#I hate hate HATE even throwing out a line like this

[reidmania]

a moment | s. reid

summary: two times there was a ‘moment’ between you and spencer, and one time he did something about it.

warnings; best friends to lovers, fem reader, pinning, this based off a lorelai and luke edit i saw, idk if its edited or makes any sense tbh!! sorry! longing, kinda self doubt idk, happy ending yay!!

an; this is for lia. And was written in like an hour so i really dont want the hate guys. If it sucks i cannot be held responsible.

You walk into the bullpen, scanning the usual chaos of the bullpen The day’s already running long, and it’s barely even noon.

"Look who finally decided to join us," Spencer says, glancing up from his desk. His eyes are sharp behind his glasses, but there’s a smirk tugging at his lips. He’s half-hidden behind a wall of case files, as always, but somehow manages to throw his snark with precision.

you and spencer had been best friends since you started together, you got along with anyone but gravitated towards Spencer more than anyone else. Him and Penelope were the easiest for you to be around, you loved everyone but you had your favourites.

While Penelope had been bugging you to either kick up the courage to do something about your friendship with Spencer, or move on, you did neither.

"Oh, save it,," you fire back, tossing your bag on your desk. "I’m fashionably late. It’s a thing."

"Yeah, fashionably late in a profession like this. Very chic. Theres other ways to get here you know — from your house-“

“Don’t even” you cut him off.

“Im just saying if you keep missing the same turn off every time maybe it’s a sign you should be going a different way.” He muttered.

“I didn’t miss the turn off.” You argued. You lied.

“You did.”

“No”

He said your name and you huffed.

You roll your eyes, biting back a grin as you sink into your chair. "Can we pretend, just for today, that you’re not right?"

"Well," Spencer says, leaning back in his chair, "I’m only right about ninety-seven percent of the time. So, technically, you’ve got a three percent chance of being right today. Want to take a gamble?"

You throw a crumpled paper at him. "Your math is annoying."

He catches it, eyes twinkling, and throws it back at you. "Annoying?"

“Yes, annoying. It hurts my head”

It’s easy between the two of you—this banter, this back-and-forth. It always has been, ever since the first case you worked together. Over time, it’s become second nature to tease him, push his buttons, and he always gives it right back. The tension slips away with every joke, but today, there’s something different about the way his eyes linger on you a beat too long, like he’s waiting for you to catch on.

You ignore it. You have to.

"So, what do we have?" you ask, holding out your hand for the file in his lap.

He passes it to you, fingers brushing against yours. It’s brief, but the touch sends a spark up your arm. Your eyes meet for a second longer than necessary, and for the first time in a long time, you don’t know what to say.

Spencer clears his throat, looking back down at the file. "This unsub’s a real charmer. I think he's using manipulation tactics to lure his victims. He’s got a pattern, but it’s subtle. Took me a while to piece it together."

"Took you a while? So, like... five minutes?" You grin, but the edge in your voice is gone, replaced by something softer.

He laughs, a sound that always surprises you because it’s rare, but so genuine. "Try thirty. It was a real struggle."

"Wow. I almost feel bad for you."

His smile fades just a little, and when he looks at you again, there’s that shift. Something hovers between you, just under the surface, where the teasing usually stays. His eyes flicker over your face, and suddenly, you wonder if he’s about to say something else, something that would cross the line you’ve never acknowledged before.

Your heart skips, and before you can stop yourself, you lean forward a little. Your breath catches.

"So..." Spencer starts, but before the sentence can land, your phone buzzes on your desk. The sharp sound breaks the moment like a snapped thread. You jerk back, grabbing your phone.

"Hotch needs us in the conference room," you mutter, more to yourself than him, trying to get a grip on the swirling thoughts in your head. "We’ve got a lead."

Spencer blinks, clearly shaken out of whatever that was, and you stand up quickly, focusing hard on the case and not on the fact that you were about two seconds away from… what? Leaning in? Kissing him?

No. That’s not what this is. This is Spencer.

"Race you to the conference room?" he asks suddenly, the playful lilt back in his voice, but there’s still something lingering behind his eyes, a question neither of you seems ready to ask.

"Race? You’re literally taller than me, that’s cheating. I’m wearing heels!!"

"You can run in heels, can’t you?" He shoots you a smirk, the tension easing just enough for you to relax, even if your heart is still racing.

"Could. But i don't want to damage my gorgeous shoes," you huffed, yet already heading for the door.

"Gorgeous shoes?" He repeated, raising his eyebrow.

"Yeah that was actually the name of the shoes when i bought them. They had 'gorgeous shoes' written in big letters across the box." You smiled, tilting your head.

"Really?"

"No."

You make it halfway to the conference room before he catches up, the two of you slipping back into your usual rhythm. But as you walk into the room side by side, the unspoken thing still hangs between you. You don’t talk about it, and maybe you never will, but it’s there.

“Are you still coming over tonight?” He asked, looking down at you, eyes lingering on yours. You nod.

“It’s pizza night. Of course I am.”

And once again, you’re reminded that with Spencer, things have never been as simple as just best friends.

You’re standing in Spencer’s tiny kitchen, flour everywhere. And when you say everywhere, you mean it—on the counters, in your hair, smeared on his cheek where you definitely didn’t mean to slap him with dough earlier.

“This is going really well,” you deadpan, holding up the limp, misshapen pizza dough.

“Um.” He squints as he looks at the mess.

“Well.. you’re the genius who can outsmart anyone but apparently can’t figure out yeast,” you argue, pinning the blame on him. “Is it supposed to look like this?” You muttered, tilting your head.

“I think it’s fighting back. Maybe we’re the victims now.”

You both dissolve into laughter, the kind that makes your stomach hurt. This was supposed to be simple. Homemade pizza sounded like a cute idea, something easy to do on a night off, but it’s turned into chaos. The dough’s not cooperating, the sauce might be too watery, and you’re pretty sure you added way too much garlic. But that’s what makes it fun.

"Okay," Spencer says, hands raised in surrender. "I officially give up. This dough has outsmarted me."

"You’re giving up? Dr Spencer Reid, defeated by pizza dough?" You snatch the rolling pin from him, trying to take over, but the second you press down, the dough tears. "Okay, maybe it’s smarter than both of us."

Spencer steps closer, leaning over your shoulder to inspect the mess you've made. You can feel the warmth of him behind you, and for just a second, everything feels different. The banter pauses. His breath is soft on your neck, his arm brushing against yours as he reaches to touch the dough. Your heart stutters, and you freeze, unsure of what to do next.

But then, with no warning, Spencer flicks flour at you.

"Hey!" you squeal, spinning around to face him, eyes wide. He looks so pleased with himself, a mischievous grin on his face.

"What? You had flour in your hair. I was just trying to help.”

"Sure, you were." You reach for the bag of flour, holding it up threateningly. "I will not hesitate to make this a war, Spencer."

He grins widely, almost daringly.

You grab a handful of flour and toss it at him in retaliation. "You are such a child."

“I’m just helping!” he protests, dodging your attack and grabbing the rolling pin like a shield. His laughter is contagious, and soon you’re both caught up in it, the tension slipping away into something lighter, easier.

You try to swipe more flour at him, but he grabs your wrist, stopping you mid-throw. His fingers wrap around your wrist gently, but the touch sends an unexpected shiver up your arm. You both freeze, the room suddenly too quiet again, his hand lingering on yours for just a second longer than necessary.

His gaze flickers down to where his fingers rest against your skin, and then back up to meet your eyes. There’s a pause, just long enough for the air between you to thicken, something unspoken hanging between you. His thumb brushes your wrist lightly, and you wonder if he feels it too—the tension that’s been simmering all night, just beneath the surface.

You swallow hard, pulling your hand away, but not before you catch the briefest flicker of something in his expression. It’s gone as quickly as it appeared, and just like that, the moment slips away.

His eyes narrow playfully, and for a second, you think he might call your bluff. But instead, he just chuckles and steps back, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. Let’s not escalate this. We’re adults, after all."

"Adults who can’t make pizza," you mutter, dumping the ruined dough into the trash. "Guess we’ll have to order in. Again."

Spencer wipes his hands on a towel, still smiling. "I’ll let you pick the place this time. As long as it’s not that one with the weird crust you made us try last month."

"Oh come on, that was a bold choice! You just have no sense of adventure."

"I have a very good sense of adventure," he says, leaning casually against the counter, his eyes sparkling in that way that makes you feel like he knows exactly how to get under your skin. "I just like my pizza to taste like pizza."

You roll your eyes, but you’re grinning, too. "Fine. We’ll get the boring pizza this time."

As you both settle into the living room, waiting for the pizza to arrive, you can't help but feel that lingering tension again. The kind that sneaks up on you when things get quiet, when the laughter dies down, and it’s just the two of you sitting side by side, closer than necessary.

You smile, nudging him with your elbow. "Who knew you were such a terrible cook, though?"

"I think we share equal blame here."

"Maybe," you admit, glancing at him. His eyes catch yours, and for just a moment, the playful air between you shifts. It’s small, like the brush of his hand earlier, like the way he’s looking at you now. Your heart skips again, and you wonder—just for a second—if maybe, possibly, you weren’t imagining it. You ignore it, there was too much that could go wrong if you didn’t.

It’s late in the afternoon when you hear the knock at your door. The sun's still out, casting a soft golden light through your living room windows, but it’s the last thing on your mind.

You’re dressed in something more put together than usual because, of course, Penelope had insisted on setting you up on this date tonight. It wasn’t exactly what you wanted, but she’d been so enthusiastic that you’d caved. You’d said yes to humor her, to get her off your back.

She had insisted that you needed something to get your mind off Spencer. You wondered if that was actually possible.

So when the knock comes, your stomach churns, thinking it might be the guy arriving too early. But when you open the door, it's not your date.

It’s Spencer.

He’s standing there, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, hair slightly disheveled, and there’s a look on his face you can’t quite place. It’s tight, maybe a little frustrated, though he's trying hard to keep his expression neutral.

“Spence?” You lean against the doorframe, arching an eyebrow. “Everything okay?”

He doesn’t answer right away, eyes scanning you briefly before he looks down, then back up again. There’s tension in his posture, the kind you recognize when he’s overthinking something. “Yeah. Yeah, everything’s fine.”

You don’t buy it for a second. “Uh-huh.”

His face tightens even more, though he tries to hide it with a half-hearted shrug. “Did Penelope set you up with some guy?”

“Yeah?” You squinted trying to figure out how he knew that. You hadn’t mentioned it, you didn’t want to talk about what had caused your sudden date or have to lie to him about why Penelope suddenly set you up when you have shown no intention of being interested in dating.

