#this is just little something for those who might notice it to know that i appreciate what they've done for me

[moyazaika]

indulgence.

m! yandere x gn! reader / nsfw; shadows, phantom limbs, tongues, a degree of infantilisation. stalking && obsessive thoughts. ( mdni. )

beware; for here there be monsters, and this one is hungry.

“oh, there you are, sweetheart,” he drawls, and you feel something wet and slithering against the hollow of your throat, over the drool on your slack jaw and right up to your swollen lips, which part for him in silent submission. “you taste delicious. far sweeter than any cloying nectar.”

“i think i might just…” your back arches against the soft tablecloth he has you laid over, flushed skin slotting up right against an abyss; shivering against the yawning chasm of his own body (could you call it that?) which threatens to devour you whole. through the darkness, you can make out the shape of a man barely-there. pathetic glimpses of the features of your generous host.

“yes…” two more tongues, you miraculously manage to count through the daze of your poor, confused mind—squirming helplessly under the wet muscle as it licks the tears that well up in your eyes, whilst simultaneously lingering at your belly button, moving lower and lower—a hum, “i think i might just eat you from the inside out.”

“ah!” your hips buckle. it’s something cold, and slimy. invasive in its nature, as it slips over and under your slick skin, pulsing with need. “please, please, please.” the string of pathetic pleas leaves your bruised lips like a chant. “please, please!”

and your host, who had let you in so graciously when you showed up at the door of his crumbling manor, lost and in need of shelter, has always been nothing but generous. phantom lips brush against the shell of your ear, as he promises to take such good care of a sweet, lovely, needy human like you—

“sing for me, songbird.”

—and, you do.

the loveliest little sounds just for him, for the cold, wispy touch that digs into the plush of your thighs, holds down your arms so you’re rendered completely helpless to him (it, you remind yourself. this is no mere man) as he paws at your heaving chest, kneading and pulling and pinching. a sort of detached awe. fascination for how humans can be so soft and pliable.

“how utterly adorable.” unblinking eyes look down at you, truly a feast the way you’re laid down on his expansive dining table like one. an unwavering gaze through long, dark lashes, against impossibly cold skin. “you’re so helpless, spread out like this on my table. you should know you’re also incredibly lucky, sweetness.”

“oh, so very lucky,” he grins, flickering before your eyes, shadows lurking beneath the stolen skin that’s wrapped over weary, ancient bones. those lips of his, curling into a crooked grin. “that i only want to take good care of my little human guest. lucky—” you gasp when his nails, sharper than they were only a second ago, scrape and claw and dig into the most sensitive parts of your quivering body. “—that i’m not some big. bad. monster.”

the simulacrum of a man—his facade falls apart at the seams as he has you coming on fingers and tongues with no solid state; shadows that leave you gasping through the wisps that tickle your sensitive skin, against a hand, the lithe shadowy digits willing (eager, even) to pull you past the brink you’ve been teetering on for the past hour; an act of mercy, that has you twitching in all the right places—and coming, with a long, petulant whine, incredibly and completely undone over the palms of his cold, cold hands.

“yes; you’re quite lucky,” he hums pleasantly, when the cold shadows curl against your ankles only mere minutes later, to pull them over his broad shoulders; now solid, like the sharp, greedy teeth that sink into the swell of your chest. his eyes flicker to meet yours, as he bites down. “that i love you.”

†

hours later, when you make to leave, thanking him profusely for his generosity, for allowing you a safe place to stay and… taking such good care of you; a lost traveller, in more ways than one; you fail to notice something important.

it comes as no surprise to your host, of course. you’re too soft to be left to your own devices. too sweet and darling.

it doesn’t dawn on you that your shadow is missing.

even as the sun sets, casting you in its dying glow, there is no trace of the shape of your constant silhouette that should be projected onto the forest floor. no mark of your existence, against the marvellous red sunset.

instead, your shadow is entirely separate. no longer attached to you, it follows behind instead, curling around the thick trunks of trees and slinking across the mossy forest floor; following close behind you, stepping right into every step you take, but never quite passing by; and when you find yourself lost, inevitably, it will return back to the crumbling manor you were in only hours before.

it will phase right through the main grand doors and the walls with their old, cracked paint; right besides the being who ordered it to follow you in the first place. a pleased smile on familiar lips, when he’s told the news, rejoicing in the act of ignorance; like he didn’t already know your exact whereabouts in his own domain, “oh, is my little human lost again?”

“very well,” he’ll make a show of sighing, though there is no attempt to mask the glee in his gleaming eyes. “i suppose i’ll have to find them, again. hm, it looks like i shouldn’t have let my pretty songbird fly away so soon.”

rest assured, he doesn’t intend to make the same mistake twice.

he’ll pull on a coat, then. not because he needs it, but because he’ll drape it over your shaking shoulders when he stumbles upon you, once again, ‘completely by chance.’ sweet, helpless thing like you, clinging to him in the darkness of the forest.

he descends the steps of his crumbling manor, shadows parting with every step he takes, a darkness swirling restlessly underneath cold, taut skin. he whistles a merry tune, itching to get all of his hands and tongues all over you again; driven by an insatiable hunger.

and this time, when he finds you (and he will; for there is no way you can outrun your own shadow) he intends to have his fill.

he will gorge himself, like a man long starved, on the feast that you are. oh, you’ll be dribbling down his chin and smeared all over his jaw as he works to drink you dry, and he’ll lick up every last drop. this time, the abyss doesn’t intend to let you go. you will stare into the yawning darkness and lose yourself, just as he has lost himself in you.

humans are often told not to play with their food, he recalls—

—it is a lovely thing, then, he supposes, that he was never human.

[pretzel-box]

STREAMER AU MASTERLIST HERE

CHAPTER 6: I AM RIGHT AND I HAVE WON

tags: I don't know how to tag this? Painter exposes Allison?

words: 4k

authors note: I am not happy with how I wrote it, I blame the lack of a laptop.

In the span of three weeks, moved five individual people in five individual places.

Sebastian was the first,

After Allison had exposed his roommate a week ago, he was confused, angry and somewhat surprised. The man found himself glancing at everything that was connected to you, the bedroom door, the empty work desk, the chinese takeout shop and most importantly the second helmet for his bike.

This particular helmet wasn't really yours but you wore it so much in the past that it was basically owned by you.

Those little things conflicted him dearly, since he was sure, even with your weird love-hate friendship, did you both co-existed pretty well.

Yet, even as those small reminders tugged at him, Allison's words kept looping in his mind.

They set you up, you know that, right? she had said, her voice laced with feigned concern. All this time, they’ve been playing you—just so they could stay close to Solace. You're just a pawn.

Sebastian couldn't shake it off. The idea that you, the person who had shared his space and a fragile, weird friendship with him, might have been using him gnawed at him. He hated how much it made sense. Allison had laid it out perfectly—too perfectly, in hindsight—but in the chaos of everything, it sounded believable.

The constant replay of that accusation left him uneasy, and now every memory was tainted with doubt. The late-night laughs, the casual banter, even the tension that always bubbled beneath the surface. Was all of that staged? Was your connection to him just a ploy? He didn’t want to believe it, but Allison’s words had already planted the seed.

And then there was the part that unsettled him the most.

According to Allison, you loved him, in a way that bordered on obsession. She had claimed that every time you looked at him, it was with a deeper attachment than he’d realized—something beyond friendship, beyond even the regular crush. It was an unhealthy fixation. He was the center of your world, and it had all been hidden behind the mask of your chaotic yet comfortable interactions.

Sebastian felt conflicted. He hadn't noticed anything like that before. Sure, you had your quirks, but it never crossed his mind that it went that deep. Maybe he missed it because he'd never seen you in that light.

But that’s where the real problem lay—what he didn’t know was that Allison’s words were a lie, carefully crafted to make him doubt everything. You didn’t love him in that unhealthy way, and you’d never set him up. But the damage was done. The seed of doubt had been planted, and Sebastian was starting to wonder if everything between you had been a game all along.

Sebastian only found comfort in a single person right now, his best friend.

He swung his leg over his bike, secured his helmet, and drove off to visit his friend once more.

The second was Mama Solace.

Sebastian’s mother had finally found the time and money for a much-needed vacation, and it just so happened to be close to her son. A coincidence? Perhaps not. She loved Sebastian fiercely, more than life itself, and it was time once again to remind him of that with one of her unexpected, affectionate visits.

The last time she had dropped by was when you first moved in, becoming Sebastian’s roommate.

Oh, how she adored you from the moment she laid eyes on you. You had all the qualities she dreamed of in a partner for her son—sweet, caring, and just the right amount of fierce. She saw the connection between you two right away, even if Sebastian refused to acknowledge it. In her mind, you were already the perfect match for her precious boy. You had no idea just how often she'd drop hints, trying to nudge Sebastian toward you, much to his exasperation.

But that was Mama Solace—she loved to meddle in the most loving way possible. This visit would be no different.

She sat in the comfort of the plane, ready to depart from her home country to meet you two again.

The third person was Allison.

She darted around a local clothing store, her father’s credit card clutched in her manicured fingers like it was a divine gift. Her gel nails clicked against the plastic as she browsed the racks, the shopping spree a temporary balm for the simmering rage she felt toward you. Her irritation with you had long passed the point of tolerable, and only the thrill of buying something new could calm her nerves.

How dare you disrupt her carefully laid plans? All you had to do was stay in your lane, accept your role, and everything would have gone smoothly. But no—you had to get in the way, threatening the perfect web of control she thought she had spun. The plan had been flawless, but now, with every step you took, you were messing it all up.

Sebastian, thankfully, was still in the dark about everything. He was too distracted, too wrapped up in his own confusion to see the truth right in front of him. But that was fine with her. Allison believed she held all the cards. She had you, Sebastian, and the whole situation under her control—or so she thought.

She smiled to herself, picking up a striking red dress—perfect for her next date with Sebastian. The fabric would hug her in all the right places, showing off her figure. In her mind, it was only a matter of time before he saw her the way she pretended to see him, and this dress would be another step toward that.

As she stepped up to the cash register, her confidence faltered when the cashier swiped her card and it declined. Her father was still furious with her, apparently. She gritted her teeth in frustration, but quickly smoothed over her expression. She wasn't about to let this minor inconvenience ruin her day.

Without missing a beat, Allison pulled out her phone, her fingers dancing across the screen like it was second nature. She knew exactly how to handle this.

"Hey, handsome," she texted, her words dripping with flirtation. "Mind helping your favorite girl out?~"

It was easy—too easy, in fact. She had gotten used to manipulating situations to her advantage, and she was confident Sebastian would give her money. He always did.

Then there was Painter.

While Allison paid with Sebastian’s help and strolled out of the shop, Painter quietly entered his own—at the other end of the city center. Today, the usual sleek black suit made from expensive cotton was left in the closet. Instead, he wore a casual outfit: thrifted brown pants, a simple white shirt, and a green checkered vest that his mother had picked out for him years ago. He never liked it at first, but eventually, he came to admit—green was definitely his color.

Dressed like this, Painter looked like any other trendy, laid-back guy. You'd never guess he was the heir to Urbanshade, one of the most powerful companies around. His father had been grooming him for years to take over, especially after Painter managed to graduate from Yale with top honors. He was the pride of the family—a model Ivy League student, exactly as his parents had always hoped for.

But unlike his friend Sebastian, who lived by his own chaotic set of rules, Painter was always one of those people who excelled in everything, effortlessly. To the outside world, he was the golden child, the genius destined for greatness.

Yet for Painter, it was all a curse. His intelligence, his success—it only weighed him down, shackling him to a future he didn’t want. His heart was never in the world of business, but his family couldn't see that. To them, he was the prodigy who would continue the legacy. To him, it was a prison. The more success he achieved, the more trapped he felt.

It was why he enjoyed days like this—disappearing into the city, blending into the crowd where nobody knew or expected anything from him. Just for a little while, he could pretend to be someone else, a simple tech shop owner that tries to raise his own money to open up a small art studio instead.

While he worked, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the keys of his laptop, his thoughts inevitably drifted to you. He had seen you a few times with Sebastian in the city, always from a distance. Yet, despite never formally meeting you, he knew more about you than you could have imagined. Sebastian had talked about you often, and though Painter stayed in the shadows of your life, observing from afar, something stirred in his chest whenever he thought of you.

It was ironic, really. He was so familiar with the details of your existence, while you didn’t even know he existed. You were unaware of the person quietly watching your story unfold, aching from the sidelines. There was something about you that captivated him—perhaps it was the way you seemed to bring a kind of life to those around you, or maybe it was simply how you existed in Sebastian’s orbit.

But there was one thing that bothered him more than anything: Allison.

It pained him to know how she had manipulated your life, how she had sunk her claws into Sebastian’s world and, by extension, yours. Painter had known for some time what Allison was up to, and unlike Sebastian, he could see right through her facade.

Just like Allison, Painter had developed his own plan.

But his wasn't born out of selfishness or jealousy. It was something else—something more complex. While he hated to admit it, he wanted to find a way to cross paths with you, to help you in a way that would loosen the hold Allison had over you. And maybe, just maybe, he'd get closer to you in the process.

Though Painter’s mind was sharp, his heart was tangled in emotions he didn’t yet fully understand.

The last person who could understand Painter’s feelings was you.

You were navigating the city streets, your hands busily typing on your phone, trying to figure out where exactly you needed to go. With your streaming account temporarily banned, you had decided to get your laptop fixed—the keys were loose, and the screen was slightly cracked. The device had been with you for years, but it was clearly on its last legs. Maybe it was time for a new one, but for now, fixing it seemed like the easier option.

Eventually, you spotted it: a neat little shop with good reviews online. It seemed like the right place, and with a deep breath, you stepped inside.

Immediately, the smell of coffee greeted you. The shop had a warm, comfortable atmosphere, far cozier than you’d expected for a tech repair spot. There were shelves lined with new devices, a small selection of popular games, and a table for waiting customers. Despite the welcoming vibe, the place seemed empty—except for a young man at the counter.

He caught your eye right away, dressed in a casual yet stylish outfit that seemed effortless. His name tag drew your attention next, and you noticed something curious: an elegant name had been crossed out with a dry black marker, replaced with a word scribbled hastily over it—"Painter."

You weren’t sure what to make of him, but something about him seemed different. And without knowing it, the moment you stepped into the shop, you had walked into his world.

