#know where you money are spent by your government would be a great place to start eliminating corruption bad actors scammers criminals

[awesomecooperlove]

🇺🇸💵🤔

#america #taxes #taxpayers #warning #know where you money are spent by your government would be a great place to start eliminating corruption bad actors scammers criminals #deep state’s oligarchs are making shore your money go in their pockets and for their crippled needs #wake up america #crimes against humanity #these people are evil #speaktruth #fight for justice #standup #corruption #speak up #truth #please share #wwg1wga

[berenwrites]

Late Again? - Stranger Things - Steddie - PG

Rating: PG | cw: mentions of sex | tags: fluff, rich Steve, post Vecna

Prompt: Love is being late to work because you can’t ever say goodbye in a reasonable amount of time (@sharpbutsoft)

A/N: Written for @steddielovemonth day 14. Happy Valentine’s Day everyone. Hope you are having a great day full of love be it platonic or romantic.

Also on AO3 soon | All My Other Stranger Things Fic

Late Again?: Love Is Too Compelling!

“You should just quit,” Eddie said, doing his very best to drag Steve back to bed.

“And leave Robin alone?” he replied, slipping out of his boyfriend’s grip. “I couldn’t. She took a year out so she could earn some money for college, and I won’t leave to her deal with Keith on her own.”

“Let me guess, you offered to give her the money and she said no,” Eddie said, flopping back onto the pillows.

“Yep,” he said, searching around for his work vest. “She’s being stubborn, wants to earn her own way. I’ve tried explaining that since my Grandpa died I have more money than I know what to do with, but she keeps telling me I might need it in the future. It was hard enough to get her to let me pay for some proper driving lessons. Her dad is great, but good at teaching driving he is not.”

“I’ve seen her dad drive,” Eddie agreed, “he’s almost as erratic as his daughter.”

“They do take after one another sometimes,” Steve said, holding his prize aloft when he finally found his vest down the back of the nightstand.

They might have been somewhat enthusiastic the previous evening given how their clothes seemed to be in very random places. Not that Steve would ever complain. His sex life with Eddie was amazing, which went right along with how much he had fallen in love with his metalhead boyfriend.

“Please come back,” Eddie whined. “Just for five minutes.”

“You mean like yesterday’s five minutes?” he responded. “If I am late again, Robin might actually tell Keith, and I’ll have to sit through another one of his lectures about company loyalty and responsibility.”

He was very glad to find he still had plenty of clean underwear in the drawer when he pulled it open. Laundry day was a way off yet, thank heavens.

“Am I not worth it?” was Eddie’s next gamble in the dragging him back to bed game.

“Of course you’re worth it,” he said, leaning down for a quick kiss on the way to the bathroom, “but I happen to have the keys today.”

“I shall lay here and pine away thinking of how I have been abandoned,” Eddie added with huge drama.

“Write me a new song,” Steve shot back, sticking his head back into the bedroom after grabbing his toothbrush. “You know how hot I think that is.”

“I feel like an old-timey bard with a rich benefactor,” Eddie replied.

“Yeah, well when you and the band are rich and famous, I’ll be your kept man, okay?” he said with a laugh.

Eddie had tried to find a job in town after he had been begrudgingly allowed to graduate, but no one would hire him. Even though he had been completely exonerated and even made into a bit of a hero by Owens’ carefully created cover story, Hawkins was slow to believe. After Steve’s grandfather had died and he’d inherited a ridiculously large amount of money and the house in Hawkins, which it turned out his parents had never owned, Steve had offered to give Eddie the time and space to chase his dream.

It had taken some persuading, but neither of them planned to go anywhere until the kids were graduated, just in case it wasn’t as over as everyone said, so Eddie had finally acquiesced. Eddie had a set up in the basement where the band could also practice and, these days, he’d just about moved in permanently too. Technically he and Wayne had a house thanks to government hush money, but Eddie spent most of his time at Steve’s, and they had Wayne over whenever Wayne was free.

“Stevie,” Eddie called from the other room as Steve started the shower.

“Yeah?” he called back.

“Have you ever actually told Robin how much you inherited?” Eddie asked.

“Um,” he said as he thought about that. “No,” he realised, “but I did tell her I had so much I didn’t know what to do with it.”

Throwing around numbers had felt kind of wrong.

“You do realise you don’t exactly live an extravagant lifestyle these days, right?” Eddie said and Steve turned to find his boyfriend now standing in the doorway.

He shrugged.

“Guess I got used to budgeting,” he replied.

“Which is very noble, gracious knight,” Eddie said with a grin, “but are you sure she gets just how filthy rich you are now? I didn’t until you showed me the numbers.”

Steve had never thought of it like that. Throwing some of the paperwork he’d been given by the lawyers at Eddie had been part of his last-ditch attempt to convince his boyfriend to take him up on his offer.

“Ah, maybe not,” he had to admit.

“Then I shall return to bed and mourn your parting quietly today,” Eddie said, back to his dramatic flair, “but give Robin the numbers and invite her to be your live-in lesbian of leisure.”

“Our,” Steve corrected as he laughed at Eddie’s choice of words.

This was why he was sure Eddie had more than enough talent to eventually go global. One day Eddie’s words and music would be famous, he had no doubt. Using the money he had never expected to receive to give Eddie the time and space to realise his dream, seemed like the perfect plan.

“I still don’t know if she’ll say yes,” he said, pulling back the shower curtain to climb in, “but I will tell her. Now shoo before I’m tempted to be late again, because if she’s mad at me she won’t even give me the chance to talk.”

“As my liege orders,” Eddie said and bowed, which was hilarious given he was naked.

Steve gave himself a stiff mental talking to and refused to look too long. After all, he only had so much will power.

All My Other Stranger Things Fic

#stranger things #stranger things fanfic #fanfiction #steddie #steve harrington #steve x eddie #eddie munson #eddie lives #post season 4 #steddielovemonth #eddie x steve #steddie fic #steddie fluff #steddie ficlet

[cassianus]

Saint Cajetan

Cajetan was born the second son of pious and noble parents, Caspar de Thienna and Maria Porta, who dedicated him as an infant to the Blessed Virgin Mary. From childhood he was known as "the Saint", and in later years as "the hunter of souls." A distinguished student, he studied law in Padua, Italy, and was offered positions in the government, but he turned them down and left his native town to seek a religious vocation and obscurity in Rome. Found out, he was forced at age 28 to accept a position at the court of Pope Julius II. He was ordained a priest at age 36.

On the death of Pope Julius, Cajetan returned to Vicenza and disgusted his relatives by joining the Confraternity of Saint Jerome, whose members normally were drawn from the lowest and poorest classes. Cajetan spent his fortune in building hospitals, and devoted himself to nursing the plague-stricken. He founded a bank to help the poor and offer an alternative to loan sharks; it later became the Bank of Naples. He was known for a gentle game he played with parishioners where he would bet prayers, rosaries or devotional candles on whether he would perform some service for them; he always did, and they always had to "pay" by saying the prayers.

To renew the lives of the clergy, on 3 May 1524 in Rome, with the help of three others, including the future Pope Paul IV, he formed the Congregation of Clerks Regular, known as the Theatines. They devoted themselves to preaching, the administration of the Sacraments, and the careful performance of the Church's rites and ceremonies. Saint Cajetan was the first to introduce the Forty Hours' Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament as an antidote to the heresy of Calvinism. When the Germans, under the Constable Bourbon, sacked Rome, Saint Cajetan was scourged to extort money from him; what his attackers did not understand was that he had long before spent his worldly wealth on good works.

Cajetan had a great devotion to the Blessed Virgin Mary. His piety was rewarded one Christmas eve when she appeared to him and placed the Infant Jesus in his arms. When Saint Cajetan was on his death-bed, resigned to the will of God, she appeared to him again, this time surrounded by ministering angels. He said, "Lady, bless me!" Mary replied, "Cajetan, receive the blessing of my Son, and know that I am here as a reward for the sincerity of your love, and to lead you to Paradise." She then told him to have patience with the illness that had attacked him, and gave orders to the choirs of angels to escort his soul to heaven. "Cajetan," she said, "my Son calls you. Let us go in peace." And so, he did.

[theglitchywriterboi]

Okay I'm gonna say it:

I think family channels [channels in this case includes [but isn't limited to]: YouTube, Tiktok, twitch, instagram, etc] where the kids are under age should be illegal. [Or at the very least a lot more laws about it]

Like it's so dangerous. If it's an occasional "Haha, look at this cute video of us/cute pic" [personally even that is :// to me, but I know in those cases its normally just sharing] that's one thing, but accounts dedicated to your children ??

Like how do you not realize posting all your kids interests, when they were born, y'alls location, if they're homeschooled/go to public school, the park y'all go to, their full name, when/where y'all go on vacations, etc etc IS SO FUCKING UNSAFE ???? Like internet 101.

& maybe you're reading this & you're like "I don't share my exact location 🙄/the family channel I follow has never said their location" but w/ the right skills [or knowing the right people] you can easily find where somewhere is ? Like there's this dude [& no hate to him he seems cool**] who's literally known for seeing a sign or grass & getting almost near exact to where that place is w/o more info [& I assume he spent ages learning all that stuff, but my point is, it's possible] ? Also, on a darker note, a guy literally found someone he was stalking through the **reflection** on her glasses.

Plus that's not even to mention how the kid will feel when they're grown up.

Now this post may be fake [I'm not saying it is or isn't**], but I feel it greatly illustrates the very probable reality of being raised in this environment:

In the comments OP says her parents only stopped when one of her siblings tried to commit suicide, as well as saying she would give up all her money to feel safe, because she's constantly paranoid & feels like she's being watched. OP also said: "I truly believe no changes will be made until a child is killed as a result of their parents over sharing online. It shouldn’t have to get to that point" which... I agree. I think people online can yell as much as possible, but until a kid is actually kidnapped &/or killed due to this, I don't think platform's, let alone governments, will care.

Here's the link to the reddit post btw:

I know being poor isn't fun [I am poor & grew up poor] but money isn't worth exploiting your child/kids, putting them in danger, & inflicting this sort of trauma on them.

Plus I've seen SO. MANY. Kid accounts that are like "[baby's name] @[mom] / @[dad]" & you click on one/both of the parents profiles &... The parents accounts are private... Like clearly you understand wanting privacy, but you can't extend that to a child who doesn't know what their foot is let alone the implications of having thousands->millions of followers ???

Sorry if this makes zero sense, it's 3AM, but I hate family accounts so much. It's easy to put up a front & I'm sure some of those kids genuinely love it & in 20 years time they're like "No it was great I loved that !!!! Theres nothing I want down tbh. & I'm psyched I basically got my own platform right away & didn't have to grind for it" But I feel like those kids will be in the minority, while MOST will be like the post above, or at the VERY least, they'll wish a lot wasn't filmed & posted for millions to see.... :/

ALSO TO BE CLEAR !!! THIS IS ABOUT FAMILY CHANNELS. Teens having their on socials is chill imo [but be safe ofc**] & occasionally sharing a family pic is fine. But centering an account around your family/kids is what my issues is***

[officialleehadan]

On the Road Again

Capability Seen

+++

“There’s one place in the world that is safer than the safe-house,” Ben told Natalie  as she tossed her newly-purchased go bag into the back of the car. She traveled light, which was useful, considering how much traveling they had been doing lately. Particularly by car. “I’ve spent… well, let’s go with a lot, of money making sure it’s not on anyone’s radar, and the person who lives there has a particularly strange Power that will help us.”

“I thought weird powers were trackable,” Natalie said. Phoenix wasn’t coming with them on this ride. She wanted to stay and deal with the dude Natalie almost shot and to keep up the illusion of them being at the safe house. She would join them once they had a good head-start. She and Ben had a long conversation, probably about what to do with the guy they captured. Natalie hadn’t wanted any part of that conversation and stayed inside. It turned out that someone on the Baddies side had someone who could track Powers somehow. Natalie didn’t understand most of it, but it didn’t sound great.  “You told me that was part of why everyone’s after me.”

“Partly yes,” Ben agreed and fired up the engine of his remarkably boring car. It was a super-car under the hood, but the outside looked like an old sedan from the early 00s. Just old enough to be boring, and not old enough to be valuable. It was black, but a normal sort of black that didn’t tend to draw attention. Natalie buckled herself in securely. Ben was careful not to drive to catch attention. He drove the speed limit, stopped at stop signs, and kept an ear on the police radio under the dash. Fidget had made it for him, and it picked up pretty much any government transmission, including the Powers’ one. “But she’s retired. They know where she is, but they don’t know about my relationship with her.”

“Ominous. The last leading lady of yours that I met tried to kill us both.” Natalie wasn’t the jealous sort. Ben liked her. She liked him. Trust was part of that. Of course, most of the people in his past were presently hunting them, so that wasn’t super hopeful. “Is this one better?”

“She’s reliable in that actually reliable way,” Ben assured her, which was serious, since Ben didn’t trust most people and didn’t assume anyone was capable without plenty of evidence. “Anyway, she’s retired, so while the community sort of knows about her, she’s pretty far off the radar. And her power… it’s as rare as yours, and almost as valuable if anyone knew she was still active.”

“What is it?” That part was ominous too. Natalie was getting pretty sick of the ominous part of her life. She dug in her pocket for a handful of pins and started twisting her hair up. It was hot even with the windows down. The AC didn’t work at all, and her hair was sticking to the back of her neck already. “Her Power I mean. I don’t really know anything about the rare Powers. Except mine, I guess.”

She didn’t know very much about her own Power either, but that was a different problem.

“She’s a Concealer,” Ben explained once they were on the highway, headed north. It was a quiet part of the highway, and traffic was light. Ben kept an eye on the road around them, cautious of anyone trying to follow them. “Not that powerful to be honest. The really heavy Concealers can hide a dozen Powers under their area of effect. She can only do a few at a time, but it will keep our biggest problem off our tail.”

“The Tracker, right?” Natalie wasn’t sure how that all worked, but Ben seemed to think it was a problem, and she assumed he knew what he was talking about. He had been in the Powered business for a long time after all. “They’re following us because I’m trackable because I’m weird.”

“You’re not weird, you have a rare Power,” Ben corrected her and swerved suddenly to take an unexpected exit. Natalie yelped and scrabbled for the panic handle. “Sorry. Evasive driving is a thing.”

“You drive like the devil. I’m gonna punch Roadster if I ever meet him!”

“That’s not nice. His lessons have kept us safe a couple times now.”

“If you flip this car I swear to god-”

“I’m not gonna flip the car, Doll. I’ve never rolled a car I didn’t plan to roll. Settle down. I’m just shaking the guy who’s trying to tail us.”

There was someone trying to tail them?

Natalie twisted around to peer out the back of the car, entirely distracted from Ben’s crazy driving. She couldn’t see anyone behind them who seemed suspicious.

“The silver sedan four cars back,” Ben said, and took another sharp turn, this one into a gas station. Rather than stop, he hooked the car around the back of the station and onto a side street, before gunning the engine again to get them clear. Before Natalie could say anything, he took another turn and merged back into the main street smoothly. In minutes, they were back on the highway. Ben glanced in the mirror and nodded to himself. “Good. Lost them. Open the dash and hit the triangle button once.”

“Do you have a spy car?” Natalie asked incredulously, but did as he said. There was a whole row of buttons in different shapes and colors. “Triangle?”

“Triangle. And no, I don’t have a spy car, I have an anti-hero car. Fidget messes with it whenever he’s bored.”

“So… what did I just do?” Natalie wondered. She hadn’t heard anything happen. “Was that a weapon or something?”

“It switched the license plates,” Ben explained with a grin. “And gave us California plates, too. Makes it harder to track us. There’s a reason I have a boring car that everyone has. Different plates and we’re invisible.”

“…Yeah okay that’s pretty smart,” Natalie allowed. She had been surprised by his boring car. He seemed like the sort to drive a muscle car. Now it made more sense. “So you haven’t told me where we’re going. Who are we meeting up with?”

“The only person I trust more than Fidget,” Ben said and shot her a sly grin. “How do you feel about meeting my Ma?”

+++

Capability Seen:

Clink Zap

Twenty Questions (Subscriber Only!)

Not a Drill

Chase Music (Subscriber Only!)

Hide Out Freak Out (Subscriber Only!)

Call Home (Subscriber Only!)

Office Revelations (Subscriber Only!)

Introducing Flame

Classic Scifi (Subscriber Only!)

Trust Falls

Firing Pin

Zap Zap Girl

On the Road Again (New!)

+++

MASTERLIST

#Write #writer #written #writing prompt #prompt #prompts #story #novel #fantastic #romance #romantic #love #spilled ink #spilled writing #spilled romance #spilled feelings #supernatural #writeblr #lee hadan #pretty #art #artistic #music #inspiration #long post

[verityswritings]

500 word Excerpt From My WIP For NaNoWriMo

Story:

Syrus looked down upon the city. Admiring the citizens the way a child would look down to an interesting looking bug. It was curious how they all ran about, how they all scurried along with an unseen purpose as if actually had any awareness of the world around them. He couldn’t find it in himself to be able to figure out what exactly made these ants he looked down upon want to live this way. Though this thought was something he didn’t want to pay much attention to, so he cast it aside and turned his back to the window. He supposed that he only dwelled on these odd thoughts because of the new office he now found himself occupying.

It was a vast office, in Syrus’ opinion it was far too large a space for any office at all. What exactly was the point of making this place so big? Everything here in this castle seemed so gigantic to Syrus that it was almost laughable. The ceiling in all the areas of the castle were much higher than what could ever be considered necessary. The ceilings were what Syrus estimated to be 10 feet tall and even that seemed to be a generously low number. His office itself was apparently where he was supposed to consider his pride and show his extravagance. At least, that’s what the previous owner of this office seemed to think.

The space was far too expensive. It was as if someone had designed this room with a great ideal in their mind, but then began to realize that there was no real need for this room they had envisioned and had to cast this room aside and label it an office. It had a great many bookshelves lined with a great many books. Far too many for anyone to be expected to be able to casually read. Though most appeared to be books of law and other boring things that concerned government related things. Above the shelves, the walls were lined with things that were obviously meant to be viewed as impressive. Several heads of exotic animals were hung on the wall, well they were supposed to be seen as exotic, but Syrus didn’t feel impressed. These animals were only viewed as odd because they didn’t reside within the city walls, but when you actually spent any time out in the backwoods you realize these animals weren’t anything special.

There were also several obviously expensive portraits and painting placed on the walls, but he felt no need to pay attention to these. Art only valued because of its value in money didn’t have any worth to him. The contents in the room felt so overdramatic that Syrus couldn’t help but feel amused.

And this room was just one example of the ridiculousness of this place. Syrus just couldn’t understand how the people here in the city could take themselves seriously with this building as the capital of their city.

Anyways, I’m writing an actual story for first time instead of just fanfics. Lol

I plan on this character being a ‘yandere’ but haven’t 100% decided on the name yet. (Or the name of the city/country.)

Synonsis (may change later):

A society built on the use of magic, but the catch is that only ‘government qualified’ are allowed to use magic freely. Society is controlled by the whims of those with power, but how are these individuals in power chosen? By a yearly tournament obviously! And the only way to achieve or maintain your status is to win the tournament each year. So how will life in (country name) change as its people know it when a new individual emerges and suddenly wins the tournament?

#wip #nanowrimo #nano 2022 #my writing #yandere #nanowrimo 2022

[bestcommercialfishingpermits]

4 Common Questions About Commercial Fishing Permits

Do you have a passion for fishing? Is your ideal day spent out on the water, angling with your friends or loved ones? If so, you may be thinking about turning your pastime into a career. Commercial fishing can be lucrative if demanding work. A multi-billion dollar global industry, the demand for fresh seafood is evergreen, and if you are looking to turn your fishing skills into dollars, there are a few things to know before you get started. Knowing the facts about commercial fishing permits can be a good place to start.

With so much money to be made in commercial and industrial fishing, it is no wonder that it is a rather tightly-regulated industry. This is the case for a few different reasons. For one, it maintains a level playing field for competition in the market. For another, it protects fisheries and our waters from overfishing and pollution. And, additionally, it serves as a safety measure by maintaining a record of who is on federal or state waters and what they are fishing for.