“Penelope told me. Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked, running his hand through his hair as if he was stressed. You didn’t understand, not really. You told Spencer everything so you could understand why he would be annoyed that you didn’t tell him this, but it seemed as if he took it personally.

You squint at him, crossing your arms. “What is your issue? You look like you want to strangle someone.”

He lets out a huff, avoiding your eyes again. “It’s nothing.”

You tilt your head, studying him. There’s something under the surface, and you’re not about to let it go. “Well you’re here so, obviously its not nothing … What’s going on?”

He finally looks up at you, his eyes sharp and filled with something you haven’t seen before. It catches you off guard for a moment. “It’s just—there was a moment.”

You blink, thrown by the sudden shift. “A moment?”

His voice drops, a little rougher now, a little more real. “Last week. When we were making pizza, and the week before that— and during- there was a moment.”

Your heart skips. You know exactly what he’s talking about, but you stay silent, letting him continue.

“I thought there was a moment,” he says, his frustration starting to leak through his words now. “I thought maybe something was… happening.”

Your chest tightens, the air in the room shifting as you meet his eyes. “There was.”

The confession comes out of your mouth before you even realize it, and the tension between you two spikes instantly, filling the space with an electric charge. You can feel it, the way everything has changed with those two words.

Spencer just stares at you, his brow furrowing slightly, like he hadn’t expected you to admit it. He takes a step forward, you step back almost unconsciously, and your heart beats faster in your chest.

“What are you doing?” you ask, your voice low, unsure.

He doesn’t stop moving, closing the gap between you even more, and his voice is soft but firm when he speaks. “Will you just stand still for a minute?”

Before you can say anything, before you can even process what’s happening, his hand comes up to cup the side of your face, and his lips are on yours.

The kiss is soft at first, almost tentative, but it’s full of all the unspoken things that have been building between you for so long. You feel the world tilt, your hands instinctively moving to grip the front of his jacket, pulling him closer. For a second, everything else fades away—your date, the case, everything.

When you finally pull back, breathless, you just stare at each other. His thumb brushes lightly across your cheek, and his eyes search yours, full of something that feels too big to name.

Neither of you says anything for a long moment, the silence thick and heavy with everything that’s just shifted between you.

Then, as if in slow motion, you take a small step forward. It’s your turn now, the tables flipped, and you can see the surprise flicker in his eyes as he instinctively steps back.

“What are you doing?” he asks, echoing your earlier words, his voice low and a little breathless

You give him a small smile, feeling the tension twist tighter in your chest. “Will you just stand still for a minute?” You mirrored his words

His eyes widen slightly, but he doesn’t move, and before he can say another word, you close the space between you and kiss him again.

This time, it’s different. There’s no hesitation, no second-guessing. The kiss is deeper, more insistent, and you feel his hands tighten around your waist, pulling you closer. It’s like everything you’ve both been holding back is finally breaking free, all the tension and the unspoken feelings rushing to the surface.

When you finally break apart, you’re both breathing heavily, faces inches from each other. Your hands are still gripping the front of his jacket, his fingers still digging into your sides like he’s afraid to let go.

You don’t move, neither of you do. You just stay there, staring at each other, and for the first time in a long time, you’re not thinking about the job, or the cases, or anything else. It’s just him.

He’s the first to break the silence, his voice quiet and almost disbelieving, He exhales, a long, relieved breath, his hand still resting on your waist. “I thought maybe I was imagining it.”

You shake your head, feeling a strange warmth bloom in your chest. “No. You weren’t imagining it.”

Another beat of silence passes, and then his lips quirk up into that small, crooked smile you’ve always liked so much. “Well, I guess we have Penelope to thank for this.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling back. “Yeah, and she doesn’t even know it.”

His thumb brushes your side, a subtle touch, but enough to send a shiver up your spine. “Are you… still going on that date?”

The question hangs in the air between you, and for a moment, you almost laugh. The idea of leaving now, of going out with some guy Penelope set you up with, feels absurd.

“No,” you say, your voice steady and certain. “I’m not.”

His smile widens, just a little. “Good.”

You grin up at him, feeling lighter than you have in weeks. “Yeah? Why’s that good?”

Spencer’s gaze softens, and for the first time, you see the real reason for his frustration, for all of this. He steps even closer, so close that you can feel his breath on your lips, his voice low and sincere.

“Because, there was a moment.”

Your heart stutters in your chest, and you meet his eyes, that familiar warmth spreading through you again. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says, his lips ghosting yours, and the last bit of tension that’s been sitting between you melts away completely. He smiles, and before either of you can say anything else, he closes the gap and kisses you again.

[emmyrosee]

Pls pls pls help a girl out!!

Its shark 🦈 week and whenever I’m in shark week I crave angst full on body angst ne you write it best 😭 pity me

I write it the best…? 🥺🩷 also no specific character in mind for this, but yall are married so 🫶🏻

————-

You’ve been yelling at each other for hours.

The circles of verbal assault haven’t slowed its pace, vile, cruel words flying from one mouth to pierce the heart of the other, only for the other words to come harder, meaner, louder. The throes of anger keep you both pinned in place, unable to stop, think, and see the damage you’re causing each other.

Your hands are swollen from your fists being so tightly balled, migraine forming from your scowling. His brows are stuck pinched in the center of his forehead, so deep you’re convinced they’ll stay there for days after you’re done. His teeth are grit so tight together that you want to massage his jaw to make them loosen before he shatters his pearly whites into pieces.

The culprit? A cold cup of tea, that now sits to the side dejectedly.

Because of that cold cup of tea, you’ve been screaming for two, going onto three hours, with no end in sight.

But, it’s not about the cold tea. It’s about the fact that the urgency in your love is gone, the quickness and determination to be with each other has dissolved into nothing but sugar melting in a mug of tea. Your time together has been awkward, it’s been minimal, and in your search to do something nice for him, like a warm cup of tea, he allowed it to get cold, and… what happened next?

There’s boundaries being crossed, lines of truce being broken as you cast vicious words against each other, the use of insecurities to make the other crumble and conjure a look of hurt, only to morph to disgust and yell back something even more heinous.

And yet…

“What did I even marry you for?” He snarls, throwing his arms out. “I’m certain it wasn’t for this! So why are we wasting our time right now?”

Your world stops.

In an instant, all words die on your tongue. Your mouth opens and closes like a fish as all you can think about are his words. They repeat in your head, almost in slow motion, as your heart sinks in your chest.

“What…?” you croak. Your throat is dry, mouth cottony, and you silently pray to anything, holy and not, merciful and malicious, that you didn’t hear him right. Your mind is lying, so tired of fighting you’re seeing the worst in him as a defense mechanism.

“You heard me,” he barks. “Your life is so miserable? You hate it here so much? GO.”

You heard him right.

You wished you hadn’t.

Your arms come up to cradle yourself in comfort, the fire swirling in your chest now extinguished, the once lively fight now being reduced to a ringing in your ear.

You’d… when did he…

“You don’t get to sit here, call me a cheater, a loser, a liar, all for your own good mind. Not when I’ve put my whole LIFE into you. I gave you my WHOLE. LIFE.”

“Why…”

“What?” He snarls.

You sniffle. Your bottom lip wobbles, and you blink a line of scalding tears out; you’re surprised they don’t sizzle your flesh from being so hot with frustration.

“Why… are you being so mean?”

“Mean?” He snaps. “Mean, you’ve called me some of the cruelest shit I’ve ever heard in your vocabulary, but I’m being mean? Do you even hear yourself, IM THE MEAN ONE?”

“Do you really wonder why you married me…?”

Your voice is so quiet, you wonder if he heard you.

He opens his mouth to spew his venom, only to stop dead in his tracks. His brows soften as his eyes widen, jaw slacking subtly. For the first time tonight, the room is quiet; still thick enough to cut the tension with a blade, but it’s quiet enough where you both can gather your thoughts.

You wipe your nose with your arm, “do you really think I want to stay here and fight with you? Is that how you think I want to spend my night with you?” You sob softly, “because it’s not. I don’t want to fight with you over cold tea… I don’t want to…”

You can practically see the lightbulb over his head light up. That’s right, you think to yourself. This is about tea.

“I…”

“I don’t question why I married you,” you whimper. “I know exactly why- because I love you. But the man I know would never, and I mean never, verbally assault and question his love for me over a cold. Cup. Of. Tea.”

“I don’t…” he shakes softly. “How did we get here…?”

“You started this war,” you hiss. “I didn’t.”

“Baby…”

“Don’t you fucking baby me,” you snap. “No. You don’t get to do that as a way to weasel out of this. You’re not going to guilt me with pet names to forgive you.”

“No, no, baby- damn, no, I mean-“

“You know what?” You pull your lips down into a frown and throw your hands out in defeat. “You want me gone so bad? I’m gone.”

“No, no, wait,” he begs, reaching out for one of your hands. You whip them back like he’s made of fire, and he reels away, as if keeping you safe, “no, I don’t want you to leave. I don’t question my love for you, I’d rather die than ever have you wonder if I love you-“

“Then you’d better have a goddamned good explanation for this,” you hiss. “Because right now? We’re done.”

“No!”

“I’m…” your strength is gone. Your lip quivers and your hand comes up to cover your mouth, and you wail as you make a dash out of the room, darting for the bedroom. You lock the door and slam your fist against the wood, screaming, howling in agony at the heartbreak of potentially losing your husband over a cold cup of tea.

Things spiraled so far out of control, that he questioned his love for you. How are you to come back from that? Angry words are truth shrouded in cruelty, and you are not going to let him berate you in such a manner as to wonder if this marriage was a good choice. You deserve far more, far better, than that.

On the other side of the door, you hear a soft poomf, then a thump. You stop crying to try and figure out the noises and their purpose.

“I’m here,” he says quietly, a far different tone from how he was speaking to you not three minutes ago. “I won’t try to come in. I won’t make you talk to me. But I’m here… and I love you. And I’m sorry.”

“Bite me,” you choke.

You hear him sigh through his nose, “I… I know why I married you,” he whispers. You don’t say anything. He continues regardless, “because you’re you. And on our first date, you were late because you hated the outfit you had planned, but you looked so fucking good, I couldn’t handle it. And it was that day, I decided I wanted to wait for you, forever. You are more than worth waiting for. And…” you hear him clear his throat, but there’s an emotional block in his voice, “I’ll keep waiting for you. Right here, on this floor. I’ll sleep, I’ll eat, I’ll piss I’ll die here, I don’t care, I’m right here. And I’ll stay here to prove that you’re worth waiting for.” He shudders.

“I’m happy to wait for you.”