"Uhm, hi?" you greeted, your voice breaking the silence.

The young man behind the counter stared at you, caught off guard as if you had walked in at the worst possible moment. His eyes lingered on you for just a second too long, making the situation feel a bit awkward. There was something about the way he looked at you—almost like you had thrown him off balance. The way his gaze fixed on you, wide and a little too intense, made you wonder if you’d interrupted something.

"Oh, h-hello! Welcome, greetings. How can I help you today?" he stammered, clearly flustered. His response was a mix of polite and awkward, as though he hadn’t expected anyone to walk in. Maybe he wasn’t used to customers, or perhaps he was just an intern still getting the hang of things. Either way, he seemed utterly unprepared.

You smiled politely, deciding not to dwell on his awkwardness. "I’m here to get my laptop fixed," you explained, pulling the device from your bag and setting it on the counter. "It's been acting up—some of the keys are loose, and the screen's a bit cracked."

He nodded, though you noticed his hands were a bit shaky as he reached for the laptop. "Right, of course. I’ll take a look."

As he started inspecting the device, you took a moment to glance around the shop again, feeling oddly comfortable despite the rocky start to the conversation. There was something about him, though—his nervous energy, the way he seemed to be trying so hard to maintain a professional front. It was endearing in its own way.

What you didn’t know was that Painter wasn’t usually like this. Normally, he was calm and collected, able to handle even the most difficult situations. But the moment you walked in, something shifted. He had seen you before, from a distance, but never this close, and he wasn’t prepared for the rush of feelings he hadn’t even realized were there.

A small, unspoken crush had quietly crept up on him. He didn’t know why, but there was something about you that drew him in. And now, standing there with your laptop in his hands, he was doing his best to keep it together.

"I can take a look at it later. I’d say you can pick it back up… in like a week?" Painter offered, casting a polite smile your way. His expression was calm and professional, but beneath that exterior, his heart was racing.

You nodded, accepting his answer. After settling some details, you left your beloved laptop in his care, trusting him with the task. It felt strange to part with it, but the shop seemed reliable enough, and Painter—despite his awkwardness—seemed competent.

As you exited the store, you had no idea what you’d just set in motion.

For Painter, this wasn’t just a simple repair job. When you left your laptop with him, you unknowingly handed him exactly what he needed—the tools to execute the plan he’d been carefully crafting. Allison had been manipulating both you and Sebastian for far too long, and now Painter had the opportunity to expose her for what she truly was.

Your laptop would be the key to unraveling her schemes, and he was determined to set everything right, even if it meant crossing a few lines along the way.

Five people had already been moved. Now, it was Painter's turn to move them again, or at least some of them.

He had you exactly where he wanted. You left the shop, your laptop in his possession. That was step one. Now, he had to breach your digital privacy. He’d never done anything like this before, and the thought of doing what Allison had once done left a heavy weight in his gut. Yet, as soon as you left, he got to work. The laptop was old, practically ancient, but logging into your profile was easy—there wasn’t even a password. Your naivety was almost charming.

Everything was there—passwords, emails, data, and every digital memory. It was essentially Jelly’s—no, your—entire identity, captured in one place. He could call Sebastian, expose the laptop, and reveal his nasty girlfriend’s secrets. But no, Painter was above that. He preferred to play god.

His personality was usually against it but he will gladly bend the rules for his best friend…and his own potential crush.

Step two was breaching the streaming website to reclaim your account. A task simple enough for a Yale student with the right tools. Allison thought she'd been 'Jellycatfished,' but now it was Painter in control.

The account was exactly as you and Allison had left it. He couldn’t resist clicking on one of the stream recaps, your voice filling the room through the laptop speakers. There it was—undeniably yours.

He snatched his phone off the counter and dialed a number.

“‘Delia, bring the camera and the good microphone. We’re shooting something at the shop.” Cordelia, another worker in the store and a small-time content streamer, was known for her quirky charm. He knew she was the perfect partner for what he had in mind.

“Painter? For what?” she asked.

“We’re about to make someone a star.”

Cordelia didn’t hesitate. She was on her way, gathering the equipment for a hidden camera setup along with a quality microphone."

Next, it was Painter's turn to text Allison. He still remembered her number from when he’d seen it on Sebastian’s phone. A plan began to form in his mind, one that required precision and just the right touch of manipulation.

'Hey, Allison, right? Sebastian left a gift for you here. Here’s the address.'

He included the shop’s address, carefully typing it out before hitting send. He imagined the moment her phone would buzz, her eyes narrowing at the unexpected message. Would she hesitate, wondering if it was real? Or would her curiosity get the best of her?

Painter smiled to himself. Everything was falling into place. He wasn’t just setting a trap—he was weaving a performance, a story in which Allison would play a crucial role. Now, all he had to do was wait for the show to begin.

It was evening, and the store had long since closed, lights were out, though Painter had left the door unlocked. Everything was meticulously arranged—candles flickered softly, casting a warm glow around the room; a bouquet of red roses sat elegantly on the counter. But the centerpiece was Painter himself, dressed in an expensive, perfectly tailored cotton suit. He had spent hours preparing, adjusting his tie, combing his hair, making sure every detail was flawless. As he caught his reflection in the window, he almost didn’t recognize himself. He had never looked better.

Then, the door creaked open, and Allison stepped in. She wore a tight red dress that clung to her in all the right places, her hair perfectly styled. She carried herself with an air of confidence, as if she expected something grand—but her eyes betrayed her surprise as they scanned the room. The soft candlelight, the roses, and finally, they settled on Painter.

For a moment, there was silence as their gazes met.

"Let me introduce myself," Painter began, his voice calm and formal, though inside, the sweetness of his own tone made him sick. He forced a charming smile, the kind that was too perfect, too practiced. "I’m Painter—it’s a nickname," he added with a soft chuckle, as if trying to break the ice. "And I’m the heir to Urbanshade Corp."

He let the weight of his words linger, watching her reaction. He could see the curiosity in her eyes, the slight confusion.

"You’re probably wondering why you’re here," he continued, his voice smooth and rehearsed, like this was a well-orchestrated play.

This wasn’t just a conversation—it was a performance, and she had walked right into his scene.

"Painter? What’s going on? Where’s Sebastian?" Allison asked, her voice laced with surprise, though Painter could see she was already caught in his web.

"He’s not here. Sorry, I lied," Painter admitted, his tone smooth, but with a playful hint. He took a slow step toward her, his eyes never leaving hers. "Can you really blame me for wanting to be alone with someone so beautiful?"

He took another step, closing the distance between them.

"So... funny."

He was closer now, almost brushing against her.

"And intelligent?" His voice dropped to a whisper as he stood chest to chest with her, his breath warm against her ear.

Allison's eyes flickered with realization. The heir to Urbanshade Corp, standing so close, so eager—was he asking her out? Maybe it wasn’t so crazy to consider. A man of his status, his wealth... she could have a little fun on the side. A side fling wouldn’t hurt, right?

She placed a hand on his chest, feeling the crisp fabric of his suit under her fingers, catching the scent of his expensive aftershave. "You’re quite charming yourself," she said, her voice laced with a fake giggle designed to make men fall at her feet. But Painter played along, his smile widening.

"Oh?" he murmured, his voice dripping with charm. "Maybe you’d like to show me just how much?"

Allison leaned in, rising onto her toes to meet his height, her lips brushing close to his own, not touching yet. The tension between them was thick, charged with unspoken possibilities. For a brief moment, Painter thought he had her, that she was playing into his hands.

But then she stopped.

His lips hovered just shy of her skin as he whispered, "How much... you’re lying."

The playful edge in his tone had vanished, replaced by cold calculation. He would love to slap her, simply for cheating on his best friend. But now was hardly the time, not like this.

“You are not supposed to be his girlfriend. You are not Jelly and you don't deserve him.” His words caught her in surprise before she seemed to laugh.

“What do you know? They stole my identity! Ask Sebastian! I am the victim!” It was a poor try to defend herself.

“A victim? Another brilliant lie, congratulations. You officially make me sick.” The words were enough to set off her rage and she raised a hand to hit him, a hand that he caught in the middle of the action. “Don't you dare.”

“You know what? Fine, to hell with you. I am NOT them but it doesn't matter because everyone believes me anyways. I HAVE PLAYED YOU ALL. I GOT THE ACCOUNT BANNED. FUCK YOU, EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU STUPID IDIOTS. SEBASTIAN IS MINE AND I WON. I AM RIGHT AND I HAVE WON. I STOLE THEIR IDENTITY AND BECAME JELLYCATFISHED.”

Suddenly, the ceiling lights blazed to life, flooding the store in harsh white light. Allison blinked, momentarily blinded, as Cordelia stepped out from behind the shadows, a sly grin on her face.

"And that’s a wrap!" Cordelia announced, her voice dripping with amusement. "Great work, everyone. So authentic, Painter." She shot her boss a playful wink.

Allison’s eyes darted from Cordelia to Painter, confusion overtaking her. A second ago, she had been in control—or so she thought. But now, the anger and seduction drained from her face, replaced by a wide-eyed, flabbergasted look. She felt like a deer caught in headlights, utterly lost.

"You see," Painter began, his voice smooth but laced with triumph, "43 thousand people just witnessed your grand confession. Live and in full HD." He let the weight of his words sink in, a twisted smile forming as he saw the realization dawn in her eyes. "You’re a star now, Allison. Just like you always wanted to be."

Cordelia had filmed it all—the near-cheating, the manipulation, the confession—and streamed it live on Jellycatfished, the very platform that had become Allison’s downfall.

Painter took a step back, admiring his work. His plan had come together beautifully, every detail falling into place like a carefully painted masterpiece. He couldn’t help but applaud himself mentally for the sheer brilliance of it all. Soon enough, the lawsuit would hit Allison—public shame was only the beginning.

Outside the store, Sebastian stood frozen, just out of sight but close enough to hear everything. His phone was clenched tightly in his hand, his knuckles white with the pressure. He had seen the signs but ignored them, convinced he knew the truth. But now, as the reality of what had unfolded hit him, it was clear.

He had been wrong. And he had lost.

[anniebeemine]

I’d love to see dad Spencer finding out his teen daughter has a boyfriend and reader is just like “this is normal babe” and he’s just so that dad who doesn’t want his little girl to grow up

Spencer wasn’t sure when it had happened. One day, his daughter Eliza was running around the backyard, obsessed with dinosaurs and space, and the next, she was texting non-stop, staying up late on the phone, and hanging out with friends. She was growing up fast—too fast for his liking—and now, at sixteen, she’d hit him with something he was entirely unprepared for.

“So...I have a boyfriend,” Eliza said casually, looking down at her phone while sitting at the kitchen table.

Spencer nearly dropped his mug of coffee.

“What?” His voice came out sharper than he intended, and Eliza’s head snapped up to meet his wide-eyed stare. She bit her lip nervously, but her expression was mostly amused, like she had expected this kind of reaction.

“I said, I have a boyfriend, Dad,” she repeated, more slowly, as if that might make the shock easier to absorb. “His name’s Ethan, we’ve been texting for a couple weeks and...we’re going to a movie this weekend.”

Spencer felt like the ground had shifted beneath him. A boyfriend? His little girl had a boyfriend? This wasn’t supposed to happen, not yet. Not ever, if he had his way.

You, standing by the stove and flipping pancakes, glanced over at the scene unfolding. You were smiling softly, clearly not surprised by Eliza’s news, and you gave Spencer a knowing look as he struggled to find words.

Spencer had noticed the changes, of course. How could he not? Over the last few weeks, Eliza had been giggling at her phone more than usual, texting away with a grin that made him wonder what was so funny. She’d been asking to stay out an extra thirty minutes before he picked her up from her friend's house, her voice casual but always a little too hopeful. And then there was the way she was suddenly excited to go to school—something that used to take a lot more convincing, especially for early mornings.

But Spencer had brushed it off at the time, chalking it up to normal teenage behavior. Maybe she was just hanging out with her friends more. Maybe her classes had gotten more interesting. He hadn’t connected the dots.

Now, as she casually mentioned having a boyfriend, it hit him like a freight train.

He should have paid more attention.

He stood there, still holding his coffee, realizing that all those little signs had been pointing to this moment. The giggling, the extra time with her friends, the sudden enthusiasm for school—it all made sense now. Ethan.

“Eliza, when exactly did this start?” Spencer asked, trying to sound calm but knowing he wasn’t pulling it off.

Eliza shrugged, still scrolling through her phone. “A few weeks ago. It’s not that serious, Dad.”

Not that serious? His daughter had a boyfriend, and she was acting like it was just another Tuesday.

Spencer opened his mouth to respond, but you gave him a gentle nudge before he could start spiraling again. You’d been watching the whole thing unfold, a soft smile on your face as you watched your husband try to process this new chapter of parenthood.

“Spence,” you said gently, catching his attention, “it’s normal, you know.”

“Normal?” Spencer repeated, his voice incredulous as he turned to you. “Our daughter—our little girl—has a boyfriend, and that’s normal?”

You laughed softly, walking over to him and resting a hand on his arm. “Yes, it’s normal, babe. She’s a teenager. This was bound to happen at some point.”

“I wasn’t ready for this,” he mumbled, still staring at Eliza like she had just told him she was moving to another country. He thought back to all those little moments he hadn’t fully paid attention to—the way she’d been giggling at her phone, how she always seemed to be in a good mood after school. The puzzle pieces were coming together now.

Eliza, for her part, rolled her eyes but smiled, clearly amused by her dad’s overreaction. “Dad, relax. It’s not a big deal. Ethan’s nice.”

Spencer opened his mouth, but all that came out was a strangled, “Nice?”

You squeezed his arm reassuringly. “Why don’t you meet him before jumping to any conclusions?”

Spencer was already shaking his head. “I don’t need to meet him. I know boys his age and they-"

“Spence,” you interrupted, shooting him a look. “Eliza’s smart. She’ll be fine. And besides, you trust her, right?”

Eliza gave him a hopeful smile. “Yeah, Dad. You trust me, don’t you?”

He hesitated. Of course, he trusted her—she was the most brilliant, thoughtful person he knew. But the idea of her being out there with a boyfriend, navigating relationships and the teenage world, it was overwhelming. She was still his little girl.

