#I LOOK FOR A PICTURE OF YOU TO KEEP IN MY POCKET
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hii dollface, would u write smtg abt hotch being jealous?
like he's trying to hide it from making the team notices when he saw some officer flirting with r?
no pressure in writing, lovey. change it however u want or ignore it if u dont feel like writing it (i completely understands u 🤍)
my love this has lived in my brain so relentlessly <3 i hope you love it!!!! thank you for requesting!! wc: 1.7k
It is incredibly easy to like her.
She’s charismatic in a way that’s almost universally appealing, and he’s memorized the shape of her wide grin. She smiles with her whole face, and Aaron hasn’t really spent too much time trying to make people smile. He’s had success in some ways, but when she smiles at him there’s something in his chest that burns in achingly lovely way.
At first, he had assumed her kindness was a way to win him over. In her first week, she had noticed there was a rip in his tie (which he’s not sure how could even happen) and she’d whipped out a pocket sewing kit, repairing it.
He tries not to think about the fact that she’s beautiful. She is, though, in spirit and in appearance. He’s an expert in controlled presentation, but to some extent she must know that’s he’s fond of her.
When they’d first met (which he can still picture in his minds’ eye- her oversized sweater tucked into her tailored pants, the purple lipstick adorning her beautiful smile) he’d tried to keep his distance. It’s easy to romanticize her, and being her friend felt a little impossible when seeing her as more felt so inevitable.
This plan did not go well, and Aaron had officially tossed it when one day, the babysitter for Jack fell through when he was halfway around the world. She’d picked him up from school and tended to him, and Aaron had come home to a blanket fort on his kitchen floor, and a happy little boy who wanted her to come over every day.
So it's a little hard to ignore how much he adores her.
She doesn’t normally want to come out to the scene and they usually don’t require it, but they’re going out to a place she spent most of her twenties, and she knew people in the local PD, so Aaron had asked her to come.
She’d done so without complaint, although he knows she doesn’t sleep well on the jet. No one knows where the nicer pillows and blankets came from, and Aaron would prefer it that way.
Anyway.
The bullpen of this department is chaotic and a certain caretaking is living at the edge of Aaron’s consciousness, a protective desire to keep her from the loudness and violence that she’s typically protected from.
He’s still thinking this, when he hears her voice over the chaotic hum of the department.
“Oh my god, Logan!”
Her voice is joyful, and when Aaron turns to see who she’s looking at, it’s an agent. He can tell that he’s not a police officer for many reasons- the fact that he’s got a long, shaggy haircut and a 5 o clock shadow and a leather jacket on his shoulders. The local police would be too strict, and he must be some kind of different authority to be allowed to be here.
He hears the stranger call her name back, and they hug.
It’s a quick thing, but imbued with deep fondness. Aaron’s not sure he’s ever hugged her for more than a second- just a congratulations when his commendation came in. She’d smelled like roses.
Now, she’s hugging Logan.
“Hotch,” she says, a smile still in her voice, “This is Logan! We went to graduate school together. He’s brilliant, I can’t believe he’s down here.”
Her voice is seeped in admiration, and Aaron feels an ugly amount of what can only be described as jealousy.
“Great to meet you. You’re the unit chief, yeah?”
“SSA Aaron Hotchner,” he offers the man a curt nod, “Have you met the team?”
He goes through the motions of introducing him to the team- he greets Reid with a warm smile and tells him that he’s read his papers. Logan compliments Emily’s shirt, and Morgan’s watch.
He’s incredibly charismatic.
Is Aaron charismatic? He doesn’t think so. His team, who probably adore him as much as anyone could, still note that he can be harsh, prickly. He never smiles, he knows. He lacks expressiveness. Logan is all fluid movement and easy conversation, and when he takes the jacket off, Aaron sees a great deal of tattoos on his forearm, his sweater sleeves slid up.
He’d smile for her.
What should be a good thing, but hurts- Logan is an excellent consultant profiler. He’s thoughtful and helpful and she has an easy rapport with him. Aaron- he’s so bad at talking to women.
She makes Aaron feel like he’s good at it though. When they drive together, the conversation is easy and feels nice. It’s like sunbathing, basking in the light of her attention and intention.
With the help of the man that Aaron has decided he hates, the case is finished up quickly.
He can’t shake the thought they’ve probably dated. It’s not his business- this crush, although this word feels inadequate for the intensity of the way she makes him feel. It’s a private thing he’s never going to act on- he’s older and her superior, and besides- 9 stab wounds and a lifetime worth of issues is a million times less appealing than someone like Logan. Young, exuberant probably not too afraid to ask for what he wants.
“Drink tonight?” Logan asks the team, and a chorus of yes’s and please’s echo through the emptying bullpen.
“Raincheck,” she says to Logan, “I’ll see you next time I’m in town, yeah?” She beams at him, hugging him in a quick-but-too-long-for-Aaron’s-taste motion, and the string in Aaron’s chest that feels like it’s been pulled all week threatens to pull him under.
After everyone files out, she offers to help him fill out paperwork in his office. It’s just like her, so kind and sweet. Spending her free time filling out reports to make his workload go easier.
About a half hour of amenable silence passes, before Aaron chooses to speak.
“So, you and Logan.”
“He’s great, right?”
Regrettably, Aaron agrees.
“He seems very kind.”
“Yeah, he and his fiancee are really fun. They travel all over, kite-board and do tons of adventure stuff, he’s pretty awesome.”
A moment passes.
It’s like a balloon losing air, the feeling of relief taking the place of panic.
“I thought you two were romantically involved.” He doesn’t know how to verbalize things casually. If he lets it up, he might do something dangerous like tell her that he wants to be someone who romances her, wants to be the person who kisses her after dates and holds an umbrella over her head when she’s caught in the rain. He wants to be what she comes homes to, and it’s a confession living in the back of his throat, threatening to escape at every moment.
She sucks in a harsh breath, and he wonders if it’s a misstep to have told her- it’s not a confession, really. It sounds like one though- why would he care? What makes it his business?
“Not that that’s relevant to me,” he stammers, “You’re free to engage with whoever you’d like-“
“I know, Hotch.” She doesn’t grace him with his first name, but her voice is fond and warm, her doe eyes meeting his. He likes it, he decides.
“I’m not seeing him,” she continues, her body shifting to face him, “I think he’s a little…casual for me.”
He thinks of Logan’s leather jacket and unshaven face, rugged appearance and compares it to how he presents himself- clean cut and sharp lines, his suits tailed to fit him like a glove.
“You prefer something a little more…dignified?” He hears himself say with more confidence then he feels- her implication is clear, but he wonders if he’s mishearing it.
She tips her head back and he hears her lovely laugh ring through the air like something sacred, and he waits to hear her response.
“I don’t know, I just know that I’ve been liking this guy for a while,” she muses, looking down at her fingernails, “But he hasn’t seemed to pick up on any of my hints.”
On one of his braver days, he’d told her that he liked that purple lipstick. He hasn’t seen her without it since. She’d always been so kind to everyone that it was hard to notice when her treatment towards him was special, but he thinks it might be. How quick she offers to help with Jack- gives away a Saturday evening to spend with him, even though she sees too much of his face at work.
Her friend from grad school offered to get drinks, and she’s here, telling him what she looks for in a guy.
He tries to be logical about the whole thing, but it’s a bit hard- she’s funny and warm and Aaron loves being around her- loves her company enough to maybe ask for more of it.
“If this ‘guy’ did like you,” he murmurs, intentionally not meeting her gaze, the precision of which is boring a hole into the side of his head, “How would he go about that?”
He’s not sure what the point of being coy is now, but he can’t seem to stop. He does look down to her and meet her eyes.
“I think I’d probably corner him,” she says breathlessly. They’re quite close together, now. He wonders if she likes his aftershave. She tugs a hundred through her hair, a nervous but incredibly attractive gesture, “Y’know, if everyone we worked with went to get drinks, and it was just us. If he was amenable to that.”
“If he was amenable to that.”
A rush of emotion licks up his spine- it’s fun, flirting with her. The creep of warmth on her cheek, how her fingers are brushing hers.
“I think he might be.”
Purple lipstick, rose perfume mixing with the scent of expensive aftershave- he thinks he might be able to kiss her, now. He’s never been good at knowing when to take the jump, but this is something he can do. He can let her know that he wants it.
She reads him well enough, it turns out, and she kisses him. It’s a surprise and he is so rusty at this and yet- his hand stand on the small of her back, pulling her in and he can feel her lovely smile against him. She’s warm and joyful and she’d kissed him, and all he could do was lean in-
“I think he might be too.” She says, significantly less color on her lips, and more on his, he imagines.
She doesn’t have to wonder, though. When Aaron kisses her again, he decides- he will make her incredibly certain of his affections.
#aaron hotchner#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner fanfiction#aaron hotchner x you#aaron hotchner x y/n#aaron hotchner fanfic#aaron hotchner one shot#aaron hotchner fic#aaron hotchner oneshot#aaron hotchner imagine#aaron hotchner imagines#aaron hotchner blurb#aaron hotchner blurbs#aaron hotch hotchner#aaron hotch x reader#aaron hotch imagine#aaron hotch fanfiction#aaron hotch x you#aaron hotch fluff#aaron hotchner fluff#aaron hotch fic#hotch#hotch x reader#hotch x you#aaron hotchner x fem!reader#ssa aaron hotchner#agent hotchner#criminal minds#criminal minds fic
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BLUE / simon riley
my very, very late submission for @glitterypirateduck simon "ghost" riley challenge. this was heavily inspired by the new billie eilish song of the same title because I thought it fit him so well. i used the prompts "face touching", "the heat goes out and it's freezing", and "a confession is made"
simon ghost riley x female reader / 1106 words / contains angst, alcohol, and smoking
WITH every patron that hurried into the bar, cold and snow blew in with them—leaving those even in the darkest corners of the bar chilled and draining down more liquor. The drink spilled through her veins, warm and potent as she waited another hour, shrunk away in the shadows with her cost pulled tight. Simon wasn't coming, she knew better than to keep waiting for him.
