#10 commandments killer

[a-killer-obsession]

OKAY I DID IT, I FIGURED OUT THE LAYOUT

Disclaimer: it seems like the size of the ship changes every time we see it, but the newest eps vs wano seem pretty consistent so I went with that and used Wire's height for scale

Floor layouts under the cut ✂️

Edit: you can find clearer/more detailed versions here

Layout based on the 31 member crew that Oda confirmed. I also took in to account that a significant portion of the members are fucking massive, so everything is bigger which matches the scale it's drawn in. Floors are approx 5m high with 2m wide doors in most places, which makes sense when a good portion of the crew are 3m tall.

Sorry about my handwritting lmao I'm so tired but I have serious brainworms and couldn't sleep

The specifics:

Kid's Floor

Of course he has his own floor

Quarters include his own private dining space which I imagine would also include a workdesk, bedroom with king sized bed and probably a couch, walk in closet, and bathroom definitely large enough for a massive tub

Workshop also has bathroom entrance for when he's feelin lazy

Ladder space in the middle goes straight through, this is so crew going to the castle deck don't access his floor

Commander's floor

Heat, Wire and Killer have their own rooms and a private lounge just for them and Kid

Heat and Wire share a large bathroom, definitely big enough for normal bath

Heat and Killer have king sized beds, Wire's bed is almost as wide as a king but mostly it's made especially long

Small decking that runs the whole way around, unspoken rule that crew aren't allowed there since windows peer into commander's rooms

Killer could probably fit a drumkit in his room 👀

Cannon Deck

We get peeks of this in the anime and in Oda's notes but they're fuzzy so I just did my best

Made a mistake tho, cannon platform should be whole way around back like a U shape to account for 3 cannons facing backwards, total 9 cannons

Theoretically this is where the helm should be so uh that's where I put it

Screenshots make it look like they also store a lot of other weapons here

Main deck

Forecastle includes navigation room with bookcases, central table, and desk for paperwork

Forecastle also has infirmary with two longer than normal beds to account for larger crewmates, and a desk for crew doctor to keep notes

Door between nav and infirmary cos Kid is lazy

Kitchen and pantry. Given the rooms are 5m from floor to ceiling I imagine that pantry would have a small mezzanine accessed by a ladder to take advantage of vertical space (and would be a sick place to nap)

Galley/dining hall contains 3 bench style tables, seating 10 large crewmates each, with one extra fancy chair at the end of one for Kid

Lower deck

Did my best to do some math to figure out how many larger than normal beds were required and decided on 6 bunks for 12 larger crewmates

Additional rooms for average sized crewmates include 4 rooms with 2 bunks each, and one room with 1 bunk, making for a total of 30 beds below deck. That means, counting the commanders for the 31, there are currently 3 empty beds, so a few rooms aren't complete full

Probably looks like fuck all space but its actually significant for a ship living quarters

According to google you only need 1 toilet per 10 people and 1 shower per 40 but that seems like BS. Bathroom has 4 large, accessible sized toilets, 4 showers, long benches down the center and a long counter with plenty of space and mirrors for makeup, given how many crewmates wear it

Also, storage room. Could be converted to extra room for another bunk

Hold

Access via ladder

4 cells. No toilets, you get a bucket ✌️ tbh might not even have beds but there's room for em anyway

Desk in case they need to keep an eye on prisoners

3 storage rooms, but i think one of these would actually be a torture room. Probably the one by the desk.

Mechanisms for power and water are probably in one of these rooms as well as a lot of materials for ship repairs

Also of note

Crows nest is definitely big enough for a bench, definitely big enough for... activities. Not as big as the Sunny's though I dont think a gym would fit, I think it'd be more likely that gym equipment is kept on the cannon deck

Idk if the mizzenmast is supposed to go all the way through but that physically can't happen with where the helm needs to be based on screenshots so ✌️

Crows nests are definitely access via climbing nets

Please absolutely feel free to use this as a reference for fanfictions, but I'd appreciate a shout out if you do 💖

[trendywaifus]

2024 HALLOWEEN SPECIAL MASTERLIST

❝ WHAT’S YOUR SCARY MOVIE? ❞

WARNINGS — DARK THEMES, MENTIONS OF DEPRESSION, ATTEMPT OF SELF INJURY, DEATH, BLOOD, CONTROLLING BEHAVIOR, INJURY, YANDERE THEMES, DUBCON, PURITY LOSS, CREAMPIE, ORAL FIXATION, VAGINAL PENETRATION, SIZE KINK, CUM–EATING, FINGERING, CUNNILINGUS, UNPROTECTED SEX

04 |SCREAMPIED ! — transfem! ghostface! feixiao x fem! reader. there seems to be a second serial killer who has their eyes on you. but it seems like they came for you for a different reason. will they be a failure like the last one was? (10/6) continuation of — i’m like the wind baby !

preview ↳ you angrily picked up your phone for the third time in two hours, draping the towel over your shoulder as you sat down on the sofa. “ this is the third fucking time you called my damn phone, “ you shouted, pausing some cheesy horror movie that you forgot was on while taking a quick shower, “ take a hike you fuckin’ bum! don’t ask me about what my damn favorite scary movie is because i don’t have one! the last one was somehow less annoying than you are! “

there’s a small pause from the other side along with consistent, wet noises of skin slapping against skin. “ . . .fuck, “ the husky voice lets out a strained groan and laughs breathily, “ keep talking, i’m almost finished. mm, you sound so fucking hot when you’re upset, doll face.”

“ what the fuck? are you getting off from my voice, you damn weirdo? fuck off. “

05 |NATURAL PREDATOR ! — serial killer! jane doe x fem! reader. she craves you and the normalcy you bring into her life. it wouldn’t hurt to preserve it by keeping you in her home. don’t worry, she won’t hurt you if you don’t hurt her. rats aren’t natural predators after all, right? (10/19)

preview ↳ you swat the chinese food aside in frustration, jumping up from your seat, and glared at your unamused kidnapper sitting on the other side of the table. “ is this some sick game to you? chasing, kidnapping me—taking me away from my life to satisfy yours? “ you hiccuped, tears swelling in your eyes. “ and why in the actual fuck do you think it’s okay to make me sit down with you and eat some takeout food after you’ve been gone all day? what, you expect me to “gossip” with you after all the shit you’ve done to me? “

hurt flash in her teal eyes before she sighs heavily. “ do we seriously have to keep coming back to that? i understand that you’re upset but you’ll get use to this, to me soon enough. i know that i haven’t been here lately and i’m sorry. i’ll do my best to come home to you as early as i can. here, “ she says apologetically, handing you a napkin across the table with the pointed end of her tail, “ please, sit down, wipe your tears, and eat your food, my dear. unless, you prefer for me to do all of them for you? “ there’s something dark lurking behind her voice as it lowers an octave. a shiver runs down your spine at the hooded look in her narrowed eyes.

06 |ADAM & EVE ! — yandere! robin x gn! reader. all she wanted was to save her brother. even if it meant taking a bite from the forbidden fruit, stripping her away from reason, her purity—what makes her robin; an internal separation from who she used to be. ( 10/25)

preview ↳ robin straddles your lap, her darkened emerald eyes pools into yours, lulling you deeper into a trance-like state. your body feels relaxed and heavy, bones softening like malleable metal. the halovian woman lean close to you with a sickeningly sweet smile on her pale features as she brings the bitten apple to your bruised lips. there’s voices—hushed whispers ringing in your head, commanding you to take a bite of the apple. you don’t fight them back, you can’t. lust, euphoria and her hypnotic tune clouds your judgement.

you bite into the apple and sink further into the abyss, along with the shell of a woman who used to be great.

07 (BONUS?)| WUTIWANT ! — jason! transfem! acheron x fem! reader. i don’t know what i want but i know it’s not this. these words mean nothing once they’ve left my lips. (10/31)

preview ↳ ???

[moonbeamsandmayhem]

a/n: Eddie x fem!Reader. It’s been a while. Thank you all so much for bearing with me. This is a purely self-indulgent blurb/fic. Not beta read. Inspired after author watched Ghostbusters: Frozen Empire.

warnings: oral, penetration, dom/sub undertones if you squint, edging, reader with a vagina, Eddie being a little shit. I think that’s it! As always, please DM me if I missed anything.

October 31st, 1996 - 10:25pm

The candy had been eaten, scares given, and costumes put away for another year. You had gladly been on candy duty for a majority of the evening at the community centre, giving out treats, facilitating games for the little ones, and telling ghost stories to enraptured ten year olds who hung off your every word.

As for Eddie, he was running a DnD one-shot for the teens down the hallway. Occasionally you could hear raucous laughter and some profanities spew from the din. It brought a smile to your face knowing that he could still command a room like he had not-so-many years ago at Hawkins High.

But now, you’re home. In your shared apartment. Your legs are on his lap, while you balance a bowl of popcorn on yours. Your eyes are glued to the screen, watching as Dana Barrett and Louis Tully embrace, kissing passionately, the Keymaster and the Gatekeeper reunited at long last.

Your periphery catches movement as Eddie’s hand reaches for the popcorn before landing squarely (purposefully) on your thigh. You rip your attention from the TV to lift a curious brow at him, only to be met with a smirk. “Something on your mind, handsome?”

He croons, smirk growing to a full blown smile. “A few things, yeah,” Eddie admits, hand inching a little higher, “just thinkin’ about how killer you’d look in that dress.” He nods back to the screen, referring to the gown Dana’s wearing.

“You think I can pull that off?” You scoff.

“Sweetheart, you can pull off a god damn trash bag.”

“I’m not Sigourney Weaver, Eddie.”

“She’s got nothing on you.” He tugs the bowl from out of your grasp, placing it on the coffee table before giving you his full attention. Leaning over, he cages you in, forcing you full on your back against the couch. Eddie’s lips brush against yours, silently asking for permission, with a small peck against his, he surges against you like a man trying to quench his thirst. His hands are everywhere, as are yours, a whirlwind of disregarded clothes find themselves unceremoniously on the floor, but you’re both too distracted to care.

“You looked so hot in that witch’s outfit, babe. Was hard to keep it together tonight.” He latches on to the space where shoulder meets neck, sucking in a bruise.

“Y-you looked pretty hand - fuck - handsome yourself. The eyeliner, the fake-fangs, like something out of The Lost Boys, Christ, Ed’s.”

“Mhm. You like a bad boy, don’t ya, sweets?” Lathing the spot with the flat of his tongue. You shudder, eyes rolling back a little, losing yourself - did he say something? He nips at your skin and you gasp. “I asked you a question.”

“Could - could you repeat the - ah - shit - you’re distracting me, Munson.” You pout.

“Am I?” He looks at you with those big brown eyes, all faux-innocence and one-hundred percent mischief. “My bad.”

“Asshole.”

Eddie chuckles softly, “Guilty as charged. Now, are you gonna let me continue being a distraction or…?”

There’s a pregnant pause.

“Yes.”

You cum three times. First, on his tongue. And he makes you work for it, pay back for calling him an asshole. He lifts you higher and higher then pulls his affections away, leaving fluttery kisses around your clit before he starts again. He does this four times until you’re nearly sobbing. It’s a rather messy affair when he finally lets you cum, snapping like a taut wire, and gushing all over him.

Still dazed and trembling from the power of your orgasm, he pulls a second with practiced fingers. Playing you like he plays his guitar, making you sing into the howling night. You’re begging for his cock now, begging to cream all over it, but he shushes you as he works in a fourth digit. You arch your back clear off the couch like a woman possessed, you cum harder than you have in your life.

Or so you thought.

When Eddie eases into you, it’s the closest thing to heaven you can imagine. He stretches you and fills you just right, the piercing on the tip of his cock finding that spot only he knows how to he reach. He presses his forehead to yours, muttering to keep your eyes on him. And you do, because how could you possibly look away? Not only does he fuck you like tonight is the last night on Earth, he makes love to you as if you’re the only two people left on the planet. Slow, self-assured, comforting, everything else dissolves around you. You cum so hard you see stars. Your lungs burn, robbed of air, as you clench and cream and gush. He empties into you with such a guttural groan of relief at the exact same moment, sweat beading his beautiful brow. He pumps, once, twice, a third time, then lays on top of you, satiated, dipping his head a little to nuzzle his nose against yours.

“You absolute menace.” You tease, with an exhausted smile, leaning forward to capture his lips.

“What can I say? Bustin’ makes me feel good, baby.”

[qqueenofhades]

-Runs back into the room from having been wrapped up in the Sub Shitshow- context PLEASE on what’s up with Putin!?

Lol okay buckle up:

Yevgeny Prighozin is (well, as of now) one of Putin's closest allies. He is Putin's former chef and now the CEO of Wagner Group, the Russian private army of mercenaries who have spent a decade plundering Africa and destroying Syria in the employ of various terrible local dictators. Since the invasion of Ukraine, Wagner has become one of the Russian army's mainstays, mostly because they're the only ones who seem able to actually do anything. Of course, it did still take them nine months to take Bakhmut, Ukraine's *checks notes* 53rd largest city with very little strategic value, but given what a shitshow the regular Russian army has been, that's good. Or something.

The Russian army is mostly good at destroying dams and bombing civilians, which are obviously terrible for many reasons, but not that useful in the military scheme of things.

However, Wagner are also -- I hasten to stress -- thoroughly terrible people. Aside from all the shit in Africa and Syria, they've done likewise in Ukraine and will continue to do so. Legally speaking, they technically "don't exist," which has allowed them to get around a lot of the usual rules and regulations that are supposed to "bind" (ha) the Russian army. They are obviously in Ukraine directly at Putin's behest and doing Putin's bidding, but it turns out that giving an ambitious and amoral psychopathic warlord his own private army of criminals, rapists, killers, and whoever else they can dredge out of Russia's prisons to throw at the front line and die en masse may not be a good idea?

Shocking, I know.

Anyway, Prigozhin has spent months ripping into the Russian Minister of Defense, Sergei Shoigu, for what a whole shitshow clusterfuck this whole stupid war patently is. (Not, however, that this has stopped him from continuing to eagerly carry it out, since he's just as much or indeed even more of a zealot as the rest of Putin's government.) This has included blaming Shoigu for equipment losses, underprovisioning of Wagner troops, general strategic numbnuttery, etc. Prigozhin has not, however -- again, until now -- attacked Putin directly, or backed off from getting his losers killed in Bakhmut and/or wherever else. One suspects that Putin has been perfectly happy to let Prigozhin scapegoat Shoigu for the war's failures, since this means Shoigu can always just conveniently fall out a window or something if it gets too necessary to make a public show of displeasure, and not Putin.

HOWEVER, things took a turn VERY FAST today, within about 12 hours. Prigozhin has, as noted, spent months tearing the Russian military leadership a new asshole -- not because he's a good guy (he's a fucking war criminal on like, 10 different levels), but because it is plainly obvious what a shitshow this is and even a war criminal has his limits as to how much totally pointless murderous bullshit he wants to go through, I guess. (That includes telling the truth about why the war started -- i.e. to steal Ukrainian stuff/land for the oligarchs, and not any of Putin's other stupid excuses.)

Today (June 23) Prigozhin accused the Russian Ministry of Defense of orchestrating a rocket attack on Wagner's camp in eastern Ukraine (near the Russian border) and causing massive casualties;

We don't have proof of this yet, or indeed much else of what Prigozhin is talking about, BUT he finally decided to put his Coup Hat On and get serious about "punishing" Russian military leadership, i.e. presumably Shoigu, declaring that "there are 25,000 of us [Wagner soldiers] and we're coming into Russia to sort out this chaos"

So -- again, according to Prigozhin, who is not the world's most reliable source on anything -- he turned his army of yoinks around, left Ukraine, and marched into the southwestern Russian city of Rostov-on-Don, where the Russian military command in charge of the assault on Ukraine is headquartered;

For a while, there was nothing but Prigozhin's various unhinged rants on Telegram to prove any of this, but it's now early tomorrow morning in Russia and there are indeed a lot of videos of what DOES IN FACT LOOK like Wagner mercenaries rolling into Rostov and storming Ministry of Defense buildings;

Firm information on what is going on is almost nonexistent, even for Russia, but Putin is clearly taking this seriously; Moscow is shut down, there are armored vehicles on the streets, Google is down in Russia, and Russian newscasters are interrupting their broadcasts to insist Don't Look, Everything Is Fine Here, Totally Fine, Do You Hear Swan Lake? I Don't Hear Swan Lake!

