#now this is an imaginary argument in my mind

[lamemaster]

Ooooh that burn 🔥 (I'm dead and now a ghost with him) A well deserved reminder that I can't win against the fire elf. YET

Dear Feanor,

Whilst you were sitting🧍🏻‍♀️🪑 around in the hall of Mandos, waiting⏱️, doing NISH0️⃣, I was out making moves 🏋🏻‍♀️(on your wife💪🏻).

So remain thee gone🏃🏻‍➡️ from my gate🪟, thou jail-crow of Mandos🐦‍⬛!

Tossing the letter aside, his eyes flared, and his lips curled into a dangerous smirk. The ghost of a laugh escaped him, sharp and biting. “Moves?” he scoffed, his voice dripping with disdain. “You’d need a smith’s tools and a thousand years to craft a move worthy of her notice.” He leaned back, arms crossed, the fire of his spirit undiminished. “Stay smug behind your gate—while you can. It won’t hold forever.”

[lullaby-lilies]

How they flirt with you {TROP Elves}

Considering this is my first time writing one of these, I’m starting with a small batch of characters and who better than the elves of TROP? But I’m very much open to writing for different characters within Tolkien’s world and, of course, from TROP! Actually anyone who walked on Middle-Earth. The Valar? Sure, why not!

┏ •◦ Galadriel, Elrond, Gil-Galad, Arondir, Celebrimbor •◦ ┓

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Galadriel

■ Calculated, laced with challenge, and guarded vulnerability. Galadriel flirts like one might wield a blade. Testing for weakness, dancing just close enough to wound or woo.

■ She stands tall, unyielding, but when intrigued, her eyes betray her. They soften not with warmth, but with recognition. You’ve caught her interest, and now she watches you like a predator circling its prey… or a queen considering a subject for her court.

■ Cool and clipped, but with sudden flashes of dry wit. She’ll challenge your intelligence with a single eyebrow raise or a quip like, “Is that truly your best argument?”

■ She rarely touches. If she does, it’s fleeting: a brush of fingers as she hands you a blade, the press of her palm against your chest to stop you in training. These touches linger in your mind far longer than in hers — at least, that’s what she pretends.

■ She will only allow flirtation if she senses you're her equal. She doesn't seek comfort — she seeks conviction, someone who might dare to stand beside her, not behind.

■ When she finally lets her voice drop — lower, more intimate — you’ll hear it for what it is: a fortress opening its gates an inch. “You… surprise me.”

⇢ ˗ˏˋElrond

■ Quiet reverence, layered in intellect and gentle affection. Elrond flirts the way rivers carve stone: slowly, patiently, but with undeniable effect.

■ He tilts his head when you speak, eyes gleaming with attention. His hands fidget when he’s nervous: tugging at sleeves, smoothing scrolls, brushing imaginary dust from books.

■ Soft, warm, laced with dry humor and the kind of intelligence that flatters without boasting. “You know… I find myself quoting you more than I’d like to admit.”

■ He always makes space for you in a crowded room. He’ll guide you gently by the elbow, offer his cloak before you ask, and pour your tea while distractedly scribbling notes about the way your eyes reflect starlight.

■ Elrond doesn't flirt for pleasure, he does so instinctively, seeking connection. He wants to understand you completely. Every word, every silence, every unfinished sentence.

■ He’ll give you something irreplaceable — a poem from his youth, a story no one else has heard — and say, almost shyly, “I’ve kept this… waiting for the right person.”

⇢ ˗ˏˋGil-Galad

■ Subtle and perfectly timed. His words are carefully measured, but his presence says everything. He flirts with restraint and watches to see if you notice the moment it cracks.

■ He never approaches too directly. He waits until your eyes meet across a corridor or hall — then inclines his head, ever so slightly. If he steps closer, it’s intentional.

■ Regal, eloquent, slow. He crafts compliments like wine — rich, refined, and meant to linger. “You wear the dusk well. It favors your kind of quiet fire.”

■ He never touches first. But if you brush against him, his response is deliberate. A slow turn of the hand to catch yours, a thumb brushed across your knuckles as if in contemplation.

■ Gil-galad has learned to love without showing it, to yearn without leaning. His flirtation is a series of calculated risks; each word carries weight. Each glance is a signal, a lock awaiting a key.

■ When he speaks plainly for the first time without titles, without strategy, it will shake you. “I have led armies. Held kingdoms. And yet… I find myself wondering what you think of me.”

⇢ ˗ˏˋArondir

■ Quiet, present, and deeply emotional. Arondir doesn’t flirt with words — he flirts with devotion.

■ He always notices your discomfort before you speak it. He will reposition a chair so the sun doesn’t blind you. He will step between you and danger without thinking. And he will never mention it.

■ Rarely speaks without meaning. When he says something personal, it feels like the world has paused to hear it. “You are… unlike any path I’ve walked.”

■ Carves small tokens for you. A leaf from a tree that only blooms once a year, your name etched in Quenya on smooth wood. He leaves them without ceremony, then pretends not to notice when you find them.

■ His love is not showy, but it’s constant. He’ll watch you with the kind of gaze that says, I would wait an Age for you. And mean it.

■ The moment he finally touches your cheek, eyes locked with yours, is the moment he’s decided — silently, permanently — that he is yours.

⇢ ˗ˏˋCelebrimbor

■ Excitable, intense, and terribly earnest. He flirts by accident… and then makes it worse by being too sincere.

■ Hair tousled from long nights in the forge, hands stained from work, he runs fingers through his hair when nervous. His eyes light up around you and he doesn’t hide it.

■ Fast-paced, bright, layered with admiration. He’s always a little breathless around you, like you’ve thrown off his rhythm. “Wait, wait, you don’t think this is brilliant? Look - look at this, tell me that curve isn’t perfect. I based it on your — well. Never mind.”

■ Constantly gives you things: a chain he meant to throw away but thought looked “nice,” a ring he insists is “just practice,” or a sketch he swears wasn’t you (it was).

■ He falls fast, and deep. But his fear of being used makes him hesitant to admit it. So he’ll bury affection in gifts, conversation, and genius-level distractions.

■ He’ll give you something unfinished and whisper, “I want you to be the first to see it… even before it’s perfect.”

[velvrei]

Imagine Mike and reader are fighting the reader leaves which xause mike to start to loose his mind but Abby makes it her mission to get mike and reader back together.

this was originally a blurb but it got too long so i made it a fic!!

…

jokes aren’t funny

pairing : mike schmidt x reader

summary : mike and reader are in a relationship & they get into a fight and later into a rough patch. abby makes it her mission to get them back to being happy together.

warnings : fluff, slight angst (little sad parts), swearing

word count : 1k+

story under cut to avoid long scrolling!

you and abby were very alike. the two of you had similar thought processes, the same imaginary friends, you both liked to dance, that’s why it was perfect for her when you and mike started dating. she finally felt like someone understood her in a way only girls could.

so, you and abby formed a friendship. you’d play together, you’d babysit her while mike was at work, and it was going great. up until mike’s work schedule started to affect his mood and the time both of you spent together. him taking the nightshift made it difficult for you to spend any time together.

so, one day when mike came home, and abby was supposed to be sleeping, you had a talk to him about it. that talk, however, quickly turned into an argument.

“i don’t understand what the problem is?” mike reasoned, louder than intended. when his volume increased, so did yours, and now you both were practically screaming at each other, which was the first time you’d ever done so.

you sighed and rolled your eyes, “because you’re not trying to understand? maybe if you looked from my perspective you’d realize how horrible it is for me to talk to your little sister more than i talk to you! i love abby dearly but i need quality time with you too, mike! i’m your girlfriend!”

mike rolled his eyes, trying to keep them open sense he had no sleep for the past 20 hours and was extremely grumpy.

“i’m sure you can survive without seeing me, y/n! i know i can. i don’t need to see you everyday to function properly!” mike said, somewhat shouting then dramatically letting his head fall onto the dinning room table.

“am i just some kind of joke to you, mike?” you asked, your eyes starting to fill with tears. it didn’t matter that you were about to start your period, you still felt betrayed and felt like mike didn’t care about you as much as you did for him.

“now where the hell did you get that from?” mike shouted, “i never said that!” his voice was filled with anger and your words couldn’t help but grow his annoyance.

“that’s what it feels like, that’s what you’re implying.” you said, before grabbing your coat off the couch. “let me know when you’re ready to treat me like your girlfriend. until then, i don’t know if i can be anymore.” your last words made him stand, as you left and slammed the door behind you.

mike swore loudly and sunk onto the couch, rubbing his hair with his hands in a stressed manner, not noticing the little girl peaking around the door frame of her room. “mike?” he heard her little voice and broke down into tears.

“what?” he said, mid sob, not wanting her to see him the way he was. abby walked out from her room, wrapped up in one of her blankets. she walked over to mike, unwrapped it, and placed it over him.

“where did y/n just go?” she asked, “and why were you guys yelling like mom and dad?” those words made him break down, he started sobbing, and it made him realize that he wouldn’t lose you that easily. he physically couldn’t.

abby could tell he didn’t want to lose you that easily, so she helped him come up with a plan. until that plan was executed, however, mike couldn’t sleep for days, and when he did, his dreams were all about you. marrying you,

it had been about 4 days after your arguments. no contact, no texts on your part. however, mike wasn’t expecting otherwise, because of your last words you said to him, so he had to make the move, the ball was in his court.

so, with abby at his side, he texted you.

y/n, i’m so sorry for everything. can you come over so we can talk in person?

and so you came over, and he apologized to you. and said that his job at the nightshift was over, because he chose you, over his job. and the fact that the building collapsed but that takes away the sentimental value.

and abby was happy, because she was able to help get the both of you together.

[the-bar-sinister]

Blue Prince, Red Prince (2218 words) by Dave Strider Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Simon P. Jones (Blue Prince) Additional Tags: Mystery, Retelling, Multiplicity/Plurality, Family Secrets, Nostalgia

Summary: Simon P. Jones inherits the Mount Holly Estate and tries to unravel the secrets of its halls, and the mystery of his family legacy with a little help from his old friend the Red Prince.

-

"A fine looking place for us to inherit, don't you think so, Simon?" the Red Prince purred. He was leaning on one of the pillars of the entrance hall with his arms crossed, glancing around the large, imposing room much the same way that Simon himself was.

If anyone had been with Simon they would not have seen the Red Prince there at all, but Simon was not surprised to see him at all. At 14 years old, most of Simon's peers had long lost their childhood imaginary friends, but Nomis, the Red Prince, seemed to have never felt the need to depart. Rather, he had grown with Simon, ever his exact twin, and while they often found themselves on opposite ends of an argument, Simon was glad to have someone to confer with in the privacy of his own mind.

"Of course you like it," Simon sniffed, pleased enough to answer Red aloud since the two of them were alone. "You've always loved grand, imposing things like this."

"Well, I am a prince after all." Red smiled teasingly and tossed his hair. "But don't you like it? You always liked it when we used to visit."

"I don't think I have seen enough of it yet to know whether I shall like it or not."

Simon's footsteps echoed on the marble floor as he stepped into the belly of the room, approaching the small table in the center of it, and the envelope that was sitting there.

He ran his thumb over the grain of the paper as he took the envelope into his hands. 

'Open only in the event of my death' it said, in familiar all-together too cheerful handwriting. That handwriting belonged to his great uncle, Herbert Sinclair, the Baron and master of Mt. Holly, whom Simon had not seen since he was around seven years old. Half of his lifetime.

