Pushya Rising (these were two of the biggest beauty indicators according to Claire's research)

(its so cute to me that her name is literally Angel Pretty bc damn right she is)

Yara Shahidi (Revati Moon)- Yara is the name of a water spirit and in Portuguese it means "Water lady" (Yara has stated that her name means one who is close to your heart, but names can have several different meanings) and Shahidi means "witness" in Persian. I feel like all of that really ties together with Revati being in pisces rashi and the last nakshatra that is "witness" to everything else etc

[esotericpluto]

what will the rest of 2024 bring you

from left to right; intuitively choose the pile you feel more connected to. To make it easier, you can take a deep breathe, close your eyes and ask for guidance to your deities or guides. These are all general messages, so just take what resonates and leave what doesn't. This reading is timeless. If it resonates, feedback is always appreciated and motivates to keep doing pick a card readings. You can donate here.

pile 1

for who chose this pile, I see some solitude, but not in the way that you will feel lonely. You will overjoy yourself in this alone time, you will use it to improve yourself, to work on your desired skills, to work on your projects. Where there is this positive self-isolation, there is also a will to thrive and succeed. A moment to keep things to yourself only until after you succeed and complete your plans.

This will ultimately protect you and I see finances increasing for you soon, to the point some of you will be achieving a new milestone with this money, maybe buying a house or a new car. For some of you it could even be starting to plan the trip of your dreams.

I feel like some of you might have a friend you will have to be very careful about. I would recommend you to cut them off or stop talking to them around in September. This person I feel like won't be truly happy about your achievements and will be secretly jealous and envious, to the point it could translate into sending the evil eye to you. Please be careful and protect yourself.

I also feel like you might try some new foods you will truly enjoy and I also think you will be able to go to some restaurants you always had on your go-to list. I feel this happening in November/December.

I am not seeing much regarding love, so I feel like the situation might not change for most of you. If it does change for somenof you, it will be a positive change, like meeting someone new but that I feel like you will be unsure about them due to fears of getting hurt.

I also see someone with books, so I definitely recommend you to start reading or at least read more than you currently do. I also see you might take some free online courses and you are being highly advised and guided to do so, it will benefit you a lot! If you plan on going back to studying in university or similar, then it seems like it is a very good path for you to take this year!

pile 2

I feel some sadness and heaviness in this pile, which seems to come from the loss of someone or something, but mostly someone. It could be something that has happened or still will this year. I see this being something that lingers in you for quite a bit, but you will find ways to deal with it and pick yourself up, which will eventually lead to your healing. Remember to be kind and compassionate with yourself.

In this time, i see you focusing on self-care (or this might be the recommendation of your guides), I recommend taking breaks for yourself, giving yourself love, relaxing, pampering yourself, even attending therapy just to have a healthy place to vent out at (I know some people might be scared of therapists, but I feel like 99.5% of you will definitely end up with a really good therapist, your intuition will definitely help you in this case).

I do also see your intuition being extremely heightened for the rest of this year and I see you really understand the extension it goes to, unlike you have seen it before. It will also help you understand yourself and even certain situations better. This will definitely help you with self-love and self-confidence a lot and will help you coming out of your shell.

I do see most of the year being kept to yourself mostly, which will be the best for you to focus on yourself. I also see you picking up on some new hobbies and I feel like for some you, maybe in 2025, these hobbies could become something more like a side business or even main business.

You will gain more trust in yourself and I see you also taking care of your inner child. I feel like with your inner child the work won't be 100% complete this year, but you will have a 90% proggress and feel better than you have.

The message here seems clear, most of our lives we spend in hurry but this remaining half of year is for you to rest, to stop, to listen and to be in the present, with yourself as company. This seems what is needed for you to enjoy your own company truly, to no longer be scared of being alone.

pile 3

If you've had family quarrels recently, I feel like you will be able to distance yourself from that sooner or later this year. This to some of you may signify a newfounded independence from your family and being able to truly make it on your own.

If you are wondering on whether you should take a new job offer/position or start a business, it is definitely a yes. I do see this business flourishing this year. Same for those who have already started their own business, the second half of this year promises success and abundance. You might even be able to start affording a lot of things you previously could not. It will feel like a true recompensation after years of endurance and suffering for various reasons. It feels like those days are over, except for the occasional annoyance/bad days.

I do see some dates for those who are still single. You might be on dating apps and I see you will be going on a few casual dates. With some of them, there might be some kisses exchanges, but I don't see it becoming more than that (unless you want of course), until the very ending of this year, in which I feel like you will fall in love.