Nobody can find Putin either, allegedly, but don't worry! He has been "briefed on the situation and everything is under control!"

The Russian FSB (successor to the KGB) has meanwhile issued a warrant for Prigozhin's arrest, said they'll charge/prosecute him for treason and armed rebellion against the state, and ordered him to stand down/his own men to arrest him

This, uh, does not appear to be working

ANYWAY, Putin's basically fucked no matter how this ends. Wagner literally just led an armed mutiny, he can't feel good about sending his ex-bestie Prigozhin back to Ukraine with any confidence that his orders will continue to be obeyed, it's Russian-on-Russian open war in the streets of Rostov and God knows where else, he's totally lost control of the narrative, the war, the domestic political situation, Wagner, probably good chunks of the Russian military command/elite establishment, etc., and we all know what happens to dictators in Russia who can no longer dictate

(And yet the Russian army is still finding time to lob some missiles at civilian buildings in Kyiv tonight, because they suck).

This is obviously a huge lucky break for Ukraine as well, since if the Russians are busy fighting each other, they can continue to push for a big breakthrough on their counteroffensive.

So yeah. Pride Month really wheeling out the big guns here, after Putin was the top option picked for Lady Karma to do her thing on in my poll a few weeks ago.

Stay tuned.

[witchywithwhiskey]

witchywithwhiskey's steve rogers masterlist

you'll find full content warnings and summaries on each fic. some works contain dark themes and elements such as dubcon and noncon, so proceed with caution. you're responsible for your own media consumption!

key: 💖 molly's favorites ◦ ⭐️ over 1k notes ◦ 🌟 over 3k notes ◦ 💫 over 5k notes

steve rogers

first and last [fluff, smut, angst] childhood friends to lovers ⭐️

a birthday ended with a bang [fluff, smut] friends to lovers, steve's birthday ⭐️

the alpha next door [smut] omegaverse au 🌟💖

the endurance of a super-soldier [smut] catws 10-year anniversary

inappropriate attire [smut] avengers tower au, coworkers to lovers

ever since i met you [smut, fluff] friends to lovers, valentine's day

offer me my deathless death [smut] greek myth au, strangers to lovers

put on a show [smut] established bdsm relationship

a dream in the bookshop [smut] bookshop owner au, mutual pining ⭐️

a shelter in the storm [smut] park ranger au, strangers to lovers ⭐️💖

hallowe’en fun with your werewolf knight [smut] werewolf au, royalty au ⭐️

halloween is the perfect time for tricks—and treats [smut] friends to lovers 💫💖

screaming in a haunted corn maze [smut] strangers to lovers ⭐️💖

a deal with the devil comes with wicked strings [smut] demon au ⭐️

a king's morning [smut, fluff] lotr au, royalty au ⭐️💖

a fair punishment & take your punishment [smut] established bdsm relationship ⭐️

happy wife, happy life [smut] established relationship, husband/wife

the best birthday gift [smut] avengers tower meet-cute

it's your captain's birthday [smut] dark-ish beach party

his radiant sunflower [fluff] farmer au comfort fic

lilacs & ink [fluff] tattoo artist au ⭐️

at the hand or command of a man [smut] modern royalty au, arranged marriage 💖

right where you belong [fluff] college au, idiots in love ⭐️

tomorrow’s a promise [smut] older brother's best friend au 💖

nothing he could do but touch you [smut] roommates au, dark 💖

so pretty with a knife in your hand [smut] serial killer au, dark

you got yourself a bet, sweetheart [fluff] rivals, movie star au 💖

nowhere near done [smut] bodyguard au, enemies to lovers

your heart a pancake [fluff] drunken confession ⭐️

and all was lost [smut] DARK non-con 💖

get this girl some ice cream! [fluff] emotional hurt/comfort

wear his mark [smut] vampire au

pretty flowers for a pretty girl [fluff] farmer au

dripped heavy like warm honey [smut, fluff] established relationship

cookies and cocoa and a little bit of patience [christmas, smut, fluff] established relationship

giddyup and ride my sleigh [christmas, smut, fluff] established relationship

a threat beneath the nice veneer [smut, eventual fluff(ish)] enemies to lovers

you’ll always be the sexiest man alive to me, captain [smut, fluff] coworkers to lovers

what are best friends for〈deleted scene〉 [smut] friends to lovers

steve rogers & bucky barnes

room for one more [smut, fluff] movie star au, some stucky

furniture assembling drabbles [fluff] neighbor steve rogers, roommate bucky barnes

a monster, a captain and a soldier [smut] monster!reader, avengers tower ⭐️

know how to share [fluff, pre-smut] love triangle ish, flirting, banter ⭐️💖

multiple characters including steve rogers

chris evans characters chest hair thots [smut] drabbles about ari levinson, andy barber, curtis everett, jake jensen, johnny storm, lloyd hansen, ransom drysdale and steve rogers

ova with ceo ari, dbf bucky and dark steve [smut] drabble follow ups to always keep my heart safe, safe and sound and and all was lost

steve rogers series masterlists

ONGOING: a bun in the oven series [smut, fluff] baker au, steve rogers

ONGOING: see you next shift series [smut, angst, fluff] coffeeshop au, bucky barnes, eventual steve rogers

steve rogers collections and challenge masterlists

LOTR-verse universe [smut, fluff, angst] lord of the rings au, multiple characters

a cozy steve rogers autumn [smut, fluff] fall-themed steve rogers fics

halloween fics [smut, fluff, angst] multiple characters

30 day writing trope challenge masterlist [smut, fluff, angst] multiple characters

[softgreengrass]

I’ll Survive

Natasha Romanoff x reader

Summary: happy then sad then happy, requested, supersoldier!r but it’s not relevant to plot

Word Count: 2.7K

Warnings: death, grief

A/N: thanks for the request!

You and Natasha are in the gym when FRIDAY calls a meeting.

“Come on, is that all you got?” she grins, leaning into the punching bag with all her weight.

You fire a few more jabs, and her feet slip back a little. Sweat rolls down your forehead.

“Attention, all,” FRIDAY’s voice rings out. “Mission briefing in the conference room. 10 minutes.”

You don’t stop your barrage of punches, your eyes locked onto the Avengers logo in the center of the bag.

“You sure you’re ready to get back into it?” Natasha asks.

You’ve been coming off of an injury for a few months now. Bad intel, a trap, a bullet straight through your femur — being on bedrest was your seventh circle of hell.

Instead of answering, you wind your fist back and hit the bag hard enough to send it flying across the room, taking Natasha with it. She slams against the wall and laughs.

You wipe your face with a towel before walking over and kicking the bag away from her. “Sorry.”

“Super soldiers,” she mutters, shaking her head.

You offer her a hand. She takes it, rising to her feet, and leans into your chest. Butterflies shoot through your stomach.

“You sure you’re ready?” she asks softly.

“Yeah.”

Her eyes flick down to your lips, and you pull her into a slow kiss. Her hands find the back of your neck, lace through your hair. It only lasts a few seconds before she swipes her foot behind your leg and shoves your shoulders hard.

You land flat on your back with a groan.

“10 minutes, killer,” she smirks. “And don’t ever do that again.”

You’re the last one in the conference room, and there are no seats left around the table. Cap shoots you a disapproving glance as you close the door behind you.

“Hope no one made any weekend plans,” Cap clears his throat. “Because we’re heading to Russia.”

Tony groans obnoxiously. “Come on, really?”

The holographic screen suspended above the table turns on, showing the floor plans of the Kremlin. Everyone falls silent.

“This isn’t a villain of the week, guys,” Steve sighs. “Hell, it’s not even HYDRA.”

You whistle, and Rhodey glares at you.

“As far as we can tell, the Russian government is doing this entirely of their own accord. The only one pulling the strings is Putin.”

“What are they doing?” Clint asks, leaning back in his chair.

“They want to put nukes in space.” Steve presses his clicker and the screen shows the earth and a dozen orbits around it. “That’s a one-way ticket to world war three.”

“And you want us to, what, eat the nukes?” Tony asks.

Cap clenches his jaw. “The Department of Defense wants us to make sure they don’t launch. My plan makes sure Putin won’t ever get the chance to.”

“You want to assassinate him?” Natasha asks quickly.

Steve faces her. “I want you to.”

Your eyes meet Natasha’s through the projection, and you swallow.

“He’s gotta be the most well-protected guy on the planet,” Bruce says.

“That’s a suicide mission!” Clint cries.

“Which is why we’re all going,” Steve says, in that authoritative old man tone that shuts everyone up. “Banner’s right. It’s going to take all of us just to get a chance.”

“Pretty sure assassinating the Russian president is an act of war,” you say. “Number two in command is just gonna send those nukes up and point them straight at the Pentagon.”

Everyone is quiet for a moment. Then they turn towards Steve.

“Which is why I have a plan,” he says firmly.

You don’t like it one bit. Not one bit. Natasha, undercover for two weeks without comms. Clint posing as a diplomat. The rest of you hunkered underground, waiting for the right moment to invade the Kremlin. It’s almost recklessly risky. And yet, Steve has his full faith in it, which means the rest of you do too.

That night, Natasha holds onto you tightly. She’s terrified to go back there, regardless of what she says. It’s worse than going after one cell, or even the Red Room itself. It’s the man behind the curtain who’s been controlling it all.

“It’s going to go fine,” she murmurs, wrapping her arms around your waist and pulling you further into her.

“It is,” you say. You take her hands and press them into your sternum. You’d only succeeded in being the big spoon a couple times — never when she was stressed. So you stare at the wall. “I mean it.”

“Me too,” her breath fans against the back of your neck. “We’ve done harder things before, haven’t we?”

“Oh, absolutely,” you exhale. “I mean, aliens? AI? Bruce when he’s hungry?”

She laughs, and that eases some of the pressure on your heart. “Worst case, I’ll survive.”

“You always do.”

“I always do,” she smiles. “And best case, I take care of him, you get rid of the cabinet, and Steve slides in his new leader. And we get out of there and go to… I don’t know. The Dominican Republic.”

“The Dominican Republic?”

“Why not?” she kisses your shoulder. “A vacation. Moscow’ll be a pretty intense way to get back into the action. You’ll deserve a break.”

“I’ve been on a break for three months,” you snort.

“Oh come on, you don’t want a piña colada? Palm trees? White sand beaches?”

“Well when you put it like that,” you say, turning around to face her. “I guess we could go to the Dominican Republic.”

She smiles, tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “Promise?”

You could stare into the green of her eyes forever. “Promise.”

Not three weeks later, you sit staring at a computer screen in a bunker a hundred feet below Red Square. Tony sits to your left. There’s no point in watching the feed, since all of the cameras are outside of the Kremlin and Natasha walked in an hour ago, but you can’t help it. You feel powerless.

For ten days, Natasha has been Alina Konstantinovna Petrova, a middle-aged politician who just got back from a stint in Belarus. When she emerged wearing the nanotech mask for the first time, you genuinely didn’t recognize her. Her voice, her gait, her mannerisms — all changed. Sometimes you forget she’s the world’s greatest spy.

But with no comms and no tracker, all you have is your faith in that fact. Just your trust in her.

If she’s on schedule, she should be having tea with the Prime Minister, but really she could be anywhere, doing anything. There’s absolutely no way for you to know.

“You know,” Wanda sighs, tipping back in her office chair and tossing a tennis ball into the air. “I don’t think all of us had to be here.”

“Agreed,” Tony grumbles. “I was supposed to be at a gala right now.”

“Do you think-”

“Quiet!” Steve orders, narrowing his eyes at the screen. “Do you see that? Is that smoke?”

You lean closer. It is smoke, pouring out of a second-floor window, and it makes your stomach drop.

Steve taps into the emergency comms in Clint’s ear. “Is there a fire? What’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” Clint’s voice replies, hushed. “I don’t know, they put us into a ballroom. I don’t know where she is.”

“Shit,” Steve mutters.

“What do we do?” you ask, rising to your feet.

Steve grimaces. “If… if we make contact now, she won’t have a shot. It’ll all be for nothing.”

“The Kremlin isn’t usually on fire,” you snap.

“I’m sure she can handle it,” he glares back. His voice is dangerously quiet when he speaks again. “She knows what’s on the line here.”

But five minutes later, the smoke hasn’t stopped. It’s spread. Clint and the other diplomats are being evacuated.

You keep your eyes glued to the feed, scanning for Alina Petrova’s face among the crowd. She never emerges, but neither do the Prime Minister or cabinet. Maybe there’s a hidden exit.

Just when it seems like the fire is coming under control and the chaos is cooling, the cameras cut out.

You rush for the exit immediately, Tony and Steve right on your heels. Your entire body goes numb as you climb the ladder.

It’s probably fine, you think, hands squeezing the rungs too tight. The fire burned a power line, or the government stopped the footage to protect their image. She’s fine. She’s fine.

You heave the manhole cover out of place with your shoulder, hoisting yourself onto the street and ignoring the pedestrians who stare at you.

It’s absolute pandemonium. There’s a crater where half of the Kremlin used to be, and the other half is engulfed in flames. You sprint towards it.

Steve immediately shouts after you, but all you can hear is the rush of blood in your ears.

Maybe there’s a hidden exit. She had to have noticed the fire, she would’ve escaped, she would’ve made it out. She would’ve.

The police that are always stationed around the Kremlin make a border around it, though no one except you is trying to go towards the burning building.

“Ostanavis’!” they yell, but you hurdle their makeshift barricade.

If she was on schedule, she would’ve been on the east side, top floor. The heat doesn’t even register in your mind.

You root through rubble as fast as you can, barely noticing when Wanda and Steve join you in your search. Smoke stings your eyes and fills your lungs until you can barely choke out a breath.

There are heaps of ash that might’ve once been people, might’ve once been Natasha.

You climb trembling supports to get to the second floor: there are bones there, even fragments of medals and jewelry. The farther you get from the crater the less charred the bodies become. But you can only get so close to the live blaze, and none of the bodies are hers. The skin on your hands begins to blister from red-hot ash and metal.

At some point Steve pulls you away, ignores the way you claw at him and scream that you won’t leave her. The three of you (Tony, Bruce, and Rhodey had been wise enough to run away from flaming wreckage) end up in a Russian prison, charged as enemies of the state responsible for the fire and ensuing blast.

By the time the Department of Defense negotiates you out, you’ve convinced yourself that Natasha must’ve escaped. There’s no other option. She couldn’t die. If you didn’t find her, she couldn’t have been there. She must’ve gotten out.

But when you walk into SHIELD’s Moscow base, she isn’t there. It’s only Fury and Clint.

“Where is she?” you ask, rushing towards them. Everyone else seems to slip out of the room.

Fury’s eyes stay trained on you, swimming with something you don’t want to decipher. Your heart pounds against your chest

“Where is she?”

“She’s dead,” Clint says, his voice raw.

“No,” you respond immediately. “No, she isn’t.”

He closes his eyes.

No. You see a flash of her smile, of the jacket she loved. You feel the ghost of her touch on your face.

“I thought she faked it,” Fury says after a moment. “But… we made a deal a few years ago. If one of us faked it again we’d leave something behind so the other would know. A ring.”

You’ve never heard his voice so weak before. Somehow it’s scarier than anything else.

“But there was no ring,” he clears his throat. “Just this.”

He holds out his hand, opens it. The necklace you gave Natasha last year is bunched up on his palm, dark with soot. Your knees almost give out. She never takes it off, not to sleep or train or go undercover. She would never leave it behind.

Reality dawns on you like an awful black wave. Natasha is dead.

“I’m sorry,” Fury says, resting a hand on your shoulder. You can’t feel it. Every breath, every blink is manual now, every movement an act of will.

Worst case, I’ll survive.

You just want to hug her again. Just see her face one more time, knowing it’ll be the last. Suddenly a deep red rage fills your vision, and your muscles twitch to strangle whoever set the fire, whoever planted the bomb.

“There was no body?” you ask hoarsely. You can’t tear your eyes from the necklace.