"Former Baron and Master of Mt. Holly," Red took pains to remind him. "You're the Baron now."

"Not yet," Simon murmured. "You heard it in the will the same as I. I have to solve some kind of riddle first."

Uncle Herbie loved riddles, Simon remembered that much from when he was a child, and from birthday cards and postcards the man had sent. Always riddles and puzzles. Simon hadn't been surprised to be confronted by a last one after he had died.

"Close enough," Red scoffed. "We both know you'll solve it, Blue. With my help at least. We're very clever."

"Maybe."

Simon finally stopped hesitating, and slipped the pages out of the envelope to read whatever it was his uncle had to say to him. As he looked it over, something about the warm, genial tone of his great uncle's words made his throat tighten, and heat threatened to spill over from the corners of his eyes.

He hadn't cried when he'd heard the news, or at the funeral. It had seemed too distant then. Or perhaps a prank or a joke by his silly uncle who was fond of such things. But now, reading the words written directly to him, he couldn't help himself.

"You may not remember, but I have fond memories of your many visits here as a young boy, and I hope these rooms provide you with as much amusement as it did in those lost summer days."

Of course he remembered. Uncle Herbie's house had been an endless source of fascination when he was little. A great mystery. A castle for a king. An endless wonderment.That was because the Mount Holly estate wasn't just an ordinary house, it was a Drafting House.

Drafting Houses were a mechanical wonder, the operations of which Simon still didn't fully understand. What he did know was that they were a sort of building, generally grand old estates but there were some smaller examples, too, where instead of the locations of the rooms being fixed, they instead moved on a grid plan in a way that meant that one had no idea what room a door might lead to on any particular day.

He remembered getting up early in the morning when he was a child and toddling along behind the old house manager lady, watching her with amazement as she drew and drafted the first rooms for the morning.

"So you do like the house then," Red teased. He had snuck up behind Simon and was leaning over his shoulder to read the letter along with him.

Simon wiped his eyes. "I told you I don't know. It might be altogether a chore to have a house where the rooms don't stay put."

Red grinned. "You don't really believe that, Blue."

Red was right, of course, no matter how much Simon protested. Despite the hot tears in his eyes, his stomach was practically in knots with excitement at the prospect of getting to explore the estate himself, and finding out how to solve the strange riddle that his uncle had posed to him.

He took a breath and made his way through the rest of the letter. Its contents weren't anything surprising, as Uncle Herbie wrote, he already did have a good idea what his challenge would be from the reading of the will. Find the mysterious "46th room" of Mount Holly's estate. He was glad to see from the letter at least that his Uncle believed in his ability, rather than posing the challenge due to a lack of confidence in him.

"Well of course, otherwise he'd have left it to someone else." Red stroked his finger over the second page of the letter. "Pity we can't bring anything in from outside, I would have started by trying to knock down a few walls!"

"Red!" Simon's cheeks puffed out as he snapped scathingly at the bratty prince. "That's exactly why that stipulation is in there, I'm sure. Besides, what fun would knocking down walls be? I want to solve it correctly."

"Knocking things down is fun," Red pouted. "But have it your way, I wouldn't want to disinherit you and miss out on being Prince and Baron."

"I don't need a title," Simon protested. Despite that, he didn't want to be disinherited either. If nothing else, it would probably disappoint his father, who had been very excited to see him off on his journey.

He finished the letter, the rest of which just went over the other stipulations (no staying over night, no taking items off the property) and took care to remind Simon how a Drafting House worked.

"He definitely still remembers you being seven," Red drawled. "Of course you know how it works. What's the line at the bottom mean, do you think? That he says Grandmother used to say?"

"Don't go where the path leads, abandon the path and go where you want it to lead."

Red grinned widely. "Sounds like grandmother would have approved of my knocking things down."

"Oh hush, you, that's not what it means!" Still, Simon laughed as he shook his head. He smoothed each page of the letter and held them carefully up to the light, looking for any watermarks or hidden writing.

"Find anything?"

"Nothing. If there are any clues in there, I can't find them yet." 

Carefully, Simon folded the pages back up, and slipped them into the envelope, conscientiously setting it back on the table. Then he flipped open the bag on his hip and pulled out a fresh notebook.

"Look at Mr. Comes Prepared," Red teased, as Simon jotted down a few notes about the letter.

"You really think I'm going to be able to solve Uncle Herbie's request without writing a few things down? Maybe your memory's that good, but I don't trust mine quite as much."

"I'll forgive you for your lack of perfection." Red leaned his chin on Simon's shoulder. "So if there's no clue there, then how do we start?"

Simon snapped his notebook shut and put it away. He scooped up the other piece of paper that sat on the table accompanying the letter, a blueprint, and tucked that away, too. "Simple enough. We draft a room."

His soft footsteps were the only sound as he made his way to the entry chamber's center door.

Find the 46th room. That was his task. The problem was that a Drafting House was drawn on a grid, and Mount Holly's grid was five by nine– five rooms across and nine rooms (or 'ranks') deep. That made an exact 45 rooms.

"Maybe we should start prying up floorboards," Red suggested. 

This time again Simon had to laugh. "You're incorrigible. Let's at least get the lay of the land, first."

He reached out, and put his hand on the doorknob, turning it until there was a first click. As the click resounded through the quiet hall, a series of plans drew themselves across the door for Simon's perusal. 

Kitchen. Hallway. Nursery. Those were the rooms that were apparently on offer for this door. Simon remembered that it was called the 'drafting pool' or something like that, but it wasn't of much concern to him. Rather, the ability to summon one of three rooms into being seemed as much magical as it did mechanical.

"Well," Red huffed behind him. "Hallways are boring, and I'm not hungry enough that you should make me lunch yet."

"There might be a clue in either of them," Simon pointed out. 

Despite that, he and his red twin seemed to be in agreement about which room to draw first. 

Simon turned the knob a little further, to click his selection into place, and then pressed the button to unlatch the door. There was a moment of hesitation as the mechanisms operated, and the door swung open.

Simon and the Red Prince stepped into a room they hadn't been in since they were very little.

The nursery. 

It was like stepping into a memory so hazy that it might have been a dream.The star-painted walls, the rocking horse, the blocks, the big, ridiculous goose. The two crib-beds. When Simon had stayed there he remembered believing that one crib must have been intended for him and one for his red twin, but now that he was older he guessed that it was just a room that had been reused.

"Nostalgic," Red murmured. He walked into the room, hands behind his back and glanced around as Simon followed him. "I don't remember these being here."

Simon glanced at the wall, seeing the pair of framed sketches that Red had noted, but he shrugged. "I guess they can't keep everything the same forever."

"Well, they ought to." Red only pouted a moment before he started shuffling around the room, squatting next to the stacked blocks. "I could knock them over."

"Please yourself." 

Simon rolled his eyes, but he heard the blocks topple as he brushed past them on his way to the nightstand. He sighed as the red prince giggled.

He was about to make another comment when he saw what was sitting on the nightstand between the two cribs. A copy of a bright, eye-catching book so beloved that Simon and Nomis had worn through two copies in their youth.

The red prince scrambled up from the pile of blocks to where Simon was standing. "It's our book!"

Simon nodded, feeling that tightness in his throat again, and gently scooped the book up with the reverence it deserved.

The Red Prince, by Marion Marigold.

Their book. The one Simon's mother had written for them.

Before she'd vanished.

Red put his arm around Simon's shoulders and leaned on him, as Simon turned the pages softly. They muttered the old, familiar words together as they turned the pages.

"We always loved this book," Simon murmured. "But it always made me feel like she was mad at me."

"I remember," Red sighed. "You asked your father if she left because you liked red too much."

Simon's gaze lingered on the last page for a long time. When he was little, he'd wondered if his mother had left because she hated him. Or because he wasn't a good enough son. Or because he didn't spend enough time outside, preferring reading and puzzles instead.It had seemed to make sense as a child.

Now he was old enough that nothing made sense.

He took a deep breath, tying to let the tightness in his throat and the tension behind his eyes ease. Dwelling on his mother wasn't going to solve the mystery of the 46th room.

But Red's focus wasn't so easily broken.

"Didn't it have a different ending? When she read it to us? Before it got finished?"

Before it got finished. Before it was published. Before it was a bound and printed book, the Red Prince had been a few pages that Simon's mother had painted herself.

"I don't remember." Simon shook his head. "Come on, this room's a dead end. We need to draft a room that goes somewhere."

Simon turned to go, but Nomis caught his wrist and stopped him. "You should bring the book along."

He shook his head. "Just leave it here."

For a moment, Nomis looked sad. It was strange on his face. Normally Simon was the one worrying about things, and the Red Prince was all smiles.

"Whatever you say, Blue."

[liedownquisition]

Dickroy people hyperbolically insisting they will kill themselves if Royjay wins and I have to use all my strength to keep myself from going you promise? in response because I have some sense of decorum and basic appropriate conduct 😔

akljdkjl They're SO DRAMATIC about it. Guys it's not that fucking deep. Other statements I've seen include "If DickRoy doesn't win then I'm going to kill YOU" and so on and so forth.

(Sorry Anon, I'm going to use this ask to complain about a different argument)

And the one that's really been getting me because holy fucking shit is the argument that "DickRoy is better because Roy is an actual person in it."

You know, I considered arguing that, actually, there's a lot of great fanfiction out there that doesn't minimize Roy and that the sanitization of his character is largely due to the batfanon black hole that everyone acknowledges most of the time but for some reason with JayRoy it's like a whole separate thing and not a by-product of popular tropes that are generally Bat-centric with everyone else as their accessories.

And by the nature of typing that paragraph I have, in a way, made that argument, but I've also somewhat changed my mind on how I want to really discuss this because I think there's a larger issue at hand here:

Fictional characters aren't people, you cannot erase their personhood because they don't have any.

I'm so sorry about whoever lied to you about that.

A lot of people are mad that JayRoys are willing to engage with and discuss Roy's addiction in an interrogative and compassionate way. They're not going to phrase it like that though. Because if they did phrase it like that it would betray the fact that they would rather ignore that part of Roy's character entirely except perhaps for brief little one-off references

You know, like how Dick Grayson only brings it up every now and then to throw that fact in Roy's face as an insult every time he's feeling pissy, especially when Roy is telling him something honestly kind of fucking true that he doesn't want to hear.

Frankly... I don't actually think I care if most of the shippers did or do erase Roy's "personhood." If I don't like their content I won't engage with it. There are plenty of ships, plenty fo fandoms, where this same phenomena happens all the time. Especially because we are talking about FANfiction.

AMATEUR fiction which is often clumsy and raw and inexperienced, that doesn't know how to realistically step back and have extensive focus or reference to more than one characters' struggles at a time. Even the worst fanfiction is a learning experience for the writer. Over time they might get better, or they might not. It doesn't matter. All that matters is t hat they enjoy themselves, and that other people sometimes enjoy it too!

We're all just out here doing our best, and trying to have a good time. We're not out here to make award-winning fiction, we're here to make the blorbos kiss, because they're not people, they're imaginary dolls and we can do whatever we want with them because it's not for you, we're not appealing to a broader market.

It's just for fun, and I think when you start arguing about character personhood, you're taking it too seriously.

Would I, personally, prefer to engage with depictions that display a degree of understanding of canon and respect for the characterization that's been laid out over decades? Yeah, I won't lie. I like that more. But, what I consider that to mean and what YOU consider that to mean and what THEY consider that to mean are all very different perspectives and interpretations.

