#which is something i never expected and also with the full understanding that I'm watching a very select few scenes out of context

[cowboyhorsegirl]

As a recovering Catholic, one of my fav anecdotes the spn set is Misha mentioning that they had all these papers flutter around when Cas flies in angry sometimes and he once looked at WHAT the papers were and they were bible pages. And he pictured all the set dressers just ripping up bibles and thought it was funny and mentioned it in an interview (or at a meet and great with some network people? it was years ago lol) and the show higher ups were like 🙅🙅🙅🙅😬😬😬 maybe we don’t mention that?? But he still tell that story at cons

Anyway, for me that’s how I’ve interacted with the religious themes in spn, as ripped up bible pages for set dressing (that they did knowing that they might get in trouble for it is anyone was paying attention) lol idk if that helps but it does for me haha so I hear you on the “complicated feelings on religion while watching spn” front

now imagining misha collins himself feeding bible pages into the company shredder to make Castiel Confetti

[keets-writing-corner]

Thinking a LOT about Lucifer in the latest Hazbin episode. Idk what I was expecting but not this??

As I was watching my immediate thought was just "huh... Lucifer is kinda of weird..." but as the episode went on I realized the issue

the dude is off the chain depressed, like he says it as a joke but holy cow it is SO BAD

He's manically just creating rubber ducks cuz his daughter really like it that one time but it's empty, it's never good enough but he keeps doing it, maybe cuz he doesn't know how to pass the time otherwise.

like I get the feeling he HAS better things he SHOULD be doing than making rubber duck after rubber duck. At first I was like, "Bruh why isn't the king of hell doing anything?" aaaaand then it became clear...

The dude is disassociating so bad he can barely hold a conversation let alone remember information. He clearly WANTS to, he wants to be involved with his daughter so bad, he wants to care about the things she's doing so bad, but his depression keeps interfering. It's like he can only hear every other word and he grasps onto the ones he does hear semi-out of context. Like you can see every time he catches something that he hadn't before and he just "well shit I didn't catch that part"

and that's why he reacts so weird when people talk to him. He is struggling so bad to engage with the conversation he's only getting 50% of it

does that look like the face of a man who knows what the hell the conversation is even about??? he is STRUGGLING

like Charlie spent so long telling him about the hotel, and he STILL didn't understand what she wanted. Yeah it comes off as ditzy but literally I've been in that position where your brain just "nope, not doing this right now" and nerfs your conversation comprehension. So as someone who's BEEN in that position, to me it feels exactly like what he's dealing with. He's sorta engaged with the conversation, but only as much as his brain will allow

For example, when I'm dealing with this, this is what someone talking to me feels like this where the crossed out parts are what I missed and bold is what I catch, "Hey! You know I was thinking for dinner we could either make some chicken with rice? But if you don't feel like cooking, pasta is super easy and you love that right? What do you want to do?" you can kinda get that someone is trying to talk to you about dinner, and towards the end you get the impression that they asked something that needs your input so you can decently put 2 and 2 together and try and pass off, but crucial bits were left out, I would have no idea that either chicken or pasta is in the conversation only having heard "rice". When someone is just talking at me, I can decently pass off as being engaged but the second I'm required to participate in the conversation I'm screwed. Seem familiar? At which point I have 2 options, try to give a bullshit answer, or admit that I missed what they were saying and ask them to repeat

Lucifer, unfortunately, is trying so damn hard to hide that he's dealing with like 24/7 dissociation, so he can't admit that he's missing entire chunks of the conversation, hence his really weird replies. He does eventually get the full picture and then he and Charlie start having the real conversation

Also, the Alastor/Lucifer rivalry was hilarious but also really indicative of more of what Lucifer is dealing with

Alastor is, unfortunately, really good at picking up people's insecurities, and thanks to Charlie's description earlier and watching Lucifer clearly trying to overcompensate, he immediately picks up on the fact that Lucifer KNOWS he struggles to be a good dad (we know cuz it's cuz of the depression, hard to be engaged when your brain keeps turning off) and decides to rub salt in the wound by pretending he's been acting as a surrogate father to Charlie. Now why Alastor decided to pick a fight with the king of hell is beyond me, I do not understand Alastor (and I LIKE IT) (maybe it's cuz Alastor thinks he's hot shit and was expecting Lucifer to at least have heard of him but Lucifer just treats him like a nobody? who knows)(why would Lucifer listen to radio anyways when he can't even pay attention to a conversation it'd just be white noise)

But yeah I just was expecting someone who oozed either charisma or presence and instead I got a depressed dad who's dissociating so bad he can barely function and be present in his life. The only thing it seems he CAN do is make rubber ducks cuz his daughter really liked it that one time

Idk Lucifer is tragic to me. Whatever the full details of what heavan did to him absolutely broke him and he can't deal with it. He's aware of it, and he doesn't know how to fix it, so he tries to over compensate and sorta makes an ass out of himself but no one says or does anything cuz this guy is supposed to be THE king of hell

Suddenly it's making a lot more sense why he just rolls over and lets heaven do what it wants and even told Charlie to go in his place the start of the show. He's not in any headspace to hold a basic conversation let alone negotiate! He didn't even know who Alastor was, he's been so out of touch

idk I like him, he seems sweet, I hope Charlie brings some light back into his life. He really needs to get out of that rubber duck room

[burningembers91]

On Display - The Salesman x Fem!Reader

Follow up piece to Freak of Nature

Synopsis: When you break your routine, the Salesman is forced to break his.

A/N: I'm still not sure how dark I want this to be. I mean, he's obviously certifiably insane, but I also want him to retain some likeability.

Warnings: 18+ only, The Salesman is a stalker, the MC has been crying.

Something was off. He sensed it the moment he sat down and spied the empty chair that was usually occupied by your perfect frame. You were never late, and today it was 4:08pm and you were nowhere to be seen. The muscles in his jaw tightened, his molars grinding together as his temples twitched. He didn’t like it when things didn’t go as expected. It was one of the reasons he liked you so much; you were predictable. He knew exactly where you’d be at all times, but today you’d thrown him off his schedule.

You always finished work at 3:30pm sharp. You took 15 minutes to have a catch up with your colleagues, 5 minutes to freshen up in the staff bathroom and then 10 minutes to walk from the school to the coffee house. He’d seen you through the staffroom window, had seen you smile as you spoke to your colleagues. Cursing himself, he adjusted his position on the park bench, smoothing down his grey blazer as he tried to abate his rising anger. He’d had such high hopes for you. You’d done everything exactly the way he'd wanted until today. Of course, you had no idea what it was that he wanted because you had no idea he existed, but that was the beauty of it. He could test you out from afar before deciding whether to approach you. You were so nearly perfect, but today you’d let him down.

He took another look at his watch: 4:11pm. He was a patient man, but even he had his limits. He knew you didn’t have any other plans today. The handy little tracker he’d implanted in your phone one day at the coffee house when you’d been in the bathroom gave him full access to your phone. Your diary was clear, as it always was on a weekday. So where were you? He checked again, staring at your blank calendar as seething rage consumed him. Why, why did you have to break your routine?

His hands began to shake, and he closed his eyes, taking deeps breaths as he counted to ten. Therapy hadn’t been a complete waste of time; he’d learned a few coping mechanisms to help when he felt himself losing control. There had to be an explanation for why you weren’t here. Something must have changed.

Reaching 10, he opened his eyes. And there you were. Your eyes were red, your makeup smudged with tears. You’d been crying. He’d never cried before, could never understand why people did. Nothing in life was worth crying over as far as he was concerned. But something had obviously upset you. Was it your boss? He knew from your work emails that he’d been giving you a hard time. Maybe he needed to pay the man a little visit…

He watched through the window as you dumped your belongings in your usual seat, haphazardly wiping your eyes with the backs of your hands, which only smudged your mascara more. You looked beautiful like this; so vulnerable and soft. He wondered what you sounded like when you cried, whether your sobs were soft and gentle, or whether your body wracked with the tears you shed. He hoped you weren’t an ugly crier; it would be such a shame if you were. He needed to get to the bottom of this, needed to find out who had done this to you.

Picking up his briefcase, he marched into the coffee house. He needed to be careful about how he approached you; the last thing he wanted to do was scare you off. Not after he’d worked so hard to learn everything about you. You were the next in line to order, and he slotted himself behind you with a quiet ease. This was the first time he’d been this close to you, so close he could touch you. The familiar scent of your perfume wrapped him in a comforting blanket. Of course, he’d tracked down the scent and bought himself a bottle, spraying it whenever he couldn’t be near you. You were shorter than him, as he’d expected, but perfect in absolutely every way. He chastised himself for the anger he’d felt for you earlier. Someone else had made you late, had made you cry, and whoever it was would pay.

“One latte please,” you said to the barista, your voice hoarse with tears. He clenched his fist at the sound of your voice, the usual melodic tones now scratchy and gruff. This wasn’t right, this wasn’t right at all. “Please.” He stepped forward without thinking, his default smile plastered to his face. “Let me pay.” You looked up at him, your red rimmed eyes filled with confusion. He watched you take in his appearance, watched the tip of your tongue dart out to wet your lips. He fought to control himself as he watched you, wondering how it would feel to for him to do it, to run his tongue over your lips before biting down until you moaned at him to stop.

He coughed, ridding the overly erotic image from his mind. He’d pictured you in a thousand positions, in a thousand different scenarios, but somehow the simple act of you licking your lips had put him into overdrive. He was struggling to concentrate, losing control of himself. He didn’t like to lose control.

“Thank you,” you finally said, your perfect eyes meeting his. “That’s very kind.” He smiled at you, brushing past you to pay for your coffee, adding his own order. The smell of your perfume was overwhelming, memories of long nights spent inhaling the scent he’d sprayed on his pillows as he pleasured himself to thoughts of you.

What was happening to him? He could feel his stomach dropping, feel a wave of nausea pass through him. Is this what panic felt like? “Would you like to join me?” you asked, taking your coffee from the barista. “Yes,” he managed to say, beads of sweat collecting on his forehead as he followed you and that damned perfume trail to the seat by the window. He was in over his head. He needed to get away.

“I’ve seen you before,” you said to him, as you sat down. “You like to sit on the bench.” You pointed to his usual vantage point, eyeing him curiously. “Yes,” he smiled, “I like to sit and watch the world go by.” He hadn’t realised you’d noticed him; you were always so engrossed in your work. There was that stomach dropping feeling again, but this time it was accompanied by the most delicious feeling, like his stomach was fizzing. His shirt felt too tight, his tie a little too snug around his neck. What the hell was happening to him? Was he losing his edge?

“You like to people watch?” you smiled, “so do I. It’s why I sit here. I find people fascinating.” He was trying to concentrate on what you were saying, but your mascara-streaked cheeks were such a distraction. He wanted to wipe them clean, to remove the inky black stains that spoiled your perfect skin. He wanted to lick away the tear streaks from your face, to tie you down and fuck you until the tears you cried were for him.

You watched him, maintained eye contact as you waited for him to speak. He was so lost in his thoughts that he couldn’t remember what you’d said. “You’ve been crying,” he observed instead. “Why?” You laughed nervously, wiping at your makeup-stained face. “Oh, just ex-boyfriends,” you laughed, “nothing serious.”

Nothing serious?! In all the meticulous research he’d done, there had been no mention of an ex-boyfriend. How serious had it been? Was he still in the picture? Evidently, he was, if he was still able to make you cry. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he managed to say, barely clinging to his polite persona. He wanted to tear this man apart, whoever he was. He wanted to make him feel agonising pain in every inch of his body. You were his, and his alone. He managed to maintain his composure for the rest of your chat, his mind drifting between your perfect features, thoughts of fucking you until you begged him to stop, and thoughts of ripping apart the man who had made you cry. The time was approaching 6:00pm. You’d be heading home soon, to cook some dinner and watch some Netflix, or read a book. He’d have to be content to watch you from the restaurant across the road, your figure outlined in your cream curtain against the soft glow of your lamps.

“You know,” you turned to him as you pulled your coat on, “you don’t have to watch me from the window. If you wanted to talk to me, you could just come and sit down.” You smiled slyly, and left the coffee house without a further word. Never in his life had he been left speechless. He thought he knew you, thought he had you all figured out. He’d spent months learning all there was to know about you. He knew the names of your parents, knew how much money you had in your bank account, knew the name of your first-grade teacher, but you’d blindsided him in a single sentence. You knew he’d been watching you at the coffee house. You knew and you chose to stay in that same spot and let him stare at you every day. You knew what you were doing when you sat in front of the window at 4:00pm each afternoon. You were enticing him. You wanted him to play with you. You put yourself on display for him.

As he followed you to your apartment, a good few meters apart so you didn’t catch on, he couldn’t help but smile. Maybe, just maybe, after all this time he’d finally met his match.

[bbokicidal]

Ooh, it's a bad habit. | SKZ [OT8]

synopsis: "Bad" habits the boys have in relationships + in general.

Genre: Fluff I guess? Pairing: OT8 x GN!Reader Warnings: Mentions of arguing but nothing depicted Notes: I just enjoy making these types of posts and I'm feeling inspired at 5 AM (YET AGAIN) so enjoy!~

Chan:

Does not answer text messages. Opens it, reads it, gets distracted, does not come back to it until either eight hours later or until you double text him. Hit his ass with the "????" and he'll apologize but otherwise he'll just "oh."

Leaves his little snack wrappers on the kitchen counters. If you don't get to them first, he'll clean them up when he goes into the kitchen next. He just forgets about it in the moment; Man likes his snackies.

Bites the skin around his nails so his cuticles are Lowkey HORRIBLE but if you get him on a cuticle oil that smells nice, he's gonna be like a bitch with a new lipgloss applying that shit every ten minutes.

Hums a lot. Not a bad habit but not the nicest when you're on a phone call and you can hear him humming next to you.

Cannot control his face. Even grows a habit of making certain faces at you when you're either arguing or talking about something he's uncertain about. It annoys you to no end and he tries to stop but fails every time.

Lino:

Doesn't answer, period. You can talk to him for almost five minutes about a subject and he won't hear a single thing because he's on his phone. Selective hearing, apparently.

Will not do something if he does not want to - which can be good, obviously he shouldn't do something if he doesn't feel like it - but when you've made plans and he doesn't want to go last minute it can be really frustrating. He's also incredibly stubborn when it comes to this, too.

Very irritable most of the time, especially after he's just woken up. He will snap if you pester him too much about something but at this point you've grown to understand it's just how he is. He never says anything mean, he never yells, it's just a light raise of his voice and something along the lines of, "Yes, okay! I'll get to it when I get to it!"

Glances at his watch way too fucking much. Man is constantly keeping track of the time - which leads to him complaining that he looked at his watch earlier and it said 4:50, looked at his watch two seconds ago and now it says 4:51.

Doesn't like being at events longer than he's supposed to be. If y'all have dinner with the group and he was ready to go home forty minutes ago, he's going to be pouting and rolling his eyes those entire forty minutes.

Changbin:

Talks with his mouth full. It's cute, because his cheeks pudge out and his lips are all pursed and pouty - but he does it a lot. Especially if someone argues with him while he's eating, he's gonna be pointing and yelling back and food's gonna be flying.

Not a bad habit but purses his lips and expects kisses from you. You know what it means now and always kiss him when you see him do it but at the beginning of your relationship it confused the hell out of you. Why was he making duck lips at you?

Crosses and uncrosses his legs like no other. Sometimes the man cannot sit still in his seat and the moment you notice it, it Lowkey drives you insane. But he also can't cross his legs at his thighs because they're thicker than Hell AND he's got a third leg in the middle so he's always just crossing his ankles and kicking his feet out.

Sitting forward/slouching. Changbin. Cannot. Sit. Up. Straight. ^ Going off the prompt above, he's literally always sitting forward with his elbows on his knees or sitting back in his seat and leaning. It's not horrible but sometimes if he's in interviews or going to award shows you have to remind him to sit up.

Toys with things that are sitting in front of him. He needs stimulation with his hands so if he's got his phone, he's turning it over in his hands; If he's sitting in front of a candle, he's waving his finger over the open flame like an idiot.

Hyunjin:

Picks at his nail polish. He always does the cutest designs and he knows you love when he paints his nails but five seconds later he's either biting at them when he gets anxious or he's picking at the polish until it chips off. He never gets good photos, either.

Chews on his drawing pencils, which is why he's always buying new art supplies. Luckily he gets gifted drawing utensils from a lot of brands he works with on Holidays and his birthday - but a lot of his pencils go to shit because he gnaws on them while he's thinking about his art piece.

Checks his phone a lot. He wants to see if he has messages from you so he's always peeking at his notifications in eager waiting, but if he's with you he's also checking his group chat notifications from he boys. It's not bad, but gets annoying on dates.

Leaves his clothes everywhere. His room is always messy with little piles of clothes and when you move in together, your shared room becomes the same way. He gets better about it when you get on his ass but up until then he's just throwing his shit everywhere.

Twirls his hair around his fingers. Not a bad habit but funny when you pick up on it. He's doing it all the time when he's listening in on conversations, and while he does it he's pursing his lips. Just a drama queen judging other drama queens.

Jisung:

Talks with his hands. He gets real flappy when he's arguing and bickering with people, and he's come real close to hitting you a few times when he stands up from the couch to argue with Hyunjin on the other end. He always apologizes but it'll never stop.

Rubs his eyes a lot, which you have to remind him is bad for 1) his skin, and 2) the company will yell at him. He's gotten better when he's wearing makeup because he doesn't want to mess it up but when he's at home he's always rubbing his face.

Stuttering/Stammering. Especially if you're bickering or you catch him off guard, he cannot get a damn comment out to save his life. He'll try, say the word four times wrong, and then stop to think and then completely lose the thought altogether.

Constantly apologizing. The man is apologizing for everything under the Sun; Being behind you when you move away from the fridge, bumping into you while you do laundry, saying sorry for cutting you off while talking. Most of the things are no big deals and it can get a little frustrating, but it's also a tad endearing.

His eyebrows do not have an off switch. They are always moving. He speaks with his hands, his mouth, and his eyebrows. Which ties into him, most of the time, not being able to control his expressions. Not that he wants to.

Felix:

Messy eating. Man needs like eight napkins when he's eating chicken wings, he fuckin' flies through them like crazy. He's the type that's got sauce all over his fingers, his mouth, staining his chin. He can't help it though and it is kind of cute. Just don't let him near too many finger foods.

Touches his hair all too much. Sometimes he complains his hair looks greasy or messed up and you have to remind him that every five minutes he's pushing it back with his hands - which is why it grows oily so fast. Always pushing it behind his ears, pulling it down over his forehead, touching the ends behind his neck.

Swears like a sailor. Bro has the biggest potty mouth in the group and cannot control it when he gets angry. Most used words are: Wank, Fuck, Shit, and Asshole.

Claps at everything. Not in the verbal way; He actually claps. He claps when he laughs, he claps when someone does something successfully, he claps when he's tired and ready to go to bed. Has a habit of clapping once before he starts talking, usually a "*clap* Alright, well -"

Winks. Wink, wink. Always winking at people. Not strangers, though - Just you and the guys, and on occasion a security guard escorting him through the airport. An eternal flirt who cannot help himself. A natural charmer.

Seungmin:

Rubs the tip of his index finger against the side of his thumb and subsequently gains a callus from it because he can't fucking stop. It doesn't really matter nor does it effect his daily life but it's a little annoying when he's playing guitar. But it also.. kind of.. helps.

Speaking of ^ Brings his guitar everywhere he can. If he is going somewhere and knows he'll have free time to practice or play, he's bringing it with even if it's taking up space in the car and people are tripping over it. That thing goes with him everywhere.

Has a very bad habit of standing and staring - except it's less staring and more glaring. He's not doing it on purpose, nor is he always mad - He just had a perfect RBF and can't help it. But he's always tipping his head down, his eyes are always dark, he's never smiling unless he's actively like - trying. He's just kind of scary. Scary guard dog.

Taps his foot a lot. Not annoying, not a hinderance - just a habit that ends up making his ankle and the top of his foot hurt because he is constantly doing it. It becomes a game though if you pick up on it - He'll tap his foot to a rhythm and you have to guess the song, which is a lot harder than you expect.