Fury shakes his head. “Ash.”

A lump forms in your throat that won’t leave for weeks. You feel like you’re looking at everything through frosted glass, frozen in the moments that you just held. It’s like you’ve been caught in a spiderweb.

You don’t cry until you set foot inside her room at the compound. Everything is just how she left it, like she just stepped out. Like she’ll come back any second now.

The covers on her bed are rumpled.

You can’t wrap your kind around the fact that she could be gone, vanished into thin air, reduced to dust. That she’ll never touch anything again. You sit down on the floor and hug your knees.

For a few days you don’t eat; you don’t speak for longer. The gaping hole in your chest churns and twists in an agonizing way. Every night you dream of refusing Steve’s plan, or going up as soon as you saw the smoke, or doing anything except sitting idly while she burned alive.

You’re at Steve’s throat often enough that Tony kicks you both out of the compound. It’s not like either of you are of use, anyways. The others manage to channel their sorrow into work. You don’t.

Clint takes time off, too. Laura manages to convince you it’ll be good.

But with nothing to distract you, you feel the pain of every passing moment. Every minute that you get older and she doesn’t. You don’t want to have to think of a life without her in it.

Weeks or months into your dull gray blur of a life, someone knocks on your door. You hope it’s not Steve. You don’t know if it’s the season, but you could spring for a box of Thin Mints.

It’s not a girl scout. It’s Natasha.

Your eyes go wide; your face pales. Nanotech mask? Clone? “A-Are you real?”

She wheezes out your name, keeps her hands clutched to her side.

“Is it really you?” you ask, your eyes welling with tears and your hands trembling as you reach out to touch her.

“I missed you,” she breathes, her eyes roaming your face.

She has a black eye and a split lip. It’s her. You drink in the green of her eyes and the red of her hair and the softness of her face and you can’t keep the sobs from escaping. She crashes into your arms, ignoring the throbbing pain in her ribs. She smells like sweat and home.

Natasha is crying too, shaking, her face hidden in your chest. You close your eyes and tilt your head down to rest your lips on her head.

“You’re hurt,” you say when you remember how to speak.

She pulls away and kisses you deeply. It feels like God blessing you, even if it tastes like blood. She’s real. You don’t let go of her until she gently pushes you away.

“We should go inside,” she whispers.

You’re in a daze for half an hour, while you wrap her ribs and bandage the gash on her arm. She doesn’t leave your gaze for one second. When you’re finally satisfied that she won’t drop dead, you collapse onto the couch next to her.

She climbs on top of you, pulls you close.

“They were onto me,” she murmurs into your hair. “I had to escape, I couldn’t let them think I was alive.”

Anger roars in your chest. “I’m not losing you again.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“I’m going to kill them,” you growl, wrapping your arms around her securely.

“I’ll help,” she says, and you can hear the smile in her voice. “They’re probably coming here.”

“You were followed?”

“I wanted to see you,” she sighs. “I didn’t take all the precautions.”

You laugh and bury your face into the crook of her neck. “You think we can go to the Dominican Republic after?”

“I’ll break up with you if we don’t.”

[velvetm00light]

Damsel

gif: pinterest banner: @benkeibear, @mariariley, @haerinism

Chapter One of Save Me

Word count: 4.6k

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: You've managed to keep your feelings for your coworker, the one and only Dr. Spencer Reid, completely in the back of your mind. But, when an unsub attacks close to home, you quickly realize you're on your way to becoming a victim. As you fight the panic coursing inside you, you are also left fighting the emotions that arise when Spencer tries to comfort and protect you.

Warnings: Mentions sexual assault, murder, serial killer, domxsub, degradation, torture, stalking. In future parts, will mention vivid torture, PinV, oral, domxsub situations, grief, bondage, physical harm, kidnapping, etc.

A/N: My first attempt at Tumblr and writing on here! This one is going to be a bit of a dark one so read at your own risk. I'm mostly writing for fun but this one will have at least a few parts to it. :)

Your knees begin to ache as you continue to kneel on the hardwood floor in your bedroom. Strong, nimble hands grip your head, lacing fingers into your hair and yank it backwards. A silk blindfold covers your eyes, heightening the rest of your senes. You feel his hot breath mere inches away from your mouth as he speaks to you in a growl.

"Look at you, on your knees, begging for me like a slut." You let out a small whimper at this, rubbing your thighs together in an attempt to get any kind of friction between your legs. All you need is to release this pent up heat at your core, but he is hell bent on taking his sweet time with you.

"Beg." You flinch at the demand in his voice but you do as you're commanded. "Please, Sir...I need it so bad," you cry out. Your wrists struggle in the cold handcuffs that keep your hands bound together behind your back. You just want to touch him so badly, want him to touch you so badly.

He hums and loosens his grip on your hair. You're roughly lifted up from your arm and thrown on the bed. "On your back."

You quickly do as your told, unable to waste another moment wanting instead of getting. "Are you ready to take me like the good girl you are?" You groan your approval, bucking your hips greedily. towards him.

His hands gently reach behind your head to let the blindfold loose. You blink rapidly, your eyes straining to adjust to the bedroom light. You can feel his cock rubbing against your folds slowly.

Once your eyes adjust, you spot unruly, brown curls and a smirking face hovering over you. "Spencer, please.." you beg right before he-

Your phone is ringing ceaselessly on your nightstand as it breaks you out of your sleep. You sit up rapidly, dazed and confused after the intensity of your dream...your dream about your coworker. You rub your eyes with the palms of your hands and let out a sigh. You'll dive into the analysis of your dream eventually, just not right now or maybe you'll just try to forget about it and never think of it again.

You grab your phone and answer it without bothering to check who was calling in the first place. Ever since you began working for the BAU 2 years ago, the only friends you had, had the same demanding job as you. No matter what day or time your phone rang, 9 times out of 10, it was going to be work.

"Hello?" you answer sleepily.

"You sound worse than I did when Hotch called me," Penelope giggles on the other end. "I didn't bother trying to text you first because I knew I wouldn't get a response for approximately 3 business days and then I'd have to probably send a whole wellness check to your house to make sure-"

"I'm assuming we have a case?" You can't help but chuckle at Penelope's ramble.

"Yes, but prepare yourself for this one." Penelope's tone wakes you up more than your coffee normally does. Despite being at the BAU longer than you have, after just about every case you've brought Penelope a bottle of wine, some kind of home-baked sweet and sat on her couch the rest of the day or night in slippers and face masks.

At first, just about everything made you jumpy and queasy but now, there's not much you haven't seen. You've done a decent job at separating your personal and professional emotions - for the most part.

"Thanks for the heads-up, Pen. I'm sure I'll be okay." I reassure her, questioning what kind of case we could possibly have that would rattle me more than abducted children, kidnapped and beaten women, and just about every other sadistic thing you can think of.

You say your goodbyes to Penelope and prepare to head to the office.

You take your seat around the round table, JJ to your left and Morgan to your right, the 3 of you the only ones there so far. You lean towards JJ and lower your voice into a whisper.

"Have you heard anything about this case yet?" You ask.

"I'm pretty sure it's just some murders here in Quantico." She replies, her brows knitting together. "Why do you ask?"

"I'm not sure, I just...Pen called me this morning and told me to prepare. Did she say the same to you?"

"No, she didn't." You take your bottom lip between your teeth and sit back in your seat. Your mind began chasing itself in circles, making up different scenarios on why you would have to be the one to prepare.

Spencer is the next to come, taking a seat across from you. He gives you a friendly smile and he immediately jumps into conversation, asking you guys what you did this weekend and if you were interrupted when you got called. The memory of the dream you were interrupted from plays back in your mind and you feel the heat rising up your neck.

You play it safe and try to kill your heat with humor, per usual. "I was actually in the middle of a very great date with sleep," you groaned.

Morgan laughs next to you in that charming way of his that drives just about every human, no matter what's between their legs, crazy. "Me and Savannah finally got time together because she had a day off from the hospital. We had some dinner, a little wine, we got into bed and boom, phone rang."

We all laugh at Morgan's bad luck and JJ tells a similar story about her and Will, "We had just gotten the kids down too."

Suddenly, Hotch and Rossi enter the room, Garcia trailing behind with her computer in hand. "Sorry to keep you waiting everyone, you can begin, Garcia."

She gives a curt nod and wastes no time jumping into her spiel, providing pictures as always.

"Unfortunately, in our little home of Quantico, 4 bodies of young women have been found bound, brutally tortured, with evidence of..sexual assault." As she continues to add more pictures to the screen, you begin to realize something. You weren't the only one to realize it though when Emily blurts, "Well he's got a type, that's for sure."

"Yup, all women have the same hair color, eye color, even height." Garcia continues.

"You know, these women look kind of familiar..." Rossi begins, and as he begins to put the pieces together as you do, wide eyes begin to fall onto you.

"How tall are you, (y/n)?" Spencer asks matter-of-factly, as if he refuses to believe it's not just some extremely odd coincidence.

"5 foot 4." You reply, wringing your hands in your lap. The gazes of all your team members burn holes into you and you fight against the urge to sink into your chair.

"And each of these women were 5 foot 4?" Morgan asks, setting his gaze on the case file instead of you. "Yes, they were." Garcia confirms.

A nervous chuckle escapes your throat, "I mean, that's a coincidence, right?" No one immediately answers you which does nothing to help you feel any better.

"Until we know for sure, we need to be careful." Hotchner stated bluntly. "We know that with these kinds of unsubs their primary target is normally their worst, and their last."

You know he is right, but it seems almost ridiculous. You barely leave the house except to go to work, go to Penelope's, or get groceries. Why in the world would you be a serial killer's target?

"JJ, Morgan, I want you to talk to the families of these woman and see what you can find out. Their lifestyles, last contacts, places they were seen a few days leading up to their disappearances." JJ and Morgan nod, rising to action and disappearing out of the room.

"Prentiss and Rossi, check out the dump sites." Once Emily and Rossi leave the room to complete their duties, the room feels even more suffocating even though there's less people in it.

There is absolutely no way you can focus on finding a serial killer that has a preference for women just like you while working with Spencer, but it leaves Spencer and Hotch left as possible partners for this case.

"(Y/n), until we get more information, I want to be safe rather than sorry. This team has suffered enough so for now you will work with Spencer on the geographical profile."

With that, he stands and leaves me and Spencer in the room, alone.

It's almost too hard to bear so you immediately begin. "I'm going to print out a map so we can see his hunting and dumping zones," you explain quickly, leaving the room like a fire was just lit up your ass.

You enter an internal conflict of not wanting to waste time and therefore, endangering another women's life, but you also aren't sure if you're going to be able to handle being alone in close proximity with the coworker you had a literal wet dream about just a few hours ago.

You decide that a woman's life is more important than your own feelings and quickly make work printing and bringing back a map.

Once it's taped to the board, you and Spencer immediately get to work putting pointer tabs on the map, red for dumpsites, blue for abduction sites.

You both step back to allow yourselves the bigger picture. You can feel the heat radiate off of Spencer and you dare a quick glance towards him. His button-down sleeves are rolled up the elbows, his arms crossed against his chest, his finger running across his jaw. You can almost see the beautifully brilliant cogs in his head at work as you stare.

You're broken out of your trance when he suddenly moves closer to the map and draws a circle. "Most of the dump sites are within a mile radius of each other just outside of FBI territory, but the abduction sites are more scattered." His fingers lightly trace the map, pointing to each abduction site.

"Grocery store parking lot, park, apartment building.."

Your eyes widen as realization begins to sink in, this one being even more damning than just looking like the victims.

"Spence.." you breathe out. You move closer to get a better look at the map, ensuring you're not just creating something out of nothing.

"I've been to all these places before.." You say this so low, for a moment think he didn't even hear you.

"Actually, all of those sites are some of the most common places people go on a day-to-day basis. For example, 8.642 million people live in the state of Virginia and if you take the area of Quantico and surrounding areas -"

"Spencer, what days did these women get abducted?" You ask, your lip begins to quiver slightly as you push the panic down that is threatening to rise up inside you. You're hoping that this is all just some sick coincidence and you're not right about the theory you're about to put to the test.

"The first victim, Abby Reynolds, got abducted from the Walmart parking lot off 610 on the second. Laney Parker from Smith Lake Park on the fifth. Delaney Litz from Aquia Fifteen Apartments -" Your entire body freezes in absolute terror and Spence pauses. "What is it?"

"Spencer, I went to all of the places on those days and that apartment building...I live there."

His eyes widen as he stars at you in shock. "You're sure you went to those places at the same time?"

"Yes..I- I went to Walmart right after we got done our case on the second to get wine for me and Penelope, then on the fifth I took my nephew to Smith Lake Park because we had the day off and I felt guilty for being a terrible sister and never talking to my sister..." Tears threaten to spill across your cheeks but you internally chastise yourself to get a grip. This could all still just simply be a coincidence. A sick fucking coincidence.

Spencer immediately grabs his phone out of his pocket and calls Hotch. Spencer puts Hotch on speaker phone as the rest of the team is conferenced in.

"JJ, what did you guys learn from the families?"

"All 4 women were extremely work orientated, barely even found the time to buy themselves groceries and lived low-risk lifestyles."

You practically throw yourself into a chair at the round table, unable to control the trembling of your hands and the threat of your knees buckling beneath you. Spencer sets his phone down on the table and takes the chair in front of you. As the team speaks to one another, Spencer gently reaches for your hands and squeezes them, running his thumbs over the back of your hands in an attempt to comfort you.

He lets go of one hand and reaches over the table to mute the phone. "Do you want me to tell them, or do you want to do it?"

You honestly aren't even sure your brain is working correctly at this point. All you know is that you are in the safest place you can be, and you know your team wouldn't let anything happen to you. Spencer wouldn't let anything happen to you.

"You, please." You whisper. He nods and unmutes the phone.

"Guys, we found out something interesting while working on the geographical profile." He begins.

"Go on," Hotch urges.

"Well, first, all the dumping sites are within a 1 mile radius of each other right outside the FBI territory. I think he wants the bodies displayed and found, particularly by us." He slides his chair close to yours and stills your shaky hands with his. "Also, each woman was abducted from places (y/n) went to on those same days."

The line goes silent and it's almost enough to push you over the edge. Not only do you have to manage your own panic and fear, you have a whole team you brought this upon who now has to worry for a friends life and you can't help but feel guilty for it. "Prentiss, head back to the office. (Y/n), are you up for a cognitive?"

You gaze up at Spencer who gives you a comforting nod. "Y-yes. I can do that."

"I'll be there in 5," Prentiss calls out and the phone conference ends.

"Will you please stay with me? During the interview?" You manage to choke out. You try to fight the onslaught of emotions this situation suddenly thrust upon you.

"Of course. You're safe with me, with us. You know none of us would ever let anything happen to you. You're not alone." Spencer pulls you into a tight hug and you allow yourself to relax into him. It does nothing to ease the coursing emotions and terror you have within yourself. Seeming to sense that, he pulls away but keeps his hands on your shoulders. "You're safe," he coos, offering a small, comforting smile.

You attempt to return a smile of your own, but you can't help the nagging feeling in the pit of your stomach that there is a bottom to this whole iceberg that you guys haven't seen yet.

You take a seat on an uncomfortable metal chair in one of the interviewing rooms. "Do we really have to do this in here?" You sigh. Spencer stayed true to his word and pulled up a chair next to you. He placed a hand over yours, despite Emily being just across the table.

You almost allowed yourself to relax at the contact, but it only made your life a bit more difficult. Not only were you possibly being stalked and hunted by a brutal serial killer, but you also had a school girl crush on the one coworker who would likely never feel the same, and you would probably not confess to, even with your life in danger.

Emily laces her fingers together and winces. "I'm sorry, but yeah. You're considered a possible target now. You're involved on the opposite end of this case." Her honesty sent a shiver down your spine. You weren't sure you could handle someone sugar coating the danger you were in or the seriousness of this case, but the blunt honesty didn't make it any better easier.

"I'm just going to ask you simple questions. You're safe here, always remember that, (y/n)." I nod and close my eyes. I take Spencer's hand and squeeze it lightly. He squeezes back, his confirmation that he's there.

"You just got off the jet from a long case in Florida. What does it feel like outside?"