There are sooooo many comics. And it's not a fucking crime to not read all of them and remember that in Bleebus Bongo Adventures Volume 4 Issue #516 Beefgus said he doesn't like Lemon Cake when you write your bakery AU and have Beefgus pick Lemon Cake off the menu and claim it's the best one they've ever had and that because they've had so much good Lemon Cake and have a lot of opinions about it in their life it's a real compliment.

There's nothing wrong with changing around character dynamics and relationships for an AU. And, technically, by nature, most fanfiction is already an AU, because it's not canon. And, maybe if they're trying to argue it's canon compliant then maybe it's a little more like "I don't think you and I read the same canon" but I don't really see that tagged a lot on SHIPFIC unless it IS a canon ship which obviously JR isn't lol.

They're just... Look if other people are playing with dolls in ways you don't like then I'm not sorry. That's their prerogative. Stop being so dramatic, you look like a child throwing a tantrum.

And I'm getting really tired of being the bigger person about it when they're taking every chance they can get to be anything but.

[watermelongirl01]

The Boy

Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader

Criminal Minds x Supernatural

Summary: A new case appears and Hotch and Jack ask for your help.

Content Warning: Violence, Homicide Talk, Ghosts.

Note: So, I had a little delay cause I usually write at midnight, but with the whole ghost thing I scared myself JAJAJ so I had to stop and watch funny videos and then do it all over again, but I hope you like it.

It was at 2:00 am when Hotch heard a door squeak, it took a couple of minutes for him to realize it was from Jack’s room, and he immediately jumped out of his bed, ran to the door as fast as his legs let him, he left his room ready to get in between of any danger and his son. Hotch frowned in confusion when he met with two boys playing in his living room, or that’s what he thought because only Jack was there when he approached.

“Jack, to bed now.” Hotch said exasperated. 

This wasn't the first time Jack got out of bed at midnight just to play with his toys, which caused many scoldings for Jack, not just from his father, but also in school for falling asleep in class, this was becoming a routine, and for the fourth time in two weeks, Jack had the same excuse.

“It was his idea, I swear.” Hotch squeezed the bridge of his nose.

Jack had recently acquired an imaginary friend named Tommy, he would make him wake up in the middle of the night just to play, or sometimes stay at home instead of going to soccer practice, even if that was Jack's favorite thing to do. The change alerted Hotch, so he quickly took his son to the little boy's therapist. She said it was a common phase for a child like Jack and would end in a matter of time, But it was starting to mess with both father and son´s sleeping schedule. 

“This has to end Jack, we both need to rest.” Hotch took his son´s hand to walk him to bed, but Jack quickly left his side to grab his new favorite stuffed animal. 

He never left the house without it, and at this point, Hotch didn’t even remember ever buying said toy, but Jack insisted the toy was a gift for him from a garage sale they went to.

The next morning was a handful for Hotch, Jack didn't want to go to school, and many cries were invading The Hotchner’s residence, Jack didn't eat a single bite and as a consequence, Hotch didn't either. Father and son were wrapped in an argument when suddenly a glass of orange juice was thrown against the wall next to Hotch’s head causing a small cut on the right side of his face, both were surprised, but fear invaded Hotch when the temperature in the kitchen dropped enough to see his warm breath coming out as small trails of smoke, He knew what that meant, you taught him enough.

“Jack…”

“Tommy doesn´t like grown-ups, he said they all should die.” That sentence left Hotch frozen, he needed you right now.

“Jack, I need you to get into the car, we are going with Aunt Jessica.” The child stayed silent for a while, analyzing the possibility, but nodded and grabbed his toy to tag along with his frantic father.

Hotch let Jessica know it was an emergency and left in a hurry to get to the FBI building hoping to arrive fast enough before your monthly meeting with the FBI director, and he managed to catch you at the door of your office.

“Hey there early bird!” You smiled at the view of Hotch, but the same smile faded when you noticed his demeanor. “Are you okay?”

“I think there’s a ghost at my house.” Your eyes widened. “I need your help.”

“What!?” You squealed, attracting the attention of a few agents, you excused yourself from them and took Hotch’s arm to get him into your office and sit him on your little couch. “Are you sure?”

You didn't give it a second thought and canceled all your meetings, allowing Hotch to take all the time he needed to explain to you all he had experienced recently, from the imaginary friend and the sudden behavior changes in Jack to the morning incident.  

“So, cold spots, imaginary friends, how long has this been going on?”

“Around two weeks.” Hotch answered. “Is Jack in danger?”

“Well, I'm going to take a guess, and say that you are in more danger than he is.” You said while pointing at his wound. “But let's not jump to conclusions that fast. First, it is really weird that this is just happening now and not when you first moved in.”

“You think my apartment is haunted?”

“No, not necessarily, have you bought something weird or old recently?”

Hotch just shrunk his shoulders. “I can’t remember, Would you take a look for me?”

“Sure.”

“Let me drive you to my house then.”

And if this wouldn't be a risky situation you would’ve absolutely made a joke about it.

Hotch drove you to his house, you could tell he was worried, he wouldn’t stop asking questions about ghosts every five minutes, and then stay silent for another five. Which was a pretty good reaction for his first time dealing with supernatural things, and being honest it was way better than your first time.

When arriving at Hotch's home, only five words couldn’t stop repeating in your head; “Please don’t be a poltergeist, Please don’t be a poltergeist.” Now, someone might think that after being a hunter for almost your whole life, you can’t dislike dealing with some types of creatures, but the truth is that you do, there’s nothing you hate more than hunting spirits and all that bullshit of “Just a salt and burn” Cause it’s never just a salt and burn. The Winchesters and your father think you are still afraid of them and they might be right, but you are never going to admit it, and you are for sure never sharing this information with Hotch.

“Alright, I'm just going to need around 20 minutes in your house to register everything.” You said while getting a big duffel bag out of your trunk.

“You are going to need all of that?”

“Yep.”

“And I'm just supposed to let you alone in a house where there's probably a dangerous ghost?”

“I’ll be fine, I’ve dealt with a lot of spirits, Hotch.”

LIES

“I know you are an expert, just humor me and let me come with you.” You sighted.

Let’s not get this wrong, there’s nothing bad with having a protective, hot, brave, with his beefy arms and broad shoulders Hotchner, beside you. But after your little stabby accident, Hotch is a little bit overprotective. And you are afraid he doesn’t trust you anymore, you thought this was your chance to prove yourself again, but it seems like it’s just the same.

Although this was his house and his rules, so you decided to let him come with you to guide you through the house.

When both of you got inside his home you handed him an iron rod, while you took your shotgun filled with salt munitions.

He looked at you expectantly. “I left my other shotgun at my house, sorry. But if you see a ghost just hit it with it.” You gave him a thumbs-up while you took out a device.

“What 's that?” He asked 

“An EMF meter, it’s going to beep if there’s a ghost here.” 

“You think it could be a friendly ghost?” 

The question made you grimace. “There’s a chance, I guess.”

“How high? And please be honest, I can tell you’re holding back on me.” He looked at you.

“Fine, not high enough.” Even if his face didn’t tell on him, you could tell he was concerned. “But there’s lots of kinds of spirits.”

Hotch and you managed to register the whole apartment twice, but the EMF didn’t read any frequency, and right now you were searching in Hotch’s room for the third time.

“Nope.” You said while sitting on his bed. “Nothing.”

“Maybe we missed something.”

“Even if we did, I don’t think it is in the apartment at the moment.” Hotch frowned with confusion. “You see, some spirits can also haunt objects.” 

“You’re telling me the ghost could be with my son, right now?” You nodded with a look of sorrow on your face. “I need to make a call.”

You stayed still in his bed while swinging your legs waiting for him.

“Well, this certainly wasn’t the way I thought I would end up on his bed.”  You said to yourself.

After a quick call with Jessica who assured Jack was doing okay and not talking alone, Hotch returned with a defeated look.

“Is there a chance I was wrong?” He said distracted by the swinging of your legs.

“I don’t think so, those sons of bitches are sneaky.” He took a glimpse of your face and then sat next to you. “Let me tell you what, is there a way you and Jack can be out for a while and leave the apartment alone for a day or two?” 

“I don’t know.”

“Oh, c’mon Hotch, I know you have free days accumulated, and the bureau wants you to take them as soon as possible.”

“I just don’t want to leave alone with all of that.”

“Aaron, I need you to leave this apartment, take your child, and take nothing but your cell phone for when I tell you I banished that spirit to the beyond, are we clear?”

“Did you just call me Aaron?”

“And you liked it, focus. Are we clear?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, you liked it? Or yes we are clear?” He smiled a little and started stuffing clothes in a suitcase. 

After spending more than half of the day planning a trip for them, Jessica dropped Jack who was pleasantly surprised by their sudden trip, the kid tossed all his things on the floor and hugged everyone in the room, including you. 

Everything went so fast that Jack didn’t realize he had left his backpack on the sofa after leaving the house so quickly. You saw how a little teddy bear was almost falling to the floor, your instinct was to grab it to get it on the blue, eye-catching backpack again, but you didn’t count on being thrown to the wall and then hit the ground with abruptness while your EMF meter started to beep nonstop.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” You said feeling your side hurt. “It’s just a kid.”

You helped yourself up by grabbing the knob of the principal door, twisted it to open the door, and got out of the apartment while crawling to the hallway wall and rested there, trying to see the damage in your skin.

“Fucking ghosts.” You said at the sight of your bruised torso.

A ringing phone distracted you from the pain and you immediately answered when you saw who was calling.

“Hey, sorry to bother but Jack left his backpack and he can’t sleep without his favorite stuffed animal. Would you help me get it  before we leave town?” Hotch’s voice filled your ears.

“Let me guess, a teddy bear.”

“Yes, you saw it? We are driving home.”

“Well hit reverse or get a new toy, because that freakin teddy bear threw me into the air.”

“What?!” he said. “Are you okay? You want me to come back?” 

“No no, I got this, trust me.” You said before hanging up on him.

Now analyzing your situation, you had an angry ghost, who was ready to kill you, a broken rib, and fear to face, cause you can handle spirits and children but individually, and right now you had two for one.

You went into the contacts in your phone, till you found the one you wanted.

“Hello.” A raspy voice answered.

“Oh, Hi De! Just out of curiosity, Are you guys close?”

“Hey, how did you know?” You moved your arms and celebrated in silence. “Cincinnati.”

“I think I prayed too hard.” 

“What 's wrong?”

“You see, I have an emergency, and I kinda left my equipment inside the house with the emergency and I have a freaking shattered rib, I can’t even walk.”

“We can be there in a couple of hours.” 

“Thank you, thank you!” You squeaked in happiness.

You might’ve overreacted and exaggerated the severity of your injuries, but it was a must. You had developed this strategy when you were eight and you were too scared of killing a spider. It consisted of dramatizing the scenario and asking Dean or Sam for help so they would kill it for you, even if you had to say that the arachnid was the size of a frog and tried to chase you down to bite you.

You waited sitting in the lobby for a long time until you heard the unique sound of the Impala’s engine, you stood up in a jump and ran down the stairs to get to the Winchesters. Whose doors were opening to leave the car and wrap you in a warm hug.

You could feel Dean eyeing you with a lifted eyebrow and a mocking smile “I thought you could barely walk.” 

“It’s a miracle!” 

He crossed his arms. “Spoiled brat.”

“Sucker.” He smiled and shook his head.

“Glad to see you are okay.” Sam said with a compassionate smile.

You could tell he still felt bad about the Gordon situation and how he hurt you to get information about Sam.