Finishing her glass of whiskey, she lets it sting her throat the same way the tears in her eyes did. With remorse, she sets the glass down and rises from her chair. Through the crowded bar of happy couples and friends, someone's celebrating a birthday, another girl is sobbing in the corner with her friends trying their best to comfort her. The whole room pulses with life, feelings, love, and hate and she can't seem to find herself amongst the crush of emotions. Dull, apathetic, and removed as she slinks out of the door and into the blue moon night.
Winter still holds a fierce grip over Manchester, spilling white flurries in the air as she walks down the quiet streets with a cigarette to warm her from the cold. If he were there, they'd be sharing the smoke and she'd be warmed by the blushed haze that always befell her when their hands brushed exchanging the cigarette.
Her hand fumbles with her phone, the bright, blue light warning her of how late it was. But even with the early shift she had in the morning, she loiters along her route imagining he’ll be waiting by her flat like Simon would sometimes do. Giving her the delusion that he cared enough to come looking for her, even if he couldn't be bothered to grab drinks with her.
Despite all logic telling her not to bother with a call, she finds the number that she's left a hundred voicemails for. Sounding desperate and pathetic with every call as she tries to convince him into calling her back.
“Hi, Simon. It's me… again. I'm just calling to check in, I haven't heard from you in a week and I just want to make sure you're alright. Okay, I'm going to go, I'm at my flat. Call me, please.” The sound of the voicemail being replayed causes her to cringe, maybe he'd never hear it like he never hears the rest. Maybe he's got a new number, that was the type of thing someone as shifty as Simon would do. But she can't find reason in his sudden absence, no foreseen notice of a deployment or mission. No text to tell her he'd be unavailable. Nothing.
When she rounds the gate into her apartment complex, she can see in the low light of the second-floor walk, the lone figure waiting in front of her door even though he had the keys. Burly hands shoved into the worn pockets of his jacket with head tilted down as she climbed the stairs to join him.
She didn't need to see Simon’s face to know that he was thinking. Always thinking about the past he refused to tell her about. One that she could only dream up, trying to picture what had happened to turn him into the man he was. The man who she desperately tried to get over, but couldn't move on from.
“I waited for you. It's the third Wednesday of the month, or did you just forget?” She asks, stubbing out the cigarette on the melt railing. The frame creaks as her fist tightens around it in frustration. “Simon?”
“Was busy with work, forgot to call.” He shrugs, pushing his hood back and shaking out his dark blond curls. A rough, wartorn face that she'd memorized like the back of her hand. It was so enticing to her, mesmerizing with his pale lashes and dark haunted eyes. The type of man that kept her safe at the bar and kept her up at night in stress.
“You're always busy.” She holds back a scoff, knowing arguing never got anywhere with Simon. He'd go silent with every accusation she'd throw, leaving her intimidated and guilty for yelling. Even if she knew he deserved it.
“It can't be helped. Times are tough.” Simon responds, his eyes trailing over her as she moves to unlock the flat. Fumbling with the lock like she did with the phone until his hand reached out and steadied her grasp. He leads her into the apartment like it was his own, with an empty place on the coat rack for his jacket, and a spot next to all of her shoes for his boots. An indent left throughout her home for whenever he'd find it in him to return.
“Would you like a drink?” She asks, still feeling the need to play hostess as if he were a stranger visiting for the first time. At the edge of her seat waiting expectantly for a response and reaction.
“Sure.” He shrugs, pulling off the cloth mask as she shuffles into the small kitchen. Tiny enough that when he joins her there's tension as she tries not to bump into him. Pretending like she wasn't up the night before craving the warmth he gave, the firm touch of his hands, when her space heater died.
“I am sorry, love. I'll be there next time, I promise.” Simon apologizes, watching as avoids his presence like the plague. She chewed the inside of her cheek, knowing that she'd accept this apology like she'd done before. Knowing full well he never changed, and she’d never ask him to.
He reached out, sensing her indifference, and cupped her cheek in his calloused hands. That touch always turned her into mush, clay for him to mold to his will and whims. She knew it was pathetic how easily she swayed for him, knew that her friends always criticized her for being so weak-willed. But how could she possibly say no to him when he always came back, even if it was days late? Wasn’t she better off with him than trying to find someone else to love, wasn’t the heartache worth it?
“You could do so much better than me, sweet girl. Sometimes I wish you would.” Simon confesses, his voice low and full of regrets. He turns his head down towards her, wrapping her close in his arms, taking the glass of water out of her hand, and setting it down.
Her mouth opens to speak, but no words form when she realizes she’s just as guilty as him. She’d never change, he’d never change. Together, they’d stay unmoving, frozen in the longest, blue winter.
#glitterypirateduck#cod challange#ghostchallenge#call of duty#call of duty mw2#simon ghost riley#cod mw22#ghost#fanfic#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost mw2#simon ghost riley x you#simon ghost riley x f!reader#ghost x reader#simon riley x you#simon riley x reader#simon riley
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A Gaylor Interpretation of "Champagne Problems" post TTPD
Overblown Analysis Under the Cut ↓
In my "I Look Through People's Windows" analysis, I mentioned that I wondered if the "As you boarded your train..." line had to do with "Champagne Problems" and its similar opening line, but figuring that out would mean doing a separate evaluation on it. Well, here you go! I promise I'll one day stop thinking about TTPD, okay? Scouts honor. 🤞😜
This one is mostly to quench my own intrigue, I'm aware it's a bit of a stretch.
"You booked the night train for a reason / So you could sit there in this hurt / Bustling crowds or silent sleepers / You're not sure which is worse"
While this might not be the lens Taylor and ✨William Bowery✨ wrote this song in, I wanted to try my hand at seeing this song through the eyes of being about Taylor's fandom(s). Based on my "ILTPW" analysis, gaylors are the ones boarding the train in her mind, sitting in their hurt from the fallout of the failed coming out. Taylor knows that the gaylors don't know what would be worse: if tons of other fans crowding them with "I told you so" type comments, "Bustling crowds", or people not even noticing/hearing the coming out attempts to sneer, "silent sleepers".
"Because I dropped your hand while dancing / Left you out there standing / Crestfallen on the landing / Champagne problems / Your mom's ring in your pocket / My picture in your wallet / Your heart was glass, I dropped it / Champagne problems"
Taylor feels like she abandoned her community by not coming out. She dropped their hand and left them disappointed. Champagne can symbolize celebration and eliteness, often associated with rich individuals, but has also been used to highlight the fakeness of its drinkers. Alexander Pushkin's novel, Eugene Onegin, quotes, "I am no longer up to champagne... (it is) sparkling, flighty, vivacious, wayward - and not to be trusted." Therefore the "Champagne problems" might be the issue of Taylor being a big star getting in the way of her being able to be out and human. Or just fakeness in general.
Rings have taken their spot in sapphic history, specifically signet pinky rings and thumb rings. Taylor has a very close relationship with her fans, them often joking, or even genuinely feeling as if Taylor's like a best friend, sister, or mother to them. "Your mom's ring in your pocket" could be Taylor illustrating gaylors as keeping Taylor's pinky or thumb ring, or her queerness, close in their pocket, as she isn't out and discussion of her possible queerness mostly stays in gaylor circles.
"My picture in your wallet" in this reading could be the money that fans spend on Taylor, whether it's albums, tours, merch, etc. If gaylors believe in Taylor, they might spend money on her, so she's in their wallet.
"You told your family for a reason / You couldn't keep it in / Your sister splashed out on the bottle / Now no one's celebrating / Dom Pérignon, you brought it / No crowd of friends applauded / Your hometown skeptics called it / Champagne problems / You had a speech, you're speechless / Love slipped beyond your reaches / And I couldn't give a reason / Champagne problems"
The "sister splash(ing) out on the bottle" through this lens to me could be fans adjacent to gaylors that aren't quite gaylors, like queer fans. Queer fans who quietly watched and noted Tay's flagging and waited to see if something would happen, only for nothing to transpire, so they moved forward with being fans. This would've included me at the time. "Splash out on the bottle" can mean to pay a lot of money for the bottle or to pop it open. I'm going to go with opening it in this situation. Through the lyrics, it seems like the "you" in this song brought the bottle of Dom Pérignon, and the "sister" opened it. Gaylors spread the word that Taylor could be coming out and casual queer fans opened the bottle to prepare to celebrate.
While gaylor discussion mostly stays in the community, gaylors have definitely attempted to discuss it in other swiftie, or "family", spaces. From our perspective, it's exciting to think about the queerness sprinkled in her songs, and while I admit that I wasn't fully here for it, I imagine the Lover era was particularly exciting. It looked like she was going to come out, flagging all too obvious for the fans to brush it off. You can't keep the excitement in. But a speech never happened and Taylor continued to beard, so in the public's eyes she's strictly straight somehow. She tried and arguably came out through visual means, but never got to say anything if she planned to (which I think she did because of "a hundred thrown-out speeches I almost said to you" from "The Archer"), and socially, if you don't come out through words you aren't really out at all, flagging be damned. Either way, no one celebrated because no one heard. The gaylors might've geared up to celebrate, but no one could celebrate if Taylor remained unseen. Anti-gaylors, or "hometown skeptics" called the gaylor theories fake, or "Champagne problems", since no overt coming out happened. Any happy speech gaylors could say to Taylor congratulating her couldn't happen. The excitement for the love from fellow queers and allies coming Taylor's way through speeches of admiration after coming out slipped away beyond gaylor's reaches. And of course, Taylor couldn't tell gaylors directly why, as that would out her in an unwanted way.
"Your Midas touch on the Chevy door / November flush and your flannel cure"
The Midas line could be taken in so many ways. To focus on the Chevy for a moment, car imagery in Taylor's music often seems to be a mode of hiding, escaping/running away to hide, and by extension misbehaving or sinning. Take "Just a boy in a Chevy truck / That had a tendency of gettin' stuck / On backroads at night" illustrating Taylor and her lover driving out and pretending to get "stuck" on backroads so they can enjoy each other alone without naysayers. So if gaylors are the "you/your" of the song, them having a "Midas touch", aka a golden touch, could mean that gaylors acknowledged, or touched, Taylor's closet, and therefore made it golden, like daylight. A Midas touch turns things gold, so her closet/Chevy door wasn't golden like daylight before the "your" made it so. Their acknowledgment of her queerness made her feel seen, or at least less in the "20-year dark night" from "Daylight".