But he could see the way her eyes were watching him, waiting for his approval, and he couldn’t be the dad that held her back from growing up. With a deep sigh, he ran a hand through his hair, trying to shake the tension out of his shoulders.

“I...I trust you, Eliza,” he said finally, though he still looked like he was struggling to come to terms with it. “But, uh...maybe I should meet this Ethan kid before your date.”

Eliza grinned, rolling her eyes affectionately. “Of course, Dad. I’ll make sure he’s ready for the interrogation.”

Spencer groaned, looking at you for support, and you just laughed, wrapping your arms around his waist. “See? Not so bad.”

“It feels bad,” Spencer muttered, though his heart was slowly warming to the idea. “Can’t she stay ten forever?”

You pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Nope. But she’ll always be your little girl.”

And even though Spencer wasn’t entirely ready, he knew you were right. He watched Eliza happily texting away, already excited for her movie date, and couldn’t help but smile. He might not like it, but he’d be there to support her every step of the way, even if it meant meeting her first boyfriend with a million questions lined up.

Spencer nodded, though the reality was still sinking in. His little girl was no longer just the dinosaur-obsessed kid running through the backyard. She was becoming her own person, with her own life and experiences. And while he wasn’t quite ready for all the changes, he knew he’d be there for her, through every giggle and every milestone, even if it meant meeting Ethan and doing “the dad thing” with a nervous smile.

For now, though, he’d take a deep breath and try not to panic—too much.

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Back home p.5

Hey guyss, I hope you enjoy this part and if you've missed part 4 here it is.

Charles steps closer, his brow furrowed with concern as he gently places a hand on your shoulder. “Are you sure you’re okay?” His voice is soft, calming, but you can hear the underlying worry. Without thinking, you nod, though your heart is still racing from the encounter. The relief of having Charles step in hits you all at once, and before you know it, his arms are wrapping around you in a comforting hug.

You lean into him, grateful for his warmth and steady presence. He holds you just tight enough to make you feel safe, and you close your eyes, letting the moment calm your nerves.

As you stand there in Charles's embrace, you don’t notice Arthur approaching from across the room. But he sees you. The way Charles is holding you, the protective way his arms are wrapped around you—Arthur’s chest tightens with a mix of emotions.

That should be me, Arthur thinks, his jaw clenched as a wave of jealousy rushes through him. He’s always been the one looking out for you, keeping you close. And now, seeing his brother comforting you, it feels like something is slipping away, something he thought was only his.

He quickly crosses the room, pushing those thoughts aside as he approaches. "What happened?" Arthur's voice is tight, though he tries to mask the storm brewing inside him.

Charles lets go of you, and you take a deep breath, turning to Arthur. “Some guy wouldn’t leave me alone. Charles showed up just in time.”

Arthur’s eyes darken as he processes what you’re saying, a flash of protectiveness sparking in him. “What did he do?” he asks, his voice low and serious now. The tension is clear in his posture as he steps closer, his gaze flicking from you to where the guy had disappeared into the crowd.

You shake your head. “It’s fine. He just… wouldn’t take no for an answer. Charles handled it.”

Arthur’s expression softens as he looks at you, his concern overshadowing the jealousy he feels toward his brother. Gently, he reaches out, his hand brushing your arm as he steps even closer. “Are you okay?”

His touch is different from Charles’s—more familiar, warmer in a way that makes you feel safe, like you’ve been here a thousand times before. You smile softly, trying to ease his worry. “Yeah, I’m okay now.”

But inside, Arthur’s thoughts are far from calm. Charles is always swooping in, isn’t he? he thinks, though he hides it well. He wants to be the one you turn to, the one you feel safe with—not his brother. The jealousy gnaws at him, but seeing you shaken like this, his priority is making sure you’re alright.

“Let’s get out of here,” Arthur suggests, his tone gentle but firm, still not quite able to shake the possessiveness he feels. He looks over at Charles, who nods in agreement.

The three of you leave the party together, Arthur keeping you close by his side. He glances over at Charles, who walks on the other side of you, and for a brief moment, he catches his brother’s eye. There’s a silent understanding between them—both of them are here for you, but Arthur can’t help but feel that old rivalry flaring up again, just beneath the surface.

As you step outside into the cool night air, you feel a sense of relief wash over you. Arthur stays close, his hand on your back, while Charles walks quietly beside you. They’re both there, looking out for you, but in Arthur’s mind, there’s only one person he wants to be, the one you need..

As the three of you walk out into the cool night air, the tension from the party starts to fade. The silence feels comforting, but you can sense that Arthur and Charles are still watching over you closely. You feel their presence on either side, and it’s reassuring, but also a little overwhelming—like you’re caught between them in a way you can’t quite place.

Suddenly, Charles breaks the quiet. “How about we get some ice cream?” he suggests, his voice light and easy. “Might help brighten the mood after… all that.”

You smile at the idea, grateful for the distraction. “Ice cream sounds perfect.”

Arthur, though still a bit tense, nods in agreement. “Yeah, I’m in.”

A short while later, you’re sitting outside a small ice cream shop, the three of you at a quiet table. The atmosphere is much more relaxed now, and you find yourself laughing at something Charles said about the last time he tried to cook. It’s easy, comfortable—just like old times.

As you take a bite of your ice cream, Arthur glances at Charles, his voice teasing but with an edge of curiosity. “By the way, doesn’t your girlfriend miss you right now? It’s getting pretty late.”

Charles’s expression shifts slightly, a small shadow crossing his face. He lowers his spoon, and for a moment, he hesitates. “We broke up,” he says simply, his tone more serious than it’s been all night.

You stop mid-bite, eyes widening. “Oh, Charles… I’m sorry. Are you okay?” Without thinking, you reach out and place a hand on his arm, your touch gentle.

Charles gives you a small, appreciative smile. “Yeah, I’m okay. It wasn’t working for a while now. But thanks.”

You nod, giving him a sympathetic look. “Breakups are hard, but you’ll get through it. You always do.”

Arthur watches the exchange quietly, trying to push down the flicker of jealousy that rises in him when he sees you comforting his brother. He knows you’re just being kind, but it still stings to see how easily Charles seems to pull you into his orbit. I need to be the one she turns to, Arthur thinks, but he keeps it to himself, staying focused on you.

After a moment, Charles glances at you, his expression curious but lighthearted. “So, what about you? Anyone special in your life these days?” His tone is casual, but there’s an underlying tension in the question that you don’t notice.

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “Nope. Just me.” You take another spoonful of ice cream, completely unaware of how both Charles and Arthur are subtly watching your every move.

What you don’t realize is that the moment you answered, both brothers held their breath, waiting for what you’d say. They both feel a strange mixture of relief and anticipation at your response, even if neither of them lets it show.

“Well,” Charles says with a playful smile, trying to keep the mood light, “that just means they haven’t met someone as great as you yet.”

Arthur chuckles, but his smile is tight. He’s glad to hear you’re single, but he also knows this changes things. There’s no competition—except between him and his brother.

You smile back at both of them, oblivious to the tension that simmers just below the surface. To you, it’s just another night with two of your closest friends, not realizing how much more it means to them.

Tag list: @iamapersonwholikesunicorns, @janeh22, @victoriaholland, @abq654, @iamapersonwholikesunicorns, @anaferreira-4, @larastark3107, @itgirlofthecenturysposts, @boherahpsody, @iamkaku, @jz12

[mintywolf]

(I wrote this on the train coming home on August 26th although I am just getting around to posting it now because time is a weird soup.)

So okay.

****

I haven’t written a personal journal post in a long time but I want to write down EVERYTHING I can remember about my adventure to NYC to see the Critical Role cast so I don’t forget. It was SUCH a moving experience and I’m so glad I went even though I was scared.

So okay my big goal for this year was to finish the first chapter of my C3 prequel fan comic A Long Road Home (southerngothiccomic.com), have a print edition made, and meet Laura and Marisha at a convention so I could give copies of it to them in person. When the CR cast announced they were going to be at Anime NYC this year I figured that was the closest they were probably going to get to me in Virginia. (And getting autographs at NYCC is reportedly like hunting a unicorn so I figured this would be my best chance.)

I was also terrified, and almost talked myself out of it because I was nervous about giving them the comic, even though I already had a badge and it was what I really, really wanted to do. I know the cast loves to see fanart — and also, it has been revealed, reads the fanfic — but it’s also a pretty well-known taboo for a fan to show their fanfic to a creator and a graphic novel is an unholy hybrid of the two. I was also worried that it would seem presumptuous of me to present them with a fanmade prequel graphic novel because there’s almost certainly going to be an official one at some point, and afraid that at best they might politely tell me they couldn’t accept it (for the reasons that comic writers aren’t “allowed” to read fanfic), and at worst they might be kind of annoyed that it exists. Either way I’d be REALLY sad, and in the weeks leading up to the con I worked myself up into an irrational panic about this. Fortunately my friends managed to talk me into not backing out (and spoilers: it turned out okay in the end!) but I was still very scared.

Also I was so focused on the comic stuff that I forgot until after GenCon earlier this month to think of what I wanted to actually have autographed. I decided to get a big print of the chapter one cover from INPRNT, assuming that since I ordered it two weeks in advance with an eta of 5-7 days that would be plenty of time for it to get to me. Well, reader, it was not. (But please do not let me dissuade you from using INPRNT! To their credit when I contacted them and asked if I could upgrade to rush delivery, they expedited it for free. Unfortunately even with rush shipping it just missed me, arriving at my house while I was on the train to NYC.)

Pâté on the train going to see his biological parents. (Laura and Marisha.)

When I saw that it wasn’t going to arrive in time I was starting to panic because there is nowhere near me to have art prints made. It’s a 15 minute drive (past the alpaca farm) just to get to the nearest grocery store. Grasping at straws I was kind of like Should I . . . draw something? On paper?? With real media that I haven’t used in like 10 years??? I only have 3 days!!!

Fortunately my life was saved by @emphaticembroiderer who had the brilliant suggestion of sending my art ahead to a print shop in NYC and picking it up before the convention. There are indeed MANY of those in New York and I managed to find one that was open on Saturdays and able to make my print on short notice. (567 Framing on W 14th street. The owner, Jack Hu, did excellent work and was very kind!) By that point I was frazzled and didn’t want two of the same print so I decided to be self-indulgent and had this one made. Not my showiest piece but it is one of my favorite things I’ve drawn. (This turned out to be the correct decision.) It’s a 6 1/2 hour train ride from here to there (and it got a little delayed along the way) so by the time I got there it was after 5 and the print shop closed at 6:30 so I zoomed over there straight from the train station to pick it up. It turned out BEAUTIFULLY, and the owner was pleased with how happy I was with it and that he’d been able to help.

He enjoys that he is included.

Then I went and checked in to my hotel and that point really just wanted to lie down on a bed but I had plans to take Pâté to see Hadestown on Broadway that night because I wanted to make the most of my trip. (Also it’s important for our scrungly son to receive a cultural education.) In keeping with the theme of the weekend I wore the Laudna-themed sundress I made for GenCon with one of the poppies in my hair. An usher told me they liked my ensemble. :) I had decided to go for a front row mezzanine seat because I didn’t know when I’d ever have this opportunity again and I didn’t want to risk my miniature self being stuck behind a tall person. It was perfect; I could see everything and the performance was AMAZING. Pâté had a very good time too.

The next day was the CR panel and autographs!! I decided to wear my 1950s Laudna cosplay from GenCon. I had some doubts about it when I got there because without the rest of 50s Bells Hells the theme isn’t as clear and outside of a DnD-focused convention the recognizability of a CR character is kind of low, let alone an AU variant on one. But once I found the Critters my Pâté poodle skirt was appreciated. :)

This is Rach @dadrielle, Astoria @astoriacolumnstaircase, Abby @overnighttosunflowers, and me as 50s Hells at GenCon!

And okay I know this said a lot but it’s true, CR fans are the NICEST fandom to be a part of. <3 If you’re ever standing in line for a CR thing by the time you get there you will have new friends. (For comparison the other-fandoms cosplayers I saw at the hotel and on the way to the con didn’t even return my smiles, even though we were all clearly going to the same place.) I fell in with a group of people who were near me in line (including an amazing Owlbearman cosplayer) and we decided to all sit together. The panel was really great. I don’t remember everything that was asked because of everything ELSE that happened later that day but they hinted that Big Things are coming (including multiple live shows!! Please come to Richmond! Or DC! Or at least somewhere on the East Coast!) for the 10th anniversary and Momlan stepped up to the mic during the Q&A segment and revealed that Sam has achieved his childhood dream . . . to become a minotaur. :D

With the mindset of making the most of this trip I had intended to try to get a spot in line to ask a question but I was hesitant about being on camera (even in cosplay) and while I was dithering about it like 50 people got in line. (I was also Suffering by that point because my rockabilly Laudna shoes have like 3 inch heels and after walking from the hotel to the convention center I didn’t have the fortitude to dart over to the line in them.)

My question, which I hope to submit next time there’s a Q&A opportunity, was this: For Marisha. We’ve seen Delilah’s influence manifesting in Laudna’s fashion choices recently. Now that she has the means and the freedom to do so, what kind of clothes would she choose for herself?

(Because I am a little sad that — until a possible post-campaign oneshot — we’ll never get to see a high-level Laudna costume that’s totally of her own design and I’m really eager to know what it would look like! Let her be spooky and free!)

Afterwards the cosplayers were being rounded up for a photo shoot but I was anxious to get a good spot in line for my autograph with Laura at 2pm so I stealthed away with Ken (@elissabrat), a Jester fan I had met in line, who knew where they were and had one with Travis at the same time. When we got there we were told No, go away and come back in an hour and a half, because it was still only 12. So we went to the Artists Alley where we found a girl named Lea whom we had also met in the panel line and collected a few other stray Critters (Ken has a boisterous and inviting personality and importantly, is very tall, preventing the rest of us from getting lost in the crowd) and we wandered around seeking out all the CR fan artists we could find. (There were a lot! It was great. I got some prints.)

by Cait May and Maliveth

Around 1 we decided to go back and see what the line situation was. Before we parted ways I exchanged twitter handles with Lea, who looked at my profile and said “Wait . . . this is you?”