“Glad to see you’re talking again.”

“I just felt bad, I didn’t know if you were mad at me.”

“Well if you’d only talked to me, you would’ve known.” You said caressing his arm. “I already have enough emotionally repressed men in my life, and one of them is a Winchester, don’t make it two.” 

Dean frowned, annoyed. “Well, let me guess, Spirits?” He smiled.

And you wanted nothing more than to erase that stupid smug smile on his face, but you told the brothers the whole story and the ghost problem, which caused a burst of laughter for Dean and Sam trying to hide his laugh with his fake coughing.

“Are you done?”

“Okay, let me get this straight, you say yes to a salt and burn for your boyfriend, which is already shocking enough cause you are scared of ghosts but then you get the kind of spirit you fear the most?” 

“First, he’s not my boyfriend. Two, I’m not scared of ghosts, I just don’t like them, Dean.”

“Just don’t buy a lottery ticket this week, I don’t think it’s worth it.” 

“Fuck off.”

“Okay.” Sam interrupted. “Let’s just do some research, Do you think it’s vengeful spirit?”

“Probably, I mean is a kid, and it’s been a while since Virginia had any pattern of weird deaths.” 

“You have a name?”

“Tommy.”

“There’s no need for research, we know to which object is connected, let’s just get in fast, take the Teddy bear, and burn it.” Dean stated. “Easy.”

After gathering up their guns, the Winchester and you decided to go for the easy way and got the plan in motion, as you entered the apartment you could notice the change of temperature and the stuffed animal on the couch. You frowned.

“That wasn’t there before.”

The three of you kept pointing your guns at every corner of the room, but nothing showed up. Dean decided to take the lead and ran to grab the Teddy bear, but there wasn’t any luck because he got thrown away by an invisible force. You and Sam stayed alert with your guns up, but there wasn’t anything to shoot at, your eyes connected with his and he gave you a subtle nod, both of you ran at the same time trying to cover the other but once again the ghost didn’t make its presence known and both end up pushed away and suffocated against the wall.