"Hot. Like I wanted to rip my clothes off." You can feel Spencer next to you tense at your comment and you squeezed his hand in flirt-reply but you were sure he would most likely not understand it.

"What did you do next?"

"I...I talked to Penelope. I called her when we landed while I walked to my car and I offered to come over to watch Illegally Blonde and bring wine."

"Focus on the carpark. Was there anyone just standing around? Any abnormal cars you didn't recognize?"

You tried to imagine the carpark at the tarmac. There were multiple floors, all used by different departments of the FBI. You were only really sure of the kinds of cars your close coworkers drove but there were probably hundreds of cars around as you walked through. "There's a lot of cars I don't know. I parked further away because I was running late and all the spots were full."

"Keep walking towards your car. Is there anyone just standing around?"

As I walk to towards my car, I swivel my head around, going over each small detail of my surroundings.

"There's a man in a suit with a briefcase but he's on the phone, talking to someone. I don't think he even knew I was there."

"Once you get in your car, is there anything abnormal? Does your car start the same way it always does? What do you smell?"

You rack your brain for the memory. You allow yourself to picture sitting in the car. "I think it smelt normal. Like my air freshener which I always change when it runs out."

Your air freshener hung from your rearview mirror, your steering wheel was in the same position you left it, and when you turned the car on, your car purred like normal. "Wait," you whisper.

"What is it?"

You feel Spencer's hand squeeze yours. "Normally, my phone automatically connects when I start it. I always play my music through my bluetooth and no one else's phone is paired so there should've been no reason for it to not connect."

"What did you do when you noticed your phone didn't connect?"

"I umm..I went into my settings to try to connect but then I saw my settings were basically clear edout. Like it was reset to factory settings."

"What did you do then?"

You take your bottom lip into your mouth and begin to chew as you allow the memory to play on. Spencer's hand brings you to Earth slightly and you let out a deep breathe and continue.

"I'm pretty sure I just paired it again...I thought it was weird, definitely, but I don't think I really thought much of it. No one was in my car or under, I always check. There wasn't any kind of van or large vehicle parked next to me. There wasn't anything else that made me feel in danger so I guess I just played it off like my car malfunctioned or something."

"Okay, are you alright to keep going?"

As the memory continues to play in your mind you begin to feeling the rising panic again. You're normally extremely vigilant, sometimes too much. Every sound and detail is always analyzed, you always make sure there's no danger around. You can't help but feel idiotic for missing it. Of course, you would never completely factory reset your car and you haven't taken it to get serviced in months.

As your breathing quickens, you fling your eyes open and blink back the tears forming. "I-I'm not sure. I feel...stupid. I should have noticed."

"You noticed everything else, though. You're not stupid. You checked for every other danger you could possibly think of, don't berate yourself for not thinking you were in danger because of something as simple as your phone not connecting. Almost no one would read into it any further than a vehicle malfunction." Spencer's hands were on your shoulders as he speaks to you, forcing you to stare at him.

"I'm a profiler, it's my job to read into things no one else does."

"You're human, (y/n). An intelligent human at that. Don't call yourself stupid." Spencer's tone almost makes you flinch, it sounds almost just like the dream you had...you shake your head to get the thought out and avoid his flamed gaze.

"I'm proud of you for getting this far," Spencer spoke softer this time, dropping his hands from your shoulders and taking your hand again. "You're brave."

"I'm brave," I repeat, taking a deep breath. "Let's continue."

After a grueling, multiple hour long cognitive interview, you're mentally drained. Remembering every detail about every day for the past few weeks has taken a toll on you. As you exit the interview room, Prentiss pats your shoulder and gives you a comforting smile. She then heads off to discuss your interview with the team probably, but Spencer doesn't budge from your side.

You pause in the hallway and Spencer looks down at you, concern lacing his features. "You did great in there," he started. "You really helped us, a lot."

"I really hope so. I'm too scared to go home, I don't even want to leave the BAU just in case he hacked my car..." Tears well up in your eyes once again but this time, you decide to let them slip. You're too exhausted and confused and scared to care about what Spencer might think of you crying in front of him.

He gently brings a hand up to your cheek and wipes a fallen tear from it. His hand lingers on your face and he suddenly brings it down to his side as if realizing that he was prolonging his contact.

"Thank you for staying in there with me." You look at him with teary eyes and try to plaster on a smile.

He only frowns back at you. "Of course, I didn't want you to go through it alone. You know you don't need to put on a fake smile for me. I can see through it anyway."

You blink at his words and take a relieving breath. It was nice to not be expected to be okay right now. "Now that I'm considered a target, am I not allowed to know what you guys know?" It was almost too much to bear, the thought of being kept in the dark when you were the one in danger.

"As much as Hotch might say you should stay out of it, I don't think it's fair. Knowing the information we do could possibly save your life."

The tight knot in your stomach uncoils slightly. It helps to know that even if things are kept from you, there is someone who would fight for you and probably tell you anyway.

"There you guys are, Hotch needs us in the conference room." JJ states, popping her head around the corner and disappearing just as quickly as she came.

Spencer places a gentle hand on the small of my back and leads me to the round table. You're grateful for this because you don't think you'd be able to keep yourself up and moving on your own.

As soon as you sit down, Hotch doesn't give you a moment to catch your breath before he begins. "Based on everything so far, our profile suggests that you're his endgame, (y/n)."

Your eyes widen but you're unable to even open your mouth to ask why.

Garcia speaks next and you whip your gaze to her as she fidgets with the fluffy pen in her hand. "I did some internet sleuthing, as I do, and I found something...extremely creepy." She pushes a button on the remote next to her and a website appears on the screen. The tension in the room becomes taut like a wire as an entire blog about you comes up on the screen. "It's anonymous, of course. But not for long, I will not let him get away with this." Garcia states angrily, as the different blog entries are scrolled through.

"She will belong to me even if it's the last thing I do."

"Such a selfish whore, parading around for me, basically asking for my attention and then pretending like I don't exist."

"I think she gets it, guys." Spencer snarls.

"(Y/n), do you have any idea who this guy is?" Morgan asks.

"I-I don't know. I rarely even go anywhere! I don't understand why I'm the target. What is so special about me?" You cry out, exasperated.

"There must have been an interaction, even a super brief, normal one you had with him." JJ points out.

"I don't remember anyone out of the blue coming up to me..."

"He most likely wouldn't have. You might have had to talk to him for any kind of reason, a cashier, a waiter, even someone who held the door open for you." Prentiss sighs.

"I don't think he would have worked at any of the places the women were abducted from. He's obviously got a large house, land, or somewhere to hold these women. He tends to hold them for around 2 days before dumping them and if he's stalking (y/n) in his free time, he's probably got a flexible job or no job at all." Morgan explains.

"Garcia, get a list of everyone that lives with their parents or took over their parents residence after they passed, especially those with farms, or land." Hotch orders.

"Also check for men who's parents might have owned buildings he can keep women in that are now abandoned like factories, mills, schools." Rossi chimes in.

Garcia nods and races out of the room and to her office.

"We've got to find a way to get this guy to come out of his hiding spot.." JJ hums.

"(Y/n)?" Hotch asks, his gaze noticeably softer. You're almost too afraid to answer, internally begging to just stay here, away from danger. "Yes?" You answer quietly.

"I wouldn't ask this if I thought we had other leads or ways to narrow down suspects...but we might need you to draw him out."

"Absolutely not!" Spencer jumps from his seat. The entire table falls silent at his outburst.

"It might be the only way of making sure other women don't get hurt, Spencer." Hotch reasoned.

"I don't care! You're putting her in danger!" Spencer roared, shoving his chair from behind him and pacing around the room. "You can't Hotch."

"It's okay," you croak out. If it means saving another woman's life, you're willing to make the sacrifice. You don't allow yourself to think about Spencer's outburst and why he could've possibly been so upset. You're just friends. He just cares about you because you're his friend, you tell yourself.

Spencer sits back down in his seat, his gaze unable to meet mine. "I can handle it," you lift your chin and straighten your back, faking a confidence you sure as hell don't have.

"Everyone meet back here in an hour and we'll discuss the details." With this, Hotch rises out of his seat and leaves the room. The others do the same, leaving you and Spencer by yourselves, still seated at the round table.

"I'm brave, remember?" You say, giving him a sad smile. He gives you an even sadder smile back. "Yes, you are." You can see him battling an internal battle with himself, his body almost shaking. "You'll be there to protect me, right?"

"Of course."

[the-griffons-saddlebag]

🛡 𝗡𝗲𝘄 𝗶𝘁𝗲𝗺! Whalefall Armor
Armor (half plate), very rare (requires attunement) ___ This armor is made of repurposed whale bone and lashed together with salt-stained leather strips. While wearing it, you have resistance to poison damage and gain a swimming speed equal to your walking speed. If you're underwater, you also have advantage on any Wisdom (Animal Handling) or Charisma check you make to interact with beasts that have a swimming speed. 𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙜𝙚𝙨. The armor has 5 charges for the following properties. It regains 1d4 + 1 expended charges daily at dawn. 𝙎𝙥𝙚𝙡𝙡𝙨. While wearing this armor, you can use an action to cast one of the following spells (save DC 16): "false life" (2nd-level version, 1 charge), "insect plague" (4 charges; the insects appear as a massive swarm of rotting quippers), or "stinking cloud" (2 charges). 𝘽𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙠𝙪𝙟𝙞𝙧𝙖. While wearing the armor, you can use an action to speak its command word and expend any number of charges from the armor, including 0, to summon the spirit of the whale used to make its bone plates. The spirit appears in an unoccupied space that you can see within 30 feet of you. It uses the statistics for a killer whale, except that it's undead, is immune to poison damage and the poisoned condition, and has a flying speed equal to its swimming speed. It obeys your mental commands to the best of its ability (no action required by you), and takes its turn immediately after yours. If you don't issue any commands, the spirit defends itself from hostile creatures, but otherwise takes no actions. The spirit disappears in a cloud of marine snow after 1 minute. It disappears early if you use an action to dismiss it or if it's reduced to 0 hit points. When the spirit disappears, roll a d10. If the result is equal to or less than 5 + the number of charges you expended as part of the action to summon it, it disappears as normal, and the property can't be used again until the next dawn. If the result is higher than that number, the spirit becomes hostile to you; it remains for 1 additional minute, can't be dismissed, and immediately regains half its maximum number of... ... Continued in the comment below! ___ ✨ Patrons get huge perks! Access this and hundreds of other item cards, art files, and compendium entries when you support The Griffon's Saddlebag on Patreon for less than $10 a month!

[liesmyth]

locked tomb characters ranked by how cringe they are

because this post by @wifegideonnav reminded me that they’re all losers, but some are even more losers than the others

Hot Sauce: 1/10. This girl is cool in all possible ways and definitely future lead researcher material. No cringe, zero notes.

Pyrrha: 2/10. By far the least cringe of The Olds. Yes her nicknames for Nona have dad joke energy but she’s very earnest about it and it’s cute.

Juno Zeta: 2/10. Total MILF. Very smart and should know better than to get flirty with We Suffer, but I get it.

Marta Dyas: 3/10. A complete badass with a very sensible outlook on avoiding unnecessary forms. Call me Judith because I would also make a pass at her at the first possible chance.

Commander Wake: 3/10. She made Pyrrha fall in love with her, seduced ever-loyal G1deon into hatefucking and galvanized a dying resistance movement. She was genuinely nice to Gideon those 3 seconds they interacted in passing! Then she had to go and hide under the bed of a mentally ill teenager.

Dulcinea: 4/10. Her horniness for revenge is epic. Let down Pal as nicely as she could and managed to outwit Cytherea when it mattered. Not cringe at all.

Camilla: 4/10. Yes, she could kill you in seconds but she did once sell cigarettes, her most liquid asset, for about a third of their market value.

Alecto: 4/10. Scary eldritch woman-shaped creature with a sword, comes highly recommended by Pyrrha Dve. Loses points for confusing Middle English and thinking John was the best possible Sailor Earth when he was clearly the worst.

G1deon: 5/10. Utterly willing to burn for what he believes in. Yes, he probably needs some perspective but he made sure the baby had enough air before kicking Wake out of the airlock and Matthias Nonius thinks he’s an okay dude.

Pash: 5/10. She has that freedom fighter swag and the cool hair but she is a terrible bodyguard coasting on nepotism, sorry to say.

Palamedes: 6/10. He didn’t clock the serial killer pretending to be his ex because he was too busy going to painfully extreme lengths to avoid interacting with her.

Naberius: 6/10. My controversial opinion is that Babs is the least cringe of the Third House throuple. Yes he looks and acts like a peacock but he puts up with Corona snacking on him for no reason and is still nice to her, and gives Ianthe solid romantic advice.  

Nona: 6/10. Cringe in the unselfconscious way of a young teenager, and put this ability to use making Pal fess up to his nurse kink. She will never be cool but it’s part of her appeal.

Mercymorn: 7/10. Speaks in onomatopoeias. She knows she is insufferable so she’s gonna do her best to make sure to be the most insufferable person in every room. Once called John Gaius “the best man I who ever lived” to his smug face and not even blowing him up later makes up for that.

Ianthe: 7/10. Looks like a wet rat. Hopelessly dramatic but she pulls it off. Declares her love for Harrow at every turn in the most transparent possible way then pretends she’s just being snarky. Some cool points for actually getting shit done

Coronabeth: 7/10. Terrible taste in love interests. Her freedom fighter era was hot but she thinks pompadour hair is a good look? Also, the way she spent her whole life lying about necromancy speaks of extreme conflict avoidance. Cringe move.

Judith: 7/10. She deserved to suffer and has suffered more than she deserves. It’s cringe how she clings to her imperialist brainwashing but she gets a point for rightfully understanding she should be wary of Corona, something Ianthe still can’t even grasp.

Ortus: 7/10. Yes he quotes his own epic poetry WIP at people but he also had to grow up on the Ninth with nothing better to do. Genuinely a very nice guy.

Cytherea: 8/10. Her unhinged vibes are very hot but she killed a couple of nerds and two teenagers instead of anyone who was actually dangerous. Cringe of her!

Silas: 8/10. Smarmy cloud-looking motherfucker. He is a child Pope and I guess he can’t help the inherent cringe of the Eight. But that’s still no excuse for bringing a portrait of John all the way to Canaan House just to hang it in your bedroom, dude.

Gideon: 8/10. Babygirl is a horny virgin with the vocabulary of a nerd. Harrow is bones over tit in love with her and she fails to notice after living in Harrow’s brain for eight months. Gets points for managing to maintain impressive biceps on a diet with no protein.

Augustine: 9/10. Extremely cringe because of how hard he tries to pretend he’s not cringe. Cigarettes on a space station and effectively performing swag don’t make up for how much he clearly wants to suck John’s dick. Which he did at least twice.

Harrow: 10/10. Spent most of her life being mean to Gideon because she was too hot to deal with and lobotomized a coffee shop AU into existence. Thinks Ianthe Tridentarius is beautiful. Once built a bone cocoon to sleep in after not drinking water for two days. Should’ve told God months ago that she just didn’t want to eat his fucking biscuits and stop offering.

John: 10/10. Unfortunately, this scale only goes up to 10 but we all know it’s not enough. Deeply cringe in a myriad of ways, chiefly among them the way he inflicts his barely veiled incest kink on all his friends. That one dad joke was gold, though.

This was getting too long but for the record: Aiglamene is cool and so is Abigail Pent. Magnus is not cool but he’s a fun time. The Terrible Teens are exempt from judgement on account of being 14.

[redtsundere-writes]

Tyrant's Favorite | Sukuna Ryomen

Part 10: Killers

King!SukunaRyomen x Servant!FemReader

Summary: You used to be just another servant among the army of humans operating under the command of the terrible king, Sukuna Ryomen. An ordinary human who only knows how to wash, clean and cook. Until one day, he notices something in you that you hadn't seen before.

Tags: MDNI. +18. Murder. Blood. Cannibalism. Sukuna Ryomen Is The Warning Itself. Nudity. Sexual Display. Vaginal. Fingering.Sometimes fluff, sometimes angst.

Word Count: 4854 words.