———

haikyuu: daichi, kageyama, tsukishima, kuroo, yaku, iwaizumi, mattsun, hanamakki, oikawa, kyotani, ushijima (different font), kita (also different font), atsumu, osamu, suna, sakusa, meian

bnha: bakugou, dabi, hawks

jjk: gojo, geto, nanami, sukuna, toji, shiu

tokyo rev: baji, draken, mikey, hanma, rindou

[icarryitin]

Hell Hath No Fury

spencer reid/gn!reader

THE CANYOUNIVERSE RETURNS FROM WAR🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳

series masterlist

word count: 1.5k // warnings: a couple of swears, ya boy gets anthraxed bc we’re getting into canon events now, Foreshadowing™️ (is it foreshadowing if i’ve already posted the part that’s foreshadowed??)

summary: Spencer forgets to use his brain (again), puts his life on the line (again), and it’s down to you to remind him (again).

“I’ve got Reid on the line for you.”

Something about the way Penelope’s voice trips over his name makes your blood run cold. It’s not unusual for her to pass someone over, but it’s different this time - you can feel it in the pit of your stomach.

“Hey, you.”

Spencer barely manages to suppress a cough as he greets you over the line, and that’s how you know you’re right. God, you hate being right.

His exposure is minimal.

We can’t be sure it’s the new strain.

He dosed up with the rest of us.

You know why your team leader decided not to tell you just how bad it is but oh, Hotch is getting an earful when this is over - and he’s not the only one. Because while you’re quietly seething, while the remainder of your lunch is rolling around in your stomach, Spencer Reid is asking if you’ll check in on his mother for him. Just in case anything happens. Yeah, like you’d let it. The universe, God, whatever forces that be? They’ll have to go through you first if they want to get to him.

“I don’t think you get a dying wish if you’re not actively dying.” You sound braver than you feel, phone firmly held to your ear as you slide behind the wheel of your car. Nichol’s address isn’t far from here, Emily and Rossi can handle whatever lies within Chad Brown’s house by themselves. You have bigger fish to fry.

Fish that have a penchant for throwing themselves in front of bullets and unsubs and into anthrax riddled houses.

“But you’ll do it?” He asks, choking back yet another hacking cough that sets your teeth on edge. Of course you will, it’s a ridiculous question. You’ll call and you’ll visit and you’ll write, what’s another letter in the mail after every case anyway?

“Obviously I’ll do it,” Your eye roll is audible, you’re sure of it, “But you’re not dying, Spencer.”

You don’t say goodbye before hanging up, because you don’t need to. Because he’s going to be fine. Of course he is, frankly he’s got no choice in the matter. Even if the number of hazmat trucks at Nichols’ house sends your heart leaping into your throat.

“Respectfully, sir,” You call across the lawn the moment you’re out of the car, squinting in the sun, “You’re full of shit.”

Hotch’s face doesn’t move, but you’ve been at this long enough to register his tell. A split second twitch of his fingers grasped around his phone - he meant well, keeping the severity of the situation from you, most likely because he knew you’d drop everything. And here you are anyway, so much for his genius plan.

Speaking of genius…

You follow the trail of CDC officers, suited and booted from top to tail in PPE around you, through the maze of tents until you spot Derek - arms folded, signature eyebrows furrowed in frustration at whoever stands behind the flimsy plastic shield. As if you didn’t already know.

Spencer Reid looks reminiscent of a kicked puppy on a good day, and getting hosed down in a hazmat tent does him no favours in that department. Soaked to the bone and shivering, the state of him does nothing to quell your frustration at his actions. If anything, it starts to boil over because - well, doesn’t he know? That you’d only feel like half a person without him beside you at the round table or in the bullpen? That the early Sunday morning breakfasts keep you sane? That he’s your best friend in the world and if anything, anything, ever happened to him you wouldn’t know how to exist?

“You,” You’re breathless, suddenly, in the face of it all, “Are fucking in for it.”

He has the decency to shrink back a little from the heat of your anger and the accusatory finger you’re pointing at him, even though there’s a layer of protective plastic between you. Even Derek takes a step away from where you’ve sidled up beside him. And you let rip.

Because, for the smartest guy in every room, how could he be so stupid? Walking into a place that is almost definitely poisoned with no protective equipment is basically step one of the ‘How To Die Immediately, For Dummies’ handbook. Staying in that place is even more ridiculous.

Spencer’s relief in seeing you outweighs the anxiety tensing his muscles, even if you are bussing with the fury of a poked wasp’s nest, even if it is his fault. The very real possibility that he might have finally signed his own death warrant is softened by the sight of you, warped as it might be through the tent’s window. He finds the water warmer, the brushes softer, the incessant scrubbing gentler, just by watching you. Even your yelling is reassuring, because it means he’s not dead yet. He gets to watch you a little longer. He’s not so far gone that he misses the sunlight catching in your eyes as you rant and rave at him. It isn’t the first time you’ve struck him as beautiful, and it won’t be the last, but it doesn’t paralyse him anymore. He’s long since come to terms with that fact, Although, the thought might be a little misguided given your anger at his poor decision making.

But it’s not anger, it’s fear.

The same kind of fear that grips his heart in cold hands every time you end up on the wrong side of a gun, it’s not unfamiliar. Although Spencer’s never been on the receiving end of it from you. The fear of a loss that might be just too great to overcome, amongst all the others. You’ve mentioned, in passing, the friends that have moved on or married or simply faded away in the years you’ve been with the Bureau - it’s not uncommon, the job becomes a person’s whole life and anyone who claims otherwise is a liar. He knows it as well as anyone. You have each other, you have the team, they’re your family as much as they are his and - a nudge at his shoulder breaks his reverie.

“Can we talk about this later? I need, uh,” He struggles, there’s no way to put it delicately, “They need to scrub me down properly.”

“Well I’m not finished, so start stripping, Doctor.”

It’s his race against time versus your stone cold fury - unstoppable force, meet immovable object. Because you’re not budging, just standing there expectantly with your arms folded over your chest. Morgan breaks the stalemate after a long minute of eye contact, hands on your shoulders, steering you away with a meet you at the hospital thrown over his shoulder at Spencer. Ever the mediator.

“That was a bit dramatic, I know.”

“A bit?” Derek exclaims, and you spare yourself the embarrassment of looking him in the eye.

You’re not sure how you manage to blag your way out of the final takedown, but you do. An argument made for having a presence at the hospital, making sure the victims have received the suspected antidote, that it’s working; you decide to leave out the fact that the only thing your brain is capable of right now is wondering if Spencer is choking to death yet.

Hotch finds you after it all, sitting on a bench in the hall outside Spencer’s room. Feet tapping nervously on the floor, you’d slipped out as the doctor came in to check his numbers - you made it in the front door, you’re pretty sure you’ll be forgiven for missing out on all the needle sticking. You’re trying to collect your thoughts enough to articulate a sentence, something calm and composed instead of the anger that almost boiled over earlier. And he waits, because he knows. There’s a lot of people in this world who have a lot to say about Aaron Hotchner, but not a single one of them can claim he doesn’t know his team inside out.

“I know why you downplayed things, but this team is my family. I don’t have anybody else,” you look him dead in the eye, unwavering, even though your words tremble ever so slightly, “And I will not be lied to about it.”

There’s a beat of silence; long enough for both of you to acknowledge that he can’t promise you anything, and then he relents.

“Understood.”

You leave him sitting on the bench, digesting your words in the hustle of the hallway, in favour of the uncomfortable armchair at Spencer’s bedside. Derek joins you after a little while, and you greet him with a soft smile as he settles into the chair on Spencer’s other side. One he returns, as he always does, and you settle back into the silence. It’s a waiting game now.

“There’s an ass kicking coming your way, I hope you know that.”

Spencer has barely opened his eyes when he hears your voice, floating somewhere to his left, over the steady beeping of machines and muffled chatter. The hospital, he’s at the hospital. He’s at the hospital, and you’re here, and Morgan’s here, because //of course// you are. Where else would either of you be?

“Can it wait until I’m out of here?” His voice is hoarse at first, but it’s enough to get a giggle out of both his visitors.

“Well yeah,” You couldn’t keep the fond smile off of your face if you tried, relieved that his sense of humour has made it through intact, “I want a fair fight.

if you’ve stuck around for my 3 months of radio silence, i am kissing you on the mouth🧡🧡🧡

[childrenofcain-if]

Fuuuckk! *Throws some angst for W*

Childhood Friends to lovers are really my weaknesses when it comes to stories and I am left just craving for more when I see this trope because most of the time it's just never executed right. Forgotten Childhood Friend with the other pining for MC, while MC (can) remain obvious 👀👀👀 Now that's a great setting for angst if I ever saw one!

Because in a scenario where MC has a trinket, a stuffed toy, a keychain, and W sees it and freezes, because it's the same one they gave MC years ago. MC mistakes it for interest and tells them "Oh, I don't really know where I got this from but it looks cute, don't you think?"

Just *ASDFGHJKL* What would be their reaction? Because MC still kept something that symbolizes their time together. But on the other hand! MC forgot about them and only kept the trinkets!

Also crying over this song that reminds me of W. The story within the song is different but the longing and yearning is there that rips my fucking heart out. I could not find the song cover that I really liked on YouTube so, here's one that seems close.

https://youtu.be/YiVpWPkbdPY?si=R2csRdrSsRFsO9K6

Also I can't wait for Sept 22! So excited to play the demo!

the moment W spotted the red muppet, everything about them stilled—their breath, their posture, the casual air they usually carried around you. their hand froze mid-motion as they’d been reaching for something else, but now their fingers hovered above the clumsily stitched muppet, their gaze glued to it as if the sight had transported them somewhere else.

the stuffed elmo sat on the dresser, slouched and frayed at the edges, its stitched seams visible in uneven lines—clearly done by an unpracticed hand. it was amateurishly repaired, the kind of haphazard work a child might do when they were trying to fix something that was once beloved, not caring how it looked as long as it was whole again.

it was the same one. there was no mistaking it. the muppet’s orange nose was slightly off-center, where their stitches hadn’t lined up properly, and one eye was smaller than the other.

their heart clenched, an ache so familiar it was almost comforting, and for a second, they were eight again, sitting cross-legged on the floor of their childhood bedroom, hands trembling as they tried to patch the torn elmo plushie back together. it had been torn to shreds by paolo, your mom’s neighbor’s pitbull, and you’d cried—they hated seeing you cry.

the memory hit them like cold water, their body suddenly stiff, eyes wide as if they’d seen something that didn’t belong in the present.

and then, you speak, completely unaware of the weight they were carrying.

“oh, i see you found my favourite plushie. don’t really know where i got this from, but it looks cute, don’t you think?”

your voice was light, casual, almost dismissive as you twirled the stuffed toy in your hands. like it was just an object, a relic of some forgotten childhood. but for them, it was the artifact of a time when the world was bigger, when the two of you were inseparable, when they would’ve done anything to fix even the smallest thing for you.