She told me she was a big fan of my comic and looks forward to it every week! and we were both kind of like !!! at each other for a moment. I had never met someone who recognized my art in the wild before. (On ANY other day this would have been the most amazing thing that happened to me, haha.) I was so touched to meet her. <3

I took out the two books I was carrying and explained why I was there and we all got hyped up about it. And it made it feel a little less daunting, to know that there was someone there who understood the quest I was on and how close I was to the end of it.

I was like 5th in line for Laura and since it was still early I got to participate in that bonding experience integral to every con, sitting on the floor in cosplay, with a very good Vex behind me. (Hilariously, even after the dig at them — or maybe unaware of it — in the most recent episode, there were a lot of Funko Pop resellers around us, haha.)

I sent word to Southern Gothic Discord to remember me fondly in case I died here. In fact I'm not entirely sure that I didn't.

It felt like there was a disproportionate amount of fanfare revealing my print because I kept it how it was packed by the printer, wrapped in paper in between two pieces of cardboard so it wouldn’t get bent, so there was this whole ceremony of peeling back the tape, turning under one of the cardboard protectors, unfolding the paper, and turning over the print. But Laura loved it. She made like a happy sob when she saw it (it was really cute) and she looked at it for a long time taking in all the details and said it was beautiful. <3 <3 <3 (No matter how much we love and ship Imogen and Laudna, NO ONE loves them or is shipping them harder than Laura Bailey. She asked if I was going to bring it to Marisha too and was careful picking out a spot so there'd be room for both of their signatures. :))

I told her I was really happy to meet her because I’ve been a fan since BloodRayne (so, um. 20 years) and she said “oh wow, that was OG days!” And she gave me just a really kind look like she understood how much it meant to me to be there.

Then I gave her the comic. You all were right, I was worried about nothing! because she is the sweetest and she loved it. I very nervously pushed it across the table and said it was a comic I had made and wanted to give her. She picked it up and started turning the pages and was surprised when she saw what it was. “Wait, this is a whole novel! You made this?”

I confessed that I had, and she asked how long it had taken, I told her about a year (it was actually longer; in the moment I kind of forgot not how many pages there are in the first chapter but how many weeks are in a year) and she looked just really impressed that I had made it and touched by how much work had gone into it. She said she couldn’t wait to read it and seemed really excited to hear that it’s still going online! (So no pressure on me there if she's keeping up with it now, haha. o.o) And she kept looking between the book and me like she couldn’t believe it.

Then she asked me if I would sign it for her. :')

Somehow I survived long enough to do so! (a little wobbly because my hands were shaking) and someone (I think it was the ticket scanner) made a joke about how I was the first person to give an autograph at a signing, haha. And then she came around the table and gave me a hug. <3 <3 <3

After that my soul was still on the ethereal plane but the rest of me managed to find my way (after a brief wrong turn) to Marisha’s line. (There was a really good Keyleth and Caduceus in line behind me and they kindly noticed and returned the Pâté sticker that fell out of Marisha’s book).

She recognized my cosplay as 1950s Laudna right away! which was very validating after my earlier indecision haha. She loved the Pâté skirt and thought the scissors embroidery on my collar was adorable. She really liked the art too and was kind of like “Awww” about the book like in an “aww it’s an Imogen and Laudna thing” kind of way (she also liked the glass bottle windchimes on the cover and I love that she noticed that detail because Laudna’s penchant for turning things other people have thrown away into arts and crafts is one of my favorite aspects of her character) until she opened it and started looking through it.

Then she said, “Wait, this is actually really good," and she asked me seriously if Liam “Art Dad” knew about it (I said he had liked some of my other art on Twitter but I didn’t know if he knew about the comic) and then she said — still looking at it, more to herself than me — “We’ll have to add it to our art catalogue.” I don’t know exactly what that means (and I don’t want to get my hopes up too high by speculating; I was too !!! in the moment to ask and now I’m going to be wondering) but . . . it sounds . . . exciting??

They also both enjoyed Pâté and his lil sunglasses. :)

I had gone up with the intention of asking my other burning question: How does being cold-blooded affect Laudna in cold climates? If she gets too cold will she enter a state of brumation like a lizard? Will she freeze solid?

But I forgot. And it really wouldn’t have been the right moment. Maybe when I come back with Volume Two. :)

You’re supposed to pay extra to get a quote put on there but they both did it anyway without even asking. I think they must be really pleased when someone brings them something personal that they’ve made to have signed and not something they’re planning to sell.

After that I just kind of floated away from the con even though it was only like 2:30 haha. Nothing else could have happened there that would have equaled or improved upon that experience. Although I did adopt a Tentacle Kitty. The vendor (correctly) guessed “you look like you’d vibe with our spooky collection” so I had to get a new buddy for Pâté. (50s Laudna, still readily identifiable as a witch wherever she goes.) Also I saw a very chill emotional support pomeranian in a backpack.

(On the way back I saw the mark of the Traveler graffiti’d in green on the sidewalk. Truly a blessed day. :P)

Afterwards I just sat on the bed in my hotel room amid the floof of my crinoline wondering what even is my life for the next few hours and being like !!!! at Discord. Then I met up with Abby (whom it was wonderful to see again!! thank you so much for coming to see me) for dinner and had a really lovely time going over the What Just Happened of it all and talking about Imodna over strawberry pancakes. As one does. Perfect ending to an amazing day. <3

It was SUCH an incredible, exhilarating experience, thank you everyone who pushed me into not giving up out of fear. Laura and Marisha are SO nice and gracious in person and it was just so rewarding, after all the work and love and time I’ve put into this comic, to be able to finally bring it to the people who inspired it! And to see it appreciated and admired by them! It was more than I ever could have imagined.

This fandom is the best. My heart is so happy and full of love right now. <3 <3 <3

[ssa-dado]

3 - A Philosopher and a Lawyer walk into a Cafè

Aaron Hotchner's x bau!fem!reader

Genre: fluff, sapiosexual fluff

Summary: You and Hotch's playful rivalry deepens as you bring him a coffee, sparking witty banter and an unspoken connection. You work together on a complex case involving philosophical murders, impressing each other with your insights. Amid teasing about a fictional romance between Rossi and Gideon, you and Hotch’s bond strengthens, both appreciating the natural rhythm of working together while unknowingly being quietly supported by your mentors. Warnings: Usual graphic CM kind of case, Reader being a Prehistoric Reid, Gissi being so strong they even named a town for them.

Word Count: 4.8k words

Dado's Corner: Thesis, Antithesis, Synthesis. Mark my words, they could be helpful in the long run. We might get close to the second stage sooner than you think.

previous part: Early birds

It was another early morning at the BAU, and you found yourself in the local coffee shop just around the corner from the office. The morning chill clung to your coat as you stepped inside, the familiar hum of the espresso machine and the comforting aroma of fresh coffee filling the air.

You you were eager to finally being able to order your usual - a double espresso - as you found yourself already savouring the taste and smell of it, especially after all those days of being forced to drink the burnt coffee they provided at work. On a whim, decided to grab something for Hotch as well.

He had been beating you to the office every day, and despite your friendly rivalry, you knew the coffee at work was terrible. You imagined Hotch downing that bitter, overbrewed mess every morning, and the thought made you grimace.

"One black coffee, no sugar," you told the barista, after all, Hotch seemed like the kind of man who appreciated perfectly crafted simplicity.

Arriving at the office, you made your way to the bullpen, feeling a small thrill of satisfaction at the thought of catching Hotch off guard. As expected, there he was, already at his desk, his navy suit perfectly pressed, tie in place, and eyes glued to his case file. You couldn't help but roll your eyes, both annoyed and impressed by his consistency.

Hotch glanced up as you approached, a faint look of surprise crossing his features when he noticed the second coffee cup in your hand.

“Morning,” you said casually, setting the coffee on his desk. “Thought you might appreciate something better than the sludge they serve here.”

Hotch looked down at the cup, a hint of gratitude flickering in his eyes before he masked it with his usual composed expression. “Thank you. I’ve been meaning to bring my own, but, well, you know how it is.” He picked up the cup, taking a sip and letting out a satisfied sigh.

He leaned back in his chair, his gaze meeting yours with a wry smile. “So, what’s the excuse this time? You figured you’d never make it here before me, so you’re hedging your bets by blaming your tardiness on stopping for coffee?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Actually, I thought you might need a little recognition for all your hard work. I didn’t think you’d still be going along with this whole rivalry.” You gave him a teasing look, knowing full well that he thrived on the unspoken challenge between you.

Hotch’s smirk softened, his eyes briefly betraying how much he appreciated the gesture. “Well, it’s not every day someone bothers to get me a decent cup of coffee, but you don’t have to go out of your way. Even if I’m not complaining.” He took another sip, savoring the taste that was far superior to the bitter brew he usually endured.

You shrugged, leaning against the edge of his desk. “Consider it my one good deed for the day. But don’t think this means I’m letting you win without a fight.”

Hotch nodded, the corners of his mouth twitching up in amusement. “I appreciate the coffee, but now I owe you. I’ll have to get you a properly made coffee sometime, just to keep us even.”

You raised an eyebrow, leaning closer as if conspiring. “Hotch, you owe me more than just one coffee for the stress you’ve caused me with this little game.”

He met your gaze with a mock-serious expression. “Oh, I’m not causing you stress. You’re the one driving yourself crazy trying to keep up.”

You scoffed playfully, unable to deny that he had a point. But Hotch’s eyes softened slightly, and he added, “But you’re right. I do owe you. In fact, I’ll make you a deal: I’ll buy you one coffee for every day I beat you here, until the day you finally arrive earlier than me.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his offer, shaking your head at the sheer audacity. “You’re such a lawyer, you know that? You’re making a deal that actually only benefits you. What’s stopping me from showing up later on purpose just to drain your wallet?”

Hotch’s smirk widened, and he gave a nonchalant shrug. “Maybe that’s the idea. Give you a bigger distraction, make you think about something other than beating me. It works out well for me in the long run.”

You couldn’t help but admire the cleverness of his plan, realizing that if you fell for it, you’d be distracted by the rewards rather than the competition itself. “Wow. I’ve got to hand it to you, Hotch. In the long run, I’d end up showing up later and later, making it even easier for you. Impressive.”

Hotch raised his cup in mock toast, clearly pleased that you saw right through his scheme. “I’m surprised you caught on. I was hoping to pull one over on you for a while longer.”

You leaned back, crossing your arms with a triumphant smile. “You have no idea how good I am at outsmarting lawyers who think they can outsmart me first.”

Hotch chuckled, shaking his head in genuine amusement. “Touché.”

“Deal’s still on, though,” you said, holding out your hand as if to seal it formally. “But don’t think for a second I’m going to change my routine just because you’re bribing me with coffee.”

Hotch took your hand, his grip firm and warm. “Of course not.”

But today, something else was on Hotch’s mind. As you settled in, you noticed Hotch was already deeply absorbed in a case file, the intensity of his focus suggesting he was waiting for something, or someone.

Hotch flipped open the file in front of him, his eyes scanning the pages with a keen intensity. As he read through the details, a faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. This case was unlike most he’d worked on recently: it was layered with philosophical references, obscure quotes, and an unsub whose modus operandi seemed to be influenced by complex philosophical ideologies. He knew exactly who would be perfect to consult on this, but rather than asking for help directly, he had something else in mind.

With a subtle shift, Hotch angled the file just enough to leave the corner of a page visible from your desk. It was a deliberate move, calculated to catch your attention. If he knew you - and by now, he did - you wouldn’t be able to resist taking a peek.

He didn’t have to wait long. You settled into your chair and immediately noticed the stray page peeking out from Hotch’s desk. The faint, familiar names and terms you could make out - “Nietzsche,” “existential morality,” “nihilism” - caught your eye. You tried to concentrate on your own files, but curiosity got the better of you. Your gaze kept drifting back to that page.

Simulating a casual stretch, you leaned forward, pretending to adjust something on your desk while sneaking a better look at Hotch’s case. The notes detailed a series of murders where the unsub left behind cryptic quotes from philosophers, each one linked to the specific way the victims were killed. It was more than just a pattern; it was a philosophical puzzle, woven into every aspect of the crime scenes.

You couldn’t suppress the gasp that escaped your lips as the pieces clicked in your mind. “Oh my God,” you muttered, momentarily forgetting where you were.

Hotch glanced up, hiding his satisfaction at your reaction. He had set the bait perfectly, and you had walked right into it. The moment was even more rewarding for him, especially considering your previous bragging about being great at "outsmarting lawyers who think they can outsmart me first", only to now prove that you were, in fact, a little more ordinary than you'd let on. “Something on your mind, Y/N?”

You blinked, realizing you’d been caught. “I- uh, sorry. I couldn’t help but notice... are those quotes from Nietzsche? And Kierkegaard?” You pointed vaguely in the direction of his file, trying not to sound too eager.

Hotch leaned back in his chair, pretending to consider your question. “It seems that way. The unsub is leaving these quotes at the scenes, but the exact reasoning behind his selections is still unclear.”

You moved closer, unable to resist the lure of the philosophical elements woven into the case. “He’s not just picking these at random,” you said, your mind already racing with theories. “Look at this, Nietzsche’s ‘Beyond Good and Evil’ is quoted here, right next to how the victim was killed. He’s making a statement about morality, or the lack of it, in a deeply personal way.”

Hotch nodded, observing the way you immersed yourself in the details. “Go on,” he prompted, genuinely intrigued by your insights.

You flipped through the pages, your fingers tracing the notes. “Nietzsche challenges conventional morality, especially the binary of good and evil. The unsub seems to be echoing that: he’s positioning himself as someone who operates outside the realm of typical moral standards. Each murder isn’t just a killing; it’s a message that he’s transcended normal ethical constraints.”

Hotch watched you intently, his brow furrowing as he processed your explanation. “So he’s justifying his actions through philosophy? Twisting these ideas to fit his narrative?”

You nodded, flipping to another page with a different quote: “He who fights with monsters should be careful lest he thereby become a monster.” You pointed at the crime scene photo beside it. “This victim was restrained, but not in the usual way. It’s almost as if he’s trying to make a point about the nature of becoming what we despise. He’s projecting his internal struggle onto his victims.”

Hotch’s eyes darkened as he absorbed your analysis. “He sees himself as above society’s rules, above good and evil.”

“Exactly,” you replied. “This isn’t just about murder. It’s about the philosophical struggle of defining oneself beyond societal constraints. The unsub doesn’t see himself as evil; he sees himself as someone exploring the limits of human morality.”