Sniffs. Sniffles. Sniffing everything. One of those people who, if he opens something new, sniffs it immediately - even if it isn't food or something that will smell good. Sniffs it anyways.

Jeongin:

Twists the rings he wears around his fingers. Most of them are higher quality and from fancy ass brands so it doesn't matter, but every once in a while he gets a slightly shittier ring and when he twists it, it turns his finger green. And then he ends up pouting while he tries to wash the stain out of his skin.

Constantly licking his lips but not in the way you're thinking. He does this thing specifically where he pushes the tip of his tongue into the corner of his lips while they're parted and then caresses it. With his tongue. He does it a lot and when you pick up on it, you stare every time he does it subconsciously because it is so sexy.

Pulls at his bottom lip when in heavier conversations. Not even heavy topics - just intense or interesting convos. They could be talking about aliens and if he's in deep and thinking about conspiracies and shit, he'll pulling at the skin of his lip. More of a thinking habit than anything but he ends up using tons of chapstick afterwards.

Sticks his tongue out when he gets scolded or complimented. Anytime a comment is directed at him, he sticks his tongue out briefly before smiling. It's more of a teasing habit because it riles the other members up and flusters you - so. He gets away with it.

Pulls childish moves during arguments; Pouts when you're angry with him for something, rolls hie eyes when he's frustrated, puffs his cheeks out when he's thinking of how to retaliate. And absolutely says "Ooh you wanna kiss me so bad!!" when the two of you are bickering.

Permanent Taglist :

@dwaekkicidal @possum-playground

@thatonedarkskinnedsiren @oc3anfloor @theyadorevalerie

@jeonginsleftcheek @pixie-felix @hwangjoanna

[badscienceman]

I saw someone ask what "I hope this hurts" means beyond the obvious, and I started to respond only for it to turn into an essay... Because I don't feel like dumping something so long in some unsuspecting person's notifs, I'm just going to post it here instead.

I started writing this after playing the game, but ended up watching a playthrough because I couldn't remember exactly where "I hope this hurts" was repeated. I think I caught the only few times it was mentioned, but I wouldn't be surprised if I missed something, so feel free to correct me on that or anything else I might have gotten wrong.

Spoilers for the full game and CWs for everything you would expect from discussing Mouthwashing apply.

Edited 10/16/2024 for clarity and some minor issues with formatting. I added sections in hopes of making it more readable, as well as a few more screenshots that I hope will support my points better. *Indicates where I made potentially significant additions to my original analysis.

Part One: Jimmy

Jimmy is someone who has a delicate ego. This means that he's very concerned with how he's perceived by those around him. We see this in how he responds to Curly and the news of the company's closure, which he takes it as a personal attack in spite of it very clearly having nothing to do with him on a personal level.

For people like Jimmy, a threat to one's image (whether it's a matter of their perception of themselves or, maybe worse, the perception others have of them) brings intense emotional pain. Even though it's clear that Curly meant no personal offense, and likely saw more good in Jimmy than was actually there, Jimmy sees this as a great threat to his own image, and thus identity.

To be clear, it's not just that Jimmy thinks Curly is looking down on him. It's also that Jimmy needs his role in the company to maintain his image, and he needs to eventually become captain. This is his ultimate goal because the respect and control that someone like Curly has, in Jimmy's mind, is tied to the title he possesses. And Jimmy wants that. He wants respect, he wants to be listened to, he wants power over others. (This is also why Swansea's final speech is so important, in relation to the belief that if one just reaches this next goal, they might feel a little more human, a little more in control, a little more fulfilled, but as Swansea shows us, that's just not the case. And it's true for Jimmy, too. Jimmy isn't magically fulfilled by obtaining the title of captain.)

But in the beginning, Jimmy has yet to realize that just getting the role of captain won't magically make him a man who is respected, or even a man who is truly in control. He sees no opportunities for himself on earth. The only option is to stay in this company and become a little lord of his own ship... and suddenly that's ripped out from under him. He will never reach the goal he's been chasing for all of this time.

Anya telling him about her pregnancy is the final push he needs to go over the edge.

Part Two: Captain

Returning to the initial reveal that the company is shutting down for a second, I think it's important to keep in mind a few things:

1. The importance of the title of captain in Jimmy's mind.

2. How this extends to his perception of Curly, him being the current captain.

3. Jimmy's self-centeredness preventing him from understanding the feelings and perceptions of those around him.

When Curly says what he does, Jimmy immediately jumps to the conclusion that Curly sees himself as above everyone else (and most importantly, as above Jimmy), to the point of considering them "dirt." I don't think Jimmy is just projecting his greatest fear (being seen as lesser) onto Curly. I think he's projecting his own perceptions.

He's placed all of this importance on the title of captain, and thus Curly. The captain is above Jimmy. Jimmy is beneath him, is lesser. And we know how Jimmy treats those he sees as lesser (first Anya, and then the rest of the crew once he's captain, *manipulating Daisuke into putting his life at risk because Daisuke, who is just an intern after all, just isn't important to Jimmy being an example).

I think this is a fair reading because Jimmy does something similar with Swansea when he insists that Swansea is keeping the last cryostasis pod for himself. I understand some might say that this is just Jimmy's attempt to manipulate Daisuke and Jimmy doesn't actually believe it, which is a fair interpretation, but I sincerely think he believes what he's saying in this instance. And I think that because Jimmy sees selfishness as common sense. It's what he would do were he in Swansea's position, and what makes him giving the pod to Curly significant.

Part Three: Anya

So, Jimmy is already hurt and panicking. He sees his chance at power and thus fulfillment slipping away. And then Anya tells him that she's pregnant.

Anya, who he has shown time and time again that he thinks little of.

Anya, who he clearly sees as beneath him.

Any mention of the pregnancy, no matter how gently it was worded, would immediately feel like a threat to him on multiple levels. And not only that, but a threat from someone lesser than him. His image, his status, his control, his power—it's already slipping from his fingertips. *It's happening right then, in that moment. It's not just a potential future where he's held accountable in a real way (maybe if Anya involved authorities, or if Jimmy was legally responsible for supporting a child once they returned to earth). It's happening now, because his image is crumbling.

For this reason, I believe I hope this hurts to be directed at anyone and everyone that he sees as "threatening" him.

Anya and Curly have made him hurt. He wants to make them hurt.

He doesn't care about Daisuke and Swansea. If anything, he's so caught up in himself and this contorted vision of reality, I wouldn't be shocked if he convinced himself in the moment that they, too, were looking down on him for some reason. (See again, "I know what everyone is thinking. The way they look at me." Obviously this is said in the midst of his spiral, after the crash, but I wouldn't doubt the paranoia was there before that moment.)

He wants to make them hurt as they've hurt him. He may also want to make himself hurt in order to vent out his emotional pain. If not, death may simply be the easiest way to escape pain and the threat the future holds in his mind.

*Part Four: Without the Guilt

In addition to all of this, I think crashing the ship (making them hurt) is his vision of what Curly has done or is doing to him. This is how he "leave(s) the dirt behind."

To understand this, I'm going to include the birthday conversation and the conversation between Jimmy and Curly about crashing the ship.

Jimmy: ... So I guess you got what you wanted. Without the guilt. Curly: Jim... If I had known... Jimmy: I can go back to my, how'd you put it? "Struggle of a life?" Jimmy: Anya never got into medical school because she's... well, let's be real. Jimmy: And how many employment years Swansea got left in him? Jimmy: Daisuke will be fine, mommy and daddy have him covered. So there's that at least. Jimmy: But you. Headed for bigger and better, right? Curly: I'm just... I'm just working on my life being a place I don't have to fucking escape! That's what I was trying to tell you, nothing mor- Jimmy: We're the ones you're trying to escape! Leave the dirt behind now that your boots are clean! Curly: That's not what I meant. Jimmy: It is what you meant. Jimmy: You just couldn't frame it to yourself in a way that kept you as the hero. Jimmy: Abandon the crew but remain the model captain.

To me, this is one of the most important and revealing sections of the game. Jimmy is not only projecting onto Curly, he's telling us exactly what he's going to go on to do (or attempt to do) when he becomes captain.

In addition to this, we see his manipulation on full display as he twists Curly's words and won't allow him even a moment to truly speak beyond a few lines he manages to get in between Jimmy's ranting.

That's not to mention we see the beginning of yet another pattern in Jimmy's behavior: getting a person to admit their weakness, then using it against them and/or using it to hurt them (he does this with Daisuke, for example, when he hears Daisuke's fears/desire for approval and proceeds to use it to get Daisuke in the vent). Here, Curly speaks about feeling trapped. Jimmy will soon trap him in a crashed ship just as much as he traps him in his own body, which Jimmy will proceed to drug. But I'll return to that.

Curly: Jim. I can fix this. Jimmy: What do you think will happen when we get back? Hm? Curly: We can figure all of this out. You and me. Take care of it. Kills ninety nine percent. Jimmy: All I ever hear is how great of a leader you are. God, it's so annoying. Jimmy: But, now... What do you think will happen now when we get back? Curly: We'll fix this together. Jimmy: Everything you and I worked for in our lives. Accomplishments, changes. Jimmy: None of it will matter. Curly: You've gotten through difficult situations before. This time won't be any different. Work through it, one day at a time. Jimmy: It's not just me, is it? Jimmy: You were supposed to be the one who had everything under control. You said so yourself. Jimmy: The ship, this crew, everything that happened here... Jimmy: This was your responsibility, Captain. Jimmy: That is what you'll be hearing the rest of your life. Take responsibility. Jimmy: Or this can all be remembered as a tragedy. Jimmy: Despite what must have been the best efforts of its acclaimed captain. Jimmy: The Tulpar crew was never found. Jimmy: No one survived to tell the tale. Take responsibility. Jimmy: You're standing at the top. Jimmy: Feet in cement. Jimmy: I get it now. Right? Curly: ... Curly: ... Right.

This is an important moment, because aside from the scene in which Jimmy is approaching Curly while he's on fire, it's the only other time that I can recall the game separating from their perspectives to allow us to see them both, standing together.

We see a flash of Take care of it. Kills ninety nine percent. Jimmy begins to pull away. Another flash. He continues to draw back. Another. He turns towards the cockpit.

Jimmy sees through Curly. He sees Curly's worst where Curly sees only Jimmy's best, and he's more that willing to use that against Curly.

He sees a man who is not going to do what's hard. He sees a man who is going to try to "fix it" only in the most superficial sense. A man who confuses the appearance of cohesion and peace with the reality of it. Someone who sees the rocking of the boat as a manifestation of taking action against a wrong rather than the wrong itself.

In the end, it seems they're both ruled by appearances. And Jimmy will soon rip appearances in every sense from Curly's fingertips. He will make him hurt. He will get his revenge. He'll turn Curly into the villain, taking away his title, his respect, and his very face.

For daring to look down on him, Jimmy will turn Curly into dust.

But I think these words—I hope it hurts—come back to haunt him.

Part Five: The Eye as a Mirror

Like I said, I went back to try to find each time the phrase is used. There's the beginning, of course, but then there's the pregnancy sequence, for lack of a better name.

When the Polle monstrosity emerges from the giant uterus (?), we see these words:

In this sequence, we see a lot of different images and concepts connected: Anya's pregnancy and thus her sexual assault by Jimmy are tied to Polle and the company. The emergence of the Polle monster from the giant uterus (and the idea of the removal of the pregnancy) is tied to the mouthwash, as it's an act of "cleansing." This is all then tied to the phrase I hope this hurts.

Unless I missed something, these are the only two moments when the phrase is used: When Jimmy crashes the ship, and when he's experiencing this hallucination.

All clean! Really gets rid of that bad taste in your mouth, huh? Through wreckage! Through silence! Wash it away! All day fire fresh!

"Clean" is important immediately. "Leave the dirt behind you now that your boots are clean," Jimmy says. Because in this accusation is Jimmy's actual intentions himself. He wants to rise above others and clean himself from their filth. Now, he wants to clean himself of his sins.

I think "Really gets rid of that bad taste in your mouth" is mocking him. A direct challenge to the thought that he could ever truly be "cleaned," at least in the ways he's so desperately trying to go about it. *Not to mention how this connects to the mouthwash, as it might get that 99%, but there's always going to be 1% left.

"Through wreckage" obviously refers to the wrecking of the ship, but also of their lives. All by Jimmy. Though I wouldn't doubt in his mind it connects to the wreckage of consequences (ie. Anya's pregnancy resulting from Jimmy's actions).

"Through silence" I feel connects back to Jimmy's attempts to keep everything quiet, both literally and figuratively.

"Wash it away" also has a mocking edge, as if stressing the foolishness of Jimmy's attempts to treat these very serious events as if it's all just "dirt" he can wipe off.

Finally, we see "All day fire fresh!" This line stresses the connection to the mouthwash, of course. It also calls to mind the concept of cleansing by fire. Important considering Curly.

And after each, I hope it hurts. Jimmy's statement of pure, childish rage. His desperate desire to make others hurt as he hurts. To lash out, to get revenge. To have control until the very end.

This is also why Polle haunts him. Because he, as a man desperate for control, will always be under the thumb of the company even with that title of captain. That hurts him. And maybe the closest thing to ever recognizing the evil he's done to Anya is envisioning it as similar to the company's control, but even that feels like a mockery because he's so horrifically incapable of seeing her as a human being that she's been reduced to her womb. That's what he's really afraid of, in the end, and the fear feels like something else is in control. It makes the organ feel giant, larger than him, capable of hurting him.

When I was watching the playthrough, I thought that there was going to be four or five "I hope it hurts." I thought it would represent each person Jimmy hurts, or all of them, because he hurts himself too. When the sixth came, I thought so much for that theory. But then, I thought about it and there's the fetus. That makes six.

So, I hope this hurts means "I want to hurt you the way I've been hurt. The way you've hurt me." It's Jimmy saying that if his life has been wrecked, he'll wreck yours. It's Jimmy saying he'll shut you up. It's Jimmy saying he'll burn everything down if it means he can maintain control, or even just the illusion of it.

Part Six: Pain

But I think there's another side to this. Like some of the other lines I said feel are mocking him, I think I hope this hurts turns against Jimmy, especially here. And more than that, pain (and by extension, pain medication) plays a massive role in the game, after all. So I hope this hurts feels as if it haunts every moment where it's involved.

Jimmy says this the first time he gives Curly his pills. Pain is how we know we're still living.

The pills are clearly connected to death from the start. If "pain is how we know we're still living" then pain is connected to life and freedom from it is connected to death. That's saying nothing of Anya's use of the pills to kill herself. I think this connects back to the crash, as well. If life is pain, death is an escape from it.

I think it's also significant that the act of swallowing the pain pills is in and of itself painful.

The pills that are meant to take the pain away become a method of torturing Curly. It's a way to make him hurt, and to exert control over him. Even something that should take away his suffering is just an extension of it.

At one point, Jimmy says "Once these are out, we'll have nothing to keep him quiet." In this sense, the pain pills are meant to suppress, not to heal (Through silence!). They're supposed to shut Curly up and keep him from expressing his anguish in the only way he has left (the noises that disturb Jimmy's sleep).

Others have compared this, or Curly's state, to how Anya has been forced to bottle up her own suffering. Jimmy is keeping them both quiet, or at least attempting to. The ultimate form of keeping them quiet would be to, of course, kill them all.

The pills can also be seen as an attempt to hide or conceal the hurt that has been caused rather than to actually heal. In this way, they're like the mouthwash: something that's not really helping, just covering up an issue (and thus making it worse). And the mouthwash represents Jimmy's attempts to "fix" things. He doesn't actually want to make things right, because that would mean taking accountability. He wants to protect his own ego by "fixing" things in a mimicry of Curly "fixing" things in which he wants to create a sense of "rightness" without actually adressing what (or who) has been wronged. Jimmy can't stand to look at himself, because he would see that he really is constructed of his worst moments, or at least, that's what I suspect he would see.

Conclusion

Considering all of this, I hope this hurts can then become a mantra about living in spite of everything. I hope this hurts means "I hope I'm alive in the end. I hope we're all alive in the end." It could mean "I hope I'm allowed to hurt, because I am hurt, and the harm that's been done to me must be seen rather than suppressed and hidden." It could mean "You can't keep me quiet. You can't ignore or hide what you've done to me."

Maybe most of all, I think it means I hope you reap what you sow. When it's turned back on Jimmy, when it's almost mocking or haunting him, it becomes in part about his emotional weakness. About his inability to look at himself and his reality without experiencing the pain of humiliation. I don't think he ever experiences half of the pain he's inflicted on those around him. Still, he has to deal with the fact that his attempt to hurt others instead of facing himself has caused him more pain rather than taken it away as he'd hoped.

And I think that's why he suddenly decides to make Curly a "hero" instead of a "villain." There's a tipping point where he's pushed into a corner. The pain is too much. He hasn't confronted his own actions in any real way, but he's done enough that he can't stand to save himself anymore. It hurts too badly to live with what he's done. It sends him into another stage of fantasy/delusion. The only thing left to do is what he intended to from the start: kill himself to escape and damn Curly to a slow death. Because to go on living in spite of the pain would be the right thing to do, in a sense. To live in the hell of his own creation. To face what he's done. But instead, he'll entrust those heroics to Curly.

This feels barely coherent in the end, so I might come back in a few days and say wow what the fuck was I talking about? But hopefully there's something here that captures some truth. Again, please feel free to correct me if I'm misremembering anything or if I missed something.

[jinmindeulle]

love next door | kwon soonyoung

The soft knock on your door instantly made you smile. You didn’t even have to check through the peephole to know who it was.

“Oh, hi Soonyoung” you tucked the strand of hair that bothered your sight.

“Hi y/n” He returns the smile and looks at his feet for a second before continuing with his daily mission “I was wondering…”

“Let me guess” you leaned on the doorframe, crossing your arms over your chest. “Is there a new Japanese restaurant you wanna try out?”

“Nope.” he shook his head eagerly.

“A new game you wanna play?” 

“I tried it yesterday and it sucked, so no” Soonyoung made a face, showing his disappointment.

“You saved me from boredom” you giggled “Then… movie night?”

“Have you watched Sonic 3?” the shine in his eyes, and the hopeful tone he used to ask you the question made you decide almost immediately that you had to lie to him. 

“I have been wanting to!” you nodded, thanking your past self for not having uploaded any picture of all the ones you took when you went to the movie premiere with your co-worker and bestie. 

When he extended his hand your way, inviting you to walk a few meters to his own apartment, you chuckled, “Give me a sec”

You went back inside to get your keys and phone, and as soon as you locked your apartment door, Soonyoung took your hand and interlaced your fingers. “Do you wanna order?”

“You choose”

As much as you were used to his impromptu dates — which were never called that, at least as of now — he never failed to impress you. His living-room was already set with dim lights and the couch was full of pillows and fluffy blankets. 

You gave a cute whine when you saw your favorite plushie already waiting for you on ‘your side’ of the couch. “My Cinnamoroll!”

“He has been waiting for you for a long time”

His soft smile and the way he caressed your fingers with his without letting go had you entranced. All those little details, how he just knocked your door with a different idea on how to spend time together, even though you had barely held hands for three whole months — you just knew he was the one. 

So when you leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to his lips, the shocked face he gave you was the one you were expecting. He had always been cautious, respecting boundaries that you hadn't even set, and in response, he would never have dared to kiss you.

 “Wh-wha… I-I'm… what?” 

“Sorry for keeping you waiting” you giggled feeling your cheeks heating up. You were brave, but that didn’t mean you weren’t shy.

“I didn’t- I never e-expected t-this” his surprise slowly morphed into a bashful smile, and he suddenly seemed to understand that he was allowed to kiss you back “Oh” 

“Yeah” you chuckled, “Please kiss me or I’ll think you have been taking me out for months just because you didn’t have anyone else to do all those things with”

“Bullshit” 

Soonyoung liked challenges, and he also liked you. So kissing you was not something you would have to ask him to do from now on. Because he had been waiting to do that ever since you moved into his building — just steps away from him. 