Who Issues Commercial Fishing Permits? Federal commercial fishing permits are issued by the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA). This government agency is tasked with issuing fishing permits, as well as monitoring the weather and issuing forecasts. The NOAA employs a great number of scientists and researchers, so their regulatory efforts are carefully researched and well-reasoned.

If you are fishing in state waters, you will want to seek the proper commercial fishing licenses from your local agency. Each state has its own rules and regulations about commercial fishing, so it is in your best interest to get acquainted with your local laws.

Are There Different Types of Licenses? There are a number of different federal commercial fishing licenses available. For their part, the NOAA delineates its license options by region. Those regions include Alaska, the Atlantic, the South, the West Coast, and the Pacific Islands. Each territory will have an array of different permits available, often separated by species. For example, there are permits for Atlantic Tuna and licenses for Alaska Rockfish.

Do I Need a State or Federal Permit? The permits that you need will depend not only on what you are catching but also on where you are fishing. State waters encompass the area from zero to three nautical miles from shore. Federal waters cover the territory from three to 200 nautical miles out. If you are on state waters, you will want to seek the appropriate state licenses. Conversely, federal waters will warrant NOAA permits. Many commercial fishing businesses will find themselves operating in both jurisdictions.

How Can I Get My Permits Online? You can get your commercial fishing permits online by working with us at the Commercial Fishing Permits Center. We are a private service that helps business owners like yourself obtain the licenses, endorsements, and permits you need. If you would like to learn more about the services we provide, please take a moment to browse our site, or contact us by phone or email today.

#Commercial Fishing Permits

[astriiformes]

I cannot emphasize enough, museums/zoos/aquariums and the like are at an incredibly dangerous point right now, and it’s breaking my heart that not only is it happening, but it’s happening so much more quietly than it deserves. The main people I have seen sharing information about the crisis museums are in right now are others in the field, and while I know it’s not out of malicious ignorance, because people love these places and don’t want to see them gone, it’s scary that these places are dying with so much less fanfare than some of the other institutions threatened by the current situation in the US.

I came across an article from NPR the other day suggesting that unless something changes, ONE-THIRD of museums in the entire country (a loose term that includes certain places like aquariums as well) could be dead before the end of the year (source). A third! Can you even imagine the incalculable loss? And it goes so far beyond the services museums generally provide to the public, like field trips or a place to go on the weekends -- not that those aren’t important. But museums do so much more than that. If these places die, where do their collections go? Often there’s no one else who can take them in, and as someone who has spent a significant amount of time in the bellies of museum collections, most people have no idea how many specimens or artifacts would become homeless and in danger of being lost forever. In the case of zoos and aquariums, what happens to their animals? Another friend of mine mentioned on Facebook the other day that the Aquarium of the Pacific is not only in dire need right now, but that a person they know who works with them has said that if they close, they’ll have to euthanize a significant number of their animals. And for the places that do survive, they won’t be unchanged. The science museum I used to work for isn’t in danger of permanently closing -- yet -- but still had make the incredibly difficult call to do a 39% reduction in staff positions, meaning that even when they reopen, the jobs that I and over a hundred and fifty people held before the pandemic -- educating, running programs, engaging with visitors on an extra personal level -- won’t exist anymore. Another friend of mine doing a museum studies degree has said that even the Smithsonian (the SMITHSONIAN) had to make a similar call and many of her friends doing work there are now jobless.

Your local museum isn’t getting help from the government. Museums, zoos, and aquariums have had to beg desperately for stimulus money that hasn’t manifested. These are non-profits, that rely on revenue from visitors and memberships for the most part, and as they are responsibly staying closed for everyone’s safety, they aren’t getting visitors. Without some form of help, they are going to drop off the face of the planet, or appear at the other end of this as gutted shells of their former selves. 

If you want to help, you have two options: get money into the hands of these places directly, or put pressure on your representatives to offer museums and other institutions like them some kind of federal stimulus money. If you can afford it, this is a great time to get a membership to a place you love -- many of them are even offering special online programming for members, so it’s more than just a donation. Or you could make a donation, if that’s a more practical amount for you to spend, because at this point anything helps. And if you can’t do that (or even if you can), yell at your senators and representatives to do something. Many places even are offering guidelines for the sorts of things to talk about, like this script from the Monterey Bay Aquarium (although repetitive scripts are less likely to have an impact than individual e-mails, something is still better than nothing, and you could even read over it to figure out how to formulate your own message).

I’m not usually one to beg people to signal boost something, but it’s breaking my heart that this issue is being ignored. Every day it feels like I have to explain these places are struggling to someone else who didn’t know it was a problem, and while I don’t blame them for not knowing, I want people to know. I want people to be aware that we are at risk of losing some of our most valuable cultural and educational institutions, not find out after all this is over that they’re gone. Please talk with people you know about what’s going on. We need our museums. And right now, they need us too.

UPDATE AS OF 8/10/20 -- This is not so much an update on the situation as a whole, but I wanted to share it all the same, since accuracy of information is important! The Aquarium of the Pacific reached out to me in order to address their current situation. Despite major cutbacks, it’s currently looking like they are in a stable enough situation that they will be able to maintain the level of care necessary for their animals, ensuring their safety. Obviously that’s incredibly relieving news, and I’ll graciously accept the edit.

That said, while they are one of a few organizations I’ve come across encouraging information about in the last week or two, the fact that there is still no new legislation protecting museums, zoos, and aquariums in crisis stands. That lack of a safety net remains a serious concern, and these places absolutely still need help in the form of memberships, donations, or pushing your representatives to include them in any future COVID-19 relief stimulus legislation. Successes are successes but this is a far-reaching issue, with no one easy solution in sight. That’s why continuing to stay informed and active in sharing information and taking action is so important.

#current events #signal boost #please #nate at the museum

[falcqns]

You’re Worth It

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x College Student!Reader

Summary: You visit Bucky’s apartment for the first time, and assure him that he's worth so much more than he thinks. 

Warnings: SMUT! age gap but its legal, very insecure Bucky, oral (f receiving).

A/N: Hope you enjoy!

You stood outside Bucky’s apartment door, watching your boyfriend dig his keys out of his skinny jeans, his other hand on a bag of groceries that contained your soon-to-be dinner. He pulled them out and located the door key, before turning to you. “Are you sure you want to stay here tonight, doll? I’m more than okay staying at your apartment.” He said, his eyes not leaving the ground in front of him.

You smiled, and placed your backpack on the ground beside you before turning and grabbing his stubbly face in your hands. “Baby. I want to stay here with you. I don’t care what it looks like. Whether it’s dirty or clean, the cutest apartment in the world, or the ugliest. It’s yours, and I want to see it.” You said, and he smiled before nodding. “Okay.” He said. He put the key in the door, and unlocked it. You followed him into the small apartment, and was immediately surrounded by the smell that was undeniably Bucky. 

You loved the way he smelled, you always had. He smelled like a field of lavender flowers on a beach, with a hint of salt water. He dropped his keys on the table, and turned around to face you. You placed your backpack on the floor again, this time by the table and looked around. There wasn't much, but he had a small chair and a side table, and a small tv stand where his tv sat. There was a chair in the corner by the kitchen island, and that was it. Your eyes ran over the pile of blankets on the floor, and you could feel your heart break.

He slept on the floor. 

He chuckled as you looked around. “Sad, huh?” He said, walking into the kitchen with the food in hand. “No.” You said, and followed him to the kitchen. “Like I said outside. It's you. You are building a life after a lot of suffering. Nothing about this is sad.” He shook his head as he took out the carrots and potatoes from the bag. 

“I couldn't even afford a full couch.” He said. You dropped your phone on the counter gently, and wrapped your arms around his waist. You rested your head in between his shoulder blades, and inhaled his smell. 

“Baby, it’s okay. You were gone for 5 years. So was half the world. Before that, you were living in Wakanda, where you didn't have to deal with the stresses of regular life. And, before that, you were trapped within someone who wasn't you. Don’t blame yourself for any of this. I love you for who you are.” You said, and Bucky turned around, his arms circling your waist. 

“How did I get so lucky?” he mumbled into your hair. You giggled, and lifted your head. “By saving my life,” You said, before pressing a kiss to his lips. He kissed back immediately, and pulled you closer. 

You pulled away when the need for oxygen became dire, and you smiled at them again. “All I did was pull you out of the way of a car that was out of control, doll.” He said, and ran his hand down your arm as you pulled out of the hug. “I would’ve gotten hit if you didn't. I’m not a super soldier like you are, its highly unlikely I would have survived if it weren't for my hero,” You mentioned, as you walked over to your backpack and pulling out your laptop.

Bucky chuckled, and watched as you sat down in the chair across from the tv. You tucked your feet under yourself, and sat your laptop on the arm before powering it on.

Bucky began to move about the kitchen and make the two of you dinner. No matter what you said, he couldn't stop feeling guilty about the state of his apartment. He could have at least bought a blow up mattress for you to sleep on, so you wouldn't be stuck sleeping on the hard wood floor with him. Better yet, he could have bought a bed. He had a bedroom, but he didn't feel comfortable in there. He glanced over at you while he washed the carrots in the sink and saw how you stretched your back before returning to your homework.

It wasn't an unusual occurrence for him to hang out with you while you do homework. He actually enjoyed watching you do school work. he could barely remember school, and he never got to go to college. Between working and taking care of Steve, he both didn't have time and couldn't afford it. Then the war started, and he thought about going after, but his capture by HYDRA kinda ruined that one. During his time in Wakanda, he had thought about going to college, but at that point he was still a wanted criminal and that was out of the question. He had been thinking about it more recently, and had decided to wait until he was finished making his amends to enrol somewhere. 

Mainly, he was just happy that you were getting an education. He planned on staying with you forever, marrying you, having kids with you, and growing old(er) with you, and he knew your future children would benefit from at least one of their parents having up-to-date school education. And, by up to date school education, he meant a curriculum that was developed this century.

He stirred the potatoes in the pot and smiled as he heard your fingers tapping on the keyboard. God, he loved you. You loved him for who he was, you didn't judge him, and most importantly, you didn't blame him for anything that happened. He hadn't been expecting to be so open with you about his past when he asked you out on a date, but you knew who he was instantly, and thanked him for saving your life. He may have physically saved your life that day, but he felt that you saved his life in every other way by just being yourself. 

He continued to listen to you tapping on the keyboard, the clicking of your knuckles as you cracked them, and the slow but rhythmic breathing as you focused on your work. 

Dinner was finished a few minutes later, and you closed your laptop just as Bucky was plating the veggies. You placed your laptop back in the bag, and joined Bucky on the ground to eat. 

“Did you finish your homework?” He asked, and you nodded. You swallowed before speaking. “Yeah. I can't submit it yet, but it’s finished and ready to go,” You said. 

The two of you continued making small talk throughout the night, and Bucky tried to find a way to convince you that the two of you should sleep at your apartment instead, but he knew that it wouldn't work. He tried to bite back the tears while you were in the showers and he laid out the blankets and pillows on the floor for the night. They almost fell again when he walked out of the bathroom from having his shower and saw you snuggled up on the ground, scrolling on TikTok. He swallowed the lump in his throat as he got a cup of water for himself and for you. He thought he had a handle on his emotions by the time he had settled next to you, but the dam broke when he laid down and your had found its way to your chest as it usually did. 

Your head shot up when you heard his shaky breathing and his sniffling, and you immediately wrapped your arms around his neck. “What’s wrong, Buck?” you whispered, and his arms wrapped themselves around your waist before he answered. 

“You deserve to be sleeping on a bed.” he whispered, and you shook your head. 

“No. Don’t do that to yourself. I know how weird it is for you to sleep in a bed, and that's okay. I’ve been camping before, and I’m perfectly fine with sleeping on the ground. I’m fine, baby.” You whispered, but Bucky still shook his head. 

“I should be able to afford a bed,” He said, and you sat up. “Stop. Don’t think that. You’re doing the best you can with what you have. You can barely afford the bills you have already because of what the government is paying you, which is way less than you should be. You’re doing great with what you have.” You reminded him, and he nodded.

“I know. But, I probably should have spent the little money I did have on a bed rather than a TV, but if I don't have the TV on, my mind runs to places I don't want it to. I know that’s not healthy, but neither is reliving everything I did for those years. I wasn't really thinking about having anyone to share my nights with during that time, so a bed didn't seem important. But, I should have bought a mattress when we started dating. Everything is just way too expensive compared to when I was growing up.” He said, a slight chuckle in his voice. You smiled, and pushed him back by the chest. 

He smiled suggestively when you straddled his waist, his hands coming to rest on your hips. “Lets not talk about it anymore, okay? Maybe me riding you will help you forget it.” You said, leaning down to press a kiss to his lips that were red and slightly swollen from his tears. He didn't say anything in return, but kissed you back while running your hands up your back and under your sleep shirt. He moaned when he felt that you weren't wearing a bra. 

“Naughty girl, not wearing a bra,” He whispered, as you kissed down his neck. He grabbed the hem of the shirt and pulled it up, leaving you in only your underwear. You moaned at his husky voice and ground your hips down on him. He moaned, and grasped your hips in his hands. 

He let you grind on him a little more, thoroughly enjoying it, before flipping you over. He trailed his hands down to your underwear, hooking his thumbs into the straps, before pulling them down your legs. 

He moaned when you were completely exposed to him. You looked at him with lust filled eyes, as he spread your legs, and settled himself on his stomach in between them.

He lifted your legs over his shoulders, and pressed kisses up your slit, making eye contact with you. “Fuckin’ beautiful.” he said, before diving into you. 

He swiped his tongue over your clit a few times, before attaching his mouth to it and sucking. You jolted slightly when you felt the cold metal of his pointer finger slowly push inside of you. He pushed it to the hilt, and then arched up to rub up against your g spot. 

You cried out suddenly and tangled your hands in his hair when his finger started vibrating right up against your g spot, causing you to fall over the edge into orgasm almost instantly. 

Bucky pulled off of you with a pop, and grinned, still moving his finger in and out while you rode out your orgasm. Once your breathing slowed, he pulled his finger out, and put it into his mouth, sucking your juices off of it. He laid on his back, and guided you with his hands until you were on top again. 

You began to shimmy down his body, but Bucky shook his head, and pulled you back up. “No. If you do that, I won't last, and I want to cum in your pussy not your mouth,” He said, and you bit your lip, and nodded.

His hands gripped your hips while you reached down for his now leaking cock, and gave it a few firm strokes, before lining it up at your entrance. You leaned forward and gripped your hands on his shoulder, before sliding down on him slowly.

“Fuck, doll. Always feels so damn good,” Bucky moaned, his hands tightening on your hips. You threw your head back and moaned as you began to move your hips, with Bucky’s help.

“Love seein’ you like this, babydoll.” Bucky rasped out, hit hips thrusting up to meet your movements. “Love how needy you get when you’re on top.” His words made you clench around him, and Bucky grasped your hips tighter to pull you down on his cock harder and faster each time. 

You could feel the pressure building in your abdomen, and you knew Bucky was close as well based on the movements of his hips. You ground your hips into his before continuing to bounce on him.

“F-fuck,” Bucky grunted as he was used over the edge, and released inside of you. You threw your head back as you felt Bucky’s cum smash against your walls, which sent you over the edge, and you shook as you came. 

A few minutes later, Bucky has cleaned both you and him up, and was coming back from tossing the wash cloth in the laundry hamper when he saw you sound asleep on the ground where he left you. He smiled slightly and carried you into the bedroom, along with the blankets and pillows. 

He laid you down and straightened out the blankets, and put your pillow under your head, before laying down next to you, and pulling you into his arms. He drifted off to sleep seconds later with the plan on looking for a second hand bed in the morning. You deserved to sleep on a bed, and so did he, he realized. 

At least the plush carpeting is softer than the hard wood. 

#bucky #Bucky Barnes #bucky barns fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes angst #bucky x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky imagine #bucky x y/n #fatws bucky #mcu bucky barnes #Sebastian Stan #bucky barnes smut #Smut #fluff #angst

[scuttling]

Lavender

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 9,244 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Dad's Best Friend Friend From Work Hotch, Me turning a naughty, smutty story into something way more aka my specialty, Fingering, Unprotected sex, Oral sex, Semi-public sex, Office sex Summary: You absolutely dread going home for vacation, to your sickeningly cheery childhood bedroom and opinionated parents, but meeting your dad's friend from work at a stuffy cocktail party has the potential to make this a vacation you'll never forget.*Requested by anon, severely altered by me 😅 Link to A03 or read below! Most people would jump at the chance for an unexpected two week vacation, but you are not most people. When your boss emailed you to inform you that there had been some kind of glitch in HR’s system and you actually had two weeks of paid vacation that were set to expire, your anxiety had kicked into high gear. There isn’t enough time to coordinate travel with any of your friends, too short notice, and you’re kind of afraid to travel alone, though you’d never admit it, so that’s out.

There’s always the prospect of hanging out at home, catching up on all the shows you started but never had time to finish, doing things you’re always too busy for, like cooking and cleaning out your closet and going to the animal shelter to pet the dogs and cats.

Unfortunately, those dreams are crushed when you accidentally let slip during a call to your parents that you have the time off, and they literally insist you come home, will not let you get off the phone without confirming your plans.

You only live about an hour away from them, but for one reason or another, you rarely visit.

The minute you step into your childhood home, you’re reminded of why you rarely visit.

“There’s my little do-gooder!” Your dad is all but waiting at the door when you arrive, pulls you into a hug despite the fact that your hands are full of luggage. “Let me look at you.” He pulls back, hands on your shoulders, acting like it's possible something has changed about you since you had lunch together a month ago in DC. “Oh, you’ve got that serious lawyer hairstyle now,” he remarks with a chuckle, even though your hair is styled the same way it was at that lunch. He might not mean it to come out this way, but it sounds condescending.

“That would be appropriate, considering I am a lawyer,” you remark, trying to keep the snark out of your tone. You know he always means well. “You look good.” He takes his hands off of you and puts them on his stomach.

“Your mom has me on some kind of greens and beans diet, says it will help me live longer.” You smile, a little awkward, not sure what to say about that—your dad is typically the meat and potatoes type, so you figure some variety can’t hurt, but if you say that you’ll never hear the end of it, and you’ve already got a headache.

“Where is mom, anyway?” You shift your bag on your shoulder, and your dad clues in, takes it from you and starts walking up the staircase.

“Oh, she’s at the gym, then taking care of some last minute things for the party.” You pause at the base of the stairs, sigh softly.

“Party?” You weren’t told about any party. Your dad keeps walking, and you’re forced to follow.

“Yeah, nothing major, just some people from the office and their spouses coming over for drinks tonight. Maybe some of their kids,” he adds innocently, and you can’t help rolling your eyes.

By kids, he means sons: eligible sons to try to set you up with. You wouldn’t mind being in a room full of hot, single men vying for your attention any other time—in fact, it’s been a little while, and your most recent hookup was lackluster, so you’re a bit more tightly wound than usual—but the kinds of men your parents bring around aren’t your type at all. You’re career driven yourself, but all they want to talk about is how they plan to be the youngest partner at their firm, or the clubs they can get into, or worst of all, money. Your potentially somewhat relaxing vacation just went to shit in no time at all.

“I didn’t bring anything to wear to a cocktail party.”

“I think mom got you a dress, honey. Check your closet after you get unpacked.” He pushes the door to your former bedroom open, and you’re assaulted by the color lavender; somehow you’d actually forgotten how purple it is. “You’ll look beautiful no matter what you wear.” He sets your bag on the bed—oh god, the frilly purple comforter, you may have actually repressed that memory—and you drop your other luggage there too. “I’ll give you some time to get settled in, maybe order some lunch for us? Vesuvios?”

As irritated as you are about the party, it’s sweet that he remembers your favorite restaurant. You went there for dinner after you graduated from high school, college, and law school, so there are lots of great memories associated with the place.

“Do they adhere to the greens and beans diet?” you ask with a grin, and he puts his finger up to his lips to silence you.

“What mom doesn’t know won’t hurt her, right?” You shake your head fondly, and he slips out of your room and leaves you to it.