Hotch leaned back, clearly impressed. “And what about this one?” He pointed to another crime scene photo. A quote from Kierkegaard was scrawled near the body: “Anxiety is the dizziness of freedom.”

You stared at the quote, considering the implications. “Kierkegaard speaks about existential dread and the overwhelming responsibility of true freedom. By leaving this quote, the unsub is hinting at his own struggle with the concept of freedom, how it can be paralyzing, even deadly. His victims aren’t just casualties; they’re expressions of his own inner turmoil about freedom and choice.”

Hotch glanced at you, his expression thoughtful. “So he’s not just a killer, he’s using these murders to explore and express his own philosophical beliefs.”

“Right,” you said, feeling the thrill of the chase. “He’s trying to elevate his crimes to a form of existential art. Each murder is his way of grappling with these big ideas, like a twisted performance meant to provoke thought.”

Hotch studied you, clearly impressed. He’d expected insights, but your depth of understanding went beyond his expectations. “This angle is exactly what we need to get inside his head,” he said quietly.

You smiled, feeling both flattered and invigorated. “I can help. I mean, if you want me to. I’ve studied these philosophies for years: existentialism, nihilism, all of it. I think I can figure out what he’s trying to communicate and why he’s doing it this way.”

Hotch allowed himself another rare smile. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “So this was your idea all along? You knew I’d snoop.”

Hotch shrugged, looking far too pleased with himself. “I had a hunch. And I thought you might enjoy this one.”

The two of you spent the rest of the morning poring over the crime scene photos and quotes, dissecting the unsub’s motivations in a way that felt less like work and more like an intense intellectual duel. At one point, Hotch leaned in, pointing at a particular quote scrawled in blood at one of the scenes: “One must still have chaos in oneself to be able to give birth to a dancing star.”

“He’s obsessed with the idea of chaos and creation,” Hotch said thoughtfully. “He’s not just killing, he’s trying to create something.”

You nodded, your mind racing. “Nietzsche believed that from chaos comes creation: an artist’s need to disrupt the ordinary to bring something extraordinary into existence. The unsub sees himself as a kind of artist, but his canvas is human life. He’s trying to provoke a reaction, make a statement that only he believes in.”

Hotch’s gaze was sharp, but you could see the respect in his eyes. “He’s creating his own twisted masterpiece.”

“Exactly,” you said. “He’s redefining morality in his own terms, using his victims to express his philosophical journey.”

The hours flew by as you and Hotch continued to unravel the unsub’s mindset, bouncing theories off each other with a rhythm that felt natural. You had found a way to speak the same language, not just of profiling but of the deeper, darker corners of human thought.

As the day wore on, the bullpen filled with the sounds of the rest of the team returning from their work. Rossi passed by your desks, noticing the two of you deeply engaged in discussion.

“Looks like you’ve finally found your match, Hotch,” Rossi said with a smirk. “She’s giving you a run for your money.”

Hotch didn’t look up from the file, but you could see the faintest hint of a smile on his face. “She’s good,” he said simply, but the pride in his voice was unmistakable.

Rossi raised an eyebrow at you, clearly impressed. “Well, don’t let him work you too hard. And Hotch, try not to steal all her ideas.”

You both laughed, knowing that this case had brought you closer as partners, not just colleagues. The connection between you and Hotch had deepened; it wasn’t just about early mornings or the rivalry anymore. It was about understanding each other on a level that few could reach.

“Thanks, Hotch. For letting me dive into this.” You smiled at him as you packed up for the day.

He nodded, his gaze lingering on you for just a moment longer than usual. “I didn’t just let you help. I needed you on this one.”

As you left the office together, the day’s work behind you, you felt the connection you’d built still very much alive. You were learning, growing, and with Hotch by your side, you felt like you could take on anything. And as you drove home that night, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, Hotch felt the same way.

The next morning, you walked into the office with a heavy sigh. The thrill of unofficially working with Hotch on a complex case filled with philosophical nuances had left you buzzing with excitement the night before, but today was a completely different story.

You knew what awaited you: a mountain of paperwork that had absolutely nothing to do with profiling or unraveling the twisted minds of criminals. Instead, it was the mundane side of the job: filing reports, cross-referencing witness statements, and all the bureaucratic tedium that no one warned you about when you signed up to chase unsubs.

As you approached your desk, your mood dipped even further. Sitting squarely in the center was a towering stack of files, the sight of which nearly made you sick. You let out a groan, dropping your bag on the floor and staring at the pile as if you could will it away with sheer force of will.

“Really?” you muttered to yourself, mentally preparing for a long and grueling morning. But as you reached for the first file, something odd caught your eye. The top sheet had been filled out, every line neatly completed in precise handwriting. You frowned, flipping through the next few files only to find the same, each one meticulously filled out, every detail recorded with the same practiced precision. It didn’t take long for you to recognize the writing: slanted slightly to the left, with the occasional sharp flourish, the unmistakable penmanship of a left-handed person.

It was Hotch’s.

Your heart skipped a beat as you rifled through the entire stack, realizing that all the paperwork had been completed. At the bottom of the pile, nestled beneath the last file, was a small note. You picked it up, already smiling as you recognized Hotch’s handwriting.

“Your philosophy degree helped me. Let my prosecutor years be helpful to you.”

You couldn’t suppress the laugh that bubbled up, a mix of relief and gratitude washing over you. He hadn’t just helped you out, he’d done it in a way that perfectly mirrored your new dynamic, a balance of give and take that was starting to feel natural.

You glanced up across your desk, Hotch was of course, engrossed in yet another case file, but you could tell by the way his shoulders were set that he knew exactly what he’d done and was just waiting for you to notice. You grabbed the note, determined to thank him but also to give him a hard time for beating you to the punch once again.

“Hey,” you said. Hotch looked up, and for a moment, the faintest hint of a smile touched his lips. You held up the note, shaking it lightly. “So, when did you decide to moonlight as my personal assistant?”

Hotch leaned back in his chair, his expression carefully neutral, but there was a glint of amusement in his eyes. “You looked like you had enough on your plate after yesterday,” he said simply. “Figured I could put my old skills to use.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Hotch, this would’ve taken hours. You really didn’t have to do all of this.”

“I know,” he replied, his tone casual but sincere. “But after all the philosophical guidance you gave me yesterday, I thought I’d return the favor. Call it a mutual exchange of expertise.”

You smiled, feeling warmth spread through you. “Well, thank you. Seriously. This is way above and beyond.”

Hotch nodded, but there was a playful edge to his voice when he spoke next. “Hopefully now you don’t hate lawyers as much.”

“Touché,” you said, grinning. “I guess you’ve proven that some lawyers can be... tolerable.”

Hotch gave a mock look of offense. “Tolerable? I’ll take it.” He paused, then added more seriously, “It’s not about winning, you know. At least, not in this line of work. It’s about finding the truth, even if it means doing the boring parts.”

“Yeah, I’m starting to see that” you admitted, still holding the note between your fingers. “Thanks for reminding me.”

You looked over the stack of completed reports, still impressed by how thorough Hotch had been. “Some of this paperwork was from cases I wrapped up a week ago. How did you know all the details? Did you just magically know what to write?”

Hotch leaned back in his chair, a subtle smirk playing on his lips. “What, you think you’re the only one entitled to snoop around your coworkers’ files?!”

You raised an eyebrow, feigning offense. “So you’ve been snooping on me? I thought that was my job.”

Hotch’s smirk widened, and he shrugged casually. “I learned from the best. You think I haven’t noticed you trying to catch a glimpse of my cases all this time?”

You couldn’t suppress the laugh that bubbled up. “I guess that makes us even.”

“Not quite,” he quipped, his tone teasing but his expression still composed. “I’m just better at not getting caught.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning against the edge of his desk. “Guess I’ll have to up my game then.”

Hotch chuckled, a rare and genuine sound that caught you by surprise. “Good luck with that. But seriously, I figured I’d save you some time. I know how much you the paperwork side of this job isn’t the most entertaining one.”

You nodded, appreciating the gesture more than you could express. “Well, I have to admit, you did a pretty good job... for a snooper.”

“Better than tolerable?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, clearly amused by your earlier choice of words.

“Don’t push it,” you shot back with a grin. “But I’ll give you this: you’re pretty good at reading between the lines, even when it’s not a case file.”

Hotch nodded, his expression softening. “It’s all part of the job. And hey, if you ever need help with the paperwork again, just let me know. I don’t mind putting those old lawyer skills to use, once in a while.”

“Deal,” you said, pushing off his desk and heading back to your own. “But don’t think I’m going to let you get away with this kind of espionage forever.”

Hotch’s eyes sparkled with restrained laughter. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

He was already back to work, his usual intensity in place, but he looked up just long enough to catch your eye and give you a brief, almost imperceptible nod.

You nodded back, smiling. “Jokes apart, thank you, Hotch, really.”

“You’re welcome,” he said finally, his voice softer. “And if you ever feel like helping me out with another case like yesterday’s, just let me know.”

You gave him a playful salute. “Deal. But don’t think I won’t call you out when I catch you snooping through my files next time.”

Hotch’s eyes twinkled with restrained laughter. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Meanwhile Gideon leaned against the doorframe of Rossi’s office, watching his old friend sift through a case file with the kind of focused intensity that had made him a legend in the Bureau. But today, Gideon wasn’t there to discuss a case. He had noticed something recently, an unexpected but welcome development among the team, one that involved you and Hotch.

“Got a minute, Dave?” Gideon asked, his voice carrying a hint of amusement.

Rossi looked up, raising an eyebrow at the unusually cheerful tone. “For you, always. What’s going on?”

Gideon stepped inside, closing the door behind him. He glanced briefly through the blinds, catching sight of you and Hotch at your desks, deep in your usual quiet exchanges. “I’ve been watching Y/N and Hotch,” he began, leaning casually against the desk. “I have to say, I’m impressed. She’s only been here a few weeks, but they’ve already got something… special going on.”

Rossi smirked, setting his file down. “You mean the way she’s got him smiling at eight in the morning? Yeah, I’ve noticed. It’s like watching a miracle unfold.”

Gideon chuckled quietly. “I knew she was something special when I first saw her at the academy, but I didn’t expect her to click with Hotch so fast. They’re both pretty guarded, but when they’re working together... it’s like they’re speaking their own language.”

Rossi nodded thoughtfully, following Gideon’s gaze through the blinds. “They’re a good match. She challenges him in ways the rest of us don’t, and he’s bringing out something in her, too. You know, you were right to pair them up on that first case. You planned this, didn’t you?”

Gideon shrugged, a faint smile playing at his lips. “I had a feeling. Hotch needed someone who could challenge his perspective, shake up his routine a little. And she… well, I knew she’d benefit from his discipline, his way of grounding things when they get too abstract. Plus, I figured if they didn’t kill each other, they’d probably make a great team.”

Rossi leaned back, crossing his arms with a knowing grin. “I guess we both had our little plans, didn’t we? You remember that guy who used to sit at the desk in front of Hotch?”

Gideon raised an eyebrow, surprised by the turn of the conversation. “The one who suddenly had that one-in-a-lifetime opportunity to lead an undercover operation? That was you?”

Rossi’s grin widened. “Oh, yeah. He was a really good agent, an excellent one actually, but he was never really a fit for teamwork. I saw an opening and might’ve... nudged him in that direction. You kept going on about Y/N back then, about how her expertise in philosophy would be an asset to the BAU. You even gave me this whole rundown of her personality: sharp, quick-witted, not afraid to push back. I knew right then she’d be perfect for Hotch.”

Gideon laughed, shaking his head. “You sneaky son of a... You were setting this up long before she even started.”

Rossi nodded, a twinkle in his eyes. “You convinced me she’d bring something new, but I could see it wasn’t just about adding a fresh perspective. I saw the potential for something more, a partnership that would push both of them. So yeah, I cleared the way a little. Let’s just say the seating arrangements weren’t accidental.”

Gideon pointed a finger at Rossi, his face alight with amusement. “And you call me sly? You practically orchestrated the whole thing.”

Rossi chuckled. “I just gave them the stage. The rest? That’s all them.”

Meanwhile, outside Rossi’s office, you spotted the two veteran profilers deep in conversation. You couldn’t help but smirk, seeing the perfect chance to tease Hotch about his painfully awkward first attempt to break the ice with you during your first field case together. An interaction so miserable that neither of you ever brought it up again, especially the bizarre conspiracy theory he tried to use as common ground. But you just couldn’t resist bringing back your old inside joke: the running gag that Rossi and Gideon were secretly an item.

You turned to Hotch, who was diligently working on another file, and without saying a word, you nodded your head in the direction of Rossi’s office. He glanced up, following your line of sight, and immediately caught on. With a slight raise of his eyebrow and a smirk playing on his lips, he leaned back in his chair, pretending to stretch but really angling himself to get a better view through the blinds.

“Can’t believe they’re still trying to keep it under wraps,” you whispered, your tone dripping with mock seriousness. “It’s like they think we’re not onto them.”

Hotch chuckled softly, surprised that you were bringing up that old joke again. He kept his voice low so as not to be overheard. “Clearly discussing anniversary plans. I bet Rossi forgot to book the romantic getaway Gideon’s been hinting at for weeks.”

You bit your lip to stifle a laugh, nodding along. “You’d think after all these years, Rossi would know better. Gideon’s a stickler for anniversaries.”

Hotch’s expression was one of pure mischief. “I swear, if Rossi starts another argument about their anniversary dinner being interrupted by Bureau business, I’m not sure even Gideon can save them this time.”

You shook your head, enjoying the playful back-and-forth. “Maybe that’s why Gideon looks so serious. He’s probably rethinking the whole relationship. Can’t be easy dealing with a partner who’s constantly prioritizing work.”

Hotch’s eyes twinkled with amusement as he added, “Gideon’s probably thinking about counseling, he’d better hope Rossi can handle it. You know how he gets about any ‘psychological mumbo jumbo.’”

Inside Rossi’s office, Gideon continued, unaware of the playful scrutiny from outside. “So, we’re agreed then? We let them work together more often?”

Rossi nodded, smiling at the thought. “Definitely. They’ll keep each other sharp. Besides, it’s fun watching Hotch get flustered.”