¸.·✩·.¸¸.·¯⍣✩ seventeen masterlist ✩⍣¯·.¸¸.·✩·.¸

[fluffyk97]

Sonic 3 spoiler rambling about Sonic and Shadow under cut !

Y'know something that I feel might go lil under-appreciated is how well they made Sonic and Shadow mirror each other in the movie.

Like something that always can easily irk me are people boasting one of the two over the other because from the very beginning of his introduction to the series, Shadow's character is meant to reflect Sonic. They're meant to be equals that are so similar and complete opposites at the same time.

With the movie, I honestly wasn't expecting it that much. Sonic actually has a backstory that is just like Shadow's: powerful little hedgehog that is wanted for his power, so the one he's known his whole small life that he loves sacrifices herself to save him.

I fr fully expected Sonic to learn about Maria and be like "I lost Longclaw, I know you're pain, but-" blah blah blah- BUT they don't do that??

Of course, we have Commander Walters first telling Sonic that Shadow's story is a lot like his but wasn't able to find family and friends, and Sonic does find Shadow had a family from finding a picture of him and Maria together. He never gets told what happened exactly though, although it wouldn't make too much of a difference with the fact they did change up Shadow losing Maria just a little bit.

Since they didn't live up in space, Maria didn't have a capsule to send Shadow off with sacrificing herself and instead they made it an accident. WHICH- can be understandable if people don't like that, however personally I don't mind it that much because honestly the intent to shoot Maria was there, but she ended up being lost from an accident caused by Walters.

Which, ties in to Shadow hurting Tom...

Walters in trying to help save Maria's, Shadow's and Gerald's lives unfortunately led to Maria's death and watching Shadow be put in stasis for 50 years where all he thinks about is that painful memory burned fresh in his head. So of course when Shadow sees Tom disguised as Walters, he takes his anger out on him by hurting him while also stealing the key for the ARK. Leading to unfortunately another scenario of where the intent of harm is there, but someone still got hurt from an accident because Shadow never really meant to hurt Tom. But he does anyway..

Which of course in turn, makes Sonic mad just like Shadow was 50 years ago. Only difference is Sonic doesn't get immediately captured by GUN and forced into stasis. Letting him able to go straight to Shadow afterwards for hurting his family.

We have Shadow take note of all of that himself, telling Sonic he's feeling exactly the pain he felt and Sonic being the one to say "I'm nothing like you!". Just like how I thought Sonic would tell Shadow about Longclaw in hopes of redeeming him, but reversed and both sides full of anger and grief.

One awesome super fight later though, we come to the talk on the moon. Probably my favorite part in the whole movie. outside of the super fights and Live and Learn playing lol

After mentioning Tom and getting uppercutted straight to the moon by Sonic, Shadow loses his super form, leaving him vulnerable, easy for Sonic to take his revenge on him. Only for all of that to be stopped because of Shadow pointing at his own chest which reminds Sonic what Tom told him at the beginning of the movie and calm down.

"You didn't let pain change who you are."

This completely baffles Shadow, with him actually wanting Sonic to finish it, but of course Sonic just refuses saying "No one wins with revenge". It just leaves silence between them, finally giving Shadow his own moment of remembering Maria outside of her death by looking at the stars he used to gaze upon with her.

He mentions it to Sonic how all he knew and felt was just the pain, and now finally- FINALLY, Sonic mentions how he shares that feeling of loss from Longclaw. Not in a moment of trying to just redeem Shadow without the full weight of it, but in a moment of understanding.

A strong moment of these two looking at each other in a mirror, eye to eye. Sonic, who was allowed to grieve all those years ago after losing Longclaw, telling Shadow the pain of loss will never go away, but the love will always remain.

"The light shines, even though the star is gone."

And through that shared pain and loss, now coupled with empathy and understanding one another through it. They truly connect.

Sonic and Shadow's dynamic was just done SO WELL in the movie and I couldn't be happier with it...

[literaryvein-reblogs]

How do I write mean insults that's in character for a character to say? I'm personally poor at coming up with insults that don't sound generic or would actually cut deep, being mean in general. I want to write a snarky character with a dry sense of humour when it calls for it but don't know how to go about it.

He's also recovering from a superiority and inferiority complex.

As the writer, you know your character best, and what insults would make sense for them to say (also considering the bigger context of the scene). So, I'll just provide you with a compilation of prompts and notes from different sources, and you can choose which ones are most appropriate to incorporate in your story.

Writing Notes: Insults & Dry Humor

A List of "Sophisticated" Insults

Craven - having or showing a complete lack of courage; very cowardly

Fatuous - silly or stupid; complacently or inanely foolish. From Latin infatuate, which once meant "to make foolish," but which now usually means "to inspire with foolish love or admiration."

Insipid - not interesting or exciting; dull or boring

Obstreperous - difficult to control and often noisy

Obtuse - stupid or unintelligent; not able to think clearly or to understand what is obvious or simple

Pusillanimous - weak and afraid of danger. It's been used by such notables as Ralph Waldo Emerson ("It is a pusillanimous desertion of our work to gaze after our neighbours"), and the disgraced Vice-President Spiro Agnew, who called journalists "pusillanimous pussyfooters."

Sanctimonious - pretending to be morally better than other people. It once meant "possessing sanctity; holy, sacred." The genuinely holy aspect faded, and William Shakespeare is credited with first using sanctimonious to mean "hypocritically pious or devout."

Twee - sweet or cute in a way that is silly or sentimental. Just as buddy is believed to be a baby talk alteration of "brother", twee is a baby talk alteration of "sweet". Although twee is still considered a chiefly British term, it's increasingly popular in American English.

Unctuous - revealing or marked by a smug, ingratiating, and false earnestness or spirituality. Unction can mean "anointment" or it can name something used to anoint, such as a soothing or lubricating oil. That idea of oiliness led to unctuous, which can describe the slickness of false sincerity.

Vacuous - having or showing a lack of intelligence or serious thought; lacking meaning, importance, or substance

The insult would also depend on which other character it is directed at. Here is a list of "funny" insults for adults from Reader's Digest:

My days of not taking you seriously have come to a middle.

You are the human equivalent of a participation trophy.

If you were a spice, you’d be flour.

You may have a sparsely attended funeral.

I smell something burning. Are you trying to think again?

You’re like a lighthouse in a desert: bright but not very useful.

Don’t worry—the first 30 years of childhood are always the hardest.

May your life be as pleasant as you are.

You’re as useless as the “ueue” in “queue.”

Your face is just fine. It’s your personality that’s the issue.

...and for your character's significant other:

I like you. People say I have no taste, but I like you.

You continue to meet my expectations.

I’ll never forget the first time we met. But I’ll keep trying.

If genius skips a generation, our kids will be brilliant.

We were happily married for a month. Too bad it’s our 10-year anniversary.

I admire the way you try so hard.

You’re entitled to your incorrect opinion.

Have you tried doing it the way I told you to the first time?

The best part of watching a show with you is when you fall asleep because then I can watch my show.

Don’t call me crazy—you’re the one who married me!

You can always alter these to better suit your character. You can read the full list here, which also includes some insults for kids, best friends, and family.

Tips for Better Humor Writing

Humor writing isn’t all about landing a good joke (except for when it is). In creative writing, the effect is usually a bit more nuanced. Here’s a few writing techniques to get you started:

Subvert expectations. Try to undermine the audience’s expectations or reform them with structural elements.

Save the best for last. Humor is often a release of tension, so the sentence builds that tension, and the pay-off—the punchline—happens most naturally at the end. This is also sometimes referred to as the “rule of three,” where two thoughts act as a build-up to the final humorous closer.

Use contrast. Are your characters in a terrifying situation? Add something light, like a man obsessing about his briefcase instead of the T-Rex looming behind him.

Use good wordplay. Sometimes words themselves are funny, and just as often, their placement in a sentence can make a difference. Some words are just funnier than others, so make a list of those that amuse you the most.

Take advantage of cliché. While clichés are something most writers try to avoid, it’s important to recognize them,so you can use them to your advantage. Humor relies in part on twisting a cliché—transforming or undermining it. You do this by setting up an expectation based on the cliché and then providing a surprise outcome. In humor writing, this process is called reforming.

Use humor as a counterbalance. If you just pile on one terrible thing after another, it starts to become ridiculous, and people won’t buy it. Using humor is a great way to achieve the proper balance between fantasy and real life. Remember, if a roller coaster only did twists and turns the whole time, it wouldn’t be as fun to ride.

Level of Intensity

There are people who shrug off an insult (“That’s just the way she is”) and people who commit murder over an insult (“I’m avenging my honor!”). Plus, of course, everything in between. Which is your character?

To be believable, consider the following:

Personality. How hard does your character take events in general? Does s/he get really excited over good fortune and really depressed over setbacks? Then we’ll find it believable that s/he gets really angry and reacts accordingly.

The second cause of an intense reaction is the nature of the specific fight that you’re creating on the page. Lily Owens lets most of her father’s insults go by (“the art of survival”). But when he starts in about her mother, the topic is too important to Lily to gloss over. Lily’s reaction is intense. She runs away. Another type of character might merely have seethed silently. Still another might have fought T. Ray more intensively, setting fire to the house with him inside.

Finally, the strength of fights is culturally determined. Where public or even private scenes are disapproved of (upper-class London, old-money Boston, “well-behaved” families), arguments may be muted, even when the subject matters a great deal. In other cultures, volatility is not frowned on, and people may feel free to scream at each other in public. In extreme cases, murder may even be considered a duty, as in avenging a sister’s sexual assault.

Where is your story taking place? Are your arguers in tune with local or family culture? Maybe not. You can create interesting effects by portraying the rebels against the local mores: the meek child born into a battling family, the furious feminist in polite 19th-century English society.

On Dry Humor

Dry humor - is all about the subtle irony of the facts being stated plainly; it is the contrast between sentiment and reality that makes the situation funny.

The technique is known for its simple, often matter-of-fact declarations that will make the audience laugh or be perplexed (humor is subjective, after all).

With dry humor, delivery and intention create a sort of comedic cognitive dissonance or contrast. Sometimes it is as simple as using a bit of sarcasm, but it can also be more than that.

Dry humor lives and dies on the back of doing less.

Less facial expressions, less props, less setup—less is often more when it comes to landing the joke. You aren’t using a big, dramatic setup or a grandiose vocabulary to make your point.

Essentially, these jokes are derived from saying the opposite of what is meant or delivering them in a way that purposefully counteracts the supposed meaning of what is being said.

Dry Humor in Writing

The function of dry humor has often been to highlight the absurd.

It is effectively executed in moments where satirization of the circumstances at play require little more than noting the facts aloud.

When writing this sort of humor, quick, cutting accuracy is key to making the jokes land.

Simplicity is king, and an honest statement of the facts will always lead the way to finding the funny.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 ⚜ More: References ⚜ Humour ⚜ Laughter & Humour

Hope this helps with your writing!

[ssa-dado]

16 - Sapphire

Aaron Hotchner x fem!teacher!reader Genre: fluff, but mostly whump and angst Summary: Hotch loses a significant bet to you, which triggers a visit to your apartment, where he is joined by his family. While there, Hotch picks up on your relaxed demeanor and her strong connection with his son, Jack. However, he also notices the absence of her engagement ring, leading to a deep conversation about your true desires and the life you're building with your fiancé, Peter. Warnings: heartbreak, mentions of CM cases (2X12, 2X15, 2X23)... why it’s always whumptober in this blog and never kinktober? Kind of unfair Word Count: 10.5k Dado's Corner: I'm so sorry. Feel free to send hate in my inbox or in the comments, I truly deserve it this time. @c-losur3 sorry for turning one of our brainstorming sessions in such a nightmare.

masterlist

That was the very first time Hotch had ever lost a bet against you… and it wasn’t even close. 

You had finished the paperwork with time to spare, working steadily even in your own home office, while he was left scrambling to catch up. Over the years, the two of you had built a history of small wagers and playful bets, and though they never held any real stakes, this one was different. This one mattered more than any before. 

It wasn’t about solving a case, or testing each other with some trivial challenge to see who could push themselves further. This time, it was about something deeper. For Hotch, it was about holding on, about keeping you close in a way that felt necessary, almost vital. The fear of losing you again, of watching you slip out of his life like you had once before, still lingered.

And it was about the electricity between you - the undeniable chemistry, the way you seemed to spark off one another when you worked together. He missed that energy, that connection that felt so natural, like you were in perfect sync. 

He needed to win. 

But he hadn’t.

Now, as Jack’s cries filled the car on the way to your apartment, the weight of that loss settled on Aaron, heavier than he expected. His hands gripped the steering wheel a little tighter, his jaw clenched in frustration. Haley, sitting next to him in the passenger seat, glanced back at Jack, her brow furrowed in concern. Jack’s wails were louder now, and every minute that passed seemed to make them sharper, more strained.

“Aaron,” Haley began, her voice calm but firm, “maybe we should cancel. Jack’s been upset all evening, and I don’t want to overwhelm him, or her.”

Aaron shook his head, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. "No," he muttered, quieter than usual, almost as if he were trying to convince himself. "She insisted. She already has everything prepared, and I need to pick up those reports anyway."

Haley’s lips pressed into a thin line, unconvinced, but she let it go. She knew better than to push when Aaron was like this - focused, determined. "If you’re sure…" she murmured, though her eyes lingered on Jack, who was still squirming uncomfortably in his car seat, as the rest of the drive passed in tense silence, broken only by Jack’s occasional hiccuping sobs.

By the time they reached your apartment building, Jack’s cries had escalated to full-blown sobs. Haley cast him one last pleading look, her expression full of concern. “Aaron, really. We don’t have to do this tonight.”

But Aaron wasn’t ready to turn back. "No," he said firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument. "It’s going to be okay. She’ll understand."

Haley sighed softly, holding back her reply as Aaron lifted Jack from the car seat, gently cradling him against his chest. Jack’s small fists clutched at the fabric of Aaron’s shirt, his tear-streaked face flushed from crying. He bounced him lightly, whispering soothing words, but the child remained restless.

As they approached the door, Aaron could hear your voice drifting through the hallway, warm and light as you called out to Peter. “Hun, could you grab the door, please? They should be here any minute!”

When Peter swung the door open, his usual flamboyant confidence softened in deference to Jack’s distress. He greeted Aaron with an easy smile and a firm pat on the shoulder. "Aaron, my man. And Haley, it’s so good to finally see you again," he said, his grin widening as he took her in. "You’re even more beautiful than I remember. Motherhood clearly made you glow even more."

Haley smiled warmly at him, her eyes crinkling at the compliment. "Thank you, Peter. Always the charmer. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?"

Peter’s gaze shifted to Jack, who was still fussing in his father’s arms. His expression softened with sympathy. "And this little guy must be Jack. Poor thing. Rough night, huh?"

"Yeah," Aaron replied, his voice heavy with worry as he bounced Jack gently. "He’s been restless all evening."

Peter stepped aside, waving them into the apartment. "Come on in, make yourselves comfortable. She’s just in the kitchen, pulling the focaccia out of the oven."

The moment they crossed the threshold, the rich, savory scent of freshly baked focaccia enveloped them – rosemary and olive oil mingling in the warm air. The apartment had an undeniable coziness, from the soft hum of classic rock music playing in the background. It was definetely a stark contrast to the high-pressure atmosphere of the BAU. Everything here felt softer, more lived-in, more… home.

Before Aaron could fully absorb the warmth of your cozy apartment, you appeared in the doorway like a quiet breath of ease, your presence soft and effortless. An apron hugged your waist, and oven mitts dangled from your hands, tangible proof of the care you’d woven into the evening.

Your hair, usually held in careful precision, was loosely gathered in a low ponytail, yet a few rebellious curls had slipped free, framing your flushed cheeks like gentle whispers of imperfection, stirred by the heat of the oven. Those small, defiant tendrils danced against your need for control, quiet reminders that not everything needed to be perfectly in place to feel right.

A faint dusting of flour trailed up your arm, adding to the charm of the scene, as if this place - this life - was made for comfort, for easing the burdens of the world outside.

The moment your eyes found them, your entire face lit up with a warm, welcoming smile, one filled with genuine happiness at seeing them.

It was the kind of smile that could make anyone feel at home, and after the long, tense evening, you were exactly the kind of comfort they all needed.

"Aaron, Haley! You made it!" you said brightly, hurrying over to greet them, still wearing the apron tied at your waist. "I’m so glad you’re here. Sorry, I’m a bit of a mess, been running around getting everything ready."

Aaron found himself momentarily caught off guard, taking in this unexpected side of you. You looked different - more relaxed, more at ease, and there was a warmth about you that felt… disarming. It was a side of you he wasn’t used to seeing, and for a moment, he didn’t know how to respond.

Before Aaron could say anything, Jack let out a soft whimper, and your attention immediately shifted to him. You stepped closer, your expression softening as you knelt down to his eye level, your voice warm and soothing. "Hey there, Jack," you murmured gently, the soft lighting around you adding to the calmness in your tone. "What’s going on, little guy? What’s got you so upset?"

Jack’s sniffling continued, his tiny fists clutching his stuffed pine marten tightly, his wide, teary eyes staring up at you. For a moment, it seemed like he might burst into fresh sobs, but then something shifted.

The moment he heard your voice, his breathing slowed, his cries softened. His wide gaze remained fixed on you, and Aaron could feel the change, too - he could feel the tension slowly melting away from Jack’s little body as he began to calm down.

You smiled softly at Jack, your touch featherlight as you gently brushed your fingers over the plush toy in his hands. "Oh, the kuna," you said with a soft chuckle, glancing up at Aaron with a teasing glint in your eyes. "You weren’t kidding when you told me this was his best friend, huh?"

Aaron let out a deep breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, the weight of the evening’s stress finally beginning to lift. Jack’s tears had stopped, his body visibly more relaxed in his arms. He offered you a small, grateful smile. “Yeah,” he said, his voice filled with a mix of relief and exhaustion. "He doesn’t go anywhere without it."

Haley, standing off to the side, watched the scene unfold with wide eyes, her surprise evident as she took in how quickly Jack had settled in your presence. "Wow," she breathed, her voice low, almost in disbelief. "I’ve never seen him calm down that fast… not with anyone but Aaron."

Jack, now much calmer, gazed up at you with wide, curious eyes, his small body melting fully against Aaron’s chest. His tight grip on his father’s shirt loosened, his fingers relaxing around the kuna. You reached out gently, wiping away the last of his stray tears with a tender touch, your smile comforting and soft. “There we go, little guy,” you whispered. “All better now, huh?”

Peter, who had been leaning casually against the doorway, watching the interaction unfold with a knowing smile, let out a low whistle, clearly impressed. "You’ve got the magic touch, babe," he said, a teasing note in his voice, though the admiration in his eyes was real.

Peter crossed his arms, shooting Aaron a meaningful glance, his eyebrows raised. "Didn’t I tell you? She has a gift with kids."

Aaron, still processing how quickly Jack had settled down, offered a brief, tight smile, nodding slightly as his gaze flickered between you and Peter. Before he could respond, Peter’s expression softened, and he turned back to you with a more sincere smile. "You’d be such a good mom," he added, his voice full of affection.

For a moment, the comment hung in the air. You hesitated, the briefest flicker of emotion crossing your face before you waved it off with a casual smile. "Thanks, Peter," you said lightly, though there was a slight tremor in your smile that Aaron didn’t miss. “But let’s not get ahead of ourselves, okay?”

Peter chuckled softly, though the warmth behind his teasing was unmistakable. “Yeah, yeah,” he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I’m just saying what we’re all thinking.”

With that, the evening eased into a rhythm that felt unexpectedly comfortable. Dinner was light and full of conversation, the kind that once flowed effortlessly between you and Hotch when you worked side by side. Aaron found himself watching you throughout the meal- studying your movements, catching glimpses of the person he knew so well but with subtle changes that felt unfamiliar.

That’s when he noticed.

Your engagement ring - it wasn’t there.