You start unloading your clothes into the empty dresser, hanging them in the closet that holds things like your prom dresses, graduation gowns, old cheerleading and volleyball uniforms. Every touch of silky fabric is a memory, and at this point in your life most of them are good, even if they weren’t at the time. It’s kind of nice to remember where you came from, when where you are now can be so hectic, so fast-paced you don’t see the forest for the trees.

Feeling nostalgic, you walk over to your desk, where you spent so much time with your face crammed into textbooks it’s not even funny, and flip through your old stationary set—what teenager had her own stationery? You were a total nerd—and photos you’d taken off the mirror but left sitting in a pile to be packed away eventually.

You snap out of the past after that, finish putting your toiletries away, setting up your laptop and chargers where you want them, then shove your empty suitcases in the closet and grab your phone to head downstairs.

You meet up with your dad in the kitchen, where he is opening steaming takeout containers full of Italian food. You grab some plates from the overhead cabinet and lean against the counter, look over the offerings to decide what you’ll have.

“So how are things at the ACLU?” he asks with a bit of a teasing tone. You’re well aware of the fact that he thinks you could be doing more—translation: making more—in private practice, or working for the government like he does, but neither of those things interest you and he is well aware of that.

“They’re really good, actually. We’re working on a disability rights case now that will probably make national news if we win.” It’s been forever since you had penne arrabbiata, since it’s not very easy to eat at your desk without running the risk of staining your blouse with spicy red sauce, so you load up your plate with it, add wilted spinach for color, a piece of garlic bread because it’s garlic bread. You lick your thumb, and your dad points a finger in your direction in that way that means he’s about to give you life advice.

“When you win; if you’re not confident about your capabilities, no one else will be.” You roll your eyes good-naturedly, nod, because that’s a pro tip you’ve heard time and time again. “If you came to work at the bureau, you’d win more of your cases; Constitutional law isn’t easy.” He says that like you don’t already know, like you haven’t been working in your current department for more than a year. You sigh.

“I’m not really the bureau type, dad.” You take your plate over to the breakfast table, sit down and start to pick at your food. Arguing about your chosen career path is enough to make you lose your appetite, even for your favorite dish. Your dad follows, sits across from you.

“You’re so smart, honey, you could be if you wanted to.” He takes a bite of fettuccine alfredo, points his fork at you. “Hey, maybe you could talk to Jim from the Office of General Counsel tonight—or maybe Aaron. You’d be really interested in the work his team does.”

“Who’s Aaron again?” You don’t recognize the name, so he’s probably not one of the attorneys on your dad’s team, but he works closely with so many departments you might have heard it before and missed it.

“Friend from work. He’s the unit chief at the Behavioral Analysis Unit. They’re criminal psychologists or something. Profilers,” he says, snapping his fingers. “That’s what they call them. They get into criminals’ heads, analyze them and interrogate them. I know you minored in psychology, I bet he could get you an internship.” You laugh at that, because he always gives you advice about furthering your career, but that’s a step backward for you and he can't be so dense not to realize it.

“An internship? I’m a little old for that, don't you think? Not to mention I have a job that I love.” You stab at your food, more than a little agitated by the current conversation.

“Never too late to get your foot in the door, sweetie. It’d be great to see you more, that’s all I’m saying,” he adds, ending on a gentler note, and you sigh. Your mom does it too, but your dad is an expert into guilting you into doing what he thinks is best. Unfortunately, you’ve never handled guilt very well.

“Okay. I’ll talk to him, if it means that much to you,” you promise, and you both smile and make easy small talk for the rest of the meal. The dress your mom bought for you for the party is a black, sleeveless, designer cocktail dress, something more form fitting than you would normally wear—she is evidently trying very hard to find you an eligible bachelor tonight. You pair it with your favorite jewelry, simple heels, and when you head downstairs your mom acts like it’s prom night all over again.

“Oh sweetie, you look so beautiful!” She puts her hands on your arms, spins you around. “You’re looking too thin—must be eating a lot of salads on that paralegal salary,” she throws over her shoulder to your dad, and they both laugh. You wish life were a documentary so there was a camera you could look into with an unimpressed expression.

“I’m a staff attorney actually. Fully accredited,” you add, but it’s no use. If you don’t follow in your dad’s footsteps, you will always be seen as living beneath your potential, and therefore always the butt of these types of jokes.

You love them, really, and you know they love you, but they are not the most supportive pair by a long shot. They made sure you got into a great college, let you follow your law school dreams—and you’re grateful, won’t deny their money is a privilege so many other people in your position do not possess—but that was only because those were their dreams as well. As soon as you told them about taking the position at the ACLU, it was like the tables were turned, and instead of your accomplishments, all they saw was wasted potential.

It’s enough to keep you away most of the time, which sucks, but it is what it is. It’s easier to love them from afar, so that’s what you do.

At the party, you shake hands, talk about the weather, introduce yourself to so many middle aged white guys and their sons that their faces all start to blur together. After half an hour you excuse yourself, head to the bar for a drink, and come to stand next to a middle aged white guy you have not introduced yourself to—this one, you’d have remembered, because he is tall, broad, serious looking, and very handsome.

If you were a dog, he’d have your ears perking up, no doubt about that. Instead, your heart just races a little.

“I have to say, these FBI parties are even less fun than I thought they’d be,” you comment as you wait for your drink. The man lifts the corner of his mouth in a slight smile.

“Get a bunch of men who are past their prime in one room, and all you hear about are the glory days. Can’t get a word in edgewise.” The bartender hands you your glass, and you turn to fully face the stranger.

“Why aren’t you talking about your glory days?” You immediately kind of want to slap yourself. Your social skills have been exhausted tonight, apparently. “I’m sorry, that was rude; I didn’t mean to insinuate that you’re… past your prime.” You give him a brief once over, because he deserves it, is even more gorgeous up close than you’d initially assessed; he chuckles softly, sips on his own drink.

“It wasn’t rude, it was… shrewd.” His own gaze lingers on your face, maybe the neckline of your dress, just a little. “Your father’s really happy you’re here, wouldn’t stop talking about it.”

“Yeah, he's one of the most ambitious people I know; he gets an idea in his head and won’t rest until he’s seen it through.” It’s a quality that sounds good on paper, but when it’s constantly being applied to your life, it’s more tiring than anything. “Right now he’s trying to get me to bully one of these poor guys into giving me an internship, as if I’m not twenty-nine years old with a career of my own.” He wets his lips, laughs again.

“I think I’m the poor guy—Aaron Hotchner. I’m the unit chief overseeing the BAU.” Wow, 0 for 2. This guy’s got to think you’re a complete idiot. He extends a hand and you shake it firmly, melt a little because his palm is so broad, his fingers so thick.

“Right, I’m so sorry. Feel free to tell me right now that I’m not the right fit, and I’ll slink off and hide in a corner somewhere for the rest of the night.”

“No need for that. You strike me as someone who would be a great fit for my team, if that was something you actually wanted.”

You aren’t looking for a career change in the slightest, but you can’t deny it would be tempting to report to this man every day.

“It’s not that I’m not curious about what you do; my dad told me a little, and it sounds really intriguing. I just have a lot on my plate right now. If the offer had come up before I started my current job, I would be all over it.” You smile, shrug. “Unless you could have me intern for the next two weeks I’ll be on vacation, I’ll have to politely decline the offer you haven't actually made me.” You smile, and so does he.

“Now who’s ambitious?” he asks with a raised eyebrow; the way he says it, like he finds it charming, makes your face heat a little. You’ve never connected like this at one of your dad’s FBI events, and even though there’s no way it ends well—if anything even starts—you feel the need to see how far you can go. Even if it’s just a little flirting. Even if it’s just tonight.

“Have you ever been here before tonight?” you ask after a beat. You take a sip of your drink, and he mirrors you. You lean in a little closer.

“Once, briefly. I didn’t get a grand tour, or anything.” You smile—bingo—and reach out to place a hand on his arm.

“Oh, I’d be happy to give you one, if you like. Usually my dad is all about it, but he looks occupied.” You both glance across the room at where he is in the middle of a group of men—still discussing their glory days, no doubt—and Aaron looks at you again, nods.

“Sure, I’d love one.” You show him around downstairs, the backyard, the garage—he doesn’t seem to care about the cars at all—and then go upstairs, show him guest rooms, the master bath your mother recently remodeled; he gets a little closer as you go, and you smile more, flirt a bit. You stop outside the door to your room, block it with your body while you talk about the art hanging in the hall; he’s very good at reading your body language, apparently, because he leans closer to you, puts his hand on the doorknob next to your hip.

“What’s this room?” he asks, feigning innocence, and you put your arm over his.

“Oh, no, we’re not going in there. That’s my old bedroom.” He smiles, and you grimace.

“You mean the room I most want to see now? Come on.” He turns the knob, hears it click, and you cover your face with your hand, sigh.

“This is going to be really embarrassing. It’s exactly the way it looked when I went to college, and that was over ten years ago.” You push the door open with your hand, walk in and flick on the light. Aaron follows, chuckles.

“It’s... purple. Cute.” He makes toward the bed, touches one of the frills on the comforter with his big, broad hand. The juxtaposition of your innocent lavender bedding being stroked by the fingers you can’t stop staring at is a very interesting one.

“No, it’s not cute, it’s horrifying,” you say, and when he walks toward the open closet, you begin to regret this little tour. He pulls out your prom dress, your cheerleading uniform.

“Cheerleader, huh? You don’t seem the type.” He looks over at you, and you push it back into the closet, lead him away from it with your hands on his arms.

“I’m not. It was important to my mom.” The two of you are by your dresser now, and he leans in to look in the mirror, at you standing behind him and not his own reflection.

“I see. Do you always put other people's needs before your own?” You sidle up next to him, and he turns to face you.

“This is what you do, right? You… deduce for a living? Like Sherlock?” That makes him laugh, which in turn makes you smile.

“It’s called profiling, but that’s accurate enough.” You feel a challenge brewing inside you, take a step closer to him.

“Okay… What can you tell me about myself by looking around the room? Remember, this stuff is from ten years ago; a lot could have changed.” He crosses his arms, nods.

“You’re right, but your core values wouldn’t have.”

Slowly, he walks around the room, taking things in, touching things, looking back at you briefly and then rifling through parts of your past. It’s a few minutes before he speaks again.

“I think your father wants you to work at the bureau, and you don’t want to because you’ve always felt like you’d live in his shadow if you followed the same career path. You want to blaze your own trail, do what fulfills you, not let his last name be what moves you up the ladder.”

That’s all scarily true, so you nod, cross your arms, lean your butt against your desk.

“I think you’re afraid of commitment because you don’t think any relationship you’re in will ever measure up to what your parents have.” That stings a little, but he’s not wrong. He points to a flyer stuck to a cork board, something about a charity project you’d worked on that revolved around recycling. “Environmentally conscious: I bet you drive a hybrid, and if your dad bought it for you, it’s a... BMW.”

He glances back, and you encourage him to go on. He points to a copy of your Georgetown diploma hanging on the wall, then picks up a cheerleading trophy on your dresser.

“You were a cheerleader to please your mom, went to Georgetown to please your dad, excelled at both; you’re an only child, so you felt you couldn’t let them down. My question is,” he says, looking up at you curiously, “what pleases you?” The words make your heart beat fast; you lick your lips, tilt your head.

“Not much.” He comes closer, arms crossed again.

“Why?” God, that’s a loaded question for a Friday night, for the first day of your vacation. You absently wonder if he’s going to bill you for this impromptu therapy session.

“I find it difficult to ask for what I want,” you ultimately say, and he moves even closer. His stare is probing, and you speculate that he may have been a lawyer before the FBI. The look on his face is the same one you’ve seen in many courtrooms over your short career.

“Of course you do. You’ve never done it before. You've spent your whole life asking other people what they want from you.”

You feel very seen, and you kind of hate it, but you also kind of like it—that he’s able to dissect you like this is a huge turn on. What that says about you, you’re not entirely sure; maybe that you enjoy being seen for who you are—for all that you are—instead of who you know, or who you could have been, for a change.

“I think you didn’t lose your virginity until college—your second year.” It feels like bringing that up is a bold move for him; he doesn’t meet your eyes when he says it. “I would guess you got drunk for the first time around then, too. Your first year you were trying to navigate the feeling of not being under anyone’s thumb anymore; your second year, you finally felt like your own woman, you wanted to try new things, but it made you feel out of control and you don’t like that. Even now you only drink socially, never to get drunk.” He is directly in front of you now, and he reaches out a hand, brushes it over your cheek. “I also think you gravitate toward men you find inappropriate and unattainable so you don’t have to worry about being the reason your relationships fail.”

He looks into your eyes with a questioning gaze. It’s a painfully accurate take, but he softens the blow with the gentle touch.

“Wow, you’re kind of an asshole,” you breathe, but you smile, and he laughs low.

“Maybe. But am I wrong?” You nod your head, and his face falls a little, so you narrow your eyes to mess with him a bit.

“Only about one thing: I actually drive a Kia hybrid. And I bought it myself, for your information.” He smiles, and you press your hands against his chest; it’s crazy how quickly he drops back into the serious expression you first saw him wearing by the bar. “Are you unattainable and inappropriate?”

“I work with your father; we’re the same age. We play golf together sometimes.” He doesn’t seem uncomfortable, doesn’t back away or remove your hands. You slide them down his body, over his stomach, stop at his belt, and he looks the way you feel: tightly wound, aroused, a little breathless.

“That doesn’t really answer my question, Aaron. May I do some profiling of my own?” You look up at him, curious, and he nods.

“Be my guest,” he murmurs, and you lean back. You rake your eyes over his body slowly—there’s no mistaking your appraisal for what it is. “No ring on your finger, but there’s no way you haven’t been married before. My guess is you’re divorced, and it wasn’t your idea.” You look up at his face, smile softly. “Sorry. You weren’t exactly pulling punches either.” He huffs a laugh.

“You’re right: I wasn’t pulling punches. You’re right about the divorce, too. Go on.” You nod, hum.

“Okay. You have a strong moral compass; you always do what’s right, even when it’s difficult. It’s what makes you such a great leader for your team. You like to go by the book, you’re a Fed through and through—but when it comes down to the bureau or the people you care about, you’ll fight the establishment with all you have. You aren’t a blind believer in the government; you have your criticisms, and you aren’t shy about voicing them.”

“Unlike your father,” he says, and you sigh. “You don’t have an appreciation for his work.”

“No, I really don’t.” Your dad specializes in Freedom of Information Act litigation—he does his best to keep the FBI from actually living up to its commitment to be transparent with the American people, and it doesn’t sit right with you, never has. You may both be attorneys, but you could not be more different if you tried. “But I’m profiling you, remember?”

“Right. Please continue.”

“This might be going out on a limb, but I think you went to law school. The way you speak, and the way you looked at me earlier? It was a little like cross-examination. Am I right about that?” His answering smile actually looks pleased.

“You are. I was a prosecutor for a number of years before joining the FBI. I think it’s something you don’t ever really lose.”

“For better or worse,” you say with a smile of your own. Happy with your assessment, you move a little closer again. “One more thing. I don’t think you’re the kind of man who would normally let a woman take you into her bedroom after less than an hour of knowing her. Childhood or otherwise.” You smooth your hands down either side of his tie, over his firm chest and solid midsection. “Maybe you saw something in me you liked?”

“I was... dreading coming here tonight.” He brings his hands up to cover yours, but doesn’t pull them away, just holds them. “If you’ve been to one of these parties, you’ve been to them all—no offense to your father—and I was contemplating a good excuse to leave early, if I’m being honest. Then you showed up at my side—my friend’s mysterious daughter that I’ve heard so much about—and you’re funny, and charming. Insightful. Vulnerable.” He squeezes your hands, presses them closer to his chest. “Beautiful. It’s been a long time since I’ve looked at someone and felt an instant connection. Do you feel it?” His voice is just above a whisper, and you nod lightly.

You aren’t the type of woman to take a man into her bedroom after less than an hour of knowing him, childhood or otherwise, but he makes you want so badly you’re almost ravenous—you’ve felt this way before, maybe twice in your life, but neither of those experiences ended with you getting what you wanted. You really hope this time might be different.

“Kiss me?” He takes a breath and then presses his lips together.

“I shouldn’t.”

“I know. But will you?” After a beat, he does, leaning in and pressing his lips to yours, moving his hands to your face as he deepens it.

It’s not a hard kiss, but rough around the edges, your noses pressed together, mouths seeking contact even as you pull apart for breath. He kisses like he needs it, tastes like bourbon, feels like heaven; it’s steamy, wet, makes your chest heave and your pussy throb. When he walks you backward, gently presses your body against your desk, you hop up onto it easily and pull him closer, between your spread knees.

“Aaron,” you sigh over his lips, and his hands move to your thighs, pushing up your dress so he can get closer to you. You glide your fingers through his hair, plant a hand on the desk, then feel something tip over, hear the soft sound of paper sliding over the edge.

Aaron looks down, picks up a lavender envelope; he holds it up with a question in his eye and an enamored look on his face.

“‘From the desk of…’ You had personalized stationery at eighteen?” His mouth is a little red from the kiss still, and he’s teasing you, perfect; you smile, can’t believe this is happening.

“I liked to write to my congressman… and Ruth Bader Ginsburg,” you pant. He chuckles, kisses you a little softer than before, then moves down your throat, sweeps his tongue over your pulse. “Mmm. Right there.”

He pauses to look up at you, hair mussed from your fingers, and you push his jacket off his shoulders; he shifts to full height, helps you take it off, and you drape it over your desk chair, work the knot of his tie loose.

“Are you sure you want this?” he asks as your fingers slip down the front of his shirt, freeing his buttons. You unclasp his belt, open his pants, and stretch up for a kiss, touching his face; you nod when you pull back.

“Absolutely. Are you?” He nods too, all serious eyebrows you want to kiss, mouth you want back on yours, on your throat, anywhere.

“Absolutely.” You step down off the desk, run your hands over his arms, then kick off your shoes and walk over to the door, close and lock it; when you pass him again, you guide him to the bed and sit in his lap, clutch at his shoulders and kiss him with as much desperation as he showed you before. There’s a lot of heavy breathing, sighing, moans from you both, and if just kissing is this good, you can’t imagine what he’ll be like inside of you.

When you can find it in yourself to stop kissing him, you pull back and climb out of his lap, present the back of your dress so he can ease down the zipper. He pushes it off, large, warm hands gliding over your body until it hits the floor in a heap unbecoming of the designer label. Your mother would lose her mind.

“You are incredibly beautiful,” Aaron says as he moves his hands to your hips, sliding your panties down and leaning in to press his lips to your stomach. You sigh, press a hand to the back of his head while his mouth explores you where you’re soft and sensitive. You’d like it lower, but there may not be time for that tonight. “What do you want with an old man like me?”

“None of that.” You sweep your hands over his shoulders, sink down onto his lap again, and his hands fall to your bare hips, squeezing you softly; you close your eyes for a moment, so overwhelmed by just the simplest touch. “Like you said: I feel a connection.” Your fingers move to push his shirt open, to lift his undershirt so you can get your hands on bare skin and soft body and hair. He groans, and you kiss him, deep and slow, hands moving to take off both shirts and add them to his jacket on your chair. You take a deep breath, reach out to touch his cheek. “Connect with me.”

He takes your hand, brings your palm to his mouth and kisses it, then drags it down so your fingers slide over his lips; you swallow hard, can feel wetness pooling between your legs, so you slide off of him and onto the bed—however sexy it may be to leave your mark on him, you do both have to return to the party at some point.

Sitting up beside him, you touch his body, ease his pants and boxers down; he takes them off along with his shoes, and you pull the comforter out from under you, push it to the side, let yourself lay back and bask in the look and feel of him as he settles between your knees, leans in for a kiss.

It’s even more intense than before, somehow, his thighs against yours, strong arms supporting him, and you drag your nails lightly up his body, tip your head back and sigh when his lips trail from the base of your throat to your jaw.

He moves a hand low, rubs his fingers between your lips and presses one finger inside you, slowly glides it in and out so you’re moaning, sighing his name.