Beginning. | ← Previous | Next →

You faithfully believed that King Sukuna's castle was the darkest place on earth. Not even the caves in the hidden mountains or the depths of the ocean were as dark as the place that has been your home for the past 365 days. Furniture stained in black varnish, complex undiscovered passages and tinted windows that didn’t allow the sun to enter. There were corners forgotten by everyone and in absolute darkness. Sukuna and Uraume were already used to it, since this castle had been here for the past 500 years, but the servants despised it completely. Especially in winter, when the sun is not so intense, it is freezing cold, and they must walk everywhere with a candlestick in hand to avoid tripping over something hidden in the shadows. In addition, every morning they had to make sure that all the torches were lit, one more task in their repertoire of responsibilities. Despite all the attempts to dimly light the place from the inside, there were always places that the servants feared to enter. 

Kenjaku entered the library at 10 o'clock as usual. He trusted that you would be sitting by the window while reading something as he arrived, but that wasn’t the case. His sight checked the perimeter, there was no sign of you. “Is she with the king?” he questioned as he left the library. This was out of your character. He began to patiently search for you among the corridors. His first instinct was to head for King Sukuna's office. To his surprise, neither the king nor you were there. His second stop would be your room. His calm, subtle footsteps made their way discreetly to one of the most opaque areas of the castle. The spiral staircase that led to your room was not well lit. It was covered in concrete walls and was so narrow that there were no torches to illuminate the passage. 

Your teacher found you sitting at the foot of the first step while reading a heavy book with the help of a small candlestick. The only thing that made the seat slightly more comfortable was the red carpet that decorated the center of the stairs. A heavy fungi encyclopedia hung over your legs, revealing some hand-drawn pictures of different types of edible mushrooms. You remembered how your mother always made sure you didn't pick any poisonous mushrooms for dinner because you might accidentally kill someone. 

You missed the woman who used to be your mother. Despite being a greedy woman who wanted to live her dreams through her daughters, she used to be someone who cared about them being good people and knowing how to defend themselves from the dangerous world around them. She used to be a woman of strong character who would not let anyone make fun of her or her convictions. A dedicated mother who lovingly scolded them so that they would always be the best versions of themselves and stay out of trouble. It was a shame that you no longer knew the woman you once loved. Her image passed away along with your father’s. 

You had been thinking the last few days about the easiest way to create an almost odorless and tasteless poison so that anyone could consume it without problems. Mushrooms were the first thing you thought of. All that remained was to know what kind you had to use to make the first attempt a success and where to get it. Maybe you could ask Uraume or Kenjaku to bring you some, since you were not allowed to leave the castle, but they could. Sukuna ordered you to kill someone, but he did not forbid you to ask his servants for help in doing so. 

“Are you lost?,” Kenjaku greeted you with a friendly grin. “What are you doing here?”

“Today is harvest day,” you answered with a sad look on your face before turning the page. 

It was finally the first anniversary since your mother sold you as a servant, met Mrs. Inoue and sworn allegiance to the terrible king. It was also the anniversary of the death of that little nameless boy whom you could not protect that terrible morning. Even though you kept telling yourself that what happened was not your fault, you still felt a heavy weight of guilt on your back. You could have done more, shouted more, fought more, but you didn't. He was taken from you. They snatched him out of your hands and murdered him right under your nose. There wasn't a week that went by that you didn't remember him and feel your heart shrink. 

“The library window overlooks the parade ground. I don't want to see a live slaughter,” you explained before closing the book and hugging it to your chest in a failed attempt to comfort yourself. 

You remembered that day as if it had been yesterday. You never thought you would see so many pools of blood, hear desperate screams and feel the icy terror coursing through your veins in your entire life, let alone just one. What you thought would be a casual day turned out to be your welcoming to your definition of hell on earth. Sometimes you had nightmares about what the day of your death would be like. Sukuna murdering you without a second thought for not keeping your word, breaking something of value or, worse, not giving him a son. The thought of failing terrified you, but the thought of failing at something you couldn't quite control was far, far worse. 

“Genocide,” Kenjaku corrected you. You looked at him quizzically, confused as to what he meant. “It's not slaughter, it's genocide,” he explained with a smile. You nodded as you understood that he was expanding your vocabulary. “I think it's a good opportunity for you to get used to death.” 

“I don't want to get used to it, I don't want to become...” You couldn't finish the sentence as you realized what you were about to say. 

“A monster like the king?” Kenjaku asked you with a raised eyebrow. 

“No, I was going to say 'a killer’.” Now you were the one who corrected him. “Of the few good qualities I have, being a pacifist is one of them. I can't imagine missing that piece of myself.” 

“You know you're about to marry one, don't you?” He asked you seriously. 

“That doesn't mean I should become one, does it?” You answered with another question.

“He who kills the cow sins as much as he who grabs its leg,” Kenjaku quoted with an air of wisdom while patting you on the head as if he was saying, “Poor little innocent thing.” 

His mouth was spitting facts, and you hated it when he was like that. Even though you had become his servant against your will, you could always decide to commit suicide to avoid being part of a heartless tyrant's macabre plans. A truly good person would rather die than kill someone else. If you married Sukuna, it meant you were on the same level as him. Maybe you weren't as good as you thought you were. You sighed and hid your face in your hands. 

“Marriage is about making sacrifices. Are you ready to sacrifice that part of yourself for him?” Your teacher asked you while stroking your hair. 

You weren't ready, not at all. You weren't doing all this because the idea of marrying a man-eater delighted you. Even though you respected that part Sukuna showed you in private, he was still a curse with a merciless heart. You would only marry him because you didn't want to disobey him and lose your life. Even though you were living in a constant hell, you didn't have the courage to just detach yourself from him in an attempt to go to heaven. You might end up in real hell. 

“Have you killed someone?” You asked him, pulling your head out of his hands.  

“Of course. You're looking at one,” Kenjaku answered with a proud smile. 

Your eyes expanded and roamed over the body of the acquaintance you now considered strange as your master detached his skull to show you his true form. Your chest tightened as you discovered your teacher's true form. A brain with a sinister row of teeth. You couldn't believe that the handsome man in front of you was a mere puppet, a living corpse. You felt so bad for the person whose body Kenjaku had taken from you. 

“How can you do that?” You asked him in a stutter, still processing what you had seen.

“Kill someone?” Kenjaku wanted to confirm the question before putting his hair back on. Although he didn't mind his appearance, he understood that you might find it strange. You nodded in fright. “Just do it,” he simply replied. 

“I wish it was that easy,” you sighed. 

“Why don't you start with something easier?” Kenjaku asked you. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Today is the harvest, isn't it? You'll see Sukuna kill a lot of people. You will be able to watch how he simply does it, maybe this way you will get a little confidence to see that it is not as difficult as you think,” he advised you with a smile. 

But that smile no longer transmitted that warmth and companionship that you liked so much, now it was sinister and with double intention. What you thought was a normal man had become a beautiful memory that had been replaced with a talking brain. Now the idea of dying did not terrify you so much, you were more terrified of dying and having your body used with terrible intentions. What a terrible fate. 

King Sukuna was ready to start choosing who would be the new servants to join the castle. Even though his only job was to kill useless people and sit in the comfort of his throne, he still found it tedious and boring at times. Killing people in one cut for him is as simple as cutting a piece of paper with a pair of scissors. Amidst the gloom provided by the veils, he settled into his stately seat and yawned. “How much longer will they make me wait?” he wondered. Uraume had informed him that the number of people had increased by 30% since last year, which meant that this time he had to take care of more useless parasites. 

The faint sound of the door to his left brought him out of his thoughts. He arched an eyebrow when he saw you slowly entering the room. You looked more nervous and shy than usual, looking down at the floor in case you had already killed someone. Your yellow dress trailed softly against the marble floor until you reached the curtains that sheltered the king. Seeing him so close brought back memories. 

For him too. He couldn't believe it had been a whole year since he first saw you. A beggar he thought he would kill instantly when he saw the lousy state you had arrived in. Malnourished, dirty and with dried tears on your cheeks. You just screamed “unseemly” with your appearance. She was glad she had given you a chance. You looked like a completely different person now. If I had known you as you currently look, I would even think you were a princess from a family rotten in gold. 

“What the fuck are you doing here? You should be in class,” Sukuna scolded you with a stern tone even though on the inside he liked to see you. 

“Kenjaku told me that to get used to death, I must see it. He said it would help me to be able to kill someone like you asked,” you explained as you looked around. The room looked glittering. The massacre had not yet begun. You didn't know if you had arrived at the right or wrong time. 

“Is that what he said?” He asked skeptically. You nodded as you returned your gaze to his four eyes. “Not a bad idea….” He thought aloud as he scratched his chin. 

Not only will you get used to seeing him in action, you'll also become familiar with the new servants. Plus it was a great excuse to spend time with you alone. It was true that they had started archery lessons a couple of days ago, but he was so busy that he sometimes relegated that task to Kenjaku. It bothered him, but he would never admit it, not even to himself. 

“All right. Come closer then.” 

You didn't really want to, but you were already there. You stepped through the translucent fabrics until you finally faced him. You were planning to stand next to him while you watched everything, but Sukuna had other plans. He yanked you up by the waist to make you sit on his lap. Her hands gripped your body to hold you in place. It was lucky they were in the shadows because you didn't want Sukuna to see how flushed you were. It was as if every time they met, he tried to get closer to your body and each time he was more and more direct. You could hear your own heart beating like crazy from the illusion, but that couldn't be right. 

“You better not do anything stupid, you understand?” He growled in your face. You turned your face away at the intimidation. “You know what will happen if you do.” You swallowed dryly before nodding quickly.

The servant arrived with the first group. A group of helpless old men moving feebly towards their certain death. Sukuna snorted in annoyance at the worthless humans that had been brought to him. Once the servant formed them up, he fled from the room. With his left hands, the king grabbed the back of your neck and cheeks to get your attention to the scene that was about to unfold. Your body froze at the strong grip. You wanted to close your eyes, but panic forbade you to do so. 

Sukuna raised two fingers towards them and cut off their heads in one motion. You shrieked at the sight of their lives being snatched away in a heartbeat. You could never do something like that. You didn't have the heart to do it. You didn't know these people or the sins they had committed throughout their lives, but you were sure they didn't deserve it. You closed your eyes and swallowed the lump in your throat. This was your new life. No, this was already your life, and you still hadn't adjusted. Sukuna watched as you held back the urge to cry. Your lower lip trembled more than the rest of your body. He pulled you tighter to his body in an attempt to comfort you. He would never change who he was for you, but he could help you understand why. 

You had enough, but people kept coming through that door. You didn't know how many people had arrived, so you didn't know how many times Sukuna would repeat the same pattern. Cut after cut, clean every time he did. So far, only a few had survived. You always ended up closing your eyes no matter how hard you tried to keep your eyes in front of you. You opened your eyes as soon as you heard the footsteps of other people entering the room. The maid, a tall man, a shorter one, a little old lady who could barely walk, a man without an eye and... “No way...” you thought as you saw the last person in line. You'd recognize her long brown hair, slender figure and devil-minded angel face anywhere. 

The need to shout some warning at her burned your throat. You wanted to do it more than anything else in the world, but you knew Sukuna would keep his promise if you went against his will. Unruly tears that you couldn't stop before escaped wildly down your cheeks. Your eyes were glued to that face you never thought you would see again. “She's not... She shouldn't be here... What the fuck happened?” you thought, trying to convince yourself that this was a horrible nightmare. You didn't want to accept reality. You didn't want to accept that your little sister was in the same position you once were in.

“5…” 

Sukuna started counting down as he had done in the previous round, just like that first day. Yorozu looked lost, as if she didn't fully understand what was going on. She looked from side to side indifferently. She would never bow down. You knew her like the back of your hand. She would never bow to anyone, even if her life depended on it, like this instant. She was always a rebel who didn't care about anyone or anything. You had to do something to prevent it, but what exactly could you do? You couldn't save an innocent child, how would you save a girl who goes against everything? Any of the ideas you had would only result in the death of both of them, but something had to be done. You weren't going to stand idly by.

“2…” The king counted aloud as he stroked your back. 

The quick memory of that little boy's mutilated body came to your mind.  You tightened the skirt of your dress as you cried your last tears silently. You didn't want to, rather... You weren't going to let the same story repeat itself again. You took a deep breath before you did the stupidest thing in your life. It might kill me, but that didn't matter anymore. If you died, you would be protecting your little sister. 

Sukuna was about to say the one when you hugged him by the neck and pulled him close to your body. The king was paralyzed by the sudden act, so much so that he forgot what number he had been left with. His heart began to pound like crazy and his face had turned into a tomato. Your body was warm to the touch, and he liked the pressure you exerted against him to hold him as close as possible. Even though you were shaking like jelly in an earthquake, you were doing the right thing. You hid your face in his neck as you sobbed. 

“I beg for mercy. That is my sister. Please don't kill her.” You begged him between sobs. Hoping that your position as a future wife would help you survive this one.

Sukuna noticed the girl at the end of the line, the only one who seemed to be close to your age. She was tall, had silky hair that reached her waist and had merciless eyes, as if she didn't mind being in a room surrounded by corpses and blood. It seemed that indifference ran in her family. For a second you wondered if she was really your sister. You could tell they were completely different. If you had turned out to be a good worker and were from the same family, the odds were high that your sister was too, despite the personality. Sukuna was patiently considering it while enjoying the warmth of your body next to him. 

“Please take pity on her life. I will do anything,” you begged desperately. 

“Anything?” Sukuna looked at you curiously out of the corner of his eye. 

“Whatever your heart desires, I will do it, but leave my sister out of this,” you sobbed. Sukuna nodded slowly with a wicked smile. 

The sound of Sukuna's slashes echoed in your ears and your heart stopped... until you heard Yorozu scream in panic. You turned to see her covered in blood, while her body trembled in fear at the sight of all the fresh bodies beside her. The important thing was that she hadn't received a scratch. Begging for her life had miraculously worked. You wiped away your tears without caring about ruining the makeup that Mrs. Inoue had applied to you in the morning. 

“I'll let you know what I want later. For now, get her out of my sight.” Sukuna reluctantly dictated. 

“Thank you, thank you very much, my king,” you said with a faint smile before jumping off the seat to run to your sister. 

You detached yourself from his body to get out from between the curtains. Yorozu was perplexed to see you emerge so animated from the shadows where a terrible looking king was supposed to be sheltering from the light. You ran to her with open arms and tears of joy streaming down your cheeks.

“Yorozu!” You exclaimed before hugging her tightly. She was so perplexed that she was slow to return the embrace. 

“You're alive!” She exclaimed once she understood the situation. 

A year ago you had disappeared from their lives. One morning, Yorozu, Nanako and Mimiko woke up, and you were not in bed with them. The only thing you had taken with you was your brown dress and a basket of food. You left no letter, note, or indication that you would return. Their mother told them that you ran away and left them to seek a better life without them. Your sisters did not believe her at all. She knew your heart and your strong morals, you would do anything to keep them safe. Even though they knew you would never leave them willingly, they knew you would not come back, so they thought the worst. 

“Come, we need to talk,” you asked her before pulling her by the arm. 

You took her out to the hallway and closed the door behind you as fast as possible so as not to disturb the king. Yorozu looked at you from head to toe. One of his theories as to your disappearance was that his mother sold you to King Sukuna as a servant, but you didn't look like one. Your body was carefully decorated with the finest fabrics and gems. Never in his life did he think he would ever see you looking as radiant as you do now. She was even envious to admit that you looked better than her, since now she was the one wearing the ugly and dirty dress. 

“Nice dress,” she said as she looked at the flowers decorating the corset of the dress.

“That's not important now. What are you doing here?” You asked her before taking her by the shoulders to look her in the eyes. 

“The same thing that happened to you. Mom sold me,” Yorozu complained, annoyed, remembering how her mother had dragged her out of bed with the excuse that they were going to the market. 

“But why? You were the one with the best chance of marrying a rich man. You were the favorite. Mom wouldn't sell you just for the sake of it,” you demanded an answer. You were silent when you realized what you had said. Your mother would not sell her for any reason. “What did you do?” 

“The winter ball in the Gojo kingdom was last week. Mom got really mad at me because I wouldn't dance with King Satoru. That's what happened,” Yorozu explained without making a big deal out of it. 