At first, Aaron told himself it was nothing. You might have taken it off to cook, or maybe it was being cleaned. But the more he observed, the more that small detail began to gnaw at him. Each time you reached for a dish or gestured as you spoke, your hand moved effortlessly, with no absentminded fidgeting or reaching for the ring that wasn’t on your finger.

If you had just taken it off for cooking, you would feel the absence. He knew that. But you didn’t, and that unsettled him even more.

The absence of that ring started to weigh on him, a small but heavy knot in his chest.

Peter, still unaware, smiled at you from across the table as he finished his drink. “We’ve been talking about it,” he said, his tone casual but with an underlying seriousness. “Maybe it’s time we think about having one of our own, you know?”

The words hit Aaron like a punch to the chest.

Every time he’d seen Peter since that night at the bar, his conviction grew stronger: Peter wasn’t right for you. But Hotch’s face remained composed; years of masking his emotions had made him an expert at keeping his true feelings hidden. His jaw tightened slightly, but outwardly, he stayed calm, choosing instead to focus on your reaction, watching closely for any sign of how you really felt.

You deflected with ease, a soft laugh escaping your lips as you glanced at Jack, who was happily babbling, completely at ease. “Jack’s an angel,” you said, smiling warmly. “But I don’t think he looks a thing like his father.”

The table shared a brief laugh, including Haley, who leaned over to rub Jack’s tiny back affectionately. "He definitely has his own little personality," she said with a smile. "But sometimes, he has that same intense stare as Aaron."

But Aaron didn’t join in the laughter. He was too focused on you - on the way you had brushed off Peter’s comment, your laugh just a little too quick, your deflection a little too smooth. He’d seen it a few times tonight, how you dodged certain topics, especially whenever Peter mentioned anything about the future. Something was off, and Hotch couldn’t ignore the way it gnawed at him.

After a while, the conversation drifted, as it often did when you were involved, to philosophy. Your eyes brightened as you began to speak about Plato, a passion filling your voice that seemed to draw everyone in.

"Fun fact," you began, your voice soft but deliberate, a small smile playing at your lips, "Plato believed that the world we live in is only a shadow, a reflection of something far more perfect. Everything we see, everything we touch, it’s just an echo of its true essence."

You glanced around the table, your eyes lighting up as you continued. "Imagine love," you said, your voice growing more poetic, "the love we feel here in this world is beautiful, yes, but it’s fleeting, imperfect. It can break, it can fade. Plato thought there was an eternal, perfect form of love - pure, unchanging. A love that exists beyond us, untouched by time or pain, an ideal we can only glimpse in brief moments."

As you spoke, your words seemed to hang in the air, captivating the room. Aaron couldn’t help but watch you intently, remembering how your passion for philosophy had always been so infectious. Even though part of him had once joked about its "abstract nonsense," he couldn’t deny how your enthusiasm pulled him in.

He felt the weight of your words, particularly the way you described love - an ideal so perfect that it almost seemed unreachable, a reflection of something distant and far from the everyday struggles of life.

You paused, letting the thought settle before continuing. "What we see here - whether it’s a chair, a focaccia, or love itself - are just shadows of something greater, something more real. In Plato’s realm of forms, that perfect love is waiting, eternal and untouched. It's something we can strive for, something we can long for, but never fully possess."

Peter, leaning back in his chair with a grin, shook his head lightly. "Only you could make Plato sound like a romantic," he teased, though his voice held a certain warmth, clearly caught in the flow of your words.

You returned the smile but didn’t stop, a deeper reverence creeping into your tone. "In a way, he was a romantic. Plato believed our souls long for that perfection, for the beauty and truth that we can only find in glimpses here. Every love we feel, every connection we make, it’s just a reflection of something pure that exists beyond our reach. But it’s that longing, that striving for the ideal, that gives love its meaning. Without that yearning, what would love be?"

Your words trailed off as Aaron, now smirking to himself, leaned closer to Jack. With a playful, conspiratorial tone, he whispered softly, “Jack, she said Plato,” his grin widening. He watched Jack closely, half-expecting his son to remember their little “deal” - to cry on cue at the mention of those philosophical names.

But Jack didn’t cry.

Instead, he stared up at you with wide, mesmerized eyes, his tiny face full of wonder and curiosity. It was as though, in that moment, Jack understood every word you were saying. His focus was absolute, his gaze unwavering, as if your voice held the answers to questions far beyond his grasp. For a one-year-old, it was almost eerie how captivated he seemed, his little brow furrowed in concentration, as if he were pondering Plato’s theory of forms alongside you.

Hotch stifled a chuckle under his breath, shaking his head.

So much for their plan. Jack was clearly enchanted.

Noticing Jack’s fascination, you paused, your expression softening as you leaned slightly toward him, your voice gentle and warm. “Oh, are you interested in Plato, buddy?” you teased, your smile widening as you addressed him like he was the only person in the room. “Looks like we’ve got a future philosopher on our hands. Aaron, are you sure he’s your son?”

Haley burst out laughing, covering her mouth as she tried to contain her amusement, and Peter joined in, shaking his head with a playful grin. "You might need to get him a children’s book on philosophy at this rate," Peter added, glancing at Jack. "He’s already hooked.”

Without missing a beat, you and Aaron spoke at the exact same time, your voices overlapping in perfect unison. “Hegel for babies.”

The way you and him had responded in sync, without hesitation, brought a rush of nostalgia for him. It was like stepping back in time, reminding him of all the moments you’ve always shared especially at work, finishing each other’s thoughts, operating with an effortless rhythm that required no words. That connection, that familiar flow between you, was still there, ready to rise to the surface as if nothing had changed.

But something had changed.

Even as Aaron enjoyed the easy moment, his mind couldn’t let go of the puzzle forming around you and Peter. Throughout the night, he kept discreetly watching, searching for subtle signals - anything to explain the absence of your engagement ring.

Aaron’s eyes darted between you and Peter, watching your interactions closely. Was it strained? Were you keeping something hidden behind those well-rehearsed smiles? The more he observed, the deeper his suspicion grew. The playful banter with him felt easy, real, but with Peter, there was a distance, subtle but present.

---

After dinner, as Peter and Haley’s laughter echoed faintly from the living room, you led Aaron into your office to collect the files. The space between you was tense, charged with everything unspoken that had been simmering throughout the evening. As Aaron followed in silence, his mind churned, trying to reconcile the image of you with the life you said you wanted.

Then he saw it.

Your engagement ring.

Sitting on the desk, carelessly placed beside a stack of papers, as though it were something you had tossed aside without a second thought.

For a moment, Aaron said nothing, his eyes fixed on the small band. His heart sank as everything he’d been suspecting solidified. He had convinced himself earlier that maybe you had taken it off for some practical reason, but now, seeing it here, forgotten or abandoned - it wasn’t just off.

It was discarded.

His pulse quickened. He could no longer avoid the truth staring back at him.

“You know,” Aaron began softly, the weight of his words heavier than he anticipated, “even though I didn’t win the bet, the offer is still on the table.”

You glanced up sharply, startled by the quiet intensity in his voice. A flicker of something -uncertainty, fear - crossed your face before you could mask it.

Your hands gripped the edge of the papers on your desk, as if trying to ground yourself in the familiar. “Aaron, we’ve been through this,” you replied, your voice steady but not as confident as you intended. “Teaching at the academy... it’s the only way I can settle down. With Peter, I can finally have a normal life. It’s what I need.”

The words fell from your lips, practiced, deliberate - but hollow. Even as you said them, they felt rehearsed. There was a tremor beneath them, a quiver that Hotch could sense immediately.

He didn’t need to be a profiler to see the cracks forming.

He stepped closer, his eyes unwavering as he searched yours. “Is that what you really want?” His voice was gentle, but there was no mistaking the depth behind his question. He wasn’t asking for surface-level answers anymore. He was asking for the truth, the one you’d been avoiding, even from yourself.

You bristled at the question, standing taller as if the extra inches could shield you from the vulnerability creeping up on you. “Aaron, I’ve made my decision,” you said, more forcefully this time, crossing your arms over your chest, protecting yourself. “Teaching is a stable job. Peter and I... we can have a life together. A normal life. Isn’t that what everyone wants?”

The silence that followed was thick, suffocating, as if the air itself had become too dense to breathe. Aaron’s gaze never left yours, piercing through the fragile facade you were clinging to. His eyes flicked down to the ring on the desk, lying there unwanted, untouched, as if even the symbol of this so-called “normal life” didn’t quite fit into the image you were trying to present.

And in that silence, he realized it fully: you were living a life constructed from rehearsed lines and half-truths. Your answer to him was almost identical to the one you had given earlier, only reworded, as if the questions he asked were catching you off guard, pushing you off the script you’d so carefully crafted.

Aaron would have let it slide if you’d been able to offer him some real, grounded reason for choosing teaching over the BAU. He might have accepted your words if you had taken a moment to explain why you needed distance from the relentless horrors of the cases, how the endless cycle of darkness had begun to wear on you, or even how teaching offered you a different kind of purpose, a safer way to make a difference.

But you hadn’t said any of that.

You hadn’t shared anything deeper.

It was as if you couldn’t bring yourself to commit to this life you claimed to want.

And then, of course, there was Peter.

If you’d taken a moment to talk about the life you were building together, if you had described it with real conviction - if you’d said that you wanted to marry him, that you wanted to have a family with him, that the ring lying unworn on the desk was a symbol of a future you were ready to embrace - maybe then Aaron would have believed you.

But you hadn’t.

Not now, and not at any point during the evening. Every time Peter was mentioned, every time the conversation grazed the topic of your future, you deflected. You laughed it off, offering vague, safe answers as if uttering anything more concrete might break the fragile illusion you had constructed for yourself. It was as though speaking those words aloud would make you confront a truth you weren’t ready to face.

You had spent the entire night avoiding anything real, anything that would force you to look at the choices you’d made, at the life you were building with Peter, and the pieces of yourself you were leaving behind.

If this life with Peter was truly what you wanted, then where was the passion, the excitement? Where were the words that could solidify the direction you were headed?

Every evasion, every empty laugh, only confirmed what Aaron already knew. This wasn’t the future you were running toward with open arms.

It was a future you were trying to convince yourself to accept.

The ring on the desk was more than just an oversight, it was a symbol of the disconnect between what you were choosing and what you truly wanted.

And he couldn’t hold back any longer.

“You hate your ring,” Aaron said quietly, his voice cutting through the thick silence that had settled between you. The words landed softly but cut through your defenses, each syllable chipping away at the fragile wall you’d so carefully built.

You stiffened, feeling the accusation burrow into you, your immediate response flaring with anger as you struggled to keep him from breaking through. “Excuse me?” you snapped, the words sharp, but your tone betrayed you, there was a quiver of uncertainty. You felt a wave of panic ripple through you as the walls closed in, as if the room itself were shrinking around you.

Aaron took a step closer, his gaze steady, his voice calm but laced with a gentleness that almost made his words sound like an offering. “You hate it,” he repeated, as if handing you a lifeline, as if he were daring you to take it. “And it’s not just because you took it off to cook or forgot to put it back on. You’ve been taking it off more and more, haven’t you? Because every time you look at it, every time you wear it, it feels… wrong.”

You forced a laugh, trying to brush it off, to slip back into that casual, deflective tone that had worked so well all evening. “Aaron, it’s just a ring-”

“No, it’s not,” he interrupted, his voice firmer, yet still soft, his gaze holding yours, unwavering. He took another step closer, so close now that you could see the resolve etched into his face, the sadness lingering in his eyes. “I don’t believe that. I don’t believe a single word of what you just said.”

Your breath caught, the air suddenly thick, pressing down on you as his words struck deep. His expression softened, his voice dropping almost to a whisper, yet it carried a quiet strength that made you feel exposed, vulnerable.

“It’s not just a ring to you,” he said, his tone so gentle it nearly unraveled you. “Nothing is ever ‘just something’ with you. You find meaning in everything. That’s one of the things I’ve always admired about you. It’s the way you look at the world, every little thing matters. You give meaning to things others would overlook, sometimes things they’d never notice. You find depth where others would only see the surface.”

You felt his words dig into you, reaching parts you had tried to bury beneath practicality, beneath a life you had convinced yourself you wanted. He wasn’t letting you hide, wasn’t letting you deflect with empty words or rehearsed responses.

“Even tonight,” he continued, his voice taking on a quiet, reflective tone. “When you spoke about Plato, about the meaning of love through his forms, you weren’t just talking about philosophy. You were talking about yourself. You said the love we feel in this world is a shadow, a reflection of something perfect we can never fully reach. You spoke of it as if you were making excuses for why your love with Peter could be flawed, imperfect, why it could never be what you long for deep down. It was like you were giving yourself permission to settle for less than what you truly want.”

His gaze held you, steady and unyielding, and you felt your defenses slipping, cracking under the weight of his words. He took a breath, and you could see the intensity in his eyes, the way he was letting his own walls down, the way he was stepping into a vulnerability he hadn’t allowed himself in years.

“I’m not a philosopher, I will never be a philosopher,” he said softly, his voice carrying a depth of sincerity that felt like a confession, “but I remembered every word. And I couldn’t agree more when you said that it’s the longing, the striving for the ideal, that gives love its meaning. You said it yourself, ‘Without that yearning, what would love be?’ So tell me-”

He continued, his voice steady, yet filled with a quiet urgency, “are you really reaching for something true, something that reflects that ideal, or are you just convincing yourself to accept a love that’s flawed because you think that’s all you’re going to get? Are you settling for something safe because it’s easier than admitting you might want something more?”

He paused, his words hanging heavily in the air, his eyes searching yours, cutting through every excuse, every half-truth you’d told yourself. “I know you, and I know that nothing is ever ‘just something’ to you. Not love, not life, not death and certainly not this ring.”

Your hands trembled slightly, and you quickly folded them over your chest, your gaze dropping to the floor. “I don’t want to talk about this,” you whispered, the words barely audible, but the trembling in your voice betrayed the flood of emotions swelling up, threatening to break through.

But Aaron didn’t stop.

He saw the tiny cracks forming, the way you were beginning to buckle under the weight of the truth. He recognized it - the way someone’s guard began to fall when they were too close to a truth they weren’t ready to confront. He had seen it so many times before, sitting across from suspects, unsubs. But this time, it was you, and that difference made this moment more personal, more agonizing than any interrogation he’d ever conducted.

He softened his tone, but his words were as precise and cutting as ever, his profiler instincts turned on you, searching, pushing. “You took it off because it’s become something foreign to you. ” he continued, the words gentle but relentless. “It’s been weighing you down ever since that night at the bar, when Peter overstepped your boundaries.”

The room felt impossibly small as his words hung between you. The memory of that night surged forward - Peter’s laughter, his casual dismissal of your privacy, turning it into something public, something you hadn’t even shared with the people closest to you. He had humiliated you, and you had buried the hurt because that’s what you always did.

“Aaron, stop-” you pleaded, your voice shaking.

But he pressed on, the profiler in him pushing past the walls you had built. “He outed you in front of the team. In front of people who, at that point, were practically strangers to you. For a story. And you didn’t confront him about it, did you? You let it go, just like you’ve been letting so many things go.”

You felt the weight of his words press down on you, your breath coming in shallow bursts as you turned away from him, gripping the back of your chair, desperate for something solid, something to hold onto. “We talked about it,” you said, but even to your own ears, the words sounded hollow, a poor attempt at keeping the cracks from widening.

“No, you didn’t,” Aaron countered, his voice low but unyielding, filled with quiet conviction. “You accepted his apology because it was easier than having the fight you needed to have. And honestly, Peter didn’t even know why what he did was wrong, did he? I had to point it out to him when we were alone at the bar, otherwise, he wouldn’t have noticed. He wouldn’t have realized how deeply he crossed your boundaries, how it made you feel. And now you’re standing here trying to convince yourself that this” he gestured toward the ring on the desk, discarded like something forgotten "is fine. That it’s just a piece of jewelry. But it’s not, and you know that.”

You felt the burn of frustration bubbling up inside you, your composure slipping, but it wasn’t just anger anymore. Beneath the frustration, there was a raw, unspoken hurt that you had kept buried for too long. It was beginning to surface, clawing its way to the forefront, and you couldn’t stop it. “Aaron, you don’t know me as well as you think you do,” you bit out, your voice sharp with desperation, your hands tightening into fists.

But Hotch didn’t back down. He stepped closer, his voice steady, yet full of conviction, a quiet determination that refused to let you retreat. “I know you better than you think,” he said, his eyes softened, but there was still that relentless force behind his words, the same precision he used when interrogating someone, when he was peeling back layers to get to the truth. “I’ve known you for years. I’ve watched you. I know how you move through the world, how you give meaning to things, how you choose things carefully, with intention. I know that Peter gives gifts that are meant to impress people, not you.”

You blinked, feeling your throat tighten further as you fought to hold back tears, but Hotch kept going, his words unraveling every defense you had put up.

He gestured toward the ring, his gaze unwavering, holding yours with a quiet intensity. “That ring? A thin band to make the stone look bigger than it is. -

It’s flashy.

It draws attention, but it’s not elegant.

It’s not thoughtful. -

It’s not you. You would have never chosen that ring for yourself. It doesn’t fit your style - yours is subtle, refined, timeless. You wear things that hold meaning, things that blend seamlessly into who you are. You need something sturdy, something with a thicker band, something that won’t get in the way because you use your hands every day.”

He took a step closer, his words steady, unraveling each piece of the life you’d convinced yourself you wanted. “You’re always writing, always creating, whether it’s notes for your students or lesson plans, or even cooking for yourself at home. You never thought you’d have time for hobbies, but now you’ve found them. You’ve grown, and you need something that can grow with you. He didn’t think about that, about how your hands are more than just hands. They’re an extension of you, of how you express yourself, how you care for others. You pour yourself into everything you do, with a quiet grace that’s always been there and that I’ve always loved about you.”

Hotch’s voice softened, though the conviction in it remained. “We’ve exchanged letters for years - six, to be exact. I’ve watched how, in those letters, your handwriting changes. I know when you let the ink smudge, it’s because the topic is close to you, and you can barely keep up with the pace of your thoughts. You don’t just write; it’s a way for you to let your true feelings flow, to put something of yourself onto the page. You need a ring that reflects that, one that fits the life you’ve built - not something that just looks good, not something that’s just there to be seen.”

His voice softened as he stepped closer still, his gaze locked on yours, searching your face. “That ring, it’s not practical for you. And Peter didn’t even think about that, did he? He didn’t think about how you would wear it every day, how you would feel with it on your finger. He chose something that would look impressive to other people, not something that would make you feel at home in it. And it’s not even your favorite stone, is it?”

You froze, your breath catching in your chest as his words hit you harder than you were prepared for. Your heart pounded in your ears, the weight of the truth pressing down on you, suffocating.

“You don’t even know what my favorite stone is,” you whispered, your voice so quiet, so fragile it barely broke the silence. The words were almost a plea, a final attempt to keep some distance between you and the truth he was forcing you to face.

“Yes, I do.” Aaron’s voice was soft, but the conviction in it was unshakeable.

“It’s sapphire.

Dark blue.

The exact shade of the ink you’ve used for years, the ink you wrote every single letter to me with.”

Your heart stuttered, the breath catching in your throat as his words hit something deep inside you, a place you hadn’t let anyone reach in a long time. You felt your hands tremble, and for the first time that night, you truly looked at him - saw him in a way you had been avoiding all evening.

His gaze was locked on yours, steady, relentless, and beneath the surface of his calm, you saw something raw. Something vulnerable. It was a part of him you hadn’t allowed yourself to see for years.

He wasn’t finished. His voice softened, like he was admitting something that had been buried inside for too long. “That color… it’s the only color you allowed yourself to have, especially at work. I’ve never seen you wear anything but black, except for the day you gave that guest lecture in Quantico. You showed up at the BAU afterward, after all those years of just exchanging letters, and you were wearing a light blue shirt.” His eyes flickered, a ghost of a memory crossing his face. “That’s when I realized. You used that color, blue, for everything that mattered. Everything personal. You made sure to keep it close to you, like it was a part of who you are.”