“That feels so good,” you breathe, and he moves his mouth to yours again, soft and wet, the slide of his tongue sinfully delicious. He adds a second finger, earns more gasping moans, then a third; with the help of a capable thumb stroking over your clit, you come, and he kisses the praise right out of your mouth and then pushes inside you.

His mouth doesn’t leave yours, keeps you close as he thrusts inside, gradually lowering his weight onto you until you feel him everywhere: chest soft against yours, stomachs pressing together as you both work your hips, as your hands grasp his back to keep him close, heavy. Connected.

“You’re perfect. You feel incredible, baby,” he speaks against your lips in a rare moment apart, and you hitch your knees up higher, press the heels of your feet against his ass.

You thought he looked turned on before, but now he looks like he’s being consumed by it, like he wants to thrust deeper into you, make a home in your body and never leave; you would be more than okay with that, to spend the next two weeks beneath him, holding him close, sharing breath and sweat and pleasure so complete it changes you profoundly.

He moves a hand behind your head, cradles it, and sucks wet kisses against your throat—nothing so deep as to leave a mark, but that doesn’t mean you’re not panting, whimpering, begging for more.

“Aaron. Hmm, oh. You’re so gorgeous, I—everything about you.” He pulls away from your neck, peers down at you, and you’re sure you’re a sight to behold in your desperation; your palms smooth down his back, to his sides, and you hug him close, squeeze him hard when he comes, panting your name against your throat and pumping roughly inside.

You meet his every thrust, dig your nails into his hips, and he leans forward, covers your mouth with his and grinds against you until your second blissful orgasm shudders through your limbs. You clench tight around him, moan, then slowly sag back against the mattress, more thoroughly satisfied than you’ve ever been in your life.

He shifts, half on top of you and half off, his kisses gradually slowing, his hands sweeping over your shoulders, your face, your arms. When you’re calm, content, you sigh, kiss his hands and cheeks and lips; you’re warm, and you curl around him, overheated skin on skin, and never want to leave.

“Mmm,” he rumbles against your shoulder, mouthing at it, and you sigh, scrape your nails through his hair.

“Mm hmm. Think I can die happy now,” you murmur, and he shifts up to look at you, a smile curving softly from the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t die on me, now.” You smile too, scoot closer for slow kisses. You’re both happy to lay there, quietly kissing, but eventually it’s clear you need to return to the party in order to avoid suspicion—not that you think anyone would ever guess what just occurred.

You dress side by side, turning to have him fix your zipper, reaching up to help him with his tie. When you’re both technically decent enough to head downstairs, you plan to give him a head start, but the two of you get caught up in one more deeply sensual kiss that almost makes you want to just say screw it and take his clothes off again. He can tell, has the barest hint of a smirk on his face when the kiss breaks, and he punctuates it with a soft press of lips before walking out the door.

With your spare few minutes, you look around the room—and at your rumpled, frilly, lavender bed, on which you just had super hot sex with one of your dad’s friends, it’s still kind of sinking in—and wonder what the rest of your vacation could possibly bring that could top this night. At breakfast the next morning, you find out.

You and your parents are discussing the party, who got too drunk to function, who left with the wrong wife, which of your dad’s friend’s sons you got along with most, and then he drops the bomb on you.

“And see, honey, I told you talking to Aaron would be beneficial.” You choke on a bite of scrambled eggs, try to wash it down with a sip of juice; your mom pats you on the back until the moment passes.

“What?” you ask, voice barely a squeak. You clear your throat and try again. “What about Aaron, dad?” He flips the newspaper he’s holding to the next page and peers over it at you.

“I told you talking to Aaron would be beneficial. Before he left last night, he told me all about the internship—it’s nice of him to set it up for the two weeks you’re here, so you can get some experience under your belt.” You briefly think about your experience under Aaron’s belt, but it’s really not the time.

He really set you up with an internship—one he knows you aren’t interested in—based on the offhand comment you’d made about squeezing it into your two week vacation. You’d be kind of irritated at him for making the plans on your behalf, but if it means the next two weeks are anything like last night, he’s going to make it well worth your while.

The internship excites both of your parents, and your mom declares it a girls day, takes you out for some new clothes, since you didn’t bring any workwear, for a manicure and pedicure and then drinks. She talks about what a great opportunity this will be for you, and you don’t have the heart—or maybe you just don’t care anymore—to argue about what great opportunities you’ve already made possible for yourself.

Sunday is for relaxing, and not internally panicking about seeing Aaron again. Friday night was incredible, but you didn’t think it would turn into anything, considering he is your dad’s friend, and you’re only here for a couple weeks.

You have to hand it to him, though: if he enjoyed himself as much as you did, and this internship is his way of getting to spend more time with you, he has managed to do what you haven’t been able for twenty-nine years—find a way to please your parents while finally pleasing yourself. Monday morning, you show up at the BAU office to receive a photo ID badge and fill out some paperwork. You don’t actually get to meet anyone from the BAU until after lunch, and when you do, Aaron is nowhere to be seen.

“Hi, I’m looking for Unit Chief Hotchner?” you say to a fair-skinned woman with long blonde hair and a kind smile. “I’m interning for the next couple weeks.” There is a man with her, Black, tall, bald, with very expressive eyebrows; the eyebrows don’t look like they think very highly of you.

“You’re an intern? A little old, aren’t you?” After a beat, his face breaks into a smile, and you roll your eyes, huff a laugh.

“Charmer. Yes, I’m definitely too old to be an intern; do you have overbearing parents by chance?” He raises his hands, palms up, and takes a step back.

“No, but enough said.” The blonde woman laughs, and he nods in your direction. “I’m Derek Morgan, this is JJ Jareau. Come with me, I’ll take you to Hotch.”

You thank him, follow as he leads you across the room and up some stairs.

“So what’s he like, Agent Hotchner?” you ask, wanting someone else’s opinion of Aaron as a boss, a coworker—anything other than the one night stand that wasn’t. You really know so little about him.

“He’s a good guy; smart, fair, great at what he does. A little tightly wound; could stand to live a little.” He looks back at you with a grin. “He’ll probably remind you a little of your dad.”

God. It almost makes you throw up in your mouth a little.

“You know, I doubt it, but thanks for the warning.” He knocks on a closed door at the end of the hall, and a moment later, Aaron answers it. His expression doesn’t change as Derek introduces you, and when he walks away with a friendly pat on your shoulder, Aaron gestures you in. He closes the door behind you and looks carefully over your face.

“Hi,” he says, and you see that hint of a smirk on his face again. You take a moment to appraise the room—there’s a window with blinds that are closed, a desk and chairs, bookcases, a printer, more windows on the far side, a loveseat. You look back at Aaron with a raised brow.

“Hi. What am I doing here?” His expression gets serious, like he can’t tell if you’re pleased or upset with him for the surprise. You sit down on the loveseat, set your bag down, and he sits down next to you.

“I know you wanted to get your father off your back, and you did say if I could squeeze an internship into two weeks that you’d be interested.” You smile a little, because you did say that. “I thought it might be nice to see you a little more, too. You’re under no obligation to stay,” he assures you, briefly looking down, and then he takes your hand. “But surely there are worse ways to spend your vacation?”

You give him an uncertain look, like you’re really trying to decide what you’d like to do, and then you push up your skirt and swiftly straddle his thighs, press your hands against his shoulders. His mouth falls open a little, and you lean in to catch it with yours.

“I have been thinking about you all weekend,” he mutters into the kiss, wraps his arms around your back. “Have you thought about me?”

“Only every night.” He groans at your words, lets his head fall back a little, and you press your lips to the column of his throat, nip softly with your teeth. “Every morning. Every minute.” You bite at the shell of his ear, kiss it, card your fingers through his hair. “Do I have an actual job to do here?” You pull back, and he raises his eyebrows; you can’t help the grin that takes over your expression. “Because if not, I’m going to focus on making this the best two weeks of your life.”

He pulls you in for another kiss, a little rougher than before, deeper, and you tug on his hair, pant against his cheek when you separate.

“In that case, no. You don’t have a job to do here.” You tilt your head, and he smiles a little. “I'm the boss, I make the rules.” That kind of thing has never done it for you before, but you have to admit it’s making you feel some type of way right now. You sweep your hands inside his jacket, squeeze his sides.

“Mmm, yes you do. Hey, do you think there’s enough room for me to fit under your desk?” He wets his lips, and you climb off of him, walk around to check it out for yourself, bending over his desk in your tight black skirt to peek beneath it. You look up to see Aaron is not shy about taking in the view, and you grin. “Spacious.”

He walks toward you, and when he’s closer, his eyes look dark with need; his hands look like they ache to reach out and touch. You step forward, let yourself be caged in against the desk by his arms, and you arch your back a little, open his belt slowly.

“I didn’t set this up so you would feel obligated to do this.” You sigh, lean up to catch his lips in a soft kiss.

“I know you didn’t. But if I want to?” You tug down his zipper, slip your hand inside his underwear, feel him hot and stiff in your palm. “And you want to?” He nods tightly and you kiss him again, squeeze him softly, sweep your tongue between his lips. “Then let’s.”

You take a step back, push his chair far enough out of the way that you can crawl under the desk, come up on your knees; he exhales deeply, then sinks down into his chair, stretches his long legs so they rest on either side of your body, holds his pants open for you. You look up at him, hope he sees how ridiculously eager you are to do this, and you take his dick out, stroke it a couple times, and cover it with your mouth.

“My god,” he sighs, head resting back against his seat. You hold him with both hands, suck deep and wet, moan a little when he spreads his legs further apart. “Your mouth feels so good, baby. Does this make you wet?” You pull off, move one hand to slide up his stomach, clutch his shirt there.

“Very, but I’m patient. Want to make you come.” He wets his lips, sighs, and you dip your head, lick up the length of him before sucking him back down.

He is all perfect, desperate noises, soft grunts and moans, gently palming your head as he gets closer, and you’re pretty sure he’s about to get off when there’s a knock at the door. He mutters a curse, and you squeeze his stomach, determined to make him come in the next five seconds. He looks like he’s going to lose his mind.

“Just a minute,” he manages, his voice strained, and he puts his hands on your arms, but you stroke and suck him quickly, actually sigh in relief when he spills in your mouth; your only regret is that he couldn’t be louder.

As soon as he’s through coming, you duck under the desk to wipe your mouth, and he hurries to fix his fly, to close his belt. There’s another knock, and he exhales, calls for whoever is on the other side to come in.

He accidentally bangs his knee off the desk, winces, and you lean back against it, panting, your heart racing.

“Aaron!”

Your eyes snap closed. What are the actual chances of this? You don’t know enough about karma to have an opinion on it, but you come to the sudden realization that you must have done something wrong in a past life.

“Hey, what are you doing in our neck of the woods?” Aaron asks, managing to sound like he is in fact not talking to the father of the woman who just swallowed his come.

“Looking for my little girl, of course. Had to see what she was getting up to on her first day at the FBI.”

“She’s actually… downstairs. In the mailroom. Interns start at the bottom and work their way up.” You stifle a laugh, because despite your compromising position, that’s kind of funny.

“Oh, okay. Agent Morgan thought she was up here, but I guess she must have snuck by him. Would you tell her I stopped by?”

“Absolutely. She’ll be happy to hear it,” he says, and you think you might be out of the woods, but you hear your dad’s voice again.

“Hey I almost forgot to mention: Monday Night Football tonight, got a bunch of guys coming over to watch the game. You interested?”

“You know, that would be great. You can text me the details. Thanks for the invitation.”

“Sure, of course. I really appreciate you taking care of my girl.” You have to bite your lip this time, and Aaron taps his foot against your hip.

“It’s my pleasure. She’s really wonderful. You should be proud.”

“I am. I’ll text you the details,” he says, and then the door closes and Aaron pulls back, looks down at you beneath the desk. You kind of just stare at each other for a minute.

“Close call?” you say with a shrug, and he helps you to your feet, then lifts you up and sets your ass on the edge of his desk. He grabs your face for a messy kiss, and you cling to him, breathless when he pulls back.

“What does it say about me that I’m turned on again?” he asks, and you shake your head, pull him close for another kiss.

“I don’t know, but I’m really turned on, too. Can you—” That’s as far as you get before he strides over to the door, flips the lock, and comes back to push your skirt up, tug your panties down to your knees so quickly it makes you gasp. He gets on his knees slowly, looks up at your face, and puts his hands on your hips, takes a few deep, thorough licks of your pussy. “Oh, my god.” You put your hand on the back of his head, drop your ass harder against the desk and press your other palm against it for support.

He is as enthusiastic as you were for him, slipping his tongue between your lips, gliding rhythmically over your opening but not pressing in, the tease. It feels insanely good, so much but not quite enough.

“Aaron. Oh, mmm—please. Please.” You sigh, dig your fingers into his hair, and he puts his hands under your ass and tilts you back on the desk, dives lower to start thrusting inside you with his tongue. “Yes, yeah, right there,” you murmur, and you rock your hips a little; your hand slips, sending you further back on the desk so that you’re almost laying back on it, and it makes you feel so deliciously dirty that you groan, grab at the collar of his jacket at the back of his neck.

“You okay?” he asks, pulling back to look up at you, and you nod, frantic; he licks his lips, lifts your legs and puts them over his shoulders, then dips down to stroke his tongue inside you, to press a finger inside alongside it.

“Holy—oh, yes.” You toss your head back, whine, and come around his finger while his tongue flicks in and out until you’re left breathless, spent.

You press yourself up to sitting, and Aaron stands, kisses you deeply, hands on your face while you’re still slick on his tongue. After a couple of minutes, he helps you get cleaned and straightened up, his kisses soft presses of lips this time.

“I should try to get some work done,” he says, but he doesn’t sound like he wants to; after that, you can’t really blame him.

“That’s okay; I brought my laptop, so I can work on some stuff too, if you don’t mind.” He doesn’t of course, and you get set up at the other end of his desk. You’re both plugging away at your work when you’re reminded of something from earlier; you close the lid of your computer and look over at Aaron, head tilted. “I didn’t take you for someone who likes football.” He smiles, taps his pen against his chin.

“I don’t. But I figured you’ll be there.” You smile back.

“Yeah, I’ll be there. Maybe I’ll see if my old cheerleading uniform still fits—you know, just to go with the theme.” You open your computer back up, but the look on Aaron’s face out of the corner of your eye is very, very promising. “Mmh, that feels good,” you murmur, one hand on Aaron’s shoulder and the other on his thigh; he is propped up against your pillows, massaging your bare breast and your clit while you roll your hips in his lap. Your cheerleading skirt fits, mostly, but you couldn’t zip it all the way; still, it’s the only thing you’re wearing, and you can’t deny the whole situation is so hot it hurts.

“You feel so incredible. Taking me so well.” He can’t kiss you in this position, and you can tell he wants to—you really want him to—so you feel a little like a tease as you work your ass and thighs atop him. “You know you’re beautiful, but I can’t stop saying it. You’re perfect, baby—in this little skirt?” He moves the hand from your breast to your hip under the skirt, squeezes you there. “So sexy. Do you remember any cheers for me?”

You groan, roll your eyes.

“Not worth the orgasm to embarrass myself,” you say, and he lifts his hips, slams up into you hard. “Mmh. Okay, almost worth the orgasm, but not going to do it.” He lifts an eyebrow, pumps his hips up again.

“Really? Not even if I…” He lunges forward, lifting you out of his lap and making you laugh, then maneuvers you onto your stomach, gets on his knees behind you, flips up the skirt.

“God, Aaron,” you sigh, and he presses his thighs right up against your ass, slides inside, pumps slow and steady while squeezing your cheeks, pulling you back toward him. Your fingers dig into the stupid, frilly bedspread, which will probably turn you on for the rest of your life, now, and you move back against his thrusts, moan.

“Worth it now?” he asks, filling you so completely, and you pant, hum.

“Wouldn’t you rather I just moan your name?” He leans forward at that, hands planted up under your arms, and leans in to speak into your ear; the way he’s pressed against you, the angle is perfect, and you’re right on the edge when his lips brush your throat.

“Yeah, why don’t you do that instead.” It takes about two seconds for you to come, and you aren’t shy about it, let his name fall from your lips in an endless string of praise. He hammers against your ass, the roughest he’s been—and god, does it feel good—then comes inside you murmuring your name.

He pulls out, rolls you over, and you finally kiss, make it count; it’s like the first night, how you can’t get enough of each other, messy, desperate, curling tongues and soft, eager lips, but you know you can’t keep it up forever, because his presence downstairs will be missed much sooner than Friday’s party.

You help him get dressed—in jeans and a blue polo, maybe the only time in your life a polo has made you wet—and then throw on a t-shirt and jeans of your own, head downstairs. You detour for the kitchen to grab a couple beers while he heads into the living room, and then you plop down next to him on the couch and hand him one like you weren’t just defiling your childhood bedroom yet again.

“There you are,” your dad says when he registers your presence—it’s impossible to get him to look away from the tv when a good game is on. “So how was your first day at the office? Think you’re going to like it there?”

“Yeah, I don’t know why I was resistant for so long.” You shift, put your leg under your butt, and take a sip of your beer. “It’s not going to be a career for me, but I have a really good feeling about the next two weeks.”

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#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #hotch x female reader #hotch x reader #ask answered #anon #prompt

[lovelyartisan]

Okay Imma shut up about Sharon possibly being the villain after this!

(But lets think about this for a second if she were the capital b, "Bad Guy," of the series (Zemo's like what the secondary bad guy or maybe their working together? Ya'll see that shit coming 👀? new ship alert lol jk but not really)

How great of a dark foil would she be for Sam's conflict regarding the mantel of Captain America.

She'd be like the shoulder devil to Bucky's shoulder angel act regarding the shield and the idea of super heroes in general to Sam.

This is a woman who grew up listening to stories from the aunt she worshipped like the legend she was, talk about Steve like he was the second coming of Christ, like she has been a stan of this man her whole life.

-In CA:TWS, She risks everything for him (I'm talking as in his ideals not to get in his pants) when confronted with fact the hydra had infiltrated the organization her Aunt spent her whole life to build, she trusted Steve was making the right call and helped him dismantle it.

She burnt down her aunt's legacy, S.H.I.E.L.D, expecting nothing in return, but there's no way a piece of her didn't die with it.

Then in Civil War, as we were just recently reminded of in the latest 2 episodes, she lost everything, she verbatim tells Zemo this:

But LOOK at the way this is framed, this show has never held back on the close ups, if they wanted us to pinpoint her rage against Zemo why not close up on him? but instead its all three of them. this would be beautiful foreshadowing if I'm right. because her grudge is against all of them.

Because she stole government property for SAM and Steve for BUCKY's sake, yet all three were able to both move on after a couple years as if nothing ever happened, while again! I must remind you! Sharon lost EVERYTHING.

Can you imagine how betrayed she must have felt when Steve retired, completely forgetting her and the smoking wreck of a life she was left with, Can you imagine how much of a false god Steve must have seemed to her, the righteous soldier who never left a man behind that her aunt told her about all her life.

He was a lie; heroes were a lie -- and just like that she snaps.

Her being the powerbroker would also explain a couple things:

1. Why the powerbroker has beef with Zemo even though they've never met.

2. Her very cold and snarky roast of Bucky's belief in the Captain America brand, the way someone would talk about a product- you know like a broker!

3. Why she insists that Sam and Bucky stay out of it for their safety, the way Vancamp delivers the line almost made it sound like a lamenting ultimatum.

AND HERE'S WHERE THAT DARK FOIL FOR SAM BUSINESS I WAS TALKING ABOUT EARLIER COMES BACK AROUND!

Sharon and Sam were both new to Steve's life, both clearly idealized him, both gave up everything for him, but only one of them got to reap the reward of being in Steve's inner circle.

AND now that Steve is gone, Sam is starting to see the cracks in having a dogmatic belief in the Captain America brand like Bucky, he's starting to see that a lot of the "goodwill" people showed him was for Steve's sake and not for him.

both Sharon and Zemo even recognize his shaken confidence in the idea of superheroes:

Sharon: Look you know the whole hero thing is a joke, right?I mean the way you gave up that shield, deep down, you must know its all hypocrisy.