W’s breath caught in their throat, and they had to force themselves to blink, to remember how to speak. their heart pounded, not from excitement, but from the disorienting rush of memories. they had given this to you. or tried to.

they had stitched it back together so carefully, spending hours making sure it was perfect before nervously handing it over. you’d smiled back then, said you liked it, and they’d believed it meant something. something more than just a token, more than just a toy.

but you didn’t remember. you didn’t even know where it came from. a part of them wishes you didn’t still have it. wishes you’d forgotten completely, because this—you keeping it, but not remembering them—is so much worse.

they swallowed hard, trying to keep their voice steady. “yeah, it’s... cute.” the word felt wrong in their mouth, like it was somehow betraying the weight that muppet plush carried for them.

their gaze lingered on it, their mind racing, wondering if you had kept it because you cared, or if it was just some forgotten relic of a time you no longer remembered.

you smiled, tilting your head. “it kind of feels like something special, you know? like it was given to me by someone important. i just wish i could remember who.”

W’s chest tightened, the claustrophobic feeling spreading through them. someone important. you didn’t remember them, but you still felt something. they looked at you, at the elmo plush dangling from your hand, its threadbare form a little sad, like a reflection of something lost. something that was once held together, but now, you didn’t even recognize the hands that put it back together.

they wanted to say something, wanted to tell you the truth, but the words tangled in their throat. what was the point? you didn’t remember, and the idea of reminding you now—of laying bare this vulnerable part of themself—felt utterly terrifying.

W laughed, though it sounded strained, and ran a hand through their blonde locks.

“i, uh…” they cleared their throat, glancing down, hands gripping the edge of their denim aviator jacket. “i used to know someone who had one just like that. torn by a dog, actually. i stitched it up for them.”

your head snapped up. there was something flickering behind your eyes, something W couldn’t quite read. it almost looked like jealousy, but that was ridiculous, wasn’t it? you couldn’t be jealous over a stupid story from childhood.

“really?” you asked, your voice carefully neutral. “who was it for?”

they paused, their heart hammering in their chest. they didn’t want to say it outright—they didn’t want to ruin this delicate, strange balance between you. so they shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. “just... someone i knew. a friend.”

you nodded, but there’s a glimmer in your eyes, something that was very close to envy.

“i bet they were really important to you, huh?” your voice has an edge, and W can hear the undercurrent of an unspoken emotion which you were trying to suppress.

they want to laugh, but it catches in their throat. “yeah,” they mutters, their gaze flicking to the floor. “they were.”

you glanced down at the toy again, running your fingers over the uneven stitching, and W’s stomach twisted. they wanted to reach out, to tell you it was theirs, that they’d sewn every stitch with clumsy hands, that it meant something to them because it had been for you, only for you. but instead, they just stood there, rooted to the spot, their mind spinning with the weight of what you didn’t know.

“was that friend really close to you?” you asked softly, your voice almost too quiet, as if you were afraid of the answer.

W froze, caught off guard by the question. they hadn’t expected that. they hadn’t expected you to ask, hadn’t expected you to care. but now, standing there with the past pressing down on them, they realized they couldn’t lie—not about this.

“they were... they meant a lot to me,��� they said carefully, their voice barely above a whisper. they looked away, not wanting to see the confusion or the hurt or whatever it was that might show on your face. “it was a long time ago, though.”

you nodded slowly, though something about your posture had stiffened, like you were trying to process what they’d said, trying to make sense of it.

“i see,” you murmured, your eyes flicking back to the toy in your hands. “that’s really nice. i don’t really remember much about my childhood.”

W swallowed hard, feeling the weight of those words. you didn’t remember. of course you didn’t, the last summer you spent together was the darkest period of your life. how would you remember them, or the hours they’d spent trying to make that muppet perfect for you, or the way they’d felt when you smiled and said you liked it? and yet, you’d kept the plush. you’d kept it all these years, even though you had no idea it had been them.

“yeah,” they said quietly, their voice heavy with understanding and empathy. “i guess a lot of things get forgotten once you grow up.”

you didn’t respond, but you didn’t need to. the silence between you said enough—that painful, lingering silence that wrapped itself around the two of you like a python of what could’ve been.

the muppet sat in your lap, a symbol of a shared past that only one of you remembered, and W felt that ache again—that deep, hollow ache of being close to you but so far away. like you had travelled to the stars and they had no way of reaching you anymore.

they took a deep breath, trying to pull themself back together, trying to focus on the present, on the fact that you were still here, even if you didn’t remember.

“anyway,” W said, forcing a smile, “i’m glad you kept it. even if you don’t remember where it came from.”

you smiled, though it didn’t reach your eyes, and W wondered if some part of you did remember, somewhere deep down. whether it was an actual possibility or W’s wishful thinking, you didn’t say anything else about it, and neither did they.

and in the end, all W could do was smile back at you, pretending like it didn’t hurt. like they hadn’t been completely forgotten as well.

[rs-hawk]

So just saw your post about not voting for trump. Good post. He's not a white nationalist though. Real white nationalists respect indigenous people. Place for every race and all that. He's just the run of the mill politician who says what he thinks will give him the most voters. Anyway, you'd probably be better treated by a white nationalist government lol.

This has been sitting in my ask box for like a month but just... Damn. This is wild.

You're telling me that I, a queer mixed Indigenous AFAB person who technically can be considered disabled, am respected by... White Supremacists? White Supremacists want me dead. I live in Texas. I come in contact with White Supremacists literally on a near daily basis.

They are the first ones to throw slurs at me. They are the first to say I should go back to my own country (and then say Reservation when I say that this is my country). They are the first ones to literally throw things at me at my day job. I have had people who I know for a fact are literally, LITERALLY, in the KKK, come into my job and ask why someone like me is working up front in a public establishment.

Again, I am mixed race. White Supremacists often either hate me off the bat because they know I'm mixed or see me as a minority and me simply existing in the same space as them is an affront. However, when they think I'm full White (as I am Italian and have been told I pass as Italian), and then find out I'm mixed it's so much worse. They take it as I lied to them. I had one customer at work a few years ago that we kind of flirted, and he was talking about taking me out when my job slowed down. I mentioned something off handedly about turquoise jewelry a few visits later, and he asked if I was "Indian". When I said yes, a total 180. He started accusing me of lying to him, saying I wanted to taint his blood line, blah blah blah.

Here's what you need to understand, sticking up for White Supremacists is just as fucked as being one. White Supremacists don't respect Indigenous Peoples. They want us gone. They want us somewhere they never have to see us. Reservations are not something we got out of respect. We have Reservations because we were forced to and it was all we were allowed. This is my ancestral land, and they still think I should be forced to live in another state because the government decided over a century ago (as the Nation I'm registered with was one of the last to be forced onto a Reservation) because they want to live here, in America, on traditional land, without wanting to see us.

White Supremacists don't respect us or any minorities. They want us out of their face. "A place for all races" just means out of their face or in what they consider in our place. A White Supremacist government is what created Reservations in the first place. A White Supremacist government is what forced my great grandmother's grandfather to be born on the side of the road during the march to the Reservation.

I am a firm believer that America is a Melting Pot. I am mixed race. I am proud of every aspect of who I am. I can list every ethnicity/race I am as I and my family are firm believers in knowing where you come from. As a child, my mom would quiz me on what I was and what side of my family it came from. It is important to know who and what you are. I have no issue with people being proud of who they are. There is no issue with wanting to only date/marry inside your culture imo. I don't have a problem with that. What is a problem is that White Supremacists (which is what I was calling Trump in my previous post) don't do that. They think they are better than other races. They don't want to even interact with other races. They. Are. Racist. And so is Trump. He called on the Proud Boys, a known White Supremacist group. Be serious.

[moodymelanist]

Step Back, Doors Closing

happy day 4 of @nessianweek everyone! AU day is one of my favorites and I hope you enjoy yet another hyperspecific nessian in DC fic haha.

Summary: Nesta has had it up to here with the guy who doesn’t understand City Rules™.

Word Count: 3.3k

Read on AO3 here!

✵✵✵✵✵✵ Nesta 

It was the second week of her highly coveted summer job, and Nesta was going to be late.

“Come on, come on, come on,” she muttered under her breath as her train took its time shuttling into Metro Center. She had another train to catch, and while normally she arrived at her station with more than enough time to catch her second train to McPherson Square, she’d overslept by just enough time to throw everything out of whack.

Nesta had just finished her second year of law school, and her firm hadn’t wasted any time in getting her started. She’d worked her ass off all year to land this position, and she wasn’t going to fuck it up so early in the summer by strolling in late like some of the other summer associates. She didn’t have a rich father or so many connections that going to law school was almost a formality; she’d put in the work to earn her spot, and she wasn’t going to let something as simple as missing her connecting train stop her from clawing her way to the top of her summer class.

Thankfully, the Red Line’s doors opened relatively quickly, and Nesta nearly ran a few unsuspecting people over as she raced through the station toward the escalators to catch whatever train was coming next. It didn’t matter if she caught a Blue, Orange, or Silver; she just needed to be on the next train, for God’s sakes.

“Excuse me!” Nesta called out as she took to the stairs at a run, her irritation already flaring at the people who just didn’t seem to understand the rules of living in a city. She loved the District, but she didn’t love just how many tourists and those unfamiliar with the Metro seemed to flock to the train during the summer. How hard was it to remember to stand on the right and leave the left clear?

Everyone seemed to get with the program except for one massive guy who was standing on the left side of the escalator without recognizing the dirty looks being thrown at him from behind. Nesta didn’t have time to wait for him to get with the program, though, so she yelled even louder, “Hey! Hi! Excuse me!” 

“Huh?” The guy turned and looked over one of his very muscular shoulders, his hazel eyes widening slightly at the look on Nesta’s face. He had just enough of a drawl to suggest he wasn’t from around here, but Nesta was far too worried about missing her train to take in just how good-looking he was or how much she liked the accent on his lips. “Sorry, ma’am. Let me get out of your way.” 

“Thanks,” Nesta told him as he moved his frankly massive body to the right, finally giving her the opening she needed to sprint down the rest of the escalator. She had to shove her foot into the door to stop it from closing on her, but by the grace of whatever god was listening she managed to make it inside the train just before it left.

“Fucking idiot tourists,” Nesta muttered under her breath, practically collapsing into her seat as she caught her breath. She absolutely hated running for the train, especially around those who didn’t know any better. Hopefully she wouldn’t run into the guy again.

Besides, did she really look that old to be called ma’am? What a dick.

✵✵✵✵✵✵

The rest of Nesta’s week was thankfully uneventful commute-wise, and she was very grateful that she didn’t have to sprint through Metro Center looking like an idiot at eight thirty in the morning again. 