Your throat tightened, emotion pressing down on your chest like a heavy weight, and you couldn’t stop the memories from flooding back.

“Even when I gave you the anniversary pen,” Hotch continued, stepping closer, his gaze never wavering from yours, “the one I bought for you to commemorate the 200th day you failed to beat me to the office - you didn’t use it once for your everyday reports, did you? After a while, I noticed the ink in the pen was lighter than what you usually used. It wasn’t your blue.”

You swallowed hard, your voice failing you as he kept going, each word peeling back a layer of your defenses.

“But you still wrote with it,” Hotch said, taking another step toward you. “Maybe not for everything, but for the things that really mattered. Like my wedding speech… you wrote that with the pen I gave you. And it ran out of ink right at the last sentence. But you didn’t throw it away, even when it ran dry, did you?”

He glanced at the pen sitting on your desk, displayed carefully like an artifact from another time. His voice dropped, almost reverent. “It’s still here. You kept it, not because of its value, not because of how it looks, but because of what it represents. That pen means something to you, something personal.”

He paused, letting the weight of his words settle, and then his eyes flickered to the engagement ring sitting on the desk, gleaming in the dim light. “But that ring? It doesn’t mean the same thing to you, does it? You don’t keep it with the same care, the same tenderness. It doesn’t feel personal. It doesn’t feel like yours.”

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you were frozen, unable to move as his words sunk in. How had he noticed? How had he known? You had never consciously thought about it, but it was true. The color blue, it was the only piece of yourself you allowed into the world. It was a quiet reflection of who you were.

Dark blue ink.

A light blue shirt.

And now, with that ring, none of it felt right.

“What do you think you’re doing, Aaron?” Your voice wavered, your tone fragile and desperate as you tried to find solid ground beneath you. The weight of the conversation pressed down on you like a vice, tightening with every word he spoke. “Why are you saying all of this?”

Hotch stepped even closer, his voice filled with something heavy, something undeniable. “Because I care about you. Because I want you to be happy, just like you told me once, years ago. You told me I deserved happiness, and now it’s my turn to say it to you. You won’t be happy with Peter. Not really.”

His words hit you like a blow, knocking the air from your lungs. You swallowed hard, trying to push the emotions back down, trying to keep your voice steady. “You can’t talk to me about my happiness, Aaron. You’ve found yours. You have Haley, you have Jack. You don’t get to tell me what will or won’t make me happy.”

Aaron’s expression darkened, an intensity flickering in his eyes that took you off guard. His voice dropped, and it was filled with an emotion you hadn’t seen in him in years, something raw and unguarded. “Is that what you really think? That I have it all figured out? Do you want to know why I care so much about you being truly happy? Why I can’t bear to watch you waste your life with someone who doesn’t see you? You really want to go there now?”

You straightened, your defenses rising, your voice sharp as you threw the challenge back at him. “Yes, I do.”

The room fell into a tense, charged silence, a storm of unspoken words swirling between you, years of carefully avoided feelings suddenly laid bare. The air felt thick, heavy with everything you’d both been too afraid to say. And then, quietly, Hotch spoke the words that would change everything, words that broke through every wall you had built, that shattered the careful balance you had clung to for so long.

“I loved you.”

The words lingered, quiet yet devastating, tearing through you with a force that left you breathless. You could feel your heart splinter, every emotion you’d tried to bury rising to the surface, raw and exposed. You had spent so long convincing yourself that he had moved on, that you had made the right choice all those years ago. But here he was, laying everything bare, pulling back the curtain on a truth you hadn’t allowed yourself to imagine.

But he wasn’t finished.

“I loved you,” Aaron repeated, his voice soft, almost broken, like a man confessing to something he’d kept buried for too long. "I’ve loved you for years.”

The silence between you was deafening, the only sound your ragged breath as the weight of his words settled in your chest like a heavy stone. The pain that had been festering for years, the doubts, the regrets, they all surged to the surface at once. And before you could stop yourself, the words came spilling out, raw and trembling.

“You loved me?” you breathed, disbelief trembling on your lips before it hardened into something sharper. Years of hurt and anger bubbled up, mixing with the grief you’d buried for so long. “You loved me?”

Aaron’s eyes searched yours, and you saw the flicker of pain, the vulnerability in his gaze. But it wasn’t enough. Not after everything.

“You want to talk about love, Aaron?” Your voice cracked, the weight of eight years of silence breaking apart, spilling out as though you couldn’t contain it any longer. “The reason I took that job abroad was because I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I needed to run from you, from us. I left everyone I knew, everything I loved, and threw myself into a life where I had to start over, day after day. I thought that maybe if I was far enough away, if I was alone enough, I could forget what we could have been. That maybe, somehow, I could leave all the ‘what-ifs’ behind. But it didn’t work. It never worked. It just made it hurt worse.”

Aaron flinched, his face tight with pain, absorbing each word like a fresh wound, but you pressed on, the anger burning in your chest, spilling over.

“And do you know what the worst part was?” Your voice cracked, thick with emotion. “It was your letters, Aaron. -

I lived only to read your letters.

They were my lifeline. Every time I saw your handwriting, it was like being reminded all over again of what we could have had. I read them over and over, hoping that maybe they’d help me remember why I’d made this sacrifice in the first place. But they only made it worse. Every letter, every single one, was a reminder of what I’d lost. And all I could think was, what did we really gain? What did all of this sacrifice really bring us?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but you cut him off, the words pouring out, your voice rough with unshed pain. “I loved working at the BAU. I built my entire life around it, Aaron. That job was my purpose, and I left it because of you. I spent years in Europe, moving from one city to the next, trying to outrun everything that reminded me of us. But as soon as I felt at home somewhere, it would all come flooding back - the memories, the regrets. I’d lie awake at night, wondering what we’d lost, what we’d thrown away. And then, eventually, I stopped. I had to stop. I couldn’t keep living on the hope of what might have been. That’s when I let Peter in, when I started to believe that maybe I could make a new kind of happiness. Not the one I’d dreamed of, but a real one, grounded and steady.”

Hotch’s expression shattered, but you didn’t stop.

You couldn’t.

“You think you know what love is?” you spat, your voice trembling. “I loved you more than I loved myself. I tore myself apart for you because I thought you’d be better off. I walked away because I wanted you to be happy, and I’ve never regretted it, I would choose your happiness over mine, every time. So don’t you dare stand here, six years later, and tell me you loved me. I’m over you, Aaron. I’ve been over you, for a long time now.”

Hotch looked as though he had been struck, his face etched with anguish, and for a moment, it seemed like he might crumble. His voice, when he finally spoke, was rough, barely above a whisper. “You loved me that much… and you just walked away?”

“Yes,” you continued, your voice hoarse with emotion. “I loved you enough to let you go. Now, Aaron, it’s your turn. Let me go.”

Hotch’s face crumpled, the pain in his expression morphing into something raw, almost desperate. His voice rose, his frustration breaking through, spilling out in waves. “But you’re still living a lie! You sacrificed yourself for me, and now you’re doing the same with Peter. You’re going to settle for a life that doesn’t make you happy because you think it’s what you need? You deserve more than this!”

The anger surged up, hot and fierce, and you stepped closer, your eyes flashing. “You don’t get to tell me what I deserve. You think Peter is less? You think I don’t know what I’m doing? I made my choice, Aaron. I’ve built a life with him, and you don’t get to judge that.”

He shook his head, his voice rough and bitter, the frustration rolling off him in waves. “He doesn’t know you like I do. He doesn’t see you the way I do. He doesn’t know how your mind works, how you pour yourself into everything you do, how you can’t sit still in a world that asks for mediocrity. You were never meant to live a quiet life in some corner of the world, pretending to be content with something less. You’ve always needed more. You deserve more.”

His voice thickened with emotion, his gaze hardening as if the truth of his words hurt him as much as it hurt you. “You deserve someone who understands that. Someone who knows you’re not the type to settle. You need someone who’s willing to love you fully, the way you deserve - someone who can see the fire in you and fan it, not extinguish it. Peter doesn’t see that in you. He can’t give you that.”

Aaron’s voice cracked, his frustration spilling into something closer to anguish. “You deserve someone who’s willing to love you as fiercely as I did back then, someone who truly understands how much you’re worth and knows the lengths you’ll go to just to be understood. You deserve someone who sees the way you challenge the world, who knows how hard you fight, and respects every bit of that fire in you.”

He ran a hand through his hair, his voice breaking with the weight of what he was saying. “You were strong enough to walk away all those years ago, to tear yourself apart so that I could have the life you thought I deserved. And if you were brave enough to do that, then you should be strong enough now to stop lying to yourself. You’re pretending, trying to convince yourself that settling with Peter is what you want. But it’s not who you are, and it never will be. You’re not the type to choose a life that asks you to be less than everything you’re capable of being.”

He took a breath, his eyes dark, intense, his voice a mix of longing and frustration. "I know you. Better than you know yourself right now."

Your heart pounded in your chest, but you forced yourself to stay steady, your voice low, laced with fury. “You think you’re better than Peter because you didn’t overstep my physical boundaries? You’re wrong, Aaron. Right now, you’re worse, you’re overstepping my emotional boundaries - I asked you to stop but you didn’t listen, not even once. You lost the right to tell me how to live my life the moment we walked away from each other. If you can’t respect that, if you can’t let me go, then I’ll make sure to erase myself from your life.”

His face crumpled, his hands trembling at his sides, his entire body taut with the force of everything he was holding back. He looked like he was going to break, like he was fighting a battle that he knew he was losing. He took a step back, his voice barely above a whisper. “I just wanted you to be happy,” he choked out, his eyes meeting yours, raw, vulnerable. “That’s all I ever wanted.”

His words tore through you, unraveling something deep inside. You saw the sincerity in his gaze, the desperation, the sadness. He looked at you one last time, his eyes lingering as if trying to memorize everything, his face filled with a pain that was almost unbearable to witness.

Finally, he turned to the door, his movements stiff, almost mechanical. He paused with his hand on the doorknob, his back to you, and for a moment, you thought he might turn around, that he might say something else, that he might reach out, one last time, to change everything. But he didn’t.

“If that’s what you want,” he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath. “If you want me to let go, them -

I’ll let you go.”

---

Hotch hadn’t heard from you since that night.

The night that left him feeling hollow, stripped bare like a man exposed to a storm he’d never anticipated.

He replayed the words you’d spoken, over and over, each one twisting deeper like a knife, carving wounds he had no way of healing. You’d been his last constant, the one person who had seen him fully, who had known the side of him he kept hidden from everyone else.

Now, you were truly gone, more distant than you had ever been, even when the Atlantic had separated you. There would be no more letters, no careful, handwritten notes, no familiar roughness of paper bearing your looping, blue-inked script, only the echoes of what you’d shared, remnants of a partnership and friendship torn away from him.

And the pain of losing you was so much deeper because you were the one person he never thought would leave.

He was already disappointing Haley on the daily basis, failing to be the husband she deserves as he chose the demands of his work over the family they’ve always dreamed of. The guilt over Jack haunted him daily - the missed milestones, the countless nights he’d spent in hotel rooms instead of by his son’s side.

He had come to accept that his choices had cost him more than he’d ever anticipated, that his absences had created a rift in his family he could never fully mend. But you… you were the one person he’d believed would always stay, the one person who had somehow seen past the darkness and chosen to stand beside him.

And now, you had stepped away too.

The realization struck him with a weight so heavy it almost brought him to his knees. You, who had known him better than anyone, who had been his friend, his confidant, his solace through all of it, were now just a memory.

In some ways, it felt like the final blow, the one that shattered whatever hope he’d clung to that he might still have someone by his side who truly understood.

You had been his last anchor, and without you, he felt adrift, more alone than he ever had before. The pain of it made everything else - the failures, the regrets - seem even sharper, a brutal reminder that he had pushed away the very people who had mattered most.

And now, there was no going back.

With you gone, the work was all he had left to cling to.

But every moment he spent trying to bury himself in case files and late-night profiles only reminded him of what he’d lost. More and more, he found himself imagining how different things might have been if you had stayed - if that night, instead of saying goodbye, you’d agreed to return to the BAU, to stand by his side once more.

How the team would have flourished with your presence, how your calm confidence and unyielding strength would have held them together, even as they all faced their own private battles. And how he, too, would have found a sense of solace, knowing that his partner, his confidant, his best friend, his lost love was there to share the burdens he carried.

In the months since you left, Hotch had watched his team begin to fracture.

Derek, always the strongest among them, had been forced to confront the ghosts of his past. Hotch saw the hurt in Derek’s eyes, the way he hid behind a mask, shielding himself from those who reached out to help. Hotch had tried to be there, to offer words of comfort, but each time he spoke, he felt the words fall flat, hollow, unable to bridge the distance between them.

He knew you would have known what to say, that you would have sat beside Derek and quietly drawn him out, helping him face his pain. Nights after, Hotch would lie awake, wishing he could call you, just to hear your voice, to ask you what he should do.

But he couldn’t.

You weren’t there to reassure him, to guide him, to help him carry the weight he so often bore alone.

And now, you would never be there again for him.

Then there was Reid.

He would never forget the hollow look in Reid’s eyes after his abduction, the way he seemed almost lost, his usual sharp mind clouded with a fear and vulnerability that shattered Hotch’s heart. Reid had always been their anchor, his intellect a shield against the horrors they faced. But that shield had cracked, and Hotch found himself struggling to help Reid rebuild, to provide the guidance Reid so desperately needed.

He knew you would have understood Reid’s pain in a way Hotch simply couldn’t. He could picture how you’d take Reid aside, your quiet, wise words full of empathy, your presence soothing the rawness of his wounds. You would have known exactly what to say, using your own intellect to help rebuild his, weaving in those philosophical insights Reid cherished so much. You had a way of reaching him, grounding him with calm understanding, and speaking to him on a deeper, metaphysical level that only you could.

Without you, Hotch felt helpless, as though he were failing the very people he’d promised to protect.

And then there was Gideon.

Watching Gideon unravel had been like staring into a mirror, reflecting a grief Hotch knew all too well.

Gideon, the man who had faced countless horrors, who had weathered storms that would have broken anyone else, had finally crumbled under the weight of his own loss. Frank’s cruelty had robbed him of Sarah, just as Hotch had been robbed of you. He could see himself in Gideon’s brokenness, could feel the pain that Gideon bore in silence, the same pain that now echoed in his own heart.

You and Gideon had both been his beacons, the ones who had filled the shadows with a light he clung to, and now, with both of you gone, he was left to navigate the darkness alone.

He was left to stumble through the darkness, to fight battles he was no longer sure he could win, knowing that the one person who had truly known him, who had quietly loved him even when he couldn’t love himself, was gone.

Each case, each crime scene was a reminder of all the moments you’d shared, of the life you’d built together, only to watch it crumble. He clung to the hope that somehow, some way, he could find you again, that the life you’d left behind would come back to him. But deep down, he knew that hope was just another ghost, haunting him, whispering of things that might have been.

And now, standing in Strauss’s office, the weight of it all pressed down on him, so heavy he thought it might break him. He met her gaze, the sharpness in her eyes a harsh reminder of everything that had fallen apart.

She watched him, waiting for him to justify himself, to justify the team that had become the only thing he had left.

He could see the doubt in her eyes, the calculation. She saw him as a man on the verge of failure, and she wasn’t wrong. But she didn’t know the cost, didn’t know what it had taken for him to keep standing.

"As your superior, I am questioning your ability to lead your team.”

He took a breath, summoning every ounce of strength he had left. His voice was steady, but beneath it lay a trembling, a fragility that betrayed just how close he was to breaking. “My team?” he said, a hint of defiance hardening his tone. “Let me tell you about my team.”

He thought of Derek, his mind flashing to that moment in Chicago, the pain etched into his friend’s face, the way he’d borne the burden alone because he didn’t trust anyone enough to share it. “Agent Morgan fought to protect his identity from the very people who could save him - why? Because trust has to be earned, and there are very few people he truly trusts.”

He paused, a bitter taste in his mouth as he remembered how he’d failed, how he hadn’t been able to reach Derek in the way he needed. You would have. You would have known how to ease his pain.

“Reid’s intellect is a shield which protects him from his emotions,” he continued, his voice softening, a raw edge creeping into it as he pictured Reid’s broken expression, the hollow look that haunted his eyes. “And at the moment, his shield is under repair.”

Hotch’s chest tightened. Reid’s pain had become his own, a constant reminder of the fragility he’d seen in you, the way you’d fought to rebuild yourself when you’d come back from the edge. You would have been there for Reid. You would have known what to say. But now, without you, Hotch felt helpless, standing by as the people he cared about struggled to hold themselves together.

“Prentiss overcompensates because she doesn’t yet feel she’s a part of the team.” A flicker of pride crossed his face as he spoke of her, her fierce determination, her unyielding loyalty. “She needn’t worry.” He thought of how hard she worked, how much she wanted to belong. He knew you would have recognized it in her, would have encouraged her the way only you could.

He forced himself to continue, his voice growing firmer, even as the sadness in his chest grew heavier. “Every day, Agent Jareau fields dozens of requests for our team. And every night, she goes home hoping she’s made the right choices.” He thought of JJ’s quiet strength, the way she carried the weight of her decisions, never letting it show how much it cost her. He knew you would have admired her resolve, would have understood the strength it took to keep going.

“Garcia fills her office with figurines and color to remind herself to smile as the horror fills her screens.” He thought of Garcia’s laugh, the way she fought to keep the darkness at bay with her light. You would have seen the courage in her, would have understood that her joy was her shield, the way she protected herself from the horrors she witnessed every day.

But it was Gideon’s pain that hit him hardest, and he struggled to keep his voice steady as he spoke of the man who had once been his mentor.

“And Agent Gideon… In many ways, he is damned by his profound knowledge of others. Which is why he shares so little of himself, yet he pours his heart into every case we handle.” Hotch remembered the look in Gideon’s eyes, the emptiness that had consumed him since Sarah’s death. He had seen the same hollowness in himself, the same agony of losing someone you had let into your heart. Gideon had been undone by it, just as Hotch had been undone by you.

He straightened, meeting Strauss’s gaze with a fierce determination. “I stand by my actions, and I stand by my team. And if you think that you can find a better person for the job, good luck.”

Strauss’s expression remained cold, her eyes narrowing. She leaned forward, her voice a sharp blade, cutting through his defenses. “Agent Hotchner,” she said, her tone clipped.

Hotch’s response was immediate, his voice a quiet, simmering intensity. “How do I know you favor your son? I’m good at my job.”

He knew he was good at his job.

He had to be.

It was the only thing he had left, the one thing he could control in a world that felt like it was slipping away.

He’d lost you, just as he had lost so much.

But he wouldn’t lose this.

He couldn’t.

---

Dado's Corner pt.2: I always read this whenever my heart gets broken... To build something meaningful, sometimes we have to tear down the entire house and rebuild from the foundation up.

taglist: @beata1108 ; @cuddleprofiler ; @c-losur3 ; @fangirlunknown ; @kyrathekiller ; @lorereid ; @lostinwonderland314 ; @prettybaby-reid ; @reidfile ; @royalestrellas ; @ssa-callahan ; @todorokishoe24

[narcjsistx]

Can i request something about Umemiya Hajime?

Was honestly thinking about scenarios of him secretly dating a timid and studious reader who studies in an all girls school and they never expected she'd fall in love with the leader of Bofurin, their personalities are huge opposite but i think that dynamic would be adorable.