Sam: *says nothing*

Zemo: He knows and not so deep down.

At the end of Episode 3, we see Sam upset about how lives like Sharon's and Isaiah's were destroyed for the Captain America legacy and how everyone would rather brush them aside and only look at the good that's come from it as if the collateral damage meant nothing.

We even see Bucky (Sam's other foil) in this last episode give him the ultimatum that if he won't preserve Steve's legacy, then he will take the shield and do it himself.

Sam is caught between these two very extreme ideologies that both represent a part of how he feels about this legacy.

I think if Sharon is the power broker it will show how complete disillusionment with heroes can be just as toxic as worshipping them.

Since right now the narrative of the power broker is that they are currently after the serums (and if its for the motivations that the power broker in the comics would have) then its all for money not revenge.

because hate is not the opposite of love, indifference is and Sharon clearly shows this indifference while casually asking about the new captain america and then dissolving any interest in it when Bucky gets passionate about the subject. She couldn't care less about who's holding the mantle.

I may jokingly call her a hater but the truth is there's no spark or any kind of feeling from her, she just seems numb to the whole thing --- and that's where she becomes dangerous, she doesn't care about anything.

Priceless art, murdering people (shown in her brutal take down of the bounty hunters), and perhaps even the super-soldier serum.

She's already seen a world torn apart by the blip and lived and potentially conquered a place like Mandrapoor, suffering and injustice mean nothing to her and because she believes there are no true heroes; she believes the world's already doomed.

She's become the lamest kind of nihilist basically.

I think the show is going illustrate to us how Sam will be the healthiest medium, not pretending that Steve is a flawless Aryan Jesus but also not throwing away the good he brought into the world just because he wasn't perfect.

I think this is the thesis the show seems to be going for: don't feel cheated if your heroes aren't perfect, let their flaws instead help you to realize that despite their flaws they did good in the world; which means you and your flaws can do good in the world as well.

Also making Sharon the power broker is very unlikely but at the same time its just so great to imagine and like her not being the power broker doesn't make her any less of a dark foil for sam so i'm going to pretend this rant was justified bye

#if you read the end of this you're either a legend or my mom #or both #sorry followers #legit i understand if you gotta unfollow #i've clearly lost my mind #tfatws #tfatws spoilers #the falcon and the winter solider spoilers #sam wilson #agent 13 #sharon carter #emily vancamp #bucky barnes #james bucky barnes #helmut zemo #zemo #meta #power broker

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Canary, Part 6

First

Previous

Tim had been watching her out of the corner of his eyes for a long time. It wasn’t that he was trying to be creepy or anything, he just… didn’t know why she was there. It didn’t make sense. She was relatively low on funds according to what he and Oracle had dredged up, and even Tim in all his billionaire-ness recognized that this place was more expensive than average…

So, why had she come? It wasn’t even close to the motel she was staying at.

The vaguely paranoid -- cautious, he was cautious -- part of him worried that she had somehow known he was there, but there was no way she should have been able to know that. Hell, he hadn’t known he was going to this particular cafe until he’d gotten to work and realized that there were now cameras in the breakroom and his office to make sure he didn’t drink too much.

But, really, it seemed like she was just using the free wifi that the cafe provided to write up a resume.

He relaxed and sunk back in his chair with his laptop while he did his work.

… he didn’t get to work for long.

He picked up on the slight gravel of someone putting on a voice with ease. It was high and sweet, a voice he commonly heard from customer service workers. He chanced a look back at the barista and frowned when he saw her on her phone. Not her, then.

He looked around the tiny coffee shop and cringed a little when he realized what was going on. Shady guy approaches a woman who’s drinking coffee alone? Yeah, that’s never a good thing.

He pushed his laptop into his bag quickly, slung it over his shoulders, put the cap back on his coffee cup so the guy wouldn’t be able to tell that Tim had been there for a while, and rushed over.

He rested his hand on the man’s shoulder.

“Hey, bud, she said no.”

Tim watched both of them tense and their gazes were pulled to him in an instant.

Marinette glanced him up and down once. He watched her eyes lock onto his coffee cup for a second and he carefully turned his hand a little so she could see the name.

She smiled. “You’re late, Timmy. Don’t tell me you got caught up in another meeting?”

He shrugged innocently. “You know how it is.” Then, he split into a grin. “Maybe I should be the one that’s upset, though. Can’t believe you didn’t save me a spot.”

“I tried!” She whined. “He insisted!”

The man chuckled awkwardly. “I see. I’m sorry, I thought you were alone.”

She rolled her eyes. “I told you I wasn’t. Can you move, though?”

“Actually,” Tim said, because he didn’t want to sit in the window where Duke might happen to see him while on patrols. “There’s a free table back this way.”

Marinette tipped her head to the side a little before nodding. “Sure.”

She closed her laptop with a snap, gathered her things into her bag, and followed him back to his table.

That should have been the end of it. Unfortunately, the guy was still watching them. It looked like they weren’t going to be able to do work for a while if they wanted to keep up the pretense that they were friends.

She seemed to know it, too, because she sighed and rested her head on her hand with a small frown. “Guess we have to talk.”

He huffed. “Don’t have to sound so upset about it.”

“Alright. Fine.”

“Not sounding much more excited.”

She rolled her eyes and then brought a bright smile to her face. “Sure, Timmy, sounds great! Can’t wait to have a super fun conversation with you!”

“... nevermind. That’s weird. Why did that almost convince me? I knew it was fake.”

She let herself lean back in her chair, her face falling back to a slightly smug grin. “I’m Parisian,” she said simply.

Yeah. That made sense. Every Parisian Tim had had the (dis?)pleasure of meeting had had an almost unnerving amount of control over the way they presented their emotions.

He snickered. “Why the hell would you move here, then?”

She rolled her eyes. “Our psychopath was so boring. Like, dude, we get it, your wife died or whatever, that sounds like a you problem. Now, a guy deciding to become a jewel thief purely for the gimmick? Way more interesting.”

“Moral grayness is so twenty years ago,” Tim joked.

“Exactly! Give me dumbasses who are evil purely to be evil and good to be good!”

He grinned. “I can see why you like Harry Potter.”

She blinked.

He motioned to her cup. Scrawled across it in the barista’s messy handwriting was ‘He Who Must Not Be Named’.

She relaxed a little, grinning. “I just finished the books so I’m a bit obsessed. Also, every time I tell them that my name is Marinette they misspell it.”

“Don’t feel too bad, baristas are just like that. Heck, they’ve misspelled my name before.”

“... your name is Tim.”

“They spelled it with a y.”

“... why?”

“Yes. Exactly. A y.”

She giggled a little. “No, I mean why would they do that?”

“Oh. No clue. I hope they were just messing with me.”

~

The barista was wiping down the tables. It was nearing closing time and Marinette was feeling more and more sorry for the poor workers the longer they stayed. She knew that, when she had used to work at the bakery, she had always especially hated customers that were there around closing time.

Only two tables remained occupied.

She sighed when she glanced over and saw the guy was still there.

Oh well.

She looked over at Tim. “Care to walk me a few blocks in a random direction to see if we can get rid of him?”

“Certainly,” he said.

“‘Certainly’? I may not be super great with American customs yet but even I know that’s weird,” she teased.

He huffed a little. “Listen.”

“I’m listening.”

His nose scrunched. “No, wait, you weren’t supposed to call me out on the fact that I didn’t have an excuse.”

“Oh. Okay, we can try again.”

“Alright.” He cleared his throat. “Listen,” he said again, this time in a tone that mocked the one he’d said it in the first time.

Convenient. She was intent on mocking him, too: “I’m listening.”

“You’re the worst,” he complained.

She laughed. “I am so not. Joker exists.”

“You’re worse than him,” he said in his most serious voice.

She laughed harder. “No one is worse than him.”

He grinned. “I thought you liked people that were evil purely for being evil.”

“But he’s not,” she argued. “The man just decided one day that he liked the weird guy who dressed like a bat and figured that the best way to get that guy’s attention was to murder people.”

“Gotta admit, it works,” said Tim.

She shrugged, grinning. “Yeah, it does. Makes me wonder what would happen if the Big Bad Bat didn’t come, though.”

He tipped his head to the side slightly and then shrugged. “I don’t know, actually. He usually stops it in time.”

“I think he’d freak out.”

“Absolutely.”

She grinned and stretched lazily, head tipping back.

“He’s still following us, isn’t he?” Asked Tim.

“Yep,” she said, popping the ‘p’.

He groaned a little. “Great. Looks like we’re heading to the library.”

She raised her eyebrows. “You go to libraries? You could probably buy every ebook in existence and have a few billion left over.”

“One of my sisters works there, I can ask her to get rid of the guy,” he explained. “But I like libraries. There’s something quaint about them.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, it’s nice to see how the common folk live sometimes.”

He returned her eye roll. “Not like that. I spend a lot of time staring at screens, I have a special appreciation for regular old books.”

“That’s nice. I wish I had time to sit down with a physical copy like that.”

“You see, I have this genius strategy for making time: not taking care of myself.”

“Go on, this is intriguing.”

“Well, eating and sleeping, right? Everyone thinks they’re totally necessary things otherwise you’d die or whatever. But, listen, that’s just a hoax made up by the government to perpetuate capitalism.”

She nodded eagerly. “Totally totally totally. What’s your solution?”

“Coffee communism.”

“Yes, you should use your rich boy money to lobby Congress.”

He grinned. “I totally should. But I can’t run it by my family.”

“No way! You never know who's capitalist anymore, they could be plants placed by the sleep industry to ensure that you don’t go through with it.”

He gasped. “No! You think? My own family?!”

She nodded grimly. “It’s always the ones closest to you that betray you.”

And then he broke character, snickering behind his hand. She beamed.

They reached the library and he smiled as he held the door open for her. He asked her to wait while he talked to his sister and she waved him off casually, telling him to take his time.

She pulled out her phone and pressed her lips together thinly as she made a note to head over later that night to give the man -- Henry -- his money. She’d give him a little tip because, for a moment there, she’d almost forgotten that they were just acting. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to purposely trigger herself for the sake of believability but, hey, if she was going to try and dupe one of the smartest businessmen alive into talking to her, she needed to go all out.

Speaking of Tim, she updated the file of Tim’s favorite cafes plus the probabilities of him visiting each one. It was for his oldest brother, Richie Wayne. She didn’t know why Richie was the one to ask for it seeing as he spent most of his time in Bludhaven and therefore likely wouldn’t find much use in it, but no one ever really knew why Richie Wayne did anything. The man famously had almost as much cotton between his ears as his father.

But, Richie Wayne was also just as rich as his father, so… she’d give him his file later that night after checking her math with her favorite graphing calculator.

A redhead in a wheelchair rolled past Marinette and she absently held the door open for her, only to be surprised when she cursed out Henry.

She watched as Henry held his hands up and started backing away from the woman in the wheelchair, and then he ran down the nearest alley.

(… she’d give Henry a bigger tip. The man had just wanted a tiny side job to help pay for his wife and kids that wasn’t being a henchman, he didn’t deserve this.)

She opened the door for the woman on her way back inside and mumbled her thanks. The woman nodded once and continued on her way.

Marinette leaned back against the wall again and scrolled through Twitter as she waited for Tim to reappear. Apparently, Poison Ivy was already back in Arkham. Something about an intern at the botanical gardens watering plants wrong. Wild.

Marinette felt someone sidle up beside her and, after a quick glance confirmed that it was Tim, pocketed her phone.

He smiled at her, a tote bag over his shoulder.

“Did you go grocery shopping while I wasn’t looking, somehow?”

He hesitated before holding it out to her. “It’s the French dubs of the Harry Potter movies.”

She blinked as the bag was thrust into her hands and looked down at it. Yep, that was Harry Potter in French. She also, vaguely, noted the tiny slip of paper his phone number scrawled across it.

She slung the bag over her shoulder.

“I’m never going to return these. You’re going to rack up so much debt.”

~~~

NightwingsAss9384: does anyone know why nightwing and canary hate each other?

ScareCrane: She stabbed Batman once on accident and somehow got away with blaming it on him

Daylightwing: She refuses to let B adopt her.

RiddleMeThis: They think it’s funny when their stans fight.

SignalOfficial: They said ‘I’m the only flippy bitch allowed in New Jersey’ and have been fighting ever since

Yummmmmm: He has to or else Robin will get jealous because he’s the only stabby sibling allowed

Oracle: They’re fighting over who gets to change their name to ‘The Dodo’ first.

DeadHood: Nightwing is jealous that Canary was the first one of us to think to have a full-on bird mask.

TheBetterCanary: every time i go into the batfam tag to try and avoid them all i see is his fancams

SpoilerAlert: they’re both convinced that they’re the hottest bachelor/bachelorette in gotham

NightwingsAss9384: im beginning to think no ones going to tell me.

BlackBat: :)

~~~~~

Next

Perma taglist: @nathleigh @peachmuses

Canary taglist: @jayjayspixiepop @unoriginalmess @miraculousfanfic127 @probably-a-hologram @iloontjeboontje

#if i did a kofi would anyone donate #probably not #canary #maribat #timmari #timari #timinette #shutterbug #marinette dupain cheng #ladybug #tim drake #red robin

[celticcrossanon]

I’m so sorry for the rant. I just needed to clear my head and got compelled to do it in your inbox. 🙇🏾‍♀️

Not a question just some thoughts. Sorry I’m spamming you so much. I just read your latest reading about the wanna be“tour” and all I can do is SMH. I think to some extent we saw this coming but they are dialing it up and expanding. Conscious humans would’ve called it quits by now. The Remembrance Day pap walk, Going to elementary schools, “donations”, writing letters like they are world leaders, etc. On one hand I can’t see this becoming much of a “thing”. I don’t think MM and Jarry will go on doing this for long unless they can get some Hollywood to pay attention and acknowledge them. I think another reason with the more public European Royals work so well in their media is because their countries are relatively small, like California and Texas are on the large side in comparison, am I right? So much can happen on one side of the country that I only hear of thanks to friends back in California. I can’t see these two visiting any farm in Montana as “royals” if ever. They got a Clinton and Perhaps more big names and “engagement” is to come (oh god 🤦🏾‍♀️) I’m sure they and the sugars are just loving it but it all looks, sounds and feels so incrediblly STUPID & ABSOLUTELY VAPID AND INSULTING. etc etc. I cannot stand entitled people and the fact that these two cut off, trashed, and demand from their own families for a fleeting moment in the spotlight is unfathomable. That’s a testimony to how strong narcissistic delusions can be. It must be the best high I could ever ask for. 🖤Im new to “Royal Watching” if you can call what I do ‘that’, so I don’t really care about all the other indiscretions. I don’t trust the media and I think it’s just the BRF turn in the hot sun to catch hell. See Andrew, see the Clintons and all the others. Whatever drama is going on with Charles, see the rest of big business. I’m a narcissistic abuse survivor and I still study on the disorder. Now here I am watching these two who make my skin craw, this train needs to SPEED UP . I think I’m just looking for a bit of JUSTICE in the world right now. Between this administration, COVID, my job and all my other drama (I’m sure we all have some, if not BLESS YOU and pass it on 🥺) I’m flabbergasted and a little sick in my stomach at watching yet another set of people be able to walk through life seemingly so unbothered. It’s like the world is closing in and I’m suffocating. 🖤Like, your telling me that just because he was born a Prince and she married him and found a way to have children they get to get away with all of this?. The entitlement, the lies, the forced Wokery, using heavy and important subjects like mental health and racism for a PR boost all just to get a⭐️ on the Hollywood walk of Fame? For a couple of royals they sure know how to dump cold water on ya, they are the epitome of LIFE ISNT FAIR. And I’m sure that all depends on perspective, for example; their sugars who must be going diabetic RN. THEY think they have suffered as well. Look at the Cambridge’s who have not put a foot out of place yet have to deal with these tantrums from all over their family. All families have drama and I can see how the Harkles and the rest could be a payback of the Firm and family as a whole. The Queen covered so much and never really saw that Henry and Andrew and god knows who else were set straight. Look what having so much privilege can do. But is there a limit, anywhere?🖤

🖤Anyways, another thought I had was, this could be the end for any thought of reunion. This Narcissist has worked her magic and this clueless tone deaf fool has really gone and done it. I was driving and I thought of Prince William and the entire remaining Windsors & Mountbatten Windsor’s and the whole Aristocracy cutting the Harkles off entirely because the BRF called a wrap (or had to) and the UK became a Republic after Her Majesty. MM get the privlage in her narcissistic head that she’s the last ever to become a Duchess, Cathrine wouldn’t become the Princess of Wales and it all came down in part because of her and Henry’s actions. Yes Andrew and whoever else aren’t helping but these two made it exceptionally difficult. I think they would take pride in that especially publicly but only when they are praised for it. I think the Cambridge’s would have an easier time with moving on with their family, free to live as they please with no pressure to serve the public. Cathrine can be “lazy”, sleep in, & raise her kids and Wills is free to🖕 the paps who would surely still follow them. A La “where are they now”. The two that would have it the worse are the Harkles as they last bit of what they had to separate them from the rest of Hollywood is gone, no more Royal sheen but they don’t have much now. It would be stupid to use the titles after an abolished monarchy but they’d do it and expose themselves further.🖤 If you made it this far, one last thing. I got cut off while driving. That’s not unusual in this Miami traffic and usually i ignore it but with my mental state I couldn’t help but to compare. it was a packed road and I just really wanted to know where the heck the fire was. Why did this person need to rush so much on a busy road that no one else mattered even though we all have somewhere to go? That’s how I feel about the Harkles. What’s the point, where are they going? They went to New England for Christ sake to play faux royalty, in more trashy outfits might I add. 🤦🏾‍♀️

I guess I do have a question, DOES THE WORLD REALLY BELONG TO THOSE WHO JUST Get UP AND TAKE IT?

Thanks for humoring me and providing this space. ✌🏾

Note: My apologies for this very long post, everyone. I can't put a page break in and the writer needs to let it all out. I am sure a lot of you will be feeling somewhat similar to them.

Reply under the cut, so this is not any longer

Hi april14vc,

You are welcome to rant here.

It sounds like you have a lot going on at the moment and it is all becoming a bit much to handle, as there is no relief anywhere. Is there something fun and relaxing that you can do for you sometime today, just to have a break from it all? I feel like you need to tune out for a bit and do something that is just for you.

I am so sorry that you suffered from narcissistic abuse, and so glad that you survived this. I think the Harkle shenanigans must hurt you in a more personal way than those of us who have never suffered under a narcissist. It is very hard to watch the Harkles seemingly get away with all their entitled abuse without any form of justice coming for them.

I think the Harkles are suffering. They usually are unable to get any sort of attention from the media unless they pay for it, and even then they don't trend - it is a 'blink and you miss it' situation. Look at what happened with Meghan's 40 for 40 program - it was dead in the water before the day was over, and she spent a fortune on PR for that. Compare that to the natural (not paid for) hype that surrounds anything that the BRF does, especially the Cambridges or HMTQ. That hype and attention is what Meghan wants, and she is not getting it.

What the Harkles are getting, and what they hate, is mockery. Look at the response to their Times 100 cover. Look at the comments on this pseudo-royal tour. They are a walking joke, and no narcissist would like that. They tried to cull all negative press while they were members of the BRF, were unsuccessful in stemming all of it, and now have no clout at all to stop any negative media attention. The Harkles may live in a delusion of success, but to the vast majority of people they are no more than very risible z-list celebrities.

The Harkles also have serious money troubles. They may be ignoring them, but those debts will have to be paid, one way or another.

What we are seeing now is the slow slide of the Harkles into obscurity, and their desperate attempts to reverse the process, which never work. They are no more popular and wanted now than they were at the time of Megxit, and in fact their popularity has declined since those days. They may look like they are winning, but it is all an illusion, caused by the amounts of money they are prepared to pay to give the illusion of wealth and star-quality celebrity. The paid for events happen, and then nothing. The paid for PR happens, and then nothing. Their slide downwards continues, and nothing that they do is reversing it.