Nesta’s luck didn’t hold forever, though. Nearly two weeks later, she’d stayed out later than usual the night before because of a networking dinner, and pressing snooze one too many times on her alarm led to her jumping out of bed with a series of curses so vulgar her mother was probably rolling in her grave at how unladylike all of it was. 

Nesta rushed through the fastest shower of her life, somehow managing to make herself presentable in twenty minutes before she hauled ass out the door to get to Cleveland Park. She thankfully had enough time to drink a cup of coffee and take another to go before she left her apartment, but all the coffee in the world couldn’t prepare her for how the rest of her morning was going to play out.

“Excuse me! Excuse me! Jesus fucking Christ, excuse me!” Nesta snapped, already out of patience with it all as she maneuvered her way off her first train and downstairs to the other half of the station. To add insult to injury, one of the escalators was apparently having some kind of issue, so instead of the two going down and one going up, there was only one of each.

Of course this was happening on what was already a very shitty morning. At the sound of a train approaching on the lower level, Nesta tightened her grip on her coffee and hauled ass to make it to the working escalator, ready to make that train come hell or high water. She would’ve made it too, if not for the giant wall of muscle that was once a-fucking-gain taking up a truly ridiculous amount of room on the escalator. Despite her increasingly loud calls of excuse me, the man didn’t move out of her way until just in time for the doors to shut right in front of Nesta’s quickly reddening face.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Nesta practically snarled under her breath, her chest heaving from her now-pointless sprint. Before she could stop herself, she whirled around to face the man responsible, clutching her thermos so tightly it was a miracle the material didn’t crumple under her hand. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I’m sorry?” he replied after a second. Today he had on a pale blue polo tucked into a pair of darker navy slacks, and she hated how good he looked in the outfit when all she wanted to do was rip his head off. 

“You made me miss my fucking train,” she continued, really working up steam now, “because you’re apparently incapable of remembering what side of the escalator to stand on. So I ask again: what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I’m not from around here,” the man responded after a moment, at least having the decency to look a little sheepish as he stared down at Nesta. He had a badge clipped through one of his belt loops that said Cassian. “We don’t have public transit like this back home. I’m used to driving everywhere.”

“I don’t give a fuck what you have back home,” she snapped. The next train was coming in three minutes, so she had plenty of time to tell this Cassian about himself before she made it into the office. “You’re not in fucking Kansas anymore. Get with the goddamn program.”

“It’s Texas, actually,” Cassian answered, apparently completely unruffled by her outburst. It only made her want to lash out at him more, but judging by the amusement twinkling in his eye, she wasn’t totally sure that would be a problem for him.

“It’s an expression,” Nesta hissed. God, she needed more coffee; the stuff she had clearly wasn’t strong enough to deal with this idiot, but it didn’t stop her from taking a healthy swallow from her thermos. “Surely they have those back home.”

“We have plenty of things back home,” he replied cheerfully, though she suspected it probably fell into that faux-Southern kindness she’d heard about before. “Including manners. And politeness.”

“If you want that so bad, then maybe you should fuck back off to Texas,” she retorted. She looked down to her feet and was incredibly thankful that the lights on the edge of the platform had started flashing, signaling the next train was about a minute away. “We do things a little differently on the East Coast.”

“Yep,” Cassian told her, the amusement fading from his eyes. She felt a vicious burst of satisfaction as a hint of annoyance began to creep into his voice. “I’m beginning to see that.”

“So you are capable of learning,” Nesta said just as her train pulled into the station. She turned over her shoulder to give him one last icy look before she boarded her train, adding, “Keep up the good work.”

✵✵✵✵✵✵

By the time Nesta made it back to Metro Center after work, she was more than ready to complete her commute in peace. Her feet hurt, she was nursing a low-grade headache, and all she wanted was to change into her most comfortable pajamas and maybe throw on a face mask while she caught up on Interview With the Vampire. Maybe the universe would be kind for once and actually let her.

It seemed the universe was hell-bent on ruining her day, though, because there weren’t any seats available on the train back to Shady Grove. Nesta sighed heavily, trying to convince herself she was completely fine with standing the entire way back to Cleveland Park; her shoes were killing her, and she’d forgotten to charge her AirPods before she’d left work for the day, but it was fine. Totally, completely, and one hundred percent fine.

“You want to sit down?”

Nesta looked up from where she’d been reading something on her phone, unable to come up with a coherent response as she realized it was the guy from earlier – Cassian, who was still looking way too good in his blue outfit. 

“What?” Nesta replied, her brain not completely firing on all cylinders after the day she’d had.

“I said, did you want to sit down?” Cassian repeated. He was sitting nearly directly across from her in one of the seats right by the doors, and he’d already started to pick up his backpack like he fully intended to get up.

Of course he was offering her his seat out of some misguided sense of chivalry. At any other time, Nesta would’ve rolled her eyes and told him to fuck off, that she could stand up just fine; after the last few weeks, though, the worst part wasn’t even that he’d offered. 

It was that she was considering taking it. 

“Just—” Cassian began, looking more and more exasperated the longer Nesta stared at him like he had two heads. “Just let me do this. Okay?”

“Why?” Nesta asked, suspicious. 

“I know I fucked up this morning,” he answered. God, that drawl shouldn’t be as attractive as it was; Nesta cursed her tired brain for liking the sound of his voice even more than usual. “And a lot of other mornings, if we’re being honest. Can this be a minor peace offering?”

Nesta weighed her options as the train began slowing down. On the one hand, sitting down would be amazing, but on the other, she didn’t know if she wanted to let this weird thing she had with Cassian go just quite yet. Still, her feet were hurting, so she just sighed and told herself it didn’t have to mean a single, goddamned thing, even though she knew the truth.

“Fine,” Nesta finally agreed. Cassian hopped up so she could sit down just as the train came to a stop at Farragut North, and she absolutely didn’t notice the way his arm muscles flexed as he reached up to grab the railing above him. “I still don’t like you, though.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Cassian responded. A satisfied little smile appeared on his lips, and she had to focus somewhere else before she did something stupid like think about totally dropping her grudge because of how good-looking he was. “I hope you weren’t too late for whatever you were rushing off to.”

“My summer associate position is more than just ‘whatever I was rushing off to,’” she replied, too tired from her long day to do more than roll her eyes at him. 

“Summer associate, huh?” he fired back. He seemed appropriately impressed, so maybe he knew some lawyers. She wouldn’t be surprised if he did; this was DC, after all. “What law school are you at?”

“Georgetown,” she answered. She wasn’t totally sure why she was telling him this, but hopefully it wouldn’t come back to bite her in the ass somehow later. She wouldn’t mind if he came back to bite her in the ass, but she viciously shoved that thought out of her mind; now was so not the time. “I’m starting my last year of law school in the fall.”

“That’s nice,” he told her, somehow managing to pack the words with a ridiculous amount of… something. He waited for the train to stop and keep going onto the next stop before adding, “Real nice. I’m on the Hill this summer.”

“You and half the city,” she retorted. If you lived in the District for longer than thirty seconds, you’d meet someone who worked on the Hill. “I hope you don’t think that makes you special.”

“If you think I’m special, then I’ll take it.”

“I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to. I can just tell what you’re thinking.” 

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” Nesta said, thoroughly ignoring the grin on Cassian’s face. “Don’t tell me you’re working for that piece of shit Ted Cruz.”

“What do you take me for?” Cassian said back with a roll of his pretty eyes. “Not everybody from Texas is a bigot, sweetheart. I’m working for someone with sense, thank you very much.”

“I don’t think you want to know what I take you for,” she replied dryly. 

He just laughed, the sound somehow making her feel a little less frazzled after a shitty day. “I’d ask you, but I don’t want a situation on the Metro.”

“And what kind of situation would that be?” she asked, raising one of her eyebrows. 

“The kind you don’t talk about in polite company,” he responded. His gaze turned just heated enough to make her force herself not to squirm; she was incredibly thankful that most of the people getting on and off the train had headphones in. 

“You think I’m polite now?” she questioned, not quite willing to cede control of the conversation. 

“Nah,” he replied with a teasing grin. “You’re something else, ma’am.”

Nesta rolled her eyes as the train finally started slowing down at Cleveland Park, gathering her belongings as she prepared to get off the train. “My name is Nesta. Not ma’am.”

“What’s wrong with someone calling you ma’am?” Cassian asked. “You don’t like a respectful man?”

“I’ll let you figure that out, Cassian,” she told him just before she got off the train, making a point of using his first name. Maybe he’d be encouraged to do the same. “Don’t make me miss my train again.”

If Cassian had a reply, Nesta didn’t hear it before the doors shut and the train continued onward. As she walked back to her apartment, she half wondered where he lived; she hadn’t seen him on her way home until today, and half of her hoped it wouldn’t become a habit. 

The other half of her almost hoped he would.

✵✵✵✵✵✵

Nesta went another few days without seeing Cassian, and then on a fateful Wednesday morning, she spied him standing in the middle of the lower platform with his head on a swivel. She was suddenly and immensely thankful that she hadn’t had to run for the train at all today because of how handsome he looked this morning. He had on a white collared shirt tucked into a pair of dark gray slacks, and she of course noticed the way his muscles were straining against the fabric even with the short sleeves. 

Remember how bad he is at taking public transportation, she told herself as she stepped off the escalator.  God, she wished she’d brought more coffee with her to keep her head in the goddamned game. Remember how he made you miss your train. It doesn’t matter how hot he is. 

All of that went out the window the second Cassian opened his mouth, but Nesta wasn’t as upset about it as she probably should’ve been. He really was hot.

“Hey, Nes,” Cassian said. Nesta realized he was holding a large cup of what was probably coffee, packaged nicely in a dark blue thermos. “I, uh… got you this.”

“What is… this?” Nesta questioned. They had another few minutes before their respective trains came into the station, so she supposed she might as well entertain him a little. It had absolutely nothing to do with how hopefully he was smiling at her.

“Coffee,” he answered, taking a step closer. His cologne smelled way too good and she had to actively stop herself from face planting into the side of his neck to take a deeper whiff. She should’ve never taken that goddamn seat; she was folding faster than a house of cards. “I didn’t know what you’d like, so I just got something with caramel in it. Hope you got a sweet tooth.”

“Why would I accept coffee from a stranger?” She asked, mostly to watch him squirm. She didn’t know how he’d guessed about her sweet tooth — or how he’d managed to pick the one morning she’d run out of coffee and hadn’t been able to make her usual two cups — but once she was done needling him, she was going to chug the entire thing. 

“Because it’s good coffee?” he replied. “And I think we’re beyond being strangers, sweetheart.”