"November flush" to me is a reference to the "Grey November" from "Evermore". A person can flush from strong emotions, as well a sickness. "You're Losing Me" has many illusions of Taylor getting sick and dying from being unseen, her face becoming grey/colorless as she dies. But when you flush, color returns to your face. If Taylor was "down since July", or beginning to die from being unheard, she could be saying that she could be saved by a cure. The cure she seems to get is a "flannel cure". I've heard really interesting interpretations about this part of the line referencing a Victorian superstition about flannel having healing properties. This possibly means that several cures for her pain were tried, but nothing could be as helpful as being seen, the "flannel cure" being fake. However I can't find a source for this Victorian flannel fact that isn't someone talking about this song, so I'd take that with a grain of salt. (But I could've just overlooked it, so if someone has a source I'd love to see it.) Alternatively, flannels, in the modern age at least, are often associated with masculinity and men, but also sapphic flagging. Maybe the "flannel cure" was gaylors acknowledging her sapphicness. Or, if you take the cure as being false, it could be the bearding/closeting/men, fake because it didn't cure her queerness, or make her straight. It just made it more overt to those who can see it, as gaylors can often see through stunts with beards. I think it could be interesting to look at this phrase differently too. Was the flannel the cure or was the flannel cured? Is it that closeting was a fake cure or that gaylors had the cure for the pain of closeting by seeing her?
"'This dorm was once a madhouse' / I made a joke, 'Well, it's made for me'"
In TTPD, Taylor makes many references to the music industry being like an asylum or madhouse. In this line, Taylor jokes that the dorm, or industry, was once an asylum, made for someone like her. Maybe it's made for her 'cause a lot of people in the industry will have covert or public mental breakdowns that they don't get proper support for. Or it could be because she felt like music was a profession she was always meant to do since she was a tween. Or because she's queer, and while they're are many queer people in the industry, many have also been closeted by the industry since it began and still are. Maybe the joke says "once", as in past tense, because Taylor believed that once she was out the industry would stop being a madhouse for her, but she never got her proper cure, so going into TTPD, it's still an asylum.
"How evergreen, our group of friends / Don't think we'll say that word again"
There's probably debate on which word will never be said again. For this analysis, I'm going to go with "evergreen". Taylor seemed to have viewed her fans as friends just as they did her. Look at songs like "Long Live". She asked the fans to stand by her forever, like how evergreen trees keep their leaves in all weather, or forever. But after the failed coming out and so many fans denying her visibility, she can't say she and the gaylors's friendship with those types of fans is "evergreen" any longer. "Something counterfeit's dead" (from "loml").
"And soon they'll have the nerve to deck the halls / That we once walked through / One for the money, two for the show / I never was ready so I watch you go"
Some of Taylor's fans will come up with rather invasive theories about what her lyrics are about. Theories about her cheating, having secret children, having secret abortions, committing vehicular manslaughter, probably etc. In the Lover house her first 10 eras become literal halls (except for Midnights, which is depicted in the sky, and I personally like to say TTPD is the white porch with the lights). The phrase "Deck the halls" means to decorate the halls. She laments that ex "evergreen" "friends" will have the nerve to decorate the eras that she and the people who saw her once walked through with creepy theories.
The phrase "One for the money, two for the show," is cut short/replaced without the numbers three and four. The full phrase has multiple renditions, but it's generally a form of counting before an action is done, often ending with something like "Three to get ready, and four to go." If Taylor doesn't get to finish the countdown, it seems to mean that she didn't get to do her action: come out. She was never fully ready to do the action because obstacles like the master heist kept her from being able to do it the way she wanted. So she fears/watches gaylors board their trains away from her.
"Sometimes you just don't know the answer / 'Til someone's on their knees and asks you"
To me, as of currently, "How Did It End?" from TTPD is also in part about the failed coming out. In that song, Taylor admits that she still doesn't know exactly how the coming out didn't happen. Sure, she knows in a clinical sense, but sometimes you don't know emotionally. I find it noticeable that the someone in this line is on their knees, not knee. Traditionally, when one proposes, they get on only one knee. When a person is on both knees, that usually indicates deep desperation. Maybe the someone's are fans, likely of all kinds, desperately questioning why all the signs led to nowhere instead of a speech declaring her place in the queer community. How did it end?
"'She would've made such a lovely bride / What a shame she's fucked in the head,' they said"
Queer people throughout history and currently in some places are often seen by homophobes as having something wrong with them, whether it's just for taunting purposes or some genuinely believing queerness is a mental disorder. Homophobes often believe queer people are "fucked in the head".
When "they" say that "she", in this interpretation, Taylor, would've made such a lovely bride, they likely don't mean just a bride who gets married to anyone, but specifically a bride who marries a man. Certain types of homophobes won't call brides marrying non-men "lovely", sometimes not seeing them as legitimate brides at all. Heteronormative TS fans will often picture Taylor as being a "lovely bride" in the future, aka a straight bride because to them Taylor fits that hetero-girl image. If she were straight her hetero wedding would be seen as picture-perfect and idyllic. Too bad she might not be able to be that bride for them because she could be queer. While, again, I wasn't fully there during Lover, it's not hard to imagine homophobes saying things like this at the mere prospect of her being queer.
"But you'll find the real thing instead / She'll patch up your tapestry that I shred / And hold your hand while dancing / Never leave you standing / Crestfallen on the landing / With champagne problems / Your mom's ring in your pocket / Her picture in your wallet / You won't remember all my / Champagne problems / You won't remember all my / Champagne problems"
Taylor reminds queer fans that they can find "the real thing", or proudly out queer people, instead of her, someone who can't seem to leave the closet. That person won't fail them. Taylor's, or "your mom's", signet/thumb ring might stay in gaylors' pockets, as in they could still keep her potential queerness in the knowledge, but a new, out person should be the ones to have their money and time in Tay's eyes. One common critique towards gaylors is that we need to enjoy "actual" queer figures, these critique-ers not seeming to realize that many of us already do love many out queer figures, but that not meaning we can't acknowledge a potentially closeted one. Even still, Taylor seems to fear that her queer fans deserve better. "You should find another guiding light" (from "Dear Reader").
But as someone in the fandom, it's safe to say that gaylors won't be going away, even if most who were there from the beginning are gone now, new ones discover what this community truly is every day.
Thank you for reading!
#gaylor#gaylor swift#friends of dorothea#friend of dorothea#lgbetty#lgbettys#gaylor theory#song analysis
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LOSING OUR MINDS TOGETHER CHAPTER 5 soft!Joel x f!reader
Tags: soft!Joel, pining, crushes, fluff, art references.
Pairings: Joel x Reader/ Ellie x Riley / Bill x Frank
A/N: for those of you who like my romances with a little less angst!
Series masterlist here
“Don’t be mad.”
“That’s not a great way to greet me, Frank.”
Frank is giving you a hound-dog look when you arrive at the gallery that week to help him hang pieces for his upcoming exhibition. He often calls you in for times like this, wanting your advice on where to place items, paying you more than you deserve. You know he could do it himself, that he only does it to keep you in enough cash to keep creating.
“I just know your temper,” Frank says as he searches his pocket for his phone. “But a woman came in looking for something to put in her office. Needed something really eye-catching. So I showed her that piece you texted me.”
“What piece?”
“The canvas. The intense one. The one not like your other pieces.”
“Oh that.”
“Yes that,” Frank mocks, leading you into the gallery. “She was interested. More than interested actually.”
You give a hum of a response, helping Frank to hang some of the bigger canvas pieces.
You don’t feel like broaching this subject again. Selling that art piece feels strange. Creating it felt strange, almost like you weren’t in control of yourself when you made it. You don’t really have any desire for that piece to go out into the world.
“I see the AC is working,” you say, motioning to the roof. “Bill did a good job.”
“Uh, yeah,” Frank clears his throat before focusing all his intention on a label next to one of the bigger Mondrian-inspired piece. “You teaching that Ellie girl yet?”
You’ve known him long enough to be aware that this is classic Frank misdirection.
“So how did it go with Bill?”
“How did what go with Bill?”
“Don’t do that,” you say with a gentle shove to his shoulder. “Tell me. How did it go? Fireworks? Did you kiss? Did you tell him you’ve been secretly pining for him for months?”
“No,” Frank frowns. “I was professional and so was he.”
You take a moment to watch the slim man continue to affix the label to the creamy white wall. He doesn’t seem his normally boisterous self. Something didn’t go the way he wanted it to. So you stand there, arms crossed, brow raised. He tries to ignore you for a few minutes, but knows it’s a lost cause.
“I tried to pay him and he wouldn’t take the money.”
“Okay…”
“And then he was just so beautiful and sexy and manly and he knew Hockney and I didn’t know how to ask him out or even if he wanted me to ask him out.”
You’ve never seen Frank ramble like this, all high pitched and nervous as he paces around the painting. Then to your surprise he trips over his own feet, going down like a sack of potatoes. You can’t help but laugh as he rights himself.
“See? I’m a fucking wreck!”
“Just a little,” you say, helping him to stand, brushing the dust from his sleeves. “So what happened next?”
“So then I wanted to be cool and say ‘then lemme treat you to dinner’ but I kept second guessing and freezing and I just kept thinking about what would happen if he wasn’t interested. If I’d read the situation wrong.”
You groan, wanting to shake the man in front of you. You can see so clearly that Bill is into Frank. You want to smash their faces together like two life-sized Ken dolls.
“If you don’t ask him out, I’m gonna do it for you.”
“No you fucking won’t,” Frank says sharply, taking the next canvas from you with a frown. He doesn’t speak to you again until you’re both halfway through hanging, your head cocked as you look at the colorful picture in front of you.
“So? What do I tell her?”
“Huh? Her who?”
“The woman who wants to buy your painting,” Frank says slowly as if English isn’t your native tongue. You wince, unsure of why it feels so weird to sell it. Right now it exists under a sheet of canvas in your studio, not like it’s that sentimental.
“It wasn’t really for sale. Just something dumb I did and wanted to show you. It’s not really my style. . .”
“So have two styles,” Frank shrugs. “One for yourself and one to pay the bills.”