“Are you serious?!” You looked at her, surprised. Your little sister nodded, equally disappointed. “Are you mad?! Isn't King Satoru supposed to be the most beautiful and richest man in the world!?” You scolded her while shaking her by the shoulders. 

“I don't want to be with a prettier man than me,” Yorozu shrugged. You dropped your head as you couldn't believe what she was saying. “This is the Yorozu I know,” you thought. 

Even though Yorozu had high charisma being a ridiculously beautiful girl, she still hadn't married. That was because she had ridiculously high standards. Ever since she was a child, she would reject all the boys who hit on her because she wouldn't settle for less than what she asked for. Yorozu's ideal future husband must be tall, handsome, rich, robust, strong, funny, attentive, a good hunter, a good leader, who would give her everything she asked for, who was obsessed with her and had a great dick to please her with. She could have great charisma, but she was just as greedy as her mother.

“How are Mom, Mimiko and Nanako doing? Tell me they are fine,” you asked her. 

“They are there, that's what matters,” your little sister answered indifferently. 

“Yorozu!” You scolded her. 

“What?!” Yorozu exclaimed in annoyance. “They're fine, but not for long. Nanako and Mimiko are still too young to get married. I don't know how mom will support them once they run out of money,” she explained as she crossed her arm. 

She was right and it was terrible. Your younger sisters were barely ten years old, but your mother would do anything to fulfill her ill-fated dream. Maybe instead of selling them to Sukuna, she would arrange a marriage for them to a nefarious but filthy rich man. You had to find a way to help your little sisters, but your options were limited since you couldn't leave the castle. Something would come to you soon, first you had to make sure of Yorozu's safety.

“Nice dress,” Yorozu flattered again. 

“That doesn't matter,” You said again while thinking. 

“Of course it matters! How can you, a filthy maid, wear a dress like that?!” Yorozu yelled in your face. 

At the annoying noise, the doors opened wide, revealing a terrible six-foot curse that was quite annoyed. You gasped in shock and stood next to Yorozu. You bowed and forced your little sister to do the same, pulling her head to the same height as you. Yorozu was annoyed, but did not resist.

“What’s all this about?!” Sukuna yelled mad as he saw how you forced your sister to bow. 

“I’m so sorry, my king. She is just shocked,” you tried to excuse her. 

“Take her with the rest of the servants and cut the noise. Don't make me regret pitying her life.” Sukuna scoffed. 

You nodded submissively and pulled Yorozu with you to follow the hallway. Yorozu looked back to get a better look at the much rumored King Sukuna. Just a simple glance made a flirtatious smile appear on her face. A monster of almost human appearance, tall, strong, robust build and, most importantly, stupidly rich for being the king of a great nation. He was terrifying and she loved it. It was just what she was looking for. Yorozu greeted him in a friendly manner as they walked away. Sukuna raised his eyebrow in confusion at the strange attitude of his future sister-in-law.

“What’s going on?” Yorozu asked you as you pulled her to where the other servants were.

The same room where you waited to be given your uniform. The atmosphere was worse than you remembered. A tired and worn-out energy was felt in the air. The long faces, the terrified murmurs, and the intrusive thoughts were frightening. If the room was already dark, it was now blackened. Yorozu looked at the old men in disappointment before answering him.

“I have a lot to tell you, but that will have to wait,” you pulled her by the shoulders to get her attention. “The summary is that I used to be a servant until Sukuna asked me to be his wife so that I can give him an heir. I begged for your life so that he wouldn't kill like the others,” you explained quickly.

“Are you going to become a queen?” Yorozu looked at you, surprised.

“If I do everything he asks me, yes,” you answered. “That's why you must keep a low profile and do everything the leader of the servants asks you to do. Don't make me look bad, I beg you”

“What?! Why do I have to be a servant?!” Yorozu exclaimed, annoyed.

“Lower your voice” You asked her while you looked at the other old men, clearly offended by the reaction.

“Can’t I be a princess or something?!” You grumbled unwillingly.

“Just wait until I marry the king, and I’ll take care of it. For now, you just have to cooperate,” you asked patiently.

“Ugh, but I was never as good at cleaning as you, and you know it,” Yorozu complained again.

“Well, you’ll have to if you want to survive here,” you threatened her to get her to listen to you. Quickly, you noticed Uraume approaching you. “Just do everything she asks of you without complaining, please,” you whispered to Yorozu. Your little sister rolled her eyes, but finally agreed before entering the room with the other new servants.

“Promise me that I won’t be a maid forever,” Yorozu asked you, stopping at the entrance.

“I’ll do my best,” you promised her.

Yorozu looked at you over one last time and reluctantly entered the room. “It’ll be fine. Just focus on killing someone for now, and then I’ll take care of giving Yorozu a good life.” You planned your next move before leaving her alone with the old folks to head back to the library to ask Kenjaku for a favor.

Next →

Open fanfic commissions!

Masterlist.

[shanastoryteller]

Happy Hanukkah! FMA?

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15

Major Armstrong is her commander and her friend and she thinks that if he'd told her to part the sea then it would have been a more reasonable order than the last one he gave her.

Protecting Edward is more than a full time job and she's not even good at it. Maybe it's more of a religion. Most people aren't good at those either.

She and Denny take turns. One to stay with and sleep in front of Ed, the other to guard the door. A structure of glass rather than cloth at least means that no one's forcing their way in without them noticing.

Ed's been out with a fever for almost two days. It's not uncommon, and in fact is becoming more and more common that she and Denny have had several conversations about sending a missive to the general about it, but it means until he comes out of it they're on their own.

Everyone knows how possessive Ed is of them. Everyone knows how he has them act in his name and lets them use his authority and how very, very pissed off he would be if they were ignored. It's the only protection he can give them when he's dead to the world.

It means they can turn away superior officers and ignore orders and a host of other things that could them court martialed or killed in wartime.

But that only does them any good if the person in question has a healthy fear of the power and authority of the Fullmetal Alchemist.

"Riza," she greets, spine straight, hand already on her gun like that will do her any good. She'd have a bullet between her eyes by the time it was half raised.

"Maria," she returns, eyes dark. She's in fatigues and Maria can't see a gun in her hand but that doesn't mean shit. "I don't want to hurt you."

"You don't understand," she says, trying not to plead.

"He's a monster," Riza says.

He's not, and even if he was, "Look around, Riza. Look in a mirror, for fuck's sake."

That gets her a flinch, at least.

But then there's a gun in Riza's hand and Maria opens her mouth to shout a warning to Denny, so maybe he can be something other than one more body between Edward and his killer.

She doesn't get the chance.

[venesins]

Lonesome West: Random Ideas

Just gonna drop these before I forget in the morning lmao

Since Dream represents exploration, and the bravery/courage it requires, being around him for an extended period of time would cause someone to become fearless and/or have less restraints when it comes traveling into the desert or mountains. Think of it as hubris. When he was young, Dream didn’t know he had this lingering effect on the people around him (due to the fact Nightmare was there to balance it out) and it only became obvious after his and Nightmare’s separation. People he cared for and would spend the majority of his time around would ignore warnings when traveling and usually meet their end in gruesome ways. Ever since he’s realized what effect his presence has on others he’s taken to distancing himself in subtle ways: taking long missions in far-off towns that Blue could have easily done himself, excluding himself from his return parties under the guise of fatigue, etc. It’s hard for him to form relationships with others this way as he fears they will eventually end up like his companions so long ago.

Nightmare, since he represents the wild, has some semblance of control over majority of the wild-life. Bounty hunter that’s getting overly curious over his and his gangs’ location? Enjoy the rattlesnake that snuck into your tent. Going hunting in the forest near their campsite? Watch out for the 10-point buck behind you! He gets a kick out of it really. It’s less of a mind-control ability and more intent focused, surprisingly he’s an animal guy and gives them the choice to follow through with his commands. (just don’t catch him petting the doe that showed up right before they were about to pack up and leave, you might find a scorpion in your boot the next day)

Dust and Axe like to sell their own individual creations at the markets. Dust sells carved knives, polished figures, etc. while Axe sells hides and other leather works. (Killer helps supply him with the hides since he has a better aim when hunting) Occasionally, this veiled figure buys Dust’s entire stock and they’ve become a sort of client for him: Dust still doesn’t know how they figure out which market he’ll be at every time.

[reidsaurora]

"Trick, No Treat" ~ D. Morgan

Summary: When Derek and Reader get stuck on the haunted house ride at the fair, they play a game of Twenty Questions to calm Reader down. Little do they know… they were the answer to Derek's question all along.

Pairing: Derek Morgan x GN!Reader

Word Count: 1,129

Content Warning: very mild swearing, mentions of haunted house related things, mentions of food, lmk if i missed anything!

Extra Notes: i think i forgot how to write Derek fics because this lowkey sucks akshshddhh

Originally Written: 10/29/2023 through 10/31/2023

Criminal Minds masterlist can be found here!

Halloweek masterlist can be found here!

Your heart raced as you assessed the situation, panic running rampant through your veins.

It was dark and cold, and the smell of carnival food, while once pleasant, was overwhelming your senses and making you nauseous. The thumping in your chest sped up with every passing second that the ride didn't move again.

As if he could read your thoughts, Derek reached over to your side of the cart, nudging your fingers with his own. "You can hold onto me if it'll make you feel better," he said, the words never judgemental, but instead sympathetic. "I don't bite," he chuckled.

If you weren't already embarrassed from your apparent scaredy-cat behavior, you might've taken him up on the offer. "I'm okay, just… just talk to me?"

You might fight serial killers and terrorists for a living, but dammit if you weren't afraid of the dark. It didn't help that he'd somehow convinced you to go on the 'The Creep Show,' where a demon had jump-scared you moments before the lights went out and the ride froze.

"About what?" he asked, fingers still brushing yours in the dark.

"Anything not related to clowns, demons, dolls, or Jason Voorhees," you said, the words meant to be lighthearted but still managing to come out shaky.

Derek's breath was warm against your skin as he settled in closer to you. Chatter had begun to pick up in the dark area, everyone no doubt discussing what had happened mid-ride. If it hadn't been for the circumstances, you might've felt his presence unnerving, given your long standing crush on the man, but tonight, the heat of his words and the sound of his breathing managed to bring you a tad bit of comfort in all the chaos.

"Okay… uh, tell me your favorite color."

The question caught you off guard, and while it wasn't visible in the pitch-black space, you shot a confused look in the direction of his voice. "What?"

"You said to talk. So I'm asking you a question. Favorite color?" he asked again, this time stating it almost as a command.

"Um… purple," you answered, curious to know where he was going with this.

He paused for a moment, as if to think about his response. After a few seconds, he spoke again. "Okay, I'm thinking of something that reminds me of the color purple. Now you have to guess."

Derek's game seemed a bit childish to you, but you supposed it was a distraction regardless. "Um, is it alive?" A strategy you'd picked up as a child, to weed out the animals and humans from the inanimate objects.

"Yes," he answered, a chuckle settling on the tip of his tongue.

Your minds raced to think of all the things it could be. "Okay, is it a person?"

"Yes."

A small wave of jealousy came over you, despite your lack of confessing the crush you had on him. Still, you managed to take a deep breath, reminding yourself that it could be any number of persons. "Are they a celebrity?"

"Depends on your definition of famous."

A confused crease formed between your brows, though it was invisible in the non-existent light of the broken ride. "Okay… are they pretty?"

"The most beautiful person on planet earth."

A pang shot through your heart, a poisoned arrow hitting a bullseye. You wondered why he'd bother to bring up someone like a supermodel or an actress or anyone else for that matter when you were right there in front of him. After all, regardless of if Derek had knowledge of your crush on him, it was just common courtesy not to, given one's self esteem.

Just as your next question started to leave your mouth, the ride started up again, the loud music drowning out any words you might've attempted to say. Your eyes stayed straight ahead of you as the ride continued, focusing not on the clowns and demons jumping out at you, but rather on the tears that you willed not to fall.

Soon enough, Derek was holding out his hand and helping you out of the cart. He acted as though nothing was wrong, as if he hadn't just crushed what little hope you did have of ever asking him out.

"You never gave me a final guess, by the way," he mentioned as the two of you started to walk toward one of the concession booths.

You shook off your thoughts, meeting his gaze as he stepped into the line. "I'm not sure you gave me enough information," you jested in an attempt to act natural.

"Oh, I think I gave you plenty of information," he chuckled back, his eyes soft as they returned your gaze.

A soft huff of fake annoyance fell off your lips. "Well then, your hints suck because I truly have no clue who you were talking about."

Derek flashed you that signature smile of his, and your heart screamed in anger at your brain for falling desperately in love with it. "Okay…" he started to say, "How's this for a hint?"

The world felt as though it was moving in slow motion when one of his hands cupped your cheek, glancing between your eyes and lips as he waited for an answer. Your sadness quickly turned to a wave of anxious excitement as you nodded, nearly fainting when he planted his lips on yours. A rush of joy and anticipation and exhilaration coursed through your veins, and you truly couldn't believe this was happening.

His lips parted from yours, and already, you wished he'd never leave. Still, he met you with another one of those beautiful toothy smiles, butterflies floating around in your belly at the sight. "Think you know the answer now?"

Never one to back away from your friendly banter, and despite the anxiety flowing through you from head to toe, you managed to joke, "I think you were referring to Megan Fox."

A light snicker tumbled out of him at your comment. "Trust me, she's got nothing on you."

"You promise you aren't pulling my leg? This isn't some Halloween prank?"

He met you with a look of honesty, lips pulling together for a closed-lip smile. "I promise, this is all treat, no trick. Besides, if it was a Halloween prank, would I offer to do it again?"

You shook your head. "I suppose not." You thought for a moment, meeting him with slightly confused eyes. "Are you? Offering again, I mean?"

"If you're accepting."

Suddenly, a wave of confidence came over you. Flashing the man a smile, you placed both hands on his cheeks and pulled him down for another kiss, electricity shooting through you at the feeling of your lips on his. "I'm always accepting when it comes to you, Derek Morgan."

Happy Halloweek Finale, my dearest auroras! 🥹

As previously stated, I totally meant to have this up sooner, but life kicked my butt the past few days and it took me so long to get a chance to edit these last few fics for you guys.

I really hope you guys have enjoyed this week as much as I did! I had so much fun writing all these fics for y'all and getting to celebrate the holiday with you guys. If all goes according to plan, I'm hoping to do something similar to this near Christmas as well so stay tuned for that!

I hope you all had a very happy Halloween and a wonderful Halloweek! Thank you all so much for the love on these fics 🥰

-> taglist: @1234-angelika @lowsodiumfreaks67 @drayshadow @alexxavicry @leigh70 @darkloverfox @sammyrenae68 @cherrycandle @asgardprincess97 @gh0stgurl @esposadomd @randomwriter1021 @eddieharrington @danielle143 @topguncultleader @ah-blossom @reidselle @dungeons-are-too-cold @louderfortheback @reidsbookclub @cwritesforfun @maelartasch

[philtstone]

24. Showing up injured at their friend/mentor’s house: for shawn? :)

[emerges from writing this fic bloody and beaten and on the verge of collapse] ill explore karen vicks character in an overly complicated post-episode missing scene fic or die trying! set immediately post "right turn or left for dead". i genuinely dont know if im happy with this but i also cant figure out how to fix it. actually, it would have probably been easier to write if i was willing to rewatch the episodes its based on. which i am not, because i am a sensitive little soul. so i winged it. i think there are like 10 different ideas that crop up and theyre all equally fascinating as character threads but i have no idea if i tied them together in an even remotely coherent way. also, WOULD she say that??? i had to call my brother twice to ask. this is what yall get for sending me actually interesting prompts, huh

“Oh, it’s no problem,” Henry’s voice said on the phone. “I’ll send Shawn over with them on his way out. He's going in your direction, anyway.”

In her short tenure as the junior detective to Henry Spencer’s lieutenant, Karen Vick observed two things:

First, that he was a far more clever strategist than most people gave him credit for. Despite the ongoing wreckage of his impending divorce and a kid who was slipping through his fingers as everyone looked on, Karen didn’t agree with the other junior detectives’ impression of him as a smash-the-door-down old school hard ass with thinning hair and a worst attitude. The man played four dimensional chess right out of a bonafide Star Trek episode. When he really wanted something done, Henry Spencer could bullshit and bluff and battle plan with the pros, and half the time you’d get too caught up in the blustering misdirect to realize his game was intricately thought out three steps in advance.