Yes, at the moment they are on a high and beaming put of every report on their activities. Wait a week and then see where they are. This is like the Oprah interview all over again.

My next reading is going to be on the consequences of this pseudo-royal tour for the Harkles, so maybe there will be some justice for you there.

Edited to add: As for taking down the monarchy, I can't see that happening. For starters, the British government would have to put the matter to the people for a vote, and even if they are insane enough to do that, I can't see the British public voting to remove a beloved Queen because of the antics of two people who are despised that that country. The logistics of replacing the monarchy are also staggering - you have to rework the entire government of not just Great Britain, but of all the commonwealth realms who have HMTQ as Head of State, and that is not an easy task or a light undertaking. In addition, those Commonwealth Realms can keep HM as their head of state even if she is ejected by the British people (which would never happen, but I am stretching the bounds of probability here). After HMTQ comes Charles, who will have a short reign simply because of his age and health, and then William will be king, and he is also loved by the British public. I just can not see all that thrown away for the Harkles, who are rightly hated by the British public.

[girl-in-the-tower]

WHY I LOVE THE SCARABIA CM AND YOU SHOULD TOO

Listen, I don’t even know why you’d actually need to look for a reason to love and cherish this beautiful piece of animation, but to each their own. Regardless, you’re in the right place, because I’m about to gush and cry over this CM just to convince you to show it the same level of love that I feel for it. It’ll be difficult, but don’t worry, I’ll be there with you the entire time. So, let’s start with the beginning. 

What makes this CM different from the others? Well, let’s look at the most obvious aspect: it’s narrated by two people, instead of just the Overblot victim like in the case of the Heartslaybyul, Savanaclaw and Octavinelle. There we had only Riddle, Leona and Azul speak because, obviously, as the Prefects and shadows of the villains they would be the most important characters. You could call that antagonist privileges if you want, but there’s a reason a show with a big cast doesn’t go in depth with every single one of their characters. Not only would it be infeasible, but also useless. Narratives need a point of focus, otherwise they end up disjointed and incomprehensible. 

So why didn’t this CM just have Jamil narrate? He’s the antagonist of chapter 4, after all. Shouldn’t he get his own moment in the spotlight, separate from Kalim? Well, yes and no. For you see, the thing about Scarabia is that unlike other dorms the relationship between the Prefect and vice dorm leader is much more complicated. By which I mean that no other vice dorm leader is an indentured servant to the family of their dorm’s Prefect. Trey is Riddle’s childhood friend, Ruggie sticks with Leona because it gives him a better chance for survival, the Leech twins stay with Azul out of curiosity, Rook admires Vil, Ortho is Idia’s little brother (?) and Lilia has served as Malleus’ parental figure.

(Also, yes, I’m counting Ruggie and Ortho as vice dorm leaders since that’s basically their role anyways.)

None of them are bound to their Prefect. Trey has a life outside of Riddle, Ruggie will drop Leona like a sack of potatoes if the latter gets too much to deal with, the Leech twins EXPLICITLY say that they will turn on Azul if they get bored, Rook actually points out Vil’s flaws to his face, Ortho doesn’t let his brother get away with everything and Lilia’s position is more of a trusted family friend, than an actual guard/babysitter. The point I’m trying to make is that all these people have choices when it comes to their relationships with their respective Prefects. They stay by their side out of their own will and not because someone is forcing them to be there. 

The same doesn’t apply to Jamil. He can’t just decide to leave Kalim’s side one day, because he was getting sick of looking after him. And that’s because he didn’t have a choice in being by his side in the first place. That decision was made for him by his parents. Because that’s how indentured servitude works: when you’re in the service of a lord, especially if you’re a poor peasant, your period of time decided upon entering the contract tends to extend to future generations as well since you’re not given any money to save. Most peasants that found themselves in such positions often would marry and start a family while still in the service of their lord and should they die, their family, unable to provide for themselves because their whole life was spent doing unpaid labour, will also enter the same contract. This process would go on until either slavery, which this most certainly is, was banned or the lord decided to set you free. The former was much preferable to the latter, because in a feudal system to be set free by your lord often marked you as an undesirable servant. You would be hard pressed to find a lord that would ‘hire’ you after finding out your former ‘employee’ decided to ‘fire’ you. So it would be very rare for indentured servants to actually manage to free themselves from that position. 

This is precisely where Jamil’s frustration arises from as well. As a capable individual, he’s acutely aware of the limitations his status imposes on him. He’s a servant of the Asim family from birth, much like his parents and grandparents were before him. This is not something he chose for himself, but rather something that was imposed upon him. Herein lies the central issue that defines Jamil’s character: lack of choice. Much more than any character, Jamil’s life is governed by the limitations that arise due to his social position. We see that ever since his childhood he was forced to always take into consideration Kalim’s abilities and model his performance as not to eclipse him in any way. If Kalim placed second place in a dancing competition, Jamil must not be among the top three. If Kalim’s grades slipped, his own grades must as well. If Kalim lost two times in a row at mancala, Jamil must make sure he loses the next three games. Yet, paradoxically enough he mustn’t fall behind too much either, for that would make him a useless servant. And as I pointed out before, inept servants are not considered desirable by those in power. 

It is in essence a balancing act that Jamil must make sure he adheres to strictly, as not to bring shame to the Asim family to whom he is, in theory, loyal. In relation to Kalim, Jamil must make sure he performs poorly, but in relation to others he must make sure he performs well. It’s that precise position between exceptional and ordinary that he must achieve, and according to Azul, Jamil is excelling at that.

Azul: You usually never make yourself stand out—A wallflower, so to speak.

You make sure not to stand out academically, too. Whether it’s with class standing, or with practical training. But, at the same time…

You never get failing scores. (4-37)

Yet the question we must ask is why? Why must Jamil follow these demands? 

Well, for one it’s the issue of the indentured servant that we have discussed before. Jamil is bound to the Asims and going against them will bring repercussions not only on himself, but on his family as well. In the modern age in which Twisted Wonderland seems to be set in, this would not be much of an issue, we would guess. However, while that might be true, we must consider it not only from a logical perspective, but a psychological one as well. The human brain is fascinating in the sense in which it is able to transform information into patterns. And nowhere is this most apparent than in the impregnation of cultural norms into the mind. We tend to think of some things as innately ‘normal’ and ‘ordinary’ and everything that goes against those beliefs as ‘perverse’ and ‘immoral’. For example, up until a few decades ago, the idea of women as second-class citizens was seen as a perfectly reasonable notion. Those that did not agree with it were considered troublemakers and agitators, and if there’s anything the human individual loves more conformity, it’s ensuring that it’s enacted upon the population at large. The nail that sticks out gets the hammer, as the saying goes. 

But what does this have to do with Jamil? Well, the fact is that his role, as Kalim’s servant, comes with certain social expectations. 

Jamil: Kalim’s parents were always better than my parents. That’s why… Kalim should be better than me, too. That’s why, I could never surpass Kalim when it comes to studying, exercise, and even playing— (4-36)

The role of a servant is that of support. The Master leads while they provide the conditions and the means to do that. That is precisely the position that the Viper family is supposed to take in relation to the Asim family. For a servant to surpass his master, it leads to a deeply problematic realization: that one’s status is divorced from one’s capacity. Medieval rule was often characterized by monarchs assigning themselves as God’s anointed on Earth. Their right to the throne was not ensured by their capacity or disposition or ideals, but simply by their nature. They were meant to rule, because of the social class and family they were born into. Nothing less, nothing more. It was instinctively understood that there was a great differentiation between them and the common people and that was translated in their position as those to be considered ‘elevated’. They did not mingle with the common folk, because that was beneath them. 

And unfortunately, that is a cultural inheritance that is not easily done away with. For though we might claim we left behind the days of feudalism and vassals, there is still a great divide between social classes. It merely took a different form. Lords of the castle turned into politicians, celebrities and glamorous multimillionaires. A rose by any other name would smell as sweet, as Shakespeare would put it. Call it what you will, but the end result is that social divide still exists. And we can see that is the case in Twisted Wonderland as well.

Though the game tends to gloss over it in certain aspects, by having Leona’s reception by the main student body be as that of a lazy Prefect, and Malleus’s position is often eclipsed by his elusive attitude, it is constantly made clear that Kalim is someone with an important social background. We might have to be reminded that Leona is the second prince of the Afterglow Savannah, or that Malleus is the next king of the Valley of Thorns, but we aren’t offered the same discretion with Kalim’s character. He is almost always introduced as Kalim, the heir of a multimillionaire family. It is thus impossible to separate him from this title, and by extension, Jamil as well. Whether he likes it or not, as the servant of the Asims, Jamil is tethered to Kalim by being a part of his social image. No true Master can exist without servants, and no servants can be had without a Master. The two are reliant on each other, much like Kalim and Jamil are reliant on the other to define their position in life. 

Kalim is the son of a wealthy family because he has Jamil to prove his special status. Jamil is a servant of the Asim family because he has someone to serve. But whether he wants to be part of this system and have his identity be defined by this connection is out of his hands. And that’s the truly unbearable notion that Jamil has to deal with in his chapter: no matter what he does he is never in control of his own life. It’s always something that is decided for him.

This, in itself, is not coincidental I would say. You see, besides being interesting social commentary, it is also an unexpected look into the underlying themes of Disney’s Aladdin. If we were asked to describe what the movie is about, I think it’s safe to say most of us would cite “poor street-rat learns a valuable lesson about not pretending to be someone else and marries the princess” as the answer. And we would not be wrong. It’s obvious that “Be Yourself” is one of the most important lessons Disney wanted to teach to young children and this in itself is not a bad thing. But while these might be understood as genuine life advice at a young age, as adults we often tend to look more closely into the themes and motifs of the movies that shaped our childhoods. And thus I would argue that Aladdin is more than just a story about interclass romance, but rather a look into how the social class system functions as a whole. Aladdin, the main hero, is a street urchin with no money to his name. Jasmine, the heroine, is the daughter of one of the most powerful men in the land. Their romance and subsequent marriage is interpreted as a victory over a flawed and classist system, because they managed to surpass the limitations imposed upon them by society and ‘be themselves’. And though this is a heartwarming message to see performed on screen, it’s important to remember that there are more than just the protagonists in the story. Alongside them we have three more characters we must pay close attention to: the Sultan, Jafar and the Genie. 

To do a short summary:

The Sultan: Jasmine’s father and the most powerful man in the country, but rather bumbling and childishly naive. As is typical with Disney parents who are still alive by the start of the movie, he is a figure that possesses authority merely in name. Though kind and generally well disposed, he lacks any real power when it comes to the plot of the movie being tricked by both Jafar and Aladdin, as Prince Ali, and ultimately having to rely on the latter to be saved from the former. The Sultan is the quintessential look at a spoiled monarch whose rule is being facilitated by someone more competent than him, and this informs most of his character as a result. He himself might be a doting and benevolent figure, yet his reign is a prosperous one by accident not by his own making.

The Genie: The spirit who resides in the lamp that Aladdin finds in the Cave of Wonders and who becomes his ally in his quest to marry Jasmine. Perhaps one of the most memorable characters in the movie, thanks to the late William Robbins’ performance, Genie's entire quest in the movie is to achieve freedom by helping out his Master. The parallels between him and the indentured servant position are made abundantly clear by the fact that he is bound to Aladdin until the latter agrees to set him free. Genie’s role in the story is one that is important, but his position is one that mirrors Jafar: they are in the service of someone who is less than them, whether it be competence or magical ability. However, while Jafar detests his position and the Sultan, Genie becomes a father figure to the protagonist. The fact that the two exchange places (Jafar is turned into a Genie and imprisoned, Genie being set free and retaining all his powers) stems directly from how they relate to their social class. Jafar is self-serving and ambitious and Genie is altruistic and self-sacrificial. Genie thinks of the happiness of his Master, though he is still displeased by the concept itself, and for that he is rewarded, proving that putting the well-being of others above your interests is the way to happiness after all. That is, if you’re a Disney hero.

Jafar: The Grand Vizier and the second most powerful man in the land, but is a scheming backstabber that plans to take the throne for himself. As one of the most easily recognizable Disney villains, Jafar makes a strong impression through not only his design, but through his philosophy as well. He’s in spite of his high rank, still pretty much a servant, having to ensure that the rule of the Sultan is enacted accordingly. Yet, as an antagonist he makes certain that whatever he does is in his own interest as well. To say that he is ambitious would be an understatement, but what is it that he wants exactly? There is no clear answer, but the closest we can get to is that Jafar wants power. 

But wait, you might say. Didn’t Aladdin also want that? Why is only Jafar the villain, if they were both after the same thing?

That is a good question! And the answer to it is yes and no. Though indeed, both Jafar and Aladdin wanted power it was for different purposes. Aladdin wanted it for the sake of overcoming his social limitations and thus becoming a worthy candidate for Jasmine, while Jafar wanted power for power’s sake. The lesson that Aladdin learns is that he shouldn’t have attempted to do that, because it would have never worked out in the way he intended it to. Though Jasmine can bring herself down to his level, he cannot bring himself up to hers since it would disrupt the social system. One cannot rise up to a higher social standing through power alone, they need recognition as well. Which is why marrying Jasmine becomes an important plot point. Jafar, who achieved power through his scheming, still lacks the recognition, which can only be granted through marriage to a royal or someone of higher social standing. He fails to achieve it, because his rise in social ranks did not have a ‘noble’ purpose like Aladdin’s but it merely satisfied his own agenda and needs.

Jafar’s status as a villain is thus due to the fact that in Western media ‘Ambition Is Evil’ is one of the most prevalent tropes. Think of the Becky Sharps, the Slytherins, the Lucifers, the Littlefingers that populate our literature, their evil nature is more often than not tied to their necessity to rise above others. 

To reign is worth ambition though in hell; 

Better to reign in hell than serve in heaven. (Paradise Lost)

Power corrupts, and ambition corrupts absolutely. Disney characters thus often learn that it is better not to be swayed by power from their role in society for the sake of power, or they will pay the heavy price for doing so. That is why Jafar fails and Genie succeeds, because they related differently to their role in their Master’s lives. 

And that is a theme that Twisted Wonderland also touches upon in Jamil’s story. Twisted from Jafar itself it was inevitable that his story would deal with such a topic. However, what deeply impressed me was how self-aware the narrative had been in regards to it. 

Ruggie: I feel bad for you. By helping out Kalim you have burned your hands considerably. (R Card School Uniform)

Jamil: I want to avoid standing out. I can’t be satisfied with this. I cannot be too good, nor fall behind, and neither should I get satisfactory grades or fail. This is the best shortcut to success. (SR Card Lab Coat)

Jamil: I am a sworn servant to the house of Asim and thus have a duty to protect the master. (SR Card Ceremony Robes)

Azul: You are always welcome in Octavinelle should you find yourself freed from Kalim. (5-10)

The matter of Jamil’s role as Kalim’s caretaker is one that has been brought up at several points throughout the game. This is usually done with the express purpose of reinforcing his status as his servant, but also to affirm that it is indeed this very position that is preventing him from achieving his full potential. 

Azul: If you look at your grades, there are no visible gaps in your classroom lectures, practical skills and physical training. Even I have a weak point when it comes to flying… For you to not even have such an instability is frankly amazing. It is like you can tailor yourself to suit your needs. (SR Card Lab Coat)

Just as Azul remarks Jamil holds himself back on account of his need to perfectly perform a certain persona: the reliable valet. It is a character we often see in media disguised as the Hypercompetent Sidekick or Servile Snarker, who is by his very nature much more accomplished than the master, but must out of financial necessity submit himself to someone else. Or in Jamil’s case, out of filial obligation. And this is where the comparison with Jafar becomes important because while Jamil does embody Jafar’s ambition, it is not treated in the same manner as in the movie. Jamil’s motives for betraying Kamil are similar to the villain: he wants to impose himself upon others and overcome his social position. Having been raised in servitude since young he has been forced to ‘tailor himself’ to the demands and expectations placed upon him. However, because this position has been imposed upon him and it wasn’t of his own volition, Jamil comes to resemble the genie much more than he does Jafar. Which is completely intentional, I believe. But we’ll get to that soon enough. 

Taking this into consideration it is interesting to note how the resolution of Jamil’s arc differs from Jafar’s in terms of narrative. The end of Aladdin has us witness the defeat of Jafar at the hands of Aladdin, his imprisonment in the lamp and the release of the genie from his bonds of servitude. It is, of course, a typical Disney happy ending: the villain was defeated by his own hubris, while the heroes prevailed through self-sacrifice and cleverness. The main character has learned the necessary moral lesson (cynically phrased as: do not aspire to overcome your social class through hard work, but wait for recognition from your superiors) and all the characters that aided them during their journey get rewarded as well. It’s the culmination of the Disney formula that selflessness and altruism are the values that separate the heroes from villains, and by extension good from evil. Evil only seeks its own interests, while good works in the interests of others. So what about Jamil?

The end of the Scarabia arc is quite ‘Disney’ to a certain degree: the villain has been exposed, the heroes send to the other end of the ‘world’, they get their second wind, defeat him and live happily ever after. Well, not really. You see, what happens before the heroes go to defeat the antagonist is that Kalim breaks down crying due to Jamil’s betrayal and Azul remarks the following thing:

Azul: Kalim’s gentle disposition towards others is completely different from Jamil and I… No… Taking into account everything, he probably built a grudge over the years. You have been causing trouble for Jamil since you were little, after all. However, you are not in the wrong. You were born a cut above the others. You were loved by everyone around you and we were raised under such a good environment.

You were simply unaware of the greed you’ve been showing. (4-34)   

Jamil’s actions aren’t excused, because they are indeed those of a villain: plotting, backstabbing and double-crossing the heroes for his own gains. Yet, they are not simply attributed to his ‘evil’ nature, but rather explained by the environment in which he was raised and the morals that were instilled in him. Jamil is not evil, but rather merely desperate enough to resort to evil means. And that is a profusely important distinction. Though we might commit malicious acts that does not mean that we are malicious by nature, much as committing benevolent acts does not make one irreproachable. And Twisted Wonderland understands this notion: not in the sense that Jamil was right in what he did, but rather than we can understand why he felt like he was pushed to such extremes. 

Jamil’s story is one of the more complex ones, in my opinion. It speaks about an issue much deeper and much more insidious than any that have been explored so far in the game. The result is that unlike the other three previous Overblot victims, Jamil has no clear-cut solution to his problem. Even after the incident he is still in the service of the Asim family. Even if Kalim asserts that they are equals at school, he still will remain a servant everywhere else. No matter what he does he is bound to the Asim’s and more specifically to Kalim. 

I feel like this would be the note on which I should safely conclude this very long introduction, as we move further and into the real meat of this post: the analysis itself. Thus, without further ado, let’s see why this CM is such a treat from a symbolical and storytelling perspective.

The opening of Aladdin (1992) is perhaps one of my favorites due to the fact that it seeks out to reference its source material: One Thousand and One Nights. By that I mean that it utilizes a technique known as the ‘frame story’: a story which contains within it another story. In the novel the framing device is Scheherezade, the vizier’s daughter who upon learning that she will marry Sultan Shahryar and be promptly killed at dawn, devised a plan to subvert her fate. She would each night begin a tale that would leave the Sultan so enchanted that he postponed her beheading until the next day so she might finish her tale. However, upon finishing the previous story Scheherezade would continue with another one and so on and so on until she eventually managed to avoid death for one thousand and one nights. Hence the name of the collection. 

Aladdin uses a similar device in the character of the Merchant who appears at the start of the movie and introduces us, the viewers, to the world of Agrabah which is a place “where they cut off your ear if they don’t like your face” according to the original lyrics of the song. But it also includes a shot at the end of the movie which has the Genie lift up the ‘wallpaper’ and speak directly to the audience. These scenes, though easy to disregard, do reinforce the fact that the movie we’re about to see is not taking place as it happens, but rather a second-hand account of it. Much like Scheherezade attempts to avoid her decapitation, so does the Merchant at the start of the movie attempt to convince us to give the story a try, become immersed and then abruptly reminded of the fictionality of what we have just witnessed. And I don’t mean in the sense that it is a movie, but rather in the sense that even within the logic of the movie, this whole set of events has a certain fictionality to it. The fact that initial plans had the Genie and the Merchant be the same character only strengthens this notion. 