“Van Gogh didn’t have to change his art styles,” you mutter sullenly.
“He also died penniless with one ear.”
You hide a smirk at that. “How much does she want to pay?”
“I told her it was five grand.”
“WHAT?”
Your eyes are like saucers. Even after Frank’s commission that’s a hefty chunk of change. Nothing you’ve ever sold comes close.
“And she didn’t even hesitate,” Frank says with a supercilious grin. “Offered to write the check right then and there. So you tell me Miss van Gogh Jr, you want five grand?”
///
Ellie finds herself feeling strangely nervous for tomorrow’s first lesson. She assumes it’s because you seem cool so far, but what if you’re a shitty teacher? Or what if you’re boring? You seem fun with your weird style and playful attitude. But it could be an act.
She sits on the front porch swing, working on her latest sketch when she hears the faint tick tick tick of a bicycle’s gears heading up the driveway. She glances up to see Riley dropping the bike on the lawn before moving with gazelle-like grace towards her.
Ellie tries to force herself not to take in Riley’s long legs or the way her body movies under her t-shirt.
“Hey Texas,” Riley grins.
“Hey Riley," Ellie replies with a smile. Her heart pounds as the taller girl comes up the porch. Riley unhooks her bright purple biking helmet, dropping it onto the swing.
“Whatcha doin?”
“Sketching,” Ellie says, closing the book quickly. “Practicing since I’m taking art lessons from the neighbor.”
She points at your house and Riley smiles, nodding. “She’s cool for a grown up. Not annoying like the rest of ‘em.”
Ellie nods, agreeing. You’re about the only other person on this block that she actively looks forward to seeing.
Riley collapses onto the porch swing beside Ellie, her dark face shining with sweat.
“Lemme see,” Riley says motioning to the sketchbook still in Ellie’s grasp. Ellie pauses, unsure. She doesn’t really share much of her artwork with anyone besides Joel and you. She doesn’t think she’s very good. It feels too intimate to show off her sketchbook right now, so she clutches it a little closer to her chest, shaking her head.
“Uh, not much in it yet. I’ll show you when I have something good.”
Riley doesn’t fight her, doesn’t even seem upset. She just nods before yawning and stretching.
“You settling in okay?”
“Yeah, I think so,” Ellie nods. Ellie watches as Riley’s bare leg brushes her own and she wished she wasn’t wearing jeans so she could better feel the warmth of Riley’s touch. Riley is talking but Ellie misses it, distracted by the beautiful dark of Riley’s skin.
“Huh?”
“I asked if you have a bike?”
“No. Mine was stolen right before we moved here.”
“You should get one,” Riley says, pulling a knee to her chest. “Then we can go riding together.”
Ellie nods, her eyes finally moving to Riley’s face. “Yeah, good idea.”
The two of them lapse into an easy silence, rocking back as they watch the lazy neighborhood. David is mowing his lawn, giving them both a wave when he catches their eyes.
“That guy is such a creep,” Riley says with a mock-shudder.
“I haven’t spoken to him yet.”
“Don’t if you can help it.”
“Okay.”
“I’m heading to my volunteer job with the seniors,” Riley says with a dramatic sigh. “Saw you and thought I’d come say hi.”
“Well hi,” Ellie says with a shy smile, watching as Riley pushes herself from the swing and goes to right her bike.
Before Ellie can reply Riley has snapped on her helmet and given a wave. Ellie watches her pedal away, her braids flying out behind her. Ellie feels a strange jump in her stomach, confused at how much she enjoys Riley’s company.
///
That Wednesday you make sure that the studio is the tidiest it’s ever been. With the large canvas sold (and you $4,400 richer) there’s more space to move around. You bring your drawing table to the center, setting two stools opposite one another. Today will be a chance to see what Ellie is drawn to, what she’s already created. Then you’ll get an idea on how to move forward with it.
It’s very early, earlier than you normally are ready to start the day. But you’re excited for lessons with Ellie and amazed that you sold that intense painting of yours. You wonder what about it was so enticing to the buyer.
You walk out your front door, bare feet slapping the path to your mailbox. You glance over at a flash of movement, shielding your eyes from the sun as a tall figure moves towards you at the same time from the yard over.
“Mornin’ neighbor,” Joel offers, his toolbox in one hand, a coffee thermos in the other. He strides toward the truck parked not too far away from your mailboxes.
“Morning,” you greet, faltering slightly when you recall your last interaction with him.
You turn your attention to the mailbox and Joel takes his time gazing at your legs in your shorts, the deep scarlet of your toenails. He has the insane urge to run his palm down your calves, just to feel them sun warmed and soft under his touch.
“You’re up before noon,” Joel teases, placing the toolbox in the back of his truck and grinning at you. “Special occasion or somethin’?”
“Ha ha,” you say drolly, opening your mailbox and finding it empty. “I’ll have you know I’m taking my teaching responsibilities very seriously. I was just making sure everything was ready for Ellie this afternoon.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“Big day?” you ask, chin tilting in the direction of his truck.
“Yeah, Tommy and I – he’s my brother – we’re gonna check out some place on Mulvine. Apparently it’s a pretty big job.”
“In this heat? No thanks,” you say with a crooked grin.
Joel thinks your smile makes you look mischievous. He likes the sight of it.
“Gotta pay for those art classes somehow,” Joel hums in amusement.
“Yeah well, thanks to a really nice neighbor I saved some money and get to teach in an air conditioned environment,” you offer feeling shy. “So I guess I owe him a beer sometime.”
Joel feels his pulse tick at that, seeing the way you’re mouth curls to the side almost shyly. You stand on one leg, the other crooked, foot balanced on your calf. You’re still shielding your eyes from the early morning rays, missing your trademark oversized sunglasses.
“I’m sure he’d be agreeable to that,” Joel says softly, desperately wanting to extend the moment despite running late to meet Tommy. It feels like the first time since the two of you met that the conversation is easy and well-received.
“I uh, I looked up that Pygmalia thing,” Joel says, the name getting stuck on his tongue.
“Pygmalion,” you correct gently. You don’t do it with mockery or malice, just like the gentle teacher you always are.
“Yeah, that one. The one you talked to me about.”
The surprise must read on your face because he chuckles and his cheek flashes the hint of a dimple.
“I was wonderin’ if you ever Pygmalion’d yourself.”
“Huh?”
“Like, uh, put yourself in a painting as a character or somethin’,” Joel says wincing at how awkward this is coming out. He’d hoped to sound suave and knowledgeable but he feels like he’s coming off like an illiterate hillbilly.
“No,” you say laughing at his inability to explain himself. You find it strangely endearing to see this broad, tall man looking so overwhelmed just at the topic of art. “I don’t like to do portraits. I used to, but not anymore. Now I like doing sculpture more.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” you nod. “When I do sculpture it’s like I’m creating something from the ground up. I don’t really know how to…” you trail off, trying to think of how to articulate this. “You build houses, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, when you’re doing that starting from the bottom and working out until you’ve got this big beautiful house, that’s how I feel. Like I’ve just created something from the earth.”
Joel is struck dumb by your words, not in some small part at your ability to bring what he does for a living into it. He’d never considered construction and contracting work to be artistic or beautiful – more just a means to an end. But there’s something about the way you weave your words that has him spellbound.
He must be staring too hard for too long because your neck goes pink and you step back, eyes on the ground.
“Anyway, I won’t keep you any longer. Have fun at work and I’ll see you for that beer sometime.”
With that you twist away, feeling embarrassed at having said something so stupid. Joel watches you leave, feeling that same yearning twisting around his ribs as he watches you enter into your home.
///
Ellie wishes Sarah was with her today. Not just today of course, but especially on days she tries something new. Ellie was all shouts and fists; Sarah was tempered action and cutting words. Between the two of them they were each other’s armor. Sarah was always there to help and make her feel less intimidated, less scared. Now she feels vulnerable as she trudges over to your door, sketchbook under her arm.
You fling the door open before she can even knock and Ellie is relieved at the smile on your face. Over your clothes you’re wearing a yellow smock with ribbon ties that have a lemon pattern printed on them. Your hair is up, out of your face and your feet are bare.
“My favorite student!” you crow, urging her inside. “C’mon in. I’ve got us all set up.”
Ellie follows you through the maze of eclectic furniture and art on the walls. She’s curious to see that your style inside is just as she imagined it – colorful and sort of weird, like you. And like you it’s got a vintage feeling – like something not quite modern. Ellie finds she really likes it.
“So I like to have some music playing on in the background while I’m in the studio,” you explain as you move to the turn table. “Which do you like?”
You motion to the shelf of vinyl records all lined up. Ellie has to stand on her tip-toes to see the titles.
“I know David Bowie,” she offers.
“Good taste,” you muse.
She takes a moment to survey the records a bit long before she reaches for one with sketches of vegetables on it. The Best of Cream. She likes the look of it.
“This one?”
“One of my Granddad’s favorites,” you say with a grin. You nod in approval and Ellie feels secretly pleased. You place it on the turntable, lifting the needle. Ellie watches as you touch it to the spinning record, the crackling sound of contact comforting.
The music flows from the record, guitar and drums and a man’s sultry voice singing about the sunshine of your love. You give a hip shake, shoulders rolling as you attempt to take Ellie’s hand in yours in dance. You’re surprised when at the contact she jerks her hand back as if she’s been burnt, eyes wide.
“Sorry,” you say with your hands raised.
Ellie feels her face flush, her body breaking into a cold sweat under her layers of clothing. The sound of I’ve been waiting so long dances through the air as the two of you stand there. You’re still, unmoving, waiting for her to say something.
“I just. . . “ Ellie looks anxiously at you, faltering. “I just don’t like to be touched.”
“That’s totally fine,” you insist. “I should’ve asked.”
Ellie waits for you to make a big deal of this. She waits for the prying questions and prodding but none come. Instead you’re giving her a warm smile and tilting your head to follow you.
“C’mon, let’s get started.”
Ellie seats herself at the drafting table in the center of the room with its two stools. For the next half hour you take her through a quick overview on what you’re hoping to teach her; still life, landscapes, watercolor, oil painting, sculpture and more. You also encourage Ellie to tell you anything she wants to learn in particular.