“Right,” she responded slowly, making sure he could feel how incredulous she found the entire situation. “How do I know you didn’t poison it?” 

Cassian made a big show of twisting off the lid and taking a sip, somehow managing to do that all and swallow without breaking eye contact. It was unfairly hot and he definitely knew it, judging by the little smirk forming at the corner of his mouth. “Better?”

“Fine,” Nesta grumbled, reaching out her hand and wiggling her fingers expectantly. “Let’s see how good this really is.”

Cassian snapped the top back on and handed the thermos over without comment, the cup warm in her hand as he passed it over. Once she got the top open she performed the same trick he had, very much enjoying the way his eyes went a little wide as she brought the thermos to her lips and swallowed. The coffee was good, maybe not as sweet as she may have preferred, but still good all the same. 

“Well?” Cassian asked expectantly. “What do you think?”

“It’s fine,” Nesta answered, taking another sip. “Could be sweeter.”

“Knew you had a sweet tooth, Nes,” he replied smugly. “Just something about you.”

“I just like sugar,” she told him with a roll of her eyes. “Don’t get any ideas.”

“About you being sweet?” he retorted with a knowing grin. “Never that. I like my ladies meaner than a two-headed snake.”

“…Right,” she said, not totally sure what to say back to that. Was that some kind of compliment? Judging by the way he was looking at her, maybe it was supposed to be. “Is that a Texas thing?”

“Nah,” he said back, still grinning. It was really ridiculous how nice of a smile he had. “Just a Cassian thing.”

“I take back what I said before,” she responded with a huff of laughter. She didn’t think she’d ever been hit on in this way before, and it was certainly memorable. “You are special. Definitely something wrong up there.”

“As long as you know what you’re getting into, sweetheart,” he retorted. 

“And what would that be?” Nesta questioned, raising her voice as both of their trains began approaching the station. 

“Let me take you out for a proper dinner and you can find out,” Cassian fired back without missing a beat.

Nesta studied him for a few seconds, finding nothing but earnestness in those hazel eyes she liked so much, and decided to take a chance. “Fine, but only if we drive.”

tag list: @perseusannabeth | @bookstantrash | @fieldofdaisiies | @goddess-aelin | @c-e-d-dreamer | @talkfantasytome | @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk | @sv0430 | @talibunny30 | @unlikelypersonalknight1 | @champanheandluxxury | @lilah-asteria | @burningsnowleopard | @sayosdreams | @readskk | @simpingfornestaarcheron | @bellaful08 | @readergalaxy | @podemechamardek | @pearlfortears | @nerdperson524 | @jmoonjones | @kale-theteaqueen | @autumnbabylon | @hiimheresworld | @illyrianshadowhunter | @dustjacketmusings | @live-the-fangirl-life | @that-little-red-head | @sweet-pea1 | @brieq | @queercontrarian | @jsmelodies | @afflicted-with-wanderlust

[prince-liest]

The more comfortable I get with the inpatient workflow (knowing how to order things, how certain things work and are done, how to navigate the EMR, etc), the more happy I am to realize that inpatient rotations aren't actually all that bad in terms of the work of them. They suck specifically because they are exhausting 12-13 hour days, 6 days a week and you simply do not get to have a life while you're on this rotation but while I'm at the hospital, it's pretty much fine.

I wish I had the time and energy to work out and also not eat two out of my three meals every day of hospital food, and more time to rest, but I'm also relieved that I definitely do not actively dread or fear going to work every day like I was worried I might. Like, it sucks, but it's not active misery, yfm? My spirits are high. Definitely not super tenable, though.

Also, I have ED next and honestly fuck the emergency department. So glad there are people out there that enjoy emergency medicine, but I am simply not ADHD enough for that shit. I didn't have any bad shifts on my first ED rotation but I still disliked the whole workflow and baseline stress levels.

Anyway, things that did stress me out this week (CW dire hospital shit):

lady who kept threatening to leave the hospital against medical advice because she hated being there that much, even though she had an infection for which she needed an IV-only antibiotic or else she would almost certainly die. everything kept going wrong. she could go home with a central or midline cath; her line was peripheral; picc team couldn't put in a picc line because of her surgical history, so we had to go to interventional radiology and put in a Hickman line; we found this out on Friday and so she wasn't scheduled until Monday; on Monday she almost got moved to the next day because there was an emergency bleed during her time that IR was needed for and she said if we didn't get her scheduled in 45 minutes she was leaving the hospital. ended up discharging her at like 6pm on Monday and I ended up crying at work on Friday (the 13th! yay,,) in the resident library which surprised even me but apparently I'm not immune to "so WHAT if I die?? what do I have to live for? cancer and pain?" after three days of doing my best to juggle "doctor" with "therapist" every time I saw her. she likes me a lot which I think means I did a decent job but that really ran out my emotional energy.

the dude whose nurse called me three times in 45 minutes while I was trying to juggle discharging the above lady and doing my first admit. he was throwing things at the walls in his room because he wanted a cough drop and simply could NOT wait. what the fuck ever.

[allwormdiet]

Interlude 6

Justice for Paige McAbee

This is. Fucking evil. Chaining a woman up like an animal and parading her around the courtroom. Like what the shit.

Utterly fucking barbaric

Brief detour I guess to provide exposition on the existence of rogues

Going from heartbreak to outrage this quickly in succession was some fucking whiplash when I first read this arc, fucking tell you what

Actual torture.

The inhumanity of this entire arrangement is borderline sickening to see play out. What an utter failure of the system

Oh hey you two

I can see how people would get. Touchy. About a power like that. But touchy enough for a life sentence is fucked.

Also, credit where it's due, Bakuda's ingenuity in this situation is still pretty well on display

Bakuda is playing with fucking fire here, and not just pyrokinesis, har har

Okay you know what, callousness and cruelty aside, this is a fucking badass display from Bakuda.

Okay so what the fuck is up with the ABB capes, actually. Bakuda built a bomb that would've devastated, like, the entire Eastern Seaboard, and probably even further beyond that into the west and north. I'd say that she was slumming it as part of a gang that's only got a minor presence in one city and a few neighboring areas, but honestly Lung feels just as cracked.

Dude basically only fights harder over time, he would've taken down everyone in that warehouse if Skitter didn't make a Hail Mary play with Newter's hallucinogen. Kaiser, Sundancer, Bitch, Newter, and one or both of the twins would've been fucking smoked, maybe Labyrinth if Coil's guys didn't bother to pull her out. This dude could've been putting up massive numbers throughout his entire reign as the head of the ABB.

So what the fuck was he doing instead? If he's a gang boss with this kind of power at his fingertips, where's the fucking appetite that should come with it? Skitter didn't even think he was an A-lister before they fought and he proved her wrong, she thought he was like, a step above Uber and Leet? In what world does that misconception become publicly accepted?

I'd say this is gonna bug me, but uhh, Lung's going to the fucking oubliette to end all oubliettes so it's a bit of a moot point, isn't it

Like, okay. Fucked up, sure thing. But this is still such a massive injustice; it was a one-time thing and she couldn't have possibly known if this was the first time it ever happened. You could've demanded training for her power, if nothing else, but you throw her into Hell on Earth. Fuck me.

This is a level of determination that I think has so far gone unmatched in this story. Like, I'll give Taylor time to pull off something even more outrageously self-harming for the sake of an objective, it's her story after all and there's a lot of words left, but Bakuda really is something else.

Of course that "something else" does include being an abrasive piece of shit, but hell, she's a parahuman, I don't think I've met one of them that's without some kind of baggage.

Maybe there's a world out there where after her trigger event she comes down on the other end of the hero/villain line. Bombs aren't exactly heroic but she could build non-lethally for standard use and save the big damage for shit like Endbringers. Plus the obvious potential of having a bomb Tinker as an EOD expert, that would be game-changing.

She'd still probably be an asshole, but like. You don't have to be pleasant to be a hero, we know that one for sure.

Alas.

I was torn between wanting Paige to get out of this and wanting Lung and Bakuda to get what's coming to them.

Hi Dragon, wish you weren't the warden of the worst prison I've ever heard of in my life, see you later in the story maybe

Also. Six hundred prisoners in the Birdcage. Not counting whoever's died. That's a fucking lot of them.

Wait what the fuck happened to Newfoundland

Oh, Dragon hates this too, well there's a small fucking mercy.

Also, "the hole the men opened into the women's half of the Birdcage" is a fucking alarming phrase. We're just fucking letting anything fly down here, huh? Jesus Christ.

Dragon's description of the Birdcage's security measures is. Fucking extreme. This is a fucking nightmare, an absolute cavalcade of human rights abuses that I can't even begin to fathom.

Have children been born in the Birdcage? If not, who's preventing that? Is everyone being covertly dosed with contraceptives to keep them from having children? Do the block leaders have people on hand to deal with abortions? How do you handle dietary restrictions? Religious restrictions? What if it turns out you were wrongly convicted?

Literally everything about this place is a horror show. Every implication is dark as fucking Vantablack.

Gross

I guess this is what passes for society down here, huh

Well shit, I guess I'm glad Bakuda has some enrichment at least.

Okay, so, Marquis is a supervillain who's taken over a cell block, and he's a Brockton native invested in learning what he's missed out on

...Easy money says he's Amy Dallon's old man.

Not entirely shocked that Lung's spent time behind bars, though I assume that was before he got his powers.

And uhh. I'm gonna be real, I feel kinda bad for Bakuda here. Like she's a piece of shit, obviously, but for all her insults she seemed happy to work for Lung, enough that she made a point of freeing him from the Protectorate and putting him back in charge when she could've stayed in charge, taken advantage of his arrest and done whatever she pleased

and now he's gonna kill her. Because she insulted him. Because it'll make life in prison easier.

I mean, shit. I do not like Bakuda's odds in this exchange. It probably doesn't take a lot for Lung to have her debilitated, and from there the kill is even easier. Maybe he dies too, but I don't expect that to be the case.

Current Thoughts

Justice for Paige McAbee

The Birdcage is, I think, a very reasonable simulacrum of Hell, and its very existence probably gives in-universe philosophers, ethicists, defense attorneys, and human rights activists fucking hives.

Also, justice for Paige McAbee

I'm not going to mourn Bakuda, but maybe I'll mourn the version of her that could've been in a kinder world.

Last thing, just in case we weren't clear:

Justice for Paige McAbee

[vigilante-3073]

Daddy's Credit Card

Cullen Family x Female Vampire Reader (Platonic)

PART 2

Summary: After what was supposed to be a simple baseball game, Bella finds herself being hunted by James. The family leaps into action to protect her, but will wild card Y/N fall into line or throw Bella to the lions?

TW: Mention of death and violence, lack of regard for the feelings/property of others, angst.