None of you could reach the toy because every time one of you tried it, you would end up crashing into something, the tries stopped when Dean managed to run faster and Sam started to desperately grasp for air. So the three of you decided to leave the apartment to return the next day with more answers. 

~~~

The brothers and you were sitting in your living room eating breakfast while you were researching on your FBI account any files that could help you in the case.

“Nothing.” You sighed with frustration.

Sammy looked at you with his puppy eyes and extended his hand to you asking for your laptop. “Let me try.”

You gave him your side eye but surrended and handed it to him. “No hacking my account for your personal use.” You warned.

“You don’t have to work?” Dean asked while stuffing his mouth with the last piece of bacon.

“I called in sick.” 

“And they believed you?”

“Well, of course.”

“Because you are sleeping with the boss.”

“I’m not!” 

“But you want to.” You rolled your eyes. 

“I have something.” Sam interrupted, stealing the attention. “Five years ago a family was killed by their father who apparently killed himself later.”

“Apparently?” You asked.

Sam nodded. “The forensics found defensive wounds on him.” 

You and Dean frowned. “So, who did it?”

“They never found any other evidence or lead in the case, but there is this photo.” Sam turned the laptop showing on the screen a photo of a family and in the center a child holding a teddy bear.

“That’s Tommy?” 

“No, that’s Adam, but get this, ten years ago, this family in Virginia had a kid who was admitted to the psychiatric hospital, they claimed the kid was evil and violent, and later on, the doctor told the family to take him back because he represented no harm, but after two months the whole family die killed by the dad.” Sam looked at you and showed another picture. “That’s Tommy, he died with a knife in his hand but the police found that hard to believe and determined that the father did it.”

“Fuck.”

“He’s no vengeful ghost.” 

—-

After a couple of hours getting anything necessary for the hunt, you and the boys arrived at Hotch’s apartment with a new plan and ready to finish the hunt and once again the temperature dropped.

“Tommy, we know what you are.” You said with a strong voice but trembling legs while the Winchesters made a circle of salt around you.

A loud and distorted “NO” echoed in the room, you nodded at the boys when they stepped out of the salt circle and ran to get the object connected to the ghost when they finally pissed the spirit enough, the lights started to flicker and a little figure appeared tossing them into a wall.

“Sorry, but I’m not going to let you harm this family, Tommy.” You pulled the trigger and the figure disappeared for a moment but reappeared right in front of you, you shot one more time. Meanwhile, you and Sam distracted the ghost, Dean finally got the teddy bear in his hands to set him on fire and you watched the little figure disappear between red and orange flames.

—-

 You decided to call Hotch the next day, you could have done it the second the Winchesters left town, but you know that the moment you called him, he was going to go directly to work and the truth was that He and Jack needed those days.

So when he arrived home, you decided to pay him a visit after work and ask him to meet you in the hallway.

The moment he saw you he smiled and got close to give you a warm hug full of gratitude. “Thank you.”

“Oh, it’s always a pleasure to help.” You smiled back. “But I came to give you back this.” You place the keys in his hand. “And to give you this for Jack, you know, to compensate the one I had to burn.”  

Hotch smiled while grabbing the stuffed animal. “You are lovely.” 

You blushed. “I also thought about getting you a vacuum, you know, for all the amount of salt that will keep coming out of your carpet, but Jack's feelings seemed more important.” 

He let a chuckle come out of his mouth. “I also heard you finished with that ghost yesterday and not today like you said.” 

You looked at him surprised. “How did you know?”

“A little bird told me.” You squeezed your eyes at him.

“David? More like a crow.” You sighed. “I thought you needed more time away with Jack.” You shrugged your shoulders.

“Thank you, love.” Your heart skipped a bit with the pet name, but you just smiled.

“It’s nothing.” He looked down at his hands for a moment but then looked back at you.

“Do you want to stay for dinner? We ordered pizza and I’m sure Jack will love to get this from you.” He placed the stuffed animal back in your hands.

“I would love to.” You said and followed him to get inside his house.

You were a little nervous, your mind made up a million scenarios where Jack didn’t like you because you burned his favorite toy, but it was just the opposite. At the end of the dinner when Aaron stepped aside to clean a little, Jack approached you hugging his new stuffed animal.

“Thank you.” He said to you.

“Oh, I just thought you would love it.”

“No, you saved us, thank you.” He hugged you tight.

You blinked a couple of times letting the information sink in and immediately hugged the kid back. “I will always help you and your dad.”

At the end, Aaron walked you to your car and thanked you for the thousandth time in the night.

“It was nothing, Hotch, I’m just glad I was able to help.”

He shook his head. “It was everything, you did save us.” You frowned 

“You heard?” He nodded. “But also thank you for trusting me with this.” You smiled.

Hotch got closer and hugged you one more time, and then left a kiss on your forehead as a goodbye. 

[arayashikiii]

Heinrich Runge(Lunge)/Original Female Character (NSFW)

Monster Fanfic | Runge/OC | Adult Themes

POV: Runge. Introspective, mature, timeline not clearly defined, ambiguous tone.

Contains: awkward intimacy, adult themes.

I’m not quite ready to post this on AO3 yet, so I'm sharing it this way for now. Actually, I haven't really established any detailed settings for the OC yet. There are a few elements that take place before the events of the main story, but I haven't worked out the specifics. I might write something related to that in the future, but for now, nothing is certain. Hope you enjoy it!

At the end of April, after the rain had stopped, the air in Hamburg was unusually sticky. Though it was not yet summer, the humidity was exceptional, and I spent the entire day in just a shirt, having taken off my jacket.

After a minor argument and a moment of impulsive contact—perhaps age does not bring wisdom, only shamelessness; in any case, it was undoubtedly I who initiated the unexpected kiss—the atmosphere between us had become noticeably awkward. Neither of us had ever been particularly talkative, but this time I sensed that even being in the same space would be uncomfortable. I was the first to look away and suggested we take some time apart.

My mind, which had been flashing error messages for the first time in a while, eventually shut down altogether. I initially intended to spend some quiet time browsing through bookstores, but even as I mimicked typing data into my mental computer—a habit of mine—nothing was actually being entered. In the end, as if I had regressed to my reckless, foolish youth, I found myself in a bar, drinking beer after beer to dull the sense of uselessness. Perhaps because I had avoided alcohol for years and relied on coffee to stave off emptiness, at first I only sipped at my drink as though it were still coffee.

After a few hours, before the alcohol could take full effect and leave me entirely lethargic, I forced myself up and headed to the station. When I saw the hastily scribbled sign in the window—“Train strike. All tickets after 6 p.m. are refundable. Please visit the ticket counter.”—my fingers instinctively tapped an imaginary backspace key. It meant that she and I would inevitably meet again in the waiting room, in an atmosphere of awkwardness.

They say that if you speak of the devil, she appears. Five minutes later, she appeared before me, looking somewhat fatigued, two buttons undone on her blouse. For more than three minutes, we simply stared at each other in silence, having nothing at all to say. Eventually, I suggested we find a hotel, and she followed without complaint.

Because of the late hour, it was not easy to find a place to stay. We checked several places before finally locating a vacancy. The receptionist, utterly indifferent, informed us that only a double room was left and immediately asked for a card. She fumbled for her wallet, but I was marginally faster. I blinked once at her as she offered me a slightly apologetic look.

A cramped room of barely ten square meters, with an old bunk bed. We unpacked without a word, and, at her suggestion, I took the lower bunk. We continued in silence for hours. She busied herself finishing her work on her laptop, while I switched on a portable lamp and reviewed documents for a meeting scheduled the next afternoon.

After 2 a.m., I heard a slight cough from the upper bunk. As the night deepened and the temperature dropped, the walls grew cold, and, as is often the case in budget hotels, dust that had accumulated in neglected corners began to irritate the airways. I turned off my lamp and told her, quietly, to come down. She hesitated for a moment before slowly descending. I gently took her wrist, pulled her into my arms, and covered us with the blanket. Only then, after adding another layer, could I close my eyes in relative comfort. I had no intention of going further.

Still, perhaps because of our earlier contact in a public place and the amount of alcohol consumed, my threshold for physical stimulation seemed significantly lowered. After her warm breath brushed my nape twenty or so times, I found myself acting out of character once more. I decided I could blame it on the alcohol, if necessary.

We decided not to undress completely. To raise our body temperature, we kissed—clumsily, bumping our front teeth three times—and I immediately touched her. Her clitoris required persistent, steady pressure in one spot, and I obliged. Normally, I would have used my mouth, but she closed her legs, clearly unwilling.

Her nails were always short, so there was no sharp stimulation, but that also meant there were no unpleasant surprises. I tried to relax my body as much as possible, and she, with her large, warm hands, completely enveloped me. After a few minutes, I heard the familiar wet sound. Everything was proceeding smoothly.

“Will you be all right?”

“Yes… this is fine.”

“Why don’t you beg a little, like usual?”

“Do you really want that, even outside?”

“My apologies. You’re simply too endearing.”

Calling her “endearing” was a calculated move, though not entirely untrue. She surely knew as much. She gave a faint smile—but I noticed the slight tremor at the corner of her eye—and parted her legs a little. Remembering that she had told me her period had ended about four days ago, I took a condom from my pocket and tore open the package with my teeth. As our bodies pressed together, she seemed to hold her breath, probably out of concern that someone might hear. I moved slowly up and down at the entrance to help her relax.

As I eased inside her, there was a sound—just a bit more conspicuous than the quiet smack of our lips parting. At that moment, a heavy thud echoed through the wall. We stayed composed, but a moment later, the loud moans of an unknown woman in the next room brought us to a halt. Perhaps suddenly exhausted, she scratched her head and glared at the wall, visibly irritated.

“Damn, you get all kinds of people in these cheap hotels.”

“Is it bothering you?”

“It’s just… annoying tonight.”

“Then why not give them something to listen to?”

Her eyes widened instantly. I barely suppressed a laugh, not out of ridicule, but because she truly was endearing. Even if it wasn’t wholly genuine admiration, just the presence of that feeling alone was enough to make me behave unlike myself. I was willing to shed the shell of the trained, restrained detective—if only for a moment, before having to put it back on. I wanted to remember her defenseless and, at times, even ridiculous side.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re a good singer, aren’t you?”

“What?”

“I’ll make sure you can breathe easily. Go ahead.”

I changed our position without much delay. Since I was only shallowly inside her, she seemed unbothered by the sudden movement. I lay on my side, holding her more firmly, and, still flushed with heat, rubbed myself against her from behind.

“Uh… ha… Are you serious? Where did you get the idea that I can sing?”

“My reasons are far more objective and reliable than you might expect. Trust me. Now, go on.”

Leaning in closer, I took her breasts in both hands. The way her skin instantly responded, raising goosebumps, started to heat me up as well. What we had done up to that point now felt trivial compared to the next fifteen minutes that played out in my mind. I wanted to make it real.

“So, what will you do?”

“Heinrich, sometimes I really don’t understand you.”

What I’d been so insistent about was a song she’d hummed a few days earlier while tidying up her study. As soon as I heard it, I’d begun absentmindedly typing out the melody, noting every pause and missed octave, along with my own commentary:

Extreme lyrics, subdued delivery. Open to interpretation.

If I could hear those unguarded lines from her again—who knows, it might become my favorite piece of music in a lifetime. To help her relax, I breathed against her earlobe a few times, and slowly pressed into her. In response, she let out a low, heated sound and, in a rather clear voice, began to sing, line by line.

[lavendercharm]

Arrhythmia, Chapter 1

Jo jerked, her eyes blinking and her mind clouded with the momentary confusion of a rude awakening. Allowing her eyes and brain to adjust to the darkness of her bedroom, she huffed a sigh at the realization of what had awoken her. Her phone sat buzzing on her bedside table, persistently rattling against the table top.

She rubbed the sleep from her eyes with one hand, reaching over to grasp the shaking object with the other. She blinked a few times, fighting to register the caller ID displayed on her phone. “What the fuck?” she mumbled, irritated at having her evening depression nap so unceremoniously interrupted. It was unusual for Mateo to call her at all, let alone around when he’d be getting off of work. She tapped the green icon and immediately hit the speaker button, holding the phone away from her face.

“Hello?” she said, her voice raspy with sleep.

“Did I wake you up, Josie?” a teasing voice responded.

“What gave it away, Mattie?” Jo retorted, the childhood nicknames normally used to annoy one another causing a smile to creep onto her lips in spite of herself. Mateo Diaz and Josephine Bishop had grown up together, a shared childhood full of games, laughter, scraped knees, and only the occasional argument. Their friendship had been forged in the fire of the elementary school playground, when Mateo had stood up to another boy who was making fun of Jo for her wild curly hair, a trait they both had in common.

From then on, the two had been fast friends. They’d learned to skate board together, played out imaginary scenarios of fighting dragons with stick-swords and saving princesses (the part of which Mateo would always play, as Jo flat out refused to play a damsel in distress), and shared many sleepovers. She had even lived with Mateo and his family for a while in high school, their home serving as a safe haven from a home life turned bad.

They’d graduated high school together, shared a few years at community college, and decided to enter a nursing program together. However, Jo’s true passion eventually won out, and she dropped out of nursing school to pursue her true lifelong passion. Mateo remained a constant in Jo’s life, and they’d spend time together on occasion still, when Mateo’s busy work schedule allowed.

Still, calls were unusual, the two typically preferring to text. “Why the call out of the blue? Just missing the sound of my voice?” Jo rasped.