— You are you

Sitting on a park bench, the sun caresses my skin with its first spring warmth. I removed my school jacket earlier, leaving it folded next to me, and I enjoy the light breeze that passes through my blouse, while the sleeves are rolled up just above the elbows. I observe the people passing by, the familiar faces of those who live in this small town. I see them leading their lives, immersed in the usual monotony: the elderly lady walking her dog, the owner of the bar arranging the tables outside, the children racing with their bicycles on the streets still damp from the morning rain

It amazes me how almost surreal the quiet has become since the Bofurin students started helping this place. Umemiya often brags about his boys, and it always makes me laugh a little that he talks about them as if he were a father

Suddenly, I hear a voice calling me in the distance. I turn around and, in an instant, Umemiya's face is inches from mine. His presence takes me by surprise, but immediately makes me smile. His face is radiant, as always, full of that swagger that makes him unique "Y/n Chan!" in his hand he waves two bags from the local bakery, full of sweets that they distribute for free only to Bofurin students "Look what I brought!" he exclaims, with the enthusiasm of a child who has just won a prize. He's so different from me, so self-centered and extroverted. While I prefer the tranquility of moments like this, he always seems to live to the fullest, as if every day is a new adventure. But that's exactly what I love about him, even though our lives are so different

While I wouldn't even know what pose to throw a punch, he is the commander of the Bofurin, also called the strongest guy in the whole city

"What did you get this time?" I ask seeing the two bags, which give off a sweet smell of bread "I think they are donuts and some desserts with cream. Maybe even some sandwiches" he says opening the first bag, which is full of delicacies. Here it is normal to give anything to Furin students, especially to Ume. Sometimes I even feel guilty about eating what he receives, because I know it's not directed at me "Here, this looks delicious" he says, passing me a sandwich with cream and strawberries, which although I would like to avoid out of courtesy, I accept because I'm hungry. I give the sandwich a bite, which is full of cream. Some of it gets on my nose, but as soon as the guy notices it he removes it with his finger. I smile at him to thank him with my cheeks filled with dessert, while he wipes his finger on a handkerchief "Be slow, otherwise it could hurt your stomach afterwards"

At a certain point, however, something catches my attention. In passing, I notice some female figures in the distance, barely distinguishable among the trees in the park. They seem to be watching us, but they are far enough away that it is difficult to understand who they are. I squint, trying to focus, but the girls remain indistinct, like blurry shadows amid the spring light

"Do you know them?" Ume asks noticing what I'm looking at "I don't know. They're too far away to see clearly..." I say biting another piece from the sandwich. I try not to give it too much thought, but I can't help but wonder who they might be and why they're watching us. Maybe it's just my impression, or maybe they're simply curious, attracted by Umemiya's contagious energy, which always manages to attract attention without even realizing it. Also, he's famous here, so they could probably be looking at him rather than me

I look away and focus on him again. His laughter brings me back to the present, to the moment we are living in. I decide not to worry too much, to let go of that fleeting thought. While we are still sitting on the bench, intent on chatting and enjoying the desserts, I notice out of the corner of my eye that the figures in the distance are getting closer. As they get closer, I can distinguish them better: there are five girls, and my blood immediately runs cold. I recognize them. They are all classmates in the same class as me

My heart starts to beat faster, and that feeling of tranquility I had just experienced vanishes in an instant. I hadn't recognized them from afar because they were wearing normal clothes, different from our usual school uniforms. Seeing them like this, outside of the school environment, caught me off guard. I don't know why they are coming towards us, but I suddenly feel completely exposed. My shy side emerges forcefully. I feel small, vulnerable, as if every single flaw is visible to their eyes. I never spoke to any of them at school, and now the idea of having to interact with them in this context terrifies me. Umemiya is here next to me, but her presence, instead of reassuring me, makes me feel even more embarrassed. I don't want them to see it, I don't want them to think that we are... something, because it would make him look bad being with me, who am his complete opposite. Yet, he doesn't seem the least bit disturbed by their presence, continuing to smile and talk as if nothing had happened

I would like to run away, escape that embarrassing encounter, but I can't move. The girls get closer and closer, and I stiffen, looking down. I feel my cheeks burning with shame. I don't know what to say, I don't know how to behave. I wish I could disappear, become invisible. There is nothing more difficult for me than dealing with social situations like this, where the judgment of others seems to weigh like a boulder

When they are finally in front of us, one of them greets us with a smile "Y/s? Is that really you?" a girl asks, covering her mouth in surprise. Umemiya, on the other hand, welcomes them with his usual confidence, and I can't help but admire him, even if, at this moment, I would just like to be somewhere else, far from here

They're all smiling, and before I can even say anything, they start peppering me with questions "What are you doing here?" "Did you go out together?" "How long have you been seeing each other?" "But is it Umemiya from Bofurin?" "What are you two doing together?" they ask in chorus, with a curiosity that makes me feel even more embarrassed. My heart is pounding, and my cheeks are burning with shame. I don't know how to answer, I don't even know if I should answer. The words catch in my throat as I desperately try to find something to say that doesn't sound stupid or inappropriate. Umemiya, at my side, remains silent, observing the scene with a calm that I cannot understand

He's usually so bold and talkative, but now he seems to have decided to stay on the sidelines. The girls keep talking to me, making assumptions, laughing among themselves, and I feel smaller and smaller. Their every word is a blow to my self-esteem, every laugh a reminder that I am not like them, so confident and comfortable in every situation. I can't look them in the eyes, I keep my gaze down, trying to hide my nervousness. I wish I could dissolve

"Girls, girls, girls!" the boy finally intervenes, shifting attention to him "Are you friends whit my girlfriend?" he asks with a nonchalance that I finally recognize. Time seems to stop for an instant. The girls stare at him in disbelief, their eyes wide and their mouths slightly open. Their buzz stops, replaced by a silence full of amazement. I remain motionless, completely paralyzed. My heart beats even faster, and I feel the heat rising to my cheeks

The girls exchange quick glances, obviously shocked by the revelation. None of them seem to know how to react. For a moment, everything I had feared materializes before my eyes: their judgment, their surprise, their invasive curiosity

Finally, one of the girls breaks the silence with a nervous giggle, trying to mask her shock. "We never expected this!" she exclaims, while the others nod, still surprised "Yes, well, not for something against Y/s, absolutely! It's strange just seeing her with..." says another girl, and she doesn't finish the sentence but it's implied that she means Umemiya. A few other girls in the group nod. I can't say anything, but I feel the warmth of Umemiya's hand touching mine, a reassuring gesture that makes me understand that I'm not alone. The girls, after a few more confused comments, seem to understand that they won't get any more information from us, and slowly begin to say goodbye, still with that incredulous expression on their faces

When they finally leave, breathing a sigh of relief, I turn to Umemiya. He smiles at me, with that smile of his that always manages to reassure me, and I, despite everything, manage to smile back to my lover. Even if, hidden behind that smile of his, he's absolutely understood my discomfort. Ume stands up and holds out his hand to help me do the same "Come on, I'll walk you home" he says in that reassuring tone of voice I know so well

We walk side by side along the park path, and the tension I had tried to hide begins to melt. But as we walk away from the bench, my thoughts return to what just happened. I can't help but feel like I've lived one of my worst nightmares. Since Umemiya and I have been together, for almost a year now, we have always decided to keep our relationship private. Not for lack of feeling or commitment, but simply because neither of us likes gossip. And more importantly, we wanted to prevent his enemies from targeting me to harm him. I have always known that Umemiya's life is not without risk, and his reputation, along with the people around him, are often balanced on a thin thread

Yet, today, all this has been put to the test. As I walk beside him, I wonder if, with that brief encounter, we have ruined everything we have tried to protect for so long. The girls in our class know about us now, and I can't stop thinking about what would happen if word got out. What if some of Umemiya's enemies found out? What if my presence in his life became a weapon against him?. I feel guilty, as if I had betrayed our promise of confidentiality. Maybe if I hadn't been so embarrassed, if I had been more confident, Umemiya wouldn't have felt the need to step in and openly declare our relationship

I turn to him, trying to read his thoughts, but his face is serene, as if none of this bothers him "Are you sure you're okay, honey?" he asks with a reassuring smile, as if he sensed my anxiety. Even though I try to hide it, I know that something has changed, and I can't help but worry "This afternoon I would have expected it to be different" I say keeping my gaze lowered. He thinks about it for a few moments, before putting a hand on my shoulder to squeeze our hips together "Do you seriously care about those girls? I mean, I wouldn't give them as much weight as you are doing" he says rolling his eyes, trying to keep things light. I sigh, playing with the sleeves of the uniform jacket that I put back on in the meantime "It's just that I'm sorry for having forced you to make things public when we had decided to keep it private..." I say a little uncertain

Hearing my words, Umemiya burst out laughing. I'm surprised by his behavior and for a second I have the idea that he's laughing to keep from crying "Are you really worried about such a tiny thing? I thought you were worried because those are your bullies or something..." he says continuing to laugh. I raise an eyebrow, confused "My thing is no small matter! I broke our promise and let you down!" I say, clenching my fists, but the boy stops and lowers himself to my height "You could never disappoint me, or at least not for such a tiny thing. And then, if we've been together for so long, it would have happened sooner or later, right?" he says, running a hand through my hair. I purse my lips to try not to seem sorry since he doesn't want to see me like this, but I can't: inside I really feel like I made a mistake, that the blame for this is exclusively mine

"Y/n, really, don't get paranoid about things like that. Yes, we agreed to keep it private, but what does it matter now? You think I'm so weak that I can't protect you if something happened, do you really underestimate me like that?" he says jokingly for the last few sentences. I giggle at his words, feeling a little less guilty "Y/n, you are you. You could never willingly do something to me to annoy me. It's not a trait of your character to be mean" he says caressing my cheek, placing a kiss on my forehead. I sigh, deciding that maybe today I can let go and completely trust what he says

It's that despite being so different, we are linked by something that I didn't think I would create so well. If anything ever happens, we'll just handle it

✶ 𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ; take a look, trust me!

[alexanderlightweight]

Hi Lumine!! I hope your day is going great, I got to sleep in today! 9 hours of sleep!!!!!

Can I request some more mistaken sugar baby Alec from the 'your heart is full of jewels' AU

I'm in a sfw mood, but it's really not hard and fast if you want to write some nsfw or suggestive content

Thank you!

hi!!! that is amazing!!!! i'm so happy for you! good and proper rest (yes I realize this is hypocritical but i'm an insomniac okay) is really important for you! like wow does it change even how your day goes and how you see the world around you. I hope you had a beautiful day!

oh fuck, it's been forever since I wrote in this verse and let me tell you. Magnus is so pleased with how his day is going and I hope you enjoy. it's got no angst I promise and is completely sfw <3 and even comes with notes because of course I can't resist notes for this verse and a pinch of an outside view and a sprinkled mention of Ragnor and Catarina.

<3 lumine

-

your heart is full of jewels

Alec is really just more bemused than anything else.

The day seemed to be going normal, and then everything had gone sideways from his expectations.  He’s not complaining, mind you.  Alec never enjoys life so much as when it deviates from his plans because of Magnus.

It’s one of the special benefits of dating a warlock with something Catarina once explained to him as magical ADHD. He hadn’t had the heart to explain to her that he has no idea what that even was and Alec had secretly researched it himself on the mundane side of things to have better awareness before going to ask her more questions.

Something Cat had laughed at him for.  

Apparently while it was good that he tried to learn on his own without relying on other people to teach him as needed, it is still okay to ask and admit what he doesn’t know.

Which Alec will admit feels extremely unrealistic in his experience but he also knows that Magnus and Ragnor and Cat are far different people to those he grew up around.

It’s honestly a relief every time he can talk among them — uneducated in comparison to their wealth of knowledge — and ask questions without being completely eviscerated.

Even if Ragnor can be rather savage with his rebuttals.

Which somehow leads them here.  To a mundane shop Alec doesn’t recognize or really understand, following Magnus as he explains things with words Alec also doesn’t recognize or understand.

Which happens a lot whenever Magnus speaks in mundane around him.

“Magnus, when  am I even going to use one of these?” It takes a while for him to ask the question, having too much fun enjoying Magnus explaining details he’s really not following.  It’s the watching Magnus and hearing him talk part that he enjoys and understands.

But eventually he gets there.

Even if they’ve already spent two hours in the showcase room at that point and Alec is about to go for a test drive of a motorcycle he wasn’t even aware he needed.

He’s still not sure why he needs one or what prompted this.

“For when you refuse to let me portal you and try to run around New York by foot for days on end.” Magnus mutters, clearly unconcerned with Alec’s opinion and well... that’s fine.

Alec doesn’t mind having easier ways to get to Magnus without magic and if this makes the man he loves less obstinate about portaling him around — even drained of magic — then Alec will take it.

And the opportunity to fully press himself up against Magnus and insist he drive first.

After all, what if Alec breaks the mundane bike before Magnus commissions it out to a warlock specializing in mechanics.

—

Terry really didn’t need this day to be any more convoluted. 

The morning had been slow, it’s a weekday so that’s not too surprising and it gives him time to focus on overdue paperwork.

At least that’s the plan until somehow, for some reason, they get a call from the higher ups to not just close down the shop for the day to the public — and no it's not a sudden holiday, of course it isn’t — because they’re about to have private viewers.

Terry really doesn’t expect much.

This happens from time to time.  Sometimes it's brands wanting to pick a bike for a commercial, someone with a lot of money and time to waste, or sometimes it's a business favor.

Terry doesn’t care as to the reason — higher than his pay grade and he has enough to think about — but he does care when two very attractive men walk in together, at the time slot provided by his manager.

They’re... really infuriating.

That’s all Terry can think.

He tries to open his mouth to start his most popular sales pitch and then he’s shooed away.

Shooed! Like an errant busboy lingering around a table for too long to avoid the kitchen — something Terry definitely never did in his youth — and he can’t even be upset about it!

It was far too attractive!

So instead of his normal job, he’s just left to carefully follow behind the pair as the one in charge Magnus Bane was the name he introduced himself with.  He didn’t actually introduce his partner, now that Terry thinks about it.  Magnus Bane had instead kind of just put a hand on the back of his — way too tall — partner and walked off.  He also hasn’t stopped talking since he arrived — and honestly it's almost like he knows more about bikes than Terry.

Which is downright insulting considering the guy is clearly not an avid rider and here for leisure and this is one of Terry’s special interests.  It’s galling to be out-performed by someone who has it as a hobby!

It’s fine though.  

It’s fine.  

Even if they only buy one bike, that’s good enough for Terry... and the eyecandy doesn’t hurt either. So, deciding that he either suffers mentally or just lets himself bask in the aura of a natural podcaster, he chooses the latter. After all, self preservation and the new info he can learn about his special interest are far more important.  

Not that Terry has normally ever had self-preservation when it came to bikes before, once he thinks about it.  He probably still doesn’t, since Terry is pretty sure half the information the guy knows is probably illegal.  

It feels like it.

Terry has never seen the original blueprints for any of these models and this guy, Magnus, has a pocket full of them for his boyfriend to compare.

Or his sugar baby.

Terry has never actually encountered one before in the wild, but he also knows that sometimes, he can be a bit oblivious.  

However, never let it be said that Terry cannot make a connection and connect the dots... eventually.

And really, you cannot buy a dozen motorcycles for a guy who doesn’t even want them without being a sugar daddy.

Really, Terry is about to go find one for himself and is awestruck that he never considered this before.

Twelve bikes.

All the most expensive makes and models with everything good added and everything unnecessary taken out.  A variety of colors and helmets — which is good, safety is important even if the dude’s boy rolled his eyes — and Terry really has to rethink his newfound ability to apply the word ‘boy’ to a man twice his size.

It shouldn’t work.

But it does.

After his realization Terry really can’t look at the two of them without seeing Magnus Bane and thinking ‘that’s his boy’ for his companion without even considering that he has a name.

—

AN:

(terry is an autistic queer with a hyper fixation on motorcycles. If that wasnt clear lol now it is. Is he cis? Is he bi? Is he trans? Is he genderfluid? Who the fuck knows enjoy your own headcanons ^_^)

Also yes. Alec calls anything that's based on the mundane world the mundane language because he has no reference for half of the shit being explained to him so its basically another language for him. that he has no interest in learning beyond the basics for Magnus' sake.

Also Magnus and Alec really out here in their own worldviews

Magnus: if you’re not going to let me portal you even on the verge of me being unconscious — and really alexander how could you be so callous i just want you safe and near me — then you’re getting a bike. Do you know how many times you’ve come home and just spent soaking your feet in the morning???? you don't even let me massage them for you half the time! claiming you don't want me to 'waste my energy'

Alec: ... yeah okay. If this means you stop trying to portal me while magically bleeding out then yeah. also Magnus you can't massage my feet while asleep. and you fall asleep almost every time you do it. anways I know how to — suddenly realizes his opportunity — actually magnus i don’t know how to ride a mundane bike. At all. Only magically reinforced ones so if you want me to test these bikes you’ll have to drive and i’ll just ride behind. otherwise I might break them and cause an accident.

Magnus: fine by me

Alec to himself: i am genius. I am so sneaky and manipulative he doesn’t even realize i just want to press myself tight to him while we ride

Magnus to himself: i’m so glad i mentioned that none of these bikes have magical warding on them. True i could do a temporary one but then i wouldn't get alexander clinging to me

These two share ONE fucking braincell between them when it comes to each other. And typically it’s Magnus’ magic that normally actually uses it.

Magnus: ... you know i sprung this on Alexander really suddenly. I’m just not going to bother with mundane things and i’ll leave a nice tip big enough to make up for any societal rudeness. 

Also Magnus: no one else needs to know his name. It’s mine. He’s mine. I’m not dealing with a repeat of that one incident where we BOTH got hit on and i can spot a fellow queer from a country away. No temptation, no problem, if everyone knows he's mine then they know neither of us are available.

Magnus: ... this guy is practically salivating as he follows us—- oh special interest. Okay thats fine. I’ll add a blueprint to his tip since he’s aiding my goal in decking out alexander with proper safety goal. This is amazing.

Terry at one point got too overwhelmed by how many eyerolls Alec had during Magnus’ insisting he try on helmets and gave a whole safety speech that had Alec just going ‘you know what. I can’t handle this. I’ll take whatever Magnus and you think i need. Magnus you can even pick out the colors. I’m done. Please stop talking. My special interest is Magnus and the only reason i’m handling any of this because he’s here but i would like to be off this ride now.

Magnus taking them to Australia to bike on the coastlines: is this better?

Alec holding tightly to Magnus and enjoying his own special interest at long last. Which is magnus: no. we should do another path. Maybe two just for good measure. 

Magnus mentally: i really intended for us to be on separate bikes but he’s so adorable like this i’ll save that for tomorrow 

The next day:

Alec: ... you expect us to ride separately .... when we’re both out together?? On dates? In our own personal freetime? MAgnus I have never been so insulted, devastated, betrayed, tricked, tortured —-

Magnus: oh for liltihs sake alexander. We’ll store the bikes evenly between my loft and the Institute and when we go for outings together we’ll just take one? Are you happy??

Magnus internally: i love him. I love him so much. I can never let him realize how cute he is when he gets grumpy and possessive.

Also the fact that Terry has slowly over the course of like 4 hours been indoctrinated into not even considering that Alec has a name beyond ‘belongs to Magnus’.

Mission accomplished. Magnus would be thrilled to know how successful his plan is.  Even if he’s still amused that everyone thinks he’s Alexander’s sugar daddy. Because lets be real, Magnus wishes he was Alexander’s sugar daddy and that Alec didn’t have to leave to go be a big strong competent HOTI with a lot of things on his plate

The High Warlock of Brooklyn is suffering because of his Alexander’s competence. okay? because as hot as it is it also means his boy is hot in demand.

from other people.

also yes.

alec is autistic (like in all my fics)

and Magnus has ADHD (like in all my fics)

[leosxrealm]

ꜱᴀᴜᴅᴀᴅᴇ

pairing(s): prince! Arthur Leclerc x male! knight! reader

warning(s): mentions of injury, mentions of death, royal au! forbidden romance(?), angst

(a/n): a lot of backstory and angst. also this was inspired the moodboard i made. and inspired by the song– sign of the times by harry styles. also the dynamic was kind of inspired by patrochilles from tsoa.

wc: 1.6k

!not proofread!

"Y/n! Uncle!"

You hear the high-pitched voice of a young boy. On turning around, you see him running towards you. But he never reaches you.

You let out a sigh. Seeing Arthur trip on his own feet was not an uncommon sight for you. You could never understand how a prince could be so clumsy. You walk over towards him, helping the poor boy up.

"Prince Arthur," your father greets him with a small smile.

"Uncle!" the younger beams.