“I always thought it would be cool to make a comic book,” she offers, sipping on her sweet tea refill.
“Oh that sounds fun!” you make a note of that in your sketchbook. “I see you brough a sketchbook with you. Mind if I take a look?”
“They’re not very good,” Ellie says shyly. She’s seen the work you have hanging around the studio. It seems like you’re good at every medium.
“I just sold a piece recently that wasn’t one I didn’t think was very good,” you tell her honestly. “I think sometimes we don’t know the impact our imperfect work makes on other people. Plus if you were perfect then we wouldn’t be doing lessons, so hand it over, kid.”
You hold out your hand, fingers curling. Ellie smirks up at you before shoving the book into your waiting grasp. You open it up, looking through the variety of sketches. While her technique may be adequate you’re very impressed. There’s major talent here, just waiting to be nurtured.
“Is this Joel?”
“Yeah,” Ellie nods. “He naps on the couch and that’s the best time to draw him. He hates sitting for me.”
You smile briefly, turning the page to a beautiful teenage girl with a shock of hair and large luminous eyes.
“Who’s this?”
“Sarah,” Ellie says, looking wounded as she stares down at the drawing. You want to ask for more details but Ellie is flipping to the next page, showing you a horse from a farm.
“That’s from Uncle Tommy’s place last summer,” she explains. “He has a farm up here. His wife runs it.”
“Cool,” you say impressed. “I love animals.”
“Me too.”
For the rest of the lesson you bring out sheets of paper and graphite. You teach her proportions and she grasps it all so easily. You teach her smudging techniques and highlights and the direction of light. When three o’clock chimes in the grandfather clock out in the hallway you’re shocked.
“Damn that went by fast.”
“It really did,” Ellie says, looking up at you from her latest work. It’s a sketch of that same horse, the proportions coming along much better now.
“You know when I look at this art I can see the feeling behind it,” you tell her. “I can see the love you have for animals.”
Ellie listens, nodding. You see the graphite on the end of her nose and hold yourself back from rubbing it off.
“Art is kind of magic that way. Plus, it’s like therapy when feelings get too big. You ever have that, El? Where the feelings are so big words aren’t enough?”
Ellie thinks of Riley and the twist she’s had in her stomach since they met.
“Yeah.”
“When you feel big feelings its best to get it out on the page,” you tell her as you begin to set up the canvas. “So your homework this week is to take any big feelings and put ‘em to paper. I don’t care if it’s sketching, painting, collage. You do what works and then if you don’t mind, I’d like to see it next lesson.”
Ellie beams. “Yeah, okay, awesome.”
///
Frank goes over the books a few days later, his mouth curled to one side in concentration. It’s been a very profitable month for the gallery. You dropped off that big canvas earlier in the week and it’s like nothing you’ve ever done. He hopes you’ll make more.
But he’s been so busy he hasn’t had time to go to the coffee shop which means he hasn’t been able to see Bill since the day he came in to help with the AC. Frank is convinced he can still smell Bill’s shampoo in the air some days, even though it’s impossible.
Frank is so focused he doesn’t even notice the hulking figure in front of him until he clears his throat. Frank glances up from his computer to see Bill standing there, his shirt tucked into his jeans and his large hand holding a to-go coffee cup from Frank’s favorite coffee shop.
“Bill,” Frank’s voice is a cracked choke. “W-what are you doing here?”
“Haven’t seen you around the coffee shop lately,” Billy replies. Frank watches as the man places the coffee cup in front of him. “Thought you might be avoiding me.”
“What?” Frank’s eyes are saucers. “F- no, no of course not. I’ve just been so busy this month.”
“Ah, okay.”
Frank feels a flush start on his cheekbones. He takes the coffee into his hands, praying they don’t shake. Bill brought him coffee? What does this mean? The two man stand in awkward silence together.
“Your friend was at the coffee shop today,” Bill announces out of nowhere, his voice almost tentative.
“Which friend?”
“The loud one you’re usually with.”
You.
Frank holds in a groan, terrified to know what’s going to happen next. Either Bill is going to be horrified and think Frank sent you over there to scout things out or he’s going to be a very straight man who’s deeply offended.
“I don’t know what she said, but I apolog-“
“She said you wanted to ask me out to dinner the last time I was here.”
Silence. Frank feels his face turning beet red the longer that it stretches on.
He’s going to fucking kill you.
It’s not like over the phone where he could just hang up and then avoid his favorite coffee shop. Bill is standing there, big and broad and his eyes so beautiful waiting for an answer. There’s only one choice; total honesty.
“Uh. Yeah. I-I did. As a thank you for all you did.”
Bill blinks slowly, his light eyes trailing over Frank’s face for a full moment.
“So you just wanna take me to dinner ‘cuz of the repairs.”
His voice sounds even, almost resigned like he was expecting that. Frank knows this is his last chance. He could pretend like it was just that – just a kind offer of friendship, a thank you for his repair work.
But he doesn’t want that. He wants more.
“No.”
“No?”
“No.”
Bill seems to be gauging something before his brows rise and fall.
“Huh.”
Frank feels a strange curl of his lip begin, amused at the man’s monosyllabic yet thought-heavy response. He doesn’t seem offended, doesn’t seem disgusted. But he doesn’t seem over the moon either. It makes Frank lick his lips nervously.
“So you wanna go out then?”
“Pardon?”
“Wanna go on a date? Dinner?” Now it’s Bill’s turn to look rosy in the face. His eyes are on the desk Frank stands behind. “If you want, I mean. Maybe you changed your-“
“No.”
Bill’s face goes slack. “No. Right, of course. Forget I asked.”
He goes to turn but Frank throws himself over the desk, a heavy hand on Bill’s shoulder before the man can walk away.
“No! I mean, like, yes! As in no, I didn’t change my mind, so yes I want to go on a date with you.”
Frank winces as he hears his frantic voice echo in the gallery. He sounds and looks insane. He removes his fist from where it clutches at Bill’s shoulder and feels immense relief when Bill turns back, his light eyes filled with quiet mirth.
“You always this articulate?”
He steps towards Frank, allowing the taller man to slide back onto the other side of the desk, cheeks burning fiercely. Despite everything Frank laughs, a real genuine laugh that has his eyes crinkling in the corners.
“I’m normally better, I swear.”
“Guess I’ll have to see for myself on Saturday night.”
It hangs there between them, like a melody. Frank feels his mouth curve into an even wider grin, his heart hammering in the best possible way. He feels electric, like every neuron in his body is shooting off fireworks.
“Pick me up here at eight.”
“How about six? I’m an old man that works early the next day.”
“Let’s compromise and say seven.”
“Seven works.”
“Alright then.”
Bill takes one last look at Frank before touching his fingers to his forehead, giving a gentle mock-salute. Frank watches him lumber to the front of the gallery, heading out. He gives one last wave to Frank as he exits, a smile on his face as he walks by the window and down the street.
Frank collapses into the stool next to him, his body weak with excitement. When the excited tremors abate he tugs the cellphone from his pocket, quickly composing a message to you.
[1:04pm] You fucking bitch. I love you.
///
Ellie is trying to think of a big feeling to channel into her art that weekend when she hears her name being called. Riley is striding up the walk, a smile on her face. She’s wearing shorts and a neon crop top that reads sunshine, fireflies, summer in looping script.
“Hey Riley.”
“Hey Lee.”
“Lee?” Ellie wrinkles her nose at this.
“Ellie. Lee. Get it?” Riley balances against the porch railing smiling at her. “I figured since you don’t have a Texas accent I needed to give you a better nickname.”
Ellie grins. “Got it.”
Ellie catches herself staring at the girl and tears her eyes away, looking at the scuff of her sneakers instead.
“So hot out today.”
“Yeah,” Ellie concedes. It is warm out today, in a sticky, oppressive way.
“You wanna go swimming with me?”
Ellie immediately feels her body tighten. She glances at her long sleeves and thinks about the murky waves. She shakes her head, swallowing.
“Nah.”
Riley seems to take this personally because she starts backing up.
“No worries. Maybe next time."
Ellie realizes her faux pas too late. Riley has taken Ellie’s shyness for rudeness. She should have told Riley the truth; that she can’t swim. That she doesn’t want her body exposed. But the taller girl is already striding down the driveway on her long legs.
Don’t leave. I want to keep talking to you.
“Bye Riley,” Ellie finally manages to croak out.
“See ya, Lee.”
Riley casts a polite smile over her shoulder, her smile gone before Ellie watches her jog off in the direction of her home. Ellie watches the girl leave, feeling a crushing disappointment somewhere beneath her ribs. She fumes silently before pushing into her house, slamming the door behind her.
“Woah, what’s goin’ on?”
“Nothing,” Ellie replies sullenly. Joel goes to ask more but she’s already padding over to the couch, her sketchbook tightly held in her grip.
You said to draw in moments like this. To make her feelings come out on the page.
“Tough day,” Joel comments.
“Nah. Just… nothing,” Ellie finishes, not raising her eyes. Joel watches his daughter draw furiously, knowing better than to invade her space. His eyes lift to your window, surprised to see you in the studio tiding it up. He drags his eyes away, feeling like a creep staring at you.
“Making sandwiches, you want one?”
Ellie gives a grunt of response, her eyes fixed on the sketchbook. Joel whips them both up a turkey on rye and plops some chips onto a plate, bringing it over to Ellie who takes it gratefully with a quick thank you. Joel plops into the easy chair on the other side of the room, crunching on some chips as Ellie digs into her lunch.
“Haven’t seen you drawin’ like that in a while,” Joel comments.
“Neighbor told me to draw when my feelings feel big.”
“Good advice,” Joel nods. He watches Ellie’s eyes go distant and he wishes he could know what she’s thinking. “She a good teacher then?”
“Yeah, I like her.”
“Good.”
Joel is pleased to hear this. Happy to know his daughter is being taken care of, that she’s happy. After so much misery he hopes that she can be as happy as possible with him.
“She said you were hot,” Ellie comments around her sandwich out of nowhere. “Told me when we were driving the other day.”