For people who are in a serious relationship, this is good news. I see some hardships, especially if financial, being over for good. You will be able to start a new chapter.

If one of you gets an invitation to gamble, I highly advise to decline it at all costs, as it won't have a good outcome. If your partner has some sort of gambling addiction, then I think you will have enough and leave them this year, because you won't settle for that financial ruin and you should not. So in this case, you will also have your financial harships done for and start a new, happier chapter.

Some of you, especially already married couples or couples who have been living together for a longer time, might actually start a family this year in an unplanned or half-planned way. I feel like it will be a slightly scary experience, but if you decide to move forward with it, I feel like you will handle things swiftly and be unexpectedly happy.

Make sure to eat healthy and take care if yourself. I see some of you starting to going to the gym or pilates classes and actually putting your mind to having a slightly healthier lifestyle.

[gallifreyanhotfive]

Random Doctor Who Facts You Might Not Know, Part 72: More Academy and Pre-Leaving Gallifrey Stuff Because Why Not

Sorry I'm in too my pain to come up with a better title right now lmaooo. Mostly about the Doctor because they occupy the mind.

As a small child, Theta Sigma had an imaginary friend named Binker. (Audio: The Abandoned)

Later, the Sixth Doctor claimed that while most people had imaginary friends, he had had an imaginary enemy in Mandrake the Lizard King, which was really a dead lizard pinned to old engine parts that he would battle with his deadly stick. This phrasing suggests that the Sixth Doctor does not acknowledge any imaginary friends his childhood self might have had. (Audio: The Widow's Assassin)

The Rani claimed that sentimentality was the reason the Doctor graduated with "just a Double Gamma." (Audio: The Rani Elite)

According to Sardon, the Doctor is no common criminal because by the latter years of his first incarnation was a distinguished member of the High Council and was widely regarded as a potential President. He was difficult and rebellious, however, and went too far when he quarreled with his colleagues over something obscure over principle. He then stole an old Type 40 TARDIS and fled. (Novel: World Game)

The Seventh Doctor claimed that he had always believed evil to be a genuine force. This had given his young self quite a name on Gallifrey as most of his contemporaries considered the ideas of "good" and "evil" to be archaic and out-dated. They thought his preoccupation with that morality was incomprehensible. (Novel: Strange England)

Before leaving Gallifrey, the Doctor had successfully campaigned for the ban of a special chemical. This chemical was a weapon sometimes called a disruptor agent that acts as a catalyst to convert vertebrate blood into acid. The formula for the chemical stuck in his brain well enough that the Second Doctor was able to later recreate it. (Short story: The Ages of Ambition)

The Doctor had made powerful enemies on Gallifrey on account of his controversial views on the non-interference policy. (Audio: The Beginning)

The Doctor was told stories about the Kin when he was a small boy on Gallifrey. The Time Lords imprisoned the Kin in a complex of small rooms out of temporal phase with the rest of the universe. So long as the Time Lords existed, the Kin would be in their prison. When the Kin got out, there was still a Time Lord left in the universe - the Eleventh Doctor. (Short story: Nothing O'Clock)

In his youth, the Doctor feared that Grandfather Paradox was hiding under his bed or underneath the table in the refectory or making noises he could hear outside at night. (Novel: The Gallifrey Chronicles)

As a young man, the Doctor read about an infection on Gallifrey that had happened over one thousand years before his birth. The Spore - which was actually the von Neumann seeding probe - killed several hundred thousand Time Lords before it was dealt with. The Time Lords engineered an inherited immunity into their genes, so they would never be vulnerable again. Everything organic seemed to be necrotic and decaying to a black gunk. (Please skip to next bullet point if you are squeamish about descriptions of bodies.) When the Eighth Doctor investigated an outbreak, he found a body wearing boots, jeans, and a checkered shirt. Inside the clothes was a mess of bones barely held together by a few pieces of remaining flesh. The skull had a few pieces of white hair, but the scalp and other pieces of soft organic matter were gone as black slime ran out of the cuffs. (Short story: Spore)

The Doctor used to sit by the sea a lot in their childhood, watching and listening to it. He used to think that that was where the dead went, that they were all out there in the sea, and that you could hear them whispering in the waves. (Novel: Matrix)

Three students at the Academy who often conducted rebellious and anti-hierarchical activities include: the Master, whose title was earned from his constant bullying of others, a good cosmic theoretician but but not very good in practice; the Doctor, who often carried out silly chemical experiments with a friend called Drax; and the Rani, who "was brilliant at everything, and chemistry in particular." (Short story: The Legacy of Gallifrey)

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