It was how they caught the Shorttown Killer, and also how they got that idiot Trembley at the mayor’s office to finally replace their coffee maker. Karen went home to her then-boyfriend, now-husband, and, right before bed, pulled out an old school workbook and took notes.

The second thing was that Henry Spencer loved his son. 

Not a lot has changed since then, Karen thinks, staring down the weirdness that she now faces through her open front door.

“… Oh — Mr. Spencer,” Karen says, because it’s rude not to greet your employees when they show up at your home outside of work hours, and are also your old friend-slash-colleague’s kid. “Hello. Thanks for — bringing these over.”

“Dad said it was urgent,” Shawn says.

Urgent isn’t quite how Karen would describe it, but hearing through the grapevine that your department might be facing an audit sometime in the next quarter does light a fire under the proverbial ass. Karen would rather bend a few rules and make sure the last year’s i’s and t’s are dotted and crossed right than leave her detectives vulnerable to the whims of a mayoral stooge. 

In general, Karen prides herself on caring about the people under her command just enough that it inspires genuine friendship and loyalty. The just is important. Care needs tempering – it’s important to pull back, press pause, keep certain lines uncrossed. It’s especially important if you want to be successful as a woman in an authority position where lives are often on the line. 

What she’s saying is that she tries to make it none of her business what her employees get up to in their spare time. She really genuinely does. She’s shut O’Hara down gently midway through the twelfth sweetly-frazzled attempt to overshare about her dating life (or her efforts to befriend her next-door neighbor, or the endearing personality quirks of her last cat – rest in peace, Triscuit, you will be missed –) enough times to be well-versed in the art of I Won’t Ask, You Won’t Tell, But You’ll Probably Know I Care Anyway.

An invaluable rapport to maintain. In any situation, Karen thinks, but especially when you’re a person who regularly hires and works alongside Shawn Spencer.

She’s not sure whether what she’s looking at right now makes her want to second guess or double down on her usual policy. 

“Special delivery,” Shawn adds, like everything is super normal.

Karen narrows her eyes. She glances behind them into the quiet residential street.

“Shawn,” she says.

“Yes, Chief?”

“You didn’t drive here, did you?”

“Ha,” he says, half rolling his eyes to accompany a weird aborted grin. “No. Even I don’t think riding a motorcycle with a concussion is a good idea. What if someone who wasn’t me got hurt? That’s — that would be no good, then you’d have to arrest me. Wouldn’t that be a huge bummer for the whole team, Chief? Gus would cry. And my dad wouldn’t let me take his truck.”

Karen stares at him. Shawn stares at the ground.

“I got a cab,” he says.

“And you are … taking another cab – home?”

Shawn looks quite suddenly like he’s going to be sick.

“Sure,” he says. 

Shawn looks terrible. Bruised face, bags under his eyes, and a weird frenetic energy twitching in his limbs that doesn’t pair well with his general air of exhaustion. He’s holding his shoulders stiffly and can barely meet her eye. His t-shirt and sweatpants are rumpled, like he slept in them, even though it’s too early in the evening for Henry to have woken him up to send him here, and when he thrusts the promised files out into the air toward her, abrupt and, admittedly, Shawn-like, he only just hides the awkward wince that immediately overtakes his left side.

The last couple days have been a bit of a whirlwind, so Karen can’t say she necessarily blames herself for not looking more closely. 

Even so.

Slowly, Karen reaches forward and divests him of the case files. They slip a little bit, because Karen can’t seem to stop peering shrewdly at Shawn’s face while she does it, and on instinct he reaches forward to stop the stack from toppling. 

It does help, but the autopilot he moves on makes it harder to mask what is to Karen’s eyes a very obvious flinch. 

“Alright,” is all he says. “Well, good to see you. Time to head back to the old hay stack.”

Like a needle in a haystack and time to hit the hay, Karen supplies needlessly in her own head. Aloud, she says, in many ways against her better judgment, 

“Mr. Spencer, are you okay?”

Shawn sways on the spot for a second, one fist clenched, mouth half open. For a strange moment, Karen gets the impression that he’s trying really hard not to say the wrong thing.

“... As rain,” he finally manages, then nods to himself like he achieved some great feat. “Okay. Well –”

“Did something happen to your shoulder?” 

“What? No!” Shawn’s eyes flutter closed and he shakes his head, “I’m – fine, Chief. It’s not – I mean, I’m – normal, fine. Fine in a normal way.”

“That’s not something an individual who’s fine in a normal way would say,” Karen says. 

“Uh, is it not! It is. I would know, because I am that individual. It’s – I was – there’s just mild – pfft … stab wound – or something, who would even …”

Is Shawn broken? is the unhelpful thought that pops into Karen’s head. She’s never heard an attempt to bullshit collapse so quickly into pathetic nothingness before – certainly not from Shawn.

Perhaps even more than his father, the kid’s a pro.

And then the rest of the sentence catches up with her.

“A mild stab wound?”

Oh boy. She watches Shawn’s eyes widen with the panic that proceeds an unquestionable blunder.

“Chief –” 

“In.”

“Chief, I really, really don’t think –”

“Inside my house. Now.”

He’s certainly uncoordinated enough that he doesn’t put up much of a fight. Karen herds him  through the door as firmly as possible and leads them in a beeline past Richard’s office toward the bathroom, ignoring the reedy stream of consciousness that spills out of Shawn’s mouth as they go.

“Oh, hey, woah, it’s been like forever since I was in here. Did you redecorate? I swear that lamp wasn’t there the last time we visited. It could be the tacos I had earlier, but I’m sensing a distinct neo-modern Chinese aesthetic going on here, Chief, which calls to mind the merits of cultural appreciation in suburban home decor – hey, is that your husband’s office? Can I meet him? Is he home? That man is a true enigma to us, Chief, and it’s leading me to believe that he must possess all the facial and personality qualities of the pop superstar Mr. Pitbull Worldwide –”

Richard is home, actually, and Karen needs to alert him to the fact that they have an unexpected house guest, so, ignoring Shawn completely, she calls out,

“Honey? Shawn Spencer’s here for a couple minutes about a work thing! I’ll go up to put Iris to bed in a second!” in the finely-honed There Are Many Layers Of Complicated To This secret married tone that Richard should probably be able to catch through the closed office door. 

“Alright,” floats out her husband’s pleasant voice. “Tell him hi from me.”

Perfect. There’s about a ninety-three percent chance he understood.

They make it to the bathroom, only stumbling slightly. Shawn says,

“-- or The Rock. Does your husband look like Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson? I really think that would make so many things about the Chief Vick family make sense –”

Karen closes the bathroom door with a snap and crosses her arms.

“Sit,” she says, in a voice that even he knows brooks no argument.

Shawn does. He looks – well, beyond uncomfortable, and more than a little bit miserable, and probably closer to completely dissociating than either of them are prepared for. Karen wonders belatedly if he's gotten any sleep at all in the last forty-eight hours.

“I’m assuming you have not been to the hospital.”

He gives her a baleful look, like he really expected better of her. She only just stops herself from rolling her eyes in response. And there’s that huge goose egg on his forehead, too. What, exactly, he got up to in between Carlton’s wedding reception and oh-eight-hundred hours this morning Karen has no idea, but he looks like someone’s run him through the world’s most aggressive industrial tumble dry cycle and spat him mercilessly back out. 

Or maybe over with a truck.

Sending a silent prayer to the universe that Iris never hit puberty and remains a sweet-tempered six-year-old forever, Karen gets to business.

“Well, I had to at least ask. Shawn. Does it need stitches?” He mumbles the answer the first time, and then looks beyond startled when she grabs him under the chin so he’ll look her in the eye. “Listen. I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do. But you’re going to tell me the truth. Got it?”

Shawn grimaces so hard at her words it’s almost a flinch. 

“No,” he says finally, clearly enough that she hears him. Karen raises an eyebrow. “No, I don’t think it needs stitches,” he articulates, but doesn’t meet her eye.

“Hm. Alright. I have gauze and tape in the medicine cabinet. Can I … is it alright if I pull up the sleeve of your t-shirt?”

Released from her hold, he groans and presses his face into one palm. “Chief –”

“I don’t really know what you expected, coming here! It’s not like I’m any less of a hardass than your father.”

“Yeah, but I can bitch back at my dad,” Shawn says, sounding like he’s finally realizing the magnitude of his mistake. Karen smiles grimly.

“Tough. Now pull your shirt up while I get the first aid kit.”

While Shawn proceeds to wrestle awkwardly with his t-shirt in a muted shuffle against the toilet seat, Karen rummages efficiently through the cabinet and eyes him through the bathroom mirror. He seems oddly reluctant to expose himself. In fact, in a stark contrast to his usual insistence on making his presence and contributions as obtrusively obvious as possible, Shawn seems intent on shrinking into the aforementioned Asian-flavored floral wallpaper (which does need an update, unfortunately) with all the equanimity of an anxious chameleon. Karen feels her eyebrows crease. Taking the first aid kit in hand, she brings it over and deposits it into his arms, ignoring his small startle.

“How about you hold that,” Karen says. Shawn does, against his chest, like a pillow. She walks around him and surveys the damage, antiseptic gauze in hand.

He wasn’t lying about the severity, at least. It’s a shallow thing, already mostly congealed, and has only stained his shirt in a small smattering spot of crusty brown blood.

Karen swabs at it with the alcohol using light careful fingers.

“Ow, ow ow ah –”

“Don’t be such a baby. It’s hardly a life-threatening injury.”

“Super insightful, Chief,” Shawn snaps, as genuinely sarcastic as he’s probably ever been with her, “never thought of that myself. Totally the reason why I just had to go to the hospital.”

He doesn’t pull away, but she can feel the tension radiating through his back. She blinks, one eyebrow crawling up her forehead. 

Alright then. So that’s how it’s going to be. 

“I’m assuming your father doesn’t know about this,” she says.

Shawn grunts, noncommittal. Huh. Maybe he does know, then, and has just been disallowed from doing anything about it right now.

She tosses the first used antiseptic wipe into the trash.

Goddamn four dimensional chess.

She supposes she’s never been bad at the game. She may as well work her way backwards through the moves: Guster, the most obvious node in Shawn’s turn-to-in-a-crisis-system, would never voluntarily abandon his friend in a time of need, so Karen assumes that whatever this is has either already included his support or not been made known to Gus at all yet. Henry’s likely exhausted his own usefulness in the situation, and Detective O’Hara is …

Karen has to work very hard for her hands not to pause in a way that gives away her hard-earned mental sleuthing. A bad feeling wholly unrelated to her ill-advised hangover of the day before begins to bloom at the back of her gut.

“You have really small hands, Chief.”

Shawn’s voice is notably more subdued than before.

“Do I?” 

“They’re like … little kangaroo hands. Like the mom kangaroo from Whinnie the Pooh.”

“Didn’t you know?” Karen says, not unkindly. “They’re given out at the hospital when all first-time moms leave with their baby.”

He lets out a tired little laugh, more boyish than he probably means it to be, and in spite of herself Karen feels her heart clench. She isn’t blind. In all her last seven years as the leader of their chaotic little precinct, she has never seen Juliet O’Hara look as ill as she did yesterday morning. The usually sweet-faced young woman had all the pallor of a Victorian ghost, and stood so far away from Shawn in any given room that to an unassuming observer he might have had the plague.

There are only a handful of things, Karen thinks, that could have invited that particular evolution in their dynamic. She rips the surgical tape from its canister a little bit more harshly than is strictly necessary and fights the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose between her fingers.

“So,” she says conversationally, laying the tape down in neat, gentle little strips, trying not to pinch the wound too tightly. “Any fun plans for the evening?”

Shawn sniffs. She can see him gripping his hands together over his knee from where she stands above him.

“Um, yeah, uh –” he clears his throat, “you know me, Chief. We’re working our way through a Robert Guillame marathon, which means some good old fashioned Benson, running commentary on the quality of that child acting, naturally.”

“Naturally.” 

“Then Gus and I were gonna hit up the new, the new chili cheese joint up by Hermosa, you know – they’re doing sliders –”

“Chili cheese sliders?” Karen hums, contemplative.

“Buy ‘em by the pound,” Shawn agrees. “Then I was thinking of getting a tattoo, maybe a belly button piercing, I’ve been really – really needing a change – would you let Iris get one, if she asked?”

“A tattoo?” Karen clarifies, cutting off the next piece of tape. The skin around the cut is warm to her touch but Shawn’s arms have goosepimpled. The hair at the back of his head sticks up unstyled, like he slept weirdly and couldn’t be bothered to fix it come morning.

“Of a marmoset. That’s what I’m thinking. With distinctly effeminate vibes.”

“Well, Dick hates marmosets. So I’d probably encourage her toward something else. Perhaps a sea lion.”

“Like Shabby.” The nervous note has bled into his legs again, and his earlier subdued tone has gone back to sounding strained. “Yeah, that’ll – that could be it.”

“All in one night, huh?” Karen says.

“I –” Shawn doesn’t even hiss when she presses down with a cotton gauze to cover the last of the thickened blood. His legs are properly jittering again. “I was – yeah, y-you know me, Chief, total night owl.”

“Shawn?”

“Yeah?”

“What about going home?”

Silence. Shawn doesn’t answer for a moment long and pregnant enough that Karen wonders if her question will be ignored entirely. 

Then,

“Chief,” he says finally, in an awful, tiny little voice, “I really, really fucked up.”

Finally, her hands do falter in their ministrations; as emotionally exuberant as Shawn often is, she doesn’t think she’s ever actually heard him close to tears. For a horrible moment she wonders if Shawn Spencer will suddenly start crying atop her toilet seat for reasons neither of them are capable of discussing honestly. Then she wonders if her horror makes her a terrible boss.

Boss – mother – person.

Oh, dear.

She sets down the surgical tape and lays a ginger palm over the newly-bandaged gouge in his shoulder. It’ll probably scar, but not at all badly. She doesn’t like to think about the far more obvious one just below, puckering in a violent yet unassuming divot. Another narrow miss for Henry’s boy. 

At this point there are so many of them to count, Karen has to question the statistical likelihood of the whole thing. Becoming a mathematical anomaly is, Karen can attest with confidence, not exactly the future the Lieutenant Spencer she knew dreamed of for his increasingly unmanageable teenager. 

Doing what he loved, on the other hand – absolutely. Being with a person he loved, even more so. Karen grits her teeth at the irritating web she’s spent the last six years constructing around herself and wonders if this evening right here is some kind of cosmic karma for leaving Iris in the care of nannies for the first three years of her life.

That sounds like the kind of thing those horrible parenting magazines and Karen’s mother-in-law would claim, anyway.

“Shawn,” she says slowly, because she has to at least knock this possibility off the list before risking her career in an attempt to mediate her detectives’ love lives, “did you … you weren’t – unfaithful, were you?”

“What?!” 

Shawn yanks his shoulder away and whirls around to face her with such a look of horrified betrayal on his face that it’s almost comical. 

“No!” 

Thank fucking God, Karen thinks. Aloud, she says,

“Well, I’m sorry, I had to at least ask!”

“No! No! What the hell, Chief!”

“Oh would you be quiet! I’m gathering my evidence here!”

“How could I – I would never – you’d even think that I could –”

“I know! Shawn, for God’s sake –” He’s scrambled to his feet in the cramped bathroom space, glaring, and has probably messed up all that surgical tape in the process. The half open first aid kit and his crumpled shirt press lopsided against his front and her garbage can is now full of oxidizing bits of cotton. Karen officially gives in to the urge to press her palms against her forehead. “I had to ask!” she repeats finally. “You and I both know you’re not gonna give me much else to work with, and you sounded so – so sad!” 

Shawn barks out a hysterical little laugh. Karen almost growls in frustration. 

“I am not going to risk all the very hard-earned rules I have in place without knowing for sure that my instincts aren’t wrong. Is that so hard to appreciate?”