Joel tries to hide the pleased smile behind his sandwich, but Ellie sees it all the same
#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#smut#pedro pascal#joel miller smut#joel miller#dad joel miller#fanfic#fanfiction#ellie x riley#ellie the last of us#ellie williams#bill x frank#frank and bill#bill and frank#joel miller romance#slow burn romance#enemies to friends to lovers
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why didn't you stop me is the most satosugu song i am going to eat a brick
#totally normal about them#obviously#jujutsu kaisen#satosugu#I KNOW THAT I ENDED IT BUT WHY WONT YOU CHASE AFTER ME#YOU KNOW ME BETTER THAN I DO SO WHY DIDNT YOU STOP ME#I LOOK FOR A PICTURE OF YOU TO KEEP IN MY POCKET#BUT I CANT SEEM TO FIND ONE WHERE YOU LOOK HOW I REMEMBER
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Falls my knees thinking about Tim n Sasha while listening to Why Didn't You Stop Me?
#I LOOK FOR A PICTURE OF YOU TO KEEP IN MY POCKET#BUT I CAN'T SEEM TO FIND ONE WHERE YOU LOOK HOW I REMEMBER
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thinking about MacCready's silly little outfit
#love to draw it hate to think about it#my dude why did you keep the back#get a shorter coat if the front part was bothering u so much instead of ?ripping??? it off???#and what is keeping that pocket on your leg? tape? is that tape? what is that#please just rip the other sleeve off or sew a new one on#it just cant be comfortable the way it is#i would be so annoyed with the sleeves i gotta have either both rolled up or both rolled down you just cant be lopsided like that cmon man#his fucking belt is the only thing keeping this outfit together literally he takes that off his coat falls apart and his pants fall down#do you guys think he goes commando? i feel like he would (derogatory)#like aesthetically i love this outfit somehow he makes the asymmetry work for him and altogether its like ok cohesive outift#and like you look at all the parts and it paints the picture the devs wanted to tell about him-- it fits his story#like ok I Get It homeboy is a practical self-taught wasteland mercenary hurting for caps#+green to show association with gunners and call back to fo3#but like do the bullets chafe him at all? do they jingle when he walks? or does he secure them tight enough not to?#his hat's baller though no complaints there#i like his lucky charm bullets even if they are a bit silly#would've been cool though if he had more personal beef with winslow and barnes and was like 'im saving these two bullets for them'#revenge quest shit ig lol#anyway maccready ? smooch#i bet he thinks he looks so cool hes like yeah bullets on my thigh? badass.#the shreds of my coat flapping behind me in the wind? badass#and gotta have a scarf. thats his staple#k rambles#sorry the brain rot is strong today
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Guys I'm going to go feral if I keep in this tongue piercing
#i love the look of it#and as a piercee it makes me a very happy boyo#but MAN it's keeping me distracted and thinking about it 24/7#and my lisp is not going away#halp#i am going to start gnawing on things#i always need ur guys' second opinion#you guys are my picture of michael jackson i keep in my pocket#ihave an abnormally thick tongue so i had to keep my first bar in#tried smaller but WOW i actually have a really thick tongue but it's driving me NUTS#.......but having metal in my body is so cute......#why am i rambling#guys
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mitski why didn’t you stop me with chiscara……
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joseph quinn in the gucci suit for jimmy fallon has really altered my brain and the way i live my life. i will never get over it <3
#do you understand what i am saying?????????#THAT GUCCI SUIT HAD ME DOWN HORRENDOUSLY BAD#i had to be locked away for days#the subtle flex of the gucci tag on the sleeve????? *foaming at the mouth*#keep those pictures away from me or i will have to be locked up#WAIT the pic of him where he stands by ‘the tonight show’ sign w his hand in his pocket?!????????? GOD#im losing my mind#its so bad for me im going so insane#everyone look away i beg#txt.post#joseph quinn
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imagine you’re dating ghost and no one knows. the two of you have kept it a secret on your end and his just for your protection— because ghost knows what could happen if someone finds out, how someone might try and target you to get to him, or worse, given his line of work.
but then imagine that he’s on a mission, interrogating some piece of filth ready to decorate the fucking wall with his brain matter when the guy says “you know what, simon, killing me would be the biggest mistake of your life.”
immediately ghost would pause, eyes narrowed, though his hardened demeanour wouldn’t fade much, he’d just blankly stare at the prick like “oh yea? n’ why don’ you tell m’ why.”
the shit-eating grin that would crawl across that fuckers lips would have ghost ready to kill him right then and there, but then he’d say “reach in my pocket. pull out my phone.”
id like to think ghost would have absolutely none of this assholes bullshit, not at all entertained by his theatrics. i’d like to think he’d just press the muzzle of his gun to the fuckers temple within an instant, all teeth barred and ready to get it over with when the guy would add,
“your girlfriend is a fucking beauty, isn’t she?”
everything would pause. ghost, time, the world, air, the universe itself—the life that would drain from ghosts face would almost be enough to make his alias a reality. his heart pounding in his throat, his fingers fucking trembling as he immediately reached into the assholes pocket to find his phone—a picture of a woman tied up (face not in view however) lighting up on the home screen. there’d be no thinking rationally, no thoughts in ghosts head except for making sure you were fucking okay. he’d do whatever he’d have to do, kill the guy, leave him strapped there, whatever—he’d be out of that room in two seconds flat and personally flying the helicopter back to your house calling you nonstop every fucking second until you answered.
“hello? si?”
he’d wait a second before answering. taking everything in. background noises, the inflection of your voice. it sounds calm, maybe too calm? he’s grasping his phone so fucking hard it’s a miracle it hasn’t shattered between his fingers.
“princess,” he breathes, fighting with everything in him to keep his voice steady. “see any birds today?”
though it was a genuine question, it also was an established one. ghost had set up a series of questions for a situation precisely like this. if you said blue jay, it meant you were fine, at home, as usual. if you said crows, it meant you weren’t.
“oh just the usual blue jays, si.” he could almost hear the smile on your lips. “everything okay? i miss you.”
ghost would exhale a shattered breath. “i’m coming home.”
and then he’d show up, not all but a few hours later, hands still trembling slightly, heart rate still struggling to regulate. it was too much, reminding him too much of his past traumas, he knew he needed to find better protection for you, but that was a conversation for another time.
he’d come in the house, barely even taking the time to shut the door behind him, almost frenzied again, relentless, unable to relax until he could finally lay eyes on you. and then, the second he did, he’d just pause and look at you, all messy hair and pyjamas still on, in the kitchen cooking breakfast for you both since you knew he was on his way.
and he wouldn’t say a goddamn word, he’d just come up behind you and wrap his arms around your waist, hugging you so tight you’d hardly be able to breathe, his face buried in your hair and his heart thumping at your back. you’d feel the pain the fear the anxiety radiating off him and you wouldn’t try to say anything because you knew he needed this, you knew he needed to see you, hold you, feel your pulse stable and alive. you knew he just needed a moment to breathe.
and so the two of you would stand there like that for a while, and then he’d take a big inhale and spin you around to face him, pulling up his mask to plant soft kisses on your jaw.
“i love you so fuckin’ much.”
#simon riley imagine#simon riley cod#simon riley x you#simon ghost riley#simon ghost x you#simonriley#simon riley#simon#simon riley call of duty#simon ghost x reader#simon riley x reader#simon riley smut#simonrileysmut#ghost smut#simon ghost smut#ghost riley#ghost#ghost cod#task force 141#taskforce141
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why didnt you stop me by mitski save me. why didn't you stop me. save me why didn't you stop me
#this song is so fucking goodddddd#do do do do do do do do do do do dooooo#I LOOK FOR A PICTURE OF YOU TO KEEP IN MY POCKET BUT I CAN'T SEEM TO FIND ONE WHERE YOU#LOOK HOW I REMEEEEEEEMBER LOOK HOW I REMEEEEEEEEMBERRRRRRRR#capella speaks
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That's Not My Milkman
masterlist
Warning: slight gore but not that detailed, doppleganger Francis
Gender neutral reader
(NOT MY ART, I FORGOT WHOS TIKTOK THIS IS FROM BUT CREDITS TO YOU!)
"So... Is everything in check?"
A tired voice mumbled out as your eyes trailed up from the ID and entry request in your hands to the source of the sound. Tired hazel eyes stared back at you as Francis rubbed the back of his neck.
You felt bad, here you were double and triple-checking everything while the exhausted and probably underpaid milkman was there standing and waiting to be let in. But it's for everyone's safety so don't feel too bad. You gave a small smile as you handed back his paperworks. Everything seems to check out and you were going to let him in but... what's that on his uniform sleeve?
You squinted your eyes as you scanned the cuff of his right sleeve. His gaze travelled to where you were looking and with a shrug of his shoulders he lifted his hand to give you a clear view. And it is in fact blood, and by the looks of it, quite fresh too. How come you didn't notice it before?
You raised an eyebrow, one hand slowly inching closer to the danger button as you tried to be subtle and casual about it. Because what the heck? He was confident enough to show you something so suspicious without batting an eye.
"Sooo... Uhm. Anything you want to share?"
You casually asked, yet nervousness was laced in your tone. He sighed, keeping his composed and nonchalant act as put his hand down, burying it in his pocket as he dragged his free hand on his face. If he's a doppelganger then he's really going the extra mile to act or seem believable.
"Mmm. I know you're on edge."
He mumbled, gaze traveling from your hand that was ready to press the danger button to your face. Staring a little too long as he examined your features. You got a very pretty face yet it was filled with mistrust. Shame. Catching himself, he quietly scoffed under his breath. Good job Francis, already had the doorperson suspicious of you.
"But this is not what it looks like. I injured my hand earlier with a broken glass, blood must've gotten on my uniform accidentally."
He finished, not breaking the staring contest you two have started. You don't quite seem to believe that story, but it was plausible. There was a tense silence for a while before you broke it.
"Show me your wound."
You requested and again, another tense silence. He didn't look like he was going to comply. Just you and him staring down at each other. No one backing down and tearing their eyes away.
"... Fuck."
He quietly hissed and that was enough confirmation for you. You pressed the button immediately, grabbing the phone as you dialed the D.D.D. A familiar voice on the other end confirms and tells you that agents are on their way.