Gideon laughed softly. “It’s not just fun, it’s necessary. I think we’re seeing something good here, Dave. They’ve got the makings of a great partnership.”

Back outside, you and Hotch continued your banter as you watched Rossi and Gideon converse through the glass. You turned to Hotch with a mock serious look. “You know, at this point, I’m half expecting them to make a grand announcement at the next briefing.”

Hotch nodded sagely, playing along. “It’ll be the talk of the office. I’m just waiting for the inevitable joint vacation request.”

You both laughed quietly, and for a moment, it was just you two, lost in the absurdity of your ongoing joke. It was moments like these that made the long hours and high stakes of the job more bearable, and as you glanced over at Hotch, you realized just how much you appreciated these little breaks from reality.

Hotch turned back to his work, but not before giving you one last, knowing smile. “You know, if this keeps up, we might have to start planning their wedding.”

You pretended to think about it, grinning. “Oh, I’ve already got the venue in mind. I’m thinking a quaint little spot in the woods, somewhere private, just the two of them.”

Hotch chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re too good at this.”

“And you’re just as bad,” you shot back playfully.

As you both returned to your respective tasks, the bond between you and Hotch felt stronger than ever.

Little did you know, the very pairing that had sparked your inside joke was also the one that had recognized your potential as a duo, quietly cheering you on.

[chimindity]

Playing video games with brother!jj. Warning | reader is a toddler; horror video games. A/N | I might have a lack of sibling bond, who knows? ; divider made by my sweetie @marvelfanfics1 ♡

You can't stop skipping around in your brother's bedroom, feeling bored and wanting his attention, while he is playing video games at his desk. That's when he suddenly has an idea in his mind. He turns around to look at you, sprawled on the floor playing with your stuffed bunny. A sly smirk appears on his face as he speaks -"Sweetcheeks, wanna play video games with your bro?" He lifts up his headphone from his head as he watches you glance up at him.

A wide smile lights up your face as you sit up to pick up your stuffed animal and stumble your way to his desk. -"Can we play dress to impress, please?" You struggle to climb onto his lap after he leans back in his chair. He then brings his hands under your armpits to lift you up and sit you on his lap against his chest.

You hear him sigh behind you as he places his hand back on the computer mouse, -"Nah, I've got something more fun; you'll see," he says. He slides his fingers through his hair as he waits for the game to download. You notice the scary icon on the screen and lean back against your brother to hide yourself. -"Jayj, it seems scary," you mumble, bringing your stuffed bunny in front of your face.

He tsks and takes your stuffed bunny out of your hands as you are getting distracted by the game. -"No, it is not; trust me, it'll become your favorite game," he murmurs and presses his mouth against your head, leaving a kiss to reassure you. The screen finally loads, and your brother clicks on 'start'.

You jolt in his lap as you watch the screen become sinister. JJ encircles you in his arms to reach the keyboard with his hands. -"You are such a coward, hey, keep your eyes on the screen," he pauses, gently turning your face back to the computer while still trying to stay focused on the game. -"No! Jayj," you whine, wanting to get off his lap already, but he tightens his grip to steady you.

-"Give me your hand" he places your hand on the computer mouse as his hand goes on top of yours to still be able to control the gameplay. -"Relax, those monsters are not even that scary, sweetcheeks," he chuckles, feeling your small figure shaking in his lap.

You jolt and squeal every now and then at the slight jumpscare, but it only makes your brother chuckle even more. You manage to pick up your stuffed bunny and hide yourself behind it while trembling with fear. -"I don't like that game," you mumble, sniffing dramatically while rubbing the tag of your stuffie with your fingers.

-"Uh, keep looking, there will be a cat in a few seconds," he rubs the back of his neck. You suddenly focus on the screen, eager to see the cat. "-Jayj where—" you whine, and quickly get cut off as you look at the jumpscare showing up on the screen, causing you to cry immediately and drop your comfort object on the floor. -"Shit, hey— I'm sorry, it was a joke, dude, I mean sis," he tries to comfort you while holding himself from bursting into laughter. -"You are mean, I hate you," you sob harder, hiding yourself behind your hands.

He leans forward to pick up your stuffed bunny from the floor and gives it back to you. -"I'm sorry, I just wanted to play with you," he gently bounces his lap to soothe you as you curl into his chest, sniffles slipping out of your mouth while he gently runs his fingers through your hair. -"How about we play that game you love so much?" He looks down at you, snuggling in the crook of his neck as you shake your head 'no.'

He sighs and holds you tight in his arms, -"guess you're too little to play video games" he murmurs to himself as he watches you fidget with your stuffed bunny's ears.

Taglist

@marvelfanfics1 @mrvlxgrl @wearemadeofstardust0 @ziggyfaremen @jjsfavgirl @nemesyaaa @

[epically-ace-attorney]

*Intro Post ~ Welcome to the chaos!*

Hallo! This blog is an Ace Attorney AU using the musical EPIC! Canon is our bitch and we do as we please :)

The blog is joint run by @weltato (hi) and @burtrice1. Feel free to ask us anything about this AU in the inbox and not DMs - PLEASE NOTE THAT THIS IS A WIP AU AND IS CONSTANTLY BEING THOUGHT OUT!!

The "backstory" I suppose would be that Wel was watching a great guy on YouTube by the name of Mortius (you should check him out, he's cool) react to "We'll Be Fine" and "Love in Paradise" from the most recent saga released from EPIC as of writing this (20/09/2024) - The Wisdom Saga. Wel had also been binging through some Ace Attorney streams by The NyanCave (also really cool, you should check them out too) and had that on the brain at the same time. Then she noticed something interesting - Odysseus had been on Calypso's Island for seven years.

You wanna know who else had a seven year gap? Phoenix Wright.

So obviously, I go to burtrice1 and say:

And then this happens:

And everything came from there. Just imagine it: Phoenix on that cliff calling for Mia T^T

Anyway, we had some planning to do: there is currently a list of characters from The Ace Attorney Trilogy, Ace Attorney: Investigations 1 & 2 (we're using the fan translation names in this house), and Ace Attorney: Apollo Justice (because Wel hasn't finished Dual Destinies and hasn't seen Spirit of Justice yet) and what people from EPIC they're going in as.

*RULES OF THE BLOG!*

No spoilers for the games please! There will be people that see this blog with no idea about the Ace Attorney series and they'll want to find out themselves (also one mod hasn't finished the series yet).

No spoilers for EPIC! There will be people that see this blog with no idea what the craic is with EPIC and letting them experience the joy that is this musical is all the sweeter with no spoilers <3

As previously mentioned: game canon is our bitch and we do what we want with it, which means that if you see an inconsistency with ages or anything, no you don't ;p

Please keep questions PG, there are minors that enjoy both Ace Attorney and EPIC and we'd like to keep this blog a safe space for everyone.

In the words of Ricky Potts: don't be a dick. We don't tolerate harassment of either the mods or anyone sending an ask into our inbox. Respect isn't hard, friend :)

If you've asked us a question and we haven't responded yet, please don't go into our personal inboxes or DMs to ask us about it - see the rule above. Both mods are busy people and do this purely for fun, so we'll get to your question when we see it. The timezone of this blog is GMT/BST depending on the time of year, so both mods could very well be asleep.

The canon of this AU follows with EPIC canon, which is NOT the actual Odyssey or Iliad. If you want to read those in your own time, feel free to.

Have fun! We want to share this with people to see your reactions and interact with other fans of the Ace Attorney games and EPIC: The Musical.

If you're excited about this blog, REBLOG OUR POSTS!! Reblogging is the lifeblood of Tumblr and can make or break a post. We want to reach as many people as possible with this silly little idea of ours.

If you want to write fics about our AU, please ask us first! Wel is a regular fic writer and she has some ideas floating around, so maybe let her finish those first before jumping in - but we love the enthusiasm! Thank you!

Fanart is awesome!! Please credit the idea to this blog and @ us in the post with the tag #epicallyaa, we'd love to see what you've done :D

This post will update with extra rules as and when needed, if we need to <3

*TAGS!*

#wel writes - this is for whenever Wel writes a fanfic about something. This is a personal tag from Wel, so if you want to see more of her work feel free to peruse that tag on her main Tumblr account. All the fics posted here will be specifically for this AU.

#bart or #burt art - we haven't decided which to use, might just use both, but this is for whenever burtrice1 posts art to this blog. Again, any art posted here will be specifically for this AU.

#epicallyaa - this is a tag for us and others to use about our AU! If you post any fanart or fanfic about our AU, use this tag and @ this account too so that we can see your awesomeness :D

#wel answers - whenever Wel answers an ask

#burtrice answers - whenever burtrice1 answers an ask

Like the rules, more tags will be added as and when we feel we need some more.

Thanks for reading all of this!! This post is very important to read, so if you come in asking questions blind, we might just refer you to this post and ask you to try again :)

~ Wel & burtrice1

[isolaradiale]

. . . . .

"Mmhm, I see, I see... Your father did tell us you had a bit of a mishap with your art project. We couldn't help coming to give some advice." Solaris muses, circling the diorama of the city. Currently, it's been moved to a coffee table.

"Yes, he told me I should try and spin it as if I had done such a thing on purpose. But I don't see how I could possibly..." "Oh, we had an idea for that!"

Mimosa flutters from behind, resting her hands on Janus' shoulders. The glint of mischief hiding in her rosy glasses does not escape his notice.

"We could help you mirror it in the city proper, you know!" "What?" "It's an interesting theory. The structures you made still stand, but what gives them life and personality has been greyed out." "I wouldn't say that--" "So how do you fix it? Do you paint them with the hues and values they're supposed to be, or do you pick something new?" "What do you do with the spots where the paint bled together? Do you paint over that, too?"

As the two bounce back and forth in this terrible game of brainstorming, Janus begins to put his hands to his cheeks in mounting horror.

"Oh, no. No no no. Absolutely not--" "If we make someone look like an old black and white movie, what happens? Will they try to change to technicolour?" "Would they paint themselves the colour palettes they're used to? Maybe it's something entirely different. If we make those hues correspond with their personalities..." "I--I'll have no part in this! The last time something like this happened, everything--" "Ah-ah, don't worry."

Mimosa leaves Janus side to twirl next to Solaris, who makes an artful pose himself, as if framing the splotchy mess of a diorama in his hands.

"We have this one completely under control. Not like last time." "I'll make sure of it. Just a little bit of editing... ah, Mimosa, what if we..."

Janus can only move his head as the two take their leave, watching them scheme and snicker. He turns back to look at the model of the city. And in a scramble that almost makes him trip over his own feet, he rushes to his boxes of paints.

"--I have to at least put the base coat back on, or they really won't have anything at all!"

. . . . .

Welcome to another zany event for the fall season! It looks like Mimosa and Solaris aren't done causing trouble, but this time, it should be harmless. Right? (Right...?)

Taking inspiration from a creative mishap, the Stars have decided to effectively render the city in greyscale--including the people residing in it--to see what really makes everyone so colourful. Thankfully, most people will start with a base hue.

What does that mean, though? Here's a handy-dandy list of notes!

As soon as it strikes midnight that night, your muse will find that they've been completely greyscaled, save for one colour that represents who they are at their core, and only that colour! - Think of it like those 'what colour is your soul' quizzes. If your muse was only one hue, what would it be? For example, a character that is inherently cheery might turn completely yellow or pink, while a hot-headed character may turn red or orange to reflect their personality.

Your muse cannot help but feel and act whatever hue/personality they seem to be. However! The more your muse interacts with the people around them, the more colours (and feelings/facets of their personality) will open up to them. This will also physically reflect on them. - If your cheery yellow muse bumps into a sad, blue muse, you'll both have a new colour to express. Now you can feel happy (yellow) AND sad (blue)! And perhaps a sort of melancholy joy, like watching your best friend win that prize you wanted instead of you. Of course, you're happy for them, but sad you didn't win. - Or maybe those two colours mix into being green with envy... And suddenly, you have a new colour ;3

Any inanimate object your muse interacts with (except their Island Issued Cell Phone) will take on your muse's hue. Every step you take will leave a colourful footprint in its wake, every hand rail will have colourful handprints. More on that later.

With enough interactions and perspectives, your muse will be back to their old selves in no time! If, that is, they want to go back to their old selves at all. Maybe another colour palette suits them better than before...?

"It can't be that easy, though."

And, you're right! The experiment did more than reduce everyone to solid (or no) colours! Some other strange things are happening, too. Such as...

The NPCs of the city have not escaped unscathed. Unlike you, though, they have no hue to them at all. However, they'll absorb colours from your muses by proximity and action. - If your deep-green jealous muse is around, NPCs will turn deep-green too, and may want what you have--and might try to take it by force. But a calm mint-coloured muse may just leave you alone and soak up some vibes. - This extends to creatures of the island, too, so watch out!

Sources of water in the city (the ocean, lakes, ponds, swimming pools, etc) will wash away at least one colour from you. (You can still drink and cook with it without any effect, though.) Better not get caught in a rainstorm any time soon!

To combat this, you can find paint cans with a random colour paint in them around the city. You never know what you're going to get, though!

The city itself is completely greyscale, so navigating it might be a challenge without any colourful landmarks to stand out. That being said, your muse will leave colour wherever they go, like they're a giant paint roller. And so will everyone else's muses! Figuring out populated areas will be Very Easy, but you might get disoriented in places that don't get a lot of foot traffic.

These are the major issues...... for now :)

FAQ

"Do I have to pick a hue at the beginning? I can't decide on one."

It's entirely possible that your muse can start in greyscale, and just has No Personality. In that case, they'll take on the hue of the first person they interact with.

"What do we do if a colour has multiple associations with it?"

Each association of that colour is a valid one, and there are no incorrect colour associations. Each colour is whatever you need it to be in the moment. The definition of "red" for your muse may not match the "red" of your RP partner--and that's okay! What may be helpful is to make an event info post explaining your colour choice, how you interpret it, and how it would affect your character!

"Do we have to stick to basic colours like red, yellow, green, blue, etc?"

Nope. Maybe your muse is a mauve, emerald, beige, or aquamarine. Pick any colour you think is best for the moment!

"In theory, could we use the paint cans laying around to add hues to others by splashing them with it or something?"

PVP is enabled, if you want to be a menace! (with mun permission, of course)

"Is the comic in black and white for plot reasons?"