Does it count as sound police work when the framework for your investigation is an unacknowledged lie? Karen doesn’t really know. Probably there’s another math metaphor to be made in there (you screwed your proof from the very beginning, maybe, Richard the professor would definitely have thoughts), or just a straight up joke. How to solve a case that’s cold before it ever has the chance to go live; a cover-up if she ever saw one. Unlikely that O’Hara will peep a word, and things will be a true mess for a few weeks, if she can’t make an educated guess about it. And no one will be explaining anything to Carlton, either …

Right before their goddamn audit, Karen thinks, aggrieved. She wonders if Henry considered this in his calculus. Send Shawn over, have her deal with him. Offer a huge unspoken you’re gonna be walking into a shitstorm tomorrow canary for her perennially chaotic mess of a coal mine. 

She can’t help but feel begrudgingly grateful, but that doesn’t mean she and he won’t be having words about this later.   

“Jesus, Karen,” Shawn mutters, pressing his face back into his free hand. Karen shakes her head and squares her shoulders.

“Well then! Back to the issue. You fucked up.”

“You know what? I can’t talk about this with you.”

“Oh, Mr. Spencer, I assure you I am more than well aware.”

Shawn blinks at her between his fingers, looking genuinely confused for the first time since he showed up at her door. 

Karen does not bother to clear up his confusion; it’s better this way, anyhow.

“Will you be sleeping at Gus’s place or your father’s?” she asks, crossing her arms.

“I’m – I don’t –” Shawn doesn’t meet her eye. The earlier thread of anxiety is back. “I wasn’t …”

So, neither. 

“Put your shirt back on,” she says. “We’re relocating to the living room.”

“Chief –”

“That was an order, Mr. Spencer.”

The living room is as quiet and mundane as it was an hour ago. It’s past Iris’s bedtime – she’ll have to go up, and soon at that. Karen seats her guest, retrieves a mug and a bag of chamomile from the kitchen, and removes the fluffy throw blanket from the basket behind the couch on her way back in. He’s deflated completely by the time the tea and blanket are set in front of him. Small and exhausted. Caught. It’s a horrible way to think about it. But she can’t avoid the hundred yard stare – Karen has seen it one too many times in people only just realizing they’re about to go away for life.

“Shawn,” she says, firm as she can make it. “Drink the tea. You’re dehydrated.”

“I’m … what?”

“Your lips are dry. You shouldn’t be dehydrated with a concussion.”

He doesn’t say anything for a minute, and Karen suddenly wonders if he’s going to get up and leave. She has experience with these things – she knows a runner when she sees one.

“I might as well have,” Shawn finally whispers.

She doesn’t catch it the first time. “What?”

“I – I might as well ha – Chief, I …” Deep shuddering breaths. He’s finally shutting down, she realizes. She can’t send him back out like this; Henry would give her the stink eye for a month.

Goddamn Spencers and their goddamn irritating overcomplicated lives.

Karen pushes the tea directly into his hands and tilts her chin so she can meet Shawn’s eye. He’s still lucid enough that she doesn’t think he’ll start hyperventilating, but now that the outrage and adrenaline has worn off, the symptoms of shock are pretty hard to miss. “Shawn,” she says again, and wills for him to understand.

“What if she – what if I never –” He can’t get the full sentence out. He looks at her, eyes wide and terrified.

Life sentence, Karen thinks again. The messy stack of files Shawn brought over sits almost unimportantly on the coffee table between them and a memory comes to her, unbidden, of words penned carefully in the corner of a modified police report that she pulled the minute the door closed on the McCallum case seven years ago. 

Date: May 4th, 1995. Reporting Officer, Spencer, Lt. H. Perpetrator a caucasian male, brown hair, five foot nine, insists on wearing those stupid earrings just to spite me. What the hell do you want me to write here, Chief? Spent two hours in the fucking principal’s office convincing them not to expel him one month off from graduation. All that effort, and I still booked the kid. It’s gonna follow him for life, and it’s gonna be me that did it to him. For life. You think he’ll ever forgive me? He’s the greatest thing in my pathetic little world and he keeps breaking my heart, and I can’t even properly accept that it’s my fault. 

How’s that for a fucking crime.

She needs to go put her daughter to bed. It’s the thought that keeps running through her head, oddly enough, like a strange antidote to the impotent anger and heartbreak and frustration she’s feeling for the people under her care.

With all the notes she took in that little workbook, she still let herself become complicit in the painstaking, convoluted resolution of Henry’s mistakes without accounting for all the variables.  

Richard’s footsteps sound muffled in the next room; he’s made his way upstairs in Karen’s absence. She needs to go. She wants to hear the soft and sleepy love you Mama that with her unpredictable hours and regular long nights isn’t nearly routine enough.

“Shawn,” she says evenly. “Do you love her?”

It’s hard to reconcile the smarmy kid who tried to barter with her for twelve hundred a day with the devastated young man sitting on the couch in front of her.

“Chief …” he starts, barely above a whisper.

“Good. Then she’ll see that. Detective O’Hara is a smart and observant woman. What she chooses to do next is her decision, but … you might be – well, comforted by the fact that she’ll know that – truth.”

Shawn stares at her. The tea steams in front of him, cooling in increments. She takes a deep breath and gets to her feet, patting his uninjured shoulder brusquely. 

“I have to go check on Iris. When I come back down, I can drive you to the Psych office.”

Iris is fast asleep when she gets there. A library book lays open face down over her stomach, and her soft brown hair fans out against the pillow, silhouetted by the soft glow of the unicorn nightlight in the wall above her. Karen turns off the bedside lamp, tucks her daughter in, and kisses her forehead. Just before she leaves, she hears it: murmured, half-awake.

“Love you, Mama.”

“I love you too, baby.”

Karen goes back to her living room, car keys in hand. She’s planned her next move in the driver’s seat enough times throughout her career that it shouldn’t be too hard. 

[adrl-pt]

First Russian Military Operation Outside Its Territory. Ukrainian Armed Forces Combat Operations in Kursk Region.

You are watching the news from the weekly rally at the Russian Embassy in Lisbon. Today is August 10, 2:30 PM.

The five-day war in Georgia from August 8 to 12, 2008, was Russia's first "special operation" outside its territory. Journalist Georgy Kobaladze says that Georgian authorities commemorate the anniversary on August 7, marking the Ossetian army's attack on a Georgian village near Tskhinvali as the beginning. https://www.svoboda.org/a/kapkan-i-vtorzhenie-15-let-s-nachala-rossiysko-gruzinskoy-voyny/32538906.html

The Ossetians trace the origins of the war with Georgia back to 1989, when the USSR was collapsing. https://www.bbc.com/russian/features-45106205

After the Dagomys Agreement, Georgia maintained difficult but peaceful relations with the regions of Abkhazia and the Tskhinvali region (South Ossetia). In 2008, Georgia began to consider joining NATO. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mE7_p7WISo4

Matthew Bryza, who was involved in the US mediation plan for this war, told Dozhd in an interview how steps to contain Russia were removed during the process of working with the German Foreign Ministry. https://youtu.be/uK6pyU5DuQM?feature=shared&t=294

The human rights organization "Human Rights Watch" in its research discusses violations of humanitarian law on both sides, including systematic arson, robbery, and beatings of residents of Georgian villages by South Ossetian forces after the withdrawal of Georgian troops. https://www.hrw.org/reports/georgia0109ruweb.pdf

In 2021, the Strasbourg court found that Russia exercised control over Abkhazia and the Tskhinvali region and therefore bears responsibility for these violations. The Russian representative stated in court that the fragments of the Iskander missile used by Russia, presented by the Georgian side, were stolen, dismantled, and planted by the CIA. https://www.bbc.com/russian/features-55737376

Volunteer and activist David Katsarava said in an interview with Dozhd: "For us, the war against Ukraine is a continuation of ours." https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uK6pyU5DuQM

Since August 6, the Armed Forces of Ukraine have been conducting an operation in the Kursk region. The combat zone has already reached 430 square kilometers. The YouTube channel "The Insider" reported briefly on the situation: people are evacuating on their own, Putin is distributing the usual 10 thousand rubles, and Russian generals ignored reports of Ukrainian forces concentrating on the border. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8vbljcaYy1k

On August 9, politician Yulia Navalnaya stated: "Putin's war has finally come to Russia." She addressed those aiding Putin's war efforts: "No one will forget what you did to our country. You are working for a killer, but it's never too late to stop." https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8-HoR9OJ6mU

On August 7, Vladimir Osechkin held a stream on his YouTube channel in memory of Oleksandr Ishchenko, a member of the Azov regiment who was killed in Russian captivity, and called for information about this crime to be sent to him for investigation. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jBi3sO5Rq5M

Azov commander Svyatoslav Palamar published a forensic medical examination report on his Facebook page confirming the brutal murder and violation of the Geneva Convention relative to the Treatment of Prisoners of War. https://www.facebook.com/share/p/FWoEAf9XxGmrShd2/

On January 12 of this year, the Memorial Human Rights Center recognized prisoners of war from the Ukrainian Azov Regiment as political prisoners, as they consider the Supreme Court's decision to recognize the Azov Regiment as a terrorist organization to be unlawful. https://memopzk.org/news/my-schitaem-politzaklyuchyonnymi-voennoplennyh-iz-ukrainskogo-polka-azov/

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[katz-chow]

Coming from puff puffs blog 🤧🤥 hope you don't mind 😝🙈🙉 ur also totally gaining a new follower..

WHAT ARE YOUR HEADCANONS ON SOAP? 🥰🥰🥰 unless you've already done this before then I am so sorry 😓

relationship with soap headcanons

warnings: sfw, fluff, some angst, relationship arguments, family trauma mentioned, religious trauma, homophobia, bad dad

a/n: my fav cod man is soap so this took my top priority!!! i think about this man a lot, 09 and reboot version. reboot is my fav though, realistically, he's who i would actually get with. here’s all the things i’ve thought about him, there’s probably more tbh… OK OK HERE :))

childhood hcs

johnny soap mactavish comes from a large family of 5 siblings, he's the second oldest. it's elsie, him, blair, callum, and olivia.

growing up in a family of mainly girls got him on that respect women juice. he would always have to make sure his younger siblings are ok and aren't you know, being bullied. his parents were adamant on 2 year age gaps between them all.

his cousin, jack, was an sas operator and that was what made him want to join. they had to call security forces to arrest him out at some point because he kept sneaking in to watch them do stuff lol

elsie left for uni with her bf to live in soho when johnny was 16, the same year he would talk to recruiters around his hometown, driving hours and then getting rejected the same day due to his age

9th grade (year 10) chemistry got him obsessed with stem and its *explosive* results. he aced chemistry and then took advanced chemistry and physics just because he loved it so much

after this, as soon as he turned 18, he went to sign his papers THEN graduated school (he's just like me fr). his mom was so worried for him, especially when her sister told her about the danger that jack would get himself into. in the end, he promised he'll always call her and his siblings

his dad's an ass, hes an alcoholic, a cheater, a *bitch*... he would always take the kids to church on sundays and twisted the religion into a reason for his behavior. claiming that johnny's mom being at home was just "their culture"

she makes a killer shepherd's pie though

always had had some sort of love-hate relationship with the catholic faith. on one hand, it was nice to know there's always at least someone watching out for him, but after hearing the constant belittlement from his father, claiming he wasn't "manly enough" for not willing to give his life up in the service, he started to resent the “all merciful”.

he ended up blaming god for all his faults, letting him take accountability. this especially happened when he got diagnosed with adhd when he was 17, his dad didn’t believe in mental health. his mom was only a bit better about it, they both refused meds for him.

he's bisexual, leans towards women though. found this out after a truth or dare game in junior year (year 12) and some beers in a closet

at one point, callum acccidently let it slip at dinner when johnny had first moved out that he had met a cute guy and their dad screamed and yelled at the whole family, especially their mom, about "raising a fucking whore of a son, dragging the family down to shite"

blair called and told johnny a few days later and johnny rushed his work as quickly as possible and begged his chain of command for a few days off to go back home to his family

his family gets loud…like really loud. there’s 7 people what do you expect?

it gets especially bad when it’s sunday morning and you gotta get 7 people awake and looking their church best for an hour and a half 😔

johnny is the quickest everything there is, which has its downsides too. he could run and swim the fastest in the family, but he was also the quickest eater…meaning he’s on dish washing duty. he’s quick at that too so by the time everyone’s finished, he’s washed all the other dishes that took to make dinner

broke his arm chasing a cat through someone’s yard (he was 14)

had a goat scream and kicked him because he wanted to give it a hug

he got a part time job at a local bakery in 10th grade (year 11). the pay wasn’t much but neither was the work really. olivia, who was 9 at the time, made him promise that he’ll get her a doll to have tea with. her tea set had 4 cups but only one of her, so she must get another one to join her! he kept his promise; he ended up getting three dolls for her

he can make amazing soda bread and brioche loafs now too, still keeps a starter from the owner of the bakery to this day

he had a mountain bicycle that he would take everywhere. had room behind his seat for packages and his backpack, which he would tie down. that thing had such a loud bell too, would ring constantly to “let people know hes coming and get ready”

was terrified of selkies for some reason, always had the window closed and made callum sleep by it while he slept by the door

wasn’t much of a troublemaker, but would get into trouble with his adventurous heart.

got lost in the woods once and after a while of fake courage, he sat down and cried until elsie found him. he was 20 yards (13 meters) away from the clearing 😭😭

laugh at that guys, mf was 15

personality & relationship hcs

johnny is such a fun lover. he’s handsome yeah, but what makes ppl flaunt over him is his humor. he’s what jessica rabbit said “he makes me laugh”

such a charismatic and charming person, gets it from his dad. he could talk about just about anything, also the type to strike up a conversation with a stranger at the grocery store. then end up with their number and a date or helping them dog sit

this isn’t always a good thing though, one time before he was medicated, he would talk on and on, his story becoming incoherent due to the amount of self-interruptions he made, that a group of guys got so annoyed at that pub, they punched him.

he was young, 19, and couldn’t fight, so he didn’t win and came back to the barracks with a nasty black eye

he likes to be the big spoon, has to hold something in order to sleep

feel like he’s the type to wrap his arms around a pillow and lay on his stomach to sleep

speaking of sleeping, he HATES sleeping with socks on. he tried it one day and he just shivered at the feel of it, woke up and his socks were missing (he found them under the bed)

i also feel like he sleeps like a log, unmoving once he finds his comfort, i also think it's because he had to sleep in the same bed as his siblings at one point and he didn't want to wake them by moving, so he got accustomed to being a still sleeper

one time he accidentally got into a fight at a bar when a guy kept being misogynistic and was arrested and kept in jail for the whole night until one of his civilian friends bailed him out

johnny's the type to race you in the rain to the car. again, he's quick so he's always ahead of you but then he slips from the rain and ends up all wet and muddy and in the car.

his favorite thing to do is hear you laugh. he'll do anything to hear you laugh.

whenever you're sad, he'll purposely stub his toe or trip down the stairs or make you kiss his "owie" (a papercut) to get you to cheer up. like yeah it hurts like a fucking bitch but seeing you sad hurts more than a silly tumble

number one date event is city exploring and hopping. like cafe hopping, pub hopping, museum hopping, restaurant hopping, anything that makes you get up and get going with time to sit and chill at the same time.

feels like he can eat a lot, he's the type to eat your food if you end up not liking it or being too full

when he gets home from missions and the initial excitement of seeing you dies down, he also dies down and nap for hours until it's the middle of the night and he gets up to eat something.

he loves naps. feels like he needs a nap time every day if it was possible

he's a very kind lover, he's easy going so its not hard that sometimes people take advantage of this and push his buttons until he can't take it anymore

causes a huge blowup because he can have a nasty temper whenever he bottles stuff up and pushes things aside

not a physical manifestation of anger, but definitely a verbal anger, will say things he doesn't really mean just to say it and realize right after the words leave his lips that he fucked up

but he'll stake out in front of the guest bedroom in which you've locked yourself in until you come out and he gets the chance to forgive you

the type to stand in the rain and hold a sign saying sorry right outside your window, a very cheesy romcom style (gaz made him watch them)

he loves you more than anything and loves you even more than you can keep up with him and laugh at his jokes, no matter how awful they are

he wants 4 kids by the way