You sighed in relief, although that didn't last long as you heard banging on the glass pane separating you and the doppelganger. Thank God those were strong enough to withhold the assaults. You should've been shaking in your seat right now, and you were albeit not so intense, but it was the first time you came across the quiet and aloof milkman's doppel.
Hell, it was the first time you even saw Francis up front, not just out of the picture in the folder provided for your job. Out of curiosity, you raised the metal shutters to take a peek at it. And what greeted you was a snarling, red-eyed Francis. His features twisted in rage as he banged on the glass repeatedly.
"Let me in, Y/n!"
He growled, to which you shut the metal blinds again on his face in response as you heard the agents barge in. You thought it would be like last time, after a while they would let you know that the cleanup was successful and that they would be on their way back. Easy peasy, right? Oh how wrong you were. Turns out, this one was putting up quite a fight.
You could hear shouting, a lot of screaming, and the sound of something sharp slashing at flesh. Wet sounds of people gurgling in what you presumed to be their own blood... That was disturbing. You were almost too scared to pull up the shutters to see what was going on. But suddenly the noises stopped. Did they catch him? Was it finally over?
With shaking hands, you pressed the danger button off. The blinds slowly ascended and holy shit, the sight was like something out of a nightmare. It was straight up a blood bath. The agents' bodies were piled on the right side. Some missing their heads, missing their upper or lower half, and others' stomachs were ripped out and just generally shredded and torn. But that wasn't what you saw first.
It was Francis, or well, his doppelganger, with blood splattered on his clothes and a little getting on his cheek. His forearm was resting on the glass as he leaned. His mouth opened and formed a smirk as he panted, breathing heavily while glaring at you. His left hand fiddled with the blood-drenched tie on his neck.
If he wasn't a murderous doppelganger, you would've swooned. But alas, you can't have nice things in life. You blinked at him before pressing the button again,
"Wait- damn it!"
He called out but the windows were closed off again as you dialed the number quickly. Yet again, the same old thing was said, another batch of agents were dispatched. You waited, fidgeting in your seat as you heard him call out to you.
"Come on... I'm sorry Y/n, I didn't mean to frighten you. Can you open the door?"
He tried to coax you with that voice... That smooth and deep voice that sounded so tired, on the verge of begging you... Wait what-
You shook your head, patting your cheeks lightly because what the hell was that? Such intrusive thoughts are not welcome while your life's in danger!
More screaming and shouting was heard as the agents arrived and you could tell they were much more prepared than the last batch. Gunshots can be heard but another animalistic growl pulled you out of your thoughts. Everything went silent again. You stay rooted on your spot as the only thing that can be heard in the air is your quivering gasps and heavy breathing on the other side of the glass panel.
Is he still there? You thought as you turned off the danger button again. More bodies were piled up on the left corner and surprise surprise, he was still alive, albeit in a rougher shape than previously. He wasn't wearing his milkman hat anymore, letting his brown messy hair show. His uniform was missing three buttons at the top, slightly showing his chest, bowtie was nowhere to be found.
He was still drenched in blood but what stunned you was what he was doing. His form raised and dropped as he inhaled and exhaled heavily, tired hazel eyes staring back at you as his eyebrows scrunched up. His hands pressed together in a pleading manner. Is he actually begging?
"Y/n, let me in... Please?"
#thats not my neighbor#tnmn#francis mosses#milkman#francis mosses x reader#milkman x reader#x reader
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coming back from my quiet period of my sw interest to say that why didn't you stop me by mitski is sabine wren-coded
#.txt#JUST EVERYTHING ABOUT IT!!!#'i look for a picture of you to keep in my pocket but i can't seem to find one where you look how i remember' CMON#'AND PAINT IT OVER'#it's her song.
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So Warm and Fluffy
Synopsis: Harbinger men (minus Pucinella) with an S/O who wears their Fatui coat.
Characters: Pierro, Capitone, Dottore, Pantalone, Childe
Tags; Suggestive on Childe
A/N: Gawd, I need more lore on all the harbingers. I need MORE. I also lowkey didn't know what to write for Panatalone, which sucks cause I absolutely love this man.
The party was a bore, you couldn’t help but let out a bored sigh. Pierro seemed to immediately notice this and placed a gentle hand on the bottom of your back.
“Is everything okay my dear?” Pierro whispered into your ear, you leaned against his shoulder and sighed.
“This place is a bore and there’s nothing fun.” Pierro hummed in agreement as he stared distantly towards the crowd. There was a small crowd of aristocrats huddled around you two hoping to earn a favor from the Tsaritsa. You just sighed again before looking at the giant door that beckoned you toward them.
“Dear, I’m going to walk around a bit. Is that okay?” You asked, tilting your head towards him. Pierro closed his eyes and gave a soft nod.
“Make sure you bring a scout.” Pierro sighed as he turned back to a conversation an aristocrat was trying to make. You smiled to yourself before beckoning a nearby scout to follow you. You were very lucky that the party was hosted in one of the many Fatui’s castles, even more lucky that this just so happens to be Pierro’s. You and the scout silently walked down the empty hall, your shoes echoed around before stopping by a familiar door. You smiled as you fished in your pockets, pulling out a small key. You gently placed the key inside the keyhole before turning it. With a soft click the door opened revealing a huge office. You knew this office quite well as this was Pierro’s main office. You walked towards the giant desk smiling as you picked up a small picture of you and Pierro. You gently placed the picture back down before walking around the office. Staring out the window you sighed happily staring down the garden that Pierro planted for you. You were so lost in thought, staring at the snowflakes that slowly drifted down, that you didn’t feel the soft click of the door open. You smiled to yourself thinking about the nice stroll you and Pierro took earlier in the morning. You suddenly felt warm, when you felt a soft coat gently placed on your shoulder.
“You’ll get cold if you stay still like that.” Pierro murmured against your ear, planting a soft kiss against your cheek. His mask slightly biting your skin. You giggled as you turned to face Pierro.
“Well if I do get cold you’ll somehow keep me warm right?” You smiled as you placed your hand right where his heart lay. Pierro deeply chuckled as he cupped your hand as you planted a soft kiss on your wrist.
“Of course, my dear.”
Capitano grunted as he attacked the dummies with his giant claymore. You stared unapologetically at Capitano’s abs, muscle, anything your eyes looked around. You sighed dreamily as Capitano's muscles moved and contracted with each swing. You two were in the lobby of Goth Grand Hotel which Lord Regrator generously booked… forever. Capitano swung his claymore, slicing the dummies in half. Capitano huffed and puffed as he circled his shoulders. Loosening the tension in his shoulder. You clapped at Capitano’s display,
“You look so good Darling.” You smiled as you slouched against the plush lobby couch. Capitano gave out a hearty laugh before walking over to get a drink from his cup.
“Thank you my love.” He laughed as he lifted his helmet slightly for him to wipe his sweat. You hummed as you looked around the lobby of the Goth Grand Hotel. It was quite fancy, true to Mondstadt architecture the arcs curved beautifully with etched designs watching over you two. The soft light emitting from the crystal chandelier shone upon you. Your eyes drift before you spot Capitano’s Harbinger coat. He didn’t wear it as Mondstadt’s weather didn’t deemed it cold enough for him to wear it. You traced your hand over the details of the Harbingers coat. Whoever designed it clearly had a good sense of fashion. You smiled as you pulled the heavy coat towards you. Capitano’s smell filled your senses as you took in a deep breath, allowing his scent to fill your lungs. You couldn’t help but sigh as you got comfortable on the lobby couch. You watched Capitano continue his training, his sleeveless turtleneck hug his muscles so well. Capitano swung his claymore making eye contact with you who was snug underneath his harbinger coat.
“Comfortable?” Capitano asked, hoisting his claymore over his shoulder. You nodded as you pulled the black fur close to your face.
“Your jacket is very comfortable.” You smiled as you adjusted your position, Capitano laughed as he turned back to his dummies.
“Well then I'll ask Pantalone about getting you a custom one." You can hear Capitano smile as he slashed at the nearest dummy. You couldn't help but laugh,
"That would be nice wouldn't it?"
You shivered inside Dottore’s lab. Your lover is a mad man so of course he loves to have his lab ac on in an already really cold nation. You are already wearing thick layers but the cold keeps biting your skin.
“Can we please turn the heater on?” You asked, but it seemed the question fell on deaf ears. As none of the segments seemed to hear you, they were too busy arguing with something that you couldn’t understand. You frowned slightly as the cold got to you. You got up and started to pace around the lab trying to warm yourself up. It was slightly working if it wasn’t for the fact that every other step you were taking you were bumping into one of the many segments. You always apologize and move out of the way. You did a couple more laps before you were stopped by Omega who just gave a small smile.
“Darling dearest, I believe you’re getting in the way. How about staying in Prime’s office till he returns?” He asked, not even waiting for your answer before guiding you towards Dottore’s office. You tried to protest but it seemed that protest didn’t reach Omega who just opened the office door and gently pushed you in.
“I’ll ask Delta to bring you something to eat, just stay put okay?” Omega gave you a smile before closing the door with a soft click. You sighed in frustration as you waltz around Dottore’s office. It looked off putting for some people, but you thought it was just his weird hobby. The assortment of body parts in jars, taxidermy animals, different types of ruin guards splattered around. It was a mess but a weird organized mess. You walked around his desk sitting down on his plush chair. Still freezing cold, you looked around the office spotting a small closet in the corner. Smiling, you got up and walked towards the door. Maybe Dottore at least will have a lab coat or something for you to wear. Opening the wooden doors, they gave a soft groan as you peered inside. The closet was mainly empty except for one item, his Fatui harbinger coat. You smiled to yourself as you ran your hand through the fabric. It was so soft under your hand, the soft metal clanked against each other as you cupped the teal crystal. You admired the crystal in your hands as it sparkled in the light. You gently took the coat off the hanger and put it on. The warmth instantly engulfs you, along with his scent. You smiled to yourself as you walked back towards his desk chair. You plopped down back on the plush chair, wiggling a bit, getting yourself comfortable on the plush chair. Finally comfortable in the severe cold lab you nuzzled your head against the black fur. The thick winter coat made you instantly feel warm. As you enjoy the deserved warmth you feel your eyes becoming droopy. Sleep lures you in as you close your eyes, the warmth, dottore’s cologne, and the comfort of being close to the segments. It seemed that you lost the battle as sleep took over slouching against the desk chair.