No, I'm just lazy :c

Have a question you don't see on here? You can message the Masterlist!

See you in a week! Make sure to get as many colour perspectives as you can, okay? :)

[sleepymaven]

The Bsd "Fyodor is Atsushi's Father" Theory:

My Not-so-Deep, Not-so-Serious Explanation on Why This Could Totally be Canon

Signed: A Sleep-Deprived Idiot

(Spoilers for the Entirety of Bungou Stray Dogs)

So... with Chapter 118 in bsd releasing, I have noticed a lot of Fyodor as Atsushi's father related things popping up and... I'm not mad about.

If anything, I'm happy the theory is getting more attention. People even seem to be taking it as canon fact, even if just jokingly.

Really, I believed the theory was plausible since it first was brought up in the fandom, but I never actually thought it would be canon because that just seemed too crazy. But those were the thoughts of a sweet summer child since the manga has gotten to the point where that might be the least crazy thing possible.

So, here I am at my keyboard yet again, ready to ramble about how, if this does somehow turn out to be canon, this might be actually rather predictable even to those who don't dive deep into the nitty-gritty lore.

Now, I won't ramble on and on endlessly about the book and Atsushi's ambiguous past and how he may be the book or a page from the book and yaddy-yadda. Instead, I'll focus on some key aspects of Atsushi's character design. First off...

His hair.

As I said, this is not all that serious or deep, so take my words with a grain of salt before you start bashing me or something for being ridiculous. You signed up for ridiculous when you started reading past the title.

Anyway, back to Atsushi's hair.

As we almost all know, Atsushi used to have a black streak in his hair that was later removed for unknown reasons, but he also has white hair.

Now, I could jokingly proclaim, "Hehe, biologically impossible Fyodor x Nikolai lovechild," and be done with it, but I am no clown, unlike Nikolai. No, I have a better, probably completely wrong, idea.

Most of us know that Fyodor has a thing for white-haired men.

Exhibit A: Every fucking member of the Decay of Angels

I rest my case.

Also, I feel the need to mention that 3 out of 6 of them have red-ish eyes while the other two have purple-ish/blue eyes. Just pointing out that little tidbit I noticed while finding pics for them.

So, it would make sense for Fyodor to pick and choose which attributes to give to his quote-on-quote "son" when he made him from the book, picking out certain traits he found appealing and pleasing to the eye.

(Also, yes, this could mean that Fyodor could have chose specific attributes that were similar to Nikolai. Boom, lovechild route.)

This could explain certain similarities between the characters who seemingly have no biological connection between one another. Their only connection then only being through Fyodor by just knowing him.

Got all that? Alright, next up...

His eyes.

Now, Atsushi's eyes are rather unique, even for the world of Bungou Stray Dogs. What also sticks out about them is the fact that they are pointed out and focused in from time to time.

Example:

(Fucking gorgeous eyes he has, btw)

To break down the colors of his eyes... While in normal lighting in the anime, they appear to be normally purple and yellow with just a hint of green in it, but under the full moon (as seen here) we can see that his eyes are a light green-yellow at the bottom and purple on the top that fades into blue.

(There are also a few times where his eyes also change while using his ability. Like when they turn almost fully yellow.)

I want to point out the colors of his eyes and the fact that they change due to certain circumstances (i.e: using his ability, being under the full moon), which is clearly not normal in their world seeing as how other ability users don't seem to do that at all.

(Edit here: I actually would like to mention that, in the manga, Nikolai's eyes also change color. The green one sometimes will change to match his normal eye whenever he uncovers it. I saw a theory talking about how it might change depending on whether or not he is lying at the time, which is pretty neat. More Atsushi and Nikolai parallels.)

Now, this might seem like a bit of a stretch just like the rest of this post, but the colors used for his eyes are similar to the eye colors of people Fyodor knows, though they are different shades.

Purple like Fukuchi. Green and blue from Nikolai.

Fyodor's eyes are also a shade of purple, kind of, so... Yeah, that works too, but Fukuchi's shade of eyes are closer to Atsushi's.

Yeah, that's all I can think of now and this is already way too long (if I start talking about Atsushi's mysterious past, I'm going to make this a mile long. Maybe later tho), so I'm ending it here for now.

Alright, bye ya'll.

[toadtoru]

GOOD LUCK BABE

when you wake up next to him in the middle of the night / with your head in your hands, you're nothing more than his wife / and when you think about me, all of those years ago / you're standing face to face with "i told you so"

pairing: shoko x fem!reader contents: angst, angst, angst, no curses au, reader is rich, reader is addressed with she/her pronouns, childhood friends to ???, no-curse au, some gojo x reader, alcohol consumption, smoking and weed wordcount: 4k

“Do you like him?”

You’re twenty-one the second time Shoko asks you this question. You’re out on the balcony, attempting to ignore the loud yelling and music being blasted from the small apartment behind you. You lean over the railing, looking down at the people below you. Shoko takes another drag of her cigarette. She glances back at the closed door behind you. She can easily catch the white blob of hair amongst the partygoers. 

“Of course I do! You’re all my best friends.” 

You both know that it’s not what Shoko means.

“Yeah, but do you like him?” Shoko repeats, and you pout when you realise that she’s not letting you off the hook. You send her a look while gently tapping your fingers against the railing. Shoko’s eyes follow the movement, trying not to glare at the diamond ring on your finger. 

You grew up different; Shoko knows that. Whereas she and Suguru grew up relatively normal, had parents who worked simple jobs and came home to cook dinner, you and Satoru were raised by maids and strict rules. She supposes this is the reason you’re so nonchalant about all this. Whereas Shoko as always had the choice, you never had. Still, it bothers her how willingly you let yourself be captured, how little you fight for the freedom to be your own person. She wishes she could shake you till you understood, but instead, she’s stuck here on this shitty balcony, hoping that you might answer her question truthfully for once. She takes another drag of her cigarette, inhaling deeply and hoping that you won’t notice how tense her shoulders are. 

“It doesn’t matter if I like him,” you say, shrugging. You glance over at Shoko, and something passes between you for a moment. Your eyes flicker to her lips, still wrapped around her cigarette. It’s barely a second before you’re making eye contact again. 

“I’m just happy my parents chose Gojo and not that asshole from Zenin Enterprises.” 

You’re twenty when you go to a bar for the first time. It’s your birthday, officially the last one to turn twenty out of the four of you. It’s the first time in six months that you managed to get together. After you graduated, Satoru immediately started working at his dad's company; you and Shoko started at separate universities; and Suguru… well, none of you really know what he’s doing. Shoko recalls him saying he has some kind of sales job that causes him to travel a lot. 

By this time, purple circles have settled under Shoko’s eyes, and cigarettes are a staple in her purse. In all honesty, she doesn’t want to be here. It’s a fancy place—more of a club than a bar, really. Satoru’s choice, of course. There’s no way that you picked this place. 

You look stunning. Dressed in a top and a mini skirt, you look both expensive and endlessly tempting. You’ve already drank some at your place, where you all started, and you’re pleasantly giggly, hanging on Satoru's arm. Shoko wishes you’d hang off her like that, but recently there’s been a weird divide between you. You’re hard to get a hold of. 

You catch her eyes and smile. “You look nice tonight, Sho,” you say, lips curling teasingly as you reach out to pull a piece of hair behind her ear. “Your hair has gotten longer,” you add with a hum. 

Shoko shrugs. Suguru and Satoru are talking about something that she’s not a part of, so she moves closer to you. “How have you been?” she asks casually, trying to act like she isn’t hanging off every word you say. 

“Come dance with me,” you reply, grabbing her hand and pulling her out on the dancefloor. Shoko follows you wordlessly. She’s never been much for dancing, but for you, she’ll make an exception. 

“I’m alright,” you say. “School is hard,” you add, and Shoko follows the way your body moves, easily falling into a rhythm with the music. She wonders why you couldn’t have this conversation at the bar, but in a way, she’s happy that she doesn’t have to share you with the boys for a while. Your fingers are intertwined as you both ignore everyone else on the crowded dance floor. It’s hot, and the music blasts from the speakers beside the DJ, all contributing to making Shoko feel dizzy. 

“What about you, Sho?” you ask, dancing closer. 

“School is hard,” she repeats after you, grinning when you roll your eyes. You dance for a little while longer, silence creating a distance between you. Shoko wonders why it’s like this all of a sudden. You used to always be close; the silence between you was never uncomfortable like this. 

“I miss you,” Shoko says. She doesn’t even know why she says it. These are the kinds of things Shoko feels in silence. She never shares them with other people. But for some reason, she can’t stand the thought of not being able to share it with you. You smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. 

“I’m dating Satoru.” 

Cutting Shoko open with a scalpel would probably have hurt less. The music becomes white noise, the room feels small, and the air becomes hard to breathe. She looks towards the bar where Satoru’s talking with Suguru. As if on queue, Satoru looks up from his conversation to look at the two of you. He smiles at Shoko when their eyes meet. Satoru, Satoru, Satoru. Bastard. It’s always him, isn’t it? 

“I need a cigarette,” Shoko mumbles, walking towards the smoking area of the club. 

“Sho,” you say, following her as she makes her way through the dancefloor towards the doors with the smoking sign. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” you say, and Shoko shakes her head as she pushes the door open and exits onto a small rooftop. The air is chilly, and there are several people already there, smoking and talking. 

“I’m sorry,” you repeat as Shoko lights her cigarette and takes a long drag. “Will you at least look at me?”

She does. Soft, kind brown eyes locked on you. You’ve always revelled in Shoko’s attention. It made you feel special to be deserving of it, for a person who’s usually nonchalant and seemingly careless, that you were interesting enough. Even when she would tease you and push your buttons, you liked it.

You don’t like it right now.

“Why?” Shoko asks. Your brows knit together. 

“Shoko, I’m sorry if you’re mad–”’

“No. Why him?” Shoko interrupts. She takes another drag before blowing the smoke off to the side. You frown. 

“You promised you’d stop smoking,” you say, and Shoko laughs. 

“Is it your parents?” she asks, stepping closer. Smoke fills your lungs as she blows some onto your face. You turn to the side, but she grabs your chin and makes you look at her. “Is it you? Do you like him?” She asks. You frown. 

“Yes,” you reply, though it’s half-hearted and soft. 

“Speak up,” Shoko says, but you don’t. Your brows are furrowed, and there’s a little pout on your lips. Your hands come to tug on her shirt as if you’re beckoning her to come closer, but she doesn’t, not even bothering to look down at where you’re holding onto her. 

She feels an awful desire to kiss you, to show you what liking—no, loving—someone really is. She doesn’t fight it when she leans in, pressing your lips together. This kiss is much different from any kiss you’ve shared before. It’s meaner, more desperate. As if Shoko is trying to put every word she won’t speak into this moment, lips moving against lips. Your fingers move from her shirt up to her neck, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss. 

Shoko tastes like smoke and the beer she took three sips off when you first arrived. It’s deprived; how good it all feels to let go. Then you part and you gasp for air for a few seconds before you step back, wiping your hands in your shirt and turning around, disappearing into the bar. 

You’re fifteen when you say the words that make Shoko take the first drag of a cigarette. You’re sitting on the floor in your room, watching some show that you begged her to see. Shoko can’t even remember which one it was, although it doesn’t matter all that much. You’re huddled close together, giggling whenever the main characters do something funny. Your eyes are on the screen, but Shoko can’t help but look at you. 

It’s dark out. She should’ve been home hours ago, but your parents aren’t home—they never are—and the maid left hours ago. 

“Have you ever kissed anyone, Sho?” you ask. Shoko blinks, turning to look at the TV again. A kiss scene is unfolding. Fairly innocent, she thinks. She looks back at you to find you already looking. Your faces are awfully close, only illuminated by the blue light from the show still going, though it’s all background noise at this point. 

“No,” Shoko replies bluntly. You smile, your cheeks heating up as you lean in closer. 

“Do you want to?” you ask. It’s innocent. You’re smiling, your eyes darting down to Shoko’s lips for a second before they’re back up. 

“I don’t know,” Shoko replies. Already at fourteen, she hates how she feels around you. There’s something disarming about you that makes Shoko lose all her cool and turn into a complete puddle of weird, awkward teenage mess. Her heart always seems to hammer in her chest, and her hands feel clammy. 

“We could try, you know,” you say. You’re so close now that Shoko can feel your breath on her lips, smell the fruit rolls you ate earlier. It’s so very you, so sweet. Blood roars in her ears, and she doesn’t say anything, afraid her voice might betray her. 

“For practice,” you add, and Shoko finds herself nodding along. For practice, sure. She ignores the gnawing feeling in her chest, the looming knowledge that she can never come back from this. Shoko has never been much interested in love or boys. She’s always opted for medical books and crime mysteries instead of chick flicks. Though with you, it’s always been different. You could rope her into watching The Notebook and Titanic as many times as you wanted if it meant Shoko got to spend time with you. 

“Is this okay?” you ask, placing your hand on Shoko’s cheek, and she nods again. “Yeah,” she replies, almost breathless. You’re so close now.

So so close. 

It’s innocent. There’s no tongue, no great big sparks. Yet Shoko feels electric. Your lips are soft. So soft. And despite how blunt you were just seconds ago, you feel shy now all of a sudden, pulling away with flushed cheeks and a sort of dazed look on your face. 

“Thank you,” is all you can think to say, and it makes Shoko snort at your reaction. This causes a giggle to be pulled from you as well, and you sit there for a while, just lingering in each other's presence, high on the experience of your first kiss together. It’s innocent, sweet. Shoko wishes she could bottle up the feelings you give her and save them from the rot she’s already feeling building up inside of her. 

She reaches for your cheek and pulls you in for a second kiss. You let her, getting braver this time. Your lips move against each other. It’s inexperienced and clumsy, but Shoko wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Then you whisper the god-forsaken words. 

“I wish you were a boy, Sho.” 

And Shoko feels the rot fester in her gut. 

“I should go,” she replies, stumbling out of your room and down the hall of your obscenely large house. She ignores your calls for her as she slips down through your kitchen.

She stops in her tracks when she notices the small packet on the counter. The maid must’ve left it, she thinks to herself as she picks it up and inspects it. Shoko and you have spied on her during enough smoke breaks to know. Two cigarettes left. She glances at the door. You haven’t followed her downstairs. She puts the box in her pocket and walks out your front door. 