Mateo huffed out a laugh at her, and Jo could picture the radiant grin on her friend’s face. As her annoyance began to melt away and her body became accustomed to her being awake, Jo sat up in bed, running a hand through her wild hair. “How you doing?”

“Oh, I’m lovely,” Jo replied, sarcasm dripping from her voice. “Nothing like a looming eviction to brighten up your day.”

“Well, sorry to make your day worse then, but I have an idea that might keep a roof over your head,” Mateo replied, his voice laced with humor and a touch of concern.

“For the eightieth time, I am not starting an OnlyFans- not that I have anything against sex work-“

“Chill! That’s not what I was gonna say,” Mateo cuts her off. Jo huffs in response as she throws her legs over the side of the bed and wanders out of her bedroom. She plants herself at the kitchen counter, leaning against the cold marble and crossing her arms.

Her eyes trace the long fern leaves curving along her left forearm, the thick shaded ink settled in, a part of her that felt like it had always been there. Her fingers twitched, aching for the thrum of her tattoo machine, the feel of latex on her hands, the smell of disinfectant. After a few more moments of silence, Matteo says, “Can I say what I was gonna say?”

With a huff, Jo mutters, “Let’s hear it then.”

“My coworker Cassie, the one I babysit for? Her son Harrison is a really cool kid. He’s staying with her now, and she needs someone who can be a little more full time than me, and well… I may have mentioned you to her.”

Jo frowned, her eyebrows drawn together. “Mateo, I… thank you, but I seriously doubt she can afford to pay me enough to keep me from getting evicted,” Jo says. “Besides, she hasn’t even met me. I’m not the best with kids…” she trails off.

“Harrison is easy!” Mateo replies. “He’s super chill. And Cass can’t pay you enough for rent, that’s true, but I happen to know they have a spare room.”

“No,” Jo returns immediately. “Listen, I love you Mateo, but no way am I moving in with a total stranger and her kid.”

“No offense Jo, but it doesn’t seem like you have many other options,” Mateo points out. At her irritated growl, he continued, “I can vouch! Cassie’s really cool. She’s in a bind, and you’re about to be on the street. I think this could be a good solution for everyone.”

“I don’t know the first thing about taking care of a kid!” Jo exclaims, her hands flying into the air. “It’s scary! What if he has an allergic reaction and I can’t find his epi pen, or what if he gets in a weird guy’s van when my back is turned? What if he’s mean? Oh my god, what if he’s mean? Kids are vicious nowadays!”

“Dude, calm down,” Mateo says, and Jo can tell he’s fighting not to laugh at her because it will only make her more worked up. “He’s like eleven, he can pretty much handle himself. He’s just not old enough to be alone yet.” Jo doesn’t respond, the silence sitting heavy between them.

“Look, Cassie just needs a little help, that’s all. And you need some help too.” Jo’s brain turning over in her mind. Mateo says, “Josie, do you trust me?”

“Of course,” she says without hesitation, an edge still present in her voice. “I just… God, I can’t think of a good reason to say no, but it’s a big thing to wrap my head around, okay? It feels like a lot of responsibility.” Jo can feel the vulnerability beginning to creep up, and she fights to keep it down. “Besides, does she know I’m about to be evicted? Does she even know what my job was before this? I can’t see a single mother being thrilled about leaving her kid with a washed up, unemployed tattoo artist who’s about to lose her apartment.”

Jo had spent a few years as an artist in a shop downtown. Her apprenticeship was hell, her mentor having been an old school guy who believed in putting his apprentices through the wringer. Still, Jo fought and worked her ass off. She’d lost count of the sleepless nights, and she was sure she could have saved up to buy a car that wasn’t a total piece of crap with all the money she’d spent on her supplies, booth rental, and Redbulls to get her through late nights creating designs. Still, her passion burned like a fire, and she refused to give up.

How she’d ended up here, on the verge of being evicted and no hope in sight… she sighed, running a hand over her face. She didn’t want to think about what had already happened. She couldn’t change that.

“You’re right. She’d much prefer an employed tattoo artist,” Mateo says, the shit eating grin practically audible through the phone.

“You know what I mean, you ass,” Jo deadpans.

“I may have glossed over a few details,” Mateo admits. He rushes to continue before Jo can refuse him once more. “But I didn’t need to because I know once she meets you, she’ll love you! Cassie trusts me too, she knows I wouldn’t recommend someone crazy or dangerous.”

Jo is silent. She knows she’s going to give in, it’s inevitable. She’s tied down on the tracks and the train is coming at her. This is a lifeline she’s being offered, her savior coming to free her in the nick of time. Still, it’s a lot for her to process and her reservations are persistent, flashing like big neon signs in her mind.

Finally, she speaks. “Okay,” she says reluctantly.

“Okay?” Mateo asks.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll at least meet with her. Just… I’m trying not to get my hopes up too much. I’m not exactly the poster child for a live in babysitter, and I have no experience with kids. But at this point, what do I have to lose, right?” Jo mutters.

“Sweet!” Mateo says excitedly. “I’ll let Cassie know! I’ll give her your number so you guys can figure it out, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Jo says, already dreading receiving the text message from the unknown number.

“I really think this will be good, Jo. For both of you,” he says. He’s encouraging, caring, and for a moment, Jo aches. She wishes she wasn’t standing alone in her dark kitchen. Perhaps living with someone else wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

“Thank you, Mattie,” Jo says softly. “Thank you for looking out for me.”

“Always,” he says immediately. “I’ve got your back always. I gotta go, but I love you Jo. Things will get better. Just hang in there, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she says. “Love you too.” The familiar tone of the phone call ending leaves Jo feeling a bit empty inside. Yes, living with someone else would probably be good, she thinks.

In the dimness of her kitchen, illuminated only by the light of the moon flooding through the windows, Jo’s eyes are drawn to the eviction notice she’d ripped off of her door and slapped on the counter last night. There was no denying that regardless of what happened, she would be losing her home again. As if she hadn’t lost enough already.

A moment longer, and Jo reaches over, ripping the piece of paper to shreds and balling them up in her fists. She tosses the scraps into her garbage and turns to go back to her room, her warm bed calling to her. All she could do now was wait for this Cassie to reach out to her. In the meantime, she would avoid being conscious at all costs. The less she had to face reality, the better.

[lovelynim]

Reasonable funding

Honkai: Star Rail - Yanqing & Jing Yuan

A/N: Happy birthday @otomiyaa!!! I'm not really sure if this will be a good gift, but I know you've been feeling in the HSR mood lately so... I hope you like this! ~

Wish you the very best and many, many years!

Summary: Yanqing tries to convince the general to fund him another a new sword.

Word count: 1752 words

“General, I’d like to ask for- no, that’s not going to work,” Yanqing groaned, walking from one side of the room to the other. He had his arms crossed in front of his chest, his foot tapping at the wooden floor while he tried to come up with a better phrasing for his… request.

It wasn’t like it was unreasonable or absurd, Yanqing thought to himself, of course not. He just needed to find the right arguments, but Jing Yuan would understand him. Or so he hoped.

The young swordsman sighed, going through the little script he quickly made up in his mind again. “ahem, general, I want to ask you- I mean, need to… hmm, maybe I should start it in some other way?” He talked to himself out loud, holding his chin while drifting into further contemplation of that matter.

Just how hard could it be?!

Yanqing had went through the same lines at least 10 times in the last hour, explaining to his imaginary picture of Jing Yuan how important it was for him, as the Cloud Knight Lieutenant, to keep an updated arsenal and, above that, the benefits that acquiring the newly-released sword - the Sunset Pierce - would bring to his training and development as a whole.

Of course, it would cost a bit more money that he currently had in hands, but as his mentor, it fell on Jing Yuan’s responsibilities to help him fund that sword. Right, Yanqing nodded to himself, this made sense, yes.

Still, why did it feel so hard to find the right words to talk to the actual general?

No, he could make it. The first defeat is the one that comes from within your own mind, Yanqing reminded himself. He could do it, he just needed to prepare himself a bit more and Jing Yuan would, surely, agree to fund his reasonable request.

Taking a deep breath, the lieutenant slapped his own cheeks before stare into an empty corner of the room - now full of determination. “General,” he started, fixing his posture and holding one hand behind his back while gesturing with the other - just like Jing Yuan himself would do during his speeches, “I’m sure you’re aware of the approach of the Luminary Wardance Ceremony-”

“Yes, I am,” Jing Yuan mused with a smile on his face while making Yanqing squeal and jump like a scaredy cat. The general chuckled, continuing to slowly walk into his office. “What’s the matter about it?”

“G-General, I- ahm, I wasn’t expecting you… to be back… so soon…” He stuttered, his voice only going quieter and quieter as all his planning was turned into shambles before his very own eyes. 

Jing Yuan cocked his head, watching his apprentice with curiosity, “the meeting didn’t take as long as it usually does this time. Anyway, I heard you calling me. I suppose there is something that needs my attention?”

“No- I mean, yes, there… is,” Yanqing nodded, coughing to fix up his voice tone and try to look more presentable - and convincing - before the general and, hopefully, future sponsor. “I’d like to talk to you about the preparations for the Wardance.”

“I’m listening,” Jing Yuan smiled, amusing himself with how Yanqing spoke.The lieutenant nodded, continuing with his report while taking random steps around the office.He already had Jing Yuan’s attention and a good excuse to bring up his personal collection arsenal. He could do it!

“To have a better performance and proper execution of my techniques - which will be representing not only your teachings, but the whole Luofu - I believe we should…”

“We should..?” Jing Yuan continued, taking his seat in the office and resting his elbow on the chair’s armrest.

“R-review my current equipment. After all, I-I can’t fight with swords in a poor state, yes?” Yanqing stopped, looking at his general with expectant eyes. As approval sparked up in Jing Yuan’s face, the lieutenant took it as a sign for him to go on with his rambling reporting. “So, knowing you have a tight schedule and other important affairs to take care of, I went ahead and checked the condition of the swords in the inventory myself.”

“Oh, how productive. And what are your conclusions?” Jing Yuan asked and leaned back in his seat. He could already see where this was going, but he’d still like to hear the arguments Yanqing made up this time.

“O-of course, ahem, most of the swords are in good - i-if not excellent - condition, but-”

“But?” Jing Yuan almost gasped, feigning surprise, “did you encounter a problem within your arsenal?”

“I-it’s not really a problem, but… one of the swords isn’t in as good condition as the other five…”

“So?”

“So, well…” Yanqing stopped in front of Jing Yuan, taking one last deep breath to gather enough courage to utter his request, “Ineedmoneytobuyanewswordandreplaceit!”

Jing Yuan blinked, stunned. He shook his head, chuckling, “I beg your pardon, lieutenant Yanqing. What did you say? I couldn’t understand it.”

Ugh!

“I… need- I mean, I’d like to ask- no, I’d like to count on you funding its replacement.”

There it is, Jing Yuan thought. The general closed his eyes and hummed softly, pretending to be deeply contemplating Yanqing’s request. If he wasn’t exactly sure, but he could swear he “funded” a new sword not long ago and, honestly, couldn’t help but doubt about the actual needs of a replacement. Wasn’t Yanqing’s room filled with dozens of swords already?

“I understand, lieutenant Yanqing,” Jing Yuan sighed, peeking at the boy’s reaction through half closed eyes, “I agree with your line of thought. It’s, indeed, important to make sure all the equipment is in good shape before the Wardance.”

“R-really?!- ahem, I-I’m glad you do, general,” he nodded, trying to contain his excitement and stop a silly smile from spreading on his face, “about the value-”

“But,” Jing Yuan interrupted him, lifting a finger in the air, “I’d like to test you. Your resolve on this matter, to be precise. If you fulfill my expectations, then I’ll ‘fund’ the replacement.”

“S-surely, general. It’s… a reasonable condition, yes,” Yanqing nodded and watched carefully as Jing Yuan got up from his seat and walked around the room, stopping in front of one of the shelves.

Jing Yuan hovered his hands over a couple items before grabbing a Devastator Glaive - one of the standard weapons of the Cloud Knights. As he walked towards Yanqing with the weapon in hand, the lieutenant couldn’t help but wonder what kind of test the general had come up with. A spar? A mission?

“I want you to hold the glaive,” Jing Yuan ordered, handing the weapon to his apprentice who eagerly took it and held it close to his chest.

“L-like this?”

“Not quite,” Jing Yuan chuckled, grabbing the weapon on the spot between Yanqing’s hands and lifting it above the boy’s head, “up here. Yes, this should suffice. Now, ready for the test?”

Yanqing was a bit confused, truth to be told. What did holding a glaive had to do with his new sword? How could this be a test of anything?

“You need to hold the glaive above your head for… a minute. If you can do so, I’ll pay- ah, pardon me, fund your sword replacement. Understood?”

“Yes, general,” Yanqing nodded again, clenching his hands around the glaive’s pole. His training used to include ten thousand sword’s swings, this was a piece of cake. “Whenever you are read-AH!”

Before he could even finish his line, Yanqing was caught off guard by a finger swiping down his armpit. “G-general?”

“Don’t worry, I already set the timer,” Jing Yuan chuckle, reaching out to Yanqing again and wiggling his finger over the exposed spot again, “remember, you can’t drop the glaive or lower your arms.”

“B-but- aHAHaha, g-geheneral this is- hehehey!” Yanqing whined through shy giggles, stomping his feet and twisting left and right - nearly knocking a few things down - as he tried to evade the tickling. This was the test?!

Jing Yuan couldn’t help but to laugh along. “You didn’t complain when I explained the terms, what’s the matter now?” He teased, admiring the way Yanqing battled against his body’s reflexes and tried to stick to the rules. “If you can’t ‘protect’ a simple glaive, I don’t think I can trust you with a new sword.”

“I-I cahAHAhan, i-it juhuhust tihihickles!” Yanqing protested, pressing his face into his arm while trying to contain the smile in his lips. “H-how muhuhuch time leheheft?!”

“It’s been barely 20 seconds. We can stop if you feel like giving up,” Jing Yuan said as if trying to comfort his student, but his hands continued to tickle those unprotected armpits and ribs - not with his life, but rather his wallet on the line.