But the Scarabia CM doesn’t start with the Merchant now, does it? No, it does not. But rather it starts with the very first image of the movie itself: purple smoke against a red flaming background. Except that there is no red flaming background this time, but a calming blue shot of the dunes with what appears to be the Scarabia dorm building in the background, or even Agrabah itself. There is no smoke either but sparkling dust that emanates from a lamp half-buried into the sand. The images are clearly meant to evoke the general aesthetic of Aladdin (1992), but they can also be interpreted symbolically. 

The imagery of smoke is often one of ascension, of leaving the earthly shackles and rising higher towards the spiritual world. But it is also a rather solemn symbol as well, given that it can also be associated with the burning of corpses. Its presence in the movie is explained by the fact that this is after all a story about liberation: most obviously the Genie’s, but also the other characters. Everybody wants to be free in some form or another. The colour symbolism is also interesting to remark upon as according to Richard Vander Wende, the production designer of the original film, certain colours have different meanings within the movie. Red symbolizes heat and evil, while blue is a calm colour associated with water. The red background thus carries negative connotations, but it is eclipsed by the presence of the smoke in the foreground, that is a combination of red and blue. If we were to interpret this visual choice we could claim that the movie is trying to let us know that the story we are about to watch is one in which morally-grey protagonists overcome the forces of evil. For, even though Aladdin is our main character, he is not a pure hero by Disney standards as he is after all a thief and the lesson he has to learn is that he should not attempt to scam his way into a better social position. 

But the Scarabia CM uses a blue background instead, so this is certainly not the same message it might try to send. Rather, due to the positioning of Scarabia/Agrabah in the background, I believe that it is indeed a story about rising above, but not above the forces of evil as much as above social norms accepted as standards. The Scarabia storyline is very much centered around the notion of social positions and how they function within a system of indentured servitude, as is obvious through the way in which Jamil attempts to overcome the position of servant through schemes and planning. We most certainly encounter the thread of evil within his character, but though his methods are unsavory, his end is, I would say, understandable: freedom. 

Jamil: For me, and my family... I'll do anything for our sake!!! (4-31)

Jamil: I’m done playing servant!! I WILL BE FREE—!! (4-32)

The choice of a blue background might thus allude not necessarily to goodness as in the moral concept itself, but rather to the comfort of social norms. There is a certain stability to be had in a system that declares that all those born into wealthy families shall remain wealthy, and all those born into servant families should remain servants. To quote Aladdin: “It’s barbaric, but hey, it’s home.” (Arabian Nights) In such a system that relies on absolute conventions regarding social classes, someone like Jamil is a threat, because he questions and subverts the limitations imposed upon him. He is smarter and more capable than Kalim, yes, but because he must ensure that he does not draw negative attention upon himself, he is forced to adhere to a lifestyle that is not representative to whom he truly is. The similar shape of Scarabia and Agrabah only serves to highlight that regardless of his environment, as long as he remains a servant through his bond to the Asims, he shall never be able to change his destiny.

The lamp is the most important object in Aladdin (1992) as it is the MacGuffin that is coveted by Jafar and the prison of the all powerful entity that is Genie. The lamp in the movie has thus two connotations: power and imprisonment. The juxtaposition between the two creates an interesting image of how power changes according to one’s position in society. Though Genie’s powers are indeed great it seems that he is incapable of wishing himself free, which is I think a good analogy to the position of indentured servitude in which only a lord’s permission would be capable of restoring an individual’s freedom, even though they would be in theory capable of physically leaving their place of servitude. Their choice not to is not only a reflection of the possible corporal punishment they would endure if captured, but also due to the social contract that forced them to remain in that position. As servants they would remain branded forever as second-class citizens at best or dangerous felons at worst. Not a fate one would ever wish upon themselves in those days. 

It is clear that besides Jafar, Jamil also bears quite a lot of similarities to Genie.

It’s like being the genie of the lamp, calling me anytime and anywhere. (Jamil Chat 1)

As I mentioned above, Disney draws an interesting parallel between Jafar and Genie when it comes to relating towards their ‘superiors’: Jafar despises the Sultan and wishes to disposes of him, while Genie forms a parental bond with Aladdin and even reluctantly agrees to remaining bound to the lamp if it means his ward’s happiness. The fact that they exchange positions at the end (Jafar being imprisoned in the lamp, Genie being freed) is the result of the moral choices they make. Genie’s altruism is what allows him to be freed, while Jafar’s ambition is what traps him as thus is the rule of Western philosophy: the needs of the others are superior to our own. 

But ignoring Jamil’s OB for now, we realize that he does not truly commit to either one of those positions. He is resentful of his enslavement at the hands of the Asims, but I believe he does not genuinely wish harm upon Kalim himself, but rather towards the system as a whole, which is represented by him. This is an idea we’ll return to eventually, but it is important to mention it in advance, because it paints a better picture of what Jamil’s true intentions were during his attempt to take over Scarabia. It was not power for power’s sake as in the case of Jafar, but rather him trying to assert control over an aspect of his life, which in this case would be his position within the dorm. Jamil isn’t truly interested in the position of Prefect as is, but in what it symbolizes: freedom. As Aladdin shows power is not synonymous to freedom, but rather something adjacent to it. Even a most powerful creature like Genie is bound to the whims and wishes of a mere mortal, much like Jamil is bound to those of Kalim. To overthrow him as Prefect would mean to assert himself as independent of social bonds by having no one be superior to him anymore. Yet, because he does it through immoral means he fails and thus keeps in line with the moral of the movie: you cannot advance socially without the approval of your superiors.

The moon is one of the most referenced symbols in literature due to the fact that it innately appeals to writers and poets alike. It is fundamentally female in nature, due to its connection to the Roman Diana and the Greek Artemis, and associated as a result either with the concept lunacy, to which it lent its name, as well as with witchcraft, solitude, power and change. The moon’s circular shape as observed from Earth is also associated with the notion of eternity and cyclicity, which is perhaps the symbol that is of most interest to us when it comes to Western interpretation, as in Japanese culture the moon can represent a person’s core, unaffected by others. It is more succinctly put a representation of the Self, that which is considered quintessential to one’s identity. And it is this imagery which the CM tends to gravitate towards I would argue.

The moon is a particularly prominent symbol in Aladdin (1992) as it symbolizes the notion of change and new beginnings. Aladdin and Jasmine’s flight during the song sequence “A Whole New World” uses the moon as a backdrop and confers upon it a romantic aura of serenity and calmness, which is referenced towards the end of the movie wherein they fly towards it upon their success at convincing Jasmine’s father to allow their marriage. The moon in this regard is symbolic of unity and fortune, synonymous with true love’s conquest over everything else. But there is also a comedic twist to it as seen in the very last scene of the movie wherein Genie’s face is projected upon it. It is thus primarily a positive symbol associated with goodness.

The CM however is closer in meaning to the notion of the moon as the human core observed in solitude. Unlike the moon in Aladdin, whose shadows are barely perceptible and thus looks more natural, the moon here is overtly engulfed by darkness, with the sole space of light providing a sharp contrast in tone. It is not a symbol of unity, but rather of division creating barriers and boundaries between the characters who are positioned at opposite ends of the circle. Kalim, as a superior in terms of social and financial power, is situated upon the side that shines brighter to symbolize his role as the face of the dorm. He is the Prefect, the one that represents his dorm and the ideals that it is founded upon. Yet, upon further inspection we notice that the word ‘Scarabia’ appears on Jamil’s side, which is not only the dark part, but also takes more space. It is an unequal division but so is much of their life: Jamil remains in Kalim’s shadow, though it is only due to the former’s help that the latter manages to shine as a Prefect. This is confirmed by the positioning of their dorm’s name on Jamil’s side, as he is in fact the one that more overtly exhibits the ideals of careful planning that the Sorcerer of the Hot Lands is known for.  

Kalim’s face change is interesting if we consider the notion of the moon representing the human core on which one’s identity is formed, because it confirms that he is indeed as cheerful as he appears to be. His cheerful disposition though likened to the image of the sun, lacks the usual masculine and aggressive features associated with it in Western culture, as he tends towards more feminine ideals of pacifism and serenity, which are associated with the moon. Moreover, as it has been pointed out to me, if one is to consider the Japanese cultural context we would be able to observe that the feminine characteristics of the sun are in perfect accordance with the female interpretation of the star in the form of Amaterasu. His body language is relaxed and openly friendly and there’s nothing about him that truly stands out in terms of contradictions. 

Jamil on the other hand presents an entirely different picture. His stance is guarded, that much is certain, and his expression is to be considered at best wooden. Unlike Kalim’s dynamic movement, he remains static and unchanging, sporting merely a look of resigned indulgence towards Kalim, and it seems to a certain extent as if he asserts control over his own reaction towards it. In other words, it is not in the slightest bit natural. Moreover, what does attract our attention is not his expression as in the case of Kalim, but rather the shine of the metal of his choker. 

Unlike Kalim which is bathed in light in warmth, Jamil is surrounded by dark and shadows, with the sole point of light being the metal around his neck. This is different from Kalim whose accessories do not stand out in the same vein. The reason is that on a fundamental level they represent entirely different notions. In Kalim’s case it is a representation of his wealth and power, with the lack of focus on them hinting perhaps to the fact that he is at ease with his position as the heir of a multimillionaire family. It does not stand out because that is his right by birth and thus just a natural part of himself. Jamil’s core, on the other hand, reveals that his identity is very much forged by the Viper’s bond to the Asims. 

Jamil: I’ve been looking after Kalim ever since we were kids. That’s the Viper family’s duty. (Jamil R School Uniform Lines)

In Kalim’s case the accessories are just that: accessories. But in Jamil’s case they are a mark of servitude. They stand out among the darkness because this is how he perceives his own persona: dominated by the image of the loyal servant who is socially inferior to his master. Even the metal itself seems to have a silver tint, rather than gold, symbolizing that even though he and Kalim should be equal (both sporting gold chokers) reality is very much different, since he is forced to be subservient even though it goes against his instincts.

It is interesting to note that in Aladdin (1992) the notion of space and how it relates to characters plays a significant part. Agrabah, the setting of the movie, is a place of social division in which those of lower status live in poverty, financial distress and crowded spaces, whereas those of a higher status enjoy the luxury and the vast space provided by the palace. Compare the streets of Agrabah during “One Jump Ahead” which are constantly filled with people, objects and animals and project an image of recurring chaos, to the quiet serenity of the palace where the Sultan and Jasmine live. The contrast is staggering. But more than that it is indicative how much social class can make a difference. 

It is also interesting to note that with the exception of the Sultan, all characters have at some point transversed these two spaces: Jafar and Aladdin move between the city, the palace and the desert, Jasmine sneaks into the city in order to experience real life and the Genie has access to a fourth space in the form of the lamp. However, the Sultan always remains within the palace walls. The reason for that is rather obvious: it is the seat of power and to leave it would be to admit to inferiority in regards to his position. Unlike the other characters that long for something more, the Sultan is content in his role as representative of financial and social power. He does not need to switch locations, because his static nature is what allows the other characters to progress in their journey. 

The CM builts on this premise as well, by showing us the very different worldviews that Kalim and Jamil experience. Fulfilling the role of Sultan, Kalim is surrounded by luxury and comfort, as he rests in his room at the dorm. The colours are warm and calming, as the light very gently illuminates the room in order to cause an impression of coziness, which fits perfectly with his own character. Kalim’s personality is at its core a ‘refreshing’ one, orientated towards creating harmony and a content attitude. All his life was spent among servants that catered to his every whim and desire, so his sense of independence was greatly stifled. If we may put in blunt terms, he’s sleeping through life, relying entirely on his social position due not necessarily to laziness, but rather naivety. Because he never had to leave the palace walls, he never had to develop any sense of autonomy and thus has managed to remain faithful to his social role. He does not experience a sensation of contradiction between who he is and who he is regarded as because he lives in accordance to the characteristics deemed appropriate for him as a member of the elite.

The same cannot be said for Jamil. Juxtaposed with Kalim’s scene we see Jamil walking through the desert as the harsh light shines upon him. There is no comfort to be found in this particular shot. Whereas Kalim is sleeping peacefully and at ease, unaware of the difficulties of life, Jamil is wide awake. Unlike the former, the latter’s life is dictated by restrictions and hardships, all which he has to endure without showing displeasure as befitting his social role. He does not have the privilege of laying around not only due to the demands that are made of him, but also due to his innate desire for change. The desert can thus very easily symbolize the unfairness which he has to endure as a servant, but it can also symbolize his ambition and the effort he is willing to spend on making sure he can change his social status. Unlike Kalim, who rests in the palace, Jamil seeks to escape its confines even if it means enduring hardship. For you see, though the palace is indeed a place of stability, it is also a prison.

The similarities between Agrabah’s palace and the Scarabia dorm building are most certainly intentional. They’re places of unimaginable wealth that function as status symbols for the people that control them. Agrabah is, as we mentioned before, heavily divided, but it is paradoxically the slums that offer more freedom than the palace itself. Looking back at the movie we notice that the biggest symbol we can associate with Jasmine is the bird in the cage yearning to be free. The notion, moreover, is also supported by imagery such as setting the birds free after a talk with her father and, as it had also been pointed out by other critics, that the canopy of her bed is designed to resemble a birdcage. As a princess Jasmine is bound by social roles and conventions to adhere to the expectations placed upon her, and her journey in the movie is to assert herself as an autonomous person before her father by insisting that she be allowed to make her own choices. The problem however lies with the word ‘allow’ itself which once again contradicts her ideals. The notion of allowing someone to do what they want situates the power in the hands of the person who is recognized as the social superior. In the case of Jasmine, it is her father, the Sultan. In the case of Jamil, it is the Asims. 

The Scarabia dorm as a symbol of the prison is an obvious one due to the fact that it served as such for Grim and Yuu during episode 4. But that is what we might refer to as physical confinement, which at its core is not compatible with the message of the CM and even of the movie. Because the CM does not focus on Grim and Yuu, but on Jamil and Kalim, so this is not a case of a physical prison, but rather a mental one I would argue.

In several respects, the prison must be an exhaustive disciplinary apparatus: it must assume responsibility for all aspects of the everyday individual, his physical training, his aptitude to work, his conduct, his moral attitude, his state of mind; the prison, much more a than the school, the or the army, which always involved workshop certain specialization, is 'omni-disciplinary'. Moreover, the prison has neither exterior nor gap; it cannot be interrupted, except when its task is totally completed; its action on the individual must be uninterrupted: an unceasing discipline. Lastly, it gives almost total power over the prisoners; it has its internal mechanisms of repression and punishment: a despotic discipline. It carries to their greatest intensity all the procedures to be found in the other disciplinary mechanisms. (Foucault 235-236)

Foucault’s Discipline and Punishment: The Birth of the Prison is an interesting look into the social and theoretical mechanisms employed by prisons in order to ‘reform’ convicts. The end goal of these institutions is to reintegrate the individual into society and to achieve such a thing it is not necessary just to punish and torment them, but to discipline them. By this Foucault understood as allowing one’s life to be entirely dictated by “a disciplinary apparatus” decided by those within power. It’s main aim was to restructure one into a “docile body” beneficial for the economical and political necessities of that specific age, which in many cases referred to the idea of one being content to pursue the interests of the state and those that governed it. 

I bring this up because I can see the same ideas reflected in Jamil’s character arc as well. Foucault mentions that the prison is a space in which discipline is uninterrupted and unceasing. In other words it is a space which constantly reinforces the ideals that are considered desirable, and we can see that Scarabia unintentionally functions the same way. It is a space in which Jamil is cast as inferior to Kalim once again, trapped into the position of Vice Prefect, despite the fact that he embodies the ideals of the dorm more than he does. Though this is a different place, his routine has remained unchanged: he must still cater to Kalim’s wishes and perform the role of the servant, despite the fact that in theory the two of them should be equal now.

Scarabia Student B: Our family standing and status shouldn’t matter inside the school! We’re all equal here, right? (4-18)

Under normal circumstances, Night Raven College is supposed to be a neutral space in terms of social standing. Leona and Malleus are recognized as princes, but are not given any particular attention in terms of political and social superiority, and rather scrutinized due to their peculiar attitudes and personalities. They are, in theory, equal to the other students at the academy and the same should apply to the relationship between Kalim and Jamil as well. But things are not so.

During episode 4 we find an interesting detail about Scarabia: it seems that the building had been renovated once Kalim was accepted into the dorm. This is not usually a detail that would require any particular attention, but it reveals something about the environment in which Jamil resides: it is representative of the Asims. The ostentatiousness and extravagance are the result of their direct influence and thus molded by their own desires. By remodeling the building they have reforged it into an image of their social position and installed a member of its own family as leader. Its neutrality has been compromised and so has Jamil’s attempted escape. Attending Night Raven College is not merely a case of attending one of the best magic schools in the world, but also one of asserting one’s independence. Jamil was given the chance to finally break free from the system that has had him ensnared for all his life, only to have his hopes be dashed by being reminded that in the end the influence of his masters is much greater than he could have anticipated. Thus, Scarabia was turned into a space of imprisonment which perfectly replicates the dynamics of the Asim household and thus denies Jamil any possible form of freedom. Much like Genie and Jafar at the end of the movie, he is unable to escape his prison without the approval of his superiors.

Jamil is aware, however, that he is not and will most likely not ever be able to receive such freedom from the Asims. And consciously he knows he cannot attempt to break free on his own either. 

Jamil: My family, the Viper Household, has been serving the Asim Family since olden times. A retainer drawing his sword against his master is unforgivable. Even more so, if Kalim’s father found out about it, my family will end up being punished. I’m sorry, but I cannot put my family in danger just because of a selfish request. (4-18)

Jamil’s sense of filial duty is one of the driving forces behind his character. It’s not only that he himself wants to be free, but wants his family to be released from their bonds as well. Because the system in which he has been raised permits a master to punish an entire family for the disobedience of one member it becomes understandable why Jamil is such a guarded person. It is not merely his own person that is at stake, but the lives of those he cares about also. It is a thought that has weighed heavily upon his head since young childhood most likely, once he became aware of how exactly the social system set in place works. To go against it would not be an act of brave rebellion, but that of sentencing others to punishment to fulfill his own ambitions. Which for a character twisted from Jafar seems contradictory. Yet we must remember that he has certain traits of Genie as well. Unlike him whose loyalty lies to his Master, Aladdin, Jamil’s loyalty lies to his family. He’s only willing to endure things as they are now due to the fact that rebelling would mean having them suffer the consequences. And Jamil is aware of that.

Yet, it is also necessary to ask the following question: Why does he end up rebelling in the end?

The most obvious answer: accumulated frustration. 

As I stated before, Jamil does not hate Kalim. However, it is also obvious that his Overblot had very much to do with the fact that he had become increasingly irked by the latter’s attitude to life. His critique of Kalim’s character, though harsh, was entirely accurate. Kalim is indeed spoiled and naive to an almost ridiculous degree, even though it is not entirely due to his own fault. Moreover, it is not necessarily these particular traits that Jamil takes issue with, but rather his predilection towards inaction. To briefly reference a previously discussed shot: though Kalim is content in his passivity, Jamil cannot abide by the current system. He desires change, but he knows he is in no position to enact it and is thus frustrated that the one who would be able to perform this task is oblivious to the struggles of those around him. Jamil does not hate Kalim as a person, but rather that which he represents: the power of the system itself. As the CM shows Kalim is able to move forwards, uncaring of limits and boundaries, but uninterested in change (initially) while Jamil, though he desires to advance, is stuck in one spot. 

The brief image of Kalim reflected in the surface of running water captures this concept perfectly. Jamil is not looking at Kalim as he is, but rather as perceives him to be: an unclear image. Water has the same reflective properties of mirrors, but due to their unstable state they cannot portray accurate images. Jamil attributes maliciousness to Kalim’s denseness as not only a means of explaining his actions, but as a way to excuse his own eventual betrayal of him. If Jamil considers Kalim as a representative of the system, he feels justified in his actions and thus more willing to go through with them, since he can project his frustrations upon a material, solid person rather than an abstract entity. Kalim is in a sense a scapegoat for Jamil’s anger.