"What brings you here, your Highness?" your father asks him, curious about why the youngest prince was near the soldier's quarters, which happened to be on the opposite side of the Prince's room.

Arthur stills for a second, gathering his thoughts. "My father has requested your presence. He said something about- about-" He trails off, not remembering the rest of what his father had said.

Your father smiles down at him. You didn't know what he found amusing about him. Your father turns to you, giving you a small smile, "I have to go. Please take care of Prince Arthur and escort him back to his room."

"Yes, father."

---

You look around the hallways as you walk behind the youngest prince. The royal quarters were completely different from what you were used to.

Arthur's room soon comes into your field of vision. It was only a few paces down Prince Charles'. "Do you want to come in?" he asks excitedly, eager to show you the new toys his father had brought from his recent travels.

You accept his request. It's not like you could say no to a Prince; you were a nobody compared to him.

---

You had been practicing your sword skills near the river bank before you were disturbed by the presence of another person. It took you a second to recognize him. After all, you didn't expect him to be here. 

"Hello!" he said after spotting you, his eyes full of innocence and with the biggest smile on his face. 

"Your Highness," you bow, just like you were taught to. He frowned, he never liked how you treated him like a prince. He wanted to be your friend, and friends don't bow to each other. Or act like one was superior.

He quickly changed the topic, asking you to teach him some of your sword moves.

"You have a trainer already," you pointed out, "appointed by the king."

"But I don't like him," he replied, pouting like a child. You sometimes forget that he's a prince. From what you were told, a prince shouldn't act this way. Maybe he got away with it because he was the youngest, you wondered.

"I'm not a teacher," you replied, hoping the annoying boy would go away already. "But you could teach a friend!" Arthur replied happily. You take a moment to answer. "You're a prince. We can not be friends." You walk away from the river, going back to the soldier's quarters.

Arthur watched you walk away from him. He didn't understand why you disliked him so much. All he wanted was a friend.

---

You were appointed to accompany the youngest prince while he went to the local bazaar. He wouldn't let anyone else accompany him and of course, the king couldn't let him go alone.

Arthur had made it known that you would be the only one he would allow to be near him. So upon receiving direct orders from the King, you couldn't exactly say no.

---

His eyes beg you. Trying to covey the words his mouth couldn't. Was it selfish of him? To want you to stay when the kingdom was under attack? He searches your eyes. What was he trying to find?

You step closer to him. Your hand gently cups his face, bringing him closer, till your foreheads touch.

"I have to go," you whisper, your breath tickling his face. A lump forms in his throat. He doesn't want you to leave.

His stomach churns at the thoughts that cross his mind. The 'what if' scenarios running through his mind. He can't shake off this feeling he has.

"Don't." It's so quiet you barely hear it. "Please."

"My Prince." You pull him into your embrace, gently tucking his face in the curve of your neck. One of your hands around his back, the other supporting his head.

"My love," you try to console him. It hurt you to see him like that. It hurt you the most to know you were the reason for his current state. 

"At least..." he tries to say before his own sobs cut him off. "At least stay the night." 

You look at Arthur. He was clutching your vest, scared that if he let go, you would leave. He reminded you of the young boy you had met all those years ago. 

The clumsy little boy, who used to run around the palace barefoot, tripping so often that his arms and legs were scattered in scars. 

The determined little boy, who used to beg you to teach him how to fight because he didn't think he was strong enough to deserve the title of prince. The smart little boy, who taught you how to read and write, something you had never learned because a soldier had no use for such things.

The caring little boy, who stayed up all night once to look after you after you had caught a severe cold.

The sensitive little boy, who cried when he found a dead butterfly in the garden. You didn't have the heart to tell him that those things barely lived for a few weeks. The brave little boy, who fought his father, the king, because the king forbade him from spending time together with lowlifes.

You smile at the memory. Arthur had fought his own father all because he called you a lowlife. You knew your place in the system. It wasn't the first time you had heard such a thing. It's what you were so you didn't ever consider it an insult. 

But seeing Arthur defend you like that, against the king of all people, had really made you see him in a new life.

You tighten your arms around him. You didn't want to leave him here. But this was a war the kingdom couldn't afford to lose. Things had been especially tough on the frontlines. 

"Of course, my love," you reply softly, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of his head. 

---

Arthur woke up the next day to an empty bed. You were nowhere to be seen. Deep inside, he knew you had already left. You were probably about to reach the battlegrounds.

He rolled over to your side of the bed. At least that's what he had been calling it ever since you had started spending the nights in his room. It was already cold.

He tried to sleep again, to get away from the thoughts clouding his mind but to no avail.

Something caught his eye. It was sitting on top of the nightstand. He reached out grabbing the small piece of jewelry.

He recognized it. It was a simple silver chain with your birthstone hanging from it. It was the most precious thing you had. You had told him once. A gift from your late mother.

He carefully wrapped his fingers around it. He knew how much it meant to you. It was your treasure and you had left it in his care. He brought the necklace closer to him. Like he was holding a piece of you. 

He curled up in a ball, weeping quietly. The reality of the situation hit him. There was only one instance he could think of where you would leave behind your most treasured necklace.

---

The Sun had already settled for the day. The stars, shining like little gems in the blanket of darkness. It had been a long day for the two young boys. Sweaty and tired, they laid in the freshly trimmed grass. 

"You did good today." the shorter of the two turned  his head to look at his companion. You had never been the first to start a conversation with him, much less compliment him. Arthur felt himself turning red as you laid there oblivious. 

"Thanks," he meeked out. He turned to look at you once again. Your had laid comfortably on the ground, your eyes closed, the moon that had previously been hiding behind the clouds was now shining its luminance onto you. 

Heavenly. You looked heavenly. It was the only way he could describe you. He closed his eyes, taking in the smell of the grass surrounding him, and of the blooming flowers through the wind. the sound of the leaves rattling, and you.

"I want to learn life with you."

You opened your eyes slowly. It had been so quiet that you barely heard it. You turned to the boy next to you. Or rather the man next to you. He was fifteen, turning sixteen in a few weeks. 

He was no longer the clumsy little boy you had met. He fitted into his role as the prince perfectly. He knew how to fight now. He was attending meetings when his brothers couldn't. His opinions were heard in the council. Everyone had acknowledged him as a man, as a dutiful prince. 

He had even changed physically. He was taller than you remembered. Stronger, even. His muscles were starting to show. His voice was slightly deeper. His hair was longer. He had grown. Before you knew it, a smile had appeared on your face. 

---

He holds the letter close to him, the edges of the paper crumbling under his fingers. The tears staining the paper. It was written in a hurry, he could tell. Addressed to him, sitting neatly on the nightstand next to your necklace.

He wailed.

Please forgive me, my prince. I would not be there to accompany you till the end. I wish it didn't had to end like this. I wish I got learn more of life with you.

I hope we can meet again somewhere. Somewhere far away from here. Maybe in the after life. Until then, take care of yourself, my love.

Love,

Your Knight

(a/n): i've written after soooo many months so its kinda weird and all over the place. and a little rushed. I'll get better when i start writing more eventually i promise🤞🏼i still hope you guys enjoyed it

[bingbuang]

♡ Venture dating Headcanons + rambling ♡

Hello my rats <3 I'm gonna be rambling about smutty stuff, subby venture, that stuff, might be upsetting for some, so just be careful about what you read, and take care of yourselves!!! Love yall

So Sloan doesn't really date most of the time, but when they do, they have to be down BAD. Borderline simping bad. They'd do anything if you asked.

So. Many. Compliments. They give you so many compliments, hoping they might get some in return. They become slightly emotionally dependent, hoping for some praise. If they do get it, they're over the moon. If they don't, they're just awkwardly silent for a moment.

Venture doesn't realize how obvious it is when they like someone, and when they're confronted by it, they try to deny how obvious it was. (It doesn't work)

They are very affectionate with people, but especially with you. It's not too noticeable since they're very touchy-feely with everyone, *at first.*

What a casual side hug would be for someone else is now a full, tight front-to-front 10 second hug, and their face buried in the crook of your neck.

They will get lost staring at you, just mid conversation, and they space out looking at your beautiful face, and not even realize they're smiling until someone says something.

They randomly say the MOST romantic shit ever. "Y'know, you're the nicest person to look at." Or "I wish I could talk to you for hours."

Sloan is a pretty tall person (Abt 6'), so sometimes they'll sneakily place your things on higher shelves so they can "help".

when they're invited to things, they immediately ask 'And Y/N? What about them? Are they going?' no hesitation. Their teammates think it's quite sweet.

To ask you out, which will probably take forever because sometimes THEY don't even realize they have a crush, they do it at an excavation site, because why wouldn't they? They'd wait until sunset, watching it with you, and quietly say they've liked you for a long time. "Wdym you already knew?"

They get kinda flustered about how you already knew because they do not do a good job at hiding it. Not that they'd want to, they're very open.

If you start dating, Sloan will be so happy. Then, their expectations of themselves go super high. They have to be clean, smell nice, be romantic 25/8, that stuff. They try to be seductive and dominant, but it does not work.

"Hey, uh, are you um, uh.. a.. uh.. cuz yk I'm gonna, uh.. I mean like.. you.. uh..."

They're very awkward. They're smart enough to understand sexual innuendo, they're 26 obv, but they can not handle it. Just a simple hand on the thigh makes them blush and quiet.

Please please please please tease them

Alr probably gonna get NSFW now so leave if you are a baby, you been warned

So I'm a big ass lesbian, and I don't have a preference for venture and usually alternate between amab and afab, but I'll be doing afab for this one.

Sloan does not shave. Not their legs, their armpits, their pubes, they just don't. They don't like shaving, and think it's a waste of time. (Real tho)

They can be dominant or submissive depending on the situation. If you're teasing them and are sliding your hands under their clothes, it's unspoken that they'll be a sub. If you're acting needy, they'll be a dom. (I love subby venture)

they need your hands on their skin with a burning passion.

They love being pegged, it's their favorite. They'll suck it, put it in their ass, their pussy, they just need you in them.

You tried a collar and leash one time, and they *loved* it. They whimpered when you pulled on it, and got into a habit of asking for sex by giving you the collar and sitting next to you expectantly.

Again with the collar, they love pet names (puppy, baby, good boy) while using it. Sloan also loves it when you have the collar *juuuuust* a bit too tight. They also love it when you make them eat you out by pulling the leash until they're almost suffocating on you.

They've never really used sex toys before, so they're a bit surprised when you use a vibrator on them, but they're addicted within seconds.

It's easy to overstimulate them, and they love it. Beforehand, they take sure you both have a safe word, because Sloan keeps whining for you to "stop" when they don't mean it.

Please please please bite them. They love rough sex, being pinned down, being spanked(🤤), etc.

Again with the overstim kink, Sloan will request you set a timer for like 3-5 minutes where you fuck them as hard and rough as you want non-stop. (Your record for making them cum is 8 times in 5 minutes)

They are VERY vocal during sex. Straight up loud. They'll whimper and twitch, whining your name when they're close. The way their soft mewls then into breathy moans when you hit their g-spot.

They literally go cross-eyed if you fuck them hard enough, and WILL drool on the pillow.

That's all I can think of rn, feel free to message me, and/or drop your own Headcanons below! Love y'all! 🧀🐀

[ficnation]

Chapter 4: Bon Appétit

Series: “Eat Your Heart Out” Pairing: Hannibal Lecter x Female! Reader x Will Graham Word count: 4,6k+ Warnings: canon-typical warnings, 18+, SMUT A/n: I'm really putting off the inevitable here sksksksk. Enjoy and let me know your thoughts <3 Btw this is my first time writing explicit smut (unedited)

This is also another late piece to @the-slumberparty Bingo Card event (prompt: proposal) - > Events Masterlist

Main Masterlist || Hannibal Masterlist

PREVIOUS CHAPTER || NEXT CHAPTER

When Will comes home that night after promising you he’ll only be gone for a few hours, he’s doing anything in his power not to look you in the eyes. He kept his word, coming back exactly three hours and twenty-six minutes later. You stare at him, intrigued. You don’t understand why he’s acting this way, but your mind screams at you that it can’t be anything good—it’s right, like always.

“I resumed my therapy with Doctor Hannibal Lecter,” he informs you after a few minutes of uncomfortable silence. He still doesn’t look at you, as he takes off his jacket and boots.

“You did what?” You blink at him in confusion—utterly dumbfounded. The meaning of his words doesn’t even register in your brain. 

“I’m going to keep on seeing Hannibal,” Will repeats in the same monotonous voice.

It hits you like a train, and your stomach churns at the thought of them sitting across from each other, talking about emotions and Will’s life. Your expression turns to one of disapproval as the man expected.

“After everything he’s done, after everything he put you through, why would you do that?”

Will doesn’t respond right away, and you can tell he’s struggling with his words. “There are things I need to learn about myself,” he says finally. “About what it’s like to be me.”

You stare at him, burning invisible holes in his head, trying to decipher what is truly happening here. The guilt that emanates from his person, the fact that he still can’t meet your gaze—it’s more than suspicious. The realization hits you even harder than the fact he wants to be anywhere near Hannibal Lecter.

“Why are you lying to me?” you ask, voice on the verge of breaking. You hate yourself for ever thinking that he trusts you completely after all those years apart. The tears gathering in your eyes are more angry than sorrowful.

For a moment, Will goes silent. The silence is thick, full of tension as the two of you remain in your positions—you watching him, and him with his back turned to you.

Then, he closes his eyes tightly, as if fighting against a headache. He finally speaks, but only after turning slowly to face you. You immediately notice the pained expression on his face, the guilt that drips from his very skin.

“I have to keep seeing him.”

You go to protest again, but the sound of your voice cracks, and no words emerge. Will doesn’t wish to ever hear this noise from you again. It feels criminal—being the one who caused it. His heart breaks in a way it never did before—it stings like someone delivered it one thousand cuts.

You both remain silent for what feels like an eternity. Will doesn’t look away from you, and your eyes are locked on him, on that misery and pain staring right at you. No one moves, no one blinks, no one probably even breathes. Everything is still, except for your heart which aches even worse than it did before. The silence gets so thick you can almost feel it—touch it. For the life of you, you don’t want to be the one to break it.

You want to speak, beg, convince him to stop these mind games, to give you an explanation you could understand. But you choose to keep your mouth shut, slumping further into the cushions of the armchair. 

Will’s eyes don’t leave you. They remain fixed on you as if willing you to speak, to tell him something that would make all of this suddenly go away. Anything.

He wants you to read his mind, and understand his pleas, but you can’t— and even if you could, you wouldn’t. You don’t do anything, don’t even move a muscle and after a few moments of waiting, Will finally breaks the silence.

“I don’t want him to do this to anyone else,” he says. His words are soft and quiet, but they carry a weight that you feel in your chest.

“Yet you didn’t start with that. You chose to lie.” 

Will sighs. He looks exhausted as if you’ve been here asking him questions for hours, even though it’s been twenty minutes at most.

“I didn’t want you to stop me. There, I said it,” he says. “It was hard. Harder than anything I’ve ever done. Can you just cut me some slack over here?”

You don’t answer right away. You don’t know what to think or what to say about this whole situation. It seems absurd, and you have to remind yourself that you might’ve paused your story with Will Graham, but for him time has passed, things have changed.

You’re not proud of the words that leave you next. God, you wish you could just catch them in the air before they have a chance to reach his ears and put them back in your mouth.

“Change your fucking tone, Will.”

You’re shocked with your own words, but Will doesn’t seem annoyed or offended, not like most people would. He’s still staring at you, but you notice the slightest hint of amusement in his expression as if this new side of you intrigued him rather than annoyed him.

“You don’t like me speaking to you like that, my dear?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. He makes no attempts to sound serious—just enough to make you laugh, but his words carry weight. He’s genuinely curious.

Will Graham just called you “my dear” and your whole face warms up at this term of endearment as you observe him fall to one knee in front of your person.

“What are you doing?” you choke out, confused, butterflies fluttering wildly in your chest.

Will takes his time to reply, his eyes scanning you and your reactions. He seems to enjoy the sight of you flustered, barely keeping up with what’s happening right in front of your face. His heart skips a beat more than twice in the span of a few seconds.

“I’m proposing.”

The words seem so absurd that you half expect him to break the tension with a quick joke, but he doesn’t. His gaze is glued to you, his words as serious as they can be. You don’t know what to say, don’t know how to react. Your mind is frozen.

“What the fuck, Will?”

Will grins at that and shakes his head as if he’d expected your reaction to be no different. He keeps his stance, one knee on the floor, as he stares at you affectionately—with so much love you’re surprised he doesn’t explode from it. The man is enjoying your confusion and the fact that he managed to pull it out of you. He’s not ashamed to admit it, either.

“That’s the kind of reaction I was hoping for,” he says quietly and in a matter of time, his hand is on your thigh, tracing invisible circles on the soft fabric of your pajama pants. “You were always going to say no for the first time.”

You blink at him, trying to coax out words from within you, but you don’t find any. That only makes you even more confused, and your expression turns to a frown. Is he really… asking you to marry him?

“I know, I’m quite the romantic.” He pauses, trying to stifle his chuckle. “Do you want me to ask you the usual way?”

“Will, are you serious?” you ask, your voice so gentle the words barely sound like they’re yours. Will only nods his head. “I don’t want you to ask at all. I want us to get married as soon as possible.”

He reaches down to grab your hands in his. “I never believed in marriage. I’m not sure if I do now either,” he admits awkwardly, playing with your fingers. “But I really want to hear people call you Mrs. Graham.”

Your heart jumps as he speaks as if you’d been waiting for him to admit those words for years. The words sink in slowly and your eyes become distant, as if you’d been taken back in time. A warm feeling spreads across your chest like you just swallowed a whole bottle of wine in one ginormous gulp.

“You know I can’t say no.” Your words are quiet and soft. He pulls you down onto his lap, his hands still around your fingers as he brings them to his chest. “Can I call you mine too?” 

“Always,” Will replies, his voice low and quiet, but full of love and emotion. “It’s been you all along.”

A soft smile rests on your face as you look down at him. Your head is right above his, but you decide to close the tiny distance between you by leaning forward and pressing your lips against his. You feel your heart race as you do so.

“Did you come up with this to distract me?” Your voice is playful, but the air around you is thick and humid. 

Will leans forward and wraps his arms snugly around your waist, hugging you tight. Your fingers play with his curls, his head back on your chest. The whole weight of him hangs onto you like all the sins in the world, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Maybe,” he replies, a smile tugging at his lips, even though he seems serious.

You can feel his body shift, and suddenly Will presses you firmly against the growing hardness inside his jeans. The whimper that pushes past your lips as you feel it through the thin layer of your pajama pants is downright desperate. You both can’t hide the fact that your breaths are becoming more irregular, muscles tensing under each other’s hands.

“I like being distracted like this,” you whisper, your nose nuzzling against his temple. 

A low growl comes from the man’s chest. You’re close enough to the source of the sound to feel the vibration against your body. He presses his face to your neck, taking in the scent of your skin like he’s oxygen-deprived.

“Should I distract you too, Will?” you ask him quietly, tugging at his tousled hair.

“You’ve done enough, dear. I’m already distracted.” His voice is soft, and his words catch in his throat. Will doesn’t seem to have a single rational thought going through his head. It’s like all he can process is his need for you, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say this was a spell cast on him. “I want you.” His hand moves to your hip, and he presses into you harder, your breath catching in your throat. “Please.”

And who are you to deny him of anything his soul could ever want or need? You don’t wait for more encouragement as your fingers start working on hastily unbuttoning his shirt. They trace the smooth lines of his chest, the scars that mark his skin, and every little detail of him—every part of his history that he once saw as a defect. It’s not. It’s who he is, who he’s always been—his past is a part of what made him the Will you know and love. 

Your fingers slowly make their way down to his belt and unclasp it too in one go. You graze over his hardness on accident, already feeling its heat through the thin layer. You let out a whimper and your whole brain starts to short-circuit. 

“Slowly.” Will’s voice is hoarse and raw, his fingers digging deeply into the skin of your hip. “I want to see you.”