The Cullens rushed back to their home in a panic, quickly splitting into cars and formulating a plan on how they could protect Bella. James was an excellent hunter and they didn't stand a chance unless they went on the run.

Y/N leaned against the wall of the garage, watching the family scramble around and talk through possible strategies. She sighed softly to herself, thinking about how Edward should just let Bella die and move on.

Edward's head snapped in her direction, sending her a sharp glare, "Stop it," He growled. Y/N scoffed, silently resuming her task of picking the dirt from under her manicured fingernails.

"Y/N, go with Alice and Jasper. You have the strongest gift and you should be the last bit of defense around Bella," Carlisle said.

Y/N made her way over to them, Edward caught her arm before she got into the car, "If you let her die, I will never speak to you again," Edward said.

"Wouldn't exactly be a big loss," Y/N replied, tugging her arm out of his grasp and getting into the car.

Y/N put in her headphones, scolling on her phone as Jasper pulled out of the garage. They were headed to Phoenix, set on putting as much distance between Bella and the tracker as possible. Edward stayed behind, assisting Esme and Rosalie in spreading Bella's scent through the woods to throw the tracker off.

Edward had very little confidence in Y/N, she had become an unknown variable in the family's effort to keep Bella safe. Edward knew that she wouldn't hesitate to let Bella die if she were put in a position where she was the only one between Bella and the tracker.

He could tell that his threat had done nothing to change her mind, but he took comfort in knowing that Alice would monitor her decisions to protect Bella. Edward hated the rift that had formed between him and Y/N since he chose to love Bella despite their differences.

Y/N had become even more of a loose cannon since their argument and Edward found himself unable to even talk to her anymore. She had shut him out in every way aside from her thoughts, which grew more hateful with every passing day.

Spreading Bella's scent through the woods in Forks was found to be ineffective shortly after Bella arrived in Phoenix. The tracker changed direction and Edward rushed to follow him with Carlisle and Emmett.

They called Bella from the road to notify her of the change in their plan. Edward was planning to take her to Vancouver while the rest of the Cullen family hunted the tracker and his mate.

Y/N was laying on the bed in the hotel room, texting with a smile on her face. Alice found herself getting irritated, looking over at Y/N from her spot on the couch beside Jasper. Y/N hadn't said a word during the entire drive and now she laid there grinning at her phone like there wasn't someone actively trying to kill Bella.

"Could you at least pretend to care?" Alice snapped.

"Alice," Jasper said quietly, trying to calm her raging emotions before things could get out of hand.

"Would it change anything?" Y/N asked without looking up from her screen.

"No, but-" "Then no," Y/N stated, getting up from the bed.

"I'm going to the bar," She said.

"You should stay with Bella," Alice said, standing up from her spot on the couch.

"Are you going to come over here and stop me?" Y/N asked.

"Alice, let her go," Jasper said softly, trying to calm the heightened emotions in the room. Alice huffed, shaking her head as she sat back down.

"That's what I thought," Y/N muttered, making her way out of the room.

...

Bella made her way down to the lobby after talking to James on the phone. He had her mother and he was going to kill her unless Bella met with him at the ballet studio.

She peered around the corner, quickly spotting Y/N at the bar and Jasper standing on the other side of the room with Alice.

Bella's heart pounded in her chest as she quickly made her way towards the front door. She turned the corner, jumping as Y/N was suddenly standing in front of her.

"Where do you think you're going?" Y/N asked.

"I-I was just-" Bella started, desperately trying to think of an excuse.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, "Just what?" She asked, stepping closer to the human.

"I was just gonna get some air," Bella replied.

"Tell me where you were really going or I'll drag you up to our room and tie you to the radiator," Y/N said.

"James called me from my house. H-he has my mom," Bella said shakily.

"Let me guess... He wants you to come alone, you for her?" Y/N asked.

"Yes," Bella nodded.

"If you go, he's going to kill you," Y/N stated.

"I have to save my mom. Please," Bella pleaded.

"I could save you some time and break your neck right here if you want to die that badly," Y/N said.

"I don't want to die, but I have to save my mom," Bella repeated.

"I can give you a twenty minute head start. No more, no less," Y/N said.

"Thank you," Bella said, rushing out the door of the hotel.

"What a shame," Y/N sighed, making her way back over to the bar.

...

Edward and his family arrived at the ballet studio just in time to save Bella. She was injured, but alive. Edward was able to suck James' venom from Bella's veins before she turned and they brought her to the hospital to receive treatment for her injuries. Y/N returned to Forks with Alice, Jasper and Emmett while Carlisle and Edward stayed behind in Phoenix to be with Bella while she recovered.

Alice knew that Y/N let Bella leave the hotel but chose to keep it quiet because everything had worked out. She was definitely going to be monitoring Y/N's decisions more closely after Bella almost died because of her carelessness.

Alice was beginning to question how callous Y/N could really be, there was nothing inside her but anger and hatred. Y/N didn't care about anyone besides herself and it was becoming more apparent.

Bella and Charlie returned to Forks with Edward and Carlisle following closely behind. James' mate had vanished and Edward was not willing to risk leaving Bella without protection until she was located.

"Alice told me about what you did in Phoenix," Edward stated, standing in the doorway to her room.

Y/N flipped the page of her magazine, "I assumed that she would," She said, eyes remaining on the glossy pages.

"What is it going to take to get you to see how much I care about her?" Edward said.

"You have an infatuation with her, Edward. You don't love her," Y/N stated.

"I do love her," He said.

Y/N looked up at him, "Then turn her, let her live out an eternity in this house with you," She said.

"It doesn't have to be that way," Edward snapped.

"Yes, it does. You're a moron if you think it can work otherwise," Y/N said, looking back down at her magazine, "Get out of my room," She said, flipping the page.

"Bella is coming here tonight and I want you to stay as far away from her as possible," Edward said.

"Won't be an issue," Y/N muttered.

...

Y/N stood out on the balcony, watching the forest dim as the sun sunk below the horizon. She heard the door open behind her, not needing to turn around at the suddenly overwhelming scent of human blood.

"Edward doesn't want you around me," Y/N said.

"Yeah, I just wanted to say that I really appreciate what you did for me in Phoenix," Bella said.

Y/N scoffed, turning to look at the young girl, "What I did for you? You can't really be that stupid," Y/N said.

"I-I don't understand," Bella said softly.

"Don't mistake my indifference for compassion, Bella. I couldn't care less if you live or die," Y/N said.

"But I thought-" "The only reason I haven't killed you myself is because Edward would kill me for it," Y/N said.

"I didn't-" "With all due respect, which is admittedly a very minuscule amount, there is nothing of interest that you could say to me. This conversation is over," Y/N said, stepping around Bella and making her way back into the house.

Edward was standing by the doorway, obviously ready to interfere if the conversation went in a direction that Bella was not equipped to handle. His eyes followed her as she moved across the room, "You think I'd kill you to protect her?" Edward questioned.

"Am I wrong?" Y/N asked, looking over at him. Bella stepped into the house, lingering awkwardly by the doorway as she took in the sudden tension of the room.

"You're my family," Edward said.

"That's not an answer," Y/N replied.

She looked over at Bella, suddenly finding herself slammed back against the wall as the thought of tearing out Bella's throat came to mind.

Edward stared down at her, breathing heavily as he kept her pinned in place. A confused look crossed his face when he realized that there was no intention behind the thought. Y/N was just trying to get a reaction out of him to prove her point and he fell for it immediately.

Y/N looked up at him, watching the realization dawn on him as he slowly released her, "You treat me like a rabid dog that you need to chain up despite knowing me better than anyone in the entire world... I have never suffered a bigger betrayal and you still struggle to understand why I am so spiteful towards you," Y/N said.

"I never meant to hurt you," Edward said.

"But you did," Y/N stated.

"Y/N-" "I loved you," She said.

"I know," Edward replied.

She huffed a laugh, "You continue to surprise me with how callous you truly are. We're more alike than you'd like to believe, Edward," Y/N said, making her way out of the room.

[deathmetalunicorn1]

could i get a jack the ripper x male reader who is harry Houdini?((y/n knows jack isn't the real ripper))y/n/Houdini is the opposite of jack being very hyper & excited about anything & loves showing his tricks to jack who would sometimes almost have a heart attack about his extreme escape act, especially his Milk Can Escape acts oh the dried he felt.....but like in Valhalla they met & soon became a lovey dovey couple living there life in peace,until Ragnarok came..y/n would watch jacks fight with worry but in the end had happy tears seeing jack win..but was displeased seeing humanity in the end still hating him even after risking his life so they have a better chance in surviving!harry/y/n would stay by jack's side as he gets patched up,& y/n quickly became bestfriends with hlökk,

((y/n seemed to also be friends with a curtain horror writer...*cough* hp Lovecraft *cough*))

while this was happening Brunhilde found out the gods was planing to have a surprise round to throw her off but thankfully she found out before they could surprise her, when Brunhilde found out that the god picked would be a god of tricks & illusions[not loki] she immediately knew who to go...y/n aka harry Houdini!

she had to ask y/n in private because she knew jack would NOT let y/n enter not even a second thought about it, y/n would agree wanting to help humanity...y/n/Harry's weapon would be handcuffs that can summon any trap or confinement like chains,rope(both can be stretch infinitely), cuff's,cages, straightjackets & even an iron maiden,as well as traping his opponent in a large body of water

so imagine Jack's supprise when he saw you walking out of those gates ready to fight...when you said, you whare just going to get the tea😔

y/n would fight to his limits even unlocking a new ability,the ability is that y/n could now see through any tricks or illusions & know his opponents next move & skill set...his left eye would turn purple & Glow a faint light when he uses it((although it drains his energy rapidly))

in the end y/n aka harry Houdini would win...taking a bow as if he just got done with a another Escape act, before going backstage,in which he would be a greeted with a very unhappy, upset & nervous jack who was worried to god about him....

-Tears filled your eyes, seeing how cruelly your lover was being treated, willing to put his own life on the line to protect humanity, only to be treated like a monster.

-None of these cowards who were Jack so poorly were willing to put their lives on the line for humanity- they weren’t willing to fight!

-You had rushed backstage to the infirmary and all but collapsed into your lover’s arms, sobbing into his shoulder, as you had been so worried that you were going to lose him. Jack just smiled, holding the back of your head with his now clean hand, holding you close, letting you cry.

-Hlokk wasn’t surprised to see you there when she arrived to see how he was doing, once she was cleaned up, as she knew how much Jack loved you and vice versa.

-Jack couldn’t help but smile, seeing you and Hlokk getting along so well as the two of you instantly connected, especially when she realized who you were and you couldn’t help but show off, putting on a show for both of them, showing off your greatest tricks.