The snake is laden with multiple meanings being both a manifestation of evil (Satan taking the form of a serpent to trick Eve into sinning) as well as a symbol of rebirth and transformation. In keeping with the colour motif of the movie the serpent staff that Jafar carries with him has eyes which glow red when he’s using it to hypnotize the Sultan to indicate his evil influence upon him. In the CM we have the image of a red snake coiling around Jamil’s feet which is the physical manifestation of all his feelings of dissatisfaction regarding his position as a servant finally bursting apart. But before he is overtaken by those negative feelings we notice interestingly enough that the snake takes the form of an ouroboros: a snake which eats its own tail. A symbol of eternity.

Jamil: I’ve been raised as a retainer to serve his family, so I really can’t understand. A master is a master and a servant will be a servant. Most probably for as long as we’re alive. (4-26)

When discussing Jamil’s character we must admit to a certain cyclicity. Not one he engages in, but rather one in which he is stuck. He is the son of a family that has served the Asims for generations, creating a chain of servants and masters that is currently supposed to be replicated by him and Kalim. His sense of autonomy is constantly denied due to the intervention of forces beyond his control. Moreover, in chapter 4 itself his plans get constantly ruined by either Grim or the Octavinelle Trio, creating a sense that the universe itself has aligned itself in opposition to him. 

But there is more to it still. Jamil is a highly ambitious person, who desires to establish himself through his talent and skill, thus giving him the perfect reason to despise a system that requires some individuals to be subservient to others for arbitrary reasons. However, by his own admission he cannot envision a life outside the system either. This is in essence the insidiousness of such phenomena: they entrap not only the person physically but psychologically as well. Once one’s identity is dependent upon a certain ideology and philosophy of life it is extremely difficult to extract themselves from that mindset. Much like Foucault said, once the mind is disciplined and the individual turns into a ‘docile body’ they become reliant on that particular system in order to form a coherent identity. 

Though Kalim can step outside the bounds and limits imposed upon him, by virtue of his social position, Jamil is only allowed to operate within those boundaries. It is precisely why he stops advancing further once he reaches the end of the round court. Though physically he should be able to overcome such obstacles, mentally he is unable to not. Not as long as he remains under the governance of the Asim family, at the very least. It is obvious however that he cannot simply rise against them, and this realization is what causes him to hit the limit in terms of patience. He finally realizes that he has been robbed of his independence even before he was born.

Jamil: But if I have, it’s better you don’t know what I really think of you. If everything goes to plan… I’ll finally be free. (Scarabia CM)

Sight is an important theme to Jamil’s character as he, much more than any other character perhaps, actively attempts to manipulate the perception of others about him. He is not what he appears as Azul remarks in many of their interactions, and that is because to Jamil allowing himself to be genuine would come with a price: revealing his true feelings regarding his social position. And that, as previously stated, is not something he can afford.

Eyes are often called the ‘windows of the soul’ in the sense that they reflect a person’s true intentions and thoughts. Moreover, the notion of sight is one that literary authors often like to explore in their works. Out of all the senses, sight seems to be considered the most unreliable, since it often fails to discern that which exists in obscurity. The notion is explored in Aladdin (1992) too to a certain degree. Everybody sees only what they desire to see, and because the images they form are so contradictory that it creates misunderstandings and unnecessary conflict. Jafar’s power of hypnotism is even more interesting in this context since by definition it allows him to influence a person’s perception of reality and thus a part of their identity and how they relate to their environment. 

The end of the CM hints towards this notion as well, as we see that the Overblot first manifests itself is his eyes, obscuring his sight from the reality around him. He’s chosen to throw himself into the negative emotions that have finally overtaken him, and as a result given him the power to recreate reality to his discretion. We see the parallel with Genie and Jafar in his Unique Magic as well, since though he possesses one of the most potent powers, he’s still considered an inferior. Jamil’s Overblot is thus one formed by the depressing realization that for as long as he exists within the system, he’ll be forced to endure the continuous cycle of subservience forced upon him since before his birth. His transformation moreover is the result of a desperate yearning for freedom which has driven him to extreme actions. The appearance of the red eyes behind him symbolize more than the eyes of the serpent staff. They are a stark reminder that he is consumed entirely by the realization of his own powerlessness and over-dependence upon the Asims, even if it’s against his desire. 

To note is also the fact that out of all the Overblot victims, Jamil’s expression is the only one that is peaceful. If we take a look at the Heartslaybyul, Savanaclaw and Octavinelle CMs all of the Prefects display either rage or shock during their transformations. It is clear that this process is a horrific one, which explains their reactions, yet strangely enough Jamil seems serene and accepting as if he has come to terms with this course of action. Unlike the Overblot victims before him, his transformation is liberating to a certain degree, because it allows him to finally achieve his goal: get rid of Kalim and instate himself as leader of the dorm. Not because he covets the position itself, but rather because through it he manages to finally become free and unburdened by his social position. In a way, the dark appeal of Overbloting is just that: unlimited power, and for a character like Jamil, who very much lacks this, it is especially hypnotic. 

Out of all the Overblots so far, I consider Jamil’s the most tragic because in the end there seems to be no obvious escape for him, perhaps except in the case of Kalim setting him free. But this is still an event that will happen in a few years at best. It does not answer his current need for autonomy. Yet, despite this we see in chapter 5 that there is indeed some improvement. Though he has refused Kalim’s offer of being friends, he nevertheless has begun acting more like his equal within school grounds and their relationship overall seems less hostile on his end. The fact that much of the action of chapter 5 takes place in Ramshackle Dorm is also an important thing to note as it manages to create a neutral space, untainted by the Asim’s interference. In Vil’s system of meritocracy Jamil is finally able to act as himself and stop performing a role for others, thus he is finally able to assert a degree of autonomy over his own person, which he was not capable of doing before.

Coming now to the ends of this post I think it goes without saying that in terms of narrative cinematography the Scarabia CM is currently unmatched. Though short it manages to give a perfect summary of the themes explored in episode 4, the relationship between Kalim and Jamil and a brief but insightful look into the latter’s psychology and reasons for Overbloting. 

So, there’s really nothing else to do but thank Yana for giving us such a wonderful CM for what I consider the best dorm and best boys in the whole game.  

Additional Links

Indentured Servitude: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qt--B1Y-u6Y

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ti7Kbd6gSIo

Twisted Wonderland, Episode 4: https://kanadesmusingsblog.wordpress.com/2020/06/01/masterpost-twisted-wonderland-episode-4-translations/

Jamil Chats, Personal Stories: https://twisted-wonderland.fandom.com/wiki/Jamil_Viper/Personal_Story

https://twisted-wonderland.fandom.com/wiki/Jamil_Viper/Chat

Scarabia CM: 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EVSx_BvTlmQ

Aladdin (1992) commentary: https://filmschoolrejects.com/38-things-we-learned-from-the-aladdin-commentary-fd9f1d8573b3/

--------------

The peeps over in the Twisted Writings discord know this has been brewing for a while, but I’ve finally managed to sit down, write and edit this monster. It bears witness to the fact that I adore Scarabia more it is healthy (lol). 

Also wanted to thank fellow Scarabia stan buddy @chillableu​ for proofreading and brainroting with me about these boys. You’ve been such a great help and I’m so thankful to you!  ❤️ ❤️ ❤️

All the translation sources have been linked in the last section of the commentary.

#twisted wonderland #jamil viper #kalim al asim #scarabia #meta #twist #twisute #twist meta #twisute meta #overblot #vil schoenheit #rook hunt #leona kingscholar #ruggie bucchi #lilia vanrouge #malleus draconia #riddle rosehearts #trey clover #twisted wonderland mc #twist mc #grim #episode 4 #idia shroud #ortho shroud #azul ashengrotto #jade leech #scarabia cm #cm analysis #cm meta

[maxenceandrebisset]

hey! i'm kind of curious abt this, can't wait to see who you come up with! i'm 6 foot, hazel eyes and brown hair (naturally anyway, atm it's green 😅). my hair's also buzzed! i'm a mechanical engineering student, hoping to either go into motorsport (not f1 ironically, fe or wec) or classic car restoration. outside of uni i do a lot of performing (musicals and normal theatre), i help out in student union (subject representative, and i was head of the union at college) and general crafty things; knitting, sewing, embroidery etc. i try to do them as close to early modern or industrial period historical practice, just for fun!

as the performing might suggest, i like to talk! but only once i've actually gotten to know someone, otherwise, as i spent most of my childhood at work with my dad, i can apparently come across as quite serious (my dad works in government, so i had to learn quite quickly how not to offend councillers and mps 🤣). when i do open up a bit, i sort of end up being the mum friend, for lack of a better term? i cook for my flatmates a lot, make sure they're going where they need to get. i do really like to learn things, no matter what they are; my dad always jokes that if money was no object he doesn't think i'd ever leave uni (which he's not wrong abt djgjjd). i in a partner, i generally get on well with people who can offset my nerves a bit, esp when it comes to being out and about in public, but also someone i can have a laugh with, and likes to get out and do things/explore new places!

thank you sm, hope you're having a good day/night ❤️❤️

For the beginning, love the detailed answer - let me tell you, you are hell of excting person! Or at least you sound like this.

As I read through your answer, the only driver, who kept popping up in my mind over and over again was

LEWIS HAMILTON

Now, I won't lie, I am a bit scared that you are some avid Max fan or something along these lines and detest Lewis as many people out there do, therefore you will hate even this answer, so if that's the case, then I am sorry.

- I feel like Lewis would be extremely supportive of your engineering studies and dream of having a career in the motorsport/car restoration - just following him on his social media, you can see that he is encouraging everyone both famous and regular people, especially women pursuing male-dominated fields

- plus I also think that he would eagerly want to help with this interest/direction of yours in particular - tell you his experiences and knowledge of the motor racing, which could help you and be valuable in your profession, or just give a helping hand in the car restoration if he knew for sure that he could help

- outside of F1 Lewis is also artistic, probably the most out of all drivers, so I think that he would love to attend your performances in the theater/musicals and would actually genuinely enjoy them, not attend them only because you are his partner and it would be respectful to do so as many other drivers would

- Differently from the first point, I believe that he would use your interested in knitting, sewing, etc. and "use you" when it comes down to his passion for fashion - letting you design or put together pieces he would later on wear and pull off even if they didn't turn out as great as they were supposed to, ask you for advice or give you ideas for your creations

- Now, Lewis also likes to talk, but he is not any sort of crazy out-going extrovert like Daniel, who would be speaking nonstop even in front of complete strangers - just like you, he likes to talk when he is around people he is comfortable with or he uses his voice and its influence during the more formal events and occasions since he has matured into a very well-spoken guy, who uses his popularity and platform to speak for those, who are not heard, and represent them in the world

- When he is not around his friends, he also seems like that overly serious person who is no fun, (standing alone with his umbrella, earphones and sunglasses on the truck every single race), but from my personal experience of meeting him two times during race weekends and having the chance to exchange some words with him, he is actually really kind-hearted and polite fella with a good sense of humor, surprisingly good one (and his dad-like laughter, which cracks me up every single time I hear it)

- Don't know why, but I think that Lewis actually needs someone, who is like the typical mum friend - he might be 36-year-old, but there is so much on his plate, that I think he would appreciate someone, who wouldn't be completely lost in life and could naturally take care of someone

- Not to begin the suggar daddy discussion here (seriously didn't think I would bring this up, whatever, here we go I guess), but I think that you could peacefully study for however long you would want to because he definitely has enough money to solve the financial issue preventing you from studying forever

Also, let's be honest, your dad would probably like such a rich guy, who could financially back you up until you would have a stable income yourself, as well.

- I also believe that he would be able to take you to many different places all around the world, which you could explore together (not only his house in LA and Monaco) since he definitely is not someone, who would hate travelling and exploring new countries, cultures, etc.

#lewis hamilton #f1 #formula 1 #mercedes amg

[writeforfandoms]

Shake, Rattle and Roll 2

Chapter two!

You can find chapter one Here

Summary: Now you’ve got a dead body and a bunch of prospectors. Time to get out of this mess.

Warnings: More murder. Swearing. 

Eventual Ezra x reader.

Tags: @fandom-blackhole @pedrocentric 

--

“So who killed him?” Felicia demanded, irreverently.

You scoffed quietly and shifted around the others, making your way to the teenager. She was still staring at the body, barely moving. “Hey, kid,” you murmured, moving into her line of sight. “Let’s go get you a drink, hm? C’mon.” 

Gently, you herded the girl away from the body and into another room. She sank into a chair, and you crouched in front of her. 

“What’s your name, kiddo?” you asked her quietly.

“Not a kid,” she murmured, although it sounded more reflexive than argumentative. 

“You’re not old enough to legally drink,” you retorted. “So you’re still a kid. And I’ll call you that until I have something else to call you.”

She hesitated, blinking at you. Her eyes were wide but surprisingly dry. “Cee.”

“Cee.” You smiled at her and gave her your name in return. Her voice was quiet as she repeated it, but not shocky. She was still tracking things. “Cee, I’m sorry, I have to ask. Was that your dad?” 

“Yes.” She took a deeper breath, gaze flicking back to the doorway. 

“Okay.” You rocked back on your heels. “You have anyone else?”

“No.” She seemed reluctant to answer you. You couldn’t blame her - the state-run facilities were kind of rubbish. 

“Okay.” You took a deep breath. One problem at a time. “Okay. First we need to call this in to the authorities, so they can do all their… stuff.” You waved a hand, unwilling to go into further detail about what ‘stuff’ meant. Investigating, mostly. “You’re probably old enough that you could file for emancipation, and if this place is your dad’s, that’s good for you.”

“What?” Cee blinked at you, looking taken aback.

“I mean, unless you really want to go to a government-funded orphanage? I wouldn’t recommend it. They’re not great.” You wrinkled your nose in distaste. 

The two of you were interrupted by a knock on the door. “I had a feeling I might find the two of you together,” Ezra drawled from the doorway, gaze flickering between the two of you. “I have some unfortunate news.”

“More?” you asked, voice dry.

“The others have decided that the map Damon spoke of must be here,” Ezra continued, looking more at Cee than at you. “They are quite determined to find it, and to not be interrupted in their search.”

Meaning they weren’t calling the authorities, and would hinder anyone who did. That was not great. “Where are they starting?”

“The study, I believe. They left the cook in the kitchen with some… creative promises.”

Aka: threats. Got it. “Did they say anything about the kid?”

“No.” Ezra shook his head, looking at you. “I do not believe they cottoned on to the relation between her and Damon.”

“Thank Kevva for small favors,” you grumbled. “Okay. New plan. We’re getting you out of the house.”

“What?” Cee asked, looking at you.

“We are?” Ezra asked, his voice dangerously mellow.

“Yes, we are,” you said, glowering at Ezra. “I don’t give a fuck about the supposed Queen’s Lair. They can turn the house over searching for that map. But once they realize that she’s related, they’re going to expect her to have answers. You really want to leave a kid to the mercy of the four of them?” 

Ezra was silent, frowning a little as his gaze bored into yours. You stared right back, refusing to blink, willing him to just listen to you. You were speaking reasonably, after all. 

Apparently, the girl had been thinking, too. “This place isn’t dad’s, not really,” she whispered. “We’re using it tonight. He was almost out of money, that’s why he was so eager to get some diggers for the Queen’s Lair.”

You dropped your head forward, towards your chest, with a sigh. Fuck. Fuck! Your mind scrambled over possibilities, creating plans to discard them almost as fast. 

“Do you know where the map is?” Ezra asked, creeping a few steps closer. 

Cee looked between Ezra and you, calculating. For all that she wasn’t grown yet, she wasn’t a fool, either. She was weighing her own options. 

“Cee,” you murmured, lifting your head to meet her gaze again. “What are you thinking?”

Cee didn’t get a chance to respond. There was a crash from down the hall, then footsteps running down the hall towards the kitchen. A brief moment of silence later, there was the sharp report of a thrower discharging. You closed your eyes slowly. The cook, at a guess.

“You two stay here,” Ezra said, speaking a little more quickly now. “I will venture over and see what has occurred.” 

You blew out a breath and stood, stretching out your complaining knees. This was turning into a right mess. Even worse, a right mess with no backup. 

Okay. Priorities, in order:

Get Cee out. Get yourself out. Call the authorities. Then see about hiring Cee or something to help her along. Sure, you’d only known the kid for a couple hours, but no kid deserved this. 

Of course, convincing Cee to let you help her might not be so easy, after all. 

“Cee,” you murmured, turning to the girl again. “I want to make one thing clear right now, between you and me. I don’t care about the map, or the aurelac.”

She blinked at you. “You… don’t?”

“No. I stopped digging years ago and I have no desire to go back to it.” You took a deep breath. “Just… keep that in mind. I have a feeling it’s going to be a long night.” 

Ezra let himself back into the room. This time, he strode right over to the two of you, standing with his hands tucked into his pockets. “Well, from what I understand, the cook attempted to call the authorities, to report the, er, incident, as it were. One of the others took exception to that and stopped her in a rather permanent fashion.”

“Great.” You shoved one hand back through your hair in frustration. “Any idea if they’re continuing to search room to room?” 

"Your guess is as good as mine, birdie," Ezra admitted with a shrug. 

You huffed. "Alright, kid, you got a way out of here? Back door?"

"I can make it," Cee agreed.

"Might be needin' a distraction," Ezra mused, gaze sharp. 

You snorted. "That would help. You volunteering?"

"No. We are." Ezra shot you a grin, wild and mischievous. Oh this one was absolutely Trouble. 

"Hey!" 

The sharp bark from one of the others made you and Cee jump. 

"Everyone here, now!" 

Ezra nodded for you to go first, but you turned to Cee. 

"I know this isn't exactly ideal, but I need you to trust me when I say I will do whatever I can to get you out of here. Okay?" You spoke in a rushed whisper, maintaining eye contact with the girl. This was important. 

"Why?" She asked, rightfully confused.

"I'll explain later, I don't have time right now," you muttered. "But I need you to know that." You stood and headed for the door, passing Ezra wordlessly and ignoring his appraising stare. 

The other prospectors were already gathered in the main hall, joined momentarily by yourself, Ezra, and Cee. 

"Grab the girl," Mikken growled. Inumon stepped forward to comply, and you stepped in her way, heart hammering.

"What for?" You asked, suspicious.

"She's a liability." Mikken gave you a look that clearly questioned your sanity. 

"She's a kid," you protested. "She doesn't know anything about the map. She just works here." 

"Indeed, we spent the past several minutes conversing with this young soul," Ezra added. "As disappointing as it is, she knows nothing of the map, nor of Damon's plans. I am afraid if we wish to find the map, we will have to do so ourselves."

"Fine," Fero spat. "Then we split up and search the house."

Uneasy silence followed that statement as everyone eyed each other, wary and mistrustful. 

"Well then," Ezra started with an easy smile. "Mayhaps we pair off with our accustomed partners? We can divvy up the house by floor."

Mikken nodded once and pointed at you and Ezra. "Basement." Then he looked at Fero and Felicia. "Second floor." 

"And the girl?" Inumon asked before anyone (mainly you) could protest.

Mikken looked down the hallway, thinking for a few moments, before he nodded to a doorway. "Lock her in there." 

You turned to Cee and found Ezra already there, smile still firmly in place. 

"Well little bird, looks like you're in luck," he said, leading the way into the room. It was a library. An actual library. You felt your jaw drop a bit. You'd thought the study had been impressive, but this? This was magnificent. Ezra whistled lowly, apparently sharing your opinion. "In luck indeed! Little bird, you most certainly have luck on your side this fine night. I recommend you find something with which to entertain yourself and keep quiet."

Cee gave both of you one last look before she stepped inside. Ezra shut and locked the door, pocketing the key. 

"Shall we venture forth, then?" He asked, nodding to the basement door. 

A quick glance confirmed Fero and Felicia were already half-way up the stairs. With a sigh, you nodded. 

"Let's go."

#prospect #ezra prospect x reader #ezra x reader #shake rattle and roll #clue!au