Dottore walked into the lab to the buzzing sounds and movements. He rolled his shoulder as he put on his white lab jacket. Before he could get to his experiment table he was stopped by Delta who handed him a report.
“Here is that report you wanted,” Delta nodded as Dottore took it out of his hands. He flipped through the pages pleased by the results.
“Good, get back to work.” Dottore threw the report back to Delta’s arms, who just nodded. But before he was able to get back to work Delta told him about your state and how cold you were. Dottore rolled his eyes as he knew you would be cold and asked what they did about it. Delta mentioned that you paced around a bit before being put into his office. Dottore was curious about what you had gotten up to in his office. Dismissing Delta, Dottore headed to his office giving soft raps against his own office door. He thought this was silly but he rather you not throw something at him then be startled for a bit. When he didn’t hear a response he opened the door, only to be greeted by you snuggled up in his fatui harbinger coat sleeping on his office chair. Dottore smirked as he walked over to you, watching your sleeping form. Oh how naive you are to let your guard down, if you were anyone else he would have stuck so many different types of needles into you. Draw some blood samples, screw it, why not inject you with a mind altering drug? But lucky for you, you were his darling dearest, and he could never hurt you. He smiled to himself before tilting his mask up just enough for him to plant a kiss on top of your head without it poking your head. With a very rare and out of character soft smile Dottore turned back and headed to work. At least he doesn’t have to hear you complain about the cold.
You and Pantalone walked down Snezhnaya’s greenhouse, a greenhouse that was owned by the Fatui for the public to see ecosystems from different regions. Hand in hand you walked down as you listened to a guide explain each plant from different regions. You smile as you listen to the guide, you would glance back at Pantalone who would always smile at you but you knew for a fact that he was bored out of his mind. He got particularly bored during the Liyue region, you didn’t care, you were just happy to see so much green. Snezhnaya is always cold and has deep shades of blue, so seeing this much green always makes you feel better. You two concluded your tour and were ready to head out, but as soon as you stepped outside the bitter wind blew against your face. You shivered against your already thick jacket, it seemed that the Snezhnaya weather had dipped way below freezing. You breathe into your hands to keep yourself warm, but alas it didn’t work. You stared out on the snow covered streets. Pantalone said that a vehicle should be coming soon but you couldn’t see crap. You felt yourself being pulled gently back inside the greenhouse before having a thick outer layer gently placed on your shoulder. You looked behind to see Pantalone smiling at you, he was wearing his purple inner jacket which seemed to do little to hide Pantalone’s shiver.
“Pantalone, you’re shivering here.” You tried to protest by removing his Fatui coat off your shoulder but you were stopped as Pantalone placed it back on your shoulders.
“I’ll be fine my lily, your comfort is my utmost priority.” Pantalone smiled as he then turned to one of the workers ``kindly” asking them to bring a heater. Kindly is putting it nicely, more like he was demanding it with a nice tone. You giggled a bit before settling down on a nearby seat. Pantalone turned back to you giving you a rare soft smile that he only gives when you two were completely alone.
“You look ravenous in my coat dear, I should have the tailor make one to your size.” He smiled as he adjusted the collar.
“That would be nice,” you smiled as you saw a light shine through the greenhouse's door.
You were rummaging through Childe’s closet, as Teucer wrote a letter missing Childe. So in return you thought it would be really cute to send one of Childe’s dress shirts over, hoping it would keep the young lad at bay. As you rummage through you feel something soft and fluffy brush against your hand. You paused for sec, Childe doesn’t own anything fluffy. He’s normally wearing something semi-fancy or an outfit fit for a warrior. Letting your thoughts get you, you pulled the fluffy object out of the closet. You gave a soft smile as you pulled his formal overcoat out. You brushed against the fabric, you normally only get to see him wearing this during special events. And when those special events happen you normally can’t see him because you’re so far away from the stage to see the harbingers so close. But when you do get a glimpse you understand the girls in Snezhnaya who fawn over the harbingers. Childe looks so handsome in the coat, and looks very warm.
An idea popped into your head as you walked out of the walk-in closet. You pranced towards the giant mirror that sat in your shared bedroom. Gently putting the outer coat on you were overwhelmed by Childe’s cologne. You smiled as you hugged the coat closer to you. Looking at yourself in the mirror you were engulfed by his coat. The metal charms softly clanked against each other as you gave yourself a little twirl. Smiling to yourself you cuddled yourself into the black fur. It was so soft and warm and reminded you so much of Childe. As you were lost in your thoughts you suddenly felt a pair of strong arms wrap around your waist. You yelped in surprise before you heard a familiar chuckle.
“You look so cute Zolotse.” You hear Childe mumble against the fur.
“Ajax! You’re home early.” You looked at him in surprise. He smiled as he stared loving at you.
“Yeah, I was able to finish work early and was just too excited to come home.” He laughed a bit before burying his head back into the fur coat. You leaned into Childe’s lean body as you two stayed in that position for a moment.
“Maybe I’ll ask Pantalone to make a custom jacket for you.” Childe smiled as he picked you up in ease and twirled you around. You two laughed before Childe dropped you two on your soft bed. He was on top of you while you were sprawled against the bed. The Coat slightly hanging on you.
“Ha, you look so cute wearing my clothes. I wonder…” Childe gave a devious smile before you playfully hit his shoulder.
“Take me to dinner first Mr.Fatui Harbinger.” You two laughed as Childe fell on top of you engulfing you in a hug.
#genshin impact x reader#genshin x reader#dottore x reader#pantalone x reader#capitano x reader#childe x reader#pierro x reader#fatui harbingers x reader#fatui harbingers
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random percy headcanons:
wants to be the photographer friend SO bad and he technically is but like 70% of the pics come out blurry or weird bc there was a monster attack in the middle of them. his instagram is truly so chaotic looking.
literally always has seashells on him someone will ask him for a pencil or spare change and he has to empty all his pockets of shells to find it. drops his backpack and a bunch of shells fall out. kicks his shoes off and sand and shells fly out and his mortal friends are like percy What the Fuck
his eyes glow underwater!! bioluminescent king. no one told him though and he didn't find out until he joined his school's swim team and terrified everyone (he managed to convince them his contacts were having a weird reaction to chlorine lmao)
he really likes art!! he doesn't just pretend to for rachel's sake he genuinely enjoys painting with her. he likes splatter paint, collages and pop art styles the best. one day after splitting some edibles they realized percy could manipulate water colors and went CRAZY with it
will ask to be excused during class and comes back like an hour later with scorch marks all over his face bleeding from one of his ears covered in dust missing three fingernails rips in his jeans and a fat lip and the teacher is like percy what the actual hell were you doing in the bathroom all this time and he's just like uhhhhhh I have ibs
the brand from camp jupiter did unfortunately (for sally) Unlock something in him lmfao he keeps getting shitty little tattoos. usually stick-n-poke but someone's friends cousin's girlfriend's brother has a gun that gets brought to parties every now and then. most of them are sloppy but you can tell what they are HOWEVER he has one that was supposed to be a seal that came out looking like one of those shitty ms paint crying memes. annabeth laughed at him for ten minutes straight when she saw it.
he wanted to dye his hair blue but he was too chicken to bleach his entire head so he just did the tips. his hair is curly though so it looks absolutely ridiculous but he loves it
percy and annabeth get a crusty little yappy white dog in college and he carries it around like a baby lmao
back to his chaotic instagram, he's got so many pics of him like, relaxing at the bottom of the mariana trench or hugging a giant squid or riding on a whale shark and his mortal friends all think he's just really good at photoshop and this is a very specific bit he decided to commit to. they're always like lol percy where do you even FIND these pictures are you subscribed to like scientific journals for the laughs? but no he just took them all on his shell phone
has an ongoing prank war with annabeth's little brothers bobby and matthew but like it's Unhinged. they're playing 5D chess and she has no idea whats going on
weird tshirts!!! he loves them! like
shit like this or those 'women want me fish fear me' shirts, anything with a funny or incomprehensible slogan is going in his closet right along with his band tees lmfao
bought estelle a panda pillow pet when she was born 🥺
can NOT bring himself to eat seafood no matter how many times poseidon has told him its fine. he's like NO these are my FRIENDS JONATHAN WAS TELLING ME ABOUT HIS GRANDDAUGHTERS WEDDING LITERALLY YESTERDAY WHY IS HE ON A PLATTER DAD. they had to give up and just start eating normal land food at the palace every time he comes to visit lmfao
gets into horsegirl antics with hazel she NEEDS to know everything the horses have to say. they spend hours gossiping in the stables.
movie nights in the poseidon cabin were 10000% a thing and when he was missing annabeth and thalia and grover (and a few others) would still sleep in there every now and then and talk about how much they miss him :(
percy and beckendorf had the worlds most elaborate handshake
he DOES impulse buy stuff just because they're ocean-themed. stuffed animals, home decor, school supplies, clothes, you name it he bought it if theres like a fish on it
has more scars from crashing off his skateboard than he does from monster attacks
grover is somehow the only person who's ever noticed percy is severely claustrophobic
has a deep passion for adele. I can't explain this one I just feel and know it to be true.
he and annabeth both proposed to each other at the same time and they were SO mad about it they kept yelling over each other's speeches lmao
he can SING but he doesn't know it. sally keeps trying to record him singing to himself but something always happens to the camera and she loses the evidence
called chiron a brony one time and mr d thought it was so funny he was nice to percy for an entire week
the camp keeps trying to convince him to teach sword fighting lessons to the younger kids but he can NOT bring himself to swing a sword at a 9 year old so he keeps getting injured
has the most complicated iced coffee order in the world his go-to local coffee shop finally just put the damn drink on the menu and named it after him
he IS the quiet kid in the back of your math class that always has his hood up to try and hide his headphones and eats increasingly elaborate meals out of his backpack when the teacher isn't looking. one time someone caught him with a rotisserie chicken in the middle of a geometry final.
he argued that he DID have enough to share with the class
currently obsessed with the image of him knocking back a container of sea salt as if it was a shot and his mortal friends being like hey! what the actual fuck! and he's just like uhhhhh anemia kills!
its his birthday<3
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