How can two cigarettes hurt?

You’re twenty-three when you walk down the aisle in a beautiful white dress. Shoko watches from the fourth row, right next to Nanami. You and Satoru stand in front of the altar. Suguru sits on the front row with Satoru’s family. You hadn’t asked Shoko to sit with yours. 

The vows are formal. Clinical, almost. As though someone else wrote them for you, as though neither you nor Satoru actually feel the things you say. Nonetheless, you look blinding in your dress, even more blinding as you walk down the aisle and lock eyes with Shoko. 

She smiles at you. Purple rings have become more prominent under her eyes during the past few months. She’s told you they’re from late-night cramming and studying, and while that’s not technically untrue, there's another reason why she sleeps so badly as well. You smile back, and Shoko feels the green little thorn in her stomach reach just a little deeper. 

“Why are you looking all gloomy?” 

It’s playful. There’s no ill intent behind it. Satoru, as always, pretends to be unaware of anything that might start an uncomfortable conversation, instead resorting to acting like a fool. Shoko sighs. 

“Fuck off,” she says, though there’s no edge in her tone. She can’t ever really hate Satoru. No one can. That’s what's so annoying about him. Satoru walks forward and joins Shoko on the balcony from the venue of your wedding afterparty. Shoko doesn’t know where you are. Probably somewhere entertaining your guests, pretending that this is the happiest night of your life. 

Satoru eyes the cigarette between Shoko’s fingers as she takes another drag. 

“I thought you were quitting.”

“School’s been stressful.” 

“Ah,” Satoru nods, resting his arms on the railing and looking out over the city. It’s a peaceful night. The sky is clear, though you can’t see the stars due to the light of the city. Shoko exhales. 

“Are you doing alright, Shoko? You seem distant,” Satoru asks, eyes trained on the view in front of them. Shoko hums. 

“I’m alright,” 

They stand like that for a while, neither of them saying anything. Shoko wonders if she should just tell Satoru everything. About how she’s in love with his wife and has been for years. How she wakes up in the middle of the night, gasping for air and chasing dreams of you. You with your soft lips and pretty smile. You who never flinches away, you who remains the centre of Shoko’s world no matter how hard she tries to untangle herself from your web of love and praise.

She imagines it wouldn’t go down well. Even if Satoru has married you out of duty, she knows he still loves you. Maybe not as a wife, but as a companion. You’ve known each other for so long, known that you were promised to each other since you were mere children. 

“Ah, fuck, I better go save my wife.” 

The moment has passed. Shoko looks back towards the glass doors to the party. You’re stuck talking to some elders. Shoko doesn’t know who they are, but she assumes they’re from Gojo’s family. You glance towards the balcony. “Save me,” you mouth, and both Shoko and Satoru snort. 

“Duty calls,” he sings as he walks past Shoko. He looks back over his shoulder once. “Come back once you’ve finished that one, okay?”

You’re eighteen when you all huddle together on the floor in Suguru’s room, giggling and whispering about the joint that the boys somehow managed to secure. Suguru lights it and takes the first inhale. Satoru follows, cheeks immediately turning pink and a dopey smile settling on his lips as he passes it to Shoko. You watch Shoko curiously before she hands it to you. 

Carefully, you fold it between your two fingers, eyeing the little roll carefully. “How do I do it?” you ask, and Shoko snorts. Satoru is giggly already, lying down and putting his head in Suguru’s lap. Suguru looks mostly unaffected, yet he cracks a smile and pinches Satoru’s cheek. 

“You put it between your lips, and then you inhale. You gotta feel it all the way in your lungs,” Shoko explains. You try to do as she says, but when you exhale, barely any smoke comes out. Suguru chuckles. 

"Yeah, that was not an inhale,” he says, and you poke your tongue at him. Shoko moves closer to you, ignoring Suguru as she puts her hand on your thigh. 

“Try again,” she says, and you do, looking at her at the same time. Shoko smiles, and you choke, coughing out some as you feel tears prickling in your eyes. Shoko rubs a soothing hand along your thigh while Satoru laughs. You pat your chest, coughing furiously as tears run down your cheek and Shoko smiles at you. 

So cute. 

“C’mere,” she says, once your coughing has subsided. You pout at her, but move closer nevertheless, till you’re in her lap. The boys are quiet now, watching your exchange as Shoko puts a hand on your waist, taking the joint from your fingers with the other. 

“You ready?” she asks, and you nod wordlessly. Slowly, she inhales before leaning into you, blowing into your mouth. This time you inhale, puffing your chest out in a manner that makes Shoko grin. You exhale again, and Shoko pats your cheek rewardingly. 

“Good girl,” she mutters, and your jaw drops. Suguru coughs, and you can hear Satoru’s giggle increasing as you climb out of her lap and grab the joint again. Shoko smiles at you. The knowing kind that makes you want to bash your head into a wall. You ignore the heat in your cheeks as you peel your eyes away from her. 

“Okay, I can do it myself now, thank you,” you say, taking a big inhale. You hold it for a few seconds before exhaling again, white smoke leaving your lungs. 

“There you go,” Satoru says, flashing you his perfect white teeth. You frown and take another drag, for good measure, before Suguru takes the joint from you. 

“Woah, there,” he says, raising a brow at you. “This is your first time, right?”

“Yeah,” you reply, already feeling lightheaded. “So what?” 

“Might want to take it easy,” he says. You don't bother to reply, instead looking back at Shoko. She’s leaned back, resting on her elbows. She meets your gaze, tilting her head to the side. Taking you in. Examining you. You fiddle with your fingers in your lap, but you don’t break eye contact.

Then she nods at you. A tiny one, barely noticeable. You almost think you imagine it, if it isn’t for the teasing look in her eyes. 

An invitation. 

You don’t hesitate to take it, climbing over and promptly laying your head in her lap. Shoko laughs, but she lets you, adjusting herself so she can sit up and play with your hair. You hum, closing your eyes and wrapping your arms around her. You feel light, pleasant. 

“Someone’s feeling touchy,” Shoko says, smiling as she watches your brows knit together. She brings a finger down, running it over the crease formed between your eyebrows, forcing you to relax. 

“You’re my best friend, Sho.” Your voice is airy. “I’m allowed to feel touchy.”

You’re twenty when you kiss Shoko for the second time before slipping inside the crowded bar again. Shoko waits a few minutes before she follows you back in. She can still feel your pillowy lips and taste the gloss you wear. She feels dizzy, almost, under the neon lights, but she’s unsure if it’s the alcohol and nicotine or just you. 

Her eyes land on the table where she saw Satoru and Suguru earlier. The white blob of hair is easy to spot; it always is. Even when you’re running your fingers through them. 

Ah. 

Even when you run your fingers through Satoru’s hair while you kiss him stupid. His hands are on your hips, pulling you in. She can’t see your face, only your back. In a way, she’s glad. It makes the whole ordeal much easier. 

“There you are.” 

Suguru moves towards her, smiling casually when she turns to look at him. 

“I assume she’s told you?” he muses, nodding his head towards the two of you. Suguru’s hands are in his pockets, and his hair is tied back. Shoko shrugs. 

“Yeah,” Shoko says. She looks at you again before turning back to Suguru. “How long have you known?” she asks, and Suguru scratches his neck and hums. 

“About a month,” he says. Shoko shifts from one foot to another and nods. A month. A month and you didn’t tell her. She scoffs. Suguru raises a brow. 

“Are you upset?”

“No,”

“Alright,” there’s a teasing edge to Suguru’s tone that tells her he doesn’t quite believe her. Shoko’s brows narrow, and she feels her fingers itching for another cigarette. 

She gives you a last glance before pulling Suguru out with her for another cigarette. If you wanna kiss boys in bars, then so be it. 

You’re twenty-six when Shoko opens her door in the middle of the night and finds you on her doorstep, completely drenched from the rain. 

“I’m afraid there’s something rotten inside of me,” you say, and if your eyes weren’t brimming with tears, Shoko might have blamed your wet cheeks on the rain and tried to shrug it off, but it feels impossible with the way you stand there with red rims around your eyes. “I’m afraid that there’s something wrong with me, and it’s only a matter of time before you all figure it out,” you repeat, almost gasping for air as if each word brings you physical pain to speak. 

And Shoko steps aside, because what else can she do. How could she turn you away when you’re all she’s ever wanted, all she’s ever loved. Yet none of you make another move to do anything else as Shoko stands with the closed door behind her and you stand in the middle of her living room, your soaked clothes dripping in a puddle underneath you. 

“What’s going on?” Shoko asks. Your lips are downturned and your brows are furrowed, and you look so miserable that it makes Shoko’s stomach churn. 

“I don’t love him.” 

A beat. 

Shoko stares. Your eyes are trained on the puddle beneath you. 

“You were right. It doesn’t feel right when I’m with him. He’s my best friend, but—”

“Why are you here?” Shoko interrupts. She rubs the bridge of her nose, taking in a deep breath. 

“Sho-” you stumble across the room, but Shoko places a hand up and you stop in your tracks. 

“Stay there,” she says, and you frown. 

“I’m sorry, okay. I should’ve listened to you,” you say, knowing that it won’t help anything but saying it anyway.

Shoko always thought she would feel satisfaction in this moment. Some sense of superiority. To be able to say “I told you so” with a smile dancing on her lips. That all of it—all of the rot and pain—would be worth it once you realised you were wrong. Instead, she just feels bitter. 

“Yeah. You should have.” 

She realises she’s wasted so much time. Waiting, and waiting, and waiting. And for what? Shoko sighs. 

“You should leave.”

thank you for reading!

i'm satoru when i get high btw. very giggly, very happy, very in love with all of my friends.

tagging @madaqueue since you asked, my munchkin. <3

masterlist | divider by enchanthings

[infizero]

listen i was guilty of this once upon a time too but dawg ppl GOTTA stop calling any platonic dynamic they like “siblings” without any precedence 

[icewindandboringhorror]

I have found a beautiful perfect humble rock specimen that is light yellow with a weird dark yellowy brown lining, somewhat resembling a chunk of smoked gouda cheese... effervescent

[ozymoron]

literally why am i a perfectionist i actually really dont give a shit

[toastsnaffler]

ahh.. I have tickets for a small music festival tmr which I went to last year + had a whale of a time but this year theres only like 2 artists I wanted to see but they released the schedule a couple days ago and neither are playing before 9:30pm. since I don't live local anymore I'd have to leave to travel back home around that time or I'd miss the last train... and there's not rly anywhere I can crash overnight there (and I was planning on going alone anyway like I did last year). so I think im gonna have to let this one pass me by :-(

[shinobicyrus]

I've seen a lot of posts about Batman using his Bruce Wayne alter ego for the good of Gotham: job programs for felons released from prison, orphanages, charities, high wages for his employees, ethical business practices...the legendary post where Bruce Wayne goes to Wal-Mart.

Thus far I've never personally seen anybody really dig into the persona of Bruce Wayne the Billionaire Playboy. A handsome, rich, powerful man who always is seen at fancy galas, art openings, charity dinners, and wild parties with at least one beautiful woman on his arm.

We know Bruce Wayne is the mask, and its Batman who has a...complex love life, depending on the iteration we're talking about. Talia, Catwoman, sometimes Wonder Woman.

Bruce Wayne's dates, on the other hand, are all "normal" people. Maybe they're an aspiring actress, a supermodel, a prima ballerina, the occasional reporter...and every time there's that bit of nervousness at the start.

Sure everyone knows Bruce Wayne. Everyone knows the story with him. Sometimes his wilder parties make the news, but there's never really been anything nasty reported about him. Never...allegations. But he's a billionaire. He's one of the most powerful people in the whole city, nevermind the country. If he did have some skeletons in his closet. Well. Men with power have a way of making those kinds of stories go away, don't they?

As time goes on the Date's fears dissipate pretty quickly. Bruce Wayne is nothing but polite, kind, and at times charmingly awkward in an 'raised by his butler in a mansion' kind of way with his dates. Some of them can tell he's holding back, of course. Maybe the more perceptive Dates notice he's smarter than he lets on - playing the himbo or hamming up the "know-nothing rich boy" act to the cameras or some of his wealthy peers.

He also listens, is the thing. He's always listening to what they're saying, is interested in hearing about their careers, their hobbies, their lives. Really listens, too. Might refer to something a Date said weeks later off-hand. Buy out the whole museum for a private dinner date with a famous painting from an obscure artist they like, or a private performance with another's favorite band.

He has anecdotes and funny stories for days that somehow says very little about his personal life. The Dates know he has kids (it's practically a running gag in the news that Bruce Wayne has adopted yet another orphan) and maybe she might spot one of them at the mansion, but Bruce seems very keen to shelter them from any intense spotlight and scrutiny, and they all seem happy if a bit weird like him.

Eventually, there's drifting. He's a very busy man, with a very busy schedule. On more than on occasion his nice old butler will call and extend apologies that Mr. Wayne will not be able to make it this evening. Sometimes it's virtually impossible to get a hold of him over the phone. After a while they stop trying. None of them feel quite surprised by that. In the end, it just doesn't work. Sure, he's a little distant and doesn't make himself emotionally available...but he's not a bad person.

Especially when the so-called "exes" of Bruce Wayne start networking. Gotham isn't a small city, but the social circles Bruce Wayne travels in aren't as big. They don't quite gossip or complain about him. More like...who else would get it?

(I touched his side once and he winced...like he'd been hurt real bad there. He laughed and said it was tackle polo. How does that even-?)

(Somehow, after two dates, he saw right through me and listened while I told him what that casting director tried to do. He nodded, gave me the contact details of a law firm, and said not to worry about the legal fees.)

(I don't know for sure it was him, but it can't be a coincidence that my building got bought out from under my shitty landlord and we were all able to buy our apartments under market value.)

(He got my brother in the best rehab program in the city after his relapse. It probably saved his life. We'd stopped dating months ago, I still don't know how he found out.)

(He gave me a card with a phone number and told me that if I was ever in trouble to call it. Said one of his cars would come to pick me up, any time, any place, no questions asked. The one time I did have to use it after a bad party, it was Alfred.)

I think any tabloid reporter digging around for salacious stories or dirt about Bruce Wayne's love life would be completely and politely stonewalled when they try asking his former Dates. Even when money is offered. Every single one of them.