“NOHohohoh! I cahahan’t do it!” The boy nearly roared while more panicked giggles poured from his lips. Despite trying to keep his arms stretched out above his head, Yanqing couldn’t help but to arch his back and move around in vain attempts to make Jing Yuan’s assault tickle any less.

30, 40, 45… the seconds went by one after the other and Yanqing was already feeling like he would collapse at any moment. His arms threatened to falter, with his elbows trembling and the glaive’s pole already pressing against the top of his head. Still, he was so close, just a little more..!

“EHEhe- g-gehEHenerahal!! Tihihime’s uhuhup!” Yanqing giggled, his voice probably being heard on the other side of the Seat of Divine Foresight’s hall. “St-stohohop it!”

“Oh, has it been a minute already?” Jing Yuan mused, poking Yanqing one last time before checking the little timer. “A minute and ten seconds, indeed. You even overdid it, lieutenant. I’m proud of you.”

“H-hahh… d-don’t tease me like t-this again, please,” Yanqing wheezed, using the glaive’s pole to support himself and keep his body on his feet. Despite the tinglish feeling still running over his body, the sense of achievement was the actual reason behind his smile at that moment. “S-so, can I count on your funding?”

“You earned it, it’s only fair,” Jing Yuan chuckled, ruffling the boy’s hair, “you may contact the smith in charge of the project and send me the receipt, ok?”

“T-Thank you, general!” Yanqing beamed, hurrying to the shelf to retrieve the weapon used in his trial, “I won’t disappoint you!”

You never do, Jing Yuan thought… Now, how should he explain the new expenses to Fu Xuan? Sigh, this was a problem for another time…

[humusboii2thereturnoftheking]

Al Jazeera's Arabic documentary about the war in Gaza

I just watched a video by The Easy Way breaking down a brand-new Al Jazeera documentary released only five days ago. I’ll link both the documentary and the analysis below.

This documentary is significant for two reasons. First, it highlights the stark contrast between what Al Jazeera presents to Western audiences versus what it feeds its Arab and Muslim viewers. Second, despite being released just days ago, it has already amassed nearly 6 million views.

Let me first summarize what’s in the documentary (based on The Easy Way, whom I find to be a reliable source). If you’re impatient, feel free to skip down to my main point. If you want to watch the documentary and draw your own conclusions then know it has English subtitles

The so-called “documentary” exclusively pushes the Palestinian narrative, starting from October 7th and ending at the ceasefire. Here are some key takeaways:

Jewish communities are only referred to as “settlements,” despite not being located on disputed land.

The community emergency squads (Kitat Konenut, כיתת כוננות) are falsely depicted as “soldiers in civilian clothing” fighting against uniformed Hamas fighters.

The October 7th attack (Al-Aqsa Flood) is framed as a glorious Hamas victory, while Israel’s response is labeled “genocide.” The ceasefire is then framed, again, as another Hamas triumph.

Hamas fighters are glorified as honorable and moral, with most of the footage showing them attacking Israeli soldiers. When civilians are targeted, the footage is carefully edited to remove any actual harm. In the rare clips of Hamas inside Jewish communities, they claim they were “protecting” civilians while fighting the IDF.

The attack on Israel is spun as a preemptive strike, Hamas supposedly knew Israel was about to “destroy Gaza,” and by taking hostages, they miraculously stopped this imaginary plan.

Hostages are never called hostages, only “prisoners.” The film pushes the idea that every Israeli citizen is a permanent soldier because they once served in the IDF.

Al Jazeera uses Hamas footage but clumsily tries to remove the red triangle markers (which signal targets for execution). The triangles are still visible in parts of the video.

One of the most absurd claims? Hamas rescued Jewish civilians from the battlefield and took them to a “safe place” in Gaza.

The documentary portrays Yahya Sinwar as a fearless warrior who fought above ground against the IDF, even though there’s footage of him scurrying in tunnels.

It argues that Israel’s economic initiatives in Gaza were merely a deception to distract Palestinians while secretly plotting to destroy Al-Aqsa Mosque and rebuild the Third Temple. Ironically, this implies an acknowledgment that Israel actually helped Gaza’s economy.

Now, here’s why this matters:

I’ve spent the last year and a half debating people about this conflict. Most of the time, the people I argue with know shockingly little yet still parrot the Palestinian narrative they’ve been fed in English. But no one ever talks about how vastly different the Arabic narrative is.

Hamas portrayed as heroes who saved Jews? As masterminds who foresaw an “evil Zionist plot”? As victors at both the beginning and end, despite Gaza’s destruction? If Westerners saw even a third of this documentary, they’d be horrified (or at least that's what I hope. Copium, I know).

How can anyone still claim Palestinians are suffering when their own media frames them as triumphant? How can anyone scream “genocide” while Hamas itself boasts about winning?

It’s mind-blowing. I’ve had so many debates where people justify October 7th with “it didn’t happen in a vacuum” and go on about history and the chicken-and-egg argument. Meanwhile, Hamas is openly admitting: “We did this because the evil Zionists were planning to exterminate us.”

How can Westerners keep defending Hamas when Hamas itself tells an entirely different story in Arabic?

I’m honestly stunned.

Here are the links for the videos, let me know what you think

Al Jazeera's New Gaza Documentary Is Crazy - YouTube - "The Easy Way" commentary

ما خفي أعظم.. الطوفان - YouTube - the Al Jazeera documentary

[chitty-chitty-bang-bang-bang]

Vlad, Viago and Deacon as parents [pt. 3]

[part 1] [part 2] [part 4]

Requested by @italakthoughts (btw, is it pronounced like “eehtalak” or “aytalak”?)

Author’s note: There will be some angst in this part, sorry guys, couldn’t help myself. This is probably the last part of this as headcanons, but I might make a one shot later. Also, I am still open to requests, but I will be a bit slower with posting, bc college is kicking my ass so hard it’s ridiculous.

_____________________________________________

All three have their favourite game to play with you.

For Deacon it’s tag. You run around the whole house, climbing walls and ceilings, turning into bats or dogs and always trying to outsmart each other.

With all the excessive energy both of you have, this is literally the perfect activity to get you to fall asleep faster, because your tag is hardcore. A human wouldn’t stand a chance.

With Vlad it’s blind man’s buff. Because of vampire’s heightened sensitivity, this game becomes all the more challenging for the one hiding, because you have to move very smoothly and be completely silent.

Of course, Vladislav still senses where you are, but he likes to give way to you. Your happy smile whenever you win is absolutely worth it.

Viago always goes for hide and seek. At first, you weren’t a very good at it and chose the most obvious hiding places. But with time you improved to the point, where Viago sometimes legitimately wonders if he lost you.

When he can’t find you for way too long, he just gives up and asks you to come out of your hiding place.

You also do a lot of tea parties together.

Just imagine the three of them sitting at a tiny table with toy cups filled with blood.

You usually made up some kind of weird circumstances for the party. For example, you pretend that you’re aristocratic mice, who conquered a cat’s lair and now celebrate your victory with a tea party. Or you are all wives of a wealthy king and you plot his murder to share the power between the four of you.

They really get into their imaginary roles. Though sometimes this can lead to them getting a bit carried away and actually starting a fight over a fictional event.

Nick and Stu often join in as well.

You really like playing with Vlad’s hair, since he has the longest out of the three and that means you can do a lot of funny hairdos. He doesn’t really mind, as long as you’re careful to not rip anything out (it grows back very fast, but it’s still an unpleasant feeling).

Deacon often gives you piggyback rides anywhere and everywhere. You basically use him as a jungle gym and while it sometimes annoys him, he rarely protests.

In winter, Viago always takes you ice skating. Even though you’re a vampire and you can’t catch a cold (or feel cold for that matter), he still insist on you wearing very warm clothes. People might think he’s not taking good care of his kid!

When they go to New York for the vampiric council duties (shoutout to wwdits show), they take you with them. Viago definitely takes you to see a musical. He’s not bailing on that. And it’s probably going to be something incredibly campy. Probably Andrew Lloyd Webber too.

You and Deacon have an absolute blast in the NY subway, scaring random people to death with little to no repercussions or getting into the last car and drinking whoever dared to sit there alone.

Some random blogger accidentally caught you and Vladislav turning into bats in an alleyway of Manhattan on video. So you had to hunt him down and hypnotise his whole audience into forgetting about the existence of that footage. It felt nice to be famous even if only for a bit.

As any flatting situation, these three have a lot of bickering and arguments.

They really try to avoid having any of those arguments in front of you, but sometimes it gets out of control. In those cases, they try to either deflate it or just ask you to leave the room and let them sort this out.

Petty or not, parents’ arguments are not something a child should be watching.

If you ever die from being burnt by sunlight or get killed by a vampire slayer they will be utterly devastated.

Vladislav is probably the best at handling it. He grieves silently by himself, reminiscing about all the fun silly things you’d say and do when he wasn’t in the mood. With time, the sadness numbs. But there is still that gaping emptiness somewhere in his immortal soul.

Viago would never forgive himself. Maybe if he took better care of you, if he paid more attention, if he took more precautions, if he kept a closer eye on you, if he was just by your side at the right time… maybe you’d still be running through the halls of this dusty house…

Deacon is just furious. He’s furious at whatever caused your death and he’s furious at you for being so reckless and getting yourself killed. Why do his closest ones keep leaving him so suddenly?

But that won’t happen obviously, you’re not dumb enough to die twice ;)

Genuinely, your time with them could be considered one of the happiest periods of your life. And if you tell them that, they will feel very proud of themselves.

All three of them really mean well and want to give you the childhood they never had.

[poisonlove]

I still hate you… but less.

4:35 PM

It was only 4:35 PM when the principal's verdict had hit us like a bolt from the blue. After the heated argument with the unbearable Jenna Ortega, we were forced to stay at school for an extra two hours. But the worst part? It wasn't just for one day; it was for an entire week.

"I want to die," I sighed. My elbow rested on the desk, my head propped up by my hand as I watched the clock tick away the time.

Our Science teacher shot us a stern look. "Absolute silence, please. I'll be back at the end of detention," he warned, making it clear that any infractions would lead to further penalties. "If you attempt to escape, the detention will be extended by a week, and if you argue, another hour... understood?"

"Mmm-hmm," I muttered with boredom, rolling my eyes in annoyance.

"Miss Ortega, did you understand?" the teacher turned his attention to the source of my frustration.

Jenna was sitting three desks away, her back against the wall, and from my vantage point, I could only see her profile. Ortega had her legs up on the table and earphones in her ears. It was as if she had erected an invisible wall between us, a clear sign of our tension.

"Ortega!" the teacher scolded with annoyance.

Jenna removed her earphones. "Yes, I understood," she replied through gritted teeth, clearly fed up.

"And remove your feet from the table," the teacher added with exasperation.

Jenna complied, and the teacher gave us one final glance before leaving the room.

I decided to pass the time by pulling out my notebook from my backpack, along with a pencil, and started drawing whatever came to mind. The punishment felt endless, and I needed something to distract myself.

As I drew, I scrutinized Jenna's profile more closely. She was clearly ignoring me, with earphones in her ears and a body posture that sent a clear message: she didn't want to talk at all.

My attention focused on her face, noting her upturned nose, heart-shaped lips, and slightly hollowed cheeks. But what struck me the most were her eyes. They were a deep brown, with long lashes framing them perfectly. They were physically flawless, and they captured the attention of anyone who gazed upon them.

My pencil began moving on the paper almost instinctively, creating lines and shadows that took shape. The graphite flowed on the page, delineating every detail of her brown eyes. Each individual eyelash seemed to come to life, capturing the imaginary light reflecting in her real eyes. It was as if I was trying to capture not only the physical appearance of her eyes but also the essence of what they might hide behind that distant expression.

I stuck out my tongue with a slight smile as I continued to draw, this time focusing on Jenna's eyebrows. She raised an eyebrow with confusion and shot me a glare, clearly feeling my gaze on her.

I increased the pressure on the pencil, creating heavy and precise lines as I outlined the curves of Jenna's eyebrows.

"What a pain," Jenna muttered and then stretched, yawning slightly.

In that motion, she lifted her hoodie slightly, revealing her perfectly flat stomach. I felt a bit embarrassed and quickly averted my gaze, my cheeks flushed, continuing to draw while only looking at my notebook. I had gotten the sketch I wanted, and now I wanted to fully concentrate on my work, trying to ignore the distractions around me. The tension between us was still palpable, but at least my drawing was taking shape as I desired.

This bitch has some nice facial features, despite being so insufferable I thought with a wry smile.

Her beauty was undeniable, even though her attitude was anything but amiable. It was a contradictory thought, but at least it helped me focus on my work and set aside the tensions.

"I must say I was wrong; you don't draw that badly," a voice murmured beside me.

"What do you want, Ortega?" I asked with a sigh, not in the mood for an argument.

Jenna had placed her hands on my desk, her head close to mine as she closely examined the contents of my notebook. Her breath was very close to my ear, her hair gracefully falling over her shoulders.

"Nothing from you, just the least I can do is see how you draw, considering that my eyes are on that notebook," she confessed in a bored tone.

The desire to draw faded.

Jenna, with a quick movement, sat in the desk next to mine. "Not drawing anymore?" she asked, tilting her head to the side.

"No, I feel a terrible presence by my side... very annoying, I must say," I muttered with faux irony.

Jenna burst into laughter.

"I don't understand why you've become so unbearable, you know?" I asked sincerely. "I remember that we were very close friends as children," I mumbled distractedly, smiling at the memory.

Flashback:

I was a little child using colored pencils, trying my best to color a car printed on a piece of paper.

"Wow, you're really amazing!" a voice came from my right, and I smiled when I saw a girl looking at my drawing.

That girl was completely covered in marker stains and seemed quite clumsy. "Can you teach me?" she asked with bright eyes. "Of course," I muttered absentmindedly, and the girl sat down next to me.