-You were so beautiful when you were like this, when you were happy- it was the color that Jack loved the most on you and always wanted to see it on you.

-As the matches went on, gods and humans exchanging victories, the gods were growing worried that they were going to lose, and they began to plot.

-Brunnhilde could sense the brewing storm, and she knew that something was up, with Zeus being so quiet. It’s a good thing that she has an inside person in the gods, one that was willing to help her and gave her the message that the gods were desperate enough to try to pull a fast one, as they didn’t want to risk losing this tournament- they couldn’t risk it!

-They were planning to have one more match with a trickster god, one who was skilled in tricks and illusions, even more so than Loki, as they believed there was no human that would be able to win against him.

-Armed with this knowledge, Brunnhilde was prepared, coming to you in the disguise of checking on Jack and Hlokk, who had forgiven her sister because she knew what had to be done, and that this Jack was the real Jack the Ripper- he killed murderers and left innocents alone.

-As she left, she glanced at you over her shoulder, giving you a look that she wanted to talk to you privately and you gave Jack a smile and went after Brunnhilde.

-She told you what the gods were planning, and she wanted you to fight. You knew that Jack wouldn’t agree to it- he probably would tie you up, if that would do anything against you, to keep you from putting yourself at risk.

-You agreed to fight but you had to be cautious, not wanting to upset Jack, which she agreed to and told you when to meet up with her to fight.

-You returned to Jack with a smile on your face as Hlokk was curious as to what the two of you spoke about, you just grinned, “Brunnhilde cares in her own way- she just wanted to know how you both were doing but felt shy on asking you herself.”

-Hlokk thought it was cute while Jack could tell that you were lying to him, but said nothing, as he knew that he could trust you.

-When it came time for you to fight, everyone was stunned when the gods announced there would be one more fight, Hlokk was yelling, saying it wasn’t far while you had a hand over your mouth in shock.

-He stood with a deep inhale, “I think we are going to need more tea for this.” Jack didn’t turn to you, nodding and you went to get it, giving Jack a peck on his forehead, your usually thing for when you leave his side.

-Your opponent went out first, cackling loudly at the booing humans, who were furious at this underhanded deed, and many of the gods, including several of those who fought, were booing as well- finding it dishonorable, worrying Zeus a bit that he shouldn’t have done this.

-A cloud of smoke appeared in the arena, shrouding the final human fighter in a cloud of mystery as Heimdall was hyping you up- as he wanted the humans to win- seeing the heart that they had.

-Heimdall pointed at the figure that appeared in the smoke, “The one- the only- Y/N!!!”

-The crowds roared with cheers as you beamed, spinning a pair of handcuffs around your finger, your Volundr item as you beamed brightly, waving around like you were about to perform.

-Jack’s eyelid twitched lightly as he ground his teeth together, you were supposed to be getting tea!! You were going to get an earful after this!!

-Your opponent was cocky, thinking he was going to easily win against you, but you were not to be underestimated. He charged for you, and you easily side-stepped him, swinging the handcuffs and in an instant your opponent was wrapped in chains, including his ankles and wrists being bound and he fell to the ground with a shout of surprise.

-Everyone froze, seeing this and you couldn’t help but grin, turning to him, “Let’s see you escape this!” the crowds were roaring as the trickster managed to easily escape, surprising you with his skills as he tried to do the same, chaining you up and stringing you upside down.

-He turned to the crowd with a grin, “Are you all entertained by this?!” the crowds were wide eyed, staring at something behind him and he turned as you dropped the last shackle, “That was a good try! What else you got?!”

-The match was back and forth, not so much with fighting and beating each other bloody, but trying to trap each other in elaborate ways to keep each other locked up to be able to land the final blow.

-It was entertaining, watching the two of you fighting, seeing you both escaping, but your opponent was getting pissed- finding you irritating- nobody was as good as he was!!

-When he actually attacked you, bloodying you up a bit, and you swore you could hear Jack screaming out your name as you were slightly dazed.

-You rolled, dodging another blow as you quickly got to your feet as you held the handcuffs and you smirked, “It seems like I should get serious too.” He glared as you charged, but when you ducked at the last second, dodging his blow, appearing behind him, he shouted in surprise as you grabbed him with your weapon and you smirked, “It’s time for the greatest trick the world has ever seen!!”

-The handcuffs lit up with a bright light before your opponent was wrapped in chains, then encased in an iron maiden, wrapped in more chains then suspended over a pool of water filled with piranhas before being lowered down into the water.

-The crowd was stunned as your hands came to your hips, a grin on your face as you saw the iron maiden moving as he struggled to get free. If he managed to get free of the chains, he was still trapped in the iron maiden, which was slowly filling with water, the spikes stabbing into him, making blood seep into the water, sending the piranhas into a frenzy.

-After a few moments everything went still and your greatest trick faded away, your opponent crumbling away as he perished, leaving you the winner which made the arena explode into cheers.

-You smiled, bowing to the crowd as if it were a show as you headed backstage, feeling a bit lightheaded from your wounds.

-“Y/N!!” you looked up, seeing both Hlokk and Jack running towards you and you did feel a bit nervous, as Jack looked mad, but he surprised you by leaping into your arms, his arms around your neck as he sagged into you, “You’re okay!”

-You smiled, hugging him like how he hugged you after his match, holding him close as he sighed, pulling back as he cupped your cheek, creating a tender moment before his other hand came up, cupping your other cheek before he grabbed your cheeks between his thumb and index finger, pinching and pulling your cheeks, “You reckless! Idiotic!! FOOL! Do you know how worried I was?!”

-You whined as he punished you, begging him for mercy but you knew that you deserved this for deceiving him as he released your cheeks, taking your hand to lead you to the infirmary while still scolding you.

-He was so cute- but you knew that he cared.

[see-arcane]

Open question to everyone as I continue to wrestle with being a professional starving creative. I’ve been nudged towards making a Substack a couple times now. I’m hesitant on making a new page for anything due to how little the Official Author Website seems to have mattered in the grand scheme of my teeny scribbling career, but there are a couple pros to consider. The most basic plus is that it could make for a tidier spot to leave my Big Scribbles than just piling them in a scattered Tumblr. But the key part the online 'get passive income!1!!' gurus point out about Substack is the sub(scription) bit. And how it can be a charged subscription.

“It’s an easy way for freelancers to make money!”

With at least $5 charged per month. For weekly-to-monthly updates. From me.

That means scheduled writing that's worthy of wringing more money out of the ‘Everyone is Broke’ website at least once a month. Note, I would not be pulling a Watcher; I’d still be dropping previews for my big WIPs here per usual. But a $ubstack would come with that and other original works each month. Supposing there was more than 2.5 folks out there willing to burn their bucks on that endeavor.

Anyway. Chronic indecision and fretting are attacking so I’m hot potatoing it to you:

[kacievvbbbb]

I think it’s interesting how as time goes on Zoro kind of becomes more and more like mihawk in some ways whether that’s just because if you spend time with someone for 2 years you’re bound to pick up their habits or a deliberate attempt to emulate him is a conversation for another time. And Mihawk and Zoro where already pretty similar at the start so it’s a little hard to notice now.

But yeah whether unconsciously or consciously Zoro is becoming a bit more like Mihawk and it’s interesting to think that while this means maturing in some ways (he’s swordsmanship for one but he’s also just quieter much more assured of himself) it also means deaging in some others.

Despite their significant age gap and general dispositions, when it comes down to it Zoro is just a lot more emotionally mature and developed than Mihawk is. And a big part of why is because he found something larger than himself to devote his life too, hell Mihawk himself even kind of acknowledges this when he agrees to take Zoro on as a student when Zoro begs for the sake of his captain and crew. He acknowledges that putting aside his own ego and dreams for the sake of someone else isn’t something he can do and sees it as a fault in himself and a strength in Zoro.

Mihawk may be outwardly mature and his skills defiently did not stagnant but I’d wager that Mentally Mihawk is still stuck at the same age he was when he took over the title of world’s strongest swordsman. Honestly maybe even younger. And it isn’t until training Zoro, letting Perona stay with him, for probably the first time in his life taking charge of lives outside his own did he finally unarrest his development.

If Zoro is purposely trying to emulate Hawkeyes, which it wouldn’t be a surprise if he was that’s who he’s trying to be Afterall, then it would honestly set him back emotionally because fundamentally as he is now Mihawk’s attitude doesn’t work in a crew. It’s too singular, too abrasive. And while that abrasiveness can be useful in Zoro’s role as Luffy’s first mate sometimes it makes him a little too callous a little too apathetic, like with his disregard for Luffy’s sadness over vegapunk.

But Zoro has his crew to temper that, they are honestly just too ridiculous to ever stay serious around. And try as he might to hide it Zoro is also just a silly dude who likes to be horrifically petty with his opponents. And zoro still has so much fire in him, so much he has too prove and so much he wants to protect to ever really fall into Mihawk’s apathy. Zoro has Luffy who even after they reach their dreams will probably still continue to turn the world upside down forever keeping Zoro in some kind of trouble and his life interesting.

Zoro can’t be Mihawk because even Mihawk can’t be Mihawk anymore. Being with crossguild and crossing with the Red hair pirates and the strawhats is going to change him, it has too. if Mihawk is going to live after losing his title he’s probably gonna have to become a little bit more like Zoro.

[cobaltfluff]

what is his deal ???

[maxellminidisc]

Saying this as an autistic poc but it always trips me up when white people try to autism their way out of racism towards hip hop and rap too. Like a lot of the supposed sounds that trigger sensory issues for white autistics who do this are in sooo many genres too; main thing being "I dont like repetitive beats and sounds" and yet literally almost every fucking song on earth has mostly beat and bass repetition through a majority of its structure as a core for key melodies to play on (and mind you those key melodies ALSO repeat). Like hip hop/rap is not unique in that respect. Perhaps ponder on that for more than a minute.

[apassingbird]

it's crazy to see a fandom basically crash and burn in a matter of months

[apocalypse-boogie]

I gotta be honest, I don’t engage with the Criminal Minds fandom (despite having watched all of the original show + Evolution and read up on as much of the spin-offs as I could) because I don’t like how prevalent the racism and sexism and infantilization is in the fandom. There’s just enough of all that shit upfront that I don’t want to dig any deeper than I already have. I’m good, I get enough of that shit in fandoms that I’ve been apart of for years I’m not gonna let this shit sully my love for this show anymore than it already has (especially considering the show’s writing itself is not devoid of these faults).

I’d rather just love the show and dissect it and write analysis and fanfic for it and shit on my own.

My fav characters (just cause & kind of in best to least order): Penelope Garcia (she’s literally me, I love her), Derek Morgan, Emily Prentiss, Jordan Todd, Matt Simmons, David Rossi.