The man doesn’t waste any time in waiting for your reaction as his hand moves up to your face. His touch is gentle as it pushes back your hair, his fingertips rubbing against the skin behind your ear before they start pursuing the shape of your neck—every muscle and tendon.

“Slowly,” he repeats, and you can’t help but groan.

Nevertheless, you obey, letting your hands explore every surface of his flesh again like he’s the perfect puzzle that you need to solve. His own mirror yours, sliding below the thin layer of your t-shirt, grazing over your navel, and pushing upwards.

Every move you make leaves its mark, causing his body to tremble even more. His breath becomes so uneven, you think he might fall apart at any moment. The mere sound sends shivers down your spine.

“Yes, like that,” he mumbles, and his lips are right next to your ear as he whispers these words. His hand moves again and starts to tug at your shirt.

You help him remove it in one go, left in only your plaid pajama bottoms. Will’s touch is familiar, one you could never forget—not like the dozen strangers through the past few years, you never even remembered their faces come tomorrow morning. But his touch sets you ablaze—burns and soothes at the same time, it’s unforgettable.

Will reaches up to pull your head against his so that you’re staring straight at one another. His touch is gentle, but there’s an intensity to it that you can’t mistake. His lips slowly approach yours with such an intense need that you can read it in his gaze. Even though he doesn’t say it, you feel that this kiss is more than just desire—it’s a need to be as close to you as possible, to never let you go again. His tongue delves inside your mouth, and you sigh into it.

The feeling of your skin pressed against his leaves Will desperate, his mind so overwhelmed and in a haze, he can’t even form the words to describe the sensation. His hand keeps moving as if your flesh were an addiction. The sound that leaves from his throat is something so close to a purr—he’s almost embarrassed. 

You feel his body tensing, his muscles flexing against yours, and your skin feels hot and all too sensitive. He’s taking advantage of this moment to touch you anywhere he can reach. His fingers leave no inch of your skin unexplored as he slowly begins to lower your pajama bottoms.

“God, you’re beautiful.” The sound of your voice draws Will’s eyes closed as he inhales deeply.

Will’s fingers glide down toward your legs, and he looks as if all his dreams are coming true at once. You see his eyes flicker open, and he looks at you with such intensity, such concentration, that it’s hard to breathe as you’re pulled along by an invisible force. He finally lets go of your chin so that he can drag your pajamas down further until they’re thrown across the room. 

You take his hands in yours, placing them over your breasts. And it’s only when his teeth drag across your neck, from just above your collarbone down to the crook of your shoulder, that he loses it completely. 

There’s no being slow or gentle when he pushes you away, standing up and pulling you to your feet. You take hurried steps back as he nudges you toward the bed. Soon enough, your calves hit the mattress and you fall back onto the blue duvet. You don’t even have a chance to take a breath, Will is hovering over you, elbows on each side of your head. 

“You’re gorgeous,” he mumbles, looking deep into your eyes—so deep you’re afraid he can see the broken soul behind them. 

You help him push his jeans and boxers down the length of his legs. The second they’re no longer an obstacle, Will’s fingers delve between your thighs, circling your clit teasingly with the gentlest of touches. Your lips part in a gasp, hands falling onto the covers to clench them in your fists.

“Will, please,” you plead between whimpers. He was the only one who could ever bring you to the point of begging, and you hope he knows it somewhere deep within. 

The man faces you with glassy eyes, swiping the tip of his tongue over his bottom lips. He doesn’t need you to say anything more, he just nods feverishly and lets your fingers guide him inside. The sensation of your heat gripping him tightly makes him groan, lips falling agape. You wrap your legs around his hips, crossing them behind his back, and pull him even closer. 

“Will,” you moan his name against his lips.

It spurs him on, makes him even more eager to please you. He draws back almost completely, then buries himself inside you again in one smooth motion. Your thighs tremble visibly, and it almost makes him smile. You wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him deeply, fingers tugging on his curls. 

Will rocks into you deep and steady, one of his hands digging into the meat of your thigh with so much force it hurts—but goddamn, you love this kind of pain. And he makes it feel even more heavenly when his thumb begins to trace circles over your clit.

It doesn’t take him long to take you over the edge—hard and fast—turning you into a mindless, hot, whimpering mess. You mumble his name over and over again as your heat pulses around his length, making him come just a few moments after you. He claims your mouth with his, making you taste your name on his lips. God, does it taste heavenly.

Night came quicker than you realized, covering the sky with bright stars and a full moon. Despite it, it’s not pitch black outside. The shimmering snow reflects the shining lights, fighting off the darkness well enough. It doesn’t make you feel any less threatened, even though it should.

You’re wrapped only in the blue duvet that covered the bed, as you lie on your side, facing Will, who’s already asleep. His bare thigh is right against yours, and the heat of his skin is almost impossible to resist. You let your eyes wander across his body, his physique—he looks like a sculpture, a masterpiece of flesh and bone.

Your body still aches from his touch, and you feel like you’re a puddle of emotions with the sole mission of holding love, affection, and desire for him. You’re about as far away from being “fine” as possible. You didn’t even get a chance to tell him you’ll be working together from now on. He doesn’t know he’s allowed back in BAU, and you wonder if you should leave him unknowing for as long as possible. It’s not your greatest idea, but the idea of him breaking beyond repair terrifies you.

You try to calm your heart as it races and skips a beat every time his body shifts—the smallest movement seems like it could wake him up. But as you lie there in the darkness, his hand reaches out and finds its rightful place on your thigh again, his fingers barely grazing your skin. The sensation makes you almost jump out of your skin, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Why are you awake?” he asks with half-closed eyes.

“Can’t sleep,” you reply softly, wanting to touch him back, but not sure if you should.

“I figured,” he murmurs. “You didn’t sleep much yesterday either.”

You sigh sadly, you didn’t think he’d noticed. His hand moves up your thigh, almost instinctively, until it touches you just below your hip. It stops there, and your eyelashes flutter at its warmth against your skin.

“You can touch me.” Will’s voice is so quiet it’s almost inaudible, and you don’t have to be told twice.

Your fingers slip under the duvet, so the fabric doesn’t block your touch, and you begin to trace the outline of his leg with the tips of your fingers. Will’s eyes finally open, and he looks almost nervous at the intimate touch—until you find the spot where he’s ticklish. He lets out an adorable whimper, so naturally, you laugh and keep going.

“No, no, please stop,” Will moans, trying to fight back his chuckles, squirming as he tries to get away from your touch. The whole time he’s half-smiling, his fingers digging into the duvet for stability. He tries to grab your hands, but it only makes you laugh harder. 

You find another ticklish spot on the side of his torso and continue to tease him. Eventually, your cheeks hurt from smiling so much as you watch Will scoot back, out of your reach. Your sour mood from before is gone in an instant.

Will moves up so that he’s sitting up against the wall, practically on the edge of the bed, and he looks almost offended by your reaction. Your gaze shifts, so you can get a fuller view of him.

“I’m not as ticklish as you think,” he says, his tone serious, though you can still hear a tremble in his voice. “If you wanted to see me squirm,” he adds, “you could’ve found a different method.”

The words send a shiver down your spine, and you immediately pull the sheets up to cover the bottom part of your face, trying to hide your flustered reaction from his eyes. 

“You’re so cute,” he says, his voice just a whisper, almost as if he was afraid that anything above a murmur could wake the dogs sleeping by the fireplace. “So adorable.”

Will’s hand rests on your head, his fingers playing with the strands of hair that cover your ears. You can feel him studying you—how your nose twitches and your eyes almost close as you wait for his next words. Something about it feels intimate as if he’s taking in every detail of your expression one by one. It’s been a while since he’s done that, you didn’t even realize how much you missed it.

“You can pull it down, you know,” he says playfully, his hand still in your hair. “This must be suffocating.”

“I know,” you say quietly, as you pull the sheets down from your face.

Will’s fingers interlace with yours, and you can feel his thumb circling your wrist. 

“And yes, it is a bit suffocating.” You pull the sheets down to your collarbones, and a chill runs through your body as the cold air touches your arms. “Maybe you can warm me up.” 

Will smiles—a small, sweet smile, with a bit of mischief thrown in.  “Maybe I can,” his tone is playful as he pulls you close, your cheek finding a home on his chest, right above his heart.

After a few long minutes of silence and listening to the steady drum of his heartbeat, you turn to face him, resting your chin above his pec.

“We’re back on the team, you know?” you mumble almost mindlessly.

Will looks down at you, his expression gentle as he caresses your hair. 

“I know.”

His gaze trails down your face and lingers on your lips for a brief moment before it shifts again. There are so many things Will wants to say, but he can’t bring himself to do it—he fears it would ruin these quiet, peaceful moments between you two.

You don’t question how he already knows that, choosing instead to voice your other thoughts—ones that’ve been on your mind almost the whole day. “What did Alana want from you?”

Will’s hand pauses against your face when you bring up her name, and for a moment he seems speechless, which is rare a thing for him.

“I…” He trails off but then speaks again as if he’s found the courage to say the words. “Alana wants me to stay away from Hannibal,” he says quietly, his fingers moving on your cheeks, your brows, your chin, as if his hand isn’t allowed to stay still for a second without touching the flesh it can. “She’s sleeping with him.”

“Why does she want you to stay away?”

“Because I tried to kill him.”

You don’t even blink at his confession, there’s no fear in your gaze—no ounce of surprise. There was a time in your life when this revelation would’ve shocked you, broken you in half, but after your father’s death, when you’re faced with it, it’s… easy to handle. Will expected this kind of indifference, he knew you well enough to know you wouldn’t judge nor be afraid.

“How?”

Will lets your question hang in the air for a long minute before he speaks. He takes a deep breath, trying to gather his thoughts.

“Not by my hand—not like that,” he starts. “Hannibal has a lot of… a lot of hold over me,” he pauses again, “he made me want to do it.” It’s probably the most vulnerable, the most genuine explanation Will has given anyone. He’s speaking to you from the heart and in pure honesty. “An opportunity fell on my lap to send someone after him, so I took it.”

You nod your head in acknowledgment—it makes sense to you. “It’s a shame it didn’t work out.”

A hint of a smile appears on Will’s face. He moves his fingers to the nape of your neck and to caress the lines of your ear—it’s something he always used to do when he was thinking and you were nearby. “Alana’s very upset with me.”

Will’s other hand slides over your thigh, his fingers teasing the skin, almost as if he was trying to test it, like a cat with a piece of string. He’s still thinking when his hand starts to move upwards, closer to your hip.

“Don’t take it to heart,” you advise him, leaving a soothing peck on his jaw. It was the best you could do.

“I’m trying.” He laughs in a low rumble, his hand moving between your legs and your whole body tenses. “I’m trying,” he says again.

The touch is so soft and gentle—almost teasing, yet your body seems to be craving it. It makes him nervous, but also excited, and when he closes his eyes his head just falls back to rest against the wall, his teeth showing as he breathes in deeply.

“Would you have done this if I…” his words trail off into silence as the man doesn’t seem certain about how to finish his sentence. He looks at you, his face revealing all the questions that he doesn’t dare to ask.

You grasp his jaw between your hands, encouraging him to speak his mind, but being unconditionally patient at the same time. He tries to say something again, then changes his mind. It’s as if he’s playing a constant game with you, trying to reach into your mind without opening his mouth like most people do.

“If you…”

“If I was still the same,” he mumbles out finally.

“Will, you are still the same person. Perhaps a little more broken than before, but it’s still you.”

Will stays silent and still for a minute with his eyes closed, his hand still between your legs. The tips of his fingers keep barely touching you, almost a caress, although a bit harsher than before.  His lids flutter open, so you can see his face as it’s lit by the moonlight.

“There’s something I’d like you to promise,” he says cautiously as if every word is carefully thought out before he speaks it aloud. “Promise me that you’ll keep trusting in me... even if you don’t understand.” 

Will’s hand moves up from between your legs so that he can touch your waist and hold you in place. The fingers of his other hand stroke your face down to the side of your neck, and you can feel how your heart starts to beat faster and faster with each touch.

“I will always trust you, Will. Just never lie to me again, have a little faith in me too.”

Will lets his eyes fall down to your lips again, and he can’t help but bite his own in response. As if he was trying to hold himself together but the urge to kiss you was almost too strong, the way his gaze kept shifting. 

When his lips touch yours—it’s a long, slow kiss, deep and gentle at the same time. He holds you in place, your hips pressed against his as if he doesn’t want you to move, even a centimeter. And you don’t dream of being anywhere else but here—by his side.

“I love you, Will.”

[mya-valentine]

I loved your Bleach Headcanons with Renji!..

Can I please have some headcanons where Ichigo, Rukia, Orihime, Uryu, and Urahara meeting a Soul Reaper who goes on Long-term missions ( can be gone for months at a time), and ends up running into them. And ends up saving them without knowing who they even are? (She has hallucination powers so potent they can effect the blind)

(She also wears a mask, and her robe has a hood on it. (She doesn’t show her face or body to ANYONE (her eyes can still be seen tho)

Headcanon: Meeting Mysterious Soul Reaper

Ichigo Kurosaki

Ichigo is immediately on edge when he encounters this Soul Reaper. Her masked and hooded appearance sets off his instincts, and he assumes she’s an enemy at first. The fact that her powers can affect even the blind both impresses and unnerves him.

Ichigo is grateful but frustrated by how little he knows about her. He tries to talk to her, but her reluctance to reveal her face or identity drives him crazy. He admires her strength but can’t shake the feeling that she’s hiding something big.

He starts making it a personal mission to figure out who she is, even pestering Urahara and Rukia about her. He can't stand being left in the dark about someone so powerful who seemingly vanishes after helping him.

Despite the mystery, Ichigo comes to respect her skills and her willingness to help without expecting anything in return. Her independence reminds him of his own.

Rukia Kuchiki

Rukia is more intrigued than suspicious. She sees the masked Soul Reaper as someone with a purpose she doesn’t fully understand but can’t help respecting. Her long-term missions hint at responsibilities that most Soul Reapers aren’t entrusted with.

Rukia is impressed and slightly uneasy about her powers. She wonders what kind of person can wield such an ability and still remain mentally stable. It reminds her of how dangerous certain abilities in the Soul Society can be.

Rukia tries to engage with her in a formal and polite way, but the masked Soul Reaper’s reserved nature makes it difficult. Rukia eventually respects her desire for privacy and leaves her alone—though she’s curious about what she’s hiding.

Seeing her in action, Rukia feels inspired. She wonders if the Soul Reaper’s long-term missions have forced her to become so closed-off and isolated, and Rukia feels a deep sense of pity for her, even if she never says it aloud.

Orihime Inoue

Orihime is immediately fascinated by her mysterious aura. She finds her masked and hooded appearance cool and asks a ton of questions, which are likely ignored or deflected.

After being saved, Orihime is the most openly thankful of the group. She tries to offer her healing powers as repayment, even if the Soul Reaper seems indifferent to it.

Orihime can’t help but feel that the masked Soul Reaper must be lonely. She tries to talk to her more than anyone else, offering kindness and warmth, even if it’s not reciprocated.

Orihime wonders what’s behind the mask and hood, but she doesn’t press. She assumes there’s a tragic reason for the secrecy and respects her boundaries, even if she wishes she could help her open up.

Uryu Ishida

Uryu is initially skeptical of her intentions. Her anonymity and the nature of her powers put him on edge, especially since Quincy history is full of betrayals by Soul Reapers. He watches her closely, always assuming she might have ulterior motives.

After seeing her in action, Uryu grudgingly acknowledges her skill. He respects her precision and efficiency, but her refusal to reveal her identity bothers him. He wonders if she’s hiding her face due to guilt or shame.

Uryu is fascinated by her hallucination powers. He speculates on the mechanics of her abilities, theorizing that they might work on a spiritual or sensory level far beyond what most Soul Reapers are capable of. (It's not him, it's me. I'm wondering)

While he respects her abilities and the fact that she saved them, Uryu is content to leave her be. He doesn’t trust her fully and would prefer to keep his interactions with her professional.

Kisuke Urahara

Urahara likely already knows of her existence and long-term missions, but he doesn’t let on to the others. He greets her with his usual playful demeanor, testing her patience but secretly observing her closely.

Urahara might subtly prod her about her identity or past, using riddles or humor to catch her off guard. If she doesn’t respond, he just laughs it off and respects her silence.

He’s especially intrigued by her hallucination powers. Urahara wonders how she developed such a unique ability and whether it has any drawbacks. He may even offer to “study” her powers in his lab, much to her disinterest.

While he’s curious, Urahara understands the need for secrecy and doesn’t push her too far. He admires her dedication to her duties and the sacrifices she’s made for her role, perhaps seeing a bit of himself in her.

.

.

.

[wingzie]

Jikook and the Importance of Photos

Photographs are special. They map out our lives through precious memories. They leave a footprint in time that can forever be part of our history. These glimpses of our past, make us who we are and show what or who is important to us. They are full of so much love and emotions, even more so when they are shared with those most trusted to us. This goes for every photo shared by the members.

 I personally think it’s amazing that we can tell when a photo of Jimin is taken by Jungkook, there’s a certain style to it and it comes across even at a glance. One of my favourite photos of Jimin by Jungkook is this one:

This photo was taken from the behinds of Life Goes On. Each MV was beautifully directed by Jungkook, and it’s hard to miss the references made from within their old dorm. I know Jungkook isn’t keen on photos but, just like during GCFT, Jimin is looking at Jungkook and not the camera here with that smile. With that one look, that we are so familiar with, we can trace every single moment within their history which has that same shining expression. It tells a story over time, but also that one photo itself is so telling in the way that it was captured. One of my favourite photos of Jungkook by Jimin is this one:

There’s something raw and delicate in this photo.You can see it in Jungkook’s eyes. Each item in the photo tells its own little story, from the Birthday cake to the polaroid photos on the table that we never saw. This photo is all we saw from the night of Jungkook’s Birthday in 2019 and sometimes I am reminded that with these glimpses into their lives, there are still so many moments of theirs that we are unaware of. For example, Jungkook had a hickey on his neck during MOTS:Online and none of us had any idea until the DVD Behinds came out. 

For every selca or video that Jikook has shared with us, it shows a part of them that we are so lucky to witness. To be able to watch their growth over the years is magical and something I will always cherish. Why am I going on about photos and memories though?  Because they give so much of themselves to us and I will never take it for granted, nor expect them to give more to us than they want to. Some of their memories are for them only, but we can still hold dear what we know already…

Some of you know this already, but I have been caring for my Mother lately. Over the last few months, her memory has worsened. In an attempt to help, we play memory games and repeat simple tasks together. However, her memory is something that cannot be simply fixed with such methods. I had the idea to get out family photos, until I realised that we had stopped taking them when my parents divorced. It’s made me more proactive in archiving things that I do each day. Every little thing I see or hear, I note it down or save the song. In a way, it’s also how I associate with BTS or Jikook. When the BTS World soundtrack came out, I was having a really bad day and it gave me a lot of comfort. I smile whenever I hear Pied Piper because it’s one of my friends favourite songs. Any time I hear “Jungkookie” or “Jimin-ssi”, a barrage of memories come to the front of my mind and I grasp onto all of them whilst I still can. 

I'm sure it's not just me who does this either, Jimin and Jungkook probably do this themselves. You could see that when Jungkook was watching Jimin’s compilation with us. He was recollecting the same memories as us, but he also has access to an entirely different set of memories that we don’t know of. We also saw that with the way Jimin and Jungkook both explained the Rainy Day Fight. During the Festa video, Jungkook mentioned “rainy day” and expected Jimin to understand what he meant. Later on, Jimin and Jungkook gave their own versions of what happened in their separate lives. They both more or less experienced the same thing, but blamed themselves for their actions and not the other. 

They love adding to their own collections of memories. Every single time that Jimin watched Jungkook rehearse and the other way around, enough so that they could probably be a backup dancer. All the clips they have but haven’t shared. The moments we don’t find out until later, the inside jokes they have without context. We don’t understand, but that doesn’t matter. Only they have to and we just watch and smile. Their memories are a huge part of them, it’s what makes their bond so special.