"I'm Jenna," the girl said with a big smile. "Y/N," I returned the smile. "I'm sure you and I will become great friends," she confessed, clumsily coloring the sheet.

"The best!" she added quickly, sticking out her tongue and running it over her lower lip.

"We're friends because I'm helping you draw?" I asked, intrigued and a bit confused.

She tilted her head to the side, looking at me curiously. "Isn't that what friends do?" she innocently asked.

End of the flashback.

The reminiscence of those happy moments with Jenna filled me with warmth, but at the same time, it made me feel the sadness of time passed and friendships lost. It was a missing puzzle piece that I had forgotten, and now I held it in my hands, hoping it could help resolve the current situation between us.

Jenna's fingers snapped in front of my face, snapping me out of my thoughts.

"Everything okay, weirdo?" she asked with a small smile.

"Yeah, pain in the neck," I muttered absentmindedly.

"Ugh... what can I say? Those were good times," she smiled, eliciting a faint smile from me.

"Do you remember the times we used to play Romeo and Juliet?" Jenna asked with a smile on her lips.

I chuckled, nodding. "How could I forget? You dressed me up as a prince and said we had to get married," I confessed, making Jenna blush.

"And that time I broke my arm falling from the tree?" she asked, amused.

"I'm sorry about that, it's my fault the ball ended up there," I admitted, remembering the moment when Jenna had tried to catch the ball thrown too high, ending up falling and breaking her arm.

"We were friends... for how long? 7 years?" I asked uncertainly.

"7 years and 4 months," Jenna murmured, surprising me.

"Can you explain why you've become like this?" I asked curiously.

Her smile faded. She crossed her arms around herself, almost embarrassed. "Do you really not remember?" she asked in a whisper.

I raised an eyebrow in confusion.

"No," I honestly replied.

"And if I tell you... 'monkey arms'?" she asked, making a grimace.

I widened my eyes in realization.

I couldn't believe it... Jenna had become so unbearable because of a comment I made when we were 12 years old. We were in the gym, ready for our physical education class.

"Hey, Jen," I called my best friend.

Jenna turned toward my direction, looking at me with a smile on her face and bright eyes.

"Tell me," she asked, adjusting her short-sleeved shirt.

"Have you heard the new song 'Dance Monkey'?" I asked, barely holding back my laughter.

"Yes?" she asked unsurely.

"With those arms, it's definitely your song," I exclaimed, making the girls in the locker room burst into laughter.

I was clearly joking. But Jenna looked at me with flushed cheeks and teary eyes, grabbed her hoodie, and rushed out of the locker room. That moment of light teasing had a much deeper impact than I could have ever imagined.

"Oh, crap," I looked at Jenna with wide eyes, incredulous.

"You made my life impossible because of a comment from when we were kids?" I asked, unable to believe it.

Jenna shrugged without thinking, looking at me with narrowed eyes. "Because of you, I'm still afraid to wear short sleeves," she confessed.

I analyzed her outfit again: an oversized hoodie that completely covered her arms.

"Damn... Jen, I was just joking! I didn't mean to cause all this drama," I muttered absentmindedly, taking her hand to uncover her arm.

"What are you doing?" she asked in panic.

"Showing that you look amazing regardless," I muttered absentmindedly, trying to address her insecurities.

Jenna blushed, and she seemed almost on the verge of a panic attack. "See?" I asked with a nervous smile.

I ran my fingers along her arm, feeling like a complete idiot for making this girl feel bad for years. I had never thought that such a joke could ruin a friendship.

Jenna broke free from my grasp and got up from the desk, seeing that the science teacher had returned to the classroom, ending our punishment.

"See you tomorrow, loser," Jenna muttered, a small smile on her lips.

In the end, now I knew why Jenna detested me so much. In the end, the responsible, clueless idiot was just me.

[emmitaaa4]

Getting exponentially tired of the “elriels want 👹” posts in the elain tags where they proceed to either A) outright invent stuff B) act holier than thou about how they care so much for Elain because they C) misconstrue the little they hear from our side in bad faith, or D) just completely miss the point they’re addressing.

it’s one thing to be bitter about a ship, but geez theyre getting mad at generalizations they made up about what we think. it has to be tiring. non?

small rant beneath, just to vent. yes i know i can (& should) block certain tags, but reading frustrating content is a hobby of sorts.

Im genuinely convinced all these “ewriel”-myths they keep talking about are a result of a bad game of telephone—they hear a random thing a gwynriel says, go “they’re all stupid/delusional/immature (insult of choice) so i don’t doubt what you’re saying”, then repeat it to others.

It’s obvious by the way they wholeheartedly believe that Elain is our puritanical-warrior-self-insert we use to vicariously F Azriel (😃✋). Doesn’t help that they usually don’t look as deeply into Elain as we do & tend to get stuck on obviously superficial statements about her: they cannot seem to fathom an Elain that isn’t just a once-bright socialite wilting away sans her sun-mate. So any hint of darkness/savviness we see in her is just us moulding her into Y/N. sigh

anyways.

I can say i’ve read their posts on here, a ton prior to being involved and some now. I��ve seen their tiktoks & video essays, their powerpoints & reddit posts. i’ve seen their comments all over insta/tiktok (kinda hard to miss, they jump on elriel content with their “um shadows and um pliable bones and mates!!” comments). I am WELL aware of what the general consensus is on that side—which is why I am generally unbothered by GA, don’t mind EL, and am just peacefully sailing aboard my ship waiting for it to reach destination.

And because I care about Elain’s journey, I try to see the story the way they do when i encounter certain elucien arguments. For if i am to even just privately engage in the sHip wArs, i know to remain ✨critical✨ and ✨open minded✨.

… there’s no point turning discussions into angry posts against imaginary adversaries.

EVERY elriel i’ve talked to would read an elucien book because it is Elain’s story we are most anticipating. It’s just very telling to me that very few would do the same; that there’s not a whiff of willingness from most of them to listen to the other side.

The funny thing is that all those anti eWrieL posts** i’ve read tend to address twisted versions of “the elriel narrative.” They take things out of context, or say we have the same 3 arguments—which is genuinely insane bc if you know our ship so well, how can you be off by like 2 orders of magnitude ??? (exaggerating if it wasn’t clear, we can’t know these days).

** Their pro GA content reads very anti-Az, used to be very anti-elain, and has a narrow scope ngl. While the bonus matters, it seems like that is ALL they’ve read. They don’t think much about Elain’s journey or powers or decisions, which is just logically not the best way to analyze the series given she IS what’s to come.

✨Just some common myths they believe✨:

they repeatedly claim that elriels want poor elain to be a kickass warrior torturer to fit Az because they A) don’t actually read our stuff B) enjoy thinking we hate elain, and C) can’t fanthom that spying isn’t 007 ninja activities.

apparently we ship elriel because we think they have this big great romance OFF PAGE 😭. how in the hell— i’ll make a post on this one istg it’s lowkey funny. quick, were nessian strangers and unfeeling towards each other at the start of SF ???? damnit i must’ve missed that.

En tout cas. End of rant the rest stays in the drafts lmao.

but istg one day i’ll cave in and unleash the essays of rebuttals and psychoanalyses of their arguments / thought processes just for shit and giggles.

[technicallyfurrydetective]

Hey people I am one of the trolls who stir some shit up and no not the one who sends death threats or stuff but the one who stirs shit up,

ABOUT ME

Interestingly opposite to popular belief i actually do have a life, a husband and 3 girls who are teens now, i started working again 8 years ago after my youngest started 5th grade and yeah i live a cozy homey life but sometimes i just find stirring shit up for no reason at all so amusing & interesting, like irl no one could guess it would be me, my kids teachers praises me for being a god mom and supporting not just my girls but donating and helping her friends who need it, my girls love me and i love them too, i do don't drink or anything i work, spend time with my friends/children/ hubby and that's about it,

WHY I DO IT

But since last year I posted a post where unintentionally people got heated and the arguments got passionate, and I love watching it unfold and sometimes I can't help but post some stuff on other's tags/anons to stir shit up, i am guilty but sometimes i can't help it,

HOW I DO IT

Takes two minutes to make a new ID with an email which doesn't exist.

HONEST OPINION

It so funny how down bad you are for your ships and honestly a little pathetic as well, like i spent some time on both sides of the shipping fandom and it's so pathetic watching you guys fight tooth and nail to prove your imaginary friends will make it in the book and the other side are disgusting rats with no reading comprehension, especially elriels, like sometimes i make stuff up and send them anons that gwynriels said this or that and they get so triggered like most of the time they won't even fact check, with gwynriels i think they are more pathetic because they generally keep their pro tags clean and pretend to not care but you can tell that they hate elriels to death but will pretend otherwise like to me being a two faced cunt is more pathetic,

Like i can't decide which side is worse because elriel on one side makes it clear that they stalk the other tags and openly posts stuff from others tags on their tags, like i have seen too many "tell me why i saw this EL/GA theory/art?" and care about GA/EL opinions too much, they will fight to death to prove how the other side is crack ship, idiots to see any sort of romance in two characters which they can't see, will follow and support elriel blindly and many more but i don't like typing anymore,

Proof in the comments

WHY GWYNRIELS ARE PIECE OF SHITS

They romanticize and choose the weirdest hill to stand on, like they will die defending tamlin X nyx and tamlin X anyone, they hate the main characters to death why the fuck are you still reading the books and sitting here if you hate the main people so much?

They will romanticize the wierdest shits "GA having sex where most women feel comfortable after being raped, Gwyn felt the bond and the love after she was actively raped,

As a survivor myself i think these people need to be more mindful and intelligent,

And the whole elain gate thing, dude who posted tamlain? like they whine for no reason at all,

Cry bout minor stuff and are the reason for the threats trolling like if they kept quite and ignored the trolling would've stopped,

Hate elriel and also think they are idiots for not seeing sparks and glows but will act like a two faced cunt and pretend they don't

Proof in comments:

So really both sides are pathetic and i am too but honestly life is getting too busy so maybe i won't be here,

And i wanted to say this before i left,

You guys are the real ones who need a life and i need a psychopath assessment, i'll get it done soon or go to therapy but for now BYE,

Hope you all love and hope you guys understand that you are all the same people

[bloedewir]

Incorrect Dragon Age: The Veilguard quote dialogue

Solavellan tw

I just can't get this stuff off my mind. It's popping up no matter of my own will.

INT. Lighthouse

Rook: Stop. Murmuring. Stop it. It's pretty annoying.

Solas: I most certainly do not-

Rook: You are. Every bloody time you see her. Freak.

Solas: ..I apologize then. Apparently it is not that easy to separate my thoughts from yours since we were bound, and your mind can barely handle a much simpler tasks.

Rook: Is that an insult? I can swear, it's an insult.

Solas: Maybe my presence can actually have a beneficial effect on such an ordinary mind as yours after all.

Rook: Uh-huh.. better try to improve your social skills and stop being an ass, and talk to your ex. Not that difficult.

Solas: I want to hear neither your advices nor your opinion on that matter.

Rook: You're just scared she wouldn't kneel before Your Wolfy Majesty now, is that so? Hilarious.

Solas: It is not-

Rook: I can ask. That would be fun, I bet.

Solas: Don't, Rook. I'm serious.

Rook: Pfft. Hey, Inquisitor.. hey, have a minute? Can you answer just a tiny question, huh?

Inquisitor: I.. do have time, yes. Fine, ask away.

Rook: I've been thinking..

Inquisitor: Such a promising beginning. And, how is your luck with "thinking"?

Rook: Ugh. Fine, no prelude then. Have you already figured you and your ex were doomed from the start? No happy ending for you, no wedding bells, no half-blood kids.. you do know that, right?

Solas: Such a delicate approach...

Inquisitor: Hm.

Rook: Not an answer.

Inquisitor: The answer is: I don't know what a sick game you two play in your minds and I don't know what makes both of you think I'm willing to join but I do know that if you'll ever talk to me like that again, I'll choke you by my own hand and he will stay trapped in his beloved Fade forever.

Rook: ...okay then. Good talk.

Solas: Pleased, I presume?

Rook: Kind of. That is an answer.

Rook: Oh, come one, it's not that hard. Use your brains. She's so mad about simple question because it still burns. Love and stuff.

Solas: Let me summarize: you intentionally manipulated the painful feelings of one of your trusted allies just to win the imaginary argument I had no intention to participate in?

Rook: I- No, not exactly.

Solas: Hm. And they call me a monster. What will they call you when this is over, I wonder.

[bloofusqkazoo]

Closed minded people piss me off. Who are you to say that anyone else’s interpretations of some Foster’s lore is wrong when it’s so ambiguous to begin with? As little kids, and also as the years go on, our minds filled in the blanks. Some concepts in the show are obscure and I think it was meant to be that way.

People think too hard into things and it only causes arguments and even anger— which is wild, because it’s 2025 and I thought everyone could just collectively share their opinions and thoughts without other people trying to dismiss their personal opinions and experiences. It’s not necessarily fair. Both views on the same subject can be kindly discussed without completely dismissing both peoples perspectives.

As someone who’s grew up with this show since I was 8, technically there are many ways to interpret some of the lore and situations. Some views of the show I had as a kid are now different as an adult because of how many times I’ve watched it and have seen how many possible answers there are to a lot of things, and alternate ways of viewing it. I’m also neurodivergent so I suppose my mind works in interesting ways and takes what it will, but what I take out of the show as a personal experience does have some canonical support and isn’t for anyone else to dictate. The same goes for everyone else. When a fandom has so much ambiguity to it like this one with imaginary friend lore, obviously people are going to have their own opinions and theories. Canon or not, this show is everyone’s. It’s just for fun. It’s comedy. Some things we seek answers to have no answer. Craig left a lot of doors unopened, and I think that’s what makes it special. Just enjoy the show and let it ignite our imagination like it has for the past 20 years. I don’t think any of it is supposed to be that deep.